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#Endless Column
dariascultureblog · 10 months
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Design in Progress
Here I was working on the design for my final garment to attach on at the end to represent my theme. To do that I had to draw the shape I wanted all around and sew it on between two white cottons, after I had sewn it all around I made sure to leave room to stuff the wadding inside making that 3D effect. Finally I had to stitch and outline the shape by securing it all in place.
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wisteriagoesvroom · 4 months
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just thinking about what it means to be young, gifted, and excellent — how lucky we are to watch this once in a generation rivalry unfold in real time; to understand that the narrative is something that’s being fed to us but to still relish it. How special it is to be active spectators to a story that we can imagine thousands of closing chapters to, to hold our bated breath for, the beauty of witnessing history that hasn’t been fully written yet.
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romanianrootsblog · 1 year
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The Endless Column
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"To see far is one thing, going there is another." - Constantin Brâncuși
With the words of Romanian sculptor Constantin Brâncuși in mind, I want to invite everyone on a journey to explore one of his most celebrated works, “The Endless Column”. This towering sculpture, located in Romania, is a true masterpiece that embodies Brâncuși’s artistic vision and leaves a lasting impression on all who behold it. Unfortunately, I still haven't had the honour of seeing such a symbol in person.
As a Romanian Arts student living abroad, it’s easy to get caught up in the culture and traditions of a new country, and it’s become important to me not to forget my roots and where I come from. Too late for my liking, but I have come to appreciate the importance of staying connected to my birthplace and exploring the history and beauty of Romania. Constantin Brâncuși is one of Romania's most famous and celebrated artists, and his "Endless Column" (which you can find in Târgu-Jiu city) is a remarkable representation of his artistic talent.
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The monument holds a special place in the hearts of many Romanians, including myself, as it was commissioned by the National League of Gorj Women to honour the brave soldiers who defended Târgu-Jiu from the forces of the Central Powers in 1916. Even though Brâncuși was living in Paris at the time, he eagerly accepted the opportunity to create a large commemorative sculpture in his homeland, refusing any payment for his work. The passion and dedication he poured into this masterpiece are evident in every detail.
“The Endless Column” is a breathtaking sculpture that stands at 29.3 meters tall, constructed out of 17 rhomboidal modules of cast iron. It symbolizes the infinite flow of time and the continuity of life. The design is deceptively simple yet stunningly beautiful, reflecting the harmony and balance that Brâncuși sought to achieve in his work. The use of cast iron as a material for the sculpture is significant as well. The artist was known for his preference for simple materials and techniques that allowed the essence of the subject to shine through. By using cast iron, he was able to create a striking contrast between the rawness of the material and the elegant form of the sculpture. Another aspect that makes The Infinity Column a true masterpiece is the way it interacts with its surroundings. Despite its size, the sculpture appears to be in perfect harmony with the landscape, as if it was always meant to be there. Brâncuși’s use of negative space and his understanding of the relationship between form and space are on full display here.
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“The Endless Column” is not only a symbol of Romania's artistic legacy but also a testament to the country's resilience and ability to endure through the centuries. The sculpture's message of continuity and perseverance is particularly relevant to me as a Romanian, and it reminds me of the importance of staying connected to my roots. Although I have yet to see the Infinity Column in person, I admire it deeply and believe that its message is universal. The sculpture teaches us that life is a journey, and although we may not always see the end, we must keep moving forward.
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bratetteprincess · 3 months
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miguel who loves his shy girlfriend so fucking much. your so sweet. so tentative
miguel whos never been a pda kinda guy. ever. until your pretty self. now he finds himself embarrassing you over and over again while his hand slid down your thigh — resting merely. planting a wet kiss down the column of your throat when you sat with his colleagues. spoiling you with endless sweet nothings all you could do was mewl “migs!”
miguel who loves seeing you flustered… that is until you cover your mouth while he’s pounding into you, hiding your moans and words with the fear ‘someone will hear’ while his fat tip bulges against your cervix… and then it drives him insane.
miguel who eats you out while you squirm on top of his massive, wooden desk. the rough texture gone in your mind because his face is stuffed in your cunt. he laps at your drooling folds like a mad-man. suckling your swollen clit into his mouth, flicking the puffy bud in ways that had you whimpering. but you were still holding back your fucking sounds — so he did what any man munch would do, he edged your leaking pussy
miguel who tells you you aren’t getting your sweet release until you finally let go. promising you it would be a blessing to those motherfuckers to hear even a single moan of yours. but his words were so muffled, his tongue swirling around your dripping hole — dipping in and eliciting your immediate gasp. how’d he go so deep?!
miguel who has to hold you down as your eyes flutter closed, the slurping, wet sounds of your essence almost escaping the walls. you were close. the needy laced wire in your stomach tightening… “m’ah m-miguel mm fuck!”
miguel who suddenly pulls away despite his need to taste you even more — his mouth covered in your juices. “use your words,”…
miguel who denies you orgasm after orgasm until your a whining mess — in that moment, your shyness was gone, along with your sanity and anything pure about you as he finally flipped you over. guiding himself along, against, into your soaking entrance “migs! w-what if they hear!?”…
miguel who finally gets a taste of your screams while your silken walls squeezed the fucking life out of him… and he cummed just at the angelic sound
miguel who’s fat cock bottoms out inside of your tight little hole — painting your walls in his thick ropes. who still can’t believe your walls milk every last drop so perfectly
miguel who walks out of his office, hand in yours, with the biggest, shit eating smirk on his face. and you try to hide the giddy grin on yours
miguel who gets you an oversized t shirt so he can fuck you in it that says ‘my lady in the streets, but she a freak in the bed’ fuck, he’s never seen you so bashful. and his cock hardens at the cute sight
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goldhoekin · 6 months
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Use Me or Lose Me || Jordan Li
Use Me or Lose Me || Jordan Li x Fem!Reader
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summary: After Marie becomes #2 and Brink is killed by Luke Jordan slips in the rankings. They begin to obsess over the rankings neglecting their girlfriend who lets their frustration slips and Jordan takes their frustrations out on their girlfriend.
cw: fem!reader, porn with some plot, creampie, unprotected sex, rough sex, oral sex (m! & f! receiving), blowjob, overstimulation, ripping of clothes, biting/marking, dacryphilia, degradation, chocking
Words:1.8k
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“I can’t fucking believe I’m still number 5. Fucking FIVE babe!” Jordan growls from their spot on their bed, you sigh quietly as you enter the room fully. You’d JUST walked into your partner’s dorm before you were bombarded with Jordan’s endless string of complaints about their place in the rankings. You knew that it bothered them to slip from #3 to #5 after the death of Brink but for FUCKS sake, Luke JUST DIED. You knew that Brink’s death was effecting Jordan as well ( you personally couldn’t give a flying fuck about that creepy fuck, and he held the same contempt as you because he thought you weren’t good enough for Jordan) but this is getting ridiculous. You’d been so wrapped up in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice you’d said it aloud.
“This-this ridiculous?” Jordan says back, their brown eyes flashing from hurt to anger. You yourself feel a flash of regret before you again become angry. 
“Yes Jordan, this is getting fucking ridiculous, it’s not that freshmen’s fault she was pushed. I’ve heard her thoughts-trust me she needs to do well so let her have this. Andre, is Andre. He’s a grand poobah nepo baby, there’s not much you can do there but what you CAN do is work out your anger and stop ignoring your fucking girlfriend! You will get your just do, baby I promise you but PLEASE keep sight of what’s currently in front of you before it's not here anymore.” You say, your words falling from your lips before you could stop them, Jordan freezes in place. 
Before you can even blink Jordan has you held against a wooden door, your hands on their broad shoulders and their hands on your face to kiss yours with a bruising force. Your legs wrapped around their waist as they roughly invade your mouth, a deep groan escapes their lips as they make their way down the column of your neck. You feel their hands ripping your shirt open, leaving a trail or open mouth kisses down your body.
Moans escape your lips and you feel yourself being unceremoniously tossed onto the bed. Hands running through Jordan's hair, they shift forms and you feel their hands go from large and callous to soft and small. The delicate digits ghosting their hands down your supple body, their tongue following the trail. A rough bite to your breasts causes a breathy gasp to leave your lips, a slender hand sliding into your panties and finding your sopping wet cunt.
Without warning you feel their fingers enter you roughly, two a time. A punishing pace set as Jordan finger fucks you closer and closer to completion. You somehow manage to remove all of your clothing, Jordan paying your antics no mind until they feel your dripping wet pussy clenching their fingers as you nearly reach your peak. They promptly withdraw their fingers from you. 
"What—what the fuck are you doing Jor. I was so close, baby please!" You whine, your thighs rubbing together to get some sort of friction as you look at your partner’s wickedly smirking face. Jordan's form changes yet again to their male form, their cock looking painfully hard. 
"OH baby did you think I would let you come so easily after what the fuck you said to me? Oh no babygirl you won't get to come until I say so…and if you don't behave and come anyways then I fuck you until there's tears streaming down your face for being fucked so good!" Jordan says, claiming your mouth again, the tip of their cock rubbing against your aching pussy. 
Without warning they plunge their length into you, a deep moan leaving their beautiful lips as you feel Jordan set a brutal pace. Their hands bruising your hips as they fuck you into the mattress, your breasts bouncing wildly with the force of their thrusts. Suddenly you feel yourself getting flipped onto your stomach, face pressed down into the mattress, your ass in the air and Jordan never leaving your cunt. Their thrusts somehow get faster, harder. 
Your hand tries to sneakily reach down to rub your clit, desperate for release. Jordan had unfortunately caught you and brought both of your hands tightly behind your back, one of their hands tightly grips them. The other hand roughly slaps your ass, "I told you baby girl. You cum when I say you can fucking cum, not before. Do. You. Understand?" Jordan growls, each word punctuated with a harsh thrust.
