#Look all i am saying is you have to be blind to not see the potential

[reignpage]

Finders Keepers

Summary: in which alien!reader crash lands right in front of Gojo and your story with him begins Word Count: 1k (just trialing a new concept so it's a quick opening) Warnings: a little cursing, allusions to experimentation and alien warfare, reader is naked but not in a sexual manner

“I can’t believe aliens actually exist,” Satoru mutters to himself. 

This has been an incredibly wild evening. 

When he stepped out of his apartment to throw the bins out, he hadn’t expected to see a blinding flash of light zoom past him and explode in the parking lot. Thank goodness for his infinity, otherwise he would not have fared as well as the minivan you landed on. 

Yes. 

You.

The woman who came straight from the sky and fell on top of a car, missing him by just two metres.

At first, he thought it was a curse; these things get pretty weird sometimes, after all. But using his Six Eyes, he could tell you were different. Sure, you looked like any other person, with arms and legs and a head. But you had a unique aura to you, positively otherworldly. 

If he was any other kind of man, he would have just left you there and pretended nothing happened — ignorance is bliss and whatnot — but what kind of Honoured One would he be if he didn’t do his duty and helped you out?

So, he slides down the massive crater you made (boy is that going to be a pain for maintenance to clean up) and carefully cradles your naked body in his arms, carefully so as to not touch bits and pieces no gentleman has a business looking at. Why are you naked anyways? 

Sensing people making their way down the stairs to inspect the commotion, he teleports back into his apartment quick as a flash before anyone could think to look through their windows. 

He throws a blanket at you and leaves you on the sofa as he paces the length of his living room and ponders what to do. On one hand, he could call the police and leave it up to them to deal with you. The government would know best about how to deal about falling space women, right? But then, don’t all the sci-fi movies talk about inhumane experimentation, weaponizing alien technology, and Area 51? 

That wouldn’t be a very nice thing to do, at all. 

And on the other hand, he could just take care of you himself. He has the means to, that’s for sure. You really don’t look any different from everyone else — surely, you need the same things he does: food, water, shelter and warmth.

Right?

Just as he’s about to pick up the phone to call his doctor friend, you begin rousing from sleep. Your eyes flutter open and they’re a normal colour, which freaks him out more if he’s going to be perfectly honest. 

“Uh,” Satoru scratches the back of his neck, shuffling on his feet a little, “hey? I’m Gojo Satoru. You can just call me Satoru, though. If you want, or can, I guess.”

You tilt your head, scanning his body, and you open your mouth. What comes out is definitely an alien language. Or maybe he needs to travel more. But he certainly does not comprehend a single thing that you say. 

Clearing his throat, he tries to smile comfortingly. “Okay, so I didn’t understand what you said. Sorry. But uh, do you need anything? Like, do you know where you are? Yeah, you definitely don’t know what I’m saying either, do you?”

You tilt your head again. 

“What is wrong with me? Seriously. What was I thinking bringing you home? You may have fallen from the sky but I’m the one that clearly hit my head. I really am an idiot.”

Glancing around the room, you don’t look any bit as frazzled and panicked as he is. Actually, you’re as cool as a cucumber, and there isn’t a hint of shame or embarrassment on your face when you push yourself off the sofa, blanket sliding down your body. 

“Woah! Woah!”

Satoru presses his hands to his eyes and leaves them there for a second or two before realising that does absolutely nothing and when he pulls them down, he doesn’t flinch when you’re standing before him, inquisitive eyes meeting his. 

His infinity is on and he’s ready to subdue you if you prove to be a threat, but so far, he’s simply letting you reorient yourself, getting used to your surroundings and giving you the opportunity to decide he’s not a bad guy. 

That being said, however, he’s still deciding whether to keep you or not. He doesn’t want you to be poked and prodded — that wouldn’t be a very cool welcome to planet Earth and he doesn’t need you to go around telling your alien friends humans suck, though they do. But he also doesn’t know if that’s the best decision. 

You could be a danger to jujitsu society, to his students, to the world. What if, right at this very moment, you’re leaking deadly radiation? And what if his infinity can’t keep it out? Can’t keep you out?

Gosh, there are so many things that could go wrong. 

It’s entirely possible too that you’re a blood sucking monster intent on wringing him dry for all he’s worth. Maybe you’re not even an alien. Maybe you’re a special kind of curse, the kind that can bypass his Six Eyes, though he’s fairly confident that’s not the case (there’s no one stronger than him, after all). 

What if this is Kenjaku all over again?

Yeah, on second thought, he should definitely call the police. Or Ijichi, or the Prime Minister of Japan, or whoever will believe him when he says there’s a naked, alien lady in his home, and no, he’s not a pervert playing out some sick fantasy.

But just as he’s lifting his phone, you lift your hand the same time he does and cover your eyes. 

Then you say his name in perfect Japanese with a sweet, soft voice, not a hint of hesitation or unsteadiness. You smile, eyes still obscured, and he feels himself mirroring your gleeful expression. 

“That’s right. I’m Satoru. It’s nice to meet you.”

He decides, there and then, to hell with radiation, alien armies, and the deadly risk you pose to everything he knows or cares about. The military, conspiracy theorists, and scientists be damned.

He’s going to keep you. 

[lordnot]

I honestly have been trying to understand the pushback to this post. To give the arguments their due, to try to put myself in the shoes of those making the arguments. But neither that nor the passage of time has made the pushback any less concerning.

It would be one thing to say, "Obviously, maintaining a hatred of men isn't useful for anyone. But you cannot expect people to just suddenly get over a trauma response/men's privilege and ability to inflict harm at least warrants caution and wariness/there are far greater concerns to worry about right now." Instead we seem to see outrage over the idea that hatred of men isn't a worthy end in and of itself. And so I fear that too many prominent voices in Tumblr discourse remain animated by the idea that "if I am the victim of oppression, my conduct is above reproach. Any attempt to police or critique my conduct, particularly towards someone I consider less oppressed, is equivalent to denying my oppression."

Part of the problem with this attitude is that it leaves blind spots in people who should be capable of knowing better. On the topic of trauma responses: Yes, if I encounter a veteran with PTSD, I am going to be understanding if they have a strong reaction to loud noises. But I am not going to agree with them that they are, in fact, under attack and should hide in their basement. Nor am I going to praise them if they start screaming insults at a couple that looks East Asian. Similarly, yes, misogyny in trans spaces is a problem. But rather than arriving at firm conclusions on how male privilege interacts with trans identities, it would be more productive to recognize that almost everyone has come out of a society that is Patriarchal and misogynistic, likely carries unexamined biases as a result, and is capable of acts of misogyny even as they suffer from misogyny. We should not expect that isolation from or ostracization of men or masculinity will protect from misogyny anymore than we should expect that an all Black police force will solve White Supremacy.

transgender women who have an irrational hatred of men you GOTTA get over that. Come on now

[myownwholewildworld]

Love is heartbreak

↪ a the age of adaline inspired fic

pairing: marcus acacius x ageless!f!reader. summary: kissed by the goddess juno on your day of reckoning, you are brought back to life, condemned to wander the earth for a century. until you meet the other half of your soul who offers you the life you yearn for. but will you be strong enough to accept such promise? author's note: yes, i've cheated on my other wips, I'M SORRY. but when the angst and romance call, i can only answer - i am only human afterall. hope you like this little story that was supposed to be a drabble but ended up being this long, oops! comments and reblogs appreciated. enjoy! x warnings: 18+, mdni. soulmates trope. angst, romance, smut. mild breeding kink (soz). infidelity. mention of SA (not by Marcus) and death. dual pov. reader is female and a blank slate. reader is close to 150 years old (stopped ageing in her twenties) and Marcus is in his fifties. not beta'd and very lightly proofread, apologies if you spot any mistakes lol wordcount: ~8.4k. divider by @\saradika-graphics

“I’ll do anything to stay by your side, amica mea (my beloved). I don’t care about what the future holds if it’s not with you,” Marcus’ broad hands held yours, his thumb drawing invisible circles on the back of your hands.

You hated this — how your heart twisted inside you, torn apart by the choice you had to make. Was this never-ending life not enough punishment? No, you also had to go through heartbreak — your own and Marcus’. For love, you had to.

With eyes averted, you looked down at your worn sandals. Tears teetering on the edge of your waterlines as your vision became blurry with sadness, regrets and fears washed over you like the Tiber kissing the shore goodbye.

In your hundred years wandering the ground beneath your feet, you never had to go through this. Always so careful not to feel, not to grow close to anyone, not to really live the life you wanted, and now you were in a position where it almost felt too real.

Within reach — you only had to extend your hands and hug him in a tight, soothing embrace. Only needed to accept the life that Marcus was offering. Though as much as you wanted to—you wanted it, him, so badly—you could never.

And what was worst, you couldn’t explain why. First you would see the horror in his eyes, that frightened look glittering, then incomprehension, and finally disgust. Your heart couldn’t take it.

“But I do care, Marcus. Yours is bright, your military career is about to take off. I would only hinder you, your dreams. I am no one, and—” you tried to reason with him.

But love was blind. Love was deaf. Love didn’t care about impossibilities, because love was defiant.

At least his was.

“Do you think I care about being disowned? Do you truly believe that I would choose such dreadful life over you? Over a wonderful life with the person I love most?” Marcus squeezed your hands before one of his found your chin, tilting up your face to him. “Omnia vincit amor, et nos cedamus amori (love conquers all, let us too yield to love).”

You shook your head in denial, his words ringing in your ears like chants of war. Because Marcus waged war in all aspects of life, even in love — he’d conquered your heart so fully, you’d never asked him to return it. It would forever be his to cherish, to cry over, to destroy, to hate.

Because he would need to hate you to overcome the heartbreak you were about to cause.

“You don’t have a choice here. You are to marry the lady your family has arranged for; her family’s prestige will do you good. You’re just infatuated, Marcus, it isn’t true love,” you forced yourself to let a soft laugh out, wiping your tears as you took a step back. “At least, for me, it isn’t.”

Marcus’ expression folded and your heart with him. You hated yourself for saying such a vile lie, but a necessary one. The passage of time would not affect you, always stagnant in your early twenties after a fateful day when Juno decided to save your life from certain death. The Goddess of love and marriage was also one known for Her eternal youthfulness — one She would only share with those who had been wronged. And you had been so wronged in your mortal life.

And here you were, so close to committing the same mistake all over again. But you knew better this time — not because you didn’t trust Marcus, but because Fate was capricious. It didn’t matter if Juno was watching over you.

“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t. This is true love, lux mihi (my light), one that would live through eternity,” Marcus muttered breathlessly, reaching for you again, looking for that unbreakable connection you both strongly shared.

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus,” you retorted, forcing your tone to sound mocking.

Another step back with an unmovable expression and you saw realisation dawning on him. Slowly like a river widening its meanders, steady like the constant flow of water. Relentless you were, steadfast in your resolution.

“Ave atque vale (hail and farewell), Acacius,” were your last words to him.

35 years later...

“Father, may I marry her?”

Marcus gazed down the dining table, eyeing his son with consideration. He knew what it felt like, how true love messed up your head to the point of madness. He had felt that way only once in his life, and it wasn’t for the woman sitting beside him.

As cruel as it sounded, Marcus never loved his wife, because his heart belonged to someone else — the now hazy memory of a woman who always lingered on the edges of his mind. A cruel reminder of how feeble and fleeting love was, how love turned into heartbreak with just a few words.

“At least, for me, it isn’t.”

That sentence alone had broken him, his ability to feel some sort of romantic connection died that very same day. At night it would haunt him, filling his dreams with nightmares. The same scene playing over and over in his mind, his heart cracking even more every time those words would hit him.

He’d waited for weeks, months. A year it took him to realise you truly were not coming back, that you meant it. He’d only been a plaything for you, a toy you discarded once things got too real. And at that point he surrendered to the pressure his family put on him. Marcus had followed through with the arranged marriage in the end, despite the agony and the empty hole in his chest.

