#ConQuesT Art Show

[gastlyarts]

Quick doodles I did in between classes today :). I LOVE the friend trio.

[jebbeesketches]

Corrin Twins Ready for Azura's dance class!

This was a Request on Twitter!

"Draw both Corrins in modern clothing, I want to see what others come up with" so I went with the flow and drew them in casual clothes for Azura's dance class!

Cuz why not have a small story in a drawing? :3

[cakesforlosers]

thats just the weight of the world

[cup-o-stars]

Relativity Falls Lore Concept- The Oracle and Bill

The Oracle:

I was initially inspired by the Twitter user @SUwu159's depiction of the Oracle in their take on Relativity Falls, and made my own adaptation as I learned about her in canon.

(Assume she can change colors because I couldn't pick what I liked most)

This version of The Oracle isn't malicious per se, and does not desire the same conquest or chaos sought out by Bill. But she likes universes to be organized and quaint (or answers to another high power that demands it), and finds fulfillment in achieving these goals through any means necessary.

The Oracle and Dipper:

(Sorry if this dialogue tastes like a corndog in your mouth. I just needed to write a semi-resolution to Dipper's side of the relationship, ha.)

Getting into the real struggle with the Pines family. Dipper and Mabel don't fight and hold grudges like the Stans (that we've seen of), so my opinion is that they drifted apart in their late teens and twenties, both feeling pressured to be less attached at the hip. My current belief (though I'm very willing to rewrite this section) is that Mabel and Dipper both poured a lot of energy into pretty niche fields, and being very busy meant very short and rare windows to reach out. Both assumed the other was doing bigger and better things and felt self conscious / childish for wanting eachother's company.

I'm still considering Mabel's backstory, since I think she probably hit lower points than Dipper. You know. Starving artist, lol. But Dipper entered into paranormal investigation, pest control, etc. before his ghost + monster catching went far enough for his name to gain some notoriety. Hell, maybe Pacifica's family reached out to him to take care of "rats" that were actually ghosts, cementing his interest in Gravity Falls and giving him a window inter supernatural work.

Dipper was taken on as something of an apprentice to the Oracle 30ish years before canon as word of his good and dangerous deeds spread. However, what was at first a personal dream come true (saving lives with nerd magic) soon became a personal hell as the Oracle began to overwhelm Dipper with knowledge of various futures and universes where everything he cared about could be destroyed. He's always been over prepared and incredibly paranoid, and became obsessed with protecting the world by acting as a partner to the Oracle.

He ends up doing- or not doing- a lot of morally ambiguous things and gaining a lot of enemies. He is too ashamed to face his family- especially Mabel- with what he's done and burden them, giving the Oracle more to use against him to keep him working for her. Basically "you've already done all this and risked it all, there's nowhere to go if you stop now." Eventually this ends in her seeing him fit for her work and convincing him to hide out in and save other universes, which he gets trapped doing for the next three decades.

Little throw away idea: Pacifica could have been an investor or partner, but left as they uncovered secrets about the Northwest family. Maybe she wanted to undo something (debating making any of the Oracle's powers time related just because I hate time travel) or stop a current show of corruption, but Dipper had to stop her for the "greater good."

In the main universe, Mabel goes to Gravity Falls upon news of her brother's disappearance, searching for any loose end to trace back to him.

I love that in canon, Dipper is willing to do anything for Mabel, and Mabel gives it back. Dipper here spends all of his life keeping as many versions of her as safe as he can, and she spends all her life trying go seek him out- maybe even dropping a larger opportunity outside of Gravity Falls for her art and settling on business at the shack. Dipper wants Mabel alive, Mabel wants them both happy. I like the idea that it's Dipper and Mable vs. The Future but the future is a demon, alien thing.

Which leads me to...

Bill Cipher:

I'm actually gonna cover a couple versions of Bill I think are fitting for this AU, because I initially wasn't sure if I wanted him here at all.

Child Bill:

Pretty straight forward. Bill as a baby, child thing is tempting and this is the au where he'd exist. Personally though, I think Ford's friendship with Fidds would be more enriching to his growth, and Bill's personality is so close to Stan's they would likely be competing to fill very similiar roles. (If Bill behaves differenty as kid, I don't know about it.) Honestly, Bill is super similiar to Ford and Stan, and works better as a kind of foil or antagonist because of that (imo). I do find the mental image of Ford carrying Bill around funny. I do not enjoy human bill like, conceptually, so I'm probably never gonna design one as an adult or child, lol.

It would be cool to see a world where Bill didn't accidentally kill his parents though.

Bill - Reincarnated Original

Technically I guess they could all be reincarneted (especially baby Bill), but this version of Bill experienced and holds memories of the original canon events in GF. Beings like Bill and the Oracle can remember recent/soon approaching lives, and catch glimpses of more distant cycles as well.

What I like about Bill's recent role as an antagonist to Ford and Stan is that he constantly describes them in the terms of their worst traits, and sees them through the lens of the roles the world placed on them. In this AU, Bill is the epitome of the past (in this case a past life) coming back to bite the twins. He rattles their progress in communication as well as their sense of inner peace by bringing old Glass Shard Beach issues into Gravity Falls.

(Depicted here-> moments after Ford summons Bill using the same ritual as Gideon.)

The drawback to this is that it feels a lot like covering old ground.

Simply Bill:

This is pretty much just regular old Bill with the same fresh perspective as everyone else, and also the one I'm going with. He tried and failed to get Dipper's trust in the past and had to lay low at the arrival of the Oracle. Once they left, Bill targeted Mabel. I think it could be very interesting for Mabel and Bill to either have a fresh relationship wherein Bill is actively taking advantage of her desperation to find Dipper, or for Bill to be an old betrayal (not romantic, but not dissimilar to the opportunistic exes Stan and Ford have to be wary of and beat back under the rug regardless).

Either he shows himself to Mable early on, or decides that Gravity Falls is both Oracle-free and worth the time after either Ford or Mable summon him. Afterall, 30 years isn't much to him.

Maybe he exists in the background like he's always done, or the kids (being snoopy and disrespectful of Mabel's secrets) discover what Mabel's doing and run into him on their own.

Whether Bill is aware of the original series or not, I think he could be neat to stick in between Stan and Ford again for conflict. My favorite aspect about Relativity Falls is the prospects of the Stans having a larger support system and better tools to help themselves with. Beating Bill faster and better would be the ultimate testament to Mabel and Dipper's skills as functioning role models, even if Mabel is currently blinded by her focus on Dipper.

Stan and Ford will fight and they will make up, but this time maybe they can overcome it on their own.

I also think a good idea is having Ford and Stan's issues be completely Bill free (outside of like an episode or two's worth of relevance, unless he put them into a particularly stinging situation). It would feel fresher and also streamline the plot, lol.

Overview:

- Dipper is stuck travelling the multiverse with the Oracle and keeps himself sane by thinking of Mabel and protecting various versions of her.

- Mabel is investigating his disappearance in Gravity Falls and is working on a portal/portal equivalent with Bill to bring him back.

- The kids may or may not be aware of this.

Looking at the main series of events, I think it'd be neat go back to the apprenticeship conflict, where Ford could be approached by the Oracle (or something else that makes sense) with the promise of being a "hero," but knows better now because of Dipper and his experiences with Bill. It's kind of a more convoluted version of Ford's proposal to Dipper in canon, and they basically learn the same thing, lol. You can hang out with ghosts if you want, but demons are gonna get you. Maybe being a child with siblings is all you need.

(Stan could also be offered this, given the Oracle already knew he- or at least someone with his face- would beat Bill, but I think it's well established he isn't very interested in doing anything without family.)

All in all, things might be a bit crowded with two antagonists. But I do like the concept of Bill's arrival and subsequent chaos triggering Dipper and the Oracle's return to Mabel's dimension. I also love the idea of Bill, the Oracle, and some secret third thing all trying to pull the Pines family apart, and it's like a Man vs. God turned into a Family vs. Destiny thing, idk. Just trying to make it feel bigger.

Thank you for reading all this. It was a lot to draw. Next time I do anything for Relativity Falls, I'm gonna go back to the smaller things like Mabel bonding with the kids and stuff like that.

[cutiekelley]

Yay red eyed Leo!!!!

