#well first its for the CULTURE N ART

[jojikawa]

Sukuna’s Vessel, Yuuji Itadori.

Your time as Sukuna’s wife was a small blip in time. Something you nearly forgot until a pink-haired boy tries to talk to you

tw// fluff, adult language, MC is Lilith! (a powerful demoness) if this does well I will make multiple parts.

masterlist

Art by icebuko

Was inspired by this scene from RWBY. dividers

You have already adjusted to your life in this world. It was hard to know if this is what you enjoyed or not but there was much less violence and a lot more excitement and love…You figured the mundane life suited you better. You became interested in the culture of Japan, you taught yourself its current traditions and you learned to be an elementary school teacher. No idea of why you were resurrected in this modern age came to your mind, but all you could do was live. Although, for years upon years, you felt like something was missing, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. 

Just when that feeling was beginning to fade, you met a particular boy. You stood in the spring rain with your transparent umbrella, dressed in business casual as you helped your young, toddler students cross the busy street. Silently, you desperately tried to shield the babies from the harsh rain and cold air. The children scattered, going on their way back home using the routes you taught them so that they could be fast.

“Um, excuse me…?”

It was the boy you had seen before. He was young, probably a teenager. You noticed him stalking you for a bit now. What could he have wanted from you?

His hair was an unnatural color, maybe dyed. His uniform wasn’t anything like you had seen before and on his feet were painfully red shoes that hurt your eyes. Truly the sense of style for a young boy in this age fashion.

“Yes?” You turned around to look at the boy. He was visibly nervous but you tried to comfort him with a welcoming smile. As you examined him, you got a sense of familiarity.

“Are you….(y/n)?”

You blinked for a moment. Could this have been an older sibling of one of your students?

“I am.” You replied. “Is there…something you want to speak to me about?” You tilted your head and he became increasingly restless under your watchful eyes. “Can we talk in private?” The boy asked politely. You looked down at your watch. It seemed you had time before you needed to go home to prepare your lesson for the next day of teaching.

You humored the boy. The two of you walked to a nearby park where he told you his name and his occupation. He told you why he was going to school. If what he was told was true, you should already know about curses and sorcerers. He also asked you questions.

Yuuji asked things like if you had a family. What have you been doing with your time? But then he asked who you were and if you loved anyone.

You found it rather inappropriate that someone so young and strange to you was asking about your personal life.

Now, the two of you sat on the bench. The rain eased to a drizzle and you began to enjoy the little time you had left with the boy. “Why does who I may love matter to a boy like you? You should be into girls your own age.” You joked, closing your umbrella and leaning it against the edge of your wooden seat. Yuuji blushed at your comment and raised his hands before shouting. “N-No, it’s not like that! I was asking f-for a friend!”

“A friend?” You repeated, raising your eyebrow slightly. You couldn’t recall anyone who wouldn’t be interested in you. “Well, I am going to need to get going.” You told him. “Dinner’s calling me and I have to grade my student’s tests.” You smiled kindly, beginning to stand before the boy suddenly stopped you. He grabbed the sleeve of your attire before uttering:

“Are you really the wife of Ryomen Sukuna?”

Your mouth opened to speak. You felt the world stop and it was like you couldn’t feel the rain on your skin anymore. That was a name you haven’t heard forever.

“Who told you that name?”  Your ability to make Yuuji feel calm was soon diminishing. Yuuji didn’t reply at first. His eyes darted from you and often looked to the right as if he were in thought. He would hold his head but never made an effort to mention why he was behaving so erratically.

“I guess that means you are her.”

Your face eased. “So, I assume that you have revealed yourself to me because you plan to kill me like what happened hundreds of years ago or so?” You tilted your head before giving him a closed-eyed smile. “Huh?? Oh, N-No, of course not. My sensei doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“Then…who sent you?” You sat back down by Yuuji. The boy didn’t answer you. His gaze broke from yours. “Yeah, Yeah, I’m getting to that!” He muttered but rather loudly. The boy didn’t seem to be talking to you.

He then turned his full attention to you again. “How did you meet Sukuna?” His question was innocent but it held unimaginable weight. “First,” You raised a finger. “How do you know that name?”

Yuuji shoved his hands into his pockets. “School.” He lied…half lied.

“They’re teaching you about him at your school…? Gods…” You sighed softly. “I knew Sukuna a long time ago but my story goes beyond him. I’m much older than him, you see.” You looked down at your black pumps. It was expected of you to wear this for your job. You suddenly felt the pressure of walking in them all day and kicked them off just a bit.

“Older?”

You nodded. “I was actually the first woman. I was the first wife of Adam. You know who that is?” You broke your gaze with the ground to see that the boy was staring at you rather intently. Was he even listening? He wasn’t even blinking. “Yuuji.” You called, ripping him from his daydream.

“H-Huh? Oh, Adam? Um…” He thought for a moment before shaking his head. You smiled. “It’s okay if you don’t. It’s more of a Western tale…” Your manicured nails dug into the soft wooden chair. “Adam was a jerk.” The frown you held was small but behind it was an anger that only the Gods could fathom.

The boy’s ears perked up. “Oh, like Adam and Eve! You’re Eve!” He looked as if he had hit the lottery with a guess that good. But…

You laughed again. “No. Eve came after me. She was the more obedient wife. I’m often erased from history.” Your posture eased and you leaned your back against the bench. “Ryomen Sukuna was the only man that ever loved me. And that I loved back.” Your heart rate quickened thinking of your lover. “You humans know him as a horrible threat…which is true.”

“But I was a horrible person too. We were horrible together…my Ryomen.” You said his name so breathlessly. It was so long ago but you replayed your favorite moments with him. There was no harm in talking about Sukuna, right? He was long gone so this boy’s superiors couldn’t have been targeting you for any reason. You enjoyed pretending to be a human. This wouldn’t be a problem, right?

Yuuji didn’t say a word. He hid his eyes from you, sinking further into his jacket. Without saying much of anything, you effortlessly humanized Sukuna. It didn’t make the boy feel any less hostile toward the King of Curses but it did give him insight into what kind of person he was. He had a soft spot for at least one person. Without warning, he sat up straight. “Um…would you say you still loved him?”

Normally, you would be put off by such a question, but you were already deep in this conversation. Your eyes wandered to the people entering the park here and there. They pushed their kids in strollers and walked their dogs. The sound of the cars driving behind you was painstakingly loud as you tried to think of the past. You answered. “Yes, I do.”

Suddenly, Yuuji erupted with activity. The way he pulled his hood over his head and turned away from you concerned you. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” You leaned over going to rest a hand on your shoulder when you heard muffled speaking. “Yuuji—”

“I-It’s nothing! ‘Just cold, sorry!” He blurted out, causing you to recoil back. “I see…”You replied, going back into your place. “I wonder what ever happened to Ryomen.” You looked down at your watch. It was time for you to go now.

“I know where Sukuna is.”

“What?” The corner of your mouth instinctively raised into a smirk but your eyes were wide as saucers. “I didn’t peg you as a prankster but I suppose I should’ve expected it.” Your tenseness eased, before shutting your eyes and laughing to yourself. Sukuna? Here? No, that surely wasn’t true. The world would be in ruin if he were. 

“I’m serious!” Yuuji then proceeded to explain to you his unique situation that involved him swallowing your lover’s fingers and, in turn, bonding them together. You still didn’t know what to believe. It almost made you angry…you somehow felt that perhaps, sorcerers were watching you, waiting to see if you’d break your masquerade as a human if they convinced you that he was alive.

You clenched the handle of your umbrella as it lay beside you. “If Sukuna is really inside of your body, then let me speak to him.” You were….half serious. You wanted so badly to just hear his voice again, even if he were saying something vulgar or pure evil. Or to just know if this was all a trick. Yuuji rubbed the nape of his neck. “I can’t really do that. Not in public, he might—”

“He won’t.” You interrupted. “I’ll make sure he won’t do anything.” 

Yuuji had no choice but to trust you. For the last day, he’s had Sukuna yelling at him so loudly and often that he wasn’t able to tune it out like always. For a moment, Yuuji stopped resisting Sukuna’s pull on him, allowing the curse to take over his body. There was a familiar set of markings that appeared on his body and face. The amount of joy, confusion, and concern that filled your body was undeniable.

Although your Ryomen Sukuna was in front of you, trapped inside the body of a boy, you felt like it was a trick. Maybe it wasn’t sorcerers casting a spell on your mind. Perhaps it was God punishing you one last time or it was Adam trying to take one last jab at you before you experienced true death.

Once you laid eyes upon Sukuna, it still looked as if Yuuji had control. His eyes were like that of a dear in headlights while his face was full of admiration.

“Ryomen?” You called his name, causing the vessel he was in to flinch. His eyes then turned serpent-like. They were eyes you knew very well.

“It seems as though you have been resurrected.” He rested his head on his palm, those same eyes wandering your body, staring shamelessly at your chest area and thighs. “But you can never be too sure. How do I know you’re real?” He fidgeted more in his seat—more than Yuuji actually. He tapped his foot on the ground, drummed his fingers on his leg, and even sank his nails into his jawline out of anticipation.

The question caused you to blink. “You’re asking me if I’m real—?”

“Hurry. You have—” His gaze shifted downward for a brief moment before it went back to you. “—less than 60 seconds. If you can’t answer me, I’ll kill you and be done with it. Tell me what I said to you the first time we met. Only I and the real (y/n) know of this.” 

Your mouth curled into a pleasant smile. You turned your hips towards him. “I’m not scared of a little monster like you.” You locked eyes with him. “When I met Ryomen, the first words to me were ‘You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’ And I said, ‘I think the Gods would disagree.’ He laughed in a way I would never forget before telling me: ‘Give me a son and I’ll give you the world.’” 

Sukuna was unmoving. His antics completely stopped and he listened. So silent…it was unlike him. You continued.

“I was devastated when he asked that of me. I said ‘I can not have a child. My womb is corrupt.’ And so he vowed to make—”

“Shit, it really is you.” The words pour out of his mouth like a waterfall. “It’s been so long. I thought I would never see you again. What are you doing living a mundane life with mortal scum?!” He cursed and threw out his insults, not even caring about the poor humans who walked by and were forced to listen to him. You smiled attractively. “I kinda like this ‘scum’” You replied, mimicking his voice so well you sounded like a female version of him.

“What happened to your body? Why are you burrowed away inside of a child?” Your head tilted with curiosity. His vessel was much smaller than before although, it was nice seeing what he’d be like as a human and not a monster.

Sukuna parroted the same thing Yuuji did, confirming the truth. The boy ate his finger.

“…but once I return to full power, I’ll make the Gods pay for what they did to you.” He wanted nothing more than to just reach out and touch you. It’s been so long since he’s seen you…since he’s heard your voice. Hundreds and hundreds of years of his consciousness lingered beyond his execution and his only thought was you. Even then, aspects of you had faded in his memory. Where were your horns and claws? Did you even have either of those? You had a sword too? No? Oh, he couldn’t remember but one thing that did stick with him was your presence. Sukuna could track you like a bloodhound and find you at every corner of the earth.

“The Gods wouldn’t care about you, Ryo.” A dry laugh left your lips at his awestruck face. “They don’t even care about me…but Adam—will return. You’ll be good to me and kill him, right?” Your sweet smile turned into a smirk, your eyes turned warm and filled with lust. Sukuna picked up on your subtle cues, his mouth going from slightly agape to a twisted, toothy grin. “I’ll bring you his head, I swear!”

“Hm.” Your eyes lit up with enthusiasm. You couldn’t help but rest your palm on his cheek. Yuuji’s skin was much smoother and softer than Sukuna’s monstrous features. “…and if you objectify me again, I’ll obliterate you.” Your manicured nails grazed his skin, threatening to pierce the vessel’s skin at any moment.

Sukuna was confused—not afraid. He hasn’t wronged you so why are you threatening him? It was then that he noticed your eyes. They glowed red.

That’s right, you were rather observant. His hungry eyes were already sexualizing in every way possible.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Sukuna replied, his wide demonic grin returning to his soft features.  “Ya know, if you want, you can have me right now.”

Your eyes softened before you exhaled. “In that body?” You chuckled. “Maybe when it matures a little.” Your words made his smile fade and his nose scrunch up in disgust. “Who cares how old this vessel is?! It’s ME!”

“And you’re a bit short for my liking.” You fake pouted before letting go of his face. Upon instinct, he rubbed the claw markings you left behind. “I’m still taller than your small ass. You women are so picky with your size kinks.” he spat, rolling his eyes. “Next, you’ll ask me to put the world in your hands. And what do you bring to the table, huh?”

“Myself.” You replied before placing an innocent kiss on his cheek.

“Then, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to stick around.”

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna #ryomen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen headcanons #Sukuna x demon reader #female reader #reader insert #fluff

[oonajaeadira]

I'll Leave a Light On For You

Fandom: Bloodsucking Bastards / Max Phillips

Pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n. (There is a little description, but it’s still you. Believe me, it will make sense. We’re dealing with the supernatural here.)

Rating: T. 

Warnings: Angst. Character death. Allusions to the atrocities of war and its lasting effects. Max is a vampire. Traumatic soul memory. Me assuming I know anything about French culture of the 1930s.

Summary: Max has reservations when it comes to love, and for very good reasons.

A/N: This is my entry for the @pedrostories Secret Santa event. While I played one selfish card in my hand and wrote something of a companion to Light Only Shows You Where the Shadows Are, this can still be read as a standalone.

To my giftee, the amazing and wonderful @artemiseamoon : First of all, I admire you so much and I was really nervous to write for you. But I looked among your generous prompt choices (omgs thank you for so many good choices) and was surprised to find Max as an option. I wasn’t going to choose him at first but then my eye caught “past lives” and something in me zinged. Soul mates, angsty romance, second chance at love… and I’ve been itching to write an angsty Max. I know you are a fan of soft and whump, so all those elements had a party in my heart and here we are. I really hope you’re having a nice holiday and a good time off. Happy Secret Santa, Arte. <3

What we’ve been told is that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

That’s almost correct.

The truth is…it’s not just your current life.

It’s all of them.

Max hardly remembers the fear, the pain, the cold of his draining. Even though he knew what was coming, bought into the cult, the human instinct of fight or flight is hard to dismiss no matter how well they’ve been prepped and it was to be expected. But it was a flash in the pan and once he came around to the undead side of things, those pesky human responses were all quickly forgotten.

For a time. Until he saw your light and–

Anyway. Human instincts. Pffft. Adorable. Trading the constant possibility of fear for that of glee, of rapture, of delight? Human instincts are trash. Not to mention their senses, poor suckers. The things they can’t see can’t hear can’t smell can’t taste? Tragic.

If only the feelings weren’t heightened too. It makes some things–some people–hard to ignore–

Feelings were something he could also have done without in his human life–the latest one anyway–and did whatever he could do to avoid.

It wasn’t until he died that he understood why.

As the life drained out of him and the delirium set in, there was a rushing sound, a pull through his soul like the drag of blood from his body, and he was laying, feeble, wailing, bloody and naked among the limbs of his mother.

But not the mother he so recently remembered, the one that showed her approval only when he provided her with some accomplishment worthy of crowing about to her society friends. No, this one was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she died of fever when he was only five years old.

Max saw it all, from within himself and without, remembered the pull of his heart and watched the tears fall down his little face as they nailed his mother’s body in a pine box and put it in a hole at the top of a hill under a tree.

He always imagined he heard her singing to him in the grasses after that.

The world welcomed a new century, and not long afterward, he was a young man, looking to take over his father’s wine fields. But the chance was stolen when an archduke was shot. Max–Pierre, as he was called then–and all of the close friends and cousins he had were thrust into a great war. 

He was the only one to walk out of the fray. And when he came home, he found his father’s fields had been burned and that nothing remained.

That was a dark time. Ten years of looking back rather than looking forward. Ten years–it went by so fast–while he watched the world around him try to repair itself and find its footing again, not realizing that the roots of evil still grew beneath the soil.

He kept his head down and his hands working wherever he could.

But then he met a woman.

And she was Pierre’s life. Max’s life. Before he was Max.

It happened in the winter, just before Noël. And her name was Yaëlle.

Max remembered that before she even told him as he watched the story of this strange old life.

Yaëlle. It means “beautiful one.”

“It also means ‘goat,’” she’d said. “That seems more fitting.” She never thought of herself pretty, and perhaps she wasn’t fashionable and maybe she was stronger than she was dainty, with a weak chin and curly dark hair she couldn’t control. But the light in her eyes when she laughed–and what a laugh, like a little bird–the sway of her hips and the confidence in her carriage, her air of easy care and comfort caught his heart like a surly bear in the prettiest trap.

She’d simply been passing through the marché de Noēl, looking but not stopping, taking the kerchief off her head so the snow could land in her curls, when a child approached her selling buns in the shape of a cross and she gave the child a franc before sitting down at the statue of some cardinal or other in the center of the square.

She could have sat on any of the other benches, but she chose to plonk down next to Max. Next to Pierre.

“You want this?” she asked, offering the bun. “Not really my thing.”

How could she have known he was hungry? That he was lonely? That he was facing the market rather than the river because he was trying not to succumb to his inclinations, a pull to walk out onto the thin ice and let himself be taken by the stream?

He was instantly entranced by her. He felt himself smiling. Something shifted within. A destiny.

“You sure?” he asked.

She peered at him, scrutinized his whole self like she could see a glow around him and was looking for its source.

She found it in his eyes.

“Absolutely. I already ate three hand pies today. The last thing I need is more bread.”

He laughed for the first time in a long while. They talked. He ate.

On Christmas Eve when everyone was at the evening’s mass, she was there again, sitting alone, and this time it was he who had hot food and came to join her on the bench while the night was silent and cold and the stars were twinkling.

It was then that he learned why she was not in church–her folk did not observe Noēl. And she learned why he was not in church–he had lost his faith, that everyone he had ever loved was taken and there were not enough candles in the sanctuary to light for all of them.

“What if I lit one?” she’d asked.

“Who would you light it for?”

“For you. So you don’t have to sit in the dark.” When he was only silent, she said, “You fought in the Great War, didn’t you.” And when he looked away–when he shut her out–she continued. “My husband fought in that war. And he never could find his heart again. He said he loved me, but I don’t think he ever really did, not all the way. But I loved him all the way and when he put an end to his own life I thought I would have to do it too. Instead, I sat in the dark for a long time. It’s something I can see in a person. I can see you’re sitting in the dark.”

They stayed quiet for a time on the bench under the statue of the cardinal and when the church bells started to toll–signaling the magic of the empty square would soon be disrupted by the mass emptying into its streets–she stood and pulled her coat around her.

“My home is down that street, a little one with a red roof. It’s warm and I’ve plenty of hand pies--I made too many. I’ll leave a candle in the window until I’m asleep. You’re always welcome there, Max.”

And then she smiled and turned down the avenue where she’d pointed.

He blinked. Just before she reached the edge of the square he called out, “My name isn’t Max. It’s Pierre.”

She turned and gave a sly wink. “Good to know. I think once you get a belly full of my pies, you’ll let me call you whatever I want.”

He only sat long enough to watch the churchgoers file out of the holy service, many of them with people they loved, humming, happy, cheeks glowing in that way when one steps into a fresh cold world after being an hour or two soaking in the warmth. And once the square was empty again, he stood, gave only a fleeting look to the river, and then walked resolutely down Yaëlle’s street.

A little house with a red roof and a candle in the window.

He stayed for supper and came back many nights after.

And then one night he never left.

Max recalled the rest of that life with a lurking despair. While he couldn’t quite remember how it went, something in him carried it through to the life he’d just left…and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was yet.

A few years of joy, of the greatest love he’d felt since his childhood. Like the mother he’d lost, another woman who was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she couldn’t anymore.

They never celebrated Noël as the others did, but in their own way. For a handful of years they would go sit on the bench in the square and hand out pies to their neighbors and anyone who came to join them where they sat. They would listen to the singing in the church and watch the stars scintillate overhead. They would leave their shoes by the fireplace and wake up to find gifts they’d bought for each other with the little francs that they had. And they would never talk about what they would do in the future, because they knew it would be this and that’s all they aspired to and it would be a happy life.

And Max watched Pierre forget about the rot that still ran its roots through the soil.

And one day soldiers came to town when he was out in the fields and they took Yaëlle and some of the other dark-haired, joyful, bird-laughing folk about town and murdered them. By the time he returned for the evening, the soldiers had gone and left him nothing but a ravaged house and a body to bury.

There’s nothing he could have done, the mourning neighbors told him, the tide was rising. If he had fought them, they would have shot him too.

Pierre said that it would have been better that way.

Pierre stopped working in the fields when he started to hear his mother’s voice singing among the grasses again…now joined by Yaëlle’s sweet alto.

He had one more Noël in that life. He drank as much as he could take without falling over and stumbled out to sit on the bench in the square, weeping once the churchgoers had gone. He didn’t say a word, but Max remembered what Pierre was thinking then.

Love hurts too much. It is always taken. It’s not worth the trouble.

And then Pierre fell asleep on that bench and never woke up again.

There wasn’t much time between that first life and this one, maybe a few decades in the dark. Just long enough for a voice to reach him in the void–a voice he knew well and loved with his whole heart for only a short time–to say,

“That was a good first try, Max. Let’s give it another go, okay? Another place, another time, when it’s not so hard. I’ll leave a light on for you.”

____

Max’s life had been shorter this time. But he’d learned a thing or two and kept love at arm’s length. Sex was good and companionship was fine, but he wouldn’t invest in anything that could drain him in an instant and leave him destitute. 

Now power, that could fill the void. 

So when fortune smiled and he was given the choice, he swallowed hard and put his neck to the teeth, traded in his humanity for power that nobody could take away from him…and a heart that had no need for warmth.

He was wrong about that last point though.

And he didn’t even know it until he saw something that humans couldn’t see.

Heard something they couldn’t hear, a long ago and far away voice singing.

Smelled you on the wind.

Followed it to you–a woman, just another human woman–walking out of a bar along some street in the city.

And he saw a light glowing from within you.

You wore another face, another body, but all he saw was you.

Yaëlle.

Beautiful one.

