#[ she's had dozens and dozens of lovers all in worship of her- she's had her fill of s*xual adventure- she's had her fill of praising ]

[spiderwarden]

saying "I love you." or "You are beautiful", or any of the variation thereof the latter, will always get the same response from Minthara. And it is two words, "I know."

[babyloniastreasure]

Enkidu FGO is absolutely a troublemaker. Enkidu Source Material was also absolutely a troublemaker, but of course he was! He was literally created to be the equal to the #1 Mesopotamian troublemaking king, Gilgamesh. It's basically a requirement

I see it from time to time, but there's an opinion that Enkidu was killed in the Epic because he was a troublemaker. This is not true, but easy to understand why it's a popular conclusion

The decision to kill Enkidu was made after he and Gilgamesh made some glaringly poor choices--the first one being the slaying of Humbaba, and the second the slaying of Gugalana. I think people attribute the reason Enkidu was killed instead of Gilgamesh to Enkidu's actions after Gugalana was killed, which something I will get to in a moment. It might be different in Fate, and depending on what version of the epic you read some details differ, but generally here's what went down

Gilgamesh one day gets the idea that he and Enkidu should go into the Cedar forest and kill its guardian, the monster Humbaba. Now, wood was a very sacred and rare material in ancient Mesopotamia, cedar wood in particular. Hence why the gods had such a powerful monster keeping it safe. Gilgamesh goes to Enkidu with his grand idea to hunt down and kill Humbaba, but he needs Enkidu's help to find him. Enkidu is very hesitant at first and tells Gilgamesh the equivalent of, "Dude that's a terrible idea. Humbaba is extremely powerful. Absolutely Not." Gilgamesh urges Enkidu to reconsider, because together they can survive anything! It'll be easy with the two of us and it'll be so much fun!

Enkidu is eventually persuaded and agrees, and together they track down and kill Humbaba, as well as his seven sons. They worship/thank the gods by sacrificing Humbaba-meat to a fire (as ya do), and they cut down a RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF CEDAR while they're at it, then sail home down the Euphrates on a newly carved boat and a bunch of extra wood. Needless to say, The Gods Were Not Pleased.

But since this was King Gilgamesh and Enkidu, they chose to simply take note of this transgression and not do anything to punish them so long as they didn't do something equally grievous in the future.

Fast forward a bit and Ishtar is upset that Gilgamesh doesn't want to sleep with her. Gilgamesh heavily insults her, naming off dozens of her past lovers and how she treated them, driving her to tears. She goes up to the heavens and pitches a fit to her father, Anu, about the rejection. She threatens to raise zombies all over Mesopotamia unless he gives her the Bull of Heaven (Gugalana) to lay siege to Uruk in vengeance against Gilgamesh. Sending out this divine beast is a HUGE deal, not a decision to make lightly. However, Anu doesn't want zombies. He gives her the Bull.

Ishtar immediately sends it down to Uruk where it promptly kills a BUNCH of people and causes a heap of environmental disasters. Enkidu fights it off alone for a while, but it isn't until Gilgamesh joins the fight that they are able to take it down. Gilgamesh makes the final blow, killing him, and with Gugalana defeated the kingdom celebrates victory. They worship/thank the gods by sacrificing Gugalana-meat to a fire, and Ishtar shows up again. She is very upset that Gugalana was slain. How DARE you two kill the Bull of Heaven? She says. Do you have any idea how important that was? She says. Enkidu responds by insulting her and throws a chunk of the meat from Gugalana's hind at her head. She is humiliated and goes back up to the heavens. I think this is where people get the idea that Enkidu was a troublemaker, and that this was why he was chosen over Gilgamesh to die. However. It is not. Once again, The Gods Were Not Pleased. Gilgamesh and Enkidu are out of control. They call a meeting.

Gilgamesh and Enkidu, as a pair, had:

Slain two divine beasts (which they knew the importance of)

Cut down a sacred forest (which they knew the importance of)

Heavily insulted the same goddess to her face. The patron deity of the kingdom, no less!

Three major transgressions! But the most concerning ones were the deaths of Humbaba and Gugalana, and were the primary discussion at the god-meeting. The others are bonuses.

The gods decide the fitting punishment is death. However, killing both Gilgamesh and Enkidu is too severe and must choose one.

Now there's no literal written reason for Enkidu being chosen. But looking back on the Epic as a whole, we can infer the reason he was...is Gilgamesh.

Enkidu was created by the gods to rein Gilgamesh in, to control him. Gilgamesh on his own was unruly, unchecked, overpowering and selfish. By giving him Enkidu, he had someone he could be unruly with, who would check him, who could match his power and balance his needs. Enkidu was literally made to be his perfect match, and thus he became the most important thing in the whole world to Gilgamesh. Some might say that Gilgamesh's wanton disregard was rubbing off on Enkidu, or that Enkidu's unwavering loyalty and support was making Gilgamesh overconfident, and that he was killed because he was no longer fulfilling his purpose. However, I do not think that's the reason, either.

There's this neat thing in Mesopotamian literature and poetry where the theme of the work appears again and again. Prose is often repeated, whole stanzas are recycled over and over, words and the way grammar is used, and lines are reused in patterns. Very often, a work begins and ends the same way. The Epic of Gilgamesh is a shining example of this and does it constantly. So,

Just like in the beginning of the Epic, in order for the gods to rein Gilgamesh in, they use Enkidu.

--

TLDR; Enkidu was not killed because he was a trouble maker. By killing both Humbaba and Gugalana, both he and Gilgamesh were in trouble but only one of them needed to die as punishment. Enkidu was chosen because he was created to control Gilgamesh--both through his life and through his death.

[beachlifelez]

Princess Desiree retreated to this well-hidden chamber in the castle before dawn. She learned about the chamber, and the ritual which was about to happen, from one of her nannies some years ago.

She lit the proper number of votive candles, murmuring her incantations as she did. As sunrise approached, she stood amid the candles and draped her entire body in a soft, sheer shroud. It was time. She summoned the goddess she had come to know as Euphora.

“Take me, oh mighty Euphora; take me to that hallowed place, where my body belongs to you, to use for your purposes.”

A swirl of wind began encircling Desiree. As it picked up speed, Desiree’s body was lifted off the ground. Her back involuntarily arched, thrusting her loins out in front of her.

Then, almost imperceptibly at first, the sensations began. Like tiny pin pricks all over her body, stimulating in their provocative way. Desiree’s body writhed in stimulation. She knew what was coming next.

Pin pricks turned into the feeling of a thousand tongues, on every part of her torso, arms and legs, and more intimate places. Her nipples grew rock hard. Her legs parted, as if a dozen lovers were competing to have her sex on their tongues.

And the mystical tongues went deep, very deep. Inside her womanhood and her nether hole. Was it minutes or hours she was captured on that near orgasmic state, body writhing, wanting to release but being held just so?

When she knew she could take no more she cried out Euphora’s name three times in a throaty, gutteral tone. And it began.

Her body tensed. And then relaxed. Tensed, then relaxed. One more time. Then, the convulsions began. The thousand tongues fed on her sexual need. She fed on them. And BANG!

Her whole existence focused on the tongues attending to her royal pearl. They never let up as her climax ripped through her body. In fact, they sped up if that was possible. Her moaning was loud, turning into shouts of unintelligible words. She writhed in joy and Euphoric Lust.

She could not count how many times she came in succession. It was always thus when she worshipped Euphora. The candles all went out simultaneously. Her body and her mind was spent and the spell dissolved. Desiree slumped to the floor. She fell asleep with a finger between her legs, lightly massaging the button that had brought her so much pleasure.

When she awoke, the shroud still covered her. She sat up, body aching from its earlier session. But it was such a good ache. She slowly stood up, removed and folded the shroud, and dressed.

As she returned to the main castle, she thought of the hot bath that awaited her. Time to luxuriate and attempt to relive this morning's ritual in her mind, fingers abuzz in all her warm crevices. And wonder how long it would be before she felt Euphora's call, in her mind, and elsewhere.

[bohemian-nights]

https://www.tumblr.com/drakaripykiros130ac/732901209272467456/i-am-just-loving-the-so-called-concern-tg-stans

This is how I find out an anti-nettles tag exists of Tumblr people are so shallow minded and miss the point George's original story people really think just because these dumbass show runner decided the race-bend an entire group of characters for cheap brownie points of representation that it means Nettles no longer matters like no, it may no longer be about race just because the writers are trying to force feminism onto Rhaenyra's character but it's still about class. A low born orphan at just the age of 17 was capable of doing what dozens of well trained knights failed to do. She survived one of the biggest civil wars in Westeros history, she had one of the last surviving dragons of the dance (who cares who's the biggest, oldest, most shiny etc etc it was Nettles and her dragon that outlived them all in the end) AND she was capable if creating an entire culture around herself (the tribes could've easily over powdered her but instead chose to worship and respect her) mind you all she had was a dragon, she had no titles just her name. Also, she's a few of the very few characters in the books that show care and remorse, she mourned Jace someone she barely knew and cried for Driftmark despite having lived a life previously where she was mistreated and starving on the streets. I swear these Dumbnyra stans deserve their names (Dumbnyra), and just because some of us are pro-Nettles, it doesn't automatically make use of team Green, Team Green can kick rocks as well because they are such hypocrites, whining and complaining about how their fav characters were stripped of importance and reduced to a singular thing yet they turn around and strip Nettles's character as a gotcha moment towards to Dumbnyra stans, as if her relationship with Daemon is the only thing important to her character. These stans also need to realize the Nettles is one of George's favorite characters whose stories he'd like to continue.

👆🏽That’s for the fact that this racist(who I should mention I’m blocked by for no reason🤣) actually knows how to tag things properly. I’ll give her that, but who exactly died and made her an authority on Black representation?

Dumbnyra stans this is exactly why people keep calling you people racists:

Do tell me how white a** Alys Rivers(no disrespect, but come on) had more purpose than a girl who shows that Targaryen supremacy is a lie? The girl that shows you don’t need Valyrian blood to claim a dragon.

The girl that George himself said he wanted to write a novella on(never heard him say that about Alys, Addam, Alyn, any of the other dragonseeds, Rhaena, and Baela)🤷🏽‍♀️

They are so blinded by the fact that she “ruins” Dumbnyra(which isn’t what they claim it is which is why they are scared sh*tless of her being on a show they claim doesn’t matter) that they make up lies about Nettles being the most irrelevant character in Fire & Blood.

This can never be irrelevant/unimportant/unnecessary/whatever else you want to say to demean her:

That happened long after the Dance boo boo(when Missy Anne’s a** was long dead 😊).

And if the one who wrote that garbage happens to be reading this(because I know you people are stalking me), f*ck you. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. You've crossed the line.

You’re a bigot. You have no right to speak on Black representation let alone say we are good on representation that doesn’t even affect you and that you have no understanding of.

And you definitely don’t care about representation because if you did you wouldn’t want Rhaena who has her own arc to replace Nettles who according to you wasn’t Daemon’s lover. If she’s just his daughter or his mentee, well then you have nothing to be worried about. Her presence on the show shouldn’t disrupt your putrid little white supremacist ship or make Missy Anne look bad since what happened at Maidenpool was all a big misunderstanding and Mysaria’s fault😊 You shouldn’t give a second thought to her.

Yes, Black people care about this issue(and even if some of us are a part of Team Green because that’s the majority I see from Team Green actually caring about her, then so what🙃).

Do you see how we are portrayed by the media? Do you see what happens to Black characters in TV shows and movies? To Black women characters? Do you see how they are treated by production and the fandom?

What you people are doing isn’t new. Just look at The Bear, Sleepy Hollow, Vampire Diaries, Star Trek, Star Wars, GOT(see how Missandei was done), and Marvel fandoms(there are more than that I’m just too tired to get into it).

The moment there is even a hint of a possibility that a Black woman might be in a relationship with the fandom hottie, hell the moment a Black woman doesn’t have a stereotypical role, all hell breaks loose and you people look for every excuse and spout out the same tired crap on why so and so is irrelevant, is a terrible character, doesn’t need a man, needs to be cut, should be killed off, should be replaced, etc.

So just because you don’t care doesn’t mean we should accept scraps, or our “irrelevant” characters being cut, or swapped out with race-bent characters. Black people aren’t all the same sweetie and we deserve more than what you feel we do.

If that’s too much for your diminutive brain to handle why don’t we just combine Ulf and Hugh? It’s not too late to cut out one of the two’s roles in post-production. After all, they serve the same role and they are both white.