And now his son was following in his footsteps. His heir looked so much like him, like a reflection of the past staring back at him. It pained him — he saw himself in Magnus, almost as if the roles had reversed and he was his own father thirty-five years ago. Pleading, asking to marry the love of his life even though his hand had already been promised in holy matrimony to another.

His wife, Prisca, waved one of her hands with disdain, the spoon clattering on the porcelain plate.

“Nonsense, Magnus,” she tutted at their son. “We’ve already been through this. You will marry Verina. You’d put us in a very compromised position with Gellius if you don’t.”

“But—”

“Quit your whining and man up, my son. Gellius is the Emperor’s best counsellor. It will bring our family great reputation,” Prisca reasoned, tone poisoned with greed. “And riches.”

“Father?” Magnus’ eyes shot to his, pleading him to intervene.

Marcus sensed Prisca stiffening besides him, gripping the arms of the chair like a vice. He didn’t look in her direction but knew how her orbs distilled venom. She would never understand what their son was talking about, but he did. Too damn right.

“I would like to meet her before giving you my blessing,” he spoke calmly, lacing his hands together on top of the wooden table.

Magnus’ eyes sparked up, a hopeful smile curling his mouth.

“Of course, of course! She’s waiting right outside,” and then his son hurried out of the room.

Prisca stood up, the screeching noise of the chair’s legs irritating Marcus.

“Like father, like son,” she muttered maliciously before disappearing too.

In this moment of silent respite, Marcus pinched the bridge of his hooked nose. The patience he had to muster was titanic. His life had been nothing but heartache and war, his son being the only reason he stood by his wife’s side in public. He’d tired of the pantomime, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

He would meet the woman who had stolen Magnus’ heart, just to make sure there was no deception from her part. Marcus wouldn’t wish for his son to go through the same heartbreak as him. If everything was at it should, then he wouldn’t oppose.

“Father,” Magnus called, and Marcus removed the hand from his exhausted, battle-scarred face.

His heart literally stopped.

A warm smile softened your expression when Magnus asked you to join his family in the dining hall. You had been sitting patiently in a small waiting room, wondering if this was right.

The first time you had laid eyes on Magnus a week ago, your heart jolted, and your mind went blank. He reminded you so much of your one and only true love, the one you ditched thirty-five years ago because you were too afraid to embrace the beautiful life he had offered you. The one you still felt in your heart, dormant yet very present in your everyday life.

Perhaps it was wrong of you to encourage this situation, whatever this was. When Magnus had asked you that morning to join his family for supper, he had caught you off guard, so you found yourself agreeing to it.

Deep down you knew why you hadn’t disappeared yet: you wanted to live this moment one more time. Wanted to remember how it felt to be loved so fiercely by Marcus, a yearning you’d been craving for over three decades. Only this man wasn’t Marcus, only someone who was his spitting image.

One dinner, a few hours more of playing pretend, and then you’d vanish again. Leave Rome behind after such brief visit before someone recognised you. You couldn’t afford to give any explanations, so you’d only visit this place once every decade.

You walked behind Magnus, head slightly bowed and hands laced in front of you. Magnus’ broad body blocked your vision, but soon enough he stepped aside to introduce you.

You curtsied, eyes averted, fixed on the marble slabs.

Before you straightened your back and introduced yourself, the man across the room spoke your name — your real birthname.

Inevitably, your heart sank to your belly with panic and your eyes quickly drifted up to meet the darkened ones you once had allowed yourself to swim in.

Marcus. Your Marcus.

Your heart raced in your chest and filled with pure joy. You couldn’t stop the smile that had started curling your lips nor the glassiness of your eyes.

Your one and true love was staring back at you with widened, tired eyes. He had gotten up off his chair and was striding towards you before he suddenly halted a couple of meters away from you with confusion painting his handsome features. Ones that had not remained impassible to the passage of time and war, but ones that you daydreamed about every single day without fail.

So within reach — you would only need to close the distance between you two and hug him, hug him till dawn and never let go. Oh, how much you missed him, how much you still loved him. With your whole heart, the one that ached and wept with regret in your chest right now.

Would he love you back? Did you break the love you shared past the point of mending?

“What? Her name is Aurora, father,” Magnus chuckled nervously, his eyes dancing between the two of you, puzzled. “This is the woman who has stolen my heart. I would like to marry the love of my life with your blessing.”

Your eyes flew from Marcus to Magnus at the revelation, bewildered. Marriage? Was this what it was all about, the purpose of his invitation to meet his family? Marcus’ son wanted to marry you?

You had not seen that coming, as it wasn’t your intention at all. You had only wanted to live this fleeting fantasy of yours for a few days, but there wasn’t love. Not like the one you felt for Marcus, that could never compare.

“Your name is Aurora?” Marcus’ question forced you to look in his direction, your heart twisting maddingly inside you. You nodded with hesitation, “I thought you were…” Marcus pronounced your real name again, the sinking pit of your stomach churning.

“That was my mother,” you quickly came up with a lie. You could never tell him the truth.

“Your mother,” he repeated slowly, shock and pain transforming his beautiful face. “I knew your mother.”

“What? Really?” Magnus intervened with a laugh, palming his father’s shoulder. “That’s such a coincidence!”

You looked at both of them, but your eyes inevitably lingered on Marcus’ darkened ones. Would he believe your lie? Again?

“The resemblance with her is… uncanny. You look so much like her, Aurora,” Marcus rasped, taking a step back and steeling his posture with determination.

He didn’t need to speak for you knew his hurt. Because the same memories that were flooding his mind, had been drowning you for decades.

The atmosphere felt heavy with unspoken truths, your face burning — you loathed yourself for the pain you had caused him. Pain that still contorted his expression every time his eyes flicked to yours.

Would he ever forgive you? Would he know that you lied so many years ago? That you truly and irremediably loved him? That you would always do?

You bowed down your head, mainly to conceal the unspent tears brimming on your waterlines.

“So I have been told, General,” you muttered softly as Magnus’ hand rested easily on the small of your back, his lips brushing your temple gently.

“I know this may seem sudden, father, but I know that Aurora is the one,” Magnus confessed shyly, pulling your body towards him in a warm half-embrace.

Never in your life had you wished yourself to disappear so badly. Marcus’ sight burnt through you and you couldn’t help but reciprocate him. The sadness—no, the heartbreak—in them was like a dagger through your heart, and you wondered if the decision you made so many years ago had been the right one.

By the looks of it, he had done well for himself, just as you had imagined he would. The villa was beautiful, sumptuous even. It spoke of his status in the Empire, how highly rewarded he had been for his enterprise. You assumed that Marcus had married eventually after you left, and you only hoped he’d married for love.

“I see,” Marcus murmured in reply to his son, walking back to his chair. “Let’s eat first. Prisca, my wife, won’t be joining us. She had to excuse herself because she wasn’t feeling well. Please forgive her absence.”

Prisca. So he hadn’t married for love, his family had won and forced him into an arranged marriage after all. Your heart cried for him, for the injustice you had showered upon him with your departure. Perhaps he ended up loving her so his life wouldn’t be as miserable.

That last thought stung, the dagger further twisting in your heart. You wanted his happiness, but selfishly you hoped Marcus still loved you. Undeserving of such love you were, that was clear to you, but you still hoped anyway.

“Of course, Dominus,” you hushed as Magnus guided you to an empty chair.

The food served was delicious, but the silence looming over the table tinged the atmosphere uncomfortable. Magnus did a remarkable effort to keep the conversation going, but Marcus’ succinct replies didn’t leave much room for chatter. And when Magnus pushed again about the marriage proposal—to you dismay—Marcus said that it could discussed tomorrow over breakfast.

Even though the man in front of you had aged, you still saw him as he was thirty-five years ago. He had a scar on his upper cheek and across the bridge of his aquiline nose, crows feet kissing the corners of his brown eyes, his thick curls were greying, and his demeanour was more stoic, but he was still your Marcus.

The only difference though was his lack of… life. His eyes didn’t sparkle anymore, they were tinted with darkness and sorrow. Had war changed him? Had you changed him?

Your throat collapsed on itself, tightening to the point of suffocation. Just in time, you reined in the tears as the last maid removed the plate in front of you.

“I should be going,” you announced, pushing back the chair to stand up.

Marcus sprung to his feet before his son did. And when he realised his promptness, he cleared his throat but didn’t speak.

“It’s late,” Magnus said, standing up to be by your side, throwing a confused glance to his father. “Could she stay the night, father, please?”

Marcus nodded.

“I will ask one of the servants to prepare one of the empty chambers,” Marcus conceded, walking around the table to meet his son.

“Oh,” Magnus sighed, and you knew he’d hoped to share a bed with you tonight.

Your face burnt once more with shame when Marcus’ eyes looked for yours. However, you didn’t meet his gaze, scared of what you would find in it.

“Thank you, General, you are most generous,” you husked in a low voice.

“I will show you around the villa in the meantime, amica mea,” Magnus said, his hand quick to rest on the back of your waist.

You subtly flinched at his endearment. That was what his father always called you. It felt wrong when he said it now, completely out of place — it didn’t at first, when you looked at him and imagined he was Marcus instead. But with the love of your life standing firm in front of you, it sounded so vile.

This fantasy of yours was a dangerous game, one you didn’t want to play. Not if it meant hurting Marcus again, because you could see the way he studied you. How his pupils dilated with anger every time his son would seek your touch. It was killing him, and you in the process. When everyone went to sleep, you would leave in the middle of the night, as the shadow you were condemned to be.

Magnus urged you to turn around and walk beside him, when you heard Marcus gasp.

“Your birthmark,” his words stopped you right in your tracks.

When Juno touched you to bring you back to life over a century ago, Her caress left a mark on the back of your left shoulder. The shape resembled that of a peacock, the loyal animal known to accompany the Goddess.

“What about it?” Magnus intervened, confused by the interruption.

Slowly you looked over your shoulder to glance at Marcus. His eyes were a window to his restless, half soul, desperate and blown — he knew. He searched your face for a crack, a way in, but your expression didn’t tumble.

You wished you could veer around and throw yourself in his arms, kiss him and apologise, ask him to take you back. But you just couldn’t. Love was heartbreak, and it would have to remain that way if you didn’t want to hurt Marcus even more than what you already had.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, jaw tight with a tic on the muscle.

Marcus stirred in bed, unable to get any sleep.

Your face haunted him brighter than ever — every time his eyes shut, your sorry expression would gnaw at the confines of his mind. Seeing you right in front of him after so many years, all curled up to his son’s side, drove him mad.

At first, he thought himself crazy. You looked exactly as you did thirty-five years ago — not even a wrinkle kissed your skin, not a greying hair anywhere to be seen in your plaited hair. So when you explained you were the daughter of the woman who broke his heart, he had believed you.

That was until he saw the birthmark on your shoulder. The unmistakable shape he had joked about in the past, telling you that you had been kissed by Juno Herself at birth. It was impossible that you had inherited such a peculiar mark.

But it was even more impossible that you had remained as youthful as you were, as if not a single day had passed. How was that even possible? Some people were gifted with slow ageing, he had seen some, but to remain exactly the same? No, there was something else lurking, an explanation he could not grasp because it was too surreal, too unfathomable for a mortal.

Marcus needed answers. His mind was a tangled mess, this new discovery shining a different light on the conversation that destroyed him over three decades ago. Did your words have a meaning he had not been able to see before?

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus.”

What had you truly meant by that? Did you understand what eternity really was in a level he couldn’t even start to comprehend?

Heart pounding, he quietly removed the covers and sat on the bed. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Prisca was sound asleep. Not that she would miss him anyway.

In darkness, Marcus palmed around until he found his toga and quickly changed to then walk out of his bedchamber with a clear destination in mind.

He trudged along the cold corridors of his villa until he found the door to the room you were sleeping in. For a second, he doubted, thinking he was crazy for the implausible reason taking form in his mind. But if it wasn’t that—that you were, somehow, ageless—he still needed to know why. Why hadn’t you aged? Why leave him? Why not tell him the truth?

