#lets form a prayer circle friends

[towards-toramunda]

Manifesting someone notice/talk to orym about his new magic abilities tonight

[bxlladxnnabxtch]

To Lose a Lifetime

Rhysand x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: After erasing every trace of yourself, you make a home for yourself in a small log cabin. But after leaving Velaris without so much as a goodbye, you should have guessed that trouble would come knocking sooner or later.

Read pt. 1 to To Lose a Lifetime - HERE

Read Pt. 3 - HERE

Warnings: Profanity, angst.

The Inner Circle hadn’t seen you for weeks. And despite their best efforts, they couldn’t find you.

At some point, you had tuned out Rhys’ continuous pleading down the bond. Completely blocked him off from any of your feelings or thoughts. The bond had gone cold. Dead.

You had made sure to erase every trace of your existence since you had left. Paying in cash- not even so much as touching your account, staying in different inns every couple of nights, giving different names to passersby. You were determined to not let them find you, you didn’t want them to find you.

But as the days turned into weeks, the time slowly creeping by to almost a month, you idly wondered what their plan was to find where you had gone.

Rhys putting out a ten-thousand-dollar reward for your whereabouts was not on your list of guesses.

You clutched the paper in your hand, and a silent curse left your mouth as you pulled your hood further over your face. This fucking prick. Of course he would do something like this. You debated whether it was worth it to go around town removing the ads plastered around like you were some wanted criminal. But your survival instincts ultimately won out when you turned your head to find a few people already glancing your way. Soon enough your feet were picking up down the path of the town you were in, eager to steer clear of anyone hopeful to get their hands on that reward.

You ducked into the tree line, quickly steering off the path to avoid any more unwanted encounters. You needed to get back to where you were staying, before more people realized the hefty sum their High Lord was willing to dish out for the missing link of his Inner Circle.

You were able to make it back to your cabin without issue. Luckily, your already wealthy friend- and owner of the cabin- wasn’t particularly swayed by the bribe.

It seemed safe- felt safe. Your fuzzy pajama pants along with the fireplace had warmed you up from the autumn chill that had befallen the Night Court.  Your form curled up on the couch, knees tucked to your chest with a book in your lap. You were invested, eyes intently tracing the words on the page like a prayer, wings hanging over the arm of the couch. It couldn’t get much better than this.

You were so relaxed, and before you knew it the words on the page began to blur together as you fought to keep your eyes open against the sleep that had begun to plague you. You were so out of it you weren’t expecting to hear the sharp pounding that almost rattled the house.

You jumped, snapping upright on the couch as the book tumbled from your lap and your power flew out to slam the shutters shut on the windows. You bristled as another knock sounded on the door; this time less intense but just as startling. You groaned, running your hand through your hair as you stepped over your now discarded book, bare feet pattering on the wooden floor as you trekked towards the door. You knew Niliana was supposed to come by later for some tea and a chat- but her pounding on your door like this was completely uncalled for.

Your hand gripped the doorknob, metal cold against your warmed skin as you pulled it open, a yawn breaking from you as you rubbed your eyes groggily. “I was just about to fall asleep Nilliana what the-“

You stopped dead in your tracks as you looked up to see Rhys looking down at you, seeming very, very unimpressed.

You were suddenly wide awake as you stared at the High Lord, expression morphing into one of distaste. You assumed he would have found you sooner or later, but showing up on the doorstep of your cabin looking like this was all your fault made you want to slap him so hard you sent him flying back to Velaris.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, not bothering to hide the disappointment in your tone. Rhys frowned, his wings shifting behind him as he scanned you. “I’m here to bring you back.” He stated plainly. You looked at him in disbelief, the statement forcing a humorless laugh from you. “And what makes you think I would do anything you say after your insane proposal?” You quip, folding your arms as you leaned against the doorway, the fall chill beginning to set into your bones. Despite the shivers that had begun to rack through you, you had no intention of taking this conversation inside.

“I get you’re upset, but that doesn’t give you the right to walk out on your family.” He said matter-of-factly.

“You seem to have forgotten we’ve already done that.” You replied back cooly. His eyes hardened, and you felt a tremor shoot through the cabin as he lost the tether on his power for a split second. “Don’t bring Amarantha into this.”

“And why not?” You asked, head cocking to the side quizzically. “We both knew what going to that party meant for us. It didn’t stop us from leaving. Yet here you are willing to throw away half a century of suffering to rescue a damsel that can’t seem to get her shit together.” He wrung his hands, jaw clenching as he looked at the ground. “She’s suffering. I did the exact same for you and I would do it again.” He said, locking eyes with you. He looked desperate, like he was willing to drop to his knees and grovel to get you back. His words shot pure, unfiltered rage through you. Releasing a sharp, ragged breath through your nose, you shot him a threatening glare as you stepped towards him the slightest bit.

“No- nonono- I am completely different. I begged. I starved. I fought my way through that damn forest. I crawled my way through foreign courts I knew nothing about on the brink of death- pleading to anyone that may have offered a glimmer of sympathy or help. I fought my way up here. Through blood and tears. So, when you ask me to have sympathy for someone who has the power to destroy Prythian in her finger- just because she’s having a hard time, maybe you’ll begin to understand the reason I tell you to go fuck yourself.” You snarled, wings shuddering under the strength of your rage.

Rhys seemed to lean back the tiniest bit, but still remained steadfast. “I made a bargain-“ He was cut of by your growl, your mind shot back to those nights sleeping in The Middle, fighting creatures older than Prythian itself. “No, you signed our potential death certificate.” You could tell your anger had burned its way down the bond from the way he flinched at your words. Your expression twisted into one of grief as you got caught up in the memories that flooded into your head, the starving, the sweat, the smell of death, of your family lying slaughtered in the middle of the village.

“It may be your court, Rhys. But it’s my home. One I chose to make with you, but one I could’ve and will make without you.”

You barely had time to realize your mental shields had gone crumbling down before you felt him in your head. You felt your memories being consumed by him as your face paled, eyes widening. You jerked as more memories were pulled from you, of the cold, the trek from the Winter Court, frostbite nipping your fingertips. The feel of the pathetic little dagger in your hand as you took your first life. The feel of your dry lips as you crossed the border into the Dawn Court, stumbling and delirious. The feel of your ribs as you put on a stolen shirt you had nabbed from a street vendor. The scream that was ripped from you as a knife shredded through your wings like paper-

You shoved him, hard and unyielding, mental shields slamming up as you forced him out of your head. “LEAVE.” You shouted so loud an echo could be heard from the forest, your power unintentionally carrying your voice as you saw flocks of birds being roused from the trees. You felt the adrenaline coursing through you and how it burned through your veins, searing your nerves and numbing you out as you trembled. Your power flowed through you, begging to be unleashed, slamming against the bars of its cage like a rabid animal.

You breathed heavy, tightening your tether on your power in an attempt to keep it leashed as Rhys looked at you like your memories had broken him. “GO!” You screamed, your voice cracking with the word. Rhys seemed to flinch, and a flash of understanding seemed to grace his features. Nonetheless, he obliged, backing up into the small clearing in front of your cabin. He glanced at you one last time, his expression mirroring one of guilt before you sent a rush of wind towards him in warning. His lips pursed, but his wings unfurled as they finally caught the wind, propelling him off the ground and into the air.

Just like that he was gone, leaving you breathing heavily. Sharp tremors still plagued you, and you clasped your shaky hands together in an effort to stop their incessant wrath. You stood there for a minute, out on the porch, listening to the wind whistle through the trees and the scurry of animals and no doubt other creatures that lurked in the forest. For the first time since you arrived at the cabin, you held a certain gratitude for the cold that bit at you, the temperature doing more to aid you in your attempts to ground yourself than much else.

You jumped when you felt a silky mist brush up against your arm, your form flinching as you turned around. You braced yourself, mentally preparing yourself to go toe to toe with a creature that inhabited the forest around you. But what you didn’t expect was to see another pair of wings and an entourage of shadows shrouding a man leaning against the doorway.

You were still shaking as you regarded him, you swallowed thickly, throat feeling like sandpaper. “How long have you been here?” You asked, voice trembling. You mentally cursed yourself, hand coming to rake through your hair. “A while.” He replied, his shadows still seemed to reach out to you, brushing up against you like they sensed your unease beyond your visible shakiness. Your eyes flickered to them for the briefest of moments before they trailed back to him.

“You knew where I was the whole time.” You said, the remark more of a statement than a question. He inclined his head towards you in a motion which told you that you were correct. “I think deep down we all know that he’s changed since Under the Mountain- you both have.” His arms were folded, sleeves rolled up to display the black ink that cascaded down his arms. Your wings folded in again, the action caught his eye, and he let out a sigh as his figure seemed to sag as he noticed how stand-offish you seemed.

You looked at your hands, the shaking seemed to have subsided the slightest bit as you ran your thumb over your palm. “Is he bringing her back?” You asked. You didn’t want to seem too eager to know the answer to the question, but you knew Azriel would rather you be upfront than try to bring it up later- especially not knowing when you were going to go back to Velaris.

Azriel looked at you for a long while, and you remained. You felt the worn-down wood of the cabin porch beneath your feet, the slight breeze that pushed your hair into your face, and the silence that rung between the two of you. Perhaps you knew the answer before he said it, perhaps you knew it before you had even asked the question, but it didn’t make it any less world shattering as he spoke.

“Yes.”

That one word, three letters that seemed to rip apart any hope you had left of Rhys seeing what it would do to his court, to Prythian, to you. Fifty years of suffering- the disregard of what Amarantha did to you- of what you went through in the Winter Court. You didn’t have it in yourself to be angry anymore, you felt your rage be ripped from you, violently and mercilessly. You felt the emotion rip out what was left in your chest until you were just... numb. You had given up, the dull throbbing echoing the hole in your chest like an agonizing melody. You hadn’t even been able to begin to feel the warm tears slide down your cheeks, gave no reaction, just asked in a wobbly, barely-there voice.

“To Velaris?”

Azriel’s jaw clenched.

“Yes.”

You didn’t say anything, let the silence linger in the doorway, you didn’t have anything to fill it with. Azriel pushed off the door, taking a step towards you like he was going to say something- try to say anything that could make this a little more bearable for you. But it was clear- you both knew it; Rhys had made his choice.

So you brushed past him, didn’t look at him- didn’t have to in order to know that he was reaching out to you, much like his shadows as they clung onto you like phantoms. But you ignored them, passing the threshold into the now cold cabin- the fire having gone out long ago.

And you closed the door.

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Restoration Worship

Nikolai x Fat F! Reader Tags: monsterfucking, gargoyles, dubcon, overstimulation, tail sex, anal play, double penetration, squirting, cunnilingus, p in v, dirty talk.  I think thats about it, I think yall should know by now that every reader I write is fat, blacked out and wrote 3K words of gargoyle smut sooo… enjoy!

It had begun as a research effort, a little trip to the cemetery to hopefully procure some interesting insight into a little project she’d been working on for the museum. Eyes scanning over lichen covered graves and cracked mausoleums, words long faded in time. 

She’d seen the videos before. Kind strangers brushing away years of decay with a brush and patience. Who would we be without the knowledge from our predecessors after all? 

So with a passion for restoration and a need for busy hands she set to work, uncovering gracious prayers and one of the best cookie recipes she’d ever tasted set within the worn stone. 

It’s months before she comes across him. He’s a big boy, covered in lichen and the webs of spiders, stone stained heavily from the elements. Sharp claws curl into the pedestal he hunkers on, broad wings curled against his back, stone teeth bared in warning. 

Even like this he’s beautiful, strong features carved delicately in tarnished marble. 

She’d found her next project. 

A decade had passed since death had been at Nikolai’s doorstep, when he’d let the stone take him, closed himself off from the world to rest after an egregious injury. He’d watched over the lowly cemetery with weak eyes, until they too became covered. Until he’d lost himself to the void, consciousness falling into inky blackness as he waited amongst the trees. 

That is, until her.