Something interesting I noticed with his alts so far is this:

His eyes have progressively gotten redder as time went on!! In chibi form at least. His eyes have stayed pretty red in the actual art too. This happens to a few other characters, where they are drawn in FEH with slightly different colors, but something else that I think points out some significance here is the chibis, cuz Takumi's eyes have looked pretty red in the art (compare his eyes to the red ribbon in his hair), but HIS chibi's eyes are always the same:

This doesn't really mean anything, but I love red eyes Leo, so I wanted to point this out!! Someone could always argue on the canonical status of FEH to say this doesn't count ig, but I personally don't really care. Red eye Leo!! Yay!!

Me, to myself: Now I know you hc Leo's eyes as red but don't be an idiot you know they're canonically supposed to be brown

Leo's Meet the Heroes doodles: *delivering some of the reddest fuckin' eyes I ever did saw*

Me:

Me: Ok so Leo's eyes are canonically red I guess–

[lis-likes-fics]

Mine

Pairings: Klaus Mikaelson x werewolf!Reader Word Count: 2.3k words Kink: Biting/Marking Warnings: NSFW, biting, claiming, fingering, oral (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex... A/N: Yeah, I'm so tired of writing smut rn but fuck it, we ball. we are halfway through (should be more than halfway but shhh) and we will persevere. Thanks for your patience and enjoy!

Your back slammed into the wall as Klaus' strong hands grasped your hips. His lips smacked against yours. You sighed against him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and weaving your fingers into his hair.

He took your lip between his teeth and bit down, kissing you again. Hungry lips moved to devour one another, tongues clashed and fought as the tension in the air turned to heavy heat. Your breath was loud, gasps and sighs escaping you at his touch.

His kiss was heaven, and your head spun as you tasted him. His hands moved to your sides, gripping you to bring you closer to him, even if your bodies were already pressed together so closely. You hummed when his lips pressed to your throat. His teeth darted out to nibble at your skin, red marks arising as he leaned your head back to continue his conquests.

"Klaus," you mumbled, your eyes fluttering shut and your mouth parting.

"You taste absolutely delicious, little pup," he smirked, his teeth clasping around your shoulder in a rather large almost-bite.

You moaned when his large hand came up to cup your breast and grasped, sending beautiful sensations straight to your core as another muffled moan slipped from your throat where he bit and sucked and lapped at your skin.

You were already high off his pleasure. Your body felt so alive.

“Fuck,” you gasped as his teeth brushed that special spot on your neck. You were like putty in his hands as he pressed into you harder, just to keep you from slipping down against the wall as you melted against him. He held you tighter, his grip bruising, and bared as if he was going to take a bite out of you.

You gasped when he took hold of your shirt and ripped it from your body with a foul tear. When you went to moan his name again, he silenced you with his lips, biting down on yours again but fore finding your neck and your shoulder and down to the skin of your breasts peeking out of your bra.

His hunger for you was endless as he continued to suck and bite, pulling blood underneath the surface of your skin and creating mark after mark in his quest to claim you.

And he didn't stop there. His mouth traveled further until he was breaching your jeans, working at them as he lavished teeth and tongue at your belly.

Just looking down at him now, you could see how many marks were beginning to form all over you. He was marking his territory, staking his claim like a painter to a finished work of art.

He pulled your jeans down your legs, but he skips straight to your thighs with the intention of marking you up there as well. It takes everything you have to stay standing, to avoid melting in his hold as his hands keep you still by your hips and his lips lavish your skin.

He continued the graze of his teeth until your panties were being slipped down your legs. You were bare, the bottom half of your body entirely naked for him to gaze upon and admire. You held onto his shoulders as he grasped your waist, licking your lips while you took his shirt in your hands and pulled it off of him to expose the expanse of his chest. He was strong and lean, and it showed.

You felt his fingers first, his middle finger brushing through your folds all of the sudden to collect your wetness on his digits with a groan. “I haven’t even touched you, and you’re dripping,” Klaus smiled. “Is this all for me, little pup?”

You let out a breathy moan as you nodded. “Yeah. All for you.” He smirked proudly at you, his grin crooked and his eyes dark with lust. His middle finger buried itself inside of you, sinking in all the way as he curled it against that spongy spot within you. A moan slipped past your lips, too loud and too exposing as your hips moved with the curl of his finger.

He coaxed you with his finger a while longer before pulling it out of you, listening interestedly to your disappointed sigh. You watched as he stuck his finger soaked in your arousal between his lips and sucked. You bit your lip.

He hummed, “Absolutely divine.” And then he went in for a better taste.

Klaus leaned forward and your lips parted so delicately when his tongue darted out to lick you. Your breath hitched, halting in your throat as his hot tongue delved between your folds. Like fire coursing through your veins, the warmth consumed you. You melted into him and your hips jerked, seeking his mouth.

His lips wrapped around your pussy, tasting you with an intoxicated moan. When he sucked on your clit, your breath trembled and a whimper managed to weave its way through your vocal chords. His talented tongue glided through your folds, plunging inside of you. He was addicted to your taste as he hummed against you.

He separated from you for a moment to look at you, replacing his tongue with two thick fingers as he stuffed you with them, curling and pumping and spreading them inside you. His lips were swollen from being kissed and bitten, wet with spit and arousal. He stared at you with dark, primal eyes.

“Do you like that, pet?” You mewled. “I know you do. I can hear it in your pretty little moans, I can feel it in the way you squeeze around my fingers…”

“It feels so good,” you sighed, nodding and allowing your hips to seek him out.

He buried his face between your legs again, pulling a leg over his shoulder as he did. His tongue flicked at your clit and drove you insane, worse when he sucked in it. It was not long before you were begging him to let you come, and he didn't deny you. He wanted to taste all of you, conquer all of you.

 "Come, darling. Let go for me. Let me taste you,” he urged, curling his fingers and rubbing at your clit with his thumb. Your body shuddered as you clenched tightly around his fingers, a moan slipping from your lips as you gasped. His hot tongue lapped against you, dipping inside of you to collect everything you gave to him. He grasped your thigh to keep you still as he kept you spread for him, loving every moment of being on his knees for you and watching you come undone.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Look at you. So beautiful.”

You carded your fingers through his hair as you came down, taking a breath and smiling. “Not so bad yourself, handsome.” He raised a playful brow at you, taking hold of you as he hoisted your other leg onto his other shoulder and stood. He carried you on his shoulders like you weighed nothing, and you held onto him as you laughed, hoping he wouldn’t drop you on the way to the bed.

Klaus dropped you onto the bed, smiling down at you as he climbed over the bed and over your body and kissed you, bending down to devour your lips and add a few more bite marks and hickeys to your flesh (as if you hadn’t already received enough of them).

When you heard the sound of his belt buckle clinking, you shuddered against him and tightened your legs around his waist. He took your lip between his teeth and tried not to bite too hard before he unfastened your legs around him and turned you over onto your belly. You moaned at the idea, readjusting yourself to stand on your hands and knees as he grabbed your ass and kneaded the flesh in his hand.

He kissed your shoulder, humming to himself at the new territory he had yet to make his mark on. “I’m going to fill you now, my little pup. I’ll have you trembling before long.”

You already were as a shudder ran down your spine. “Please do.”

He smiled to himself, taking himself from his pants as he pulled down down and off his legs. You could feel his hot length pressing against your fold, sighing at the feeling as he took himself in his hand and pumped his cock twice.

When he entered you, you gasped. Your mouth fell open and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as his cock made you feel nice and full as he pushed in inch by delicious inch.  “Be a good pet and moan for me,” he groaned. You clenched around his cock and felt a moan slip from your lips.

His cock slid in and out of you in long, slow strokes as he filled you to the brim. You bit down on your bottom lip, your eyes closing as you breathed a heavy sigh. As you continued to tighten around him, he grasped your waist tighter and tighter, pushing himself deep inside of you as he slowly lost a grip on his measured thrusts. A groan rumbled in his chest as he sighed. He was hardly slow or gentle as he rocked in and out of your squeezing cunt. He was paced, although his rough thrusts were not as forgiving anymore, and they left you pleading for more. You threw your head back as a stifled moan caught in your throat.

“Fuck, Klaus,” you huffed.

Rather than respond, he just bent down to press his chest to your back as his lips and teeth continued their conquest. His teeth were not as dull as he became more and more consumed by pleasure. The dull cut of his fangs grazed the skin of your back.