You know what? How about we combine Black Aly and Jeyne Arryn while we are at it😀

Should we view Helaena and Rhaenyra as the same? I have a hard time telling them apart since they are both white and blonde. They should wear name tags that way we don’t get them confused 🙃

Let me stop there.

Sorry for ranting anon, but I’m so tired of the disrespect. Like how does one character who’s supposedly so unimportant cause so much uproar?

I go in on Dumbnyra stans a lot(and that person shows exactly why), but you are right that all sides of this fandom treat Nettles like she’s trash. If it’s not saying she’s a plot device sent to ruin Dumbnyra from Team Black and that anyone Black can replace her it’s how Team Green is so worried about her being abused and how maybe it’s for the best she gets cut.

Their behavior is utterly disgusting. It's anti-Black, but no one takes anti-Blackness and especially not misogynoir seriously.

Nettles may be a secondary character, but she’s the most important secondary character during the Dance. She starts out literally homeless. She claims Sheepstealer by determination, not by blood. She’s the only one to claim a wild dragon. The only non-Valyrian dragonrider that we know of.

She gets the Rogue Prince to fall in love with her to the point where he’s willing to die for her and disobeys his wife’s orders to save her. She survives the Dance with a dragon intake. Becomes a fire witch and is worshipped by a mountain clan in the Mountains of the Moon(she’s still worshipped by them during the main series). Her legacy is cemented.

I love her relationship with Daemon, but she’s so much more than just Daemon’s love. She’s a survivor. She’s the final girl. She would be seen as special as she is if she was white.

A character like her will never not be needed especially in a world where the representation of Black women in media, particularly fantasy stories, is still pretty bleak.

[lc-417]

Been rewatching one of my favourite shows from my childhood, Godzilla the Series. And as much as I love it just as it is, lately I find myself wishing that it had been created in the 2020s instead of the late 90s. Mostly because I've come to the conclusion that of all of the possible pairings in the show, the best ship is one that was never permitted: Elsie Chapman and Monique Dupre.

The more I think about it, the more I believe they would be perfect for each other. They're both brave, strong-willed women who need someone that can meet them at their level, both intellectually and physically. In the show, their proposed love-interests, Craven and Randy, seem more like lesser men pursuing women that are clearly out of their league, and only got with them by wearing them down with dogged persistence. Randy and Craven worship them as goddesses, but what they really need in a partner is someone who sees their flaws and challenges them to be at their best, which they already do as colleagues and could do even more as lovers.

I know some would say that they are clearly more rivals than anything, but I see evidence to the contrary. Elsie's sarcastic jabs and the way she always refers to Monique as "French Fry" strike me as more affectionate teasing, the kind people use when they're trying to hide the fact that they like someone. And Elsie is the only person (as far as I can tell) that Monique has never threatened to hurt, or actually hurt, despite Elsie's provocation. In fact, Elsie seems to be one of the few people Monique permits or initiates physical contact with where punching isn't involved.

And looking past the shields of sarcasm they put up, you'll see a pair that genuinely cares and looks out for each other. For instance, when Elsie was under alien mind-control, it was Monique that set her free.

And when Monique was nearly killed by a mutant armillaria, it was Elsie who tended to her (and you can't tell me there wasn't any tenderness in the gesture of gently sweeping Monique's hair out of her face).

I can think of a dozen other examples, but I'll leave it for interested parties to watch the show and judge for themselves.

Maybe it's just my wishful thinking, seeing love where only friendship exists. But ever since I got this idea in my head, I can't let it go. I want to see them as a couple so badly. Unfortunately, it will never be, since this show came out in a time where anyone who suggested having a same-sex pairing in a cartoon seen by children would have been burned as a witch.

Ah well, I guess that's what fanfiction is for.

[chiefatticcreator]

(Prompt) It might be Chouji's birthday, but Karui is the one that is getting the best present. Because when she goes to Naruto's place to celebrate their anniversary, he has all his clones ready to give her the gangbang that she has wanted. And when it happens, it is the best thing ever. Forget her marriage, this is her real "wedding".

Despite the slight tinge of guilt gnawing at her, Karui had not looked back even once after she left home in the morning. A quick "happy birthday" to Chouji, a small kiss and present, and she was gone, leaving her husband alone.

At least she had made sure Chouji would have a good birthday and would enjoy himself, which left Karui eager and ready to celebrate THE anniversary that mattered more to her.

When she entered the Uzumaki household, she smiled at the love of her life, reaching out to embrace Naruto. Her lips tenderly kissing his as she pressed her body against his.

"Happy anniversary, my love." she smiled at him tenderly. "We have all day, just the two of us~"

"Happy anniversary, Karui." Naruto smiled. And Karui's eyes widened in surprise when she heard his voice coming from the other side of the room. "Turn around."

And she did, letting go of Naruto to look around her and at the room. From the kitchen, from the other side of the living room, from upstairs, half a dozen ?aruto were soon circling her, dizzying her.

"I.. I..."

All these handsome studs surrounding her, all these.. all her love, she felt herself growign wet and light-headed just looking at them all like that.

"we'll give you what yo'uve always wanted." the Naruto she was just kissing smiles, taking her hand.

"You.. really?!" she has stars in her eyes, she can't believe her ears, and she smiles happily when she looks upat him.

"Really." he nods.

The rest is a blur. she's in his bedroom, getting undressed by her lover, then their clothes disappear as well, and she can only look in pure wonder, worship, lust and love, hearts in her eyes, as half a dozen of the hyper cock that has filled her body and soul are exposed to her.

She sucks on one, jerking off other, while her ass and pussy take one each, and she tries to jerk the others. But it's too much for her, her mind becoming a crazy, lustful haze as she services them all, these amazing, godly cocks fuckign her holes all at once, pulling her apart, breaking her spirit, her very soul, fucking her again and again, on every surface of the bedroom, in all the positiosn she coudl think of. Again and again, bulging her until her body looks like an overstretched, brown condom, and she's cummign her brains out at this.

This is the true love of her live, this is what she lives for.

[the-liliger]

There are several questions we are all used to in life. What superpower would you want? What do you want to be when you grow up? What's your biggest regret? I haven’t lived too long, so I haven’t had many chances to do something so horrible nothing can be compared to how much I regret it. Until recently.

I'm an avid book-reader, enthusiast, collector, and lover. I've read many books, though not nearly enough, and have yet to read a book I did not enjoy. As all books are incredible in their own way, picking a favorite obviously is a challenging process, thus I have a three-way tie for favorite, and am unable to rank books any further than that. My three favorite books include: The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by David Wroblewski, Billy Summers by Stephen King, and Everything Everything by Nicola Yoon. The novel Everything Everything was the first of these favorites to gain the unobtainable title of favorite. It's a beautiful and inspiring story, that I've reread one a year for five years. I'd also like to state that I have no problem with lending my books to others and giving book recommendations. I quite enjoy sharing incredible literature with others. But recently, I made the mistake of entrusting my beloved, well-cared for copy of Everything Everything with a stranger. With someone with not a care in the world for books and literature. Someone who I shall never trust again, and will hold a grudge against forever. She, whom I will not name, dog-eared, dozens of the delicate, worshiped pages in my copy of Everything Everything. I will regret to my grave, ever even giving thought to letting her lay eyes on my adored novel.

Although it does not contain the many memories attached to my original copy, my generous elder sister bought me a new, hardcover copy, which shall never be soiled by hands other than my own.

[mumms-the-word]

I did a rabbit hole deep dive into this a few days ago and I have Thoughts. You can read the full thing here but the TLDR is that either:

a) Larian ignored timelines in favor of setting up an icky grooming story to make us dislike (or at least feel conflicted about) Mystra, OR

b) Gale really did spend at least half of his life worshipping what was, to him, a dead goddess, and when he finally sees her soon after her restoration, OF COURSE he was going to say yes to being her student, her Chosen, her lover, and whatever else she wanted him to be

Can you imagine if the Athenians saw Athena get destroyed, spent 100 years stubbornly maintaining her shrines and temples despite her silence, only for Athena to suddenly pop up to a few select people with Special Messages, picking favorites among her people? If you were one of the favorites, one of the people who had been diligently cleaning her shrines and temples, and suddenly found yourself faced with the goddess herself, you'd probably say yes to whatever she said too.

It does debunk the "Gale groomed as a child" theory a little bit, but if you go with theory 1, where Larian just makes stuff up for funsies, then I guess it doesn't matter. Gale's dialogue already complicates things.

My deep dive goes into explaining the timeline for Mystra dying, the Spellplague, the Weave getting all wonky, Elminster searching for chosen, etc etc, but I'll just leave with this bit from that post. If we merge Forgotten Realms timelines with BG3 timelines and believe the Mystra really only came back after a century-long death 12 years ago (and got her body back like 5-7 years ago), then, well, it shifts Gale's narrative a little...

Instead of a child chasing after a goddess who is stringing him along, it becomes Gale, the child prodigy, desperately trying to understand magic in a world where the goddess of magic is silent, possibly dead, and the Weave is trying to repair itself after a devastating Spellplague a few decades earlier. It becomes Gale in his teens, not understanding why the others think he's so odd for burying himself in his studies to impress a goddess who might not even care, if she's even alive. It becomes a young adult Gale overwhelmed with awe at the first rumors that Mystra might finally, finally be back, and hearing her voice for the very first time. It becomes Gale, in his late twenties, finally staring into the face of his goddess, someone he's had blind faith in before he even knew for certain she was capable of hearing his prayers. It becomes mid-thirties Gale, who has grown up with a patchwork Weave and a missing goddess, plotting to restore even more power to her by finding an elusive bit of errant Weave and making the biggest mistake of his life. It becomes a story of Gale who probably looked forward to the return of Mystra with so much awe and longing, only to be used and cast aside by her within a dozen years of her return to godhood.

No wonder he felt that godhood was not only well within his grasp, but that he could be a more deserving kind of god.

untapped aspect of the Gale + Mystra shit storm: Mystra was thought to be dead for almost a hundred years until twelve years ago and wasn't fully returned to power until 7 years ago. (she wasn't actually dead she was trapped in the body of a bear)

give that most people estimate Gale to be late 30s/early 40s thats the majority of his life. also a big part of the novel where this happens is she asks Elminster to find new Chosen for her. idk what exactly this means but I'm just rotating the idea of Gale being contacted by the goddess he's worshipped his whole life that he thought was dead & being asked to help restore her to power

[anyoneseenadam]

Hi I was wondering if you could do a Azriel x reader where they are cuddling and talking after a long day of work?

pairing: azriel x reader (acotar)

warnings: mental health/anxiety being mean, insecurity, asides from that it’s pure fluff and nice and lovey dovey

a/n: I love writing fluff omg, I went in a slightly different route that I intended with this one but I hope you like it :))))

------------------------------------------------------------------

You pushed the heavy wooden door of your home open, dragging your legs in as you fought to keep your eyes open. You pushed the door closed with your back, leaning your head against it, and closing your eyes for a second, before sliding down, still leaning against the door, and wrestling to remove you shoes with a huff.

You heard a cough ahead of you and looked up to see Azriel fondly watching you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He was still in his leathers, so you presumed he had just beat you home, his tired eyes sparkling with humour as he watched you struggle with your boots. You didn’t say anything as you stood and padded over to him on heavy feet, wrapping your arms around his middle and squeezing your eyes shut.

You didn’t want to think of the long week you had dealt with, you just wanted to bury yourself under a mountain of pillows and blankets and maybe wrap your limbs around Azriel like a koala bear. He wrapped his arms around you, scarred hands rubbing up and down your back as the two of you stood together in silence, simply breathing in the other and allowing your souls to be reacquainted.

When you first met Azriel he had wandered into your shop on a whim, wanting to get Feyre some flowers to congratulate her on the pregnancy and he remembered Elain had mentioned this shop being one of her favourites. He had expected to be in and out, not in the mood for a long conversation, or any conversation for that matter. But as soon as he saw your pretty face, your flowy, dress that stopped just above your dirt covered knees, all his plans were thrown out the window.

“Can I help you?” you had asked, sweet-lipped, your voice sounding the way cherries tasted, sweet but with a deeper richness. A smooth tone that he could listen to for hours.

He ended up buying as many flowers as he could without seeming insane, not wanting you to ever stop speaking, wanting you to explain the meaning behind every flower in your store if it meant he got to stay with you.

You had noticed him as well of course. Who wouldn’t, he was beautiful and carried himself with so much grace and poise that you were sure he was a fallen angel. You had lengthened your descriptions of the flowers, face heating when you realised you were rambling and fighting a grin when he asked you to continue.

