#Thread: Herbal Remedy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thebadgerclan · 9 months

Text

My Venus

Pairing: King George III x reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: You are his Venus...

It was nearly impossible to quell your panic when you received the summons. If Princess Augusta called for you, it was seldom for a good reason, and you had no reason to believe she was summoning you for anything less than a scolding. So, you were quite surprised when the Princess invited you into her sitting room, poured you tea, and offered you a scone.

“Lady Y/N,” she began. “I have heard you are quite adept in the art of herbal remedies. Is this true?” You cocked your head. “Indeed it is, Your Royal Highness.” “How skilled would you say you are? Akin to a licensed apothecary?” You set your teacup down. “Might I inquire as to why you are asking, ma’am?” Augusta sighed, waving the servants out of the room.

“Very well, I shall be blunt. My son, His Majesty, is not….he is not well. I was hoping that perhaps you could be of assistance.” You did your best to hide the shock on your face. “Not well? How so, ma’am?” “That is not relevant,” the Princess snapped. “Can you help him or not?” The dowager clearly did not want to discuss the issue in depth, but how could you assist if you did not know what the issue was?

“As it stands, no, ma’am, I cannot.” “Whyever not?” “I do not know what ails His Majesty,” you explained. “A sore throat is treated quite differently than a headache. If I do not know what the problem is, then I cannot help.” Princess Augusta sighed, pinching her brow. “I am afraid I do not know how to describe the issue.” “Then there is little I can do. Unless I might speak to His Majesty…” “Out of the question.” You stood, folding your hands before you. “Then I am afraid there is nothing I can do. Good day, Your Highness.”

You were nearly to the door when she called out to you. “Fine! I will…speak to Georgie.” Smiling, you dipped into a curtsey. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” you said. “I look forward to meeting His Majesty.”

***

A mere two days later, you were seen to King George III’s personal study. “Presenting the Lady Y/N L/N!” You dropped into a deep curtsey when you entered, waiting for the King to acknowledge you. “Please,” the King said. “Have a seat, my lady.” You rose and did as you were bade. “It is an honor, Your Majesty,” you said, folding your hands atop your lap to keep from fidgeting. “I assume your royal mother has informed you as to why I am here?”

“Indeed she has,” the King said. “Though I am afraid your time may be wasted. Doctors from across the continent have tried and failed to cure me.” You nodded, unused to seeing your sovereign in such a vulnerable state. “Your Majesty, might you describe your troubles to me? So I might ascertain how best to help?” Again, the King sighed. “It is as if my mind separates from my body,” he began. “I begin to tremble, usually in my hands, my speech becomes disorganized, my neck twitches. I talk nonsense, you see, and there have been times…” George paused, taking a few deep breaths. “There have been times when I have eloped from the palace grounds. Many times baring myself to the elements in the process.”

You only nodded. “I see. Is there anything that appears to precede an…episode? Something that might trigger these bouts?” The King nodded. “Stressors seem to be the common thread. Frankly, I believe it may be a way for my mind to escape uncomfortable situations.” “It very well could be,” you agreed. “I can concoct a syrup of lavender and chamomile that may help to calm you. And..if I may ask something of Your Majesty?”

George nodded. “Please, do.” “If I could observe one of you…episodes, I may be able to see if there is anything further I can do.” For a moment, the King thought, before nodding again. “I can have my Man call for you. Though I must warn you, it will not be pleasant to witness.” “I care not if it is pleasant,” you replied. “I care for Your Majesty’s wellness.”

The King had been anticipating this conversation to be a difficult one, something that might trigger a panic as soon as you left the room, but quite the opposite had happened. George found your presence soothing and calming; the moment you began speaking, the tremor in his hands had ceased. Perhaps you could aid him in more ways that he had thought.

*** Sure enough, Reynolds called for you when the King had his next episode. It was jarring, to be sure. He was nude in the gardens, calling for Venus to speak to him. You had only heard stories of people acting in such manners, usually insane patients in asylums. But not the King, never the King. How was this the same man you had spoken to only a day ago?

Then, the King had turned his attention to you. His eerie smile grew even wider, and he moved towards you in quick strides. Reynolds had told you that the King was never violent during his episodes, but you still felt fear building in you. “Y/N,” he said, reaching out for you. “It is Y/N!” Cautiously, you took a step forward. “Yes, George, it is Y/N. I am here.”

The King let out a gleeful laugh and threw himself into your arms. “Y/N! Oh, the beautiful Y/N!” You wrapped your arms around him, supporting his weight. “George, it is quite cool tonight,” you said. “We ought to return indoors, don’t you think? We could get you some lavender-chamomile tea to warm up?”

“Would you stay with me?” he asked, and you nodded. “Of course, George. Now come.” To yours and Reynolds’ complete shock, the King followed you inside, letting himself be cleaned up and a cup of tea pressed into his hands. As you were leaving, Reynolds pulled you aside. “I have never seen him come out of it so fast,” he said. “There is something about you.”

***

The following day, you were once more summoned to Princess Augusta. “I heard what happened last night,” she said, though there was no accusation in her voice. “What you did for my son has never happened. Therefore, I want you to be his companion from now on.” “Wh- Your Highness?” “You calm him,” she went on. “I am not suggesting it is a cure, but something about your presence soothes the King. Therefore, I want you to be at his side.”

“I…it would be my pleasure, Your Royal Highness.” “Indeed it will be,” she said, and with a wave of her hand, you were dismissed. George was slightly hesitant about your new relationship, but he adjusted rather quickly. You did indeed have a calming effect on him, and after a week, he saw you more as a friend than someone meant to keep him in check.

And soon after, the King felt his feelings growing further. You were a rare beauty, you were kind, funny, demure, well read, and you defended him to those who questioned him. George realized it late one night as he was pouring over his star charts: he had fallen in love with you. Little did he know your feelings had blossomed in the same manner.

The King was devastatingly handsome, but he was shockingly sweet too. He was quick with a joke when the situation called for one, he was strong; in the physical sense as much as the emotional one. He cared for his people, he genuinely cared, and he seemed to enjoy your company. You had quickly become the King’s friend, but now, you knew that your heart was his, completely and irrevocably.

***

One afternoon, King George had asked you to accompany him to his observatory on the grounds of Kew palace. Again, you were shocked by the King’s intelligence and the passion he had for astrology. “There is little to see in the daylight,” he said, rummaging through stacks of parchment. “But this…I wanted you to see this.”

It was a drawing of a woman, a beautiful woman, and you looked at George quizzically. “It is Venus,” he elaborated. “The Roman goddess. It is after her that the celestial body is named.” “How lovely,” you said, unsure of what else you could say. “She is the goddess of love and beauty, did you know that?” “I did not.”

George reached out and took your hand. “I must ask your forgiveness if I am too bold, but you are striking, Y/N. Your beauty knows no bounds, your kindness and compassion is endless. When I am in my fits, I speak of Venus. Something about her soothes me, somehow brings me back. But you, Y/N, you have become my Venus. And I…I want you to be my Venus.”

His hands had begun to shake, and you took them in yours. “George,” you said. “Are you asking me…” “Might I call upon you?” he asked. “Might I court you? For I believe I have fallen in love, Y/N. I need you, I need my Venus.” You felt a smile take over your face, and you brought his hands to your lips, kissing them sweetly. “Then you shall have your Venus.”

#king george iii x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #king george x reader #bridgerton reader insert

557 notes · View notes

starlightts-posts · 1 year

Text

NOT HAPPENING

aged-up!Neteyam x Omatikaya!reader

contains: mentions of injuries, detailed stitching, swear words, complicated relationship, teasing (some parts might be seductive), vulnerable moment, kisses (?), over 10k, mentions of war - RDA vehicles, sexual tension (?)

this took a couple of days to write so i hope it's worth it

definitely has grammar mistakes

-.-.-

Participating in the Great hunt was a straightforward process of taking high risks and sacrificing your health if necessary, although it seemed to be the complete opposite if you were among the clouds during the event.

Chasing an enormous migration of sturmbeest on a direhorse, where your life is hanging on a thin thread, requested hunters with skill in combat and years of practice to master the behavior of the panicking beast.

The Omatikaya clan had many exceptions and you were one of them. As the daughter of a dauntless warrior and a highly intelligent woman, you were a mounted hunter. Your rank brought various pairs of eyes onto you.

JakeSully was astonished when your father revealed that you were his eldest daughter. He saw you emerge from the treetops with a taut bow and a murderous spark in your amber gaze in the raid on a RDA maglev train and kept an eye on you in the battlefield.

Your determination and flawless archery captivated the elder man, no doubt in that, but his firstborn couldn't agree with him. Neteyam felt great envy when your name got mentioned over every evening meal he had to share with his family and he was starting to despise the pronunciation of it.

Despite his objections and exaggerated groans, Neytiri agreed to include you in her selection of suitors for her son. His grandmother was also fond of you because you would stop by her tent to bid her good morning, collect necessary herbs for tranquilizers, remedies and essential oils for her, you would also listen attentively to her schooling.

Tuktirey adored you with every cell in her tiny body. She would invite you to her games of hide and seek and tea parties with Kiri quite often. To top it all off, you had a younger sibling of your own, so you could handle her unannounced bursts of energy with ease.

Honestly, Kiri was wary of you at first. The plant knowledge and sudden urges to run away from your struggles and doubts kind of frightened her, but all it took was you offering to look after her younger sister and she saw you in a completely different light since then.

And your relationship with Lo'ak? It seemed like a blessing from the Great Mother herself. You and his brother didn't get along as much as you wished you would. Lo'ak refused to accept the chances of having you around more often than necessary and your popularity among the clan didn't help at all.

Angered shouts seeped through the tent fabric and tickled your eardrums, forcing your pointed ears to turn downward. Mo'at motioned for you to collect multiple bowls of herbal paste and follow her outside to treat serious wounds of the hunting party.

You caught the eyes of Neytiri as Jake continued to scold his sons and began to approach them, but a lean, muscular boy stepped in your way. It was Anraì, an obnoxiously loud archer, who was well-known for his frequent tries to impress you.

"Anraì, not now." You weren't far from rolling your eyes and pushing him out of your personal bubble, but your hands were full.

"Let me help you with those." He freed your right palm with a suspiciously big grin decorating his unstoppable mouth. You bowed, muttering a quick thank you as you encouraged your feet to move forward, but Anraì seized your bicep quite harshly, making you hiss and yank your arm away. "Ey, where are you sneaking off to?"

"I am a healer," you growled and pushed him aside, revealing your scowl to the mother of your possible betrothed. Neytiri captured Tuk's outstretched hand and grabbed Kiri along the way toward you. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have wounds to tend."

Kiri figured what caused the sudden change of your behavior and detached herself from her mother to lead the disappointed boy away.

"Sir, I take full responsibility-"

"Yeah, you do!" Jake barked, his furious gaze lingering on your arriving figure beside his eldest son. You counted the number of his injuries and dusted his upper back tenderly. Jake released a huff at the sight. "Not now, Y/n."

"Your son is bleeding," you argued, trailing a hand along Neteyam's spine unintentionally as his father pinched the bridge of his nose. Neteyam pulled away to prevent his cheeks from becoming a shade darker. "I am not leaving until his wounds are treated."