You whimper in response to their harsh treatment of you, and as fucked up as it seems. You actually fucking love it, it feels so good to be tossed like a ragdoll by Jordan. Them working their frustration out on you and finally paying attention to you since Marie got to Godolkin. You can feel their mouth nipping and biting any skin they can get to, leaving deep love marks and the like unto your skin. You can feel them gripping your wrists tighter and you feel the knot in your stomach so close to unraveling and you know Jordan can feel you tightening up around them.
“Don’t you dare fucking cum, do you understand me?” They whisper in your ear, nipping as they do so. 
“I𑁋i’m trying but I don’t think I can Jordan. Please baby, let me cum!” You whine out, desperate for release. 
A dark chuckle leaves their throat, their thrusts getting sloppy as they piston in and out of your weeping cunt. Their thrusts stop as they fill up to the brim with their hot cum and a deep groan leaves their lips as they fuck you through their orgasm. At the last second where you feel your own climax about to topple over the edge the cock is gone and Jordan’s large hands become delicate again. They fucking changed forms again and tears begin to fall down your face as you realize you didn’t get to cum. You feel their supple hand grip your face harshly, “What’s wrong baby? I did warn you didn’t I? Not until I tell you to cum to you cum Angel.”
They kiss away your tears, move their way to the top of the bed, lovely legs spread open and their cunt glistening in the cheap fluorescent lighting, they look you in the eye, “What are you waiting for? Get to work babygirl, you get me to cum again and I may think about returning the favor.” 
Without hesitation you lunge into Jordan’s cunt and begin lapping at your pussy with a vengeance, like a woman starved to get them to cum as soon as superhumanly possible. Your fingers rubbing their clit furiously, one hand gripping their left thigh in a vice grip, leaving crescent shaped marks on their thigh. A hand roughly pushes down your head, which causes your tongue to plunge into Jordan’s cunt.
You move your tongue at a steady pace, adding two fingers that you curl periodically inside Jordan, their cunt tightening around your digits. Their legs wrap around your head tightly as they reach their peak, a high pitched scream leaves their mouth as they cum again, legs shaking as they come down from their high. Sweat coats their skin as they struggle to catch their breath, “Fuck babygirl…I guess since you did so good I’ll give you what you want. How do you want me?”
You feel your heart soar, you’d been rubbing your thighs together to gain any sort of relief, any sort of friction to get yourself off. “I-i need you to fuck dick me down, real good and real hard. Punish me anyway please Jordan please!”
A smile graces their face as they switch forms again, they hold their cock in their hands, “Well I’m gonna need some assistance Angel…” You eagerly take their cock into your mouth, licking and sucking them until they get erect again, you remove your mouth from their cock, a string of saliva connecting the two.  
“You look so fucking good like this, I can’t believe you’re all mine.” Jordan says as they move into position behind you, rubbing the tip of their cock between your throbbing pussy lips. Ever so slowly they slide their cock into you inch by inch, Jordan holds your hips in place as you try to push back into them. Once they fill you to the hilt they immediately pull almost all the way out only to roughly slam back into you.
They set a brutal pace, holding your head down by your neck to brace themself as they roughly fuck you into oblivion. You feel your orgasm building up again so fast, you are so close and Use Me or Lose Me || Jordan Like a dam overflowing you feel yourself practically dissolving around Jordan.
You feel a gush of liquid escaping from your cunt, your legs giving up on you as you struggle to hold yourself up. Jordan doesn’t stop though, they continue fucking you through your orgasm, you feel yourself getting over stimulated and you try to wiggle away from Jordan but they hold you in place.
They slap your ass roughly and repeatedly, rubbing soothing circles onto your stinging flesh. Tears fall down your face as you look back at Jordan pleadingly but at the sight of your tears they laugh. “Look at you being a crybaby about getting dicked down like you wanted. You wanted me to treat you like the needly little whore you are and now you’re whining about getting what you begged for? You’re pathetic baby girl!” 
They fuck you through yet another orgasm, whimpers spilling from your lips as you feel yourself cum again spasming around Jordan’s cock as they give you no time to rest. They rub your clit as you cry out again and again, relishing the feeling of you squeezing the life out of their cock, you feel their hand gripping your throat. They tighten it around your neck cutting off your air supply, a rough kiss applied to you lips, their thrusting never ceasing their pace in the slightest. You feel them throbbing close to yet another release, just as they release your neck to fill you up yet again do you feel their teeth bite deep into your flesh.
As you take in gasping breath they lick at the wound on your neck, gripping your body as they slump onto you, not pulling themselves from your heat. They hold onto you and whisper into your ear, “I’m sorry about being an asshole, but just know I won’t just let you walk out on me without a fight Angel.” 
They nuzzle your neck and your eyes grow heavy and the ghost of a smile is on your lips, at least they paid me some fucking attention.
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onlyhurtforaminute · 2 years
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SERPENT COLUMN- Άράχναιν
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cranberrymoons · 4 months
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hey sweetheart
prompt: meetcute at work (@steddieholidaydrabbles) rated: e (18+) word count: 896 words tags: modern au, line cook eddie/waiter steve, hooking up
welcome to Day 4 of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!
Steve is halfway through his first week when he meets him: the line cook with the long hair pulled back in a bun, the stark black lines of tattoos snaking up his arms, the flirty little smile that he flashes in Steve’s direction when Steve comes back to pick up Table 6’s starters.
It’s a hell of a time to start a job in the first place: mid-holiday season, no one around to train him except Robin who’s only worked there a couple weeks longer than he has and knows next to nothing about The Way Things Work.
But she’s Robin, and she’s familiar, and she knows him well enough to warn him to avoid the flirty long-haired line cook with the big brown eyes and the dimples and the million watt smile directed right at him and – 
Fuck.
“Sweetheart, you rang in Table Twelve wrong,” the guy says, leaning forward over the pass with a ticket in his hand. “This says no onions, but the special isn’t made with onions.”
Steve stares at him as he loads Table Six’s plates onto a tray. He resists the urge to roll his eyes, but only barely.
“My name isn’t Sweetheart,” he says eventually. “And so – just extra don’t put onions on it. Who cares?”
The cook raises his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side. “Thought it sounded nicer than ‘hey new guy’, but if you’d prefer that –”
“Steve,” he says. He shoulders his tray. “My name is Steve.”
The cook gives him a little smile, eyes flashing in the bright fluorescents of the kitchen.
“Alright, Sweetheart.” He tilts his chin up. “Extra no onions for Table Twelve, and you can call me Eddie.”
---
It continues on like that for a week or two: Eddie flirting, finding any excuse to ask a question about his ticket. 
Steve knows what he’s doing; he’s worked in restaurants before, and he’s fucked enough hot line cooks in his time that he should know better than to fall into the trap, but still, he finds himself drawn in, entertaining Eddie’s endless teasing and prodding and poking until he starts doing it back – little digs about his shift meal, questions about a menu item that he already knows the answer to.
“Dude,” Robin says, halfway through his first month. 
It’s rounding up on Christmas, and the place is packed, corporate groups out for holiday parties and couples on dates. 
“If you don’t stop flirting, I’m going to cut your fucking dick off,” she says. “Seriously.”
And – okay. That’s fair. 
Steve pulls himself away from where he’d been leaning over the pass, asking Eddie a question about the catch of the day that he’s already asked three times tonight. Clears his throat and straightens up. He tugs his tie back into place, claims the braised oxtail that’s destined for Table Two and clears his throat.
“Sorry.”
Eddie sends him a wink, and Steve feels himself flush.
“Please tell me you’re not going to fuck him,” Robin says as they exit the kitchen.
Steve sighs. “I’m not going to fuck him.”
---
And of course, he’s lying through his teeth.
The very next night, they’re both off work, and he gets a text from an unfamiliar number, just –
hey sweetheart 
Steve flushes as he stares down at his phone, scratching a hand back through his hair. He takes a breath.
Wonder who this could be , he texts back.
All he gets in response is a simple,
😇 
---
Two hours later, he’s flat on his back in Eddie’s bed, clinging to his shoulders and whining as Eddie fucks him so hard he loses his breath, so hard he feels like his brain is rattling around in his skull. He digs his teeth into Eddie’s skin, ankles locked around his back and not even bothering to hold back the noises that Eddie’s punching out of his chest, just –
“Fuck,” he gasps, voice coming high in the back of his throat. “Holy shit, I –”
Eddie’s mouth runs up the column of his neck, hands trailing over his skin, nails dragging sharp lines down his sides.
“You going to come for me, sweetheart?” he asks, voice low in his ear. “Show me how pretty you can be?”
And that’s – for some reason that sets Steve off, turns his skin over to fire as he grips tighter to Eddie’s shoulders, nails digging in, back arching off the bed, coming so hard he sees stars.
---
And then later, when they’re both fucked out and exhausted and Steve is preparing to take his cue to gather his clothes and make a graceful exit, he feels Eddie’s mouth skimming up the side of his neck, hand tangling in his hair, dragging him into another kiss.
A real one, with teeth and tongue and lips, a kiss that isn’t intended to go anywhere other than just to be , and his breath catches a little in his chest, hand skittering over Eddie’s back as he rolls over on top of him.
“Stay?” Eddie asks, voice quiet and hopeful and muffled where their mouths are still pressed together. He smiles, lips quirking up and drawing Steve along with him. “You know I know how to make breakfast.”
And Steve breathes out a quiet laugh, bumping their noses together. He sighs.
“As long as there’s bacon.”
[also on ao3]
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teamatsumu · 2 months
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Loving your soft dom Xavier hcs!! How different would he be with a more assertive reader? One that would like to constantly tease him, kiss and breathe down his neck to rile him up and initate more?
“you think you have control here?”
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warnings: implied sexual content, fem!reader
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Here is how I believe it goes; Xavier will let you dominate until he has had enough.
So all your little touches, the teasing glances, the sly smiles, the pinches and pokes, it’s all good fun.
He enjoys this side of you. The side that takes control and engages with him like this. It’s lighthearted but intimate. So he lets you do what you want. Deep down, he knows who really calls the shots in the bedroom. So he will go along with this for your sake.