As his shaky hand lifted and curled to knock on the wooden plank, the door swung open.

You appeared under the doorframe with a wild expression and widened eyes, obviously in a hurry to leave. Again.

“Marcus,” you gasped, one hand flying to your chest in surprise as your beautiful eyes met his.

He froze in place, all the words he had planned to say stuck to the back of his throat, forming a lump that would not let him speak. Your beauty was dazzling, but it was the buried love he harboured for you what stopped him from talking as it resurfaced.

His memory of you had not faded, able to remember every single feature of your face regardless the passage of time. Everything about you was engraved in his mind, but he had almost forgotten how sweet you smelt. Roses, with an earthy hint of grass.

As your scent numbed his mind, Marcus finally found his dry tongue.

“Don’t leave, please. Don’t leave again,” he begged in a hoarse whisper, his eyes diving in yours.

You looked up at him and he felt himself under a spell. The same one you had him under years ago, when the heart was shattered and the mind bleak. Because even when you waved him goodbye, he still loved you. Never stopped, was never able to hate you for what you did, what you said.

“Can we talk?” he pushed before realising your eyes were glassy with sadness. “I know your name is not Aurora. I know it’s you.”

Your bottom lip trembled as a single tear fell from the cliff of your lashes. Moved by his own ghost of the past, Marcus reached for your cheek with his palm, the thumb brushing away the tears that followed the first one.

You let go of a deep sigh, kissed the palm of his hand and nodded. His heart was beating so loud, so fast, he almost missed your words.

“I owe you an explanation, Marcus,” you finally spoke, a broken sob almost tearing his resolution.

As you stepped aside, Marcus came into the room you were so eager to leave behind. Your heartbeat had spiked the moment you saw him and hadn’t slowed down since then. Perhaps you didn’t die of heartbreak but could die of a heart attack.

For decades you had been running until you found him. Until Marcus made you believe you could have everything he promised. It had been the first time you had actually considered growing roots. But the thought of not being able to grow old, to see the love of your life wither away while you remained sane, was paralysing. You had panicked — too scared to accept the love of a man who would give up everything for you, too frightened to trust someone again.

But was Marcus not worthy of your trust? He demonstrated repeatedly how he would always protect you, always cherish you. Not only with words, but with actions too. He had been so considerate, so loving, for a moment in the past you thought it a ruse. How could someone be so damn perfect and still be real?

Your heart clenched in pain, seeing him latch the door behind him and turn around to face you. The look of confusion, of sorrow, ate at your conscience. Under the candlelight, his torn features stuck out, time unforgiving. He was still gorgeous, would always be in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing that slipped out before the quivering of your bottom lip let out a sob. “I’m so sorry, Marcus. I didn’t know Magnus was your son, otherwise I would have never—” you shook your head, taming your cries. “I should have known. He looks so much like you. When I first saw him, I thought it was you. That somehow you had been able to still time and be with me.”

You sobbed a pitiful laugh, unable to look him in the eye. It was shameful having to admit something like this — that you had chased after a boy because he reminded you of someone you loved. But despite your immortality, you were still capable of human mistakes.

“So you didn’t know he was my son?” Marcus asked quietly. You could see the inner workings of his mind ruminating as you shook your head no. “Do you love him? Were you really going to marry him?”

The questions caught you off guard. Although at some point you were expecting them, you didn’t think it would be this early in conversation. It might be for the better if it got out of the way as soon as possible, so you could explain yourself.

The first cut would be the deepest, although the rest would still hurt.

“I love the idea of him,” you emphasized, ashamed of yourself for giving in to such fantasy. “I thought I could love him the way I did you, that he could be a vessel of my love for you. That I could, for a few days, remember how it felt— how you felt. That I could have you one more time,” you paused and sighed, intertwining your hands together to twist them nervously. “I only met him a week ago, marriage did not cross my mind at all. I was going to leave once—”

“Once it got too serious,” he finished for you.

Marcus went quiet again, his eyes transfixed on you. You wished Juno blessed you with the ability to read minds, to know what he was thinking right this moment. Did he hate you for what you just revealed? Did he think you were sick for trying to live out a fleeting dream? Would he forgive you for such despicable behaviour?

“Do you still love me?” his gravelly voice was so low, for a moment you thought you had imagined it.

But the doubt, the fresh hurt in his wounded gaze, told you otherwise.

You gaped for air, your lungs strained with sorrow. You should fib, stand by your initial lie, tell him you didn’t. But what had that gotten you the first time around except for a life of misery and loneliness? What had that gotten him?

“I do. I do love you, Marcus,” you whispered, out of breath due to the pounding of your heart. “Couldn’t be any other way. You’re the other half of my soul that I’ve been missing for so long.”

Time stilled as you looked Marcus dead in the eyes. You were not expecting anything out of your raw confession, because the time for those had passed. It was what you should have said thirty-five years ago, not now. You were too late to mend the love that had slipped through the cracks of time.

“Then that’s all that matters,” he finally broke the silence, his voice laced with emotion.

The admission shook you. Could this be true, really happening? Did he still love you after all this time?

In a couple of strides, you found yourself in his arms, the way it should have been ages ago. His forearms wrapped around you like a warm blanket as his head bowed down to taste your lips.

You kissed him back, first sweetly, then fiercely. You kissed him with all the unexpressed love you held in your heart, with the passion your true love deserved. His tongue was as sweet as you remembered, as soothing as your memory recalled. A dance ensued, his tongue reading a love letter to yours.

Your hands, which had been resting on his chest, drifted up to cradle his face — his moustache and stubble pickling the skin of your palms. Marcus untied his mouth from yours to kiss your tears goodbye, then pressed a peck on your forehead. His heart was beating as loud as yours, in unison like true soulmates.

“I’ve missed you. I never stopped thinking about you, lux mihi,” he confessed under his breath. “Life was never the same after you left.”

His admission made your heart flutter even further, and you couldn’t help but let your hands roam his back. Your fingers played with the knot holding the toga in place, his seeping warmth beckoning.

“I need you, Marcus. Make love to me,” you pleaded, leaving a love trail of kisses on his neck.

Marcus’ chest rumbled at your plea, his lips hunting down yours in a heartbeat. His hands were quick with your clothing, worshipping the curves of your body as it was revealed to him. You did the same with his toga, until you were both bare, standing in front of each other.

You saw his eyes lingering on every nook and cranny of your skin before they found yours. A thunder of connection ran through you, of yearning. On your tiptoes, you kissed him again, pressing your breasts onto his chest while your fingertips traced the map of his back.

You didn’t expect all the bumps and grooves you found on his skin; battle scars dotted around everywhere. Some thick and protuberant, some thin and soft. Marcus keened at your touch, silently letting you know that some of them were too sensitive to be caressed.

How much hurt his body and heart had endured, a life dedicated to war and duty. Your heart cried for him, for not being able to be by his side when he needed you most. Had you taken up his offer, had he run away from responsibility with you, his skin would tell a different story.

But the past couldn’t be changed, only the present was malleable enough to shape a new future.

Slowly he pushed you towards the bed, his hands resting on either side of your waist while his thumb drew lazy circles on your bristled skin. Raking your fingers through his silver curls, you leaned back on the mattress, his warm body blanketing yours.

His hands found the apex of your breasts, soft fingers rubbing your taut nipples as your head tilted back. Marcus licked the salt of your exposed neck, finding your pulse point. He kissed the spot and lingered, your vein pulsing against his lips as one of his hands discovered the slick your thighs harboured for him.

The feathery caress of his ring finger outlining your seam turned you into a whimpering mess. His pad stroked your nub, a slight flick followed before it slid down your slit and found your weeping hole. He circled it a few times, taunting you effortlessly, before returning to your clit.

You heaved, lips pursed so your moans would stay contained. In the dead of the night, you worried this show of love would seep through the walls. But not even the thought of his marriage, the thought of Magnus lying in bed a few rooms over, could stop you from joining your bodies together the way the Gods intended.

Marcus’ mouth travelled down the column of your neck, kissing the center of your clavicle before he went further down. Your unattended nipple was soon enough smothered by the wetness between his lips, and you fisted his hair in response, gently tugging at it.

“Marcus,” you moaned, eyes shut. Rejoiced.

One nipple drowned in his spit, the other pinched between his fingers, and his ring finger pressing tight circles on your thudding clit had you fighting to remain silent. But the moment the hand between your hands moved down and his digit teased your walls apart as it sank in your slick warmth, you couldn’t stop the muffled yet loud moan.

“Sing for me, meum corculum (my little heart),” Marcus husked. The gentle pumping of his finger in your wet heat had you quietly howling a few seconds later. “That’s it.”

Your felt your walls contract, pulse around his finger, holding onto him for dear life. Feeling your need as his own, Marcus dunked his middle finger in your pussy too, stretching you while his thumb stroked your clit. The combination of it all made you clench around him, almost begging for release.

“Let go for me,” Marcus asked between licks, and you couldn’t resist his prayer.

The coil that had been tightening inside you finally snapped, releasing a wave that coursed through your quaking body like a tumultuous sea. Your back slightly arched as your thighs trembled around his forearm, chest rising with a dire need for oxygen.

Marcus chuckled softly, setting your nipple free as he searched for your mouth again. He devoured you as you came down from your high, his erect cock gently resting on your mound. The weight of it on your sensitive skin felt like it belonged. The anticipation of welcoming him inside you made you gush.

“Let me drink you, kiss you, savour you,” he pressed a kiss on your mouth after each pause.

Your skin flushed; the proposition was somewhat indecent. It was lewd, frowned upon, and you were tethered to the chains of social decency. But there was nothing decent about infidelity, after all.

“Please, mea vita (my life). I can make you reach for the moon and the stars in the ceiling above if you let me, make you touch them,” he promised.

You shyly nodded, and his boyish grin grew wider, his lips tensing. So contagious, you smiled back as he came off you and moved your body until your butt was on the edge of the mattress.

He scooted you over towards him until the back of your knees were resting on his shoulders — leaving you completely exposed to his hungry gaze. His eyes lingered on your leaking dampness, his dilated pupils tracing the outline of your seam. The intensity of it all, the deep connection, made your thighs press together against his neck, wanting to hide your core from him.

You had nothing to be shy of, as Marcus had already seen you bare before. Sex with him had always been ardent, fervent — the heat of passion always got the best of you both, a certain urgency to consummate your love. But now? Now was different. There was no rush in his movements, in how his thumbs pried your pussy lips open, in how his warm lips brushed the sensitive skin on your inner thigh. His calm confidence in taking you as he had promised was new to you, who never had all the time in the world. But right now, you did. For Marcus, you did. Always would.

Your lashes fluttered, kissing the apples of your cheeks the moment the languid strokes of his tongue met your swollen flaps. He kissed one gently, then the other, before the wet muscle lapped from your gushing hole up to your clit. So venerating were his licks, your limbs relaxed at the intimate kiss.

“You taste like ambrosia, lux mihi. The best relish I have ever been graced with,” his hot breath collided with the cold skin on your slit, your body trembling in response.

“Marcus, please,” you begged, although you were not sure why, or what you were asking of him.

He didn’t leave you waiting again. His fingers sank in the flesh of your thighs while his tongue dived inside your slick furrow. So dextrous were his charges, you couldn’t help but mewl like a starved kitten in a back alley asking for leftovers. First, he flicked your excited bundle of nerves, and then he suckled on it, his jaw working you through the climb to another orgasm. The buildup was intense, but it became feverish the moment his finger joined the action — it slid easily inside, curled to caress the precise spongy spot of your arousal.

Unaware of your own actions, one of your hands slithered down your belly until you fisted his curls — pushing him towards the centre of your heat, not away from it. He hadn’t lied — the stars appeared behind your eyes, bright like the future you wished you had with him. A sea of constellations, all imploding at once in an amazing rain of stars that blinded you as you came crashing down from the skies.