His days had shifted from the chittering of squirrels and bird song to an incessant chatter. A soft english lilt that stirred something in his hazy mind. He likes the english. Past visions of old friends flash in his mind, warm dark skin, cigars, a mask made of bone. 

How could he forget? 

He strains, willing his senses back to life, listens harder for the soft voice amongst the tombstones. 

She talks to the dead, chattering away at graves that will never speak back to her. This graveyard is old, quiet, its occupants long passed over after they stopped burying the dead here, when their loved ones had long passed on themselves. 

She asks them questions, makes up stories, tells them about her day. She’s a museum conservator and she brings things back to life all the time. Making them shiny and new, loving them through hard work and careful hands so that others may get to love them too. 

And when she’s not talking she’s humming, or singing so off tune that even the birds grumble. But she’s laughing at herself,  looking up songs from the years written on the graves and playing those too, a little tune the deceased might be familiar with. 

Her voice bounces from grave to grave, and he realizes she’s cleaning them, scrubbing the dirt away and bidding them adieu when her task is finished. 

Sweet thing, he muses, wishing he could see her, wishing she would bring him to life too.

His dream comes true on a sunny afternoon, the summer rays warming his stone, waking him just a little more. 

She’s close, footsteps rustling the leaves at his feet as she circles him. 

“You keep watch don’t you?” she asks him seriously, and she’s right there. So close he can smell her, like blueberries and vanilla sugar, it’d make his mouth water if he could just move.

She speaks again, but he can barely register the words as warm gentle hands clear the infinite dark from his field of view. Brushing away vines and lichen.

“There! That’s better!” 

And there she is. A big soft girl, with sweet round cheeks flushed from the heat. He needs to hold her, crush her close and reward her for her kindness, but she’s gone just as quickly, promising to return to clean him properly, and his marble heart warms at the thought. He commits her form to memory, watching her soft braids sway against her back as she leaves.  

A longing seeping deep into his marrow as he lets the sleep take him again. 

She returns the following weekend, small spray rig and gentle cleaner in hand when she finds him again. She’s mindful, soft hands gently tugging at his limbs to test the durability before ambling her soft body onto his platform. It’s wonderful, to finally feel the heat of another against his skin, and he thinks if the sun weren’t touching him he could come to life now, tackle her into the soft grass and ravish her. He knows she’d be so sweet, whimpering and mewling under his touch. 

It would wait for another time. 

She works from the top down, soaking him with warm water before scrubbing him with soft bristle brushes. She’s delicate, leaning her soft body against his as she cleans, washing away years of dirt and moss. She scrubs behind his ears, in the bend of his horns, clearing the nests of insects from between his teeth. He revels in the feel of her, soft breasts and belly pressed to his skin, gentle hands stroking over the sensitive margins of his wings. Had he been mobile he’d be purring, with spread wings and stiff cock all over some gentle petting. 

He mourns when she leaves, water cooling against his stone as she packs up before nightfall. 

But it gives him time to practice.

It takes days, weeks, before he can move under the cover of night, limbs coming to life sluggishly, the world becoming more clear to his dulled senses. 

She returns like clockwork, spending the afternoons with him, chatting and humming, leaning against his platform as she eats her lunch. 

He can’t move far, just a few movements, but he gets greedy, finally willing his wings to open, letting them stretch pleasantly in the cool night air and freeze there when the sun freezes him again. 

She’s a bit startled when she returns, eyeing him with confusion and the broad reptilian wings spread proudly behind his back. Come closer love, they’ve always been this way.

Nevertheless she scrubs those too, warm hands petting over the webbing, ghost along the modified fingers of his wings. He has half a mind to wallow in the night, cover himself in more dirt if only to keep her trips regular. But he knows his time is coming to an end when she dusts away the last leaves from his pedestal. 

She has a final rest with him, his sweet keeper perched at his feet as she watches the sun disappear behind the trees. 

And finally, finally. As the soft light of the moon kisses his skin, he greets her. 

“Hello solnyshka” he purrs, voice low and gravely,  amusement crinkling pupil-less eyes, as he watches her nearly jump out of her skin. Scrambling away and whirling to take a look at the massive gargoyle.  He can see now, really see, and she’s lovely. Freckles dusting round cheeks, bulky denim and cotton hiding big soft curves underneath. 

She’s frozen, staring at him with wide eyes. He stretches, not unlike a cat, trembling slightly with the effort as he spreads his wings, lifts his hands above his head to crack his own spine, shaking away the stiffness from his tired bones. He relaxes again,  smiling at her fondly, revealing sharp fangs underneath. 

“I’m grateful for your work.” he calls again, taking a slow step off of his platform, clawed feet digging into the earth below. He is truly, his new keeper being the first ray of sun to truly grace his skin in decades. Just the light he needed to wake him from his slumber.  He needs to hold her, feel her softness under his claws. 

She swallows, clasping trembling hands in front of her. 

“I didn’t mean to be a bother, sir”

Sir.

He purrs at the honorific, but why did she think she was a bother? Had she not heard him?

“Not a bother, you’ve “restored” me” he chuckles, “quite well too” he adds looking over his limbs as he eases closer. “Call me Kolya.”

She repeats it, mimicking the accent just right, and being the polite thing she is, she gives him her name in return. It melts in his mouth like sugar, His pretty prize unaware of the hold she’s given him with just her name alone. 

“Come here, let me have a look at you”

She hesitates a moment before inching towards him, and he meets her halfway with a long stride, chin to his chest as he looks her up and down. His poor thing is so nervous. Fidgeting under his gaze, pulling, pushing and twisting at the joints of her fingers, desperate to get them to pop, to alleviate some of the tension in her body. 

He takes her hand in his, sliding a claw between her fingers to shake them loose, letting her soft little hand curl around his own. He dwarfs her, already half-hard with just her palm in his. He moves her carefully, flipping her hand over to trace a dark claw over the sensitive lines of her palm drawing a small shiver from her that has his cock twitching in interest. 

He continues, gliding his fingers up her arm, over her shoulder, toying briefly with the denim strap of her overalls. She’s bashful, keeping her eyes averted, a hot flush to her cheeks as he looks her over. 

“None of that” he chides, sliding his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her back. Her lips part, pupils blown as he smiles down at her, some of her nervousness melting away as he handles her so gently.  “So pretty, daragaya” and the stars in her eyes as he praises her break what little self control he has left. 

He’s quick, catching her round face in both hands and bending low, pressing a hungry kiss to her lips. She squirms briefly, hands flying up to grip his wrists in panic, he curls a tail around her calf, holding her neatly in place as he licks into her mouth, earning a soft gasp from his keeper as her lips part for him. 

Good gods, she even tastes sweet. 

He purrs happily into her mouth, savoring the taste of her flavored chapstick, the end of his tail flickering happily, brushing the soft curve of her ass. She’s panting now, a soft little whine bubbling from her throat at the contact. He dives low, licking a stripe across her jaw, reveling in the salt of her skin before nibbling and kissing his way down her throat, clawed fingers easily popping the cheap metal clasps of her outfit, pushing the denim away before yanking off the extra cotton shirt underneath. 

Nikolai thinks it should be forbidden for such soft curves to be hidden like that. She’s a vision, an angel with the most beautiful soft curves, and when he has her back in his den he’ll dress her in the finest silks and jewelry, pretty chains to hug her waist, dangle nicely between her breasts. Highlight all his favorite parts. He might even keep her bare, just for his eyes to see. 

She shivers in the cold, using her arms to cover her breasts as best as she could, eyes averted from his hungry gaze.  Why did she hide from him? There should be paintings of her, statues in her image. She was perfect. So warm and soft, he kneaded at the handles at her hips, clawed fingers tracing over the soft swell of her belly, the rolls at her sides, skin hot beneath his fingers. He huffs, snagging her wrists and holding them well above her head, using the extra digits at the ends of his wings to hold her there, pulled taught and vulnerable beneath his gaze.

With a sharp claw he rips away the scrap of fabric that covered her chest, large hands palming them eagerly, nipples pebbling under the warm drag of his thumbs. He hums, pinching and pulling at her perfect little tits, hard cock nudging incessantly at her belly, leaving glistening webs of pre-cum over her skin as she whimpers and gasps. 

“Kolya” she whines as he drags a hot tongue over her soft peaks, flicking his tongue over her pert skin before drawing a nipple into his mouth, nibbling and suckleing greedily. He breaks away, grinning up at her, sinking his teeth into the meat of her breast cheekily. She squirms, eyes squeezed tight and teeth dug into her plump lip as she tries halfheartedly to escape him. Though the wiggling only gives her tits a lovely jiggle that has him diving in again, nipping at her nipple just to earn himself another squeal. 

He kisses over the skin in a gentle apology before sliding down her belly, pressing a trail of hot kisses there before he reaches the seam of her panties, cute little curls peaking out around the edges at her thighs. He marvels at the dark stain of her arousal, pressing his nose into the soaked fabric and breathing deep. She bucks against his face, squirming madly to get some kind friction. Not so demure now are you?

“I’ll take care of you greedy girl, patience.” he warns, tail patting her ass fondly as he drags his tongue along the sodden fabric. He rips those away too, thick tongue sliding against her folds with little preamble, the resounding moan like music to his ears. Using his tail to tug her legs further apart, he lavishes her in earnest, slurping at her cunt like a beast, using his thumbs to spready her puffy lips apart. She’s heaven, sweet and tangy on his tongue, and he would stay here for hours, drinking her down until her legs gave out and then taking more. 

He sinks his tongue inside, licking into her tight heat as his nose brushes against her clit, humming wickedly as she cries and bucks. He takes control, dragging his claws up to grip her hips, guiding her into a nice and easy rhythm against his face. He loves every minute of it, reveling in the drag of her soaked folds against his tongue,  the broken whines as he breaks away to suck her clit. He drags her to the edge over and over, fucking his tongue back into her wet heat and nosing at her sensitive nerves until she’s gushing against his face with a choked cry. 

“So good, solnyshka” he praises, sitting back on his haunches to admire his work. He leans in, licking a hot stripe up her thigh, catching the errant rivulets of slick as they drip from her. 

“So wet, I bet we can make a bigger mess can’t we?” he purrs, dragging his knuckles against the soaked seam of her sex, drawing a tired whimper from her. She sags against his hold, chest flushed, and thighs soaked. He could devour her whole like this. 

He releases her, lifting her spent body into his arms, easing her down onto the clean pedestal that was once his. Pushing her legs apart he slides between them, sliding his neglected cock over her folds, using his tip to rub at her sensitive clit before sliding it along her body. He’s thick, head tapered to a near point, thick ridges rippling along underside of his shaft for a textured drag. Heavy balls kiss the seam of her sex as he rests there, tip drooling against her stomach. He needs her to see what she’s getting herself into, how much she’ll need to take for him. His soft girl looks up at him, big glassy eyes full of nervous anticipation. 

“I know” he coos, grinding himself against her skin, “you can take it, my perfect girl, we just need a little more room.”

He needs her pliant, well stretched to take him fully. With his claws as they were, using his fingers wasn’t an option,  but he does have another solution. Dragging a heavy palm through her slick he grabs hold of his tail, coating the tapered end thoroughly before guiding it toward her entrance, using a thumb to circle her clit as he slips inside. 

The tip is easy, no thicker than a couple of her fingers as it pushes its way inside, the glide nice and easy from her previous orgasm. He fucks nice and slow, thrusting the tip in shallowly until she’s whining for more. He leans over her, rutting his cock against the crease of her thigh as he sinks his tail in further, fucks into her with more speed, using his hands wisely to play with her tits, rolling her nipples between his fingers and nibbling at her lips to distract her from the stretch. She’s holding on for dear life, hands gripping his horns for purchase. 

Even as spent as she is, she clenches around him desperately, sweet pussy desperate to take as much of him as she can. He can’t wait to feel her pulsing against his cock. Wet and hot, and so so tight. 