"Go ahead." Jake gestured to his son, whose head was hung low, and exhaled heavily. "He is dismissed."

You wrapped your fingers around his forearm and began to lead his thunderstruck frame to their tent, fury absorbing your mind. The flaps got pushed aside by you, allowing the empty interior to welcome the wounded boy with open arms as the two of you walked in.

"Sit." You lowered him on his sleeping mat and grasped his chin despite his whines of protest. Neteyam spread his legs slightly to create space for you and watched you study his injuries, one by one with narrowed eyes.

You cleaned his dusty skin with care and avoided any open wounds in the process, circling around his seated body. With your fingerpads tracing the pigment patterns on his shoulder, Neteyam closed his eyes and melted beneath your hand with a sigh of content.

Maybe his grandmother truly meant her words and yearning for your touch wasn't a crime, Neteyam couldn't tell, but he was beginning to cherish your presence whether he liked it or not.

"What happened?" you questioned, referring to his vulnerable state. Neteyam groaned, but you didn't know if the cause of it was your inquiry or you pressing your fingers against his bleeding scratch.

"Why do you wanna know? Are you going to scold me as well?" he suppressed a snicker and swatted your hand away when you put a bit more pressure on his injury than necessary. "Ftang nga," [Stop it] he snarled.

"Why? Does our mighty warrior not like that?" you teased the boy, your purplish lips curving into a smirk. Neteyam scoffed with a shake of his aching head and averted his amber gaze. "My, my.. all you do is whine."

His eyes narrowed and forehead wrinkled as you moved to his twisted face with the herbal remedy. His pointed ears twitched when your knuckles brushed their tips and strained for the sounds of your pounding heart. Your abdomen was inches apart from his reddening cheeks and you weren't affected in the slightest.

With various thoughts swirling around his overthinking mind, Neteyam huffed and the ghost of his breath tickled your belly. Your free hand settled down in the crook of his neck to prevent him from pulling away as the medical mass made contact with the biggest wound on his forehead.

A sharp hiss pushed itself out of his mouth and teased your eardrums, which made your ears flicker. Your tail also reacted to his rough growls and silent whimpers only you could hear, involuntarily swaying from side to side behind you. Neteyam took a notice of it and narrowed his irritated gaze at its quick and smooth movements as you continued to coat his injuries with the herbal remedy, groans of protest bubbling inside his throat.

You wiped your hand clean before it tangled itself in his unraveling braids and it made you wonder. "Have you ever considered leaving your hair loose?" you asked as your fingers scratched his itching skull, receiving a puff of air in return. "Can I untangle your braids?"

Neteyam snickered at your proposal and pulled your hand away from his head, although he wanted you to continue. "Absolutely not." He shook his head and placed his bleeding hands on top of his scraped knees, luring your eyes.

You wrapped your fingers around his wrists to inspect the damage on his knuckles despite his objections and released one of it to pick up the cloth you used to clean his dusty skin. He rolled his eyes when you started to dab the dribbling blood on his fingers with the wet fabric.

"What happened?" Kiri questioned the horrible state of her brother when she stepped inside their tent with an overflowing basket of extracting essential oils, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I cannot answer that." You put the cloth away and stood up to take the collection of empty bottles out of her five-fingered hands, shrugging your shoulders. "He refuses to tell me."

Neteyam groaned and hid his reddening cheeks behind his clenched fists, hissing when his sensitive knuckles brushed against his brow bone. You threw a piece of harvesting fruit at the older girl at her request and took one for yourself as well before you retreated to her brother, a bowl with a sharpened splinter and a thread in your other hand.

"Hold up." Neteyam pressed his palm on your stomach to keep some distance between the two of you, embarrassed to show affection in front of his sister but also surprised to see you with the sewing equipment. "What are you gonna do with all of this?" he pointed to the bowl, forehead creased in distress.

You took a bite out of the ripe fruit. "You have a pretty deep gash on your back," you admitted, chewing your quick snack. Kiri approached you with a curious look and stole a glance at the wound you mentioned, gasping at the sight. "I know, it's really bad."

"What?!" Wide-eyed, the eldest son of Toruk Makto seized your forearm to stop you from reaching for the needle, clearly against your upcoming movements. "No." he shook his head frantically, tightening his grip on your arm. "Please, do not."

"Relax." You patted the side of his thigh with a chuckle and gestured towards the line of tranquilizers his grandmother had stored in their tent. "You won't feel a thing, tìyawn." [love] You leaned in and left a light kiss on his bruising cheek, fighting the urge to burst into a laughing mess when a whimper attacked your eardrums. "It'll get infected otherwise."

"That is true," Kiri stepped in to silence her brother's whines of protest and walked up to the collection of tranquilizers, choosing the weakest one according to the depth of his wound. She handed you the small bottle with a smile and patted Neteyam's shoulder, "You will be fine, brother. You are in good hands, trust me."

"Where are you going?" Neteyam questioned his sister before she could slip out of the tent, sending her a warning look. Kiri stated that she would be keeping an eye on Tuk and your sibling while you work on his back, earning a low growl from her brother. "Screw you," he spat as she bid a farewell with a wave and a teasing wink.

You opened the container with the tranquilizer and applied some of it around the gash, your ears twitching in sync with his grunts. "I will make it quick, don't worry."

"You better," he hissed through clenched teeth as his tail slapped your calf. "Fucking hell.."

You traced the pigment patterns on his lower back to distract him and yourself while you waited for the paste to deaden the pain around the wound. When it did, you started to stitch up the gash, eyes narrowed in concentration. Neteyam bit the inside of his cheek to stifle his painful screams and fidgeted with his fingers to avoid your working hands, but whatever he managed to think about bursted into million pieces when the sharp tip of the splinter pierced his skin.

"Do not move," you reminded the boy with a growl and slapped his side gently, receiving a grunt in return which made you roll your eyes. "One more stitch and you are done."

And you were telling the truth. You pulled the splinter through his bruised skin once before you settled the sewing equipment down, receiving a sigh of relief from Neteyam. He dragged his hand through his braids while you picked up a clean leaf, added some herbal remedy to speed up his recovery and placed it against his stitched wound, making him hiss.

"There you go." You caressed his shoulder tenderly and collected everything you had to use to take care of his injuries, putting it away as your patient rubbed his watering eyes. You kneeled in front of him, worry flashing across your gaze. "Are you feeling okay? Does it hurt that much?"

"No," Neteyam chuckled at your abrupt change of tone and allowed his gaze to linger on yours, battling his mind that was persuading him to capture your cheek and pull you closer. "I mean, of course it fucking hurts. I just got my back stitched, so." He shrugged his shoulder, baring his teeth when the movement sent unpleasant pain into his upper back. "It definitely hurts," he muttered as his eyes fluttered shut.

"Poor you." You pushed yourself forward, your plump lips brushing against the tip of his ear as you spoke, "But it is your fault. You should have been more careful."

"Oh?" Neteyam raised his brow at you, licking his chapped lips. He cupped your reddening cheeks and put his elbows on his scraped knees, luring you to lean in. "You think it was my fault? I mean, surely you could do better than me, huh? Dodge every single kunsip [scorpion gunship], murder anybody who would appear in front of you, no?"

You let your wide eyes wander to his smirking mouth and swallowed your words when his fangs peeked out, but you had to play along with his teasing, so, you smiled and shook your head as a snicker drummed against the walls of your throat.

"That is my purpose," you muttered and glanced up, staring at Neteyam through your eyelashes. You wrapped your fingers around his wrists and grinned when his tail flicked behind him. "I am supposed to destroy, kill, and scare sky people, Tey."

"Are you?" Neteyam began to caress your cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs, his amber eyes sparkling underneath the nearest glow lantern, where several hellfire wasps were asking for a meal. His gaze softened when his finger found a scar below your eye and he bit the inside of his cheek. "You are still a child, who has the right to enjoy their childhood." Your eyebrows knitted at his words. "You do not have to be a warrior- hell, who would want to be one, right?"

You stared deeply into his determined eyes, letting him drown your flushed cheeks in gentle touches and strokes you had never received from the boy. You noticed tiny droplets of saltwater in his vulnerable gaze and surprised yourself by leaning towards him, kissing the corner of his pursed lips. Neteyam refused to move away from you and tightened the grip he had on your face.

"You are also a child," you whispered into his cheekbone and pressed another light kiss to his skin. "Yet, you are a warrior."

"I have to be." Neteyam pulled away from you to gaze into your glistening eyes and pushed a strand of your hair behind your pointed ear. "My father was Toruk Makto. People expect me to be his copy - a mighty warrior, possibly a legend. That is my purpose."

"No," you disagreed with a shake of your head and stood up, now towering over the boy. His hands abandoned your cheeks and traveled to your calf muscles, settling there. "You do not have to be the copy of your father. You are Neteyam, not JakeSully. You are your own person, who should be treated like a seventeen-year-old, definitely not like an elder."

Neteyam chuckled as he snuggled up against your abdomen, triggering herds of butterflies to fill your belly. His lips teased the skin above your loincloth and forced your knees to weaken. Your hands clutched his shoulders in an attempt to warn the boy about the consequences his actions could bring, but he ignored how you buried your fingernails in his skin.

"I hate you," Neteyam mumbled as his eyes fluttered shut and wrapped his aching arms around your thighs to prevent you from stepping backwards. You sighed, allowing his words to strike your pounding heart in a way that affected your steady breathing. "But I understand why my mother fancies you so much."

"What?"

"My mother put you on the list of suitors she created with my grandmother." You pushed yourself away and received a groan in return. Neteyam glanced up at you, catching the confusion in your eyes before you managed to show it in your facial expression. "You didn't know?"

"No? How could I?" You left his embrace, ignoring his complaints about losing your warmth. The news twisted your world around within mere seconds and you weren't prepared for it. It was suspicious when your father spoke so highly of you in front of Toruk Makto, but you never realized that there was a chance of being among the women who would be offered to Neteyam.

You shivered when the tips of his cold fingers landed on your collarbones and swatted his hand away from your overheating body, unable to move. "How long have you known?"

Neteyam averted his amber gaze from yours, finding it difficult to hold it at the moment. He believed your mother would share her excitement with you when she found out, but it looked like she decided to hide it from you and keep it to herself for the time being. Suddenly, he felt small and vulnerable beneath your stern stare, knowing that you were waiting for an genuine answer, but all he could give you was a shrug.

"Oh my Eywa," you murmured, your hand sprinting to the bridge of your flat nose to pinch it. "I cannot believe you. You knew the possibility of me becoming your mate was high and didn't bother to tell me?"

His ears flattened and tail twitched beside him as your groan echoed through the tent. "I thought you knew," he grumbled and grasped your biceps, dragging the tip of his tongue along the lower layer of his teeth when you bared your fangs at him and yanked your arms out of his grip. "Your mother was so excited about it, I believed she would tell you the news."

"Well, she did not." You began to pace in front of the boy, gnawing at your lower lip.

An arranged betrothal? That was supposed to be your downfall?

Finding a mate was something you were looking forward to and you were robbed of it, by your own parents at that. Fury clouded your mind without your permission and forced you to ball your hands into tight fists. Neteyam took a quick notice of the change and placed his hands on your tense shoulders to ground you in a way, although he had doubts himself. He had seen you explode once in the past and hoped he could avoid reliving it in the future, but his wish couldn't be fulfilled entirely.

