#and that's testament to how powerful he is actually

[merrysithmas]

Charles' line "There's so much more to you than you know" has always struck me because it's SO easy for Charles to come off unlikeable-

"There's so much more to you than you know" (But I do)

"What do you know about me? - Everything." (Whether you like it or not)

"I know what this means to you but you have to let go!" (Stop this nonsense)

"There's a mutant here already! [Exposing Hank]"

"I don't want your pain. They sent back the wrong man [To Logan]"

"I've seen what Shaw did to you"

"I feel your agony [After Nina died]"

"[Jean expresses no one knows how it feels to be tormented telepathically] Oh but I do."

Like on a base level what he communicates is such an invasion of privacy and instantly gets the hackles up because it's not natural. He can sound, at first glance, self-important and even dismissive (Erik at one point calls him 'arrogant'). Charles' telepathy gift is so alienating. He knows people's most personal thoughts, feelings, dreams, and nightmares. Seeing into someone's soul is as simple as breathing and second nature to him -- and he knows how repulsive this must be (see: how profusely he apologized for outting Hank. This speaks to a past/youth where he clearly unintentionally shared the secrets of others or caused trouble with his abilities and disturbed the people around him or endangered himself/others).

But Charles can't help his powers in the same way that Rogue can't - actually, Charles' abilities could easily been seen in some regards as the psychic equivalent to Rogue's physical gift. She can't touch ANYONE without hurting them in some manner, she is dangerous in some regard. And it's the same thing with Charles -- wherever his mind goes he exposes and hurts people. It's a side effect of his powers.

But unlike Rogue, Charles can't wear gloves. He can try to keep up psychic shields (which hurt HIM), or he can promise Raven he'll never read her mind, but he can't ever lessen his gift. He can't be perfect but he has to try. He can't or he'll be hated, despised, and feared. Rogue and he share a similar distress. Rogue suffers from touch-starvation but has to deal or she'll be seen as a monster. Charles suffers from the same kind of thing is a psychic way - he has to block his abilities or be seen as arrogant, invasive, and holier-than-thou. He has to starve his mind and powers.

So that's why it's sooooo touching that he tries SO hard to do good with it despite all that. Especially as he grows as a person and sees how powerful he can be with appendages like Cerebro. He ALWAYS makes an effort to clarify his knowledge of someone's mind with encouragement, love, understanding, and hope.

He can't help reading someone's mind but he CAN help how they react to it or how they feel about what's been exposed and the constant effort he exerts to express empathy, kindness, and aid is a testament to how hard he works to do good with his mutation. He frankly just doesn't have to do that. He could be like Emma Frost or Jean Grey or Psylocke. They know your thoughts, they use telepathy, and it's as simple as that.

Charles feels people's pain so ardently, sees their struggles so clearly, that it literally torments him not to help. How can he see that and just walk away? Innermost pain and secrets are revealed to him by nature -- he could ignore it, exploit it, or use it maliciously. Instead he takes the information and tries to help (surely in part to make up for how sensitive the invasion is).

"There's so much more to you than you know" (But one day you'll be more powerful than me. Don't get lost, keep going, you have so much more to remember and you aren't just made up of this pain that is so so heavy for you. This is not all that you are, I've seen what you forgot, I promise it's still there. You're still a person. Hold on).

"What do you know about me? - Everything" (I have seen your whole mind - the good and the bad - and still I came out here to ask you to stay. Because nothing in there scares me and in fact it gives me hope. I need you. We could do something great together.)

"I know what this means to you but you have to let go!" (They'll succeed in killing you if you let them. You deserve better)

"There's a mutant already here!" (Thank god! And you're incredible!)

"I don't want your pain. They sent back the wrong man." (Proceeds to cry at Logan's life and is amazed at his strength, you poor poor man. Is inspired to keep going from Logan's strength).

"I've seen what Shaw did to you." (Shaw did it to you. It's not a shameful secret and you aren't Frankenstein's Monster. It won't stop me from seeing who you really are. You're free).

"I feel your agony." (Come back to us. I can help you. You're not alone. You never had to leave. You still have a family. Grieve with us.)

"Oh but I do" (I survived. So will you. I didn't have help and I also had parents who didn't love me. I won't let that happen to you or leave you alone. I promise. You can sleep. You're safe. I'll protect you.)

[konfizry]

let hootle be the dad

[shiurkoma]

Take: chaotic evil Yehonatan, in which he knew David is meant to replace him and his father from the very start.

TLDR: Yehonatan is as, if not more likely to be the abuser in their relationship because it is plain unfair to overlook how humongous their power gap is, and he is abused enough to be at least a little unhinged in his noggins.

Warning: dead dove do not eat. Im going to entertain an idea where Yehonatan is definitely not a good person. If you have a problem with that, or have issue reading fictional underage abuse and emotional manipulation, please stop reading. Finally, nothing about this is meant to be serious interpretation of the original text, it's all plain headcanoning for fanfiction.

(For the record, i seriously do not consider David (even close to being) a morally good individual in any possible sense of the word. It doesn't make any of this ok tho)

Some fanfics i've seen paint the davinatan ship as a manipulative one, with david being the seducter that manipulates Yehonatan into simping for him, only to discard him after David achieved his goals. Even outside of fanfictions, i know of people who view Yehonatan as a tragic victim. While i appreciate David's more malicious side being acknowledged, and agree with it more than depicting them simply and benignly loving eachother(tho i appreciate that too), I can't help but think how both protrayal down plays just how utterly creepy yehonatan's part in the relationship is.

Like, Yehonatan, a middle aged man with wives and kids, went ahead and basically stripped in front of a teen the first night they met then gave him some really personal and valuable gifts. If thats not a red flag i don't know what is.

Yehonatan is someone you do not want to cross, maybe even more so than Saul.

It is easy to forget that, holding the title of eldest son and legal heir to the throne comes with immense pressure, responsibility and danger, and dealing with all that takes more than just a thick backbone. With a deranged father as king, people around him are constantly plotting to take the throne for themselves. All bets are off in the war for the throne, even if Yehonatan doesn't actually want to be king, his competitors (which includes but not limited to his entire family) wouldn't rest until he is dead. He isn't in a position where he can just back off: it isn't unheard of that princes and kings renounce their positions, retire, and end up getting assassinated or executed anyway. Because king or not, they are still legitimate heirs to the throne and therefore a potential threat.

Basically, Yehonatan lives in a situation where he simply cannot afford to show weakness or hesitation, not to his subordinates, not to his brothers, not to his father, not to anyone. What doesn't kill you makes you dangerous, and Yehonatan is deadly in that sense.

(But its not to say all that didn't take a toll on his mental wellbeing. Yehonatan has no business being mentally ok. He watched his father ascend to the throne, watched as Saul sunk further towards insanity, and had to endure his often psychotic abuse for years. I don't believe one bit that he isn't depressed and at least a little messed up, especially in a time where mental illnesses aren't even acknowledged yet.)

To sum it up, as a weathered crown prince, Yehonatan would logically be a person who is reasonably paranoid, moderately ruthless, extremely strong willed and more than competently intuitive about the motives and intentions of people around him.

David on the other hand (at the start of their relationship anyway) had no prior experience mingling with politics, no ties in the palace, was never regarded with importance by his father or brothers (meaning he had zero exposure and no one ever invested in him), young and inexperienced (meaning vulnerable to manipulation), stands no chance against Yehonatan if he were to play mind games on him.

David could pull an Esther on Yehonatan. But keep in mind Esther and a lot of other femme fatal spies in history had ties that helped pull strings from the outside, they are often not the master mind either. David had himself, and practically nothing else.

This is why Yehonatan helping him matters so much. Useing weak willed and easily manipulated individuals only works for you if you are already a powerful dictator. If you have absolutely nothing you need powerful allys.

The most straightforward option for dark Yehonatan is just to kick the creep element up ten notchs. David tries to seduce Yehonatan, then immediately realises he bit off more than he could chew: he is just too possessive to be controlled. Yehonatan in this scenario probably somewhat resembles that purple creep from Tokyo ghoul, entertaining while the shock value lasts, but after that it gets pretty shallow. I hate this approach tbh.

Or, him seeing David that day was Yehonatan's last straw(what i doodled basically). He stops giving a sh*t about everything, and thought since he is so "in love" he might as well groom and sodomize David. Its a petty way of getting back at God for making him fall for the boy, and for making his life miserable in general.

He uses his charms and presents himself as a saintly figure to appeal to David's more religious side, then proceeds to not only make sure that David is emotionally dependent on him(i won't elaborate how but its easier than you think), but also plans to make it so that if he dies it will f*ck David in the head. He enjoys this, because for once in his life he feels a "real" sense of control, albeit a twisted and perverted one.

(Maybe he will feel shame and regret eventually, but thats another talk for another day.)

I'll borrow my friend's comment to sum up the take: "a broken abused individual perpetuating a cycle of abuse to an ambitions sociopathic twink, each making the other worse just through being together." Another reason i prefer this version of dark Yehonatan is cuz it restores some agency Yehonatan desperate lacks.

Strayed quite far from his canon image with my shameless slandering but yeah that's about it. For now. Might explore David's pov in this later.

[wienners]

Other funniest thing about EMH is Evans baby. They literally never showed a baby on screen. The scene where Habits holding it is very clearly just a bundle of blankets and even in the qna they did in fact confirm there was no baby. But Evan describes how he remembers eating it so vividly and horribly in WAKE UP that im like. Damn I really do believe he ate that thing fr.

[katistrophe]

That feeling when you get a plotbunny for a fandom where you don’t even go, IN A CONLANG, and you don’t have anyone who knows it so it’s just pingponging around in your brain

[fr0stf4ll]

Forge of Starlight - Part 1

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 4k

notes; This is my first time writing fan fiction. I hope that you guys will like it, and since English isn't my first language, please don’t hesitate to mention any mistakes <3. The story takes place when Rhys was in the early stages of being the High Lord of the Night Court, around 300-350 years old, so 200 years before ACOTAR actually began. I'm not sure yet how many parts this story will have, but I hope that you all will keep reading it ;)))

here is the link for part 2

---

The sound of hammer striking hot iron echoed through the narrow streets of Velaris, mingling with the melodies of the city—the distant hum of conversation and the ever-present whisper of the Sidra River. Within the heart of the Rainbow, a district renowned for its vibrant arts and crafts, a new shop had begun to draw attention. It was an unassuming place at first glance, yet the sheer force of energy within its walls set it apart. This was no ordinary smithy.

You wiped a bead of sweat from your brow, your hands expertly maneuvering the red-hot blade beneath your hammer. Sparks flew with each strike, the heat from the forge wrapping around you like a lover’s embrace, both comforting and overwhelming. The rhythmic clang, clang, clang of metal against metal was music to your ears, a symphony you had been conducting since childhood.

Velaris was in your blood. Though you had been born here, your early memories were of the forge and the sound of your master's hammer. Your mother, a powerful and kind high fae, had died giving birth to you, and your father, unable to bear the weight of his mate’s passing, had followed soon after. You had been raised by a close friend of your father’s, a Master in the art of blacksmithing, who had taken you in as his own. It was under his watchful eye that you learned the craft, your small hands gradually growing strong and sure as you worked beside him, day after day.

With your master, you had traveled across the courts and to the far reaches of the continent, learning from smiths of every kind, studying techniques and secrets long forgotten by most. But no matter where you went, Velaris always called to you. And now, after hundred years of honing your skills, you had returned to the City of Starlight to forge your own path.

The shop itself was a reflection of your work—functional, yet beautiful in its simplicity. The front room was a gallery of sorts, with weapons and tools displayed like pieces of art. Gleaming swords, daggers with intricately carved hilts, and axes that looked as though they could fell the mightiest of trees hung from the walls, each one a testament to your skill. The floor was of polished wood, dark and smooth, with rugs from the weavers of Velaris adding warmth to the space. The light streamed in through tall windows, catching on the steel and iron and casting a soft glow across the room.

The shop had been open for only a few months, yet it had already begun to stir curiosity among the citizens of Velaris. Word spread quickly in the Rainbow—whispers of the new blacksmith who had come to claim a place among the best. But you rarely dealt with the customers yourself. That task fell to Alexander, your young apprentice. At only ten years old, he was sharp as a blade and twice as charming, with a quick smile and a mischievous glint in his eye. The boy had a knack for reading people, knowing just what to say to put them at ease—or to convince them that they needed a new sword or dagger.