You heaved and wailed his name in ecstasy, your entire body quivering with the strength of a thousand suns. Your entrance clenched around his finger as you held your breasts, your thumbs ghosting the taut buttons. You leaked your pleasure on his mouth, and he drank unashamedly, grateful of your offering.

A sweet kiss on your mound before he towered over you, and you could only look at him in awe with raw, true love. When his battered body blanketed yours, you draped your arms around his waist, hands lightly resting on his lower back. The knowing smirk on his lips spoke of a muted “I told you so.”

“I love you,” he whispered instead.

Your heart swooned and healed and cried and exploded. All at once. He hadn’t said those exact words yet, but they were veiled in every sentence, every action he had said or done tonight. Deep inside you were eternally grateful that he hadn’t grown to hate you, that his love for you remained intact despite heartache, circumstances and time.

Unbeknownst to you, tears welled up, ones that Marcus drank too. As he did, your palms stroked his ribs, careful to avoid the scars you had come to learn were too delicate. Eager, one slid off his skin until your fingers wrapped around his throbbing manhood. Eyes down, you saw the pearly bead of pre-cum commending you to butter it on his flushed head. With your thumb you caressed the tip, and Marcus’ lips parted in need — an invitation you quickly accepted, dunking your tongue in his mouth.

A few pumps had him groaning and soon enough you were guiding him to the pocket of heat between your thighs. His cockhead kissed your gushing entrance the same way his lips did — knowing, denuded, possessing. And slowly he made his way in, parting your flesh like a new stream disturbing the earth beneath. The burning sting was most welcomed, blossoming into a fullness you had craved for decades.

“I’m home,” Marcus rasped when he was fully seated in your cunt.

Your throat clamped a little, emotion overtaking your senses the same way his erection did.

“Welcome home, dilectus (beloved),” you muttered with a loving smile and teary eyes.

You melted into a slow kiss as Marcus rocked his hips, rutting into you almost lethargically, wanting the moment to last. You let him set the pace, the drag of his cock in your pussy a delight that had you reaching for the stars again and your inner walls squeezing him tight. The sweet rhythm of his swaying tightened the slick, hot coil that pooled low in your belly, and the moment Marcus gained momentum, you followed.

Needily he started fucking into you with precision, chasing both of your highs. His dick pulsed inside you, your heartbeat instinctually adapting to his in a second. Both so close to the sky above, gasping for air now, you rocked underneath him to amplify such pleasure.

“Marcus,” you whimpered, your hands now cradling his face. You lost yourself in his eyes, blown and loving. “Please, inside,” was everything you murmured.

Even after your petition, the snap of his hips against yours didn’t falter. Instead, the pace increased as his wild orbs studied your blissed out expression.

“Do you mean it?” You nodded effusively. “Do you want your belly round with my child?”

You didn’t even know if it was possible — yes, you looked young but were closer to a hundred and fifty years on this earth than to the day you were born. The fertility of your womb was one you never dared to test in your immortal life, but the thought of having such a memory—someone—to remember him by when the days grew cold and the nights dark was overpowering reality.

“Yes, I do,” you reassured him, pecking his lips softly.

His head fell, his face resting on the crook of your neck, while he made love to you. His moves stuttered, announcing his climax, and your pussy hugged him tight in a natural response. The moment the first ropes hit your cervix, you came undone too. As Marcus filled you with his warm spent, you creamed around his beating girth, your hands holding onto his shoulders as your back arched and your nipples kissed his chest.

It took both of you a few minutes to come down, for the haze of lovemaking to slowly dissolve in the musky air. Marcus hungered for your lips and he hunted them down with eagerness. Your bodies finally untied, his cock leaving you empty yet satisfied.

You hoped—prayed—his seed would take root in your womb. Even if it was impossible, the sliver of a miraculous possibility gave you a resemblance of hope. So you pressed your thighs together, greedy of his gift.

Marcus rolled off you, falling onto his tummy besides you. Quickly you laid on your side, your fingertips tracing the lines of his skin again. A feathery touch to alleviate the harshness of life. He unburied his face from the pillow and turned to look at you.

His smile was instant, and so was yours.

For an hour no words were spoken at all, no sleep was achieved either. You both remained silent, staring at each other, soaking up the love that flooded the chamber.

Replacing your fingers with your lips, you kissed the scars on his back, his shoulders, his arms. And finally his nose and cheek, where you dawdled as if your caress could erase the pain they inflicted.

“What are we going to do, amica mea?” Marcus husked after what felt like an eternity.

Reality set in, leaving a gaping hole in your belly. What could you do? Would you be strong enough to stay by his side for however long the goddess Mors took to claim him? Strong enough to build a life you knew was ephemeral? And once he was gone from this mortal plane, what would be left of you?

The choice was an impossible one. One that you should have made decades ago, when the heart was whole and the mind still strong. Now you knew how arduous life was without him, how—for years—you had looked for him in the small details and every single man who resembled him, how the regret and the grief haunted you at every turn of a decade. Now you knew that life wasn’t worth living if you didn’t have Marcus to share it with.

You traced the profile of his nose with your lips before pressing a soft kiss on his.

“I am not sure, but I am willing to try… if you are,” you whispered, leaning back.

The implications of such life were huge for him. Married, with a son who though himself in love with you, an acclaimed General who served Rome even when Rome didn’t serve him. His responsibilities were greater than yours, Marcus had so much to lose. Had you accepted his proposal when you should have, neither of you would be in such dire situation.

Marcus sighed heavily, rolling onto his side to face you. His calloused hand cradled your cheek, his eyes filled with a determination you wished you had back then, when life was easier.

“There is nothing nor no one that could stop me from spending the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” he mumbled, hand dropping to your hip. “I said it then, and I will say it again: I do not care for this life if you are not with me. I don’t care about reputation nor retaliation. For over fifty years I have done what was expected of me, and I am done living my life for Rome and her vice. You’re the stars that light up my path in the darkest of nights, the warm sun that guides me home. For however long you’ll have me, I’ll be with you. My heart was always yours, mea vita, since the moment I landed eyes on you. And I don’t want it back, ever, even if you have to leave again.”

The softness of his delivery, the truth his words emanated, brought tears to your eyes. You thought yourself unworthy of his love, his devotion, when you had only caused heartbreak. But this was your second chance, one you were not going to let go.

You moved closer to him as his arm wrapped around you. With your forehead resting on his naked chest, you traced invisible lines on his ribs.

“I won’t leave. That broke me once, can’t handle it a second time. I love you and want to spend the rest of our time together showing you how much I do, making up for lost time. For however long,” you repeated, kissing his chin.

There was a brief pause, and you knew what his next words would be.

“How old are you?” the question you had always avoided, dreaded.

“Close to three times your age,” you confessed, looking up at him through your lashes.

The answer slowly sank in, but instead of horror, incomprehension and disgust, you only found acceptance. As if it was just another fact about you, nothing of major importance.

“You look amazing for being close to one hundred and fifty years of age,” he joked with a grin to lighten the mood. You let out a soft laugh in response. “How? If you want to share.”

The story of how you came to be ageless wasn’t a pleasant one. But your life was full of secrets that had ruined every human link you had to this earth, and you wouldn’t let them spoil the only real connection you had left.

“I… I was promised to a man, one who I thought was worthy of my love. There were things I was blind to at that time, and only time showed them to me. I thought everything was going as expected, he was always so courteous and respectful in public. Until our wedding night, when he…” you paused, the memories too painful even after all this time, “he abused me, and let his friends use me. When they were done, they left me for dead in a ditch.”

Marcus’ arm draped around you tighter, his heart beating so loud you could hear it thumping against his chest. He hugged you close, his warmth calming and reassuring. Marcus was nothing like that man, if your abuser could even be considered a person. You knew he never would be so despicable — you were as sure as the first lights of the sun would wake you up tomorrow.

“It took me hours to finally drift away. And when I did, Juno greeted me. Said the man had wronged me, and that I should have a second chance to understand what marriage and true love actually were about. Then she touched me right here,” you caressed the peacock-shaped birthmark, ���and breathed life into me.”

Marcus leaned back a little to inspect your torn features. The heartache he had to endure paled in comparison to yours. How could someone inflict such hurt on another? He couldn’t even fathom such disgusting scenario. That man was the reincarnation of evil, and he wished he suffered the most agonising death.

He had only seen your soul’s purity, your kindness, your benevolence. Anyone who didn’t was blind.

“You did not deserve that ending, amica mea — no one does. He didn’t deserve you,” his heart cried for you, for the weight you had carried for over a century. “You’ve got the purest heart I have ever known. A soul that I will protect until my dying breath.”

“A half soul,” you interrupted him, and Marcus looked at you confused. “Because your other half completes mine.”

His heart jolted, this time because of the sweetness of your confession. That muscle had grown bigger in the last two hours than in his entire lifetime. He sworn himself to stand by your side, come what may. You would never be wronged again, not if he could avoid it.

“We’re leaving tonight,” Marcus declared without skipping a beat.

“What? What about your wife, your son?” your eyes had widened, but his resolution was firm.

“My wife… she’s not been my wife for years. She’s poison. And my son…” he shrugged, conflicted. “He’ll eventually understand, or so I hope. I believe he might already have an inkling that something weird was at play from the moment I said your real name.”

“Marcus, are you sure? You’d be sacrificing so much for me, I wouldn’t want to—”

He didn’t let you finish, his mouth covering yours in a passionate kiss that slowly turned gentle and soothing. Your hands caressing his battle-scarred skin was like a balm; your touch the first and only one to cure all his ailments. Unhurriedly, he sat back up on the bed, dragging you with him.

“Let’s leave now. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” Marcus purred against your lips.

Fifteen minutes later, you were both clothed and atop of two horses, blending in with the shadows of the night that concealed your departures, in search of a new life. Together.

taglist: @orcasoul @lilac-boo @picketniffler @almostfoxglove @gothcsz @liciafonseca @namenotimportant1373

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ teddy’s notes: long awaited part two!! im so happy with how people are enjoying my stuff its so nicee <33 thank you all so much! i hope you enjoy this too :) also pls dont ask for visuals for this i really am not in the mood to look for something this obscure through twitter porn accs.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ contains: mind that this is timeskip! bakugou as mentioned in part 1. nsfw! reader is still gender neutral and wears a suit, bakugou still has a praise kink, handjobs(m receiving), kissing, praising, also maybe a little bit of exhibitionism but honestly not really.

read part 1 here!

the next time bakugou sees you is when he's attending the annual hero gala.

he wasn't too eager to go, honestly, but his manager basically forced him because he needed to get on people's good side, and nothing works better than his fans getting excited over new pictures and all. katsuki is looking especially good tonight, he knows: a three piece suit that he decorated with the same jewellery set he wore on the photoshoot with you.

it was a gift from the brand: a set of gold earrings with red rubies that he was photographed in first, a simple clean gold necklace and a set of extravagant and quite flashy rings for all of his fingers which he liked a lot. and that damned box of jewellery hasn't moved from its spot in the first drawer of his bedside table until tonight.

he doesn't spot you at first though.

it's only when the flash of a camera blinds him when he is turning around that bakugou is made aware of your presence.

that soft, almost lazy curl of your lips, calmness and curiosity of your attentive gaze and the signature camera in your hands as you scan his figure up and down - bakugou's heartbeat involuntarily quickens, his hand gripping a flute of awful tasting champagne nearly breaking in his hold. he straightens his back immediately, his face wearing its usual scowl.