He watches you straddle his waist, welcomes you in fact, hands resting calmly on your bare thighs as he lets you trace over his chest and abs. You’re telling him a story, absentmindedly brushing over his skin while you do it, and he can’t help but slowly lose focus of what you are saying as his attention diverts to your innocent touches.
But when those touches linger, when you lean down and your breath hits that one spot on the column of his neck, or when he feels your chest press a little too firm on his own, it almost flips a switch in him.
Xavier will let you tease and prod him until he can’t take it anymore. Until his endless patience finally runs thin.
Then he will lock your thighs in place and grip your waist, pushing up until you two are flipped over. You gasp at the sudden change, but when his hips slot between yours and he grinds down, you realize he is hard as a rock.
You try to hide your grin as his lips nip and lick at your neck and shoulder, knowing there was only so much Xavier would take before he finally gave into temptation.
You let him undress you at his own pace, let him enjoy the closeness of your bodies as his grip slowly becomes more and more desperate, from brushing over your sides to clutching at them tight.
Maybe this had been your plan all along.
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jewish-sideblog · 5 months
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There’s a reason why the western goyishe left is so preoccupied with labeling people as Zionists, and why there’s so much hypocrisy coming out of these spaces night now. It’s because there’s a broader problem regarding leftist views on violence. There’s a belief that violent cruelty is only morally reprehensible if it is forced upon the “innocent”, and that any and all violence is justified against perceived wrongdoers.
It’s the reason why we always hear that“Six million innocent Jews” died in the Shoah, as if six million dead in a genocide isn’t worthy of condemnation on its own. It’s the reason why debates on the internet about oppression always focus on innocence as opposed to violence.
“George Floyd was innocent,” they say, “there’s no evidence he paid with a counterfeit bill!” The left and the right spent endless time debating that three years ago. Why does it matter if Floyd had intentionally used a counterfeit bill or not? Hell, even if he ran a counterfeiting empire— death by suffocation is not a just punishment for counterfeiting. But for many leftists, a lack of “innocence” would somehow validate the unjust violence he suffered and died from.
“There is no excuse for bombing a hospital,” is the response when they think Israel bombed a hospital. But when it turns out that Hamas actually bombed the hospital, suddenly there is an excuse. “There is no excuse for ethnic cleansing,” is what they say when Israel cleanses Gazans. Meanwhile, they maintain their full support for Hamas, whose stated goal is to ethnically cleanse Jews from the Middle East. Excuses are only offered to those deemed innocent. They view Palestinians, even Hamas, as universally innocent. Israelis and Zionists, even children, are seen as universally guilty.
That’s why the antisemitic stream of the anti-Israeli narrative clings so tightly two ideals: That all Israelis are colonists, no matter what, and that Hamas isn’t actually a terrorist organization committing war crimes. If either of those ideological columns fail, then either the presumption of universal Palestinian innocence fails, or the presumption of universal Israeli guilt fails. Then leftists start asking themselves questions:
Have I been in the wrong? Have I been antisemitic? Am I innocent in all this? And if I’m not, does that mean that violence against me could be justified? Most will choose cognitive dissonance and reaffirm their harmful beliefs, rather than face the answer to any of those questions.
But the truth is that innocence doesn’t have an effect on the justification of violence. There isn’t an excuse for bombing a hospital, intentionally or accidentally. There isn’t an excuse for ethnic cleansings of Arabs or Jews or anybody else. Violent oppression is still bad when it happens to harm people you disagree with. Violent oppression is still bad when it harms bad people.
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peachesofteal · 2 months
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Sneak peek?
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The throne room is silent. Darkness ebbs, inky webs slithering across the floor, shadowing the blood red stone that spills from the mouth of the dais, two identical, straight back chairs sitting proudly in the middle of the hall, dwarfed by columns stretching so tall Johnny swears they surpass the boundary of this realm. Their onyx marble shrouds Simon, who stands maskless, his hands clasped behind his back, peering into the pitch-black pool of liquid vibrating inside a silver bowl. 
“Who is she?” There is a woman in the seeing glass. Beautiful, bright, an overflowing bouquet of narcissus, an endless melody of spring, the promise of early death. The greenhouse breathes in her presence, all nature of blooms and blossoms straining closer, desperate to be within fingertips reach. “A goddess?” He looks closer, and Simon’s amber laden eyes affix his, broad palm tenderly cupping Johnny’s cheek. His answer is a whisper, something unearthly and severe as they are: two Kings of the Underworld, two souls twisted together, two macabre fates made one. His words are a looming promise, a vow so ruinous Johnny knows the Moirai howl and the Lethe trembles.
“Our wife.”
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lokisgoodgirl · 6 months
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A Prince's Release [Asgard!Loki x Reader]
A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki takes a break from a diplomatic feast, and finds he is not alone in the hallways of Asgard. (w/c 1.9k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Oral. Loki POV. Soft dom.
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Loki’s footsteps echoed away from the buzz of the feast. And as their raucous mirth grew quieter, so did his mind.
He glanced out the arched window to the side, noting the glitter of Asgard below. He had not been released from his diplomatic obligations entirely. Not officially. Not yet. But he needed this.
He dissolved the ceremonial armour adorning his shoulders, his forearms. It’s gold faded, revealing the simple earthen green of the leathers beneath. Hair that had lain nestled beneath his helmet fell free against his collar. Suddenly, a fist gathered the rear of his tunic. He adopted a battle stance without thinking, spinning with malice in his eyes. His features softened; resolve softening as his dagger hovered beneath the tip of your chin. “My Lady, you should be more careful.” he murmured darkly, running the flat of the thin blade to meet your parted lips. You kissed it.
Several guards lining the open arches sank into shadow.
Loki felt the sharp thud of polished marble flat on his back as you pushed him to the wall, the biting cool it surely held almost chilling through his leathers. You had manoeuvred him to the inside of one of the archway columns. Concealed, almost.
Audacious, this one; he mused. His mind was fire, the heavy dullness chess of diplomatic politics replaced by a haze of lust.
The leather tunic squeaked, sliding against the marble surface as you swept your tongue deeper inside his mouth like a demon. He felt your familiar digits combing through his hair. Pulling. Searching. Claiming, he thought, sliding a moist palm around the nape of your neck.
Loki liked that. He tugged the back of your evening dress sharply, pulling you away. With an inquiring smirk, he tilted his head. “What has gotten into you, little thing? To accost a Prince of Asgard so..." he tutted playfully. Loki gleefully watched as heat rose in your skin. He could feel it; warming the cool night air.
“You, obviously” you huffed, feigned annoyance losing its effect as your grappling fingers tugged at the laces of his trousers. “My prince,” you added as an after-thought.
The palace had ears everywhere. “I think not,” Loki smiled as he let his knuckles trail over your shoulder, down your bare bicep. “It has been ten long days since I’ve gotten into you. My father has seen to that.” The roll of your eyes made his stomach flip. Oh, how he loved this. How he had missed it.
He turned the smile flexing against his lips into a bite. “Loki,” you whimpered petulantly, sliding your hand down the crotch of his leathers as you tried in vain to launch at his mouth. He held you back with ease, your beautiful brow scrunched. “You have not answered my letters, your servants turn me away...they say you are entertaining the diplomats every night,”
The game, Loki smirked with deep satisfaction, is afoot. “Uh-uh-uh,” he tutted, making sure his lips stayed open. He narrowed his eyes, teasing you. His tongue rested on the ridge of his mouth, noting every microscopic shiver of arousal course across your skin.
“Show me how much you missed me during my diplomatic conclave. Missed him.” He nodded down to the weighty arousal hardening in your covert hand. “What?” you gasped, glancing around the empty hallway with a modesty unbecoming of your true nature. Starlight glittered against golden pillars, mounted flames crackling against the shouts from the feast hall beyond.
Loki shrugged innocently, a small smile curling his lip. His stomach was fizzing. He could feel the skin of his balls tightening beneath his ceremonial trappings. The inches of his mighty cock thickening with each roaring second of silence.
While he had been bound to nod and smile during peace talks and the intricacies of trade agreements over an endless ten days, all that had filled his mind was thoughts of your hot mouth wrapping around him. The glide of your tongue, the pressure of your fingertips digging hard into his flesh.
The torchlight made every vein of your irises sparkle as you slowly raised your gaze to meet his own.
There was a mischievous glint in them, an unspoken language honed between you saying all that needed to be said.
You craned upwards, pressing your lips against the shell of his ear with a licentious sigh. “Anyone could walk by,” you breathed, making Loki shudder. His thighs clenched, an unprompted groan rumbling in his throat. “Oh yes,” he gasped as your fingers toyed with the leather straps slung against his hips, “anyone.” The belts and sheath fell to the marble by his ankles with a series of thuds. It’s happening, he thought incredulously as you sank to your knees. The rustle of your skirts pooling on the ground made Loki brace. You never took your eyes off his, tugging the leather trousers down his hips.
Loki rested his head back on the marble pillar, lids fluttering closed as his hand wrapped around his cock. He jolted as the foreskin pulled back, stroking gently as you watched him. She’s actually going to-
His breath hitched, jaw clenching as your palms slid up the solid bulge of his femurs.
You squeezed.
“G-gods” Loki heard himself stammer, cringing.
Hold it together, he chided; letting his hand fall to the side. You are a Prince of Asgard. But knowing your talents, he suddenly wished he had something to hold on to.
The small puff of air that erupted from your lips made him straighten, spine pressing flat to the mirror. “I’ve missed you,” you whispered against his cock. Loki took a deep breath, choking ferociously on the exhale as you swallowed the tip. He clenched and unclenched his fists, resisting the urge to tangle his fingers in your hair like a commoner. The warmth was valhalla. No matter how many times he experienced it, the god found himself eternally unprepared. All of his senses were heightened. The rush of desire and long-held fantasies of this act, in this place, welling in his bloodstream as you swallowed him deeper. Lips made a vacuum on the girth, the feeling of your fingers circled tight around the root. Squeezing. Merciless. They tugged lightly at his public hair with every targeted pump. Wet. Your blowjobs were always so fucking wet.