As you plunged the heated blade into a trough of water, the hiss of steam rising into the air, you heard the familiar chime of the shop’s bell and the light patter of Alexander’s footsteps as he went to greet the newcomer. You allowed yourself a small smile as you heard his cheerful voice, already launching into his well-practiced routine.

“Welcome to the finest smithy in Velaris!” Alexander’s voice rang out, full of enthusiasm. “You won’t find better craftsmanship anywhere in the city—or the continent, for that matter. What are you looking for today? A sword? A dagger? Or maybe something a bit more… unique?”

There was a pause, and then a voice, low and measured, responded, “I’m looking for the blacksmith.”

Your hands stilled, your grip tightening around the hilt of the blade you had been shaping. It was rare that someone asked for you directly. Most customers were content to browse, to admire the work and perhaps make a purchase. But something in the tone of that voice, the way it cut through the air, sent a shiver down your spine.

“Ah,” Alexander said, his voice tinged with a hint of surprise. “You’re in luck. She’s right here. Let me fetch her for you.”

You took a deep breath, wiping your hands on a cloth as you made your way toward the front of the shop. The bell above the door chimed softly as it closed, and you stepped into the light, your eyes adjusting to the brightness. Alexander was standing by the counter, his wide eyes flicking between you and the figure standing in the center of the room.

As you rounded the corner, you finally laid eyes on the stranger. The words of welcome you had been preparing died on your lips as your gazes locked, and you felt a strange sense of familiarity wash over you, as if this meeting had been fated long before you had returned to Velaris.

Alexander, sensing the shift in the air, stepped back slightly, his usual exuberance giving way to a quiet curiosity. “This is Y/N,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “The best blacksmith in Velaris.”

The stranger’s eyes never left yours, and you found yourself holding your breath, waiting for whatever would come next. He took a step closer, towering over you despite your own considerable height, his presence imposing. His dark hair contrasted sharply with his piercing violet eyes that seemed to take in everything with a single glance.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice smooth and rich, hinting at depths of authority and power. “I’ve heard much about your work, and I find myself in need of your particular expertise.”

The chill from the incoming winter seemed to linger around him, a reminder of the cold that had swept through Velaris with the approach of the Winter Solstice. Despite the warmth of the forge, you felt a shiver run through you—not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze.

“I’m honored, my lord,” you replied, maintaining eye contact, feeling the weight of his presence. “What can I do for you?”

Rhysand’s expression was serious, and his next words carried an air of significance. “The Solstice celebrations are approaching, and with the colder days upon us, I’d like to commission two sets of weapons—a sword and a dagger—for my brothers. I want them to be special, crafted with the utmost care and consideration for their owners.”

Your mind whirred with ideas, but you needed more information to tailor each piece to its future owner. “To create something truly fitting, I’ll need to know more about your brothers. What are their personalities like, and what are their preferences in combat?”

Rhysand’s face softened slightly as he spoke of Cassian and Azriel. “Cassian is a warrior through and through—strong, fiercely loyal, and a born leader. His weapon should reflect that strength and his role within the Illyrian legions.”

You nodded thoughtfully, picturing a sturdy, bold design for Cassian’s sword. “And Azriel?”

“Azriel operates in the shadows, precise and strategic. His weapon should be subtle yet deadly, embodying his role as spymaster.”

A smile flickered across your face. “I have the perfect idea for him—a sleek design with a hidden element, perhaps.”

Rhysand’s approving nod encouraged you to continue. “Since those two are illyrian maybe we can include syphons in the design. It might be best to work with their olds ones. If you could send those to me, I can restore them and integrate them into the new weapons, preserving their familiar feel while enhancing their function.”

“That sounds ideal,” Rhysand agreed. “I’ll arrange for some of their old syphons to be brought to you tomorrow. They are quite worn but hold significant meaning for my brothers.”

You glanced up at him, reassured by his confidence in your abilities. “I’ll ensure the weapons reflect both their personalities and their needs.”

Rhysand’s smile was genuinely warm now. “Thank you, Y/N. I look forward to seeing your craftsmanship.”

With that, he turned to leave, his cloak swirling around him as he stepped out into the cold Velaris air, leaving a trail of frost in his wake. The bell above the door chimed softly, signaling his departure.

Standing in your forge, you felt the weight of the responsibility settle onto your shoulders. This commission was more than just a job; it was a chance to craft pieces that would be carried by some of the most formidable warriors in the Night Court. You had done works for other lords, kings or fighters, but every time a new challenge would come up your excitement increased so much. The idea of those people working with your creations was just incredible. 

As the cold seeped into the shop, you turned back to your workbench, pulling out parchment and charcoal. Your sketches began to take shape, influenced by the discussion and your insights into the characters of the two brothers. Powerful, elegant, and deadly—just like the men they were meant for.

The forge called to you, and as you answered, diving into your work, you felt a sense of purpose. These weapons would be more than just tools; they would be extensions of the warriors themselves, forged with skill and imbued with the spirit of the Winter Solstice.

After a few more hours of work and locking up the smithy, you and Alex headed up to your cozy apartment. It was adorned with all the comforts of a true craftsman's home—polished wooden floors, local Velaris art, and big windows that showcased the night sky. Your personal collection of swords decorated the walls, each blade a story from your past travels with your old master.

At the foot of your bed lay Stellan, your faithful direwolf companion. His thick, snow-white fur contrasted sharply with his deep, dark eyes that held a world of wisdom and loyalty. You had found him as a pup during one of your early travels—a small, shivering ball of fur huddled against the cold. From that moment on, Stellan had been by your side, growing into a majestic creature whose presence was as comforting as it was formidable.

Your apartment, while only boasting two bedrooms, mostly saw both you and Alex sharing the larger one. Alex had claimed a corner of it with his makeshift bedding, but as the night deepened, he inevitably migrated to your bed, preferring its warmth and the company.

Tonight, you were sitting in bed with your sketchbook, the moonlight and candlelight mingling to create the perfect ambiance for drawing. Stellan's gentle snores provided a soothing background hum, his large form curled protectively at the bed's end. Alex, lying next to you, propped himself up on an elbow to get a better look at your work.

"So, Nana, this one’s going to be for the High Lord, huh?" Alex's voice was soft, filled with awe and curiosity.

"Yeah, it is," you nodded, continuing your sketch. "Every piece needs to be perfect, though, no matter who it’s for. Whether it's a High Lord or a local warrior, they all deserve the best." Despite the illustrious clientele, you held every piece to the same standard of perfection, knowing well that each creation bore your signature, no matter the buyer.

Alex grinned at that. "I know. That’s why your stuff is the best. But hey, why’d you let me call you Nana again? It’s nicer than just ‘master’ or something too formal."

You chuckled softly, a slight blush on your cheeks. "Because you said it fits well, and I guess it does. It’s kind of endearing, Alex."

He blushed, pleased with the affirmation, then leaned closer to peek at your sketchbook. "Show me what you’ve got so far. I bet it’s epic."

You tilted the sketchbook towards him, revealing detailed designs of the sword intended for the spymaster. "This blade needs to embody stealth and strength, reflecting who it's for. It’s not just a weapon; it’s a piece of art."

As you spoke, Stellan lifted his head, ears twitching as if acknowledging the conversation. His dark eyes flickered open, observing you both with a gentle, protective gaze. With a soft huff, he repositioned himself, laying his head back down on his massive paws, content to simply be in your presence.

Alex nodded seriously, taking in every line and curve you had drawn. "It’s amazing, Y/N. They’re gonna love it."

As the evening wore on, Alex's questions and observations gradually slowed as sleep began to claim him. His head eventually found a resting place on your shoulder, his breathing evening out as he drifted off. You smiled down at him, setting the sketchbook aside. His trust and the simple title of 'Nana' he'd given you felt more precious than any formal recognition.

Stellan, sensing the room's quieting energy, stood up and stretched, his movements graceful despite his size. He padded softly around the bed, finally settling down closer to you and Alex, his body a warm barrier against the night’s chill. His presence was a comforting constant, a silent guardian watching over your small family.

With the room now quiet, save for the soft sounds of Alex's sleep and Stellan's rhythmic breathing, the distant hum of the night city served as a lullaby. You felt a peaceful end to the productive day. The weight of creating something worthy of the Night Court was significant, but it was a challenge you were ready to meet with your usual dedication to excellence. Slipping under the covers, you settled in next to Alex, the moonlight casting a gentle glow over you all. With Stellan's protective aura enveloping you, you allowed yourself to drift off, thoughts of tomorrow’s forging dancing in your dreams.

On the other side of the city at the townhouse, the evening was filled with laughter and good spirits. Cassian was in fine form, regaling the table with a joke about an Illyrian warrior who mistook a glamour-spell for his opponent in a sparring match. The table erupted in laughter, appreciating the absurdity of the tough warrior swatting at thin air.

As chuckles subsided and glasses were refilled, Azriel steered the conversation toward local news with his typically quiet but clear tone. "Have you heard, Rhys?" he began, capturing the table's attention. "There’s a new blacksmith in Velaris."

"Actually?" Cassian's interest was piqued, his expression curious.

"Yes, I’ve checked on her—she's already established quite the reputation," Azriel continued.

"Her, like she is a female?" Cassian asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

"Yes, 'her' like that, Cassian…" Azriel replied with a slight smirk, enjoying the moment of revelation.

Rhysand joined in with a knowing smile. "She's not just any blacksmith. She’s made quite a name for herself, especially with blades. She’s worked with several high lords across Prythian."

Cassian choked slightly on his drink, surprised. "A female blacksmith, swinging hammers with the high lords? She must be quite skilled."

"She is," Rhysand confirmed, his voice reflecting a mix of respect and intrigue. "Her blades are reputed to be some of the finest—well-crafted and balanced. The detail and precision are said to be exceptional."

The brothers shared intrigued glances, the atmosphere buzzing with new interest. The conversation seamlessly wove around various artisans they knew, but the topic of the new blacksmith lingered, sparking a particular fascination.

"So, what's her specialty? Just weapons, or does she do armor too?" Cassian probed, clearly intrigued.

"Primarily weapons. She has a particular talent for swords and daggers," Rhysand explained. 

As the evening wore on, Rhysand found a moment to lean towards Azriel. “By the way Az, could you drop a box off at the blacksmith's tomorrow? "

Azriel nodded, sensing the significance of the task, though his eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity. "Anything else I should know?"

"Just the box," Rhysand responded, his tone firm yet enigmatic, giving nothing further away.

Both Azriel and Cassian looked at each other, their curiosity clearly piqued, but recognizing that Rhysand was keeping his cards close to his chest. They returned to lighter topics, but the mention of the new blacksmith had woven itself into their conversation, adding a thread of intrigue to the vibrant tapestry of Velaris’s ongoing stories.

—

Back in your smithy, the clanging of metal and the heat of the forge filled the air, mingling with the lively chatter of customers at the front of the shop. Alexander, navigated skillfully among the patrons, his arms laden with weapons. His voice, bright and enthusiastic, carried over the din as he extolled the virtues of your craftsmanship.

"Feel the balance of this blade!" Alexander exclaimed to a curious couple, holding up a finely crafted sword for inspection. "Forged right here, each swing is as smooth as the Sidra's flow!"

With the Winter Solstice drawing near, the shop was bustling with activity as each order demanded meticulous attention and finesse. You had just put the finishing touches on a stylized hammer, commissioned by one of the lords of the Illyrian camps, when the bell above the door chimed.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a figure cloaked in shadows enter. It was Azriel, Rhysand’s spymaster, moving with a quiet grace that seemed almost unnatural. His presence caused a subtle shift in the atmosphere as he approached Alexander first, speaking in hushed tones before your apprentice pointed him towards the back.

Wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, you pushed through the curtain that separated your work area from the shop. Dressed in a revealing black top and overalls that were unclipped at the top, leaving much of your torso exposed due to the heat of the forge, you approached the visitor. Big gloves covered your hands, protecting them from the forge’s heat. As you came into view, you caught Azriel's gaze flick momentarily—almost imperceptibly—downwards before meeting your eyes again. Though brief, it didn’t escape your notice.