He growls, rutting into her with more fervor. She’s close, chubby thighs clenching as he curls the tip of his tail a bit, just to bully more of his length inside of her. She’s lost in it, frantically kissing at his face as her peak draws closer and closer.  Sneaking a thumb against her clit she cums again, legs slamming shut against his tail as he fucks her through it, laughing as she sobs, shoving at him weakly as she gushes messily around him again, slick coating his abdomen and dribbling down the stone underneath. 

“Good girl, one more for me zoloste, I know you can do it.” He yanks her thighs apart pulling his tail from her greedy cunt and dragging her further down the pedestal, her plush ass hanging off the edge. He rests her thighs against his chest, kissing her ankle soothingly as he drags himself through her slick folds, thoroughly coating himself before lining up with her entrance. 

Even with the prep it’s a tight squeeze. He takes it slow, bullying his way inside her soaked heat, gummy walls squeezing him tight as he sinks in, whimpering as the ridges of his cock drag against her sore entrance.  He fucks slowly, pumping in shallow thrusts before he pulls out again, teasing her tired clit and pushing in again, head thrown back with victorious groan as he finally pushes himself to the hilt. 

Its a gorgeous sight, her pussy split open on the girth of him, legs spread wide and clit twitching as he fucks her with tight shallow circles. She’s a mess, cheeks streaked with tears and trembling against the stone, whimpers and little hiccups falling from her lips. He hushes her, sliding his palms against her thighs, catching her hands to curl his fingers in hers, anchoring her there as he picks up the pace. 

She’s already close, cunt clenching around him with every thrust. He fucks into her with earnest, her pretty fat pussy swallowing him down to the balls as the sticky slap of it echoes through the cemetery. 

“Fuck, taking me like you were made for it.”  he snarls bending over her to lick into her mouth, swallowing every little cry and plea as he fucks her mercilessly, soft body jiggling with the harshness of it. 

“You’ll give me anything won’t you? Let me fill up this pretty pussy.” he pants, yanking her closer, and with a sick knowing grin, his tail slides underneath her, slick tip toying with her asshole. “Let me fill this pretty ass too, wouldn’t you?”

“Anything you want, Kolya, please, please,”  she begs, his perfect girl cock drunk and hazy, tears spilling down her cheeks as she rocks into him for more. 

“Don’t even know what's good for you, silly girl, you’d let me tear you in two.” he chuckles, “ but I’ll give you a little taste.” His tip slides between her cheeks, already slick from her own juices.  He teases her there, flickering playfully at her hole before sinking in slowly, pushing just past her tight ring of muscle to fill her up, groaning at the feel of his own cock sliding against her walls. 

Her next orgasm takes her like a freight train, soft body arching and trembling as it ravages through her. He fucks her through it, pussy clenching him like a vice as he pulls his tail from her ass, sharp claws digging into the meat of her hips hard enough to draw blood as he chases his own end. 

Snarling like a beast he pounds into her, sinking himself deep as he comes with a low growl, painting her insides with long spurts. Filling her completely until his spend seeps out around his cock, spilling down her thighs and into the soft earth below. 

He holds them there like that, cock buried deep as he marks her from the inside out, his bulky head resting against her breasts as they both come down. 

His, his, his. 

His perfect soft girl, flushed and damp from sweat and slick, trembling hands carding though his dark hair.  Kind and gentle despite the way he ravaged her. 

And when she leans up, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips with a nervous giggle, he knows he’ll guard her for the rest of his days. 

[kachowden]

ok so i've just been reading a lot of stories on redit and by some freaking coincidence they all involve cheating.

to take my anger out i imagined a scenario:

You who just found out that your S/O cheated on you with a mutual friend are so angry you go to the first party you find because

1.free drinks

2.with loud music you can't think

then Loren sees you from afar and he's so happy because it's so unusual for you to show up in these kinds of places he walks over and starts a conversation you barely hear because all you think about is how identical he is to a dog happy with his owner and you remember the day you met he said he would do anything for you.

"anything?"

"what"

"you said you'd do anything for me, did you really mean anything?"

Loren, with absolutely no hesitation: "yes"

I don't know going forward, my brain cycles between him murdering your ex or fucking in the bathroom of the party

Tw: NSFW themes. Kinda angst, mild exhibitionism.

His hands were shaking. Grasping at every exposed bit of skin he could, squeezing and massaging. His breath was heavy, labored and hot. It fanned the back of your neck as your body jolted with each thrust.

The toilet seat thudded dully under the massive jocks weight. His arms circled around you, hugging himself to your chest while he struggled to form any coherent sentences. Merely mumbles of adoration. Praise. Your name.

He sung your name like a prayer. He begged and begged and begged. You weren’t sure what for. He didn’t explain. You didn’t know if he could.

He whined deeply and gruffly, hips seemingly having a mind of their own as they smashed and squished against a your thighs.

In and out. In and out.

His lips were hot. Unbearably almost in combination of your sweaty skin, as he trailed hot and heavy kisses up your shoulders and neck. Sucking and biting and marking.

You let him, only to get back at the person who got you into this position. You felt a bit bad playing with the wonder boys feelings. What with the way he seemed to cry your name while bucking his hips into you so fervently.

When he finally started singing his I love you’s he made quick work to force your lips together and swallow any rejections on your tongue.

“Loren-“

“No no shh please, please let me have this. Let me have you just once. Just right now please.”

Your heart hurt hearing him, though with your foggy mind and recked insides you couldn’t pay much mind to the feeling. Only squishing his face to your chest and pressing deeper into his old.

Loren breathed sweetly at that, continuing his previous brutal thrusts, that only seemed to have groan more desperate, if that were even possible.

The more you felt his hands sweetly cupping and holding your own, tracing each bit of skin as he pumped himself into you, the more you felt your previous reasoning for doing this fade a way.

Why hadn’t you been dating Loren again? He had made his feelings more than abundantly clear before you were dating the jackass you were with now.

And loren was so…devoted to you. It was almost scary. He acted like he couldn’t breath without you. That this, what you were doing right now, was something he had fantasized over..craved for years.

Oh god if only you knew.

You blinked dazedly, sharply arching your back when a particular thrust hit your sweet spot, and Loren’s entire pattern switched.

His hips angled ravenously into your thighs, thrusting deeply and even at times stoping just to grind into you. You shuddered as he layered more wet passionate kisses against your skin, forming a small heart into your chest. You thought you peaked at initials too, but when you felt yourself being lifted and cradled fully into his sweaty chest, you didn’t bother to check again.

Your back met with the deliciously cold shower wall, and you marveled at the strength of the jock before you, who held you up by your thighs and continued thrusting.

“Y/n y/n y/n y/n”

It was a breathless whisper but it made your stomach flutter and your body clench, drawing out a low whimper and moan from loren, who slotted himself into the crook of your neck. Your arms circled around his head, holding him close and relishing in the feeling of your bodies sliding and pressing and grinding against each other.

“I love you…I love you..”

At this point you don’t think he was even saying it to you. It sounded more like a fact, something he was merely stating to the air in his own haze, as he hugged you so dearly. The weight of him inside you was intoxicating. Loren was nothing to sneeze at by any means.

“I-“

Loren didn’t let you reply. Not with the way he quickly fell to his knees in the shower, twisting you around and forcing you onto your own, bringing you back into a dip as he laid himself over you, lifting one of you legs to make sure he never once separated from you.

His thrusts were wild. So fucking desperate. Like he couldn’t control himself at feel of your body so sweetly warming and squeezing his cock.

Your eyes rolled back at the angle, and you barely had time to balk at the sight of his letterman underneath you, protecting you from the cold tile of the shower.

“Loren-“

Fuck would he not let you get one word out. He seemed hell bent on keeping you from talking, despite how typically he clung to your every word.

His thrusts grew erratic, chasing something you couldn’t see but prioritizing your experience over it all. He breathing was heavy, gasping, and at one point he dropped your leg gently and hovered over you, his shadow shielding you from any wondering eyes.

You weren’t sure why until the door unlocked and a drunk couple tried to wander their way in. Your eyes widened soberly, before they rolled back again when Loren kept thrusting, his hand covering your mouth gently, keeping your sounds to himself while he glared literal daggers at the couple who stared stalk still.

“Get out.”

It was a growl and tone you had never heard from the jock himself. Only whispers from people who had been there to witness it.

Fucking hell it was so hot. You gripped his forearm tightly, body convulsing when you came, though Lorne didn’t cease his pace, only cooing gently in your ear when the couple finally left and locked the door.

“Baby…fuck baby…thank you..thank you…you feel so good y/n..just one more please? Please I’ll do anything I’ll- nnnng…!”

Your body became play dough very quickly, only held up by the Loren’s strong arms that man handled you so gently, you didn’t think you could just call this sex anymore.

It was far too passionate to be just sex.

What with the way he so gently repositioned you on your back, hugging you deeply into his curving chest, his back hunched as he kept your legs locked firm around his waist, and as he continued to beg and cry and moan for you. Only for you.

Your finish was fast approaching and you finally regained the strength to hold onto the tall male, who groaned deeply and who’s hips shuttered when your nails dug into his skin.

“Loren…-“

“Y/n please…please…just let me have this..”

You paused, blinking blearily.

Then you sighed, gently. There was no disappointment in your tone, when you gently kissed the side of his neck and leaned back to stare the distraught captain in the eyes. You marveled at the flush of his cheeks, and the sheer desperation in his his shiny eyes. You brought your hands gently around his jaw and smiled.

“Okay..”

Your lips gently pressing into his own seemed to be the final straw for Loren, who’s hips grew violently and hard before he came thunderously, moaning deeply with your own high riding alongside his.

Your breath shortened and choked at the weight and heat in your belly.

He didn’t pull out when he finished. Only shuttering and shifting slightly, relishing in your warmth.

You peaked, out of breath, at his expression, and had you not been on the brink of sleep, you would’ve felt concern at the wide of his eyes, and the untamed smile that split his cheeks.

“I love you…so much y/n..”

“I know..”

“No…you don’t.”

[seravphs]

daylight

gojo x fem reader 

extra in cruel summer universe 

“Come on, up,” Gojo says, holding his arms out to you. 

Your head lolls on your neck, your thoughts feeling syrupy and incoherent. Where had you been? A field of flowers, a spring breeze in your hair. The flash of Utahime’s face before the incident. It had been a pleasant dream. Summer naps tended to skew towards kindness, nothing like the teeth and dagger of winter. 

You loop your arms around his neck and let him pick you up as easily as if you weighed nothing, settling against him with your head on his shoulder. He huffs a laugh, pressing the barest kiss to your temple as he hugs you close. Eyes closed, the sensation of movement doesn’t escape you as he carries you through the hallways. 

“Feeling sleepy?” 

You hum a non-answer against his neck, feeling him squirm at that. It’s not that you’re still tired. You’ve slept long enough. What you’re craving is the sweetness of your fantasy, the world in which none of your friends had suffered. Pleasant, simple times. 

What did people say? That hard times made great men? You wish no one who belonged to you would ever suffer greatness, but it’s too late for idle fairytales to save you. 

“This my shirt? Thief,” Gojo says, tugging lightly at the tee you’re wearing. 

“It’s the most comfortable thing I own,” you reply, breaking away from the fragile shell of happiness now. The more he talks, the more it burns through the fog, anchoring you to the present. 

“Most comfortable thing I own,” he corrects. 

“Getou lets Shoko borrow his clothes all the time,” you whine. 

“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” Gojo says. You’re being pulled away from him now, passed to someone else. Getou scoops you up, relieving Gojo of his duties so he can help set up in the kitchen. Utahime demanded it, catching on quick to the way he never helped out. 

“Fighting again?” Getou clicks his tongue at you disapprovingly. 

“What’s new?” Nanami says dryly from the couch, where he’s trying to convince Shoko to give up smoking by showing her pictures of blackened lungs. By contrast, this only delights her. He’s gotten pulled into a game of helping her identify diseases unwillingly, but can’t manage to extricate himself. 

There’s a noise from the doorway, then Yaga staggers in, an excess of shopping bags in either hand. A carton of ice cream each, your favorite flavors all present. 

