#and if that isn’t the sort of death this magnificent

[thewinterarcher]

This moment makes me want to cry a little.

Because Izzy is genuinely happy for Ed, while clearly still being desperately in love with him.

But Izzy has reached a place where he can accept that. He wants Ed to be happy more than he wants Blackbeard. In essence, Izzy has let the dream of Blackbeard (and who Izzy was as a byproduct) die, and comes to term with the way things are, and realizes it’s OK to love this softer version of Ed. And by proxy, a softer version of himself.

This is Izzy being desperately sad and happy at the same time for the man he loves. Because he knows that Stede is what’s best for Ed. And it hurts. But somehow, it’s ok.

#not adding that izzy effectively died fighting alongside and protecting the man he loved #and if that isn’t the sort of death this magnificent #complicated character deserves #I can’t imagine what would be #I can’t wait to discuss this in group #ofmd spoilers #ofmd season 2 #spoilers

[pileofmush]

the sun still rises ☼

pairing ➸ monkey d. luffy x fem!reader

synopsis ➸ luffy catches something in the water. it's a girl, to his dismay. not a fish.

details ➸ tags: pt. i, angst, introspection // cw: very much a vent fic, near-death experience, struggles with mental health, i gave reader a name bc i can, an attempt at prose // wc: 1.4k // series m.list

Water crashes against a rocky shore. It whispers; it sings. Rising and rolling, the water recedes; it warns. 

A thud. Feeble knees collapse into wet sand. Salt lingers on your tongue, though you’ve scrubbed your mouth three times now. You choke on the grains still lodged in your throat. Blink the sand out of your eyes.

Alive. You’re alive, you think to yourself. Your cruddy boat is gone, washed away somewhere. But you remain—alive. And the sun still rises and the world still spins.

Not that the world would have stopped spinning had you died. Not when death makes the world go round. Still, the sun rises. Still, the ocean’s tide sings. The tide drapes over you, blocking out the sky. Perhaps you should have fled, when you had the chance. But you didn’t-- you don't, and the wave crashes over you as consequence. You are moved. Moved by the wave; moved by the weight of your circumstances. No one prepared you for this. Your mother didn’t dole out this particular lesson in her long spiels about the meaning of life. And now, she will never speak again.

Mother leapt. 

Mother crashed. 

Like waves against a rocky shore. 

If only you could take on the attributes of the sea. The sea knows no god. She does what she wishes. But you? You bend. Bend to the will of those who want harder than you. Bend to the magnificent wave’s power as it drags you back, back into the godless sea. You are nothing, in comparison. Flotsam.

You don’t want. But there are things that you don’t want.

For instance: you don’t want to return to your mother. 

Oh, you thought that you did. You thought a lot of things. You once thought your mother believed in the hollow words she said. She didn’t. You once thought dying would be easy. 

It isn’t.

Dying burns. Like the burning in your lungs. It takes, and it consumes, until there is nothing left of you but a mound of ash. 

And, dying squeezes. Squeezes you out like a dirty dish rag, until out spills every morsel of fear, frustration, desire and hope that once existed inside your fleshy body. And, there you are. Your essence, pooled into the ocean for all to see. And in your last few moments, you are left to wonder, perhaps I did exist; perhaps I should have lived. 

You inhale. You don’t want to die. There has to be more to life than drowning in the waters of a strange island, strange ocean, stranger world. Saltwater fills your lungs as you begin to mourn the life you never lived. 

Dying, you find, is a color. A deep, solemn purple. The color of a fresh bruise; the color of your mother’s wine; the color of regret.

Cupped hands cut through water, frantic, as you try to rise; as your head spins. Above the waterline, above your flailing body, the wind howls. It warned you, you know. The ocean warned you. And now the wind howls, though the wail doesn’t quite reach your ears. Not over the deep blue croon of the ocean, and your own pained gurgles. 

You can’t think, any longer. Only feel. 

Feel your fingertips just barely breach the surface. Feel your legs kick with a renewed sense of urgency. Feel the sudden intake of air—sweet, glorious air rushing through your body—almost too much, but not even close to being enough. Feel the hands that wrap around your torso like a lasso, firm and sort of rubbery. Feel your body fling through the air, and your stomach lurch, before you collide into a person. 

It knocks the breath out your lungs, and you choke, for a second time.

The same hand that deftly plucked you out the ocean whacks your back, while the other keeps you upright. You would wave your savior off if you had the energy. You possess no devil powers—you dare not make a foe of nature itself—yet the ocean saps your strength, anyway. Takes what little you have left to claim, like she took away your mother. 

You’ve yet to open your eyes, but you can reason you’re on a ship. You can hear the calls of a woman over the song of the wailing sea, preparing the ship for docking in the middle of a thrashing storm. You hear the grunts of men, and the flapping of wind-beaten sails, and the stamping of several feet, scurrying across a wooden deck. 

When you’re finally done hacking your lungs, the savior makes to set you down. Your knees buckle.

 “Woah there,” you hear them exclaim, then let out a boyish laugh. The stranger hoists you up by your arm pits, like you’re a drenched cat. “You’re not a fish!” 

This is true.

You blink the water out of your eyes. In front of you: a boy. Just a boy with a wide, proud grin, and a curved scar underneath his eye. A yellow straw hat hangs from his neck. 

You cough up water as a greeting.  

You know of this strange, savior boy. He belongs on fading, brown parchment above big, bold letters—Wanted; Dead or Alive—his toothy grin immortalized on the bulletin board outside the pub back home. But he isn’t just any old criminal. No, this boy is far worse. For he looks at the expansive blue sea—godless, boundless—and has the gumption to declare it his playing field. 

He looks at what the world has to offer him with wide, peering eyes, and yet, he is still not satisfied. Surely, the world has more to give. Surely, it has more to take. That’s what he does, and it’s what he will continue to do: take and take until he’s had his fill. 

He’s a pirate, after all.

The boy sets you down on the deck and you are finally centered—reunited, at last, with the ground. He’s kind of awkward looking: gangly and disheveled and bright, but his carefree countenance wraps it altogether and ties it in a messy red bow. He tilts his head at a 90 degree angle and stares at you point-blank, thin black brows furrowed in confusion. 

“If you’re not a fish, what’re ya doing in the middle of the ocean?” he asks bluntly. Like you could help getting swept up in the current of Mother Nature. Like his crew mates aren’t currently scrambling to safely dock this ship. 

Your voice sounds strangled when you speak, words getting caught in your throat and roughly tumbling out of your mouth. “Drowning. I was drowning,” you manage to say. 

The rocking of the ship you’re on is not kind to you. Hunched over, your hands brace against your knees as you huff. Your fingers are pruned grapes, wrinkled and trembling.  

“That’s dumb,” the boy tells you. “Just swim next time.”

Maybe he has a point.

You look to the sky. It’s a deep, foreboding gray, pregnant dark clouds looming above and promising rain. Somewhere, you register, behind the clouds… is the sun. It’ll set, yes, and plunge the realm into night, but by dawn it will rise again. And the world will spin. 

“Who’re you then, if you’re not a fish?” The boy draws you back to him, demanding your attention. His eyes are dark as coal, round with open curiosity. You burn under his gaze; greedy and intense. 

Your back straightens. “I’m Yuna.” 

“Like Tuna?” he questions.

“Just Yuna.”

He accepts your answer with a swift jerk of his head and a slight pout. In the distance, you can hear the woman from before calling the the ship to anchor. One of the men—this one has a slender frame and long, long legs—leaves the helm and drops an anchor to the ocean floor. 

Your gaze flickers back to the boy who saved your life. “I’m Luffy! Monkey D. Luffy,” he introduces himself, then reaches for his straw hat to place atop his head. A red ribbon wraps around the base. 

Things make sense when the hat is on, you think to yourself. He makes sense. 

“Remember that,” he demands and jabs a thumb towards his chest, something like passion lighting his coal eyes aflame. “You’re talkin’ to the future king of the pirates.” 

As if the heavens already bow to him, this future king, it begins to rain. He pulls off his hat and looks up. Water droplets kiss tawny skin. They roll from his cheeks, to his chin, down the curve of his neck. 

Rain, your mother liked to say, is good luck. Fathers renewal. Change.

You hope she’s right.

#mushy writes .𖥔 ݁ ˖ #luffy x reader #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #monkey d. luffy #one piece #m.monkey d. luffy #m.luffy #m.op #tw: angst #battle scarred;

[dahliamalfoy97]

TATTOO SESSION: SUGURU GETO x Y/N Reader one shot

Synopsis: Y/N gets dared to get her nipples pierced by her father’s best friend and it turns into something more.

WARNING: SMUT 18+, EXPLICIT CONENT, MDNI!, pwp, age-gap, size kink, slight blood kink and pain kink, slight dacryphila, dad’s best friend, degradation kink, praise kink, throat fucking, oral , daddy kink and anything else I forgot.

A/N: honestly this isn’t as kinky as some of my others but I just wanted to write something with Suguru Geto because I’ve been obsessed with him lately. And Y/N is 20 in this one shot. Anyways, hope you enjoy.

Word Count: 4.1k+

You enter the tattoo shop nervous. You had been dared to do this by your best friend. And if you didn't, she'd tell your darkest secret it was a result of playing truth or dare and this was your dare. It was late at night and the shop was closing soon.

"Well hello Y/N," Toji says at the counter, "what brings you here?"

"I want to get my nipples pierced," you say to the man who a close friend of your dad's.

The big man's eyes widen and he chuckles, "well that's quite a shock, tell me did Nobara put you up to this?"

Your cheeks heat from embarrassment, "no I want to do this for myself."

"Well lucky for you Geto is free at the time, usually you'd have to wait but since it's you, you can just go back there."

"Thanks Toji," you say before walking back to the furthest room. Suguru is at his desk sketching like he usually does. His back is to you when you enter. He's currently got his shirt off so you get a wonderful view of his backside. His usually long hair is pulled up in a man bun so you get a full view of his broad back and that dragon tattoo he has covering his entire back.

You immediately clench your thighs together. How had you thought this dare was a good idea? You know Nobara had purposefully done this knowing your secret crush you had on this man. But it didn't make it any less nerve racking. Just being around him made you feel all sorts of hot and flustered. But he couldn't know that. For this was your father's best friend and he was 20 years older. Sure he was single although you could never figure out why, but your dad would never allow it. But that didn't stop this man from taking over your thoughts 24/7, or how your heart thumped loudly whenever you were near him.

Taking a deep breath you finally make yourself known, "hi Suggy."

The man immediately stops what he's doing and spins around, black eyes landing on you, immediately grinning at you. Gods, if his backside was gorgeous, his front side was magnificent. Even though you knew what he looked like underneath, from secret study sessions, you were still blown away.

"Well hello squirt, come to visit me ?" His deep voice and that nickname makes you shiver.

"Actually I'm here to get a piercing," you say, taking in all the tattoos that covered his arms and torso instead of looking at him In embarrassment.

He chuckles, "well of course I'd be happy to help you, come take a seat on the chair here and tell me what you want."

You nod, and take a seat on the chair. He rolls up in the rolling chair and is just mere inches away. Even sitting in a chair, he still towered over you, you can't help but notice how thick his thighs looked in the leather pants he currently.

Gods, there's no way you can this close to him and let him pierce your nipples without him knowing how you feel. You were going to to lose your mind. Just the thought of his hands on you-

"Yo, squirt are you okay ?l" he says, immediately bringing you out of your trance causing you to look at him.

"Yeah sorry, I just got distracted," you say, "I like your tattoos, specifically the Tiger one, I've never seen them up so close."

He laughs, the sound going straight to your core, and you could see a flicker of silver flash as he does. This man had a tongue piercing too. Gods. He was going to be the death of you.

"You've seen them all the time. Now tell me what are you wanting pierced?"

"Don't judge me and don't tell my father," you plead. "This is a dare from Nobara."

"Don't worry your father doesn't need to know everything about you, so I won’t tell him. but what trouble has Nobara caused you this time?”

"To get my nipples pierced," you say really fast, red immediately flushing your cheeks.

His hands still and his eyes darken for a moment before widening, "and you accepted the dare why?"

"Because if I don't, she'll tell my darkest secret."

He gets up for a moment, walks away to get the supplies. "Well I'm assuming you're not going to tell me what it is?" He comes back with a paper that shows you the different piercings, "which one are you wanting ?"

"Whatever you think looks good," you say. "I trust you, Suggy."

He smirks before walking away and coming back with some tools and sits back down on the chair in front. "Well first things first, I'm going to need you to strip."

You blink, "What ?"

He chuckles, "you're getting your nipples pierced right? So I need you to strip."

You immediately flush, "alright."

With shaky hands your pull your shirt over your head and throw it to the ground, staring wide eyed as your bra comes next. Your nipples were hard.

"Good girl."

you look at him wide eyed surprised he said that his eyes glimmer with what looks like lust before blinking it away with a charming smile.

"So what else do I need to do?"

"To be honest it might be best if you sit on my lap."

"Alright," you get up from the chair and situate yourself in his lap, and it takes everything in you not to buckle at how much bigger he was then you and how big he felt underneath you. His intoxicating scent overwhelming. As you felt yourself surrounded by it as you straddled him. You could feel yourself pooling below. Gods, you were doomed.

"Now I just need you to relax and sit still for me okay?" He says, in a soothing point. You nod. But immediately gasp as his massive hands cup your breasts and he begins to massage them. You immediately arch and let out a moan. Gods his hands - "shh relax, princess, I need to massage the stress out of you before we begin okay? It'll make the process easier ? Okay. So just relax."

You nod wanting to be obedient, but how could you relax when his hands felt so good and the fact that he called you princess? You brain was short circuiting and you heart was nothing but mush. But then you feel his tongue swirling on your nipple, causing you to blink in surprise when cold metal of his piercing flicks against your skin.

"S-Suggy."

He places a long finger over your mouth, "shh, relax princess. I gotta take care of you. Don't want to hurt you when I pierce these sweet nipples of yours."

"Are you sure this is how you  pierce them?" you ask in a shaky voice. You want nothing more then to rock your hips on his but you stop yourself.

"Nah, just you, I only want to give you the best experience." He says, with a dangerous grin. "For my favorite squirt, I want to give you the best time."

Then he switches to the other nipple, his tongue latching onto your hardened nub and swirling his tongue around it making it even harder, this time you can't resist bucking your hips. Moaning when you feel him harden beneath you.

He chuckles, "that feel good princess?"

You nod, "yes, Suggy,"

"Good," he grins, almost sounding smug. "That's what I want to hear."

Then he continues his delicious assault on your breasts, sucking and massaging them. He shifts you to where your straddling his thigh. You jolt when you feel a vein brush along your core. It didn't help that you wore a short skirt so it was just your panty clad wet cunt that was on his thigh and you can't help but shamelessly rock yourself along his thigh. Wanting as much friction as possible.

"I can feel you soaking my thigh princess," he murmurs, breath hot against your nipple. "Tell me what would your father say, if he saw you turning into a messy, needy slut for his best friend? Hmm?"

You can't help but whimper at his degrading tone and words, but a broken "Suggy," is all you can manage. Every sane thought was lost as you continued to rock back on forth on his thigh, gripping on his arms, nails digging into his skin.

He smiles darkly, "I bet that's what your darkest secret is? Hmm?" you try to protest but he just laughs at you.  "Don't even try to deny it princess, we both know how badly you've been wanting this to happen. How much you've craved me to touch you."

"Fuck," you let the filthy word fall from your lips, "Suggy, I can't help when you just so damn sexy, how can I not want you?"

He chuckles, the deep laugh rumbling against you, "that's right, how can you not want me? Well why don't you show me just how much you want me?" He uses his free hand to help guide your movements along his thigh. Him sneakly rocking his thigh up into you, you could feel yourself beginning to fall apart, your orgasm approaching. The pressure and pleasure was too much. You whimper grinding harder, more desperate. "That's it make a mess", he cooes.

Then without warning he pierces one of your nipples, you could feel the sudden stab sensation, and you look down to see a little blood, to which he laps it up, and that sight alone has you coming undone. He then does the same to the other one.