The pleasure echoed off your bones just as your sounds echoed off the walls of the bedroom. Your open mouth was unrestrained with noise of lust and passion. The arousal was leaking down your flesh, painting the insides of your thighs like a canvas, offering a generous lather of paint to the space. His cock spearing into you made the dirtiest sounds—skin on skin, wet against wet.

You fist the sheets as he fucked you. One of his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tightly as he pulled you back to meet his thrusts. Your legs were a trembling mess, your arms were slowly dwindling in the strength they needed to hold you up. You lost track of your moans, you could hardly hear yourself begging Klaus to keep going.

"More," you begged, despite the loss of breath in your lungs, despite the haze of your mind. You chased the pleasure, pleading for it to swallow you whole as you took all that he gave you. "Please, more." He cursed under his breath.

He braced one hand next to your head as you reached out to grab it. His breath was loud in your ear, full of broken moans disguised as heavy grunts.

"I like you begging," he purred in your ear.

You clenched around him, whimpering at the feeling of his cock keeping you full as his hips thrust into you. "Please let me cum, Klaus," you moaned. "I need it, feels so good. Please."

He hummed deeply, satisfied with your pleas as he smiled. "Very well, then," he said, his thrusts becoming a little rougher and his hands gripping you a little tighter. You nearly cried out when his finger found your clit, pressing down and rubbing rhythmically as he worked to push you over the edge.

You were getting so close, addicted to the passionate rock of his cock inside you. Your pussy fluttered as you grew nearer and nearer to your release. You could tell he was close too, with the way his breaths become moans, the way his thrusts become a little bit more erratic.

“Klaus,” you gasped. “Klaus, please. Gonna cum!”

He kept going, his breath fast and deep. "Cum for me, love." His thumb moved quicker, and the sparks went wild in your belly. You moaned deeply as you squeezed around his cock, your breath stuck in your throat for a moment as your orgasm washed over you.

He gripped you tighter by the hips, moaning at the feeling of your pussy fluttering around him as you clenched his cock in a snug fit inside you. He cursed under his breath, burying his head in the crook of your neck. You felt his sharp fangs graze your skin, teasing your flesh for a moment as he kept rocking into you. With a few rough thrusts of his hips, he buried his cock as far inside of you as he could go as he came.

Your vision blurred and you gasped when his teeth sunk into your skin, piercing your flesh and burning in your veins like a fierce ecstasy. He groaned roughly as he spilled inside of you, rutting his hips a couple more times as he rode out his high.

He pulled away from you, kissing the bite mark Imprinted into your skin as he claimed you with much more than a simple love bite. He sighed deeply, a pleased hum slipping past his lips  before he pulled out of you.

You sat back on your knees as you caught your breath, bringing your hand to your shoulder where he'd buried his teeth. "Did you claim me?" you asked, looking up at him in surprise.

He disappeared one moment and reappeared in the next, a damp cloth in his hand as he rounded you once more. He wrapped an arm around you from behind and kissed your neck again, licking the skin and taking it between his teeth once more.

"You're mine," he whispered.

Always and Forever taglist: @avala-moon​ @xxwritemeastoryxx @melodiclovesong @katsukis1wife @thebrotherssalvatore321 @strangerliaa @njeancastro316 @dumble-daddy @thelastpyle @lovelyy-moonlight @hb8301 @athena-royal @alexxavicry @hellfire1986baby @dumb-fawkin-bitch @papichulo120627 @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @evansstan-akya Tag yourself here or send me a message...

[giorno-plays-piano]

Ars Amatoria

Ancient Rome AU

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, chase, period-typical violence, death of minor characters, Satoru is the Emperor's brother.

Words: 3.1k

Summary: By the end of the second month, you could no longer leave the house without numerous servants circling around you. He is everywhere, whether it is a market or an arena, a house of your father's friend or a city street. If you stay alone, he always comes to talk to you even if for a minute. When you are surrounded by servants and family, he will find a way to attract your attention simply to wave to you from afar. Nothing can keep him away.

__________

He is right behind you.

Nothing betrays his presence but his erratic breathing as he makes a step closer, leaning in to get a whiff of your hair while you freeze like a statue. The sick bastard somehow always catches you alone as if he knows in advance when you give a command to the maids to fetch something. He is always there, a shadow behind a curtain. He has been following you for months, and there is nothing you can do to stop him.

"Greetings, my lady," he snickers, thrilled from the proximity. "I've missed you."

Your hands get cold, but you forbid yourself to tremble. Satoru Gojo is a predator through and through, and showing fear in front of him is akin letting him sink his teeth into you.

"This is very improper, my lord. There will be talks."

As if he ever cared about it. Being a younger brother of the Emperor has its benefits: Satoru Gojo can do anything he wants and will not get punished for any offense except for treason. Nevertheless, you hate to admit, he is not a spoiled and pampered boy he pretends to be. With years spent on a conquest of neighboring lands to expand the Empire's territory, he is well-versed in the arts of war and politics. Truly, despite his odd character, he is an honorable member of the Imperial family, and the Senate speaks well of him.

If only not for his inexplicable obsession with a woman he hardly knows.

You've met him at the Saturnalia, on the second day of the festivities in the house of one of the senators. Your father, albeit not a politician, knows his trade well, and it earned him enough respect and support to be invited. His only surviving child, you were brought along to enjoy the guising among the other sons and daughters. You did not expect any disturbance: soft-spoken and well-educated, you knew how to enjoy the carnival without inviting trouble. Unfortunately for you, the trouble found you in the face of a masked suitor who spent the whole evening beside you.

He was so charming that night. Holding your hand, he recited poetry and spoke of legends he learned in the faraway lands, enjoying your full attention. As you two drank wine and ate fruits on the terrace in the middle of the night, he pointed at the stars at the sky and told you many, many stories about each of them. At one point, you suggested he was making them up to feed your curiosity, but it only flattered you. It seemed the stranger was enamored by you, too.

By early morning, when drunk and sleepy guests were finally leaving the house, you let your suitor drop a kiss to your hand and gave him a little fibula with your father's insignia on it. While it wasn't very wise to search encounter with masked strangers outside of Saturnalia, you couldn't believe a senator would have unworthy guests under his roof. Besides, your suitor seemed to cultured and well-behaved, you thought knowing a little more about him wouldn't hurt. Your maids would never betray your secret, and you were too clever to do anything that could cause unnecessary talks.

When you heard his voice behind you on the third day of the festivities, you thought it was a happy coincidence he'd found you so fast. When you saw the face of a man you knew from the celebration the Emperor held for him after his return from the conquest, you realized what a dangerous game you were playing. Satoru Gojo was no match for a rich merchant's daughter. You were not meant for the life of the court or high politics. When he spoke of courtship, you realized the dangers awaiting you if you were mad enough to accept his offer. That is, if Emperor wouldn't assassinate you before marriage for daring to seduce someone well-above your rank.

You rejected him carefully. Surely, it was not his fault: neither of you knew the identity of the other that night. Satoru seemed strangely hot-headed for an acclaimed general to be offering courtship so early, but your father often spoke of the vigor of young soldiers to marry. Perhaps, when a bit of time passes, he would realize his mistake.

But Satoru Gojo did not accept the rejection. He smiled, flashing his pearly white teeth, and assured you he would come to you later, when you would grow accustomed to the thought of marriage.

This was how the chase began. By the end of the second month, you could no longer leave the house without numerous servants circling around you. He is everywhere, whether it is a market or an arena, a house of your father's friend or a city street. If you stay alone, he always comes to talk to you even if for a minute. When you are surrounded by servants and family, he will find a way to attract your attention simply to wave to you from afar. Nothing can keep him away. In fact, you are left wondering why he did not yet drag you to his house: in his position, he can do anything he wishes, and neither your father nor his senator friends can save you. Perhaps, the predator that he is, he simply enjoys the chase.

When your father summons you at the end of the fifth month, you are certain he will speak of this marriage. You are the only child of his that survived past infancy, and he cares for you greatly. You know he does not want to give you away only to see you perish from an assassin's knife or poisoned wine sent by Satoru Gojo's enemies, but he has no choice. No one can offer you protection.

Yet, your father does not speak of marriage. "Gather your things," he says firmly, a sealed letter in his hands. "Tonight, you will depart to Cilicia. A good friend of mine has offered you refuge until things will settle down here. I will send guards and servants with you. If the general asks, I will pretend you are sick and need to recover before you are seen in public."