You closed your watering eyes and exhaled heavily, bringing your hands up in defeat. Neteyam released a sigh of relief and cupped your flushed cheeks carefully, knowing you could snap at any given moment.

"I am not mating with you." You opened your eyes to show your seriousness and pushed his hands off your face, your tail flickering behind you. "I am not going to."

"Good." Neteyam straightened his posture as his arms retreated to their original place. He stood tall in front of you and didn't let his disappointment come to the surface, not in your presence. "Our feelings about the situation are mutual, then."

#avatar #avatar imagine #neteyam #neteyam imagine #avatar the way of water #james cameron avatar #neteyam x reader #avatar x reader

422 notes · View notes

juliaswickcrs · 7 months

Text

BOOK COVERS :: BLOODLINE ( the witcher s1 - s3 )

Kiana of Cintra was a failure. She failed at producing magic the way her sister had, she failed at being the princess her mother wanted, and when the time came to save her niece from the hands of Nilfgaard she had failed at that too. Queen Calanthe had charged her own daughter with the safety of Pavetta’s child and Kiana had lost her amongst the madness and chaos of Cintra’s fall. A chaos her mother had spent trying to help her daughters master after that fateful feast. Kiana of Cintra was a failure. but Kya the Woodwitch was not. Kya provided the people of Novigrad with their herbal remedies and soothing cures. Kya smiled and shared stories with the merchants decorating their tables and selling their wares. It was Kya who healed them with what little magic she possessed, and it was Kya who took in the Witcher and his Bard when they’d been injured. Kya who froze instantly upon hearing the name Geralt of Rivia. Kya, who was now forced to return to the life she’d known before the fall, as the Witcher and his Bard escort her back to Cintra in the hopes of passing her off as the missing Princess Kiana to earn their coin. The meeting feels more like chance than anything, but the threads of destiny are at work, drawing Geralt of Rivia and Kiana of Cintra closer together than ever before.

tag list: @bisexualterror @foxesandmagic @iron-parkr@thatmagickjuju@camiemendess @a-song-of-quill-and-feather @arrthurpendragon @villain-connoisseur @starcrossedjedis @drbobbimorse @noratilney @stanshollaand @kingsmakers@elmunson @darth-caillic @mystic-scripture@aliverse @misshiraethsworld @chrissymunson @asirensrage@eddiemunscns

#ocapp #fyeahwitcherocs #the witcher oc #witcher ocs #geralt of rivia x oc #oc: kya #oc: kiana of cintra #fic: bloodline #ship: kyalt #otp: not if its you #my edits #my ocs #book covers #book posters #book poster #the way I'm obsessed with her

34 notes · View notes

candied-boys · 1 year

Text

Blooming Red

Ikevamp x afab reader - no character specified so pick your fav vampire

Tw: period, blood, biting, blood sucking, birth control, reader orgasm

Pet names: good girl, my love

Tags: fluff, picnic, slice of life, menstruation, caring bf, feeling unwell

You should have known. You should have seen the signs that cautioned you all week. But you ignored them, clinging to the new found hope that came with the tiny technology you happened to bring with you that fateful day at the Louvre. It was the one thing you were most grateful to have when the moon waxed and waned but you chose to remain by his side.

Birth control.

You opted for the method with 99% protection, no anxiety about missing a day, and (just as importantly) a lighter period. That time of the month had always been a menace. Between the crippling pain, the upset stomach, and the exhaustion, it had stolen so many weeks of your life.

But eventually you wondered if all the suffering you put up with was worse than the ‘horrible side effects’ you'd heard so much about from chemical birth control. So when you tried the hormonal IUD and your period stopped all together, you knew it was the right choice for you.

For the first time in a decade you felt well. However, you had been warned that it wouldn't last forever, that your body would adjust to the hormones within a year or so, that the bleeding would eventually return.

And it did, but infinitely more bearable. The bleeding was hardly enough to even colour the fabric of your undergarments it was so light, and all the other symptoms had disappeared.

At least until this week.

You passed off the light fevers that warmed your cheeks in the afternoons as overexertion from work. The nagging hip tightness that gradually became an ache was nothing more than you having neglected your stretches. Surely some yoga would fix it. Even the tummy trouble was easy to dismiss as having eaten (or not eaten) something or other.

So, with a year of freedom behind you, the last thing you anticipated was pain bad enough to have you doubled over. Least of all while out on a picnic this sunny spring day.

You could feel the numbness spreading little by little as you sat there playing with the flowers you'd picked. It was negligible though, just enough to be felt but not anywhere near enough to call it a day. Only after spending a few hours in the cooler-than-anticipated breeze did the pain start to flare.

With the shadows long and the basket empty, the two of you decided to head home. You kept quiet, planning to take a hot bath once back. And so hand in hand, you left the meadow.

But you hardly topped the next hill when you were struck down, the discomfort suddenly agony, your legs aching and numb, your back sore, your head light, and your skin clammy.

He didn't waste time asking what the cause was, instead threading the basket handle into one elbow and scooping you up in his arms. He could see your pained expression clearly now, and quickly surmised this wasn't unexpected on your part or you would be panicking. Your calm, although very ill, demeanor told him everything he needed to know as he headed swiftly back.

You often forget just how strong he is because he's always so gentle with you, but cradled against his chest you're reminded just how much strength his loving arms hold. He doesn't struggle or huff. He shows no signs of exertion. He merely readjusts you now and again to keep you comfortable in his embrace.

Back in your room he sets you down carefully and slips you out of any restraining clothes before tucking you under the blankets. With a kiss he leaves and returns as promised a while later laden with everything he thought might help.

A bed warmer full of hot stones from the common room fireplace, your favourite tea, soup from the kitchen, sweets and treats in tins and jars, and all the natural remedies he could find in the house from herbal patches to perfumed oils.

Unsure where to start he asks what you'd prefer, but your answer leaves his mouth hanging open.

“You want me to bite you?!” he confirms in a whisper.

“Please? I think it would help with the pain… That's what the pleasurable side effect is for, right?”

“Yes, but… are you sure your body can handle it right now?” he counters, taking a seat on the bed and pressing his hand to your forehead.

“I'm already feeling so weak I'm not going to get out of bed the rest of the day… I don't think it could do more than knock me out for the night.”

“What about the blood loss? Since you're already bleeding, won't it make you anemic?”

“I don't think so. You know I'm hardly bleeding at all. You said you didn't even notice because you couldn't smell it, right?”

“I guess… if you're really certain it's what you want, my love.”

With a nod and a faint smile you assure him and he gives you a peck in confirmation.

“Then, how about here?” he asks, and rubs your leg through the covers. “I think closer to the source of the pain might be more effective. Also there's a good artery here, so it's easier for me.”

Turning down the blanket, you let him do as he sees fit.

“Lie back,” he instructs gently with a warmth in his eyes that makes you feel incredibly safe. “Good girl. Are you comfortable? Yeah? Alright, spread your legs for me. There we go.”

Holding your gaze, he positions himself, arms linked beneath each knee, hands resting on your hipbones, and his mouth against your inner thigh, then waits for your final consent. When you nod, his jaw closes around a mouthful of soft flesh. Although you know what's coming and you even begged him for it yourself, your body still jolts as his fangs slice into you.

However, the poison immediately spreads through the punctured vessel and into your bloodstream — easing the pain of the wound and, just as you had hoped, the aches in the rest of your body too. Heartbeat by heartbeat, the torment subsides until you feel yourself relax. In the wake of relief, pleasure begins to wash through you. Mild at first, it surges as he continues to drink his fill, reaching a crest and wrecking you on a shore of ecstasy.

“Feel better, my love?” he asks as he laps at the bite, blood drunk eyes locked on yours glittering with afterglow.

“Mhm,” you hum out of breath and stretch your arms to beckon him to you.

Crawling over you, he steals a kiss and wraps you up in his arms, tucking your head beneath his chin and rubbing your back as you drift off together.

71 notes · View notes

alienheartattack · 5 months

Text

Introduction to Demonology

Welp, I thought I was done but I wrote more fanfiction, and it's completely unhinged Rivamika incubus porn. It's explicit and definitely weirder than I usually write, don't read if you're a minor, etc. Thanks to the RM Discord for encouraging my degenerate ass. Enjoy!

You can read it on AO3 as well!

In the weeks and months after Eren’s death, Mikasa grew to dread the setting sun, to view the encroaching darkness outside as a mirror of the darkness inside her mind. Without him, without answers to the questions she’d been too afraid to ask, she felt adrift, like a dead leaf tossed around in the currents of life, unable to control her direction. Her body seemed to accept this state wholeheartedly, denying her the comforts of sleep more often than not. Most nights she would lie awake, replaying the last moments of Eren’s life, trying to determine whether she could have done anything to stop his thread from being cut short. Sometimes she would be able to gain a few minutes or hours of light rest, though that came with the risk of now-familiar nightmares of blood and steel.

She made the mistake of letting slip her issues to friends and acquaintances and was bombarded with potential solutions, and in her desperation she tried them all: warm milk, deep breathing, bitter-tasting herbal tinctures, every pill and powder and potion available at the pharmacy. None of these remedies could stop her wandering thoughts or calm her body enough to give her the relief she so desperately needed from her physical and mental weariness.

One night, she lay in the dark, having dutifully choked down some valerian root tea whose taste of sharp herbs and dirt came through even after adding copious amounts of cream and sugar, cursing herself for her ability to withstand even the strongest sedatives.

“I would do anything to get some sleep,” she murmured to no one.

Anything? a ghostly voice responded.

Mikasa sat upright, adrenaline animating her body, more awake and alert than before. She definitely wouldn’t sleep at this rate. “Hello? Is someone there?”

I’m here, the voice said. She could not divine the source of the low, silky tone; intensely masculine but with an amused bent, as though the speaker were smirking at her.

Not here here, it clarified, as though it could sense her confusion. I’m not some intruder, but I can show myself if you want to speak face to face.

“Show yourself,” Mikasa demanded, her voice displaying more resolve than she felt.

The darkness in the room shimmered, moonlight and shadow undulating until they coalesced into the form of a man floating above her bed as though he sat in an invisible chair, his powerful limbs splayed in a posture of confident nonchalance. He wore a black suit and white shirt, open at the collar to reveal his collarbone and a hint of muscular chest, and held a delicate china teacup in one hand, taking occasional sips from it. But what Mikasa noticed most was his face: a strong, masculine jaw, a sharp slash of a noise, dark hair hanging over eyes that glowed an otherworldly silver, and a pair of curved, black horns atop his head.

“What are you?” she wondered in an awed whisper.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. You’ve never seen a demon before?” the man said. Mikasa shook her head. “Then I suppose it’s your lucky day to be visited by a high prince of Hell.”

“I— I don’t understand.” She shook her head and rubbed her eyes, but the man — the demon — still floated above her bed with such ease that she felt as though she was the one out of place, not him.

The demon let out an exasperated sigh. “You want to sleep, I can help you sleep. In exchange, you help me.”

“Help you do what?”