"Atta girl," he praises, once you're coming down from your high. And you look into his eyes, he looks so smug. "Not only did you make a mess but you did so good with getting your nipples pierced. You look sexy as hell."

You don't hesitate before, tugging on his neck and pulling him towards you, he chuckles lowly when you desperately crash your lips against his, before wrapping an arm around your waist to bring you closer, kissing you back with as much fervor as he flushed you against him. Your breasts hitting his naked torso. He subtly begins rocking his hips into yours again, growling when your tongues clash to together and your desperately clawing at each other, feeling each other up. M

"Suggy," you plead desperately in between kisses. "Fuck me, please."

He laughs, "begging for me already. I love it. You're so desperate for me. How can I deny such a request?"

He lifts you up and sets you down on the tattoo chair, spreading your legs apart, kissing you one last time, before kneeling before you between your thighs, hooking them over his shoulders. He hastily rips your panties and you nearly cum right there at the ravenous way he takes you in.

"What a pretty little pussy - so pink and dripping for me, it would look so pretty with a little stud right here," he runs a finger down your slit, causing you to shudder. Before bringing into his mouth, sucking it. He growls, "fuck you taste so damn exquisite. From now one this pussy is mine and no one else's got it?"

You nod rapidly, but gasp when you feel a harsh slap against your clit.

"Use your words, I need to hear you say it," he demands.

"Yes, Daddy," you moan, shamelessly "This pussy is only yours. I promise."

He smirks,  "good girl," with that he wastes no time, yanking you forward and bringing your clit to his mouth. Latching onto it immediately. You cry out, your fingers clinging onto his hair tugging on it, to tug him closer and to feel those soft strands in your fingers. You eagerly yank his hair out of his tie and whimper when becomes free, that gorgeous, long black hair falling all the way to the ground, making him look even more magnificent than before. You pull on it to force his tongue to go deeper inside you. You throw your head back and arch into him.

"Ahh fuck, Daddy," you cry wantonly , "you feel so good. Don't stop, please."

"As if I would ever want to do such a thing, not when you taste this sweet," then he's inserting to fingers, immediately groaning. "And when you're this damn tight. Holy shit, you're squeezing me."

Then he's pulling away to stand up, you protest, but he shushes you with his hand on your mouth.

"Shh, sorry princess, I just gotta be inside you. I can't wait anymore."

He hastily pulls his pants off, then his underwear and your mouth waters as his cock hits his stomach. It was fucking huge, thick and curved a little, the dark tip leaking precum against his taut stomach, and you suddenly wondered if you could handle such a size.

"Don't worry, Angel," your heart flutters, at his suddenly soft tone. "It'll fit." Taking his cock in his hand, he strokes it before lining  the tip with your entrance. Rubbing it along your seam, coating you with his precum. His eyes darken at the sight, "you were designed to take me and me only."

Then he's aligning the tip and pushing in, you both let out a moan at the first stretch, he felt so foreign in your tight walls, your walls struggled to take him in. But he suddenly leans forward and grips your chin, pulling you in for a soft, soothing kiss. "Shh, Angel, relax," he continues pushing forward. He was so big you could feel every vein and ridge as he slowly filled you up to the hilt.

You have to look down to see where the two of you meet, to see him disappearing inside of you and you can't help but moan at the sight. It was so sinfully wrong- giving into your fantasy that was Suguru- you’re dad’s best friend. Who could very well be your father. But you didn’t give a damn anymore. For this is what you've been longing for so long. This is what all your fantasies had been about.

This man and him being inside you.

"Fuck," he groans, his hair falling down, cascading around him. "if you keep squeezing me like that, this will be over for the both of us sooner than we both want, so be a good girl and relax for me? Yeah? You feel so good around me. So let me take care of you, okay?"

You nod, and finally he's at the hilt and you can feel yourself squirming desperately, loving how full you feel and the feeling of him being all the way inside you.

"That's a good girl," he grips your hips before pulling out only to slam back in. Your body shattering immediately as he begins to hammer his way into you. His cock pounding into you in a relentless harsh pace. You grip his arms tightly as he thrusts in and out. Your whole body shaking in rhythm with the chair beneath you.

"Feels so good," you babble and you lose yourself in the blissful feeling of his cock ravaging you from the inside out

"Yeah?" He grins, cockily, " that's what I like to hear.'

Sweat glistened down his body, as he bullied his way into your cunt, in a mating press. He enjoyed how your hair fanned around you and the sight of his cock bulging in your stomach. He knew Satoru would kill him for fucking you. But Suguro Geto had never been a good man. He was selfish and he took whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He had restrained himself from taking you for a long time, for the reason why he had remained single was because there was no one else he wanted but you. And the moment you came in his shop, asking for your nipples to be pierced and the way you had looked at him shamelessly without any remorse, had been enough to make him give in. To give into the temptation of you. And now that he had you wrapped around him so tightly, he was going to keep you. Forever. Consequences be damned, but no one was going to get in the way of this. Nothing was going to stop him from making you his.

You could yourself teetering on the edge as you feel yourself approaching another orgasm, but Suguru’s thrusts don’t stop, no he seems to go deeper and deeper with each thrust. His tip brushing that sweet spot every time, you nails scratched his back, as you cry out from the pleasure.

“Suggy, yes- right there!” Tears are springing from your eyes, your voice is hoarse and the pressure is becoming too much.

“Yeah? You going to cum for me like the pretty Angel you are?” He nearly cums at the sight of your tear stained cheeks. Fuck, you had never looked so pretty as you do now. “You look so pretty when you cry for me. I can’t wait to see and feel too cum for me.”

“Daddy,” you plead desperately, “I’m going to cum.”

“Go ahead, Angel, cum for me, make a mess all over me.” He takes his hand and plays with your clit, rubbing it.

The extra sensation has you reeling, you clamp down around him, soon you’re falling apart around his cock one more, and he holds onto you as you do. You could feel his grunts becoming more heavy, his thrust sloppier as he was nearing his own release.

“Don’t went to have your father killing me for getting you pregnant, so I’ll be sure to pull out,” but you grip his hand.

“No please, Suguru,” his eyes widen, for you never used his first name. “I don’t care what my father wants. I want you to cum in me, so don’t you dare pull out.”

He’s taken aback at your demanding tone, before laughing, and his thrusts become more demanding again, “now who’s the one in charge now, little tigress, but if you want to be turned into a little breeding whore for me, than that’s what I’ll do. I’ll breed this needy cunt and fill it up to the brim.”

With a few more thrusts, he’s releasing his seed into you, you’re both crying out as you both feel his hot seed fill you. Watching the white liquid fill you til it’s nearly seeping.

“Fuck, if I could have this image of you filled with my cum as a tattoo so I could look at it forever, and carry it with me til I die, I would you look so fucking beautiful with my cum filling your little pussy.”

Then he picks you up in his arms, lets your legs wrap around his middle, and he sits back down on his chair with you in his lap. You scramble off though, getting to your knees. He had taken such good care of you, you wanted to repay the favor.

“What are you doing, Angel?” He smirks at the how quickly you fall to your knees for him. Perhaps he should get a collar or a leash so you’d be forever at his side. He never wanted to let you go.

You scoot closer and take his big cock in your hands. It was still hot and heavy in your hands, but much bigger now that you were face to face with it. You could see every ridge and crevice and it was glorious, “just want to thank you for taking care of me so well.”

He leans back, “well it’s not like I can say no.”

You smirk, stroking his cock in your hands. Feeling it harden once again, you lean forward and lick a strip up his shaft- immediately eliciting a pornographic moan from him. He reaches forward and gathers your hair in his hands, so it’s out of the way, and leans back. You whimper at the sight of how unraveled he seemed to be under your touch. He looked so magnificent with his long hair cascading around him like a black waterfall. You give him a few more licks along his underside and over his slit, tasting the mix of his and your cum before opening your mouth wider, to slowly take the full length of him in. You hollow your cheeks and relax your tongue. Feeling his hot rod against your tongue, your eyes immediately water. But you keep going.

“Fuck, Angel, look at you, you’re meant for my cock, your mouth and pussy are mine for the taking, they’re designed to take my cock. Your body was made to please me, like a good fûcking slut. My perfect little cocksleeve. Is that you want ? You went to be my little cocksleeve? “

“Yes I want to be your little cocksleeve!”

You choke as you’re not even blowing him even more, because in a flash he’s gripping your neck and forcing you down on his cock, before thrusting his hips upwards to ram in your throat. You gag slightly at the sudden change. That sinister dominate side he had. That selfish side you had only gotten glimpses of. You were once again pooling below at the way he abused your mouth.

“Yeah that’s it, take my fucking cock, like a good little cockslut,”

He continues ramming into your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat and balls slapping against your chin. You could feel saliva and cum dripping from your mouth. He lifts your head off his cock for moment and stands up, before gripping your neck and shoving his cock down your throat once more, this angle more controlling and animalistic. His big hands grip around your neck squeezing slightly, cutting of your air way, and causing you to choke slightly.

“Yes, this is what I like to see, you on your knees before me and choking on my cock. Fûcking magnificent.”

His thrusts start to become sloppy again and soon enough he’s shooting his cum down your mouth. His hot salty cum, hitting the back of your throat and you immediately swallow it all as he slowly pulls out. He nods in approval.

“Good girl.”

Grinning you stand up, “you taste good, daddy.”

To which he barks with laughter.

Once more, he’s scooping you up in his massive arms once more, and sets you into his lap. He lifts you up slightly to aline his tip with your folds before guiding his cock back into you. You both groan at the new way he fills you up, this way feeling more intimate as you straddled him. He kisses you softly, before smirking, “I gotta finish my work now, so you can keep my cock warm and then you can come home with me, how does that sound?”

You can’t help but beam at him, to which his dark eyes soften, “that sounds perfect, Suggy.”

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and wheels the two of you in his chair to his desk and you stay with him just like that. Happy that this man was finally yours.

“By the way those nipple piercings are sexy as hell, I’m glad you came to see me about them.”

You giggle, “well it was either that, or Nobara you my darkest secret.”

“So we’ll have to thank her then. I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time, wanted to make you mine.”

“I’ve wanted this too, in fact this was my darkest secret, you were as a matter of fact,” you say, rubbing his back softly, running your hands along the smooth planes of his back.

“Of course I was,” he smirks, “i’ve known all along of your secret obsession with me. I mean you haven’t been exactly subtle, not in those short skirts and knee highs you’ve been parading in around me, you haven’t been. But it’s cute and I love it and love you for it.”

You immediately feel yourself getting flustered , “you love me?”

He nods, “I do. Especially when you’re warming my cock the way you are. Fuck, I feel you’re squeezing me again, so let me finish my work and then we’ll go home okay?”

“Okay, Suggy. I love you too.”

#suguru geto #getou suguru x you #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru smut #jujustu kaisen #jujustugeto #jjk smut #getou smut

[eternally-smitten]

JanAUary - Role Swap

pairing: Natalie x Herbert West

summary: Natalie seeks out Herbert for help on some strange studies she's been making

content warnings: mention of death

word count: ~1.1k

author's note: I had to. I needed mad scientist Natalie so badly y'all have no idea

Herbert really had no business messing with a character like Natalie. Her demeanor alone was enough to deter anyone from even attempting to get to know her but her reputation really sealed the deal. Somehow, that enticed him even more and made him want to get to know her better.

Natalie mainly kept to herself, always buried in whatever she was working on or lost in her own thoughts. People theorized that she never ate or slept because whenever they saw her, she was either reading or studying. There were light purple bags under her eyes that were noticeable when you saw her up close. That confirmed their conspiracies about her. Her own roommate confirmed that she rarely ever left her room. Once she was home for the day, she locked herself inside of it and wouldn’t leave unless absolutely necessary. That announcement made people want to stray away from her and avoid any confrontation at all costs. Not that it mattered to her anyway. She didn’t much care for the opinions of others or their friendship.

Herbert was really the only one who attempted any kind of interaction with her. He would greet her when he saw her and try to engage in some small talk. Natalie would often reciprocate, although it was very quiet and awkward. She’d usually mumble a “Hi,” back before slinking away. That was the constant until today.

“Herbert!” She called out enthusiastically, rushing up to him, “Finally, I’ve found you!”

“You…me?” He asked, incredibly confused.

Natalie pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with her middle finger, “Yes, you! I’m so glad I ran into you.”

A very small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, “Well, that’s very nice of you. How are you?”

She quietly muttered about doing okay but he could barely hear it. While waving her hands, she glossed over her jumbled answer, “Listen, I need to talk to you about something serious. Something important. To me, to you soon, to everyone soon enough.”

“Sure, what is it?” He asked, intrigued.

Excitement danced in her eyes, “I’ve been working on something for a very long time and, well, I’ve only just come to realize I can’t really do it on my own. I need someone with smarts, someone very intelligent. Like yourself, only better because I found you!”

Her flattery was sweet, almost too sweet. Herbert furrowed his eyebrows, “Thank you. What are you working on?”

“I am so glad you asked.” Natalie showed him the notebook in her hand and flipped through a few pages, “I’ve been working long and hard on a serum of sorts. And I…Well, I’m not going to bore you with the details. Long story short, it’s a reagent.”

“A reagent?” He became startled, “You mean you-”

“Cured death?” She said plainly, not looking away from her notes, “Yes, I have. Magnificent, isn’t it?”

Herbert’s mind went blank. He was hoping she’d want to talk to him about something more normal. Maybe ask to spend some time together. Or, maybe start laughing and claim that it was all some prank. Instead, here she was calmly announcing she had done the impossible in the most serious tone of voice.

He cleared his throat, “A-And what do you want from me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I made that obvious but I guess I didn’t.” Natalie giggled, “I’d like your help. An extra pair of hands would make something so labor intensive a bit easier.”

A lab assistant. She was basically asking him to be her personal lab assistant. Herbert couldn’t believe this. He had no idea how to even respond to such a claim, let alone a request like this.

“I don’t know,” He shook his head, “I’m not sure how to feel about this.”

Natalie cocked her head to the side, “There’s no certain way to feel about this. I just want your assistance and company.”

He hesitantly shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know if I can feel okay with this.”

“Wait, what? Please,” She grabbed the edges of his coat without thinking, pulling him close, “I-I can’t do it alone! I need your vast intelligence, please.”

“What about your roommate?”

Natalie shook her head, “No, no, I need you.”

“But why-”

“You are the only one who has ever been kind to me.” Her grip on his coat tightened, “You’re smart, you’re nice, you can tolerate me. Not many have all three.” A cynical chuckle took over the last part of the sentence.

“I…” Her kind words made Herbert feel a little better. The fact that she wanted him in on her experiments still made him hesitate, though.

“Please?” She unknowingly gave him puppy dog eyes, “I would be eternally grateful. I’m, um, not used to having friends. This could be an excuse to get to know each other better.”

“We couldn’t do that over lunch?” He thought to himself, still trying to find the words to say.

“Please, this work is so important to me. We could make some serious changes here. I only really trust you, too.”

“Um,” Herbert’s gaze went to her hands, making her look at them, too.

Natalie released her grip from his coat, “Sorry, I didn’t realize I did that.”

“No, that’s alright.” He responded sheepishly, “If I do…this with you, will you do a favor for me in return?”

“Yes, of course.” She responded immediately, “No questions asked.”

“Maybe we can get coffee sometime?”

“I don’t like the stuff.”

“How about tea?”

She nodded, “Yeah, I like tea better. Okay, sure, we can do that.”

“Great,” He smiled at her.

She smiled back, “Herbert, you and I are going to make history. Do you hear me? We are going to change the entire world. Just you wait.”

He swallowed, “I, uh, can’t wait?”

She didn’t seem to pick up on his uncertainty, “Me, neither. And tea. I’m really looking forward to tea. I’ll find you later about dates and times for us to work, okay? See you later! Thank you so much!”

Before he could reply, Natalie scurried away without a second thought. He watched her walk away and contemplated running after her to catch up.