“Who is it?” you asked, your voice echoing slightly in the busy shop.

“I need to deliver something to you,” Azriel stated, his voice even and calm, holding out a small, intricately carved box.

Before taking the box, you carefully removed your heavy gloves, revealing hands marked by the rigors of your trade. You took it, feeling the weight and the latent power it seemed to hold. Curiosity piqued, you looked up at him. “From the High Lord ?”

“Yes. He said you’d know what to do with it,” Azriel replied, his gaze now fixed firmly on your face, any earlier distraction gone.

You nodded, understanding that the contents of the box were likely tied to the commission Rhysand had mentioned previously. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll handle it from here.”

As Azriel turned to leave, Alexander’s voice once again filled the shop, drawing new customers' attention: "Every piece has its own story, crafted with the finest skills learned from the great forges of Prythian! See for yourselves!"

You couldn’t help but smile at Alexander’s enthusiasm as he continued to engage the customers with his lively banter. Azriel, the enigmatic shadow singer, had left as quietly as he had arrived. There was something undeniably captivating about him—his mysterious aura only added to his allure.

Standing for a moment, you held the box, feeling its potential. But the demands of the day pulled you back, and you returned to the forge, your mind already racing with ideas for the contents of the box and the work that lay ahead. 

Just as you were about to reignite the forge, Alex poked his head through the curtain, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

“He was hot, right?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with teasing curiosity.

You paused, a smirk forming as you glanced back at the retreating figure of Azriel. “Aren’t you supposed to be ten?” you retorted playfully, raising an eyebrow at Alex.

Alex chuckled, undeterred. “Maybe, but I can tell when someone’s cool. He’s like a shadow knight from those legends you told me!”

Laughing, you shook your head and turned back to your workbench, the plans for Rhysand’s commission spread out before you. “Get back to the front, Alex. And keep your comments about the customers to yourself, even if they are high lords or shadow singers.”

Alex laughed and ducked back through the curtain, his voice soon mingling with the customers once again. As you focused on the intricate designs of the new commission, you couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement for the challenge ahead, your heart still light from the brief yet intriguing encounter.

[ventique18]

Since the dragon form is Draconias' actual form, the fact that they can stay 24/7 for years at a time in their humanoid forms are testament to how incredibly overpowered they are. Jack and the merfolk all mention that it's terribly difficult to shift into a different form, and most would find it easier, if unpleasant, to regularly take potions instead.

I just find it fascinating that everyone else seem to be of comparable power and then there's the Draconias. Just pure overwhelming destruction.

It makes sense that everyone in the Kingdom of Thorns worship them so much. Actually, dragons are so rare and powerful that before Malleus was born and became infamous worldwide, people legitimately thought that dragons are mythical creatures.

Now I'm wondering what happened exactly that Malleus suddenly got ultra famous that literally everyone in their world knows who he is? I hope it gets touched on later.

[dumbsoftheart]

pas de deux

pairing: ballerina!reader x university!coriolanus snow

tags: 18+, mdni. dub-con, semi-public sex, oral sex (fem receiving), creampie, vaginal sex, dirty talk, power play, manipulation

summary: corio is tasked with writing an exposé on his university’s prized ballet student for the school’s newsletter.

notes: self indulging on my perfectionism being ruined for coryo’s self-pleasure!

word count: 4.9k

౨ׅৎ

coriolanus hated this assignment with the same fervour and passion he hated writing for his school’s publication. the only reason he’d even applied for the position was because he knew of the ways it would put him on the scene- articles and reviews with his name plastered over them were unavoidable to anyone who had half a brain to engage in thoughtful composition. he enjoyed writing critical pieces on political discourse or literature, anything that challenged him to peel back the layers of society and dissect it, persuade others to align with his mode of thinking, so the mere thought of his byline etched onto an article about ballet- of all things- made him want to curl up and die. he tried oh so desperately to pass on the assignment to one of his female partners, and even tried his hand at requesting his supervisor for a new assignment entirely, but he was coldly dismissed and cast away to the hallowed halls of the university's dance studio. he didn't notice how frustrated he’d actually felt until he flinched behind the sound of the studio door slamming behind him, clashing uglily with the buzzing noise of music that flooded his eardrums. it was unnecessarily loud, but he knew you could hear him enter. his jaw clenched the more you ignored his presence. 

instead, you focused on the strains of music you’d become uncomfortably accustomed to. the melodic rhythm of the cantilena you choreographed to consumed your body in a symphony of music. each note was dictated thoughtfully with the graceful movements you now begrudgingly danced for the stranger, weaving a story that transcended words, one only understood through the language of dance. as you traversed the space, your movements harmonised seamlessly with the refined tune, a testament to the years of dedication and passion you poured into this art form. you grew frustrated at the way his presence clashed discordantly against the elegance of your dancing and disrupted the harmony of the room. you watched in the corner of your eye how he marched his way to the centre of the room, lingering only a few steps behind you as you danced. you caught him clear his throat one, two, then three times. it grated against your patience, forcing you to stop dancing abruptly and march past him with the same conviction as he did to shut off the music, a huff escaping your lips at the sudden quiet as you stared expectantly at the tall boy before you. you watched his fists clench and then flex before he turned to face you, his pearly blond hair falling ever so slightly out of place from the speed at which he’d turned on his heel. 

"can i help you?" the words slipped from your lips, delivered with a flatness that barely concealed the tinge of annoyance behind it. your hand found its place resting on your hip, a subtle gesture reinforcing your composed stance, determined to maintain an air of indifference. 

“coriolanus snow. i’ve been assigned to write a review on you and your dancing for the university newsletter,” his introduction sounded pompous, as though he assumed you already knew of his identity. of course, you knew the name very well- his reputation preceded him. you couldnt deny that you too had once or twice been privy to the occasional swooning over the quite popular boy, but you found that now as he stood in front of you, tall and beautiful as he was, you felt a growing discontent for the man and his obnoxiously bright hair. yet, you clung fiercely to the facade of ignorance, a guise of disinterest veiling the curiosity that lingered beneath the surface. you held your head high, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of acknowledging his perceived importance in your realm of artistry. 

you pretended to think before a moment, before turning back to the speaker and switching the sound back on, gesturing for him to sit. you rolled your eyes at his request to turn the volume down. despite you hating everything that had to do with this review, you were aware of the potential impact this coverage had on your burgeoning career. you acquiesced, lowering the volume to appease his demand, a concession made not out of respect for the boy but rather with your future in mind. you knew the power coriolanus held with his words, as much as you hated it, and you knew you couldn't risk jeopardising your future at the sake of a little attitude. 

so, with an inward sigh and a curt nod, you allowed him to observe. you positioned yourself within the room as you waited to pick up on the rhythm of the music where you left off, quickly finding your place among the complexities of the song in a manner that seemed impossible had it not been for your tireless work and memorization of every single note and harmony of the song. 

as snow observed your movements, he jotted down comments in a small leatherbound notebook, his pen scrawling his disdain. "lacks depth," he muttered under his breath, pausing to look up pensively at your figure.

the comment caught you so off guard it took every bit of strength in you to not fall with the abruptness at which you stopped. lacks depth? what the hell would he know? you felt rage burn inside your chest, only fueled by the way he stared at you as if he had said nothing wrong. 

“what about my dance lacks depth, snow?” the question hung in the air, and you watched his adams apple bob up and down through the mirror as he swallowed, glancing briefly at his notes before looking back up at you. 

"the dance is fine, quite beautiful, i might say, but your movements lack the emotional vibrancy expected from a performance of this calibre," he responded, "there's an absence of connection, it feels superficial and fails to convey the intended depth of expression."

he spoke with a measured confidence, and you scrunched your brows at his words. you didnt expect him to know the first thing about ballet, and you still stood by that sentiment, but part of you wondered if he was speaking truthfully- a consequence of the sensitivity you harbour in relation to your artistry. dance was everything, and while ballet trained you to accustom yourself to harsh criticism, you always held those criticisms to your heart, and it pushed you to always do better than you had before. 

despite this, your shoulders never slumped, nor did you show any physical acknowledgement to his critique, only moving to turn your gaze from his cobalt eyes in the mirror to look him in them truly, strutting your way back to the speaker and restarting the song, determined to prove him wrong. 

“you restart the song when you feel i’m ‘lacking depth’, so i can know whether or not to call bullshit.” 

the two of you went at it for a while. he only gave you a few seconds at first before he continuously restarted the song, but you danced for him nonetheless. over, and over again. when you thought you’d finally caught him, he’d restart the song a few seconds later, and it took everything in you to not scream in frustration at the top of your lungs. you wanted to strangle him, in truth, especially when you caught a glance at his smirk the 12th time he’d restarted the music. 

it was nearly midnight by the time he’d given you some respite, and you made no effort to be hospitable as you collected your things and stormed out the door without a word. you pretended to ignore the scribbles on his notebook as you rushed passed him, unable to make sense of the haphazard writing. you hated him. the way he seemed to try seize control of your creative space and your studio made you go mad. additionally, you were convinced he was only trying to get under your skin, and you hated that it worked- even if you refused to show it (or more appropriately, tried not to show it, because coriolanus reveled in the fact that he did, in fact, get under your skin). 

coriolanus, on the other hand, walked out of the studio feeling quite prideful. he adored the effect he had on you: how despite his ignorance on your mastered art, he absorbed the control in the room. he adored seeing you struggle to keep up to his standards, watching your face twist with effort as you danced over and over again, all for him. watching the muscles of your shoulders and legs flex, the arches of your back and neck, the way you exposed yourself to him repeatedly- it festered a strange desire in him to tear you apart. you were so meticulous with how you danced that it made you look fragile. with every twist and turn of your body coriolanus felt his breath catch in his throat as if he were afraid if you moved slightly too much, you would shatter. only, he wanted to be the one to break you: tear away that meticulousness and precision built into you and mould it in a way that was perfectly suited for him. he wanted to dismantle that untouchable image you carried, strip you away of your elegance and create a dependence that would tether you to him alone. it made him care about your performance more than he wanted to admit. not because he cared for you, per se, and your success, but because he’d developed a carnal urge to shape you into perfection solely for his own satisfaction. knowing that onstage, your dance was now catered just for him, to his own liking? the thought made coriolanus’s pants grow tight with lust. 

the week progressed following the same routine: he would sit and watch you overwork yourself at his beck and call until your eyes filled with tears of anger and your body would give out and he’d leave you panting on the dance room floor, killing yourself until you got it just right. the boy was acutely aware of the mental struggles that accompanied ballet- the pursuit of perfection, the strive for excellence, the intensity of the competition and the pressure to excel. he knew how hardly you critiqued yourself and used it to his advantage; knowing if he played his cards right, soon enough he’d have you wrapped around his finger, begging him for that validation you needed to keep going. 

your performance was on saturday, and the way you worked yourself over the dreadful symphony of music had you lacking sleep. you couldn’t stop- even after you and coriolanus parted ways. you found yourself practising in your dorm room, counting steps on your way to class- you knew deep down that coriolanus’s article really meant nothing, as the man knew nothing about what he asked of you, and your success wasn’t at all tied to his review; but you were unable to stop. a voice nagged at you that it did matter. that somehow his influence could ruin you and everything you’d worked for. you knew how badly he was getting to you when the two of you crossed paths on your way to class. 

he took in the sight of you: your hair done perfectly, not a single hair misplaced, your pink tights and leotard, the pink cover-up skirt you adorned neatly wrapped around your waist with a perfect bow. he took in your lips, swollen and red from the anxious biting you’d fallen into the habit of doing again, the way you messily tried to cover up your dark under eyes with concealer and draw attention away from it with haphazards amount of blush. in passing, you’d simply given him a nod, but he was quick to grab you, looping his finger under your chin and forcing you to stare into those piercing cobalt eyes of his as he studied you. 

“you should wear white instead. pink washes you out,” he mumbled to you before turning away, his tall figure disappearing into one of the lecture halls behind you. had it been a few days prior, you would’ve found it in you to bite back. only now, you bit at your manicured fingernails as you dragged your fingers across the silky white pointe shoes in your favourite dancewear boutique, followed by the white leotard and tights you brought home with you that night.