For a second, you think you forget how to breathe. Leave? You can leave?

"But what if he still wants to visit?"

The man rubs the bridge of his nose, his eyes tired, and head bowed. "I will say you are contagious and should be kept away."

"But what if he sends me a doctor?"

When your father lifts up his greying head from his heavy wooden desk, you realize he is ready to die for the offense if only it gets you away from the Emperial bastard. You can't go. If your suitor finds out the truth, your house will burn. He will kill everyone for your father's lie.

"You will go to Cilicia even if I have to bind you by the hands and feet," your father says with such determination you know he will stay true to his word despite any pleas. You were blind to the depth of his love for you, his only child, and it brings you to tears.

When you leave, you have but a couple of maids to keep you company, all of them frightened but obedient to your father's will. For hours, you do not speak, staring into the darkness as the cart is being dragged further and further away from the capital until you no longer hear anything but the sound of hooves. You fear the uncertainty, but Satoru Gojo and the danger surrounding him scares you more. The way his eyes always seem searching for you in a crowd, his normally pale cheeks a shade of bright pink the second his gaze lands on you; the way he touches you tenderly, trembling from excitement when his hand reaches for your hair, hidden beneath the veil... There is something very disturbing about him, and you fear the future where you are his wife and his has power over you. Would he truly love you as he promised on the third day of Saturnalia? Was the man reciting poems to you like an actor on the stage of a theater truly Satoru Gojo? Or was it all a pretense to capture your attention, a predator's instinct to lure its prey? He plagues your thoughts long after you left your home.

By the time you reach the next big city, it's been days, and you crave a hot bath and a proper meal before going to sleep in a real bed: the tiny villages you crossed could offer little comfort even for big money, and everyone surrounding you is equally exhausted from long travel. You need a little rest before continuing further. Surely, one or two days won't hurt? You need to exchange the horses, anyway, and the servants and guards require rest as much as you.

While you avoid all public spaces, you cannot resist balnea that is conveniently close to your inn. You smell worse than a cattle. Far from home and surrounded by your people, you are somewhat pacified by the thought of Satoru being far away: you do not think he could have already found you. Surely, despite his status, he is only a man. Enjoying your time at the public bathes, you forget your worries for a minute, and your maids are grateful for a little respite.

When you return to your quarters, the inn is strangely quiet. You do not see it at first, chatting with the girls, all of you finally clean and proper, your skin shining in the sunlight. By the time you reach the doors, you see the blood leaking on the floor from behind them. The maids, untrained in the matters of murder, scream as you stare at the pool of crimson liquid, your body numb. Before you know it, you run.

Who is it? Who would hunt you down to kill? Satoru might be deranged, but he'd rather catch you to have you for himself instead of murdering you for defiance. It must be someone else. Is it the Emperor? Is he finally aware his younger brother is publicly humiliating himself, pleading for the hand of a woman who is below him? Is it someone else?

Tears are spilling down your cheeks as you choke on air, running the streets like a mad woman, your maids and servants abandoned somewhere behind along with everything your father gave you for protection. There is nothing you can do, alone and defenseless in a strange city. You are going to die. Oh gods, you are going to die today.

Turning away to see if anyone chases you, you suddenly crush into someone, the wind knocked out of you from such forceful encounter. You would hit the ground if the stranger did not pull you up by the hands. Disoriented, you turned your head to him, tears clouding your vision. Was he the killer? The assassin sent by the Emperor? Was he going to stab you with a knife or cut your head off and bring to his master as proof?

Instead, you hear Satoru Gojo's troubled voice, "Are you injured?"

Before you blink away the tears, he already drags you away from the street to a tiny back alley, wrapping you in his thick wool cloak to hide you from prying eyes. He shushes you, his warm hand on your head as he nudges your face into his chest, asking you to keep quiet, and you stay still, the heat of his body almost burning your skin. Another minute pass, and you hear the shouts of those who were chasing you before they fade away as men continue on, convinced you are still running ahead of them. Every single hair on your body stands on end. Someone truly sent assassins after you.

"Please, help," you plead, ready to sink to your knees and kiss Satoru's feet for a chance to get to safety. "P-please! I'll do anything you ask, just get me out of here!"

His clear blue eyes shine in the darkness of the alley when he smiles at you, his head held high as he promises proudly, "Of course, love. Stay close."

Never in those months you've known him you could imagine asking him for help. His proximity meant nothing but trouble even if he was kind to you, sending you gifts or reading poems, because danger always follows people of his statue wherever they go. Now, though, he is your only chance of leaving the city safely, and you aren't going to waste it.

You cling to him like a child to their mother, following him from an alley to an alley as he eyes the streets, his other hand on the handle of his sword, ready to draw it the second he sees a threat to you. While you never truly thought of him as a hero, used to seeing him in a rather unbecoming of a man state, Satoru Gojo is not only a good soldier: he is the best Imperial Legion can offer. Scanning the crowd, he quickly moves from one place to another without drawing attention, and you barely register as you end up next to his soldiers, all of them armed.

You fail to register your two maids among them, but they quickly remind you of themselves with their shouts, crying as they run to you. Luckily, they are unharmed, you think as you sob, too.

"We need to get moving," Satoru proclaims, saddling his steed and extending his hand to you. "Quick, come."

Needles to say, you are too scared to argue, and you mount the steed with your savior sitting just behind you. Strangely, instead of usual dread, you feel safe with him. He is here to protect you.

Your maids ride with the soldiers as you make way outside of the city, not stopping for what seems like hours to you. Not once you see your pursuers, but, perhaps, it simply fails your attention: all the soldiers Satoru brought are on guard, and you can see the unease on their faces. Indeed, you are simply lucky to get away on time.

By the time you finally stop, your thighs and back ache, and your mouth is dry as if you spent the day in a desert. You lost your new woolen palla somewhere in the city, and your long stola is torn and surely caked with dirt. Oh, your poor father would have a stroke if he could see you now.

"I'm sorry for the uncomfortable journey," your suitor smiles at you, helping you get off the horse as you moan from pain. He then wraps his spare cloak around your shoulders and puts cloth on the fallen tree for you to sit on. "The cart would slow us down, and we couldn't afford losing more time."

You ask, agitated, "Are we safe now?"

Sadly, he shakes his head. "Not until we're back in the capital. I will keep you from harm, but the assassins sent after you are not some street rats. We need to get home."

You have no tears left after today's chase, and all you do is hide your face in your palms, moaning in exhaustion. What have you done to warrant this savagery? What crime have you committed?

"Why do they want my head?" You exhale, looking up to the man in front of you, and his expression falls. Even he feels sorry for you

Landing next to you, he rubs his shoulder, seemingly tired from this race as much as you are. "You are my chosen one. They want to hurt me."

Blood rushes to your head when you hear him admit it. It is his fault. You are being hunted for the pleasure of his enemies. All the time spent avoiding and rejecting him, all these efforts to escape to Cilicia... it all is for nothing. You are already a target despite refusing marriage.

Seeing the change in your expression, Satoru is quick to grab your hands in his and speak again. "I am at fault. I should have stopped you from leaving. I have been guarding you everywhere you go since the time we met, but I cannot give you the same protection elsewhere. My enemies have been watching you since Saturnalia."

Horrified, you stare at his handsome face, his pale cheeks and the tip of his nose red from sunburn. From Saturnalia? You have been a target for so long? How did you survive for months without even realizing you were being hunted? How could your father not know someone was watching your house? Your guards? Your servants?

Satoru's rough, callous hands squeeze yours tenderly as you sob again, angry at him but still grateful for your escape. You were doomed from the start, weren't you? Nothing you could do would change anything. All of this has been for nothing, even your poor father's attempt to hide you in a faraway province. You would always end up here, with Satoru, or simply dead somewhere on the streets.

"I tried to tell you, but you did not want to listen to me," he whispers gently as he embraces you, his hands wrapped around your back as he shifts you to sit in his lap. "Please, do not weep, love. I will deliver you back to safety."

"What s-safety?" You hiccup, disillusioned with all your attempts to separate from him. "So they would watch the house of my father and strike us later?"

When the man lands a soft kiss to your forehead, you sniff, palms pressed to his chest. It's all his fault. Even if he was not stalking you for his own pleasure all this time, it's still all his fault for you ending up like this, for the death of your people.

