#Sleeping Beauty Magic Anon

[dxwnxdusk]

Shifting through the artifact cave after finally being allowed. She’d felt a burning agitation at being held back from doing one of her main duties. She had to grow familiarized with the artifacts if she was to preserve them and keep them organized. A heavy task before her.  Especially with how much it has become. She can feel the bead of sweat roll down the side of her face, the iconic eye twitch before she slips her cheongsam on, abandoning her normal hanfu outfits in favor of something more simple. Moving through the area is a bit difficult but she manages to get started with setting up area’s. Taking the large artifacts first and setting them in a manner that’s more fitting. Cleaning them is a bit of a harder task. A heavy sigh as she shakes her claws a bit after managing the time consuming task. And she’s only partway through! Can you believe it!? She begins working with the smaller objects. She finds that some act like jewelry, perhaps to be worn? Surely though that was easier to put away in smaller boxes. Getting the labels carved into the edges of the boxes is harder. As if making the small stands for the moment. She won’t deny that from the entrance is harder to see all the progress she’s been making. Though walking past that large mountain of items she’d yet to sort through one could see the gentle care poured into the room, segments that have been cleaned and look pristine. Balanced on one of the step stools to help her get to higher segments. She squeaks when the mountain shakes. Struggling for equilibrium she falls down, hitting one of the boxes on her way down as her claws grasp for anything to not fall down. Grumbling as she gets her footing barely so she doesn’t fall flat on her face, tail swinging for equilibrium. She notes that one artifact has begun glowing. Maybe the mountain shake (probably caused by Her King and His Successor training) had caused it to activate? The rest scattered around begin to faintly chime in response. “....Oh.”

A shock wave invisible to the naked eye. Pure magic ripples over the area as the artifacts stop glowing. A snow white figure drops into the scattered artifacts. As if she’d slipped. An awkward angle as she lays against one of the smaller piles of the artifacts she’d yet to get organized. Markings faintly glowing as her magic swirls at the edges of her vision. The world turns black and her body goes limp. Head tilting back as pale violet eyes close. Well this would be a sight for whoever found her passed out in the artifact cave.

[lilyoffandoms]

What do you love the most about fall weather?

Walking on a crisp, misty morning along the water while the leaves crunch under my feet and the birds sing their early morning songs and not a single sole besides me is there to bear witness it.

[somedayonbroadway]

ngl i’m obsessed with the idea of a sleeping beauty (sprace) au

Sleeping Beauty AU

Well then I hope you enjoy this working first chapter. To be honest, it came as a shock to me too. I hope you enjoy!

It was a party, a huge celebration spreading throughout the kingdom, far and wide. Everyone was invited and welcome to meet the new pride and joy of Manhattan. There was an orchestra inside in the throne room, playing a lullaby as a newborn baby wailed in his crib.

Jankin stood over the babe, watching him with a distinct curiosity. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this close to a human child, so small and vulnerable. The boy was sobbing and Jankin had half a mind to use his wand to get the boy to sleep until those crystal blue eyes caught sight of him. The sobs quieted down and those tiny hands gasped at the air between him and the fairy above him. The child babbled and wiggled around, making Jankin tilt his head.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” the queen whispered beside Jankin who was yanked out of his thoughts to nod.

“Yes, my queen,” he smiled forcefully. Jankin had never been one to smile much. He wasn’t here for pleasantries or chocolate. The fairy was here to protect, just as he’d been doing for years. “Beautiful.” And small, and vulnerable. The young fairy had no idea how humans grew up without magic. This child wouldn’t last a day if it weren’t for the blessing Jankin would soon bestow on him.

“Oh, here comes his betrothed,” the queen smiled eagerly as a young boy from the neighboring kingdom of Brooklyn, no older than five, grimaced over the child in the crib, clearly disgusted by him in some way. Jankin did not know why, but was suddenly overwhelmed with anger at that little prince who didn’t know any better. With a small wave of his hand, unnoticed by the lot, the fairy sent that young boy’s scarf over his eyes and turned him around. Though the queen saw nothing, she laughed. “Jankin, he’s only a boy. No need to punish him for things he can’t understand.”

The young fairy only shrugged. “A little mischief might make him at least more interesting than his father,” he joked, making the queen laugh.

“My people!” the king shouted over the mess of noise. The musicians stopped playing immediately and everyone looked to the king, waiting for what he was about to say. Jankin watched the queen scoop up the new prince of Manhattan, cradling him like he was the most precious thing in the world. “My queen and I would like to thank you for celebrating this joyous occasion with us. We would like to officially introduce you to your prince, the most beautiful child I have ever laid eyes on.” Jankin looked around as he felt a chill in the air. His eyes narrowed a bit at the walls. For a moment they seemed to close in on him. “For the first time, let me present Prince Anthony Isaac Higgins!” The kingdom erupted into cheers as the child was laid back down in his cradle. “Now we shall humbly accept the gifts our beloved Jankin has wished to bestow upon the child…”

When the fairy heard his name, he snapped back to reality, standing over the child who stared at him with wonder. Jankin pulled out his wand slowly and began to whirl some magic around the boy, watching as the child’s eyes followed his every move. For a long moment, the young fairy studied the child. He began to sing over him and the whole room began to dim, like Jankin and this little prince were the only two people in the room. The creature’s soft voice was mesmerizing and indescribable. Everyone leaned into the scene to try and hear the words he whispered over the boy in a language they couldn’t understand. The newborn was calm, accepting the magical gifts he was given, before all the goodness was sucked out of the room in an instant.

Every light in the room went out as the wind was swept from Jankin’s lungs, making him gasp. He whirled around, his wand at the ready. But just as he whipped the thing back to cast a spell, something wrapped around his wrists, beginning to pull him backwards. The young fairy struggled as the wand was snatched from his hand and black vines tangled their way around his body, winding their way even around his neck and mouth and waist to pull him back into the wall behind him. Jankin was so busy panicking that he didn’t even hear the baby crying or the king and queen screaming for the guards that were easily thrown backwards by one flick of a dark creature’s fingers. The vines began to strangle him, like they were trying to suck the soul out of him. And when the fairy could finally open his eyes, he was met with those of a demon standing before him, dark and soulless. “That ought to hold you,” came the dark grin of the kingdom’s worst nightmare.

Across the lands, he was known only as The Spider. The Spider was a dark soul, one that had once been a friend to this land before he turned to his evil ways, striking terror in the people of this precious land, fear for their loved ones when The Spider had ruled. Jankin winced when he thought of the scars on the old fairy’s back where his wings once laid. He closed his eyes when he felt the Spider’s breath on his face. “Little Jankin, all grown up, are we?” the dark creature chuckled. “Fear not, for you will soon realize what these humans are as I once did. Nothing but little vermin beneath your feet.” There was a wretched evil smell on The Spider’s breath and Jankin swallowed hard, trying to Will his magic to cut through these vines. He wasn’t strong enough. They were slowly killing him.

While The Spider was watching him slowly fade, Jankin watched out of the corner of his eye as the queen made a dash for her baby. It was enough movement for The Spider to turn and laugh as he grabbed his own wand, sending a jagged glass wall up from the floor in between a mother and her child. “Now, now, your highness,” The Spider chuckled. “I was quite distressed when I did not receive an invitation to meet the new prince of my own kingdom—“

“This land does not belong to you!” the king shouted. “It will one day be in the hands of our child.”

The queen stared at The Spider with wide eyes. “We mean you no harm,” she pleaded in a breath. “Please do not lay a hand on my child.”

The old fairy smiled, glancing at Jankin in amusement. “Have you ever held one? They’re just as fragile as glass. One wrong hand and they shatter,” he explained before turning back to the child as Jankin struggled to keep his eyes open. “Fear not, your highness, for I shall not lay a single hand on the boy.” The reassurance sounded more like a threat. “In fact, I came here to grant the child a gift.”

The only thing anyone heard in the room was a panicked Jankin trying to breathe as the vines curled tighter and tighter around him. The child beneath The Spider whined a bit, babbling and reached up at the air before him. The Spider gave a grimace of disgust as the boy looked at him. He circled the small cradle like a lion stalking it’s pretty before he lifted his wand. Then he turned to face the crowd. “Listen well, all of you!” The queen didn’t move, only having eyes for her baby. The king had a hand on his sword, though he could not get to the demon. “This child shall grow to have a wonderful life,” he announced to the kingdom, whirling his wand over the babe’s head. “He shall grow in beauty, with a voice like silk and skin soft to the touch, the most beautiful boy anyone has ever seen.” Jankin could hardly breathe now. He was trying to get loose. He managed to open up his hand for his wand and begin to summon the thing to him. “He will grow up, loved and adored by all who meet him. However,” the dark fairy chuckled. “Before the sun sets on his sixteenth birthday, he will prick his finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel, and die!”

“Seize the creature!” the king cried, running his sword through the glass to break it just as Jankin’s wand reached his hand and he was able to break free from the vines and breathe. He whirled his wand and brought his magic down right where The Spider stood, only for the dark creature to vanish in a green haze right before the kingdom’s eyes. Jankin reached up for his neck and collapsed to his knees as he caught his breath.

The king’s boots stopped in front of Jankin who tried to catch his breath. It was no secret that the king had his ideals about fairy creatures. The young fairy bowed before him, though it wasn’t as if he had much of a choice as he tried to breathe. “Seize this creature,” the king ordered and Jankin tensed before a cry rang out.

“No!” the queen yelled, holding her baby in her arms. “My love, you leave him alone. He has done nothing wrong!”

Jankin craned his head to see the queen above him, holding her child as though it may be the last time she ever held him. Jankin had tears in his eyes. He shook his head. “I can’t take back the curse,” he admitted immediately, knowing that may be his only source of redemption. “No curse can be stopped, I am so sorry, my queen.”

The young queen had tears in her eyes and she looked down at her son, kneeling before Jankin, offering him the child to hold. The young fairy looked up at the king in fear but cautiously reached for the child, not having the slightest clue how to hold him. The baby fussed in his arms and the queen wiped at her own tears. “Is there nothing we can do?”