He suddenly realised he was moaning. Loudly. The gnash of his teeth grinding shocked him back to reality, feeling the straining vein in his neck soften. Loki looked down, hearing the whoreish slurps and groans from your mouth as he thrust gently against your tongue. He juddered, palms slapping against the marble. “F-ffuck, darling...uh, y-yes,” he heard someone whine, “like that - just...like, like that.”
The hand pressed against one quivering thigh suddenly intertwined with his own. Loki watched, entranced as you brought it to the back of your head. “Oh, slut” he murmured in wonder, the feral rumble surprising even himself, “my slut.”
The effort not to slam his cock down your throat was inhuman. Appropriate, Loki grit; as your travelling saliva began to slosh against the crease of his thighs. With every moan-punctuated bob of your head, he guided you. Encouraged you. Yes, darling. Så jævla bra. Goddess, only you. No one fucks me like you. His pants of devotion, carnal and otherwise, filled the open promenade like incense. They wafted into the night air like smoke, each filth-soaked groan from his throat louder than the last. He could hear no buzz from the feasting hall, not anymore. All he could hear was blood thundering in his ears.
Tentatively, he let his gaze fall on the opposing pillar. Its polished surface held a mirage of you both, his towering body with your worshipping form nestled against his thighs.
Beneath the moonlight, cheekbones slashed the angles of his face in the faint reflection. Your eager body knelt between his spread legs was a tableau worthy of the masters of this realm. But not even Kvasir could capture such rapturous eros, he mused fleetingly; before pushing your head deeper against his cock.
You moaned muffled approval, both hands sliding up his obliques beneath the leather tunic. Your fingers curled around his abdomen. Loki felt his thighs begin to shake.
He raised his hands behind his head. Fingers scraped back the hair at his temples, a shuddering sigh racking his chest. Errant tendrils caught between his digits, tugging as another quaking gasp snaked from his throat. He laced the fingers behind his skull, stomach clenching as your sucking intensified. He marvelled at his image, the features blurred but no less impressive. No wonder you were insatiable. Each delve of your mouth, each drag of your hardened lips, each swipe of your talented tongue. Faster. Harder, as he watched himself come undone. He was going to explode. His ass clenched, trying to stop the wave of cum building in his loins. The one that would soon be sloshing down the back of your throat. He couldn’t take his eyes off himself. Off of you. The ceremonial leather tight against his biceps had begun to split under the skill of your mouth, the heat of your tongue and your breath and your fingers. His jaw hung open, chin pressed to his chest. It was wild. He was an animal. A king. He was- F-fuck, In the marble’s reflection, Loki could just see the slick of your drool glinting down to his knees in the lick of firelight, smeared by needy palms. Deviant, he thought as power welled in his deepest core, and she’s all mine. His grip of your ornately designed hair tightened, just for a second. The pants were deafening, broken gasps and moans of your name shaking the very stone beneath his feet as the pillar to his back crunched with each twitch of his shoulders. The responding settle of your fingers around his hips was the signal he needed. The signal he craved. With a barely tempered roar, the god’s ass clenched painfully; bucking forwards. He threw his head back against the pillar with a crack, jaw clenched to the ceiling as the world went black.
Stars burst behind his eyelids, the force of climax tearing through his body like ripping leather. All he could feel was pleasure, warmth from your heavenly mouth caressing him over the edge of sanity as his knees buckled. Your fingers tightened around his hips, rocking him gently through the final, strangled breaths.
In the way you always did in these stolen moments, you tucked his softening cock into his leathers with a kiss; fingers deftly weaving the laces together. You climbed his trunk, tucking damp hair behind his ears.
“I missed you,” he murmured breathlessly, tasting himself in every desperate catch of your lips.
Through the haze, he watched with slanted brows as you ran a thumb from the base of your chin to your mouth before inspecting it. A thick layer of white coated the curve. You sucked slowly. “Ten days, my Prince,” you chided solemnly, before the smile he loved so much began to dance.
Loki winked, his senses returning. And his lust. “I told you I would save it all,” he smouldered, winking as his armour once again materialised around his leather garments. Horns unfurled, reaching forward on either side above your head. The gold seemed brighter somehow.
“I have a mind to return to the feast, wife.” he said quietly, cocking an eyebrow as he extended his hand. You frowned. “Only temporarily,” he added, throwing a glance to the huge doors down the corridor. “We left in such haste…” You took his hand warily. “Not long, my love” you replied. It was a warning. “The feast holds nothing that will sate the hunger I have.” “I know,” Loki smirked. He traced the curve of your earlobe with his tongue, feeling you shiver with desire against him as he flicked it back and forth.
He moaned softly against the shell, your faltering grip on his cape releasing a wolfish smile. “I know.”
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Tags (contd in comments) @lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @goddessofwonderland @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @buttercupcookies-blog @alexakeyloveloki @kingtwhiddleston
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dariascultureblog · 1 year
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Here Is another technique of something I have never done before on this sample. This was originally based of Romania's architecture work and the statue in Romania called the Endless Column. I used a padded technique for this so the statue looks more 3D on the page and maybe on the garment I will be making. Overall I think I could take this sample forward till the end of my garment making as this portrays back to my theme and this is what I am looking for. Although, I might adjust a few things instead if it being flat on the padding, I would stuff the padding inside it so it is more 3D all around.
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oliviajdjarin · 10 months
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Azriel Shadowsinger: Sex Habits
Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader (she/her; afab)
Summary: Headcanons (more like a bunch of imagines) about how Az treats his mate in the bedroom and otherwise.
Warnings: smut, smut, smut, smut, smuuuuuuut. Azriel is a switch, so is reader, swearing, lord of bloodshed cameo. This is pretty fucking dirty.
Word Count: 3k
A/N: Thank you @cherryjain17 for this amazing, inspiring request. I hope I did it justice.
SJM Masterlist
If you would like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3
(pic from pinterest)
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Morning
-I am of the opinion that Azriel fucks you differently depending upon the time of day.
-Let's start with morning, shall we?
-Azriel is a scheduled, reliable male. Training in the morning, always, no matter the night he had before. He owed it to his High Lord to always be ready for a fight - physically, and mentally. His constant, consistent training was how he maintained that.
-However, what Rhys didn't know about what he partook in before training wouldn't hurt him.
-When Az would wake in the morning next to your - usually naked - sleeping, curled, warm body, hair sprayed across the pillows, scent unique to you filling his lungs, face painted in pure elation and serenity...
-...yeah, he would get a little hard.
-The best was when you would wake up with him, eyes dull with sleep, but their color still bright. A small, languid smile on your face. He couldn't help but touch you in that moment, his body begging him to satisfy every sense he had with the feeling of you.
-He would begin with your face, dragging the knuckle of his pointer finger across your cheekbone. Opening his palm to feel the entirety of your cheek. Tracing down the column of your throat with his pointer finger. Painting across your collarbone with every digit. Cupping your breasts delicately, fondling them, massaging them. Dragging fingers down the center of your stomach, heating up every inch of it before finally...
-...yeah, I think we get it.
-The interesting thing about sex in the morning with Azriel is that, although it begins slow, he goes fucking fast in the mornings. Pounding his fingers into you over and over again, your cum dripping down his fingers and wrist. When he finally tastes you, it's a feast. Sloppy and wet and messy and you're groaning and he's smiling so fucking big. He gets you right on the edge of euphoria before pulling back and pressing a quick kiss to your lips and turning you around, face pressed against your soft pillow, and plunging himself inside of you without a drop of mercy.
-(All of this happens within minutes because, like I said, he's got a schedule to keep).
-As he ravages you, pumping in and out and in and out faster than your brain can process, he fucking sweats. It drips down his back, down his face, across his lips, down his chest, everywhere. Your still drowsy body loves when you scrape your nails down it, coating your palms with it and fucking up his previously clean, fluffed hair with it.
-The finest, perfect part about his sex in the morning is that, even though it's rough, quick, rabid, he holds you close the entire time. He cradles your head in his forearms, litters your spine in passionate, lingering kisses, holds your hips like a cracking sculpture, caresses your scalp, thighs, and lower back.
-It is a paradox; rough yet gentle, greedy yet giving, horrid yet beautiful, quick yet endless, and hateful, yet some of the most loved you ever feel by him.
-When he finishes, and you finish multiple times, he departs you with only a kiss, and rushes down the stairs to make it in just enough time for Cassian to not suspect anything.
-He gives you smirks and winks all day anyway, much to your chagrin.
Afternoon
-Around mid to late afternoon is when Azriel tends to get an itch.
-An itch to step away from it all: his desk, his tasks, his responsibilities.
-Sometimes this itch can be scratched by something simple: a walk around Velaris, or a flight, a cup of cocoa, or even a quick nap.
-Other times, however, this metaphorical itch can only be scratched by the exclusive, spectacular taste of his mate.
-And luckily for you, Azriel is the fucking king of quickies.
-He finds you within minutes, utilizing the convenient bond cemented in his very bones, and conveys his desires with only a look.
-Some days, you decline. Too busy with work, too tired from a night previous, or just plainly not in the mood.
-On these days, Azriel understands. He leaves you respectfully, always with a short kiss and a silent promise of "later" permeating in the air.
-On the days where you do accept, however, is when Azriel truly lights on fire.
-The caveat to quickies with Azriel, however, is that he cannot risk any...leakage onto his clothing. Whether that be cum, spit, or otherwise.
-Frankly, you couldn't either. The both of you took your jobs and professionalism too seriously.
-Which is what makes these quickies so fucking good.
-He kisses you, hard, and lifts you under your ass against his waist to press you against a nearby wall, covering the both of you in shadow. He kisses you until your head spins before unzipping whatever top you have on, and claiming the shit out of your breasts.
-Gods how he loves your breasts.
-He kisses and licks, nibbles and bites, marks and marks and marks you all over your chest and ribcage, whispering words dripping in honey.
-"All mine, these are all mine, aren't they?"