It’s so easy to forget how short and brutal your insect lives are in moments like these. Utahime calls from the kitchen, her eyes sparkling. She hasn’t lifted a finger today, simply supervising as Gojo sets out the bowls and spoons. Haibara whines about the lack of sprinkles because Yaga forgot until Nanami allows him to dip into his personal stash. 

Tired of carrying you around like a clingy koala, Getou sets you on the counter, where you watch your friends from above like some omniscient god. They sit on the floor despite Yaga’s despairing cries that you own chairs for a reason, forming a huddled circle like children again. Your feet dangle in the air, Gojo turning to tug on your ankle for your attention. 

Jujutsu sorcerers don’t have gods. Your lives tend to beat the belief in something greater out of you. How could any divine being watch over you and let you suffer so? 

Still, something stirs in your brain, an ancient will. A prayer unspoken, the desire that these moments last forever. 

Gojo laughs, high and boyish until his voice cracks.

[dent-de-leon]

All Caleb Widogast can taste is ash, the soot and smoke turning everything pitch black. Heat still searing the palms of his hands, boiling his blood. Before him a face burns, the flames cresting higher and higher, a roaring beacon in the darkness. The face is a stranger, eyeless sockets hollow and empty, mere kindling for the fire.

The face is his Mother, his Father. Astrid and Wulf and every good thing he'd ever burned.

He falls to his knees with a last, desperate cry--a curse, a prayer--begging for any and all gods to hear him, save him, change his wretched fate. All his life, Caleb Widogast had never known faith, never dared to invoke it. But deep down in the marrow of his bones, in whatever hell he's buried his heart, a part of him still clings to hope. Redemption. Salvation. An anguished plea for some force in this cruel world to set him free. Someone--anyone. Help me. Please.

And then, all at once, the world was quiet. He breathed with choked up, ragged gasps, and the air was clear--all the soot and ash drifting away. The roaring blaze dissipated into dying sparks and dull embers, just a winding cloud of smoke swallowed up by the chill night air, the smoldering heat at his fingertips going numb.

A figure stood towering above his prone form--a mere shadow one moment, but bathed in glistening moonlight the next. Curled horns glinted and gleamed with all manner of little baubles and golden charms, a forked tail darting out and swaying playfully behind him.

He's draped in a parade of vibrant color, ornate coat emblazoned with the symbol of every deity across the pantheon, the lining a sea of shimmering silvery moons. Each stitch of embroidery delicately woven with care, intricate beadwork and crystals glinting in the moonlight.

Caleb could see the Moonweaver's gossamer light in him, the way his eyes glinted with her playful mischief.

The tiefling spins and twirls with that roaring, ringing laughter, his coat fluttering in a blur of crimson as the wind kicks in. And before Caleb could protest, he's caught up in that wild dance; warm hands reach out and find him in the darkness, casting him back into the light.

And Caleb gladly welcomes that tender touch.

Hands joined with his partner, steps lighter than air. Caleb lets him take the lead, following after in a dance he's always known. He can't help but gravitate toward this shining soul, as inescapable as Catha caught in Exandria's pull. They beckon, and Caleb can only follow.

As their dance descends into its final steps, the tiefling whispers in his ear. A soft lilt to his cadence, charming and musical.

"Why so surprised, Magician? You asked me for help, didn't you?" A hint of amusement colored his words, warm and playful.

Not you, Caleb thinks, fleeting iconography of the pantheon flickering in his mind. This was not the noble Dawnfather, the Lawmaster, the Knowing Mistress--none of the…appropriate gods his family prayed to under the strict reign of the Empire. This was a heathen god, some interloper. One of the dangerous idols he was always warned about.

The stranger circled Caleb, eyeing him appraisingly as his gaze trailed over the wizard's haunted stare and torn clothes. The tattered, fraying bandages he'd stolen years ago. The fresh bruises just beginning to bloom.

Caleb backs away, unable to bear the piercing focus of that unerring gaze, the way this stranger could see his whole hollowed out heart with but a glance. His eyes--all his red eyes, shining bright--seeing everything.

"Who are you?" he demands, head held high, even as his voice starts to shake. What are you?

The tiefling advances. Drawing another step closer, a hand outstretched in welcome--all Caleb wants is to take it.

"I'm...a friend," he says amicably, bearing all his teeth in a sharp-toothed grin.

For some reason, Caleb isn't afraid.

Gentle claws skim his skin with the barest touch, drifting down his cheek in a fond caress.

"Your dreams called to me, Magician. You're...interesting, and I'm curious. And more importantly--you cried out for help. Do I need any other reason?"

His gaze, his voice--they soften, melt--soothing him as the glistening sky above bleeds away into inky black darkness. No starlight, no moons. Just them, tucked away in this little patch of shadowed solace where the nightmares can't reach him, where the flames don't still burn.

The only heat is the tiefling's arms around him, wrapping him in a warm embrace. The delicate press of his lips to Caleb's sweat sheened forehead. It feels like a gift, a promise; solace and grace and the first gentle touch he's known in so long. Devotion so divine it feels purely mortal.

"Consider this my blessing--and an invitation. May the Monweaver watch over you, Magician."

"What are you offering?" Caleb rasped. He can feel the rest of the world slipping away, can feel the taste of ash and soot clawing up the back of his throat.

"Nothing much. Just a bit of luck. And some dreams. Sleep tight, Mr. Caleb--you've had enough nightmares for one life."

When he awoke, the flames were gone.

[crossdressingdeath]

I get the sense that a lot of those Durge players who basically treat Durge like edgy Tav and get mad whenever anyone brings up that Durge—yes, even their Durge—has committed just so many atrocities aren't super familiar with like. RPGs. Or if they've played RPGs it's RPGs where your character has no in-game background and no relevant connection to the plot beyond one thing. Y'know, games where the protagonist is just the equivalent of Tav. They don't seem to grasp that a character being customizable and a character having no canonical history... aren't the same thing. Let's use Dragon Age as an example; Tav is a lot like the Inquisitor in DAI, in that they have no relevant background with all extra dialogue they've got tied to their race and class (BG3 also adds backgrounds to it, but I don't know how much dialogue you get from those and the point still stands). There's no mention of their past, no interaction with anyone they knew beyond one war table mission or series of war table missions which involve one character they knew before. Who they are doesn't matter and you can do whatever you like because the story does not care and is not impacted by it. And there's nothing inherently wrong with that approach, personally I find the story tends to get a bit dull when there's no story hooks for the player character beyond "Uh... bad shit'll happen if you don't Do Something" but it's not bad. It's just not how Durge operates. They're more like the Warden in DAO (although a bit more defined than them). The details of their backstory are still up to you! But quite a few things are already set. We know the broad strokes of every potential Warden's life because it's all set up in the origins; it'd be stupid to insist that your Surana wasn't a Circle mage or your Cousland wasn't raised in a castle as the second child of the Couslands or your Brosca wasn't a Carta thug and complain whenever people talked about how all those things are in fact the case in canon, because that's all stated outright in the game. The exact details of what they did growing up, how they felt about it, what friends or enemies they might have made, all that is left up to the player but the broad outline of what they did is set. The game relies on that, because that set background is what gives the Warden a stake in the story that the writers can then use to make the quests hit harder.

Similarly, the fact that Durge did in fact do all those awful things is vital to the plot of BG3, because... well, let's be real here, there wouldn't be a plot at all if Durge hadn't willingly allied with Gortash and worked alongside him. We know they were a necrophile, Sceleritas says that outright. We know they genuinely cared for Gortash (whatever form that care took) enough to beg forgiveness from their father for getting too close but also fully expected to kill him in the process of burning down the whole world for Bhaal, the Prayer for Forgiveness makes that plain. We know they find roasted dwarf delicious, whether you pick the options to say that or not they have ambient dialogue in the goblin camp commenting on how good it smells. How they felt about those things is up to the player (if you don't want to play someone who used to be pure evil there's a lot of really fun mileage in exploring how they got to the point where they'd do those things and how they dealt with the things they did), but they did do them. Just like it would be stupid to throw a tantrum over people talking about Mahariel being raised by Ashalle after their parents died because Your Mahariel Definitely Wasn't when the game definitively says that yes they were, it's stupid to whine about how your Durge would never do those bad things when the game tells us outright that they definitely for sure did. If you can't handle that... just don't play Durge. That is why Tav exists, so people who don't want to play a character who's done legitimately awful things don't have to. Either play Tav or get over yourself, because being able to change Durge's name, race and class doesn't mean they stop being an origin character with a backstory of their own.

[couchtaro]

Do you get together with your friends once a week to imagine best friends you made up holding and getting held in desperation and terror as one of them rapidly turns to stone, the other flooding her with his literal life force, which manifests as a visceral compulsion to survive, in the hopes that it will somehow help her resist, offering “the closest thing to a prayer he has” as he begs his warlock patron to do anything at all, telling said patron “you don’t know her, but she’s everything” and pleading for her to live while watching her literal actual light gradually extinguish as the petrification overtakes her, all the while she is using what little mobility she still has to hurl lasers at the monsters attacking their friends who are defending them so he can focus his energy on saving her. Or are you normal

@justabitscrewy used every single one of her turns in a session-long combat to hold Phaela and RP her guts out and like. My word. I have to lay down. Let them hug. They’re goin thru it

ID and slightly more context below the cut

Image 1: a roughly sketched digital drawing of two D&D characters. Izen, a drider, is shown in his form of dread, a defensive state designed to frighten off attackers. In this form his face is bare skull, with four pairs of hollow eye sockets and purple mandibles on either side of his jaw. Tears run down the stark bone of his face. He is wearing the bracers that Phaela decorated for him by wrapping them in ribbon. With both hands, he holds Phaela’s face. She is a tiefling woman who looks up at him with wide eyes. Izen’s prized possession, a talisman secured by a ring of straps, is wrapped around her shoulders. Her chin is tilted up as if the stone spreading up her body is a rising tide she is trying to stay afloat in. She is petrified up to her neck with only her head and extended left arm free. Both are suffused by a starry blue glow, which is no longer present in the dull stone overtaking her. She holds starlight in her free hand that she has been trying to defend them with. Her expression is a mixture of desperation, determination, fear, and guilt.

Images 2 and 3: a roughly sketched comic. 1) Izen faces us. Phaela wraps her arms around him with her back to us, her head pressed into his chest and shoulders hunched. His hands rest on her back. 2) Izen bends down to hug Phaela properly, wrapping his arms around her and resting his head on her shoulder. His pedipalps also wrap around her for extra huggage. 3) Izen straightens and lifts Phaela up off the ground, his pedipalps forming a sort of platform that she sits on. 4) Phaela curls into Izen like a child, tail hanging limply down. One of his hands securely circles her back, the other rests on the back of her neck. He rests his head on her shoulder and one of his spider legs comes forward to hold her as well. Maximizing points of contact here. 5) Phaela wildshapes into a cat just to get super extra held. She is nestled in his arms, tucked under his chin, being gently stroked. Her face is still not visible.

End image ID.

[captain-mj]

Hey, 🦭 here back from the grave (was just resting after a hellish week of school)

I have been obsessed with Sleep Token especially their song called 'Chokehold' which in think is very eldritch GhostSoap coded, with Ghost being an eldritch god and Soap being his most devoted follower (iykyk)

And Ghost who just adores his follower and can't help but grant Soap's indulgence and desires because of his own selfishness

Could you possibly make a fic like that? Pretty please with a bit of dynamite on top :3

-🦭

(The brainrot is brainrotting /srs)

I love that song so much, I can of course do that!! Also, it's nice to see you again :)

Ghost sat in his temple silently. He observed those who came in and offered things and those with entertaining tales or genuine needs were given what they asked. Most requests though were... petty. Indulgent. A desperate plea for more attention, more money, more pleasure.

Ghost wanted to lash out at them some days. And he did. He'd curse them with impotence, poverty and isolation at the drop of a hat. It had become a known risk to everyone but...