He followed you that night, and several nights after. He was the reason that car swerved before it hit you, the reason you weren’t approached by that seedy guy at the club. He was the reason you kept looking behind you now and then and when you finally saw him–having dinner at the same restaurant, totally by coincidence, you on a friendly outing, him trying to charm a client into a contract–it broke his heart that you did not know him instantly.

He found he was surprised that he still had a heart to break. He’d been so fucking careful.

Max almost gave into the anger, the disappointment. Replayed the pathetic way Pierre let himself be brought down and tried to remind himself not to let himself be broken again.

But then he heard your voice in a way only those who walk in death can.

Let’s give it another go. I’ll leave a light on for you.

____

Heightened feeling is the one drawback of all this power. It’s one thing to latch onto a target, to fixate on some middle manager or accountant or IT specialist until there’s a good time to finally strike. That is an itch that can be satisfied with a well-timed, fear-seasoned, adrenaline-soaked kill.

But love sinks its fangs in and doesn’t let go. It sucks at something that can’t be drained, has no end, can never get enough. It can drive an immortal--a never-ending being of heightened existence--to madness.

There will come a day in the future when you’ll trust him for no good reason, when you’ll understand the monster he is and whisper under your breath against your better judgment, when you’ll invite him in. For dinner.

And he’ll come around again and again.

And then one day, he’ll stay.

And you’ll yawn ask him on the edge of sleep, “Why me? Of all these humans that you could easily enthrall and have without question, why choose this?”

Max will look at you in the darkness and see nothing but your light.

You won’t understand when he puts on a show of an irritated sigh and tells you, “You gave me another chance, sweetmeats,” but you’ll doze in his cold arms, absolutely confident as he is that nothing will ever hurt you again. Including himself.

And that night he’ll stay until you wake.

He won’t have you sit in the darkness alone.

_____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

#pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories #bloodsucking bastards #max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x f!reader

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hi Whimsy🖤

I'm new here and this is my first ask so I'm sorry if I haven't done this right. If you're comfortable with it and are able to can I get a Prince Nuada x chubby f!reader enemies to lovers anything (with nsfw if you're fine with that).

You have full reign over the direction and themes of this, anything is appreciated!

Thank you for your time🌻

Hello! Now this is something that actually deserves a full multi-part fic, so I thought of coming up with a detailed outline for the moment. I hope you like it!

“A prince’s regard”

Pairing: Prince Nuada x chubby F! reader (Human | Second person POV)

Themes: Enemies to lovers | Soft | NSFW

Warnings : Angst-ish | Mentions of wounds | Mention of character death (Nuada’s mother) | Nuada being a bit of a jerk in the beginning | Insecurities | Nuada gets a little handsy at the end, but in a cute way.

Wordcount: 2.2k words

Summary: As part of a greater plan to encourage peace and understanding between humans and elves, a lottery is held for elves and humans to live amongst each other. You’re one of them, and the elf you are paired off with during the lotter is none other than Nuada himself.

A/n: If anyone wants to make use of these I say go for it, but please tag me if you do.

Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume

🍃As part of a peace treaty with mortals, King Balor proposed an exchange of culture and knowledge between the two former warring races. Selected humans would live amongst the elves as attendants, handmaidens, stewards, and students, and elves would do the same with humans.

🍃A lottery is organized and monitored by the BPRD to stop parties with vested interests from meddling and upsetting the delicate balance of such a hard-won peace. Offices spread all over the world turn into lottery centers, and any elf or mortal wishing to add their name to the list is encouraged to do so.

🍃The numbers may not have been record-breaking, but enough elves and humans registered all the same. Your name was one of them. You did it on a dare, and with your friends, thinking nothing would ever come out of it.

🍃When the announcements start, you join the others in front of the TV, listening to names being called out, along with the names of families and individuals they would be paired with. Your name was not called on the first day. It was not called on the second or third day either. It was disappointing, to be sure, but you made peace with it. The days passed, with more and more names being announced. Then, after a fortnight had passed, you listened, dumbfounded, while your own name was announced to the world in crisp words. You were even more astounded when you found that you were being paired off with none other than the crown prince of Bethmoora himself.

🍃Your friends take you shopping as you would be moving into a series of abandoned railway tunnels he had converted into a luxurious palace. No one has seen the inside of it except for his father and sister, and the handful of attendants that served him.

🍃You’re nervous. Not just because you would be living with elven royalty, but also because Nuada is well known for hating humans.

🍃The prince was cold and aloof when you walked in through thick wooden doors full of strange symbols carved into them. “For protection,” Princess Nuala said, “against any evil that tries to make its way inside.”

🍃She was exceedingly warm where her twin is not, asking dozens of questions about your life, your friends, your family, everything. Nuala helped you settle into your new rooms and then showed you around the vast network of tunnels and chambers her brother called home. Everything was dimly lit, because that was how he liked it. There were sculptures and priceless works of art everywhere, hundreds upon hundreds of candles, thick, plush carpets, and the library was unlike anything you had ever seen.

“Do not touch anything.” He hissed, startling you. Nuada had walked up to you without making a sound. It was more than a little unnerving that he could do such a thing. “These treasures are priceless, and I will not see them sullied by mortal hands such as yours.”

Nuala apologized profusely. “Some of the sculptures you see here belonged to our mother,” she went on to explain after he disappeared down another corridor. “And my brother is quite attached to them.”

She did not say more on the matter, and she took you to her own rooms and hosted you to a light supper. At least, that was what she called it. An elaborate meal had been laid out in the dining room of her apartment. During dinner, Nuala informed she had to return to the BPRD, as her true home was there, with Abe. She would visit from time to time, but her place was elsewhere. Your heart sank, for it meant you would have to be alone with Nuada.

“Do not fret,” she urged. “My brother has a good heart; it is just that he guards it so fiercely. Give him time, y/n. He will come around. Mr. Wink will be here as well, so you will not want for company.”

“That’s comforting,” you tell yourself. Mr. Wink was large and imposing and spoke in a language you did not understand, and his loyalty would always belong to Nuada. Still, you made peace with Nuala’s leaving, and enjoyed the rest of your dinner.

🍃During the course of the subsequent days and weeks, Nuada would go out of his way to avoid you. He dined by himself, trained by himself, and kept to his own chambers when he was not needed elsewhere. If, by chance, you did run into him, he would respond with a curt grunt before walking away. If you came upon him training, he would order you to leave him in peace. Sometimes, not always, but sometimes, he would walk out of a room if you walked into it. It stung. What made it worse was knowing your stay had to last a full year before a change in placement could be requested. And that made you wretched, because the end of that year was still a long way off. Resentment took root, and you slowly began to loathe the prince for making living with him so hard.

🍃Mr. Wink, on the other hand, was surprisingly nicer, allowing you to join him while he used the mechanical toys that kept him entertained, watching TV with you, and even letting you read to him once in a while. He went so far as to ask through Nuala for you to help him learn your language.

It was a trial. Truly, it was a trial. Mr. Wink was a creature of fixed habits, and modern languages were strange to his ears. Once, he nearly flipped over a table in frustration. You had to keep to your sofa and hide your giggles while he ranted and raved and declared, through Nuala during her next visit, that human languages were languages born from the pits of hell.

“They may be languages from the pits of hell,” you tell him, “but you still need to learn. Come on. You can do this.”

The lessons continued. And Nuada’s avoidance of you continued as well. 

🍃“Why do you always avoid me?” You finally mustered your courage and confronted him after breakfast. “I know you are not all that happy about it, but do you have to go out of your way to make me feel unwelcome?”

“Because you are mortal,” he rasped sharply. “That alone is enough. Now leave me. I have better things to do with my time.”

🍃And so it continued, until one dark November night, when an injured Mr. Wink brought him home, covered in wounds. A raid had gone wrong, you were told. Hellboy had taken it into his head to charge straight into a hive of tooth fairies, the largest that had been found in North America. Many in the team were injured, and Nuada was one of those who were worse off. Doctors from the Bureau came over and did the best they could. You had to see to his care after they left, as Nuala could not leave the BPRD. She too had suffered the same harm, even though she never left the facility.

For several days, Nuada slipped in and out of consciousness. You wanted to let him struggle out of spite, but seeing him helpless and weak convinced you to do otherwise. You changed his dressing, gave him bed baths to clean him up, and even changed his clothes. You avoided looking at the scars that marred an otherwise near-perfect body. It would be rude to do so, you tell yourself. He would not like being gawked at.

You brushed his hair and then read to him before making yourself comfortable on a nearby pillowed bench that served as your bed. Sometimes, you would find him looking at you with a strange expression in his eyes while you went about looking after him. You didn’t know what to make of it.

🍃“You must eat something, my prince,” you insisted one evening, holding a spoonful of soup to his mouth. “Just a spoonful. Please.”

Nuada’s appetite had deserted him, and you had to feed him his meals. He fussed and grumbled and muttered choice words in the language of his people, but he would yield to your entreaties in the end and make himself eat. It started with a spoonful, and then another, and another. Finally, when he was strong enough, he could eat properly.

🍃Then he started to talk. It’s about the little things at first: the meal before him, his sister’s wellbeing, and your lessons with Mr. Wink.

“He speaks very highly of you,” he confessed, much to your surprise. “He says you treat him with respect.”

“Do other elves treat him with respect?”

“No,” he replied. "Trolls are seen as, how do you mortals put it?" Nuada searched for the right word. "Oh yes. As the knuckledraggers of my world. Mr. Wink is a remnant of a more primitive age and, therefore, unworthy of true respect in the eyes of many. Besides my sister and myself, you are the only one who is openly kind to him."

"You are kind to him, and yet you treat me with scorn," you sighed. 

The prince said nothing. He grew quiet and thoughtful. You take it as a sign to clear his tray and leave.

🍃Life with him became easier after that. While he rested, Nuada spoke of all the things he had seen and all the wondrous creatures he had met. You listened to his tales with rapt attention, for few mortals knew of such things. Finally, he opened up about his hatred for humans and why he allowed it to fester in his heart for so long.

“They killed my mother,” he spat. “When father left for war, mother traveled with him. She would stay at camp while he took off for the battlefield. He thought he had no cause for worry, for it was an unwritten rule, you see, for a military camp to be left untouched even during the height of fighting. There could be women and children present. Humans did not care for that. As soon as father’s warriors were out of sight, they attacked the camp. My mother… let us just say she did not survive.”

You did not know what to say, except for "I'm sorry.” Nuada smiled sadly and patted your hand.

“Tis not your fault,” he countered. “And it is I who should be apologizing." Nuada paused, and hesitated. "You have been nothing but considerate of my wishes the entire time, and you went out of your way to take care of me even after how I behaved in the beginning. I am ashamed of myself and must beg for your forgiveness.”

🍃Forgiveness would take a while, but Nuada did all that he could to make amends. He even invited you to accompany him to a great feast as his honored guest. That gave you pause, for while Nuada was lithe and graceful and everything a mighty warrior ought to be, you thought yourself to be the opposite of it all and told him so.

“Everyone would compare me to the other ladies,” you agonized after changing into yet another gown, one that was so soft it felt like you were clothed in nothing but air. “I cannot go looking like this.”

“No one will compare you to others,” he insisted. Nuada came into your rooms after wondering what was taking you so long. “They would not dare do so. Besides, there is nothing to give you cause for concern. Like your hair, for example. It looks beautiful the way you have arranged it.”

A flash of heat crept up your throat. No one had complimented you like this before. “It is?”

“Indeed.” Nuada came closer. “And that dress. How artfully it clings to your body. You have made a wise choice with your garments, y/n.”

“Oh.” Now your cheeks were aflame. “You’re not lying? You really like how I look?

“As my sister would tell you, lying is not something I excel at.” He grew bolder, and brushed his hand over your hip, your waist. “Soft,” he murmured. “Even softer than your dress.”

His touch was electrifying. And he was right. Lying was not something he was skilled at. You saw it with your own eyes—how he could not even pretend to be gracious in the beginning. You flushed and looked away, unsure of what to do or say. Nuada reached over and lifted your chin, making you meet his gaze.

“Did I go too far?” He murmured softly.

“No,” you mumbled. “I… I just didn’t expect such attention from someone like you. You are the crown prince. You’re dashing and skilled, and you're the greatest warrior among your people. And I… I am me.”

He went quiet for a while, as if he were thinking. “Then give me the chance to show you how you are so much more than what you believe yourself to be,” he proposed. “Can you do that, y/n? Give me such a chance?”

He was holding out his hand, his eyes bright and determined. But there was something else in those vivid golden-yellow eyes of his. Something more than determination. It tugged at you and drew you in.

He is trying, you think to yourself. He is really trying. And would it be awful to be at the receiving end of his affections?

You decided it would not be so awful after all and placed your hand in his.

tags: @nupppuff @thepjofanqueen

#prince nuada #prince nuada imagine #prince nuada x reader #nuada x reader #nuada imagine #nuada silverlance #hellboy #hellboy imagine #x reader #reader insert #reader insert request

[sofasoap]

Wrenching heart 

Pairing : Din Djarin x f!reader. slight description of injuries on Reader otherwise no other physical descriptions.

Summary:  part 2 to heartbreak. Going into Reader’s backstory. 

Slightly AU-ish, Din didn’t get N1 after Razor Crest got blown up.he got something similar.

Warning: Mature theme. strong languages. Mention of sexism, misogyny ,angsty.

English isn’t my first language, so I apologise for any mistakes. 

A/N : I seem to be writing all the Din fic for the University students at the moment to push them on ( Trust me, I know your pain. been there done that)   @groguspicklejar  and @deakyjoe, this is for both of you.

MASTERLIST for part 1 and sequel to this series

Since leaving Din that night, you've been planet hopping, doing odd jobs here and there, helping out at cantinas when they are short of staff, fixing up any broken mechanical stuff for people. Scraping in any credits you can before moving onto the next location. You are pretty sure Din wouldn’t be coming after you, but you can’t bear the thought of staying one place too long, making connections with people, getting hurt again.

Back to your old life, you thought. Running away from problems.

Before the fall of the Republic, your family was well known in Naboo for its wealth and connections with both the political and underground world.  While Naboo was relatively untouched, like most people during the rule of the Empire, they didn’t come out unscathed. Your parents, eager to climb back up again socially, spare nothing to provide you and your brother the best education, getting the best tutor in the system. History, language, art, culture, music, politics, science. You name it. While you were thankful for the comfortable lifestyle and education your parents have provided you, you can’t help thinking, do they love you because you are their child? Or there is something else they want out of you. 

Being the good obedient daughter you are, you work hard to please your parents. Your real interest is exploring the galaxy, to be an expert mechanic.  In what off time you can spare, you often secretly sneak off to the garage and workshops in the city, or searching on holonet, reading and learning about the latest models of ships and transports there are in the galaxy. 

You told your brother about your dream once, he laughed his head off at the idea. “ Dream on sister, you think father and mother will let you do that?”. He sneered. “ Your job, as a woman,” He pointed at you, “ is to be a good trophy wife for someone else, look after your husband, and carry a child for them. That is why they have you. Helping to revive the family name.”  That’s the first time the seed of doubt has been planted in your heart. Still, you work hard, chasing for approval from your parents. Their reaction every time makes that seed grow and grow.

“That is still not good enough.”“ That is your responsibility.”“ That is what you meant to do isn’t it?”

The reality came crashing down on you when you were travelling back from an excursion to the Gungan territories, the transporter you were in was involved in a serious accident. While you survived, you didn’t come out unscathed. The accident left a deep scar across your face. Not once your parents visited you while you recovered at the medical centre. When you return home, you can sense your parents and your brother looking at you differently. 

With disgust. You made the decision to run away when you were walking in the corridor one night preparing to sneak out again, and you heard the servants talking discreetly. You hid behind a pole, eavesdropping. “..... Master is thinking of sending her away. She’s no use to them anymore….. The accident…. The scar…” You shuddered. Is that what you are to your parents? Just an object that they can use to achieve their goals? Now you are  what they considered “ damaged goods”,  they were going to throw you away, like a piece of junk. You ran away that night. Eventually settled down in Coruscant, a little workshop owner took pity on you, agreed to give you lodging in the small store room behind the workshop, and let you be a helping hand cleaning around the workshop, after you promised you wouldn’t cause them any trouble.  Being a fast learner,  you watch and learn, soon the owner notices your talent, agrees to let you start fixing small easy problems, and from then on, business blooms, the workshop is famous for fair prices they charge and quick reliable work. The owner treats you like a daughter more than your biological family ever did. First time in your life, you were really happy. Doing things you want, earning your own wage, having someone really cares about you. Happiness doesn’t last. Few cycles later, your boss got sick, and despite doing all you can, they passed away. Their relatives took over the business, and things went downhill from there. Until the Mandalorian came into the shop one day.  You ran off again, this time with The Mandalorian, after begging him to let you tag along. With him and Grogu, you feel like you found a family again.  

The naive heart of yours thought there was something between you two. He isn’t a man of word, he lets his actions  do all the talking. You and Grogu want something? He will get it. You need a certain part for the ship? He will hunt it down for you. Grogu wants more frogs? He will find the nearest market to get it. He gave you the vibroblade, with his clan signet on it. Does it mean something? You rack your brain through all the lores and stories you've been taught about the Mandalore culture from your tutor, but nothing came up. When he pushes you away after Grogu left with the Jedi, you feel like a failure again. He doesn’t want you anymore. Just like your family.  You are no longer used to him. Piece of junk. Away you go again. With another scar added to your already broken heart. You hitched a ride with a trader, who can only take you as far as Tatooine. From there, someone recommended you to seek out employment with Peli Motto in Mos Eisley. Peli was impressed with your skills, and agreed to stay on as her assistant. You were planning to stay for only a few weeks, to be honest, a dry, hot desert planet isn’t your favourite place to be. Especially growing up in Naboo, it’s such a big contrast.  But something made you stay on. If you were a true believer of the Force ( maybe you are? After seeing Grogu and Luke’s show of power.) You will be telling people later on it was the force that has pushed you to make the decision. And here you are, running into Din again. Damn the universe and the force.

“So, what is going on between you and Mando?” Your hand stopped for a second where you were trying to pull the engine lines out. “... I used to work for him.” your hand continues to move as you reply Peli, not elaborating any further. Peli gave you a look but didn’t press on. Din comes back to the workshop everyday, watching you work but doesn’t interact with you. You can always feel his eyes following your every move. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be Mando? Doesn’t the Daimyo want you to do some job for him?” Peli asked him every day. “ I need the ship for that.” Was always his reply.

“Well here you go Mando, all fixed up for you. Your engine shouldn’t give you more trouble unless you decide to run the ship to the ground. Your carbonite freezer coolants have been replaced as well, it's a bit hard to source the stuff so I have to charge you a little bit more for that.” Peli commented. After handing over a bag of credit without complaint, he walked over towards you, where you were putting away your tools back into the tool box for the end of the day.

“Your ship is fixed, as promised. Now leave me be.” 

“...........”

“if you got something else to say, spit it out now Mando.” Not even turning around to face him, you mumbled.  After travelling with him, you have learned to read his body language. He always stands there and looks at you if he wants something from you. From the corner of your eyes, you see him flexing his fingers, but still, not a word. You sighed. Standing up, you unhook something from your belt. “By the way, I think you should have this back.”  Pressing it into his gloved hand, you turned around and yelled towards Peli. “ I am going to go to the Cantina and grab our dinner, I’ll be back soon!”. You walked out of the hanger, leaving him standing there, without a goodbye. Din looked at his hand, it’s the  vibroblade that he had gifted you. He feels like his world is crumbling down around him again.

…. I did not expect I will be making a part 3 for this. Looks like i have to.  Oops. Tag list : @frogtits1, @READINGFAN, @memester-png

I absolutely love Peli. I think apart from Karga and Cara, Peli is probably the closest thing Din has to a big sister/aunty figure. 

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #grogu #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you

[cybercaffie]

of when Kerry convinced V. to get interviewed and photographed for NC's trendiest tattoo mag! And I had fun playing editorial team. I wanted to make it look like a magazine spread and it's not tumblr friendly unless you're on desktop, so here's the transcript under the cut!

THE LAST OF THE ROCKERBOYS He is a man that needs no introduction: Kerry Eurodyne is a living, breathing legend. From the infamous Samurai to a brilliant solo career spanning decades, if Night City had a soundtrack he would be its lead composer. Make no mistake, this rockerboy is no relic of a bygone era: with a sold out world tour showcasing his unmatched energy and charisma on stage and a new album topping the charts, his comeback has proven that his creative flair is simply inextinguishable. See that devilish spark in his eyes? Looks like the fun has only begun for Mr. Eurodyne.

ROOTS and ROCK n’ ROLL

Kerry’s body is a moving work of art: his custom one-of-a-kind cyberware merges the elegance of the best fashionware with all the enhancements a musician of his caliber needs. And his ink tells his story as a man and a musician: on his left arm and chest we can see stunning examples of batok, the indigenous tattoos of the Philippines. It’s all about authenticity: «These were all done there by local filipino artists, with traditional tools. No machines.». In the past these markings often represented identity, bravery and protection; for Kerry «it’s my way to remember where I come from, my roots. ‘Cause I’m hella proud of them.»   The right arm is also about his identity, but as a musician: a full sleeve of neo-traditional Japanese inspiration in black and white with pops of red. «You’ve got it all: Samurai, 2023 when Johnny died and…well, a tribute to my favorite vodka and smokes, haha.». And to top it all off, the Eurodyne logo on the shoulder, where we find the batok elements again. Cultural heritage and rock n’ roll meet: this ink has soul, one that is authentic and eclectic like his music.

_ FAMILY (V)ALUES In NC’s underworld Vincent is a celebrity in his own right- if you like to run with mercs then you surely must have heard about the new “king of the Afterlife”, a title that he seems to find uneasy. Countless rumors surround him but a fact is certain: he was born and bred a nomad and his skin is a tapestry of his former life, spent on countless roads across the southern states. But nomad life isn’t about riding with wind in your hair: living by nomad ideals means hardships and hard work. The number one priority, protecting the clan: the lone wolf dies, the pack survives.

