#Now a days? It's a little more scarce for him to paint or write... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cozage · 2 years ago

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Hi, can you write a scenario where Sanji founds his S/O (who is secretly an artist) staring the Aquarium's ceiling, and when he looks, he see that they painted a ocean landscape (like the All Blue) on it? I'm not good on explaining, but i think that would be a cute idea.

A/N: ALL THESE SANJI REQUESTS ARE MAKING ME FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM YOU GUYS NEED TO STOP!!! (jk you better not stop he deserves love)

Characters: gn reader x Sanji

Cw: none :)

Total word count: 1k

A Painted Dream

Sanji hadn’t seen you in a few hours, and he began to grow worried. Once he finished cooking for Luffy and Usopp, his mission would be to find you.

The more he thought about it, the more concerned he became. You had been scarce most of the week, actually. He could really only remember seeing you for meals and for bedtime, which you came late to most nights.

“Luffy.” He handed over a plate of sandwiches for the captain. “Have you seen Y/N recently?”

Luffy hummed, thinking about the question while he ate. “I saw them at breakfast this morning,” he said with a mouth full of food.

“I saw them down in the workshop a few days ago,” Usopp offered.

Of course these idiots wouldn’t be any help. He lit a cigarette and started cleaning up, trying to think about your conversations over the past few days. You almost always showed up to meals late, and you always looked a little disheveled when you arrived. Whenever he went to serve you snacks you weren’t there, and he always got distracted by another crew member before he had time to find you. He hadn’t noticed it at the moment, but now that he was reflecting on it, your behavior had been kind of secretive lately.

He trusted you, of course, but he still felt uneasy. Moreso, he felt guilty that he hadn’t noticed it sooner and asked you about your day to know what you were doing in the first place.

He wandered the ship, trying to find you. He asked all his crew mates, but the only helpful info he got was from Franky, who said you borrowed a small scaffold a few days ago and hadn’t returned it yet, and you borrowed a ladder this morning.

There weren’t many places you could use a ladder inside the ship, so he checked the library first. He found Robin there, but not you.

“Try the aquarium,” Robin offered, turning the page of the book she was reading.

He wandered down to the aquarium and opened the door to find you standing before him. Your hair was pushed back in a bandana, and a variety of colored paint was smeared across your face and your arms. You were holding a palette in your hand and a paintbrush between your teeth while you stared upwards, focusing on something above you.

His eyes trailed up to see what you were staring at, and he let out a small gasp of shock. Fish from the North Blue to his right, the South Blue to his Left, the East Blue on the far side, and the West Blue above him, all swimming towards the center of the room. There, they intermingled freely, swimming amongst sea kings and other monsters you all had seen on your travels. He could feel tears welling up and he furiously blinked to clear them. He didn’t want to cloud his vision of such perfect artistry.

A sound at the door alerted you to a presence, and your eyes flicked over to see someone in the doorway. Tall, blonde, dressed to the nines. Sanji.

“No!” you cried, running over to him. “No! No! No!”

You reach him and throw your hands over his eyes, which were glued to the ceiling. “You can’t see it yet! It’s not done!”

He stood in front of you, still as a statue. Your hands were still over his eyes, and you could feel wetness beneath your fingers.

“Sanji?”

You opened your hands slightly so you could see his face, but kept them cupped so he couldn’t see the ceiling. He had tears streaming down his face as he looked at you.

“You made that painting?”

You nod sheepishly. “I was hoping to finish it before you saw it, though.”

He looked at you, surprised. “It’s not done yet? It’s-”

“Just adding the finishing details now. Making it perfect.”

“Can I sit here and watch you finish it?”

Your face made a pout. “You have to promise not to look until I say so.”

He laughed and took a seat in front of the fish tank. “I’ll keep my eyes on you.”

It was hard, but he did it. He desperately wanted to glance up at the painting, to be lost in the intricacies and name every fish he saw. But he waited until you gave him permission, and he kept his eyes on you the whole time. He watched as you squinted to see, huffed in frustration, and smiled in success.

After an hour or two, you nodded in satisfaction, and you turned to him. “Okay, you can look now.”

He strode over to you and wrapped you in his arms, and then the two of you looked up at the All Blue you had created.

“Just when I think you can’t surprise me, you go and do something like this.” He pulled his gaze away from the painting and smothered you with kisses, causing you to cry out in a fit of giggles.