"No, no," he reassures you quickly. "We will get married, and you will live in my house. No one can get through the gates unless I personally give them permission. If you so wish, you will not see a single soul in your chambers for months."

Sounds like a dream, you think, tired and hungry and upset. Not having to worry about your life taken in your sleep is now a luxury you cannot afford.

"You promise?" You murmur into his ear, curling against him, abandoning all modesty for why would you be modest with a man you will marry upon entering the capital?

"Promise," he whispers in response, his cheeks sickly pink again as he delivers a kiss to the top of your head.

_______

Tags: @shybluebirdninja

[slushfaerie]

okay so…fratboy!patrick...

(truly my beloved. from this post ! stoner!art coming soon. filth below the cut)

you meet in a random discussion section for one of your sophomore english classes. get assigned to peer review each other's papers. he’s a sweetheart on the down low.

he’s one of those frat boys that shows up to your 8am section hungover or even still drunk with those fucking black sunglasses on. he talks about his conquests from the night before with his boys before class but still grabs you papers from the stack being passed around by the TA and hands them to you, your fingers brushing against his.

patrick invites you to the party at his frat house one week towards the end of the term, not thinking you'd show up. but he can't hold back a grin when he sees you walk up, pushing by the new pledge they'd made stand as a bouncer.

he watches you dance and take shots with your roommates and he can't keep his eyes off you..but he's just…surveying the party…that’s it.

patrick's the one who makes the announcement, “if you’re not a brother or with a brother, get the Fuck out.” to the whole party at the end of the night. 

when that one creepy brother approaches to try and hit on you, hoping to get lucky, patrick wraps his arm around you, making a show of whispering in your ear and taking too much pleasure in the way the creep’s face falls.

"wanna go to the roof? grab some air?" he pulls the cigarette from behind his ear with a grin.

as you climb the stairs to the rooftop of the frat house, patrick's hand wanders to land on your hip as he pulls you closer. he's crushed his 4th beer of the night and you'd taken shots and had some of the jungle juice. neither of you mind the way it feels, him so close to you.

you share a smoke on the roof and he makes you laugh, his smile lines illuminated by moonlight as he tries to insistently point out constellations in the light-polluted Palo Alto sky. you try to look away from him, stay detached, brush him off. but you can't help that he's funny.

despite your efforts to stay away, you can't help yourself. your night ends with his tongue down your throat. he tastes like beer and cigarettes and looks at you like he wants to ruin you, just so he can piece you back together. wants to have you all for himself. you can't resist his gravity.

patrick takes you to his messy room in the frat house, kissing you with wild lips and tongue against the door, air thick with tension, before peeling off your clothes.

he guides you to your elbows and knees, your hands gripping the soft fabric of the sheets on his unmade bed.

he places slow kisses up the skin of your back before teasing the seam of your cunt with the tip of his cock, laughing as you shudder for him.

“oh…you like that? tell me what else you want..”

you’re practically putty in his hands, making all kinds of noises, trying to get him to stop teasing.

patrick can’t hold back his “fuck, baby…” as he finally enters you.

as he fucks you from behind, his hand reaches around from where it rested on your hip to rub your clit with his fingers almost sweetly, the gesture a stark contrast to the brutal way he was taking you.

patrick gives you a smirk as he continues to fuck into you. you look up to his eyes meeting yours in the reflection of his closet door mirror.

"god, look how pretty you are."

he gives your ass a spank before thrusting all the way in, tonguing your neck before he leans down, his chest molding to your back as he presses you down into the bed, impossibly deeper inside you.

"you're squeezing the hell out of me, y'know that?" he whispers in your ear as he covers your hand with his.

"can't believe this pretty little pussy..taking me so good..”

guess you're with a brother now.

[daretolovemyrambling]

the Medarda Clan

(picture above is from the arcane artbook, it's concept art for Mel, Kino, Ambessa and Kino's unnamed father. Mel's father isn't named or shown anywhere yet)

I don't think Arcane necessarily retconned this, so I wanted to talk about the Medarda Clan in the League of Legends Universe.

Mel Medarda, while banished from Noxus, likely still retained a high status because a part of the Medarda family also resides in Piltover.

It makes sense that Medarda family members don't just reside in Noxus. Ambessa says herself that she send Mel to Piltover in order to oversee their family's interests. And would it really be called "Medarda House" by Piltover residents if only Mel is in it? Mel would have also been only about 23 when she enters Piltover and 26 when she was a councelor in season 1 act 1 (here is a timeline I made for arcane: x) it's insane, even for her, to establish a well respected house in such a short time in Piltover.

In Legends of Runeterra (a Riot card game that explores the world of Runeterra in more detail), there is a card named Jae Medarda.

His description reads: "Heir apparent to Piltover's prestigious Clan Medarda, Jae preferred hunting ancient artifacts over managing the family business... much to his father's chagrin."

There also some other Medarda family members that we know of; on the League website you can find a map named "Medarda Heirloom", it shows trading routes the Medarda's use. It's a pretty old map though, I think it's from 2016 so I wouldn't really say this very relevant.

On the map you can find a letter by a Medarda Merchant named Jago writen to his nephew, Salob, who seems at risk of being banished.

I tried my best to make out every word:

Nephew Salob,

As much as I am forced to admire your frankly staggering & baffling level of self-belief in the face of numerous failures, failures that would have punctured the ego of the staunchest Zaunite braggart. I would like to confirm, in writing, that control of the Medarda Clan's commerical portfolio and access to the clan trade map. Which you have long coveted, shall not be granted to you - not now - not in time - nor never.

I suggest you take on a profession more befitting your natural talents - perhaps as a chem-lamp lighter - and be grateful to your aunt, my dear wife, that your ties with the clan are not severed completly.

This will be the end of the matter.

Sincerly,

Jago Medarda

The Medarda family seems to love exiling children that don't fit into the family.

I think Jago is now kind of retconned if Arcane is the new canon, or he's at the very least not the head of the clan and has married into the family. Sun Gates are what made a lot of the families in Piltover rich 200 years ago, it's not mentioned in arcane but we do see them in some arcane maps.

In Arcane Ambessa mentions that she fought battles from the Bloodcliffs to the Dalamor Plains. The Black Rose mentions that she might have had an affair while travelling through Basilich, at least fake-Kino claims that this is the area he heard rumors about Ambessa's affair in. I marked all these places with a red dot on the Runeterra map. Basilich is a Port City, if the affair really did happen here, Mel's father could be from any place in Runeterra.

I'm hoping they will expand on the Medarda family in the future, the Ambessa book will likely have some interesting lore about them in it. It comes out in Feb 2025.

From the Synopsis we already know that there will be a cousin of Ambessa that is named Ta’Fik. I'm guessing he knows that Ambessa had an affair and has bad blood with the Black Rose.

Ambessa Medarda: Warrior, general, mother. She is a woman to be feared, and the Medardas are unrivaled in their pursuit of glory. She has led conquests and armies. She has slain legendary beasts. She has made grave sacrifices in her ascent up the ranks. And for this she was rewarded: She entered the realm of death and was granted a vision of herself upon the throne of the vast Noxian empire. But before she can lead her empire, she must become head of her own clan. Yet the title is contested by her cousin and former confidante, Ta’Fik. He knows the bloody sins of Ambessa’s past. And he knows he cannot allow her to rise. They will fight a war for the very soul of the Medardas. But the war won’t be fought on battlefields alone. Ambessa’s daughter, Mel, can deftly break through the walls around anyone’s heart, and she’ll put her talents to use for her mother. Yet despite Mel’s strength, Ambessa sees only a child who lacks her killer instincts. Mel knows she can be the leader Ambessa wants her to be, if only she gives her time. With her family betraying her, enemies closing in on all sides, and unseen forces moving in the shadows, every day proves more dangerous than the last. But Ambessa will not bow. She will burn the world down to claim her place in it.

[whencyclopedia]

From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire

"From Cyrus to Alexander" by Pierre Briant offers a detailed history of the Persian Empire, focusing on its administration, culture, and military. Briant highlights Persia’s innovations in governance and its tolerant, multicultural approach. The book challenges traditional Greek-centric views, presenting Persia as a complex and influential empire with a lasting historical legacy.

Pierre Briant’s From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire is widely considered the definitive modern history of the Persian Empire. The book covers its origins under Cyrus the Great through its conquest by Alexander the Great. Originally published in French as Histoire de l’Empire Perse in 1996, the English translation made this monumental work accessible to a wider audience, expanding its influence in Near Eastern studies, ancient history, and comparative empires.