"you look handsome, bakugou-san." you say, clicking another picture of him before you wander off somewhere else, cutting off any possible further interaction.

putting away the drink in his hand, bakugou races after you yet you're already mixed in the big crowd that appears out of nowhere. it doesn't help that the classic suit you're wearing is identical to everyone's around this big ass venue. and kirishima drags him back to their tables, urging him into joining a useless conversation, while bakugou insistently keeps looking back, looking for you.

katsuki feels electricity running through his whole body when his gaze locks with yours from across the room. it's a brief moment that lasts two seconds yet it's enough to make him go crazy, promising himself to catch you later and say something.

throughout the evening, bakugou occasionally glances around the ballroom, catching the sight of you taking pictures. an easygoing smile present on your relaxed face as you nod and respectfully bow in front of every hero you meet, timidly introducing yourself and asking if you can capture the beautiful moment they are having.

he's watched you be surrounded by an overly excited mina and ochako, with yaoyorozu and jirou peeking behind you as they all looked through the pictures you just took, leaning in close and comfortably, which made you visibly flustered. soon kirishima and denki joined them, tugging shouto and izuku along so you could work your magic on them too, and bakugou felt a pang of something unfamiliar in his chest when you smiled back at the red haired idiot, your beam bright enough to match his.

he looks away solemnly before making his way out of the ballroom, hands deep in his pockets and his face set into a permanent scowl. as he gets ready to leave the venue, you seem to appear out of nowhere — bakugou catches your figure disappearing behind one of the fancy doors in the lobby he is standing in and without a second thought, he is moving after you.

the library is cloaked in silence. it’s dark and unwelcoming, but bakugou’s eyes only focus on you — leaning against the bookshelves as you stare back at him, waiting. your camera is absent, surprisingly, and your small, knowing smile lures him in as he steps closer and pushes the door behind himself, watching the soft light disappear.

“your manager invited me to come here, y’know? as his plus one.” bakugou’s body tenses before he realises that his manager wasn’t present tonight, something about ‘sore throat’ and whatnot. but the mere thought of him being brave enough to ask you to go as his date? even though you clearly declined his offer it doesn’t change the fact that the boy had more balls than him and it makes him fucking furious.

“that little shit,” he growls under his breath, already structuring a fitting punishment for his manager, but the sound of your melodic laughter pulls him out of his thoughts.

“could you come closer?” you offer him your hand, a serene smile on your face.

bakugou obeys.

he leans closer to you, the scent of worn paper mingling with the faint trace of your perfume. his breath hitches as your fingertips graze his wrist, a whisper of contact that sends a tremor down his spine.

your gaze locks with his, eyes smoldering with an unspoken promise. with you pressed between him and the cool, ridged bookshelves, he feels as if the world shrunk until it was only him and you. he yearns for your touch, his chest tightening with an almost desperate ache as he brings your hand to his own, guiding your hand to rest on his body.

it lingers on his torso only for a little bit, skilfully opening the buttons of his jacket, his vest, the bottom buttons of his shirt, and finally slides down to his crotch, cupping him through his pants.

oh fuck, he’s been dreaming of this.

it’s too dark to see anything, but a sliver of light is reflected on your pretty face, allowing katsuki to see your mesmerised expression — your brows raised in interest, your eyes glimmering in fascination and lips parted in surprise, puffs of air mixing with his exhales. he goes to hide his face in your neck, feeling too vulnerable under your attention, but your other hand quickly grips his jaw, effectively stopping him from moving, and bakugou is ready to blow his load then and there.

“no no,” you mutter, tilting his face down, “don’t hide from me. not when you look so pretty.”

katsuki suppresses a needy groan, but you stroke him faster, sliding the soft palm of your hand over his tip over and over again, until he twitches violently and you resume your previous movements. your hand is better than he imagined: it’s so pleasantly cool against the burning skin of his flushed cock, it’s enough to capture all of it in a tight fist and it’s making him see stars he hasn’t seen ever since he first jerked himself off.

“that’s it,” you muse idly, leaning in to press a kiss against his jaw, “you’re doing so good, angel.”

katsuki shudders and glances down at where you’re touching him, exhaling shakily as he burns the sight into his mind, willing himself to keep it forever. you continue planting soft kisses on his face; moving from his chin to his cheek, licking the salty skin of it as if savouring the taste and pecking the corner of his lips so fucking innocently that bakugou nearly loses his mind. one of his hands moves from the shelf behind you and cups the back of your head, moulding his mouth against yours because it’s too much.

your mouth detaches from his momentarily, “i never stopped thinking about you, y,know?”

he’s close, he’s so fucking close, and your words only bring him closer. katsuki can’t stop his hips from bucking into your hands, slotting his mouth over yours again to conceal his sinful grunts and moans that threaten to turn into pathetic whines if he doesn’t let go right now. your nimble fingers weave through his hair, grabbing harshly despite your overall soft demeanour, and it’s enough to make him cum: with his hips jerking forward erratically and choked whines leaving his throat as you continue gliding your hand up and down, with your own rhythm that doesn’t match his at all, but feels so fucking good katsuki’s knees turn into jelly.

“you’re so good for me, katsuki.” you purr into his ear as he pants, unable to catch his breath and stares down at you with a gaze so fucked out it makes your expression turn fascinated once again, “so perfect.”

you kiss his neck, pecking almost chastely as you grab the small handkerchief from his suit’s pocket and clean off the mess from your fingers and his cock before tucking him back into his slacks, and katsuki’s never been more grateful because he doesn’t know if he could’ve done it so easily himself. not after what happened.

after bakugou’s breathing steadies, there is a familiar silence settling between you two, one that you disturb with your hands gripping his shoulders and eyes boring into his soul.

“i don’t know if someone’s already called you their muse,” you murmur softly, the earnestness of your gaze pulling him in, “but i would like to make you mine.”

fuck yes, he thinks and kisses you again.

[raayllum]

set after 7x02. doesn't necessarily fit the prompts for today (but maybe right/wrong) for sorpeli week!

Soren is the one who tells her exactly what transpired at sunset in front of the Banther Lodge. Opeli had caught glimpses from the windows during the event—not much, but enough to be horrified—and rushed out when she realized the young queen's arrow was pointed at the crown prince, and—

High Mage Ca—Prince Callum is already gone by the time she reaches the porch, Ezran's expression as icy as the spikes still entrapping his guards' legs. She doesn't dare ask the king what's happened, his expression more dark and brooding than she's ever seen it, exchanging a mildly worried look with Corvus over his head, the crownguard staying as Ezran stalks over to his throne for the evening, quiet and shaking and angry.

Soren pulls her aside before she can go to their king.

They stand in the fading light of one of the upstair windows, his brow furrowed and her lips pursed and growing more tightly pressed together with every word that falls from Soren's mouth. Somehow, she manages to let him reach the end of his tale before she bursts, her mind spinning—brothers, betrayal, treason, the kingslayer, and the notch of Queen Aanya's arrow, and Callum's resignation—

"I cannot believe it," she hisses, not quite sure exactly what it means even to herself.

Soren gestures simply with one hand and an unimpressed raise of his eyebrow. "Can't you?"

They share a flat look, Opeli's anger deflating and withering away into something sharper. She'd never liked the girl all that much—how could she, after a two week dalliance at the castle and being an assassin and then breaking Prince Callum's heart?—and now... It means I trust her. Unconditionally.

A foolish boy blinded by love, apparently.

"This is exactly why I didn't want him to be with an elf! It divides his loyalties. It's driven him mad—"

"Whoa, wait," Soren takes her by the arm with one large hand, gentle yet firmly, the other arm folded over his chest. "She's not 'the elf'."

Opeli tsks. "Not you too. She's the reason Prince Callum—"

"She might be the motivation," Soren says. "But however I feel about Callum's choices, they're his choices. She looked as surprised to see him as anyone... Maybe Callum saw, or knows, something we don't."

"But..."

"I'm not saying King Ezran is wrong to want to imprison the assassin," Soren says, hedging his weight from foot to foot. "But he nearly had Callum shot over it. You gotta admit that Ezran isn't quite... himself, right now."

Opeli steps away, eyes downturned. "No," she agrees at least, as much as it feels counterintuitive to every instinct she has. "He's not. But he's our king, Soren. That means—"

"—we're sworn to him, I know." He studies her, eyes blue and softly scrutinizing. "How are you doing? With the king and the prince... do your loyalties feel divided?"

He phrases like he wonders if they ever could be—if there could ever be anything she'd put above her duty to the crown—and besides her faith, perhaps, she doesn't believe so.

"I am fine," she answers truthfully. The brothers will make amends. Ezran will see through this night, and Callum will return. Eventually. She's always been good at having faith.

Soren lets out a tiny snort, his lips twitching. "Of course you are." He gives her arm a little squeeze and then lets go. "Come on. We should eat something. It's going to be a long couple of days."

But, at the very least Opeli supposes, they can face it together.

[rosewoodcafe]

So It Goes...

You've married into high society, the sacred twenty eight being the group you're seen in most. Though the Malfoy name and riches have suited you well, there's only one name on your mind.

18+ tw for smut

Ominis x Reader

[This is to make up for the sad post of yesterday lol]

[This is like my first time writing smut so like if it's bad I'm sorry]

[This is inspired by So It Goes... by Taylor Swift. Enjoy!]

"Darling, are you ready to leave?" My husband asked from the bedroom.

"In just a moment I will be." I responded.

My husband, Mr. William Malfoy, a respectable man in the wizarding community, and filthy rich. When I caught his eye after Hogwarts I took my opportunity to rise in the ranks of the wizarding community. These past two years have been the easiest, making this man fall so deeply in love with me that he turns a blind eye to how much I am using him. His money fueling the many parties I host, and the many things I buy to fill the mansion I call home. I have everything I want. How could I ask for more.

I settled the last part of my outfit, a diamond pair of earrings, before looking at myself in the full length mirror. A silky black dress hugged my figure, the sleeves long but sheer, and a slit up the left side. My hair was undone with it perfectly curled around my face, red lipstick being the only pop of color. I smiled at myself, knowing that everyone would be looking at me, and only be this entire party. The youngest bride amongst the other twenty eight families, yet the most stunning.

My walk out to the main hall was quick, clutch in hand with my wand tucked safely inside. I saw my husband waiting below, pacing in his all black tux. His eyes met my body and his jaw dropped.

"You look stunning my dear." He said, holding my hand as I walked down the steps. "You will draw the attention of everyone, and I shall be the one to break it to them that you are mine."

"Thank you, you look incredibly handsome as well." I smiled. He placed a small kiss on my cheek as I got into our carriage.

~

The Gaunt Manor was nearly identical to last year. 

Not a single thing on the outside had changed, its haunting look being elegant against the sunset. The carriage landed amongst all the others, and the door opened quickly. William helped me out and wrapped his elbow in mine, leading us the marble steps of the Gaunt home.

Inside there were people everywhere, each in black or white, a mask adorning each face.

"Sir. Ma'am." A house elf said, handing a mas up to the each of us. William took his and quickly put it on, and I did the same. We entered the main hall where more people were, dancing in the center of the room.

There he sat, at the front end of the room, like a king. 

Ominis fucking Gaunt.

I knew he would be here, obviously, but I did not expect him to be the one hosting the event in total. I hated seeing him. 

William walked us closer to Mr. Gaunt, the two of us having to greet him. The crowd practically parted for us, the gasping at the display of the Malfoy name. 

"Mr. Gaunt, wonderful to see you." William spoke to Ominis, who looked entirely unamused.

"Welcome Mr. Malfoy," Ominis spoke, "and, Mrs. Malfoy I presume."

"I am," I responded. "This is a beautiful party you have hosted Mr. Gaunt."

Ominis's eyes widened just a bit, the shocked expression turning to normal as quickly as it came. 

"I hope you enjoy. I will be making my round soon." Ominis said.

William walked us both from the front table, Ominis's blind gaze following our direction.

The night went on without a hitch, my husband dancing with me in front of the crowd, the many whispers reaching across the party. Each only had one thing to say.

She's the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen.

It fueled my desire. I could feel Ominis's foggy gaze on us the whole night. The power I held of these people that gawked over me, over my looks. They were looking at me, and that's all that mattered. Our dance concluded and William stepped closer to me.

"I have to deal with some business," he whispered, "don't get yourself into to much trouble."

"No promises." I smiled. He returned the smile before leaving, disappearing into the crowd.