IDEALS AND IDENTITY Roses, cowboys, skulls - from authentic vintage American Traditional pieces to more new-school inspired ones, V.’s body is an encyclopedia when it comes to the Old School style.  Like for the sailors and soldiers of old, every tattoo is symbolic - the most evident, the battle royale backpiece: «For nomads, the meaning of the animals is opposite. We see ourselves as the snake, fighting off a larger foe - it’s about surviving despite the odds.». In his countless tattoos, centuries-old american iconographies are imbued with biographical meaning. «Top right arm, big ol’ devil and various symbols to ward him off. This arm is more about…the big events. Changes. Some I got after I left, like the dead racer». The left arm is equally packed with ink: «This one is more about memories: first kill, first heartbreak, people who are gone, people I hold dear... Happy or sad, all parts of who I am». If you want to get ink like this, better be ready for an interstate trip: you won’t find this type of artistry in NC. V.’s recommendations?   «I-40 west of Albuquerque, then 371, ask about Ricky at Dawn’s Inn. Though he might be in Atlanta now… then Lucky Chester, just north of Tulsa. Closest? Miss Mallory Mercy, between Reno and Carson». Safe travels, reader.

_

WHEN TWO WORLDS MEET A nomad-turned-merc and a rockstar: it’s not a match you hear of everyday. Unlikely? Maybe. Too different for it to work? Naysayers, you will be disappointed: the chemistry between these two is undeniable.  Who would have thought that Badlands and City could mix this well?

#kerry eurodyne #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk2077 #kerry x v #v x kerry #oc: v for vincent #masc v #s: heart of gold #throw me a bone please I cried so much doing this lmao though the game only died once surprisingly #''this won't take too long'' *20000 hours later* #true reason aside from shipping brain: wanted to get mileage out of the tattoo mod ok

[wineauntie]

JUNO! THE ALBUM — q. hughes x singer!oc

a look into juno blackwood’s debut album

masterlist

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

cover/back cover:

prelude:

“How beautiful the earth is still, To thee —how full of happiness! How little fraught with real ill, Or unreal phantoms of distress! How spring can bring thee glory, yet, And summer win thee to forget December’s sullen time! Why dost thou hold the treasure fast, Of youth’s delight, when youth is past, And thou art near thy prime?”

— the first stanza of Anticipation by Emily Brontë, sung by Juno, accompanied by Julian Rowe on piano.

tracklist:

king

sinner

when I die

born to die

because the night

young and beautiful

type of guy

kiss with a fist

sunday

look at us now ft. Julian Rowe

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

about the album!

This album was produced in the summer of 2021, however it is a collection of Juno’s writing from dating back to when she was 16 to the age of 20.

It was produced by Julian Rowe, who cowrote and sung on the track “Look at Us Now”. Julian Rowe, pictured below, is a five-time Emmy winning producer and singer. Known for his work with notable artists such as Harry Styles and Taylor Swift. He has grown into a close friend of Juno Blackwood and the two are thick as thieves when it comes to the music industry.

The album’s cover photo was taken by Juno when she dropped her phone, which was set to take a timed photograph of her and her cat. The back cover was taken by Julian Rowe during one of the album’s late night mixing session.

Over 132 songs were narrowed down into the 10 released, and Juno Blackwood has stated: “it’s not their (the other songs) time yet, I can feel it.”

The album demolished the charts upon its release on September 23rd, 2021, with Rolling Stones Magazine even naming it number 87 in the best debut albums of all time.

Juno has claimed that the album is an eclectic collection of sounds and “has something that anyone could enjoy.” It is a pop album with country and rock twists, drawing inspiration from bands such as Fleetwood Mac and singers such as Joni Mitchell and Patti Smith.

“I like to think of my songs as aspects of my soul,” Juno said, in an article with Rolling Stones Magazine. “Every musical thought I have has been a result of the iconic music of the past. I want my music to reflect the respect and passion I have towards the history and impact of these artists…and I feel like this album encapsulates that level of admiration I hold for them.”

The album stood in the top five of the charts for ten weeks, with the singles “Young and Beautiful” and “Look at us Now”, alternating number one on the charts for eight weeks.

“It’s great to hear music like this again,” Stevie Nicks remarked for Times Magazine, when asked if she’d heard and liked Blackwood’s album. “It has that deep, soulful and transcendent sound that often gets lost in the modern music culture.”

Juno! by Juno Blackwood was well-received all around the world and led to her EU/US & Canada tour.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

(a/n— below are the original songs/artists juno’s album is based on)

King by Florence and the machine

Sinner by the last dinner party

When I die by fanny lumsden

born to die by lana del rey

because the night by patty smith

young and beautiful by lana del rey

type of guy by daisy jones

kiss with a fist by Florence and the machine

sunday by the cranberries

look at us now by daisy jones and the six

#wineauntie #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes x oc #Quinn hughes x singer!oc #juno blackwood x quinn hughes #wineauntie – juno universe! #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fanfic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes #juno blackwood

[scriberye]

🔞 Trappings of Art

      ➥  Thrawn x Reader    |    2397    |    Ao3

⚠️🔞 Gender Neutral Reader, Canon Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Mild Predator/Prey You're a notorious thief, renowned for returning stolen items to their rightful owners. Grand Admiral Thrawn's collection has been your greatest challenge yet. You've eluded him before, but this time may be your last. a/n: Originally wrote this in 2020 and decided to rewrite it, removed some language that was bothering me and adjusted it to be more gender neutral.

You remember the first time you stole from Thrawn. You slipped in and out of his private collection with ease, snatching a simple little trinket that you were certain he wouldn't notice was missing. It was a thrill -- the rush you felt was indescribable, knowing you'd stolen from the feared Grand Admiral Thrawn and gotten away with it.

The second time, you raised the stakes and stole a painting, leaving behind a faded outline where it had been hanging. This was dangerous, but you couldn't resist the temptation. You escaped once again, evading nearly every security measure Thrawn had in place.

You stole again and again, never stopping to consider how easy it all seemed.

Thrawn was aware of your exploits, and instead of being angered, he found himself intrigued. The Chiss admired your skill and cunning and the sheer audacity of it all--for you to target him, of all people.

You presented him with a challenge, and Thrawn loved a good challenge.

He leaked information he knew would reach your ears quickly.

A new piece of art had entered his collection, one that held significance for a culture that suffered under the Empire's heel. The intricate and beautiful art would be on display at a gala for high-ranking Imperial officers. It made your blood boil.

The whole thing screamed bait, but if you got your hands on the piece, you could return it to its rightful owners. Thrawn set the trap, and you walked right into it.

The gala was already in full swing by the time you arrived, the entrance empty as your speeder car pulled up to the front. You could make out the distant sound of music coming from inside the venue. The woman in the driver's seat twisted around to pass you the invitation. It was a carefully crafted forgery--a simple black card with white writing.

"You sure about this?" she asked.

"Absolutely," you said with a grin, taking the card from her. "Just be ready."

The card served as both an invitation and an identification chip. Tonight, you'd be playing the role of an Imperial Officer's child. With a few hacks and some well-placed alterations, they added you to his family registry. The officer had a reputation for cheating on his wife, so your sudden appearance shouldn't be surprising when they run their checks.

You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves, before stepping out of the speeder and confidently heading towards the main entrance. Two stormtroopers, with their gear clean and gleaming, stood guard at the door. You felt them watching your every move as you approached them.

You fell into character and offered one of them your invitation, smiling sweetly.

"I'm here for the gala."

The trooper takes your card and scans it with their datapad. You resist the urge to fidget, knowing that acting nervous would make them more suspicious of you. You were already fashionably late. Finally, a chime comes from the datapad, signaling a match. They look at the other trooper and nod their approval, passing the card back to you.

"All right, you're good to go. Proceed inside."

You take the invitation with a smile. "Oh, thank you. The Empire is fortunate to have such dedicated soldiers like you."

They lower their heads in response, murmuring a thank you as you walk past and enter.

The interior is just as lavish as the outside, boasting high ceilings and floors adorned with polished marble. Expensive paintings and tapestries line the walls in a bold display of the Empire's wealth and dominance. Officers and their companions fill the main hall, mingling and chatting, their voices overlapping and blending into a cacophony of noise.

You spot Thrawn right away among the crowd. He towers above the others, his striking blue skin and red eyes making him impossible to miss. There's a tight-lipped smile on his face as he endures the ramblings of another officer.

You blink once, and his eyes are on you. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you try to disappear into the crowd, but you can't shake the feeling of his gaze still fixated on you.

The stakes are higher now.

Thrawn studied you as you mingled with the other partygoers. The more ambitious younger officers swarmed around you, showering you with drinks and attention. In their eyes, you were the eligible child of a high-ranking officer and a stepping stone that could fast-track their careers. A means to an end.

You smile and effortlessly play your role, flirting and giving them false hopes, and Thrawn feels an unexpected pang of jealousy. Unlike himself, they were unaware of your true motives for being here. They were no match for you. You excused yourself from your throng of admirers and slipped away, disappearing into an adjacent room.

Thrawn's eyes narrowed as he watched you leave. He raises a hand, silencing the long-winded man who was talking at him. "Something has come up that requires my immediate attention. Excuse me."

The man huffs and turns away, frustrated.

Thrawn navigates through the crowd, his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze remained fixed on the room you had entered. No, not a room. A hallway that led to a closed-off gallery.

He strides down the corridor, the sound of chatter fading away as he enters the gallery. It's shrouded in a soft, warm glow, illuminating the artwork on display. It's empty, save for you, walking amongst the works of art, seeming to examine each one.

It was a treasure trove of beauty, and your presence only added to it.

You heard footsteps echoing in the quiet gallery and tensed up. You knew it was Thrawn without looking. A confrontation was unavoidable, but you didn't expect it to happen so soon. The plan was to grab the painting and deliver it to your crew before he came after you.

You approached a large glass case in the center of the room, feigning interest in the items on display. Thrawn joined you on the opposite side, his movements matching yours. Neither of you made a move as the tension in the air grew thick.

Your eyes drifted away from the art, and you found Thrawn's intense red eyes gazing back at you. His stare was predatory and hungry, causing you to inhale sharply.

And the dance began.

You dart toward the edge of the case, but Thrawn is already there, waiting for you. He's immediately on the offensive, and you scramble to keep up with his swift movements. He's stronger than you. You feel it with each hit. The impact of each blow reverberates through your body. And he's pulling his punches!

He smirks, and it's infuriating.

You grit your teeth and try to launch your attack. He dodges each jab and hook with ease, every move is calculated and effortless, as if he is toying with you. Thrawn takes control of the fight once again. You're so focused on defending against him, you're unable to find an opening. Each blow Thrawn landed forced you to take a step back as you tried to put more space between you and him.

It's as you're being backed into another darkened room that you realize his intentions. Thrawn is forcing you to retreat. He's guiding you to the destination of your capture.

You're forced further and further back, and you soon find yourself in a room for smaller exhibits. Panic sets in. In this small room, there's only one way out, and Thrawn stands in your way, effectively blocking your chance of escape.

In a last-ditch effort, you launch yourself towards Thrawn, desperately hoping to catch him off guard and unbalance him.

It's a huge mistake.

He anticipated your every move.

In the blink of an eye, Thrawn twists your arm behind your back and slams you against a wall. You let out a sharp gasp as the impact sent your head reeling. You try to resist, struggling to escape, but his grip only tightens.

Thrawn holds you in place, pressing the entire length of his body against yours, effectively pinning you in place with no room to wriggle free. He leans in, and you can feel the heat of his breath against your cheek. "Submit," he says, his voice low and commanding.

"And if I don't?"

"Then this game ends here."

You take a deep, shuddering breath and close your eyes. You consider your options. Could you even break free? The chance of that seemed slim, Thrawn would no doubt expect it if you tried. Or you could see where this led.

"I yield." You whisper and lick your lips, locking eyes with him. "I'm yours."

Thrawn's lips meet yours, warm and hesitant at first, until you moan and respond to his kiss. He lets out a pleased rumble that comes from deep in his chest, and the kiss quickly becomes more insistent and passionate.

You break away, your breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Thrawn doesn't relent, trailing his lips along the column of your throat. His teeth graze your skin. Your eyes flutter, and you let out a weak moan, your heart racing as heat gathers between your thighs.

He releases your arm, leaving his hands free to explore your body, feeling every curve and contour. "Your body is a work of art." Thrawn sighs, his breath tickling the delicate hairs at the back of your neck.

You brace your hands against the wall and arch your back, offering yourself to him. Thrawn grinds his hips into yours, the hardness of his erection sending an electric shiver down your spine.

Thrawn's hands glide over your hips to the front of your body, deftly undoing your clothes and pushing them aside. You whimper, your body trembling with anticipation as the cool air of the gallery hits your exposed skin. He cups his hand between your thighs, his touch making you ache with need.

"Ahhn --"

Thrawn gathers the slick fluid that drips from you, slicking his fingers with it as he sinks two fingers into your tight hole. You gasp, your cheek pressed hard against the wall, as he stretches you open, his fingers pushing deeper with each plunge.

"Hurry!" you whimper, your body craving more of him.

"You're in no position to be making demands."

You bang a hand against the wall. "Please!"

Thrawn chuckles from behind you and withdraws his fingers, leaving you aching and empty. You hear the swish of cloth as he undoes his uniform pants. He grips your hips and pushes forward, filling you with his hard length.

You cry out, your voice echoing off the walls, as Thrawn's cock spreads you open. The burn mixes with the pleasure. He sinks into your body, inch by inch, until his hips are flush against yours. He's thicker than you realize, and his cock nudges against that sweet spot inside of you that has your toes curling in pleasure.

You push back against him, and Thrawn grips your waist as he thrusts into you. He tries to be gentle, giving you a moment to adjust, but he soon succumbs to his desire, rutting into you at a frantic pace. Every thrust is punctured by the sound of his deep grunts and your shaky huffs.

"Thrawn--!"

The pleasure builds and rolls over you, your body tensing. You reach back to grasp at his forearm, grounding yourself with the feel of the lean muscle beneath your fingers. You quiver and clench around the length buried inside of you, coming undone as your orgasm hits you.

Thrawn doesn't slow down, chasing his own release with the same urgency. He presses his hips against yours and comes with a deep, guttural groan, flooding your insides with his release. He pulls away with a satisfied sigh, leaving you gaping and twitching. His cum leaks out of you and onto the floor with a delicate, wet splat.

Satisfied, he steps back and admires his work. You're a trembling mess, drooling and clinging to the wall in front of you. He runs his finger over your hole, gathering what's left of his cum and pushing it back inside. You whimper, sore and overly sensitive.

Behind you, Thrawn takes a moment to straighten out his uniform, meticulously smoothing out any creases and brushing away dirt. You glance back at him over your shoulder. He looks perfect, not a hair out of place, as if nothing ever happened.

"A wise thief would retreat once the plan was compromised," Thrawn remarked as he guided you away from the wall. A firm grip on your arms kept you steady as you recovered from the post-orgasmic haze he left you in. He releases you once he's sure you can stand on your own.

You glare at him, straightening out your clothes.

Thrawn clasps his hands behind his back, "There is a storage area in the back left corner where you'll locate your prize. Take it if you must. There are no guards."

As his words sink in, you look up at him in surprise. "You're letting me go?"

He arches an eyebrow, amused by your confusion, "Of course. You pose no threat to my work, and I do enjoy these little games. A pleasurable distraction, you could say."

"Pervert."

"I look forward to our future encounters," Thrawn says, inclining his head towards you before turning on his heel and walking out of the gallery, his composure as cool and collected as ever.

He leaves you standing there in a mixture of shock and curiosity, replaying the events over in your mind. You can't deny there's an allure about him, everything about him is confident and calculated, and you can't help but wonder what he's hiding beneath the exterior.

A sense of excitement rushes over you -- you want what he's hiding.

You slap your cheeks. Focus. You've got a job to finish.

Hobbling, you make your way towards the storage room. Inside the room, you find a myriad of artifacts and paintings, each item carefully protected and stored. And just as Thrawn said, there's no guard in sight. Another step ahead of you. It makes you wonder if he had planned for this encounter to end the way it did.

You smile and radio your crew to come meet you at the back. It'll be fun to see where this leads the next time you face Thrawn again.

#thrawn x reader #thrawn x you

[drawingdroid]

Melting Point: Chapter II

A Sculptor Din Djarin x Art PhD Reader Series

Read Prologue | Chapter I

Chapter II: The Sculptor/Temper

Summary: You get a job offer you can't refuse and meet your new boss, a gruff sculptor who is so familiar.

Words: 2393

Warnings: This is a slow burn, you've been warned!; a lot of talking about Art and PhD life; Reader is not Grogu's nanny but this is very Grogucentric if that makes sense; And Reader is Din's employee too; Very grumpy and antisocial Mando; Grogu is human but the only thing described are his eyes; Reader appearance is left blank; Age gap of 10-15 years; Fluff fluff fluff

A/N: I darlings! I hope you enjoyed Christmas if that is your thing! I'm back with a new chapter, let me know what you think because I have a lot of feelings about The Armorer being reader's thesis tutor *cries in mommy issues*. Hope you enjoy this!

That morning you so were nervous. No, terrified. Finally, you were having your first meeting with your thesis tutor, the renowned artist and professor Dr. Armorer. You admired her work so much, and her deep knowledge of Ancient Mandalorian Art was admirable. All of her books were constantly by your bedside, extensively annotated. What would your role model think of you?

Your first impression was that she commanded so much respect with only her way of standing. She insisted on meeting in the faculty’s foundry, while you had expected to talk in her office. You couldn’t get your eyes off her while she was working with the red-hot metal against her anvil. She stopped hammering when she noticed you standing awkwardly at the door.

“Welcome kid.” Her voice was flat while the visor of her safety mask was fixed into you. “I’m sorry for the scholarship.” Okay, so right to the point, no pleasantries. You shivered, feeling self-conscious, and downed your gaze to the floor. “Your proposal is magnificent and I pushed for you to be admitted, but the budget is limited and now Nevarro City is placing its interest in other departments.” After placing her tools in their place. She didn’t remove her leather gloves though.

“Thank you Dr. Armorer, I’m well aware that investing in Art has never been one of the top priorities of the governments.” Your tone came surprisingly cynical while it was sad too. Your cheeks blushed for the sudden outburst in front of the professor.

“Do you drink caf?” You nodded and she directed her attention to a little coffee maker in a corner that you hadn’t noticed earlier. Soon she handed you a steamy cup of the dark liquid. She had brewed one for herself but hadn’t lifted her golden mask to drink yet. It looked like she was studying you.

“Professor, I’m very embarrassed to admit this, but I applied to the program expecting to receive that scholarship, and without it I’m afraid cannot afford my studies,” you blurted with your gaze fixated on your drink. “I’m very sorry for having wasted your time, but…”

“What brings you to want to study Mandalorian art, kid? She interrupted mid-sentence and you swallowed hard. A heat started expanding through your veins and it wasn’t because of the coffee. It was always the same when you spoke about your passion.

“Mandalorian culture is one of the most ancient ones still alive. The artistic manifestations were present early in their history and bound intimately with the development of the technology necessary to process beskar. The importance of the clans' signets was another factor to push for a more refined technique when working the metal…”

“I didn’t ask you for the book definition of Mandalorian art. My question was why you, a non-Mandalorian, want to specifically specialize in our art.” Her tone was still flat, but commanding. Had you made her mad? Was it wrong that you wanted to study Mandalorian Art?

“The way your sculpture is so raw and naked and still conveys the most profound, earth-shattering feeling while using something as cold as beskar, turning it into living and breathing things. It’s bold and succinct, it shows and hides and that gives me goosebumps every time I look into a Mandalorian sculpture.” You didn’t want to be so passionate in your first encounter with Professor Armorer, but the fear of being rejected not only by the scholarship commission but also by her, made you snap. Your skin felt hot and your heart was hammering inside your chest.

The Armorer, as everyone called her, hummed in contentment, and then she grabbed a notepad and a pencil that had seen better days and scribbled something. 

“My friend is looking for an assistant to help him around in the studio. Since your background is in Fine Art, I think you’ll manage just fine.” She gave you the paper with only a number and address on it.  You looked at her quizzically. “The salary he offers should cover your stay here. I’ll arrange your schedule so your obligations as a PhD student are met.” You could cry with gratitude right now, even though you knew nothing about this job. “And concerning your tuition fees, let me move some strings. I can’t promise anything kid, but I may know someone who’d be interested in sponsoring you.” You could hug this woman, kiss her on her protection mask. But you stayed in your seat grabbing the mug she gave you like a lifeline.

���I can’t…I don’t know…” You babbled with watery eyes.

“I only expect the best of you kid, it’s gonna be hard work. Now go.” And then she returned to her work in the forge, leaving you trembling with excitement. 

After scrolling down some job portals, you closed your laptop with a sigh, calculating the best way to manage your savings to stretch them to the limit. With maximum frugality, you could make it through three months.

Professor Armourer had given you that mysterious number, but even though you were going to try, you didn’t want to depend 100% on her kindness. Moreover, you didn’t know which type of “studio assistant” job this would be since she provided little description. You grabbed the piece of paper and called. Nothing. You went on with your routine and tried again later, but no one responded.

Would it be too bold to just show up there? After all, your tutor had provided an address, so it was assumable it was okay if you just went there to speak to her friend in person. Like the old times, didn’t people do that? So you made up your mind and grabbed your tote bag and your trusty flannel. Slipping in some sneakers, you went outside to explore Nevarro City.

The area was definitely more industrial, certainly convenient for someone who was a metal artist, nevertheless, it had some charm to it. The warehouses were old, some of them reconverted into homes or other artist’s studios. You looked again at the paper provided by the professor when you recognized a building with large windows and a silver, old truck parked in the door as the one you were looking for. A big container with metal scraps was against one of the walls. You looked for a doorbell or something similar but nothing was in sight, so you decided to just pound the door.

Metallic sounds could be heard from the interior, and you asked yourself which kind of artist they were. After a while, you pounded the door again, it was clear they hadn't heard you. But the noise was loud and on top of that some electric guitar music was playing. You decided to make a bold move and try to open the door.