“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” he griped. He drained the last of his tea and waved the cup away, making it waver and vanish, the inverse of his entrance into her room.

“Well, excuse me for not knowing how to interact with a demon who shows up in my bedroom in the middle of the night,” Mikasa fired back, crossing her arms and glaring up at him.

Her annoyance piqued the demon’s interest; his lips curved into a small smile. “My name is Levi. I’m an incubus, which means I get my life energy through sex. The exchange is simple: you let me fuck you, and I’ll make you come so hard you’ll sleep like the dead.”

Mikasa frowned, holding his gaze with skepticism bordering on anger at his audaciously blunt offer. “Sounds like you’re trying to trick me into letting you drain the life out of me.”

“Tch. Not the best metaphor, then. Sleep like a baby? I just didn’t want to make you think of babies when I’m offering you as many screaming, gushing orgasms as your body can handle.” He shrugged as the filthy words rolled off his tongue, as unconcerned with his speech as Mikasa was scandalized by it.

“I don’t know. I mean… Eren…” she mumbled. Her gaze dropped to her hands, which lay clenched in her lap. My hands were meant for him , she thought. My touch, my body… they were supposed to be his.

“No, they weren’t,” Levi said flatly. “Where the hell did you get those ideas?”

Mikasa blanched. “You can hear my thoughts?!”

“Yeah, and they’re a huge fucking bummer. I get that you had a thing for Eren, but let me assure you, he is exactly where he deserves to be. Eternity isn’t long enough for that piece of shit.” He snorted, a soft sound of contempt punctuating his words. “I can make you feel very different. Maybe some things you’ve never felt before. I’ll show you if you want.”

“So you want to fuck me so you can show me what it’d be like if you fucked me?” She cocked one eyebrow at him.

“No, I mean literally show you.” She nodded and he reached out to her, two fingers extended like he was blessing her, and pressed them to her forehead for a moment. Images flooded her mind faster than she could process them: her throaty cries, his rasped moans and words of praise, skin slapping against skin, the squeak of her bed, the musk of sweat and sex.

Cold prickles of awareness broke out on Mikasa’s skin, goosebumps sprouting where she imagined he would touch her, contrasting with the sudden warmth and wetness surging between her thighs.

Levi watched as the familiar blush of arousal spread across her cheeks, coloring her gloomy countenance into something more lush and lively. “Don’t throw your life away for a dead man. Don’t give up one of the few things that makes life worth living.”

She was silent, still unsure, so he added, “Have you ever considered why the pleasures of the flesh are Hell’s domain and not Heaven’s? Because they’re too good. It would be so much harder to keep the weak little humans in line if they realized that their limited time on earth was much better spent fucking than praying.”

Mikasa’s breaths came heavily, her body’s restlessness melting into arousal. “Look, I want to say yes, but I just don’t understand what the downside is supposed to be. There’s no way I just get fucked and then go to sleep. There’s got to be a catch. And what if I can’t sleep tomorrow?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the people who are out there speaking with great authority about Hell and demons are the ones who are trying to claim your souls in the name of Heaven. They don’t exactly have an incentive to tell the truth,” Levi said. “Sleeping with a demon creates a bond, but I only feed from you as often as you want me to, and I never take more than I need. If anything, I’m at your service. And your cervix.” His lips quirked into a brief smile; she grimaced and shook her head at his approximation of a joke.

“And this is really going to work? I’ll be able to sleep?” she asked nervously, grasping for more reasons to refuse him but finding none.

“You’ve never jerked off so many times you fell asleep? Or whatever the girl equivalent of jerking off is?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t even thought about touching myself since Eren.”

“But you’re thinking about it now,” he said, his voice deepening to a rumble, like the ominous yet strangely comforting sound of distant thunder.

“It’s kinda your job as a sex demon to turn me on, isn’t it?” she asked. The acknowledgement of her arousal combined with the knowledge that he could hear her inner thoughts as though she was speaking them made her bold; there was nothing to hide from him.

“Not all of us work that way, but it’s better for me when the other person enjoys it. Their energy tastes so much better.” Levi swallowed thickly, his own arousal growing along with Mikasa’s. There was power in her beneath the hardened sedimentary layers of her pain and grief, the hint of it already beginning to intoxicate him, and that power would only grow stronger once he unlocked the secrets of her body one by one.

“If you still have doubts, maybe this can convince you,” he said, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue, flexing it like he was lapping at her now-slick pussy and not the air in front of him. Mikasa watched his tongue grow in length so slowly she thought she imagined it, until it thickened and grew a fork at the end, resulting in two prehensile shoots of muscle that undulated independently of each other.

Her mouth opened unconsciously, her breaths coming out in long, desirous pants. “I want that on my clit.”

“Not yet,” he said. “There’s a process. Just let me do my thing and I give you my word, I’ll blow your mind so many times you’ll forget your own name.”

She sighed, sadness tingeing her excitement. “I think I need that.”

Levi floated downwards, settling on top of Mikasa, his hands planted on either side of her shoulders, his weight pinning her to the bed. She shifted her hips beneath him, pushing her nightgown up her thighs as she sought out his bulge. She worried about staining his expensive-looking suit with her wetness, but she found herself sliding against soft, smooth skin that was diamond-hard when she pushed against it.

“Where did your clothes go?” she asked, trying to figure out when she stopped gripping the shoulders of his sportcoat and started gripping the firm, defined musculature of his shoulders.

“To Hell,” he replied with a smirk. “I can’t make your clothes disappear, though.” He reached down and yanked her nightgown over her head, leaving her naked beneath him. His skin was comfortingly warm against hers, as though he were a mortal man and not a demon, and she found herself completely unashamed of her nudity. She felt so bashful even thinking about taking her clothes off in front of Eren, and—

“No more Eren,” Levi interrupted her train of thought, and bent his head to kiss her.

Mikasa didn’t know what she was expecting from a demon’s kiss, but the lush press of his lips was not it. He kissed her like he was drinking her in, sucking at her lips and twining his tongue — now returned to its normal size — with hers. He stoked her arousal like a precious flame, letting her burn brightly but not out of control. He cupped her face in his hands as he kissed her, stroking her with his thumbs and marveling at the softness of her skin.

“You smell like sunlight and strawberries,” he murmured against her lips, following his words with a soft bite.

She pulled away from him, looking at him with amusement. “I didn’t know you were so sentimental.”

“Shut up. I basically get drunk when I feed. Don’t mind the bullshit I say,” he grumbled.

“Don’t want to admit you want me really fucking badly?” she countered.

“Not as badly as you want me,” he replied, reaching between their bodies to grip his cock and rub its length up and down her spread pussy, waiting for her expression to register exactly how much length he had. His eyes flashed silver with excitement when her kiss-swollen lips formed a perfect surprised O.

“Can you make your cock change size like your tongue?” she asked, canting her hips so she could rub her soaked folds up and down his erection, coating them with her moisture.

“Uh huh,” he sighed. He wasn’t even inside her and he was already feeling feverish and frenzied. His lips stretched into a rictus grin and he kissed her to hide his excitement from her; he needed to warm her up before he could give her everything he had, and he didn’t want to scare her off with his intensity.

Once Levi managed to calm himself, he strayed from her lips, pressing hot, open-mouthed, desperate kisses along her neck, shoulders, and collarbone, finding that she liked a hint of teeth at her pulse point, but she cried out and squirmed beneath him when he sucked hard at the juncture of her shoulder and neck. He could actually feel her dripping on his cock while she moaned. Cradling her close with one hand, he let the other wander, tracing his fingertips over the lines of her body, the firmness of muscle and bone contrasting with the soft pliability of her breasts. He focused his efforts there, alternating between soft caresses and pinches, and the sting of his fingernails tracing around her areola and over her nipple. When he finally grasped her breast, she shrieked and bucked beneath him, her back arching as though he had branded her.

“More!” she demanded, her eyes shut tight so as to focus on the intense sensations. He obliged her, kissing her deeply and grabbing her breasts with both hands, massaging them roughly, pinching and pulling at her nipples while she devoured his tongue and soaked his cock. After a little while he wrenched himself away from her mouth and attacked her sensitive, swollen nipples, mindlessly sucking and biting at them, snuffling like an animal. Mikasa’s fingers grasped at his hair, tangling her fingers in it and occasionally pulling when pain won out over pleasure. She soon found he liked the pulling, and that he’d work her even harder when she threaded her fingers through his dark hair and yanked with all her might. When he looked up at her, his pupils were blown wide, a thin silver rim surrounding inky blackness.

“Don’t you ever fucking stop,” she admonished him after a few moments of staring.

He scoffed at her. “I haven’t even gotten started.” Before she could even comprehend what was happening, he had her legs spread and her knees touching her shoulders, his thumbs pulling her labia apart so he could kiss her pussy and swirl his lengthening tongue around her clit, surrounding and massaging it with the forked end. She trembled beneath him like he was electrocuting her, her entire body fluttering with unspeakable pleasure. Levi’s eyes rolled back in his head as her juices coated his tongue, sweeter and more powerful than even the finest wine. Within minutes she was coming, half-words and incoherent sounds spilling forth from her lips, a primitive language that Levi could understand nevertheless: Yes, more, I love this, I never want you to stop.

So he obliged her, backing off from her sensitive clit momentarily and snaking his tongue down to her entrance. Mikasa made a questioning noise, wordlessly asking him if he was going to fuck her with his tongue.

“Mm-hm,” he hummed, already excited to see how she would react to his tongue filling her pussy, its tip pressing against her g-spot and rubbing furiously. Her moans grew raspy, her throat raw and dry from overuse, but she still managed to let out a healthy wail at his internal massage, and somehow got even louder when he traced circles around her clit with his fingertip. He gave thanks to his demonic nature for allowing him to keep a superhuman pace; whereas a normal man would get tired from the repetitive motions, he drew strength from her frantic responses. This allowed him to keep going even as Mikasa’s inner muscles clenched around his tongue, denoting her second orgasm, then a third in quick succession.

The fourth came on much more slowly, but promised to be a big one when she started quaking in his arms. She was incoherent, her inner monologue completely switched off, her thoughts focused solely on Levi and the inhumanly wonderful things he was doing to her. Her nerves felt like they were frozen and on fire at the same time, heat and cold running through her in equal measure, her muscles alternately clenching and relaxing. Her skin felt cool and slick, though she could not tell if that was from her sweat or his, his saliva, or her cum. As he continued working her clit with his fingers and her g-spot with his tongue, she began to feel warm again in her chest and between her legs, shaking and keening as though possessed, then exploding and spurting cum all over Levi and herself as she screamed and sobbed through her climax.

“I’m not done with you yet, but let’s take a break,” he suggested, curling up next to her and pulling her against his solid, muscular body.

“Water!” she gasped, and he produced a glass of perfectly cold water from thin air, which she gulped down in such a frenzy that rivulets escaped from the sides of her mouth and dripped onto her breasts. Levi lapped the water from her skin and conjured another glass for her, refilling it until she was sated, capturing any errant drops with his tongue. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her warm breath stirring his arousal, but he told himself to stay still, to let her decide when they could get back to it.

“I feel like I haven’t touched you at all,” she said after a while, lifting her head so she could bask in the shining silver of his eyes.