Johnny.

His favorite follower.

He lifted his hand, letting the priest cut his wrist so blood would flow.

Ghost listened intently, letting the other prayers fall away like rushing water.

"Ghost." His name on his tongue was beautiful. "I am here to request something." Normally, Ghost would listen to his request, answer it immediately and let Soap leave. But today, he wanted it to be different.

Gently, not wanting to hurt him or any of his other loving followers, he spoke. "Everyone must leave except the current person praying."

His priests hopped to it, herding everyone out. It left Soap alone in the place of worship.

Soap looked up at the depictions of Ghost. Of dark wide eyes staring into the souls of anyone who came in. Ready to dismiss them or bless them on a whim.

"My God." He moved to kneel, averting his eyes. "I always feel your presence here. I never thought I'd be chosen to hear your voice or hold your attention like this."

"You think you hold all of my attention?" Ghost had created universes. Species. Had senses that would melt Soap's brain to even be explained. But yeah, Soap did in fact have all of his attention. He just shouldn't assume he did.

Or he could. Ghost doubted, even if he disrespected him to his face, he could stay mad for too long.

Soap tensed. "No! Of course not, it's just more attention than I'd ever expect. I'm...."

"Keep your eyes on the ground." Ghost stepped in front of him. Smoke billowed off of him, form fading in and out of existence. "Wouldn't want to drive my favorite follower insane."

Soap's breathing hitched. "Favorite?"

Ghost ignored him. "What is it you want?"

"I..."

"Spit it out."

"Health. For my family."

Ghost hummed. "Granted. What else?"

"What?"

"That's for your family. Would you like anything?"

"I... um..."

"Anything you want."

Soap nodded. "I... I don't know. I don't have anything else I desire."

Ghost hummed. "I see. How sweet." He trailed around him in circles. "Power beyond wildest dreams? Friends and worshippers? Enough money to indulgent in all forms of debauchery?"

"No. I don't find much interest in those."

Ghost nodded. "Well, I want to give you something for yourself. Selfishly of course."

Soap almost looked up before quickly remembering his place. "If you'd so please, my holiness."

My?

My??

Ghost touched him, feeling him shiver and shake, almost doubling over. Soap whimpered, burying his face on to the floor as sensations rushed through him. He ended the contact and watched him sink further.

"You're interesting, Johnny."

Soap took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Your family will be healthy. You have given me enough, today."

"If I found something to wish for, could I come back tomorrow?"

Ghost paused and mulled over it. "Come at night. You could spend it with me." He'd have to be so gentle, but the idea of holding Soap in his hands. "I won't fault you if you don't."

"I will. I'll be here. I promise, I'll..." Ghost grabbed him by the scruff and felt him twist in his hands, overcome with feelings again. Soap grabbed his leg for support and whimpered. It wasn't the most pleasant sensation for most people, but like he predicted, Soap liked it. Maybe it would become an addiction. That way Soap was just addicted to his presence as Ghost was becoming to Soap.

"You will. And I'll grant you all of your desires."

[vishnavishivaa]

VaasudevaVasudaa Chapter 1: A Deciding Wish

This book will have only three main POVs: Krishna, Rukmini and Satyabhama. This story is a retelling of Their story, without distorting the main events of Harivamsa and Mahabharata.

********

She had awakened before the Sun rose. 

Now wrapped in Her comfortable green saree, Satyabhama sat on the cool balcony floor, gazing at the East, waiting for the Sun to rise, a kundala next to Her. She was waiting to do Surya Puja, and had been up earlier than usual, though Her habit was to arise before the Sun dawned completely. 

In fact, Satyabhama rarely slept for a long time, which had been the case since She was a seven year old girl, and had decided that She had to gain Knowledge of anything and everything that existed, triggering Her journey into the sacred scriptures of Sanatana Dharma, each of which, along with various other skills, were taught to Her by Guru Garga and his disciples, all of whom resided in Mathura. 

The restlessness of Nature was ever present in the pores of Her body, Satyabhama knew, as She stood up, swaying with the pre-dawn wind, which caressed Her gently, curly strands of hair gently escaping the loose plait that ran down Her back, settling to frame Her face, as if leaves that protected the blooming flower. She did not move the position of the stray curls, rather, letting them take their own course, more interested in the start of sounds, the awakening of animals coming together with the slow rise of the Sun. 

The large ball of fire never rose at once, rather choosing to first cast its rays into the dark Sky before slowly rising, indicating that Purusha followed Prakriti, for the Sun’s rays were often likened to Harini, Hari the Sun Himself. 

Smiling gently, She grabbed the kundala She had placed on the floor, now standing almost on Her tiptoes, bouncing in happiness as the Sun rose. 

Closing Her eyes and pouring the water in the small golden vessel, She started Her prayers, easily flowing through Her usual prayers of welcome and greeting, the Aditya Hrudhayam included in Her prayers, a feeling of familiarity washing over Her, though Her heart was focused on the wish that She was going to request of the Yadava Sabha that day. 

It was a big and important day, and She knew that only with the Universal God by Her side would She achieve Her goal. 

***

“Sakhi Satyabhama, do you have to proceed with this plan?” asked Madhavi, gently folding the pallu of Satyabhama’s saree, as Satyabhama adjusted the brooch that Her mother had given, which was a elegant peacock pin at the junction of Her neck and shoulder, ensuring the cloth was tightly wrapped around Her, refusing to let anyone outside Her close circle see Her in anything but the neatest dressed form of Herself. 

“I do, Madhavi,” Satyabhama smiled at Her friend, both grateful and reassuring, understanding the worry of Her friend. She knew well that if Satyabhama continued with the plan, Her existence will be known in a broader way throughout Aryavarta, which might cause more complications than Satyabhama frankly needed, owing to Her continuous wish to learn more, as well as very sharp intellect, which could easily see everything in a piercing way that was rarely seen amidst the Yadavas. Satyabhama continued, “From what I have heard of Devakinandan, He is very very appreciative of women and their wishes, as well as accepts them with sincerity. Taara Bhagini, who is His sister, says so, as does Sushila, who has been in love with Him since She has seen Him. And you know how much I trust both, given that They never embellish anything They tell me, come what may. That, put together with the opinion of every Yadava, including Pitashree and Jyeshta Bhrata, as well as a very powerful feeling of trust that is shooting through my heart, I believe that Vaasudeva Krishna will listen to my plea, and mostly accept my wish.”

“It is true that He does have a particularly unbiased opinion, and has been hailed by every single Yadava. But..”

“Madhavi, I can understand your worry,” Satyabhama reached out to pat Her close friend’s hand, gently holding as well, giving Madhavi strength. “But I am confident. Additionally, Pitashree and Bhrata agreed to my wish as well, and will be helping in this process.”

“But what about the chieftains of the Kula, Satyaa?”

“They are Yadavas, are they not, Madhavi?”

Satyabhama did not want to believe that Her elders would protest this wish of Hers, though it did sound much more practical than Her confidence that She would get to do as She had hoped. However, She also felt that the Yadava Kula is very understanding of the equal power of the Feminine as compared to the Masculine, which is why they believed that women deserved the same opportunities as men. Of course, Kamsa was not of the same thought, for he treated women horribly, even if he gave his now widows a lot of freedom. 

Which could also be due to who their father was, Satyabhama mused, Her face darkening. She sighed when Madhavi looked at Her in worry, smiling small to reassure Her. 

“Just thinking about the reason this has to be done, Madhavi. Indirectly, at least.”

“But Sakhi,” Madhavi said. “We all worry that your future will get complicated if the truth of your skills comes out.”

“My skills are not hidden among the Yadavas, Sakhi,” Satraajiti replied. “They may not be discussed, but they are well known. Pitashree personally has informed the King about it, and the King has also graciously accepted them. There is no need to fret.”

“But do the others know every detail?”

“Even I do not know the entire details yet, Madhavi,” Satyabhama said, sitting down on the settee, patting the seat next to Her for Madhavi, who gingerly sat down, though her eyes gleamed with curiosity. Smiling, the daughter of Satrajit continued, feeling Her face expand as She spoke. 

“My powers could be because I was not born of the womb,” Satyabhama said softly, looking at Madhavi. “I was found in a Lotus, a thousand petalled one, no less, by Pitashree. One found in the Yamuna, floating like it was meant to be there.”

“A thousand petalled Lotus is said to be present only for the most special of people, Sakhi,” Madhavi said after some moments of silence, as she now seemed to try and read Satyabhama’s every pore, something that had not been possible to anyone who was not Taara or Sushila before. 

“To me, it is Hari’s blessing that I am how I am,” Satyabhama whispered, standing up and tucking Her dagger into Her waistband, shaking Her head mildly at Her friend’s partially disapproving look. 

“What if..”

“I will manage, Sakhi,” Satyabhama said firmly, a confidence boost that held the power of the Universe entering Her. She could feel Her entire form being enveloped by a glow, a glow that She felt indicated the peak of the Divine Feminine. With a soft smile and half hug at Her childhood friend, Satyabhama walked out of the chambers, confident in stride, like a lioness and protectress, Her only aim being to reach Her father’s court, ready to go to the Yadava Sabha with him. 

******

“Are you sure, little sister?” 

Satyabhama huffed playfully, looking at Bhangakkara, whose face held both protectiveness and resignation. She giggled, especially seeing the latter emotion, knowing that he had already known that She would continue with Her plan, something She had come up with during a spontaneous discussion, everything ironed out in less than half a prahara. 

“I am Bhrata,” She smiled gently, patting his arm, their father smiling affectionately at the banter. She continued softly, “Madhavi addressed her worries as well. She believes my life might get complicated after this.”

“I know you can manage it, my child,” Satraajita said. “But I want you to be sure to proceed, Satyae.”

Satyabhama looked at Her father, smiling at the nickname. 

Satyae. 

Truth. 

“I am, Pita,” She smiled, feeling happiness fill Her. She gently took his mildly weathered hand in hers, squeezing it with utter love, giving him a boost of confidence, which reflected on his face. 

“If there is something I am proud of, that we are proud of, it is that you are part of our family,” Satraajita said, gladly holding on to Satyabhama’s hand. “That is why we are all very protective of you.”

“That, and my powers as well, which only seem to expand,” She divined, a small smile gracing Her face to show Her father that She was in no way offended. 

“Satyaa,” Bhangakkara started, looking sheepish when She shot a sweet smile at him. He picked up his words, saying, “We know you are capable of taking care of yourself. But you are the eldest jewel of this family, and it is due to Your coming that we were blessed with the births of Vratini and Praspavini.”

Satyabhama smiled again, this time a soft, delicate thing, which brought out the inner elegance of Her very self. She could feel the Sun’s rays flitting through the curtains, gently touching the tip of Her hair, lighting it brightly, the smile that was already present on Her face widening. She lightly touched the tip and turned to Her brother. 

“Bhrata, I understand your protectiveness. But it has to be me, does it not? The Yadavas can easily hold their own against Jarasandha, and I have no doubt that the two sons of YaduShiromani Vasudeva can easily fight and win against the King of Magadha’s armies, as they easily have done these past fourteen times. But would it not help the Yadavas if there are more warriors?”

“You are a fourteen year old, Satyaa.”

“How does that make a difference if I have the skill to fight, Bhrata?” She persisted, nodding back when he nodded in acceptance at Her words. 

“Satyaa, I agree that you will be one of the biggest assets on our side, which is why I agreed to your proposal without much argument,” to which Satyabhama smiled acceptingly, remembering Her brother’s quickly accepting nature, when he let Her make Her own choices, though he did make valid points, which She had thought of before making Her plan. 

“I am just overprotective,” Bhangakkara said. “Mainly because you are well known by name and nature through ear rather than actual sight. While the Yadavas know that you are indeed Satraajiti, your training has not made it easy for anyone to see you. Vratini and Praspavini, on the other hand, do know and are known by the Yadavas by sight as well. They have even met Vaasudeva Krishna.”

Krishna. 