You had invited him to sit with you as you were brewing tea and he had accepted, sipping tentatively at the tea you told him you grew yourself, the greenhouse in your garden perfect for the needed flowers. The two of you had spoken for hours before he left, ignoring the confused looks from his friends when he came home with six separate bouquets of flowers. Instead deciding to picture your pretty face as he lay in bed that night, finally getting rest for the first time in weeks.

Now, you were wrapped up in his arms, still not speaking. He didn’t worry too much, he knew that sometimes you weren’t ready to speak, that some days you just needed some quiet to process your day and come back to yourself. When you had first explained the way you would drift from your own mind, feeling as if you were floating above your own body Azriel had almost cried, the realisation that maybe he wasn’t the only one in the world, that maybe there was someone for him after all.

He lifted you into his arms and carried you to the kitchen, carefully avoiding the plants littered around the house, before shifting you onto one hip like a baby, knowing you wouldn’t be letting go any time soon. He set about brewing your favourite tea, smiling as he picked up the pot that you had shared the fifth time he came to visit you.

The store had been closed but you had invited him, so he pushed in, cringing at himself when he realised how early he was but all his thoughts came to a halt when he heard that sweet voice of yours coming from your apartment above your shop.

“My lovers got humour, she's the giggle at a funeral, knows everybody's disapproval, I should've worshiped her sooner. If the Heavens ever did speak, she's the last true mouthpiece, every Sunday's getting more bleak a fresh poison each week- AH!” you screamed when you saw him standing in the doorway, pressing a hand to your heart as it slowed back to its regular beat. “Fuck you, oh my.”

He genuinely laughed then, not expecting to hear you swear. The girl who had green stained fingers and who fed stray cats, the girl who always decorated for every holiday and who apologised when she bumped into inanimate objects. Your face was hot to the touch and you wouldn’t look him in the eyes, so he had stopped laughing, moving to up your face, forcing you to look in his eyes.

“You have the prettiest voice I’ve ever heard.” He said sincerely but you scoffed,

“No I really don’t,” you laughed but he saw the insecurities then, “I know it’s whiny.” He frowned; your voice having been one of your most attractive traits in his eyes. He had started to see beneath your cracks then, but now with you wrapped around him he remembered how deep they went.

“Do you want to talk about it baby?” he asked carefully, not wanting to startle you, knowing how deep you could get in your head, tiny noises startling you when you were zoned out.

“Bad brain.” Was all you muttered, and he frowned but just kissed your forehead and continued making your tea. When he was done he carried both you and the tea through to your bedroom, setting the tea down before twisting you again and carrying you to the bathroom. He sat you on the side of the bath and wet a cloth, cleaning the makeup from your face, and moisturising your skin before picking you back up and taking you back to your room. You slowly changed into one of his shirts and some loose boxers before crawling under the duvet and reaching your hands out to Azriel who had changed into his pyjama bottoms.

He crawled in next to you, pulling you into his chest, his wings wrapping around the two of you and then his shadows settling over both of you, protecting you from the outside world.

“How was your week?” he asked, one hand coming up to play with your hair knowing how much it relaxed you and feeling his heart warm when he felt you smile against his neck.

“Bit shit,”

“How so?”

“Just rude customers, and this one guy wanted like two dozen flowers which I made up but then he couldn’t pay and trashed the bouquets I had made him. Plus all the noise made my anxiety play up,” you muttered, and he frowned, not liking how put out you sounded.

“Want me to kill him?” he asked, only half-joking.

“I think that’s a bit extreme,” you laughed into his shoulder.

“Lightly maim then?”

“Maybe just a scare, make him think his house is haunted or something,”

“That I can do.” He smiled, kissing you, happy to have you partially back to him.

“What about you, how was your week, I feel like I haven’t seen you at all.”

“I know, sorry. I’ve been doing some stuff for Rhys.”

“I’m presuming I’m not allowed to hear about it,” you said, well aware of how secretive his job was.

“It’s not a mission per say, I’m just babysitting.”

“Is it fun at least?” you asked, grinning at him cheekily and he scrunched up his face, thinking back over his week of baby sitting two horny Fae’s while he dreamt of being in your little apartment.

“Not the word I would use, they’re too horny for their own good.”

“The babies?!”

“No! NO! They’re not actually children!” he backtracked as you collapsed into a fit of giggles, Azriel joining you soon after. “You know I think they suspect something,” he said once you finally calmed down, “I think they’ve worked out I’m sneaking off.”

“Hmm, guess we have to kill them then.” You mused and Azriel grinned,

“Only reasonable course of action.”

“I mean we’d be fools not to,”

“Clearly.” He laughed, before tightening his grip, “seriously though, do you want to meet them?”

“I mean, yeah. I think it’d be nice,” he noticed your mood had shifted again and nudged you, imploring you to continue, “It’s just you’re all so accomplished and amazing, powerful people and I’m just… me.”

He tried to ignore the pain that stabbed into his heart at your self-deprecating words, having thought them about himself enough times to know how they felt. “Don’t say that, you’re an incredible person. And even if you weren’t the kindest, sweetest person I had ever met, you’re still the girl I love and honestly I think Cassian is one ex-girlfriend away from selling me to the highest bidder.”

You laughed and nuzzled in farther, “Kindest person you’ve ever met?”

“Well asides from the occasional death threats,”

“ah yes, ignoring that. Of course.” He laughed and kissed your forehead, eyes closing as he heard your voice get softer and your breath slower.

“I love you.” He whispered into your hair as you felt your eyelids droop, the weight of the week lifted off of your shoulders as you buried yourself in Azriel’s arms, peaceful in his embrace.

“I love you.”

[bright-eyes-strawberry-lies]

Rating PJO Ships

I already made the PJO shipping jar meme (not linking because tumblr hates links) but thought I’d write it out anyway. 

***

Solangelo - (5/10) Will is Nico’s unnecessary rebound because Rick couldn’t let someone walk around with a crush on Percy without pairing them off with someone or making them live a life of chastity. The fandom went wild with this ship despite all of their “development” being off the page. Would be better if the building attraction and relationship was given actual page time to develop instead of being rushed. 

Frazel - (10/10) My only complaint is that we didn’t get more of them being the awesome couple they are. The way they went from friends to lovers is perfect. Looks cute but can kick your ass. Very supportive of each other. I am here for biracial power couples. 

Lukercy - (10/10) There are literally dozens of parallels between them and Rick wrote them as soulmates. I love that Luke trained Percy so hard that Percy’s never lost a sword fight except to Luke himself and still hears Luke’s voice in his head guiding him through fights. The subtle ways that Luke constantly gave Percy (and Co) chances to escape from Kronos’ grasp even when he still believed in Kronos was golden. Luke was the only person who was kind to Percy at Camp Half-Blood and trusted Percy to help other demigods when he died? My heart. How Percy now shares all of Luke’s views on the Olympians? Bittersweet irony. I wish that Luke hadn’t died because I’m tired of writing resurrection AUs. 

Percico - (10/10) The most powerful power couple. Nico’s youthful hero worship giving way to love? Sign me up. Percy spending winter looking for Nico to keep him safe and trying to reassure him that he has a place at Camp Half-Blood? Give me more. Making mistakes and forgiving each other for them and their relationship strengthening because of it? Gods, yes. Going to Italy to go gift shopping and flirting? Thank you for this blessing, Rick. If only they had been endgame. 

Thaliabeth - (7/10) Thalia is the only person that Annabeth respects and Thalia has extremely protective feelings toward Annabeth. They would be the nightmare power couple. Murder wives who slay anyone who stands in their way of power and glory. Neither of them would take shit from the other. And honestly, I’m here for it. 

Perachel - (10/10) Mutual respect and open communication are extremely sexy in relationships. Rachel being Percy’s mortal tie and his chance at a normal life; Percy being the one to help Rachel with her powers and clear sight? Please yes. They were really cute and sweet and had so much chemistry. It would have been great if Rick acknowledged that the Oracle isn’t a lifelong job and that Rachel can still date and have sex as long as it isn’t vaginal penetration. 

Percabeth - (0/10) Annabeth hits, pinches, pokes, kicks, ribs, and punches Percy too often for my tastes. She’s got a superiority complex and makes herself feel better by calling him stupid, crazy, and insane. Constantly threatens violence. Annabeth is possessive, jealous, refuses to communicate, and doesn’t respect Percy or allow him to have autonomy. She constantly wants to control what he says and does or doesn’t say/do. She victim blames him multiple times for incidents that were beyond Percy’s control. Percy is scared of her, refuses to argue so that he doesn’t set her off, and thinks Annabeth is going to hurt him every time she so much as looks at him. Percy deserves better. 

Jiper - (5/10) It would have been cool to see them work past the lies and false memories to make a real romantic relationship but I don’t really have a horse in that race. They’re alright. Not bad, not the best. 

Pipeo - (7/10) If the theory that all of Piper’s memories of Jason were actually memories of Leo is true, then I’m here for this. The fact that they were friends before they even knew they were demigods was fantastic. Give me that friends to lovers dynamic and the chaotic trouble they would get into together. They would be unstoppable. 

Caleo - (5/10) Pairing Calypso up with a man boy instead of a man man was a strange choice but Rick likes pairing up teenagers with beings that are over a thousand years old. It’s terribly romantic that Leo kept his promise and came back for Calypso. I like that they decided to leave the demigod life behind to do their own thing. They’ve had enough of the gods! Let them figure themselves out and enjoy each other and life. 

Connabeth - (4/10) The idea is cute if you don’t think about it at all. I think Connor would stand up to Annabeth but she’s been known to wear down three thousand year old centaurs [Chiron] so that he’ll do what she wants...so I’m not sure that Connor actually stands a chance of holding his own against Annabeth. 

Lukethan - (4/10) It would be really cute but they’ve never even spoken to each other in canon. Ethan spoke with Kronos. 

Thaluke - (2/10) Thalia doesn’t like Luke. She withheld a lot of [trivial] information from Luke just because she could and didn’t tell him important info either. She almost definitely knew that Luke would do whatever she wanted him to because she’s got a Look that makes him melt. Thalia is incredibly eager to kill Luke and eventually does. Luke is too dependent and blinded by how much he wanted someone to love him. They’ve got an unhealthy dynamic and I don’t see either of them changing to become better people together. 

Valdangelo - (6/10) They’re both small and cute. That’s all I’ve got. There’s no reason not to ship them. Oh, and Leo warming up a cold Nico with his fire powers is so sweet that I’ve got cavities just thinking about it. 

Jasico - (9/10) Rick was really writing them with romantic troupes during Mark of Athena and House of Hades. When they were paired off with other people, I was actually really surprised. The way that Jason supports Nico’s queerness and the way that Nico can teach Jason that he doesn’t have to live up to stereotypes and other people's expectations...that would have been really good to read. The way that Jason’s death affected Nico really tugged at my heartstrings. I like to think that Nico visits Jason in the Underworld. 

Thalianca - (6/10) The potential of Thalia and Bianca could have been so good and also good for comedy. Imagine Thalia - who missed the past five years - trying to catch Bianca up on the 21st century and being behind on the times. Both of them getting caught up together? Yes. Training together, friendly games and competitions. Midnight rendezvous at Camp Half-Blood. Bianca slowly showing Thalia that not all Hunters of Artemis are bad. Girls supporting each other and growing as people because of their relationship. This is what we could have had. 

[thatlongspringnight]

The Song of Solomon (Taehyung/Reader)

⏤ Pairing: Priest!Taehyung/Reader

⏤ Genre: smut, porn w/ plot, romance, forbidden love

⏤ Word Count: 2972

⏤ Warnings: Smut, sacrilege, cunnilingus, sex in a church, sex with a PRIEST, religion, Catholicism, tons of bible references, forbidden romance, oral, fingering, public nudity, sex in a public place 

__ Rating: 18+

Summary: Kim Taehyung left your town right after high school a boyish rake, and returned a pious man. Now you’re together, and the whispered words between you both are only heard by the silent, empty church. 

A very special thanks to Willow who edited this and helped make it beautiful <3 

Tagging: @wwilloww​ @hesperantha​ @jin-fizz​

You shouldn’t be here.  

Here, in the darkened church, the only lights are the flickering of half a dozen candles, here at the front, by the altar, by the crucifix and statues that have always stood here. Here where nothing has changed, since the beginning of time. You feel small, even in the bobbing lights you can see the stained glass, holy mother gazing down at you, clutching her son. Is she passing judgement? You aren’t sure, her expression is the same serenity as always. 

Although at this moment you are anything but serene. 