The Spider was right. This child was like glass, like any one wrong move and it would be over. So Jankin held him carefully, lifting up one hand over the boy’s face. It was soft magic, magic he knew would make the boy feel happy for at least a moment. The king reached for his sword, but the queen stopped him, standing between him and the fairy that she loved dearly. Jankin only had eyes for the boy. “For a child too beautiful to die so young, I will protect him with all I have,” prayed, whirling his hand in front of the boy’s wide, crystal blue eyes. “On the night of his sixteenth birthday, though he may prick his delicate finger, he will only fall into a sleep he cannot awake from until the kiss of true love comes to save him. Love will conquer all, my prince,” he assured, sealing the gift with a small kiss to the baby’s forehead.

With tears in his forest eyes, Jankin looked back up at the queen. The king was angry. He looked around at the kingdom. “Every spinning wheel shall be burned tonight! Gather all you have and set them aflame says your king!” he ordered. It was all the kingdom needed to begin rushing out of that room. The queen just helped Jankin to his feet and guided him into a quieter room behind the stairs, tears in her eyes as she closed the door.

“You must take him,” she insisted. “Far, far away from here, you must!” The queen was terrified, shaken down to her core.

Jankin’s breath caught in his throat. “My queen, you are not thinking clearly, I cannot care for this child, I am not a house fairy—“

“I know that, my love,” she whispered. “I know that. But you are his best chance.”

Jankin stopped, stepping closer to the queen. “Katherine, I am not your love,” he whispered back. “I don’t know how to care for a human child, and the king will not stand for it.” Jankin was inches from the queen’s face. He wished he could kiss her and make the world go away, make time stop for just a minute, only a single moment and maybe everything would feel a little bit better but he couldn’t do that. He knew he couldn’t do that.

The queen’s eyes bore into him, though, and Jankin swallowed hard. “Do you remember when you used to pretend you were human? When we were young? Jack Kelly, you called yourself, the boy from a far away land. You would hide your wings beneath a long coat and we would run and play together without any fearful guards coming after us.” The memories used to bring Jankin joy, now they just made him sad as he knew Katherine realized how scared he had been when he was a young boy. “This child should be yours. We both know that,” the queen whispered. “So now I am asking you to take him away from this place, back to a better one. Your secret cottage, until he grows to live past his sixteenth birthday. If he is not in the kingdom on that night, maybe he will be spared. You’ll take him somewhere The Spider will never look.”

Jankin shook his head. “We were kids, my queen. I have never lived in hiding, and The Spider will follow my magic, he knows how to track it—“

“Then don’t use magic,” the queen pleaded.

Those words cut down deep somewhere in Jankin’s chest. “Don’t use magic?” he scoffed, feeling a tear crawl down his cheek. “I have never lived a life without magic, I c-can’t—“

“You are his only chance,” Katherine insisted. “You and I both know that…” Jankin’s bottom lip trembled as he looked down at the child in his arms. “Jack Kelly, I need you. Anthony needs you.” She got down on her knees and bowed her head. “For as long as I have known you, you have protected me, now I beg you to do the same for him, my dear fairy. Protect my child.”

Jankin stared down at the queen and then back at the baby. He knew he didn’t have a choice. “What of the king?”

“He will agree.”

“Then stand up and let me look at you one more time,” Jankin begged.

So Katherine looked up at him and before she could even stand, the fairy was on his knees and their lips were locked to each other as tears streamed down their faces, but eventually the queen pulled away. “You must go now. The kingdom must not see you. No one shall know where the boy is. Not even me. Your secret cottage in the woods, I don’t know where it is, but I know he will be safe there. Go, my love. Go and don’t turn back…”

That is how Jack Kelly found himself riding through the woods on the back of a horse, a cloak surrounding himself and the child in his arms as he rode them to safety. Just Jack Kelly and his little boy, Anthony.

[your-nanas-house]

An idea: Tommy has one of his recurring nightmares and YN decides to help him sleep by giving him a blowjob

Dunno who this anon is but I love this kind of ideas so much!! 🙇🏼‍♀️ So thank youuuu 🤗

Just another nightmare

◇ Pairing: Thomas Shelby x wife!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, handjob, choking, Tommy is a whore here and a sub... so bit ooc!Thomas, nightmare and PTSD and bad writing.

◇ Summary: Tommy wakes up from a nightmare and Y/n helps him calm down.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.

"Tommy... Tommy—" her soft tired voice called as her hand shook him awake, bringing him back to reality and out of Morpheus's arms so to escape one of his reccuring nightmares.

Thomas never really talked about them with Y/n, preferring to just ignore them or ponder in silence while lighting a cigarette, instead of wasting her time by keeping her up with past crude memories... even though she offered her ear him each time.

"I'm okay" his low voice grumbled out in a dismissing tone, his body still sweating probably in state of shock as it trembled softly, joined by his fast heartbeat.

He wasn't okay, not at all... his mind was playing twisted games on him again and the past was heavier than usual during the night.

And she knew... but there wasn't much she could do if he didn't allow her to enter his mind to try, so to understand the problem better. The young woman kind of lost her patience, adopting a different approach when something like that happened when she was around.

The questioning and the oral support wasn't accepted from Thomas usually... he searched a more physical one even when there was a bit of hesitation at the beginning. But that night... it didn't seem like he would have calmed down with just some cuddles.

Reason because Y/n decided to try with a different physical and oral help.

So her tender hand traveled from his sweaty chest down to his abs and lower before sneaking inside his underwear, earning a shaky breath from Tommy.

The poor man was still a bit under shock, his body sweating cold, his heart hammering against his chest as his jaw remained clenched. Y/n could see his muscles since the moon reflected its light on them in a lovely way, allowing her to start a path of wet kisses from there.

Her beautiful eyes remained closed as her hand lazily pulled slightly down the fabric so to ease the access. Feeling his pre-cum leak on her warm skin when she accidentally brushed his angry red tip.

"Shhhh, everything is okay, love. You are here... in bed with your wife" the young woman started as she pumped his now hard lenght, using her spit to lubricate the action

"At your house in Birmingham... safe and sound... it's just you and me, honey" she purred softly out attempting to calm him down while her hand kept working. Her free one slowly moved Tommy's sweaty palm towards her so that she could place a kiss on his knuckles before sneaking it in the neckline of her nightgown.

As if by reflex, his rough hand grabbed her left breast, kneading it flesh while he felt her heartbeat against his skin.

Her tactic was working, his body was reacting at her touch and his mind was turning off, letting lust take over him... making his heart still beat fast but not due to fear or adrenaline caused by something awful but because of her small hands working his cock.

The feeling was getting intense and Thomas' eyes shot open as he slowly approached his orgasm, his muscles tensed and his back slightly arched while his hand moved away the blanket so that his icy stare could watch his wife work her magic.

The man could see his dick throbbing thanks to the attention and the familiar pre-orgasm feeling was getting more and more noticable. He could feel her soft fingers giving some attention to his balls as well before black dots formed in his view, making him roll his eyes and arch his back even more.

A whoring moan escaped his lips while he shot his seed, dirtying her hand and the sheets. He never came that hard before.

He could hear a whistle in his ear that covered the background noises in the room but not the breathless and impressed curse that left his wife's mouth.

Thomas was about to say something when she shifted, now wide awake, shutting him with her warm tongue which began to clean up the mess he did.

"You should react at my touch like this more often, love" the young woman commented smugly, gagging when he thrusted up his hips with a fake annoyed expression, so that his cock would have shut her up and removed that shit eating grin off her face.

[blingblong55]

My kind of love -Keegan P. Russ

Based on a request:

Just a thought : Keegan strikes me as the guy who would hold wife! reader close to him when they sleep in their bed. Or he'd carry her when he finds her asleep on the couch. ---- F!Reader, fluff/romance, established!relationship, boyfriend!keegan, cuddling ----

A/N: thanking Bon Iver and Niall Horan for this fluff🙏

It's four in the morning, Keegan comes home after nearly ten months of deployment, his duffle bag placed on the floor. Steps soft to not wake you up, after all, he is meant to surprise you with his early arrival. As he was about to go and check on the dog, who slept by the sofa, he noticed a blanket, your blanket. He approaches you, his gaze softens the second he watches his beautiful sleeping. You look so peaceful, so calm and in this moment when things for months went so wrong, this view is all he can adore.

"My love, I'm home," Keegan whispers, in his arms, he carries you to bed. They say people have a certain amount of luck and you are proof of that. Maybe out there in the cruel world, he doesn't have much luck but in this place, a warm, cosy and safe place he calls home, he knows luck is there. No one can say they are lucky because they don't have you and he does. A million men can say your name, a million more can watch you but just one gets to come home to you. One man in a sea of billions gets to kiss you, to listen to your ramble about crazy theories, to listen to you hum a tune and to love you and be loved back.

That man is him and in this precise moment, he knows why he proudly waited day and night to hide that ring in his pocket. If he wasn't a romantic, he would propose to you right here right now but he wants that moment to be magical because his precious girl deserves it. "Keegan, it's you," your voice so soft. Fuck, why must you make his heart melt like this? Why must you- damn you! Why do you love him? Why do you see what others don't and why must you make him blush just from the sound of your voice? Couldn't you be any less cruel to his weakened heart? Oh but he loves it, he loves that voice, that touch and stare, he loves the kisses and the 'Did your job go well? Are you hurt? Did you miss me?' he loves it all.

"Of course, it's me, darling," he sets you down on the bed and covers you with the sheets. "I'll be back," his lips touched your soft skin before leaving to take a short shower. You lay in bed, not being able to sleep without him anymore, you wait for him. Once he snuggles to you, you can feel his fresh skin, how his embrace wraps you with love and with care. "Did everything go to plan?" you ask as you nuzzle your face on his chest, a low chuckle escapes his lips as he brushes your hair. "It did, which is surprising," he kisses the top of your head and drapes his leg over yours.

In a warm bed, you and he lie, legs intertwined like they are the perfect match. Your back to his chest, soft breathing filling the room. As you close your eyes, he finds himself admiring your beauty from his angle. His arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close for the rest of the night as the other arm caresses your head. His fingers brush through the hair, and slowly, they make their way to your forehead, where he slowly catches himself falling asleep.

Until morning and maybe even after being awake, he keeps you in his hold and under those warm bed sheets. "I love you to the moon and back- no, let's keep going beyond the moon," he whispers as he keeps holding you close. If only he dared to propose already and make you his missus. But only the brave wait for the exact right moment.

