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writingsbychlo · 2 years ago

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NONSENSE | theodore nott

summary; you got that holiday glee from your true love.

word count; 7946

notes; there is literally no plot here. the whole thing is supposed to just be fluffy cute nonsense. I hope you enjoy it, regardless. the first fic of the christmas 2023 series, based on this song.

The lights splashed off of every surface, the usual green of a Slytherin house party was spotted with a festive red, flashes of gold from the lights that had been slung around the room. The smell of fresh pine and berries was drowned out entirely by the spice of firewhiskey and the sting of glitter-powder from the Weasley twin’s mini-firework poppers hanging in the air.

The classic setting of the annual Slytherin Christmas party.

Brushing around your upper thighs was the fluff of your dress, a pleasant warmth racing through your veins as your drink settled into your blood. Your body moved, swaying amongst those on the dance floor as your hands settled on delicate hips, Pansy’s own hands on your waist, you both moving together, her head tossed back. The lyrics to the song were shouted from her mouth into the crowd, not a care in the world as she soaked up the atmosphere.

You giggled, her head snapping back up, and a mischievous smile played on her lips as she pulled you even closer. “What, you don’t like my singing?”

“I love your singing, Pans. It’s truly wonderful.”

She only scoffed. You’d listened to enough shower concerts and drunken raves as her roommate over the years to know singing was one of the very few talents that Pansy Parkinson did not possess. The smell of her perfume flooded your nostrils, and she spun, dropping to the floor in a dramatic show that earned her a few cheers, including one of your own.

Jingle bells rang out from somewhere in the crowd, muffled in the noise, Pansy made sure to twerk in time to them, her arse grinding against you as you swayed. When she rose again, her sights were locked on Luna’s across the room, the blushing Ravenclaw was doing her best not to stare, and making a poor job of it at that.

“Oh, go put the poor girl out of her misery would you, Pansy? It’s obvious she’s into you, stop torturing her!”

She faked a gasp, spinning to face you, and raising a perfectly manicured brow. “Now, is that any way to go about a game of cat and mouse? No wonder you lost yours so quickly.”

“I didn’t lose! I got my man, thank you very much!”

“Yes, you did.” Frozen hands clutched your waist, pushing Pansy’s hands away, their chill seeping through the material of your dress as the tip of a cold nose brushed along your exposed shoulder. “Hello, amore.”

With a dramatic sigh and a glare at Theo, she sauntered away, onto her next game despite muttering about him ‘ruining the fun’.

The crowd swallowed her up again, leaving you alone. Leaning back into him, the cold of his clothes made you shudder, even when his arms wrapped around your waist and his lips left open-mouthed kissing along your exposed skin.

“You’re cold, Teddy. Where have you been?”

“Out, getting some more booze. Can’t host the best party of all the houses if you’re not a good host, hm?” Finally, you spun in his arms, catching his cold lips in a kiss, and he hummed happily against your mouth as he returned the affections with vigour. His tongue licked across your lower lip, tracing the faint taste of his favourite alcohol there. “That’s the kind of kiss I get when I go out on a beer run?”

“You’ve been out in the snow, I was just trying to warm you up.” You smirked, his eyes flashing cheekily at the insinuation, his hands slipping a little further around your body to your back, tugging you flush against him.

“Well, I’m still pretty cold. Maybe you should warm the rest of me up, huh?” His body began to shift, moving together with your own as you danced slowly, hips rocking together slowly. He positioned one thigh between your legs, a large hand splaying across your lower back to guide you in the movements. “You know, you look pretty cute in this little get-up you have going on here, Mrs Claus. But,”

You rose a brow, his eyes scanning over the red, strapless dress and trimmed white fur, the thigh-high socks you knew would drive him wild. All donned for the occasion, a cheesy dress for the Christmas pastry before you all went home for the winter break. Leaning in, his lips brush the shell of your ear, voice dropping;

“Penso che le tue calze starebbero meglio sul pavimento della mia camera da letto.”

“Are you teasing me, Teddy? I only understood about half of that.” You murmured, his teeth nibbling lightly on the shell until you gasped, before he pulled back, leaving another kiss on your jaw as he did.

“I’ll make sure you understand me just fine by the end of the night, don’t you worry.”

Your cheeks flushed, and he noticed, the red only enhanced by the green lights in the room, your bodies moving together as the bass pumped across the stone and marble floors. His once chilled touch now seared into you like flames from a fire. Your foreheads pressed together, breaths shared as the moment was lost on you both, drunk on the feel of his hands on your skin and the smell of him in your nose.

“Quite the little show you were putting on with Pansy back there.”

“Jealous?” You mused, and his eyes closed, a smile pulling at his lips as he shook his head a little.

“Not at all, cara mia. Turned on, but not jealous.” He angled his head down a little more, mouth close enough to your own to taste the sugary mint on his every breath, making you want to suck the candy cane flavour from his tongue like a drug. Theo had a unique way of emptying your head of thoughts, of all rationale, of making you feel safe and loved at the same time as putting snowflakes in your stomach, all with a simple touch or look.

“Good. You’re the only one I want under my mistletoe, Theo.” His hand dipped lower as you kissed the side of his mouth, squeezed your arse as you nipped at his jaw, traced the edge of those thigh-high socks when you rose to your tiptoes to suck on his neck softly.

“Maybe we should go find some then, sì?” He sounded as breathless as he made you feel, nonsense flirting pouring from both of your mouths as the party roared on around you both like a din in your ears. He was your anchor, drowning everything else out as you retreated to look at him, smoothing a thumb over the mark on his neck that he’d no doubt wear proudly until it faded.

Taking his hand in your own, you lifted your clasped fingers to your lips, kissing across each of his scarred knuckles as you guided him away from the dance floor. His gaze stayed fixed on your motions, lips parting for a short puff of breath before those dark eyes flickered back up to your own. With a cheeky grin, you spun your back to him just as he moved to close the distance, a groan from him vibrating against your back as he all but plastered himself to you once again, his steps matching your own as the two of you shuffled through the room.

“You drive me crazy, do you know that? Those eyes, that smile… this body in a dress like that.” Your only response was to add a little more of a sway to your hips as you made your way towards the drinks table, taking the long route around and letting him wait. “You’re bad, teasing me like this in front of all these people… naughty girl.”

“Oh, am I?” As you came to a stop, he murmured his response, a kiss to the back of your head and a covert smack to your arse as he leaned over you, swiping for two fresh plastic cups and searching the littered table top for a bottle with something left in. “Does that mean I’m getting coal for Christmas?”

“You’ll be getting something hard, alright.” He whispered, hips bucking into your backside, letting you feel the slight bulge beginning to grow there, and you melted back into him at his touch. His hand slides up from your waist, slides up to your throat, to cup your neck. “Perhaps a new necklace?” He murmurs, squeezing lightly. “Diamonds?”

“You two disgust me, actually.” Mattheo coughed, making you both jump a little as the bubble pops, and Mattheo shakes his head, gagging falsely. He leant across the drinks table, beginning to shake bottles, glass clinking as he drops them when they turn up useless. “Absolute animals, where has all my good whiskey gone?”

“Hello to you too, Matty.” Theo’s hand slid back down to a safer place, resting on your hip as he came to your side instead, letting you tuck under his arm and bury into his warmth and cologne.

“Hello, lovebirds. Do we have anything to drink?”

“That’s what I have been trying to find out.” Theo mutters, and you shrug.

“There’s always the mulled wine.”

“Wine is not supposed to be hot, dolcezza.” Your boyfriend’s face screws up, just like it does every time you say something that offends his national pride, and a bubble of laughter erupts from you, only making his expression deepen. He’d looked the same way when you’d mispronounced a dish on the menu of the restaurants he’d taken you to on your first real date, or when you’d brought up the trending ‘lasagne soup’ you’d seen online.

“At this point, I’ll drink anything as long as it gets me fucked up.” Your friend sighs, drawing chuckles from you both as you shuffle from Theo’s arms, and make your way towards the cauldron simmering in the less-crowded back of the room. They follow you slowly, the two boys chatting as you step away from the noise and bustle of the main party, and into the smokey, crowded adjoining den of the common room. Enzo is practically filling a couch of his own as he man-spreads across it, a blunt hanging from two of his fingers as he stares at the game of chess he and Tom have going, only making a move after three more drags from his cig.

Blaise and Draco sit by the fire, each with a glass of mulled wine and in a heated debate about something you can’t keep up with. Draco’s new car or Blaise’s new favourite holiday destination, perhaps. Maybe, even a way to combine the two. Taking three glasses from the cabinet and crouching before the hearth, several greetings float your way as you pluck up the enchanted ladle that has kept the brew stirring, the smell of orange and cinnamon reaching your nose from within the pot.

“Not sure why you got three glasses out, darling. I’m not drinking that.” Theo’s nose scrunches adorably as you pout up at him, pouring one steaming serving for Mattheo, first.

“Oh, please, Teddy. Try it for me?”

“No.”

Your scoff is all you can muster, filling another glass as Mattheo takes his and leaving one empty, returning the spell-bound stirrer to its task. Standing to your height once again, you clutch your drink between your hands, lowing steam from it. “You really hate mulled wine that much?”

“It’s nonsense. Wine isn’t meant to be hot.”

“It’s delicious this way!”

“Most wine is supposed to be cooled, actually.” He continued his argument, one you’d had for all the years of your friendship before ever getting together, and you sip it with amusement as he raves on about taking you for the perfect glass of wine someday.

“Better not kiss me again, then.” You interrupt, and his head snaps to you, several chuckles from the boys who have gathered.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, if you hate mulled wine so much, I mean, because that’s all I’ll be drinking for the rest of the night.” You take another gulp, ignoring the heat of it, just to make your point, and licking stray droplets of the red from your lips, watching him track the movement.

“Don’t be ridiculous, dolcezza. You know that I think wine always tastes its best when I suck it from your tongue.”

You don’t have a chance to speak again, not before his mouth is crashing down against your own and making you squeak in shock, the cup in your hands jostled enough to send some of the hot liquid spilling across your fingers. When you gasp at the sensation, his tongue plunges into your mouth, licking his way in like he’s memorising you all over again, and making your legs shake at the urgency. He has so many ways of kissing, Theo does. The lazy kisses, the high kisses, the good morning and good night and ‘I need you right now’ kisses.

This was different. This was ‘I love you’ and ‘shut up’ and passion all rolled into one, his fingertips digging into your body as he clung to you, pulling you so close that the spilt wine was no doubt soaking into his jumper and staining the green cotton. Pressing into him, you tried to return it, free hand slipping up into his hair, tangling in the soft strands as his mouth enveloped your own.

You almost dropped the glass in your hand, tingles shooting across every nerve you had just at the feeling of being near him. Falling for Theodore Nott had been one of the most intoxicating and reckless things you’d ever done. Everything had been just fine for years of friendship, years of laughter and jokes and hugs that never meant a thing, and then one day, the way you looked at him changed and your life had been flipped upside down.

If you could go back and change things, you would. You’d make sure to go back and let it happen sooner.

“So?” Your breaths come out in shallow pants as he pulls away to leave delicate kisses across your cheeks, prolonging the moment. “What’s the verdict?”

“On what?” He whispered stupidly, voice devoid of any understanding at all, deep and raspy as he nuzzled his way into your hair.

“I think we got mulled wine on your jumper.” Your own thoughts were just as hazy, just as blurred, and he backed away just enough to look down at the droplets, the liquid still staining your fingers.

Taking the glass from your hand, he placed it down on the mantlepiece beside the empty one, and brought your fingers to his lips. His eyes never left your own as he kissed and licked the wine away gently, sucking your skin clean and humming as he did, your lips parting but no words making their way out as Theo cleaned you up.

“Oh…”

“I suppose it doesn’t taste that bad…” Your head shook at his joke, his fingers weaving through your own when he was done. With a snap of his fingers, the enchanted ladle was topping your glass up, and filling his own. “Come on, cara mia, let’s sit down.”

Theo led you to the couch, sinking into the plush leather cushions and pulling you down to join him. Conversation was flowing like rich honey around you both as you settled, leaning into Theo’s side, his hand tucked against your hip, rubbing softly.

You sipped at your wine, letting the feeling take over, letting yourself drown in the blurry atmosphere of being with your closest friends and the love of your life. Enzo was telling a story between smokes, a story of the Weasley twins’ latest pranks that he’d managed to be witness to, and laughter filled the room just as much as words did, as he recounted the tale.

Theo raised his glass to his lips again, your attention moving to him instead, his throat bobbing with every swig he took, and when he pulled the glass away, you wiped a stray droplet from his mouth, sucking it from your finger. He pinched your hip in response.

“What happened to not liking mulled wine?” You teased as he clicked for the enchanted ladle, refilling both of your glasses, and his lips pressed together.

“I still hate it, but I’ll do anything to make you happy.” Is what he settled on, despite taking an impatient sip while it was too hot and scrunching his face up as his tongue burned. It may be an insult to his ‘perfect wine tastes’, but you knew that deep down, he loved it.

His hand moved to your thigh, rubbing up and down slowly. You hid your smirk in your drink, watching him grow more and more needy. It wasn’t long before he was lifting your legs up, twisting you to rest them across his lap. Taking pity on him and laying your arm over his shoulder, your hand moved to his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

It didn’t satisfy him for long, because only a few minutes into Blaise’s new debate with the boys, he was rubbing your thigh again. You offered a kiss, and another, but when his touches didn’t cease, you took his hand and moved it higher up. Tucking it against your upper thigh, you crossed your legs, trapping it steady between them and leaving a lingering kiss on the edge of his mouth.

He squeezed your thigh, grateful for the increase in affection, and slumped a little more into the cushions, taking you with him.

You drained your glass, adding your input to the story, and throwing in commentary as you went, between kisses shared with Theo, to keep him happy.

That satisfaction didn’t last long, however, when his hand began sliding its way up your thigh further still, inch by inch, and his lips were tracing your neck as he once again lost track of the conversation.

One drink down, two, halfway through a third glass each was when the lines became blurry enough that you didn’t mind your friends around so much anymore, but you did mind not having Theo’s tongue in your mouth. Clearly, he was just as affected, because as soon as your head twisted and your mouth closed over his, he was groaning happily, a grumble of ‘finally’, and leaning up to return the kiss with just as much vigour.

Your fingers were tangled in his hair, a slow kiss that was just enough to drive you wild, your crossed legs clenching each time he sucked, each little sound he made, each gasping breath before he was back. His hand, sandwiched between your crossed thighs, was squeezing occasionally, fingers tracing tantalising touches onto your skin and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“Teddy…” You whispered, pulling back as your swollen lips stung from biting kisses, trailing your mouth over his jaw, peppering him with kisses as he bit back a moan at the feeling. You knew how much he loved it, how much he loved the way you’d lick at the hinge of his jaw, or the stretch as he tipped his head to the side to let you get at his neck.

Theodore Nott was a man who loved PDA and touches, no doubt about it, and he made you feel loved up enough with a single smile to grant him more than his fair share of affection.

“I missed you today.”

“You woke up in my arms this morning, dolcezza. We spent half the day together.” He whispered, and you pulled back with a frown, his head lazily tipping back to you and eyes refocusing as you deprived him of attention. “What?”

“Nothin’. I just…” Stroking a finger over his cheek, his head tipped into the touch, and he blinked up at you questioningly, waiting. “You didn’t miss me even a little bit?”