 

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“i need a break,” you sighed. it was the night before your performance, and only now did coryo have the decency to step back for a moment in his unrelenting pursuit of perfecting you. he nodded, shutting off the music as he watched you saunter towards your dance bag, downing half the contents of your water bottle with short pants. he stood to meet you, making his way behind you and resting his slender fingers on your tense shoulders. 

“whats bothering you, bunny?” the pet name sent a small shiver down your spine, and coriolanus threw his head back slightly at the feeling of you shudder, gathering all his strength to contain himself. you turned to face him, and he felt his dick harden at the vulnerability in your eyes. the fire that once burned behind them was fizzling, and he could tell. your mouth was parted as you searched for the right thing to say, but the words caught in your throat. 

“is it the dance?” he pressed, his face now dangerously close to yours, and you croaked out a small yes as his hand made its way up to your hair, his thumb stroking it gently, “you know it’s perfect, darling, you and i have been making it perfect all week long, no? show me which part is bothering you.” 

your head spun as he spoke to you- his fingers stroking your hair, the way his voice was now all of a sudden so soft; contrary to the stern way he’d spoken to you all week. but what really dizzied you was the sudden validation he’d given you. the casual way he threw it at you; as if it was what was known all along, as if you were crazy to think otherwise. 

you stumbled back towards the centre of the room, slowly positioning yourself as you waited for his go-ahead, form snapping into movement as soon as the music filled your ears. you watched in the mirror as coriolanus paced behind you, his chin in his hand as he watched you and pondered. your eyes closed with focus, moving with such ease that it felt second nature to you. then, the music seized, and you froze in place as you raised your head to look up at the man now in front of you. 

“you’re too tense,” he murmured, moving to press his hands into the soft skin of your shoulders, massaging the strained muscle gently. it did nothing at getting you to relax. inside, you were fuming as you replayed the past week in your head. you’d worked yourself dry all for the approval of a man whose opinion you couldn’t care less about. you let your guard down for a sliver of a moment and he used it to get inside your head. you hated him with every fibre in your being, and his breathing down your neck only fueled the fire burning inside of you. 

“get off of me.”

“just relax.” the way he whispered it was short of anything kind, spat at you with annoyance as he tightened his grip on you.

“i said get off!” it was the loudest you’d spoken all day. it was barely a shout, but it was enough for the man to recoil from behind you. you breathed shakily, hands trembling at your side. when you turned to face him, you nearly flinched at the sight of him. his usually perfectly combed back hair was now a mess, curls fallen out of place as he ran his hand through the golden strands harshly. you both stared at each other for what seemed to be an eternity, panting heavily, waiting for the other to say or do anything to loosen the tension that filled the studio air. 

he looked down at the floor for a second, tonguing his cheek with a smile before surging forward, crashing his chapped lips into your plump, soft ones with a groan. you tried to push him away, but his grip on your face was too strong- and you couldn’t ignore the way your legs turned to jelly from the way he kissed you with an undying hunger. one hand made its way down your waist as he moved you backwards into the large studio mirror, your head thumping painfully against the glass, pain mixing with pleasure as coryo attacked your lips and dragged his hands all over your body, savouring the warmth of your skin through the fabric of your garments. 

“so good for me,” he groaned against your neck, the hot breath of his words sending shivers straight down to your core, “so perfect.. so pliable.. all for me. isnt that right, princess?” 

it was truly embarrassing, the way his words made you moan softly and rub your thighs together with want. embarrassing how compliant you’d become for him, how eager you were to please him. he took notice of the pathetic state you were in, watching with glossy and swollen lips how your legs trembled and your hips stuttered in a desperate attempt to gain friction against your growing heat. 

“look at that, so fucking precious,” he continued to watch you struggle, laughing softly to himself before snaking his hand between your thighs, cupping your cunt and slowly encouraging you to rock your hips back and forth. you whined at the contact, relief and pleasure swarming you as you ground yourself into the palm of his hand, gripping tightly onto the curls at the back of his head for leverage. lost in bliss, you barely noticed when the man made his way down to his knees, lip bitten so hard you swore you could smell the metallic scent of blood peer through your senses as he toyed his fingers across your clothed cunt. you moved to remove your small skirt, untying the meticulous bow around your waist and tossing it to the side. when your hand reached to remove your leotard, coriolanus removed his hand with a small chuckle. 

“what do you think you’re doing?” he tutted, and you whined at the sight of him below you, willing and able to keep pleasuring you but withholding that power. you scrunched your brows together with confusion, and coriolanus thought you’d never looked so beautiful: face flushed with heat, writhing above him while your hips urged for his fingers to touch you again. too lost in the pleasure that lingered, head thrashing from side to side with pleads to keep going- he wanted to ruin you. 

“good girls wait and do what they’re told. are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he chuckled at the way you shook your head aggressively, savouring your small moans as he returned his hand to where you wanted it most. a loud gasp escaped your lips when he ripped your tights viciously, the soft torn fabric now giving him better access to the skin of your thighs. he splayed his hands over them, massaging your muscles and soft tissue before pulling your leotard to the side and diving his tongue into the wetness of your folds. 

he pulled back with a moan, gasping as he peered down at the mixture of his spit and your slick connecting your cunt to his chin, and he looked up at you like you were a god, sticky and wet from the most trivial of touches. 

“you’re so wet for me, princess- such a good girl. you’re so good for me,” you couldn't get a word out before he took a long swipe with the flat of his tongue, lapping messily and so, so loudly- chasing the taste of you. he loved teasing you with his mouth. he thought about it that day, unashamed as he jerked his cock into nothingness when he caught sight of you on campus earlier that day, dressed all in white- just for him. the small gesture was enough confirmation to him that he’d won at the game you two were playing, that you let him break you into submission and you were now his to claim. the thought of taking ownership of you by reducing you to nothingness with his tongue alone had him cumming onto his stomach with a loud, broken cry. now, he had you right where he wanted- and he wasn’t going to let that pass just yet. 

he relished every sound and movement you made when he flicked his tongue up and down your lips, relished the tears that fell when he slowly circled it around your swollen clit, rejoiced in the way you gripped his curls tighter when he tongued your hole, gazing up at your already fucked out faced with pure lust and admiration when you came undone and released yourself into his mouth. he continued to lap and suck every moan and whine out of you until you cried with overstimulation. he stood up, licking his lips and stared down at you like a predator who’d hunted its prey. 

“you did so good for me, bunny,” he mewled, kissing your neck softly as you came down from your high. you had started to gain back your senses, and a wave of humiliation washed over you. the man you claimed to hate had just given you the best orgasm of your life, and suddenly you could no longer find it in you to hate him again. every fibre in your body ached when he praised you, called you good and cooed in your ear as you regained your strength. you continued to cry, no longer out of pleasure but in self-disappointment. you felt the urge to scream and lash out at him for robbing you of your senses, for reducing you to a state where the tiniest shred of approval clouded every bit your perspectives until you couldn’t figure out left from right. he continued to coo in your ear as you sobbed, but your eyes widened with fear when you heard the small sound of a zipper and looked down to see his cock in his hands, pumping slowly as he made his way into you. 

he shushed every one of your protests, his lips pressed tight against your collarbone as you tried to push away from him when his tip made contact with your hole, “be good, bunny, be good for me,” he chanted into your skin and your body broke down into more sobs as you willingly let him push into you. alarms were blaring in your head for you to stop giving into him, but your body was unrelenting and begging with want- and so all you did was cry as he thrust slowly into you, small moans of praise nonsensically falling from his lips as your cunt struggled to take all of him in. 

the way he mumbled his sweet words into your neck and the slow stretch of his cock prying you open had your brain short-circuiting, the sweet tone of his voice once again making you lose all sense of what was unfolding before you. you winced as he tried to thrust his length deeper into you. 

coriolanus didn’t like that. he took the sounds of complaint as direct disobedience. he wanted to hear nothing but your begging- he wanted you to thank him for letting you have his cock, and hear nothing but your loud moans and pathetic mewls as he fucked you. he grabbed at your bun, yanking your head back with such force that the once perfectly smoothed back hair came undone painfully, strands falling to your face and wisping at your shoulders. 

“does it hurt?” he asked, and for a moment you thought he was trying to take you with care, but when you nodded and his grip tightened on your hair, you knew you were oh so wrong, “i thought i told you to be a good, fucking. girl.” 

he thrusted into you harshly with each word and you cried out in pain, his cock stretching you out far beyond what you could handle, overstimulation making your knees buckle and tears fall from your eyes again. 

“thats it, baby. take it, be a good girl and take my cock.” 

your fingers dug into his back and coriolanus let out a loud, lewd moan, unable to peel his eyes away from the sight of his cock thrusting without preamble into the slick mess of your cunt. he threw his head back as you moaned through your cries, and thrusted even harder when you wrapped a leg around him to let him fuck you even deeper. 

he moved to rip off the top of your leotard, licking his lips hungrily as he watched your tits fall and bounce in tandem with his thrusts. he dove his head down, latching his lips onto your hardened nipple and sucking harshly, nipping and biting the soft flesh while his hand pinched and flicked at the other one. 

you were incoherent. your stop’s had turned into more’s and your sobs turned into that of pure desire. you threw your head to the side and gasped at the spectacle the two of you were making of yourselves in the middle of the dance studio. the mirror you were pressed up against had begun to fog up along the silhouette of your body pressed up against it, the cool glass dripping condensation onto your back and through your ruined clothes as coryo fucked you into oblivion. he looked right at you now, his fingers making their way to lace into yours as he pressed you even closer to him, your arms now bound against the coolness of the mirror. 

“fuck, princess, you’re so fucking tight. so tight for me, yeah? gonna make this pussy mine,” your head spun with his words and the constant pumping of his cock, unable to contain the obscene sounds you let out. you were so close, and the way you tightened around him as you chased your release almost had him cumming prematurely. 

“you gonna let me make you mine, huh bunny?”

“fuck, yes!” 

“s’at right? gonna let me claim you? such a good girl.” 

you moved your hips against his with no rhythm, simply in pursuit of the orgasm that coiled in the pit of your stomach. you kept your eyes on his, your mouth open with pants as you urged him to keep going. he hiked one hand behind the knee you had wrapped around him, the other one pulling you up so you were off the ground, letting him fuck you in a way that hit all the right spots in all the right places, and you just about lost it right there. 

he smiled, “you like that?”

“uh-huh..”

“you want me to keep going?”

“please- please dont stop, coryo, please!” 

his cries got louder, moans twisting up into a slightly higher octave, his face scrunched with pleasure as your cunt clenched around him with each of his words. 

“gonna fill you up with my cum, baby. is that what you want? for me to breed you?” he babbled, voice trembling, “gonna fuck you full of cum ‘n make you mine. no one else can have you.” his voice got weaker as his hips pivoted upwards to thrust even deeper. he was in complete in control of you; his elbows hooked beneath your knees and opening a new gateway to your soul.

“naughty fucking girl, huh? ‘s alright, good girls get to be naughty sometimes..”

“i’m gonna cum,” you whined pathetically, rambling over and over as it was the only thing you could think of. you were so close, and each word he groaned at you brought you infinitely closer. 

“you wanna cum?”

“i want- i want it so bad.”

“s’at right?”

“please, coryo- god, please! ‘m gonna be good for you. so good for you, daddy—”

your words collapsed into meaningless cries and shattered sentences— fuckyesyesyes— and cumonmycockbaby— as you worked each other towards release. you pulled him deeper to your center, tightening around him as the coil in your stomach finally burst and you saw white. you both came with a loud moan, yours no doubt shattering through the walls of the confined space, and coriolanus released his load into you with a long, droned out fuuuuuck as he slowly pumped his cum into you, mesmerised by the way it mixed and swirled with the mess of your own release. you whined at the overstimulation, body still jerking from the aftershocks of your orgasm, but coriolanus only felt himself grow harder. 

“coryo, i cant..”

he snapped up at you, gaze softening as he took in your tear stained and fucked out face. he took your face in one hand, squeezing your jaw tightly and admiring the slight cross-eyed look you had on and the dribble of spit falling from your perfect lips. he cocked his head to the side, smiling coyly. 

“oh, bunny, you don’t have a choice..” 