“Touch all you want.” He rolled over onto his back, opening himself to her. She propped herself up on one elbow and let her eyes and hands rove over him, from the softly amused, almost affectionate look on his face, down to his corded arms and thick chest, his segmented and defined abdomen, and then the flat, slightly sloping plane that led to his pubic hair and the largest, most beautiful cock she’d ever seen. It was half hard, resting against his thigh, with a streak of moisture adorning the tip.

“Is this where the term Leviathan comes from?” she asked with a grin, wrapping her fingers around its impressive girth and working up and down his length.

He returned her smile, excited by her excitement. “Uh-huh. People think it means a sea monster, but—”

“They haven’t gotten a chance to see this monster?” she interjected.

Levi snorted a laugh. “I didn’t realize my shitty jokes could be transmitted through our sex bond.”

“I guess we’re both gonna learn some new things tonight,” Mikasa replied, looking down at him with a heavy-lidded gaze and tightening her grip. He soon grew fully erect, his huge cock pointing at the ceiling, drops of precum forming and spilling over her fingers.

“I need your mouth or your cunt, something, just… more…” Levi panted, desperate for contact. “It’ll fit, I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt.” He willed his cock to produce more precum, the massive organ becoming slick and shiny as Mikasa stroked him. She nodded, her energy returning, growing along with her enthusiasm to take his cock inside of her. Without a word she gripped him by the base, lifted herself up, and lowered herself onto him, sliding down as though she was made to fit him.

“Oh, fuuuuuck ,” she groaned, her eyes sliding shut in bliss. She stayed still, trying to get used to the sensation of being so completely filled, of having his cock igniting every nerve ending inside of her, but Levi couldn’t wait any longer. His cock began to move inside her, thickening and stretching her, rubbing her inner walls the way his tongue had done. Mikasa went off like fireworks, lapsing back into her feral, languageless state, broadcasting every sensation as sighs and gasps and yelps. Levi grasped her by the waist and thrust up into her as fast as he could, slamming his hips into hers so fast it sounded like applause.

She tipped her head back and howled at the overwhelming rush of sensation, being filled and fucked within an inch of her life. Each thrust felt like he was spanking her pussy with each impact, making her come a little, her pussy clenching around him, emitting little spurts of cum every time he retreated. In the midst of this he rolled her over, landing on top of her, still pistoning in and out of her without missing a beat. She bent her legs back before he thought to do it for her, taking him even deeper.

“Fuck, Mikasa!” Levi moaned over the sounds of her fevered howls and skin slapping skin. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“Behind,” she managed to say; he didn’t understand, so he searched her mind for the mental image he hoped to find: him on his knees behind her, driving into her even faster and harder than before, his tongue snaking down to tease and fuck the tight bud of her asshole, her pussy dripping with cum and saliva, soaking the sheets beneath them.

“Whatever you want, my dirty girl,” he groaned, trying not to come just from the thought of him inside her twice over. He flipped her over and replicated the mental image exactly, thickening and lengthening his cock so he could fill her up completely, bending down and doing the same with his tongue on, then in her ass. Mikasa shook and sobbed beneath him, her body wracked with an ecstasy beyond comprehension, each cell in her body singing in perfect harmony.

Levi felt his orgasm building, starting in his balls and inner thighs, coming on fast and uncontrollable, more intense than anything he’d ever experienced. Usually he’d siphon a little of his partner’s life force while coming, still able to maintain his rationality during the transfer of power. This was something else entirely, a ball of white light and energy growing inside him, threatening to engulf him once it exploded.

Please, please don’t let me kill her, he pleaded with himself as he tipped over the edge, just before his thoughts faded into utter incoherence. I need to have her again.

His orgasm overtook him, the entire world going blinding white except for himself and Mikasa, flashes of intense color flying past him. Then even she disappeared in the blinding glow and his vision went entirely white. A tiny, rational voice wondered whether he was dying, but he found himself okay with the prospect.

When he came to, he sat upright, panting as though waking from a nightmare. Mikasa lay a warm hand on his chest, rubbing it in absentminded circles.

“You’re okay,” she said softly, letting out a deep yawn. “You just fell asleep for a few minutes.”

“Oh,” he sighed. “You’re alive.”

Her smile was crooked, loopy with exhaustion. “Very much so.”

“I came so hard I was worried I killed you.” His hand sought hers, squeezing it once, unwilling to vocalize the fact that killing her suddenly seemed like the most heinous taboo when she’d been a complete stranger a couple of hours earlier.

“Well, if you did, I would’ve died the happiest I’ve ever been.” She brought their clasped hands to her lips and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles. He pulled their hands back to him, kissing her hand in return, as if to tell her that affectionate gestures were his job, not hers.

He looked around the room, suddenly disoriented, the surroundings and this woman both familiar and unfamiliar. “Was that flower always there?” He gestured towards a small clay vase on her nightstand that held a single bright blue bloom.

Mikasa poked her head up and furrowed her brow. “It was dead before, or at least dying. I was thinking of throwing it out. Did we do that?”

“I think we did,” Levi replied, letting out a confused sigh of a laugh. He pulled the blanket over Mikasa, tucking her in as she curled up on her side in preparation for sleep, her eyes already closing. He reached over to pluck the blue flower from its vase, inspecting its unfurled petals and the soft dusting of pollen inside them. Struck by an overwhelming urge, he nestled the flower in Mikasa’s hair near her ear, pleased by the contrast of blue on black, of the flower’s delicacy and the strength of the woman whose mind and body could disarm a prince of Hell. His usual protocol was to slip back through the closest portal that would take him to his quarters, but the thought of sleeping alone — without her — made him shudder. Instead he cuddled up next to her and brushed his lips against her forehead, drunk on the combined scent of flowers and sex and this wounded woman who’d somehow ensnared him. Smiling at how fortunate he was to come across such a precious mortal, he closed his eyes and allowed himself some much-needed rest.

When Mikasa woke the next day, she was alarmed to find that the clock on her nightstand read 1:47 in the afternoon, and even more alarmed to find that she felt refreshed and awake, ready to start what was left of the day with a clear head and an elevated mood. She flopped back onto her pillow, staring at the ceiling with a bemused smile on her face. The sheets were cool and dry beneath her, a far cry from her soaked bed a few hours earlier. The vase by her bed was empty; perhaps she’d thrown out that old flower like she’d meant to, and her demon lover was just a strange, vivid dream.

She waited for Levi’s voice in her head to tell her otherwise, and was disappointed when she did not receive a response. Sighing with disappointment, she got up to shower, trying to determine a productive activity for the remaining daylight hours: maybe weeding the garden, or stopping off at the market for more eggs and milk. Undressing in the bathroom, an azure blur caught her eye in the mirror: a crushed flower, as blue as the sky, tucked behind her ear. She cast her gaze down her body, inspecting herself and finding a bruise — no, two — no, dozens of them. Fingertip-sized on her breasts, larger and deeper ones on her neck and shoulders and thighs, and even a couple of scabs in the shape of Levi’s teeth where he had bitten her.

Her fingers skated over her wounds, making her shiver and whimper at the combination of pleasure and pain that radiated throughout her body. One hand drifted between her legs, spreading her free-flowing fluids around, circling her clit and fingering her pussy in a poor imitation of Levi’s supernatural prowess, while she replayed the previous night in as much detail as she could remember.

Not once, not even in passing, did she think of Eren.

I need Levi , she thought, fucking herself with desperate intensity as she braced herself against the sink. I need to feel him again. I need his hands on me and his tongue wrapped around my clit and his cock stretching me until I feel like I could burst. I need to come on him, all over him, as much as I can handle it.

“Come back tonight,” she whispered as she chased her peak. “Please.”

About fucking time you said something , Levi’s voice echoed in her head. I was starting to think you didn’t want me back.

Mikasa laughed aloud, joy and surprise and blessed relief enveloping her, pushing her over the edge. She came, her pussy pulsing around her slick fingers, her lips crying out for her demon lover.

Levi let out a deep, rumbling moan. That’s my girl. I’ll be there at midnight. Don’t bother wearing clothes this time.

She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, her mind buzzing with anticipation, and her eyes flashed silver in the afternoon light.

#rivamika #levimika #alienheartattack writes

14 notes · View notes

grey-gazania-fic · 9 months

Text

A Stitch in Time

Elrond, Caranthir's wife, and a Fëanorian heirloom. Rated G.

The quilt had been added to the twins' bed during their first winter at Amon Ereb, after two nights spent curled together for warmth. Clearly their captors — caretakers? Already the lines were blurring — had noticed, and had taken steps to remedy it. It smelled of cedar and gave their room some much-needed color. Large enough to cover the bed of a full-grown man, it was more than sufficient for two children, and could even be folded in half for extra warmth on particularly cold nights.

And it was utterly unlike the other quilts they had seen, with their neat, regular blocks and clear patterns. This one was a rich riot of reds, golds, and browns, with different fabrics cut into asymmetrical shapes and quilted in winding, stylized, visible stitches. It quickly became a comfort, something that could hold Elrond's attention when he was ill or injured and confined to his bed. There seemed to constantly be something new to discover — here a sliver of fabric soft as lamb's wool, there a quill picked out in neat, tiny stitches. Tiny brass bells hung at three of the corners; the forth was adorned with a slender gold ring sewn on in blunt stitches of crimson thread.

And yet, somehow it never occurred to either of them to ask about it, not until they were half-grown and fast becoming too large to comfortably share a bed. It was Elros who gathered up the nerve to speak, after he had helped Maglor move a second bed into the room and begun to take his share of the blankets.

"You can keep using the quilt," he said to Elrond. "I know how much you like it." And then, turning to Maglor, he said, "Who made it, anyway?"

"Our sister-in-law," Maglor said after a moment of silence. "Caranthir's wife." And then, before either of them could ask, he added, "She stayed in Aman."

Caranthir, Elrond knew, was the brother who had built the keep, and one of the three who had fallen in the attack on Doriath. He wondered, sometimes, about those brothers. What had they been like? Did they have Maglor's gentleness or Maedhros' wry humor? Were they as tired-eyed and worn as Fëanor's remaining sons, at the end? But the topic was clearly closed, as Maglor folded down the last blanket, clapped Elros on the shoulder, and left the room.

And so the quilt stayed on Elrond's bed, always there to greet him when they returned to Amon Ereb each winter. And when Maedhros and Maglor informed them that they were being taken to King Gil-galad, after their protests had broken like thrown dishes against the wall of Maedhros' will, when they had given in and begun packing, Maglor had folded the quilt up and placed it in Elrond's bag, just on top of Maedhros' herbal. The corner with the ring rested face-up, and he traced it with his long, strong fingers.

"It's his wedding ring, isn't it," Elrond said. It wasn't really a question; he'd guessed as much years ago.

Maglor nodded. "It feels like I'm sending a piece of my brother away with you," he said with unusual candor.

"You are," Elrond said. "And I won't forget them. Or you."

The Sons of Fëanor were not good men, but neither were they wholly evil. Someone needed to remember that. Maedhros was grim and deadly and cooly logical, but he was also a patient teacher, prone to unexpected dry wit but never mocking his students. Maglor was equally deadly, but he had soothed their nightmares with his gentle voice and taught them all the lore he knew.