“No,” He murmured, your brows furrowing once again at the definitiveness of it. “Because you’re all I ever think about. I spent every minute getting ready to come back to you, and if that didn’t work, I started looking at your latest pictures. I can’t miss you when I know we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together.”

The fracture in your chest healed up in a second, bursting with heat and love and adoration instead as you pressed your forehead to his own. “Really?”

“Of course, amore. Do you truly not know what you do to me? The effect you have on me?”

“About the same you do to me, I suspect.” Your words were whispered against his puckered lips, and you gave in, another series of tender kisses until he was smiling too wide to continue.

“And what is it that I do to you? Tell me. I want to hear it all.”

“Oh, please don’t,” Draco whined, your head lifting to find him grimacing at you both as Blaise hid his laughter behind his hand. “I don’t think there’ll be any room left in here if Nott’s ego gets any bigger. If I have to listen to any more ‘I love you more’ ‘no, I love you more’ from you both, I’m going to be sick in the fireplace.”

“Don’t be bitter, Dray,” You teased, twisting to sit properly across Theo’s lap once again, your arm around his shoulders and your fingers in his hair, scratching at the base of his neck so that his eyes fluttered. “Just because you’re single at Christmas doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be miserable.”

“I’m not miserable, thank you very much. I’m free. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be shackled at the best time of the year.” Your laughter was hidden by Tom’s, Mattheo’s and Blaise’s, and this only seemed to ignite the blond man more. “All Theodore does is whine and complain about whether he’s bought you enough Christmas presents, and if he picked a romantic enough card. Too stressful, I won’t do it.”

“Y’know, ‘won’t’ is not the same as ‘can’t’.” Your tutting turned his cheeks red as the other boys all fell over the edge into hysterics.

“She’s got you there, cousin.” Enzo teased, eyes red-rimmed and face a state of permanent relaxation from how much he’d smoked, but even he was sentient enough to tease Draco.

“I hate you all. I hope all your Christmas presents suck.” He scoffed, sticking his tongue out at you as he walked away, and you pinched Theo’s chin, smacking a dramatic kiss on his cheek;

“I have all I want right here, Draco! But I’m the one that does the sucking, not that you’d know anything about that.”

He flipped you off, Theo’s hand tightening on your leg at the insinuation as Draco left to no doubt go and find one of his usual roster girls to nurse his ego back up to standards. “I’m holding you to that later, mi amore.”

“I should hope so, Teddy.” Uncrossing your legs from your seat across him and placing one wobbly foot on the floor, his hand slipped up from your thigh to you arse, stabilising you with a squeeze as he smirked to himself, watching you adjust the hem of your dress and turn to him. Taking his hand from your butt and weaving your fingers together, you tugged expectantly as he finished off his third glass of mulled wine, and then yours, too. “Dance with me?”

“If I ever say no to that question, I want you to avada me, okay?”

Staggering to his feet as you laughed, he let you tug him toward the centre of the room. Your arms wrapped around his neck, his own around your waist, and the two of you began to sway out of sync to the music, noses brushing and smiles matching as you revelled in the festive atmosphere.

“It’s strange,” His words were quiet, and you offered only a questioning hum to his vague statement, stroking the tips of your fingers over the back of his neck soothingly. “Feels like we’ve always been like this. It doesn’t feel as new as it should. It doesn’t feel like we’ve only been together a few months. It feels like we have always been in love, just like this. It’s just… sembra il destino con te.”

You considered his words for a moment, letting them roll around in the blur of your mind. “Fate?” You whispered eventually, and the glow of the smile that broke his face as the few Italian words you’d been picking up on rang clear.

“Yes, mi amore. Fate. It feels like fate with you.”

“I love you, Theodore Nott.”

“I love you more, (y/n) Nott.” He teased, lips sealing over yours in a promise that one day that name would be true. Your heart skipped a beat, your swaying continuing as you pulled yourself up a little closer, leaning into him for support to continue the kiss. Theo was everything, everything you needed and never knew. “Good thing Draco wasn’t here to hear that.”

“He’ll find this one day.” You stole another kiss, and another as Theo leaned in to meet you halfway, his hand sliding up your arm to clasp with your own. Lifting one hand away from his shoulder, Theo took a real step now, swirling you in a proper dance as he held your joint hands out, and giggles burst free as he began to twirl you around the room.

Weaving between furniture and friends, Regulus barely had a chance to snatch his legs out of the way from where they rested on the cluttered coffee table before Theo was waltzing you past him, stumbling around the room in a clumsy mess of loving and drunken movements.

Suddenly, over the top of the music in the room, came the baritone voice of one highly inebriated Blaise Zabini, crooning the lyrics to ‘All I Want For Christmas’. You smiled, joining him with the lyrics, then Mattheo and Theo and Enzo too, as the boys hunted for the tucked-away karaoke microphones that had been hidden in one of the cupboards.

With no batteries and no purpose, one was thrust into your hand. Just like that, you found yourself dancing the span of the room with all of them, belting the incorrect lyrics to any Christmas song you could think of between laughs and swigs of drinks.

Mattheo dropped first, out of breath and lay across a whole couch with a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand, and a blunt in the other. Theo stood beside him, lifting Mattheo’s limp hand up every so often to steal a drag.

He occasionally added the words, mostly happy to stand with his arm around your waist as you danced against him, aiming all the particularly romantic lyrics his way with a smile.

“Well, someone has a little too much holiday cheer, huh?” Pansy emerged again, with suspiciously swollen lips and a dazed-looking Luna on her arm. Though, Luna could also just have eaten a few too many of those brownies she brought too, you think…

“What can I say?” You said through panted breaths, the carol still playing in the background as Blaise and Enzo continued to butcher the Christmas classic without you. “My true love gave it to me. How goes your evening, Pans?”

Her eyes widened for a fraction, before narrowing into a glare at your insinuation, and Luna only giggled. “Our evening has been going quite well, has it not, Pansy?”

“‘Course it has, Loons.” She mumbled, tightening her arm around the smaller girl’s waist, and guiding her towards the couches. When Luna couldn't see, she stuck her tongue out at you, and you pouted to hide your laughter, shoulders shaking in a betrayal.

“Your true love, huh?” Theo questioned from behind, making you jump in shock, and you turned around to swat at his chest.

“Don’t fucking sneak up on me like that, Nott.”

“Uh-huh.” He shook his head at your antics, leaning in to steal a kiss from your lips before you could swerve away. “I’m getting bored of this party now. How about you come and show me a little more of that true love back at my dorm?”

“Lead the way.”

“So you can stare at my arse the whole time?” He chastised, but took your hand in his own, beginning to lead you both back through the crowds, your departure covert before anyone could make you stay.

“The quidditch training does you well, what can I say?” Leaning forward to pinch him as he walked, he almost stumbled over a step, reaching behind himself to grab at your wrist, tugging you around to his side as he scowled. His cheeks were red, but there was a grin he was trying to hide, shining his eyes, and it broke free after another second.

“You’re a menace.”

“You do this to me, what can I do? You drive me crazy, Teddy.”

“Don’t say things like that to me unless you want me to bend you over that drinks table right now.” He muttered, the words tumbling from his lips like he was reading off a shopping list, and your heart skipped a beat in your chest as a shock of heat raced down your spine. “I can’t get you back to my dorm any faster than this, but you’re testing my strength.”

He began to push through the crowds with even more force, no longer polite as he wove but simply pushing his way through any gaps or spaces, dragging you behind him until he was ushering you up the stairs. Through the cold halls, the music dulled and faded to nothing but a distant throb of the bass, and even that was sealed out to nothing as he closed his dorm door, locking it with a spell.

Pressing him back into the wood, Theo was happy to go with your movements, pliant to your every wish as the bliss of the night continued to blanket you both. Your lips met his, a simple kiss he hardly had a chance to return before you were kissing at his cheek, his jaw, down in a trail along his neck, and over his covered chest.

Sinking to your knees before him, a shot of cold raced across your skin from the cool stones of the floor. He looked down at you, fingers brushing tangling into your hair, and smirking as he held it out of your way.

Your fingers began tugging at his belt in return, undoing it and slipping the leather out of the loops, he let out a happy sigh. Slumping further against the wood, you tugged at his jeans, mouthing every inch of exposed skin along his hip bones as they slid down, boxers too, his already hard cock bouncing up to smack across your cheek.

Hot, wet skin throbbed against your face, and you turned, tongue out and dragging along the length of his dick, before swirling around the tip. He hissed through his teeth, eyes dark and half-lidded as he stared down at you, that serious expression that always made you weak in the knees melting away to something else.

“Oh, you’re going to let Santa come down your chimney, dolcezza?”

Even in a moment like this, with your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, Theo managed to make a joke, your laughter muffled against him as you pulled back, and his own laugh was cut off by a moan at the feeling. His hips bucked, tip prodding at your lips as you grinned up at him, pinching his thigh for his poor excuse of a joke and terrible timing. Surely, you thought, you should be turned off or angry, something other than complete love filing you as he made jokes right now. Instead, it only made you feel more for him, his goofy nature behind closed doors that only you got to see, his sweet and funny and silly side that was hidden from most of the world. It was all part of what made him.

Somehow, his stupid jokes turned you on even more, a twisting in your stomach like snowflakes in a storm, your thighs clenching together. So, you matched his energy. If sexy Christmas puns were what he wanted, you’d certainly win.

“Will I get a white Christmas this year?”

Licking the underside of him, from balls to tip, he let out a throaty groan, angling your head with the hand in your hair and sinking himself deep enough to make you gag, never taking his eyes away from your lips. “Oh, we’ll paint it white.”

His gaze stayed glued to your mouth, watching as he set a slow pace, controlling the bobbing of you up and down his cock. Only half in, and he was already beginning to fray at the edges, fixated on watching himself disappear in and out of your mouth. Taking him by surprise, you pushed a little further, all the way until you gagged and more, swallowing as much of him as you could until tears were pricking at your eyes.

Again and again you let him take over, just to snatch it away when he least expected it, driving him over the edge, until he was muttering curses in Italian and throbbing in your mouth. Again, you took him down, deep until you couldn't breathe for the weight of him in your airways, and he fisted at your hair hard enough to burn.

Your throat flexed around him, swallowing and wet as spit gathered at the edges of your mouth, stretched around his considerable girth. Only when your lungs burned for breath did you pull back, gasping and messy as you stared up at him. “Santo fanculo, tesoro. La tua piccola bocca calda sarà la mia morte.”

“Turns me on when you talk dirty to me in Italian, Theo.”

“Is that so?” He muttered, hand cupping your throat, one thumb under your chin to tip your head up, and with a wink, he spat onto your waiting tongue. “Ingoialo, perché qualsiasi altra cosa ti do sta andando in quello stretto poco fica.”

A whimper slipped free, and he tugged you up by the fistful of your hair, uncaring of where your mouth had just been as he smashed his against it, tongue forcing into your mouth and kissing you so hard you could barely stand. Stripping himself the rest of the way, he made quick work of your own clothes, between keeping up with your kisses, and leaving his own collection of marks on your neck, Theo had you both naked and gasping in record time.

“I love unwrapping my presents,” He whispered into the flesh of your breasts, tugging you down into his lap as he sat, your hips rocking against his wet cock, mixing with your juices as he bumped against your clit with every movement. “Told you those stockings would look better on my floor.”

“God, just kiss me, Theo. Before you make me lose my mind.” Your hands were on his cheeks, tugging his face back up, and he was muttering a spell as your lips met. Using his nose to nudge your attention upwards instead. He took a nipple into his mouth as you leaned back, staring up at the small green plant he had conjured above you both, and giggling through a moan as he scraped his teeth across the bud. “Is that mistletoe?”

“But, of course, mi amore. It was the one thing missing.”

Flicking your gaze over the room, you took in the mess of Christmas decorations the pair of you had put up. You’d taken to decorating his dorm like it was decorating your first house together, celebrating your first Christmas as a couple.

A small, wonky Christmas tree sat on the dresser, a garland over the window, a wreath on the outside of the door and lights woven onto the headboard of his bed, flashing a myriad of colours on his profile now that only made him more beautiful.

Smoothing back the hair from his face to see him fully, you pecked his lips, and again, “I love it.”

“Anything to make you happy.” His words were cheesy, but so smoothly spoken in such a deep voice that you shuddered nonetheless, and his eyes sparkled. “What else do you desire, my love? You’re already in my lap, so why don’t you tell me what you want?”

Pausing your rocking, you shuffled back just enough, dragging a nail down his chest and between your bodies, cupping his balls and giving them a squeeze in your palm as his mouth dropped open, and eyes rolled back. “Why, you got a present for me in your sack, huh?”

He was groaning and laughing at the same time, his face buried in your neck as you continued your ministrations, his whole body tight and every muscle locked as you did, until he was shaking, unable to take it any longer. “That’s what you want? It’s all yours. How do you want to take it?”

“Let me go for a ride, be your vixen.”

He bit at the juncture of your neck, before lifting his head, eyes playing out a plan as he looked to you. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about some different uses for these lights… interested?”

“Always.” You breathed, letting him twist you around with ease, until you were on your back amongst the pillows, arms being stretched above your head, and thrill racing through your body like a new high as you felt the wires and lights coil around your wrists. With a test tug, they pinched at your wrists, leaving you strung up to his headboard like nothing more than a decoration yourself, and he whistled at his work as he pulled back to admire you.

Spreading your legs apart for himself, he settled onto his stomach, and anticipation overtook you in waves. Squirming on the bed before him, Theo chuckled to himself, blowing a stream of cool air onto your clit, making you squeal. “You look better than a whole fuckin’ feast. Look at you…”

He licked a single, firm stripe across your core, lapping up everything that had gathered so far, tongue parting your folds, and prodding at your clit as he did. When your hips bucked up to follow his face, legs crooking and feet planted on the bed, he placed a hand flat across your hips, pinning you down.

“Be a good girl and have some patience.”

Your whimper spurred him on, back in again and again, until the noises he was dragging from you were closer to cries and sobs. He teased at your entrance, dipping his tongue inside just enough to drive you wild before pulling back and focusing his attention on the needy bud between your legs. Sucking and nipping, he dragged you to the brink, all before pulling back and leaving you hanging, marking your thighs with his bites and bruises.

Again and again he played, until you were a writhing mess under his hands, tugging at the wires holding you down, desperately rocking against his face as his arms wrapped under your legs. And only then, did he give in. Just like that, every light touch became demanding, every teasing drag became more like a punishment, as Theo took what he really wanted.

Screams of his name from your lips bouncing off the worlds, your juices a mess on his face as you came, and he wouldn't let up. Pleasure so intense it blinded you, an orgasm tearing through you, your body spasming from the sensations, back arching, and his only response was to slide two fingers into you and abuse your clit as he scissored them.

Sobs became wails, your voice cutting out and catching as you panted for breath you could no longer drag into your lungs, all as he traced filthy words and claims onto your body with his mouth, while pressing to that spongy spot inside of you that made you see stars.

“Oh, Theo— fuck, baby, I can’t—”

“You will.” He murmured, a third finger slipping in, and your body went taut, hips leaving the bed entirely as you seized, a second orgasm tearing through you and juices gushing as he kept his pace, riding you through the high and over the crest of it. He took everything you had to give him, cheeks shining and eyes locked on your movements, you could feel the burn of his stare into your skin, branding you as his as he almost killed you with his mouth. “Una ragazza cosí brava cazzo per me.”