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[sqvishii]

hear me out… silver fucking you in his sleep. like he’s sleepwalking but instead of sleepwalking it’s sleepfucking…? 🙈

anon. i put you in the palm of my hands and swallow you (affectionately)

just imagine, silver, the sleepy bodyguard of malleus draconia who always sleeps wherever he goes, either he's standing, sitting, handstanding, anything.

silver, your beautiful boyfriend who always loves to cuddle with you, is currently fucking you.. while he's asleep?

he can't help it, it's basically a daily thing now whenever you sleep next to him, his body reacts by its own. it's like the great sevens knew his desire of finally fucking you properly yet, still made it so unfair for him.

trust me, during the first day it happened, when silver woke up -- he was surprised too, but didn't seem to mind as he gets to wake up at the sight of you beneath him.

he surprisingly doesn't fall on you whenever he's about to sleep again when he just woke up and saw he's doing, as if his body controls itself and it just doesn't want to stop fucking you !!

as much as silver wanted to talk to lilia about it, he doubt it would be much of help. he should probably just enjoy the feeling of you underneath him as you moan out his name.

you won't be safe as well if you're asleep during it too, because he can just use his unique magic.

(silver.. fucking you.. in a dream.. but both of you.. are aware.. HIDHDIDH :3)

[pursuitseternal]

“The Fourth Day” of Bats, Blood, and Mirror Smut in “Antics of the Newly Ascended”

Ascended Astarion x Reader |E| 2.3K of Batstarion and Self-indulgent mirror sex

Summary: He’s late to arrive back, and then you hear… scratching at your window. Bat nibbles and head scritches quickly shift into other sensual indulgences. Ones that allow him to experience other benefits to his ascension… and to your own pleasure.

CW: “Right Hand” puns, Batstarion bites, cunilingus, mirror sex, Extra Emphatic performance from the Ascendant cause he likes the way he looks, “oh yes, I see what all the fuss is about”

Previous Ch | Ao3 Link | Masterlist

A gift for @icybluepenguin

🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞

You lay in your bed, tossing and turning. Waiting for Astarion to return. The camp needed supplies—potions and scrolls and armor. And it was Astarion’s turn to go fetch, even as he had grumbled how beneath him it was as the Ascendant.

Of course, Wyll had only laughed all the harder, shoving the purse of coin in his pale hands and slamming the door on his ass. The goods had been sent ahead by a maid from the Elfsong’s tavern, the Ascendant adding in the message delivered along with the bundle that he would return anon, once he deemed his presence sufficiently missed.

That was hours ago… Now even sleep sounded good. Long, lonely sleep. With him somewhere out there in the dark of night.

Your stomach swirls, knowing he is powerful, knowing he is experienced in how to care for himself, but… you have so many enemies now. So many assassins and monsters and soldiers. The list of beings that wanted you dead seems to grow ever bigger.

He shouldn’t have gone alone.

Stupid, arrogant, exalted idiot.

Every sound in the tavern, every creak on every floor reaches your ears. And it’s not your heightened vampiric senses.

You’re worried. For as much as he preens and postures and bites and drinks, you can see it plainly with your eyes and your heart. You see what others can’t since his Ascension.

He’s still just the same, poor at planning, smooth brained rogue. Good with his hands, silken with his words, bad at anything to do with plots or logic or calculations or…

A soft scritch scratch at the window made you sit up from your good- humored, condescending musings.

Something… big… rests against the panes of glass. You look closer. Something largish and fluffy and… white.

“My dear consort, let me in…” he speaks in that way that caresses your mind with his own.

“You have got to be kidding, Astarion. Are you stuck again…”

“No, not stuck. I am positively famished. I need to rest, to feed, before I can use my magic to return to the handsome body you know and crave and worship….”

“Pfft,” you roll your eyes. “So you need help, is that it… mighty Vampire Ascendant?”

“You wound me, my darling…. My treasure…” he flaps against the glass again. His little claws scratch so hard as he grows clearly more and more agitated. “My right hand…” he purrs so silkenly.

You cross from the bed, your body naked as you stroll so slowly towards his blurred shadow on the other side of that pane. “It’s funny, my love, that night you offered me this…” you pause to flourish your hand the same way he had, “gift of immortality… I didn’t realize by your Right Hand, you meant things so literally.”

That made him flutter harder and bang his little bat feet against the window. “I swear when I do get in there… when I do finally feed and shift back… I’ll make that right hand do so much more for me than opening this fucking window….”

You laugh…. So adorable. So dramatic and ridiculous. So… him. “You should see yourself, my love. I suppose II would miss you if I should leave you so… indisposed.”

You cackle, reaching for that handle. The instant a gap was big enough, he flapped his way inside. Circling on his beautiful, membranous wings, you feel the wind brush your hair away before he lands on the back of your shoulder. His itty, bitty fingers hook onto the crest of your back, the only warning you get before you feel his small razor fangs bite into your neck.

So much smaller than normal, you gasp in surprise more at the sensation of warm fur on your skin. His little claws hook tightly, and his quiet breath snuffles beneath your ear as he drinks. You reach your hand around, his little ears twitching as you blindly brush them, scratching one finger in that small space at the top of his head. His mouth still contentedly suckles on your blood.

Tingles of magic wash down your back, and suddenly your hand raises with the top of his head, that silken mess of curls wrapped around your finger. Lips replace bat teeth, the wide span of his warm tongue swirls lazily over the teeny marks he’s left.

“Now… about that defiant, rebellious right hand of yours,” he rasps against the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“Oh…. This little thing?” you taunt, wickedly, childishly, gripping that bulge between his legs from behind you. The “oof” that comes from his smirking mouth is music to your ears. You spin smoothly, pivoting your grip on his cock, and you give it just a few hard strokes to make it harden under your touch.

It doesn’t take much. It never has. He bucks against your palm. One of his elegant, long-fingered hands clutches underneath your chin, dragging your lips for him to consume. You taste the blood on his tongue, feel his hunger mixed with yearning. The way his tongue dances with yours hides nothing of the want you were so quick to incite in him.

You lose your breath as he shoves you against the wall. Moonlight floods from behind him, his sharpened face barely lit in the shadow. But those curls, ravaged by the winds of flying, mussed from his shifting, those silver-white curls sit like a halo in the pale light. Left hand closing around your right, he presses it against the wall, a silent command to hold still. Very still.

A single kiss on your lips, a rakish arch to his brow, and he drops to his knees. His hands force your leg over his shoulder so quickly, you have to grip that wall behind you, caught only by the way he shoves his shoulder under your thigh. His face already presses hard into your mound, fingers already prying your folds wide for his tongue to lap. Careful, you use your left hand to comb through his curls, riding the circling of his head as he licks through your seam.

The same sort of little noises come from between your thighs, little low hums of feeding, muffled grunts amidst the wet suck of his tongue on your clit. Your hips buck, catching on his nose, his hands keeping that new angle for him to push deeper into that wet.

You pound your right hand into the wall, a closed fist, and your legs shake. He drives you closer and closer, pools of heat and lightning racing to your belly and down your nerves. He laughs into your cunt, fingers slipping into your channel from somewhere below your ass. You can’t see, can only feel that rhythmic lap and suck of his perfect tongue and thick smirking lips. But those fingers crook hard to catch your spot, that itch he knows how to scratch and make you shatter.

You pant, riding the brush of his nose on your clit and the suck of his tongue as he devours you even in climax.

“Fuck me…” you groan, head smacking against the wall as you raise your hips even higher. His hands hold you firm, even as your legs twitch and threaten to go boneless in your orgasm.

“Oh yes, darling, I am about to do just that,” he stands to rasp into your ear. “You did say… if only I could see myself… a delightful suggestion, my pet. Come now,” he purrs, “but you will only use those defiant hands of yours as I see fit. And…”

He flips you around, drags you across the room to the corner, until you’re staring at your own reflection. The simple wooden-framed mirror shows every pale line of your bodies as one. You can barely tell where your soft curves melt into the edges of every hardened rise of him behind you in the moonlight. “…you’re going to watch ever little way I fuck you…”

“You mean you’re going to watch every little way you fuck…”

His hand reaches from behind you, clawing around your mouth and twisting to bring your ear against his smirking lips. His crimson eyes lock into yours in that reflection, a matching color. “Well, it was your suggestion, my love, since we both have been given such a gift. And I haven’t yet seen how ruinous I am in this process…”

“Tch,” you suck your teeth, a humored and condescending shake of your head. “Fine… it is a sight to behold. And after all, these days are about you discovering yourself, indulging in your powers.”

“And I’m so grateful it’s you who enables my indulgences, my darling,” his silken voice croons. His tongue visibly sticks out to run that warm, wet pad up the curve of your ear.

His gaze watches yours flutter, your body shivering involuntarily as you want more. “Bend,” he growls into those little circles and folds of your ear. His grip fastens on your wrist, making you reach for the wall beside you, turning you sideways to that shimmering mirror glass. You look through the messy curtain of your hair, watching in that reflection as his hand smooths down the vertebrae of your spine, his other grips and pumps his cock. That hard, veined length dripping onto the floor, twitching relentlessly as he catches your eye with a wicked grin.

“You keep those insolent hands where I can see them, darling, and you… will… watch me.” His voice drops into a deep-throated growl, his head cocked back, hips bucking into his fist. Even as he clutches the cheek of your ass, his sharp nails finding purchase, drawing blood to the surface as he marks you.

His. Forever.

Fingers leave your skin, pulling back that long, tousled mess of your hair so you can obey him.

So you can watch.

Watch as he lines himself up with your entrance, watch as he drags that blunted tip, forcefully and slowly back and forth through your slick. Watch as his hand beats his shaft against your folds, smearing your arousal up and down his velvety smooth skin as he does so.

It’s… burning in your belly, the way he’s licking his lips, stare alternating between watching his body in the mirror and your eyes drinking in his every sensual stroke.

You can’t look away, watching him shut his eyes, head thrown back in pleasure, arching as he sheathes himself until you feel that brush of his balls against you. You want to shudder and hang your head, instantly filled and throbbing and so… very… full.

“Don’t you disobey me, pet,” he hisses. “Best keep watching, or else…” Eyes still shut, he groans in deep delight as he pulls out once more only to grip your hips and shove inside again.

Deeper. Harder. More punishing. Fangs bared, he smirks down to watch his perfect shaft entering you, a slow beating rhythm to the snaps of his hips. Every little ripple of muscles in his body, you get drunk on the sight of him. Even that slight gleaming slick on his cock that you see, that base of his shaft as it glistens before it disappears to ram you full again. It makes your mouth water.