“You really like it?” you ask, peering up at him.

“I love it. I love you.”

The two of you stood there, looking up at his dream until your necks were sore, and then you laid on the ground and kept looking up. You listened to him name each of the fish he saw, delightedly pointing them out like a child pointing out shapes of clouds on a sunny day, and thought about how you couldn’t wait for him to finally find the actual one.

#one piece #one piece scenario #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x y/n #sanji x reader #sanji x you #cozage #✧˚sanji✧˚

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parvulous-writings · 11 months ago

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no idea if nail polish exists in the 5e world, but it does now. how about a chill day for the companions where everyone does their nails? or is tav/durge doing the painting for everyone?

Summary: Camp has a nail day!

Warnings: Minor spoilers for Shadowheart's various arcs, same for Karlach. One swear word.

Notes: if it doesn't exist, it sure as hell does now! Also apologies that this took so long - New year is a busy time at work, and I've got a minor injury with my hand, so I'm working as fast as I can, but it's a little slower than normal!

I've included all the recruitable companions, besides Minthara, who is not included purely because I cannot accurately write for her just yet!

My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too!

Not my image

Time on the road where everyone is able to relax is very scarce commodity, so when it does crop up, you're always the first to suggest grabbing it by the horns and making the most out of the day - not by training, or planning your next moves, but typically with something more laid back.

You're camping close to Rivington when you get the first day-long break in weeks, so that morning you venture into town to have a quick browse of the stalls; perhaps you can find some food that will remind the various Baldurians in camp of their home? As you're starting to make your way back to camp, something catches you eye - a nail polish kit, going for quite cheap. You can hardly restrain yourself from buying it- you already know that it will bring a lot of much needed joy into camp.

Astarion is quite intrigued when you announce the spoils you've returned with. For too long he's craved petty vanity again; and even if he can only get it from painting his nails, he's willing to grasp at that chance. "What's this?" He hums, peering over your shoulder, trying to get a good look at all the colours that the kit contains, as well as the equipment. The first thing he does, given the chance, is start tending to his nails - cleaning under them, pushing back the cuticles, trimming and filing them into shape, the works. He spares no time making sure that everything is as he envisions. Sure, the colours he eventually settles on may not match the rest of his armour, but his new manicure matches his more comfortable clothes, so that's good enough for him.

Gale is... Unsure if this is the right kind of thing for your journey. "We have many more pressing matters to worry about, besides our appearances." He practically grumbles to you. "Might I suggest actually focusing on planning our next move?" It doesn't actually take a lot to convince him to sit down and let him do one hand of nails on him. You paint his nails a lovely shade of dark navy blue, which looks black in the shade, but blue when hit by light. You start speckling dots of white here and there to make them mirror the night sky, when Gale tells you he'd like to do his other hand himself. Of course, you let him, and about twenty minutes later, he's back to proudly show you his work. It's a lot shakier than the side you had done, but he looks so proud of himself for being able to emulate your skill even a little bit, you don't even nitpick in a teasing way. When it inevitably starts to chip away, he's absolutely devastated, but doesn't say anything until you all get an opportunity to rest properly again.

Justiciar!Shadowheart instantly dives for the black varnish. Nothing more, and nothing else. She doesn't dwell on it, but in some vain way, she feels like she's carrying a part of her goddess' revered darkness with her, even if it will chip away eventually. That just reminds her that everything on this plane is fleeting, and finite, always eventually consumed by loss. Selunite!Shadowheart adds a little more colour to her nails - dots of white, or purple are incorporated, intricate little designs that pay homeage to both her life as a Sharran, and her family heritage as Selunites. She takes great pride in the designs she makes, and often spends a very long time making sure that they are just like how she imagines in her head.

Lae'zel doesn't particularly like painting her nails - she feels it takes away from her aura of formidable warrior. She will, however, sharpen her nails on a regular basis - just as a back-up plan if she loses her weapon, or perhaps gets caught by surprise and needs to scratch out some eyeballs.