And the others…he'd learned about them, slowly. Celegorm, who had spent half his childhood sneaking his dog into his bedroom or running wild in the woods. Caranthir, who had liked numbers better than he liked most people but who had spent nearly every waking hour at Maedhros' bedside while he recovered from his torment on Thangorodrim. Curufin, whose own son had denounced him but who had spent a full day designing Himring with one hand tied behind his back, making certain that his brother could live there without hinderance. Amras, who had dragged his twin into trouble at every opportunity. And Amrod, who felt such kinship with the Green-Elves of Ossiriand that he had nearly abandoned Quenya entirely for Sindarin.

Someone needed to remember those things, after Maedhros and Maglor were gone.

"You know that we knew Gil-galad's father well," Maglor said, dragging Elrond's attention back to the present. "If they're anything alike… You'll be in good hands."

Elrond didn't answer, but wrapped his arms around Maglor in a last, unspoken goodbye.

continue reading on AO3

#elrond #sons of fëanor #sons of feanor #caranthir's wife #parmacundë #my ocs #quilting #grief #the silmarillion #silmarillion fanfiction #silm fic #silmarillion writers' guild #silmfic #tolkien fanfic #tolkien #silmarillion

27 notes · View notes

butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway · 10 months

Text

I think what I like most about my research for Rewilding and Other Matters of the Soul is that it gives me a lot of insight into how much of my world I can construct myself. Not like "by myself alone" but as a human being or small system with non-digital tools rather than as a huge system or factory. It's cool to be able to look at my world through the lens of "I understand how to replicate or repair this if needed".

When you grow up in a poor rural area, you sort of get a measure of that as a baseline, like I always knew how to make tinctures and sun teas, I knew how to make a few herbal remedies for your basic cough or to settle an upset stomach. I knew how to make cat toys and build or repair a simple shelf. I could lay tile or hang drywall. But it was all patchwork. Learned as things in our home fell apart, or in times when all the adults were sick and I needed to scurry to the kitchen to prepare the ginger tea for everyone.

As I've been doing my research, a lot of this knowledge has been filling in at the edges, mending the gaps in my knowledge. Now I'm learning which tinctures to use for what, how to build complex structures, how to process thread from different plants for different uses, and a million other things to help us make a whole world out of our forest if we need to.

Something I want to do in our house is build a library full of reference texts, how to process different plants and animals into useable materials using a variety of supplies, tool repair, trade-industry knowledge. Things that will be useful if we lose access to power or internet for example for any period of time. I would love to collect the knowledge of as many skilled artisans and trade workers as possible in that library.

12 notes · View notes

quill-n · 1 year

Note

(written with your Living Doll AU in mind, didn't feel right to post it since it isn't technically mine, so here ya go.) *drops this like a bomb and runs away*

“Tsunagu?” Shinya asks through the door, rapping his knuckles on the old ancient wood. “Do you have a spare moment?” Shinya opens the door and pokes his head inside. Tsunagu has his head on his crafts table as if he’s fallen asleep while trying to work, but stirs at the sound of Shinya’s voice.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, I saw the light and thought….” Shinya trails off, feeling foolish. “Sorry, I’ll let you sleep.”

Four spider-like eyes blink at him through the demure light of the lantern, and Tsunagu’s words stop him from leaving the room. “What did you need, Shinya?”

“Oh! Ah, haha,” Shinya chuckles nervously and scratches the back of his head, and Tsunagu already notices the problem before Shinya says it; the threading around his mouth is undone again. “My stitches are messed up and, I can’t find the hand mirror?”

“I’ll fix them, it’s no trouble,” Tsunagu says, bidding Shinya to sit as he reaches for his sewing kit. As he sits, Shinya notices an open book on Tsunagu’s desk that Tsunagu must been reading before succumbing to sleep. It’s flipped to an herbal remedy, and guilt pricks at Shinya like a thorn. He should be diverting Tsunagu’s attention from trying to save that human boy, but damn him if he doesn’t love Tsunagu’s attention.

Gentle fingers guide him to look to his right, and butterflies flutter in his stomach as the touch lingers, tilting Shinya’s head up so Tsunagu can have a better view. A clawed finger—or is it just a pointed nail?—brushes over the tear in his flesh and he shudders at the feeling. There’s always a sort of inexplicable sensation when Tsunagu touches him as if his undead skin is reacting to Tsunagu’s spirit energy. He’s not sure if Tsunagu can feel it too, or if it’s something only the dolls can feel, but a blush rises and he adverts his eyes.

A small smile tugs at Tsunagu’s lips as he eyes the tattered string still in the tear. The broken edges are too clean to be anything but intentionally cut, perhaps with the scissors from Shinya’s own sewing kit.

He gently plucks the cut threads free, then begins sewing the tears with fresh navy thread. His stitching is as seamless as ever, after a lifetime of tailoring, it’s effortless and somewhat calming to him now. He never minds fixing up his dolls when they break, especially Shinya, although, fixing Rumi and Keigo does annoy him from time to time, and sometimes he just wants to sew their mouths shut to stop them from bickering.

Tsunagu tries to stitch through the holes already present but Tsunagu has no fear that Shinya’s in any pain. Being dead, their pain receptors don’t function as they used to, but they can feel the uncomfortable sensation when something foreign enters their skin, like when you get pricked with a needle but the nurse can’t find a vein and just digs around for one.

Shinya wants to lean into Tsunagu’s touch, close his eyes and enjoy the moment, but Tsunagu would probably judge and question the action, so he turns his gaze to Tsunagu’s face instead. His eyes are focused on his work, each movement slow and controlled as he takes his grand old time to do things right. Or perhaps he’s taking his time so he can enjoy the moment for as long as possible? A cute, self-indulging, hopeful thought that warms his heart, but is utterly false.

“Where’s Rumi and Keigo?” Tsunagu murmurs.

“They went out to find something edible for our new friends,” Shinya answers not thinking much of it, but a fond huff from Tsunagu has his eyebrows scrunching in question. “What?”

“I was just thinking of the Christmas cake you tried to make me one year.” Shinya’s face turns to a scowl in rapid time, and Tsunagu laughs, though Shinya’s change of expression forces him to pause in his work.

That cake, if you could even call that inedible monstrosity a cake, was made about a year and a half before they died. He’d tried to recreate his mother’s old recipe for it and completely missed the mark. “That’s hardly an example of edible food.”

“Indeed, but it’s a pleasant memory, now stop moving if you please. Thank you.” Tsunagu prods Shinya to look the other way and begins working again. They continue reminiscing, talking about nothing in particular and Tsunagu is grateful for the distraction. He has no idea how to help Bakugou, and he’s been running himself ragged trying to figure out how to help, which he should be doing now, but the break is welcome and it eases his stress.

Tsuangu finishes much sooner than he or Shinya would’ve liked. Tsunagu wants nothing more than to stay here with Shinya and forget about his troubles for a little while longer, the time already eclipsed seems too short.

He trails a finger over the new stitches “Do they feel okay?”

“Yeah,” Shinya affirms. “good as new.”

“Good, then I suppose we’re done.”

“Uhh, wait, could you, uh,” Shinya flushes, his voice becoming meek and quiet. “could you check the stitching on my tongue too? I-I think I felt it loosening a bit ago.”

“Did you?” Tsunagu asks, not at all believing that, but fully willing to indulge his little doll as he attempts to play his not-so-subtle mind game. “Let me see?”

Shinya obediently opens his mouth to let Tsunagu check for the nonexistent loose threads. He slips two fingers into Shinya’s mouth, his mind flashing to a very different thing he could slide into his doll’s willing mouth, and Shinya unknowingly echoes a similar thought, his breath hitching. Tsunagu gently raises Shinya’s tongue to look under it but finds nary a stitch out of place. Which is exactly what he expected.

“The stitching looks perfect.” Tsunagu retracts his fingers, and Shinya mourns the loss but closes his mouth and swallows back the building saliva. Tsunagu grabs some spare cloth he’d been meaning to turn into a towel before certain recent events transpired and wipes the saliva off his hand.

“Sorry, must’ve been my imagination then.” Shinya lies.

“There’s no remorse needed for cautiousness,” Tsunagu says, turning to put his needle and thread back where they belong.

“Oh, well, thank you for indulging me.” Shinya murmurs, looking for any reason he could stay. He’s already taken up enough of Tsunagu’s time, and he knows that since Tsunagu is done patching him up he should leave, but he doesn’t want to. He wants Tsunagu to himself a bit more.

“Of course, Shinya. I’m happy to indulge you.” Tsunagu’s voice sounds pleased and a bit teasing as he speaks and he makes sure everything is neatly squared away, then glances at the open book with a frown—he’s studied it for hours and has yet to glean any useful information from it—and shuts it.

Their companionable silence is short-lived, however, as a very panic-stricken Aizawa barges into the room unannounced, and Shinya frowns at the sight of him, already knowing what’s about to happen.

“Hakamata-san!” Aizawa all but shouts, and Tsunagu whips around, his heart sinking. Back to work. “It’s Bakugou, he’s…”

“Show me.” Tsuangu’s already rising from his chair, and he follows Aizawa out of the room, casting Shinya a regretful look as he passes, his sharp fingertips flighting across his shoulder.

Shinya’s heart flutters at the touch, and an anger-fueled jealousy bubbles from his core, anger at Bakugou for getting hurt so badly, for Aizawa stealing Tsunagu away from him and monopolizing all his attention. And, selfishly, he wishes it were just them like it was in the beginning, before all the other dolls.

The bone-deep chill of guilt chases his anger away leaving a hollow cave in his heart, and he instantly feels horrible for even thinking such things. it’s not Bakugou’s fault for getting hurt, nor Aizawa’s for helping him.

I’m acting like a child having a temper tantrum when his mother forces him to share his toys. I should be doing something useful, not… not this.

He eyes the book on the table, it must’ve come from the library. Perhaps he should check the library too, it’d give him something to do at least.

OH MY GOD? OH MY GOD OH MY GOD???? (positive)

I kept almost-dropping my phone while I was reading this because I'm SHAKING FROM EXCITEMENT

hold on—

^ artist's rendition of my actual reaction to this

I seriously can't get over this— you wrote their dynamic SO PERFECTLY I'm

AaAAHDHHJGJJJJ (positive)

I am *so honored* to have such good writing done for my au— THANK YOU SO MUCH!! (genuine; very excited)

#tw caps #tw needles #cw suggestive #(but only for a moment)#living doll au #quillnbox #bnha #edgejeanist #edgeshot #kamihara shinya #best jeanist #hakamada tsunagu #aizawa shouta #bakugou katsuki #still violently shaking at this /pos #I'm so happy that the au was so well received THANK YOU SO MUCH!!#tw death mention #itsquill #The Seamstress and His Dolls～⁠~～

18 notes · View notes

ikesenwritings · 2 years

Text

Wounds

A/N: This was so hard to finish 🥲🥲 but I think I’m pretty proud of this one ! I hope you like it as much as I do <3 (The last bit of dialogue is a quote from a TV show called New Amsterdam according to Google! I saw it online and it just broke my heart 😭) Pairing: Mitsuhide x Reader Category: A little fluff and some angst Warnings: Brief description of injuries to the hands Word Count: 1.5k

Add. Notes: None of Mitsuhide’s route has actually happened but this takes place roughly three months after your arrival (with no looming wormhole and no idea that you’re from the future). Mostly just ramblings and thoughts from our kitsune.