He picks up the pace now, your body so warm and wet from how he pleasured you. He smiles at himself, tilting his head back towards the mirror. You can feel it, the extra undulations of his body, a little extra shove, a little harder buck of his hips to make your ass slap hard on his body.

A performance of pleasure just for him.

Deep, subtle pants leave his gaping mouth with each thrust, his eyes watching the way his own flawless, ruinous body clenches as he fucks. Every tweak of his abs, every clench of his ass, you can see his eyes dart in the mirror to savor the sight.

You laugh, well, barely laugh. As breathless as you are, riding every pummel into your cunt, you manage to speak. “Careful, or I’ll have to get a blindfold if you can’t stop watching yourself…”

“Oh darling, I finally see what all the fuss is about,” he pants between his words. And you hear it, that edge to his voice, reckless and uncontrolled. His words catch in his throat just as stilted as his thrusts become.

Hard and random and rough.

Your cervix grows numb, your channel walls so swollen, so hot. Pounded over and over again until he finally groans and folds over you. Arms yank you back against him by your hips, slamming your body against his wild bucks. You watch that magnificent reflection as he unravels, how his knees buckle as he comes.

How his seed spills so hard from his cock deep inside you, it’s already dripping to the floor at your feet. The sight of sweating pale skin and undulating muscles bent over for you… you shatter too. And it makes another groan, a whimper come from where he’s laid his head on your back, just below your shoulder blades. Your walls milk him of every last drop, your own arousal joining the mess on the floor beneath your feet.

Breathless, your arms shake, still extended towards the wall. A naughty grin on your mouth as he looks at your lust-hazed eyes and tousled hair. His face is a matching set of post-coital mess and beauty.

You reach that right hand of yours between your legs, slowly, delicately teasing over your own slick clit, drenched in both your cum. Stroking further to brush the soaked base of his cock that is still buried inside you, he nips into the skin of your back, not hard enough to break the skin.

Just enough to make you look again in that mirror.

“Your right hand is forgiven… I’ll allow it…” he purrs one more time.

His crimson gaze still looks hazy and dunk on that sight of you coupled. And you wonder if he will ever let you stand.

[yusume-the-writer]

Then please may I request Rayne x reader where she fainted cause of being sick and overwork but didn’t say anything and kept going?

Know when to rest and work!!

Request made by Anon, hope you like it

I'm sorry for the delay

Warning: Quote about not eating and sleeping properly (children don't do that)

Genre: Comfort and Fluff

 Rayne Ames x Gender Neutral Reader

 Summary: (Name) was busy with work and other activities that took a toll on his health, so it wasn't a surprise that they passed out, but don't worry your amazing boyfriend Rayne is to the rescue!!!!

'How did you get to this state?' (Name) think to herself while looking at her reflection in the mirror

 The reflection showed a person with disheveled (h/c) hair and large dark circles under their eyes.

 'It looks like you didn't even sleep last night...' (Name) thinks while still staring at her reflection until she realizes something, 'Wait... I didn't really sleep last night' (Name) lowers her head and faces the sink, as if something much better than her current appearance, which really was

 How long has it been since (Name) had a proper sleep and meal? A week or two, maybe it was more, but (Name)'s pride was greater to take that on

 The main reason that (Name) was not getting adequate sleep and meals was that they were extremely busy with schoolwork and activities

 'Just put water on your face and everything will be fine' (Name) thinks while turning on the tap in the sink and takes a handful and throws it on his face

 And of course (Name) could talk about it to his beloved Rayne, but... they didn't want to burden him with things they could do themselves.

 Rayne was a man busy with his role as Divine Visionary and all that.

'And just one more day, and then you'll finally get your beauty sleep! You can do it (Name)!' They think as they leave their room ready for another day of school, and go to the library to continue researching the work the teacher asked for.

 After all, today was an important day, a work on certain types of magic and how they could be related to a specific God, just put the finishing touches on it and it will be incredible.

 "(Name)?" A male voice interrupts (Name)'s thoughts

 When they realized that the voice was in front of them, (Name) faced the owner of the voice

 Clear eyes stare at (e/c)

 It was Rayne Ames, or rather (Name)'s boyfriend

 "Ah, Ray! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in the cafeteria?" (Name) says while still looking into her boyfriend's beautiful eyes

 Rayne then stares at (Name) as if they had offended the rabbits "I was going there but why aren't you in the cafeteria" He continues as he crosses his arms and stares at (Name)

 "Ah! I-and I was going to the library to look for a book, then I was going to the cafeteria" (Name) says, it's true that they were going to the library looking for a specific book, but they wouldn't leave the library until were the classes

 "You'd better go to the cafeteria and then the library" Rayne says while still staring at (Name), he looked like a father who just found his son returning from a party he told him not to go to

"Ah... I'm kind of scared of forgetting to get the book, so I thought I'd go to the library first" (Name) says. They didn't want to stop talking to Rayne, but they didn't want to worry him

"I'm really sorry, Rayne, but I really need to get this book before it's too late" (Name) continues while staring at Rayne with her best puppy dog eyes

 "I'm going with you, so let's go to the cafeteria together" Rayne says as she turns towards the library path holding out her hand for (Name) to take

 "Okay~" (Name) says while holding Rayne's hand and the two walk together

.

.

.

(Name) never thought she'd be grateful that Rayne was so busy

 (Name) managed to get the book and when they and Rayne went to the cafeteria together, they called Rayne for a deal about the magical items

 Rayne looked disappointed, but with (Name)'s insistence, he went to help

 Now (Name) was sitting in the classroom of his first class, as he finished the final preparations for his presentation

 'It has to be perfect!!! Nothing can go wrong!!!' (Name) think as she closes the reference book and sees her colleagues entering

 'I didn't eat breakfast, but that's okay, at lunch I increase my portion' They think when they realize they ate nothing but water and a granola bar yesterday

 The teacher enters the room and goes to her place and starts taking roll.

"As we know, today we still have presentations, and now it's Mr (Name)'s turn to introduce himself." As soon as the teacher finishes explaining, she waves towards (Name) for them to start

 (Name) with the help of her magic pick up the items from her presentation and will start walking to go ahead

 'Now it's all or nothing' (Name) says as they close their eyes and smile

 But the moment they open their eyes... they find themselves faced with a ceiling that wasn't their classroom.

 They were in the infirmary

 "...What?..." (Name) says while trying to process why she's staring at the infirmary ceiling

 "You're finally awake!" Suddenly clear eyes that showed concern stared at (Name), they had already seen these eyes before

 It was Rayne Ames, or rather (Name)'s boyfriend

 "Rayne? What are you doing here?" (Name) says as they start to try to get up, but are stopped by Rayne, who puts her hands on his shoulders and gently pushes him to the bed, which makes them look at him with confusion.

Knowing that (Name) was going to ask, Rayne says, "You should rest as much as you can; you fainted while going to the front to give a work presentation"

 "Ah, that's what happened" (Name) says as he starts to think about the trouble they went through when they fainted in front of their classmates and teacher

 "...Why didn't you tell me you were overwhelmed?" Rayne says out of nowhere with a tone of voice that showed concerns

 And of course he would be worried, he was notified that his beloved had fainted as soon as they separated.

 "I kind of didn't want to worry you about something silly, you're so busy you don't even have time to rest, I thought it would be better for me to take care of it myself" (Name) says as he starts to sit on the bed, Rayne didn't interrupt him this time

 As soon as (Name) sits up completely on the bed and faces Rayne

 Then they touch Rayne's head and start playing with his hair "But I messed up, I'm sorry for worrying you" (Name) says while sending a guilty smile

 Rayne stares at (Name) as they continue to play with their hair

 Then Rayne closes her eyes as they feel the sensation of their fingers brushing her hair

 "It's okay... but next time tell me and take care of your health"

 "OK!"

 "I'll bring you lunch," Rayne says as she gently takes (Name)'s hand away and holds it in hers.

 Suddenly he brings his hand to your lips and kisses your wrist

 "Okay, I'm going" As soon as he breaks the kiss he gets up and heads towards the infirmary door

 Rayne was probably ignoring that it made (Name) a blushing mess that could compete with her little brother's friend's hair color.

 𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒖𝒔

 "Here" Rayne hands (Name) a lunch box with rabbit details around it

"You didn't need to make food for me." Even though (Name) denied it, they still took the lunch box and opened his lunch box

 As soon as they picked it up, Rayne took out a similar lunch box

 "The teacher saw your work and said you got full marks" Rayne says as she opens the lid of her lunch box and starts eating.

 "I'm glad my sweat and tears weren't wasted on this work" (Name) says as she takes a piece of her food and puts it in her mouth

After that little conversation, comfortable silence filled around the two of them in the infirmary.

[mouschiwrites]

hihi it’s the anon from the one req with the prime empire outfit thing :3 !! i was wondering if you could do something similar but with a reader who wakes up before them and makes them food ?? your writing is so munchable (positively)

Yaay good to have you back!!! I cannot express how joyous it makes me to know that people actually enjoy my silly scrawlings 🥹

Ninjago - Making Breakfast For the Ninjas

Kai

He is NOT a morning person

Definitely the type of guy to say “just five more minutes” like eight times before he finally drags himself out of bed

But when he wakes up to the smell of food…

And you’re not next to him…

He’s more than motivated to get up

He follows the smell into the kitchen, sighing to himself when he sees you at the stove

He approaches from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck

“Come back to bed, my sunshine.”

“You don’t want breakfast?”

“…keep cooking.”

He leans on you, half asleep while you finish frying some eggs and bacon

He’s still a little groggy while you eat together, but you can see him waking up the more he eats

You watch him carefully, watching for any signs that might indicate his opinion on your cooking

Polishing off his first plate, Kai blinks the rest of the sleepiness from his eyes

You make eye contact, both smiling softly

Your lips curl into a bigger grin when he asks for seconds

Still, you can’t help but tease:

“What about going back to bed?”

“Nah. I’m up now. Your amazing cooking has worked its magic on me.”

He smirks as you blush, grabbing his plate to get him another serving

Watching you, he can’t help but wonder how he got so lucky

Again, he’s not a morning person, but he’s discovered his new favorite way to wake up

Jay

When Jay wakes up, the first thing he does is check to see if you’re awake

He refuses to get out of bed unless you go with him, and he expects you to do the same

So when he wakes up and you’re not there, he’s a little offended

But then some worry starts to settle in

Did something happen? Surely that must be the case; why else would you break your routine?