Satyabhama had to stop Herself from involuntarily shivering, His name sending a thrill that She had never experienced before through Her body. Every time She heard His name, She felt as if Her own Soul sang a song of emotions to Him, a song that She seemed to know from the get go, and yet a song Her conscious did not seem to understand. She had never met Him officially. 

She had seen Him before He broke the Shiva Dhanusha, and had later, once… 

She forced Her thoughts down, before She could go down that memory, which would make Her blush, redder than a hibiscus at its healthiest. 

“And they do like Him,” She responded instead, patting Her father’s palm, which were clenched in worry for his girls. She looked at Satrajita, and softly said, “Pita, they are still young. Do not worry so much.”

“But they are my girls, like you are, Satyae.”

“While that is true, even you have told me multiple times of the pure goodness that comes from Devakinandan. So why are you worried? I doubt that He would hurt them in any way, whether He reciprocates their sweet affection or not.”

Satyabhama did not say more on the matter, not wanting Her father to get even more protective. She knew well, from the lyrical waxing of Krishna’s miracles from Her sisters, that They were well in the journey of loving Him, the man called the Enchanter. 

Do not go into that thought process, Satyabhama, She chided Herself mentally, forcing down the memory that came to Her fore once more, not wanting to think of it just yet. 

Which was ironic, considering She was going to meet Him once more, this time officially, in front of the entire Yadava Sabha. 

“You are right, as always, Satyae,” Satrajita said, moving forward. “Come, my children. It is time for us to head to the royal palace.”

*******

There is a ton of symbolism in this series, which will have indications of why it is so.

@ahamasmiyodhah @mahi-wayy @yehsahihai @theramblergal @krsnaradhika @ramayantika @achyutapriya @thegleamingmoon @nidhi-writes @houseofbreadpakoda @hum-suffer @kanhapriya @kaal-naagin @krishna-priyatama @willkatfanfromasia @celestesinsight @arachneofthoughts @idllyastuff The first chapter is a bit late, but it is up! Do let me know what you all think!

[pinkguacamole]

The media and our institutions want you to believe that the Pro-Palestine protests on campuses across America are a dangerous place for Jews and students.

But these protests are Love, Community, and Resistance.

Here are some things that my friends and I participated in while we were there last night:

The crowd formed a circle around the Muslim attendees while they prayed at sundown. I got emotional as I looked at the sunset, side by side with my friends and other allies, understanding the power of what was going on behind me.

Then the crowd said the prayers for Shabbat as the candles were lit and bds-approved Matzah was served because it’s Shabbat and also Passover. It meant a lot to me to sing the prayers from my upbringing in the Jewish community in this space. I have struggled with my religious identity my whole life, but I am certain that the G-d I learned about in Sunday school would never ever believe genocide is justified. That G-d would not want us to turn against our neighbors and hate people who are different from us. I can only sing these prayers in this community now.

Then women from Harriet’s Wildest Dreams, a Black-led community defense hub in DC led songs of freedom.

These protests are community care. They are love. These student encampments are a vision of the beautiful world we want to live in: side by side, in community. In support and peace and cultural traditions and love and religion and humanity.

Do not let anyone tell you this should be feared.

We must follow the example of these students to fight against the institutions that tell us this division, this devastation, this dehumanization, and these wars are essential. They are not. They never have been.

Every day that the United States government financially and vehemently supports Israel’s actions in Gaza, we lose hundreds of more innocent people. Families, teachers, students, doctors, chefs, men, women, children, babies

PEOPLE

PEOPLE

PEOPLE.

Where is our humanity?

[monsterbeetlebug]

Beetlejuice fanfic

Tw: Sex, religious imagery, dirty talk, coarse language.

Like a prayer

On a chilly evening as the sun sets in the horizon, a priest walks through the graveyard. He takes his time admiring all the graves, flowers and candles people have lit up for their late loved ones.

As he makes his way into the graveyard he noticed a gravestone he hadn't seen before. Approaching the gravestone he studies it closer. It's a tall, worn and grey, almost blue looking. Three skeleton looking figures at the top points down to the name written. It says "here lies Betelgeuse" in big red letters with an arrow pointing further down. With a low voice the priest talks to himself.

"Hmm, I've never seen this grave before"

It certainly doesn't look new to him, and he would have remembered such a special gravestone.

"Who is Bet.. Beetlejuice?"

The priest scratches his head as he tries to pronounce the name. He hasn't seen or heard the name before.

"Beetlejuice.." He whispers.

He doesn't know anyone with that name. He would have remembered such a different name. As he turned to face the church and walk back he thought maybe the young nun might have an idea.

"Beetlejuice.. Maybe Y/n knows something about this grave"

Just a the priest started walking he heard a low rumbling sound from ground. The earth started to fall in on it's own in front of the stone, forming a big hole in the ground. Smoke started pouring out and a low menacing chuckle could be heard echoing. The priest watches in shock as a man swiftly flies up and lands infront of him. He stumbles backwards and trips. He's to stunned to even mutter a word. Staring at the man looming above him.

"Cat got yer tounge faaather?" A gruff voice draws out. The man from the grave grins down at the priest.

"Thanks for letting me out, started to get a bit boring in there ya'now."

The man chuckles and pulls the priest up from the ground by his hair. The priest gulps. Getting a proper look at the man he feels a chill down his spine. He's pale with big dark circles around his eyes. A 5 O'clock shadow. Moss and mold patches growing here and there. Static hair with a dusty green colour. An old worn suit with vertical black and white stripes. Taking a step back the priest manages to stutter a question.

"Wh..who are you, what.. are you..?"

The man snorts at him with a smirk.

"Never seen a dead guy? Hah! I'm a ghost. The ghost! The ghost with the most to be precise. And the name is the one you just called out"

He poked the priest in his forehead. The priest loses the colour in his face and takes hold of the rosary he has around his wrist. He's terrified and confused.

"Your name is B..beetlejuice..?"

Beetlejuice rolls his eyes and shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Sky daddy won't help you here, but why don't you meet some friends of mine instead huh?"

Beetlejuice walks up to the priest and stands next to him. He grabs his neck and shoves him forward to the hole. The priest stumble forward gasping at the sudden shove. With a kick to the back the priest falls into the hole while Beetlejuice laughs in the background. Hearing a thump from the hole Beetlejuice grins and leans on one knee and yells into the hole.

"Greet the wroms from me wontcha father!?"

The priest can't even shout for help before he's covered in dirt, stones and grime. With his hands in his pockets and a big grin on his face Beetlejuice walks towards the church satisfied to finally be free again.

Inside the church you were preparing for the next days gathering. Tidying and setting everything up. Getting new candles for the altars and putting out sitting cushions for the people. Feeling satisfied with your work you walk up to the small staircase leading up to the main altar. You look up at the big golden cross with a carved sculpture of Jesus crucified on it. You softly kneel down on the lowest step.

"Oh, why do I feel like this. I'm a nun for christ sake."

You quickly put a hand to your mouth and look up at the cross in a small shock.

"Sorry Jesus" You whisper.

You weren't the most traditional nun, but liked to keep some of the religion and the respect because of the community in town. It was always so welcoming and warm for everyone, no matter who they were.

You even had some small tattoos and a couple piercings. Just small crosses on some fingers and thorned vines around your wrist and ankles.A couple piercings in your ears, one in your tounge and in both nipples. Even while wearing your nun attire you still wore fishnets and beautiful lingerie underneath. It made you feel so pretty.

But even for a nun who isn't so strick and doesn't believe in the traditional way, you couldn't help but feel dirty because of your thoughts. As you knelt there on the stairs you started to think again. Your thoughts running wild. You shook your head and wanted the dirty thoughts out. This wasn't the time and place for that. You couldn't keep thinking like that in church all the time.

When you heard a door open and shut you jumped a little. You didn't think that the priest would be back inside already. You stod up and turned around. You looked out towards all the benches. Looking for him. It was empty. Maybe he didn't come in? That was weird. You swore that you just heard him come in.

Just as Beetlejuice had walked in he saw a nun on the stairs in the middle of the church. He hid himself from her vision and observed her. Watching. Analysing. She's looking for the priest. He grins to himself. Watching her with a stern look. Perfect.

"Hm. Weird, maybe he forgot something?" You say to yourself. Then you get a weird feeling. Like you are being watched by someone. But.. you're alone.

You shrug and walk over to the confession both. You mark the side of the person that confesses as occupied. You sit down inside and wait for the priest to come back. You fiddle with the hem of your veil as you wait.

Hearing footsteps you breath out, gathering your thoughts a little. The door on the other side of the both opens and close. You hear the priest sit down. He clears his throat before he speaks.

"What bothers you on this fine evening sister?"

He sounded more coarse than usual. Maybe the cold breeze outside made his throat a bit sore? You sighed and looked down at your shoes.

"Oh, forgive me father for I have sinned. I keep having these awful dirty thoughts during gathering and while in church."

You wait for an answer. You really needed to get it of your chest and confine in someone you trust. You perk up when you hear him answer.

"What kind of dirty thoughts are bothering you?"

Beetlejuice smirks as he answers. Wanting to find out how he can take advantage of your confession. You sound like an angel. Look like an angel. He bets you feel and taste like heaven.

"I.. It's.. It's a bit embarrassing. I keep thinking about touching myself or to be touched by someone. I get this feeling. This need of wanting someone to want me. But it feels so wrong to have those thoughts and feelings in church. I don't know what to do anymore.."

You sink down a bit in your seat. Toes pointing towards each other. You squeeze your thighs together. Still having thoughts and can't stop them. Not sure what answer to expect. You feel so filthy sitting there. Having confessed how dirty your mind is inside. You jumped up when you heard him shuffle a bit and started to answer.

"Well, in that case.."

He paused.

Why did he stop?

It's silent.

You only hear your own breath.

Your heart rate quickens.

Then he speaks out with a slight chuckle to his voice. Sounding more coarse than before.

"Then why didn't you just say Sorry Daddy I've been a naughty girl?"

Your eyes are wide in shock. A slight blush to your cheeks. Did you hear that right? A priest couldn't possibly be saying something like that. Could he?

"Father, how can you say something like that?" You question.

You look at the wall separating the sides of the booth. Waiting you start to figet with the skirt of your attire. You feel anxious. Still, there is a weirdly good feeling about the sentence you questioned.

Click.

A quiet inhale.

The smell of smoke.

What? The priest doesn't smoke.

You are about to stand up, but stay put when the door opens.

You look up.

A strange looking man.

The cigarette between his lips makes a soft orange glow to his face. The smoke slithers up around his face. He eyes you up and down. Taking in every detail.You push yourself into the backwall trying to get further away. Wanting to hide away from his gaze.

He chuckles. He takes the cigarette with one hand and leans into the doorframe. Blowing a circle of smoke towards you. Beetlejuice has placed himself in a perfect position, traping you inside the booth. He's thinking. Considering what to do next. Putting the cigarette back between his lips he smirks. He breaths smoke out through his nostrils. Giving him a devilish and impressive look. You shake your head. You didn't want to think of him that way. As you steady your head again you feel a hand lift you chin up making you look at the man. He grins. You slap his hand away and move your head, but you can't even try to hide the way you blush. He has already noticed it.

"Want me as yer personal Jesus and give you the body of Christ?" He asks in a rough voice while grabbing his junk with his hand.

You try to look away. Feeling so embarrassed and not wanting your thoughts to take over. You clench the rosary hanging around your neck. Feeling a warmth growing. Your heart beating faster. Beetlejuice grabs your chin again and leans down. His face mere centimetres away from yours. You can smell and feel his smokey breath.

"Kneel. Like it's a prayer and I'll help you with those thoughts of yours."

He looks at you with a sly grin. As he leans up again he spits the cigarette out, but it disappeares in thin air as it lands. Gulping you kneel down infront of him. You don't have a choice. You look down at your thighs. Waiting.

Zip.

He opened his flyer.

Your eyes widen. Did he really want you to..? But you have never done anything like that,  not even to yourself. You didn't know how.