౨ׅৎ

@dumbsoftheart, 2023

[dirtylittleheart333]

REMEDY You and Matt are suck in a house full of people during a relentless summer heat wave. With frustrations running high from the heat and lack of sex, you find a way to help and remedy that.

Paring: Matt x fem! reader Warning: 18+ Smut. Semi public. Creampie Type: One-shot

The heat was unbearable. The Sturniolo family went to The Cape for the summer, with girlfriends and significant others tagging along. The house wasn’t huge and some of us had to share sleeping spaces and set-up camp in the living room. We were tight knit and we all got along like a house on fire, so it wasn’t a problem but lack of sleep on the hot, sweltering nights was another story. With severe heatwaves come some complications like; power outages and malfunctioning air conditioners. It was the kind of heat that pressed against one’s skin. Where you wanted to fan yourself down, but all that seemed to do was move the hot air around. The hot, humid breeze did nothing but tease with the promise of relief.

‘’The fucking weather!’’ Matt groaned, ‘’This was supposed to be a great trip for us…for you,’’ he said looking disappointed

‘’Well,’’ I said, and leaned forward then gave him a kiss, ‘’if it’s any conciliation, I’m having a great time.’’

‘’You would in this heat,’’ Matt said through a laugh, ‘’you’re the only one here that will get through this unscathed. You’re the only one here that actually enjoys the heat, which makes me wonder what the fuck is wrong with you. How come you’re so perfect and not even the heat will get you?’’

I laughed, ‘’so…I’ve meant to tell you a long time ago, but there was never really a perfect time to do so, but I’m from this little planet called -’’ I was saying when Matt let out a laugh cutting me off

‘’Shut up,’’ he said and pushed his lips to mine. Just a few days ago, I accidentally overheard Matt talking to Nick and Chris and found out a few things that didn’t know, and that had me feeling like I was the luckiest and most blessed person to walk the earth. Mind you, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I sure am glad I stopped in my tracks when I walked past the kitchen and heard my name. They say you never hear anything go about yourself when you eavesdrop but I’m a testament to that being complete bullshit. He had said to them that he knew without a doubt that I was the one he wanted to marry, have kids with, and spend the rest of his life with. That he loved that I loved his family as much as they loved me and that I was always willing to help out… and most of all he loved that I was definitely up for anything. The biggest smile crossed my face when he said he loves how I make everything fun and exciting in his eyes. He also said he loved that I came across as a little saint to everyone else, but I was definitely a little devil when it came to fucking. At that point I walked away – I was happy and it was all I ever needed to hear.

Matt sighed next to me as we lay on the blow-up mattress. The heat really was relentless and stifling. Every time we moved, it felt as if the sheets were clinging to us. A fan was blowing cool air but it was as helpful and equivalent to puckering one’s lips up and blowing air out of them. It was so hot, we were all struggling to sleep. I sensed that Matt was not only frustrated by the heat but also that with so many people in a house sharing, we couldn’t do much in the sex department, though we certainly found ways. Matt and I said that we would sleep in the living room on a blow-up mattress while Chris and his girlfriend shared the couch.

‘’Are you okay?’’ I whispered when Matt once again let out a groan

‘’It’s like we’re in a desert or something,’’ Matt mumbled and sat up. He reached for a glass of water on a nearby side table and made some kind of sound then he looked at me with horror. ‘’The fucking ice has melted in the glass already,’’ he said, his voice laced with disbelief. It concerned me because Matt was generally calm but he was definitely agitated by the heat.

I lay for a moment, staring at the ceiling wondering how I could help him. My eyes swung from one end of the ceiling to the other, then back again. I suddenly sat up, finding the remedy to maybe both the heat and lack of sex problem…even if it was only a short reprieve. I slid off the mattress and then padded to his side, and put my hand out, palms up.

‘’Come on,’’ I whispered

‘’You two might as well just talk, and not whisper,’’ Chris said

‘’Shut up,’’ Matt said loudly through a laugh

‘’Fuck off,’’ Chris replied with a chuckle

‘’Sorry, Chris,’’ I said with a giggle. They never ceased to make me laugh with their friendly banter

‘’Nah (y/n), I mean it’s so hot, we can’t sleep anyway,’’ Chris said, his girlfriend giving a ‘’mhm’’ in agreement.

Matt put his hand in mine and I pulled him up. ‘’Where are we going?’’ he asked, his movements were slower than mine in the heat.

‘’A walk,’’ I said softly as I lead him to the kitchen. I opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of ice cold water and handed it to Matt as he looked at the time on the microwave, it’s glowing green telling him it was two in the morning. He sighed thinking it was a long way from morning but still the weather on the news had said it would be an equally hot day, if not hotter. I hesitated closing the door because the cool air felt so good on my hot skin. I had on what I can only describe as a t-shirt that I had taken a pair of scissors to. Matt had given me one of his old t-shirts and we cut the sleeves off, along with the neck line, widening it to help with the heat. I really didn’t mind the heat, but this? This was something else. I felt for everyone else because if I was feeling it, they must have been suffering. I closed the door and smiled at Matt, who gave me a weak smile back.

We slipped out the door, quietly into the night, ‘’Should I put a t shirt on?’’ Matt asked

‘’Show me one man who has a shirt on in this weather and I’ll give him a thousand dollars,’’ I said

‘’Does that include me and does it still stand until we get back?’’ Matt asked

I giggled and smacked his tight ass, ‘’always,’’ I replied

‘’Where are we going?’’ Matt asked and slipped his hand into mine. Our fingers intertwined and he lifted our hands and then he gave my hand a kiss. ‘’Thanks for this, it is slightly better out here.’’

I smiled at Matt, ‘’the park,’’ I said simply

The moon was full and illuminated the way for us. It was quiet but for the water lapping to the shore. The roads were dead and the park deserted. People had either passed out from the heat or were sitting in front of fans hoping to cool down. The park was relatively close to the house, but hidden and nestled amongst trees. I led Matt to the swings and Matt sat on one while I sat on the other, right next to him. I started swinging softly while Matt only moved back and forth slightly on the swing, keeping his feet on the ground. He took a sip of water, and offered me some, but I shook my head with a warm smile.

‘’Matt? Remember that park we went to at Evan’s house?’’ I asked and stopped the swing, then got off, ‘’you know, when he had that party?’’

‘’Yeah,’’ Matt said as he put the bottled water on the ground, and then it hit him. His eyes went big and his award-winning smile formed on his face. How could he have forgotten that?

‘’Yeah?’’ I asked and bit my bottom lip seductively

‘’Fuck yes! Hop on,’’ Matt said and I squealed softly with excitement as I grabbed the chains and lifted myself onto Matt’s lap, sliding my legs over his as I sat down, my legs handing over his on their side of the swing. Matt smiled, because the last time we both had fumbled a lot trying to work out how to do it but now we seemed to have mastered it. Well…we were going to find out.

‘’How did I get so lucky?’’ Matt asked me softly

I smiled at him and placed a hand on his cheek and tilted his face up a fraction, ‘’I’m the lucky one,’’ I whispered and lightly brushed my lips against his.

My hand slid down his neck, and his chest, and then my fingers danced above his shorts elastic, as Matt deepened the kiss. It was never pedestrian. His kisses always made me feel desired, and wanted. I got drunk on our kisses. Matt moaned into the kiss and I felt his hands by mine. I knew he was getting impatient so I moved my hand and brought it to my pussy and moved my panties to the side while he pushed his shorts down as much as he could. The small piece of material was wet already and I felt Matt’s cock, now free of his shorts, as hard as a rock, between us. That alone sent every nerve in my body tingling.

His hands found the straps of my shirt and he pushed them down, over my shoulders. I smiled into the kiss and pulled my arms out the straps, letting the material fall softly. Matt broke the kiss, eager to get a nipple into his hungry mouth. I moaned, dropping my head back and arched my back, pushing my titties forward so Matt could take in more. He was a genius with his tongue no matter where it was on my body. I bit my bottom lip and slid my hand between us and closed my hand around Matt’s thick shaft. He was rock solid hard and I smiled wickedly because his pre-cum had run down his shaft, leaving him slick. He sucked in a sharp breath from the touch on his painfully erect dick but it felt so fucking good. I lifted myself, aimed his dick at my little tight entrance, then I slid onto his dick agonizingly slowly, savouring every inch going in. We both groaned loudly with simultaneous pleasure.

‘’Oh god (y/n),’’ Matt moaned, ‘’you have no idea how good that feels.’’

‘’Oh, but I do,’’ I said with a grin and licked my hand of the pre-cum, making Matt swear under his breath. ‘’Start swinging. We don’t want to be caught,’’ I purred.

‘’I’ve been wanting to fuck you all day’’ Matt said curling his hands around the chains,’’this won’t take long.’’

I smiled, as I also curled my hands around the chains, the cool metal making me even more aroused, ‘’me too.''

Matt laughed and pushed back with his legs and then let us fall forward on the swing as he tucked his legs back. He sure was going to have one hell of a workout keeping the swing in motion. I knew without a doubt he could handle it though. We were soon gliding through the air, back and forth. Every time we went back, I would slide down his dick and when we got to the furthest point, having to go back down, I would push down on him as forces of nature worked. We moaned loudly with sheer pleasure every time that happened and Matt groaned feeling himself deep inside of my tight, wet pussy. When we went back down, I was lifted up, his dick sliding halfway out, exposing him to the cooler air, then he would slip back into my hot pussy.. The contrast of heat and cool air in motion sent a pleasant shiver up his spine, never feeling anything like it.

Matt loved everything – the way we had to be so close, the way we molded into each other, the fact that we had to rely upon and trust each other. The tightness around his hard throbbing cock, the way my hair flew out and fanned behind me when we went up, and then around me when we went back down, and…. he loved the look on my face with my breasts firmly in front of him. He wanted to touch them, grab them but he couldn’t. Fuck! It was the most blissful torture ever. The deep penetration on the up was something different than normal penetration. It was a force that could only be achieved in their current position and situation.

Matt could tell I was close as my pussy started fluttering around his cock, my body got tense and I dropped my head.

‘’Ooh, Matt…shit, Matt…’’ I said with urgency as I felt my muscles tightening, the rush coursing through me and pure ecstasy shoot over my body. I let one hand go from the chains and put it around Matt’s shoulders, looking for more purchase. I pushed my face into the side of his neck as my walls clasped around Matt like a vice grip. The sheer strength around him set him on the very edge. My loud screams and moans were muffled as I buried my face into his neck and shoulder. I let go of the chains with my other hand to grip him tighter as Matt brought us to a stop. My fingers dug into his muscles and my body shook against him. Once we were stationary Matt grabbed my ass and lifted me, and then pushed me back down on his cock.

‘’FUCK YES, (y/n),’’ Matt moaned as he felt a splash. The sound of my moans, the feel of my skin, and my smell were so intoxicating to Matt as he slammed me down on him again and let out a growl as he felt his orgasm shoot out from the base of his balls and run through him. I lifted my face and we locked eyes for a second before my eyes went big as I sucked in a breath.

‘’Kiss me,’’ Matt said through clenched teeth knowing I was coming yet again. Matt wanted to scream too, because it was so incredible but he knew he couldn’t as my walls locked around him again. He shot a massive load into me, rope after rope, after rope. After holding it in all day, wanting me all day…it built up. I pushed my lips to his, our tongues immediately meeting. The kiss muffled most of my screams and moans but a few escaped into the quiet night. Neither of us cared at the very moment. Matt’s dick twitched at the last spray into my pussy, and I still lifted and rammed myself down on him two more times before I slumped onto him, breaking the kiss. Matt slid his arms around me and sat like that for five minutes, panting, trying to catch our breath. In the distance, we heard laughter, and Matt slowly slid his hands back down my back as I sat up straight again. He found the straps of my shirt and then pulled them up. I then pushed my arms into them and he let the straps rest on my shoulders. He pulled his still-hard dick out of my warm, wet, overflowing pussy, a low moan escaping him, not wanting to but having to pull out.

Matt looked over my shoulder and I turned my head as we heard low talking in the distance. A couple were walking on the side walk but I knew the couple couldn’t see us, and that we had the vantage point.. Clearly two lovers where out on a walk also trying to escape the heat. They were in the distance, but I could tell they were holding hands and very much into each other. I watched them disappear into a thick of trees and I turned back to Matt.