The inside was bright due to the big windows. The studio was neat and functional with all the tools one needed to work metal from small to large scale. Semi-finished projects were here and there, but it looked like everything had an order inside the warehouse. You could spot a little kitchenette too and a mattress in a cosy corner. 

The man you were looking for was working at the big wooden table that occupied the centre of the room. It looked like he was polishing a metal piece, and sparks were flying all around. The first thing you noticed was the welding mask. It was beautiful, reflecting all the little sparks like fireworks, and had a similar design to the one The Armorer wore. It was shaped like a traditional Mandalorian helmet, the one the ancient warriors once used as battle armour. You smiled to yourself.

You went closer to where he was working, being cautious to not startle him, but it looked like he hadn’t sensed your presence yet, so you just observed him. The sleeves of his work jumpsuit were rolled and you could admire how muscular his forearms were between the fabric and the leather gloves he used for protection. The zipper of his clothing piece was down until his sternum, letting you see thigh undershirt under it, revealing sculpted pecs.

Maker help me if this man is gonna be my boss.

His black visor was suddenly pointed in your direction and you almost jumped from the surprise. He had left de welder on the wooden table and lowered the volume of the music on a radio that looked as old as time and then approximated you. All his movements were slow and restrained. 

“What do you want?” He asked drily, without removing the welding mask from his face. As his friend the professor, he didn’t waste a second in pleasantries. His voice was as gruff as his looks. He didn’t look like an artist at all but a sort of mechanic or technician. 

He waited for your response with his gloved hands in his narrow hips, a leg slightly flexed. The way he carried himself made him look like a statue in a museum. He was observing you carefully, from head to toe. You noticed your mouth was dry.

“I…The Armourer sent me…because of the job…assistant.” You said finally. Perfect, you now had made a fool of yourself by speaking like you didn’t know grammar when you indeed made a living of writing. You could die of the embarrassment. 

“I told her…” He started and then sighed, lowering his broad shoulders in defeat. “Come, have a seat.” He said tilting his head towards a desk next to the large windows.

You assumed it was a desk because it was completely covered by stacks of diverse documents and you couldn’t even guess the material of the piece of furniture. You observed them as you sat in a beautiful vintage chair, while he did the same in front of you.  A lot of invoices, a PC as old as time, sketches of what looked like sculptures, sheets with budgets, newspapers, exhibition brochures. You smiled softly when you distinguished the characteristic doodles of a little kid. You kept that last info to yourself, thinking it wasn’t polite to be nosy in your first meeting.

He then looked at you like it was the first time he acknowledged your presence. His legs were wide apart, but while he looked confident you noticed he was fidgeting with his gloved fingers. What a curious man. And why was he so familiar?

“What can you do?” He asked, always the eloquent one. You looked around you for a moment, gathering your thoughts.

“Anything you need around here.” You responded, now a bit more confident. “I can operate almost every machine in this place, know the basics of wielding, and can help with molds and the foundry” He now looked more interested, bending his large body towards the table. “But for a start, I think the most urgent matter is this mess.” Sure, you were cheeky, but you needed the job, and it was obvious the man needed help with admin. You went from nervous to sassy in five minutes. “Does that even work, or is it part of an art installation?” You pointed to the PC that looked like it was stuck in the 90’s. He made a noise that could be a chuckle or a grunt.

“The Armourer sent me your CV.” 

Oh, so he knew you were coming after all.

“What makes a qualified researcher as you want to work as an assistant?” This was probably the highest number of words he had put together to this moment. His low baritone was warm and nice to hear. 

You blushed a bit. Of course, you had made your apportations, but you were only starting in the Academia even though you had some articles published. But qualified was a bit of a stretch. You could tell him the truth. That you needed to pay rent after being denied the scholarship. But that didn’t put you in a good light, especially in a job interview.

“Being a researcher, I tend to spend most of my day in my head. Manual labour grounds me.” You bit your lip a bit nervous because you had just offered a piece of personal information, even though anything in your tone revealed that you weren’t referring only to your job.

He only nodded in understanding, crossing his thick forearms over his chest. 

“You start tomorrow at 1500.” Okay, former military maybe? That was rich. And it was the shortest job interview of your life. “I usually wrap up at 2100, is that okay for you?” His voice had a kinder tone now, although sounding still gruff. You recounted mentally the bus timetable to your home and calculated it would be tight but you could make it.

“Yes, is perfect.” You offered him a big smile for the first time feeling grateful. “Thank you for the opportunity.” Then he accompanied you to the door and you realized he hadn’t provided you a name. He probably knew you from your CV though. You panicked a bit, trying to recall if Professor Armourer had told you his name but you couldn’t remember and it seemed awkward to ask now.

When you made your exit through the door, he leaned against it and you noticed he was as wide as the frame. The perks of being a sculptor, you supposed. You had to stop admiring his physique if he was going to be your boss. You arranged a bit your heavy tote bag on your shoulder and put a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“I’m looking forward to tomorrow.” You said to the statue man. He just nodded and you awkwardly acknowledged the interaction was over, so you left with an energetic handwave while he was standing there nonchalantly. Was he observing you? Just having some fresh air? You couldn’t tell with that damned mask. You found yourself wondering how he’d look under it. But it felt weird you didn’t know your boss's name or how he looked.  You turned on your heels and gathered some courage.  He was still in the same position and you felt super awkward. “I’m sorry, I think I didn’t catch your name and it felt wrong leaving without…”

Your new boss sighed heavily, and so so slowly, started to remove his welding mask. Your jaw dropped. Those sad eyes weren’t easy to forget.

“It’s Din, Din Djarin.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @technicallykawaiisoul @dameron-grant-spector

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #modern au din djarin #modern din djarin #the mandalorian x y/n #din djarin fanfic #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x female reader #sculptor din djarin #the mandalorian fanfiction #droidwrites #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro boys

[beautifulblooms]

How do you think Prince sidon would deal with having a crush on a Hylian and he gave them a romantic gesture of protection. Crush does not realise this. Nobody told them. They thought it was because theyre friends and didnt know this was a part of Zora culture. They end up splitting apart because crush has to go elsewhere, but when they meet up again, crush still has it With them. Crush finds out this time that its a romantic gesture and they apologise to him for not realising, but they offer to continue having it even after they realise because they like him back if hes still interested?

Sidon Having a Crush on a Hylian Reader

Gn! Reader, omfg yes this is an amazing idea, I don’t think I’ve ever had more fun writing out a request, general fluff, I used the idea of the Zora Princess’s armor that Link got but for Sidon instead because well, there’s no more princess

CIS Women and Female Aligned people, please DNI, this story and all of my others are for non-binary, masculine aligned and male readers!

Oh

My

Hylia

First and foremost I mentioned this above but I feel like Sidon would make armor to show his like proposal to (y/n)

Would definitely resemble what he wears, similar style to his waist guard and collar

Luminous stones are imbedded into the metal and while Mipha’s was blue for Link, Sidon might want to make it more personal and choose a fabric color closer to his skin/scales

He makes sure to give it to (y/n) as soon as it’s done

“(Y/n)! I have something for you!”

“Oh Sidon, hi! What’s that?”

“It’s something I made for you, it should fit perfectly”

Not knowing that it was a literal proposal and declaration of his love, (y/n) just put it on and thanked the prince for the gift

Sidon was upset over the fact that there was nothing more than a thank you

He never showed his disappointment outwardly, but it did hurt to be half turned down by the person he hoped to be with for as long as they could be

The next day he was looking around for (y/n) but couldn’t find them

He began asking around to see who might’ve seen you, and heard the worst thing he possibly could’ve

“Yeah I’m pretty sure they were sent off on a mission with a few soldiers”

“I thought I saw them and three of the soldiers walking out of the domain”

“Mhm, (y/n) was heading out to get something, don’t know how long they’ll be gone for”

Hearing three different people confirm (y/n) was nowhere near the domain made Sidon panic

Had he driven them away at his proposal?

Did he cause this?

We’re there really soldiers with them or did they just tell everyone that there would be soldiers accompanying them?

How far were they going?

So many questions raced through his mind

But the one thing he could answer himself was that he caused this, him making the armor was a bad idea, and in the end it drove the love of his life away

That of course isn’t true but he didn’t know any better, they didn’t know any better

On the mission (y/n) began asking questions about the armor, why Sidon made it, what it stood for, things along those lines to the Zoran soldiers accompanying them

“Oh, the armor is made by Zoran heirs to the person they want to marry and mate with.”

“Wait, so it’s a proposal?”

“Of sorts, it’s for Zoran royalty only, a sacred art only they take the time to learn.”

“Oh Hylia I’ve fucked up, we need to finish this quickly, c’mon!”

And so from then on they refused to take more than a week to finish the mission, it was supposed to take a fortnight at minimum

The group made it to their destination the next day, receiving the needed materials and items from the area, and began their trip back home

As soon as the domain came into view, (y/n) started sprinting as fast as they could into the city

They had to find Sidon and apologize

Once crossing the final bridge into their found home, (y/n) asked around to see who knew where Sidon was

“Have you seen Prince Sidon anywhere I need to find him”

“I thought I saw him going to the reservoir, he might still be there”

“Thank you!”

The Hylian once again took off sprinting, this time towards the reservoir

“Sidon! Sidon where are you?!”

(Y/n) screamed as loud as they could into the lake, hoping to find him somewhere swimming in the vast waters

“(Y/n)? What are you doing here, I though you were on a mission?”

“Sidon! I-I was, we just got back, I’m so so sorry for what happened when you gave me this. I had no idea it meant so much to you I didn’t know what it stood for and why you gave it to me, but I do now. And- and I, I love you too, I want to be with you”

He simply stood there, shocked by everything he just had to take in

Processing it all as fast as he could he soon began smiling

“You didn’t know why I gave you the armor, that makes so much sense, why would you know you’re Hylian- who told you?”

“On the mission I asked one of the soldiers why you gave it to me, what it meant and why it was important. And then all of a sudden I felt awful, I just said thank you and left the next morning, I’m sorry Sidon, I can’t make up for what I did but I at least hope you can forgive me.”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, and I still do, if you’ll accept my proposal…”

“Of course”

#prince sidon x reader #prince Sidon x gn reader #prince Sidon #sidon botw #Sidon x reader #Sidon x gn reader #gn reader #breath of the wild sidon

[slut4calum]

Hasanabi: Teacher's Assistant

Halfway through junior year, and the finish line was starting to shimmer in the distance. Just push through this final year, the mountain of exams, the stress-fueled ramen nights, and then it would be freedom. Freedom from textbooks, freedom from professors' drone-like lectures, freedom from the constant pressure to prove yourself. But for now, there was only the present, the slightly stale air of lecture hall B-12, and the prospect of three more hours grappling with the intricacies of 17th-century French literature.

My first class, European Romanticism, was familiar territory. Professor Dubois, with his tweed jacket and perpetually surprised eyebrows, was practically an old friend after two semesters of dissecting Byron's angst and Wordsworth's musings on daffodils. The next two classes, however, were uncharted waters: Medieval Art History, where I desperately hoped the professor wouldn't quiz us on the difference between Romanesque and Gothic arches, and Advanced Genetics, where the potential for complex Punnett squares already had my head spinning.

By the time I stumbled into my fourth class, PSC 419: The Political Effects of Globalization, I was ready for a nap. But the exhaustion evaporated the moment I saw Dr. Kemp. He was tiny, a sprite of a man with twinkling eyes and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. As he outlined the syllabus, his voice was a warm rumble, like well-aged whiskey swirling in a glass. And then, the door creaked open, and my heart did a triple flip.

"Ah, Mr. Piker," Dr. Kemp welcomed, "Nice of you to join us. Class, this is your TA, Hasan. Hasan is working on his PhD in political science here, Hasan, what are your office hours this semester?"

The man who walked in was…well, breathtaking. Dark hair tousled by invisible hands, eyes that held the glint of mischief and intelligence, and a smile that could charm the sunrise. He cleared his throat.

"Uh, yeah, pretty packed schedule this semester, so just email me if you need to meet up, and we'll find a time."

That was it? No booming baritone introductions, no grand plans for interactive seminars? Just a mumbled email address and an evasion of office hours? Disappointment flickered across my face, quickly masked by a cough. Dr. Kemp chuckled.

"First day and already zoning out, Ms. Y/N? We have a lot to cover this semester, globalization is a tangled web, isn't it?"

He launched into a whirlwind explanation of the coursework, detailing everything from intricate trade agreements to the rise of populist movements. I tried to focus, tried to decipher the complexities of cultural homogenization and international power struggles, but Hasan kept drifting into my vision. His hand resting on the lectern, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the playful glint in his eyes as he met Dr. Kemp's gaze. My mind was a chaotic dance floor, Professor Kemp's words mere background music to the silent symphony of possibilities playing out in my head.

The rest of the class passed in a blur. Charts of global trade flows morphed into Hasan's sculpted jawline, intricate political maps became sketches of his smile. Finally, the class ended, the sweet release from academia and its alluring distractions. As everyone shuffled out, I lingered, hoping for a chance encounter, a stolen glance, anything to break the spell before it consumed me whole. But Hasan was already gone, swallowed by the labyrinthine corridors of the university, leaving behind only the faint echo of his name and the intoxicating image of him leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes holding mine for a single, lingering moment.

My legs finally stumbled out of lecture hall B-12, the weight of the day settling on my shoulders like a damp backpack. My notebooks bulged with scribbled notes and half-formed insights, remnants of the academic marathon I'd just run. Exhaustion tugged at my eyelids, urging them shut, but the phantom heat of Hasan's gaze still pulsed beneath my skin. Could his name become a mantra tonight, a whispered incantation against the inevitable sleep that beckoned? Would I dream of power dynamics and trade imbalances, or would his face, framed by that dark, tousled hair, be the only image etched in my subconscious mind?

Dinner in the cafeteria was a blur of lukewarm pasta and whispered gossip about the new TA. My roommates peppered me with questions, but my answers were mumbled monosyllables, my attention already caught in the web of possibilities Hasan had woven around me. Even the rhythmic thrum of the washing machine sounded like a heartbeat, my chest pounding a primal rhythm against my ribs.

Finally, curled up in my bed, surrounded by the familiar chaos of textbooks and half-eaten candy wrappers, I felt a strange mix of exhilaration and trepidation. Junior year might be about finishing lines, but with Hasan lurking on the horizon, the only finish line I could see was the one blurring the edges of my consciousness, pulling me toward a dream where textbooks and exams dissolved into the intoxicating haze of his smile. One thing was certain – this semester, at least, was going to be anything but smooth sailing.

The Tuesday morning sun peeked through my blinds, but the usual jolt of caffeine-fueled urgency was missing. Today, with only CJ 290: Criminal Theories on my schedule, the pressure valve hissed a sigh of relief. Professor Evans, a woman with a penchant for dissecting motives and questioning morals, was never one for early morning torture sessions. I lingered in bed, savoring the luxury of stolen minutes, my mind a tangled mess of globalization, trade agreements, and, more persistently, Hasan's captivating eyes.

My day unfolded in a leisurely waltz, devoid of the usual academic frenzied pace. I drifted through a bookstore, getting lost in the labyrinth of dusty spines and the promise of new worlds, then indulged in a leisurely lunch in the park, watching squirrels chase each other across the sun-dappled grass. But even the chirping birds and rustling leaves couldn't drown out the persistent hum of his name in my head. He was a phantom presence, whispering possibilities around every corner, making the mundane seem vibrant with anticipation.

As dusk began to paint the sky in hues of orange and purple, I found myself drawn to the familiar warmth of the campus dining hall. My heart did a somersault when my gaze landed on a familiar figure seated at a corner table. It was Hasan, his head bent over a book, his brows furrowed in concentration. My breath hitched, and I instinctively ducked behind a towering stack of trays, my heart pounding a frantic tattoo against my ribs. Should I approach him? Strike up a conversation about trade agreements or political philosophers? But the words caught in my throat, choked by the sudden shyness that bloomed in my chest. I watched him from the shadows, a voyeur to his book-filled world, content with simply stealing glances of his coffee-sipping lips and the way the light played on his dark hair.

He was gone by the time I gathered the courage to emerge from my self-imposed exile. The dining hall was bustling, the hum of conversation washing away the quiet intimacy of my stolen observation

. I left with a pang of disappointment, the taste of his unspoken presence lingering on my tongue, a sweet-sour mystery I couldn't quite decipher. As I lay in my bed, I couldn't help but think of him. His tall, muscular body, piercing brown eyes, and the way his voice commanded attention in the lecture hall. I had been his student for the past semester and every time I saw him, I couldn't help but feel a surge of desire.

I know it's wrong. He's my TA, someone in a position of authority. But the more I tried to suppress my thoughts, the more they consumed me. I finally gave in to my fantasies. I closed my eyes and imagined him in my bed, his hands roaming my body, his lips on mine. I could feel the heat between my thighs as I thought of him undressing me, his touch igniting every nerve in my body. I ran my hands over my breasts, imagining his lips on them, sucking and flicking my nipples. My breathing became more rapid as I thought of him trailing kisses down my stomach, until he reached the place I craved him the most. I could practically feel his tongue teasing me, his fingers exploring every inch of me. My own fingers moved faster as I imagined him entering me, making me moan his name.

As I reached my peak, I couldn't help but scream out his name. I collapsed back onto my bed, panting and flushed. But my mind couldn't stop there. I needed more, I needed him. I imagined him holding me close, whispering dirty words in my ear as he continued to pleasure me. I wanted him to be rough, to dominate me. And in my mind, he did just that. That night, as I drifted off to sleep, the shadows behind my eyelids danced with the image of his smile, a silent promise of encounters to come, of a semester forever teetering between textbooks and stolen glances, between academic pursuits and the intoxicating allure of a TA with a name that was becoming my own personal forbidden fruit.

The Wednesday morning sun rose, casting a golden hue over the campus as I made my way to my first class of the day, EN 370: European Romanticism. Professor Dubois, with his tweed jacket and perpetually surprised eyebrows, greeted us with his usual enthusiasm, diving into the depths of Shelley and Keats with fervor. But my mind wandered, drifting back to Hasan and the tantalizing possibilities he represented. HY 346: Medieval Art History followed, the lecture hall echoing with the professor's passionate discourse on the intricacies of cathedral architecture. Yet, as I scribbled notes on flying buttresses and pointed arches, my thoughts strayed once more to the enigmatic figure of Hasan, his presence a magnetic pull that defied the boundaries of the classroom. BIO 243: Advanced Genetics brought with it the complexities of Punnett squares and genetic inheritance, but even as I grappled with alleles and phenotypes, Hasan's image lingered in the recesses of my mind, a persistent whisper of distraction amidst the academic clamor.

Finally, the moment I had been waiting for arrived as I stepped into PSC 419: The Political Effects of Globalization. Dr. Kemp's warm rumble filled the room, a soothing undertone that hinted at the depth of knowledge and experience lying just beneath the surface. "Good morning, everyone," he began, his voice carrying the weight of years spent navigating the intricate web of global politics. "Today marks the beginning of a journey into the heart of one of the most pressing issues of our time: globalization."

As he spoke, each word seemed to carry with it a sense of urgency, a call to action in the face of a rapidly changing world. "Globalization," he continued, "has reshaped the political landscape in ways we are only beginning to comprehend. From the rise of transnational corporations to the erosion of national sovereignty, its effects are far-reaching and profound." His words hung in the air, a silent invitation to delve deeper into the complexities of this modern-day phenomenon.

But even as Dr. Kemp expounded on the intricacies of trade agreements and cultural exchange, my attention was inexorably drawn to Hasan. His presence at the front of the room was like a magnet, pulling my gaze away from the professor's lecture and into a world of tantalizing possibilities. I found myself captivated by the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his lips curved into a half-smile as he listened to Dr. Kemp's words. I couldn't stop staring at Mr. Piker, wondering if he knew what I had done the night before. I tried to focus on the lecture, but my mind kept drifting back to the thoughts from the previous night.

"Hasan," Dr. Kemp's voice broke through my reverie, bringing me back to the present moment. "Would you care to share your thoughts on the role of globalization in shaping political ideologies?" Hasan's eyes met mine for a fleeting moment, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken connection that crackled between us. "Uh, yes, of course," he replied, his voice steady despite the hint of surprise that flickered across his features. "Globalization has undoubtedly had a profound impact on political ideologies," he began, his gaze sweeping across the room. "It has facilitated the spread of ideas and information on an unprecedented scale, challenging traditional notions of sovereignty and identity." His words were measured, his tone confident as he delved into the complexities of the topic at hand. And yet, despite his obvious expertise, there was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes, a fleeting glimpse of the man behind the TA facade.

As Hasan spoke, I found myself hanging on his every word, caught in the magnetic pull of his presence. His voice was like a siren's song, drawing me deeper into the labyrinth of his thoughts and ideas. I couldn't tear my gaze away, couldn't shake the feeling that we were connected in some inexplicable way, bound together by the invisible threads of fate.

The rest of the class passed in a blur, the minutes slipping by unnoticed as Hasan and Dr. Kemp dissected the nuances of globalization and its political ramifications. I scribbled notes furiously, my mind racing to keep pace with the torrent of information flooding the room. But amidst the chaos of academia, one thing remained constant: Hasan's presence, a beacon of light in the murky depths of my subconscious.

As the class ended, I felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment wash over me. Relief that I could finally escape the confines of the lecture hall, but disappointment that I would have to wait until next week to see Hasan again. I lingered for a moment, watching as he gathered his belongings and made his way to the front of the room. Our eyes met briefly, a silent exchange that spoke volumes without a single word being uttered. And then, just like that, he was gone, leaving me to navigate the swirling currents of my thoughts alone.

As I made my way back to my dorm, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted, that a door had been opened to a world of possibilities I had never dared to explore. Hasan had awakened something within me, a hunger for knowledge and connection that transcended the boundaries of the classroom. And as I lay in bed that night, the echo of his voice still ringing in my ears, I knew that this semester would be unlike any other, a journey into the unknown with Hasan as my guide.

Two weeks passed in a whirlwind of lectures, study sessions, and stolen glances. Despite my best efforts to focus on my studies, Hasan's enigmatic presence continued to linger in the back of my mind, a constant distraction amidst the academic chaos. But as the days flew by, the impending exam in PSC 419 loomed larger and larger on the horizon, a stark reminder of the need to buckle down and prepare.