Mitsuhide's POV

Oh, my little one, you wouldn't believe me if I revealed to you the truth of my feelings—that, in this moment, the feather-light touch of your fingers across my bruised and broken skin would be enough to sustain me through this life knowing I could never truly share it with you.

Your hands are quite small and unscathed in comparison to mine, but they are not without their own history of hard work. Callouses kiss the tips of your fingers in a way I wish I could. They leave a lasting impression on your person. I can only assume they were the result of you pricking your fingers with a threaded needle one too many times.

How wonderful and uncommon for someone to pursue their passions so freely in this time. So please, little mouse. Continue allowing your "rough" hands to meet mine. Permit me this one indulgence: your touch. Give me a piece of you that could have been a part of me if I hadn’t grown up in such circumstances.

Would you be so courteous, my love, as to allow me one more revelation? As of late, these meetings of ours have left me questioning my abilities. I wonder: when had this little charade of ours become a routine?

When, after I've fulfilled my duties, I find myself in your chambers?

When, after the sun has stowed itself away, I consider you to be my personal healer?

I learned to be content with loving you from a distance. So when had I become more selfish than I already allowed myself to be when I am in your presence? To have my hidden desire for you dictate my actions rather than my wit and ambition? Have I veered too off-course? Is this what you have done to me? Am I content with such a change?

I never wanted you in my world; one of violence and deception.

But there you were, rooting yourself in my life—asking if I ate my meals, if I slept, why I always poked fun at you, asking for my opinion of castle-goers that "only a kitsune would have."

And there I was, unable to shut you out, incapable of resisting you. My funny, inquisitive, fiery little mouse. If Hideyoshi was the castle charmer, you were the enchantress.

My love, you are addictive. I am seated on your futon but I am evil. You may perceive me as a good man of the Oda forces. I am no such thing, nor am I a kind man. The role of Nobunaga's left-hand—there is no one in Azuchi more suited for this job than I am… though I suppose you are aware of that and chose to ignore it, for I am seated on your futon and I am evil and this is a tender moment I will continue to relive until you refuse me at your doorstep.

I crave this. Your presence, your touch, is my drug. Like a fine herbal remedy. If I were a god, I would command that your presence never escape mine—such a glorious reprieve from my duties.

“You can’t keep doing this.”

Your words cut through the silence as easy as ripping parchment.

Oh dear, perhaps my abilities have deteriorated. I certainly wasn't expecting to hear your soft voice. Nights like these usually passed without a word—a surprise at first—I thought you'd have endless questions for me, silly mouse, what with all the regular prying you liked to do in my life.

While I've seemed to lose count of our nightly meetings, I do recall the very first. I recall rising you out of your sleep. Yes, it was quite pleasing to see that sleepy expression of yours. But I knew you could not mistake the smell of blood and sweat mixed together once you came to.

Your tired gaze had shifted from one of confusion to one of shock when your eyes landed on my forearm. Your movements were stilted as you gathered the supplies I held in my hands and started bandaging a large gash that I had sustained from a sword fight with a rebellious daimyo and his militiamen.

I recall having my subordinates spread gossip amongst the maids at the time. I planned for whispers around the castle to let you know all about my role as Nobunaga's left-hand man without much frightening detail. I was sure it would be enough to keep you at arm's length. Clearly, I underestimated you.

You can't keep doing this.

Keep injuring myself? Keep inviting myself into your chambers? These are not easy asks, little one.

But you should not hold concern for someone like me.

To have you patch my shallow wounds would be enough. I believe something as superficial has to be enough.

You can’t keep doing this.

Such simple words yield such complex feelings. Oh, how I wished everything I did was done to please you. And yet, I mustn’t allow myself such fulfillment.

Perhaps I should steer this conversation in another direction before it even starts. I assumed a face one would reserve for a child and spoke in a mock apologetic tone. "I know," I teased. "Azuchi's princess requires a proper amount of rest."

Dearest me… my silly mouse does not seem willing to converse in a light manner this night. I should smooth out the crease in your tightly-knit eyebrows, kiss your frown away. Perhaps I shouldn't.

You surveyed my now bandaged hands that remain cradled in yours. I know what you are thinking, my love. Remembering the degree of my injuries just a moment before—immensely swollen, purple, and covered in blood—you contemplated whether I'd listen to the opinions you'd been forming of me and the manner by which I operate over the past two months.

Everything you say to me holds such meaning. For you, little one, I would carve whatever you wanted to say to me into my being, carry your words with me wherever I ventured.

"Mitsuhide."

A certain urgency in that beautiful voice of yours. Need not. I shall continue to joke for your sake, though maybe it’s really for mine.

I wish to keep these meetings light, just as you are.

“My, what a stern tone. Perhaps Hideyoshi spends too much time following you around when I’m not here.”

Stay there. With Hideyoshi and Masamune and the others. Stay where it is bright, but not too bright for me.

Shall I make one last attempt at quelling your worry?

“I’m okay, little mouse. I see Iesayu has been teaching you. Your touch heals me much faster than before.”

It really does.

Then you say, “People in this castle care about you.”

Your voice comes as a whisper and you sound almost like a child consoling a hurt parent and I feel like pieces of my life could begin chipping away—as if all of the things I’ve endured, the pain and suffering associated, could be erased by your words.

It seems foolish, really.

How did I come to be here? To be in Azuchi? To be alongside Oda Nobunaga himself? To be consumed so wholly as his left hand?

“Whom may that be, pray tell?” I ask.

“Hideyoshi, for starters. And Mitsunari. Nobunaga, Masamune, Ieyasu… me.”

Yes. I now know that I am, indeed, more selfish than I’d been when we first met, for I wouldn’t have strung such a declaration from you. A declaration I was well aware of by now, but my dear, it is much more lovely to have it fall upon my ears.

There are moments where there is truly nothing to be desired, but there are times spent with you, and I come to realize that I desire things for myself much more than I let on.

You. I want you.

These are the words that should flow out of my mouth. A silly but earnest confession.

But instead, I say, “Yes, I suppose the people in this castle serve society well. They have a predisposition to care for others, even me.”

You shake your head in disbelief. Frustration, even?

“No—why are you saying that?! You walk around like you’re waiting for your last day or something. Like you’ve shouldered everyone’s burdens and you’re not sure when you might collapse but you’re willing to carry more and more.” All I hear is your anguish. “You get to be selfish, you know? You deserve a lot more than what people take you for.”

My love…

I gather you in my arms. The burning sensation of my injured hands pressed firmly on your back is an afterthought. I rest my head on your shoulder. My gaze is directed at nothing in particular, but I do catch the peaceful sway of the cherry blossoms outside your window. Such contrast from the tumult of feelings I hold for you. In this moment, I feel as though my heart could not beat any faster. As if all my energy was used to fuel the song my heart sings for you, my words come out in a strained whisper: “You have no idea just how selfish I am... you are my greatest joy and deepest pain."

And a gasp as light as the wind that blows through the cherry blossoms escapes my little one. A lovely sound to mend my wounds.

#cybird ikemen #ikemen sengoku #ikesen #mitsuhide akechi #akechi mitsuhide #ikemen mitsuhide #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen fanfic

88 notes · View notes

blackthornwren · 1 year

Note

Hey, I'm looking for info on something specific and was wondering if you had any thoughts on where I could start. I'm trying to figure out a ritual to help alleviate the fatigue and if possible pain associated with chronic illnesses from a tradcraft perspective. Is there anything in particular that comes to mind? (Already on meds for the pain btw, but they don't do enough. I'm willing to try herbal remedies too, but that still won't help much with the fatigue and brain fog)

So, I don't have a specific pre-made ritual that comes to mind and I'm unable to share my own workings. I can recommend a few books, specifically look to the Carmina Gadelica, Vol. II - which can be found here - or if you're able to acquire it, Lecouteux's 'Traditional Magic Spells for Protection and Healing', or 'Healing Threads' by Mary Beith. The bad news is that when looking for healing folk charms is that you're likely never going to find one that is exactly tailored to your needs. The good news is that through process of experimentation, you may be able to tweak them to suit your needs or use the format and methods found in folk magic to craft your own charms, blessings, or rites based on your specific requirements. Folk charms in general (speaking through a Celtic regional lens here) tend to be an informative template for crafting your own workings. Specifically in healing charms there are recurring elements of repetition, storytelling narratives, transference, and the use of simple items such as cords, wax, rocks, etc. Repetition: For example, a charm might include a countdown - there's a spell to relieve a skin condition that goes "Tetter, tetter, thou has nine sisters, god bless the flesh and preserve thy bone, perish thee tetter in the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost. Tetter, tetter, thou hast eight sisters..." This repeats, each time the number diminishing, until at last "thou hast no sisters". Storytelling: The best example of this is often found in folk magic involving Catholic Saints. The Charm of the Sprain in the Carmina runs as such - "Bride went out in the morning early, with a pair of horses; one broke his leg, with much ado, that was apart, she put bone to bone, she put flesh to flesh, she put sinew to sinew, she put vein to vein; as she healed that, may I heal this." Transference: Many folk charms for healing involve transferring the injury or illness to an inanimate object. This is found often in manuscripts, journals, texts about superstitions, folk customs, and popular antiquities. If an individual were ill or injured, the disease or the pain might be eased by perhaps tying a cord around the part of the body that was suffering (headache - a length of black silk tied round the head, sore throat - cord around the throat, etc) and used in conjunction with spoken prayers or charms. Rocks could be rubbed on the afflicted appendage or generally on the body to take the illness from the patient and place it into the stones which would then be disposed of in a stream. Food was also used for this - bread that had been marked with a cross or a written charm and/or prayed over. This method could be used to cure anything from dog bites to fever. Because you have stated that you are already on pain medication , I am unwilling to suggest any herbal remedies - the reason for this is that herbs can often interact with medications you are taking, including counteracting them, and they can create problems far worse than what you're currently experiencing. If you are still interested in trying herbal remedies, it would be best to discuss it with your doctor as they will be better able to predict how any herbal supplements will interact with your current medications and your medical history - age, weight, potential genetic health issues, pre-existing conditions; these are all major factors in determining how someone will react to new chemicals being introduced into their system. Thank you for your ask, I do hope this has been of some use to you and please make sure to take care of yourself.

#folk magic #fairy faith #traditional witchcraft #healing magic #folk charms #wren rambles #asks answered

13 notes · View notes

spaceguard · 4 months

Text

ꜱᴛᴀʀᴅᴜꜱᴛ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴ ᴍᴇ ꜰᴜꜱᴇ ᴜꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴜɴɪᴛʏ

// An independent roleplaying account of Kaidan Alenko from Bioware's Mass Effect series. // written by DJ. 28 / they/them // est. 2020 / rebooted. 2023. ( blog is currently under construction. )

First and foremost, the mun is named DJ, I use they/them pronouns and I’m 28 years old. I have been roleplaying on this website for over a decade now and I have seen pretty much every drama known to man on here. I will NOT be getting involved in whatever drama is unfolding in the RPC these days. I’m here to write my muse and enjoy myself. Because of this you will never see me reblog a call out. I don’t want to see them, though I will block if the person in question is truly dreadful, but I will not involve myself. In turn, I will also unfollow if you continuously spread call outs, I personally am not here to get involved in petty drama.