As soon as he pulled away, your thighs snapped shut, your trembling body collapsing against the mattress as you gasped for breath. “H-Holy shit, Teddy.”

“Good?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone who just had you begging for mercy, is it?” He tutted, pushing your knees apart, the cool air in the room sweeping across your still soaked core as you continued to leak, no doubt dripping onto the expensive silk sheets he owned. “Perhaps you no longer deserve my mercy.”

“Let me at least catch my breath,” You muttered, one of his hands coming to land beside your head as he leaned over you, the other pulling your leg up onto his hips. Brushing his lips across your own lovingly, you smiled, puckering them for a kiss,

“No.”

With that, Theo slammed himself into you, your eyes rolling back as your still fluttering walls were forced to accommodate his length, your core twisting so tight you thought you might come again just like that, feeling him slide deeper and deeper, all the way, until your hips were sat snugly together. Your fingers became fists, jerking at the lights and rattling them on the headboard as your instinct to cling to him, to tear his back apart with your scratches took over.

Instead you were restrained, all you could do was cling to him with your legs, return his eager kisses as best you could, head spinning, utterly overwhelmed with the feeling of being his. He gave you a chance to adjust, at least, his own face screwed tightly. Shallow pants on his lips as he steadied himself not to burst right away, and you made sure he struggled, clenching around him and rolling your hips into him until he had to hold you down.

“Stop teasing me,”

“I’m not doing anything.” Your denial was useless, his glare said everything, that he knew you were lying, and he would make you pay for it, too.

“Oh, you’re a vixen, alright. Piccola troia.”

“That’s right,” You whisper onto his lips, “But I’m your little slut.”

Just like every time you understood his first language, his eyes lit up, sparking with fire and adoration as you claimed him like he’d claimed you, lips searing as you kissed him. His hips began to move, in rhythm with your kisses and picking up speed.

Every thrust of his hips has the breath knocked from your lungs, stretched out and full of him in the most perfect way. Before you’d been together, your sexual experiences had been limited and disappointing, and your first time with Theo made you realise just how good sex could be. It didn’t matter how or when, whether it was bent over a table in the back of the library with his fingers in your mouth to keep quiet, or in the astronomy tower, high and lazy, it was always so good.

But this,

This was something else. This was mindblowing, your toes curling as he pounded into you, taking you to new heights of pleasure. His skin was slick, as was your own, sliding together perfectly as you shared breaths, foreheads pressed together, no longer even having the strength to kiss, nothing but the movements of your bodies.

“You’re so fuckin’ good, tesoro. So perfect for me.” His praise covered you like a blanket, only adding to the way you felt, helping build you higher and higher toward the orgasm that would blow the others out of the water.

“Oh, Teddy…”

“Yeah, you feel good?” One extra sharp thrust, your nails digging into your palms, and you began to roll your body up desperately into his own, searching for a release that would leave you in bliss for hours to come. “I love to make you feel good, you make me feel so good too.”

“So good, Theo. So big,” Your words were strained, eyes rolling back, and he licked his way across your mouth, a cheap and lousy kiss that barely counted, but it gave you enough of a taste of him to explode, Shaking as you came, your body was out of your control, more and more as your orgasm kept going.

His pace faltered, the way you screamed his name enough to make anyone feel dizzy, a dazed smile on his face as it reached his ears. One, two, three more thrusts and he was collapsing down onto you, shuddering against your body as he smothered you, moaning your name with hot breaths on the shell of your ear as he came.

His cock twitched between your walls, filling you up deep inside and making your jaw drop open just at the feel of it. He was still going as he pulled back, pulled out, the last of his load dripping down your folds and into the bed sheets, leaving you shuffling at the feeling, your whole body still reeling in the after-effects.

He pushed sweaty hair out of his face, staring down at you and admiring the mess he had made you into.

Your legs were still shaking as he leaned over to untie you, his own fingers a little unsteady and weak as he worked, freeing one wrist and kissing it softly on the red-marked skin.

“What the hell am I supposed to do without orgasms like that for two whole weeks?” You sighed, and his laughter erupted from him in a burst so hard he almost collapsed down on top of you with the suddenness of it. You could only smile up at him as he stared down at you, hovering over your face and trying to calm his amusement. “What?”

“I was trying to be romantic just now,” He chastised, the blow never hitting, and he worked on freeing your other wrist, and kissing that one too. When you had the use of both arms back, you propped yourself up as best you could, watching as he wandered away to retrieve a cloth. “You could always send me sexy letters in the post about all the things you think about, and I’ll make them all come true when we get back.”

He reappeared in the room, and you raised your brows. “Oh, you want a wish-list of all my sexy, nonsense fantasies, huh?”

“I want literally nothing more than a sex bucket-list with you.” A quick cleaning charm, and a soothing swipe of the cool, damp fabric between your thighs, and then he was crawling back up the bed, collapsing down amongst the blankets to rest his head on your chest as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. His head bounced with your residual giggles, his arms circling your waist as best they could, snuggling into you as you lined the top of his head with kisses. “I love you, cara mia. You’re all that was on my wish-list this year.”

“I love you more, Teddy.” Another kiss, to his forehead as he looked up to you, a devoted smile on his face. “You’re everything I could ever wish for.”

#theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott/reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott/you #slytherin boys #harry potter #lorenzo zurzolo #lorenzo zurzolo x you #lorenzo zurzolo x reader #lorenzo zurzolo/you #lorenzo zurzolo/reader

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delphi-shield · 6 months ago

Text

— 「 FAKE IT TIL YOU MAKE IT 」

fake dating/christmas party/hurt/comfort ❄️ leon secret santa ❄️ gift for @mydarlingclaudia

MERRY CHRISTMAS MISS CLAUDIA i'm your secret santa! i've wanted to write og4 leon for this blog for a while and when i got you for secret santa i was like IT'S TIME lmao. i hope you enjoy and i hope you have the best christmas!

wc: 5k

summary: leon's in a bind. he thought he would have a love life by christmas, but the holidays have rolled around and he's still single. you'll pretend to be his date for just one night, right?

content: fake dating, real dating, coworkers, christmas parties, mistletoe, lots of late night conversations, lots of self-doubt, secret loser leon, technically post-re4. divider from @/strangergraphics

Over the past year, you've discovered that Leon's really good at pitching a fit when he doesn't want to do something - or, at least, when he thinks he doesn't want to do something. He'll bitch and moan about being tired, about how he just wants to stay in and have a 'chill date' with some old movie. No amount of assuring him that he would have fun once he got there would make him stop dragging his feet. That very night, you’d been waiting for him at the door with arms crossed, already decked out in your Christmas sweater, cheap reindeer antler headband affixed to your head.

Leon lets out a quiet puff of laughter when he slouches into the room, looking considerably less festive than you. He takes in your appearance - your tacky sweater, your headband, the way you pout and tap your foot impatiently. How, exactly, was he supposed to take this seriously?

“What, no one let you play any reindeer games?” Leon quips, taking his sweet time putting his shoes on.

You roll your eyes. When you finally manage to get him out the door, he has a blast. You know it, he knows it - this part is just mandatory torture, a bonding experience he loves to put you through.

"We go, we say hello, we leave." You assure him. “We don’t have to stay long.”

Leon might buy that at this moment, but you know the second you step through the door, you won't be leaving that Christmas party until the very end. Two hours in, you would be ready to go and Leon would be having the time of his life. You would be tugging at his sleeve, checking on him:

Ready to go? No, sorry, hun. Let me finish my beer and we can go.

Like clockwork. You weren't even sure he knew that he did that.

The Christmas music on the radio doesn’t do much to assuage his mood. He’s pouting the whole drive over. As soon as he pulls up to the house, he repeats the same mantra:

"We get in, we say hello, we leave." His hand smacks against the steering wheel to emphasize each point in the plan. You already have your door open, swinging out the side and marching up the freshly shoveled sidewalk.

"The decorations are so cute," you coo, crouching down to examine a particularly adorable light up gingerbread house - and to give him time to catch up.

Leon guides you up from the ground with a hand hovering behind your back. He herds you further down the sidewalk, still eager to get this over with. By the end of the night, you would be the one begging him to leave, but for now, you let him grouchily jam the doorbell.

Warmth floods out to greet you when Claire opens the door, the scent of cider and cinnamon rushing up to usher you in. Claire coos over your outfit, clicking her tongue and shaking her head.

"I should have put more effort in," she says, the pom of her Santa hat bouncing against her cheek. She's otherwise under dressed for the occasion, choosing comfort over festivity.

"What? No. Look at this place. You did all the decorations. That's way more effort," you counter, toeing off your shoes and stripping off your heavy coat.

Claire laughs. "I made my brother do most of it."

"Good to see you, too, Claire," Leon says, bristling over being ignored. She waves her hand, half hello, half dismissing him, and guides you further into the house, pointing you to the refreshments and giving a quick tour of the decorations.

Wherever Leon slinks off to, you're unconcerned. You have catching up to do just as much as he does.

Claire pops her hip up against the drink table. You twist the cap off your beer. Claire fishes one up for herself and pops the lid off against the table in one fluid motion. You huff a quick laugh - her party, her rules.

"So," Claire starts, leaning back against her elbows and surveying the crowd. She tracks your eyes for a moment, watches you watching Leon across the room. "I’ve been wondering. How did you guys actually meet?"

"What?" You laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. You take a drink, buy yourself some time to feel out Claire's intention.

"Well, obviously, the first story you told me was a crock of shit," she laughs.

You can't argue with that. The first time you had met Claire, you had been masquerading as Leon’s partner, sparing him the embarrassment of turning up to her Christmas party alone. You hadn’t exactly announced to his friends that your first time meeting them had been a lie.

"I didn't lie," you point out. "Not totally."

"A lie by omission is still a lie."

"We actually did meet at work."

Claire rolls her eyes. She won't put up with this for long. “I mean, I buy that. But he absolutely did not charm you over the comms on some classified mission.”

There’s no part of you that wants to argue in Leon’s defense. He was a nightmare to work with, knew just how to get under your skin, and you were more than happy to have Hunnigan continue to babysit him.

“If you really want to know…”

It was the Wednesday before Christmas Eve when Leon's coiffed head popped up above your cubicle. Never a good sign. Where he went, trouble (and acclaim) followed. You filled in for Hunnigan once when she was out with bronchitis, and now you can't get rid of her puppy. He keeps coming back, a particularly malignant tumor that metastasizes over the walls of your cubicle, spills onto your desk and messes with your letter trays.

“You busy?” His arm slings over the top, hand drumming against the wall of your cubicle.

Stay strong, you think. Try not to move. Play dead. Maybe he'll get bored and move on. You try to type faster and only wind up jamming the keys down harder. Leon drums his hand quicker, rhythm irregular.

“What does it look like?” You bite out.

Mission failed. You weren't trained to resist torture like he was. In fact, you specialized in answering stupid questions and pointing out the obvious. It was a key component of your job.

Leon’s job, apparently, entailed blatantly ignoring hints. He swings into your cubicle, brushes aside a stack of documents to sit on your desk. His forearms balance on his thighs, hands held together between his knees.

“I need a favor.”

It just gets worse. What kind of favor could Special Agent Kennedy possibly want from you, and why did you have a feeling that it was going to be off the books?

"If I'm doing favors, I'm staying clocked in," you drone.

"Not possible for this one," he shrugs. "Sorry. I'll make it up to you."

You roll your eyes. Silence stretches between the two of you, filled only with the intermittent clicks of your mouse as you try to track down the most up to date geospatial information for your assigned agent - you know, the one you're actually supposed to be dealing with.

Leon's both annoying and persistent. He shakes his fringe from his face, stretches out 'so...' into an elongated, cowish sound that sets your teeth on edge. You roll your hand, gesturing for him to continue.

"I need a date," he blurts out. He's smart enough to continue speaking quickly, hand already raised - palm outward, begging for peace. "Not a real date. Just for a couple of hours, for a party. We go, we say hello, we leave."

A beat. You give him time to throw in a ‘just kidding’. God knows you aren’t throwing him a life preserver. When he twiddles his thumbs, content to sink instead of bail himself out, you scoff. You don’t even look up from your computer.

"That is, by far, your worst line."

"I’m serious. Please. Just a couple of hours. That's all I'm asking. You don’t have to talk to me ever again."

Your eyes cut over to him. Not a single smug smirk in sight. You're almost surprised by the pleading hiding behind his eyes. You take it all in, try to assess him for any hint of deceit. You only find the bags under his eyes, darker than you'd seen before.

“Go alone,” you shrug.

“I can’t. I’ve been –” Leon stops. He sits up tall, peers over the top of your cubicle to see who’s around. Meerkat is a good look on him, his nose sharp in profile, brow furrowed and focused. You avert your eyes back to your computer. He lowers his voice, his eyes still flitting around for eavesdroppers. “I’ve… exaggerated the truth about my love life to a few friends. I promised I would introduce them to someone at this party.”

You note the desperation, try to stay impartial. You're good at that part, too. Trained for it. He’s in a bind of his own making. Some humility would do him good. You’d be doing him a favor by making him own up to his lie.

Your gut flips when you consider his proposal. What was this, high school? Why could he possibly need a fake date? It was so immature, you almost couldn't believe it.

Another thought burns at the back of your mind, keeps you wary. You can't help but feel used. What, he was fine pretending to take you out but couldn't conceive of actually asking you to go to his stupid party? It had to be fake, a preservation of his ego. You weren't even a part of this equation.

You should say no. You should leave him high and dry, make him look like an idiot in front of his friends - because that's what he is. An idiot. An idiot who can't get an actual date to save his life.

"Match my salary, then we'll talk."

Leon groans, head flopping back against your cabinets. He’s considering it, you can tell.

What’s the harm in it, you wonder, casting him a sidelong glance. It would be nice to have something to do on Christmas Eve.

"You owe me for this. You're gonna pick me up."

Leon's eyes light up. He hops off your desk, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. You hold up a finger to stop him before he can talk himself out of this.

"And you're gonna buy me dinner."

"There's food at the party."

"Good food?"

"If you don't like it, I'll get you something on the way home."

That's more like it. You spin back to face your computer, pulling your report back up.

"Deal. What's the dress code?"

Leon's silence speaks volumes. He's completely helpless when it comes to the details. You had figured someone with his looks had a social life that was bursting at the seams, that he was taking the fat field agent paycheck and he was hopping from party to party.

It's at his friend's house, he explains. You note the hesitation before he says 'friend'. Maybe it is all a front. Kennedy can't really go home to an empty apartment and a silent phone, can he? Everyone made him sound like such a big shot. You didn't expect the snapshots of your lives to be matching photographs, a wide shot when you held them next to each other. You try to picture his living room and all you can envision is a beige box.

You wring what little information he has out of him with a series of direct, probing questions. You're both comfortable in this routine. The quick, perfunct back and forth, an exchange not unlike one you might have over comms. He scribbles his number onto a sticky note and slides it over to you. You’ll work out the details of your story later, make it bulletproof.

The idea has been ghosting around the crevices of your mind for the entire day. You force yourself to wait a little longer before calling him, give him time to get home and get settled in. Trying to do the same is fruitless. Your appetite has mysteriously vanished, your Wednesday night show not catching your attention. You choke down half a bowl of cereal before you drum up the courage to call him.