".. I.. Don't know how.." You muttered without lifting your head.

"Heh, then you'll learn how. Lift your head and open up."

Slowly turning your head up you see his cock. You get anxious about even fitting it in your mouth at all. It's a bit longer than avarage and got some decent girth to it. You hesitate to open your mouth, but comply out of fear of something worse.

"Now you get to suck on it like it's your favourite lollipop." Beetlejuice grins at the sight beneath him.

Placing your lips around the head of his cock you lightly suck on it. Feeling his cock twitch you jump a little. You hear him chuckle. As you continue you slowly take in more of his length. You start to set a pace you're comfortable with. He pushes the vail of your head and puts a hand in your hair. He groans softly. Burying his fingers in your hair as he leans his head backwards.

You start to feel a tingle between your legs. It feels.. good? Sucking his dick you feel yourself get gradually wet. Did you enjoy this? You felt so conflicted. So good, but so bad at the same time. He started to push your head faster, forcing you to pick up the pace. Your jaw becoming tired. Your eyes starting to tear up. Feeling saliva build up and drip out of your mouth. It felt so weirdly good. Your close your eyes and melt into the motion of sucking him of. Suddenly he pulls himself out with a pop. You breathe heavily. Opening your eyes again you see him jerk his cock.

"Here's some holy water for ya.. " Beetlejuice groans out as he comes on your face.

You quickly close your eyes and feel the warm trickling of cum landing all over your face.

"What a pretty mess. " He says with admiration in his voice. His voice sounded softer.

He pulls you up by your arm. You can feel him use the skirt of your attire to dry off your face. As you open your eyes you got a short glimpse of him looking so gentle. He looked so..charming. You couldn't believe that such a man could actually look handsome.

"What? Never seen a dead guy facefuck and cum on a nuns face before?" He spits out with a grin.

Your expression change. Shocked at what he just said.

Dead!?

Is he a fucking ghost?

Did you just suck off a ghost?

Feeling cold you take a step back. Not sure how to process the information you just got. But before you get as much as a word out he rips your attire open.Feeling the air on your body you try desperately to cover up. Your attire is completely torn. It's hopeless. He snorts at your try.

Slowly he looks you up and down. He takes in all the new details that had revealed themselves. You wore beautiful black lingerie. Fishnet stockings. Your rosary dangling between your breasts. The subtle shape the nipplepiercings gives out in the brah. Your tattoos. He never thought a nun could do that.

But you were different.

He liked it.

You look away, not wanting the attention. Suddenly Beetlejuice pikcs you up and puts you over his shoulder.Surprised by the act you try to wiggle and get down. You want to run. He slaps your ass to warn you. You make a sharp inhale at the sudden pain. But it didn't hurt as bad as you thought it would. You give up and just hang there with your arms crossed.You didn't understand where he was going. When you start to look around you notice how different things looks.The light from outside is dark red.  There's a ton of candles everywhere that you haven't put out. Not to mention lit any of them. You feel like the church itself has become deranged and darker somehow. Only lit up by the flickering glow of candles. Weird.

As you're put down again you recognise where you ended up. The main altar in front of the big cross. He sat you down on the altar. Shit. He's looming over you with a hungry look. Licking his lips as he puts his hand on each of your thighs. He maintains eyes contact as he moves. You quickly squeeze your tights together. A bit scared.

"Aw come on now. Spread your legs and show me the gate to heaven baby." He gives you a softer and more seductive smirk than before.

He leans in closer to your face. Your eyes betrays you as they give a quick look at his lips. You blush again at the thought of his lips. Catching the glimpse you got of his lips he puts a hand softly behind your head. He connects your lips in a surprisingly passionate kiss. You can't help but melt into it and close your eyes. He pushes his tounge into your mouth. Exploring every part of it. He tastes like earth. It feels like nothing you've felt before. You breathe heavily as you part your lips, your eyes fluttering open. He gently tries to push your thighs apart. You allow him but feel embarrassed to spread your legs this way. He slides a hand up your thigh until he reaches your panties. He gently rubs his thumb against you. He can feel how wet you actually are through your panties. Starting to pull them off you stop him. Placing your hand on his.

"I'm.." You can't finish the sentence.

Beetlejuice looks at you. He knows.

"I know you're a virgin." A soft and understanding voice. You didn't expect him to actually be a bit comforting. Or to even care. You look into his eyes and give him a soft nod.

"I'll start gentle. I promise."

He grins slightly. You felt a tingling sensation and butterflies in your belly from his words. He cups you cheek and gives you a soft kiss.After gently pulling your panties of he slides his thumb through your slick folds. He smirks at the view and feeling. Watching your reactions. You hold back a moan. Your eyes closed so you wouldn't feel so embarrassed. You feel him lean in next you your ear. His low gravely whisper making your back arch slightly.

"I'm gonna show ya why I'm known as the ghost with the most"

[pinkberrypocky]

pmmm rewatch live notes: ep 11

gosh what to even say to preface episode 11 notes. ouchie my heart. the scene where madoka convinces her mom to let her go save homura breaks me every time.

The circles on the floor of homura’s house are the colors of the holy quintet

It's so tragic that homura in trying to save madoka has made her the center of the universe and made it more impossible to save her

Since she is the center of the universe she has more potential power which means that kyubey will want her even more

The shot of madoka being hung up by all the strings of fate is so jesus on the cross

And that makes sense bc when madoka becomes hope and essentially dies by becoming a concept that no one knows in order to save all the other magical girls

Earlier i was saying how homura is jesus but madoka is also so jesus so consider what if the real jesus is the lesbians we found along the way

Literally i am not christian don’t come for me if that doesn’t hold water

 The umbrella madoka uses when she comes home from sayaka’s memorial service is yellow

It’s so wild how kyubey so readily compares his relationship w the magical girls as that of humans and livestock

The shot of the incubators being there making magical girls since the beginning of time is crazy

Cleopatra and joan of arc being magical girls is sooooooooooo

“It wasn’t we who betrayed them, but their own prayers” UGH OUCH

Like by wishing for their wish they doomed themselves 

Ouch owie

Giant shadow of kyubey over madoka’s hunched crying form after he shows her the history of incubators and magical girls

Red and blue lighting when madoka’s mom and teacher meet up to talk about madoka and sayaka

They talk about sayaka “quarreling” with a friend over a boy and it's so heartbreaking to know that that’s all that the world will see

But also in a way it IS why she died it’s because she made a wish for the boy she liked that she is now dead

Painting of those two biblical figures reaching for each other is above the bar they are sitting at

When homura embraces madoka madoka remains stiff and unmoving and for the most part unspeaking like she’s frozen in time

Shot of madoka and homura as a black silhouette and all the shots from all of homura’s timelines literally breaks my heart OUCH

Homura pleads madoka to let her protect her because in the end the reason that madoka keeps dying is that she can’t not protect others

And yet again it backfires bc madoka has such a Need to protect homura and everyone she loves

Scene is very grayscale when we see homura ready to take on walpy

The way that walpy is a stage is SO considering that everything homura does is in act and everything all the magical girls do is really a puppet act being controlled by the incubators

And also how the other magical girls and madokami are watching over them for all time as the audience

Walpy wears bright blue while the whole rest of the scene is grayscale

Except for the bright fire of explosions

The way that homura has trapped not only madoka by repeating so many times but also herself because she has made her whole purpose to save madoka so if she stops now she will become a witch 

she has to keep fighting so that madoka doesn’t die or become a witch and she doesn’t either

Their fates are intertwined in a way that cannot be undone

Madoka’s mom trying to stop her from going to help homura is such a good scene because it reminds us of the age of the holy quintet and the weight of their actions and decisions

It also helps us see into madoka’s head bc she has to explain her reasoning to her mom

It’s also so good because it shows an adult trying to take care of a child which is so lacking in this show sadly

Madoka’s mom asks her is she’s sure that she’s not making a mistake and madoka says yes without a second thought

While the whole rest of the series she has been too scared and uncertain to do anything or make any choices now when the stakes are so high she finally knows what she wants to do and is forging ahead to do it no matter what the others around her think of it

In a sad way, her choice to become a magical girl and save everyone means giving in to the cycle and what kyubey wants 

And it's only then that she has true autonomy

Her only choice that is fully hers is one to give up herself and her autonomy in order to save everyone else

Madoka and homura are literally passing the self sacrificing blunt back and forth

[thewingedbaron]

Quiet Moments: The Ranger and Wolf

Just a little Shadowheart x Tav (Alyss) for you :) (minor spoilers for Shadowheart romance)

Shadowheart’s skin prickled with irritation. She knelt in her tent, placed at the head of their small camp, where she had hoped to find some quiet so that she might pray. However, it seemed that her lady saw fit to test her once again by setting the dogs at play. Scratch was running through the camp, a heavily worn ball clamped in his jaws as he evaded his larger opponent. Shadowheart watched with growing discomfort as the lithe form of a wolf crashed into Scratch’s side, sending both hounds rolling. 

The wolf had arrived in the night. Shadowheart had nearly been overcome when she spotted the beast curled up at Alyss’ side. Their leader had still been asleep, her fingers working lazy circles in the wolf’s fur as she murmured to a dream. Shadowheart had nearly fetched her mace to deal with the beast then and there, and she would have had the sight of the creature not left her paralyzed in fear. Upon awakening, Alyss had only been too happy to see the beast, introducing it to the party as if it were a long lost friend. Thus far, Shadowheart had maintained a healthy distance. 

As she watched the two dogs play, unease began to prick her skin again. Whispers of a memory, half forgotten, stirred in the back of her mind, sending unbidden shivers down her spine. Shadowheart watched the wolf pounce upon Scratch. 

Suddenly, she was a child again. Scratch, Alyss, and the camp were gone, replaced by a forest in permanent night. Fear clawed at Shadowheart’s throat as the wolf stalked toward her, its eyes glowing in the moonlight. She tried to crawl away, to run, to do anything, but her legs were locked in place. Her cheeks were warm and wet with tears, but as she raised a hand to wipe them away, her fingers returned crimson. The wolf bared its teeth as a cold hand settled on Shadowheart’s shoulder. The hand yanked her into darkness, just as the beast pounced. 

The vision faded as quickly as it had arrived, and the midnight forest was replaced once again by the early evening at camp. Shadowheart winced as a lancing pain cut across her hand, an ever present reminder of her lady, Shar. She must have made some noise, because when she looked up again, her eyes were met with Alyss’, full of concern for her. 

“Are you alright?” The ranger asked, quiet enough that the rest of camp would not hear. She was suddenly so close, though Shadowheart could not remember her approach. Shadowheart began to nod, her mind’s eye suddenly filled with new visions. A waterfall, a silver moon, a kiss. Then, the wolf appeared, settling around her companion’s feet, and the vision shattered. 

“I’m fine.” Shadowheart snapped. “Just keep your beast on a shorter leash while I am finishing my prayers.” 

Alyss recoiled, as if struck. Her eyes betrayed her confusion and hurt. A stab of regret lancing through Shadowheart, but was quickly buried under practiced indifference. 

“As you say.” The ranger murmured. “Come, Lykos. We’ll find some dinner for Gale to cook.” 

Shadowheart watched as the ranger and wolf departed camp, side by side. Her heart hurt with confused emotions that her head had no way of making sense of. She let loose a frustrated sigh as she turned back to the small altar she had constructed in her tent. She prayed she could forget the ranger and her wolf. 

[imagineandwrite]

𝘖𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘷𝘴 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘝𝘐 (𝒪𝒷𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝑅𝑜𝓊𝓉𝑒)

Don't leave me

Word Count: 1.4k Words Warnings: drowning, Namor's a dickhead, I'm sorry in advance, angst, the obsession is starting >:}

You turn away from the Queen and toward your sinking friend. You push her body up until she's out of the hole. Flipping her on her back, making sure she won't slip back into the water before taking a breath and dropping back into the water. 

Looking around, you glimpse Ramonda's hand and you rush for her. You grab her and swim up, but something tugs you down. There's a boney hand pulling you down, and you scream at what it's connected to. A torn body, with the face of your grandmother, is pulling you from the surface.