Briant’s book stands out for its focus on presenting the Persian Empire as an autonomous civilization rather than through the perspective of its Greek rivals. Historically, much of what Western scholars knew about the Persian Empire came from Greek sources like Herodotus, who often cast Persia as a monolithic enemy. By situating Persia at the center of its own narrative and making extensive use of archaeological findings, inscriptions, and administrative records, Briant counters this Eurocentric bias and offers a view of Persia as a sophisticated, multiethnic empire that left a significant legacy of governance, culture, and trade.

Briant structures the book in a way that mirrors the breadth of the Persian Empire, dedicating each section to a different aspect of the empire’s history, politics, economy, society, and culture. The organisation of the book reflects his emphasis on a systemic, comprehensive examination of the empire.

The early chapters detail Cyrus the Great’s conquests and policies of tolerance, which established a stable, expansive empire. Briant also examines governance, highlighting the balance between central control and local autonomy, the role of satraps, and the unifying use of Aramaic as an administrative lingua franca. Moreover, he analyses the Persian military apparatus, from its elite units like the Immortals to the logistical organisation enabling vast mobilizations by the Persians. He contextualises major conflicts, including the Persian Wars as part of a strategy to stabilize borders and secure valuable territories, rather than dominate all of Greece.

The book also dedicates significant attention to the Persian economy, exploring the empire’s agrarian base, trade networks, and taxation system. He shows how Persia’s economic policies were designed to support both the imperial treasury and local economies, creating a sustainable model that contributed to the empire’s longevity. The culture and religion section highlights Persia’s promotion of cultural integration and religious diversity. Briant shows how Persian art blended regional styles to symbolize royal authority and examines how Zoroastrian traditions coexisted with support for local religions, fostering loyalty among subjects.

One of Briant’s central arguments is that the Persian Empire’s strength lay in its policy of tolerance and inclusion. By allowing conquered peoples to retain their religious practices, local laws, and leaders, the Persians created a sense of allegiance that went beyond military domination. He also highlights the Persian administrative system as a model for later empires, like the Roman and Islamic. Innovations such as standardized taxation, the Royal Road, and an organised postal system enabled centralised yet flexible governance. His analysis of satrapies shows how Persia balanced regional autonomy with loyalty to central authority.

The book repositions the Persian Empire within a global context, highlighting its role in economic and cultural exchange across Asia and the Mediterranean. Through trade and diplomacy with regions like Egypt and Greece, Persia facilitated the flow of ideas and technologies, serving as a prototype for managing diverse populations and complex trade networks.

From Cyrus to Alexander is widely praised for its depth but critiqued for its daunting length and scholarly density. While excelling in its analysis of Persian administration and politics, it offers limited insight into the daily lives of ordinary Persians, focusing more on imperial strategies than social and cultural history.

This monumental work offers a detailed and balanced account of the Persian Empire, redefining its role in world history. Briant’s focus on understanding Persia on its own terms provides valuable insights into its governance, economy, and cultural integration, making it an essential resource for ancient Near Eastern studies.

Continue reading...

[blueiscoool]

Archeologists Uncover Alexander the Great’s Royal Tunic in Vergina

The remains of a garment from an ancient tomb in Greece may be a tunic that was once worn by Alexander the Great, a scholar claims in a new study.

The garment was found in a tomb that many scholars believe belonged to Alexander’s father, Philip II. It's next to two other tombs thought to hold other royal members of Alexander's family.

The new study, however, claims that this particular tomb doesn't belong to Alexander's father, but to Alexander's half-brother, Philip III (also known as Arrhidaeus). The study also claims that the cotton cloth found in the tomb was once part of a tunic worn by Alexander that, after his death, was passed to Arrhideus and buried with him in this tomb.

The tunic was sacred because only Alexander the Great was allowed to wear it, said Antonis Bartsiokas, professor emeritus of physical anthropology and paleoanthropology at the Democritus University of Thrace and author of the study, published Oct. 17 in the Journal of Field Archaeology. By the time of Alexander's death, some people considered him a god, Bartsiokas said in an email.

However, not all of the scholars supported the findings, with one scholar saying that it is not a tunic at all.

A king's tomb

The garment was found in 1977 in a gold chest in a tomb near the town of Vergina (formerly the capital of Macedonia) in what is now Greece. The tomb has two skeletons that are, according to Bartsiokas, those of Arrhidaeus and his wife Eurydice.

After Alexander died in 323 B.C., Arrhidaeus became king of Alexander's empire. Historical records indicate that Arrhidaeus lived with some form of mental disability and was unable to rule. Alexander's officials and generals fought for power, and the empire disintegrated with the killing of Arrhidaeus in 317 B.C.

Bartsiokas contends that after Alexander died, this tunic was given to Arrhidaeus and, after Arrhidaeus was killed, was buried with him. In his paper, Bartsiokas cites evidence for this idea, such as the art on the tomb's walls, studies of the skeletons found in the tomb, and an analysis of ancient historical records. Bartsiokas also looked at past tests done on the garment, including energy dispersive X-ray spectroscopy, a technique that analyzes X-rays to determine what an object is made of, and fourier-transform infrared spectroscopy, which uses infrared light to analyze objects.

Alexander's tunic?

Bartsiokas contends that tests done by other scholars show that the garment was a sarapis, or a tunic. The tunic is made of three layers. Two of the layers are made of cotton that has been dyed purple. Between the two layers of cotton there is a flexible layer of a mineral called huntite. Purple was worn by kings in the ancient world, he noted, and cotton was grown in Persia, but not in Greece, during Alexander's time. Ancient historical records indicate that "cotton was introduced to Greece and Europe by Alexander’s army following the conquest of the Persian Empire," Bartsiokas wrote in his paper.

Bartsiokas also cited ancient records claiming that the king of Persia wore a tunic that used cotton and huntite and that Alexander wore a tunic like this after he conquered Persia. He noted that Philip II was not a ruler of Persia and would not have worn a tunic that used cotton or huntite.

In addition, the artwork on the wall of the tomb — an illustrated group of hunters — depicts Alexander wearing a tunic similar to the one found, Bartsiokas said, and the artwork's details suggest the artist was familiar with Persia's landscape and wildlife.

Additionally, the painting is done in a complicated style that would have taken a long time to complete, meaning the burial likely didn't belong to Philip II. That's because Philip II was assassinated in 336 B.C. and Alexander went on a military campaign shortly afterward, which means the artist would not have had time to create it before Philip II's funeral, Bartsiokas explained.

Another reason the garment didn't belong to Philip II, Bartsiokas said, is that the king suffered a wound to his right eye, but neither skeleton in the tomb has an indication of such a wound.

Controversy

Scholars had mixed reactions to Bartsiokas' paper.

Hariclia Brecoulaki, a senior researcher at the National Hellenic Research Foundation's Institute of Historical Research in Greece, said there is no evidence to support the idea that this garment was a tunic. "The textile, according to the excavators, looked more like a piece of scarf that served to wrap the bones of the deceased," Brecoulaki said in an email.

Athanasia Kyriakou, director of the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki's excavation project at Vergina, also criticized the paper. "This article is full with faulty understandings due to a lack of the relevant background," Kyriakou said in an email. Bartsiokas did not conduct tests on the materials himself, Kyriakou noted, adding that Bartsiokas "has not even seen the materials."

Other scholars were more supportive of the paper and its findings. "I am sympathetic to Antonis Bartsiokas's arguments that it belongs to Philip III," Susan Rotroff, a professor emerita of classics at Washington University in St. Louis, said in an email. "If the textile in question really is cotton, it is hard to support a date before the time of Alexander the Great."

Richard Janko, a classical studies professor at the University of Michigan, was cautiously supportive. "This is a very exciting piece of research," Janko said in an email. "The original identification of the male occupant of the extraordinarily rich Tomb II at Vergina as Philip II, the father of Alexander, is far from secure."

However, Janko noted that the cotton used to make the garment could have been imported through trade from Persia, which means that it could have been acquired and used by Philip II.

David Gill, a fellow at the University of Kent's Centre for Heritage, commended the paper's findings. "Some years ago I published the weight inscriptions from Tomb II — and I argued that they had to post-date Philip II," Gill said in an email. Several objects in the tomb, such as silver plates, have their weights inscribed on them.