I walked back towards the wall, where not many people were at, needing a breath of fresh air. A door lead down an empty hall, one I knew I should not be in, but even if I was caught nobody would punish me. A balcony overlooking the garden was visible, and I opened the door, letting the warm summer air grace my lungs. I wasn't sure how long I had been standing there when I heard his voice.

"Malfoy, huh?"

I turned to see Ominis leaned against the open doorway, his arms crossed.

"Yes, I married him earlier this year." I said smugly. "You were invited, but I suppose your invitation got lost in the post."

A small smile crept onto his mouth, a devilish grin that any normal person would be afraid of.

"Don't be short with me dove," he paused, "you may be a Malfoy now, but that still makes you less then a Gaunt."

I could feel my jaw tighten. I hated him, I hated his smugness, and I hated how despite it all if he took me right here and now I wouldn't say a word.

"Cat got your tongue?" He chuckled.

"Actually no, the snake did." I shot back. I leaned over the railing, looking over the garden. I felt a hand snake up my back, resting just below my shoulder blade.

"I missed you." He spoke softly.

"I haven't."

"You most certainly have. If you didn't you would be letting me touch you right now." He smiled again, that damn smile that got him everything he wanted. But he was entirely right.

"If my husband saw you now-"

"He would say nothing," Ominis interrupted, "he would think it's an honor that he picked such a wife that a Gaunt heir wants her."

"You don't want me, you made that clear when I last saw you."

"And you told me that no matter what I would never touch you again, yet here we both are. Breaking both of our promises."

He moved his hand low, settling it on my hip. I wanted to pull him in, to kiss him and feel him.

"You ruined me." Ominis whispered into my ear.

"You ruined me." I whispered back, his other hand was on my arm, tracing up the fabric. "I was bound to marry the man I loved until you said he wasn't enough for me."

"Because I will never be enough for you." His fingers delicately moved their way up to my shoulder. "I will never be enough of a man for you."

"I didn't care."

"I do." He breathed heavily as he moved his body behind mine, pressing into me. "I did."

"If you don't care anymore, then take me." I whispered. His hand placed itself lightly around my throat. 

"You are another man's wife." He hummed into my ear. "I can't take you."

"He hasn't had me." 

Ominis quickly loosened his grip on my neck, spinning me to face him, my ass pressed against the railing of the balcony.

"He hasn't had you yet?" He said quickly. "How could he resist a woman like you?"

I smiled at his comment. Of course Ominis was shocked, even I never let him have me before. I was waiting for marriage, but William said he didn't enjoy such past times, so only when we wanted children is when he would provide that service to me. 

"He has never once asked to take me." I said softly, pulling Ominis tie bringing him closer to me. His breathing became heavy. His hand weaving into my hair, tugging slightly.

"Would you let me take you?" His face was so close to mine, one slightly movement and our lips would clash.

"Only if you ask nicely." I smirked, leaning ever so close to him. He pulled my head back.

"Please dove, let me be the one to take care of you for the first time." He whispered into my ear.

"Yes, you may."

He pressed his lips needily into mine, his lips soft and sweet against my own. Ominis's lips trailed down my jaw, his hand tugging my head back by my hair to reveal my neck to him. I moaned into his deep kisses, the slight bites and licks he gave after. 

I placed my hands on the side of his face lifting up to me. Our lips met again, with more of a hunger then before. I wanted him so badly for so long, and only now do I get him. My fingers fidgeted with his tie, attempting to undo it while I was also unbuttoning his shirt. I kissed down his jaw and neck as he caught my wrists in his hands.

"Not here my love."

His arms tucked under my thighs, hoisting me around his hips. I kept kissing him, leaving red around his jaw, neck, and cheeks. He walked inside, and to a room on the left, opening the door as he held me up, and closing it just as quickly. He carried me to the bed, placing me down so gently.

"You don't know how badly I've wanted you. How badly I wanted to please you in the way you deserve."

He ran his hands up the curves of my dress, taking in the sensation of the fabric. His lips trailed kisses up to my lips, leaving a heat behind that was addicting.

"I wanted you so badly." I moaned as he sucked on my neck. "Omi- I want you."

My hands found his hair, entangling my fingers in his old money locks. He gripped harder on my waist, holding me under his grasp. He made his way back up, kissing me deeply and letting his tongue explore my mouth. I tugged off his tie, throwing it hastily to the floor. He broke our kiss, taking off his suit jacket.

"Open your legs my dear." He whispered, a hand running up my bare thigh. 

"What if I say no?" I humored, letting a small smile cross my lips.

"Then I will leave right now, and promise to never pleasure you again." Ominis smiled, leaning closer in and giving me a deep kiss. He settled his body between my legs, pressing his body against mine. I could feel the heat building in my stomach, and the warmth below from him. 

He kissed me deeper and I moved my hips against him, making him groan into our kiss. He pulled me up so I sat on the edge of the bed, his hand wrapped in my hair as he explored my mouth further. I grinded my hips further onto him, making him groan more.

"You tease." He laughed as he kissed down, pulling at the neckline of my dress. "I need this off of your body, now."

"Then take it off."

He smirked at my challenge, pulling me in for a kiss as his hands worked at the back of my dress, pulling the top down to my waist. His kisses trailed down my body, hot and wet, his tongue finding my peak, taking it into his mouth and sucking on it. I felt so sensitive as I held his head, pushing him closer into me.

"O- omi- " I moaned out.

"Shh, you must be quiet." He licked around my nipple, giving it a kiss. "Unless you want the entire party, and your husband, to know I am making love to you."

"I don't," I let out a breath, melting to Ominis's touch. "I'll be quiet."

"Good."

He continued his assault on my mounds, taking time to pleasure each one until I was throbbing below. He teased me until I reached the edge, denying me the release. His fingers gracefully traced over the wet fabric of my panties, making my whole body shiver.

"I don't know why I pushed you away, when this could be you every night." He spoke softly between kisses. "This could be you as my wife ever night my dear."

I wanted to explode, every nerve ending on fire for how far he had pulling the string in me. I needed to release, every part of me needed to feel him.

"O-h Omini-s please." I moaned out as his fingers pressed into the fabric of my heat below.

"Someone is needy hm?"

He pressed against my sensitive bud, releasing a louder moan from me.

"Open your legs my love."

I did as I was told, opening my legs wider, the dress being pushed aside as he lowered himself to be in line with my heat.

"I'm going to taste you love. If you become uncomfortable, please tell me." Ominis placed a kiss at my stomach before moving the fabric down my legs, reveling my soaked opening. His finger moved along the inside of my thighs, finding the opening. "God you're going to be delicious."

Ominis's head delved into me, and I felt heaven for the first time. Each stroke of his tongue, each press of his finger, each suck made me reach higher and higher. I moaned his name as he held me closer, pulling my thighs into his face. I could feel that string tightening again.

"Ominis- I'm goin-"

He kept going at the same pace, relentless in the pursuit of my release. I could barely breath as I felt the string snap, sending me over. I felt as if everything was right, that I truly was Ominis's in this moment, that I only would ever be his. He lifted his face from me, licking his finger clean of my release.

"You are the best this I've tasted at this party my love." He whispered into my ear. I held his face as I kissed him, tasting myself on his lips.

"I want to taste you." I said softly.

"No, this is all for you tonight." He smiled. "I want you to feel as amazing as you can, so when you have to crawl back to that husband of yours, you'll think of me when you have to touch yourself."

Ominis raised himself from me, undoing his pants, and pulling out his length. Unintentionally I let out a small gasp.

"Like what you see?" Ominis chuckled.

"I- I didn't know they were that big," I paused. "I don't know if it will fi-"

"It will," he smirked, "you were made for me, of course it will fit. Now breathe, it will be a bit painful the first time, I will be gentle."

I took a breath as he lined himself up with me. I could feel his tip rub against my fold, a tingling sensation arising through my body. He finally eased it into me, slowly inching himself deeper into me. It was painful, like a stab into my body, but I also felt entirely complete. Ominis buried himself deep into me, finding my lips and exploring my mouth with his tongue. After a moment he pulled himself out partially, and pushed himself back in.

"Fuck darling, you are so wet," he whispered. "It's taking everything in me to not release into your perfect self."

He pushed in a little harder, releasing a groan from his lips. When he pulled out again it was nearly his whole length, and upon pushing it back in I moaned out one thing.

"Harder."

Something clicked in Ominis, his ridged body before gripping into my flesh. His careful demeanor gone, and the gentleness disappeared. Harder then before he began pushing and pulling himself in me, making me body shiver to his touch. 

I wanted to scream his name as he pushed deeper into me at a harder pace. His lips searing hot as he kissed my body.  I felt my nails dig into his back, scratching down as his dick slammed into the most sensitive spot in my heat. The string in me tightened each time he pushed into me, his hand held my wrists above my head. My body was at the complete mercy of Ominis, and I liked it. He moved his other hand to my bud, rubbing it as he pressed against me harder. His breathing became erratic as he pushed harder and deeper into me, making me see heaven again.

"Release for me darling, I want to feel you." He whispered as he kissed my neck. It sent me over the edge, my walls pulsating on his length as I rode through my high. "Fuc- love I can- I'm going to-"

"Do it in me!" I moaned out as he slammed into me.

"I-"

"I want to be yours Ominis Gaunt!" I felt my legs shake as he pounded harder, letting himself release into me. 

He let my wrists go, holding himself up while still plunged deep in me.

"Love, I need you to leave your husband." He chuckled. "I can't live without this- without you, anymore."

"Perhaps Mr. Gaunt, maybe a certain someone is slipping a poison into Mr. Malfoy's drink as we speak." I smirked. "Leaving me a fortune, and a widow."

"You're such a bad girl." 

"I only do bad things for you."

[emmg]

first line or page or whatever

I was tagged by lovely @starfleetteddybear

And now I'm tagging everyone I can think of because you all already know I adore being a fly on the wall, continually being fed by yalls lips @heylittleriotact @lavenderprose @caffeinatedmunchkin @aldisobey @fenharel-babe @lafaiette and everyone else (seriously, I am so serious, so super serious, freaking tag me to read it)

I don't write in order so this isn't technically "first page or first sentence" or whatever, but it is the first thing in the document. It's not edited or anything, so yeah

I'm not working on anything in particular at the moment, but this is from a Emmlich x Rook creepy, not-happy, definitely morbid one-shot

---

Her hand dangles from her wrist like an afterthought, a relic of some forgotten desecration. Hours ago, it was ordinary: warm, alive, unremarkable. Now, the skin stretches taut and shiny, the color of old wax, fissured at the knuckles, crisp and lifeless. The nails are beginning their exodus, retreating one by one, and the bones beneath flex with a quiet, unnatural creak, like a poorly oiled hinge. Each movement elicits a sound, a faint, unbearable crackle, as though the hand itself is trying to speak, trying to beg for stillness. 

Her arm betrays her further, holding onto the hand as though it remains unchanged, blind to the ruin at its end. The arm insists there is nothing wrong, and for a moment she wishes she could share in its delusion. 

"You have done well, Bellara. Thank you for bringing her here. You may leave," Emmrich says, his voice drifting through the fog of her horror. 

She blinks, her gaze slipping downward. His feet. They look normal. His voice, so calm, so kind, as if nothing in the world had shifted. But when he touches her hand she sees the wrappings around his fingers, the frayed edges of fabric, and something inside her mind explodes, splinters into a thousand jagged shards. 

The sound that escapes her lips is not quite a scream. Her lungs are too hollow for that. It is a keening, a whimper, the noise of a wounded animal, ribs already shattered, being struck again. She cannot look at his hand, and yet she does, helpless, dragged to the sight as though by hooks lodged in her skull. Even as the glamour rushes back around him like a second skin, summoned hastily to soothe her panic, she sees it. Beneath the wrappings, beneath the illusion. She sees what lies hidden, what should never be seen. She does not need to see it clearly. She has seen it before.