-"Never going to get enough of these - enough of you."
-"I can hear your heart, baby. Need a break?"
-"Fuck you," you respond, your matching smiles and shining eyes giving away your infectious joy.
-He kisses your tits long enough to make your mouth go dry from hanging open so long, before finally making his way up to your throat, whispering "mine" along the column.
-Never leaving a mark.
-He kisses around your pulse, and sometimes you kiss around his as well, before finally recolliding his mouth with your own, and kissing you like a male starved. Mapping you like a cartographer exploding a new land. Rejoicing in the mix of your skin and your mouth on his tongue like a male on his knees in prayer.
-You would think just kisses from him wouldn't count as a quickie, but with how thoroughly and religiously and hungrily he does, you come close to release every time.
-The both of you counted it.
-On days when his cartography becomes too much to bare, or the ego in your chest roars at the thought of him getting you so close to release by just his kisses, your fingers finagle their way to the tent growing in his pants, and palm him through the leather.
-Azriel felt that, as long as your mouth was not on him, he could control himself. The bar of professionalism would be met, and the risk of leakage would be next to none.
-But you have never been one not to test a theory, especially in the name of science.
-You palm him so wretchedly ferociously and savagely that you can practically sketch the exact curve, vein, and girth of his bulge. That's how hard he gets through his pants. You wonder if there is any blood left for his brain.
-You even push him away from you and lick him through the leather, never enough to stain his pants, but enough for him to feel the heat of your tongue cupping his balls and dragging across his dick.
-Still, he never comes, not once; however, that didn't mean he didn't retaliate.
-On days when you'd suck him off this way, he strikes back like a true Illyrian warrior.
-Unforgiving, and calculated.
-He guides you away from him, and does the exact same thing to you.
-Fingers you through your pants, pressing the fabric so taught against your clit you thought you would explode, before pulling his hand away, and replacing it with his mouth. Licking your folds through the fabric, nudging your clit with his nose, devouring and consuming you through the protection of one tiny piece of fabric.
-The mix of heat and fabric is so delicious that, every time, he leaves you near tears.
-He pulls away from you slowly, makes sure you can stand on two feet, and with one last kiss to your cheek, he backs away from you.
-"Later," he whispers, one of his shadows drying the tears staining your hot cheeks. "I want more of you later. I want more of you always."
-You always somehow return to the task you were attempting to accomplish previously, mind puddy, hands shaking, and breasts deliciously sore.
Night
-So yes, Azriel likes to fuck you fast. Leave you wanting more. Drooling for him. Pooling on the floor. Left on shaking knees. Departing from you with only a few words.
-But his favorite, most beloved way to fuck you is to make love to you. Slowly. Intimately. In every way he knows you love.
-And that is how he does it at nighttime.
-But, I am getting ahead of myself.
-After long days of meetings, missions, planning, or even just boring paperwork, there is nothing he adores more than a quiet, serene dinner with you. He enjoys cooking the meal himself, usually making something one of you has mentioned having a recent craving for, and absolutely beaming when you finally walk through the door.
-You join him in the kitchen, and immediately wrap your hands around his waist, pulling him into a hug. He holds you close, breathing in the products in your hair, and kissing the top of your head.
-"How was your day?" you ask him.
-He's honest. Somedays he says "good," somedays he says "okay," and somedays he just sighs.
-You don't usually ask him to elaborate on those days unless you get the feeling that he wants to, but no matter what, he always asks you the question back.
-You are always honest with him too.
-After that, he finishes off dinner, and the two of you eat. Some nights it's full of conversations, sometimes superficial, like how the weather has been, but sometimes they're deep. Deep enough that sometimes he wonders if your words are able to reach inside of his brain and stroke it, hitting it exactly where he needs to be challenged, praised, or questioned.
-It was unreal every time, how well you knew him.
-Other nights, however, were coated in comfortable silence. Maybe you were both too tired to talk, or too content, or couldn't think of much to say. He never minded. If there was anything he could appreciate, it was happy, wonderful, comfortable silence. It was a sign that his day had come to an end, he had kept his Court and his people safe, and he had done at least something right.
-And what better way to bask in the safety of silence than with the person who knows you better than anyone, and the person you have more love for than stars in the sky.
-After the two of you have full stomachs, he always leads you to your shared bedroom by his arm, and pushes your chair in for you.
-Your face heats every time. Without fail.
-So does his.
-He leads you to the bedroom and kisses you once, twice, three times, before departing to take care of the dishes. He pictures how you make the mundane, simple task of getting ready for bed so godsdamn beautiful: your face cleaned, your hair refreshed, your breath newly minted, and your shoulders and jaw relaxed. A timeless beauty. A vulnerable sight, only for him.
-He finishes up and heads back to you, hands clean and soul at ease. He finds you already in bed; maybe reading, maybe writing, maybe already closing your eyes.
-He gets ready for bed himself, making sure his teeth and tongue are brushed thoroughly.
-Some nights, that is it. He joins you in bed and you drift off together, holding each other close at the beginning of the night, and closer in the morning. Smiles on your faces. Soft snores escaping you. Bodies breathing in sync.
-But not most nights.
-Most nights, after him joining you in bed, you pull him in, and kiss him so softly he barely feels it.
-But it's there.
-"Touch me, Azriel," you whisper, "and let me touch you."
-And he lets you.
-The kisses start soft, just lips on lips, before your tongue breaks his lips apart, and your bodies begin to warm up. Either he lays you down on your back or you push him down, either way, one of you gets on top of the other, and the two of you begin to do nothing less than venerate each other.
-So much kissing, so much feeling each other up and down; down each other's backs, across each other's faces, through each other's hair, across each other's stomachs, and so much breathing and groaning against each other's skin.
-This is all before a scrap of clothing comes off.
-When it does, however, Azriel undresses you like a nurse would undress a wound. Almost in slow motion, so he can take a peek at how every inch of your body looks that day. Maybe you gained a bruise, a scratch, a freckle, or a stretch mark. Either way, he wanted to make note of every inch of your body, memorizing every way your skin moved or wrinkled, your muscles flexed. He needs the image of you in his mind constantly updated.
-You do the same to him. Collecting every change in his body and adding them to his mental schema.
-When all of your clothes are finally off, and his mate stands before him completely raw, is when he begins to lose control of his mouth.
-"Gods, have you always looked like this?"
-"So warm, so soft."
-"How come every time I see you, I feel like I've spent my entire life blind?"
-His claim of never needing to resort to poetry holds true, but that doesn't mean he isn't damn good at it.
-After minutes and minutes of leaving hickeys, kisses, and indents on each other, so much so that both of your lower stomachs have begun to boil and your lungs are gasping for air, is when Azriel pulls away.
-"Can I?" he asks as he presses his forehead against yours, his hazel eyes glowing and his bulge pressed against your slick. You nod, smiling, and with one last kiss, he slides home.
-And fuck does he go nauseatingly slow.
-Even if you're on top, he ensures you pierce yourself with him with purpose, sliding his dick all the way in, all the way out, and all the way in, over and over and over.
-It was fucking heaven how well he fit in you, how he got you so wet you didn't even need to try, how deep his dick goes inside of you...
-...and how he has no qualms about never shutting the fuck up.
-Especially when you're on top - the view of you sliding him in and out of you, your body fully open to him to admire, and face at his disposal to kiss and whisper into.
-"My mate, oh my mate."
-"Right there, do you feel that? Fuck you take me so well."
-"My gods look at us, look at me in you."
-"You like that? Right there? I fucking love you. My mate. My love. My soul."
-As I said, poetry.
-One thing he never fails to take advantage of is the full-length mirror leaning against your wall, giving the both of you the perfect menu of angles to view yourselves.
-I think you know where this is going.
-"Look at us, baby. Look at us."
-"You're so fucking beautiful."
-"Look at yourself when you take me inside you."
-He goes on and on, drunk on the feeling of you, diminishing him of any sort of filter.
-I cannot imagine any reason you would want to shut up the most private, silent male in all of Prythian while he's sprouting sweet nothings to you, but if you do, there's one surefire way to do it.
-Reaching out your pointer and middle finger, only two fingers are necessary, and tracing thin lines down the veins in his wings.
-Never will you ever see him go so silent so quickly. His cheeks instantly redden and his voice escapes him. His cock begins to twitch inside you, his grip on either you or the sheets becomes so fierce his scarred knuckles turn a milk white, and his mouth falls open.'
-He becomes immediately and totally helpless.
-The two of you begin to fuck harder then, chasing the high the both of you are so close to, fucking into each other faster and faster and faster until finally you are coming on his cock, and he is spraying across your thighs.
-Finding release with a mate is different than any other - it is blinding, hot, and immeasurably pleasurable. It fills every vein in your body with a molten rapture, forcing you to collapse into his body, and his own to collapse onto yours. The bond within both of your chests throbbing in delight like a second heartbeat.
-After a few moments of you practically regaining consciousness, his warm, sweat covered body begins to move against you, making sure your head is comfortable on a pillow and your body is flat. He then presses kisses all across your face, etching a smile onto your face.
-"I still believe," he whispers against your temple, "that I will never get enough. I love you I love you I love you."
-The smell of sex and sweat vanquishes your nostrils as you stand up and head to the bathroom, Az's eyes burning holes through your skin.
-By the time you return, Azriel's arms are open to you, and you tuck yourself in. He holds you impossibly close, his miniscule chest hair rubbing against your cheek. His wings add a second layer of protection.
-Your body begins to fade, but your mind lingers a little longer to process one final statement whispered into your hair.
-"Gods, never allow me to be parted from her."
Taglist: (if you would like to be added please let me know!)
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Dirty Work 24
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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.
Characters: Loki
Note: friday! coworkers last day!
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
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You pass through the gate, cautious to close it without a noise. You trail past the hedges and around the side of the house. You enter through the back, as you did in those early days, only weeks ago, though it seems years.
You move slowly, leaving your shoes out of the way, disregarding the closet as you cling to the strap of your bag and venture warily onward. You pause before the kitchen door and peek around, finding it empty. You tiptoe on and climb the stairs one at a time, flinching at ever creak.