“No, no point.” He thought, “I’ll be seeing her soon enough.”

He was correct to think that. When he arrived at his next class, he found a note waiting for him in his usual spot.

“West,

Meet me today (or tomorrow if that’s better) at the lab this evening. 8pm, if that works for you. If not, don’t be afraid to come find me to tell me a better time. Bring gloves, pencils, and paper. Looking forward to working with you.

– Natalie

P.S. I like green tea. Usually peach flavored. Maybe this weekend would work best for that.”

tag list: @blood-moon-ships @kylars-princess @bobmckenzie @nonesenseships @gideongrovel @bioexorcizm @felixrichtershubby lmk if you want to be added/removed! :)

#my stuff ♡ #🫀꒦꒷alive again꒷꒦🧪 #self ship fanfiction #ok to rb! #janauary2024 #au: 🔄💉

[magic-hcs]

Part two of the how the boys react to their s/o’s death after 15 years of being together and if they’ll take a new partner or not. The ‘taking a partner afterwards or not’ is very much just situational and stuff. It’s pretty much not a 100% guarantee. Except for some like crest and Thatch for example.

Part 1 is here

Warmings: angst, death, grief, anger, bad coping mechanisms, pretending to be fine when they aren’t

Time to cast some magic and see what we’ll get!✨

✨✨

(US)

Sky: Sky’s smile hasn’t been as bright and genuine for a long while now. It doesn’t quite reach his sockets and feels strained to all who know him. His chipper attitude feels forced. And whenever he’s asked, he always replies with the same answer and a big, reassuring (fake) smile:

“I’M FINE.”

No, “IT IS GOING MAGNIFICENT WITH ME.” Or a “COULD BE BETTER, BUT I WON’T LET IT STOP ME.” Not even a simple “I’M DOING GOOD.” Just an “I’M FINE.”

It was obvious Sky was failing at pretending to be fine - which if he puts effort into it, he does a great job at it - and it worried everyone around him. But especially his brother.

Syrup sees how the loss breaks his brother’s soul every day. He sees the pain Sky is in. He sees how his brother refuses to let himself mourn to let himself heal. He sees how he goes around pretending to be fine as he helps everyone around him with their issues, helps everyone except himself. Syrup tries to reach out a hand to his brother, tries to help him, tries to be there for him like how Sky has always been there for him. But Sky refuses every single time. Until one day of Syrup pestering Sky, following him around until he gave in. And giving in Sky did. Syrup had only seen his older brother cry thrice in their entire lives.

The first time; Syrup was just barely in stripes and Sky was still a kid, both just having lost their father.

The second time was a time Syrup wants to forget.

The third time was when the both of them confessed having some sort of knowledge of the resets.

And now, the fourth time, where Sky just breaks down, finally releasing his grief from the cage he had been forcing it in for so long. It is after that day that Sky finally begins to mourn healthily and heal. (With some help from Syrup every now and again when Sky tries to clamp up again.)

It is a big maybe if Sky will ever find a new partner. He won’t be looking for it that is certain.

Syrup: Syrup is soulbroken and needs time to process everything. He isolates himself in his room for a while, only going outside to eat and show his brother that he’s still alive. It isn’t the best nor healthiest coping mechanism, but for Syrup it works. In the time that Syrup isolates himself he often watches videos and pictures of you. Even rereading prior text messages to make it feel as if you’re still near.

Once Syrup leaves his room and doesn’t return to it to hide, he is sorta ready to face the world again. He’s still hurting but he gets through it slowly. Going outside really helped with this. Nature seemed to give him serenity, peace between the storm of pain and grief. There’s a willow tree Syrup often goes to, sitting underneath it or on the branches. It grounds him, it helps him think, and reflect and remember you.

Syrup doesn’t care to find a new partner, if it does happen then that happens.

✨✨

(AT)

Raven: To Raven your death will hit him pretty hard. He hadn’t expected it, he didn’t think that there would come an end to you being together. And then, it happened. And Raven is devastated. He had a rough time as he went through the five stages of grief.

Denial: It was slapping him in the face but still Raven couldn’t believe it . It had to be some sick joke or-or a nightmare or something. It couldn’t be true after all, you were meant to stay with him forever. No matter what everyone else said or told him, Raven refused to listen. Reality only really hit him for the first time when he was at your funeral. And Raven felt numb. And once he got home that’s when the anger set in.

Anger: This was the shortest stage for Raven. He cussed out the heavens and fate for playing such a cruel trick on both you and him. He got mad whenever fate or destiny got mentioned in any kind of way. His feathers ruffled and puffing up in agitation and anger. He never destroyed anything, only feeling betrayed by the world.

Bargaining and depression: These two happened at the same time together. It took the longest out of all the stages. Raven locked himself up in his room in solitude. Plagued by the voices whispering inside his mind the questions of ‘what if’, ‘he should have’, ‘if only’ and ‘could have been’. Whenever Crest or someone else tries to get him to open up he’ll attempt to avoid them by flying away. And yes even through an open window. It is only when Crest corners him with no way to escape. Making him open up and go outside again. It’s an unwanted push in the beginning, but one Raven really needed. Slowly he starts to heal again.

Acceptance: Raven visits your grave/ place where your ash was spread out often with your favorite flowers and or plants in hand. Lining the plants up in a gorgeous wreath at that specific place. The wreath will look different every time he visits.

Afterwards, Raven will sit down - it doesn’t matter if it’s dry or wet (after the first time Raven came home wet Crest forced him to take an umbrella with him if it rains.) - in silence. Thinking about many things, what has been, what could have been and the future. Raven hopes you watch over him from wherever you are with a look of pride and love.

Raven won’t get a new partner.

Crest: Crest is quite like Papyrus in this regard. He doesn’t mope about, he wants to honor you and the life you’ve lived. He can’t do that when he’s down in the dumps. Yes he’s hurt, yes he’s grieving, yes, he misses you so much. But it could never be greater than the honor and devotion he has for you. And Crest believes that the greatest respect he could give you is by living his best life. To look forward and honor those who had passed.

Crest will not take a partner. He’s the kind who takes on a soulmate only once.

✨✨

(HF)

Rust: The day you left the world was the day the sky shook with a wail filled with heartache and sorrow. The world is unfair, Rust knew of this well. Fate had played cruel tricks on all that he is, on all that he cared for. His soul filled with ache he fulfills your last requests. Rust refuses to let anyone else do it except for himself. He wants to be the last to send you off to your eternal resting place. Rust will be closed off for a long time, tired by it all, however he won’t let life leave him behind like your death would do to Red. Rust’s soul will continue to ache for decades more, but he has learned to survive. Has learned to fight on and continue on.

Rust regularly visits your final resting place to talk to you, to feel like you are watching him, to feel like you’re there with him. Rust won’t take a new partner.

Thatch: You got ripped from him so swiftly. So fast and so sudden. He never got to say goodbye. Left behind broken and in pain. His magic overwhelms his soul, his body and he loses control of it all. Destroying his surroundings until Rust manages to override Thatch’s magic with his own.

To put it simply, Thatch is a wreck. A wreck that pretends he is functional.

He has taken on the same tasks as Charon, he fulfills any unfinished business and last requests you have left behind. All the while there are more times where his magic becomes too strong for him to handle. Sometimes Thatch’s own mind gets too much for him to handle, preventing him from getting anything done. Until Rust finds him and brings him back down to earth.

It is those times where Thatch can’t put up a front to his brother and has to accept the reality of it all. He couldn’t do this on his own, couldn’t get through this alone. It isn’t long until Rust sets his foot down and forces Thatch to accept help. To accept he can’t live like this anymore. Thatch relents and slowly, he finally gets to truly grieve.

Thatch won’t ever take a new partner. He just can’t deal with the pain of possibly losing another mate.

✨✨

✨✨

Thank you for participating in this spell, I hope it was to your satisfaction.

#magical prompts #undertale #undertale x reader #papyrus x reader #sans x reader #underswap #horrorfell #aviantale #underswap x reader #underswap sans x reader #underswap papyrus x reader #syrup #sky #underswap papyrus #underswap sans #horrorfell x reader #horrorfell sans #horrorfell papyrus #horrorfell sans x reader #horrorfell papyrus x reader #rust #thatch #aviantale sans #aviantale papyrus #aviantale x reader #aviantale sans x reader #aviantale papyrus x reader #Raven #crest

[megan0013]

hotel arcadia au (douxie and zoe, 2/9)

WARNINGS: death, murder, gun violence

———

1930’s:

it’s just money.

they never hurt anyone. not like all those other outlaws who kidnap and maim and murder for fun or clout or because something goes wrong. no. they’re organized, precise. they get in and get out. hell, most people don’t even know they were privy to a robbery until they see it in the headlines the next day.

it’s just money.

they don’t take chances, either. if there’s even the slightest doubt in the plan, they scrap it and move on. no use dying for a little thrill.

except that’s what’s happening right now, isn’t it? they messed up somewhere and the local sherif got tipped off somehow, and now douxie’s bleeding out all over the leather interior of his prized v8 and zoe’s frantically trying to put pressure on the bullet hole in his chest without running the car off the road.

the hotel comes into view and she slams on the gas, desperate to put more distance between her and the officers on their tail. if she can get them to their room, she can barricade them in and negotiate some sort of deal.

yes. yes, that’s all there is to it.

they never hurt anyone.

there’s no porte-cochère at the entrance, just a magnificent marble staircase that offers very little in the way of cover. it doesn’t matter. zoe brings the car to a skidding stop right at the base and somehow manages to pull her partner out of it before the first siren can even be heard wailing on the drive.

zoe supports douxie’s weight the best she can as she hauls him up the steps, and she’s starting to think she can pull this off when something small and angular and an unnaturally pale shade of blue darts across her path.

she goes down with a cry and douxie, well, he goes with her.

he never gets back up.

zoe sobs against his still chest, begging him not to leave her even as the light in his hazel eyes – once, so bright and full of life – fades away forever.

she doesn’t want to let go of him. not now, not ever. but he wouldn’t want her to give up, would he? no. no, he’d want her to keep going. to run. to live. so, she does. she lurches to her feet and stumbles her way up to the top of the staircase, reaches out…

the first bullet catches her in the right shoulder, the second her left hip.

pain erupts across her back as she falls through the door into the grand foyer. but she keeps going, clawing her way forward as blood stains the tiled floor crimson.

she makes it halfway to the elevator before giving in.

no use dying for a little thrill.

———

(jim and barbara, 1/9, here)

#tales of arcadia #trollhunters #zoe ashildr #douxie casperan #zouxie #hotel arcadia au #poll winner right here people #up next: claire

[rinskiroo]

Intimate romance prompts: tying your lover's tie

oml there was this ask in my box from 2 years ago xD I THINK this is what I wrote for it, but just never came up with an ending that felt right? so it just doesn't end BUT HERE IT IS. Not technically a tie, which is why I'm not 100% sure.

---

It had only been a few short weeks since the audience before the Dark Council. Since the climax of all that had been plotted and carefully detailed was enacted. And now, she had to announce herself to Imperial society at large. Reclaim what had been stolen. This manor, that had been the site of such devastation, now repaired, revitalized, and draped in rich trappings so there was no hint of the death that had once soaked the grounds.

“My lord.” The voice of Malavai Quinn called to her from an open door.

The pair of maids attending to her hair and makeup backed away obediently as she waved them off and rose to her feet. She kept waving until the backed all the way out of the room and shut the door behind them.

“You look magnificent, my—“

Sao’la held up her hand. “We are in private, Malavai.”

“My love,” he said with a smile.

She let out a breath and some of the tension in her shoulders as she walked towards him. The long train of her gown pillowed out behind her. It was black as night in stark contrast to the full length of her white hair, brushed out and flowing behind her. He was in his finely tailored dress uniform—brand new, starched and pressed to crisp perfection. His breast adorned with the medals and commendations he’d earned.

Sao’la stopped in front of him and smoothed her hand over his shoulder, catching a stray thread. He reached up and held her hand as it rested on his shoulder. “You have accomplished all you’ve worked for. Yet, you seem… reluctant, my dear.”

“I have to focus now,” she said quietly and moved her hands again. This time she brushed them across the triangles at his throat, carefully adjusting them so that they were even. “There will be time for complicated feelings later.”

“Why is it complicated?” he asked. Again, his hands wrapped around hers, pulling them away, because his uniform was impeccable and she was fidgeting. Trying to find things wrong so she could fix them.

Sao’la took in a quick breath, and then breathed out, quiet as a mouse, “What if this isn’t what I want?”

“Then tell them to leave.”

“If only it were so simple,” she looked up at him and gave him almost half of a smile. She had invited all of these people. Telling them to leave would indeed be a powerful play, but a petty sort of power. And what she did not want was for people—these people—to think her petty and small. She was strength incarnate and valued and rewarded loyalty. She would honor her commitments and her invitations.

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #sith warrior #malavai quinn #sith warrior x malavai quinn #intimate romance prompts #prompt fill #sal x mal #ask #storyknitter #my writing

[magnorious]

Review: ‘We Find Out The Truth, Sort Of’, Percy Jackson Episode 7

TL;DR the flashbacks were the best part of this episode and because they exist, precious minutes serving actual plot were eaten by missed potential. Also someone kidnapped Hades and replaced him with a caricature imposter.

This show is quickly becoming not even enjoyable enough to make fun of, but with two episodes to go, might as well see it through to the end.

Episode 6 left off with some wild Hollywood-y changes to the source material, the biggest being that the summer solstice deadline has already passed and the gods are at war, because tension? Everyone knows the world isn’t going to end, everyone knew it wouldn’t end in the book either — the stakes came from whether or not Percy would be able to prove his innocence and recover his mom. We knew somehow that things would work out, the question was what the cost would be if he failed.

Giving Percy the 4th pearl and making him already fail by the powers that be was an interesting decision. It robs the tension from the rest of the plot if there’s no clock ticking down anymore. Hades, Ares, every single hurdle they face burns more time and forces Percy to risk flying on a plane to reach New York before the deadline... all for Zeus to not give a damn anyway.

But did this interesting choice make for a better or more entertaining story?

—

I’m shocked they kept Crusty’s Waterbeds given how much plot they have left to shove in this story. And, of course, Percy already knows exactly who he is. They finally got a character to look like they did in the book and (for Supernatural fans, it’s the same actor as Death) it’s pretty well done for the costume and makeup department. But all of that is moot once again when the script gives away all the answers.

Percy has no time for Crusty because the plot has no time for Crusty. They try to give him some thematic relevance but they’re sprinting to the finish line now, and they can’t even let Percy kill him, going out of their way to make Annabeth tell him to be happy he gets to keep his head.

Side note- the pearls look like tiny Ferrero Rocher chocolates.

Oh and DOA Studios doesn’t exist, because there’s no time for that but there is certainly time for flashbacks. If I had to pick between Crusty and Charon, I would have preferred Charon 100%, he’s actually a decent guy — but not this version of him. He does actually appear, looking more like a grim reaper than an underpaid middle manager bereft of his Italian suits.

The flashback itself is wonderful, I wish the rest of the show was so nicely written. The second flashback they don’t have time for is also great. I like seeing more of Sally and their struggles growing up, her tireless search for ways to protect her demigod son. This is the kind of filler that helps tell the story, unfortunately it’s at the expense of the existing story this episode, eating up minutes. The *third* flashback eating up minutes is also good, this just isn’t the time for any of these. They should have all been in the St. Louis episode. I hate how good these are, because it shows how good the writing could have been. Baby Percy still runs circles around the older kids’ line deliveries. The **fourth** flashback is well-acted but baffling, more on that later!

The Underworld is grey. Painfully grey. Another reason I wish this show had been animated was full creative freedom to go all out with the design and the colors and the scale. This is just boring- grey and hazy to hide how boring it is. The Underworld is an entire kingdom, it’s a realm, terrifyingly beautiful. There’s black poplar trees and all the different rivers and Elysium and the Isles of the Blessed and Persephone’s garden. The ghosts actually look like ghosts. The kids in this version don’t actually look intimidated by the magnificence of the place. There’s no time to be intimidated.