She imagines the layers of herself peeled away in the same manner: skin slipping like the rind of a fruit plunged into boiling water, sloughing off to reveal raw muscle, wet and glistening. The muscle stripped clean, sinew unwound like thread, veins plucked and discarded, the bone beneath polished to a gleam until it is no longer hers, until it is no longer anything but a thing that must be hidden, bound, wrapped. Her hand, no longer her hand, becoming his hand. Becoming him.

She stumbles backward, choking on her terror, pushing, pleading, begging—away, away, away.

"Oh, no, no," Emmrich murmurs, soft and quick, catching her wrist before she can fully recoil. His fingers press into her, their texture wrong despite the illusion of skin. The glamour is seamless, his hand as it once was: warm, familiar. It looks right, yes, but the feel of it betrays him. 

"My darling, my darling," he coos. "It is but a malfunction, nothing more. I will fix it." 

And he does. She does not know how, does not understand the spell he weaves, the threads of magic pulled like a puppeteer’s strings. She only knows the sensation: the slowing of time as though the world itself hesitates to watch. The veins in her hand reinflate, blood coursing sluggishly, obediently. The yellowed, parchment-thin skin blushes pink again, fat plumping her fingertips, the flesh regaining its softness. 

The medallion stops its maddening thrumming at last, silent after being stirred to life by Bellara’s cursed artifact. Silent, but still there, still pulsing faintly against the edge of her mind. 

Emmrich smiles at her then, the smile he no longer has, the one the glamour keeps for him. It is a lie, but a convincing one. She realizes, distantly, that she has stopped crying. 

"It just needs a few adjustments," he says, lifting the medallion from between her breasts to rub its surface idly, reverently, like a craftsman tending to his finest tool. "Simple as that."

[tribalauthor]

THE WISEWOMAN R.R. AU (CHAPTER 3)

word count: 2k

Nervous is an understatement for my state of feeling right now.

Today is my first segment and in this segment I have to announce that I am the temporary wise woman for Roman Reigns.

Also I have a task from uncle. I have to persuade Nick Aldis - the general manager of Smackdown to cancel the fatal 4-way match since it's just unfair.

These past few days I met Jimmy, Jey and Solo. Very respectful men by the way. Uncle wasn't lying.

I have also been making friends with the women roster cause I do need female friends here. I can't only hang out with the Bloodline, right?

"Don't worry, girl. You got this!" Samantha tried to hype me up. She is the ring announcer and honestly we became close really fastly. In a few days, we know all about the life stories of one another. "I can't even wait to announce you. Ladies and gentlemen, accompanied to the ring by his special council, the wise woman - Sophia Heyman...oh my god" she started clapping excitingly and this made me grin from ear to ear.

"It sounds so good. You are so talented" I exclaimed. She is really, really good.

"Good luck to your fiancée, by the way" I wished her.

"Thank you so much" she smiled nervously.

"It must be nerve-wracking to have a partner wrestler, right?" I asked out of nowhere.

"Indeed. You are always worried about their health cause anything can happen in that ring and yeah..." she explained. "I just pray every day for him and for my colleagues, of course"

"Understandable" I nodded my head.

"Speaking of..." she looked around us and got closer to me. "What do you think about him?" I got puzzled for a moment.

"Ricochet? Well, I haven't really spoken to him but he seems like a nice guy" I replied.

"Not my fiancée...about Roman" she looked around again and whispered his name.

"Is he like Voldemort, why you so scared of saying his name? Well, he seems okay for now. Honestly, better than I expected but I had no expectations so." I shrugged.

"I think he likes you." she just spat out but this time she wasn't very quiet.

"What? Samantha...are you in your delulu moment?" I furrowed my eyebrows because she just said that so out of nowhere.

"Girl, literally look at you. That's what I'm gonna say. You are the woman that haunts men's dreams, no matter if they are single or taken." Samantha clarified.

"Come on." I rolled my eyes. Would lie if I said I didn't get this before.

"He is divorced by the way but you haven't heard this from me" Samantha switched to whispering again.

"What? I mean...how do you know? I mean, yeah whatever, I guess. Uncle is divorced as well." I shrugged. What did I just do? Now it will seem like I'm happy because of that fact.

"You don't get my point. What I'm trying to tell you is that you should be careful if you don't wanna end up being caught in his vice grip" Sam giggled cause she knows I got the reference very well. However, I was totally unfazed because I don't see myself with a man like him.

"Ha-ha, so funny, Samantha, ha-ha. Don't you worry about me. I have learned my lesson with you know who, so if somebody wants to impress me now, it's gonna be very, very hard." I solidified my intentions. Robert really gave me close to nothing and I was blinded just because he was cute.

"What are you two girls talking about so passionately?" I suddenly heard Roman's deep voice behind me and it startled me so much that I jumped a little. "Woah, calm down, wise woman. Am I a ghost?" he was exactly behind me and I looked up to him since he is like more than 7 inches taller than me. Roman had his eyes down my direction and a big grin on his face. "Tell me what are you two gossiping about. Tell me the drama."

"The discussions me and Samantha were having, Mr. Reigns, are strictly confidential, so I am not telling you. You ain't one of the girls." I sassed him out and he let out a deep chuckle.

"But you are my wise woman. You should tell me everything. No secrets between us." he suddenly tried to act offended.

"This statement, Mr. Reigns, is disputed. There is nowhere in the contract that signifies I should tell you everything about my life and vice versa." I immediately opposed to him.

"Always disagreeing with me" he looked at Samantha with the look of complaint. "Have you ever seen the Wise Man disagreeing with me, Samantha?"

"No, at least not here." she replied.

"Okay but I'm not uncle. Also the agreements are only for the camera. Behind camera, I'm not obligated to." I turned to him and shrugged.

Roman chuckled once again.

"Miss Heyman, I honestly find your attitude so cute. You think you are 'biting' like a snake but honestly, I'm having fun."

"Oh, you think that this is my bad side, Mr. Reigns? I have to apologize then. You are mistaken" I fought back.

"No, I didn't say that this is your bad side. Anyway, we have to start preparing for later, so the gossip session has to end soon, okay?" he suddenly turned all serious. This man's duality is insane. He can throw some random jokes one second and the other second, he turns into a serious man. Is he a Gemini or something?

"Coming after a while" I said and turned around to Samantha.

"I bet you will" I heard him saying under his nose and I turned to him again. When he saw that I heard him, he made that funny "oops" expression.

Until the very moment he got away, Samantha had a look of disbelief in her face.

"See what I'm talking about? Now I'm 100% sure. Soph, I have never...ever in my career seen Roman like this. He is so obvious, oh my god." she put her hand on her mouth.

"Is he a Gemini?" I asked out of nowhere. It's a tendency of mine since I remember myself.

"Uuh, I think so, yes."

"That explains a lot. And then people tell me astrology ain't real" I shook my head. "And how old is he?" I asked quietly.

"Let me think...uh, he is a bit older than Trevor. Two or three years something like this. In his late thirties for sure - 38, I believe." my friend suddenly started calculating. "This year he will be 39."

"What?" my jaw was on the floor. "Yeah, no chance. That's a...12 year difference, nuh-uh." I shook my head.

"But you thought about it" she started laughing and poked me.

"About what?" I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. "Anyway I have to go"

"Coming for him" Sam couldn't help but snore.

"Ha-ha so funny" I rolled my eyes.

...

"I'm here" I shouted after I got in the locker room. The whole Bloodline is there.

"Lil' OG." Jimmy came to greet me with a high-five.

"Lil' OG"? Solo seemed weirded out by the way Jimmy called me.

"Paul is OG. Sophia is his blood, therefore she is lil' OG." Jimmy explained himself and his brother just seemed done.

"She looks nothing like Paul."

"Nah, she has his eyes" Jimmy disagreed with him.

"Ah yes. The saphire blue eyes that I inherited from my late great-grandmother Patricia." I stated.

"You may not look like Paul but for sure sound like him" Jimmy concluded. "So are you ready for later?"

"Mentally kinda, physically absolutely not. I have to start dressing up and everything because after 10 minutes the makeup artist and the hairdresser will be waiting for me." I looked at my watch.

Then reached to the wardrobe to grab the outfit I planned for tonight. It is a two piece costume consisting a blouse like blazer with a deep cleavage but it also has a scarf that is going to wrap around my throat and also a long skirt with a long slit. The color is dark blue with thin light stripes exactly like my uncle's costumes. For shoes I chose beige lacquered high heels.

Where is Roman? He was so insisting for me to come here and now he is nowhere to be found.

"Paul Heyman : female version" Jimmy said in a narrative tone which made me chuckle.

"I don't think the crowd is going to notice the difference" I shrugged.

"Oh, they definitely will, trust me" Solo said seriously.

I suddenly heard steps. I turned on my right and oh my God, I shouldn't have.

The view before me is just...wow.

Roman fresh out of the shower with his wet, long hair, his big ass tribal tattoo and a white towel wrapped around his torso. Water drips falling onto his body like tears.

"Ah, you're here, Sophia." he said that as if he totally expected me and as if everything is on purpose.

"Yeah." I turned around and faced his cousins because if I stare for longer, I will boost up his ego. Damn, that man is jacked.

"So is the bathroom free? I have to dress quickly." I asked a rhetorical question but I tried to go as quickly as possible, so I don't look at him in any way. I went through like a flash honestly.

"Do you need help?" I heard him yelling at me.

"No?" that was so random of him.

"You said you have to dress up quick and you know two works better than one" he replied and that response caused me to open the bathroom door and he was still sitting there.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Reigns but I have to decline this offer." after I finished, I slammed the door.

Is he out of his mind? Asking me this right in front of his cousins? Unbelievable.

Roman's POV:

I chuckled at Sophia once again. Damn, I know this woman for a few days yet she got under my skin. The way she looks, the way she talks, the way she walks. I feel betrayed by Paul, to be completely honest. How could he never tell me he has such a pretty niece?

"Uce...what the fuck?" Solo whisper yelled.

"What?" the grin on my face still stayed.

"Bro...you are hitting on Paul's niece" Jimmy called me out.

"Nah, I'm not. We are just joking" I immediately debunked Jimmy's statement and went to the wardrobe to search for my stuff.

"You don't joke like this...ever. Come to your senses, uce. She is way younger than you. How old is she?" Jon asked with a concern.

"I don't know. Probably 25-26." the looks the siblings exchanged between each other were full of shock as if I said she is a minor...come on.

"She is younger than me?" Solo seemed caught off guard.

"That divorce is blinding you." Jimmy started lecturing me. "You see a pretty woman and suddenly you want to sleep with her".

"I don't wanna sleep with her, you perverts. I just like her company, okay? Stop lecturing me." I tried not to yell at them because I don't want Sophia to hear me.

"Uce, you can't fool us. Look at her. A living Barbie doll. Get yourself together immediately." Solo whisper yelled but we all shut up immediately when we heard the door open.

"So how do I look?" Sophia asked, standing in front of me with that business ass little outfit and heels and so much unholy thoughts going in my head of how I bend her over and pull that skirt up and then...

Joseph, you should stop before somebody rises underneath and completely embarass yourself.

That woman is my dream personified and I don't care what my cousins think. I'm going to have her one way or another.

"Amazing" I cleared my throat. "Spectacular" I cleared my throat again, trying not to stare too much at her.

"Great" Jimmy and Solo threw her big grins and thumbs up.

"Thank you so much, now I'm leaving you guys. Bye. See ya later." she ran to the door and left the room.

"Holy shit" I sat on the couch. "I may be in trouble" I finally confessed.

"Took you long enough." Solo said sarcastically.

[guarddog-of-proendos]

Image descriptions

- written by a visually impaired person

What is an image description?

an image description is exactly what it sounds like, a block of text describing the content of an image. this is important for many people but especially for blind and visually impaired people who cannot see the image (at least, not well enough to understand what's going on)

(people also cite that this helps people with slow internet, if you add that to this post I am hitting you on the head with a stick. our access to the internet is enough of a reason to add image descriptions, they don't have to help abled people as well.)

image descriptions serve the purpose of providing the same access to content and context in a post that you, a sighted person, have. the goal is to allow equal access for visually disabled people and other people who struggle to access images.

have you ever been stuck scrolling through Tumblr while images are refusing to load? was that frustrating? imagine how we feel every day, all the time.