“I compare you, my love, to a mare among Pharaoh’s chariots.” His smooth voice, so deep - too deep, like the Nile river itself. “Your cheeks are comely with ornaments, your neck with strings of jewels. We will make you ornaments of gold, studded with silver.” He’s standing in front of you, fingertips brushing your cheeks, gentle but firm as he cups your chin, gaze hot on your own. The verse speaks of love, and it's love in your heart. Forbidden and wildly untamed in your chest. 

No, you shouldn’t be here at all. You should be at home, kneeling at your bed and saying your prayers there. You shouldn’t have accepted his invitation to compline. You definitely shouldn’t have agreed so eagerly when he suggested you read from the Song of Solomon. 

You shouldn’t have. You try to convince yourself, like you aren’t kneeling before him, hands clasped, eyes gazing upward at the giant crucifix. Like you aren’t an active participant in whatever is to come. You try and focus. Eyes trailing up - up -

Up - to Taehyung’s face, the only passion play you could bare to watch. 

“W-While the king was on his couch, my nard gave forth its fragrance.” Your own voice stumbles, at first, tripped up by the echoing drum of your racing heart. “My beloved is to me a bag of myrrh that lies between my breasts - “ A catch of breath - it's yours, it's yours because of those hands, his - warm and rough - cupping your breasts as you read. He’s eye level now, and you swear there is nothing more beautiful than the feeling of his hands on you. Your beloved. Still, you forge forward through the verses. “My beloved is to me a cluster of henna blossoms in the vineyards of En-gedi.” 

“Ah, you are beautiful, my love;” He briefly strokes his thumb across your cheek, and the feeling makes you shiver. His eyes are dark in the candlelight, and molten as you meet their gaze. “Ah, you are beautiful; your eyes are doves.” He recites the words, a poem he knows by heart, fingers trailing under your shirt. “Ah, you are beautiful, my beloved, truly lovely.” Taehyung is slow, nimble fingers taking his time with the buttons. He takes his time, as though he is cherishing the moment, like you are. A comfortable silence, until It's gone, fallen to the floor. Will you be bare here, too, then? A sinner bares their soul in confessional...and you would bare your body here, on the floor in this house of God.

“I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valley.” Your voice ceases to waver, strength hidden in your bones rising up. “As a lily among brambles, so is my love among maidens.” You sigh, and sigh again as his nose brushes your throat, as his hands trace your skin. 

It feels like he is worshipping you, that you are the sacred body here, the red candle flickering in the corner. “As an apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among young men. With great delight I sat in his shadow, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.”

“Taste me.” His words are sweet, poison laced sugar as fingertips press against your lips, part for him, Moses and the red sea, and you taste. Taste the salt of his skin and crave him, crave more. More of his gentle smile, eyes alight as he sees you. More of the firmness of his hands, often on your back as he guided you down the hallways of this ancient, holy place. More of his laugh, still boyish and beautiful after all this time. More of every single piece of him.

“He brought me to the banqueting house, and his intention toward me was love. Sustain me with raisins, refresh me with apples; for I am faint with love.” You...you feel faint before you even say the words. The longing, the love - it makes you tremble. How can you be absolved from this? Why don’t you want to? 

If this is sin - this beautiful, divine feeling - then what is the point of it all? He is David and you are a harp, ready to play his tune. “O that his left hand was under my head, and that his right hand embraced me!” Your voice echoes, his hand cupping your cheek, the other sliding down to wrap around your waist. 

He hasn’t even kissed you yet. This feeling is your own sin, eyes eager to devour the words on the page, to decipher his next move. Overcome, it’s lust licking the sweet tendrils of flame in your belly. Hellfire? 

“Your lips distill nectar, my bride; honey and milk are under your tongue.” He tilts your head back, mouth so utterly close to yours. But he doesn’t move any closer, even as you feel the warmth of his breath on your face, the press of his body against yours. 

Is he...is he toying with you? And yet, the thought doesn’t match the desperation of his gaze. The way his hands tremble when they touch you. “The scent of your garments is like the scent of Lebanon. A garden locked is my sister, my bride, a garden locked, a fountain sealed.” The words are choked and you understand. 

You are locked to him, forbidden, closed. If you want him...you must be the one to open the gate. He won’t go forward without it, without knowing that it isn’t just him that wants this - this beautiful, terrifying thing. You want it, want him, want every drop of his love that he’ll offer you. 

“A garden.” You break the silence, the holy book in your hands clattering to the ground. “Solomon built the temple. He was a priest and a king, a man. Like you.” The implication is clear. Solomon was no celibate. And this time it’s you, gripping his face: “this is not a sin to absolve me of father.” It’s your lips on his. Desperate and wanting, you kiss him like a woman starved, and you are starved...starved for him, this culmination of all of your wants, here in front of you. 

He could tread in your garden as he liked. So long as you could taste the nectar of his lips - You would find the milk and honey of his body. Forbidden fruit - let his juices soak you to your core. 

“Not a sin?” Taehyung’s voice, deep in your ear, hoarse. “Fucking a priest in your church isn’t a sin?” His voice is deep, and there is an edge there, a hoarseness that would match your own. He sounds so - so wanting, it almost shocks you. Like his lips, soft and warm against your neck, fingers buried in your hair, tugging at the strands. 

“Not one for the priest to absolve me of.” You reach up, grasping at his collar. “How can I be forgiven if I am not sorry?” What has come over you? The words are bold, foreign on your lips - but you mean them, pulling him back to kiss him again.

He’s so warm, and his grip only tightens at your words. You - you want to succumb to those desires, to the sin in your heart that was for him and him alone.

“Guilt. Shame.” The man muses. “Shame, our punishment for trusting the snake. And yet - Solomon called his lover a garden, beautiful….decadent. Perhaps the garden of eden was like his lover - “

“The garden hid the original sin.” Sin, his hands leaving yours to grasp at his belt - the snap of it in the empty air. Sin, him pulling you forward, onto your feet, bruising lips, bruising fingertips on your thighs, as he drug you forward, pressing you against the altar, the sacredest of spaces. “Forbidden knowledge, is - is knowing you forbidden?” He’s the one on the ground now, on his knees in front of you. “Is it - father?” 

“Taehyung.” He grabs at his clerical collar, the white tossed to the ground as he parts your legs. “I am touching you as a man, not as a priest.”

“Maybe you should touch me as a priest.” You can feel him tense. “Consecrate my body, drink of me until we are both holy.” 

“Sacrilege.” He speaks, pulling down your skirt. “And in the house of God no less.” 

“If you will fuck me on the altar, why shouldn’t you -“ 

“It’s the Song of Solomon.” He interrupts you, nimble fingers pulling at sheer fabric, the only barrier between you and him. “Or have you forgotten?” 

“You - you want to finish the recitation?” He nods, barely perceptible, the sound of his voice as he tugs your sheer underwear down your legs, slowly - so slowly, taking time like he had done with your shirt.

“Your channel is an orchard of pomegranates with all choicest fruits, henna with nard, nard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon,” Your underwear hangs around tense ankles now, gaze trained on him. “with all trees of frankincense, myrrh and aloes, with all chief spices– a garden fountain, a well of living water, and flowing streams from Lebanon.” He sounds amused, even as he touches you, your sacred space. “A channel, a fountain, ripe fruit for the picking, d’you know of the love Solomon is speaking?”

“Carnal…” that answer was easy. “Desire - carnal love.” 

“More than that, he speaks of this.” A finger, swirling against you, sliding into that part of you you were told not to touch...not that you followed that rule. 

Perhaps that was a sin you could confess to. “Of this act, pleasuring you, and who am I not to follow the words of that famous king...and worship at your font - your well, your garden, till your juices drip down my chin like pomegranate juice.

“Let my beloved come to his garden, and eat its choicest fruits…” You speak, remembering the line even without the bible in your hands. “Please Taehyung…” Your hands grip the altar table, bunching the embroidered cloth under your grip. 

He’s worshipping you, you’re sure of it, with tongue and teeth. It's messy, and he’s not shy, those lips that could stir a congregation with their sweetness, his golden tongue - now they were on you, fingers still in you to the hilt. 

It is not quiet, either. Your gasps barely muffled, the wet, lurid sounds he was drawing from your body echoing in the room. 

How often had you sat in those pews in front of you, how often had you knelt, gazing up at this very altar, bated breath as the transfiguration took place, over and over. 

Now you are transfigured - you will never be the same after tonight, even if you want to be. But there can be no regrets as he murmurs your name against your thighs. As he makes you tremble and gasp, tensing under his touch, falling apart like the walls of Jericho, turning to dust in the wake of his fervent, ardent desire. 

“How graceful are your feet in sandals, O queenly maiden! Your rounded thighs are like jewels, the work of a master hand.” Slick fingers grip at your thighs, ruddied cheeks meeting your gaze as you pass your tongue over your lips. His mouth - it's wet, and that makes you blush...though you aren’t sure why at this point.

This is adultery, you muse, and of the worst kind. Taehyung is a priest, he’s married to the Church, and yet...and yet it's not communion wine smeared across his lips...no...he’s ripe for kissing with your essence glossed against his skin.

“Your navel is a rounded bowl that never lacks mixed wine. Your belly is a heap of wheat, encircled with lilies.” He’s mouthing across the skin of your stomach, up and up, till he’s standing again, hands at your breasts, gentle kisses more heated the closer he gets to your mouth.

“T-Taehyung.” Your soft murmur of his name breaks his recitations, but only for a moment, his gaze altogether too hungry to be kept occupied for long. “Please - “ Please what? Please what to this beautiful man, who has already given you so much. 

Please more - please don’t stop - please love me.  

 “Your two breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle. Your neck is like an ivory tower.” Your neck falls victim to this trap all too easily, tilting to the side as his pretty lips press against it, as teeth mark your skin. It’s painful in a way that pleases you, your body still a shudder of pleasure and desire. “Your eyes are pools in Heshbon, by the gate of Bath-rabbim. Your nose is like a tower of Lebanon, overlooking Damascus….” Why is his gaze so sweet? The words barely process as his fingertips ghost over your face, as his lips brush your forehead. 

 “Your head crowns you like Carmel….How fair and pleasant you are, O loved one, delectable maiden, You are stately as a palm tree...and your kisses like the best wine that goes down smoothly, gliding over lips and teeth.” He’s skipping verses, you realize, and he’s asking you for something, something you give. Kisses, like wine, your mouth against his, soft and gentle, and then more. 

This time it is you, it is you touching him, hands unbuttoning his pants, ghosting over the heaviness there. 

“I am my beloved’s, and his desire is for me…” You hear his half gasp as you cup him, and you wonder how long it's been since he’s touched a woman. Are you the first one since he left for seminary? Since he returned back to your little town, a man fully grown, to find that he wasn’t the only one who had changed. 

“I-It is.” The man’s words, they’re darling, even as he’s grasping your hands, pulling them away from him, from his cock - out and hard, beautiful too -  even as he’s letting you tangle your hands in his hair, biting at his lower lip. “It's for you.” There is no guile in his tone, nothing in his eyes but honest desire. “For you - I’ll break my vows, over and over.” 

“Come, my beloved…” Your words are choked with emotion, and then cut off completely, because it's him - hot, inside of you. You wonder if he’s surprised that you don’t come to him a fresh and blushing bride, a virgin. But you both have changed, you remind yourself. 

And those changes had brought you here.  

“I’ll be the one to say that.” He grips at your thighs, his strokes as sure and steady as him. Taehyung was the earth beneath your feet, and - and he was the wind in your hair, the air in your lungs, his touches now - heaven sent. 

You know it now: Taehyung is an angel in disguise. Perhaps he’d strike you down when it was all done, for your sins. And you’d gladly go, if it meant this was the last feeling you had, you could die in his arms and spend the rest of your days in hellfire, or in the cold quiet of purgatory - wandering as a wraith, if it meant that he would keep looking at you this way. 

“S-say what?” You stammer, pulling him closer, so close to you, barely caring that he was fully clothed, and you were stark and nude. It seems fitting. Of course you should bare yourself to your priest, haven’t you done it to him countless times before in the confessional booth? Baring your soul and sins out for him to see.

To forgive. 

Your thoughts are idle, and he is murmuring sweetness into your ear, golden tongue - the snake in the garden. No, Taehyung is no snake dripping poison on your tongue. Taehyung is just as much lost soul as you are. You feel so hot under his touch, sensitive, full - on the precipice of it all.

“Come, my beloved.” His voice is almost as amused as it is desperate. “Come…” And you were falling, falling against him, letting him hold you as you trembled. “Come and there I will give you my love.” Love, in spurts and a muffled moan, his body staggering against you, pressing you further into the altar table. 

“Love…” You murmur, breath returning to normal as he pulls away from you. “The love of God to man, or the love of Solomon to his queen?”

“Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave.” Taehyung answers, ever cryptic. His touch is still warm as he helps you put your clothes back on, touch slow, gentle as he re-buttons your shirt, as he uses your underwear to clean the drips of arousal from the floor. “We are called to love the church as God loves us. But i’m called to love you...like Solomon loved his woman.”  It’s a peck to your forehead, you watch him pocket the sheer material, and this is as much of a confession as you expect, surprised when he pulls you in for a gentle kiss, fingers entwining with your own.“Whatever it means, I won’t deny it, even in death, it will be your name on my lips.”

[shera-dnd]

Had to split a simply colossal chapter into two smaller ones, so here is the first of those

Now featuring the faes’ true forms and an ungodly amount of simping

“I believed we had our winner when Lady Polendina got that perfect bullseye,” Weiss retold as she walked with her companions through the festival grounds, “but Lady Rose managed to, and I still cannot believe it, split her lover’s arrow with her own!”

“I’m certain there is an innuendo to be found there,” Ilia commented, earning her an offended scoff from the would-be-knight.

“Must you?” Weiss asked in exasperation.

“Believe me, Lady Gigas, she most certainly must.” Blake assured her, “but please continue. I’d love to hear more about our favorite couple.”

“Well, after they had finished utterly humiliating me in the shooting range,” she regaled, “they decided it was time to do so again in the sparring fields.”

“What is it with you knightly folk and sparring?” Ilia asked, seemingly annoyed, “is this your means of courtship? Were Lady Rose and Lady Polendina inviting you to join them in their tent?”

“It is a means to maintain our skills while coming to better understand each other!” Weiss countered, “and just because I now know where my preferences lie does not mean I’ll fall for the first woman to best me in combat!”

“Of course,” Ilia replied, though Weiss found no reassurance in her tone, “after all that honor would fall to Lady Blake, and we all know her preference is for women two times your size.”

“I have never claimed otherwise,” Blake replied with a shrug, “now would you mind procuring us some dinner, before you make our friend pop a blood vessel.”

“Very well,” Ilia sighed, as if she had been burdened with a terrible quest, “I shall meet you both back at camp. Please, do torment the Schnee in my absence.’

She offered them an over exaggerated bow and made her way deeper into the festival grounds, quickly disappearing amidst the crowd.

“You do know I could have just made us dinner, right?” Weiss asked, annoyance clear in her tone.

“And I’m certain it would have been delicious,” Blake replied, “but I’m not certain it would have been worth your sanity.”

“Of course.”

She hated to admit it, but she did not mind this at all. In fact she quite enjoyed the little trading of barbs that they partook in every day. It made for some interesting entertainment, and it allowed her to know Ilia a little better.

She was also quite enamored with the little laughs that would escape the fae whenever she got Weiss to make a fool of herself. No, she most definitely did not wish to question why she found Ilia’s laughter to be so endearing.

Definitely not.

Weiss decided then to archive those thoughts, and focus instead on the second most embarrassing topic in her mind.

“Thank you,” she muttered as they began making their way back to camp.

“No need to thank me,” Blake waved off, “wouldn’t want you two to strangle each other.”

“No, I meant…” Weiss sighed, “thank you for calling me a friend.”

Blake offered her a soft smile that only served to embarrass her further.

“I’m glad I got to call you that,” she replied, “and I’m sure Ilia thinks the same, even if she’ll never admit it.”

That got Weiss to smile back. Her life so far had been one of isolation, she had barely met anyone outside of the few select guests her father would allow into their manor, and had failed to find anyone who cared for her with the exception of Winter and Klein. But now she had been able to adventure beyond the walls of Atlas and find people who she could call friends.

Without Ilia with them to incite arguments and pester her, the rest of the walk back to camp was held in a comfortable silence. Though Weiss certainly missed the opportunity to get back at her friend for the earlier annoyance.

“If I may,” Blake began as soon as they arrived at their camp, “would you mind if I spent the night in my own skin for a change?”

It took Weiss’s mind a long moment to register what she meant by that request, but when it did she jumped to attention.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” She asked, looking around to make sure no one had heard that.

“Our camp is secluded enough,” she shrugged, “and no one ever comes here uninvited.”

“If you’re sure,” Weiss replied, “then I would not mind.”

Blake smiled at her in thanks and began undressing herself. Weiss promptly turned to look away, eyes focusing on anything but her naked companion. What followed was a series of noises that she would fail to describe, though they tempted Weiss to look back at her, if only to make sure that she’s okay.

After a moment of silence she heard the heavy thump of something heavy hitting the ground, followed by Blake’s familiar voice, “you may look again now.”

Where once stood the proud Black Knight of Vale now sat something else entirely. Her form had grown tremendously, now easily challenging that of Lady Xiao Long, and her body had grown completely covered in black fur, with a small white spot on her chest and two others on the back of her now clawed hands.

Her hair too had grown longer and wilder, and the face that hid behind it now took the features of a feline, especially her golden eyes which now reflected the bonfire’s light with an eerie glow. Behind her sway a long black tail, though mostly catlike it was adorned with thorns and purple flowers.

No, not adorned, that plant was as much a part of her body as her tail.

Stunned was perhaps not enough to describe the state in which Weiss found herself right now. She had been raised on stories of the terrifying and monstrous fae that hid in the forests beyond the walls of Atlas, and though Blake’s true form definitely fit that description, she still carried herself with the same grace and nobility that she did in her human skin.

She was still a knight, and she was still Lady Blake.

Unfortunately Blake seemed to take notice of all the staring, “if this causes you discomfort, I could change back.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Weiss assured her, “I was simply unprepared.”

Pleased with that response, Blake began to vigorously stretch herself as if she had spent many hours locked inside a tight space - a comparison that was perhaps too appropriate for her much smaller human form - and behind her her tail swayed happily.

“I haven’t been able to don this form since we arrived for the festival,” Blake informed, “it is good to feel like myself again.”

“It won’t be good for long if the local knights decide to take our hides,” the familiar and ever cheerful tone of Ilia’s voice called as she approached camp and unceremoniously dropping a basket between the two of them, “though do enjoy your dinner while you can.”

“Thank you, I certainly plan to,” Blake replied, seemingly unfazed by Ilia’s usual foul mood, “now come, sit, take off that damned glamour for once.”

Ilia stared at her, as if she was trying to will her fellow fae to stop with this nonsense.

It did not work.

“She will not give in, Lady Ilia,” Weiss said, “we’ll already be in plenty of trouble if we’re found in the presence of one fae, a second one won’t make a difference.”

Lady Ilia was unamused by Weiss’s commentary, “and what, pray tell, is your plan in case they do find you in the presence of not one, but two fae?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She asked, standing up so she would be on the same level as her, “I’ll have a heroic last stand where I’ll fight off a dozen knights, before rescuing you on horseback.”

“Is that so?” Ilia asked, trying to keep her lips from twitching.

Weiss stepped closer.

“Oh yes, and then we’d ride off towards the sunrise and you’d…” she paused for a moment, trying to remember something, “what was it you said? Swoon and praise me for my strength and bravery.”

“Didn’t you say you held no attraction towards swooning maidens, Schnee?” Ilia teased, her smile slowly beginning to take hold.

“I’d be simply fulfilling my knightly duties, Lady Ilia,” Weiss insisted.

“You know what, Schnee?” Ilia began, with a smile on her face as she closed the ever shrinking gap between her and the Schnee, “I think I will doff this damned glamour, if only so I can watch you get skewered by those dozen knights while I flee on horseback by myself.”

“I’ll make sure to make it entertaining to you, my lady,” Weiss assured her, now face to face with the smiling fae.

A chuckle escaped Blake’s lips, earning her the most terrifying glare from Lady Ilia. The knight was, of course, unimpressed, seeming to consider a comment in her mind before reconsidering and letting it die without being voiced. A decision that Ilia greatly approved.

“Now will you please cast away that glamour of yours and relax for once,” she said instead.

“Very well,” Ilia surrendered with a sigh.

For a moment nothing seemed to happen, but then it was like the Ilia Weiss had known had shattered like glass, and what stood behind the illusion could only be described as breathtaking.

Eyes of light blue turned into pure glowing white, freckled skin turned to thousands of scales woven together into a tapestry of color. On her forehead now stood two large thorns, almost like a pair of horns, though they exuded the same regal air as a proper crown.

Lady Ilia then disposed of her - now much bleeker looking - dress to reveal a growth of leaves and vines covering her more...intimate places. Still it was not her crown nor her naked form that had Weiss in awe, it was her wings.

They were not unlike those of a butterfly, though no butterfly could ever hope to match their beauty. They were the light of her eyes fractured again and again into more colors than Weiss's mortal eyes could see, all of them weaved together in a pattern that could make even the stained glass of Atlas's grand cathedral look plain by comparison.

It took all of Weiss’s will not to fall to her knees in worship of the beauty she had been given the privilege to bask in. Though it didn’t seem she was able to completely hide her reaction, as when their eyes met she saw surprise in Lady Ilia’s face, and for a moment it was as if every fragment of color in her body had turned to the brightest of pinks.

“Should I give you both some space?” Blake asked, tail swaying slowly behind her.

“Absolutely not!” Lady Ilia shouted, sitting back down and refusing to look back at the still stunned wannabe knight.

It was now Weiss’s turn to shift through several shades of pink. She whispered a silent prayer that the gods would return to Remnant if only so the God of Destruction could completely remove her - and her shame - from the face of this world. This gave her some time to recover, at least enough that she could sit by the campfire with her companions again.

Unfortunately for the both of them that awkward tension lingered over the camp like a thick fog. It did not help that neither of them found it within themselves to look at or even address each other. They left it all to Blake to rescue them from their self imposed punishment.

“Ilia,” she called, “I believe you had questions for me.”

Lady Ilia seemed to take a few moments to recognize that she was being spoken to, but bolted up in attention as she understood the opportunity that was being given her.

“You’ve yet to tell me how you came to join the humans,” she reminded, “or why iron doesn’t burn you.”

That piqued Weiss’s interest as well. She knew Blake had to have some kind of magical trick to don her armor without burning herself alive, perhaps if she could share that secret they could use it to help those fae who wished to live among humans.

“This isn’t some trick you can replicate, Ilia,” Blake explained, killing Weiss’s plan on the spot, “this is not a weapon the unseelie can use.”

Ilia let out a sound not unlike a growl, showing that her teeth were much sharper than before.

“Not everything I do is out of spite for humanity!” She almost shouted, and her body shifted into bloody reds and harsh yellows. Though that display clearly failed to intimidate her fellow fae, earning herself only a raised brow, a reaction that caused her to change colors once more, this time to pinks and blues. “You left us. I want to know why.”

“But I have already--”

“No,” she interrupted, colors shifting over and over through her body, unable and unwilling to settle, “you don’t just change your mind like that for no reason. I want to know what happened.”

Blake sighed, tail wrapping around herself as she seemed to deflate, “this story is quite long, Ilia.”

“So is the night,” Ilia countered, “come, tell us.”

Blake looked at her, then at Weiss, who offered her her most reassuring look, “very well then.”

[astercontrol]

I wasn't gonna vote in this (Tron does not wanna be forced to fight against those who would otherwise be his allies, he had enough of that thank you) but whoops my hand slipped.

and oh dang I wasn't expecting Tron to actually be ahead. Not gonna last, of course, but wow.

...I do think Data is amazing for being the first character I've ever seen who was both ethical and unemotional (like, not repressing emotions, but literally lacking emotions-- in the visceral human-like feeling sense, though you could argue that his opinions and motivations count as emotions of a sort)

it probably was part of what laid the framework for me being okay with the idea that I can do things I believe are good and kind without feeling any kind of heart-deep drive toward it. Help others in need, even if their plight doesn't make me feel like crying, because my directives still say helping them is the way to my overall preferred outcome. I don't have to waste bandwidth on calling myself a bad person for not feeling it

Data helped with that, and I am grateful to him.

but it bothers me that he always viewed being human as the goal, the preferable status. and his characterization is also messy, inconsistent, sometimes over-explained in telling that contradicts the showing.

all of which, honestly, may have been the most realistic way for his life to go. we are all contradictory and messy, and few of us are happy being exactly who we are

and yet. I still went with Tron on this.