Cerberus is fine. Annabeth’s waterland ball is swapped in for Grover’s stress ball. But he remained a Rottweiler. What’s not fine is the plot handing Percy 4 pearls only to randomly rescind one by making Grover lose his to recreate the tension they murdered. Percy doesn’t hesitate to give his to Grover and there’s no time for them to have any kind of dramatic argument over who should actually stay behind.

Asphodel is a forest, not a field, i.e. the Fields of Asphodel. The concept is cool, actually. These souls stuck there for so long they’re growing roots into the very fabric of the Underworld. So kudos there, that’s genuinely creepy. The rest of Asphodel is a desert, still not a field, and bright as daylight for some reason when it should be permanent night down there unless you’re in Elysium.

Buuut then said roots tangle up Annabeth and make them leave her behind. Percy doesn’t even try to cut her free and she just takes a pearl to the surface, to be ejected from the plot for now. What regret did she have? Doesn’t matter, no time.

Percy is still too smart for his own good and the plot still hates any mystery whatsoever, so he finds the Master Bolt immediately after the brush with the Pit. The Pit also has no voice of Kronos to make it extra creepy, because there’s No Time For That. The entire point of the Chekov’s gun that was those shoes is tossed aside.

The Underworld continues to be painfully grey and beige. Hades isn’t grey, though, oh no. Hades isn’t Hades either. I kept waiting for the reveal that he’s just one of Hades’ Furies in disguise or even a lesser spirit he orders around to screw with people. I waited, and kept waiting. The dude who played Hades in the movie was more accurate.

They still do argue. Percy still accuses Hades of meddling. They argue in front of a random living room instead of a godly Underworld throne. Maybe that wasn’t in the budget. I’m still waiting for Hades to drop this ridiculous act and toss this puppet aside. He starts offering sanctuary when book Hades desperately wanted absolutely nothing to do with whatever was brewing between Zeus and Poseidon, claiming now he needs another god’s weapon to defend himself and I don’t think signature weapons are so easily transferable. Percy and Grover get the heck out of dodge shortly after.

Then Poseidon shows up in the fourth flashback and, well, Percy does have his hair (but not his random British accent). No Hawaiian shirt and khakis in sight. This exists to make Poseidon and Sally’s love for their son more tangible, but in the first book he’s a dick. He’s not seen on the page until Percy meets him on Olympus and the god is a huge disappointment to him. Poseidon begins narrating like this is the season finale, Ares shows up, and cut to black.

The entire book we’re left in limbo on where Poseidon stands, if he’s going to be as spiteful and selfish as Zeus or Dionysus. That reveal on Olympus meant something. But at this point I’m tired of arguing why scenes matter when the show couldn’t care less.

At this point making book comparisons doesn’t matter anymore because this just isn’t Percy Jackson anymore. The characters have their names, sure, but that’s about all the due diligence that’s paid to the source material. I watched this with someone who hadn’t seen a single episode before nor read the books and even they commented that it’s horribly rushed. Even without Percy Jackson’s name on the marketing, they’ve been questing to the Underworld for the entire season and *this* is what we get for it?

Here’s to hoping the entire budget for fight scenes went to the finale so Percy can kick Ares’ ass.

#percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo series #review #pjo #pjo hoo toa

[adelindschade]

A Thousand Touches (A Thousand Cuts, Part 28) *PURE SMUT*

No introduction needed - just overdue Nessian “bonding”. 

She’d be the death of him. Nesta would kill him – and he’d beg her for it, too.

He knew he neglected her in the last hour. The sighs turned into chuffs from the kitchen where she was hands deep in flour, concocting her latest bout of teeth rot, while he canvased one file after another – some relating to filling new positions, others reporting deviant behavior, and he was just done altogether sorting through work while Nesta was within the same roof wearing that damned slip.

Cookies. The wench was craving cookies and crawled out of bed, abandoned her book, and began to make a mess of the kitchen to supply her need. That silky number he was sure was meant to coax his fingers between her legs in the latter hours of the night was now ruined with every possible powder she conjured from the cabinets.

“If I knew for a fucking fact that I haven’t touched you in that way, I would have sworn you were with child with all your crazy cravings,” he growled louder than he thought. It was too late to bake but then again, he found she didn’t like sleeping alone, and so, by that logic, his work kept them both up. Guilt gnawed at him. He snapped when he didn’t need to.

Soft padded feet crossed the threshold quickly and he stiffened, wondering if he struck the wrong spot, and ignited her temper in the worst way.

A curtain of golden-brown tresses spilled into his vision, and a nose graze his cheek.  He breath lodged in his throat, anticipating her to retaliate.

“I bet you’d like that,” she mused in a husky rasp. Her breath tickled his stubble-rich cheek. His eyes shifted slightly to his peripheral, locking with her icy blues. Her creamy bare shoulders were the first thing that captured his attention, and he trailed down the shiny straps guiding to the deep dip of her top – a shimmering blue as the nighttime sky.

His eyes froze on the crevice between her breasts. The magnificent things were pushed together by her forearms as she entangled her fingers under her and allowed her elbows to rest on the couch’s back. She was leaning forward, and he wonder how they didn’t spill from her gown.

She tilted her head and a grin played on her lips. He’d sooner deal with her anger than that – knowing she’d make him suffer for whatever mischief she intended to play on his psyche.

“I bet you would have me no other way,” she nuzzled deeper into his neck. He craned slightly away, trying his damnedest not to feed into temptation. He had delayed his work enough. She would not distract him. He put off sleep long enough.  

Her grazed down the column of his throat. That uptick of her lips let him know she, too, noticed the bob of his Adam’s apple.  She pressed her lips to the hollow point, lingering for a second, waiting for a reaction. When his control didn’t slip, she pulled away.

“Maybe I would,” he hoarsely choked. “You’d be exhausted and dead asleep. I’d be able to do my work without disruption.”

“No, not because of that,” she teased, leaning even further over the edge. “I think,” she whispered in a rasp that sent his blood rushing. “I think you would like me round with child because the scent of sex isn’t enough. You need everyone to see I will always carry a part of you, to know I will always love you, and our children would be irrefutable proof the lengths of the bond we have. There would be no way to deny it. A mating bond is one thing but for me to carry your child would seal it. We’re forever bound, and my loyalty would unquestioned. I would be yours – and we would be tied until death itself pries us apart.”

He closed his eyes and compelled himself to ignore it. He begged his mind to not play into her words. His hand fisted in his lap.

“Don’t tempt me,” he growled.

He promised himself he’d respect her wish to reserve the final bout of intimacy until their mating ceremony. In the meanwhile, they’d familiarize themselves with each other’s anatomy, but the sweet bliss of conjoining would be held off until the ribbon was tied, and vows were shared. However long it took. He’d have her willing and ready to completely renounce any other male from the running. Her hand would his and only his.

In that moment, as she murmured those damning words into his ears, every vile thought of hauling her over the couch and taking her from behind until she begged for absolution had swarmed him. His mouth contorted into a snarl, baring teeth as she prodded his deep seeded urges. His eyes squeezed and he turned his head, avoiding her prying eyes. His short, chuffed breathing gave him away, nonetheless.

He felt her leave his side but as his eyes opened, protesting her absence, he found her in front of him, and his entire lungs fell short of air as he took her in. The slip fell to her knees, but she hiked up the hems temptingly high as she clambered onto the couch one knee as a time – pinning him between her thighs that seemed so small, so pale, and so easily bruised compared to his girthier, darker ones primed with muscle.

She settled on his lap, boring her eyes into his as her arms encircled around his neck.

His knuckles nudged her thighs unintentionally, trying to pull out from under them. His hands desperately wanted to settle on places he knew he shouldn’t, fighting instinct with every fiber of his being. Her thighs were so agonizing close, her hips perfectly rounded, and her ass fitting perfectly in his hands – but none of that would help his cause to remain uncompromised.

Cassian plunged his fists into the side of them, embedded into the cloth of the couch.

His thoughts ran back to the night before when he had her in a similar position, riding his fingers with encouragement as she chased her climax, digging her nails into his back and biting his shoulder to smother the primal sounds his fingers summoned. Her hips rolled over his cock, aggravatedly covered with fabric, but no less digging into her sex as she came with a shout and a curse.

He wondered if she intended to finish what she started, as he also recalled her fascination with his cock when he pulled it out to finish himself – unable to will the pressure away after she rolled off to compose herself. She didn’t shy away from his forwardness. She had propped herself on her elbows and watched intently, holding her own breath as he pumped vigorously. Her hand wavered and he paused, hopeful she’d take over, but she redacted her arm and snugged her hand under her half-turned torso, allowing him to resume where he left off, a bit more despondent that she wasn’t brave enough to get a proper feel of him.

Maybe tonight was the night she would. Of all times, of course when he needed to focus on work, she’d find the courage to take what was hers.

She quirked her head and challenge lit in her eyes. She wanted to break his discipline and he knew he’d have a battle ahead of him.

“Witch,” he cursed.

“Bat,” she playfully taunted. She nipped at his vein, and he had to resist the small of her hair when it tickled his face.

“You’re covered in flour,” he growled.

She perked a brow – and then that damned smirk that had him gulping. He stopped her hand before she could peel the slip off, halting it as she managed to hike it over her hips and show a teasing glimpse of her belly.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he snarled.

“You’re on edge,” she mused. “I can help.”

“I won’t be able to stop myself,” he admitted, leaning back to put distance.

“I believe you can,” she confidently endorsed, closing the gap, and pressing her chest to his. Her lips ghosted over his. “Take a break,” she bid in the same rasp as before. “I beg of you.”

“Nes,” he warned, leaning into her embrace. He couldn’t resist her kiss, trying to be chaste when he realized his control slipped, but she insisted for seconds, holding him hostage as she nestled closer, rendering him under her wicked spell.  

“I want you,” she remarked huskily. He groaned in pain. “This can wait. Come to bed or… if you insist on staying up, I know better ways to keep awake…”

Her hips grinded over his. Nesta was a menacing Vixen.

“You’re insatiable,” he condemned, stilling his legs the best he could to keep from bucking.

“You work hard, and I’ve been away all day, and we don’t get enough time together,” she admitted longingly, resting her head on his shoulder. “Can you please come back to bed? I can save the dough for later…”

“I need to finish this,” he replied remorsefully, dragging his knuckles down her back. He kissed her temple but when he thought about gently urging her off, he found his hands did the opposite, and rested on her hips like he originally intended.

“Kiss me,” she begged in a whisper. She sounded so fragile and vulnerable. He felt terrible for making her so. “Please.”

His face contorted in pain, and he leaned into her, nudging noses. Her hand combed into his hair, curling around his neck to do so, while the other coiled around his upper arm on the other side to stabilize her as they leaned lopsided. Her fingers couldn’t make it halfway, so small compared to his. Everything about her was small when his size dwarfed everything else in the room.

“Five minutes,” he compromised, unable to refuse her much longer, “then you need to go to bed without me.”

There would be many nights she was required to do so. He hated how circumstances have changed. Years ago, he’d beg for this very moment, and he still did, but his attention was demanded elsewhere, and hated how Nesta was the one suffering for it. He wished he could spoil her with every whim and want. He was grateful for her willingness to have him. Cassian despised himself for being unable to reciprocate.  

She nodded and then latched her mouth to his, forsaking all manners as her tongue drove into his first. His fingers dug into her backside as they toppled to the side. He flattened himself over her, searching for her knees as his hands hooked under them and drew them up. Her ankles rested over the small of his back.

His lips were bruising with his kisses, depriving her of air until she broke for a moment in a gasp, and then returned his affection with matching vigor.

“Touch me,” she begged. Her hand searched for his, guiding it between them.

“Five minutes,” he reminded sternly, already hiking up her slip to feel the wetness between her legs. She had been waiting for him quite some time.  

“I want to touch you, too,” she insisted.

He paused, shocked by the statement, and she made her point by palming his hard-on.

“I wasn’t sure last night but I wanted to try tonight. You were busy and I was impatient,” she whined.

“Nesta,” he growled.

“I’m not a virgin. I know what I’m doing,” she hissed.

“Five minutes,” he barked quieter but no less harshly.

“I can make you come in less,” she bit back, reaching up with her head to nip at his pulse. “We can come together.”

He was trembling and she was confident. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he couldn’t deny the excitement he felt, not when she could feel it, too.

“No, not here,” he decided, pulling off. She made a sound of protest, coming to a sitting position as he hoisted himself off the couch. “When I fuck your mouth, it’ll be in our bed.”

“Who said anything about my mouth?” she narrowed her eyes. Her fingers went to the drawstrings of his pants. “You either come in my hand or you can come in your own. That’s the deal.”

He could say no deal, send her to bed, and focus on his work. It’d be practical. He could also let Nesta have her way and push their progress along by another milestone. Nothing thrilled him more than Nesta exploring their bond, and the more comfortable she got with his body and sharing affection.

Nesta waited for his answer.

He undid his ties himself, springing free, and allowing her to re-evaluate her preparedness. She gasped like she did the night before, taken aback by his size – mirroring everything else about him – and assessing the girth with her own hand, unable to wrap fully around it. He jolted at the touch, embarrassed he was so sensitive.

“You can wait another night, or you can fulfil your promise. If you can’t, I’ll make sure there is hell to pay for putting off my work,” he threatened. He didn’t mean it. Not really.

“I want you to touch me, when I touch you,” she commanded.

He was at loss for words.

She roughly pulled him down back on the couch by the wrists and reclaimed his lap. His cock rested on her thigh, already finding itself home, and longing to slip itself in her sacred warmth. Her hand cupped him at the base while the other guided his hand between her legs. She felt her own pool of wetness and coated her fingers, and then settled those at his tip.

He nearly shouted, laboring for air as his entire stomach constricted, jolting at the pleasure she aroused.

“Do you want to look at my breasts or touch them?” she demanded.

He couldn’t speak, mouth slack. She tugged and rubbed, twisting her fingers, and lubricating his cock thoroughly. She was merciless and he couldn’t compose a single sentence in his head. He only remembered to pump his fingers when she began to use both hands to pump his member with the same vigor she did when kissing him senseless.

He wanted her writhing. He wanted to watch. He couldn’t do both while properly tending to the beauties that reside on her chest. He fell to the side, and then shifted on his back. She toppled with him, and he set her flat on top of him, his chest lining with her spine as he arched himself just enough against the couch’s arm to watch without too much strain or craning.

His arm hooked around her hip, and then resumed his fastidious pace, while her hand had tried to find purchase – and then regained her original purpose by encircling his cock (though her fingers couldn’t fully encompass his circumference.)

Upon her suggestion, another giant hand came up to palm her breast, pleased to find it as plump as he always envisioned. He’d never tire from playing with them, able to fill his hand with one, and squeezing with just enough strength to warrant a jerk. A pinch to her nipple garnered a mew.

He had undone her straps with no notice or patience. The slip pooled around her waist, breasts pouring out and bouncing with each jolt. He hiked up her hems, too, to expose her glistening sex, and watch as two of his fingers ravaged her. He plunged in deep. With time limited, he opted for rough, and felt slightly apologetically for not building up to it. She arched and moaned with his ministrations, biting back her bottom lip in vain. Her hips rolled accordingly, meeting each thrust eagerly.

She tried to meet his pace, pumping him until he’d be obsolete and mere putty in her hands.

“If – if – if you come first,” she tried to speak, though his fingers sabotaged her capacity to talk uninterrupted. Her legs twitched, as did his cock as she rolled her thumb over his pre-cum, and one smooth porcelain leg kicked aimlessly as her nerves worked up tension in her taunt belly. “You come– damnit,” she shouted, arching high. ‘

The resounding moan she tried to suppress behind seal lips was a melody in his ear.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he huskily awarded, focused on the sound rather than her vigorous movement. “Remember, we’re on a time limit.”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded absentmindedly, squeezing her eyes shut and her lip captive in her teeth as she wound herself down. “If – if you come first, you – you come to bed… oh my Gods,” she writhed under his hand. Legs closed around his hand in a snap, and she tried to coil inwards, but his hand palming her breast kept her pinned flat to his chest.