Okoye enters the Throne Room and nearly collapses. Riri lies on the stairs, and Queen Ramonda floats in the water, face down, as Namor floats in the window. She pulls Ramonda from the water as Nakia turns Riri over to begin compressions.

"You did this!" Namor exclaims, "I came with only a few warriors."

Okoye and Nakia place their beads on Riri and the Queen's chest to shock their heart awake. Shuri and Aneka enter, and Okoye holds her hand out, "Keep her back!"

Shuri's eyes trail from her mother to Riri, and she panics, "Y/N?!"

"Y/N?" Okoye frantically looks around while Nakia whispers a silent prayer. Shuri rushes forward, only for Aneka to grab her. "Y/N?! Where is she?"

"Y/N?!"Okoye calls, rushing to the water, looking for the Nymerian. Her hand grazes another, and she lunges for it. Okoye and three Doras retrieve Y/N from the water while another Dora does chest compressions on Ramonda. They lay Y/N on her back, and a tear falls from Okoye's cheek. 

Shuri can't breathe, the knife in her gut shifted to her heat and twisted each time Y/N and her mother's body slammed back into the ground.

"Bury your dead, mourn your losses," Namor taunts, pointing at Shuri as she cries out for her mother. He glares at them, "You are Queen now."

"In one week's time, I will return with my entire army!"

"Mama," Shuri sobs, Ramonda remains unresponsive, and Riri jolts awake, coughing up water.

"You will join us against the surface world," Namor demands, "Or we will wash Wakanda from the face of the planet." He turns and dives into the water surrounding the building.

"Mama," Nakia whispers, continuing chest compressions on Ramonda as Okoye does the same to Y/N. Two Doras move to check Y/N and Ramonda's vitals as Okoye and Nakia continue to try to revive them, their eyes welling with tears.

"Don't leave me!" Shuri exclaims, and they flinched. Y/N lay still, her body slowly shifting back to her human form. Riri wiped her face as she turned to look at Y/N, "C'mon, T."

"She can't lose you both," Okoye whispers, pressing against Y/N's chest as she glances at Ramonda's body.

"Mama, please!" Shuri shouted, staggering forward to reach for the unconscious woman. Y/N's eyes opened, water spat from her mouth, and Okoye turned her to her side. 

"Let me go!" Shuri demands, shoving Aneka only for M'Baku to grab her. Okoye and Nakia trade places, Okoye continuing compressions on Ramonda and Nakia checking her vitals.

"Wake up, Queen Mother," Okoye whispers, her eyes welling with tears. Nakia breathes deeply as her eyes sting at the red on Ramonda's beads, "She's gone."

Namor had won.

You had failed. You tried, and you tried, but you fell. It's silent, the forest is quiet like it senses the feeling in the air. The silence is heavy, and it leaves a ringing in your ear. Leaves you afraid to close your eyes because even the slightest twitch will push the tears from your lids.

Ayo, Aneka, and a few members of the Dora Milaje lift the coffin, and a tear falls, followed by another. But still, there was no sound as you watched them carry Ramonda away. Slowly the circle, once surrounding the coffin, now shrunk down to two people.

You and Shuri.

There's pressure around your waist, on your side, and your chest. And you're aware of Shuri, the last of the Royal family, pressed against you. She'd refused to leave your side and had you change into your funeral garment in her room. Afraid you would disappear if you left her sight.

You don't remember when she shifted from holding your hand to pressing against your side. Leaning to kiss her temple, she releases a breath and sags into your hold. Footsteps behind you draw your attention to the approaching Jabari leader, and you sigh. 

"Find me when you're done."

Shuri looks up, her grip tightening as her eyes widen in confusion or fear, you're not sure. You tilt your head, smiling softly to ease her mind, and she stills. Her eyes glance around your arm, and Shuri huffs, though her grip doesn't loosen. 

"The sooner you release me, the sooner you can hold me," You mumble, and her brows furrowed in contemplation. 

For a moment, you think she won't let go, that she'll protest until M'Baku allows you to stay. Instead, she leans up to kiss your jawline before stepping back and away from your arms. 

And it stings.

It stings even though you know she'll be right back as soon as she's done with M'Baku. Her gaze is downward as the Jabari leader's footsteps halt. He bows his head to you, and you nod back. Watching his eyes dart between the two of you, Shuri glares at him when he opens his mouth. Whatever he wanted to say disappears as soon as her eyes pierce his, and you accept that as your sign to leave.

At some point during your descent, you went off the path. You have no memory, before this week, of Ramonda, yet she knew exactly who you were. She knew about your kingdom, your grandparents, and your departure. And asked about your grades, your reputation in school, and when you would get your act together.

She knew everything about you and was close to your grandmother. Now they would be close in the afterlife. 

In the afterlife. Right. Ramonda is dead, and her body lay in the black coffin, being celebrated for her life. 

"The Jabari offer their comfort for your loss," M'Baku spoke, bowing respectfully. He sighed softly when she remained silent.

"You must mourn her in accordance with the rituals of your ancestors," M'Baku said, looking at the spot Ramonda's coffin once sat. "Do not bury yourself in your technology."

"Why are you here?" She demanded, staring into his eyes. M'Baku stills, looking to the side in thought before looking back at her. His brows furrow in thought as he speaks, "I promised your brother, I would provide you with consolation and protection, but today, I am in need of your advice."

"The tribal elders have approached me with a proposition. They wish to evacuate the city and set up camp in Jabariland."

Shuri scoffs, tilting her head away from him as she spoke quietly, "Now you are keen to hear from a child? A child who scoffs at tradition?"

"The world has taken too much from you, for you to still be considered a child," M'Baku said, his eyes trailing her face as she stood void of emotion.

"The elders are desperate and the city is vulnerable. If you are to provide for them, they will be in great debt to you," Shuri stated, mindlessly fiddling with the necklace given to her by Y/N.

"And what of your heart?" M'Baku asked as he pat his chest. "Which way is your heart leaning?"

"I just buried the last person who truly knew me. My heart was buried with her," Shuri said.

"You seem close to the Nymerian," M'Baku said, matter of factly.

Shuri glared at the mention of Y/N as she turned slightly to look at him. "Her name is Y/N, it will do you well to know it."

M'Baku nodded, shifting away slightly from her unwavering glare. Shuri sighed softly, looking away in thought, "She's learning, and she's doing an amazing job. Soon we'll know each other better than we know ourselves."

Nodding again, M'Baku looked around before bowing at her, walking away when she nodded at him.

"𝙒𝙝𝙮 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙖𝙙?"

There she is again. This time you don't want to speak to her; you want quiet. The familiar ghost of hands on your back, and you groan. Irritation is apparent in its rumble, and you speed up to escape the hands. 

"𝙄'𝙢 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚, 𝙏𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙟𝙞," 

"Well, go get some milk," You grumble, stepping over a branch. She shouts it grabs her legs, holding her in place as Aisha steps around her.

"I thought I could only see you in the ancestor plane?" You question, glaring at the unbothered woman. She sighs, waving her hand in dismissal before glaring up at you.

"𝙄'𝙢 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪."

"What did we do now?"

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STORY MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

[ricardian-werewolf]

Chapter 6: Holy water cannot help you now

Ao3 Link Summary: As the aftermath of the attack on Keramzin comes to the forefront, there is a reflection across Ravka of their Sankta Sol's martyrdom.

Chapter below cut:

After. As the darkness claimed her, the Girl knew this black void was not the end. More, a sleep. The soft, tranquil stillness of a coma. She had fought so long, so hard, and deserved a chance to lick her wounds. The knife to her chest had torn into her heart, but a flicker of sunlight healed the skin before the Darkling could notice.

As she slipped in and out of the inky black, her faithful came from out of the woodwork to settle the girl’s body upon a gold-encrusted litter and laid her upon sheets of gold satin and silks. From there, she was carried by her faithful Soldat Sol across Ravka to the place of her birth. Her friends and allies accompanied her, the gold-eyed twins at her side no matter the day or night. Millions flooded the Dva Stolba valley, chanting her name until their voices were hoarse, and yet screamed still more. Mothers wept, tore at their garments as her litter was carried past village and town alike. Men removed their caps and clutched the icons of her form - the stag’s antlers cast in a halo around her head. The icon showed the fetter on both wrists as she cast a glow of sunlight. 

All while, the girl slept and dreamed of a fox-prince with golden hair and hazel eyes. He, too, slept. Buried beneath the ice-sheet of the Ash Tree, brought into a coma through their shared tether. The darkness did not sink its claws into him the way the girl feared. In its stead, the darkness loved her prince the way it could never love her. Time healed all wounds. The girl knew that like a surgeon’s scalpel, the darkness was seeking to cut from her prince the tumor that had festered in his soul for so long. 

The Darkling had evaded fate once again, leaving the orphanage of the girl’s youth a smoldering ruin. Into his embrace he had taken the Grisha children, promising brimstone and hellfire to follow if anyone made to move against them. But, one did. Sturmhond, the wolf of the seas, made the Darkling’s plans to attack the Firebird’s nest a near impossibility. The First Army, of its Otkazat’sya men and women, raised new banners in the name of the Sun Saint:

A fox circling a sunburst, all backed in the deep green of the Little Prince. 

They took up their guns and sabres once more, and marched into the fog of war to bring glory to their war-torn home. All while worshiping her name and offering prayers of healing for the soul of the girl who had become their savior.

Little girls scattered fire-flower petals on the grasses of the Firefalls as the Apparat, returned from his holy exile, proclaimed the Sankta Sol in a place beyond what mere man knew. She was not at the Making of the Heart of the World, not yet.

Nor would she be. For the tether that stretched between the Little Saint and Little Prince was a bond that could not be cleaved even by death. As long as the other loved their half, they would not die. The Little Prince was too clever to evade death’s scythe. He would be the one to plunge into the underworld, guided by the girl’s light, and they would emerge.

Together. 

She would not let the Darkling rule another day. He would face his fate, whether with the steel of a Grisha blade or cold bullet of a rifle. It would be up to the girl to undo the pain and misery that had swallowed her country and people whole. She would live.

She would rise, become the savior her people needed. It was time to come out from under her old matron’s skirts. The Girl would waken, and she would have at her side a king who would crown her in cloths of gold and fox-fur, impress into her skin the prayers of a man who loved her for who she was. His word was holy oath, more than even the Apparat’s cries. 

Her faithful would come for her, and she for him. This much was something that could be written in the stars, in the compass that pointed ever truly north, and the ring upon the girl’s finger that only the red-haired girl of one eye and many scars recognized.

Her friends and allies would disperse, and would return to the lives of outlaws and miscreants intent on surviving. But from her place of rest and enshrinement, they would emerge crowned in the certainty that the Sun Saint had not forsaken her most beloved of peoples. She had not failed them once ere this.

Now she would not either.

Carried up in the flames of the firefalls, the litter carrying the girl was deconstructed, and a dome of the finest Fabrikator made glass placed over the bed. In its becoming of a coffin, the falls were parted and the coffin placed into a cave lit by the stalagmites that dripped down from its ceiling. Then, the cave was sealed, prayers were finally offered, and the crowd drew away in reverence for their martyred saint.

All across her homeland, church-bells sang songs of mourning, calling the faithful to mass and supplicants to kneel at their shrines. All to beg for the soul of the girl who was an icon. 

Inside the coffin, the girl touched the fetter at her wrist and the collar at her neck. 

A smile touched her face. In her ear, she heard a voice whisper.

“Rest well, Sunshine.” The girl’s laugh was a silent one, but it brought mirth to her. She closed her eyes again, and let the darkness carry her down into a world only the Little Prince and she knew. There, she would be home. Orpheus had found her Eurydice. She would strum her lyre and sing sweet songs of the return of a fox-king and a sun-queen. 

Those who heard her song would know of her return, and carry in their breasts the sacredness of such a gospel sung by a girl unto whom death nor the Darkling could touch.