Because I'm beginning to fall in love with the subtlety of that movie. The way it didn't overexplain things about characterization and motives. the way it showed who Tron was in such clear but understated ways.

and who he was is just as fascinating to me as Data.

man of few words. man who worships the humans, and yet has enough skepticism that he replies to "do you think the Users are still there?" with "they'd better be."

man who is taken away from his purpose and forced into battle to kill for the entertainment of others... does the job efficiently, ruthlessly, quick as possible, then raises his disc with such forceful anger at what he's been made to do, but still without a word

he whose smile in the arms of his lover is the most beautiful expression of joy I've ever seen-- and then seconds after reuniting with her he's 100% hyperfocused on making plans, getting her help to complete his directive-- she can only convince him into intimacy by turning it halfway into roleplay about traveling to the I/O Tower

he who discovers his new friend is still alive, and segues into the most homoerotic few seconds imaginable of just looking at him and touching him... and then finds out the other friend (the one he shared a cell with for who knows how long) didn't make it, and speedruns a dozen stages of bottling up the grief in a matter of silent seconds, before smiling and moving on

and then finds out this oblivious mess of a new friend, who's been bumbling through this adventure like the luckiest idiot, is 1. a User, one of Tron's actual gods and 2. actually as oblivious as he seems, has no idea what he's doing. And copes with this potentially faith-destroying revelation in the same polite, stoic way, leaving us with many possible guesses what's going through his mind

and no one programmed him to be like this! His programming only covers the basic directives: Fight for the Users. Protect the System.

all the rest of his personality just.. spontaneously manifested... through the spiritual, animistic background magic of this world, which is hinted at but again, never explicitly explained.

yeah. I dunno if Tron's the right choice here, but he's my choice.

ROUND 1-C

Propaganda from submitters below the cut; feel free to add more via asks or reblogs!

Data (Star Trek) -Data is a sentient synthetic life form designed in the likeness of Doctor Noonien Soong, his creator. In his growth as an individual, Data was later augmented with an emotion chip to help him better understand human behavior and increase his own humanity.

Tron (Tron) -he's a computer program -he fights for the users!

[fandom-collective-writers]

Fervor (Kenshin Uesugi x MC)

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Kenshin Uesugi x MC

Prompt: Sweaty

Warning: Smut!

Intended Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 3,904

Requested by: anonymous

Written by: @lordsisterxotome​

Disclaimer: I do not own Ikemen Sengoku or any of its characters. All of that goodness is the property of Cybird. I do, however, own the plot of this fanfic. Please do not repost this on any other website.

       Uesugi Kenshin was a god - really and truly. The air seemed to part for him as he swung his sword with inhuman ease, the movement so fluid, so graceful, so deadly it had her breath catching in her throat as she stared, rooted to the spot in awe. A primal part of her keened for him, attracted to the sheer power he wielded, and she swallowed and shook her head, banishing her mind of embarrassing thoughts of good genetic material.

       MC had originally come looking for Kenshin to tell him to take a break, but had quickly become distracted by how beautiful her lover was, completely in his element with Himezuru Ichimonji in hand. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of her neck, making her shiver, and she knew it wasn’t just from the heat. It didn’t help that he was topless, the sleeves of his kimono pulled down to drape against his hakama. Every swing of his sword brought new coils of muscle into focus, the parts of his body moving in perfect sync through years of training and battle. 

       Her eyes followed a drop of sweat as it ran down his back, following the chiseled lines of his trapezius and spine. His skin wasn’t flawless - the pale expanses of his back and chest were littered with pearly scar tissue, some nearly faded while others shimmered in the sunlight - and her heart ached a little at the thought of what he had put himself through to earn so many. She knew, however, that he wore the marks like regalia, symbols of his prowess and battlefield dominance as the God of War.

       MC startled a little as mismatched eyes finally settled on her, pinning her in place with their differing colors and identical heat. Kenshin’s muscles rippled as he performed another slice that cut a leaf fluttering in the breeze in half, his eyes sending a silent signal as he did, and the intention behind his movements became unmistakable. He was trying to impress her, woo her, to make her melt so all she could think of was him, him, him...not that he really needed to anyway.

       Satisfied at having her undivided attention, he performed another few swings, the air separating with a series of whooshes beneath his blade. A final turn brought him to face her and she swallowed at the image staring her down. Sweat dripped down his arm as he lowered his sword, the heaving of his chest as he panted bringing her attention to his chiseled abs and pecs, and his eyes. Kenshin’s eyes were so heated they rivaled the summer heat, dark with sinful intent as he took one step closer then another, prowling towards her.

       Each breath became more of a struggle as he approached, never breaking eye contact once. It was like her body was forgetting how to function under his intensity. She didn’t realize she’d stopped breathing completely until a tightness in her chest forced her to inhale slowly, as if afraid to alert him to her presence. Kenshin stopped a few feet away, looking up at her from his place amongst the carefully manicured flowers and bushes. The raised floor of the hallway gave her a good foot of height on him, but she still felt like the prey here, her handsome predator staring at her like he would pounce at any moment. She had to admit, she would be lying if she said it didn’t excite her. He knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on her right now and he was enjoying it if the smirk she noticed pulling at the corner of his lips was anything to go by.

       Yes, he was very satisfied with himself.

       Swallowing, she summoned what little stability she had left to speak coherently. “I-I was wondering what you were doing out here.” 

       He hummed, an enticing purr that she could feel in her bones. MC doubted she would ever fully comprehend the depths of Kenshin’s effect on her, just as she would never know how she enraptured him in return. 

       “Practicing. Why? Is there something else you need me for?”

       Her already warm face grew hotter at the implication in his tone, and she had to avert her gaze from the suggestive raise of his pale brow. Normally, she would play along with his game, turning to putty in his lovingly molding hands as she let him worship her with whispered promises against flushed, sensitive skin, but today felt different. Today she wanted to play with him, have him begging for her as she loved him slowly. She wanted him to get a taste of how desperate he made her.

       “Not really,” she answered, giving him the most nonchalant look she could muster. “I think Sasuke was looking for you. Something about installing more crawl spaces in the ceiling. I’m going to get back to work now.” With that she turned on her heel and strode back down the hallway, not looking back to see his expression. 

       His little performance had charmed her, that was for certain, but that didn’t mean she had to give in to him every time. Kenshin could come get what he wanted from her outright...is what she thought at least. In reality, MC hadn’t taken more than a dozen paces before she was swept off her feet and pinned against the wall, a hot mouth dominating hers as an even hotter body pressed flush against her own. 

       Kenshin’s tongue quickly found its way between lips parted in surprise, tangling with her own in a passionate dance of frustration and unrestrained lust. He swallowed her soft moan, answering with his own deeper croon. “Lies,” he hissed when the need for air became too prominent. “You need me. I can feel it.”

       “Do I?” she shot back innocently, trying and failing to restrain the tiny smirk that pulled at the corner of her lips. “I think I’m okay right now.”

       A snarl tore from him as he hefted her over his shoulder, thundering down the hall as he headed towards their shared room. Briefly, she wondered if she’d just bitten off more than she could chew, but a second later she was landing on a futon with a god of a man kissing the living daylights out of her.  

       “Admit that you want me,” he purred, leaving a burning trail in his wake as he trailed kisses down her jaw to her neck. MC mewled when his mouth attached to her skin, biting and sucking in what was sure to be quite the hickey later on. His hands went to her obi, pulling at it until it loosened around her waist enough that he could pull her kimono open, and his mouth left several more marks on her neck, in places that she wouldn’t be able to cover easily, before traveling downwards to lap at her collarbones. 

       Still, despite how good it felt and how much she wanted to moan and cry for him, her lips remained firmly shut, much to her lover’s displeasure. Clicking his tongue, Kenshin pulled away from her to undo the last ties holding his hakama around his hips and she averted her eyes as the clothing rustled to the floor, biting her lip. 

       “Look at me,” he husked, his body settling on top of hers and his hands pinning her above her head as she writhed beneath him. “Look at how much you affect me.”

       The heat of his naked body on top of hers only stoked the fire in the pit of her stomach and she almost gave in and spoke the words she knew he wanted to hear. Instead, she bit her lip and dug her fingernails into her palm, trying to ground herself as his erection rutted against her clothed core, his hips settling between her legs. 

       She cried out when his hand grabbed a breast, rolling the soft flesh in his palm as his mouth attached to the nipple of the other. Her hands strained against his strong hold, desperate to tangle her fingers in his pale hair as he bit and sucked, rolling her nipple between his fingers. Kenshin’s moans against the sensitive flesh only made it worse, his eyelashes tickling her skin as he closed his eyes in rapture at her taste. 

       Releasing her wrists, he wrapped an arm around her waist, his teeth and tongue continuing to lavish her breasts while his other hand ghosted down her body. Fingers trailed up her calf, pushing her kimono apart, before tickling across the supple flesh of her inner thigh. MC shuddered when his hand cupped her through her undergarments, rubbing her through the cloth barrier. 

       “So wet for me already,” he chuckled, kissing the spot above her racing heart as his skillful fingers pulled the cloth away and exposed her to the heated air. “I know your body better than my own, my love.” Yet Kenshin refused to touch what was his, leaving her to whine helplessly as his hand stroked her thigh. She tried tilting her hips in a way that would bring his fingers into contact with where she needed them most, but they danced away as he chuckled at her desperation. 

       “I’ll give you what you want,” he husked, “but first you have to answer my question. Why deny me, love?”

       “I-ahh!” Her answer cut off on a cry as a finger brushed teasingly against her clit, her head thrown back as her body shuddered.

       “Go on,” he purred against her throat, sucking at her pulse point. 

       “You have me wrapped around your finger,” MC managed, biting her lip. He made a curious noise and she continued, “I’m so in love with you, it practically only takes a smile from you to bring me to my knees. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who’s this desperate.”

       Kenshin was silent for a heartbeat, and she wondered if he’d understood, if he was angry, until teeth dug into the juncture of her neck and shoulder and he pinched her clit hard. Her back arched and she cried out as his tongue laved against the shell of her ear, his breath fanning against the sensitive area as he spoke. 

       “That’s where you’re wrong. You see…” A long finger slipped smoothly inside of her, parting her velvet walls as it curled in a come hither motion. Gasping at the intrusion, she ground her hips against his hand as he thrust the finger in and out of her. She could cry it felt so good, partially relieving the ache that had begun to build from the moment she’d seen him in the courtyard.

       When he pulled away from her neck to gaze down at her, her eyes widened at the sheer yearning in his expression. His pale cheeks were colored a beautiful red, lips parted around husky pants, and eyes hazed by lust and need. “I’m always desperate for you,” he moaned, hips rutting against her leg in time with his finger. The bare cock humping against her thigh only served to make her wetter and she whimpered as a second finger joined the first within her. “So many times, when I caught another man looking at you, I just wanted to bend you over in front of everyone and show them who you belong to.”

       The feral possessiveness in his voice made her core squeeze around his fingers and he groaned in her ear, the deep sound sending shivers down her spine. Kenshin’s gaze left her face to peer at where his fingers still plunged inside of her relentlessly and she briefly wondered what he was thinking as an amused smile curled at the corners of his lips.

       “But…” Flipping their positions, he settled her on top of him, and MC blinked down at him as he smirked expectantly and said, “I’ll let you do as you wish. Show me I’m yours.”

       It took her a second to realize the extent of his words, but once she did a flustered blush broke across her cheeks and down her neck. It wasn’t as if they had never been in this position before, but it had never lasted long, Kenshin’s insatiable hunger quickly taking control. She wasn’t about to let that happen so easily this time though. No, if he wanted her to show him he belonged to her then that’s exactly what she would do.

       Feeling his erection prod her dripping core, she rolled her hips down against him and pushed him back so he was lying flat on the futon. Kenshin moaned, the deep sound music to her ears, and his hands moved to her hips, grinding her harder even as his hips bucked up into her. She could feel him trying to aim himself inside of her but evaded each thrust, his cock slipping through her heat over and over.

       MC could tell he was starting to become exasperated by it, brow pinching and breath coming in short pants as he tried and failed to impale her on his cock with each upward thrust. “Let me in,” he demanded, teeth gritting. A particularly intimate roll of her hips had his head falling back beautifully and she took advantage of the pale, exposed column of his throat, leaning forward so she lay with her breasts pressed against his chest as her fingers flicked his nipples. 

       “How badly do you want me?” she murmured against his ear, leaving her own marks on his neck as she kissed and nipped. 

       “So badly that if you don’t sit on my cock right now I can’t be held accountable for my actions,” he growled back.

       “Hmm? I thought you said I could do what I want?” Another roll of her hips made him hiss, the head of his cock catching on her entrance before slipping away again. Kenshin’s grip on her hips tightened, and she knew he could easily hold her still enough to thrust into her, but he didn’t.

       “You can,” he grunted, “but I’m so hard it hurts.” The angle of his grinds changed and she gasped at the sudden stimulation against her clit, arching her chest against his as he looked up at her through half-lidded eyes. “Please, I need you. Let me be inside of you.”