You reach the top and keep your eyes down. You go to the library and slip inside, like a ghost floating through your own existence. You set the bag by your feet and pull out the laptop to begin your day.
You don't think, not past the list of tasks. You boot the computer and wait for the screen to light up. You type in the pass code and open Excel. You lean your head in your hand, eyes glazing over as the glare sears your vision, stamping with endless columns and tiny numbers.
You feel yourself slumping, the strength whittling away by the second. Your eyes droop even as your ears prick at each noise. You shake your head, trying to ward off the needling fatigue. You yawn and sit up, rubbing your eyelids as you square your shoulders.
You let your head hang back and drop your arms into your lap. Your stomach wriggles as Mr. Laufeyson's looming presence creeps into your mind. He's here somewhere and surely, he already knows you are too. He's just waiting to pounce. 
Your fears furl into faded dreams. A fractured series of scenes, twisted reflections of reality rippling into each other until you dizzy. You can hear your own snores yet don't quite realise you're asleep.
You wake with a start as you feel yourself slipping. You barely catch yourself before you flop off the chair. You spasm and grip the arm rest as a shadow lurks behind your laptop screen. You gape up at Mr. Laufeyson as he watches you with arms folded.
"Hm," he tilts his head, "that shirt is... not very professional."
"Sir," you keep your face down as your cheek thrums, swollen and bruised, "I'm sorry, I... I didn't sleep very well."
"Oh yes, of course, I hadn't even mentioned you sleeping on the job," he growls and uncrosses his arms, bringing his hands down to the desk. He leans in so his head is just above the laptop. "Look at me."
"Mr. Laufeyson, I'm just sorting out the expenses--"
"Look at me," he commands more firmly.
You wince and rub your neck. An ache radiates in your shoulder, another remnant of your father's wrath. You slowly raise your chin as your lip twitches just slightly. His eyes narrow and his jaw ticks.
He's silent as he stares at you. Angry, you can tell. You pull your hands back and fold them against your chest.
"Please, Mr. Laufeyson, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep. It won't happen again--"
"What happened to your clothes?" He slithers darkly.
"Nothing, I... I wasn't paying attention this morning--"
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not," you squeak unconvincingly.
His nostrils flare and he slaps his palm on the desk. You sit back, pressing yourself to the chair as you whimper.
"I underestimated that... scum," he spits out.
"I don't know--"
"Go on and lie again. What is it this time? You took a tumble?" He reaches out and you shy away, expecting him to put another swell in your cheek. Instead, he touches the thrumming skin, stroking it, "I didn't think..." he takes a breath and withdraws his hand, standing stiffly, "I believed him a coward, but not that sort."
"It's not--"
"Hush. You make your excuse for him, I will not swallow them," he flicks his fingers at you dismissively.
He rolls his shoulders and pivots on his heel. He paces across the patterned rug and stops, just before the sofa. He turns back, making another line across the space. He brings his finger up to tap his chin.
"Yes, very well, I see I do have somewhere to be," he states as he drops his hand, his lips curving at the corners. 
"Mr. Laufeyson," you stand.
"Never you mind," he tuts, "you have your work, I have mine." He cracks his knuckles.
"Are you--"
"Ah ah," he points at you tersely, "since when is my itinerary your concern? Mind the house, that is your job." He huffs and checks his watch as a pinch lines his forehead, "you may receive the expected parcel and leave it on my desk for now..." he lowers his hand and grumbles, "and you will stay here."
"Mr. Laufeyson," you murmur.
Before you can protest further, he's at the door. You're frozen in disbelief. Surely he can't mean what you think.
It doesn't matter to him, does it? You are his house manager, just another below him he can torment, he wouldn't do anything like that. Certainly, he won't harm your father, right?
You rush after him as your doubts bubble over. As he enters the hallway, you grab his elbow, not thinking, not hesitating for once in your life. "Please, Mr. Laufeyson, whatever you're thinking of--"
He faces you and rips his arm free, "don't."
"Please, it's-- I--" you sputter helplessly and wring your hands, "I deserved it."
He squares his chin and blinks. "Deserve... so it was him?"
"Mr. Laufeyson, it isn't... isn't your problem. He's my dad, I'll deal with him."
"As you have so far?" He scoffs, "pet, I mean to defend you. To do you a favour. Another. And now you overstep and try to command me?"
"No, no, I'm not... not commanding. I'm begging," you clutch your hands tighter, putting them up to plead, "don't make it worse."
He dips his head and closes his eyes. He pinches his nose and gives a nod, rubbing his lips together. He raises his head and opens his eyes again. He shrugs and lets a grin break through.
"It isn't your choice," he grabs your wrists, locking them together in his grasp as he drags you forward.
Your socks slip on the floorboards as he tugs you down the hallway. You struggle, writhing and sliding against his force. The same panic that struck you last night swirls again, thumping in your chest. He turns and swings you through the door of his bedroom. You stagger as he lets you go and the door swiftly snaps shut behind you.
You turn to face it and throw yourself against it, twisting the handle as you try to pull it open. He holds it shut from the other side and you hear the lock grind into place. You hit the door with your fists and cry out.
"Mr. Laufeyson!"
"I will return shortly, pet, never you worry," he assures, "don't miss me too much."
You slap the wood again and press your ear to it. You listen as he struts away, whistling until it fades to silence. You hear the front door below, shortly followed by the car engine rolling to life. You rush over to the window and look at as he steers up to the gate.
You can hear his knuckles cracking and see that sinister smirk. His intentions cannot be good.
Your exhaustion slakes away to panic. You pace the room, bounce up and down on your feet, fidget incessantly, murmuring senselessly. You just can't be still. What is Mr. Laufeyson doing?
Your fears twist your imagination to terror. Is he going to hurt your father? He should just leave him alone. He's the one who got him so worked up. That last thought makes you stop short.
It's his fault. It's all his fault. He heard everything on the phone, he knew your dad has anger issues, he walked into your home and he ruined it all. 
Your lashes flutter as you sway. You feel like you've been struck all over again. Mr. Laufeyson has done this all to you! He gave you this job, he took you away from your dad, he invaded your home, he made you wear those clothes. 
And now, you're mad. You feel that hot streak inside of you unlike anything before. Vivid and venomous. You run to the door, throwing yourself against it as you beat with your fists. 
He's locked you up here so you can't stop him from doing anymore. You're sleeping in a hotel because of him. You're not eating or sleeping, you can feel yourself going insane. Because of him.
You're dizzy and breathless. You lean on the door and try to calm yourself. Your head hurts.
You slide down and turn to put your back against the door. You hang your head, bending your legs to rest your arms over them. You heave and close your eyes.
You're just as helpless as you've ever been.
The footsteps bring you out of your daze. You raise your head, wobbly on your neck, and blink several times before you get your bearings. You listen to Mr. Laufeyson's entry, his slow advance below, and his steady ascension up the staircase.
Your heart hitches but you don't move. Even if you had the strength, you refuse. You will not budge.
He comes down the staircase, a hum in the air. You tense and grit your teeth, eyes hot again with tears. Not sad but angry.
"Ah, pet, you will be happy to hear that I don't believe your father will have another cruel world reserved for you," he sings the handle shifts slightly above your head and the lock clicks. "How shall we celebrate your emancipati--"
The door jolts and you push back against it. You plant your feet and grunt as you force it shut. He lets out a noise and shoves back. You do it again.
"Pet," he evens his tone, "what are you up to?"
"Leave me alone!" You snarl, surprised by your own venom.
"Pet, now, let me in--"
"I said go away!"
He scoffs and stops pushing. He lets out his breath loudly.
"This isn't mature behaviour."
"I don't care, I don't want to see you."
He's quiet again. You hear his soles scuff and he gently taps on the door.
"Pet, please, we should talk. I think it's imperative that we do--"
"No, I don't want to talk. I don't want to see you. I want you to leave me alone!"
"You are being a child--"
"You ruined everything," you bark, "you ruined my life! You're a bad man and I hate you!"
You go weak as the last words escape you without a thought. You collapse onto your bottom and catch your head in your hands. You devolve into thick, choking sobs. Here you are, bawling like the child he calls you. He must be amused.
"Are you tendering your resignation?" He asks crisply, "because I believe you haven't anywhere else to go, my dear."
"I know! Because of you. I have nowhere, because you!" You shoot back through heaving breaths.
"Or... you could have somewhere, because of me," he says measuredly. "Pet, all you have to do is open the door and talk to me."
You fall onto your side and curl up. You cover your head, whimpering as tears trickle down. You sniffle and hide under your arm. Just like you did when dad wouldn't stop yelling. 
The floorboards shift and he sighs again, "I can wait." He taps the door lightly once more and his footfalls retreat.
You tremble in a heap, nearly delirious with emotion. Through the chaos, you can see the truth. You don't have anywhere or anything without him.
The world shifts under you, your body chafing across the floor as the door moves you. Not harshly but inch by inch. Mr. Laufeyson bends over you as you open your eyes, groggy and glazed over. His silhouette is fuzzy and distant as he slides his arms under you.
He lifts you and carries you to the bed. You groan as he lays you down, piling pillows behind you to prop you up. He sits with his legs over the side and pushes his head back. You come to, little by little, pushing through the fog.
You hug yourself and wiggle in place. He reaches to still you, his hand on your thigh. You wince and stare at his fingers. He draws his knee up and shifts to face you. He removes his touch as his eyes cling thoughtfully to the wall behind you.
"I see you've calmed down," he begins and lets his gaze fall on you, "so we will talk. I'm sure you're aware that matters are urgent."
"No..." you utter, "I'll... go."
You try to sit up and he nudges you back. You hit the pillows and do not try again. You don't have anything left in you.
"Where?" He challenges.
"I have a hotel room--"
"No," he shakes his head, "that won't do. What I'm offering, well, you can hardly deny it."
You drop your head and shrug.