The next time the class met, the atmosphere crackled with nervous energy. Dr. Kemp's warm rumble filled the room as he handed out the exam papers, his eyes flickering with a mixture of anticipation and gravity. "Alright, class, you’ll have 50 minutes to complete this exam," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "You may begin."

As the minutes ticked by, the rustle of papers and the scratch of pencils on paper filled the air, each stroke a testament to weeks of diligent preparation and late-night cramming sessions. I kept getting distracted by Hasan sitting at the front of the room, his gaze flicking across the rows of students, no doubt looking for any signs of cheating. Every time our eyes met, I felt a blush creep up my cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and excitement swirling in my chest.

Despite my nerves, I managed to focus on the exam, my mind racing to recall the intricacies of globalization and its political effects. But as I flipped through the pages, answering each question to the best of my ability, doubt crept in. Had I studied enough? Had I missed any crucial details? The uncertainty gnawed at me, a constant companion as the seconds ticked by.

As I gathered my belongings and made my way out of the lecture hall, a sense of unease settled in the pit of my stomach. The weight of Hasan's gaze lingered on me, a silent reminder of the unspoken tension that simmered between us.

Friday came, and I anxiously awaited the exam results, a knot of apprehension tightening in my stomach. When Dr. Kemp finally handed back the papers, my heart sank as I saw the red mark glaring back at me. Hasan had failed me. Confusion and frustration swirled in my mind as I scanned through my answers, unable to comprehend where I had gone wrong.

Desperate for answers, I sought out a classmate to compare notes. To my disbelief, our answers aligned perfectly. Each question meticulously answered, every concept grasped with precision. With newfound resolve, I confronted Hasan, armed with evidence of my innocence.

Summoning every ounce of courage, I made my way to Hasan's office hours, determined to confront him about the unjust grade. As I entered his office, the air seemed charged with tension, the weight of our unspoken conflict hanging heavy between us. Hasan's eyes met mine, but there was no warmth in his gaze, only a guarded wariness that sent a chill down my spine.

I launched into my argument, laying out the evidence of my innocence with a conviction born of righteous indignation. But instead of engaging in a rational discourse, Hasan's demeanor grew increasingly defensive, his rebuttals growing more vehement with each passing moment. It was as if he were grasping at straws, desperate to deflect blame and avoid accountability for his actions.

As the minutes ticked by, it became painfully clear that Hasan had no intention of acknowledging his mistake, let alone rectifying it. His refusal to even entertain the possibility of an error left me feeling helpless and betrayed, a pawn in his reckless game of academic manipulation.

But then, as I prepared to leave, Hasan's tone shifted, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent shivers down my spine. "There might be another way to resolve this," he said, his eyes locking with mine in a knowing gaze. My heart raced as I realized the implication of his words, the sudden surge of desire mingling with the lingering anger and frustration.

In that moment, I saw an opportunity to turn the tables, to reclaim control over the situation and emerge victorious. The thought of using my newfound leverage to secure a better grade both thrilled and terrified me, the line between right and wrong blurring in the heat of the moment.

With a tentative nod, I accepted Hasan's proposition, a rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins as I realized the power I held in my hands. As we drew closer, the air crackling with anticipation, I knew that this was a gamble I was willing to take, consequences be damned. For in that fleeting moment of forbidden desire, I saw not only a chance to right a wrong but also a glimpse of the intoxicating allure of surrendering to temptation.

With a sense of both trepidation and excitement, I agreed to Hasan's proposition, feeling a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. As we drew closer, the air between us crackled with anticipation, the tension palpable as we stood on the precipice of a decision that would alter the course of our academic and personal lives.

Hasan's gaze bore into mine, dark and intense, as if searching for any hint of hesitation or doubt. But all I could feel was a fierce determination, a resolve to seize control of the situation and emerge victorious, no matter the cost. The lines between right and wrong blurred in the heat of the moment, overshadowed by the intoxicating allure of forbidden desire.

Without a word, Hasan closed the distance between us, his touch sending shivers down my spine as he brushed his fingers against my cheek. In that moment, the world fell away, leaving only the two of us locked in a silent dance of longing and anticipation.

His lips met mine in a searing kiss, igniting a firestorm of passion that threatened to consume us both. With each touch, each caress, the boundaries that had once separated us melted away, leaving only the raw intensity of our desire.

As our bodies entwined, the air around us crackled with electricity, charged with the urgency of our shared longing. Hasan's hands roamed my body with a hunger that matched my own, igniting a wildfire of sensation that blazed through every nerve ending.

In that moment, all thoughts of exams and grades faded into obscurity, replaced by the primal need to surrender to the irresistible pull of desire. As Hasan's lips trailed down my neck, his touch setting my skin ablaze, I knew that there was no turning back.

With each passing moment, the intensity grew, building like a tidal wave ready to crash over us both. And when it finally hit, the sheer force of our passion left us breathless, tangled together in a web of tangled limbs and whispered promises.

Hasan's fingers found their way between my legs, trailing along the wetness that had welled up there. A gasp escaped my lips as his thumb circled around my clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through every nerve ending.

"You like that?" he growled in a low murmur against my ear.

I nodded eagerly, unable to form any coherent words as desire consumed every fiber of my being. The intensity grew with each passing second, building like a pressure cooker ready to explode.

Hasan's fingers explored my depths with a skill and finesse that left me breathless. The way he teased and pushed against my gates of pleasure, driving me to the edge of madness, was exquisite. My body clenched around his fingers, begging for release, but he held back just enough to keep me teetering on the precipice.

"Just like that," he taunted, a smirk playing on his lips. "You want me to fuck you so badly, don't you?"

I moaned in response, unable to form coherent words as desire coursed through my veins. The urgency within me grew with each passing moment, demanding satisfaction. But Hasan knew exactly how to wield power over me, to keep me desperate for him.

"No," he replied with a mocking tone. "You're not going to come yet." A flicker of frustration crossed my face as I struggled against his firm grip. He chuckled at my futile attempts to break free from his hold.

"Don't worry," he continued, his voice dripping with seduction. "I'll make you scream my name when I give you what you crave." His touch intensified, fingers pressing deeper inside me as if testing the strength of my walls.

The anticipation was unbearable, my body trembling with a mixture of impatience and ecstasy. "Fuck," I moaned, frustration coursing through my veins like wildfire.

Hasan smirked, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. "Not just yet," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he slowly pulled his fingers out of me. My breath hitched in disappointment as I felt the ache deepen between my legs. "You're going to have to beg for it properly."

My hesitation mingled with defiance as I locked eyes with Hasan. He knew exactly how to push all of my buttons - the power he held over me was intoxicatingly dangerous. But even amidst the haze of desire, there was a flicker of reluctance deep within me.

"Please," I whispered hoarsely, barely able to form the words amidst the overwhelming need coursing through every inch of my body. Hasan chuckled darkly at my plea before pressing his lips against mine in a searing kiss.

With a swift movement, he lifted me up effortlessly and threw me over his desk. Sharp and dirty furniture scraped against my skin as I landed with a thud. The air crackled with anticipation as Hasan positioned himself at the entrance of my wetness.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked, his voice dripping with seduction. My heart raced in response, a mix of excitement and apprehension coursing through me like electricity.

I nodded eagerly, unable to form coherent words amidst the whirlwind of emotions threatening to consume me. The uncertainty mingled with desire as Hasan pressed against the entrance of my core.

"Fuck," he growled lowly, gripping my hips tightly. "You want it rough, don't you? You want me to fuck you hard and fast?"

My breath hitched in response as I nodded frantically, unable to resist the magnetic pull that drew me towards him. He began to thrust into me with a force that made the desk move forward with each thrust.

"You like that, huh?" Hasan taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You like how I'm taking you so fucking hard?"

My mind was consumed by a mix of pleasure and frustration, but I couldn't deny the raw hunger between us. With each powerful thrust, my walls clenched around him tightly, desperately begging for more.

Hasan's eyes locked onto mine as he picked up the pace, his grip on my hips growing tighter with each passing second. The air in the room was thick with anticipation, filled with moans and curses that echoed off the walls.

I could feel myself teetering on the edge once again, desperate to surrender to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through my veins. But Hasan knew exactly what he was doing to me - he chased my sweet spot relentlessly, and I could feel myself edging closer and closer to the brink once again.

And then it happened. The intensity intensified until I exploded in ecstasy, crying out Hasan's name as waves of pleasure crashed over me like a tidal wave.

Hasan's thrusts grew more intense, his grip on my hips tightening as he fucked me harder and faster. The friction between us was unbearably intense, sending shockwaves of pleasure cascading through every inch of my body.

My mind spiraled with a mix of guilt and desire, torn between the forbidden desires that consumed me and the rational thoughts screaming for moderation.

"Fuck," I moaned, unable to contain myself. "You're so fucking good at this."

Hasan's eyes smoldered with dark amusement as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against mine in a hungry kiss. "That's right," he whispered huskily. "You love being fucked. You love how I use you for my pleasure. God youre such a whore, letting your TA do this to you, all for a good grade. You're my little slut, aren't you?"

He growled, his voice low and husky. I moaned and came again, my pussy clenching around his cock.

"Yes! Yes! I'm your little slut!" I cried out as he pounded into me hard and fast.

I moaned and writhed beneath him, my body responding to his dominance. "Yes! Yes! Fuck me harder!" I cried out as he pounded into me with a force that made the desk creak and squeak.

The door to the office was locked, but it didn't matter. The sound of our bodies slapping together was loud enough to be heard outside. Hasan's hands gripped my hips, pulling me back onto his cock with each thrust. I could feel his balls slapping against my clit, sending waves of pleasure through me.

"Fuck, Hasan," I moaned. "You feel so good inside me." Hasan grunted in response, his eyes locked on mine as he continued to pound into me. His grip on my hips tightened, and I could feel him starting to lose control.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he groaned. "Where do you want it?" I bit my lip, considering. "Inside me," I finally said. "I want to feel you fill me up." Hasan grunted again, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared his climax.

He thrust one last time, burying himself deep inside me as he came. I could feel his hot cum filling me up, and the sensation sent me over the edge as well.

I came hard, my pussy clenching around his cock as he continued to thrust into me. I was panting and shaking as he slowly pulled out of me. He sat back on his heels, looking down at me with a satisfied smile. "That was amazing," he said, stroking my hair gently.

I smiled back at him, feeling a sense of satisfaction and contentment. "Thank you," I said, my voice still shaky from the intensity of the orgasm. He leaned down and kissed me gently on the forehead. "You're welcome," he said, his voice low and husky with desire. “I think someone earned themselves a 105%,” he winked at me as we left the building.

#smut #hasanabi #rough smut #ta #collegesmut #sleepingwiththeteachersassistant #hasan piker x y/n #hasan piker #hasan x reader #hasanpikersmut #hasansmut #hasanabismut

[mmhcs]

E1610! Miles x Bronx! Reader

A/N: Because I don't know why we haven't thought of this yet! P.S.: I'm not a Brooklyn-native. P.P.S.: I tried my best to make this as gender-netural as possible!

Y'all most definitely argue over which borough is better. Miles, of course, proceeds to list a million and one reasons as to why Brooklyn is better.

He's fascinated by the differences in the way you two speak. He loves it when your "accent" is audible in the way you speak.

Miles tries his best to indoctrinate introduce you to Brooklyn culture. He takes you to hotspots (Coney Island is one of the first that y'all hit up), but mostly sticks to local, Brooklyn-exclusive places (i.e. his favorite pizza spot, some of his favorite places to graffiti, that one small, Black-owned business that he gets some of his favorite clothes from).

Miles most definitely loves the South Bronx better than the North due to its street culture and abundance of unique graffiti. He literally drools when he sees a beautiful mural on the wall of a bodega or deli. He goes inside and asks the owner about the artist, get said artist's name, looks them up so that he remembers, and then proceeds to go back outside and take an abundance of photos of the mural before taking the next ten minutes to study it like a museum exhibit.

If you live in the North Bronx, Miles still finds to things to love. He still goes feral for any street art that he sees, and he'll make an effort for y'all to go out on adventures where you show him and/or discover new places in your area.

If y'all go to the Bronx Zoo, Miles takes a billion pictures in front of the entrance, claiming that he has to because this is an "infamous New York location!"

His favorite Bronx stops on the train are probably Simpson Street and Prospect Avenue.

I feel like Miles's dad, Jeff, and his Uncle Aaron used to spend their adolescent years out and about on the streets of New York. They grew especially fond of the Bronx, leading to them starting to visit the borough regularly and establish friendships and connections. However, Jeff ultimately fell out with this affinity after he started attending police academy. Aaroon kept up with it, though.

^Despite his shock, pain, and grief over his uncle, Miles forced himself to go through his uncle's apartment after his death. There, he found some old-school records and mixtapes, the latter mostly by local, underground artists from across New York. Miles kept them and has them stored somewhere safe in his room (probably his closet).

^^Y'all go through the collection, listening avidly as you study the flow of each of the artists, analyze the album cover, and the artists' styles.

^^^Most of the mixtapes feature Bronx-native artists.

^^^^Miles, refusing to accept this, runs out of his room and into the living room where his parents are sitting. He begins to explain the situation and asks Jeff to tell you that Uncle Aaron loved and represented Brooklyn through-and-through.

^^^^^Jeff laughs, a bit nervously because he's always raised Miles to take pride in where he's from (yes, the borough representation is real, people). He then explains that, yes, while Uncle Aaron loved Brooklyn, he loved the Bronx almost, if not just as much. He loved traveling to and from, made a lot of good friends and connections there. The Bronx is also where a few of his greatest and most memorable "honeys" are from.

^^^^^^Okay, I know that this is supposed to be a Miles Morales headcanon, but: when he wasn't out, working as the Prowler, Aaron was actually "away from a few days" as he says in his voicemail. He would travel to the Bronx to hang out and see friends. He was actually pretty well-known in some parts of the borough.

^^^^^^^Before his death, Aaron was serious relationship with a woman from the Bronx. Despite them seeing each other steadily for a year or four, he didn't tell Miles because he didn't want to introduce to him to someone that he would love, care for, and cherish, only to have it go up in flames. He most definitely gushed about her to Jeff and Rio on the down-low, though.

^^^^^^^^Aaron also thought about moving in with her and even marrying her more than once. Major Jabari x Meadow vibes.

^^^^^^^^^Uncle Aaron looking down at Miles with a smile because he's taking after his uncle.

^^^^^^^^^^"'Dem Bronx folk, man. They'll do that to 'ya."

If You Attend Visions Academy:

If you attend Brooklyn Visions, Miles texts you from the moment that he wakes up in order to make sure that you wake up with enough time to comfortably do your morning routine, get ready, and catch your train(s) with added flexibility in case of train delays.

^He never used to wake up early before, but he doesn't want you to be late. Not that it's a big deal (Miles has been late more times than he can count) but he doesn't want you to have frequent lateness on your record. Plus, the earlier you get there, the more time you two have to talk and prep for the upcoming day.

Often asks if you feel homesick. He can't imagine how it must feel. He only lives a few blocks away and yet he feels so far from home (hehe, get it?).

^^Does his best to make you feel accustomed to Brooklyn. He makes it a point to take you out and show you around so that you develop a sense of familiarity and don't feel out of place or lost.

If someone says that Brooklyn is the better borough, Miles will occasionally chime in with a reason or two as to why the Bronx is superior.

^You owe him a Brooklyn-based adventure after this, though.

^^If y'all are dating, you owe him kisses and cuddle-session in addition to a Brooklyn-based adventure.

Best believe that he's at the train station with you ever Friday and Sunday, helping you lug your suitcase and additional bags to and from Visions.

If You Don't Attend Vision Academy:

Y'all video call regularly to discuss your respective days as well as plan an in-person meet-up.

Y'all often meet-up in Manhattan because neither one wants to give the other the satisfaction of traveling to their respective borough for your meetups.

You two mainly meet up in the expensive, upper-class parts of Manhattan, though because Miles's parents threatened to ground him for two years if he was ever caught hanging around 125th Street.

^Miles takes that threat very seriously because he knows that, as the captain of the NYPD, his father has eyes everywhere.

When y'all get tired of watching the rich, expensive, and privileged go about their daily lives, y'all quite literally spin a wheel to see whose borough you're meeting up at next time.

Miles uses the times that you visit him to show you his life, starting from Brooklyn Middle, to Visions, and then his house.

He uses Brooklyn-exclusive menagerie to subtly flex and persuade you into admitting that Brooklyn is the best borough.

^ "They don't pizza like this in the Bronx, eh, mami?"

One time Miles suggested that you two visit Staten Island.

You looked at him for a moment, confused, because What's Staten Island?

Once you remembered, you gave him another look. He thinks he's so damn funny.

Y'all actually did end up going and had an above average time, surprisingly.

The next time Miles gets on your nerves, though, you threaten to banish him to Staten Island.

^His parents like the threat and start using it, too.

Bonus: "Hey, Miles, how come Brooklyn has a friendly neighborhood Spiderman but the Bronx doesn't?"

"Well, you see..."

A/N: Hi, hope y'all enjoyed! This was all in good fun and we love and support every borough (yes, even Staten Island).

#miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #miles morales x y/n #e1610 miles #earth 1610 #earth1610 miles morales x reader #e1610 miles x reader #miles x reader #astv x reader #astv x you #astv x y/n #astv x black reader #astv x gn!reader #miles morales x gn reader #earth1610 miles morales x gn reader #eaeth 1610 miles morales #itsv x reader #itsv x you #itsv x y/n #miles morales fluff #miles morales headcanons #miles morales hcs #miles morales blurbs #miles morales prompts #atsv #across the spiderverse

[vladajwrites]

Moonlight

Pairings; Steven Grant x fem!reader, Steven Grant x Y/N

Summary; You had just begun working as an archivist for the British Museum. Love has a way of finding its way into your life in the most unexpected ways. Life takes a turn for you once you meet an easily flustered and adoring Steven Grant. Fluff and Smut and Pining and all the beautiful things.

This began as a one-shot, but as of now, I have plans to expand upon this story. It features Steven and Reader at the moment, but Marc will eventually be introduced in future updates.

All updates will be posted here and on my AO3 account VladaJ

Warnings; 18+, smut, language, oral male/female receiving (photos are not mine, please message for removal)

You had just moved into the city, hired as an archivist at the British Museum. To be surrounded by so much rich history and culture, it was truly your dream job. A dream from your childhood. An escape from the nightmare that was your reality growing up. You were no stranger to loss, to grief, to sadness.

You had just moved into the city, hired as an archivist at the British Museum. To be surrounded by so much rich history and culture, it was truly your dream job. A dream from your childhood. An escape from the nightmare that was your reality growing up. You were no stranger to loss, to grief, to sadness.

You worked relentlessly in school to give yourself the opportunity to begin a new life. A good life.

Life as an adult was still a challenge, but you were tackling it well. You had your own flat, a career you loved, but you were an introvert at heart. Meeting new people, making new friends; it was never your strong suit. You believed you were fine, though, happy to be on your own. It was easier this way, simpler. Your family was out of the picture. Acquaintances never stuck around long enough to become friends. Your dating history was abysmal at best. It took years to build confidence in your own independence, but you had reached it.

Work kept you busy, and you didn’t mind. The last thing on your mind as you buried yourself in your research was a relationship.

It’s funny how the world works. It crept up on you slowly. That anxious, nervous feeling. You couldn’t understand it, make sense of it. When it came to him, these feeling were reserved for him alone.

You met him on your very first day. You had accidentally stayed far past your scheduled hours, overwhelmed and excited by your new assignments. The museum had closed to the public hours beforehand. You believed the building to be empty aside from the few security guards and janitorial staff that occasionally made their rounds. You were taking this time to further explore the museum.

It all seemed impossibly more mystical in the quietness after the crowds had cleared and the lights had been dimmed.

You had wandered into the Egyptian exhibition. Ancient statues and art lined the walls. You held your arms across your chest, taking in a deep breath as you stood before the statue in front of you. Years of hard work, moments of pain, and determination, all accumulated into this moment. You sucked in a deep breath, feeling your eyes water; pride, happiness-

“Ramesses the second.” A male voice spoke behind you.

Your heart lept inside of your throat, your pulse beat wildly as the blood rushed to your head. “Jesus Christ.” You exclaimed, whipping towards the voice, your hands clutching at your chest in your surprise. You believed you had been entirely alone. Your silent moment of reverie popped in an instant.

You were met by a man who looked nearly as surprised as you did, as if he hadn’t been the one who had snuck up beside you.

“Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” His face was flushed with embarrassment. You were sure you held a similar disposition. You stared at him, wide-eyed for a moment as he continued to ramble on.

“I work here,” He motioned to the staff badge clipped to his waist. “I was just on my way out- this exhibit is on the way. I saw you standing here. Well, I have to say I was surprised to see you. I wasn’t sure if you were a patron. I’ve never seen you here before- I saw your badge.” His words were a jumbled mess as he pointed a shaking hand towards the badge clipped haphazardly on the side of your hip.

A smile crept up your lips as you took in the flustered state of him, harmless enough.

His rambling halted in a quiet whisper as his eyes dropped to the ground and found their way back up to yours. There was a brief moment of silence shared before you reached out your hand and introduced yourself.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry. You just startled me a bit was all, thought I was alone. Today’s my first day. I’m an archivist for the museum, stayed a bit late.” You spoke softly, feeling the heat spread across your cheeks.

His face lit up as he listened to you. He quickly clasped your hand, shaking it enthusiastically.

“Steven, Steven Grant. Just a clerk. I’d love to be an archivist, though. It’s wonderful to meet you. I usually stay late, wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here either,” Steven quickly began to babble again.

You watched him as he spoke. He was charming, in an odd, talkative, and nervous-mumbling sort of way. Far from what you believed your usual type to be. You watched his eyes fall to the floor again as he noticed your amused expression.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Steven,” you smiled earnestly up at him. You looked over your shoulder at the statue you had been quietly observing just moments before. He followed your gaze.