Hauling himself out of bed, he hurries around the house, calling your name

He perks up when he hears your response in the kitchen

Dashing in, he stops dead in his tracks when he sees you alive and well, even smiling at him from your station at the stove

You perceive his worried expression, suddenly feeling a little guilty for abandoning him in bed

“Sorry, did I scare you? I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to surprise you with breakfast.”

He sighs in relief, assuring you that he’s just glad you’re okay

He starts rambling about his dream he had, taking a seat at the table while you finished grilling waffles

He doesn’t stop (aside from a quick “thanks”) when you set his plate in front of him

But when he takes his first bite, he freezes mid-sentence

“…is it okay..?”

“Oh my Borg. Y/n. You beautiful savant. This is amazing.”

You smile giddily as he shovels the food down his gullet

When he’s finished, he reclines in his chair satisfactorily

“This absolutely makes up for getting up before me. But next time let me wake up with you, okay?”

Cole

Cole could sleep through a category 5 hurricane

He certainly sounds like one when he snores

So it’s no surprise to him when he wakes up and you’re not there

Actually, that’s what he’s used to

He’ll lumber out of bed and make his way to the bathroom, where he’ll find you getting ready for the day

That’s how you start your day: one a tad later, but always together

When he goes to the bathroom and finds it empty, he’s baffled

He stands there for a solid minute, waiting for the grogginess to leave his head so he can think clearly

Before that happens, he’s enticed by the smell of pancakes

He follows the aroma to the kitchen, where two of his problems are solved

One, he’s found you

Two, you’re making breakfast, so his hunger will soon be satiated

He stands behind you, placing his burly arms and his chin on the top of your head

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

“Pancakes. You want butter and syrup?”

“Mmmm. You know me so well.”

He stays by your side while you cook, trying to keep the drool in his mouth

You make him a high stack of pancakes, which you both know he’ll absolutely destroy

Before he even takes his first bite, he’s already complimenting your cooking

The compliments keep flowing while he eats, bringing a flattered pinkness to your cheeks

When he’s done, he lets out a dreamy sigh, placing his chin on his palm, admiring you

“My partner’s drop-dead gorgeous and the best cook in the world. Wakes me up with pancakes. Pancakes!”

“Only because you deserve it.”

You share a sticky kiss that tastes like maple syrup, which silently prompts you both to go brush your teeth and get ready for the day

Zane

Zane's usually the one to wake up earlier and get breakfast started, so you'll have to be really early if you want to surprise him

He assumes you're just in the bathroom when he doesn't see you in bed, so he shrugs it off and heads to the kitchen

He blinks in shock when he sees you already there, setting the table with omelettes and toast

He hurries over to you, reaching out to take the butter from your hands, but you dodge him

"Nuh-uh, you just sit down."

He reluctantly obeys

While you eat, you can't help but notice his curious glances at you

Eventually he breaks the silence

"Why did you do this?"

"Because I love you. I wanted to treat you."

His gentle smile does little to express how touched he is

You know he's a man of few words, so just having him finish his plate is enough to tell you he liked the meal

You grin proudly to yourself as you gather the dishes

He absolutely insists on helping you clean up, will NOT take no for an answer

While you clean up together, he gives you constructive feedback on your cooking

He figures it'd be more valuable to you than just compliments

And of course it is; he's basically a master chef, and you're getting free advice

Lloyd

For Lloyd, having you by his side when he wakes up is a 50/50 chance

Sometimes he gets up first, sometimes you get up first

So he's not exactly surprised waking up alone

What does catch his attention is the sweet smell of cinnamon in the air

He breathes it in deeply, wondering where it could be coming from at such an early hour

Eventually he gets up to investigate, and to his surprise (and delight) there are fresh-baked cinnamon rolls on the stovetop

And who but his lovely s/o mixing cream cheese icing on the counter?

He leans over the pan of rolls, wafting the smell into his nose

The sound startles you, but you smile when you realize it's only Lloyd

"Good morning."

"Morning. Did you make these?"

"No. A bipedal horse dropped them off."

"Har-har. Well, they smell fantastic, love."

He practically begs you to let him help spread the icing

You later realize that he really just wanted to lick the spoon... and the bowl

You eat the rolls informally as you sit on the counter, not bothering to use plates

Your hands end up stickier than the rolls themselves

Giving up on licking your fingers, you finally decide to go wash up

While getting ready, Lloyd clings close to you, expressing his abundant gratitude

"The rolls were so so so good. Just like you; you're so good to me. I love you."

Apparently your gesture got him feeling all mushy, because you ended up spending the rest of the morning curled up together watching TV on the couch, receiving sporadic kisses on your hands and head

Nya

Nya likes waking up early, but she doesn't like to disturb you

She'll immediately switch to stealth-mode when she wakes up, silently slipping out of bed and into the bathroom

She doesn't even notice that you're not in bed; she's too focused on being quiet

She nearly jumps out of her skin when she walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge, only to hear your voice:

"Hey, I made parfaits—"

"First Spinjitsu Master, Y/n!"

"Pfff—sorry, my flower! I didn't mean to scare you!"

If she wasn't awake before, she certainly was now

You decided to enjoy your yogurt parfaits while watching the sunrise

Spoon in one hand, Nya's hand in the other, you watched the sky grow brighter

Occasionally you would sneak a glance at your girlfriend, smiling to yourself at how beautiful she was, even after barely waking up

Little did you know she was doing the same

You continued to watch even after your parfaits were gone

Just as the sun peeked over the horizon, staining the sky a vibrant orange, you heard Nya say:

"I love you."

"I love you too."

She brought your hand to her mouth, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles

"The parfait was delicious. Thank you."

"My pleasure. Should we go get ready now?"

"Let's watch the sunrise for a little longer."

Thank you sweet anon for this marvelous request! And thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! <33

(divider by saradika)

[yaksha-lover]

Good morning/evening! Anon that asked about the concepts here. 😅 I’ve lately been super caught up on the angst potential of a Yuu who is slowly dying as a result of magic exposure due to not being from Twisted Wonderland. There’s just so many ways this could go, depending on how much Yuu likes being in Twisted Wonderland.

For instance, imagine living your entire life caught up in the wonder of fantasy and mythology only to be whisked off to a strange and wonderful world full of the magic that made up your childhood dreams. Getting to live your fantasies, see so many things that before you could only dream of, meet so many interesting people, and make memories that you would never forget. A fairytale given life. Only to be brought crashing down to earth with the knowledge that you are withering away here so far from home, possibly fated to never to see your loved ones again. The loneliness and fear that would set in with the realization as this turns from a dream come true to a complete nightmare.

A child cursed to die alone and forgotten as a stranger in a strange land.

Anyway, thoughts?

I love this idea, it’s so tragic. The idea of an inevitable ending blooming from something that was once so wonderful.

I almost think it’s more tragic if Yuu never wanted to return, if their life in this world was much better than their last. Finally having friends, people who care about them. Getting to live life and do things instead of wasting away in their room all day. Escaping everything in their past and leaving it all behind.

Of course, things are never that simple. Yuu does not belong here. They were never destined to befriend Ace and Deuce, to stay with Grim forever. There’s no one to blame, no one to curse except the cold, unforgiving hands of the universe.

You try to stay positive at first. Sure, you’re the first case of this happening and no one knows how to treat it, but that doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean you won’t be okay. Right?

When you first get sick, more people come to visit than you imagined. It’s endearing, seeing even those you weren’t close with stop by to express their support.

Riddle comes by, Cater and Trey following. Riddle tells you about classes, trying to keep you caught up on things. Cater tells him to stop worrying about school, but you like the normalcy of it. As though you’ll make it long enough to make keeping up with school worthwhile. Trey brings his baked goods, much more delicious than anything they’ve been serving in the hospital.

Even those who seemed apathetic to your existence would come sometimes. Leona came, it seemed, just to taken naps; you appreciated the silent company. Azul would stop by and drag Idia along for the three of you to play chess together. Kalim would come bursting in; it was nice, almost, to see someone that positive during this time. Jamil would accompany him, of course, immediately going into caretaker mode for you. Vil was busy, but he would stop by when he could, offering to get you an early screening of his newest movie. Rook would come too, describing everything going on at campus in such a beautiful way that it was almost as if you were there to experience it. Ortho would also insist on visiting you, meaning Idia would be forced to come once again, and play video games with you; it was perfect while you were bed-bound. Malleus and Lilia come when they can, bringing trinkets and small gifts. Malleus even offers to hold his club meetings in your room, if it were to help.

It’s harder to hold on to that hope once the symptoms start. It’s hazy, for one. You sleep most hours away, but it’s always a treat to wake up with Adeuce sitting in a chairs nearby, Grim cuddled into the side of the hospital bed.

It’s harder for everyone to visit, after a while. You understand. They have their own lives, things keeping them away. They have futures, unlike you. Still, it’s a bit lonely, to feel that everyone is starting to forget about you before you’re even gone. Even with your friends and Grim spending every hour they aren’t in class here, it’s hard.

It just isn’t fair.

You aren’t from this world, and soon it’s as though no one will remember you were ever here in the first place.

[respectthepetty]

Only friends is messy and I love the messy! But then I think about the other messy stuff that has yet to be messy but will be messy when it comes to light!

For example, Like is Sand still ‘helping’ Rays Dad? What with?

Wild Ass Theory -

RAY'S KARMA'S COMING!

ANON! You know I love a wild ass theory, yet I have none for Only Friends. The show feels normal to me, and not as unhinged as I need in order to make a wild ass theory but . . . @nothingsbetterthancoffee, I was answering this ask when your ask popped up

TLWR: Ray's dad is paying Sand to babysit Ray.

And Ray is gonna be really fucking LIVID when he finds out that Sand is working with his dad!

Because Sand is definitely helping the dad with something.

And Sand almost getting arrested to save Ray after he made a pact with Nick to move on makes me think that the something Ray's dad asked him was to make sure Ray doesn't end up in prison.

The dad is too busy to keep in eye on Ray, so he asked Sand to do it instead. Even though Sand has genuine feelings for Ray, the dad is paying him to keep an eye on his son.

Let me allow Dangerous Romance, where we also see the poor boy x rich boy dynamic, to explain this arrangement.