"How many more nights can you afford? And without a job? I'm offering you both. Work, accommodation. I dare to say, I would offer you a home."
"No, you're my boss," you insist.
"Yes, I do expect you to shoulder some tasks," he assures, "but perhaps... we might remold this arrangement."
Your eyes stick blankly to your knees. You don't know what he wants or what he means. Just more. It's always more. Hasn't he taken enough?
"What more can you want from me?" You whisper.
He's quiet again. His fingers twiddle and he lifts his hand, touching your arm and slowly grasping it. He unwraps it from your torso and trails down to your hand, squeezing it.
"I made myself clear before," he pulls your hand closer, cradling it as he pets your knuckles, "but perhaps you still misunderstood me." He clasps your hand between both of his, "I want you. Entirely."
Your eyes flick up to meet his. Your mouth falls open as your heart tempos wildly. You still don't think you understand. Your search his face for the answer.
"I will grant you any wish. Clothes, jewellery, whatever you like. If you like to read, I will buy you books, if you like to draw, I will buy you paint. If you just want shiny things, I can get those too. All I ask is simple. For you. For your entire being. That you obey and serve my every need and you will have all you ever longed for. Things you never even dreamed of," he slips a hand away and lifts yours. He leans in and softly kisses your knuckles, "you say I am bad, but I needn't be.”
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krystal-prisms · 7 months
Text
Honestly, urban and suburban horror is so under utilized
Getting lost in a parking lot full of endless rows and columns of cars. You can't find yours, you don't know how long you've been walking. You keep seeing cars that you think are yours, but they don't open when you try your keys. You press the horn button on your fob, but can't tell which direction the faint honking is coming from. The stalls are all full.
A grocery store late at night. No other shoppers are there. It's dark outside and yours is the only car in the parking lot. The aisles are filled with brands you don't recognize, but seem oddly familiar, all knock offs of each other. It's too cold. Your cart has a squeaky wheel. The cashier is the only other person in the store. They don't make eye contact. You don't remember what you came in for.
You're taking the garbage out late at night. Your elevator doesn't work so you have to take the stairs. The dumpster smells, and there is fluid on the ground beside it. You don't want to think about what it could be. You hear noises down the alley. You toss the bag into the dumpster, and run to the door. You fumble your keys and take longer to get in. You slam the door and lock it. The lightbulb flickers in the lobby.
Rows and rows and rows and rows of identical houses. You don't know how you got into this neighborhood, you can't afford any of the houses here. They all look the same, white square houses, white picket fences, perfectly even and manicured lawns. A good neighborhood. A nice place to raise your kids. There are no kids. The weather is nice, the sun is shining, they should be outside. You drive your used car, looking for a turn off to the exit, but there isn't any. Just endless white square houses, white picket fences, perfectly even and manicured lawns. You're sure you passed this area before, but there are no house numbers and they all look the same. The sun is shining and there is not a cloud in the sky. Or another living creature in sight.
You're on the bus. Surrounded by people, you stare at your phone and ignore them. More people get on. Your stop is coming soon. More people get on. You sit at the back of the bus to avoid conversation. More people get on. Someone bumps into you, and you apologize to them, but you're not sure why. They don't acknowledge you. More people get on. Everyone is staring at their phones, ignoring each other. Your stop is next. You try to stand up to get to the exit, but there are people in the way. You can't get to the button to let the driver know you need to get off. You try to get to the door, but there are so many people in the way you can't move. The bus slows to a stop, and you try to push your way to the exit, but the bus is too packed. The doors open, but you can't leave, and nobody hears you when you ask them to move. More people get on.
You walk downtown. You pass a billboard advertising a product you've never heard of. You keep walking, passing flyers, billboards, screens, all selling things. Things to make you prettier. Smarter. More successful. A whole new person. A new person to fit into society with all the other people, but only if you spend money. For just a few dollars, you can have a better life with our product. You need our product. You would be so happy if only you had our product. Look at all these people in our advertisement, aren't they happy? Don't you want to be like them? You could be if only you just had our product. You can't afford any of them.
You're in a crowd of people, walking the sidewalk. You have your earbuds in. You feel someone watching you. You casually glance around, to try to catch someone staring. You can't pick out individual faces among the hundreds of other people. You continue on your way, thinking you imagined it. You imagine you hear footsteps, and walk faster. The feeling doesn't go away.
Your air conditioner is broken. You told your landlord, he said he'll fix it. It's been days. The air is hot and muggy. Leaving the windows open doesn't help the heavy feeling. The air from outside is just as warm, and carries the scents from the city. There should be sounds coming from outside, but the city is silent.
You're walking at night. You can't see even a single star.
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theostrophywife · 5 months
Text
kiss with a fist | chapter eight.
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masterlist 💋 chapters 💋 playlist
pairing: theodore nott x reader.
song inspiration: people i don't like - upsahl
author's note: moving it along. can't believe that there's only five more chapters left. this series has been my baby so i'm like in shambles as the end comes closer, but also excited.
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The night of the dinner was finally upon you and the amalgamation of dread, trepidation, and wrath clouded over you like a malevolent fog. You weren’t looking forward to it, but you knew that Theo was right. If sitting through one lousy dinner secured a spot with the M.E.S.P, then you would begrudgingly grin and bear it. 
Luckily, you wouldn’t have to face it alone. As Luna promised, Harry was waiting for you outside of Professor Slughorn’s office. Harry was dressed in a button down and a dark blazer paired with freshly pressed trousers. Despite his smart attire, his signature messy, black hair and slightly skewed glasses softened his appearance. 
Harry smiled, raising his hand in a slight wave. “Hi, Y/N. You look lovely.” 
You smoothed the front of your dress, which Pansy had helped you pick out. The fabric was sleek and silky and as dark as night. The front was simple, but the back dipped low and revealed more skin than you were used to. It was completely out of your comfort zone, but Pansy had insisted that you were meant to wear the dress.
“Thanks, Harry. So do you.” You stood up straighter, balancing on your impossibly tall heels—another Parkinson addition, before rolling your shoulders back. “Shall we?” 
The inside of Professor Slughorn’s office had been transformed into an entirely different space. Velvet curtains hung from the ceiling and covered the marble columns like tapestry. A round mahogany table sat in the middle of the room and sat upon it were fresh fruits, expensive cheese, and cold cuts. The plates were set in a circular formation and each one contained a placard with a different student’s name. 
You took your place, quietly settling in between Harry and a Hufflepuff girl—Melissa? No, Melinda. You remembered that her family owned a large chain of apothecaries. 
As you glanced around the table, you realized that while there were at least two or three members from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff, there was only one Slytherin in the midst. You weren’t that familiar with Cassius Warrington, but you knew that he was currently being pursued by the Chudley Cannons, which was plenty of incentive for Slughorn to invite him into the mix. 
You were well aware that the presence of each student was contingent on the benefits they could help provide Slughorn and vice versa. After all, that was the purpose of the slug club, but facing it head on still made your stomach roil. You barely touched the filet mignon and scalloped potatoes for fear of retching it all back up. The conversations happening around you made it impossible to eat.
It was just endless prattling and bragging on and on about connections and achievements, much to Slughorn’s delight. The superficiality of it all made you nauseous. When McLaggen name dropped his influential uncle for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, you nearly pulled your hair out. You watched with a grimace as he lapped up his soup with tiny licks, sort of like a lizard toying with a fly. 
Out of instinct, you turned to your right to snicker with Theo only to remember that he wasn’t there, which put you in a foul mood all over again. 
“He does love to prattle on, doesn’t he?” Harry muttered in a low voice. 
You nodded. “I imagine he only speaks to hear the sound of his own voice.” 
“I take it that you’re enjoying this as much as I am.” 
“If by enjoying you mean considering pulling my eyelashes out one by one, then you would be correct, Potter.” 
“Forget the eyelashes. I might pluck my own eyes out all together if I hear McLaggen say my uncle Tiberius one more time.” 
You snorted. “If you’re as miserable as I am, then what are you doing here?” 
He shrugged. “People expect me to be here. To go on as normal. It’s important to have some semblance of that after last year, I suppose.” 
You nodded sympathetically. Everyone looked up to Harry. He was a hero, a practical living legend, the boy who lived not once but twice. You imagined carrying all of that pressure on his shoulders couldn’t have been easy. 
“What about you? You’re obviously not enjoying yourself, so why subject yourself to all of this?” 
“I want to become a potioneer after I graduate. Slughorn is an influential member of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, which means he’s my key to getting accepted so while this dinner is physically and mentally draining all of my energy, I don’t have much of a choice. Being the first muggleborn member of the society would be monumental. Not just for me, but for other witches in the future."
“I understand,” Harry said with a nod. “You know, Mione’s probably going to be the first muggleborn witch to become Minister of Magic.” 
You smiled. While you two weren’t close by any means, you have always admired Hermione. Her academic achievements were the cause of your envy for many years, but after all that she had gone through, you stopped feeling that stab of jealousy. 
“The wizarding world would be lucky to have Granger leading it,” you agreed. “Which reminds me, why isn’t she here tonight?” 
“She declined the invitation. As did Ron.” 
“I can’t blame them. I half expected you to do so as well. The three of you have done enough to last a lifetime.” 
“Yes, but like I said. It’s important for me to participate in these things. To boost morale, or so I’ve been told.” 
It was fascinating to you that Harry could joke about such things. If you had battled the darkest wizard of all time and lived to tell the tale, you would probably tell everyone to kindly fuck off forever, but you suppose that was the reason why Harry was the chosen one and not you. 
“Do you ever feel like you’re still fighting?” you asked. “Voldemort and his followers are either dead or imprisoned, yes. But we’re still rooting out their ideologies to this day and now there’s this new suspicion surrounding an entire house despite the fact the Death Eaters had members from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff too.” 
Harry nodded solemnly. “Everyone thinks that the war ended at the Battle of Hogwarts, but in reality, our work is barely beginning. The hardest part is healing. I’ll admit that sometimes it’s hard for me to separate the fact that Tom was a Slytherin with my own biases about the whole house itself, but unlearning all of those misconceptions is a process. It takes a lot to change a person’s perception. We can’t all be as smart and logical as you Ravenclaws.” 