He found the paper's arguments that the garment was a tunic used by Alexander the Great to be strong. "It is likely that this was an item that was worn by Alexander the Great," Gill said.

[beautifullache]

🦄The Sims 4🦄

🎆PATREON ONLY🎆

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[cakesforlosers]

unfortunate circumstance

[superficialdomina]

Fray (Into Submission, Part 4)

Part 3: Lost

Series masterlist

AN: An Avengers training session gives you a chance to show Loki how fun it would be to let you win.

As always, an enormous thank you to @acidcasualties for making this whole series happen. Special thanks to @lokisgoodgirl for checking the accuracy of my swordplay!

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: 18+; minors DNI. Thirsty with some reminiscing, but nothing explicit in this one. Inaccurate descriptions of combat training. Mostly just lurid descriptions of Loki's smoking hot bod in workout wear, with a touch of plot development.

Days. You hadn’t seen him in days.

There were hints of him; you knew he was still in the Tower. You’d heard his voice a couple of times, and yesterday when you’d stepped into the elevator you could smell that he’d been there minutes before. But he’d upped his avoidance game. It made you sad, and a little afraid.

The look of anguish he’d worn as he’d cast you out of his apartment remained etched in your memory, leaving the subtle ache of guilt in your chest. Had you gone too far?

You mulled it over as you pulled on your gym gear. Loki might still refuse to talk to you this morning, but you were confident that you would at least see him. After several of your coworkers had missed Saturday afternoon’s impromptu training session, Rogers had rescheduled for first thing Monday morning, with strongly worded insistence that everyone be in attendance. His WhatsApp message didn’t quite single Loki out by name, but none of you was in any doubt about its intended target.

The spacious training hall gleamed with the sunlight that streamed through the large 26th story windows, casting a warm glow on the polished mats. The luxury of the Tower was as prominent here as on every other floor. The gym was loaded with state-of-the-art equipment and comprehensive accessories, all meticulously maintained - as though getting your arse kicked by a handful of superheroes would hurt less because there wasn’t a speck of dust on the yoga mats, you thought wryly. You peered hopefully around the room as you entered. I just need to know that he’s OK, you told yourself.

Loki and Thor were sparring hand-to-hand in the open rink, the soft thudding of their bare feet resonating as they moved around one another. Occasional grunts carried as one of the pair landed a strike. Despite Thor’s size advantage, they were evenly matched; Loki was always a fraction faster, seeming to know exactly where Thor would move next, as though each step were choreographed and practiced to perfection. Observing them was like watching an ancient dance. Which is exactly what it is, you thought, momentarily awed. A fierce, millennium-old dance.

Thor’s bare chest, though impressive, was still somehow less appealing than Loki’s lithe form, clad in workout wear that clung tightly to his broad back. You let your eyes blatantly traverse him. His elegant ankles smoothed into perfectly sculpted calf muscles; his Godly hamstrings flexed under the hem of his training shorts, which in turn restrained his flawlessly rounded glutes. His body was utterly splendid. A delight of form and function, forged by centuries of practice and power. A work of art.

If he would just put that phenomenal dedication and discipline to good use in service to you…

“Time!” Rogers called loudly, and the brothers stepped back, arms lowered, chests heaving. Thor clapped Loki on the back amicably, and for the briefest moment, you saw Loki wince. The small movement made your blood run hot.

Pain.

“Three minutes, everyone!” Rogers continued, before consulting the pairs listed in the complicated run sheet on his ridiculous clipboard. “Two and eight,” he began. “Three and twelve. Four and… Sixteen.”

You groaned inwardly, pushing thoughts of your recalcitrant conquest from your mind. The Black Widow. Not exactly a leisurely start to the morning, then.

“Come on, sixteen,” Natasha laughed. “Show me what you’ve got.”

The room filled with the sounds of Avengers in practice: thudding boots, wordless shouts, the familiar hum of mutual respect and collective, focused power. As you sparred, you began to relax into the collaborative energy, muscle memory activating as your training partner led with her familiar fighting style. Nat feinted here, and you responded there; the two of you were strong, and graceful, and -

Thump. You landed flat on your back on the hard mat. Again. At least this time you’d seen it coming. Your body just… didn’t move that way. Or that fast.

“You’re getting better,” Nat insisted as she hauled you to your feet. “You almost avoided that one.”

“I saw what you were doing,” you agreed, somewhat reluctantly. “I just couldn’t do anything to stop you.”

“They rarely can,” she winked, as Steve’s obnoxious whistle sounded again.

“Drinks!” he shouted, “then re-pair for weapons.” He returned to his spreadsheet, muttering numbers to himself, as you reached for your water bottle and your thoughts – and eyes – returned to Loki.

He was sauntering towards the group with Bucky, shoulders thrown back in haughty masculinity, animatedly wiping sweat from his brow with his sinewy forearm. Whore, you thought lustily. They looked almost amicable. You gazed at him, curious; confused. He seemed… fine? Loki caught you watching him and gave you a wink. A wink. Almost like…

Like old times, you thought. What is going on?

You turned away, chugging water, then wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. He seems fine. Was it real? If he was truly so nonchalant, why the vanishing act over the past few days?

You were still standing there, bemused, when the team began to pair off again. In your distracted state, you’d missed the next call. Who…?

Only one person remained by your side, and his imperious gaze left you in no doubt as to your next partner.

Loki.

You moved together to one end of the training mats. This close, you could see the fine trails of fresh sweat across his bare shoulders; smell the sweet scent of it heavy around you when he raised his arms to pull his curls back into a messy plait. You imagined the saltiness of it gathered in the valleys of his muscular, sinewy body, with which you had so recently become better acquainted; the way it would pool and concentrate in the deep hollow of his jugular notch.

I could make you sweat like that.

He continued to smirk at you mischievously as he moved into position, as grandiose and egomaniacal as ever. “Short swords, Agent?” he drawled, a short, thick blade appearing in each hand with a flicker of green.

“Just one, Laufeyson!” Rogers shouted, before you could respond. Loki raised an eyebrow at you, flirting with the idea of arguing; but he wordlessly vanished the weapon on his left.

“You didn’t want to lend that to me?”

“Darling, they are hundreds of years old,” he drawled coolly. “I don’t lend them to anyone.” Turning to fetch a training sword, you hid a smile at his words. Had he forgiven you?

Or he’s just feeling cocky.

The gym’s practice swords were hung neatly at the far wall. You tried to pick one that was long enough to be effective, but not so long as to be cumbersome. It was highly irrelevant; he was faster, stronger, and infinitely more skilful than you. You selected a narrow doge sword that at least felt comfortable in your grip.

The gym echoed with the ring of steel on steel as your peers sparred. How many rounds had it been? Each time you lasted barely a minute before he outdid you, the sharp edges of his blade finding their mark at your shoulder, your thigh, and once, your collar bone. Despite your budding fatigue, you found yourself mesmerised by him. He wielded the ancient sword with harmony and fluidity, so fluent was he in its unwritten language, so familiar with its little quirks. Like an old lover, you thought madly, as you struggled to steady the vibrations of the blade with each parry and clash.

His weapon whistled again; this time the flat of his blade struck your hand, and you dropped your own sword. He stepped back to patiently wait for you to ready yourself again.

His fitness was phenomenal - you were breathing hard, your arms burning, and he barely seemed to have slowed. The smirk he’d given you earlier was once again pasted across his beautiful, pretentious face. Patient, but smug.

“Where have you been, Loki?” you asked as you retrieved your weapon, buying time to catch your breath. Dammit, your knuckles stung; you hoped it wasn’t obvious.

“Here and there,” he replied easily. No denial this time. “Are you ready?”

“I was worried about you.”

“If you mean that you feared for my safety, I am most able to defend myself.”

“That’s not what I meant.” For a second you thought you saw a flicker of vulnerability return to his features. If you did, it was quickly swallowed by his traditional haughty confidence. “I just… Well, as long as you’re OK.” Ready, you lifted your blade - and a thought occurred to you.

The timing had to be perfect; if he hadn’t been looking directly at your mouth, he might have missed it. Provocatively raking your eyes down over his long body, you bit your lower lip, and gave a tiny, breathy moan.