How to write an image description

writing an image description is a skill. it's okay if you aren't great at it at first. not being great at it is not an excuse to not try. I'm tired of people telling me they can't be assed to try writing an image description because it might not be perfect. I would much rather read an imperfect image description than have no image description at all.

when you're describing an image the key point is to describe what's relevant, what you look at in an image. if the image is a tweet, describe what the tweet says. if the image is a picrew of an alter, describe what that alter looks like in the picrew.

You don't need to include every detail

a lot of guides will, with well intentions, tell you to describe a lot. sometimes, describing a lot is relevant. if you're describing a piece of art or photography then describing a lot is important because the point of the photo is to appreciate all of the photo. if you're taking a selfie, I truly do not care that your walls are blank and white. sometimes, more detail is less accessible. I don't want to scroll through paragraphs up on paragraphs for a photo that sighted people can just glance at and get the gist of.

take for example, this post divider I just used:

you could describe this as: a post divider with a large star in the center surrounded by a halo of the moon phase in gold. 2 horizontal lines come from it in the center with a pattern of alternating sun, moon, sun, and star symbols.

... that's really long. the point for sighted people is to break up the text with something pretty. it's not to admire all the intricacies of the image.

a more appropriate description would be: a star themed post divider

text, on the other hand, should always be transcribed in full. do not describe your DNI banner as "a DNI banner" that tells me nothing. put down all the text, all of it, because all of the text is relevant.

never use AI to write an image description! it's insulting and often inaccurate. problems with generative AI aside, throwing an image into chatGPT and then copy and pasting the sludge it spits out makes me feel like I'm not worth taking a minute to actually write an image description. AI generated image descriptions tend to be impersonal, inaccurate, and hard to follow because it just throws up all the random details it picks up on rather than describing the point of the image. with the editing required to fix a chatGPT image description you could have written your own and it would be better.

I truly cannot write an image description

ask for help. if you have no one you can directly ask, add a note to your post asking for help writing the description when you post it. when someone writes a description for you, copy and paste it into the original post. there is no such thing as image description theft, the point is accessibility. you can't steal accessibility. copy and pasting is not just okay it's encouraged!

on other people's posts (regardless of whether or not you can write an image description) you can often find image descriptions in the notes. taking a minute to check for image descriptions before reblogging an undescribed post is something fast and kind you can do for the people who need image descriptions. often you'll find a description and then hurray! that inaccessible post is now accessible!

....but I don't have any followers who need image descriptions!

yes you do.

if you truly don't it's probably because none of them can access your blog. fix that and suddenly you will have followers who need image descriptions

why is this in the pluralgang tag? none of you describe images.

Questions are encouraged

(if you have any)

[menodoramoon]

That's the thing about Menodora. She doesn't grow. She holds all thought thoughts -- those seedlings of awareness and observations -- close to her chest and in the back of her mind. She doesn't allow them to morph and change and metamorphosize into new ideas, new actions, new intents. She's never allowed those crocuses to break through the snow. Never permitting those Irises to see the light. Oh… how charming, she thinks. How funny. How fitting.

She sees Tófi in different lights. The illusion of their human self and the truth of their monstrous one. They watch them closely, a look of contemplation of her face. In that alternate 1815, she's loved them as their true self. In that alternate game of gods and monsters, they'd been more human. But those dreams didn't happen. Tófi would chide her for letting her mind wander back.

All of that to say, reconciling who they were had always been difficult. It's harder now, to think of them as a person who felt. And what did they feel besides rage and a thirst for vengeance? Is it so cliche to say that Tófi felt misunderstood? As childish as that word may seem, it felt like the truest thing to her. She misunderstood them time and time again. Underestimated them, overestimated them. Didn't know them as she thought she did or perhaps knew more aspects of them better than they knew her to.

She's somehow charmed by the turn her mind takes, the vague recognitions and reacquainting they're doing. This is not like the beginning of the year where they renewed their friendship. They tore down their relationship today in fire to begin to forge it anew. Perhaps Tófi would burn her in the future as she'd burned them. But it would be earned. And that, in itself, felt right.

"You love more than those, Tófi of Septarsis," Menodora chides. Her tone takes on one where she may tease a wayward ambassador. Where she is delightfully coy with her knowledge. "Don't lie to us when you demand so much truth of me."

Those smiles she gives them hurt her head. Ping lightly, like a pin dropping to the floor, against her senses.

"If things were any different, we may be happier people. Or not," she says, her voice lighter. Pained, but lighter. This discussion is taking a toll on her, her wick was quickly being burnt through. "Because if I am happier, that must mean I'm being ignorant to your plight. And if you were happier or contended, I don't know if I'd be standing here."

She purses her lips for a moment, closes her eyes against the brightness of the hall. It feels like stepping out of darkness into the daylight, bright and blinding. She would love to live in her oblivion, pretend all was well and ignore the pain Tófi hides. She remembers how Tófi had reprimanded her in the dream, reminding her how light could blind. It revealed the worst bits of you, exposed you and laid every bit of you bare.

Could Menodora handle the truth of herself? The facts of matters she tried so hard to -- for so long succeeded to -- repress.

Tófi seems to hold tight to their even tone, their humorless tone. She can't help but raise a brow, even if it's ill-advised over her worsening headache.

"What I'm hearing, Mr Sethson," she says, with that same teasing, playful look as before, "is that you want to watch me sleep." But she's not serious. That much was written across her features. If she were bolder, she may have said something sharper. Something more accusatory. Instead, she hums a soft smile, the slight reverberation on her lips. "It's noble of you to offer keeping vigil, though. Almost sweet, though I don't think sweet is the word I'd use to describe you."

Every external upturn of her lips is a downturn of her mind. And eventually, she knows she'll give out. Her banter is temporary. Exhaustion is a shadow, slowly consuming her.

When she observes them, they're observing her back. She's watching for a hint of a smile. They're watching for the eventual overwhelming of weakness.

It was a dance they'd done when she was a child. Physically, she's only been as tall as maybe his heart when she first knew of their truest face. Now, she could stand on her toes and brush her nose against theirs, their familiarity eye-to-eye.

"Why, Tófi," she says, humor evident but her strength fading, "it almost sounds like you want an excuse to carry me."

Are they twenty feet from reprieve or two hundred? This house couldn't be that big, their manner of manor was surely not that expansive. Even if taking one more step felt like the effort of wading through deep water.

If they lingered any more in the hall, Tófi would have no choice unless they were content with 'rest' being synonymous with her crumpled, unconscious on their hallway floor.

She's a moment from a delirious laugh. Settles for an exhale. Shuts her eyes as the thrumming and drumming and darkness in her ears rises.

"I'll permit it, just this once, if you're still offering."

@ofseptarsis

genfødte sandheder || Tófi & Moon

[doodlingwren]

☝🤓 What if 🤨🤔! I was back 😨🤯 after some months 😞😤😲... ahahah jokes 🧐🤣😂... unless 😳👉👈

[asfdhgsdkjhgb]

had quite the night drive earlier this evening.

[lionblaze03-2]

sometimes I think about writing and singing music not because I’m an incredible singer but because no one has my fucking voice, especially in popular music, and its disheartening to be born a girl, told you’ll only get girl roles or try to voice match other girls, or ‘sing with the girls’ and then only be able to match male voices because you’re a fuckin tenor and not anything higher. I can’t think of any girl Broadway roles I can hit all the notes on. Most songs I love I have to pitch down for myself or use falsetto for singing along to. It bothers me a lot less now because I’m an adult who’s more secure in myself but as a teen in kids musical theatre it FUCKED with me, BAD style. And I know for a fact that even now when I hear people with a voice like mine singing I get excited and immediately invested in their work because they’re like ME, finally, for once. A brother in this world of being afab and having the voice of a recently pubescent boy forever. Maybe I should be that brother too.

[thedrotter]

Do any of you remember a Youtube video about Re:Kinder talking about how the game is seen and percieved by some people (mostly touching upon and arguing against how it has been treated insensitively as some sort of weird legend like "ooo disturbing game with a hidden truth behind it" due to it's creator being dead), as well as talking about the charm of the game (even mentioning it's art at some point) and sadness of the themes without spoiling anything at the same time?? I remember the video avoided saying any spoilers at all and only touched on the literal plot as the kids being stuck in a dire situation in the town with all the adults dead without really getting into the why (it didn't even say one of the kids themselves was the cause— as thus, spoiler free), other than that it just touched on the emotional side of it and vaguely mentioned some scenes.

i also remember at some point the later half (at the very least if not in all of it) of the video, music by Siinamota was playing in the background. Does anyone remember seeing a video like this?

I can't seem to find it anywhere and don't even remember the exact year I watched it.😭 It was the way I found out about this game a while ago, which eventually ended up in me playing it, and I really wish I could watch it again. I thought it was a deleted video by someone called hazel as it was mentioned by a lot of people, but I found that one and it isnt it.😓 I'm wondering if anyone remembers watching something along the lines of what im describing and knows if it's still up.

[lateseptemberdawn]

Ngl bad parents give me such an ick like stay tf away from me ew

[inkskinned]

she's singing in another room and my dog is asleep at my feet. my grandma asked me why i haven't found a man yet and i laughed. oh, you know. i like my house clean.

my girlfriend is also my man is also "my partner" if i'm in a professional setting. yesterday we went to a ren faire and a man mimed at me - you're together? and at my delighted nod, his baffled, you're gay? made me laugh. a woman with rainbow hair said i love the two of you together. you're both so beautiful it's absurd.

my dad introduced my partner as my "..... friend. or whatever" the other day. he knows we're dating. in the same way, i was never able to get my sister's husband to stop saying that's gay like it's 2008. he still uses the word fa***t, and my sister's defense of him has always been well, he's just kidding.

my lover and i dance to old music in a tiny kitchen. we judge new music together and take food critique very seriously. we watch love is blind before we fall asleep and agree that if they had a queer season, it would be bloody but also make for excellent tv. of fucking course queer people would know someone for only 2 weeks and agree to get married. what are you saying.

at a bar with friends, a man puts his hand on my wrist. got a boyfriend? and yes, i do have a boyfriend, she's amazing. i am texting her while i wander around a gas station named after geese. i am visiting a swing state for a wedding. in the candy aisle i overhear: she's actually like a lesbian it's disgusting. two teenage girls with packaged sandwiches in their hands, giggling. no literally, like. i'm not, like. okay with her being there while we're all, like, naked and changing.

my girlfriend and i tailgate, drink gin and cider out of cups. from the frat group beside us, a man corrects himself with one of his friends: bro, i mean, nonbinary entity, and it makes everyone around him laugh, myself included. he razzes his friend the same way i would have killed for at 19 years old - like nothing happened, he continues: you apply sunscreen like an alien. he does a little sassy (and fairly accurate) dance interpretation of the motion. his friend is laughing so hard they're crying.

i am lucky, i live in a safe neighborhood in a safe state. my masc passenger princess comes up from DC. i drive her for an hour to where all the leaves are a violent arrangement of color. we walk along the trails, letting autumn into our blood. in this part of the state, there's a lot of pickup trucks and trump signs. when we chastely kiss before getting into the car, i accidentally make eye contact with a woman holding her child's wrist. she looks disgusted. she looks fucking pissed.

two hours later my girl and i are eating dinner on a patio, soaking in the last warmth of new england sun before the chill of winter sets in. we are giggling and trying to talk through plastic vampire teeth. at another table, i see a young woman sit up straighter. i watch her watch us. she blushes and takes her partner's hand from across the table. shy, like the taste of evening has just become something deeper.

it's worth it for this moment, i think. my lover is still humming the same song she's been singing for four days straight and i don't want to kill her for it. her guitar is beside my bed. her toothbrush is in my bathroom. in a few moments i will make us lunch. we are lucky enough to have found each other. it is lucky enough to be in love.