“I doubt that will be the case,” he grinned, nipping at her ear. “If you come first, which you will,” he retorted, “you will go to bed, and wait for punishment.”

“I won’t c- oh my Gods – ah,” she strained, contorting to the side, and then thrashing to the other as his fingers wound her up tight. She panted and threw her head back. Her feet hiked up in the air, legs trembling violently as the suspension built. “Bastard!” she whined in the highest pitch.

“What a funny way of showing your gratitude,” he preened, licking at her throat, and promptly sucking on her pulse. He adored seeing her so ruffled, a vivid change from the composed society lady who crafted her face into the perfect mask.

He changed his tempo, rubbing in circles until he had her quivering – meeting his eyes and seeing for himself how dilated they’d become. He’d center her as the rest of her body shook and tremored, unable to stay still as waves of pleasure ran their courses.

“I have five hundred years on you, sweetheart,” he remark smoothly, kissing soundly. She was entranced only for a moment but mewed in protest as his hand departed from her heat.

“No,” she whimpered. “I wasn’t – why – I didn’t say stop.”

“I’m just helping you, Nes. Hold on for a second,” he said in a low gruff. His fingers were drenched, glistening with proof of her arousal, and he used those to help coat his cock, and guide her hand back to his member – lathering it together, and setting a steady pace. “Just like that. Okay? That’s perfect,” he eased gutturally, returning his attention to her lips as she nodded eagerly.

She was an astute student, adopting the tempo he set, and squeezing where she knew he’d be most reciprocal. His body would freeze and then shiver as she eased lower, and lower, until nimble fingers caught his base, and rolled her wrists to evoke her desired reaction.

“Like that?” she whispered when he allowed her a moment to part from his mouth to catch air.

“Just like that. Yes, perfect,” he struggled to keep his breathing even. His nodding was more like rapid jerks, trying his damnedest to stay focused on her eyes. Hers fluttered and she hitched her own breath, shuddering for a moment.  

Her entire face captivated him: from the cloudy grey color, the blown pupils, her plump lips, and the rosiness of her cheeks sprinkled with sun-kissed freckles no one really noticed before because rarely ever did anyone have an opportunity to be so up close.

His hand travelled down the length of her body, leaving a trail of proof between the valley of her breasts, onto her stomach, and into the swell of heat he coveted. She moaned loudly and apologetically as he dipped his two appendages back in, curling and pumping to catch up with her progress. She rolled her hips like a siren, matching him stroke for stroke.

She coaxed a shudder out of him as she drew out two, long tugs, and his hips jerked upwards to buck in her hand. Cassian felt her smile, proud of herself for managing to conjure his primal need and continued the gesture to trigger another spurt.

“I’m catch – catching up,” she stuttered, tremoring herself.

“Not – fast – enough,” he growled.

“Faster?” she toyed, hastening her hand.

“No, no,” he shook his head as if his life depended on it. “Stay – stay like that. You’re doing – amazing.” He couldn’t talk coherently, not when she played him like a puppet. He swallowed her next words, pushing her head into the back cushion from the overpowering need to kiss her.

It was wild and unruly, and nothing like a lady ought to be treated, but her lips were talking, and he felt compelled to make better use of them. If she could make sense of words, he wasn’t doing his part the way she desired him to. He needed to render her speechless. He could dispel much more pleasurable noises from her throat – and he would.

His fingers were relentless, as were hers, but he had a head start, and he knew she was on the cusp of release as she mewed and whimpered in a climbing pitch. Her legs couldn’t keep still, and while he bucked into her expert hands, she was unravelling in his.

“Come, sweetheart. It’s okay,” he assured, grinning victoriously. She shook her head and tried to even the score, but she was drenched while he was still ascending to the same blissful point she had already reached. “Don’t wait for me.”

“No,” she whined, so small and almost inaudible. She tried to make up for in time, strengthening her grip, and while it jolted him out of rhythm, thrusting wildly to match her speed, she still teetered on the edge. He was driven to push her over.

“You need to come for me, sweetheart,” he poised, pumping his fingers quicker, and making a point to curl them as he elicited the most delightful sound from her. It was short, shaky, and high but all the proof he needed she was losing restraint.

He bucked relentlessly into her hand, but her expression told him everything he needed to know, motivating him to press deeper, and hasten his pace. No words were needed. Between the grunts and the sharp hiss of exhales between them, chests heaving together in tandem, one would have to give.

A haziness overcame her, followed by that tell-tale arch. No sound emitted, just a half-cut squeak, as everything in her body snapped and stiffened except from her trembling leg. She rasp a half-breath, the rest lodged in her belly. A waterfall of hair spilled back over his shoulder and arms, and he nestled his face into the nook of her neck as she quivered in spurts, making that delicious noise he adored so much.

Between a whimper and a whine, trembling in octave, and ascending higher.

“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it. I got you,” he purred, his tempo unchanged.

Two final jerks – one he felt from her knee, and the other in her shoulder as she eventually collapsed at his side, laboring in breath as she came back slowly to a conscious plane.

“Let me help you with the rest,” he assured, aiding her hand to lead him along. Full blown eyes met his and he met her with a lazy grin, kissing her temple, her brow, her nose, and then a lingering kiss to her lips. “You did a great job. You took me so well.” He praised, nestling onto her shoulder, and breathing in her scent as their conjoined hands pushed him to a blinding point. “That’s it, sweetheart – just like that,” he managed to say before a guttural sound interrupted his speech.

Her finger hovered at his tip while he pumped at the base, and when he spilled, her fingers glistened with his seed. She wiped it over her stomach, though some remained still.  

He rolled over her, holding her close, and taking in her scent. It was intoxicating. His member throbbed still, despite its spilling, and rested between them – poking at her leg.

“Can you still come to bed?” she murmured, kissing his chest. Hands snuck under his shirt and settled at the small of his back, temptingly close to where his wings sprouted. He wouldn’t survive if she accidentally grazed one. He needed more time to recover. “Please?”

It took Cassian a minute to collect his breath and he pressed a kiss to her crown of hair.

“I have to work, but by the time you finish cleaning up yourself and the kitchen, maybe,” he half-promised, willing to agree to anything at this point. She had undone him, and she was too exhausted from her own climax to yet feel pleased about her victory.

Cassian lied but he didn’t intent to.

“I’m sorry, Nes.” He apologized profusely. Both had changed clothes. She wore a large shirt – one of his – and he forewent his pants and opted just for a different pair of briefs. “I’ll be in bed shortly. Just go on without me.”

She pouted and he hated how he disappointed her, leaving her alone. If only she knew how desperately he wanted to join her and to make most of their time. She nodded understandingly, bidding few words as she went ahead to the hall where their bedroom door was ajar. He made a noise of protest, hoping to part on a better note, and resigned himself with a nagging feeling he failed her.

He heard some shuffling and assumed she climbed into bed, but the light remained on, which was surprising because she liked to sleep without interference. He stayed tuned to the door where she emerged again, hands full. He watched without words, unable to produce any, as she returned to the couch with a pillow and the duvet – giant compared to her feeble frame – and made herself a nest at his side.

A pillow perched on his thigh, where she rested her head, and she cocooned herself in the duvet. She had to curl up as her feet hung over the arm’s ledge.

“Fine,” she grumbled in a gravelly voice. She nuzzled closer and his hand jetted out to smooth her tresses. A lazy smile happened to make its way upon his face without him realizing so. “You better carry me to bed when you’re done,” she demanded, cozying closer.  

“Promise,” he assured, petting her hair absentmindedly.

It was only when slumber took over and he reminisced over her peaceful features despite telling himself to focus on the files did he utter the words he was too afraid to say to her face. I love you.

#nesta is a cuddler #and quality time is a must #nessian #nessian smut #nessian fic #nessian fanfic #nessian fanfiction #same name and author on a03

[queenoffishingandcookies]

LUCIS CAELUM MAGIC HEADCANONS

In my previous post about LC pregnancy headcanons, I brought up the fact that the Lucis Caelum bloodline has (or more accurately, had) two separate forms of magic.

One was Innate Magic, something they had prior to Bahamut’s Revelation after the fall of Solheim that granted them use of the Crystal. Their ancestor was blessed with that power, perhaps at birth (which will be explained), and passed that down to their descendants.

The other branch is Crystal Magic. This wasn’t innate to the bloodline at first. It didn’t boil their blood, or rattle in their bones, or sing constant hymns and prayers in the back of their mind - not yet, at least.

Following the fall of Solheim, there was a massive power vacuum left where Solheim’s nobility and the Astral’s guidance used to be.

Most of noble houses were gone, or had to flee and lose much of their material wealth and immaterial power, becoming refuge to other ruling or noble houses of smaller nations.

The Astrals themselves, except for perhaps Bahamut (for those of you who have read Dawn of the Future) fell into slumber or death, the Sacred Laws they passed down to mortals becoming defunct as there was no one left to enforce them.

Bahamut doesn’t much care for mortals. A deity on high, he sees the world differently. If there’s in issue, he is the type to do a Hard Reset of the star, and then repopulate it after purging the issue (example being starscourge. If you can’t fix it, kill it and begin anew).

But this…he could, albeit in a roundabout way, fix this.

My personal headcanon is that Bahamut, in some way, is literally related to the Lucis Caelum bloodline. More than being the Patron Astral, he is also the family patriarch.

In some AU ideas, this means he perhaps descended to Eos himself following the fall of Solheim, to see what the humans were doing upon the star. There had to have been wars over previous Solheim territory, so much death and illness, not including lack of resources to heal and feed refugees.

Maybe he found love, as much as he is able to understand how to love and be loved rather than simply revered, with a mortal - perhaps one that had already been given his blessing before, and sired a somewhat mortal heir.

Maybe, as sentinels over the star, he forged magnificent scaled and winged beasts in his image, wove them from the steel of his blade and the scales in his armor, of the light of the beyond and the lifeforce of Eos.

Then gave them the ability to take upon a human form, so that they might better watch over the people. The Astrals can change for too, it’s not out of the ordinary - such as the legends of Leviathan taking a human or semi-human form.

So.

Bahamut, the Draconian. Bahamut, the God of War.

(Bahamut, the Father, Very Out of Touch with Human Emotion)

War encompasses so much.

When you think of war, the first thing that comes to people’s minds is bloodshed, isn’t it? Soldier’s prowess on the battlefield in cutting down or shooting enemies dead, death upon death in pursuit of victory for someone else, for safety. You think of illness and infection of the soldiers, or rationing of food and material on the home front.

What about the doctors and nurses who tend to the injured on the field? Healers and protectors, rather than fighters, although they can fight if necessary.

That too falls under the banner of war.

Bahamut is an asshole. He’s probably where Somnus got his ideology of “Cruel, Cold, but Fair” from.

But I bring to you the idea that he was God of War, (effectively a sort of God of Death), and God of Healing. Conflict, war comes to everyone - literal wars and more personal, emotional ones. But so does healing. Not equal to all, depending on what is on hand and status - but it does.

He was literally able to crystallize Eos’s life force, bend it into tangible shape, after all.

And who better to be Blessed with such power, than those who are already used to a modicum of divinity themselves?

His children.

(And later, the Oracles, after his blood slayed blood, and their truest form, of a dragon soaring through the sky, was all but slain in punishment, shackled beneath skin and layers of magic, too much too painful magic that becomes give and take, give your own life and take what might end another’s upon yourself, sacrifice and the sacrifice of your descendants-)

Many of the other Astrals children (they had more semi-mortal kids than Bahamut) had perished in the war, like many messengers had been sealed away in sleep like the other Astrals, so it’s entirely likely that Bahamut was just like… well, my bloodline is one that seems fairly okay after that, they should be able to handle it.

The Innate Magic

Now that I’ve gone over the lore of the Lucis Caelum’s Magic / lack of “true” humanity, let’s get into the more specific details of their two-branches-of-Magic-that-sort-of-became-one.

As mentioned above, Innate Magic is something the LC Bloodline was born with, after their ancient (mortal) ancestor was blessed/created by Bahamut.

I see it divided into two variants:

Healing and Combat.

I think, in the context of other FF games, that means White Magic and Black Magic?

I wouldn’t know, since XV was my first game in the series (sorry those of you who weave the Goddess Etro into your worldbuilding, but I don’t really know who that is or the lore behind her, so she won’t be present. For now, at least. May change in the future).

HEALING MAGIC

Let’s look at Ardyn (Pre-scourge), as well as the Oracles, as an example of Healing Magic.

Ardyn was one of the most powerful healers in the Lucis Caelum bloodline, as I headcanon him. He was not just able to absorb the starscourge with his innate power, but other illnesses as well.

(If it was the meteor of the six which brought the starscourge to Eos, i headcanon that it fell during the Astral War and was what put Titan out of the running as a fighter. It probably would have first appeared over the course of the first half century or so, so I don’t think it would be too surprising to claim Ardyn was their first of his bloodline to be skilled over his magic enough to do so, hence having Bahamut’s blessing to try and absorb/purify the scourge in his own body).

Unlike the Oracles, who could first only soothe symptoms of pain and bolster the body’s immune response (until their power, like the LC’s with the Crystal, was spun into their very blood and bone and they were taught -), many LC’s could absorb the illness, easily heal wounds, and even abate infections and poisonings.

That wasn’t mentioning their prowess in creating healing potions - curatives - and salves. Things that relieved fevers and other symptoms, antidotes for poisons…for illnesses they couldn’t absorb (see: poisoning) on account of being unable to siphon the source of the problem into their body (unless you count blood-letting and absorbing blood into the body which was dangerous-).

Lucis Caelum’s could heighten the restorative effects of certain ingredients, make them more potent than what they normally were, blend them into liquid curatives or pills and then further bless them…….

Part of being able to sense and heal from illness was also being able to pinpoint what could reasonably cause illness and death, and what would have the opposite effect (later heightened by connection to the Crystal).

Such abilities were heightened, when was was able to earn another Blessing of one of the six. In the past, I consider it a thing where, perhaps, people would make pilgrimages to where the Astrals (except for the enraged Ifrit) slept.

For the ability to manipulate the elements, to better feel the world around them, having a greater awareness. In the past, these were the Revelations spoken of in the Cosmogony.

Lucis Caelum’s already had a quiet awareness of the star’s life and light, like a second heartbeat in their chest, could feel the cold steel that slumbered beneath the earth and the crackle of light-fire which forged that Draconian’s scale and blades-

With guidance from Bahamut, they sought to further their abilities by gaining the blessing of the six, prior to being bound to the Crystal.

How better to disclose a good water source from a poor one, with Leviathan’s blessing? To know the poisonous plants and metals from the ones which improve healing, with Titan’s? To bring rain to destitute regions, and grant the starving and thirsty succor, with Ramuh’s aid? To preverse meats and transfer goods, such as water, with Shiva’s?

The one thing they couldn’t recieve was the Infernian’s flame (but it should be noted that LC’s, even without a blessing had strong grasps on elements. Some widespread rumors in Dragon-verses were that, as children of Bahamut, when they were forged in The Beyond, that they Astrals blessed their dragon-forms, and that blessing waned slightly to fit mortal bodies).

(These are some of the few ways elemancy, typically regarded as Black Magic, combat magic, could be used to grant aid, grant healing).

Granted, Elemancy wasn’t….this wasn’t just a LC thing - not until the Crystal. Other people, too, not born to the Astrals the sought the favor of, looked for their blessings. But they could not absorb said element, could not create it with their bare palms - there had to be a source nearby, and they couldn’t just save that energy for later.

LC’s, being not entirely human, just had a one-up in receiving them.

In the fall of Solheim, they were who everyone flocked to in order to develop medicine, treatment procedures. Trade agreements….they were hailed almost as heroes, as something sacred and holy.

COMBAT MAGICS

As descendants of Bahamut, being bound to both life and death as they pertain to war, something I view as innate to the Lucis Caelum’s is the Royal Arms.