Karlach pre-upgrade loves to watch you do your nails. As in, she will actively sulk if you don't let her watch, or have some tiny level of input. She'll huff and pout, but eventually goes to sit elsewhere with a quiet "fine, whatever.." Post-upgrade Karlach is so eager to have her nails done, she's bouncing back and forth on her feet. She can't decide on a single colours - especially not by herself. "They all look so pretty!" She exclaims, waving her hands about in glee. So, unable to make a decision, she takes her favourite colours, and has all of them on her fingers - repeating a similar process on her toes with her second favourite colours. "This is the best thing we have ever done! ... Besides beating the shit out of Thorm... so, the second best thing!"

Wyll tidies his nails - similar to Astarion. He wants them to be a much nicer shape than they have been up to this point - makeshift files had not been too kind on his nails, and he was tired of catching them on things. He takes great care in shaping them and removing any chips or quicks - it's an activity he takes great pride in, and he'll happily do the same for you if you ask him to! As for colour, Wyll likes to go for a clear coat, purely for protecting his nails; though he has been known to paint his nails black, for dramatic effect. He loves his nails - not to the point that he preens them at any given moment, but enough to give them the time and care they need to keep healthy.

Halsin doesn't particularly like the idea of polish. Sure, it looks pretty, but he'd rather not wear it himself - there are other ways, he's found, that you can change the colour of your nails. (When you ask him what he means, or even to just elaborate a little bit more on how he knows this, he simply replies with "I once had a... Somewhat rebellious streak in my youth.") So it's likely that the only thing that he uses in this particular kit is the file and buffer - which looks absolutely tiny in his hands, it's quite funny.

Minsc doesn't do his own nails - at all. He won't even file them, he just either bites them or they snap off (usually it's the former). Instead, he takes care of Boo's claws. "Now, now, my friend. Do not call me strange - if I do not care for Boo's mighty claws, then who will? The paws of justice must be well cared for!" Insists that every few days he must re-file and re-buff Boo's nails, and will not take no for an answer. He also tries to convince you that Boo is trying to tell you the same, but by the way the little rodent's head shakes when he sits on Minsc's shoulder tells you otherwise.

Jaheira almost laughs when you suggest doing her nails. She wants to them herself, but, eventually she does ask you to help her. "It seems I'm a little out of practice.." She chuckles. "Perhaps some company wouldn't be so bad... If your offer still stands, of course." She LOVES having green nails. Sage green is her favourite, but she likes all of them really. Sometimes, if she's feeling particularly happy, she'll let you paint little golden leaves on her thumb - but that can be a rare occasion, because she doesn't want such skill to always go to waste.

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plethora-of-imagines · 1 month ago

Text

Cardinal Copia's Costume Curator

AN: This is in tribute to the wonderful beloved @how-masterful for her birthday! (Who introduced me to the band's lore which made me finally listen to the songs, and well..... I'm now very obsessed)

It's the first thing I have written an a long while... oops! But I got into a very competitive health program so I am very busy actively fighting the gods to survive being back in school.

Which means this is only loosely edited, and probably very out of character but I had fun writing it! (In the dreams of my head where I actually do have time this would have been a slow burn multi chapter, but I've never managed to do one of those soooo oneshot it is)

I hope you had the best of days beloved and enjoy your (our) blorbo story

Word Count: 4402

Ao3 Link: Here

Warning: smut/lemon, nudity, blowjob, semi public sexual contact

Description: A collection of moments between the new costumer for the tour and her Cardinal.

Knocking on the door of the dressing room she spared a quick glance back at the ghoulette who had helped guide her. A cute little thumbs up and a smile of an alarming amount of teeth greeted her. She tried to push past her general anxiousness to recognize it for the reassurance it was.

“Ah, hi, hello,” the uncertain greeting from the Cardinal as he opened the door made her turn back to face him so fast she feared she gave herself whiplash.

“Hello Cardinal,” she began in a hurry, sheepishly introducing herself. “I’m umm- your new costume curator?”

“Oh, yes, yes,” he gestured for her to enter the room. Charmingly grabbing her hand to kiss before awkwardly trying to rub off the black stain his Cardinal paints left on her bare skin. Smudging it just enough to make the single lip stain scarcely recognizable. “Sister told me you were joining our little touring family. But uh she did not say why. So good to know that you will be helping with costumes in some way then.”

“She figured you needed me after the video about the belt got back to her.”

He seemed to deflate into the uncomfortable leather chair that came with this touring spot’s dressing room.

“That uh got back to her and all the siblings then, si?”

“Yes Cardinal.”

“Good, great.”