"So, how did we meet?" You start, skipping past hello.

"Work."

"Going with the truth on that one?" You toss a piece of popcorn into your mouth, eyes fixed on your show.

"Helps to sprinkle the truth in with the lie, right?"

You can practically hear the grin on his face. You roll your eyes and bite back a sharp response. No need spoiling the mood immediately. You already agreed to do this. You won't make it harder than it needs to be.

"When did you ask me out?"

“Does that seriously matter?”

Of course it matters. Leon’s completely useless at this kind of thing, it turns out. You had expected more. He seemed the type to have experience. Maybe your own naivety had caught up to you. His confidence had you fully convinced that this would be a cake walk.

Was this seriously the guy who had single-handedly rescued the president’s daughter a few months back? Because he was floundering when you asked him if he had met your parents yet.

“Do you want me to meet them?”

“Oh my god,” you laugh, “No. They would eat you alive.”

That one stays in the story. It’s too believable not to. You bet Leon makes a real fool of himself in front of parents.

That’s where you went wrong. As soon as you started to rationalize what a relationship with him might look like, to add that touch of realism that would sell this story, you were fucked. He indulges all your questions and your musings.

Thursday night, you call him to ask what shows you watch together. He doesn’t see the point, doesn’t get that TV is such an important, ritualistic component of a relationship - or, at least, one that you want. He lets you pick, snorting in surprise when you name a dating show on VH1. You assign him homework. Watch the newest episode the Sunday before the party, and you’d fill him in on the details on the ride to the party.

Friday, you ask him what pet names he wants to use. He flounders again, acting dismissive in a way that you’ve now identified as embarrassment. You bite back the urge to tease him and offer up some suggestions instead.

“‘Babe’ is fine, I guess,” he says, “but I’m probably just going to call you by your name.”

When you hang up that night, you wonder if he meant it. Babe fits your perception of him from a week ago, but now you aren’t so sure. You turn the question over and over in your head for the next day, trying out different names in his voice. Something simple and classic, maybe. ‘Honey’, or ‘sweetie’.

The question is still turning in your mind when he calls you on Saturday. You don’t have a chance to get your question out. He blindsides you with his own.

“Have we said ‘I love you’ yet?”

Your mind races to catch up. Had he? No way. He mumbled when he got off the phone sometime, but there was no way that was an ‘I love you’. There was no way. It hadn’t even been a full week yet.

Then it clicks for you. Right. This is fake, all of it. Every phone call was for his benefit. You had initiated all of this. You should be happy that he’s finally contributing to the planning. You feel sick to your stomach instead.

“I don’t care,” you say, entirely nonchalant, none of it forced. The silence hangs over the line. You pray for Leon to let it go, to give you the grace that you haven’t given him.

He’s smooth with it - doesn’t point out the strain in your voice, blames it on a bad connection. For once, he takes the reins. No ‘I love you’ yet. He’s working up the courage, he says, and your heart clenches, breath catches, head spins.

You make an excuse to leave early. He reminds you to tune in for your show tomorrow. You hang up without saying goodbye.

He picks you up just like he promised. As much as you’d wanted to wear the silly, light-up Christmas sweater at the back of your closet, you couldn’t. You couldn’t show up as his date looking like that. No one would buy it. You already look out of place on his arm.

You’d expected the car ride to be awkward. The last time you’d seen him in person had been when you struck this whole deal. Instead of rehashing your story, though, Leon asks you question after question about the dating show you told him to watch.

To your surprise, he’d actually watched it. You go over the contestants, the washed up rock star they were all attempting to date, even recap the most notable drama. He’s hooked. The veneer of disinterest he tries to keep up is so thin it’s see through. You almost want to tell him to turn the car around so you can catch the reruns instead of suffering through this party.

You don't know what kind of party you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. Every corner of the place was saturated in Christmas, inside and out. Garlands of popcorn and dried orange slices, a tree decorated so heavily with strands of lights and garish ornaments that it's branches sagged. The warm lights bathed everything in a smooth glow. The chill that had stung your face on the walk in melted away, leaving only the pulsing afterburn across your cheeks.

Plenty of people had already arrived - thank god. If you'd had to make awkward small talk with the host until people arrived to take the heat off of you, you might have just said fuck it and marched back to the car. You keep a firm grip on Leon's arm, eyes flitting across each and every face. You didn't recognize a single one of these people.

That's precisely why Leon chose you. It makes your stomach lurch to think about. You're convenient. A face to put to a title, to apply to the vague stories that Leon has fabricated. Anyone could be on his arm right now, and it wouldn't make a difference. No one would know.

You stay glued to his side for the first hour. It works well enough, a handful of people overjoyed to meet you after all the stories that Leon’s told. You do your best to keep the sparkle in your eye, to look at him like he makes the sun shine. It’s hard when it feels like the floor could open up and swallow you at any given moment, when each affectionate touch is just a tool.

You excuse yourself for a drink. That will help your nerves. It can’t make them any worse, that’s for sure. You have a clear window, the drink table empty. In and out, then back to Leon’s side.

Fishing up a beer from the ice chest, you scavenge around for a bottle opener. Christ - all these preparations and no bottle opener? You’re tunnel-visioned into your search, don’t even notice the woman joining you at the table

“Want some help with that?” A redhead chirps, sidling up to you. She holds her hand out for your drink.

What’s the harm? You pass it over with a ‘thanks’ that quickly turns to a sharp inhale. She pops the lid off the beer with the edge of the table, tears a jagged crescent through the plastic tablecloth - cut one of Santa’s reindeer clean in two.

“My party, my rules,” she laughs. “I’m Claire. You’re with Leon, right?”

Your stomach drops. You can practically peer down at yourself, your soul leaving your body for a brief moment. Shit– Leon had warned you about her. Said she wasn't malicious, per se, but she could sniff out bullshit quicker than most. You run the facts back in your mind. If you could get past her, you'd be golden.

Claire's finger bounces between you and Leon. She leans her hip against the table, folds her arms across her chest.

“I don't get that at all,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her head. “What's the story?”

Holy shit, that was quicker than you expected. Stay cool. Remember your lines.

“We actually met at work,” you start. Easy enough. It’s not even a lie. You unravel the rest of the details for her one by one, plodding through the steps of your imagined romance with deliberate care.

Claire’s eyes stayed fixed on you. She smiles and laughs where appropriate, but she tracks you with the cold eyes of a wolf on the hunt. A chill pulses down your spine. Is it really so hard to believe that you’re with Leon? Do you look so out of place?

“Good for him,” she finally says. She takes a long drink, still watching you.

“He’s great.”

“He’s okay.”

Maybe she meant it as a joke, but you have to force your laugh out from around the lump in your throat. Did she buy it? You can’t tell. She claps you on the shoulder, harder than you expected.

“It was really great to meet you,” Claire says. She slips back into the crowd with a smile, flowing naturally into a group of guests. Your eyes linger on her, but she doesn’t look back. She doesn’t slip into hushed whispers, no one turns to stare in your direction.

You wind back through the crowd, glue yourself back to Leon’s side. He lifts his arm instinctively, curls it around your hip like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t even pause his conversation.

How is this the same clueless man that you had spent half a week planning out every minute detail of your imagined relationship? How can he be so relaxed and in control now?

That’s the difference between the two of you, you realize. There was planning, and there was doing. Clearly, Leon could see his commitments through. You were botching this. Everyone knew you were a fake. They had to.

“You okay?” Leon asks, head inclined closer to your ear. You swallow thickly, force a smile.

“Are you about ready to go?” You ask, keeping your voice low.

He’s not - you can tell - but he tosses his snack plate in the trash and says a round of goodbyes anyway, urging you out the door.

The car is silent. Leon flips through radio stations, never staying on one for long. Christmas music, rock ballad, regular ballad, Christmas music again - repeat. He fidgets with the vents, turns the heat up, then down, one degree at a time.

"Seriously, you good?" he asks.You keep your face turned to the window, watching the decorations roll by.

Leon glances at you - or that's what he thinks, at least. His eyes linger for too long. He corrects his course sharply, swerving away from the curb at the last possible moment.

"Yeah. Fine."

Neither of you believe that. You’ve spent the whole night lying - he knows what it looks like, and he lets you get away with it.

Leon turns the music up a tick. You spend the rest of the drive in silence. He pulls up in front of your place and cuts the engine, and that has to be the record for world’s most awkward drive.

Bundling your things in your arms, you hurry out of his car with a quick ‘thanks for inviting me’ that feels misplaced given the circumstances - but what the hell else were you going to say? You needed to sleep this whole thing off.

"Hey."

You stop in your tracks. You're almost positive you've left a drag tail in the snow, stopped so fast you nearly slipped on the sidewalk. Leon's window is rolled down, his body nearly halfway out of it.

"I appreciate what you did for me tonight," he says.

Your heart deflates, a balloon released in your chest, bouncing off your ribs and drumming against your lungs before it floats pitifully to a rest in the pit of your stomach.

"No problem," you say, shoulders back, head held high. "To be honest, I didn't think anyone would buy it."

His head tips to the side. His eyes narrow, studying you, trying to figure out your meaning.

"Why? You did great."

"I don't know. I didn't think we would look like a very believable couple."

He sticks his head back into his car, fumbles with his seatbelt overlong, and finally pops the door open. His feet find traction on the icy sidewalk much easier than yours. You chalk it up to his boots, his training, anything to keep your mind on the little details instead of the big picture.

“I thought it was pretty believable.”

Don’t read into it, you tell yourself again and again. It’s just going to hurt if you try to interpret greater meaning from that.

“Yeah? Glad I could help.” You hook your thumb over your shoulder, fishing clumsily for your keys. “Guess I’ll see you at work, then.”

Leon’s eyes cut back to your door. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, balanced perfectly on the ice. For a moment, you think you see his hand twitch towards yours. You linger, waiting for the touch of his hand around your wrist, willing the warmth that you imagine to be real.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and nods.

“Yeah. See you.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Claire interjects. “He didn’t even ask you out that night? He walked you to the door and bailed?”

You shake your head. “I asked him out like a week later. We were working late on New Years. He said he knew a great spot for coffee if I wanted to go on break. I said we could only go on our day off.”

Her eyes sharpen, casting her hunt out into the crowd of party-goers. You find Leon first - hunched over a snack platter across the room, contributing minimally to conversation with some people from Claire’s work. Claire, experienced hunter that she is, tracks your sight to find her quarry.

“He is so stupid. So dumb. Look at you,” she declares, waving you up and down - presenting you. “He made you ask? Ooh, I’m gonna – Leon!”

Leon’s head pops up from the cheese tray - meerkat chic, swiveling in the direction of the woman on the hunt. Claire points to the ground in front of her sharply, doesn’t even have to bark out ‘c’mere’ before his training kicks in and he’s marching himself over.

“What’s up?” He pops a palmful of cashews into his mouth, then slides the same hand against the small of your back.

His casual attitude earns him no favors. Claire thwacks his shoulder, berates him for making you ask first. He shrinks away - play dead. You taught him that one.

“You ready to go?” You ask once Claire’s done ragdolling him and marches off to tell the others how spineless Leon is.

Leon surveys the party - that’s what you think he’s doing, at least. His gaze is focused higher, examining the doorways carefully. His eyes sharpen, lock on their target. He nods, his thumb rubbing gentle arcs against your back.

“Yeah. Let’s head out. Wait for me in the hall, okay? I’ll get our stuff.”

You follow his directions thoughtlessly, planting yourself in the hallway he had pointed to. Leon flits about, saying goodbyes as he weaves through the crowd. Your coat is slung over his arm when he winds his way back to you.

Before you can protest, tell him he forgot your bag and your scarf, he smacks a hand dramatically against his forehead. He holds up a finger - hang on, here, take this, I’ll be right back – kisses your forehead, and floats back into the crowd.

He comes out only holding your scarf. You huff. Leon’s not a forgetful man. This is clearly on purpose, for his own entertainment. He loops your scarf around your necks for you, settling it into place and tying a clumsy knot.

“Your bag. I forgot, I’m sorry.” He kisses your cheek as he turns.

There was a twinkle in his eye when he turned. You’d caught it. It wasn’t just the shine of the lights. He was up to something. You scan your surroundings, look for cameras hidden, for guests watching a little too intently. Nothing immediately jumps out at you. You glance up - and there’s the culprit. A little branch bound with twine, berries dotting the little branches, suspended over the doorway.

Schooling your face back into mild annoyance, you go so far as to tap your foot. If he wants to put on a show, so will you.

“Here you go,” he says, handing over your bag. You wait for his next move. No way this was the end of his plan - and you’re right. As soon as your bag is slung over your shoulder, he’s patting himself down. Front left, front right, back pockets at the same time, chest at the same time. “Shit. My keys. One second–”

You kiss his cheek before he can strike first.

“On the key rack,” you point out, hooking your thumb over your shoulder. “It’s bad karma to abuse the mistletoe, you know.”

Leon huffs. He spares the mistletoe above your heads a glance.

“You made that up.”

Absolutely, you did. He crosses through the doorway and snags his keys. Before you can head out the door, he dangles them over his head. You roll your eyes and kiss him square on the lips before he can justify his poor man’s mistletoe.

You’ll risk bad karma for a kiss.

#leonsecretsanta2024 #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon s. kennedy x reader #resident evil fluff #x reader #merry christmas hehe #sorry i made the banner as a joke initially and then it didnt look right without it lmaooo

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lulualuana · 6 months ago

Text

Missing the New Year from Day One

boom, new year blurb, I did it yall pls cheer

wc: 1158

cw: fluff, reader drinks, leon drinks, everyone drinks, 2024 into 2025, no smut just kissing keep it pure for the new year

lowkey was watching squid game season 2 while writing this and got distracted sorry

enjoy?

New year’s celebrations were always fun, except for when you had to host them. Then it was a little hellish, a lot of work, and a raging headache.

You were tasked with supplying food and drinks to an amount of people that your dad couldn’t even tell you, and god forbid you fall short of that number, and someone has to go into the new year with an empty stomach. Let’s not even talk about decorations. Putting up a bunch of streamers and 2025 banners all by yourself was a cruel joke that you didn’t want to be the butt of. And of course, the second you need your dad’s help, he’s off to get some beer for his buddies.

The bright sides you could see to all of this was a) a large amount of alcohol of which you had access to all night with no obligations the next day (time to get white girl wasted) and b) your dad’s buddies meant Leon as well. Nothing like going into the new year with your secret boyfriend to lift your spirits.

That was all you were thinking about as you started greeting people coming in, a bright smile on your lips as you handed out little party favors and 2025 glasses and hats. Go big or go home is your motto when it comes to party planning.

You had given up greeting people very quickly after you got swarmed and instead opted for getting yourself a strong drink. You’re in the middle of mixing your drink with a bit of punch to make it seem like it wouldn’t knock you on your ass instantly, when a hand cups your waist, a sudden sense of warmth covering the backless part of your dress. “Well aren’t you looking pretty tonight, sweetheart?” A familiar voice said low into your ear.

Leon leaned down to press a fleeting kiss against your ear before he came into view by your side, a small smile on his face as he cracks open a beer beside you. “Your dad told me you did all this. How are you not dead on your feet?” You gave him a small shrug as you drank down half of your glass in one go. “I am, I’m just holding out until the ‘new year’ and until everyone leaves so I can go crash.”