They are imprints of their forefather’s souls - of their life - left behind, embedded into a favored weapon that once belonged to them. With Bahamut’s blessing, they were filled with the light of The Beyond, which the LC’s are tied to by blood.

Up until the Crystal was bound to them, they didn’t have their own personal beyond (Armiger), but they could still touch upon the light of the Beyond, the royal arms woven with it and able to phase between the two realms because of that.

(Now I’m imagining Bahamut just holding onto the arms for his descendants, prior to granting them the Crystal - and, though it’s covered later, the Armiger isn’t actually The Beyond, but a Lucis Caelum’s personal hammerspace basically modeled after the Beyond. Bahamut taught them. He got tired of storing their weapons for them, and it had more than one use).

Similarly - to be able to absorb a person’s illness, symptoms of illness, their magic could almost mimic illness, mimic poisons - a LC could literally drain a person’s life. Similar to the Ring of Lucis, but to a far lesser extent. Being bound to the Crystal enhanced the effect of doing so, but they could do it before that.

They had something similar to warping, as well. Light blending. It was a result of being bound to The Beyond by blood, by being something more and less than human. Their bodies would become indistinct in light, like sunlight, and blur. They could phase and move faster. It wasn’t quite warping (literally through themselves through The Beyond for a few seconds, while anchored to Eos via their weapon), but it was close.

The last thing I considered was Elemancy. Again, this wasn’t innate to the Lucis Caelum bloodline (yet), but they still used it in combat. It was less like seen in the games (both the main game and Comrades) and more closer to The Avatar’s or The Legend of Korra’s bending arts).

They couldn’t create the elements either, they had to work with what was on hand.

Like with Crystal Magic, there is a sort of give and take with a LC’s innate Magic. It’s still their energy, if they overexert themselves, they will still get tired - they will be susceptible to falling I’ll with the very illnesses they heal/induce….but it comes back to them, eventually.

It’s not like the give and take of the Crystal.

With that explained, let us move on to the other-but-not-really branch of LC Magic.

The Crystal Magic

I already explained at the top my reasoning for why Bahamut made the Crystal, why it was given to the LC bloodline…but now I’ll get a little more into the details of what that means, how it was bound to his bloodline.

Bahamut, from the beyond, literally pulled Eos’s lifeforce from its shell, and gave it a new one. Then, he literally wove the essence of The Beyond itself, a higher plane of existence, the afterlife, into it.

It was given a low level of sentience, derived from his own consciousness as well as the plants, the earth and the water and rain and the people, and the other Astrals of Eos.

And Bahamut…Bahamut beckoned his children to come to him, to enter upon The Beyond and the light of Eos, and see if they could handle it - handle being chosen to guide and carry the land.

This happened some…thirty or forty years after the fall of Solheim. The creation of the Crystal, and a LC who could actually bind with it - with Eos and the Beyond without breaking underneath the wait of accepting it and it’s cost - took years.

The Crystal, literally being tied to Eos and the Astrals, enhanced their elemancy by far. Bound to the planet itself, a LC who was able to handle the weight of the land - the beating lifeforce of every creature and plant on it, every illness and death - was irrevocably bound to the elements.

No longer constrained to simply manipulating the elements, they could create it - fire, water, ice, electricity….it danced at their fingertips.

Their grasp on the flow of life, the ability to heal and sense both the properties of deadly things and (relatively) safe things expanded far beyond what it was…

They, now being bound to the beyond, could also grasp something beyond - something above Eos’ plane of existence.

Bahamut himself was able to guide them on molding that “other” existence, bound space and lack of time just to their person - the Armiger.

With time, they could also learn to Warp. Bahamut taught the first of his descendants how, tied to the beyond as they were through the Crystal, they could phase between realms in a way different from light bending.

As long as they kept a grasp on their tie to the star, though beginners of teen favored something in hand, a physical form of an element to use as an anchor, they could phase back out in a location of their choosing, rather than just become immaterial.

They were granted the ability to warp in and out of existence on both the mortal and immortal realm.

But Crystal Magic came at an immense cost.

LC’s using the Crystal’s magic weren’t drawing on their own power at first - they weren’t giving and taking from their own person like they used to, though the cost was still their body’s to pay.

They were drawing on the life of the star, of even the other Astrals, to a lesser extent. And the cost, to fill the space left in the wake of the energy they used….

Was their own life energy.

Give and take. Magic drawn from the land is paid back with the magic, the energy, of the person wielding it.

The Merging of Innate and Crystal

The Lucis Caelum’s weren’t born bound to the Crystal, and that was why originally there was a difference between the use of Crystal and Innate Magic.

But, as you might of noticed earlier, I mentioned that as time passed, that was no longer the case.

When Bahamut blessed and cursed his children, his chosen, with the Crystal, the first LC to bond with it was already an adult, already had sired children. His children, then (most likely Somnus and Ardyn’s grandparents and possibly aunts/uncles?) had to be bound and able to carry the weight of being irreversibly bound to Eos, to the elements, to the overwhelming push and pull and give and take of life and death and the elements of the world - not even including the weight of The Beyond.

Crystal Magic and Innate Magic…though both tangled together in their bodies….were separate.

By the time Ardyn and Somnus were born, that wasn’t the case. Either they, or their father/mother, were born bound to the Crystal, because their parents were bound and that tie passed down to them.

They never knew an existence without the scream of the land under the skin, without the cost of the power they were given.

From them on downwards, the LC’s innate Magic blended and merged and wove together with the Crystal Magic - so much so that the space between them no longer existed.

There was no longer a choice on giving and taking from themselves or the Crystal. They were bound to the Crystal, to the star, to the beyond.

Their magic; the beyond, Eos……it wasn’t separate anymore. All of it is bound to the LC bloodline, and as long as the bloodline itself exists…it’s not going anywhere.

Even if they Crystal were to shatter, the Astrals were to die…the magic is too deeply woven into their bodies, their very souls, to wither up and die.

The magic flows incessantly through them, building up and burning from the inside out, caught between the instinct to preserve the body and the cost of using it, burning itself up and devouring it.

It isn’t safe for a Lucis Caelum to not use their magic - there’s too much of it for their somewhat mortal bodies…but the cost of doing so isn’t healthy either.

——————-

Well, that got longer than I was expecting it to.

I didn’t get all the very intricate details I wanted to, but I can’t even explain all the nuances with their magic because I just…don’t have words for it?? It’s more of a feeling that I can’t put into words, and besides - it gives other people room to expand on it themselves.

Anyway, it’s currently almost four in the morning where I live and I’ve been up two hours straight writing this, so if you’ll excuse me -

I’m going to go pass out.

Bye!

#ffxv headcanons #Lucis Caelum headcanons #ffxv magic lore #Lucis Caelum magic lore #LC Innate Magic #LC Crystal Magic #ffxv Bahamut headcanons

[perrydowning]

Time Traveling Home

Hello, m’dears. I’ve missed you. 

I (and my elderly chihuahua who looks like a house-elf) arrived safely in Palo Alto, CA this past weekend. The drive took five days; I needed bit of time to recover physically from the trip, the mad rush to finish packing, and all those little details one forgets about, even when you think you’re prepared.

Though the friend I’m currently staying with—henceforth referred to as ‘Auntie Downing’—offered to have my car shipped, I felt the drive itself would help me process the profundity of this change. This was the fourth time I’ve driven across the country, and there really isn’t another way to fathom just how massive and varied this land is. Not unlike the thoughts and feelings that course through me on a schedule only they know.

My traveling buddy, other than Dobby the Chihuahua, did about two thirds of the driving, leaving a lot of time to look out the window silently crying, make nostalgic playlists from our college years, and update each other on the smaller details of our lives—plus tell our new hilarious stories since we last spent real time together.

Mr. Downing had always wanted to take me to the Grand Canyon. On our way to New Orleans we had to choose between that or seeing the London Bridge (yup, the actual bridge) in Lake Havasu. Neither of us had seen it, whereas he’d already been to the Grand Canyon. And, really, you kinda have to walk across a bridge built 200 years ago in England, that had been built to replace the old, 1,000 year-old bridge … especially when the ‘new’ bridge is now in the middle of … Arizona? Because it totally makes sense to ship and rebuild an entire freakin’ bridge. Americans are weird.

At the time, we decided we’d make a proper trip to the Grand Canyon in the future. Clearly, that was no longer possible, but it had been so important to him that I experience it that I needed to see it, almost like a pilgrimage. 

So, I took his urn with me while I looked out on its vastness. In a way, he did take me to see this magnificent place. I cried—a lot. But I’m so very glad I went. It proved something I’d suspected—that when I experience something new, in a way, he does, too. There’s just too much of him wound through me for it to be otherwise. 

Two days later, we arrived back in the Bay Area; I played ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ as we crossed the border into California. It seemed only right to warn them. It felt really good to know where I was going without having to have my phone tell me.

Now, to the time traveling part. When I last lived with Auntie Downing, I was 22 and beginning my ‘grown-up’ life. First real job, finding my first place, all that. In many ways, it feels like I’ve traveled back to that point in my life, that place of not knowing. It’s been a very long time since I haven’t known the general shape and direction of my future, and, man, it is weird.

This time, however, I know myself a hell of a lot better and have more resources. So, even though I’m grieving, I’m also a tiny bit … eager to find out what’s next.

It’s been two months since Mr. Downing’s death and I think my brain is beginning to come back online, a little bit. My memory is improving and the fog is starting to recede. The mountain is still steep, but I’ve finally figured out what kind of shoes I need to wear for the climb.

It’s time for me to shift these sorts of posts over to my non-Reylo blog, @perrydowning-unplugged. I’ll post a link on this blog to new posts about how things are going for me, but the content here will revert to mostly Reylo.

As always and ever, thank you, so very much, for being such supportive and kind people. 

All my love,

Perry

#personal #travel mindens the broad #mrdowning

[acewithapen]

to die from smoke and fire; a lovely curse

hiii yall. welcome to the prequel for 'How Does a Legend Die?'

warning for major character death. long story short, will dies. his death is also from his pov, so that might be worse. read it on ao3!

anyways, as always, the fic will be under the cut!

Will Treaty had almost died many a time. Hell, he was known for his death-defying stunts! So why did this one feel so final?

He inhaled carefully, watching the camp. They were setting up for something, and he had a feeling it would be big. The men were stacking wood, arranged in a tent-like structure. He tried again to wiggle his hands out of the rope. It was too tight. Where was Maddie? She had to arrive soon.

Ruhl watched the wood pile up, an odd fascination in his eyes. “Well, Mr. Treaty. It’s going to be a beautiful burn, won’t it? Not as pretty as your wife’s was, but oh…can’t you just imagine it?”

Will struggled harder. 

The pyre, for that’s what it had to be, was done. Will fought hard to avoid being pulled up, but he was quickly overpowered. He pulled at the ropes binding his wrists together, watching Ruhl nervously. The man was speaking with some of his men, arms waving. 

He tensed as they moved closer, but nothing happened. 

“Well, I think we'll wait for midnight. This will be such a lovely spectacle, don't you agree?” A manic sort of glee lit up the man’s eyes and Will fought down a shiver. 

It was so cold up here. His fiery anger had frozen into a solid block of fear. Will closed his eyes. “Sorry, Maddie,” he breathes. If it all goes wrong…hopefully she’ll be far enough away. 

If he closes his eyes, he can see Alyss. Back in their little cabin in the trees, hair pulled back, frowning intently at her work. He’d come home and she’d look up and smile. 

He missed her. It had never truly gone away—the sharp, knife's edge pain had just dulled into a tender ache. It spiked every now and then. Over and over, he had pleaded and cried and apologized, screaming at the sky. And here he was. To die in the same way—choking on acrid smoke. Maybe the smoke would kill him first, rather than the flames. 

Will inhaled the smell of fresh cut wood, and let a tear slide down his cheek. 

Jory smiled. The pyre was beautiful, ethereal. He wished he’d been able to build something like this for the Ranger’s wife—she would have been lovely going up in flames. At least, her husband could die like that. Reunited, cleansed in the wrath of scorching fire. He breathed in the smell. Pine, perfect for a good one. The scent of the sap hung heavy in the air, mixing with the sea breeze. 

He lifted his face up, letting the moonlight touch his face. Jory Ruhl would not be afraid. After all, everyone was born for a reason. Why couldn’t this one be his? 

Jory struck a match to light a torch. Only an hour left to go until the moon was at its peak. This was going to be excellent.

“Jory!” Cyrus, one of his closest friends and his right-hand man, jogged up. Windswept dark hair curled under his ears, and he looked worried. “We think the girl may come back soon. She got the children, and it looked like she was going to come back.”

He cursed under his breath. Why couldn’t she see his vision? “Wasn’t she injured?” 

Cyrus made a face. “You know how Ranger’s are. Too stubborn for their own good.”

Rage simmered under his skin. “Well, maybe she’ll burn with him! Capture her if she comes back, and put her up on the pyre.” Cyrus nods once. It’s nice to have people you can trust, isn’t it? 

He turns to look back at the pyre. Magnificent. It’s tall, built in a pyramid-style shape, with a flat top. The Ranger is bound up there, bathed in the silvery light. 

“We’ll wait for midnight. If it’s already started when she arrives, just throw her in.”

“Okay. I’ll let the men know.” He slinks off, dark clothes soon blending in with the cliffs. He pushes his hair back from his face, glancing around. Nothing. It’s quiet except for the waves gently lapping against the shore. The moon smiles down at him. He hopes it will appreciate his efforts to make something beautiful. 

The Diplomat’s death was for the sun—she burned bright and quick and lovely for the dawn. The Ranger will die underneath the moon—bathed in silver and fire, a fallen star. 

Maybe the girl will burn too—perhaps she can die when both are visible. A reunion at an eclipse. To finally bring all three together—holy fire, the sun, and the moon. He smiles. That one…that will be his legacy. 

Will watches the group of men carefully. They’re relaxed, sure that he won’t be able to escape. Perhaps he won’t be able to. The thought isn’t comforting—Halt had drilled into him how a Ranger should always be able to escape. 

His oakleaf will burn with him, won’t it? The Corps will have to make a new one. 

(He tries to not think about the gold laurel pin on Alyss’ grave, and how he would get a gold one.) 

As the minutes flow by, he thinks. His weapons are gone, except for the strikers. They’re concealed in his belt, but useless unless he can free his hands and then his ankles. 

Maddie is gone. They broke his bow. Even Tug is too far to help. 

And for the first time since he was 15, Will Treaty is truly on his own. 

Cyrus goes to Jory when it’s almost midnight. “We’re going to need to light it soon.”

“I know, I know.” His friend won’t look him in the eyes. It’s what happened at the inn too—something about fire takes up his full concentration until he can barely think of anything else. It scares him sometimes, but knowing that they’re firmly on the same side is a comfort. 

Jory is holding a box of matches. “Take one. Light a torch, and throw it in.”

“Okay. Have fun, Jory.”

His smile is radiant. “I will! You too, Cyrus.”

His smile is smaller, but no less. “I shall.” 

Cyrus lights a match and touches it to the end of the pitch. The spark catches and alights, flaring up against the dark of the night. Jory is watching the flames hungrily and he nods to Cyrus. “Do it.”

Will watches, fear constricting his throat as the torches ignite and move closer. Maddie isn’t going to make it. He’s going to die here, scorched, just like Alyss. 

“Ranger, I hope you can appreciate what your death will do! The moon will adore it.” Ruhl’s voice is heavy with passion, and he’s almost ecstatic. “I cannot wait to see how beautifully you’ll burn.”

“Now?”

“Yes! Burn the pyre! Let us see what awaits him after he is cleansed!” Ruhl is laughing, sick fascination in his demeanor. 

Will doesn’t close his eyes as they throw the torches. He will not turn away from his death. 

The fire catches quickly, racing up the sap soaked wood. Smoke stings his eyes, and fire catches at his feet. Halt had said once that fire doesn’t kill—it’s the smoke that does it. 