…

As I am very much over the age of eighteen, I will not be following blogs that are written by anyone below the age of 20. It’s just a personal preference and I apologize in advance for it. That being said, this blog will be NSFW at times. Mass Effect is not very child-friendly, especially plots Kaidan is involved in and neither will my blog be, mentions of gore, violence and sexual themes will be present here. As far as writing smut, I will write it, though please plot with me beforehand. Memes are another story, but actual descriptive sexual threads will need some talking about beforehand.

…

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the best at plotting. I have ideas here and there, but I’m actually way more better at continuing prompts or winging it. Please keep this in mind when you ask to plot.

I am open to shipping, I like writing romance, and I have a soft spot for for plenty of ships for Kaidan, he is canonically bisexual.

...

DRAGON AGE VERSE. I'm still brainstorming this, but Kaidan is usually an apostate mage living in Kirkwall, a peddler of plants and flowers and other herbal remedies. He originally comes from Ferelden so I could have him be a companion for any three of the games.

...

One final note. I will not tolerate hate or bashing of any kind for against Kaidan, Ashley and Miranda. This fandom has a disgusting habit of hating on the human squadmates, especially these three. You can critique them all you like, but if your bashing starts getting intense or weird ( it's almost always the Sh*karian shippers ) I will block you.

...

My discord is open for plotting and chatting but I will not write on there.

#pinned. dni

2 notes · View notes

bronsonoquinn · 1 year

Text

If you like anti-heroes, or even villains, to the point that you argue online or at parties that they're "Correct, actually, and you should rewatch the film or reread the book with that in mind," there's something you need to hear and to carefully consider:

Sometimes people lie.

Spoilers for Fight Club.

I know that seems like a given, and probably so obvious that it doesn't need to be mentioned. But it does need to be mentioned, and apparently constantly pointed out, because I still see some laughably dangerous takes about popular films that gain shocking levels of validation. So without further adieu, let's talk about how

Tyler Durden is a Liar.

Not always, but sometimes, and often enough that we can't really ever take his word at face value.

Like so many things in life, "being a liar" isn't a binary. But with trust, like with personal safety, if you've seen a pattern of occasionally being dishonest or dangerous, you should assume they always are until they've been proven factual or safe.

Check out the above linked Tweet thread and you'll see someone paraphrasing the motivations of Fight Club's antagonist, as literally spoken by the character himself. Yes: Tyler Durden wants Jack (Ed Norton's unnamed character is called "Jack" in the credits) to leave his consumerist life and lead a cult of obedient followers. Is it because he wants to help his fellow man embrace a life free of consumerism?

NO! It's because he's a product of Jack's untreated mental illness. And without the illness, Tyler ceases to exist.

Most of Tyler's advice is to help Jack reach "rock bottom". Many 12-step programs teach that you need to hit "rock bottom", or the lowest place in your life, before you can "clear out enough junk for the good to have a chance." In other words:

But this isn't helpful psychiatric advice. Clinical psychiatrists argue that "rock bottom" is a form of "resource loss", which leads to further psychological stress, not less.

Tyler never states it, but he hates mental healthcare. He's manipulating people into sacrificing their lives for a cult and using all the charismatic propaganda of every cult leader who's ever bought a rural townhouse and bulk white robes.

Yes, we see Jack get plenty of therapeutic emotional output during the first act. And yes, that emotional output is what leads to Tyler. But that's all it is: emotional output. It's crying while pretending to be something he's not, which turns into crying while getting his eye knocked out of its socket. It's not asking help from a licensed medical professional.

Even the male doctor he sees, who Jack hopes will prescribe him medication, recommends herbal remedies instead of seeking psychological help.

Tyler needs Jack to stay mentally ill to survive. Looking through that lens, all of his rhetoric makes a lot more sense. Yes, some of it sounds like good advice, and some of it genuinely is.

But we can't look at pieces of Tyler Durden and decide who he is; we have to take him in totality. And when some of his rhetoric leads to cohorts getting their scalp blown apart, or giant buildings collapsing and potentially killing people (Yeah, he says the buildings were "all our people" and evacuated, but again: why trust him?) then we have to question the other things he says, too.

#fight club #tyler durden #rock bottom #consumerism #pop culture #mini essay #essay #villains #anti hero #mental illness #mental health

7 notes · View notes

contreparry · 1 year

Note

Happy Friday!! A prompt for you: "“For once, this isn’t actually my fault.”" Happy writing <3

This has been an idea I’ve turned over in my head for ages, but I haven’t figured out how to go about it. So why not play with the idea in a drabble? So here’s some fairytale hijinks with Inquisitor Trevelyan and Cullen, for @dadrunkwriting !

Cullen never quite knew what to expect from his new traveling companion. He was used to traveling alone with nothing but his horse for company as he rode from town to town in the backwoods of Ferelden, taking up odd jobs and slaying demons that lurked in the shadows of the abandoned places of the world. Silence was his life, solitude his constant companion. That is, until he came across Evelyn Trevelyan in the wilderness.

She was quiet, courteous, and surprisingly useful. No matter the weather he could count on a roaring fire at camp and a handful of scavenged fruits and nuts to supplement his lean meals, which made his normally spare travels across the realm a little more luxurious. Evelyn was resourceful, and her perspective during their travels was helpful. Never mind her resources! How she made so many friends across Thedas Cullen couldn’t say, but he was grateful for her contacts. Evelyn’s friends saved their skins more times than he could count.

Speaking of help arriving from unexpected places fight- well. Who would have thought that such a tiny thing could pack such power behind her spells? Cullen swiftly learned to heed his companion’s warnings in battle, for when she screamed for him to duck a bolt of lightning or a spear of ice was sure to follow. Evelyn’s healing talents were less impressive, true, but she had a knowledge of herbal remedies that was almost frightening in its depth. One sniff of a plant and she was gone, reciting all its myriad uses as she gleefully wrestled her prizes into a leather pouch for him to store in his saddlebags.

And for all of this, his traveling companion required so little in return. She only asked for his sword in a fight, a spot on his horse as they traveled, and his companionship in the darkest hours of their journey. After all, she’d squeak cheerfully, the world isn’t very kind to a field mouse!

Not that traveling with a talking field mouse who also happened to be a Mage was all sunshine and rainbows, Cullen thought as he closed the door behind him. The inn they were staying in was peaceful, a cheerful little place with plenty of travelers and little trouble. It was where they were supposed to meet one of Evelyn’s many contacts, but the man was late. She hadn’t been concerned at first, insisting that her friend had a tendency for dramatic entrances, but as the sun fell and the fire died in the main fireplace, they had to eventually return to their room without meeting Evelyn’s “dear friend.” It was a complete waste of time, that was what this was! Cullen itched with the urge to do something, anything, that wasn’t staying in one place and waiting! But Evelyn’s friend was their best lead in their hunt for an ancient wizard whose magic had some hand in the problems that plagued the land, so he would have to be patient.

Patience was not one of Cullen’s virtues.

“For once this isn’t actually my fault,” Evelyn insisted when the door firmly shut behind them. Evelyn emerged from the hood of his cloak and clung to his shoulder for purchase. Cullen lowered his arm to rest his hand on the nightstand by the bed, and Evelyn quickly scurried down to stand by the tin candle holder and stub of a candle. Her whiskers bristled indignantly as she placed her front paws on her hips, and her tail lashed back and forth behind her like a blade.

“It’s not like him to break a promise, or an appointment. He’s ever been a dutiful writer, you know. Never late with his letters,” Evelyn fretted. Her paws took up the hem of her moss colored cloak and worried at the threads. She began to pace, almost shaking in agitation. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one who was restless here. Cullen sat down on the straw mattress in the bed and rested his forearms on his thighs. He raised his gaze to the nightstand and watched Evelyn pace and mutter. The mouse was nearly vibrating with intensity as she trekked back and forth across the nightstand, and Cullen felt his frustrations melt away in the face of Evelyn’s tumultuous emotions. He was frustrated by a wasted day, but she was concerned over the fate of her friend.

“… what could have delayed him, I wonder,” Cullen eventually mused. The wilds of Ferelden weren’t particularly kind, but if one remained on the roads it was safe enough. But safe enough wasn’t safe, and for a lone traveller on the road the dangers only multiplied.

“Weather, maybe? Maker’s Breath, if Dorian ended up drunk at some noble’s country estate I’ll strangle him myself,” Evelyn muttered, her tail whipping around as she turned on her heel. “He said he’d take better care of himself, he promised me!”

“You’re close, then?”

“Close as one can be when you haven’t met in person,” Evelyn replied. “We’ve been writing letters for nearly two years now, ever since I- hggkkghhhk!” Her chatter was abruptly cut off as some sort of invisible binding clamped down on the mouse’s throat.

It was, as far as Cullen could decipher, an unfortunate side effect of the curse she was under, one that was cast upon her by the wizard they now hunted. It was a sick thing to experiment on a helpless creature, he thought grimly as he poured a few drops of water into a clean thimble for Evelyn to drink from once her coughing fit subsided. What kind of sick bastard cursed a mouse with human speech and magic, then cursed her to keep her mouth shut about the matter? Evelyn grasped the thimble with her paws and drank greedily.

“Better?” he asked. She nodded, her expression grim.

“Blast and drat,” she muttered. “When I get my hands on that-“ Evelyn clamped her mouth shut and said no more. Cullen sighed and bent over to unlace his boots.

“Get some rest,” he advised. “Mayhaps your friend will arrive in the morning.”

“… and if he doesn’t?” Evelyn asked. Her voice was scratchy, as if the curse laid upon her injured her throat in retaliation for her defiance, and anger simmered in his gut. Damn wizards, Cullen thought as Evelyn sipped her water, her moss cloak drawn tight.

“If he doesn’t, we’ll look for him,” Cullen promised. “You said he wouldn’t be far. We can spare a day or two.” And he would. He’d find a damn week if that was what they needed in their search for the wizard that was tearing apart the Fade and cursing the unfortunate wildlife he came across in the process. Evelyn sighed and crawled into the old tin matchbox that served as her bed.

“Good night, Cullen,” she mumbled. Cullen leaned back and stared up at the smoke-stained beams that held up the ceiling. He could only imagine the scenarios running through Evelyn’s mind, situations in which her friend was in danger, or dead, or something even worse. The world was unkind, this they knew well, and if her friend’s delay wasn’t the result of some careless carousing or a natural mishap on the road… Cullen leaned over and blew out the candle on the nightstand. Those worries would have to be tomorrow’s worries. For now…

“Good night, Evelyn,” he murmured into the darkness, and he hoped that all his fears would prove unfounded in the morning.

#my writing #da drunk writing circle #I swear there’s an entire backstory for this but I’ve never felt confident enough in my skill to properly put this to paper #but the summary is something like this: Cullen in a knight wandering the countryside and Evelyn is a mage who was cursed by Corypheus #she’s now a mouse and can’t tell anybody about it #Cullen thinks she’s a mouse who got cursed #misunderstandings galore!

5 notes · View notes