“It’s Ramesses the Second; the statue. He was one of the greatest Pharaohs of ancient Egypt, known for the Battle of Kadesh.” He motioned towards the statue. While you knew this already, you didn’t dare interject. Watching his expressions as he talked about the history of the statue made something in your chest stir. For ‘just a clerk,’ he truly seemed passionate about what he was speaking about.

You had a thing about male counterparts overstepping and over explaining things of which you already had a great understanding, but with him, just something about the way he explained it all; you didn’t mind in the slightest.

In truth, you were thankful for the awkward first meeting. He had been the only other person who had spoken to you that day besides your manager, who gave you a quick walkthrough of the building before showing you to your desk and dropping a caseload into your lap.

Those ‘accidental’ late-night meetings continued for weeks. Even when you were tired and ready to be home, you pushed yourself to stay just a tad bit later. To see him, to listen to him, to watch his deep eyes brighten as he pointed you around exhibit after exhibit.

He always seemed just as nervous as he had that first night you had met. But you enjoyed the conversations, he was friendly and kind, traits that seemed harder to come by these days. You thought of him as just a friend at first. Of course, he was fit, odd, but charming nonetheless. But there was no way that he was into you.

Right?

You hardly doubted your own looks. You were confident in yourself, and besides, you never cared much about the way you looked, anyway. You were always told how much you resembled your mother growing up. And while your issues with her were in the past and somewhere locked deep away, she was the most beautiful woman you had ever met. If you looked like her, then there was no need to worry, right?

The men from your past had all expressed their attraction to you as their opening line, hook, and sinker. It became quite galling over time. Was that all men saw you as? Just another beautiful woman? You had always wished to meet a man that could see past what was just surface-deep. You had given up on dating entirely. Put no effort into it. Put no effort into the way you looked or came across.

So why now, after all this time, were you waking up earlier in the mornings to pick out the right outfit, digging through your old makeup bag, fussing with and taming your wild head of hair? Why were you counting down the hours for your shift to be over? Why were you waiting nervously in an exhibit you’d walked through dozens of times just to see him?

You were acting like a silly schoolgirl all, hoping for your crush to notice you. You scolded yourself for it. Yet, you couldn’t help it.

It was pointless anyway. If he were interested in you at all, he would have said something by now, surely.

Right?

You tapped your foot nervously, fussing with the hem of your skirt, checking the time on your watch over and over again. It was getting late, too late. Maybe he had already left. Your heart sunk in your chest as you exhaled a deep sigh. Time to give it up, you thought. Pick up take out on your way home, throw yourself a one-woman pity party, open a new bottle of wine. You had nearly reached the exit doors when you heard a familiar voice call from behind you.

A smile spread across your face as Steven ran up beside you, grabbing the door and pushing it open for you.

“I’m sorry, was stuck on inventory again tonight.” He smiled. You couldn’t help but notice the way his cheeks flushed as he looked over you. He quickly diverted his eyes, a small smile spread across your lips. You had picked up a new shade of lipstick, cherry red. Wore a new skirt, questionably shorter than your normal business attire. But you were sure this had nothing to do with his flushed expression, this was just the way he always acted. You figured that this was just his default demeanor. You couldn’t help but find it charming in a way.

“That’s okay.” You replied. He nodded, his eyes still diverted towards the ground.

There was a moment of quiet shared between you. This was your usual routine, a small goodbye before you both left the museum on your separate routes home.

“Well, I’ll see you on Monday.” He said, looking down at you, a half-smile plastered across his face.

You nodded. He turned on his heel, heading away and down the steps to catch his bus home.

Your mind raced. It was Friday, the start of the weekend. If he were truly just a friend, then there would be nothing odd or out of the ordinary about asking if he would like to hang out, outside of work. Grab some drinks. That was what friends do, right? There’d be no harm in asking.

“Steven?” You called out to him. You regretted your words instantly. What if he were to say no? God, so stupid.

He stopped his pace, turning back towards you. “Yeah?” He looked back up at you from the lower steps of the walkway.

Fuck, this was so ridiculous. What the hell? Might as well ask now, no turning back.

“Would you,” Your breath caught in your chest as his expression brightened.

Fuck it.

“Would you like to grab a drink? There’s a bar close to my flat, a bit dingy, but the drinks are cheap, and the music’s good.” You asked, feeling your cheeks heat as his eyes widened.

His bemused expression quickly transformed into a wide, sloppy grin.

“Of course.” He replied. You let out a small sigh of relief, your heart still pounding up in your throat.

He made his way back up the steps beside you. “Just guide the way.”

You nodded, your own smile widening by the second.

The night went by incredibly. If it were a date, it’d be the best date you had ever been on. But it wasn’t a date. Just a few drinks shared between coworkers, between friends. If that’s all it could ever be, that was okay. Just to spend time with him like this. Watch his cheeks warm as you continued to empty the bottle of gin that you shared. If this was all it could ever be, then this was enough.

The hours went by and soon you had both finished the bottle of gin, your mind was fuzzy, your body warm. Your inhibitions lowered with each drink. It was wonderful. You shared academic conversations, felt your breath grow unsteady as you watched him slip into another one of his passionate rants.

Last call for drinks was announced, and you both decided that it was time to head home.

“Can I walk you home? I know you said you live close by. It’s awfully late. I’d just like to make sure you make it home safe.” He began. That wonderfully nervous feeling began to build in your stomach.

You sucked in your bottom lip, nodding up at him. His face flushed red as he helped you from your seat, you grasped his hand lightly as he held it out to you to pull you from the benched bar seating.

The cool air outside of the bar sent goosebumps against your skin and you couldn’t help but shiver. Steven noticed and promptly offered you the coat he was wearing. You smiled up at him, “yes, thank you.”

He quickly slid it from his shoulders before moving to drape it over your own. His warm finger brushed softly against the exposed skin of your arms. Your skin was alight. It was the closest he had ever been to you. You let out a low sigh, settling into the warmth of his coat.

You wished that he would have slowed his movements as he moved to adjust the coat around you.

You couldn’t stop yourself from staring up at him in awe. Maybe it was the alcohol, the soft glow of the city lights, but he was so entirely beautiful then. Your heart felt too full, part of you was terrified. It must be a sin to feel this way about a man who you were sure could only see you as a friend, a colleague.

The two of you began the walk towards your flat just up the street. You made a conscious effort to slow your steps, just to make the moment lasted a bit longer.

You moved closer to walk beside him. From this distance, you could smell the cologne that he wore, it was intoxicating. You’d occasionally ‘accidentally’ brush against him. You were positive that he would pull away, distance himself, take a few more steps in front of you to keep that distance. But he didn’t, he didn’t move further away, only took steps in closer to you.

It was quietness, a comfortable silence shared between you both. It didn’t take long before you had reached the steps leading up to your flat.

“Well, this is it. Thank you for,” you began, wishing that you had the courage to say more. To say anything more.

He looked up at you as you stood above him on the steps. The expression on his face was indiscernible. You just wish that you could see what was passing through his thoughts.

‘Ugh,’ You thought, ‘fuck it.’ The words left your lips before you could give them a second thought.

“Steven?” You asked. Every rational thought in your brain was screaming at you to stop, be quiet, tell him ‘thank you for the night’ and enter your flat alone. But you couldn’t stop the question that came next.

He looked up at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue. You chewed at your bottom lip before meeting his eyes again.

“Do you...” You began, no turning back now. “Do you think I’m pretty?” Your body heated in an instant. You wished more than anything that you could take back your words. You watched as his face flushed red. Oh no. So stupid, you couldn’t believe yourself. You had never been so straightforward like this, felt so nervous over something like this.

Steven looked around, his lips moved silently as if he were trying to find the right words to say. Oh God, you instantly regretted your question. Of course, he didn’t. If he did, he would have said so already. Right?

You turned away from him, trying to hide your embarrassment, and began fumbling with the keys to your door.

“Just forget it. I’m so sorry, Steven. Thank you so much for tonight, I just,” Now you were the one who was rambling.

Before your keys slid through the lock, you felt Steven grip your arm from behind. He spun you around to face him. His eyes flashed and his pupils dilated in the dim night light glow of neon signage and street lamps.

What came next is something you still dream about to this very day. He wrapped his hands around your forearm, stepping up the stairs until he stood fully beside you.

His fingers found themselves delicately wrapped around the frame of your face, all the air in your lungs sucked out in an instant.

“Stunning. I think you are absolutely breathtaking.” He answered, his voice just above his whisper. His face was so close to your own, the sound of the blood rushing to your eyes was drowned out by the loud pounding of your heart. So, so close. If you just leaned forward, just a bit-

His lips met yours in an instant. You melted into him. If heaven were on earth, you believed at that moment that you had slipped into paradise.

That moment grew into a love that you had only believed existed in fairytales, unreal, implausible. But it was real, so impossibly real.

Girlish attraction transformed into passionate, unbridled love and adoration. He expressed his feelings of infatuation for you since the moment he had first met you. He never believed that a girl like you could love a man like him. But you did, you loved him. You loved him emphatically. He worshipped and praised you in every small moment he could.

Sometimes you were unsure if you were just in a dream, a happy dream. But you didn’t have happy dreams, not like this, never like this. This was real, this was true, this was love. The most beautiful man that you had met in your lifetime. Kind, funny, smart, shy and easily flustered and so uniquely him.

As your relationship grew and developed, you fell even more in love with his small quirks that made him, him. He was so incredibly stunning, inside and out.

Steven expressed his love for you tenfold. For the first time in your life, you believed you had met a man that adored your physical beauty but also adored you for your intelligence, for your personality, for all the small things and moments that made you, you. The things about you that humanized you, the pieces of you that built home in your soul. The things that no one had noticed before.

The physical intimacy began slow, you were both inexperienced and nervous to explore each other in that way.

But you craved it, needed it so desperately. He began to spend nights in your home. You shared knowledge and research and reached out for his input on your projects. It began as falling asleep in your living room. You on the couch and him blissfully asleep in your armchair. Pages and documents spread across the floor.

Slowly, he began to join you on your large chaise, your head in the crook of his neck, his arms wrapped around the expanse of your waist.

But tonight was different. You spent an hour getting dressed up. You knew he was far too shy to take things further than just the occasional kiss here and there. If things were to progress, you would have to initiate the next step.

He had planned a dinner for the both of you, somewhere nice. Much different from your usual casual cafes and late-night take-outs.

You even went out to pick out a new dress. Dark blue slip dress, his favorite color. It was much more revealing than you were usually comfortable with, but you felt truly stunning in it. You hoped more than anything that he would notice, wanted to watch his face redden and listen to his words stumble and ramble as they did when he was stricken by you.

You waited anxiously at your dining room table, checking the clock obsessively, waiting for him to arrive.

He told you he was going to pick you up at eight o’clock. At seven fifty-nine, you heard a knock at the door. No matter how many times you saw each other, that nervous, butterflies in the stomach feeling never went away.

You bolted upright, smoothing out your dress and grabbed your clutch. You made your way to the door, sliding and unlocking the deadbolt. You paused for a moment, maybe you had overdressed, maybe it was all too much. Your mind raced.

Another soft knock rapped against your door. You took a deep breath, grasped the doorknob, and pulled the door open.

Your heart skipped a beat. He was dressed in a fitted suit. A bouquet of your favorite flowers held in his arms. He was perfect, in every sense of the word.

You couldn’t help but blush at the way his eyes widened as he scanned over your body before meeting your eyes.

“I-“ He stuttered, “ You look absolutely stunning, love.” He said, handing over the flowers to you. Fuck. You wished you could just pull him inside by his tie. Let him slide his hands up against your body before sliding the straps of your dress from your body and letting it fall to the ground. You’d let him take you now, in any way he wanted.

“Thank you, honey. You look incredible as well.” You replied. You stood up on the toes of your heels and planted a soft kiss against his cheek before wrapping your free hand within his own.

You gently pulled him into your flat. “Thank you for the flowers. Just let me put them in a vase before we head out.” You smiled up at him.

He nodded, a wicked grin spread across his lips as he followed you into your flat.

He watched intently as you filled a vase with water and slowly arranged the bouquet. His eyes never left you. You felt as though you were on fire under his gaze. Maybe you could skip dinner tonight. The idea of a night in with just him sounded greater than anything at that moment. You exaggerated your movements, bending over slowly, making sure he had a full view of the thin and small dress that fell and grasped in just the right spots.

You noticed the way his breathing hitched as you made your way beside him. You bent over his lap, reaching across him to grab your clutch that you had placed on the countertop beside him.

His fingers gently traced up along the exposed skin of your low-cut dress, sending a shiver up your spine. You couldn’t hide the soft sigh that escaped from your lips. Steven’s body tensed underneath you. He quickly cleared his throat, adjusting in his seat. You stood up studying his darkening expression.

Fuck.

We can always push dinner back a bit later. An idea came to you then. You stood up straight, adjusting your dress.

“Steven?” You asked in a low voice. He cleared his throat again before looking up at you.

“Yes, love, what is it?” He asked, his pupils dilating by the second.

“I’m not sure if this is the dress I want to wear tonight. Would you help me choose a different one?” You asked in the same low tone. Your lip was in an intentional pout. His eyes lit up at your words. He rubbed his palms against his slacks as he stood.

“Of course,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. You wrapped your fingers around his own and he followed you into your bedroom. He sat down on the bed as you opened your dresser. You didn’t really have another dress you’d prefer to wear. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. You had bought one more dress while shopping for the one you currently adorned. But this other dress- well, it is far out of your comfort zone.

Black, nearly sheer, cut lower, and fitted tighter. You had nearly decided against it, believing you’d never actually feel confident enough to wear it out anywhere. But at least it’d hang pretty in your closet.

You were so incredibly thankful at that moment that you had decided to get it after all.

You faced away from Steven and worked at the zipper on the back of your dress. You listened carefully as his breathing grew louder and unsteady as you worked the zipper lower and lower.

He had never seen your body entirely naked before, only glimpses. You had only ever felt his hands move carefully over your clothed body as he worked his mouth gently against your own.

Your hands froze just before you reached the bottom of the zipper. Neither of you spoke for a moment, only the sound of both your increasingly shallow breathing could be heard in your room.

“Is it stuck, the zipper? Could I help?” Steven asked softly behind you. You heard him shift in the bed before he stood up, making his way behind you. Your breath was caught in your throat. Something deep within your stomach fluttered in a way that you had never experienced before. You suddenly felt warm, in the best way possible.

You didn’t need any help with your zipper, you could easily do it yourself. But the thought of him, with his hands so close to your exposed skin- Yes, actually, you decided. You would love help with your zipper.

“Mhm,” you nodded, looking over your shoulder back at him. His eyes were dark, in a way that you had never seen before. It only worked to build that warm feeling inside of you. “Yes, please.” You replied.

The back of his knuckles slowly trailed down your back until they reached your zipper. You couldn’t hide the low sigh that slipped past your tongue. You were on fire.

He lowered his head and planted a soft kiss near the base of your neck as he slid the zipper the rest of the way down. His fingers then hooked around the straps of your dress before he slid them down your arms.

The dress fell in a pool of fabric to the floor. His hands traced down your arms. How had you never noticed the roughness and calloused feeling of his fingers before?

Your mind was soon a hazy mess. You leaned back further into him. His hands moved carefully to wrap around your waist. How had you never noticed just how large his hands were?

All the air seemed to be sucked from the room.

“Is this okay, love?” Steven asked softly against your hair.

You melted further into him, pressing your back against his chest as his hands moved closer to your stomach. “Mhm, please, don’t stop.” You replied. Any hesitation in your mind vanished completely. You needed him. Wanted him. Loved him. Desperate to have him closer, in any way possible.

You turned to face him. Your bare chest exposed to him. He sucked in a sharp breath, scanning over the expanse of your body. A smirk spread across your lips as you watch his heart nearly pounding out of his chest.

You slowly reached up to his tie, undoing it slowly until it hung undone around his neck. You stepped closer, nearly pressing yourself entirely against him. His eyes widened. He quickly shoved off his coat as you undid the buttons of his shirt.

He gently slid it from his shoulders. You looked up at him, feeling your mouth water at the sight of him. You’d never be able to get enough of this, of him.

You reached up, your fingers gently slid down the expanse of his broad chest and toned stomach. You had an idea that he was fit, but he was truly something like a work of art.

He shuddered at your touch, letting out a deep groan as your finger moved lower until they stopped just above his belt.

You looked up at him, his gaze nearly eating you alive. Fuck, you would do anything to please him at that moment. You wanted to be good for him, do good for him.

You slowly traced the buckle of his belt,

“Can I?” you asked breathlessly, sucking on your bottom lip.

He nodded. The muscles in his stomach rippled as his hands flexed at his sides. Inside of the sweet, innocent eyes of the man you had grown to love, something dark spread through them. A side of him you had only caught glimpses of was now on full display to you. It was indescribable, the lust that filled your increasingly clouded mind. You needed more. You wanted to see just how dark those eyes could get.

You worked the buckle of his belt until it unfastened. You slowly lowered to your knees until you were kneeling completely in front of him, never breaking eye contact. You had never felt so powerful, so beautiful.

You carefully slid your hands around his hips before planting soft kisses on the area of his stomach just above the hem of his pants.

He sighed a deep moan. His hands slid up the sides of your face until they gently found themselves wrapped through your hair.

Your nerves were eased by his quiet praise. “So beautiful. Perfect for me.”

You had never taken a man in your mouth before, but now the thought of it made your mouth water and your stomach flip.

Your fingers slowly unbuttoned his trousers before sliding down the zipper. You traced a light touch over the hem of his boxers.

The grip he had around your hair suddenly tightened as his stomach flexed at your touch. Fuck.

Your hand slid over the hardening bulge against his boxers. The fire inside of you grew lower, setting your core ablaze. Another wave of nerves grew inside of you as you stroked along the full length of him. He was large, thick in every way that could be intimidating. Your mouth fell agape. Unable to hide your shock.

You looked back up at him, your eyes wide and wild. A sinful smirk spread across his face. This part of Steven was so new to you, but it was incredible. So incredibly beautiful. But you could still see that soft, gentle, man you had fallen in love with in the lustful blur in his eyes.

You were ready for this, despite your lack of experience. You knew Steven was fairly inexperienced in this sort of stuff as well, which eased your nerves even further. You would both figure it out as you went. Together.

You pulled down the waistband of his boxers. His cock fell up towards his stomach before falling straight in front of you.

“We can go as slow as you want to, love.” He spoke in a reassuring, soft tone.

You nodded up at him, “just wanna make you feel good.”

You carefully wrapped your hands around the length of him. Even with both of your hands, he was larger than you could hold.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his head falling back up towards the ceiling.

You twisted your hands up and down his cock as he guided you through it.

You listened intently to the way his breathing grew ragged and strained as you became more comfortable with him in your hands. His soft and rough moans were the most beautiful sound. You would do anything to hear more of them.

“Just like that, you feel so good. I’m so close, angel.” He praised between broken breaths.

Your core clenched, you could feel your own arousal dripping past your folds.

He was so incredibly beautiful, caught in the moment you leaned forward and kissed the tip of his cock. His whole body tensed and flexed. A string of obscenities stumbled from his lips. Filthy words you’d never expected to hear from him. This only urged you forward.

You kissed him again, this time lapping your tongue against him. His eyes rolled back into his head. His moans grew increasingly labored.

“S’good, love.” His voice was nearly lost to himself.

You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, sucking softly, hallowing your cheeks around him as your hands worked quicker. You could feel him pulse in your touch.

“Can I come in that pretty mouth of yours, sweetheart?” He asked, running his fingers gently through your hair, tracing lower until they wrapped around your neck.

You pulled away slightly, meeting his eyes. “Yes, please.”

He groaned, his grasp on your throat tightened sightly as you took him in your mouth again.

Just moments later, you felt his movements stutter and his cock pulse against your tongue. His warm release coated your throat and lips. It was unlike anything you had tasted before. It was incredible. Watching him fall apart above you, you would do anything to see him like this. Over and over again. You continued your movements until he was a mumbling mess of moans and shallow breaths. He gently pulled himself out of you.

You swallowed his come. The feeling of his release coating your throat made your most sensitive parts throb. Your arousal dripped down your inner thighs.

You were both breathless, your bodies alight.

He quickly pulled you up into his arms, planting heated and desperate kisses against your lips and face. He picked you up against him, your legs wrapping around his waist.

He brought you over to your bed, gently laying you down on the edge of the bed.

He knelt before you on the floor beside the bed. He wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled your panties off, discarding them on the floor.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as you watched him take in the sight of you completely.

His grip around your thighs tightened. He pulled your hips closer towards the edge of the bed.

“So perfect, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful.” He groaned, planting sloppy kisses against your inner thighs. Your mind was a fuzzy mess.

“Mmm, closer Steven. Need you.” You spoke through labored breaths.

You met his eyes, a sinful smirk plastered against his lips. He pulled you closer once more, his mouth just about your clit. The warmth of his breath against you set your body alight. He traced a soft kiss against your clit, your back arched up against the bed, your toes curled under you as he dragged your legs up around his shoulders.

He pressed his tongue against your folds and began tracing gentle, quick laps against you.

You whimpered, his low groan vibrated through you.

“Does that feel good, love?” He asked with his lips still against you.

You could hardly formulate your words. That beautiful warmth began to quickly build inside of you.

“Mhm, so good.” You sighed out as his motions quickened.

“You taste like heaven against my tongue.” His words were quickly sending you over the edge. You were desperate to come against his gorgeous face.

His grip around your thighs tightened bruisingly against your skin. The slight pain was so beautiful, you desperately wished that it’d leave marks in the morning.

Suddenly, you felt two of his fingers sliding through your dripping folds as he worked against you. He slipped inside of you, curling his fingers up to press against your most sensitive spot.

You cried out, your hands dug deep into the duvet.

“Fuck, fuck Steven, I’m so close.” You sighed out, feeling your legs wrap tighter against his back.

“Come for me, love.” He groaned against you. His words were the final push you needed. That warmth inside of your core spread through you. Your vision blurred through your blinding ecstasy. His pace was relentless as he continued to push you through your high. You were both a rambling mess of obscenities and praise.