Leon chuckles at your answer, nudging you with his shoulder as he turns to scan the crowd. He’s subtly trying to see where your dad happens to be. “Yeah, you might be up for a while, sweetheart,” he muses, and you give a weary sigh in response and drink a little more. “I give it a solid hour and I’m going in my room. Fuck the festivities.”

He gives a lighthearted huff and places a hand against your lower back, gently guiding you away from the drink table and instead up the stairs towards your room. “I’m sure no one will mind if you sneak off for a little break. I’ll even stand outside and guard the door for you.” You snort at that as you enter your room, Leon in tow. “I’d much rather you inside it, actually.”

He snickers as he shuts the door behind him, setting his bottle down on your desk as he follows you to take a seat down on your bed, his arm slinging over your shoulder as you cuddle up against his side. “There’s something else I could be inside as well.” You jab his side lightly as he chuckles deeply, kissing the top of your head.

“Dirty jokes aside,” You start, giving him a side eye. “I hate party hosting. Next time my dad asks me to host a party, I’m telling him to kick rocks.” Leon traces his fingers up and down your arm as he laughs. “I think your dad would kill you if you told him to kick rocks, sweetheart. Just tell him you want help next time. He’ll send me over and you and I can just trash the place.” You smile at the sentiment, drawing circles into his thigh absently. “I think that’s more of a reason for him to kill me and you.”

With a lingering laugh, silence settles over the two of you, the sound of muffled music and chatter from downstairs flowing into your room in bits and pieces. It's comfortable, soothing enough to where shutting your eyes happens before you can recognize it. Guess you really were tired. You’re startled awake when you feel Leon move, and while it feels like no time has passed, some definitely has. You sit up as you blink the apparent sleep from your eyes, avoiding rubbing your eyes for fear of messing up the makeup you applied a while ago. “Did I fall asleep?”

Leon nods, checking his watch as you wake. “Yeah. You were so peaceful I felt like I should let you sleep. It’s only been about 20 minutes.” You groan, giving in and rubbing your palms against your eyes. So much for the time spent doing that. “What time is it now?”

“11:55,” Leon answers, and he can’t help the slight amusement he gets in seeing you stand and panic. You look a little like a racoon with your smudged makeup. “What? Ugh, I missed the whole party. It's basically the new year already!” Leon gently grabbed your wrist and tugged you back to him, pulling you to stand between his legs. “Hey, hey, easy. The party is going to be going on a lot longer than past midnight, you know that, and we still got.. 2 minutes until the new year.”

You stare at him with a frown, trying and failing to let his comfort sink in. He reaches up to thumb at your cheek, pinching your cheek. “You really want to go into the new year all pouty over 20 minutes of sleep?” Your frown lingers for a few moments more before it softens with a sigh spilled from your lips, “No...”

He smiles once your frown is gone, pinching your chin again. He’s caught up in staring at you like a lovesick teenage boy for a moment, until he hears a muddled cheer of 10, 9, 8 coming from downstairs. “7, 6, 5,” he continues, standing to be at your level. He takes your cheek in hand. “4, 3, 2, 1,” You continue with him as he dips his head down towards you, any and all worries about missing the party fading from your mind as the thought of kissing Leon fills its place.