Get the poor boy who is close to the rich wild child to monitor him in exchange for money. It's a win win!

But remember just like his fellow Slut for Christ Kang, Ray is quick to throw out that his poor boy is, well, poor and by extension apparently a money grubbing whore.

So I'm pretty sure having a magical honeymoon stage

Only to find out that daddy is paying this whore to take care of you would really set Ray off.

And to add to this Wild Ass Theory - it'll be Ray's karma.

I'm not getting into the morality muddy waters about this. I'm not writing if any of this is right or wrong. Instead, let me present the facts:

Karma

Boston recorded his friends making out, used it to get Top to have sex with him since he was jealous of Mew, then threw it in Ray's face to ruin his chances with Sand.

And Nick recorded him having sex with Top, told Sand about it who told Ray, who then told Mew and now everyone hates Boston.

Play stupid games (record your friends in an intimate moment and use it for your advantage), win stupid prizes (your recorded tapes, plural with an "s", become your downfall).

Then there is Mew, our beautiful virgin who judges his rich boy friend who does drugs and his other slutty friend.

Who then gets *cheated on by a rich boy who does drugs and sleeps around, then proceeds to do drugs and attempt to enter his slut era. (I'd argue Top did NOT cheat, but that's not what this post is about).

Ultimately, you will become the one you hate.

And now here we are with Ray. Raymond. My Ray of Sunshine. Fellow Slut for Christ. The love of my life! Who constantly degrades Sand by throwing money at him and calling him a whore.

Sand has tried to be a friend to Ray.

And yet . . .

Ray has made it where they can't be friends.

There are twenty million instances where Sand has told Ray that Ray treats Sand like a driver, a drinking buddy, a cook, a therapist, a nurse, and plenty more, but never a friend. There are fifty million instances where Sand has commented on Ray throwing his money at Sand to avoid acknowledging his fuck ups. Then there are another hundred million instances of Ray implying or directly stating that he thinks Sand is a whore.

So wouldn't it funny if this friend group is actually getting confronted with THEMSELVES?

Boston got hurt by the exact same thing he hurt others with. Mew got hurt by all the things he judged others about and is now turning into that.

And Ray is about to experience his own self-fulfilling prophecy because if you speak of the devil whore enough times, he will eventually appear.

[azsazz]

Nightlight

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Requests: "So I’ve had this idea stuck in my head for like a month now but an Az fic where the reader is the youngest of the autumn court high family and like Lucien, Hellion is her father, but unlike Lucien she bears obvious resemblance (she has red hair like her mother but has these golden markings or something that shows off the day court in her). So Beron had her locked in the dungeons since she was a child for centuries like no one even know the Vanserras have a sister. After years of isolation she becomes a shadowsinger as well. I’ve tried to write this like 4 times now but I’m just not a writer the best I can do is summaries like this 😭😭" and "Daughter of Beron escapes to night court fic?"

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,772

Notes: Lucky for you my dear anon, I do dabble with writing 😂😅

Posting this today because I want to post the next part of Cupid's Chokehold on Thursday 💙

_________________________________________

On the day you were born, the sun was not shining.

Thunder rumbles throughout the Autumn Court, shaking even the sturdiest of trees that have been growing across the lands since even before Beron ruled. The Woodland House shakes in the aftermath, lightning crackling across the sky, brightening the halls he paces, the deep velvety greens of the walls more menacing than they normally are. The High Lord swears he can see the glow of a forest fire in the distance.

It had been the driest summer in Autumn Court history, and Beron could feel a magic rivaling his own throughout the arid season. The sun shone brighter by the day, hotter than it had ever been, sucking the life from the normally colorful leaves, crisp and drained, browns and dull reds instead of the vivacious crimsons and creamy oranges he was used to.

Not even the winds of Autumn were the same, usually a breathy kiss of cool air, whispers of the forest breezing throughout the towns, had been tampered with. No longer did Beron feel the familiar ruffle of the fresh winds through his flaming hair, no, it seemed as if his court had stopped feeling the supple breeze at all, the air becoming stuffy with the lack of movement, like all of a sudden his lands wanted to feel the burning heat of the day.

It was as if the sun and moon were fighting, her beautiful shining face longing to meet her partner in the sky, staying out longer each day that passed as if they might meet high above the Autumn Court and kiss.

The moon did not make an appearance.

He’d be lying if he said that he wasn't put off by it. Never in his centuries of life had he experienced anything like this, and he’d holed himself up in his private library for weeks scouring the books for any sign of what was happening.

Beron hadn’t uttered a word to his trusted advisors, whom he urged to keep from asking questions with a red-hot stare. They shrank from his gaze and did as their Lord instructed, trying to do what they could to save the crops, keep the lush trees from drying out, and help the citizens who’d been harmed from the heat.

The Lord did not even tell his wife of what was going on. His relationship with Amaretto had been strained for decades, ever since the birth of Lucien, the child that looked nothing like him.

Such a disgrace, to him, to his court, this child was. The hatred had consumed him, fury burning hot beneath his skin. Even his brothers had questioned why their youngest brother did not look right. He didn’t don the pale, creamy skin he and his wife shared, and the orange of his hair was not that of a flame, but of the sun.

It had taken time for him to even think of having another child that Amaretto begged him for. Beron was incredibly hurt by the actions of his wife that he’d barely been able to sleep in the same room as her, often finding himself drifting off at his desk or one of the many other rooms within the palace, a bottle clutched in his grasp. He had not been the best husband, but he was better than that filth from the Day Court. If he hadn’t been so trained in burying his feelings he’d have burned out by now, but still he ruled. 

Although Amaretto had borne a child that was not his he would raise it, keep both his wife and the child as close as he could. But every time he looked at the boy all he could see was the gleaming golden eyes of the cocksure male of Day, the one who paraded around without a care in the world. Beron knew that the Lord didn’t know, and he’d be saving that information for when it was dire, when he needed to bargain with the stupid Lord he deemed below him in every way.

Eventually he’d given in to her pleas, as her beauty was far too persuasive to keep himself at bay. Amaretto had thought that the introduction of another child would mend the rift between them. Beron didn’t deign to tell her that it could never be fixed.

He paces outside of the birthing room, up and down the long corridor, bright with burning faelights lighting his way as the storm rages outside of the palace.

He can see it from where he stands, the usually airy and open hallways of the High Lord’s palace now black with rolling clouds, lightning striking mere meters from his home, hot and white across the sky. The rain pelters the shields protecting the Woodland House, normally never in use as the heavens hadn’t shed a singular drop all summer.

His first daughter. Beron could hardly believe he was so lucky to finally be having a girl. Seven sons over centuries of years, each one more ungrateful than the last. You were an omen. The first female of the Vanserra lineage and you were bringing the rains the lands so desperately cried for after the cruel summer they’d experienced.

You are going to be the Autumn Court’s salvation.

The High Lord has been muttering the same prayer for the past twenty hours, and each time he finishes he starts anew, glancing outside to see if the storm had let up. As if his breathy pleas to the Mother would force the dreary weather away from his doorstep.

He’d gone through this seven times and still his heart raced, ached for his wife. He had no idea how she did it, but he worshiped the ground she stood for doing so, for giving him a brood of potential sons that he could pass his crown to.

Beron releases a breath that sounds awfully like a sob as he hears your wail from behind the thick oak door. He braces himself against the wall as his body slackens with relief at the sound. For a heartbeat it doesn’t matter that there’s a storm raging outside, only that you’ve entered this glorious world.

The door creaks open and he stands tall, a midwife scurrying straight for him.

“My apologies, High Lord,” she curtsies. The nursemaid is a mousy little thing, wringing a towelette between her nimble fingers. Her skin is ashen and sweat lines her upper lip, rich chocolate eyes darting frantically around the hall, her nerves getting the best of her. Her voice trembles and Beron thinks something has gone wrong with his daughter's birth.

“What is it? Is my wife alright? My daughter?” he asks frantically, stomach dropping to the chestnut wood below. He doesn’t know what he’d do without his wife by his side, how he could possibly take care of a daughter all on his own. His heart slams in his chest, eyes darting to the open door.

“They are both alright,” she assures him, cheeks glowing red from having set him worrying for no good reason, “Both alive and well.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, releasing a breath he was unaware he was holding. “Thank the Mother.”

“Very good news, Sir,” the nursemaid agrees, and he’s not sure why but she has a spooked look on her face, wringing her towel between her hands anxiously.

The baby cries out again and she jumps, worried eyes flitting to the door.

“May I see them?” He asks, although he doesn’t need the permission, it’s his turn for nerves. The thought of seeing his beautiful Amaretto and daughter, half-his, his heart flutters at the thought.

There’s something about how the nursemaid is acting that’s off-putting, but no more so than the storm raging outside of the palace walls. Usually, when royal babes are born in the Autumn Court it is a joyous occasion, everyone involved, basking in the lifted spirits of the Higher Lords and Ladies.

She gives a slight nod, bowing her head. Her hands are shaking as she pushes open the door and he stops at the sight of his wife, a tiny little thing bundled up in her arms. She’s as beautiful as the day he met her, even if her hair is drenched with sweat, exhaustion pulling at her bright eyes. She startles slightly, sending a look to the nursemaid that has her spinning on her heel, fluffing the blankets in the bassinet built for the babe.

“Come closer, my love,” Amaretto urges, a smile so small that it has that male hesitating. “It’s time to meet your daughter.”

Beron makes his way closer, steps slow and calculated, sensing that something is not quite right. Each inch towards them he’s preparing himself, clearing his mind, breathing even until–

Beron freezes in his spot as he stares down at you, heart screeching to a halt in his chest. The babe looks everything like her mother, nose, pink lips, but then she yawns and her beautiful eyes flutter open–

They’re not like hers. Or his. 

His mate clutches the babe closer to her chest at the sight. Tears burn his eyes as he stares down at his child and it all begins to make sense, the dry summer, the burning sun, the brightness of your gaze, gold gleaming in your eyes.

You are not his daughter, but a child of Day.

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Ever since you could remember your father had not been a nice man.

You had chalked it up to being a female. You weren’t different from your brothers in any aspect other than that. You had the same pale skin as them, the same ruddy red eyes as Eris, a smattering of freckles like Pyrolas, and the same shining auburn hair like Lucien’s.