He wonders if that’s true for him now, too. Will he die from smoke or fire? Will the gray choke him or will fire break him down to his bones? Will smoke wind around his lungs or will fire twist around his muscle? 

He doesn’t know. He can’t breathe. Wind ruffles his hair and it’s cold and salty and he tries to lean into it. 

The fire licks at him instead. His eyes flutter closed and he exhales in one long sigh. Smoke is choking him now, moving deeper on every hacking cough. Pain is almost background now—the burn of the fire, the acrid smoke. 

The Will Treaty is going to die. The love of his life is already dead. He’s going to join her, finally, and their deaths are from the same man. Tears drip down his cheeks, cool against his cheeks. But his sun is gone, his Alyss is dead, and soon he will be too. 

A sun and a moon, eclipsed by smoke and fire. He dies with closed eyes and a stuttering exhale. It makes sense, after all. Death was the only constant in his life—from Birth to his Final Minutes.

Jory watches with rapt attention. The smoke floats overhead, wood burning down and down and down, taking the spectacle in hungrily. The moon glows brighter, and he swears he can feel the satisfaction dripping down. 

None of his men except for Cyrus will understand. That’s okay. They just need to tell their stories and take the children. He can carry out the celestial will—to burn and scorch and renew the earth. Is that not what Life means? From dust they came and to dust they will go. After all, life came from dust. 

The world will come again—renewed by fire and cleansed by smoke, nourished by the ashes of what it once knew. 

He beams as the fire burns down. He alone can achieve the goal of the heavens. 

The world won’t forget Will Treaty—a Ranger, level with the mighty Halt O’Carrick. Of the highest caliber. 

The world won’t forget Jory Ruhl—a man who believed he heard the heavens, and took down a star for them. 

----

thanks for reading!!! please let me know what you thought!

#ranger's apprentice #will treaty #jory ruhl #ranger's apprentice angst #will treaty dies

[shivrcys]

I was reading @mc-critical​‘s post about the meaning behind the colours of Hürrem’s dresses, and the green ones in particular. And I think there’s something to say about how Hürrem and Kösem each relate to seasons.

Hürrem is primarily associated with spring. This can be seen in her symbolic animal being a bird, her theme song being a lullaby about a mother bird who protects her young, her association with youth and childishness and the way in which she relates to family. All of which are symbolically linked to spring. And rebirth is an important theme with her character, and with the symbolism of the phoenix. Even her element - fire - has an association with spring. Her death episode, which iis of course significantly focused on her and her life, uses the season as much as it can.

Hürrem’s seasonal journey is interesting. She joins the harem in autumn (September 1520) and she dies in spring (April 1558). Which implies that much of her experience of life at Topkapi was symbolically winter. And this is fairly accurate given what happens to her. She seems on a surface level to be more fortunate than her enemies, but that is not the case. People try to kill her multiple times But the transition from autumn to winter and finally to spring also highlights both the themes of death and rebirth within her character and her qualities of resilience and perseverance. She survives the harshness of winter and comes out on the other side.

There is another interesting element to this re. Mihrünnisa’s speech before her death. She says that ‘her winter is ending but that Hürrem’s is beginning’. And notably Hürrem agrees with this. Which is interesting because in the context of Hürrem’s experiences, it does not make sense. And yet it’s clearly a moment that the audience is expected to take seriously on a thematic level. Hürrem’s ‘winter’ started a long time before episode 126. It’s just that a lot of what she went through was things that she could not be very open about. This happens just after Cihangir’s death. And so Mihrünnisa could be referring to that. And from Hürrem’s perspective, this moment is not unique in that she lost a loved one. She has already lost plenty of them. It’s not even the first time that Hürrem lost a son. What does make Cihangir’s death unique is that this is the first time that she can properly and fully grieve a family member. She does not have to ‘stay silent’ anymore. So while she is in a more secure position, this is not the changing of the seasons for her.

So it isn’t specifically Cihangir’s death. More likely thematically it is meant to be both Cihangir’s and Bayezid’s deaths. Even though this happens after Hürrem dies. That said, this is also fairly weak considering that the idea that Bayezid’s death is either Hürrem’s fault or some sort of karmic punishment for her is a stretch to say the least. There is very little that she could have done differently in her circumstances to save him. But this does seem to be what the show is most likely going for. Because Magnificent Century is an inconsistent and illogical mess a lot of the time. And this is probably the case here. It seems to just be a part of the show’s attempt to villify Hürrem and the lack of nuance in that.

Another thing to note is that episode 134 leans in significantly to the seasonality of spring. Much of the episode takes place in the garden, the theme of rebirth is present and there is an emphasis on the theme of family. There is a contrast between ep134!Hürrem and ep1!Hürrem because now she has a family and loved ones around her as she dies. There is a focus on what she built and what she rebuilt. And she is at peace knowing that she will never have to see any more of her loved ones die.

There’s also a contrast between the day of Hürrem’s death in episode 134, and the beginning of episode 135. When Hürrem dies, it’s a vibrant spring day. Episode 135 opens with Süleyman at the balcony as snow is falling. So it is as if her absence changed the weather, and symbolically changed the season back to winter. The warmth that she represented and the protective force that she was for her children is now gone. And her death is another step in the downfall of Süleyman as he becomes more jaded, depressed and cruel.

The seasonal themes are a lot stronger and more straightforward with Kösem. To her spring represents her innocent childhood in the Greek islands. She spends time with other children and she holds a lamb in what is presented as an idyllic setting. But this also sets up a strong contrast that only reinforces the themes of sacrifice within the short scenes we have with her in Greece. Her kidnapping is presented as a sacrifice, and the parallel with her death in episode 60 is very telling in this. She is in the vein of a type of character in Greek tragedy: the innocent maiden who is sacrificed. Such as Iphigenia, Polyxena or Cassandra. Even at her happiest and most carefree time, she is still doomed by the narrative.

Her summer is her time as Ahmet’s Haseki. She has him and her children and she is happy. And it’s a time she idealises later on, along with her childhood in Greece. Symbolically therefore much of season 2 is autumn.

Winter is a very symbolic season in terms of Kösem’s tragic arc. The losses of her loved ones are often associated with winter. Ahmet dies when it is snowing. It is a particularly harsh winter when both Mehmet and Osman die. And Kasim’s death takes place in the winter as well. Kösem even comments that she has come to dislike the season because something bad always happens in winter. Episode 60 also presents a contrast between her idealised childhood and innocence to the ‘storms’ of her adult life, that being implicitly associated with winter. So the implication is that episode 60 is her personal winter.

The main difference is that where Hürrem’s story is one about resilience and rebirth, Kösem’s is fundamentally a tragedy.

#hürrem sultan #kösem sultan #Magnificent Century #magnificent century: kösem #el sultán #kosem la sultana #muhteşem yüzyıl #muhteşem yüzyıl: kösem

[watchingspnagain]

Rewatching The Magnificent Seven

Welcome to “This Episode Coulda Used a Mister Yuck Sticker: A Supernatural Rewatch Blog” with Lor and Mace!

 Up today, s3e1: The Magnificent Seven

  The boys and Bobby start their search for all those demons Azazel let out of hell and discover that the first ones they bump into are the embodiment of the Seven Deadly Sins. They kinda-almost team up with a couple of other hunters, who claim they work better alone. Spoiler: they don't, and one ends up drinking Drano. Sam, Dean, and Bobby capture one of the Sins and get some info from him before the surviving hunter of the couple exorcises him back to hell, but not before the other Six come to get him. There's a Big Fight and the boys win, but nobody's super happy in the morning. Dean's starting to realize the consequences of his demon deal, as are Sammy and Bobby, plus they feel pretty hopeless about sorting out the demon mess unleashed at the end of last season. So, just another week in the life of a Winchester, really. Oh, and Ruby shows up for the first time. Gross. We hates her, precious.

 Below is a log of our real-time reactions as we watched. Remember that there may be spoilers for any part of SPN’s 15-season run here. Note also that the nature of our conversation is adult and thus it may contain adult language and themes.

 [and we begin:]

  Lor:

mmmm I have missed our boys

 Mace:

YAS

Mace:

 nice placement of Hells Bells

 Lor:

YES

 Mace:

oh wait. this isn’t hells bells, is it?

 Mace:

god, all their songs sound exactly the same

 Mace:

 ope it IS hells bells

 Lor:

I dunno. I like the use of it whichever one it is

 Lor:

HAAAAAHAHAHAHA

 Lor:

(Dean is having a little fit off in the corner)

 Mace:

 HAAAAHAHAHAHAHA sorry DeanDean

 Lor:

dammit dude stop trapping raccoons in your trash bins

 Mace:

SNORK!

 I was just about to yell at him for not running the hell away from the bins

 Lor:

also put your car in its god-given garage

 Lor:

haaaaahahahaha

 Lor:

I mean, yes that too

 Mace:

 his garage is full of his taxidermy supplies, Lor. cripes.

 Lor:

HAAAAAHAHAHAHA

 silly of me, really

 Mace:

 don’t judge until you know all the facts.

 Lor:

SNORK

 Mace:

 OMG DEAN

 Lor:

aw Sammeh, doing research

 Mace:

 sammy doing sadness research i love him

 Lor:

he's having a nice time

 Lor:

YES

 Mace:

YES

 Mace:

“oh god"

 Mace:

 so what did Sam just see?

 Lor:

haaaahahahah Sam

 Lor:

he saw his brother having a menage with a man and a woman

 I will not be convinced otherwise

 Mace:

 well Dean didn’t specify what kind of twins…

 Lor:

EXACTLY

 Lor:

(in seriousness, something slightly unusual had to be happening there. otherwise his reaction seems OTT)

 Lor:

when did you ever sweat the cholesteral, baby?

 Mace:

(YEP)

 Mace:

 HAHAHA

 Lor:

LORD they are pretty

 Mace:

YES THEY ARE

 Mace:

 (you didn’t mean the corpses, I assume)

 Lor:

(haaaaaahahahahahaha I did not)

 Mace:

 I also need to know what movie that is

 Lor:

agreed

 Lor:

his face should be illegal. the symmetry is NONSENSE

 Mace:

 YES

 Lor:

OMG DEAN

 Lor:

the hand

 Mace:

 YES

 Lor:

Sam Winchester. Ain't no one got a small talk answer to that question

 Mace:

 right? should have known better - all hunters start with a death in the family

 Lor:

yep

 Lor:

"this ain't Scooby Doo" and Dean's face

 Mace:

 YAS

 Lor:

he's cute, y'all, but he WILL go off on you

 Mace:

SNORK

 Mace:

 oh UGH

 Lor:

oh LAUREL

 Lor:

goddamn I always forget about Ruby 1.0

 Mace:

 you misspelled UGH there

 Lor:

HA!

 Mace:

 omg the hand twitch EW

 Lor:

see I wouldn't GET killed by a demon cause I would have been like "Oh, okay. you take them."

 Mace:

HAHAHA YEP

 Mace:

 and then go home and cry

 Lor:

YEP

 Lor:

DEAN WINCHESTER, you stop milking it and face your feelings, boy

 Mace:

 ooof, we’ve got most of a season before that happens

 Lor:

yeah

 Lor:

"see? I'm working"

 Mace:

“see? I’m working"

 Mace:

 HAHAHA

 Lor:

he is so ANNOYINGLY adorable

 Mace:

 HE IS

 Lor:

HAAAAAAHAHAHAHA omg Sam

 Mace:

 YAS

 Lor:

the shadows of the raindrops on their faces is pretty cool

 Mace:

YES

 Mace:

 poor Bobby. surrounded by idjits all the time

 Lor:

yep

 Mace:

 oh god this is one of THE WORST deaths in the show

 Lor:

yeeeeeeep

 Lor:

If I remember rightly this is what made [friend] quit watching

 Lor:

they never even GOT to Cas

 Mace:

 aw, that sucks

 Lor:

yeah

 Lor:

but, man it IS awful

 Mace:

 YEP

 Lor:

"I'm dead already" THERE it is

 Mace:

YEP

 Mace:

 “WHAT’S IN THE BOX” HAHAHAHA

 Lor:

DEAN

 Lor:

"Brad Pitt? Seven? No?" I luff him

 Mace:

 YES

 Lor:

Bobby mad is a very different kind of "yes, sir, whatever you say" than Dean and Cas and Sam mad

 Mace:

snork

 agreed

 Lor:

I mean, it's really more thanks to Azazel

 Mace:

 true

 Lor:

but that was last season, so never mind

 Mace:

SNORK

 Mace:

 HEY. BACK OFF THE DEANDEAN.

 Lor:

RIGHT?

 Lor:

He's never done anything wrong in his pretty, symmetrical life

 Mace:

SNORK

 Mace:

 that’s one of my mom’s favorite hymns

 Lor:

it's kind of lovely

 Mace:

 it’s okay

 Lor:

it would probably make Pride really mad to know no one's paying attention to him because everyone's distracted by Sam's lovely face

 Mace:

 HAHAHA YAS

 Lor:

She's the most annoying thing about S3, Sam

 Mace:

 YES SHE IS

 Lor:

"think she's gonna be all right?" "no, definitely not"

 Mace:

 oh Dean

 Lor:

yeah

 Mace:

 BOYS

 Lor:

aw, Dean, knowing he's gonna die makes him a little brat, apparently

 Lor:

we don't ever see her again, do we?

 Mace:

 i don’t think so

 Lor:

cool Black hunter, one-off. her husband, dead in act ii

 Mace:

 YEP

 Lor:

Yes, Dean, you're about as far away from Mardi Gras as you can get

 Mace:

 Bobby’s car makes me thing that Baby isn’t the only car that reflects… things… about the show. Hunters don’t drive ‘normal’ cars; it’s another reflection of their outsider status

 Lor:

oooo YES

 Lor:

"so what now I live and you die?" "that's the general idea"

 Mace:

 YEP. FUCK YOU 873

 Lor:

YES

 Lor:

kicks 327

 Mace:

 OH! I got 2 numbers right!

 Lor:

you do not feel good, Dean. you're tore up inside. and it's gonna come out eventually

 Lor:

HAAAAAHAHAHAH you DID

#watchingspnagain #watchingspnagain 3x01 #spn #supernatural #spn meta #spn spoilers #spn 3x01 #watchingspnagain dean's hedonism #watchingspnagain demon deal #watchingspnagain demons #watchingspnagain treatment of poc characters

[spook-study]

Desi, what do you know about…witches?

Harkening back to the lurid look of 70s European horror without leaving any modern sensibilities behind, She Will (2021) adds a much appreciated dose of technicolor mayhem to a rather monochromatic time in horror history. Combining the very same grey tones and foggy scenes that plague modern horror cinema with the heightened psychedelic reality of grim fantasy, it’s not difficult to understand why the likes of Dario Argento felt confident enough to sign his name on Charlotte Colbert’s first feature film. Wait for the dreams, they’re well worth it.

It’s not often the first outing of any director, let alone horror director, has a such a well respected name attached to it. The dreamlike quality of the narrative and the sometimes overwhelming level of inference over depicture smacks of Giallo, and of Argento in particular. Witches are old hat for the horror veteran, and She Will felt like a valiant effort in the continued tradition of witches as a source of influence over women and reality. Or at least, our perception of reality. Told with an undeniably female view, She Will may feel like it’s keeping a secret from some viewers. It’s “show-don’t-tell” delves deep into visual metaphor, and doesn’t give the audience much. At times, it felt like “show-don’t-show.” In fact, you might find something completely different than I did upon your own viewing. Maybe that’s the director’s intention, or maybe the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it plot is just too thin to support the framework of a sturdy movie that gives the viewer a bit more with the actual text.

At times, She Will felt almost like an endurance test, any given moment a toss up about whether or not I would walk away with something. Luckily, I absolutely did, and when we got there it felt completely intentional on the filmmaker’s part. While I did feel my fingers scrabbling for the kernels of a plot Colbert was giving me, at other times I let the splendor of the visuals wash over me and take me away to the foreign reality, to me at least, of the Scottish Moors upon which the film is set. Couple such clear and pointed hallucinatory storytelling with truly magnificent performances from Alice Krige and Kota Eberhardt and by the end, I didn’t much mind that I wasn’t 100% sure what happened. After all, it’s not a new notion that a high-concept small-script horror movie rely on its visuals, but rarely is it done to such excellent effect. Hypnotic and atmospheric don’t begin to describe the style of storytelling used throughout, and the unsettling quality of the visuals added value to an otherwise meager plot. It was restrained, and tense, but it didn’t feel boring.