“Happy New Year.” Your words and the new year are welcomed in with his lips against yours, kissing you slow and deep and with every ounce of love in his body. He pulls away reluctantly when he remembers he needs to breathe, smiling as he places one last peck against your lips and leans his forehead against yours. “Happy New Year, sweetheart.”

~~~

happy new year everyone, pls be safe <3

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon resident evil #leon s kennedy #pathetic leon saga #resident evil #leon kennedy smut

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biblical-chronicles · 6 months ago

Text

Countdown

_________________________________________

where jealousy leads Noel to a confession on NYE

_________________________________________

The party was chaos, as expected. The room pulsed with energy—music blasting from speakers, laughter and shouting overlapping in a cacophony of celebration.

You sat on the edge of the sofa, squeezed between Noel and Liam. It wasn’t the most comfortable spot, but you couldn’t exactly complain about being so close to him. Noel looked impeccable tonight, as usual. Sharp cheekbones, sharp blue eyes, that effortless energy that always made him seem a cut above everyone else in the room.

He looked like a dream. Your dream.

And yet, here you were, barely more than an invisible presence next to him. For years, you’d been stuck in the same loop—watching Noel from afar, your heart aching with feelings you’d never dare to voice. You were Liam’s mate, after all. That’s how you’d always been introduced, how Noel probably saw you. The younger friend of his daft little brother.

Liam, was sprawled on the arm of the sofa as he nudged you with his elbow. “You alright there, space cadet? You’ve gone all quiet.”

You blinked, startled out of your thoughts. “Yeah, just… taking it all in.”

Liam smirked, clearly not convinced, but didn’t press the issue. Instead, he leaned forward to snatch another beer from the table, muttering something about how the party needed livening up.

Beside you, Noel sipped his drink, his attention elsewhere. Occasionally, he chimed in with a cutting remark or a quick quip, his sharp wit earning laughter from those nearby. But he barely looked at you.

The dull ache in your chest grew heavier. You tried to focus on the conversations around you, the chaotic energy of the party, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Noel.

You stared down at your drink, the ice melting into a watery swirl. The longer you sat there, the more the festive atmosphere seemed to blur around the edges, leaving you feeling strangely out of place. Noel was so close, yet impossibly far, and the weight of it all was starting to feel unbearable.

Suddenly, a voice broke through your haze.

“Alright, love?”

You looked up to see a guy standing in front of you, drink in hand and a cocky grin plastered across his face. He wasn’t someone you recognized—tall, with a slightly disheveled charm that suggested he’d had one too many.

Liam snorted, clearly unimpressed. “Who the fuck’s this clown?”

The guy ignored him, his focus entirely on you. “Thought I’d come over and say hi. You’ve got that look about you, like you’re too good for this lot.” He winked, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the line.

Noel glanced up briefly, his expression unreadable. Then he went back to nursing his drink, as if the interruption wasn’t worth his attention.

You hesitated, caught off guard by the guy’s forwardness. Normally, you’d brush off someone like this without a second thought. But tonight… tonight was different. Maybe it was the way Noel had barely acknowledged you all evening. Or maybe it was the mounting frustration of being so close to him and yet feeling so invisible.

The guy offered his hand, an invitation written all over his face. “What d’you say? Fancy getting out of here for a bit?”

For a moment, you glanced at Noel, as if hoping for some kind of reaction. A flicker of interest, a sign that he might care. But he didn’t even look up.

Something in you snapped.

You stood, sliding your hand into the stranger’s with a tight smile. “Sure. Why not?”

Liam gawked at you, his beer nearly spilling. “Eh? You’re off with him? You’re jokin’!”

You ignored him, letting the guy lead you away from the sofa. Behind you, Noel stayed silent, and the ache in your chest deepened. Maybe this was a mistake, but what else were you supposed to do? Sitting there, hoping Noel would finally notice you clearly wasn’t working.

As the guy guided you through the crowd, his hand warm against yours, you told yourself this could be a distraction. Something to dull the edges of your longing, even if just for a little while.

Noel tried to focus on his drink, swirling the amber liquid in the glass as though it held all the answers. But his mind was elsewhere—fixated on you and the bloke you’d wandered off with. He hadn’t even caught the guy’s name. Didn’t matter. What mattered was the growing knot in his stomach every time he thought about you laughing at some shoddy joke or letting him get too close.

Across the room, he caught a glimpse of you. You were standing with the guy near the makeshift bar, his hand resting casually on the small of your back. Something twisted in Noel’s chest, sharp and insistent.

“You alright, mate?” Liam’s voice cut through his thoughts, thick with amusement.

Noel didn’t answer, his eyes still locked on you.

Liam followed his brother’s gaze, a smirk tugging at his lips as realization dawned. “No way. You’re jealous, aren’t ya?”

“Piss off,” Noel muttered, taking a long drink to avoid meeting Liam’s knowing stare.

Liam chuckled, leaning back with his beer. “Bloody hell, this is rich. Big brother Noel Gallagher, all twisted up ‘cause someone’s chattin’ up me mate. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Noel shook his head, but the words hit too close to home. He had been drawn to you for years, though he’d always brushed it off. You were Liam’s mate, someone he saw at family gatherings and parties, someone who made him laugh with your quick wit and easy charm. But now, watching you with someone else, he realized it was more than that. He didn’t just like having you around—he needed you. And the thought of losing you to someone else was unbearable.

Around him, the energy in the room shifted. Someone shouted, “Ten minutes to midnight!” The countdown was looming, and with it came the inevitable surge of kisses and confessions. Noel’s heart raced. If anything was going to happen, it had to be now.

He stood abruptly, looking around the room in a panicked manner. Liam arched an eyebrow. “Gonna make a move, then?”

Noel didn’t dignify him with a response, pushing through the crowd with single-minded determination. When he finally found you, the guy was leaning in, his hand brushing your arm as he said something Noel couldn’t hear. His stomach churned.

Without thinking, Noel stepped forward and grabbed your wrist, pulling you away.

“Noel?” you said, startled. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Come with me please,” he said, his voice low and urgent.

The guy protested, but Noel shot him a look that shut him up instantly. He led you to a quieter corner of the room, his grip on your wrist firm but not harsh.

You blinked up at him, confused. “Are you alright? You’re actin’—”

“No, I’m not alright,” Noel cut you off, running a hand through his hair. “I’m an idiot, alright? I’ve been an idiot for years.”

Your brow furrowed. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

He took a deep breath, the words spilling out before he could second-guess himself. “I’ve fancied you for ages. Since before I even knew what to do with it. But I told meself it didn’t matter ‘cause you’re Liam’s mate and younger than me and it’d just be trouble. So I brushed it off, pretended it wasn’t there. But tonight… tonight I saw you with that twat, and it hit me. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t sit back and watch you with someone else.”

You stared at him, your heart racing. “You… you fancy me?”

“I love you,” Noel admitted, his voice softening. “I’ve been too blind and stupid to see it properly, but I do. And I’m sorry it took this long to tell you.”

Your throat tightened, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that?”

His brow furrowed. “What d’you mean?”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, Noel,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “But I thought you’d never see me that way. I’ve been heartbroken over you more times than I can count. But… none of that matters now. You’re here, and you figured it out.”

Relief washed over his face, and he let out a shaky laugh. “You’re too good for me, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you teased, a watery smile breaking across your face.

Around you, the countdown began. Ten. Nine.

Noel pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in your hair. “I’m so sorry it took me so long, love. But I’m not lettin’ you go now. Not ever.”

Five. Four.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your heart swelling with happiness.

Three.

“May I?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Two.

You nodded, a radiant smile lighting up your face.

One.

His hand cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek as the kiss deepened, growing more sure, more urgent. You felt the slight roughness of his stubble against your skin, the heat of his touch anchoring you to the moment. His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, as if trying to make up for all the time you’d both wasted.

You melted into him, your fingers threading through his hair, holding him to you as the world around you ceased to matter. The connection was electric, a spark igniting between you that had always been there but never fully realized until now.

When you finally pulled apart, your breaths mingling, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He pressed his forehead to yours, his voice low and filled with quiet wonder.

“Happy New Year, love,”

_________________________________________

proper thanks to @shes-thunderstormssss for the Noel NYE prompt, it was dead fun to write out love xx

Hope you lot are into it, and happy New Year, yeah? I’ll sort you all out with some proper wishes in another post. Cheers!

#oasis x reader #oasis one shots #oasis band #noel gallagher x reader #noel gallagher x you #noel gallagher x f!reader #britpop x f!reader #britpop x reader #britpop fanfiction #noel gallagher one shots #noel gallagher fanfiction #oasis noel gallagher

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sapphirelotus · 3 months ago

Text

a guide to the witch’s sabbats

This honestly took a lot longer than I thought but here’s my post on each of the Sabbats

POSTER’S NOTE: I will be posting the dates for each Sabbat when they are celebrated in the Northern Hemisphere and the Southern Hemisphere

•Imbolc

Northern Hemisphere: February 1-2

Southern Hemisphere: August 1-2

Midpoint between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox

Fire Festival • Quickening

Animals: bears, ewes, goats, groundhogs, sheep, snakes, wolves

Beverages: beer, milk, spiced wine

Colors: blue, green, red, white, lavender

Gods: Aengus Mac Og, Eros, Faunus, Februus, Freyr, Innus, Lupercus, Pan

Goddesses: Aphrodite, Artemis, Athena, Brigid/St. Brigid, Diana, Gaia, Persephone, Selene, Venus

Foods: butter, cheese, garlic, grains, leeks, onions, peppers, shallots, yogurt

Gemstones: amethyst, bloodstone, garnet, ruby

Incense: basil, cinnamon, frankincense, myrrh, rosemary, vanilla

Plants: acorns, crocus, grape hyacinth, primrose, snowdrops

Symbols: besom, Brigid’s Cross, candles, seeds, Shepherd’s Crook, sun wheel

Magickal Energies: agriculture, beginning, birth, cleansing, courtship, divination, fertility, growth, life, love, protection, purity, rebirth, return of the sun, spring

•Ostara

Northern Hemisphere: held between March 19-22

Southern Hemisphere: held between September 21-23

Spring Equinox

Solar Festival • Growth

Animals: bears, bees, butterflies, birds, goats, rams, rabbits/hares

Beverages: milk, cream

Colors: gold, green, lavender, light blue, pink, white, yellow

Gods: Adonis, Attis, Dagda, Holly King,Oak King, Jesus, Odin, Osiris

Goddesses: Aphrodite, Cybele, Demeter, Eostra, Hera, Ishtar, Persephone

Foods: chard, dairy, eggs, honey, lemon balm, lettuce, marjoram, nuts, seeds, spinach, thyme

Gemstones: agate, amethyst, red jasper, lapis lazuli, moonstone, clear quartz, rose quartz

Incense: cinnamon, dragon’s blood, frankincense, jasmine, myrrh, orange peel, rose, strawberry, violet

Plants: daffodil, daisy, dandelion, honeysuckle, hyacinth, jasmine, lily, primrose, tulip, violet

Symbols: basket, cauldron, eggs, feathers, seedlings

Magickal Energies: balance, beauty, beginnings, birth, cleansing, duality, fertility, life, nurturing, rebirth, renewal, sex

•Beltane

Northern Hemisphere: May 1

Southern Hemisphere: October 31

Beginning of summer

Fire Festival • Rebirth

Animals: bees, bulls, cats, cattle, goats, rabbits, sheep, snakes

Beverages: milk, water, wine

Colors: green, light blue, orange, pink, purple, red, yellow, white

Gods: Apollo, Bacchus, Cernunnos, Cupid, Dionysus, Eros, Frey

Goddesses: Aphrodite, Bast, Brigid, Diana, Flora, Freya, Rhiannon, Venus

Foods: butter, dairy, oat/barley cakes, fresh fruit, herbs

Gemstones: amber, carnelian, emerald, garnet, malachite, rose quartz, pink tourmaline

Incense: vanilla, jasmine, lilac, rose, peach

Plants: daisy, honeysuckle, ivy, mint, primrose, rose, violet

Symbols: bells, bonfire, candles, cauldron, chalice, faeries, flowers, may basket, may doll, may pole, may queen, sun, wool, yggdrasil

Magickal Energies: bounty, commitment, community, divination, divine marriage, fertility, fire, fruition, good fortune, growth, handfasting, happiness, healing, health, joy, life, light, love, lust, mating, maturity, prosperity, protection, sex, summer, sun, vows, warmth

•Litha

Northern Hemisphere: held between June 20-22

Southern Hemisphere: held between December 20-22

Summer Solstice

Solar Festival • Fire Festival • Culmination

Animals: bees, birds, cattle, donkeys, horses

Beverages: fruit juice, herbal teas, mead, milk

Colors: gold, green, orange, red, white, yellow

Gods: Bel/Belenus, Lugh, St. John the Baptist, Holly King, Oak King, Apollo, Dagda, Helios, Ra, Ares, Mars, Zeus

Goddesses: Artemis, Isis, Vesta, Diana, Freya, Aphrodite, Venus, Inanna, Epona

Foods: barbecue chicken, barbecue pork, cheese, cinnamon, eggs, fresh fruit, fresh vegetables, ginger, honey, lemon, lime, mint, nuts, oranges, turmeric, yogurt

Gemstones: amethyst, emerald, jade, lapis lazuli, malachite, gold topaz

Incense: jasmine, lemon, lotus, rose, sandalwood

Plants: basil, chamomile, daisy, dogwood, lavender, mint, mistletoe, oak, rose, saffron, sage, sunflower, thyme, verbena, vervain

Symbols: bonfire, candle, circle, dagger, feathers, oak leaf, sun dial, sun wreath, sword, wreath

Magickal Energies: abundance, blessing, blooming, divination, faery work, feasting, fertility, fire, fulfillment, good health, growing, life, light, love, luck, marriage, maturity, passion, pregnancy, prosperity, protection, repelling evil spirits, success, summer, transformation, unions

•Lughnasadh

Northern Hemisphere: August 1

Southern Hemisphere: February 1

Midpoint between Summer Solstice and Autumn Equinox

Fire Festival • Harvest Festival • Decline

Animals: calf, phoenix

Beverages: beer, cider, herbal tea

Colors: gold, green, red, orange, yellow

Gods: Adonis, Hermes, Jesus, Lugh, Mercury, Osiris, Vulcan

Goddesses: Ceres, Corn Grandmother, Demeter, Isis, Persephone, Rhiannon

Foods: apples, breads, fish, fruit, grains, honeycomb toffee

Gemstones: amber, aventurine, carnelian, citrine, obsidian, peridot, gold topaz

Incense: chamomile, rosemary, sandalwood

Plants: apples, barley, corn, garlic, marigold, myrtle, onion, sunflower

Symbols: candles, corn dolly, scythe, wheat sheaves

Magickal Energies: agriculture, competition, cultivation, fertility, gardening, growth, harvest, hope, preparation, rebirth, reflection, resurrection, transitions

•Mabon

Northern Hemisphere: held between September 20-22

Southern Hemisphere: held between March 20-22

Autumn Equinox

Solar Festival • Harvest Festival • Harvest

Animals: goose, swan

Beverages: beer, cider, mead, wine

Colors: blue, brown, gold, green, orange, red, yellow

Gods: Adonis, Arwan, Bacchus, Cernunnos, Dagda, Dionysus, Freyr, Hades, Odin, Osiris, Pluto, Saturn

Goddesses: Ceres, Demeter, Freyja, Gaia, Isis, Persephone, Proserpina, Terra

Foods: apples, corn, grain, nuts, pears, pomegranates, pumpkin, sweet potatoes

Gemstones: amber, citrine, sapphire, tiger’s eye, gold topaz

Incense: frankincense, myrrh, pine, sage

Plants: acorns, apples, corn, grain, grapes, gourds, nuts, pinecones, pomegranates, pumpkins, wheat

Symbols: cornucopia, double spiral, scales, scythe, sun wheel

Magickal Energies: acknowledge hard work, agriculture, balance, bounty, completion, crone, harvest, reflection

•Samhain

Northern Hemisphere: October 31

Southern Hemisphere: May 1

Midpoint between Autumn Equinox and Winter Solstice

Harvest Festival • Death

Animals: bats, cats, spiders, owls

Beverages: cider, mead, mulled wine

Colors: black, green, gray, orange, purple, white

Gods: Anubis, Cernunnos, Odin, Osiris, Mercury

Goddesses: Baba Yaga, Hecate, Demeter, Pomona, Hel, Ishtar, Isis, Lilith, Morrigan, Persephone, Rihannon

Foods: allspice, apples, cinnamon, corn, gourds, meats, pumpkins, root vegetables, rosemary, sage, turnips

Gemstones: apache tears, carnelian, smokey quartz, onyx, obsidian

Incense: copal, rosemary, sandalwood, sweetgrass

Plants: calendula, gourds, grains, mugwort, oak leaf, pumpkins, rue, wormwood

Symbols: ancestor photos, bat, black cat, broomstick, cauldron, coffin, crossroads, faeries, ghosts, ghoul, jack-o-lantern, mirror, pumpkin, skeleton, mirror, skull

Magickal Energies: ancestors, astral travel, changes, chaos, courage, crossroads, darkness, death, divination, harvest, honoring the deceased, life changes, memorials, mortality, scrying, séance, shadows, souls, spirit contact, transformation, transitions

•Yule

Northern Hemisphere: held between December 20-22

Southern Hemisphere: held between June 20-22

Winter Solstice • Longest Night

Solar Festival • Rebirth

Animals: goats, pigs

Beverages: mead, mulled cider, mulled wine, wassail

Colors: green, gold, white, red, silver

Gods: Bacchus, Dionysus, Holly King, Oak King, Jesus, Mithras, Odin, Ra, Saturn, Thor, Sol, Apollo, Baldur, Cronus

Goddesses: Ceres, Frigga, La Befana, Ishtar, Skadi, Lachesis, Brigid

Foods: cookies, fruits, pork

Gemstones: bloodstone, orange calcite, citrine, diamond, garnet, ruby

Incense: bayberry, cedar, cinnamon, clove, frankincense, myrrh, pine, sandalwood, spruce

Plants: balsam, evergreens, fir, holly, ivy, mistletoe, oak, pine, pine cones, poinsettias*

Symbols: bonfires, candles, caroling, coal, evergreens, fire, garlands, gifts, lights, mistletoe, ornaments, poinsettias*, reindeer, sleigh, stars, stockings, Sun Wheel, trees, wreaths, Yule Log

Magickal Energies: beginnings, birth, daylight, death, divination, feasting, fertility, good health, good luck, growth, life, life cycle, light, luck, miracles, rebirth, resurrection, return, sacrifice

*I feel as if it’s important to note that the name “poinsettia” is the colonized name of the plant cuetlaxochitl, as the plant is native to Mexico and has roots in Aztec culture. It was introduced to the United States in the 1820s by Joel Roberts Poinsett, who was an American ambassador to Mexico at the time and is where the name “poinsettia” comes from.

#witchy #witch community #witchcraft #witchy tips #witch community tips #sabbats #imbolc #ostara #beltane #litha #lughnasadh #mabon #samhain #yule

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sourlemonsprout · 1 year ago

Text

𝐵𝒶𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒟𝒾𝓈𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇

Alphonse x Seth x SugarBoo (gn!reader)

Word Count: 1,913

°°••….••°°°°••….••°°°°••….••°°

This little town absolutely loved to throw festivals, no matter the occasion - whether it was Christmas, Beer, Halloween, Music, Summer Solstice, or Spring, the locals poured their heart and soul into it. You appreciate how much spirit and enthusiasm they can pack into a celebration. After your delicious display of baked sweets at the annual Christmas festival a few years ago, the townsfolk practically begged you to cater at every event, and this time around was no different. If you could bake the treats the morning of to ensure they were as fresh as possible, you would. Unfortunately, there was too much to do in too little time, so you settled on the night before. Everything was going smooth as buttercream until you reached the new recipe you decided to try out. You wanted to step up the game and try something fancy, and what better way to go than Canelés de Bordeau, a small French pastry with a custard center and a thick caramelized crust. You'd acquired the special copper molds years ago, yet you'd never tried to make them until tonight, and it was starting to seem like you'd bit off more than you could chew.

"fuck fuck fuck fuck!" you yell slamming the oven door closed, hands pulling at the top of your hair as you walk in circles around the kitchen. The angered outburst and slight smell of burning sugar had caught the attention of the pink and brown-haired boys sitting in the next room over watching a movie.

"Boo?" Alphonse called from the couch. Seth shot Al a concerned glance as he paused the TV before they gingerly crept toward the kitchen. You felt the boy's eyes on you from the doorway, but didn't look their way. Your movement stopped, jaw tight and fists clasped in a white-knuckled grip, your hands practically shaking. Al ran up beside you and rubbed the sides of your arms.

"Hey, hey! Baby! It's ok." he bent at the knees slightly to look you in the eyes.

"Let's just breathe for a moment, yeah?" He helped guide your breathing by inhaling deeply through his mouth and out his nose until you seemed physically calmer. Seth peaked in the oven and quickly understood what the outburst was about. The custard was bubbling over their little trays, the edges starting to burn. He didn't know much about baking, but based on their state and your reaction, he knew this meant they were unsalvageable, so he turned off the oven and removed the tray.