Yet you were treated like you did not matter. You hardly saw your father for things other than awkward family dinners and the occasional times he’d stop by your training, assessing how you were developing in weaponry and hand-to-hand.

He cared little of your studies, reading to your heart's content long after the faelights had been turned out, huddled up under the thick blankets, a soft glow you emitted from your chest the only light.

It was unlike Oak’s powers over flame, how he could conjure a lick of fire with a single snap of his fingers, or how Conleth could grow the raging infernos in the hearths when his temper struck. You could do both of those things, or would be able to with a little more training, but you could do other things, things that you’d never seen them do.

Along with flame, you could omit a glow, only faint enough for menial tasks like reading late at night or lighting your path to the restroom in the early hours of the morning when not even the sun had awakened. Useless perhaps, but it always puts a smile on your face. It was your little secret.

Beron stands at the entrance to the training ring, hands clasped behind his back, watching you closely as you work with the instructor, your first time using a steel blade in your training. You were good, he could admit that as he watched you block and parry from the blow your teacher had sent your way. You’d be able to compete with your brothers soon enough.

You’d been studying, not only by practicing when you were unable to sleep, but from the books in the library that Lucien had told you about. You drank in the knowledge the pages had to offer, learning everything that you could and implementing it in your strategy. Even your instructor was thoroughly impressed.

And you catch that gleam in his eyes, so distracted by it that you miss the next block, the cold metal of the trainer's blade slicing cleanly across the skin of your arm.

You gasp, nearly dropping your own weapon in favor of clutching the wound to your chest.

Your heart jumps as you stare down at the wound and Beron’s eyes go cold at the sight.

He stalks from his spot, snatching your arm to get a better look. You yelp as his harsh grasp tugs at the slowly closing wound, glinting in the daylight.

You’re just as confused as he is. There should be red blood dripping from the wound, but instead it’s golden, catching the rays of the sun and cuddling them close. You can feel the warmth as it leaks across your skin, looking like molten gold itself.

It’s then that Beron realizes that the omen wasn’t that you’d save his court, but that you’d burn it to the ground.

“Dad?” you whimper as his hold flexes and his eyes darken, and though he’s been convincing himself of his hatred for you for fifteen years his heart still burns in his chest. The auburn eyes of his own that he’s glamoured on you since he saw you for the first time are wide, scared, your pale skin marred with injury. It wouldn’t be the last time either.

But his gaze is harsh, unrelenting as he stares at the wound. The honeyed blood only proves what he’d known since he first laid eyes on you. 

You are far more dangerous to his court than he could’ve imagined.

Beron meets the eyes of the trainer, a friend for many years, the one to train all of his sons and now you, staring between you and the hurt, brows pulled taut in confusion.

The High Lord grimaces, taking the sword from you gently, and in a swift move he shoves it up into the trainer's head from the swell of his throat, steel sticking out the crown, his eyes rolling back as he falls limp at the both of your feet.

Your blood curdling scream scares the ravens away, Beron’s grip tightening on your arm as you try to prize his fingers off of you.

It is the second fae of his court he has slain because of you. The first, the nursemaid that had birthed you, slaughtering her before she could gossip to the other healers about the Day born female in his court. He’d snapped her neck in a sudden movement, and Amaretto had clutched you tighter to her chest as the sound of cracking bone woke you, her rich brown eyes terrified of her husband as he neared.

But he simply waved a hand and your teary golden eyes had changed to a replica of his own. If he had to deal with his wife bearing another of Helion’s miscreant children in his court, she would deal with the fact that every time she looked at you, she was staring at him.

The High Lord of Autumn had left the both of you with a last sad look.

Tears stream down your face, you couldn’t stop staring at your instructor, laying limp at your feet with a sword embedded into his skull. Why would your father do such a terrible thing? 

Beron swipes the gleaming blood from your arm. The wound has healed but left in its wake is a sliver of a golden scar.

If anyone saw it they would know immediately, and he couldn’t have that.

He personally dragged you to the chambers beneath the house himself, hardly struggling as you put up a fight, thrashing and screaming until he’d lit a fire inside of your throat, the burning so intense you could hardly breathe. 

You gasped for air as he threw you into a chamber at the bottom of the stairs. It smelled of burnt flesh and it was damp, the dirt floors moist and clinging to your fighting clothes, your exposed skin.

You scramble to your feet, lunging as the iron doors clang shut. You reach between the bars, sobs silent as you couldn’t make a noise, the metal biting into your skin. There was no light down here and you already felt suffocated, not from the stifling flames clawing at your esophagus, but because you couldn’t see or feel the sun. 

You swear for just a moment that you spot regret in his gaze, stepping away from your reach. He doesn’t have to do this, if he would just explain what was going on maybe you could–

Beron’s mask falls into place again and the glaring look he gives you is so cold that it makes you shrink away from the iron bars.

He spits at your feet, muttering something in a language you hadn’t learned yet before he spins on his heel, leaving you all alone in the foxholes of the Woodland House.

[taki-yaki]

Draconic Sorcerer Tav Headcanons

not an anon request this time but this was sitting on my wip for ages so I'll put it out now. Hope my fellow draconic sorcerer/dragonborn(?) fans.

As a draconic sorcerer, the blood that runs in your veins is filled to the brim with the magical potency of such grand beasts. The scales that lie across your skin are a clear sign to others of your ancestry.

Despite the power within you, it can’t transform you into a dragon but rather changes the physical appearance of your body, from the tips of your fingers becoming sharp-like claws, to your fangs ready to tear anything or one that stands in your path.

Many upon hearing of such graphic descriptions would tend to avoid your kind, but not Astarion, he’s enamoured with the way you look and act. 

Astarion would be interested in your draconic tongue, listening as you speak to Gale and Lae’zel with each syllable hissing off the end of your tongue, akin to a growling beast, in comparison to the soft-spoken tone of elvish that he speaks in.

Later he tries to ask Lae’zel and Gale to teach him some draconic phrases, under the guise of wanting to learn such a uniquely rare language. Gale would attempt to teach him more simple dull phrases whilst Lae’zel would teach him phrases that mainly translated to battle cries. But soon he would tire of the dull lectures. Deciding to just stick to common instead.

After your first night together in the forest during the tiefling party, he would go around bragging about how he got to “ride” a dragon first before poor lae’zel. She’d quickly rebuttal with the threat to slice off his head, lest he continue with his antics.

When he drinks your blood, apart from getting a slight boost to his magic, the flavour changes based on your blood ancestry. acid has a slightly sweet-sour aftertaste, fire has a spicy flare, lighting leaves a jolting taste on his tongue and cold creates a slight tingly numb sensation. 

Other elements of your ancestry also affect your day-to-day life, from fire blood making you his personal hot water bottle, full of blood. Or your cold blood, creates a faint aura of ice upon your skin, causing you to have Gale create an enchanted heated blanket to keep you both warm.

Using your wellspring of magic within your body, you attempt to twist the arcane magic that flows in your blood in an attempt to transfer some of your arcana magic into Astarion when he feeds from you. Mainly in the hopes of making him stronger in difficult fights. 

However, this backfires causing your blood cells to temporarily produce faster, causing you to get Astarion to help. He does chastise you for doing something dangerous but doesn’t say no to the offer of having seconds of your blood in one day.

A few days later, you learn how to replicate the same spell, but on a lower scale, which assists in not only keeping Astarion well-fed but also stopping the effect of bloodless afterwards.

Some traits that emerge from your ancestry is the habit of hoarding objects, from gold coins to silver plates. Even taking one of Astarion’s spare nightshirts to sleep with much to his annoyance, so he tries to steal things from you in retaliation, which becomes an unspoken agreement between you two.

When your wings finally come through, he tries to help you become used to them, mainly in the hopes that you could fly him around places, eliminating the need to walk around all the time whilst carrying such a heavy pack.

Preening habits also start to be displayed, mainly done in an attempt to impress Astarion. Everyone at camp teases that Astarion has been rubbing off on you, with his usual morning beauty care routine usually holding everyone up some days. He would find this to be cute but attempts to get you to kick the habit, by brushing them for you.

“Darling, I know you want to take care of your wings, but would it kill you to just fix up your hair as well.”

In return, you show your affection by wrapping your wings around him both when you embrace each other, acting as a sort of comfort blanket to both of you.

If you’ve grown out a set of dragon-like claws, he does your nails if they get too sharp, ensuring that you don’t accidentally scratch yourself. And if you have a tail, similarly to tieflings, you would have a habit of wrapping your scaled tail around his leg, which he would endlessly tease you for.

Later on in your relationship, you both give each other unique pet names, you call him your Isk meaning star in your draconic tongue, whilst Astarion in return calls you his miniature dragon.“An elf and a miniature dragon, hmm quite the pair wouldn’t you say love?”

[danikamariewrites]

the feysand x reader where she punches tamlin is too good😩🙏❤️ he def deserves that bro literally can’t take no for an answer🙄 but i wanted to ask if i can request a part 2 where he is fuming and kidnaps reader back to the spring court and he sees reader as a substitute for feyre maybe👀

Taken to Spring

Poly!Feysand x reader

A/n: loved this concept anon thank you. Feyre is kicking ass in this one

Warnings: kidnapping, violence

Part 1 here

You had decided to turn in early. Court work was getting to you and your mates but you felt extra drowsy. Maybe that nighttime tea was too strong. You bid your mates goodnight telling them not to take too long, never being able to sleep properly without them.

As soon as your head hit the pillow you were out. Curious, you thought to yourself as you drifted. In your half conscious state you swore you heard someone winnow into the bedroom.

——

When Feyre and Rhys entered the bedroom they quickly became confused when you weren’t in bed. Rhys checked the bathroom and the closet but as Feyre slowly approached the bed she froze. That all too familiar scent pierced her nose, throwing her back to one of her worst moments.

He didn’t hide his scent well enough. That rain and earthen smell. Like early spring showers. Feyre thought she was going to be sick. Rhys scented her tears and felt her fear and panic down the bond. He came rushing out of the closet to her side, holding Feyre tight to him.

She started to hyperventilate in Rhys’ arms. Before Rhys could ask why he knew. Knew it was Tamlin. And the two of them were going to tear Prythian apart to get you back.

——

You stir and rub the sleep from your eyes. You reach out to feel for your mates but you’re met with unfamiliar sheets. You shoot up and look around the room. High carved ceilings, lots of green, and a way smaller bed. You start to panic. You know exactly where you are, but unsure of how you got here.