Matt smiled and gave me a half nod, ‘’they should try the swings,’’ he said and I burst out laughing. I pushed a hand between ourselves and pulled my panties back into place and then grabbed the chains and weakly pulled myself up and climbed off of Matt. As my feet hit the ground, I tried to stand, but my legs buckled and Matt grabbed me to stop me from falling.

‘’I’m fucking spent,’’ I said with laugh

‘’That was…something else. Fucking amazing,’’ Matt said through his own laugh

‘’You’re a mess,’’ I said

‘’So are you,’’ Matt said with a laugh. We were both covered in sweat with our combination of cum and juices sticking to our skin, our hair matted but looking so satisfied and elated.

I looked down and saw some of Matt’ cum running down my leg. I smiled and took my index finger and ran it up the zigzag line it had formed, collecting it. I then lifted my finger to my mouth and licked it off.

Matt smiled, ‘’you're so fucking hot,’’ he said, noting I didn’t do that for him, I did it for myself. I wanted to taste him, savor him.

I let my eyes fall back on Matt as I swallowed and smiled. ‘’I can clean you up,’’ I said

‘’Not this time. You can hardly stand... we’ll take a quick shower when we get home,’’ Matt said and somewhere along the line, Matt had put his dick away and fixed his shorts because he pulled me down onto his lap.

‘’Do you feel better?’’ I asked Matt softly

‘’You have no idea. Thank you, baby. I love you so much,’’ Matt said and gave me a kiss.

‘’Good,’’ I said and ran my fingertips along his stubbly jaw, ‘’I love you too.’’

‘’I’ll piggy back you home,’’ Matt said and smiled to himself because he had the best little vixen saint and I was the remedy he needed. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! You are very much appreciated. <3

[popponn]

do you ever think about rin who sometimes wakes up next to you and wonders if today will be the day you realize that there are better things for you out there that is not him? but, then, before those thoughts could go even further, your hands grasp around for his. rin, even through the morning daze, find his own moving to let you know that he is, indeed, there. fingers intertwined, you continue sleeping and rin just stares in silence, completely unaware of the way his eyes soften as his minds quiet down. his heart thumping, saying "i love you. i truly do. i hope you know it." to your sleeping figure wordlessly.

do you ever think about sae who, after all these years, genuinely questions his capability in loving? sae is not oblivious to the fact that he is quite excellent when it comes to hurting people, especially through his words. he did it to his own brother even—one that he shares ice and dream with. so, when someone like you comes into his life, urging him to put every softness he has in him out for you—sae once again remembers that he is pretty shitty in everything that doesn't involve soccer. but, at the end of the day, as clumsy as it is—the gifts he gives with a constipated expression, the warm hugs he offers to you and you only, and the silent admiration he gives you every time he has your hand in his are merely few testaments of his effort.

note: the topic of tonight's thought is "itoshi brothers, love, and their uncertainty about it" and before i know it there is also "hands are such expressive things. you hold what you love with it" which is often said when it comes to drawing. all in all, despite everything i really do hope these two will find a kind ending. rin deserves so much love and sae deserves a time where he can actually rest. this is funny considering how in canon one drools on field while the other one calls others turd on a regular basis. if i got the power and time, i want to write a slow peaceful story for them. on another note, i hope you are loved and full of love. happy end of the year, you have worked hard.

[positivelyholland]

To Our Future Together

pairing: luke castellan x reader

genre: fluff

summary: one night while laying under the stars, you and luke begin to wonder what the stars have fated for your futures together.

warnings: really sappy, not proofread

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seated on a quiet hillside overlooking the ocean, you and your long-term boyfriend shared dreams beneath the canvas of a star-studded sky. The night's serenity lent itself to discussions into the realm of shared futures.

“I might be crazy to say this, but do you ever wonder what our lives will be like once this is all over?” As you raised the question, you noticed Luke’s heartbeat deciding on a quicker pace within his chest that your head was resting on.

“What exactly do you mean by that? If you’re talking about any sort of future together then I’ll be the first to admit I’ve thought a little too much about how good Y/n Castellan sounds,” he says with a slight smirk.

“It does have a good ring to it, doesn't it?” you laughed along with him, “but i guess i more meant that once everything changes, or once we have to leave camp half-blood, what happens to us?”

“I need you to know I am being so serious when I say that you’re it for me. I genuinely don’t think a life without you is possible. The only future I see for myself is one with you, me, and four to five miniature versions of us.”

You found comfort in the warmth that flooded Luke's gaze. You could see it in his eyes, how his once-turbulent past seemed to fade away as he embraced the idea of a family with you, one that echoed with echoes of joy and the pitter-patter of tiny feet.

“I one hundred percent agree with everything you said, except the only thing is how I thought I heard you use the number five when talking about how many times I’ll have to go through childbirth,” you teased, “but feel free to correct me if I heard wrong.”

“You’re not hearing things, love. I did say five but I actually dream about ten little ones running around, I'll take as many as you’re willing to give me,” he teased with a chuckle. “Realistically, though, I don’t care much about the details as long as I have you.” 

Luke's fingers gently entwined with yours as you began to paint a picture of the life you envisioned together. With sincerity in his eyes, he listened to your hopes and aspirations, nodding in agreement as you spoke of a home filled with love and laughter.

You spoke of raising children who would inherit the strength and kindness you saw in Luke, a blend of mortal and demigod virtues. His eyes sparkled with a mixture of anticipation and affection as he imagined teaching them about the world and the lessons he had learned.

Together, you crafted a vision of a life where bedtime stories were spun with tales of adventure and the glory days, and bedtime kisses were accompanied by whispered promises of protection and love.

Luke, once with a lost purpose of life, now saw a future intertwined with the legacy of your shared love. The prospect of a future filled with family became a beacon of hope, a testament to the healing power of love. 

And so, beneath the stars, the two of you embarked on a journey of dreams, each whispered promise sealing the foundation of a future built on love, trust, and the belief that together, you could weather any storm.

[radiance1]

Pariah watched as his vessel paced around the room, worried beyond belief by something that the king, personally, couldn't see as much importance. He jumped down from the couch, his far to small feet hitting the light thud muffled by the fluffy carpet and walked away.

He opened the fridge, squinting his eyes in distaste at his newfound shortness, and shuffled around for a moment before deciding to simply levitate to the top and swiped a popsicle.

Pineapple. It was no mint, but it would do.

He ripped off the wrapper with his teeth, chewing the material for a bit before swallowing and pushed off the fridge with a light kick of his legs and let the momentum carry him off from the kitchen.

He turned around in midair to stare at his vessel from upside down, lightly chewing on his treat.

The boy was still pacing around, muttering to himself as if something actually worrying was going to happen.

He bit off a piece of the treat, chewed, then swallowed. Did he want to get involved in whatever this was? Not really no, but it was annoying how his vessel kept at this habit for.... he took a quick glance at the clock (he idly entertained the thought of if Clockwork was watching. Knowing the ghost always was) and back at his vessel... A few hours at the least.

Pariah Dark sighed, took a hard chomp of his ice cream and then swallowed.

"Vessel," He called out, pointing his treat in said boy's direction. "Whatever causes you such worry? It is annoying."

Danny paused, muttering and all, before slowly turning to stare at Pariah Dark. Or, well, the small piece of him that for some reason bonded itself to him after he passed out. "Oh, it's nothing, just that the Justice League is going to pull up on my doorstep any second now." He shrugged, voice practically dripping with sarcasm as he leveled the fragment with a flat look. "Nothing much."

Pariah Dark let out a small, confused hum as he ate what was left of his ice cream -stick and all- and moved himself into a cross-legged sit, still upside down. "Then what ails you so?" He made a gesture at the imprints made from his relentless pacing on the carpet as an example, looking at him in curiosity.

Danny's turned blank for a moment, before remembering that Pariah didn't exactly have a proper gasp on what sarcasm was. He sighed, placing a hand on his head before sighing again. "It was sarcasm."

Pariah Dark watched as Danny went back to pacing, less than impressed at the rather blatant dismissal as if the worry over this situation was of actual importance. As far as he knew, this 'Justice League' were just a band of mortals who fought for peace, the good of others and were strong, yes.

But they were still mortal, nonetheless.

Even with one of their core members being a demi-goddess herself, and another of their members being a powerful vessel of the gods in his own right.

Danny was a vessel of the king, one of the most powerful ghosts across the Infinite Realms and its history. He knows the boy denied such a fact at first, but was he simply not as confident enough in his own strength as the king had thought?

He righted himself in the air, no longer upside down as he crossed his arms. "Vessel." The boy paused again, this time a bit more rigid as Pariah Dark, for the first time in a while, used the voice of a king. "Whatever worries you have for that band of mortals, put them aside. You are my vessel; you have defeated all of me in combat once before-"

He tactfully avoided mentioning that he had aid and was draining his lifeforce to do so.

"-so that is a full testament to your own strength. If you can fell me, then I believe you are fully capable of felling this so called 'Justice League' if the need ever arises."

Pariah Dark stared the boy hard in his eyes, reaching out in ghost speak to transmit his own confidence in his vessel while also smoothing said worries more than he ever could in words. Then snorted as the boy untensed and walked over to flop face first onto the couch.

He floated down to land on the boy's back gently. "If you so wish, I can even lead you a portion of my power." He let out an amused huff. "I cannot have you losing to the vessel of those arrogant gods after all."

Danny turned his head to stare at the ghost king and gave him a look. It was extremely hypocritical for him of all beings to call another arrogant, but you know what? He didn't care anymore. He turned his head back to sink his face into the cushions and let out a muffled "Fine."

[pettyprocrastination]

Leg Day

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Female Powerlifter!Reader

Summary: You first catch Art Donaldson's eye in the university gym when all you want to do is hit back and biceps before class, the tennis player finds himself quite caught in your physique.

Warnings: foul language, smut, oral (f receiving), Art eats pussy and likes your thighs a whole lot. Reader is described as muscular. One line describes reader as not looking like Tashi in terms of physique.

Word Count: 1k

Author's note: Forcing myself to get back into writing at the same time im forcing myself to get back to the gym :') take this lil ficlet as a sign of my love for those who still follow me on here lmaoo.

Art adored your thighs. 

You didn’t look like Tashi. Not that there was anything wrong with that in his mind, of course. But the physiques differed greatly. The star tennis player of Stanford had a lean build from her years of training and perfecting her sport. Long legs that covered the court in smooth strides and toned arms that delivered a vicious backhand. 

The same body he and Patrick had nearly shared that one fateful night in a dingey hotel room when they should have been sleeping before their match in the morning. The same body he had found his gaze lingering on a touch too long to be appropriate for his best friend's girlfriend. 

And the same body you called him out for drooling over in the campus gym when all you wanted to do was a simple arm workout before your 10 am. 

“So are you actually going to use the bench or are you just gonna sit on it and stare at her like a fucking creep for another twenty minutes?” 

You were not Tashi Duncan. 

Strong arms crossed over one another as you waited for him to either say something or move, neither of which his brain could comprehend as you stood before him expectantly. A powerful, if not a tad intimidating physique supported by thick, muscular quads built from years of lifting heavy in sweat-filled weight rooms since you were a little girl that grew tired of soccer. 

Then cheer. 

Then volleyball. 

The gymnastics. 

Powerlifting was the one sport that finally stuck. 

“It makes me feel strong.” You had explained your love for the sport to him one night. With his head laying in your lap, the textbook he had carried with him to your dorm under the excuse of needing help studying now laid discarded on your floor as he listened to your story. “Seeing how much I can lift, how it feels to finally make a weight you’ve been struggling with for so long. It feels like you’re proving something, you know? Especially when you’re one of the only girls in the weight room.” 

Art could feel the testament to your craft under him. The thick corded muscle of your quads beneath his head as your fingers carded through his hair absentmindedly. Legs that were hugged by every pair of shorts you wore or hidden beneath the same pair of Stanford sweatpants whenever you felt a chill in the air. He found himself dreading the coming of winter as the two of you began to spend more time together. 

He wasn’t sure when the admiration began to shift into something deeper, slowly turning from one athlete showing respect for another’s commitment to their sport into a hormonal college freshman staring at your ass in spandex shorts each time he bumped into you at the campus gym. 