It can be rather easy to use witches as a sort of catch-all explanation for strangeness. Unlike other films of the genre, however, She Will uses them as an explanation, but not an excuse. There are rules involved that don’t allow for just anything to happen. In fact, the vehicles of the ancient witchcraft that was sowed into the earth aren’t sure what is happening themselves. It’s a refreshing take on the empowerment of witchcraft that those who are gaining that power don’t quite understand what’s happening to them, only that they like it. What’s more, they seem to understand what they are experiencing isn’t entirely good. Rather than fighting it implicitly, there is a choice made to pursue it. Even then, the witchcraft, which had damned so many others, isn’t damnable by nature. Rather it is employed as a tool that one can choose to brandish as a weapon or leave to rust. Life, death, and torture all have roles to play in She Will, and the subtly with which these immutable forces are used permeates through every minute.

She Will is a movie that will let you feel the mud between your toes before the blood runs through your fingers. Slow, steady, and purposeful, it’s a movie about sacrifice, loss, and generational anger so ingrained in the earth that it will find any outlet to release that frustration. Warped perception and strange dreams plague both aging actress, and recent mastectomy patient, Veronica Ghent as well as her put upon young caretaker Desi, whose name we don’t even find out until a good chunk of the movie has passed.

The connection and chemistry the two actresses share is palpable, and each aids the scarcity of dialogue with subtle and nuanced performances that touch upon generational divide, beauty, androgyny, and self loathing. They are incredibly intimate with one another, verging on romantic in some instances, and the relationship felt real and deep. With lesser actresses, I’m sure the movie wouldn’t have fared nearly as well as it did. Whether these women knew each other in a past life, or were always destined to know each other in this one, you never wonder why it was these two women who are sharing in the madness of witchcraft. It’s the magic that blends itself into their separate past traumas that finally allows an outlet for that pain. Toss in an incredibly brief but very effective couple of scenes from Malcolm McDowell as an (allegedly) abusive Kubrickian-type director responsible for some unsavory things in actress Ghent’s past and you’ve got a recipe for success.

Still, I wish there had been a bit more script. The visuals were so wonderful it felt like I never wanted it to end, but the astonishingly short 95-minute runtime made it feel like the director knew what she wanted to show, but maybe not what she wanted to say. I’m sure this isn’t the case and was only how I felt about it, but the text left me a little wanting. Like I had eaten my dinner, but I was still waiting on dessert. Director Colbert got her start as a photographer after all; this, above all things, makes itself known throughout the movie.

But what can I say? I liked it. It’s a movie that made me want to watch it again, and in the modern age of cinema in general, that can be rather hard to come by. It was ravishing, delicious. I couldn’t look away. It took me on a journey, and it was unlike anything else I had seen in what felt like quite some time. Witches can be such a tired topic, but the amount of mystery surrounding them and their history in She Will left enough to the imagination for both dread and excitement. I can’t wait to see what Colbert does next.

Absolutely and irrefutably beautiful, if a little short on plot, She Lives gets an well earned 4/5*

#she will #she will 2021 #horror #film #movies #review #4/5* #spook study #charlotte colbert

[nvghtingale]

𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋  𝐌𝐄  .

         ── from @gcdhoods​ .

tw   ──   death,  spiders.

she’s  always  preferred  sunrise  to  sunset,  surprisingly.  for  one  so  passionate  and  grandiose,  isabele  delights  herself  in  watching  the  sun  paint  strokes  of  muted  yellows  and  pinks.  where  sunset’s  colours  speak  of  opulence  and  magnificence,  sunrise  is  softness  and  tenderness  and  it  holds  her  gently  in  its  arms  and  rocks  her  back  and  forth,  letting  everything  else  melt  away  as  she  closes  her  eyes  and  lets  the  pinks  and  violets  peek  in  from  behind  her  eyelids.

she  tilts  her  head  back  to  look  them  in  the  eye.  smiles.  ❛  i  think  i  like  sunrise  so  much  because  it  reminds  me  of  you.  ❜

pasi  smiles  back  at  her  and  presses  a  kiss  to  her  forehead.  they’re  blushing  ──  she  can  feel  the  warmth  of  their  face,  can  see  the  way  their  cheeks  flush  red.  she’d  be  able  to  tell  from  an  opposite  corner  of  the  world  with  her  eyes  shut.  

❛  my  isa,  you’ve  always  had  a  way  with  words.  ❜

they’ve  stolen  this  moment  from  the  hands  of  the  faceless,  the  first  thieves  ──  they’ve  stolen  their  freedom  and  their  future.  they  have  erased  any  possibility  of  a  life  where  she  forgives  pasi  for  exposing  the  depths  of  her  heart  to  the  whole  world  and  they,  in  turn,  forgive  her  for  leaving  ──  she’d  sit  beside  them  at  the  piano  at  night,  yawning  but  still  fighting  to  stay  awake  in  the  name  of  keeping  them  company  (  she’d  fall  asleep  with  her  head  on  their  shoulder  a  little  after  and  they’d  have  to  carry  her  to  bed  ).  they’d  follow  her  lead  when  getting  dressed  to  match  their  outfit  to  hers.  it’s  been  ripped  from  their  grasp,  turned  into  nothing  but  a  faraway  dream.  

the  two  of  them  don’t  get  to  make  it  out  of  this  alive.  

the  plan  has  gone  off  without  a  hitch  ──  the  true  iteration  of  the  tear  has  been  tucked  away,  and  all  isabele  has  to  do  is  go  to  the  agreed  upon  location  and  retrieve  it.  she  weaves  through  crowds  gracefully,  stopping  to  make  idle  chitchat  on  the  way  there.  the  guests  must  know  that  she  was  here,  that  she  is  not  in  the  opposite  side  of  the  room  where  hell  is  about  to  let  loose.  in  their  eyes,  isabele  must  be  no  more  than  an  innocent  bystander  ──  one  among  many,  blending  into  a  crowd.

it’s  reminiscent  of  the  wine  cellar,  the  hiding  place  ──  after  the  blood  that  was  spilled  there,  isabele  is  hesitant  to  smash  more  glass.  but  she  must  ──  so  she  takes  one  of  the  vases  in  an  empty  hotel  room  (  the  tall,  cream  -  coloured  one  with  the  pale  yellow  lines  ──  it  also  reminds  her  a  little  bit  of  pasi,  the  softness  depicted  )  and  smashes  it  on  the  ground.

this  is  how  nightingale  retrieves  the  last  tear  of  heaven.

❛  don’t  be  silly,  ❜  she  giggles,  turning  to  face  them  ──  still  in  their  arms,  never  leaving  their  arms.  ❛  it  is  only  a  simple  observation.  ❜

she  isn’t  one  to  downplay  her  acts  of  romanticism,  usually,  but  a  mere  truth  feels  like  so  little  right  now.  she  wishes  that  there  were  more  flowers  in  this  rooftop  garden,  or  that  she’d  gotten  them  a  gift.  they  brought  her  one  ──  rather,  they  sort  of  returned  it.  a  simple  golden  bracelet  that  they  used  to  share  all  the  time.  originally  isa’s,  she’d  slid  it  onto  their  wrist  once  because  she  said  it’d  look  nice  on  them.  it  had  ended  in  a  fit  of  laughter,  the  discussion  where  they  insisted  on  taking  it  off  because  what  if  i  lose  it,  love  ?  and  she  fought  back  because  so  lose  it,  but  wear  it  until  then  ──  it  looks  so  lovely  on  you  !

❛  let  me  observe  you  instead  …  please.  let  me  remember  this.  ❜  their  plea  may  be  the  most  gentle  request  she  has  received  ──  or  perhaps  it’s  the  tragedy  of  it  all,  making  her  heart  flutter  like  so.  the  fact  that  this  is  the  last  time  that  they  get  to  spend  a  small  eternity  looking  at  each  other,  relearning  the  lines  of  their  face  or  the  way  they  smile.  they  get  to  rediscover  the  flecks  of  colour  in  the  green  of  her  eyes  and  she  gets  to  memorise  their  freckles  once  more.

gunfire  echoes  behind  her,  and  she’s  running  down  a  hallway.  her  shoes  were  discarded  somewhere  back,  her  pace  frantic.  she  knew  this  would  happen,  of  course  ──  a  diversion  was  always  meant  to  be  part  of  the  escape  plan.  it  is  an  undisputed  classic,  and  it  is  a  classic  for  a  reason:  it  is  a  highly  effective  way  to  keep  anyone  from  noticing  that  there’s  something  in  a  secret  pocket  in  isabele’s  gown.

❛  isa  ──  isa  !  ❜

isabele  freezes,  a  chill  running  down  her  spine  as  though  a  spider  made  of  pure  ice  were  crawling  along  her  back.  

this  is  wrong.

pasi  isn’t  meant  to  be  here.

❛  the  sun’s  coming  up,  ❜  she  whispers.  it’s  barely  audible,  lips  part  in  the  slightest.  she  doesn’t  want  to  ruin  the  moment  by  speaking  ──  but  isabele  is  reminded  of  a  simple  fact:  if  they’re  lucky,  only  one  of  them  would  hypothetically  have  enough  time  to  forget.  the  awards  are  tonight,  their  last  sunrise  spent  together.  one  last  date  ──  a  vow  in  itself:  to  transcend  death  and  remember  each  other  for  eternity,  no  matter  what.  it  is  an  act  of  defiance  against  the  forces  that  want  to  keep  them  apart.

they’ve  always  been  a  tragedy  -  touched  pair,  and  yet,  they’ve  managed  to  love  each  other  through  it  all  ──  they’ve  conquered  grief  with  held  hands,  defeated  death  with  an  embrace.  they  do  the  same  now,  basking  in  the  warm  glow  of  a  rising  sun  that  gives  them  one  last  day.

❛  it’s  beautiful,  ❜  they  whisper  in  return.  their  eyes  are  still  locked  on  hers.

it’s  chaos.

broken  glass  litters  the  floor  of  the  main  ballroom  after  the  destruction  of  a  window  from  someone  hidden  in  a  pocket  of  congealed  shadows.  enveloped  by  darkness,  she  knows  that  said  member  of  her  team  will  not  ──  cannot  ──  be  found  in  time.

but  pasi  does  not  know  this.

pasi  runs  towards  her  and  envelops  her  in  their  arms  ──  god,  their  heart  beats  too  fast,  hammering  against  their  chest  at  frantic  pace.  isabele  is  too  stunned  to  do  anything  but  blink  in  shock,  feeling  dread  rapidly  piling  up,  the  world  being  placed  on  atlas’  shoulders.  the  weight  of  a  life  in  the  pocket  of  her  gown.

❛  are  you  hurt  ?  ──  let  me  look  at  you,  ❜  they  say,  frantically,  pulling  back.  she’s  dishevelled,  but  unharmed.  so  are  they.  with  a  breath  of  relief,  isabele  throws  herself  back  into  pasi’s  arms  ──  pasi,  her  beloved  pasi,  who  held  her  so  gently  just  that  morning.  they  kiss  her  forehead,  and  this  is  when  she  notices  that  she’s  been  crying  ──  this  is  when  she  breaks  altogether,  a  sob  escaping  her  as  she  curls  into  them  and  holds  onto  them  tightly.

❛  pasi  ──  pasi,  please  ──  ❜

what  is  she  begging  for  ?  perhaps  isabele  is  begging  them  to  leave  ──  it  was  easier  to  go  through  with  the  plan  when  she  did  not  have  to  look  them  in  the  eye,  when  she  was  blinded  to  the  stakes  by  the  desire  to  live  another  day,  to  see  another  sunrise  and  a  sunset  and  a  sunrise,  and  so  on,  in  a  long  -  lasting  chain  of  days  with  peaceful  endings.  but  is  there  peace  to  know  when  two  -  thirds  of  the  murder  is  to  be  gone  ?  perhaps  isabele  is  begging  them  to  stay  ──  it  is  easier  to  forget  about  the  stakes  like  this,  when  they  kiss  their  forehead  and  they  hold  each  other.  they’re  also  crying.

❛  i’m  right  here.  my  isa,  i  am  not  letting  go.  ❜

❛  here,  ❜  isabele  says,  taking  off  her  ruby  necklace  and  putting  it  around  their  neck.

❛  here,  ❜  isabele  says,  taking  the  last  tear  of  heaven  out  of  her  pocket  and  placing  it  in  one  of  their  hands.  they  look  at  her  in  a  moment  of  pure  shock  ──  for  once,  isabele  cannot  tell  what  they  are  thinking.  she  can  only  see  the  dread  ──  because  fate  is  quite  literally  in  their  hand  now.  they  get  to  decide  who  lives.  who  dies.

oh,  but  by  handing  the  tear  to  them,  isabele  has  already  made  that  decision.  almost.

❛  nightingale  !  where  the  fuck  are  you  ?  ❜

no.

❛  promise  me  you’ll  wear  it  ?  for  me.  there’s  gold  in  it.  we’ll  match.  you  always  love  it  when  we  match.  ❜

warden  comes  running  in  her  direction,  and  isabele  frantically  makes  pasi’s  hand  close  around  the  tear  ──  but  they  shake  their  head  and  try  to  give  it  back,  and  it  is  a  terrifying  push  and  pull  where  neither  of  them  wants  to  condemn  the  other.  take  it,  pasi,  please  ──  no,  my  isa,  it  is  yours.

it  all  happens  too  fast.  it’s  a  blur  of  motion.  it  is  warden  grabbing  her  by  the  midsection  and  pulling  her  out  of  pasi’s  embrace,  it  is  her  sobbing  and  kicking  and  screaming,  crying  out  no  and  pasi  and  please  so  many  times  that  her  throat  goes  raw,  nightingale’s  sweet  voice  turned  to  shrieks  touched  by  all  -  consuming  sorrow.  pasi  lets  warden  take  her,  but  isabele  still  refuses  to  let  her  hands  close  around  the  tear.

time  is  running  out.

pasi  picks  it  up  and  solemnly  puts  it  around  her  neck  when  she  is  too  debilitated  by  her  own  struggle  to  fight  back  ──  and  in  this,  there  is  a  moment  of  finality.  acceptance.  they  know  this,  too.  they  give  her  a  sad  smile  and  press  a  kiss  to  her  forehead.

❛  i  swear  it.  i  love  you,  my  isa.  ❜

❛  i  love  you  too,  my  pasi.  ❜

❛  promise  you’ll  remember  me  ?  ❜

they’ve  always  wanted  to  be  forgotten,  yet  they  choose  her  heart  to  take  residence  in  when  they  are  gone.  she’s  stopped  fighting  by  now,  but  warden  still  won’t  let  go.  he  doesn’t  trust  her  ──  as  he  shouldn’t,  for  isabele  would  sooner  be  the  one  becoming  a  phantom  that  exists  solely  in  sunlight  -  dipped  memories  floating  around  the  beautiful  heart  within  their  ribcage  than  be  the  one  who  dons  the  black  of  mourning  once  again  in  life.  grief  has  chosen  her,  though  ──  silly  of  her  to  think  she  would  ever  fully  climb  out  of  its  jaws.

she  pulls  them  in  and  presses  a  kiss  to  their  lips.

❛  i  swear  it.  i  love  you,  my  pasi.  ❜

they  leave  that  morning  to  return  to  their  team,  and  she’s  left  alone  in  the  sunlight.

one  day,  she  will  watch  every  sunrise  with  a  gold  bracelet  on  her  wrist.

#FUCK you ever #𓅪 ❛ 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘. ‣‣ ( MEMES. ) ❜ #𓅪 ❛ 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄. ‣‣ ( GCDHOODS. ) ❜