Jumping from the bed you rush to the door and turn at the handle. It doesn’t budge. You pull and push a few more times, banging on the door. You give up and head to the windows. None of them will open either.

Tears burn your eyes, your breathing becomes heavy and quick. You take in the expanse of the Manor grounds. It would be quite beautiful if you hadn’t been brought here against your will.

The door opens behind you. You try your hardest not to turn around but the presence behind you spend an uncomfortable chill down your spine. You take a few deep breathes and face Tamlin.

"Glad to see you're awake. How are you feeling this morning?" Your eyes go wide with anger. Your mouth set in a frown, opening and closing. "I...What?" He smiles at you, taking a few steps toward you.

Your mind is working quickly. Thinking how you could escape or incipacitate him. You speed walk at him, pulling your fist back and throw all your weight into punching his stomach. Tamlin hunches over letting out a groan. You run at the open door. Just before you can make it through he uses his magic to slam it shut, locking you in again.

You start pounding on the door, screaming and grunting for a way out. Tamlin’s arms wrap around you and you begin to thrash in his hold. “Let go!” The male has the audacity to ‘soothingly’ shush you as he sets you on the bed.

“It’s alright pet. You’re alright.” You stop fighting as you kneel on top of the satin sheets. The nickname making you freeze. Pet? What does he mean you’re alright? “Tamlin…what’s going on?” He sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“They we’re controlling you my dear. I had to get you away from them. I can keep you safe here.” He pushes a strand of hair behind your pointed ear. You close your eyes, taking more deep breathes as you fight off your tears.

You scream in your mind, down the bond, mentally scratch at them, anything to get their attention. “Help me! Help me! Please Feyre! Rhysand! He took me!”

——

Rhys notices how still Feyre has gone in her seat. He reaches out, grasping her hand, “Darling, what is it?” She slowly turns her head toward him, “Do you hear that? Hear her?” Tears line her eyes. Then your voice begins to echo in Rhys’ mind. The words so familiar he fell to his knees letting out a sob.

“Rhys we have to go! Now!” Rhys grabbed Azriel while Feyre took Cassian, winnowing to the Spring Court Manor.

——

Tamlin had left you in Feyre’s old room after he put you in one of her dresses. The thing was far too colorful and frilly. He was convinced he saved you they way he couldn’t save Feyre. That you were in danger living in the Night Court.

You felt them before anything happened. The coolness of soothing night had infiltrated the perfect spring day. You felt relieved. Your mates and friends had come to save you.

Pressing your ear to the door you could hear the fight downstairs. Feyre screaming bloody murder at Tamlin. Crashes and bangs and snaps of power echo through the empty halls. Two sets of footsteps thunder down the hall toward the room your being held in.

Someone slams on the door causing you to fall on the cold tiles. You scramble away as the next bang sends the door splintering. You scream, covering your face.

A pair of gentle but shaky hands pull yours away from your face. Feyre and Rhys crouch in front of you. Both of your mates spattered with blood, you assume it’s Tamlin’s, looking wide eyed and terrified. “Are you ok?” She asked softly. You nod whispering yes.

Feyre bursts into tears pulling you into the tightest embrace you’ve ever felt. Rhys rubs up and down her spine while kissing your head whispering soft words of reassurance. “Take me home.” You sob.

Feyre pushes Rhys off of you both and winnows to the River house leaving the males to deal with what was left of Tamlin. She cradles you on sitting room floor as tears silently flowed from both of you.

[xhanelia]

hello!! I noticed you liked my Sova series and wanted to drop by, to send a small request :>

Can I get an omen, teaching y/n how to knit :D possibly make omen cold but has a soft spot for them :))

+ your writing is beautiful 🥹🥹

THANK UUU X

I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO ASK ABOUT OMEN!! Also he is my main and i have the card that he knits infront of a fireplace so imma go with that! So sorry for the delay btw... i have been feeling a bit down lately bcs i had a fight with one of my classmates but im back i promise!

Also, i am writing your request too, sova lover anon. Hope you are not mad at me 🥹

<<<Reader is gn and an agent from the protocole.>>>

Omen teaching to reader how to knit

Peeking through the door of the empty living room only to see the shadowy figure sitting infront of the burning fireplace and knitting with a pink yarn. If it wasnt your eyes that were too sleepy to see, it would be obvious that he was knitting an octopus with that yarn.

It was 2 am in the morning (def not me rn) and your mind was not letting you drift to sleep. You felt sick turning from one side to another. Deciding to go and get a water, walking down on the corridor to reach the kitchen but your eyes stuck to the ghost that was lighten by the light of the fire.

He noticed you nontheless. That 'face' turned to you and gave you chills down your spine. You know that he wouldnt hurt you in any ways but the chills was still there.

He didnt need any sleep and he quite enjoys his quiet moments at nights. If it was any other, he would just turn to knitting but he definately has a soft spot for you. In terms of interrupting his 'quiet moments' the only one he wouldnt mind was you.

"What are you doing this late?" The raspy and deep voice of his spoke with a lighter tone just for you. He didnt wanted to scare you off. Or it was just an instict. He doesnt even know at this point.

"Uhh... i couldnt sleep." You said while rubbing your eyes. It was weird of him to spoke first. If he spoke first, then he wants to speak right? You hope you were not mistaken and he wasnt doing this just because he feels the need to ask if you are okay.

"What are you knitting?" You asked while getting a bit closer to take a better look at it. "An octopus. I hope you like them."

Huh? I hope you like them? DO YOU? WHY WOULD HE ASK THAT?

"I do, but why?" You asked again. Feeling like you ask too many questions now.

"Then i will give this one to you when its finished. Maybe she will help you sleep well." He said while continuing with the yarn. When was Omen this warm to anybody? Let alone care?

"You really do not have to give it to me, you know." You tried to reject his offer but he stopped what he was doing and just stared into your soul so you have to accept that. You raised your hands to the air and laughed at your lose.

"I wish i could knit you something back but it feels like some kind of magic that i will never understand." You say while slowly sitting next to him. By his body language, he doesnt seem to mind.

"I can teach you." He says. Straight to the point as always. You look at him only to meet the blue hues that was looking at you. "Really? I would love to." This time you accept his offer with a smile. He took out his spare knitting needles and made a start with another yarn for you.

"Insert the right needle like this, wrap the yarn around and pull. Then put this stitch to the left one and repeat." He said then handled the needles to you. Showing you what to do one more time with the unfinished octopus.

It wasnt that hard as you thought it would be. He helped you with certain points and you two knit in peace. It felt quite nice to just knit near by a fire with some quietness. You understood why Omen liked it.

You didnt even notice you fell asleep. You woke up on your bed. Couldnt remember how you get here so it must be Omen who carried you to here. You lift yourself up in the bed, only to notice the pink octopus near you that was tucked in your bed like a kid. The care of Omen made you laugh. This was too cute to be him and yet it was.

After that night, his favorite time of the day is to knit with you. He continued to teach you and was proud of your progress. After you learn pretty much everything, there was planty of time for you two to knit things for eachother. Lets say, a sign of affection. He liked it and hoped that you do too.

[windvexer]

what's your opinion on pop culture witchcraft? i think it seems really fun and cool im just not sure how exactly a fictional god will manifest in the "real" world? i was just curious on what you thought :p thank you for your time!

I think that pop culture witchcraft is beautiful and sacred and I think more people should get into it!

My views on the intersection of popular culture (aka, the dominant cultural beliefs and creations at this moment in time) and witchcraft originate from the fact that when I began doing a lot of energy work, I saw a lot of stuff as video game characters & assets.

If I would binge any video game, for the next little while, a lot of my energy readings would be output in the symbols and lore from that game.

E.g., a pokemon binge, seeing Gengar near the querent: "Yes, you're being haunted by a ghost."

A DAO binge, seeing a dryad writing a letter to the querent: "A tree wants to talk to you."

These experiences have deeply influenced my beliefs on the nature of psychism, communing with the spirit world, and divination as a whole. It has inspired my beliefs on how to work with divinatory tools, especially my concepts of choosing your own symbol sets to work with.

After all, an upright triangle is so abstract, but a charmander? For many of us, that is a deeply rooted symbol of fire indeed! And I can't imagine how a triangle might act if it needs to be revived and balanced in my life, but I can surely visualize a charmander feeling sick and cold, or desperately trying to stack and balance heavy boxes.

This inspired me to consider the intersection of popular culture and the experiential nature of witchcraft. After all, aren't so many of us deeply imprinted on and influenced by what culture has told us about magic and spirits? Where is the line in the sand between how culture makes us interact with magic (path), and how culture makes us interact with magic (practice)?

Let me tell you a story!!

There is some internet monster named Momo. Momo has a *very* scary face (to me at least) so be warned if you google.

But when this story starts, I had never heard of Momo. I had never seen a picture of Momo or heard her name. Yes? Yes.

Now one time, I was doing an energy reading for a person, and I saw a horrifying monster woman with huge eyes and a twisted smile like a V slashed across her face, and not only this, but the horrifying monster woman was standing over the querent's bed, watching them sleep.

As a reader with about an ounce of wisdom, I knew much better than to say, "hey, a horrifying monster is watching you while you sleep." Because that is a dick thing to say to anyone.

As I continued watching to try and gain more information, it struck me that this monster woman wasn't threatening at all. She didn't have bad vibes. In fact she seemed neutral, or perhaps even an ally. She was just watching the person sleep.

I couldn't help but notice, however, that I could see her face so clearly. So distinctly. So I googled something like, "big smile scary woman face."

And there she was: Momo! The exact monster I was seeing. It was a startling moment, made all the more strange by the fact that this wasn't some monster of mythical lore or legend. It was like, a TikTok trend or something.

Finally I had to tell the querent something. Now y'all this happened some years ago and I don't remember exactly how it went down, but it was like this:

"Hey, someone is watching you sleep. The form is scary looking but they don't seem threatening at all. I googled it and it looks exactly like an internet urban legend named Momo."

"What? My cat?"

"No, it's a woman, an urban legend named Momo."

"No, my cat Momo. My cat is named Momo. She watches me while I sleep."

So to answer your question, Anon:

I expect that a fictional god can manifest at least as bizarrely as a real cat, I believe that the simple phrase "real world" is an artifact that fits into few reliquaries of the occult, and I think that pop culture witchcraft is absolutely fabulous.