What he did know was that the night he finally found himself between your legs was one he would never forget. How quickly the pair of you shed your clothes in one anothers embrace, turning your room into nothing more than a collection of discarded study packets and kicked off Stanford merch telling the story that Art would no doubt replay in his mind for the entirety of winter break. 

The soft smile on your face as he crawled on top of you, pressing fervent kisses to every inch of your body that you would allow him access. How he memorized each microscopic reaction, that a kiss to your neck would make you giggle but turn into a shuddering gasp if he dug his teeth into the skin. How you softened in his arms when he ran his tongue along the scar lining your hip, one he would have to ask you about someday. 

But dear God, he could write poetry about your legs. 

The feeling of them wrapping around his head while he lapped at your cunt with tentative kitten licks that soon turned into devouring you with a desperation that could no doubt be heard through the walls. Your muscles twitching and trembling from his touch as you cried out his name with an arched back and scrambling hands, desperately trying to reach him until you found purchase in his soft curls, gripping just tight enough to verge on being painful. His own moans mixing with yours, poor bastard getting so lost in giving you pleasure he didn't even realize when he began to grind his hips into your mattress, desperately searching for a release while helping you reach your own. 

To hear your voice pitch into an airy whine as your thighs tightened around his head. Tighter and tighter as he pushed you over the edge of your orgasm, hips twitching against his mouth still working away against your dripping cunt in a way that verged on being gluttonous until you pulled him away with a sharp tug on his hair. 

In the aftermath, a silence settled over the two of you like a soft blanket. Spit-slicked lips laid feather-light kisses against the still twitching muscles of your thighs, pressing against the blooming bite marks that he knew would just barely peek out from the cuff of your shorts you wore during your morning training sessions. A minuscule stake of claim that he had no business branding you with given that he was too chickenshit to take you out on a real date. 

Had you opened your eyes, you’d see that his were already trained on you with a softness you weren’t yet ready to see. Admiring the rise and fall of your chest with a faint smile on his face and the desire to take you out properly. To scrounge up enough money from his bank account after the room & board payments bleed him dry to some small burger shop or maybe the local theater to see you outside of the walls of your dorm or the university gym, wearing something nice and laughing at his jokes before kissing him goodnight. To sit in the stands of his next match as his girlfriend and congratulate him on his win with an overly obnoxious kiss that he would swear was humiliating but made him preen under your praise like a peacock during mating season. To do all of the downright nauseatingly romantic bullshit every nineteen year old boy wanted to do with the girl he was too afraid to actually make a move on. 

But not yet. 

“Have you ever considered wrestling? You’ve got a killer leg lock.”

[lolomidi]

The Price of Entertainment: An Episode-By-Episode Analysis of Alastor's Facade

I don’t think any character in Hazbin Hotel has been discussed as much as Alastor, and it’s a testament to how much the writers put in his character that the mystery of his intentions, past, and contract have been so debated on.

There are some takes I vehemently disagree with, but something a lot of people seem to have settled on is that Alastor is, behind his massive ego and cool-headed persona, insecure about his place in Hell after his long “sabbatical.” I want to do an episode-by-episode analysis of Alastor’s behavior and how Season 1 shifts our view of him from an unquestionably powerful Overlord to something with more depth, and while I won’t be speculating on who owns his soul and how he’ll break that contract in those post, I will take a guess at the future of his character in a narrative sense. I will also implicitly be addressing my issues with some of the conclusions others have made, or at least playing devil's advocate.

NOTE: I want to clarify that none of this is meant to depict Alastor as some poor woobie. He’s still awful. He’s in Hell for several reasons and being a serial killer is only one of them. Rather, I want to analyze what is shown to us about him, and how those story beats can be used to determine where he’ll end up by the finale of the series.

ALSO NOTE: I haven’t followed all of VivziePop’s comments outside of the show about the characters, and it’s possible that certain details have been changed between the release of the pilot and the show, so take any mentions of what hasn’t been explicitly depicted within the show with a grain of salt.

___

Part 1: Recap Analysis

This section will consist of commentary regarding Alastor's appearance and behavior in the given episodes, with retrospection based on new information given in later episodes if needed.

“Overture”: Alastor is pretty one-to-one with his depiction in the pilot in the first episode. He’s snarky, open about his sadism, but helpful if begrudgingly so. Interestingly, he’s able to put together a well-edited, if tonally awful, commercial, and probably could have done better if he weren’t intentionally being an ass about it. From the finale we know that he and Vox likely used to have a more magnanimous relationship, and it’s likely that he picked up some tools of the digital trade in that time despite or before being turned off completely by it.

“Radio Killed the Video Star”: Vox effectively plays heel for Alastor this episode as we continue that first impression of the Radio Demon. We spend a good time showing off the former’s power and how far his roots have spread throughout Hell’s society, only for Alastor to effortlessly trounce him and steal from his audience, despite being gone for so long and his position in Hell less stable. This indicates that Alastor does still have pull, but at the same time that his position in the hierarchy of Hell is being contested due to the length of his absence. He deals with it easily here, but we’ll see in subsequent episodes that things aren’t as smooth as they first seem.

“Scrambled Eggs”: In terms of the eggs, there’s not much to talk about. He begrudgingly accepts Vaggie’s request to get rid of them “humanely,” but brings them back to the hotel after they prove to be useful spies.

More importantly, we get our first small hint that Alastor’s ego can be bruised when Carmilla doesn’t humor him during the meeting between Overlords. Now, I actually disagree with a lot of the takes on this episode in that I think it indicates that at least some of Alastor’s views and need to prove himself as a powerful Overlord are the result of self-delusion. Yes, he does need to reestablish himself as a person not to be messed with after being gone for so long, but I think it isn’t as bad as some are making it out to be, which makes his behavior in later episodes more strange and excessive if anything.

Carmilla, who mind you is a busy and stressed woman trying to hide the fact that she’s successfully murdered an angel, hits his ego by not caring where he’s been (something he wouldn’t have revealed in the first place), but she also welcomes him back, which is more than you could say to Velvette and by extension the Vees. And minutes before that, Zestial, who’s probably the highest on their totem pole, does go out of his way to meet with Alastor and inquire about where he’s been. Alastor himself gets over the slight pretty quickly and has no issue contributing to the meeting. Overall, he isn’t necessarily terrifying other overlords, but he still has an established place with them and they do seem to get along well enough. He’s “part of the group” unlike the Vees, who are treated more like upstart outsiders.

I also want to point out that despite Zestial likely outranking Alastor in power, they seem to be alright with each other. Alastor is cordial and does not demonstrate a desire to antagonize him like he does Lucifer in the next episode. Speaking of which…

“Dad Beat Dad”: This episode gives us a lot to chew on and is the first major indicator that Alastor’s issues go beyond wanting to be the center of the room. From the very moment Lucifer walks into the hotel*, his eye is twitching and he is visibly pissed. Lucifer undermining him (notably contrasting Zestial, who is polite despite his power) doesn’t help and makes Alastor let loose his first swear in the entire show. Being the petty bitch he is, Alastor, knowing he can’t intimidate Lucifer in any way, immediately goes for his weak point–Charlie–and plays up the role of a caretaker for her and the hotel. It’s a low blow, but it also feels like a defense–he’s signaling to Lucifer that this is his hotel, that things are taken care of already, and that they do not need his assistance, even though they ultimately do in order to get a meeting with Heaven.

But then things get more complicated with the appearance of Mimzy, who, to the surprise of several characters due to his solitary nature, was friends with Alastor all the way back when they were alive, and she carries a load of implications with her. She’s the only crack so far at what a “human” Alastor is like–apparently he’s a heavyweight drinker, a good dancer, and most notably, in Mimzy’s words, a sweet man who "becomes a kitten" when he's drunk. This is a huge departure from the unflappable, egotistical Radio Demon we’ve known up to now, and I think it’s a purposeful choice that we’re hearing this information but not shown it like his early days in Hell just prior. It’s simultaneously left to the imagination but difficult to do so because it contrasts so heavily with everything that has been shown to us beforehand. Another thing is that Mimzy is sure that Alastor will clean up her mess–and apparently this isn’t the first time he has, if Husk is anything to go by. So many people seem to miss this, but Alastor, who hates being tied down or disrespected, has been allowing Mimzy to leech off of him, presumably due to their past friendship making him turn a blind eye.

Alastor is on edge for this entire episode and is already unusually snappy when Husk addresses Mimzy, and pushing the button that was his contract is what sends him over the edge. His temper exploding is a direct result of his feeling that his control over both the hotel (via Lucifer) and his personal life (via Husk’s “doubt” that he can handle everything and that his reputation is what it used to be, plus the reminder of his deal) is being taken away from him. Alastor’s threat to Husk, which seems to not be his usual behavior if Husk’s willingness to show concern and talk back in the first place is anything to go by, is an attempt to remind both of them that he holds the cards, that he’s a powerful Overlord that is not to be trifled with, and he explicitly says as much when he goes out to deal with what Mimzy’s dragged in.

It’s only after he lets his anger out on the mobsters and “proves himself” that he visibly calms down and makes the logical decision to tell Mimzy to leave with a serious attitude, and also doesn’t antagonize anyone for the rest of the episode. It seems like despite his fury earlier, he was listening to Husk, who’s rightfully smug about it. He’s even present when Charlie declares her desire to protect her people, and his smile seems just a tad bit more genuine.

*Note: it’s not impossible that Alastor has some sort of personal grudge against Lucifer which caused his hate-on-first-sight, depending on the circumstances of his disappearance and contract (i.e. if it’s with Lilith).

“Hello Rosie!”: As opposed to Dad Beat Dad, Hello Rosie is arguably where we see Alastor at his most in-his-element. He gives off a lot of conflicting vibes at the beginning, from mocking Charlie’s distress to, in a shockingly honest moment, lecturing her about the importance of a smile to portray strength, a card we’d only been shown due to comments outside of the show. He smugly holds his knowledge over Charlie’s head but is visibly impatient to have her make a blank check of a deal with him, solid enough to benefit him but vague enough so that Charlie won’t feel immediately threatened. He’s clearly been waiting for an opportunity like this since the events of the pilot.

After that, he puts back on his gentleman’s demeanor and introduces Charlie to Rosie, and from here on he’s arguably at his most comfortable in the entire show. He’s relaxed around Rosie and is actually willing to ask for her help (something I can’t see him doing with any other character), casually complains about Susan, is encouraging to and praises Charlie even behind her back, and most notably, gives her his radio cane unprompted. More on that later. He also mentioned wanting to guide Charlie to Rosie specifically, implying that he was being genuine about wanting to act as a mentor to her, though his intentions are probably self-beneficial.

“The Show Must Go On”: The finale is arguably the most revealing episode on what Alastor’s inner world is like, as we see him unmasked several times. For one, his private admission to Niffty, the closest thing he has to a friend within the hotel, that he’s enjoyed watching the other residents connect to each other. This is in direct opposition to his initial (stated) reason for helping the hotel in that he wanted to watch them all fail, and yet he seems content with his initial assumptions being proven wrong. There’s no malice or sarcasm in this moment, he’s relaxed and talking to someone he relatively trusts.

And so he goes into the battle swinging and confident. Then, of course, Adam.

I want to bring up something before we keep going. Yes, fighting Adam without angelic weaponry was a needless risk. Yes, Alastor fell victim to the very sloppiness and arrogance he accused Adam of, and it’s thematically appropriate that he was the only one to lose his battle in that he was fighting for his own ego more than “love.” But also, people seem to forget that Alastor is the only demon in the entire show with a precedent for permakilling without an explicit reliance on angelic weaponry, as the Overlords he toppled in his original rampage seem to have never returned. He’s egotistical, but not stupid. He may have genuinely believed that he had the means to kill Adam himself but didn’t get the chance/couldn’t due to his contract or absence possibly weakening him. But that's speculation for another day.

So, he has to retreat before Adam double-taps his ass and is too injured to return until after the extermination. He makes a grand exit, but not before grabbing the broken pieces of his radio cane. The one he allowed Charlie to use just an episode prior, and presumably is a conduit for his powers, and he grabs it while a murderous angel is inches away from wiping him off the face of Hell.