He continued until you were clenching desperately around his fingers. Begging for him to slow his overstimulation.

He slowly stood, pushing you back further into the bed. He fell into the mattress beside you, quickly pulling you into his arms. You reached forward, clasping his head between your hands. You kissed against his lips and face, tasting your release against him.

This was heaven on earth, you were sure of it.

You both stayed quiet in a moment of blurred ecstasy. The sound of your uneven and ragged breathing filled the room as you both came down from your highs.

Once you regained your composure, you looked up into his eyes, his grip around you tightened. His deep, dark eyes lightened, catching that light you loved so much. He smiled down at you. “I love you.” He whispered, pressing kisses against your temple.

You melted into his embrace. “I love you too, Steven.”

There was another moment of blissful silence before Steven spoke again. “How about we push our dinner reservations back a bit?”

You smiled, nodding up at him. “Sounds wonderful.”

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[harpagornis]

Minoan Gods

Decided to take an old article and repackage it for the tumblr audience.

The double-edged axe or labris, likely the least controversial thing written here.

To honor the latest release of Minotaur Hotel I decided to do an article on what is known of the Minoan deities.

Known as the “first European city-makers” and a distant precursor to Greece, what is called the Minoan Civilization after King Minos of Crete was a mysterious Bronze Age nation that governed Crete and neighbouring parts of the Aegean. Its age, likely influences over posterior Greek (and by extension western) culture and unique art has long made it a subject of mystique and intrigue. Whereas it’s the several still undeciphered scripts and languages or the fact that it seems to have a rare genuinely matriarchal society, it seems the countless research and academia only raises more questions than answers.

One such well documented but ultimately unsuccessful endeavour is identifying the pantheon these people worshipped. It is strongly speculated that Minoan Crete was theocratic (Kristiansen & Larsson, 2005, among several others) and several art either represents cultic activities (such as the famous bull leaping) if not gods themselves, but in the absence of the proper written word this is beyond impossible to ascertain. The implications of understanding Minoan religion are very clear, as beyond offering a snapshot to the lives of these people it also bears the potential implication that many Greek gods and mythological figures ultimately had their origins here.

To completely compile, summarise and synthesize all that has been written on Minoan religion is a task far too vast to implement, so here are some of the most widely agreed upon gods.

Queen of the Gods

Snake goddess figurine by C messier. The most well known Minoan possible religious artifact, it’s still not clear if these figurines represent a goddess, multiple goddesses or human priests.

By far the most well kown figure attributed to Minoan religion is the Queen or Mother goddess, sometimes known as “Snake Goddess” due to an abundance of figurines depicting women holding snakes. Perhaps surprisingly (or not given the second paragraph), she’s not actually attested anywhere, given that Minoan scripts haven’t yet been deciphered, but her existence can be inferred due to a variety of factors:

Female figurines are by far the most common representation of what could be interpreted as a god in Minoan sites. Chief among these are the aforementioned “snake goddess” figurines. While there is considerable debate on whereas these truly represent deities (plural or singular) or mortal priestesses, they are comparable to apotropaic depictions of surrounding cultures, most notably those of the latter Athena Parthenos which similarly is associated with serpentine iconography as controlling these forces of chaos (Ogden 2013).

The fact that Minoan society was matriarchal in nature, which would lend credence to the supreme being in their cosmology being feminine in nature. While a dominant female deity does not always correlate to a matriarchal society (i.e. Amaterasu, Virgin Mary, et cetera), the opposite, a matriarchal society with a masculine supreme god, is yet to be documented (though see below).

Several Greek mother goddesses such as Demeter and Rheia are thought to have a Cretan origin (Mylonas 1966, Sidwell 1981 among several others), so it’s not terribly hard to see them as “descendents” of this Minoan deity.

The Philistines, contray to biblical assertions on Dagon worship, seem to have favoured a goddess as their primary deity (Schäfer-Lichtenberger 2000, Ben-Shlomo 2019). The Philistines, through genetic legacy and material culture, are now understood to have had an Aegean origin, so again seeing this as a continuation of a Minoan goddess is plausible.

Several names have been speculated for this deity, usually along the lines of the author’s interpretation of Minoan scripts (which should be noted, are not only undeciphered but very likely don’t mention deities at all, since all we have seem to brief texts likely attributed to tax reports). The name “Rhea” doesn’t seem to be of Indo-European origin (Nilsson 1950, Sidwell 1981), making it very likely that this is a theonym with Minoan origins. The same applies to Ariadne (Alexiou 1969) and possibly also Athena (Beekes 2009). Conversely, the Philistine goddess is possibly attested as “Ptgyh” (Ben-Shlomo 2019), a name that is speculated to be related to Greek “Potnia”, “mistress”. In all likelihood, such an important goddess likely was known by a variety of epithets.

Fertility is naturally considered a major function of this mother goddess, but perhaps in ways one might not expect. An emphasis on solar worship has been noted due to temple arrangements and material objects such as “frying pans” with solar iconography (Ridderstad 2009), suggesting that, rather than an earth goddess as one might expect, this was a solar goddess. Solar goddesses are known from a variety of Near Eastern cultures such as Egypt (Sekhmet, Hathor), Anatolia (Arinniti, Istanu, Estan, Wurunsemu) and Canaan (Shapash) so a solar interpretation of the Minoan supreme goddess isn’t unusual. In particular, this might imply a more “chthonic” interpretation of the sun than the Classical “object in the sky”, due to temple angles tressing sunrises and sunsets (Ridderstad 2009), whch is consistent with the Hittite notions of the sun goddess ruling the underworld. Regardless, as noted below in Talos there is also possible evidence for a Minoan male sun.

More unambiguously, this goddess had a civil and possibly domestic function. As noted above snake goddess figurines might be apotropaic in nature, used to ward off evil spirits or more mundane threats like snakes. If Athena is derived from this goddess then a role as the protector of the palace is also implied given Athena’s role in the Mycenaean era, and both Ariadne and Athena are associated with weaving. Conversely, so are solar goddesses in other places, like the Baltic Saule or the Turkic Gun Ana, as the rays of the sun are easily linked to threads, further suggesting this role for the Minoan goddess. Both Rhea and Demeter are also associated with lions, animals that not only are symbolic of the sun but also of a notable sun goddess across the sea, Sekhmet.

The fact that the Minoan ruling goddesses was the possible genesis for several Greek goddesses like Rheia, Demeter, Ariadne and Athena suggests a rather extensive and important function in ancient Cretan religion. Conversely, it might also suggest that what we might attributing to a single goddess was in fact several different deities, but as deities overlap and flow into one another it is possible that these goddesses were either seen as one or acquired independent identities several times throught Minoan history.

The Bull God

Bull-leaping fresco. A stapple of Minoan art.

The bull is extensively depicted in Minoan art. Most common are bull-leaping frescos depicting youths of both genders leaping or interacting with bulls, suggesting this was a common Minoan sport and perhaps even a religious ritual. But bulls are depicted in many other contexts as well, and as such the existence of an actual Minoan bull god is frequently speculated upon.

In Near-Eastern cultures, bulls are both solar and lunar symbols. On the one hand, the bull’s horn/s resemble/s a lunar crescent, and indeed not only are Middle Eastern male moon gods like Nanna and Suen associated with the bull but even the Greek Selene is described as having a chariot pulled by bulls, suggesting that not even a shift towards a feminine moon deity erased this iconography. On the other hand, a bull is a powerful animal and thus worthy of male solar gods, most notably the Mesopotamian Marduk (literally “calf of the sun”). Sometimes both interpretations show up in the same culture: in Egypt the Apis bull is associated both with Ra and with Osiris as Yah (the moon). Perhaps the same applied to ancient Crete (again, see Talos below), but a lunar bull would certainly be a vivid symbol contrasted against the sun goddess.

The bull is associated with Dionysus which otherwise is mired in more “exotic” symbols, suggesting that the putative “Minoan Dionysus” might be the bull god. It has long been speculated that the bull god is a male youth and son and consort to the queen of the gods, though women are also depicted bull leaping.

The Greek minotaur has long been speculated to be a remnant of the Minoan bull god, not without reason being so throughly linked with Crete as a concept. In this case, the monstrous depiction is either fully discontinuous from older practises or defamatory, with my personal two cents that it is also a jab against the bull gods of the Phoenicians, accused at the time of human sacrifice by the (infant killing) Greeks. Asterion is said to be the birth name of the minotaur by Pseudo-Apollodorus, but I wouldn’t read much into this since this name (literally “starry one”) is a common Greek name for many figures both historical and mythological, and at any rate a recent Indo-European name at odds with the most likely Pre-Greek Cretan languages.

“Dionysus”

“Prince of the Lilies” fresco, often but by no means universally interpreted as a male youth figure.

There is extensive evidence of wine cults in Minoan Crete (Kerényi 1976). This, combined with the Mycenaean depictions of a bull-horned Dionysus (or “di-wo-nu-so” as it is) seems to point to a Minoan origin for this god. “Dionysus” is an Indo-European name connected to Zeus and other sky father figures but the actual character of the god is not easily identified in the PIE world, suggesting a Pre-Greek, local origin. A possible exception is the Lusitanian god Andaeico (Teixeira 2014) which might resemble the putative “flower Dionysus” (see below), but this deity is himself not well understood and might be from an ancient Iberian stratum in Lusitanian culture.

The Mycenaean Dionysus is a figure with stronger ties to death and rebirth than revelry necessarily but the evolution from “eldritch god” to “party dude” might not have been as linear (geddit) a concept as one might expect. Male figurines thought to represent a young god increase in popularity in later stages of Minoan history (Vasilakis 2001) as do male youth figures often identified as “prince of the lilies/flowers” which alongside the wine cults is closer to the Classical Dionysus than the Mycenaean or later Orphic one. However once more in the absence of deciphered scripts it is impossible to say for certainty that these figurines represent deities let alone are Dionysus. Hell, the “flowery figures” have even been interpreted as female at times.

If an actual god, the “Minoan Dionysus” might very well be identified with the bull god, as the bull is a rather odd symbol for the “exotic” attributes the Classical Dionysus is associated with. Ariadne in Greek myth does get hitched with Dionysus; an imbalanced, reversed remnant of the male youth/Minoan queen goddess pairing perhaps?

Talos

Talos by laura Jastrow.

Perhaps the only Minoan or at least Cretan god we may truly known by name is Talos. In Greek myth Talos is best known as the strange automaton made by Hephaestus, but it was also the Cretan word for “sun”, analogous to “Helios” of mainland Greece according to Hesychius of Alexandria. Zeus was worshipped in Crete as Zeus Talaios, who was associated with the sun, and the Tallaia was a spur of Mt. Ida associated with sunrise rituals (Nilson 1923).

This association of Zeus with Talos is as peculiar as it is extensive. Zeus, a god whose origins are well documented to be Indo-European in nature, is held in Greek myth as born and raised in Crete, and Cretan depictions of Talos differ from those of mainland Greece in having wings. Further, the seduction of Europa by Zeus as a bull links the Classical Zeus to Crete in a very fundamental way. This seems to indicate a rather through syncretism between the Greek/Mycenaean sky god and this indigenous Cretan deity, which in turn implies a rather relevant role to the Minoan Talos.

Conversely, outside of Crete Talos is an enigmatic figure, as noted by Pausanias himself which seems more confused than anything. Certainly, the story of a pre-sci-fi robot is weird, let alone how it relates to an ancient Cretan god, linked to the supreme god of all Greeks down to his very birth.

Talos is truly an anomaly. A solar god which was important enough to warrant syncretism with Zeus, in a matriarchal culture where the sun seems to have been traditionally the supreme goddess herself. Crete was likely never a monolith even at the height of Minoan rule, but all current signs point to Talos being an ancient Cretan deity from before PIE influences in Greece, and he seems so out of place.

My personal two cents is that Minoan cosmology was similar to that of the Hittites and other Anatolian cultures, where the sun is male during the day as it travels through the sky and female at night where it rules the underworld. Talos’ syncretism with Zeus therefore would be derived from representing the male, skyward aspect of the sun, corroborated by worship at the Tallaia. In the original Minoan religion Talos was probably lesser compared to his female aspect (which even as a chthonic deity would easily be accepted as the supreme power; even Mycenaeans favoured the chthonic Poseidon to the celestial Zeus after all), but his roled ensured syncretism with the king of the gods once Crete was conquered.

Britomartis

Candiacervus by Peter Schouten.

Britomartis is possibly another deity we might know from a genuinely Minoan or at least Cretan name. Solinus claims it is “sweet virgin” in Cretan and the name doesn’t seem to have Indo-European roots. If true, I’d imagine this theonym is more due to syncretism with the Greek Artemis if anything as I doubt ancient Minoans cared much about virginity as a concept, though Artemis herself may be derived from this deity. Some archaeologists have further suggested that it is an euphemism for the deity’s actual name, since being a goddess of the wilds saying it might have been unwise (Ruck 1994). Another name attributed to her is Diktynna, “hunting nets”, or simply Dicte/Dikte (unsurprisingly, she named said mountain, and was likely its spirit). I’ve never seen the etymology of this name tracked, so I can’t say for sure if it is Greek or Pre-Greek in origin

Britomartis is in Greek myth a mere oread or mountain nymph, said to have invented hunting nets. She is said to have fled Minos’ lust, a tale that even Siculus expressed disbelief at due to her divinity. Thus, although greatly diminuished by Hellenistic times, she was still clearly held to be a deity, and still seems to have been worshipped in Crete during Classical times, frequently appearing in coinage as a winged figured. She is equated to Artemis, a goddess associated with the wilderness and mountains, and it can be assumed she represents a similar “lady of the beasts” archetype. Artemis herself has a name of unclear etymology, and could be of Minoan origin, being perhaps another name for Britomartis.

Some authors tempt to lump Britomartis with the Minoan mother goddess, but to me these seem like clearly distinct figures. Whereas the queen of the gods is a civic, fertility and possibly solar figure, Britomartis is alcearly a goddess of the wild places, perhaps even more specifically the embodiment of Mt. Dicte. Of course, overlap between these two goddesses likely happened at several points in Cretan history.

And that’s it for now.

Other Minoan gods have been positted, including a sea one (naturally), but they aren’t sufficiently supported by everyone in the field at large, so I won’t bother.

References

Kristiansen, Kristian & Thomas B. Larsson. The Rise of Bronze Age Society: Travels, Transmissions and Transformations. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005.

Ogden, Daniel (2013). Drakon: Dragon Myth and Serpent Cult in the Greek and Roman Worlds. Oxford University Press. pp. 7–9. ISBN 9780199557325 – via Google Books.

George Mylonas (1966), “Mycenae and the Mycenean world “

Sidwell, R.T. (1981). “Rhea was abroad: Pre-Hellenic Greek myths for post-Hellenic children”. Children’s Literature in Education. 12 (4): 171–176. doi:10.1007/BF01142761. S2CID 161230196.

Christa Schäfer-Lichtenberger, The Goddess of Ekron and the Religious-Cultural Background of the Philistines, Vol. 50, No. 1/2 (2000)

David Ben-Shlomo, Philistine Cult and Religion According to Archaeological Evidence, January 2019Religions 10(2):74, DOI: 10.3390/rel10020074

Nilsson, Martin Persson (1 January 1950). The Minoan-Mycenaean Religion and its Survival in Greek Religion. Biblo & Tannen Publishers. ISBN 9780819602732 – via Google Books.

Alexiou, Stylianos (1969). Minoan Civilization. Translated by Ridley, Cressida (6th revised ed.). Heraklion, Greece.

Beekes, Robert S. P. (2009), Etymological Dictionary of Greek, Leiden and Boston: Brill

Marianna Ridderstad, Evidence of Minoan astronomy and calendrical practices, October 2009

Kerényi, Karl. 1976. Dionysus. Trans. Ralph Manheim, Princeton University Press. ISBN 0691029156, 978-0691029153

Monteiro Teixeira, Sílvia. 2014. Cultos e cultuantes no Sul do território actualmente português em época romana (sécs. I a. C. – III d. C.). Masters’ dissertation on Archaeology.. Lisboa: Faculdade de Letras da Universidade de Lisboa.

Andonis Vasilakis, MINOAN CRETE: FROM MYTH TO HISTORY Paperback – January 1, 2001

Nilsson, “Fire-Festivals in Ancient Greece” The Journal of Hellenic Studies 43.2 1923

Carl A.P. Ruck and Danny Staples, The World of Classical Myth [Carolina Academic Press], 1994

#minoan #greek mythology #gods #pagan #paganism #reconstructionism

[savage-rhi]

Ardyn x reader? But with some dialogue prompts

"Close your Eyes for me Love"

And

"Listen to me . . .take deep breaths, yes follow my breathing just like that. There's no need to panic, I'm right here now, aren't I? You're safe"

You can honestly use these for any scenario you see fit. But these ones spoke to me as someone that is an anxious person.

@sillylittlevulpine OKAY. I got WAY too carried away with this prompt, but I hope you like the outcome!

Niflheim's celebration of it's imperial founding was well underway at the main palace. Though Aldercapt dedicated much of his life to Zegnatus Keep as his main base of operations, he dare not soil tradition when it came to the birthday of the empire. The grand hall was filled to the brim with people. Most hailing from the richer provinces within Niflheim, though on this day, commoners were allowed to mingle within reason. 

The night was alive. Chandeliers glimmered and bounced off an array of light, illuminating everyone’s elegant clothes. Music from magnificent orchestras thrummed through bodies and pulsed against eardrums. Deep conversations came and went. The grand hall was filled with rich scents and smoke from candles that made Y/N feel like they were underwater; in another world where they shouldn’t have dwelled. 

When Ardyn approached Y/N a week prior to the event, they didn’t anticipate feeling so miniscule. Y/N had participated in a fair share of parties, but nothing close to this. They were beginning to regret not taking Ardyn up on his offer of him buying a formal gown on their behalf. Though Y/N considered their attire for the night to be nice, it also stuck out like a sore thumb when it came to class standing. The higher imperials made it known in jest. 

While Y/N swirled their wine around in their glass, they fixated on the fireworks that were going off outside the large glass windows leading to the balcony. The thundering booms did little to ease their nerves, but watching explosions was far better than dealing with people. Since Ardyn was summoned to entertain envoys from Accordo, Y/N lost count of the many that approached them. 

Like a horde of locusts eyeing a fine grain, they swarmed; asking numerous questions. It wasn’t everyday the chancellor had someone at his arm when it came to these events. Ardyn was fairly private despite his sly and charismatic demeanor. Though Y/N had rehearsed with Ardyn, they found themself stumbling when it came to questions addressing the nature of their relationship. The quriked eyebrows and snide remarks at times further made Y/N’s nerves fire off. 

Y/N so badly wanted to tell the truth; that Ardyn brought them along to blend in with the culture of the higher imperials. He had rumors at court to quell, and was dealing with people in opposing nations trying to sway public opinion negatively regarding his lack of familiars. It was as he said: having a mysterious aura does wonders when it comes to the art of persuasion, but it also has its hindrance. And people were catching on that Ardyn wasn’t just quirky, but there was another level. Something dangerous that could even put someone like the emperor in harms way. Little did anyone know, Ardyn was the empires best kept secret. 

Y/N knew Ardyn was infected with the scourge, having caught him in a moment of weakness when the daemonic miasma flared throughout his body and he needed aid. Before then, he seldom if ever talked to Y/N. Although, Y/N noted he was courteous when need be. The dynamic changed after that night when Ardyn promised not to harm them if they kept their silence he was infected.

Conversations and meetups began to become a common occurrence between them both. Y/N was scared out of their mind at first; believing he would go back on his word and kill them, but Ardyn wormed his way in like always with whomever crossed his path. 

Ardyn stated several times in passing to Y/N that he felt relief being able to be open with someone about his illness. For years, he only had the company of Verstael and Aldercapt when it came to such things. Even then, the relationships boiled down to how his mind and powers could be put to the empires benefit while they searched for a cure for his ailment. At least, that was what Ardyn had told Y/N when it came to his story. 

Ardyn never said they were friends outright, but there was a strong camaraderie that grew between Y/N and him over the past several months. It was something Y/N tried to remind themself of in the present when another round of people came over and interrupted the firework display. Such sentimentalities couldn’t drown out their anxiety, and soon, Y/N took off pushing past people. 

Blood pounded in Y/N’s ears. Their hands quivered, and their feet tingled as if maggots were crawling over each nerve that ran down their toes. Y/N had to get away from the crowd and all the decadence. There was no thought or reason that traveled through their mind, only a resonating panic that felt primal. 

Eventually, Y/N’s retreat brought them to one of the common ways; smaller halls within the palace that led to a multitude of rooms. Scattered about were large statues of the gods, and previous Niflheim rulers. Y/N slouched against a pillar nearby, and took a long, slow deep breath, then rounded the corner out of sight as guests came and went. 

Y/N wrapped their arms around their chest so tight, that their nails dug into their sides. Their breathing was hard. Really hard. As if they had ran across Niflheim and all the way to Tenebrae. Bile rose in Y/N’s throat as they attempted to stifle their sobs. Although their body was on fire in the worst way possible, a small token of relief washed over Y/N. At least they were free of the grand hall. The consolation however didn’t do much when it came to their guilt. They were here to give Ardyn a good impression, and this outburst was sure to undo a lot. 

As if he heard their thoughts from afar, the sound of Ardyn’s boots hitting the marbled floors had Y/N swallow hard. The common way was dark, but they could see his features coming into the light thanks to the lamps nearby. There was a ferocious concern in his honey eyes that made Y/N tremble while he approached. 

“There you are,” Ardyn paused, leaning forward to catch is breath momentarily before he fixed his posture. He tilted his head curiously, studying Y/N from head to toe. “I heard whispers you took off in a hurry. Are you hurt?” 

“N-no,” Y/N shook their head. Their voice shook and another wave of fear began to crawl against the hairs of their flesh. “I--needed to get away.”

“Y/N?” 

“I---too many people. Too many questions. I couldn’t do it anymore! And the rude comments, and the noise, the music, it’s all just---gods, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made you look stupid. So stupid for bringing me here! I don’t belong here--with these people. I don’t belong here with you. I’m nothing like them, and I--”

“Shhh, hey, hey, hey…” Ardyn’s voice started firm then faded softly. His hands gripped either side of Y/N’s shoulders, and he gave a gentle squeeze. “Look at me.” 