"Talk to us, what's goin' on?"

"I wanted to try something special and it's completely ruined." you pout.

"Well Sugar, you already have two fantastic-lookin' treats, I'm sure everyone would be just fine with this." Seth tried.

"Yeah! And you know everyone is going to love whatever you hand out," Alphonse added, but it was no use you were fixated on these Canelés.

"I always have at least three items." you protest.

"What do you want to do?" Seth questioned, moving a little closer to you two. Your mind was consumed by anger and scattered thoughts, making it difficult to focus. Alphonse scanned your face as you thought, seeing that this wasn't helpful, he threw out an option, hoping this would alleviate decision-making stress.

"Do you want to go to the store and pick up something pre-made to hand out tomorrow?" he proposed softly. You shot him a cold glare that could kill.

"Ok, ok." he threw his hands up.

"They're looking forward to my baking. They specifically requested my catering again." you expound. As you continued to mumble about the quality of store-bought goods, Alphonse looked across the kitchen. The countertop was littered with ingredients and the sink was on the brim of overflowing with dirty dishes. He glanced over at the clock, which read 10:09 pm.

"Ok, well, it's gettin' late, do you want to try and make another batch?" he questioned.

"I don't have enough eggs or butter to make another batch," you state.

The kitchen was uncomfortably silent for a few moments, the smell of burnt defeat loomed in the air above you three.

"Gimme a list Sugar, I'll head out and grab whatever you need," Seth spoke up.

"Yeah, and while he's out, I'll help clean up the kitchen!" Al said eagerly. The heavy frustration that lingered in your chest finally fizzled out, and a tired fuzziness settling in your system took its place. Your face turns into a downward smile and despite your best efforts, you can't stop the tears that are flowing down your cheeks.

"Oh Boo," Al chuckles, scooping you into a bear hug.

"You know we're here for you," Seth joins the hug, wrapping his arms tightly around the both of you.

"I love you guys so much," you sniffle into their chests.

"Okok," Al says, gently pulling you away from his chest, a hand slides down to the small of your back as he tilts his head to look at your tear-stained face.

"Why don't you go take a hot shower to relax babe, it's going to be a minute before everything is ready for you," he said placing a smooch on your forehead.

"mmk," you sniff, handing your apron to Al before shuffling your way upstairs.

"I still need that list..." Seth mumbled as he watched you disappear.

"That's alright man, we can look at the recipe and figure out what they need," Al said, cracking knuckles.

Seth knew he'd have to find a convenience store to pick up all the necessary ingredients, given grocery stores would be closing at this time of the night. He finally found a 7-Eleven and pulled into the parking lot. As he stood next to his bike rubbing his hands together and blowing into them to regain warmth, he mentally reviewed the list he and Al had made.

Fuck, why do all convenience stores have to have such bright lights? He thought as he entered the shop squinting. He made quick work and gathered everything on his checklist. Just as he was about to check out, a neon sign caught his eye toward the back of the store. He wandered over to the refrigerated display cases. I'll never understand why they enjoy this stuff, it's just battery acid in a fancy can. He thought to himself as he picked up your favorite energy drink.

You sat on the floor of your shower, enjoying the steaming water pouring over your back as your muscles relaxed. How incredibly lucky were you to have two amazing people taking care of you? As the warm water eventually ran out, you reluctantly stepped out of the shower and wrapped yourself in a towel. You tiptoed out of the bathroom and made your way to your room to slip into some comfy clothes. You let out a sigh of relief at the feeling of the soft fabric against your skin. The mere thought of putting on jeans again made you feel suffocated and discouraged as if you were about to embark on a daunting task. As you rubbed the towel through your hair one last time, you heard the faint sound of the front door opening, followed by the crinkling of bags. Now that the red cloud of frustration wasn't blinding your every thought, you were able to reflect upon the disappointing batch of custardy treats. Descending the stairs slowly, you carefully pondered every detail before devising a new plan that you hoped would result in a perfectly crafted batch of delicious treats. As you rounded the corner back to the kitchen, which was now sparkling clean, Seth caught your eyes and held up your favorite energy drink with a big toothy grin.

"I got this for ya since I figured you'd be stayin' up pretty late."

This man truly knew the way to your heart.

You walked over to where he stood and took the can before cupping the side of his face and placing a big kiss on his cheek.

"Aw look at you tryin' to score brownie points," Al smirked.

The evening drew on, and the boys did the best they could to stay awake with you as you baked the night away. Eventually, Al had to tap out and go to bed, not before promising to help package all the goodies the next morning. Seth was not too far behind, he was practically half-asleep at the kitchen table when you told him you had it all handled, and that he should go to bed. Exhaustion started to prick at your mind, the effects of your caffeinated beverage were wearing off as the last few minutes of the oven's timer ticked down.

As you pulled out the tray filled with perfectly baked Canelés, a tremendous wave of relief and satisfaction washed over you. The feeling only intensified as you cautiously removed each pastry from its molds, revealing a beautiful amber caramel coating. They looked as if they had just come from a French bakery. You lazily cleaned a few items around the counter before calling it quits, there'd be time tomorrow to deal with this mess. Grateful to finally be done, you dragged yourself to bed and collapsed in between your boys, nuzzling your face in between Seth's shoulder and draping an arm over his side. Just as you were about to drift off, you felt Alphonse slide up behind you, your back now flush against his chest as he rubbed your arm sleepily.

"m'love you Boo..." he whispered against your neck before falling back into a deep sleep.

Hours later, you woke up and reached out, expecting to find someone by your side, but the bed was completely empty. Confused, you sat up and rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the grogginess of sleep. Panic started to rise in your chest as you checked your phone to see that the festivities were starting in fifteen minutes. Despite your time constraint, you couldn't help but spend the extra minute to throw together a cute outfit, before running downstairs. You were slightly out of breath when you reached the festival, which was set up around the heart of town, near Al's shop. Your pace crawled to a halt as you spotted Seth standing beside a table with his back to you. The boys had chosen a charming tablecloth that complemented the decor of the foldout table. They'd packaged and arranged the three batches of baked goodies, aligning them neatly for folks to grab them and go. You snuck up behind him and slipped your arms around his waist, resting your chip on his shoulder.

"Well hey there sleepin' beauty, or should I say baking beauty?" he chuckled at his own joke, to which you roll your eyes. You turn to the sound of another familiar voice,

"How'd you sleep Boo?" Alphonse asked, handing you an iced caramel latte, your favorite.

"Oooo! I'm definitely gonna need this," you say happily taking the coffee from your boyfriend.

"Look who's trying to score brownie points now," Seth mumbled sassily.

"Honestly, I slept pretty good!" You say, taking a quick sip,

"Seth's snoring is like the perfect white noise, it lulls me right to sleep," you giggle.

"You guys are seriously the best," You set your latte down and then wrap your arms around each of them, pulling them close to give them a little kiss.

"I couldn't have done this without you."

°°••….••°°°°••….••°°°°••….••°°

The End <3

#yuurivoice #yuurivoice fandom #yuurivoice stuff #yuurivoice alphonse #yuurivoice fanfic #yuurivoice seth #yv fanfic #fanfic #fluff #writting #alphonse yuurivoice #seth yuurivoice #yuurivoice sugarboo #poly #sourlemonsprout

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margareth-lv · 1 year ago

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👙 Maternity shapewear tips 👙

To write what you find below, I was inspired by @auburncurlslass's post about Caitríona losing her breath during an interview in spring 2016.

(TV Guide Magazine & Starz Celebration of Outlander season two on 30 March 2016).

We are talking about THIS interview ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Firstly, you cannot help noticing that the normally thin, slender Caitriona has become considerably 'bloated'

[Even 'Just Jared' is still publishing this picture, I copied it this morning]

Well, if you have that kind of bloating from a 'period' or from 'overeating', you should see a doctor, shouldn't you?

❓

Secondly, it is impossible not to notice that Caitríona was not feeling well. She clearly fainted and only Sam responded.

*** *** ***

So the subject for today is:

Caitríona’s range of maternity & nursing underwear shapewear.

Bottomless topic. The first time I thought there might be something about Caitríona's motherhood was in the fight scene in the third series, after a furious Laoghaire had burst into Lallybroch.

What is that strange piece of underwear in the nude that is sticking out from under her shirt?

Caitríona never seemed to have a problem with 'not wearing a bra' under her 18th century shirt, so why this flesh-coloured lycra, so vividly reminiscent of the underwear I used when I was breastfeeding?

So many questions, so few answers.

💁🏻‍♀️

*** *** *** And what about the nude spanx panties for the LOUIS VUITTON dress at the premiere of Money Monster on 16 May 2016 during the 69th Cannes Film Festival, a month and a half after she fainted at the premiere of Outlander?

*** *** *** And these clasps that have clearly been moved to make the waist wider ⬇️⬇️⬇️

I wouldn't have noticed it myself, but doesn't a seam mark on smooth velvet always catch your eye if you know where to look?

[Season 3 premiere in New York City on September 05, 2017]

*** *** ***

Luckily, Caitríona doesn't have to change into Spanx maternity wear most of the time. Eighteenth century dresses hide any 'bloating'.

��🏻

Thanks again @auburncurlslass for the inspiration and the idea!

*** *** ***

PS. Please bear in mind that the pregnancy in season 6 was Caitríona's first ever. Before that she was just suffering from bloating and drinking too much beer or something.

[January 10, 2024]

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somethingclevermahogony · 17 days ago

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Hello everyone! This is the next entry in a "guide" I'm creating here on my blog for one of the cities in my WIP, Labisa. To see chapter one click here.

Here are some other posts that you may want to check out : Intro, Language, Phrases, Food Pt1, Food Pt2, Maps, Magic, Status Symbols, Labisa Tour, MC intro.

This is a long one folks so I'm splitting it into two parts.

Btw the pottery images here come from the app Pottery 2.

Chapter 2: The Markets and the Humbalibal Festival Part 1

At the end of the olive harvest when the city of Labisa holds its annual Humbalibal Festival in honor of the city's patron goddess, the place to be is not in the grand halls and inumeral rooms of the palace, but rather in the twisting maze of streets, market stalls, beer halls, street performers that the people of Labisa call, Enun Tu-Shet Tabun, The 26 Streets.

While the palace complex serves as the political, military, and manufacturing core of Labisa and the lands it governs, if you want to learn about the people and culture it is essential to visit the markets. Visiting during the Humbalibal Festival provides the added benefit of getting to meet an learn more about the thousands of foreign visitors who pour into the city for the celebration, providing a glimpse into the hundreds of cultures that make up the Green Sea and beyond.

In this guide, we’ll walk you through one day in the 26 Streets during the height of the Humbalibal Festival using a hypothetical scenario to introduce you to the sounds, sights, and oddities of Kishetal's largest city.

Continues Below!

Part 1: Entering Labisa

If you are not a Kishite from another city-state or a Makurian, chances are you arrived in Labisa via boat, landing at the bustling docks, the largest and most prosperous freshwater port in the Green Sea. Around you, people carry a variety of goods, from grain and livestock to copper ingots, jewelry, weaponry, and even exotic beasts like tigers and ostriches.

You spy a cage with a rarakalu (yap dog), a strange magical creature more closely related to hyenas than actual canines. These creatures are able to perfectly imitate human speech, quite eerily, in their native arboreal habitat where they swing with prehensile tails. But this one has been captured and is now being used for entertainment. You feel a twinge of pity for the creature as it belts out an Ikopeshi sailing song at the behest of its purple-haired master, but before you can think more about the topic, you are beckoned towards the city by the man who brought you here. After all, you paid good money to see this festival.

You are far from the only person entering the city. During the days before the festival, hundreds of people are guided through the Serpent Gates, so called because of the two massive stone-horned serpents that stand guard on either side of the grand cedar doors. Before you even enter the city you catch a glimpse of three great hills. The largest is the palatial hill, atop which stands the palace of Labisa, a city unto itself. The second is the Temple Hill, topped by the sprawling Temple of Humbalibal, the largest temple dedicated to a Kishite deity in the entirety of the Green Sea. Even from here you can smell the burning of sacred herbs and meats, and see the column of smoke rising from the great stone altar.

The last and smallest hill is not a hill at all, but a manmade structure, the Tomb of Tamel. This gargantuan structure is the resting place of the city's founder, the demigod Tamel. The trees growing on the tomb are fig, date, and pear. Visitors to Labisa often pay to purchase these fruits from the priests. It is believed that using one of the fruits from Tamel’s tomb for a sacrifice or offering will serve to better win the favor of the gods.

There will be time to gawk at the Tomb later, your guide reminds you. He insists on pushing you past the Grand Square where the Tomb resides. You catch glimpses of dancers dressed in animal furs or else draped in copper bells, men banging on drums, and strange forest folk with horns and tusks. The delicious smells of dough and tiny fish frying in freshly pressed olive oil waft from the little huts and stands that have been propped up in the square to feed eager visitors. These pleasant smells mix with the less pleasant aromas of the city.

You're hurried forward down the main street, past priests and priestesses and prostitutes calling down at you from the windows of brothels. A chariot rumbles past you, its owner dressed in his bronze armor, polished for the festival.

Your guide brings you to a beer hall, the place where you will be staying. As the name suggests, the primary function of a beer hall is to serve beer. Throughout Kishetal, beer has traditionally been brewed and sold by women. Labisa alone has 19 beer halls, all but one of which, including this one, are run by women. These halls typically serve five varieties of beer (see below) and may also serve some food, though not always. This particular beer hall is owned by a woman by the name of Huma who has agreed to board and feed you for the next couple of nights, for a small fee of course. Your guide has already taken care of this.

Aruhakishar/Akishar: (Aruha- Dry, Kisharu- Beer) Unadulterated, typically plain beer, this sort of beer is the basis for the other varieties. These vary from brewer to brewer and can differ greatly in terms of strength, flavor, color, etc. This tends to be the cheapest option. Ishkishar: (Isha- Sour/Bitter Kisharu- Beer) Aruhakishar typically with the addition of various herbs, nuts, and even minerals. This beer is typically seen as invigorating, good for lifting the energy and strengthening the resolve against wicked spirits. Few people drink this casually. Wakishar: (Wawa- Sweet, Kisharu- Beer) Similar to the above but rather than the addition of herbs to promote bitter and sour flavors, this variety of beer is typically sweetened with the addition of various sweeteners, most often date syrups, honey, and fruits like fig. These tend to be the most well-liked variety of beer and fall in the middle when it comes to price. Olikishar/Olkishar: (Oli- Blood/Red, Kisharu- Beer) This variety of beer is similar to Wakishar but is flavored specifically with the addition of red fruit, like pomegranate, cherry, and various mountainous berry, giving it that crimson appearance. Some beer halls may add other additives to increase this sanguine appearance. Depending on the quality, this may be the most expensive variety of beer sold at a hall. Ihikishar/ Ihiki: (Ihi- Giggle (haha), Kisharu-Beer) This particular variety of beer is not sold in all halls and tends to be the most expensive, and is viewed among the common folk as more of a treat. This beer can be any of the above with addition of the treated oil of the magical Kasikur plant, also known as jit(from a Forestfolk word). Drinking jit mixed with wine may cause various effects, most commonly a slight high, similar to cannabis. However the use of jit is highly regulated as its magical effects, when consumed in sufficient amounts can have dangerous and bizarre effects.

It's already quite late and you have a busy day tomorrow. Before bed, Huma gives you a bowl of what seems to be a mixture of leftover Akishar and Wakishar, producing a mildly sweet if somewhat dull drinking experience. For food, you are given a large piece of barley bread, some olives, a hunk of unsalted goat's cheese which may be slightly past its prime, and some chakun from the butcher next door. Chakun is typically made from pig or lamb skin, fried in its own fat and then seasoned with salt and herbs. This is somewhat comparable to "cracklins" or chicharrons. Labisian cuisine in general holds an appreciation for crispy or crunchy textures that is relatively unique among Kishite city-states.

After eating you are brought to the underground cellar, the ground little more than dirt and reeds, where the large pots holding beer and grain are kept. You are not the only guest staying there. There are two Korithians, a Baalic man, and a Makurian. You mostly keep to yourselves as you settle onto the piles of reed and old cloth which Huma has provided for you beds. The Makurian introduces himself as Jerat, and explains that he comes the Tijik Tribe who inhabit the lands east of the Red Cedar Mountains. You both speak the Labisian dialect of Kishite as this is the most commonly taught dialect outside of Kishetal, alongside the Chibalic dialect. Jerat informs you that he was in the city for the previous festival when the current king, Akard, dethroned and killed his uncle Hutbari. He is happy to report that since Akard has become the king the city seems to be much cleaner and he wonders what the new king's conquests around Lake Shebali will mean for the festival. After a bit more pleasant conversation, you dim the olive oil lamps and go to sleep.

IMPORTANT: When talking to Makurians, it is best not to call them Makurians. Makur (Or Makia in Korithian) is the term used by Kishites and Shabalans to designate the lands east of Kishetal and north of Baban, Jezaan, and Ukkaria. In truth "Makur" accounts for a gigantic swath of land and is home to hundreds of different groups and cultures, each unique in their own right. Bonus Fact: Makur derives from the Shabalic word for east, maku.

Part 2: Starting Your Day

You are roused by the sound of singing outside in the streets. The first of many processions making its way from Temple Hill to the base of the Great Tomb. The last and grandest procession will come from the Palace and will be led by the King and his closest lords. You and your sleeping companions stumble out of the cellar to see what the fuss is all about.

This particular procession comes from the temple of Kimaba, goddess of the oven and of bread. As the small collection of priestesses and priests march down the road, they pour barley grains on the ground in supplication to the ground, unintentionally feeding the rather fat flock of birds which circles behind them. They sing ancient stories, in this instance the tale of the demigod Lat and his lover, Uridush. They carried aloft a statue of the goddess, the four-armed figure draped in the pelts of the temple guard dogs, collected upon each dog's passing and hung around the statue to fend off mischievous spirits. A few people rush forward to pluck hairs from the pelts as it is believed that adding these to grain will help to preserve them. In order to preserve these revered artifacts, one particularly sour-faced priestess wacks at anyone that comes close with a large cedar rod. A group of boys dare one another to get as close to the rod as possible, all fun and games, until one boy finds himself not quite fast enough and is left sniffling and enduring the teasing of his peers while rubbing the welt forming on his back.

Bonus Fact: Throughout Kishite History there have been several demigods or spiritbloods. The most famous of these was Tamel. Other famous demigods include the hunter Lat, the boar-headed demigod Hu(u)m, and the pirate Kilala. Still living figures like Mikrab the Mad and The War Queen Batricca often feature in songs and tall-tales.