His portion of “Finale” is the first time we see him singing alone and not playing off someone in a duet. It’s obvious that he’s trying to keep his composure, still speaking to himself in his artificial transatlantic accent (which we now know for a fact he doesn't need to do, seeing as he finally broke character when Adam wrecked his cane) and reassuring himself that he’ll come out on top next time. But here his front shatters and we openly see what the show has been hinting he is for the first time: a deeply paranoid, desperate, and unstable man.

Essentially the worst-case scenario has happened: after a season of interfering with every attempt to capture him on camera, Vox has footage of him at his lowest point for all of Hell to see, and he’ll have “died” a martyr, a weakling, and still in the chains of an unwanted contract. For Alastor, who is so deeply afraid of showing any sign of vulnerability, who wants to be seen as a monstrous Overlord, it’s understandable that this humiliation is enough to send him into a mental spiral and recant any fondness for the hotel in favor of accomplishing his own goals. Worse yet, when we next see him he gives zero indication of any of this even when Charlie and company are simply glad that he's alive, which leaves us to wonder: has he been like this behind the smile from the very beginning?

___

Part 2: Closing Thoughts and Future Speculation

With everything we’ve taken note of above, we can start to piece together a picture of who this guy is, and what the writers are going to do with him.

Alastor is sentimental. It’s not just his attachment to older technology or his love for being the center of everyone's attention. He likes being around people, he has friends, one of which he continuously indulged despite her using him multiple times, and he ultimately was starting to enjoy his time at the hotel before his defeat spooked him. Despite him using her, the fact that he was even willing to let Charlie use his cane (and note that he takes it from her as soon as she’s given a substitute, so that is a significant gesture for him) is an implicit display of trust whose implications don’t become apparent until the finale.

But this is paired with deep insecurity. Alastor, despite being one of the most powerful people in the Pride Ring, has a crippling fear of being seen as vulnerable or “lesser” by others. There could be multiple overlapping reasons for this: the general climate of Hell, whatever happened to him seven years ago, his experiences as a mixed-race human living in Prohibition-era Louisiana, his original death, a natural predisposition, etc.

Regardless, this anxiety of his is so overwhelming that, when paired with the ever-present stress of not owning his own soul, it’s driving him insane. He made a splash in Hell upon entry and now he’s desperately trying to reinvoke that in order to defend himself both physically and mentally. He’s the gifted kid who’s slowly going nuts trying to keep up an impossible momentum as they grow older. He’s an ex-human denying his humanity because he doesn’t want to feel human. Everyone’s out to get him, and anyone who could be an enemy is an enemy unless he has total control over them via a contract, power, or the reassurance of years of close friendship. It’s why he’s cordial to Zestial but takes Carmilla (who wasn't even trying to spite him) and Lucifer’s comments personally, in the same way someone with low self-esteem might want to lash out against an authority figure who they feel is looking down on them.

Worse yet, he can’t/won’t let these feelings out and is bottling them up so that no one will know he feels this way (note how quickly he was able to relax in Dad Beat Dad when he was given an outlet for his stress), because that’s a sign of weakness too. It’s honestly kind of frightening that in his final scene he gives zero indication of being injured or of just having had a meltdown. By all outside accounts, he’s his usual chipper self, and no one at the hotel save for maybe Husk, who can’t say anything Alastor doesn’t want him to, would realize anything is amiss. The reason his part of “Finale” is chilling isn’t just because of the implications that he will become an antagonist in the future–it’s that his mental state is so poor that he is no longer acting rationally, which makes him unpredictable in the worst possible way.

I think Alastor’s character arc isn’t going to be redemption by way of going to Heaven, I don't think that place is his style anyway, but rather redemption of his own self-image. I don’t think the writers would make what is arguably the most popular and well-developed character in the show just to say that he’s hopelessly evil and simply end it at that. We’ve been exposed to multiple facets of his character, and while his deeds and probably his intentions are sinister, his underlying motivation for it all seems to be “freedom,” which decidedly isn’t (unless your name is Eren Jaeger).

I do believe that he’ll have his villain moment where he indulges in his worst impulses, but that ultimately it won’t do anything to fulfill him, because as we see in the official comics before the release of the show (which may no longer be canon but still give a viable “baseline” for the characters), when his desire to be feared and respected is granted, it only isolates him. Like the others, he’ll have to hit rock bottom before he can climb back up.

Pentious, who was successfully redeemed, needed to understand that people weren’t out to get him, which allowed him to make the decision to put his friends before himself and trigger his selfless sacrifice. Angel, who’s well on his way to redemption, needed to realize he wasn’t alone and could rely on others, and his confidence and self-love has grown enormously since then. I think these are both lessons Alastor will need to learn eventually as well. He’s the manager of the hotel, but also undoubtedly a patient. He’s hungry for freedom, but only when he learns these lessons will he be truly free.

Or maybe I’m thinking too much into it idk lmaooooo

[shuenkio]

Give me your forever ➺ Ps.h

Synopsis➺ Something happened when you're attending your friend's wedding ceremony.

Paring➺ Sunghoon x male!reader

Genre➺ Fluff, emotional. [not angst]

Cw➺ nothing!

Non proof read|wc:0.9 | © Shuenkio

Eng is not my first lang|mistake could happen

A&N: A lil delusional but it's fiction anyway, and please ignore my edit, the quality is euhh.

Imagine, You and Sunghoon are attending one of their friends wedding  ceremonies. The party had taken place indoors, with only friends, family, and relatives.

It was amazing and magnificent to witness how far you had come with the love of your life by your side. Today, your best friend was getting married, and this was the very first wedding ceremony you had ever attended in your life.

The emotional roller coaster you were on seemed to have no end. You still couldn't believe you were here, surrounded by the beauty and joy of the moment. The air was filled with a blissful mix of excitement and love, almost overwhelming in its intensity.

As you watched your friend walk down the aisle, you felt a lump form in your throat. The sheer joy and pride you felt for them bubbled up inside you, almost bringing you to the edge of tears.

The ceremony was a beautiful symphony of emotions, with each word and gesture pulling at your heartstrings. You glanced at your partner beside you, their hand warm and reassuring in yours.

This moment and this day were a testament to the power of love and the journey you had all taken together. The happiness you felt was palpable—a radiant warmth that spread through your entire being.

As the vows were exchanged and the rings slipped onto fingers, you felt the tears finally spill over—a blend of happiness, pride, and an overwhelming sense of connection.

This was a day you would never forget, the first of many beautiful memories in the story of your life. Finally, before the wedding was done, everyone was asked to gather around for the bride to throw her lucky bouquets of flowers.

Whoever caught them, they'd be the ones who got the marriage next, but that was just the word from mouth to mouth; it was actually for good fortune. Sunghoon, take your hand as he leads you into the circle of the attendees.

There are not many people; however, it's enough time to take your breath away. The MC then takes his moment to do his job by giving a variety of talks and entertaining everyone with his funny jokes.

Soon after, the bride turns around to her back while she's holding on to her bouquet, ready to aim to throw it up in the air. Nevertheless, as you were waiting for your bestie to make her throw, She's instead walking down from the stage without throwing her fortune at luck; your eyes were lingering at her with a confusing expression.

Why is she doing it? She should be doing that!! That was the question you wanted to ask her, and why do the people in the hall seem so unfazed? As if this were planned? They look happier.

Suddenly she handed you her bouquet, taking your hand to hold onto them tight with the warm smile revealed on her face.

"This is for you, m/n! Thank you for being my best friend. And I hope to see you again at your wedding after me." She whispered softly in a gentle voice, and her gaze softened as she made eye contact with you. Before taking a step back, she had a she had a reunion with her groom.

"Chole! What's this all about? I don't understand," you asked, slightly not understanding what she was trying to do. She then giggled at your oblivious response.

"Turn around, m/n, just do it!"

"Turn around? " You furrow your eyebrow before turning around while holding on to the bouquet.

At the sight you saw, Sunghoon was kneeling down on one knee, his finger pressing open the box of rings.

"Would you marry me, M/N?" Sunghoon's voice trembled slightly, and his eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of fear and hope.

"We've been through thick and thin together, and I finally have the courage to ask you this: Yes or...?" He kneeled down before you; the scene was almost surreal, making you feel like a lamp had been lit in your throat. Your heart raced, pounding in your chest as you tried to process the moment. You covered your mouth with your palm, your eyes wide in astonishment. This was it. This was what they had been planning all along.

Park Sunghoon, the love of your life, was proposing to you. Sunghoon's gaze never wavered, a hopeful glimmer in his eyes as he waited for your response.

He swallowed hard, anxiety visible in the tension of his posture. Overwhelmed by the flood of emotions, you felt yourself breaking down, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Yes, I do," you choked out between sobs, extending your right hand towards him. Sunghoon's face lit up with relief and joy as he slipped the ring onto your finger.

The room erupted in applause and cheers, the joyous noise of friends and family echoing around you. Tears of happiness flowed freely, not just from you but from your friends as well, who had witnessed your journey together.

"I love you so much, M/N. You don't know how happy I am!" Sunghoon exclaimed, his voice thick with emotion. You laughed through your tears, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest.

"No, but I'm about to have a heart attack from this, Sunghoon -"He chuckled, wiping away his own tears.

"ㅋㅋ Sorry, M/N. But hey, at least we won't be boyfriends ever again. We're now husbands."

"Hmph, I love you," you replied, feeling an overwhelming sense of warmth and love.

"I love you more!" he responded, pulling you into a tight embrace. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of happiness and love.

🗣️ Please mind my English! ><

🗣️ Reblog and like is much appreciated ♥

🗣️ crd to dividers Owner [enchanthings]

[gremlingottoosilly]

Just a Brotherhood!Konig Thot👀. Knight!Konig loves in my head rent free🥰

Imagine with me- Knight!Konig who has a cute little scribe who's so eager to please her Lord Knight that she'd do just about anything he asked of her-even if that meant walking into a cave full of radiation, she'd do it for him! Tiny Scribe!reader who doesn't mind lugging around that massive backpack of supplies, honest My Lord it's nothing!

I can totally imagine Knight! Konig being so full of himself, especially after Scribe!reader proves their undying loyalty? Oh yeah, big ego boost for this giant anxious man 😊😏. Eventually I imagine a romance that is bordering obsession on both their parts😅😂.

In the game, Paladins of the Brotherhood usually got a whole team of different scribes and helpers since Wsteland is not a joke. Imagine being one of many - a bit of a tech nerd, always eager to get yet another toster for the glory of the brotherhood. Scribing your sully techs on the silly notepad you snatched from an abandoned building. Konig cals you a radracoon, stealing everything that comes your way. Konig says it's a given, since you're from the Wastelands - Brotherhood picked you up like a lost puppy on the way from a bloody mission. Konig wasn't a paladin yet, only a handful of years older than you - but you're with him now. Young and naive, eager to please. Konig wonders what you would do if he asked you to suck his cock. Would probably get on your knees like a good girl. Maybe you'd oil his armor too. Maybe you'd like to fuck him while he is still halfway in the armor. A testament to his strength. Brotherhood is all about breeding numbers from the top, so you know Konig will have to have children some day. He has no idea what courting is - you don't know either - so he just brings you extra lunch. Some pieces of less radiated meals. Smashes a cake stand with his power fist and gets you a desert with only moderate amount of mold. Gets hard at the sight of your shining bright eyes and has to curse under his breath - armor wasn't built for the wearers to have huge boners because their servants are too fucking adorable.

Konig knows he deserves someone stronger - he has other people, actually, tending to his needs and watching his back. Team is a small task force, with a few knights always stationed nearby - Brotherhood doesn't want to love its glorified paladin toy. You're here for the stress relief, like a shining puppy of justice and poor life decisions. You idolize Konig - not the Brotherhood. It's a mistake, a huge one. A fucking liability. Konig smiles and squeezes your cheeks. Plays with your hair. Metal hand tangling in the dirty strands. You are taking care of his supplies, of his food, of cleaning his armor. When he comes to you at night, allowing you to take the first shift, you aren't even surprised when he points at his cock. Aching and ready to burst - your hands aren't soft when they slip around it, trying to understand how to make them feel better, but Konig appreciates the pain. Gets a hand in your hair, still giant even out of armor. Tells you to be rougher, not to treat him like a little bitch. You obey, as tender as you are. Maybe fascinated a little. Brotherhood doesn't do marriages, but Konig already knows who he will choose to breed with.