“If only, right?” you said with a smile. 
“Well, we could always try it your way and threaten to push people off of the bleachers.” His green eyes crinkled with amusement. 
You groaned. “I can’t believe you heard about that.” 
“I must say, Ron and I had a proper laugh when we heard about it. He still hasn’t forgotten his stay in the hospital wing thanks to Romilda’s tainted chocolate cauldrons.” You grimaced, which made Harry chuckle. “I am sorry about what she said to Pansy though. We aren’t friends by any means, but I’d like to think that we’re at least on civil terms. Luna talks about her fondly and if Parkinson’s got your approval, then it’s safe to assume that she’s treating our friend well.” 
“She is,” you agreed. “They are nauseatingly perfect for each other.” 
“I’m glad to hear it. We all deserve a little happiness.” 
“Speaking of which, how’s Ginny doing?” 
The boy who lived blushed furiously. “She’s well. How’s Theo doing?” 
You smirked. “Touche, Potter. Touche.”
As the night droned on, you found excuses to visit the refreshment table just to get away from all the insufferable preening. While you fixed yourself a cup of tea, you sensed a presence to your right. Cassius surveyed the variety of teas on the table, but made no move to select any.
“Sorry, am I in your way?” 
“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “I just needed an excuse to get up.” 
You chuckled. “Join the club, Warrington.” He smiled a little as you dropped a sugar cube into your cup. “Congratulations on the recruitment by the way. Your teammates won’t shut up about it.” 
Cassius scratched the back of his head, looking a bit shy. “Thanks, Y/N. Everything is still in the negotiation stage, but after the last game, I think my chances are looking good. The boys said you were there for the match.” 
“Yeah, I was. This might not mean much since I haven’t watched a game since fourth year, but you guys were great out there. It was bloody brutal. I had a blast.” 
“I’m glad to hear that. We do our best to put on a show,” he said. Warrington toyed with his saucer. He looked around before clearing his throat and lowering his voice. “Listen, Y/N. I heard about what you did for Pansy.”
“You and the rest of the school, apparently.” 
“I just wanted to say thanks for sticking up for her. Pansy—she—helped me out a lot after my father was imprisoned and I probably wasn’t the only one. Everyone in Slytherin, especially those that were caught in the crossfire last year, owe a lot to her. She’s one of the good ones.”
You nodded, smiling. “I wouldn’t have let her date my best friend if I didn’t think that myself.” 
“Luna makes her really happy. I’m glad that they have each other. Pansy earned it.” 
“They both did.”
The conversation was cut short as Slughorn tapped his spoon against his goblet. The two of you reluctantly made your way back to the table.
“Thank you all for joining me tonight. It is a great privilege to be able to gather after all that passed last year. I urge you to look around at your fellow witches and wizards, remembering the fallen and celebrating the sacrifices that have all brought us back to this castle. As we commemorate this monumental moment, let us look not to the past but to the future.” 
You swirled the glass of sparkling non-alcoholic spritzer, only half listening to the generic drivel that you’ve heard a thousand times before. The more Slughorn talked, the more irritated you felt. There was all this talk of looking to the future, moving on, hoping for a better tomorrow, but what use was that if you couldn’t even fix the present?
Professor Slughorn raised his glass in the air. “A toast to the best of the best.” 
That one phrase was the straw that broke the camel’s back. You had no idea why, but those words finally made you crack.
“That’s not right though, is it professor?” The whole table fell silent as every head turned in your direction. “Sure we may be smart, accomplished, but not the best.” 
Slughorn reeled back in surprise. His expression faltered before he plastered on a false smile. “Don’t sell yourself short, Y/N. All of you worked hard to get here.” 
“None of us are even the top student in your class. That would be Theo.” You were vaguely aware that you were raising your voice, but once the words tumbled past your lips, you couldn’t reel them back in. “But he’s not here because surely we can’t invite your star pupil to a slug club dinner if his father is in Azkaban for being a death eater. That would be like inviting the Dark Lord to dinner, but wait. Didn’t you already do that, professor?”
A gasp came from your right. Melinda stared at you as though you’d grown an extra head. 
“That’s quite enough, Y/N.”
Your humorless laughter echoed in the cavernous office. “Oh, but I’m just getting started. What was it that you said in your welcoming speech at the beginning of the year? Unity and reconciliation? Surely ostracizing someone for his father’s deeds, which he had nothing to do with by the way, judged and ruled by the Ministry itself, directly contradicts that sentiment, does it not? Or are we all just supposed to ignore this blatant display of discrimination against a perfectly innocent student?”
“Perfectly innocent?” scoffed McLaggen. “Nott comes from a long line of dark wizards as do the rest of the Slytherins. They show you an ounce of kindness and suddenly you become their little muggleborn pet.” 
To your surprise, Cassius leapt to his feet. “Don’t call her that,” he nearly growled. “Y/N is just being a good friend. She stood up for Pansy when no one else would and now she’s doing it for Theo, too. You want to compare ledgers, McLaggen? Didn’t your father and uncle conspire to bring the Ministry under the Dark Lord’s control? They armed Voldemort and the Death Eaters then profited off of the war. They deserve to be in Azkaban just as much as my father does, but conveniently their records were wiped clean. Isn’t that why your family moved to France?” 
The room was utterly silent. McLaggen looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel, but Cassius wasn’t done. He wheeled around to face the other attendees. “I’m not stupid. I know I was only invited because I’m being scouted by the Cannons, but I hoped that attending would make you see me as someone more than just a Death Eater’s son. I guess I was wrong and now I’m done with this farce. You’ll never stop seeing us as the villains.”
Without waiting for a response, Cassius stormed out of the room. He held his head up proudly, nodding to you and Harry as he made his graceful exit. 
“Cassius is right,” Harry declared. “So is Y/N. We can’t crucify every Slytherin for the mistakes of a few. That would make us no better than Voldemort himself.  The way I see it, the only way to get to the future we all fought for is to work with our fellow classmates, the Slytherins included. I hope you can learn to look past your biases and false perceptions, just as I’m learning how to.” 
Not a single person moved as Harry finished his speech. “Right, well that’s that then.” He turned over to you. “Shall we get going, Y/N?” 
“Gladly.” 
You pushed your chair back and paid no mind to the burning gazes seared upon your back. Before following Harry out of the office, you leaned in close to McLaggen and lowered your voice so only he could hear. “If you ever speak poorly of my friends again, I’ll dose you with a potion that makes your precious man parts shrivel.” 
Cormac paled several shades as you patted him on the shoulder. “Enjoy your dessert, McLaggen. I heard chocolate ganache pairs well with prejudice.” 
The castle was quiet at this time of night. You and Harry walked side by side through the dungeons in silence. For someone who just blew up her academic career, you felt fairly calm. You knew that speaking up for your friends was the right thing to do. 
“Thank you for speaking up back there,” you said. “You didn’t have to do that. You don’t owe anyone anything after all you’ve done, but I appreciate it nonetheless.” 
“I do though. Hearing Cassius in there, I realized that the Ministry has failed both sides in a lot of ways. I think we’re all so eager to go back to the way things were before that we’re willing to overlook a lot of things. I’ve never even thought about families like the McLaggens who aided the Dark Lord, but got off with a light sentence. Or people like Cassius and Pansy and Theo who face a lot of unfair judgment from the rest of the wizarding world.” 
“That’s the point, Harry. You shouldn’t have to think about it. None of us should. We’re all just children forced to grow up by the war because of the failure of those before us. It’s unfair to be burdened with a load so heavy.”
Harry sighed, nodding. “But if we don’t carry our load, we risk repeating the same mistakes and I won’t have that. We have to do better than the past generations.” 
“We will,” you declared. “We have to.” 
The torch lights drew shadows across the stone floors as you contemplated. 
“You really care about them, don’t you?” It was more a statement rather than a question. You nodded, which made Harry smile. “I can tell that they care about you, too. Especially Theo.” 
“We spent years in competition with one another, the classic bitter rivals. It’s kind of ironic that we became friends during our last year here.” 
Harry looked at you strangely. “Right, friends…”
You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes at the green eyed wizard. “What’s that tone for, Potter?” 
His mouth quirked. “Nothing, it’s just—well, Theo looks at you like I used to look at Ginny. With pining and yearning, as Mione liked to say. And the way you defended him earlier, Ginny would’ve done the same for me.” You were silent for a moment as you absorbed his words. “A word of advice, Y/N. I know it’s against those Ravenclaw instincts, but sometimes it’s good to get out of your head and tune into your heart instead.” 
“Since when did the boy who lived become an expert on all things romance?” you teased. 
“A handful of near death experiences really helps put things into perspective.” 
You grinned. “I’ll take your word for it, Potter.” The two of you came to a stop at the base of the Ravenclaw Tower. “Well, this is me. Thank you for tonight. I genuinely hope to never do it again.” 
Harry laughed. “You and me both, Y/N.” 
You raised up on your tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek in thanks, feeling uncharacteristically chipper despite the disastrous dinner. “Good night, Harry.” 
He smiled, blushing slightly. “Good night, Y/N.” 
As you climbed up the spiraling staircase, you saw a glimpse of snow falling softly over the castle grounds. When you stopped and stared at the glittering landscape, you recalled the other night in Hogsmeade when Theo leaned in to brush the snowflakes off of your lips. 
There’s something that I’ve been meaning to tell you. 
You were certain that you already knew what Theo was about to say, because you’ve been meaning to tell him the same thing too. When you reached the fifth floor, your grin had grown so wide that your cheeks ached from smiling. As you slipped past the bronze eagle knocker, you caught a glimpse of a discarded bouquet of wisterias peeking out from a nearby trash bin. 
With a pause, you plucked a petal off of your favorite flower and tucked it into your braid. You went to sleep that night thinking that Harry was right. 
Maybe it was time to let your heart do the talking. 
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