It was horribly overdone, but it worked. Loki hesitated for a fraction of a second, his eyes widening, and you took advantage of his momentary distraction to slip below his guard; the steel of your sword captured his, and you pushed - hard. There was the harsh sing of metal-on-metal as you slid down the blade, checking his weapon against his chest. His move was forfeit. He stepped backwards off the edge of the mat, losing his balance - and you pinned him against the wall.

You pressed your body into his, your mediocre blade below his chin, and carefully assessed his face. Was he irritated by your trick? If anything, he seemed… amused.

“That,” he said lightly, looking down at you over his long, regal nose, “was an interesting tactic.”

“You know what they say,” you muttered, still breathing hard. “If you can’t beat them…”

“I dare say it would not be widely effective,” he added.

“More than you think, perhaps.”

And then you noticed it: the slight flush to his cheeks, which could be excused by the workout. The twitch of a muscle at the corner of his jaw. The feel of his perfect cock swelling slowly under his training shorts.

Not amused… Aroused.

Loki knew the moment you’d realised his state of mind. Or rather, state of body.

You’d opened your mouth in mock astonishment, your eyes bright with barely contained glee.

“Are you enjoying this?” you had asked, quietly delighted. The crossed swords had still been pressed unrelentingly against his chest, his blade locked tight under yours. It made his pulse quicken pleasantly.

Loki had given a small, wordless huff, but he didn’t trust himself to speak. In truth, he’d found it highly enjoyable; your control, your audacity, your erotically mischievous little decoy. His own powerlessness. But how could he admit that to you?

The sounds of water splashing off bathroom tile brought him back to the present. Gingerly, he stepped under the heavy jets; steam enveloped him. Lathered soap formed clouds of bubbles that washed away the training-hall grime, the sticky salt that clung to his skin like a fragrance. The precious soreness that assured him that he had worked for this. That he had earned it.

How could he admit that to you? The question turned over in his mind like the soap in his hands, slippery and fraught. It should be simple, really; the evidence was laid bare before him, stripped of illusion and ego in the privacy of his mind. The chamber. The Genuflexa. The young man, beautifully bound. The way your body had risen in his mind's eye to bring him undone, not just then but so many times since…

He let the water run through his long hair, raking his fingernails to help it penetrate all the way to his scalp. He liked the way their sharpness felt on the sensitive skin.

… And in counterpoint, the betrayals of his youth. The early memories of hurt and rejection that had sown the seeds of distrust. The expectations of masculinity and dominance, and the familiarity of the long-worn mask.

Loki lifted his chin to shake the heavy, saturated mass of slick curls out behind him, squeezing the last of the water from it. He thought of you; of how much he would like to tend to your sore muscles, to soothe the bruises you would surely have sustained in combat today. To gently run his fingertips over your scalp, and hear you sigh with contentment.

There was only one sensible question, he decided as he stepped from the lustrous shower recess. Steam was clearing to reveal his glistening face in the bathroom mirror. Did he trust you?

He dried his hands, and picked up his cell phone.

Alright, Agent. Prove me wrong.

Almost immediately, he received your reply. The tone of it sent a little shiver down Loki’s spine.

9pm, my apartment. Be punctual.

Before he could interrogate his feelings about it, his phone gave another gentle ping.

Wear your cape.

Tags: @lokisgoodgirl @acidcasualties @infinitystoner @lady-rose-moon @coldnique @thomase1 @kats72 @holymultiplefandomsbatman @tomlugirl @lokisninerealms @missmushroomsstuff @ladyloki3 @fandxmslxt69 @sinsandguilt @sarahscribbles @lunarnights95 @meowmeow-motherfucker @simplyholl @divine-knight-hand @gigglingtiggerv2 @eleniblue @loz-3 @redfoxwritesstuff @wolfsmom1 @beksib @nyx2021 @lokischambermaid

[tweedfrog]

I also think the Aegon I -> Visenya and Aegon I -> Rhaenys relationships are interesting if you think of them in a Katniss/Peeta/Gale kind of way where the 2 love interests represent different ideologies or possibilities.

Show canon establishes (and book canon kind of hints) at the fact that Aegon viewed the conquest of Westeros as some kind of ends justify the means thing to protect the world from the 2nd coming of the long night so westeros could unify and beat back the others. He likely thinks of himself as some kind of Azor Ahai who's making the right but difficult decision to kill Nissa Nissa for the benefit of everyone else.

He loves Rhaenys because she represents the veneer of noblesse obligee over what hes done. She puts a nice gloss over things and uses her love of music and art and culture whatever to make everything seem pretty.

But he NEEDS Visenya there to be violent and frightening and sensible and willing to do the things that need to be done to subjugate a bunch of petty kings to a centralized authority.

And this is why Rhaenys dies first and he's left with Visenya at the end because the veneer is just veneer and Visenya is what monarchy and the targaryen monarchs are at the end of the day send tweet

[semisolidmind]

How does the Modern Reincarnation AU work in the Twice as Bad AU? Especially with MK and everything? I know it would probably be completely unlikely that Peaches would get the opportunity to die with her two monkey hubbies always around her, but what if her dying happened on the journey? Like her death was something that happened while the monkey demons were restrained and couldn't do anything about it, causing them to wait the couple hundred years until she pops up again?

(Also, I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am for your creativity and art! You're awesome. Hope you have a great day! 💙)

oh man oh boy (also thank you skye, you're making my day :))

(so both monkeys have wrist and ankle cuffs in this au, and the cuffs work like a less harmful version of the circlets. anytime reader says a certain command, they throw the demon wearing them to the ground. i imagine that the moment reader dies, the cuffs fall off.)

it's utterly silent when they hit the ground.

the boys are distraught. they're inconsolable. theyre angry. whatever demon caused reader's death will be torn apart peice by peice, tortured until death. and then...

...nothing. the monkey demons shut down beyond an occasional terse word. they're still technically bound to the journey by the circlets and the bodhisattva's command, and so they continue on. they only speak to their companions when necessary. macaque spends most of his time in the shadows, and wukong walks behind the group. they take out their sadness and rage on the myriad demons that get in their way. the journey concludes with wukong and macaque denying their enlightenment and going home to flower fruit mountain.

their conquests become especially brutal for the next couple hundred years.

–––

centuries later, mk comes into the world. wukong finds him wandering the mountain, and adopts him as his own. macaque is an uncle figure to the boy, helping in his training and teaching a different worldview. mk grows up knowing very little about humans beyond what his monkey family tells him. regardless, he's curious and wants to know more.

the two elder monkey demons are jaded, and their resentment for the celestial realm and humanity has only grown. though, they'll both slip into wistfulnesss occasionally, telling mk about reader and what she was like. he heard plenty of stories about her growing up, and he always finds himself wishing he could have met her. it's the only time mk will hear his caretakers speak positively about a human.

when mk asks to go into the city, wukong refuses. he doesn't want his son around any mortals, and were it not for his "infinite mercy," that wretched city would be dust by now. it's only when macaque agrees to go with mk that wukong relents. macaque, who's somewhat more knowledgeable about modern humans than his brother, tells mk what he knows about how the mortal world works. mk doesn't get the chance to make his friends until later in this au, when he's allowed to make short solo excursions into the city to buy groceries.

he's taking too long on a run when it happens.

mk has encountered mei, and thinking the dragon heir was trying to start a fight (given the monkey demons' history with dragons), mk battles her. while the two have their brawl that eventually ends in tentative friendship, macaque waits at a rendezvous point.

when mk doesn't show after twenty minutes, macaque lets out a long-suffering sigh and sets out across the roof tops and alleyways to search for him. the kid, for all his strengths, has never been good at time management. after a while, macaque is able to track him to a little noodle shop in the downtown area.

the dark-furred simian watches from a nearby rooftop as mk and...a disguised dragon? girl? go inside the shop. macaque melds into the shadows, following them in through the half-shuttered doorway. the shop isn't anything to write home about; simple decor, simple noodles, a suspiciously familiar pig demon manning the kitchen, a woman managing the register—

macaque stops cold.

it only takes a second for macaque to get a read on the woman's soul. and upon closer inspection, she looks familiar too.

heartbreakingly familiar. same hair, same eyes... same smile, aimed at mk as she welcomes him. this woman—she's their reader, reincarnated. she has to be. mk makes a joke, something about monkeying around, and the girl laughs; the same joyful sound he remembers from all those centuries ago. it's the same. she's the same.

a shadowy tear makes its way down his incorporeal face. she's here. alive.

he has to tell wukong.