Y/N forced themself to tilt their head up and gaze at him. His hardened stare from before settled. A look of regret now combed over his features while Y/N continued to sob. 

“If there’s any fault to be had, its at my expense,” Ardyn began. “I shouldn’t have left you alone for so long. Feeding you to the wolves wasn’t my intention.” 

“I---I slipped up so many times,” Y/N choked. “C-couldn’t get my stories straight. Just one person after the other---and I’m already dirt. I don’t belong with you or them. T-they told me as much. And--” 

“You’re right,” Ardyn murmured. “You are nothing like them, that’s precisely why I wanted you at my side tonight. I may seem well put together, but I get nervous at large festivities myself.”

“Y-you get nervous?” 

Ardyn nodded and stepped closer so the rest of their conversation was out of earshot. “Do you know what I do to curb such ill feelings?” 

Y/N shook their head, noting the childish grin that began to grow from Ardyn’s mouth. 

“I envision everyone I meet, naked. It takes away their power.” 

There was no way Y/N could stop the exhausted laugh that tumbled from their throat. Ardyn’s own bout followed suit. Alas it didn’t tamper down the adrenaline rush of panic that still remained in Y/N’s body. Their smile dwindled after the punchline lost its majesty, and they were crying. 

Ardyn furrowed his brows and moved his hands from Y/N’s shoulders and to their face. Each palm cupping their cheek. “Close your eyes for me, love.” 

“W-what?” 

“Close them.” 

Despite the uncertainty, Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut. The erratic pulse of their heart continued to throb behind their ears. Only the sigh that escaped from Ardyn momentarily pulled Y/N out of their inner turmoil. 

"Listen to me…take deep breaths,” Ardyn muttered. He too joined in, inhaling slowly through his nose, and exhaling through his mouth. It wasn’t long before Y/N began to sync to his tempo, and relief began to pool in his mind, knowing a fire would soon be put out. 

“Yes, follow my breathing just like that. There’s no need to panic. I’m right here now, aren’t I? You’re safe.” 

“Y-yeah,” Y/N said in between breaths. Fragrant oils that were upon Ardyn’s clothes and skin found its way to Y/N’s nostrils. The familiarity along with the red wine on his breath aided in calming them down. 

After some time, Y/N opened their eyes. It was so quiet, they half expected Ardyn to have been gone. He still remained in front of them. His hands still holding their face while his thumbs absentmindedly trailed underneath their eyes. Y/N had a morbid thought of Ardyn plucking out their eyeballs. He could easily perform such an insidious action given his infection, but alas nothing came of it. The intrusive thought ran away seeing the faint yet sincere smile that formed on his lips. 

“I fear we must--” Before Ardyn could finish his sentence, he saw some of the Accordo envoys and a round of higher imperials making their way toward his and Y/N’s general vicinity. The face he made had Y/N look over his shoulder, hearing the commotion coming from the group. 

“Gods be damned,” Ardyn whispered bitterly, letting go of Y/N’s face. “Not them.” 

“I thought you got along with them?” Y/N sniffled, taking a moment to wipe their eyes. 

“Yes and no,” Ardyn begrudgingly answered. “I have no patience let alone the disposition to listen to the words of drunkards tonight. Especially when it involves politics beyond my reach. No doubt once they see me, they’ll try dragging me in for another debate.” 

A light went off in Y/N’s head. Though they were still healing from the panic attack, they pushed through the last of their nerves and quickly gestured at Ardyn’s hat. 

“Get closer to me.” Y/N stepped forward and more into Ardyn’s personal space. Not giving him the chance to register the sudden intrusion. The look of bewilderment on his face would’ve made Y/N laugh any other time but now. 

“I’m afraid I’m not following?” 

“You don’t want to talk to them right?” Y/N began. “Well, take your hat and shield our faces with it. Lean in close. It’ll give them the impression we’re being intimate and don’t want to be bothered. Just trust me on this.” 

Ardyn’s mouth parted to protest, but as soon as he heard his name being hollered, he quickly went through the motions that Y/N requested. Ardyn leaned forward and heard Y/N’s breath hitch in their throat. His eyes were glued onto theirs now, and he couldn’t help but smirk at both the awe and nervousness that dwelled in Y/N’s gaze. It reminded Ardyn of the night they had seen him as Adagium, and didn’t run. Intrigue and a twist of something more primal began to pull at his mind. 

The shuffling of boots and shoes grew closer, and it wasn’t long before the group ventured by. Ardyn’s name was shouted a few times, until several aggressive hushes followed suit. Both Y/N and he could hear the whisperings, and Ardyn used his free arm to wrap around Y/N’s waist. Whatever doubts the drunken buffoons had at what they were witnessing fell away and soon colleagues beckoned their fellow peers to give space and privacy. A few wolf whistles here and there was given, and the flock retreated back to the festivities. 

“See? They bought it! ” Y/N laughed with a grin. Whatever embarrassment they initially felt started to fade, but puzzlement began to take its place especially when it became obvious he had no intention of letting them go. 

“Ardyn?” 

He didn’t say a word. Not even his breath could easily be detected. 

Ardyn stared at Y/N with an intense look in his eyes, where they could tell he was thinking hard. There was something irresistible about the vehemence his golden eyes held, and before Y/N could stop themself they leaned forward until their face brushed up against Ardyn’s. The stubble on his chin scratched them, and Y/N waited a moment, in case he wanted to pull away but he didn’t move. 

Y/N’s emotions were so tangled from the night, that doubt began to creep in. Before it could take root and sprout, they closed the last bit of space between themself and Ardyn and pressed their lips against his. From the gentle push and pull of his mouth, Y/N could tell he’d been waiting for this and strangely so have they. 

Ardyn’s hand at Y/N’s waist slid down further. His fingers dug into Y/N’s hip. He sensed the shiver that traveled down their spine and deepened the kiss. It’s not long before his tongue meets Y/N’s, and he wastes no time mapping out their mouth. Their taste was intoxicating to him, much like the wine he had nursed himself with during the worst flare ups of the scourge.

Ardyn was surprised with himself, that even after 2,000 years his body still remembered what this felt like. He was so indulged with the soothing texture of Y/N’s mouth against his lips that he didn’t register them pulling away initially, until the warmth had left him in yearning.

Y/N watched Ardyn lick his bottom lip while his hooded eyes studied them. They felt their knees wanting to give out at the image alone. Shaking, they reached for Ardyn’s hat that somehow continued to shield them both, and they took it from his grasp and placed it on top of his head. Y/N grinned briefly, averting their gaze downward. That’s when they felt Ardyn’s right hand gently grab at their chin, coaxing them to look up. 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Ardyn breathed. 

“You’re right, but you didn’t stop either.” 

“Touche’,” Ardyn huffed. “I have questions for you.” 

“And I have a million to ask you.” Y/N countered with a shy murmur. They smiled at the amused laugh that left him. 

“It seems we’re at an impasse,” Ardyn chuckled. His fingers gently stroked Y/N’s skin before letting them go. “Allow me to begin: do you want to leave this place?” 

“Don’t you have people to meet and greet?” 

“Yes,” Ardyn bluntly stated, then smiled as if he was up to something mischievous. “But you see, my distinguished guest I brought along suddenly fell to illness. Wine doesn’t mix well when you’re under the weather. I couldn’t fathom letting my plus one continue to carry on. For the sake of their health, I had to take them home or I wouldn’t live with myself.”

Gods, he was a masterful liar and he did it so well that Y/N couldn’t help but fall for the charm. The playful demeanor of Ardyn’s words while he conjured up his tall tale excuse had Y/N’s pulse stammer in their neck.

“What happens after we leave?” 

“We can go anywhere you want,” Ardyn sincerely whispered. His features began to shift, looking morose almost. “The important thing is you and I need to talk.” 

“About what happened just now?”

“Yes,” Ardyn paused. He contemplated his next words carefully. “And there’s some things I must share with you, about my condition, but not here.” 

Y/N could only nod to his terms. No other questions or words would leave them. Not when their mind lingered on how saddened his voice was. Before anything else could potentially be said, Ardyn excused himself to go make the arrangements for their departure, and told Y/N to wait for him at the front gates. 

As he walked away, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder why they felt a heaviness in their stomach; that whatever Ardyn had to share, it would change their dynamic once more. Y/N hoped they had the strength for it.

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#drabbles #ardyn izunia #ffxv ardyn #ardyn lucis caelum #ardyn x reader #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #ffxv #final fantasy xv

[b00inazkaban]

Bayverse Leonardo NSFW alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Cuz he's a ninja he has stamina so he'll have enough energy to take care of you, bathe/shower and everything after you guys are done doing the deed he'll be very comforting and caring. I think at the beginning of your relationship he wouldn't wanna cuddle as much but the farther into the relationship you are I think he'll cuddle more.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and their partners)

Personally I believe his favorite body part of his is his chest because he's the fearless leader and idk why but I feel like he puffs out his chest a lot. I feel likes cuz he's the leader he just likes his chest cuz it shows his power/dominance.

I think his favorite body part of yours is either or boobs or your hands. I think he just really likes tits tbh like how soft and pretty they are, and he likes your hands cuz they are like so much smaller then his, they are soft and they look so pretty around his dick.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum)

I think it all depends what he wants to do based of the day he has had. Like if he has a rough day i think he would just grab a sock, shirt, or tissue to cum on/in so he does not have to really clean up that night. Buuuuut, if he has an easy or normal day I think he'd either come inside of your or on your tits and if its a good day both.

D = Dirty secret (A dirty secret of their)

I think he really wants you to top him and he is just so embarrassed and nervous of what you'd say or think. I also think he would think if you were to say no you'd think he was weird afterwards, so he has never had the heart to tell you.

E = Experience (How experienced are they?)

I think him and his brothers have like watched A LOT of porn to the point Donnie had to make them their own computers or pc's and i think they have read a lot of books on sex but have no real experience in having sex. So you're going to be his first and tbh from how much he's probably watched and read I think he'd try to teach you something. I think he also has morals about having sex, like it wouldn't be with a stranger so no hook ups but he would with a partner he trusts.

F = Favorite Position (Goes without saying)

I think his favorite position is against the wall or just missionary. Or anything with you tied up cuz he isn’t too kinky.

G = Goofy (are they more serious or humorous in the moment?)

I think he’s fairly serious I think during aftercare he might be laughing if you make a joke but other then that he doesn’t make jokes or anything this is an intimate thing and not a laughing matter.

H =Hair (How well groomed are they?)

Uhmm well cuz they’re turtles and all they don’t have hair anywhere, so they're always groomed.

I = Intimacy (How intimate are they during the act?)

He's pretty intimate most of the time, cuz I think he just believes sex should be intimate and its that type of thing where you need trust and love to do it, so yea h's really intimate.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

I think before you he did a lot but then after you started dating he stopped doing it so much but he continued doing it if he need and you weren't there.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Shibari: He likes looking into Japanese and Ancient Japanese culture. And he thinks tying you up and doing body art with rope is generally really hot.

L = Location (Favorite places to do tango)

Mainly just his or your room, or maybe if nobody else was there he'd do it if he's meditating, training or working out.

M = Motivation (What turn them on and get them going?)

He gets going if y'all are in a heavy make-out session, but mainly just you doing suggestive things.

N = NO (something they wouldn't do and or turn offs)

He will NOT under any circumstance hit or slap you, he's a mutant and is much bigger and stronger then you. He might spank you, but he won't hit you anywhere else even if you ask him to.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He would prefer to give it. But he does want some in return ever once in a while.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He feels like this is a really intimate thing so usually slow and loving. But if Raph pissed him off…it’s a whole other story, he’s gonna be going at it.

Q = Quickie (Opinion on quickies rather then proper sex + how often)

He doesn’t like them. He thinks they’re not intimate enough.

R =Risk (Are they open to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

No risk what so ever.

S = Stamina (How many rounds and how long do they last?)

He’s a mutant. He’s got five in him but he’ll only do how many you can do.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themself?)

He doesn’t own anything but ropes or restraints. Maybe he has some hidden who knows? But he doesn’t mind if you have any if it helps increase the bond, he’ll do it.

U = Unfair (How much do they like to tease)

He can be unfair is raph pisses him off, he’ll take what he wants. But on the regular he’s not teasing or anything.

V = Volume (How loud they are and what sounds they make)

He’s not loud. His grunts can be sorta loud but he doesn’t moan loud if anything.

W = Wild Card (Random headcanon for character)

I feel like he’s read those manga books there were like about love or like porn ones.

X = X-Ray (Whats going on under those clothes?)

He’s a mutant. He’s about 7-8 inches. He’s fit obviously.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

It’s not high but he’s willing to do it frequently. Like he doesn’t need it but he’ll take and accept it if offered.

Z = ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep after)

He doesn’t usually fall asleep till you’re asleep unless it was right after patrol or a few rounds. He might fall asleep before you or just soon.

#b00inazkaban #fanfiction #tmnt fandom #tmnt #tmnt bayverse #leonardo #bayverse leo #teenage mutant ninja turtles bayverse

[gren-arlio]

Went into this with nothing, came out with Japanese History. Welcome to Episode 10 of (Waku) Puyo Extras: Educational Edition.

(Yeah Lagnus is in the Waku Puyo Manga. There's 3 versions of him due to him basically having DID, and he actually gets solid development. A win for all 10 of us Lagnus fans.)

Hello everyone, it's that teenage boy who spends his time looking into wacky Japanese games again, and welcome to Episode 10 of this series. Finally hit double digits for these episodes, I can finally say it can be it's own series.

With enough research finally under my belt, (whilst also reading Case Closed on my spare time, good manga,) I can finally discuss Arle's Travel Log/Arle Man'Yuki, a game I had zero idea what it was about, but came out with...mostly basic Japanese history, so this is the educational episode of this franchise.

So, what's gonna happen after this? I'm glad you asked. Y'see, on Halloween, it's Her birthday. Yeah, Her. May as well plan a special episode for that, since She's one of my personal favorite characters. It'll be like 80% of just me shitposting, so heads up.

Anywho, with that, hope you enjoy.

So, What're The Origins?

Let me make this clear: What I cover this time around is NOT the entire game. That'll take way, WAY too long, so I'm only covering the pieces I do know. Some parts may also be wrong, as I'm not an expert on Japanese History. I hope you understand.

Well, there's a lot to cover here. Arle's Travel Log was released for Windows '95 in Volume 13 of Disc Station Magazines, back in 1996.

(The artstyle given in the game.)

The game itself is text-adventure game, and oh boy, you'll be reading a LOT of text for this game. There's light gameplay elements, such as clicking specific characters for a game or a battle sequence, but they're padded out from a lot of text.

Now, what's interesting about this game is two major things. First off, the game takes actual elements from old Japanese culture and adds it into their game, but they add Puyo characters/New characters/Jump Hero characters as the historical figures instead. We'll cover the history part in a bit. As well, Arle jumps through time period after time period, ranging from the 1100s to the 1860s.

And the second thing to mention: They have Jump Hero characters in this. You rarely saw them during Compile's runtime, but they made some appearances here and there.

-----

Wait, What's Jump Hero?

I should mention this actually. Jump Hero was another series released by Compile themselves, a series of games with mixed variety in them due to spinoffs (or as they're called, Gaiden Games,) such as platformers, point-and-click adventure games, adventure games, etc. It starred Billy de Babine, the Jump Hero himself.

(Disc Station Vol. 23. Guess Arle's a Yugioh player now, or are those candy? Curiously, Billy also seems to be drawn in the Puyo~N artstyle.)

There's a ton of characters to cover that I won't be...well, covering, such as Billy Burn (or Barry de Babine), Prince Ivan the Penguin, and Margarita Linda, but for those curious, here's the link to the basics of some Jump Hero characters.

Now frankly, Jump Hero can get its own episode, but for now, this is the basics, and what you mostly need to know.

-----

And For Those Wondering What Time Periods:

Well...it's the Heian and Edo/Bakamatsu period.

The Heian Period (Heian is current day Kyoto,) was a period from 784 AD to about 1185, most notably known not only for its virtually 400 years of peace, but also the boom it had on Japanese art and poetry. It was the Golden Age for historical Japan, as due to them making their own vast differences from Chinese art, but also their literature, caused a new and unique Japanese culture.

As well, during this time, politically, Japan was an isolationist country, basically leaving itself from most worldwide talk.

The Bakamatsu Period was much shorter one, from only 1853 to 1867, based off the end of the Edo Period (1603-1867.) The Edo Period was considered the last period of peace for traditional Japan, before they went into an imperial rule, up until their defeat/surrender in WW2 in 1945. The Edo Period was a peaceful one, though for 200 years instead of 400, known best for the economic growth of the Shogunate.

Back to the Bakamatsu Period, it was the final years of traditional Japan, though they're best known for the Shinsengumi Swordsmen, a group of elite swordsmen founded from 1863 to 1869, formerly low ranked Samurais and Farmers, founded to protect the Shogunate due to a massive divide in Japanese politics.

Unfortunately, history was not on their side, and were disbanded in 1869, as well as the end of traditional Japan. You may also know the Shinsengumi from Gintama.

Yeah. There's a lot to cover.

My history may be off so take these with a grain of salt.

-----

What's The Story, Gren?

Ah, the story itself.

It begins with Arle...encountering Satan once again, who's looking to grab Carbuncle. Unfortunately, Arle isn't having any of that and so they duel. However, due to this duel, they get blasted back in time. I'm talking the 1100s back in time.

The Heian Period levels of back in time.

(WATCH OUT ARLE YOU'RE GETTING MARIO AND LUIGI: PARTNERS IN TIME'D)

And now, Arle wakes up in the 1100's. Ain't that fun?

Unsure of where to go, she just sorta wanders around, checking her surroundings and runs into Mamomo, (remember him? Me neither.) and runs into...The Old Man From Third Street from Jump Hero, in the role of an historical Onimyoji, Abe no Seimei. There's even a shrine of him in actual Japan.

And hey, there's Ivan, in the role of Fujiwara no Muchinaga, the most influential person in Japanese courts back in the 10th/11th century, as well as holding the oldest autographic diary for a historically important person.

(Best image I can find...whoops.)

Throughout Arle's journey, she'll not only run into characters from Jump Hero, such as Billy de Babine posing as general Minamoto no Yoshitsune, but also Puyo/Madou characters themselves, posing as either historical figures themselves or just random people, such as Kikimora, Draco and Witch.

Kikimora is in a later year, I believe 1863, while Witch and Draco's in about year 1000. That's why Arle's clothes change. They both look pretty though.

Fun fact about Witch though: She does have a small game where you have to click her, but she must've mastered the damn Body Flicker from Naruto since she goes ALL OVER THE PLACE.

Now why did I say "historical figures" for some?

Well, let's take Rulue for example, playing the role of Tomoe Gozen, and my GOD was Tomoe a badass. A female Samurai, in the 1180s, there was a war going on in the late Heian Period, the Gunpei War, and in that, she was a leader, and went into battle alongside other Samurai. She's most notable not only for that, she's known to at least taken the head of one enemy (Hinda No Moroshige,) and presented it to her leader. Absolutely fucking insane.

Best part is...she was also a devoted wife. Ironic for Rulue but still.

(I had to put SO much respect on her name.)

Oh, and Schezo's here too, since Rulue got the role of a badass Samurai, what did Schezo get?

OUR BOY SCHEZO IS APPARENTLY THE VICE COMMANDER OF THE SHINSENGUMI, HIJIKATA TOSHIZO.

(Vice Commander ain't bad at all. Good on you Schezo. Apparently here, he really cares for his subordinates.)

Toshizo himself had an interesting history. He began off the youngest of 10 siblings, and was raised by his 2nd older brother and his sister-in-law. Spoiled as all hell, he was handsome, but rude to all who wasn't family or friends, until he saw a swordsman from another clan commit Seppeku. He went to that man's funeral and cried.

He spent most of his youth self teaching himself swordplay, and even became friends with the future leader of the Shinsengumi, Kondo Isami. When the Shinsengumi were formed, it was him, Kondo, and two other men, however those two men were kinda assholes, and Toshizo found enough evidence to make one of them commit Seppeku, and assassinated the other. Yep. He did that.

After that, he and Kondo became the leaders of the Shinsengumi, where Toshizo was very strict on the rules, and even got the nickname of "The Demon Vice Commander," and fought in many battles in the Boshin War.

After Kondo was executed by enemy forces in April of 1868, Toshizo died in battle after giving his final farewell to his servant, as well as his katana, a death poem, as well as bits of hair and a photo of himself, in June of 1869. He knew he'd die in battle, but he'd rather die with his government than live with the shame. A week after his death, the war ended...

And that dude is Schezo now. Lmao.

Oh, and who's Kondo? The leader of the Shinsengumi?

Camus. I'm not kidding.

Schezo and Camus are a team. That sounds sick.

Oh, and not shown but characters who also make an appearance (because THE DANG 10 IMAGE LIMIT...):

Minotauros

Zombie

Incubus[?]

Panotty

Serilly

Draco

Nasu Grave

Suketoudara

Skeleton-T

After all this stuff occurs, the final boss of this game is...Owlbear. I mean, could be worse.

-----

After That...Lesson, How's the OST?

As the guy who listened to it...it's okay. Which isn't great for Madou standards. There's nothing honestly too standout, but you're not gonna mute the game from the songs themselves. Definition of passable.

It's honestly quite a tad disappointing that it doesn't have a banger OST, but we can make do with what we got.

-----

And Overall?

If you're willing to check out this game for its Japanese history and some of the wackiness of both Madou AND Jump Hero...I'd say check it out. The characters being played are fairly interesting, and the lore behind the actual people themselves are so...interesting.

And with that...hope you enjoyed this lesson. It was fun researching the game.

#madou monogatari #schezo puyo puyo #japanese translation #puyo puyo #sega #arle nadja #rulue puyo puyo #witch puyo puyo #japanese history #puyo #disc station #puyoposting #The History part is why this took 2 weeks... #schezo wegey