       His begging made something release inside of her and MC suddenly felt so empty, like she would implode if she didn’t have him that instant. Reaching between them, she wrapped her fingers around his cock, feeling the velvety firmness throb under her palm, and coaxed it into position against her entrance. Both of them moaned in relief as her hips sunk down on him, her core welcoming the intrusion as it sucked him deeper into the comfort of her warmth. 

       “That’s it,” he grunted as she took him in deeper. “Just like that. Such a good girl. You feel so good.”

       After making love with Kenshin for so long she needed little time to adjust to his impressive length and began to roll her hips, her pace increasing with a little coaxing and directing from him. He leaned up to capture her lips in a messy kiss as she bounced on top of him, moaning as a hand dove into the hair at the back of her head, effectively holding her in place as he devoured her mouth.

       A purposeful squeeze of her inner muscles received a violent buck from him in return, nails digging into her skin as he grunted, “Do that again and you'll regret it.”

       She giggled softly, pressing her lips to his neck as she continued to work him in and out of her tight heat, his praises encouraging her to move against him harder, faster. She squeaked when his hands grabbed her ass hard, forcing himself deeper into her as a muscle jumped in his neck. 

       “So close, ahh...Keep going...keep going, just like that. Yes, yes, yes,” his voice deepened with pleasure and she watched his beautiful eyes close in bliss, lips parted and head tilted back. So enraptured by how angelic he looked in the throws of passion, MC didn’t notice the hand that slipped between them until it was too late, an unexpected push to her clit drawing a scream from her throat as her core clenched hard around him, her sudden climax knocking the breath out of her. 

       She heard him grunt something about how tight she was before a pleasured moan vibrated through his chest and his release painted her walls white, warmth shooting deep inside of her and making her shiver against him.

       He held her still as he continued to thrust up into her shallowly, working his seed deeper into her, and the aftershocks made her whimper. All she wanted to do was curl up against him and bask in the afterglow of their lovemaking, but it seemed Kenshin had other ideas, a hungry glint in his eyes as he peered down at her, limp against his chest.

       “We’re not finished yet,” he panted.

       MC had just enough time to gasp before she was suddenly flipped over onto the futon, a god humping his still-hard cock between her legs and his mouth sucking at her breast. She cried out from the sudden overstimulation, the engorged head of his cock hitting her swollen clit as his length slipped through her soaked heat, drenching himself in their combined releases as it dripped from her.

       “Please, Kenshin,” she cried, arms wrapping around his back to pull him closer as her legs instinctively moved to wrap around his hips. Despite having just climaxed, she wanted more, needed more of him, never having enough of this man who had devoted himself to her so wholeheartedly.

       “What is it?” he murmured in her ear, “Say it and I’ll give you everything you want and more.”

       “Fuck me, please!” she cried, eyes closed tight against the tears of pleasure that blurred her vision. “I’m all yours! I need you! Only you!” She would never know how much he adored hearing those words, how they made every part of his body and soul sing with delight and pride, how they made him want to prove it to her over and over and over again until everyone knew that she was his and he was hers and anyone that challenged that would meet his wrath.

       Grabbing her legs and throwing them over his shoulders, he speared into her, making her scream as her sensitive core spasmed around him. Stars danced across her vision as Kenshin immediately set an inhumane pace and all she could do was hang on for the ride. Through her half-lidded gaze, she could see how beautiful he looked like this, porcelain cheeks flushed with need and blue and green eyes hazed with desire as he panted like a wild beast, claiming her animalistically.

       A calloused hand grabbed one of her bouncing breasts roughly and she mewled as he pinched her nipple, twisting and pulling as he continued to rut into her. “Scream for me more,” he ordered, voice low and dangerous. “Tell me who you belong to again, loud enough that the whole castle can hear you.”

       Maybe MC would be embarrassed by it later but all she cared about right now was fulfilling that order, of letting him know how good he was making her feel. “Kenshin!” she screamed, begging for more. “Please- ahh! -keep going! Don’t...Don’t stop! It feels-ngh! S-So good!”

       “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

       She sobbed when he suddenly pulled out without warning, the absence leaving her feeling unbearably empty. Flipping her over onto all fours, Kenshin grabbed her hips and sheathed himself inside of her dripping core once more. A cry broke from her lips at the depth he reached with the new position, his fingers digging into her skin as her tight walls squeezed him. Hot lips graced her shoulders as he leaned over her, his chest meeting her back as he moaned wantonly in her ear. “You’re so tight, my love. Your body wants me so badly.” A shudder wracked her form as he pulled back for a hard thrust, resuming his previous pace.

       It was all too much for her. With each thrust, she felt his cock kiss her cervix, sending shockwaves through her overstimulated body. The pain it brought melded with the pleasure, her hands fisting in the futon and her face pressed into the sheets as she cried out for him until her throat was raw and all she could think of was her lover’s name.

       As for Kenshin, each thrust felt like heaven, his balls slapping against her ass as he firmly reestablished his claim over her. It was getting increasingly harder to pull out, her walls clamping down on him and threatening to send him over the edge and milk him for all he was worth at any moment. His hands shifted from their grip on her waist, one grabbing her breast while the other snaked between her legs, circling her clit teasingly. “Do you want to come?” he panted in her ear, jaw clenching on a particularly tight thrust.

       “Yes! Yes, please, Kenshin!”

       He chuckled breathlessly, closing his eyes and burying his face against her shoulder. “Then come.”

       His fingers pressed down on her clit hard as his other hand pinched her nipple and the stimulation sending her into her second climax of the evening. His name tore from her on a scream as he growled his release into her skin, teeth lodging in her shoulder as her walls squeezed around him like a vice. 

       Kenshin’s hips continued to move throughout his orgasm, drawing out both their pleasure as he released inside of her again and found absolute bliss in her body. Her whole body felt wrapped in his intense heat, beads of sweat rolling down her skin as her lover held her weak body against his in an iron grip.

       His body slumped on top of hers as they slowly calmed down from their high, his warmth seeping around where he was still buried inside of her. Kissing her shoulder, Kenshin rolled her onto her side, sweaty body curling around hers. Even though it was so hot, the heat of his body didn’t bother her in the slightest, making her feel loved and protected as he held her close. 

       “Have I convinced you of how desperate I am for you?” he husked, brushing strands of hair away from her forehead as he littered her face with soft kisses.

       “Yeah,” she panted, reaching back to cup his face in her palm. Turning her head to look back at him, MC placed a tender kiss against his cheek. “I love you, Kenshin.”

       He smiled dazzlingly as he nuzzled his face into her hair, replying, “I love you more.”

       Closing her eyes, she smiled, enjoying his ministrations as his fingers started kneading her pleasantly tired body. “Mmm, I don’t know. I really love you a lot. It’s kind of crazy how much.”

       “Want to bet?” he offered, his hands massaging her bruised hips.

       “Actually, I think I need a bath.” A slight squeeze of her inner muscles around his limp cock had him gasping as you looked back at him, smirking. “Care to join me?”

       He licked his lips, heat and hunger already alight in his blue and green eyes. “It would be my pleasure.”

[nautiscarader]

19 Mako and Bolin give Korra a double facial

(Ao3)

Korra fondly remembered how one quite eager pro-bending fangirl of hers approached her a few hours ago, congratulating her after the game and asked, in a rather blunt manner, if the things people say about her and her two teammates were true.

Oh, if only she could tell her the truth...

Mako and Bolin's cramped apartment might not have been the best place to celebrate their recent streak of victories, but if anything, it kept bringing the three together, in one way or another.

It was unusual for the Avatar as feisty as Korra to submit to anyone, but even she had to admit, that if it wasn't for the pro-bending brothers and their coordinated work, they would have lost. And so now, here she was, on her knees, congratulating them for their excellent play.

With a cock in each hand, Korra had to take turns licking, kissing and worshipping the bending brothers, as much as she could. She never thought of herself as particularly good at oral, preferring to ride her lovers, but judging from the moans coming from the couch, she wasn't doing a bad job.

With the two cocks so close to her face, Korra could see and feel all the differences between the two. Mako was longer, while Bolin was much, much thicker, giving her slight problems taking them completely into her mouth even.

But if there was one thing about Korra was that she wasn't the one to give up, especially when challenged. With each pass, she tried taking each cock slightly further into her eager mouth, adding as much movement of her tongue as possible.

She tried tracing some letters with her tip around their twitching heads, per one tip she heard a while ago, but she has never been good at calligraphy... That being said, Mako moaned loudly when Korra's tongue swirled around him, and when she switched to Bolin, he gave her equally loud serenade of half-mangled praises, meaning the tip was working.

With her mouth taking care of one of her boys, the other one had to be satisfied with just her hand and fingers, stroking him and massaging various ridges and veins that usually stretched her pussy or ass. This time, Korra was allowed to explore their manhoods, feeling the subtle differences in the texture of her lovers.

As time went by, she continued her work, pushing and pulling, stroking and bobbing, filling her senses with her lovers' smell and taste, back and forth, back and forth...

And as she performed those moves, a wicked idea came to her mind, as she remembered some of her teachings. She never thought about it before, having barely anyone her age to talk about these things, but... After all, it was still mostly water, wasn't it?

Listening to Mako and Bolin's moans, Korra made sure to detect the right moment. With her hands, she cupped the brothers' testicles, and closed her eyes concentrating on the element she was most attuned to.

Oh, they were ready, bless their hearts. They might try to hide it, and prolong the pleasure she was giving them, but she felt the tension and churning inside them, and that they were more than eager to release it.

But why-

And when she opened her eyes, and looked at them, she realised their plan. Just like that double hit, they were going to do it at the same time, and as she eyed them with a sly smirk and a spark in her eyes, now they knew she was onto them.

She let go of Bolin's cock, giving him a final kiss, before she situated herself directly between the two, and with her slightly tired jaw taunted them.

- Come on, boys, let's finish this...

Stroking their cocks, she performed the same basic water-bending moves: pushing and pulling, back and forth, like waves and tides...

And the change of pitch in their voices meant it was working. They stood up, feeling their climaxes, suddenly manifesting themselves much faster than they thought, and Korra welcomed their hands on the back of her head.

She closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and continued her synchronised moves. Push and pull...

- Korra!

Mako and Bolin cried her name at the same time, as their cocks erupted with hefty streams of their seed, painting her face with thick layers of their cum. Two, three, four... their cocks were not stopping, so much so that Bolin found his knees getting weaker with each moment of their prolonged orgasms.

Meanwhile, Korra was on cloud nine, feeling her boys' love covering her face, shooting into her mouth and leaking onto her naked body, while she milked them for more with her water-bending.

Their orgasms lasted a minute and a half, until Korra felt she has properly emptied them, and wasn't surprised to hear two loud "thuds" when her lovers slumped all over their couch. She wished she could see their faces, but alas, something was blocking her view...

Judging by their erratic breathing and lack of any more coherent words than "wow" coming from them, she did her job, getting her body utterly painted with layer after layer of thick, gooey cum.

What would be the results of dozens of cumshots, spread over weeks, maybe, was now all over her, the image of Avatar drenched in cum firmly planting itself in Bolin's and Mako's minds.

But it wasn't the end of Korra's performance. She raised her hand, covered in some of their essence, and moved them in a circular motion, feeling the heavy droplets of Mako's and Bolin's baby batter move with her powers. Soon she was able to see again, as the mess covering her was gradually moving away to forma small white ball between her hands.

The boys watched as their cum mixed and swirled in her palms, cleaning her of any droplet better than any shower would have achieved. And when Korra finished, getting the cum from her face and hair, she found herself somewhat longing after the warm, sticky feeling of the brothers' love for her.

And so, without any hesitation, she brought the swirling ball to her lips and took a bite of it, as if it was ice-cream.

Bolin and Mako let out a gasp, as they watched the Avatar, their girlfriend, lick and swallow their combined essences as if it was a delicacy from Republic City's most expensive restaurant.

And that wasn't entirely false. Korra revelled in the thick, aggressive, musky taste and smell that overwhelmed her senses, as she licked more and more of it, until all of the brothers' potent warmth made it to her mouth and, with one loud guttural gulp, to her stomach.

Just like before, Mako and Bolin were left flabbergasted by Korra's erotic show, and only when she stood up and sat between them they regained their senses.

- Korra, that was- - That was amazing! - Bolin ended with almost child-like excitation. - Figured you've never dated a water-bending girl. - she smirked - We know how to get what's ours...

She giggled when boys' mouths closed around each of her nipples, and their fingers gravitated towards her wet folds. Korra threw her head back, and let her pleasure engulf her mind.