As the procession passes on you duck back into the beer hall for a morning meal. You are not the only one, festival goers and locals alike are seated on the various benches and chairs. You are given the breakfast of choice, "gokigu", a mixture of stewed and mashed barley, old beer, and a thick variety of yogurt called ishjir. For the price of cleaning some bowls, Huma also adds a drizzle of honey and a sprinkling of black pepper to your bowl.

You ask some of the locals seated nearby where you should go first and they suggest you visit the Hall of Gods via the Dyer and Fishermonger's Streets. With a plan in place you leave the beer hall and start your day.

Part 3: The 26 Streets and the Hall of Gods

Though the market district is called "The 26 Streets", this is a bit of a misnomer. Many of these so-called "streets" actually fall on different sections of the Road of Tamel, which leads from the Tomb of Tamel to the Palatial Hill, with parts of the market then branching off from the main road to places like the Temple Hill. While to the untrained eye, the lay out of the markets may seem uneven and chaotic, in truth they are highly regulated by the palace, with each kind of business/trade limited to its own district. This serves not only to make issues of taxation easier, but in theory serves as a sort of consumer protection. By putting all of the options for a certain trade in close proximity, it allows potential customers to look around and make their own judgements before buying.

Palatial officials regularly inspect the districts in order to insure that no one is trying to sell outside of their approved district and to collect fees and taxes relating to breeches in law or conduct. One of these officials are properly referred to as an Uhwaku but you are more likely to hear store owners and locals refer to them as Tidiku or simply Tidi which means "Rat man" or "Rat", as they "steal" your grain.

The "streets" are as follows:

The Potter's Street

The Perfumer's Street

The Weaver's Street

The Butcher's Street

The Slaver's Street,

The Bronzesmith's Street

The Coppersmith’s Street

The Carver's Street

the Brewer's Street

The Vintner's Street

The Jeweller's Street

The Plantbrew's Street

The Scribe's Street

the Ropemaker's Street

The Tanner's Street

The Spicer's Street

The Painter's Street

The Dyer's Street

The Stonemason's Street

The Fishmonger's Street

The Carpenter's Street

The Basketweaver’s Street

The Papermaker's Street

The Musicians’ Street

The Farmer’s Street

The Candlemaker’s Street.

CAUTION: Before starting your adventure make sure that you have strong bottomed footwear. Though much has been improved in terms of sanitation since the reign of the previous king, particularly with the cavernous underground waste tunnels being properly tended, the streets are still far from clean. Broken pottery, animal feces, and other refuse are common on the streets and the last thing you need on your big trip is a cut or worse an infection.

The Butcher's Street

Your beer hall falls on the boundary between the Butcher's Street and the Farmer's Street. As the name suggests the Butcher's Street is where the majority of the city's meat is processed though it is also where products made from bone or horn can be purchased. The Farmer's Street is where produce as well as game from outside of the city is sold, it is the largest of the markets but it also one of the least well-suited for visitors such as yourself, as the traders there have little time to entertain your prodding and questioning. Luckily for you, the path to Hall of Gods takes you through the Butcher's Street.

Its still relatively earlier, which means the stalls are still well stocked. Goat, horned-rabbits, pork, mutton, and waterfowl are hung proudly for passers by to inspect and haggle for. Children paid in sausages and scraps swat away at the insistent flies with paddles made from reeds and horse hair. You won't find any chickens here as they have yet to be introduced in great quantity to this part of the world. Cattle is also another rarity, such creatures being far too valuable for consumption for any but the most elite.

You stop to inspect one stall one the owner sees you and approaches with a spoon which he claims is carved from a ram's horn. The carvings etched into the blood are quite well-done if not somewhat basic. Aside from metals, horn is perhaps the most revered material for spoons in Kishite society and owning a well-made horn spoon is a sign of status, particularly one from a well-grown ram or bull rather than a horned rabbit. Perhaps it could even be worth the exorbitant price he's asking (two silver coins). But are you confident in your ability to identify what is actually horn and if so, to haggle the price down?

Mini Lesson #1: Haggling and Money

Coins are still a new innovation in Kishetal, only being adopted a few decades before your visit. Much of the city still uses barter, though unless you have some grain or other valuables hidden up your sleeve, coins are probably your best course. While there are specific Labisian coins, any coin or even an equivalent amount of the raw metal will work for trade.

Haggling is a regular part of life in the markets and most shop-owners expect it. This can come as somewhat of a shock for people from places like Baalkes and Koritha where the prices are typically final. However, before you start randomly throwing out prices, you should know that haggling has a highly structured form that should be followed if you wish to reach a reasonable price.

1) The seller will offer an initial price, usually around twice to four times as much as they actually expect to receive. Do you like this spoon? Its horn, well-made. I will give it(this) to you in exchange for two sy(i)sbakip. Dagakila itdili fada? Jir ga, dasamigutas. Tukiwad dab fada lutuki se sisbakun. 2) You must thank them for their offer and inspect the offered item. Even if you have already looked at the item before being given the price, you should do so again. A thirty second inspection should be sufficient before offering your first counter offer. Thank you, can I see it? Oldab, hiwa ikab ekkiwaz irab? 3) After you inspect the item give a counter price, go low, perhaps about half of what you actually intend to pay. Do not go too low or you risk insulting the other person. Remember that this should be the lowest offer you give. Offer an explanation why the initial price is too much. What about (instead) three zubakips? I am a foreigner (m/f) and I do not have much (I have not much). Ekdowa kala ba zubakun? Wa zuluku/zuluma al nadana kudiwa.

After this, the exchange can be less regimented as you can go back and forth on the price. Be aware though that some sellers can be quite stubborn and some haggling matches can last hours. If you decide that trade is not worth it, bow your head and apologize and be on your way.

Mini Lesson #2: Thunderstep

With your spoon (or not) secured, it's time to continue on your way. You pass by more stalls and shops, a few owners try to lure you in with the promise of cheap or other high-quality products, waving about sausages and roasts. You manage to resist the temptation and continue onward. The street expands into a small plaza. Statues and styles surround you, including a new one which depicts the victory of the new king over the city of Naloch and its allies. The carving of King Akard, dressed in royal regalia with the Ram-horned goddess at his side, stands above you, carved in sandstone.

Four streets branch off from this plaza, including the one you just came from. The ever-growing smell of fish indicates that the path forward is to the west. Before you can get there, however, you find your path blocked by a large swell of people. You strain to see what they are looking at when you hear (and feel) something strange. You look up to search for clouds but find nothing but the blue sky stretching endlessly. Then you hear it again, a rolling boom that you can feel vibrate through your entire body. It comes again and again, each boom coming in ever rapid succession. It is only then that you realize that what you are listening to is music. You push forward from the crowd to the front. There you find a large platform, its exact construction is a mystery to you. But you have little time to ponder on the platform before you finally find the source of the music. Two Kishite women, bare save for the green paint adorning their arms, chest, and belly as well as the thin ribbons of red fabric tied to their wrists and ankles, are leaping and spinning around one another. They look at the crowd with exaggerated facial expressions, grimacing, grinning, and rolling their eyes. Each time one of their feet hits the platform it produces one of those loud booms. A third woman seated on the edge of the platform plucks at a lyre-like instrument and sings a song about the Hoopoe King.

You have stumbled upon a Thunderstep/Stormstep performance. The style of theater combines dance with music and song to tell a simple narrative. The dances are performed on specially made hollow wooden platforms, producing loud thundering sounds, thus giving the style of theater its name. Thunderstep originates from the pre-Kishite inhabitants of the peninsula, specifically the Karaki people who once inhabited the region where the Kishite city of Seha sits now. Thunderstep has historically been dominated by women, and more often, women are in romantic relationships as this is believed to improve their performances. Thunderstep has been banned off and on throughout Labisa's history, most recently by the previous King Hutbari. Luckily for you, King Akard legalized such performances yet again.

As the performance finishes, people place bronze coins, fruits, and other trinkets and small objects on the stage. You are free to do so yourself.

NOTE: Place your offering on the stage; do not throw it. Throwing it may cause another boom and is viewed as disruptive. Do not try to get the performer's attention as this will almost certainly earn you some annoyed glances from other members of the audience.

The Fishmonger's Street

As you approach the Fishmonger's street, the smell of fish and rot intensifies, there is perhaps a reason why you see fewer foreigners there. As you near the first shop you are waved down by an older woman seated before a large bronze inlaid chest. She holds out her hand expectantly and demands a single bronze coin.

One bronze. Ku Zubakip.

As you try to ponder what exactly she wants, another person slips around you and places a coin in her hand. She nods and hands the man a small clay vial, no larger than your thumb. The man pours the contents in his hand and then smears it over his mustache before walking into the fishmarket.

The woman turns back to you, raising her hand once again. After a moment of hesitation you hand her a bronze and she places a vial in your hand.

You do as the man before you did, though a bit more conservatively, and apply some of the contents to your upper lip. The effect is eye-wateringly intense. Its a perfume, highly potent. Rosemary and pine resin dominate. The purpose becomes immediately clear as the intensity of the perfume means you can no longer smell the fish, or much of anything.

Continuing into the market, you find locals buying fish caught in Lake Shebali; small minnows, trout, carp, eels, and more. Someone has caught a massive sturgeon and is now auctioning it off bit by bit to a jostling group of customers. At another stand, people crowd around to gawk at a rare import from the west: oysters and scallops. Some bid, not for the meat, which is far too expensive and will almost certainly end up at the table of nobles, but rather for the shells.

In between the shops and stands selling fish are homes. Outside some of these, the owners sit with small portable clay ovens and grills, offering to cook up the purchases of passing shoppers. However, you are still full from your breakfast and decide to move on. The sellers here are somewhat less aggressive than those on the Butcher's Street. Soon enough, you come to the base of a small hill, far smaller than those previously mentioned. At the top of the hill is what you initially mistake for a temple, its walls carved and painted with grand murals of conquests in foreign lands. You have found the Hall of Gods.

The Hall of Gods

You enter the hall and find yourself surrounded on all sides by statues of deities, their styles varying wildly. Some are simple, little more than columns with faces carved into their curved surfaces, others are animalistic, others are quite abstract. There is no rhyme or reason in their ordering. There is only one thing that all of these strange statues have in common: none of them are Kishite.

This is not a temple, it is a trophy room. The deities which surround you are captives, taken from their native lands during the wars and conquests of Labisian kings, starting with Tamel. Fifty-seven statues and idols can be found in total. Ikopeshi, Apunian, Makurian, Korithian, Baalkic, and more are all represented. Perhaps you spot a deity from your own homeland.

Workers on ladders work to fix cracks and apply fresh paint to the strange faces. As you contemplate one of the statues, you feel a hand on your shoulder and turn to find yourself face to face with a Labisian guard. You are steered out of the hall and initially assume that you must have done something wrong, but it is then that you see the procession of priests approaching the Hall. You have done nothing wrong, you were merely in the way. This particular procession, banging at bronze bells and wailing, belongs to the temple of the war god Orikki. The head of their orders holds up a dragon bone spear, as old as the city itself. Two men lead jackals with leather leashes. Gripped in their other hands are gold-sheathed knives. As they enter the hall, the doors are shut behind them. Unfortunately (or perhaps not so unfortunately) you, as a foreigner, are not permitted to see the rituals they are about to perform.

The Lower City

With exploring more of the hall out of the question, you decide to follow the road to the part of the market that seems busiest, though you have little interest in cutting back through the Fishmonger's Street. You soon enter the Lower City, so called because of its elevation in comparison to the Palatial and Temple Hills, not its location on the map. The Lower City is made up of many small, cramped hovels of mudbrick and straw, interconnected through various doors and halls to form a sort of hive. There is no such thing as a private home in the Lower City. A man could walk from one end of the district to the other without ever stepping onto the street. Peasants lie on their roofs, chatting, trading, and playing games of dice. Unlike the rest of the city, many here are practically nude, dressed in little save for a loincloth (besawi), some wear even less than this. Nudity is far less of a taboo in Kishetal compared to many other regions.

There are far fewer travelers here than in any other part of the city you have been to thus far, for it is where the city's poorest live. There are no statues, only a stele or two, the beer halls are puny, and there are no shops. Yet as you walk you find people smiling at you and waving. A few old men try to beckon you over for beer and dice. Though far from perfect, the lives of the least fortunate have improved tremendously since the assassination of the old king. Of course, this does not stop the children on the street from calling themselves Narul or Princess Ninma as they go about their games.

You almost don't want to leave as you hear the bustle and noise of the markets up ahead.

The Weaver's, Perfumer's, and Potter's Districts

The transition from the Lower City to Weaver Street is jarring. These three streets are some of the largest and the most visited of the 26 streets. Visitors rush to gawk at and purchase bits and pieces of Lebanese clothing or textiles. Garments of imported Mu silk, Apunian linen, and Kishite wool of every color are waved by enthusiastic shop owners and hawkers seated in front of the flat-topped brick and wood buildings that function as stores, workshops, and homes. Unlike the plain mudbrick homes of the Lower City, the shops here are colorfully painted with whites, blues, reds, and greens, in the hopes that their bright tones will draw in curious patrons. The pungent smell of dye lay over the district like a blanket and the squeals and clicks of the looms and wheels fought to be heard over the many chattering voices. Unless you plan on buying something and are prepared to haggle its best that you do not look at any of the wares for too long, lest you attract the attention of an overly zealous seller.

Through the dye and the ever-present stench of the city, something more appealing catches your attention. The smell of frying dough. One of the shops selling wool tunics (sakalu) is also selling fried dough stuffed with sheep's cheese (Hasolikip). The shop, it seems, is run by a mother and daughter, both dressed in rust-colored fur coats and tunics, despite the heat. The daughter tends to the cloaks while the mother tends to the bubbling pan of sheep's fat. Your stomach growls, and you approach the woman to order a treat, but she simply points to her daughter. The daughter informs you that the pastries are free, so long as you buy a tunic. Her accent is odd, as are her proportions, her arms are longer than they should be and her shoulders broader. What you assumed was a coat was not a coat at all, but rather a thick layer of fur growing across most of her body, save her face and hands. These two are Hillfolk. More specifically, they are Uteshites who have come from their home in the hills to sell their wares for the festival.

Fun Fact: The Hillfolk are fur-covered beings often naturally capable of very minor magic (true magic, not sagecraft, a competent human sage is typically capable of far greater magical feats, though with the drawback of physiological and psychological wear and tear). They are one of the Awakened Races alongside humans and giants. They are genetically and phenotypically most similar to the now extinct Stonefolk, and this can be seen in their typically short and broad physique. They are differentiated by their covering of fur, which can vary in color and texture in a similar nature to human head hair, and by their sixth digit found on each hand. It is not unusual for Hillfolk living in human settlements to shave their bodies in an attempt to fit in. Across Hillfolk cultures, a love of perfume and of combs is almost universal. The largest Hillfolk culture inhabiting the land now called Kishetal, are the Uteshites.

After considerable haggling and indecision, you finally agree to buy a tunic, white with green trim, and quickly also get a pastry. The pastry is split open and stuffed with a mixture of cheese, honey, and pistachio. The Labisian love of fried foods may not be particularly healthy, but it is delicious. You quickly finish your snack, your new tunic draped over your shoulder, and continue onward.

As you pass into the Perfumer's district, the smell of dye is quickly overwhelmed by a headache-inducing mélange of fragrances. Jugs and bottles of dozens of sizes, from the size of a child’s palm to the height of a grown man, line the street. Images have been painted on their surface to advertise their contents. Perfume is of immense importance throughout the lands of the Green Sea, but especially in Kishetal. No person leaves their home without first scenting themselves; slaves are typically the only exception. Indeed, among some peoples, like the Makurians and the Korithians, the Kishite people were thought of as feminine for their love of perfume, adornment, and their extravagant bathing practices. Even the presence of public toilets was at times considered to be unduly opulent.

Any combination of the scents listed below (and more) can be found. Certain shops may even allow you to combine perfumes to create your own bespoke scent. Each shop marks the jars and bottles containing their product with their own personal stamp, pressed into the clay while it was still soft. Just cataloging these stamps would take hours to complete.

Common Scents/Ingredients in Kishite Perfume: Rose Haasir (Fireflower) Peach Blossom Apple Blossom Thyme Rosemary Jasmine Cedar Myrrh Pine Lavender Fennel Lotus Dill Iris Pomegranate Cinnamon Cardamom Corriander Saffron Beeswax Clove Musk

Above: An example of a Kishite Stamp used to signify the origin of goods like perfume.

Well you could spend hours looking and sniffing the vast array of perfumes, you find your head is beginning to hurt. Perhaps its best to get away from all of these potent smells for now.

To finish this first part of the guide, we'll quickly introduce you to some of the sorts of pottery you might find in the Potter's Street.

You quickly move onwards towards the Potter's Street. Soon enough, the smell of rose and cinnamon declines, replaced by the earthy scent of clay and the sharp tang of kiln smoke. Potters line the streets, hawking their wares, hands stained with the rich red brown of freshly fired earth and glaze. From tiny, ornate perfume bottles to massive pithoi, many of which you recognize from the previous district. Some of the pots, jugs, and jars are adorned with intricate designs, some depicting scenes of daily life, others abstract patterns that seem to dance around the curves of the vessels, still others are unglazed, fiery orange or ashy gray.

Many of the ceramics being sold here were originally created for other purposes. Korithian and Apunian wine amphora, once used to ship expensive wines across the Green Sea, are now empty. A keen eye might recognize a royal pithoi, likely thrown away by the Palace, the crack in its side hastily patched by the merchant that found it. The merchant approaches you eagerly but you aren't in a position to be carrying around much of any sort of pottery, much less an entire pithoi (this one being larger than you). You politely decline and go on inspecting the wares of the various shops.

Each region produces their own distinct shapes and decorative traditions. Below are some examples: A Labisian Oil Jug

An Apunian Wine Amphora

A Korithian Water Jug

An Ukarrian Beer Mixing Bowl

A Burric (Eastern Kishite) Perfume Bottle

If you've read this far, thank you! Stay posted for Part 2, coming soon! (I am also going to try to post some story relevant content soon rather than just worldbuilding)

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