She came back once more to her eager fangirl, and how the woman eyed her two male cosplayer friends after Korra gave her a bit of advice on handling two boyfriends. She wondered if the three are having as wonderful evening as the real Fire Ferrets...

[starkerforlife6969]

Starker - Reward

It’s a world rife with magic and monsters. Full of fantasy and witches and fate.

Tony cares little for those. He’s an inventor. A mechanic. An artist. He hones his skill, his craft, every day for twenty years, and then another twenty years. Worn and scarred, fingers thick and nimble, tremble-less. He knows little of magic and monsters. Of fantasy and witches. Those things that change and shape the world.

He uses his craft and he earns his power.

He’s a court favourite. The King likes him well-enough. That’s as much as anyone really likes Tony. Well-enough.

“You’re too tough. Too sharp. People don’t like that.” His mother had warned, even as she smoothed her fingers through his hair.

He hadn’t heeded her advice. His eyes had been on her loom. “There must be a better way,” he had said, “for that to work. So you don’t have to weave the cloth yourself.”

There is little to be said of gallantry. Heroes who have slain monsters come into the golden halls. They show King Brock the latest head of some nymph, or some great, long lost treasure, but in the end they must go on other adventures.

Tony, a court favourite, has a place in the palace always. A little wing to call his own. When he asks for iron, he is given iron. When he asks for silence, people hush.

Of course, when Rumlow demands an invention, or a maze to house some monster, Tony has to stop the whirrings on his mind to tend to those whims. He does not fight that. HIs mother was right, he’s rough and sharp, but he is no fool.

So, when he’s summoned for the King, he sets down his welders tools and follows the guards. He chatters at them, trying to see them rile, but they only smile tightly. Something weighs on them.

“Stark,” Rumlow beams, too encouraging, “men, leave us.”

The guards disappear. Smoke in the wind.

“My lord.” Tony doesn’t get down on one knee. But he inclines his head and Rumlow lets him have it.

“I have a task for you.”

“Name it, sire.”

“Years ago, I was shipwrecked across the strait.”

Tony nods. A sea-farer, perhaps a boat, a new oar. He can design something. Plans start to form in his head.

“I was given refuge upon a tiny island. It housed a demi-goddess. I lay with her.”

Tony waits. It doesn’t click. He doesn’t understand.

“It has become apparent that she had a child. My son. His name is Peter. He is mortal, but his blood, I believe, carries some trace of the gods. Because of this, they give him favour. My heroes have not been able to slay him. The seas that should kill, full of sirens and monsters, give him way. I have sent assassins and witches, and they fall prey to his charms.”

“Magic?” Tony asks, intrigued and a little disgusted. The petty foulness, the ease of magic. The fact the King is trying to kill his own blood, that is of little consequence. There are at least a dozen princes and princesses that flit about the kingdom now. Bloodshed will come once Rumlow dies as they battle for the throne. One less contender should shorten the battle.

“I had hoped it was magic.” The King sighs. “I fear it is him. He is…” the King sneers. “Beloved. They fall to him. Pledge their allegiance as if he were already their King.”

“I don’t understand.” Tony confesses, a hardship. “What would you have me do?”

Here, Rumlow smiles. Like the monster that prowls beneath the palace. “I would have you kill him, Tony. Don’t you see? You’re the only one who could. Who would not fall for his doe-eyes or sweet words. You are hardened. Use your mind, that cunning tool, or any of your inventions, and slay him. I can promise you rewards.”

Tony nods, already exhausted. This is not his domain, but the sooner it is begun, the sooner it is done. “What about the ire of the gods? You said they have given him favour. Will this not beget their anger?”

“Gods are fickle.” The King waves him away. “I have a hundred lambs all ready to be slaughtered for them. Pilgrims ready to visit their temples. I have had a boat prepared for you to leave this evening. I have heard from Cleo that Peter dwells on an island off her shore. My men will guide you.”

Tony grits his teeth a little at the lack of control, but it is a familiar ache. “And what proof of his demise? His heart?”

The King laughs at that. “You speak like a solider, Stark. I do not need proof. I will trust your word and the darkening skies.”

It goes unsaid, of course, that failure means death.

***

Tony likes sea-travel. The allusion of freedom on that endless horizon. The rough work of rigging. The smell. He used to pour over his father’s atlases, used to dream of travelling the world.

He has made himself content with Rumlow’s palace. The golden walls. His inventions.

They reach the island swiftly. The seas are much calmer. It must be Peter’s presence.

“We can go with you no further.” The men say. “Rumlow forbids it. He believes Peter would affect our minds.”

Tony wades through the water to the craggy edges. Rocks black with wet, gulls screaming.

“Sailor, let me help.” Comes a voice, soft as a siren, and Tony looks up and sees- him.

For it must be. Gold eyes. Eyes of a god. Traces of that divine lineage, but so devastatingly mortal. And it’s devastating, because Tony knows he cannot kill such beauty.

There’s no magic, but it feels like it. Carved like one of Romanov’s marble statues. It’s hard to believe such a thing could be part Rumlow.

He takes the lily hand, bronzed with sun, and lets himself be pulled up.

It’s but a boy. Not old enough to command armies. Barely a man.

“Peter.”

Peter smiles at him. “It never fails to surprise how many know my name. Where do you travel from?”

“From your father.”

Peter nods. He helps Tony manoeuvre the slippery rocks onto the sandy beach. There, he stoops to collect perfect white shells. “He would see me dead.”

“Yes.”

“I do not desire his throne.”

Tony smiles a little at that. “I don’t think it much matters.”

“Maybe not.” Peter’s eyes appraise his form. Tony puffs like a bird. “You’re no sailor. What are you?”

“An inventor.”

“An inventor.” Peter breathes, looking up at him in awe. He says the word with sacrilegious reverence. “What a gift my father has given me. I have been searching for an inventor my whole life.”

Tony itches to touch him. His skin prickles with a strange desire to taste. He’s had lovers in the past, in the endless escapades of youth, but Peter would be the only one that Tony would remember. “Hardly twenty years then.”

Peter laughs like music. “Will you help me?”

“Do you command me?”

“Of course not.” Peter humms, his eyes sparkle. “The God’s command. King’s demand. I am neither.”

“You are both. Son of a king and a goddess.”

“Bastard son of a king, and of a demi goddess.” Peter bows his head. “For some reason people help me. I cannot say why. I appreciate it, but I do not expect it. Your king would have you kill me.” Peter looks up at him. Eyes glazed like honey. Lips like wildflowers. “Will you?”

Throat dry, Tony croaks: “No.”

“I would ask for your help. Will you?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” Peter whispers, genuine, artless. He is pure, an unwilted flower. He could command strangers. Unite enemies. “I need a boat that would withstand the river of the underworld.”

Tony recoils from this. Unnatural. “I deal with inventions, not magic.” He spits. 

“They are one.” Peter insists gently, but sees Tony’s face. “You build. I’ll do the magic.”

“You can command magic?”

“Barely. Basic charms. The ingredients are kind to me.”

“As is all of life, it seems.” Tony quips.

Peter’s smile is indulgent. “If that were true, I would need no ship.”

“Who are you collecting from the underworld?”

Peter’s eyes scan over the horizon. In the distance, the boat Tony came on bobs. Peter tilts his eyes to the sky: the countless, silent, watching Gods. “Later.” He vows.

Tony believes him.

…

He seems older than his face suggests. In the same way Gods that saw the beginning of the earth have scarce a mark of time upon their face.

Tony wonders if it is his divine blood.

A ship to withstand the underworld needs to be very slim indeed. The rivers below are narrow, sharply turning. Tony cuts and shapes the wood, methodical in his work.

Peter, meanwhile, gathers roots and strange plants, grinds them into paste, spreads them onto the wood planks and whispers. They glow under his touch, seep into the wood. “Protection,” Peter will say after one, “courage,” after another, “safety”, “resistance”, “resoluteness”, “fierceness”.

In the evenings, Tony is led to Peter’s home. It’s a small castle, grand in it’s own right, teeming with treasures but empty of attendants. They sit before the hearth and Peter brings out salves, and rubs Tony’s hands; eases out the splinters and sprains of the day’s work.

“There is no need.” Tony insists, though the sight of Peter on his knees before him is one that will haunt him.

“There is every need. You do me a great kindness.”

“This is my reward?”

“No.” Peter hums, “this is my reward.”

His fingers unfasten the belt of Tony’s britches, the hot, wet mouth tight and stomach-lurching. It’s all Tony can do to breathe, jerking in his chair, sparking with pleasure.

When he’s finished, Peter tucks Tony away. Cleans him up. “Is there a deity you worship?” He asks, and Tony wants to say you but knows the gods would scorn him for it.

“Hermes is well-travelled.” He says instead.

“I will ask him to give you favour.”

“There is no need-”

“You say a lot about need.” Peter laughs, airy, nymph-like. “I suspect you understand very little of it. Your own are so tightly bound within you. I do not need, but would very much like you in my bed tonight. How is that?”

Tony’s throat is dry, blood already hot. “That is well.” He whispers.

*

A smarter man would delay the building of the ship. Spend more seasons with Peter on this island.

But the only thing that can rival Tony’s passion for the boyy, is his desire to work and invent.

As he sands the boards, he notes the cove they take shelter in. The shadows that hide them from the gods of the sky. “Who,” he says quietly, the waves lapping at their toes, “do you seek to bring from the Underworld?” A parent, who has died? A dear friend lost in battle? Worse- a lover. Tony almost could not bear it.

“I will bring an army of the undead,” Peter says, and Tony drops the block of cinder from his hand. It clatters to the deck. Peter continues to hum, binding rope with moss for strength.

Tony must be deceived. But there is no lie anywhere in Peter’s body. Just slim, muscled, beauty.

“Do not look so shocked, mortal.”

“Mortal?” Tony croaks.

Peter laughs. Musical. “I confess to you then. My mother was no demi-god. She was Zeus’ first born. I am no human. I’m more powerful than that.”

“You are not a god.”

“And grateful for it. Gods cannot go into the underworld.”

“You want war. Against who?”

“Rumlow. I will take his city. I will rule Attica.”

Tony laughs in disbelief, trembling with fear. He has been taken here for a fool. This is no kindness. This boy is vicious and cruel, like any God. “Attica cannot be united-”

“An army of the undead will unite them. The fates have written it. Led by me.”

Tony turns from him, shaking, eyes stinging. “I thought you good. I loved-”

Peter is before him, hands gentle on his face, smoothing through the inventor’s beard. “You love me with your mortal heart, dear sweet, Tony,” Peter whispers, kissing him. Melting into him, seeping into him, taking him over. Tony feels the eagerness against his thigh. Wants to jerk away but cannot bring himself to. He clutches Peter tighter. “I will reward you for it.”

Peter’s hand slips into Tony’s trousers. Tony is hard. Throbbing. But he resists. “I want no reward from you who brings such bloodshed.”

The boy, not a boy at all, laughs. Even as his hand works at Tony, spreading wetness, teasing, touching all the right ways. “This is not your reward. Your reward is much greater,” his teeth find Tony’s ear, nipping. “I will make you a god.”

Tony moans, Peter works him harder, he’s shaking, closer, trying to resist. “M-mortals cannot be made-” he gasps for breath, “-into gods.” He knows little of magic, but he knows that. Peter is pressed flush against him, hand moving between them.

“It must be written in Fate. I chose you, Stark. I had Rumlow choose you. I orchestrated it all. You are fated to be a God. Inventor who trapped the Minotaur, it is your destiny. You will be powerful and eternal and you will be mine.”

“I will be a god, and you not- you will die.” The thought is arresting. “I will have to continue without you.”

“There are tricks,” Peter grins, “Goddess of beauty is charmed by me. She will keep me young and beautiful forever. I will do a favour for the Underworld harpies. They will not take my soul.”

“What is this favour?”

“Do not fret,” Peter coos, licking Tony’s lips, grip merciless, taunting, Tony’s so close. Hips thrusting. “I have taken care of you now, have I not? I will give you all you desire. Every invention to make, all the means. I will care for you and not ask much in return. Let me do so for eternity. You can release, god.”

Tony cries out, does as he’s commanded.

An eternity. Ruled by Peter. A mystery wrapped up like a kindness. He’s hungry for it. He is no fool, Peter will ask for few, but terrible, things in return. Inventions that will turn Tony’s stomach. Wings of wax to trick a father and a son. A sea-spider to eat good sailors. A poison sword and arrow to destroy demigods. And he’ll make them all. Just like he’s made this ship. He’ll obey.

And if he’s good, Peter will reward him.