It certainly did not sound like he found it good at all. The silence made her nervous so she rushed to fill it with an explanation that it seemed Sister Imperator had failed to give him.

“She actually seemed to think you handled Sister Maria’s mistake well? Or at least she was more upset with learning from the Siblings here that Sister Maria was more focused on indulging in sin instead of her job?”

“Sister who?”

“Sister Maria?” Did she remember her predecessor’s name incorrectly? “The previous sibling in charge of your and the ghouls’ costumes?”

Rubbing the back of his head, making a mess of his already ruffled hair he admitted something that would have had Sister Imperator flaying your predecessor alive.

“I ,uh, did not know we had someone in charge of costumes. Me and my ghoulies have been taking care of them ourselves.”

“Yourselves,” she screeched. Rushing to explain herself, “not that they seem to be in poor condition, they looked decently taken care of if not a little disorganized. But uh none of you were taught how to take care of these beyond the basics! Who has been checking for any issues with seams? Or keeping track of the spare costume pieces?”

“Eh heh,” gently scratching at his face as he spoke up. “I did use a bit of the Google when the tour started to figure out how to spot clean them after a little incident with the ghouls.”

It was endearing how proud he was of himself, even she couldn’t bring herself to be upset about the possible damage to the garments. She had already looked them over and on the surface they were fine enough. There was even more work to be done than she feared with her initial evaluation of them.

“But it will be a welcome change to have you taking good care of our uniforms, Sister.” He sheepishly looked into her eyes. “Would it also be possible to have you assist backstage with my quick changes. I’ve always made it but it has been cut rather close before...”

“I almost don’t feel bad for Sister Maria when Sister Imperator gets her hands on her. Almost,” she joked before working to reassure him that she would be dutiful in her job. It was an honor to be allowed to join the tour when not a long term or high level Sibling. She was eager to prove her worth. “Cardinal, you should have had someone assisting you this whole time, it's part of the job! I know we encourage sin but I think Sister Maria was too indulgent with practicing sloth when it came to her job.”

“Si, if I had known who she was and that she was supposed to be doing all these things I would have had a conversation with her before something made its way back to Sister.”

Clapping, he stood up, lending her a hand to guide her up from her seat.

“Now let me introduce you to the rest of my ghouls. Sister said that you are to join us on our bus so that you can work if needed while we travel, which now I know means if we have any costume malfunctions that need your guiding hands.”

***

Nervously she straightened the hanging costumes again for the millionth time. It was almost time for the first costume change with everything that need to be done to get things in order they hadn’t had a chance to practice how she would help. Changing the Cardinal from his cassock into one of the skin tight suits that he admitted were tricky for him to get on alone with how much they clung to his skin. Eager to be helpful, fearful that she would in truth be a hindrance to him.

“You look as if you have seen a ghost, Sister. And not one of the ones on stage,” the Cardinal teased as he stepped into the makeshift changing room that she had set up with spare curtains.

Lightening her mood by gently plopping his biretta onto her head.

“This is already much better than when I was doing this alone-”

“Because you can use me as a glorified hat stand,” she teased.

“Ah, I was going to say because I have some privacy and am not just rushing off to a dark corner to undress, but yes that too.”

Growing more comfortable, her hands worked to help free him from his clothes efficiently, undoing the buttons down to his navel so that he would be able to simply step out of the garment. Catching a glance of his bare chest while turning to properly hang up the belt he had handed off to her.

“At least they didn’t decide to mirror the whole thirty three buttons for Jesus’s life thing when they copied the idea. Can you imagine if they had decided to make that thing have six hundred and sixty six buttons? We would never get you out of it!”

“Si, and what a hindrance to the sin of lust that would be. A frustrating new form of chastity belt for the clergy.”

Mentally planning the best way to help, she grabbed the skin tight pants. If they took him the longest to get on, then that is where she should start. He could put on the shirt while she started to pull on the pants. Quickly gathering the length of each pant leg and condensing it so that he could slide into them. Moving to kneel on the floor before him. Looking up to tell him to step into them.

Instead of her eyes meeting his, they met his cock. His completely uncovered cock.

Freezing, eyes locked on the monstrosity of a cock that hung before her. The hair neatly trimmed, balls symmetrical, and cock tip a pretty shade of pink. Oh Satan. She couldn’t help but continue to stare without a thought in her head beyond, “pretty”. It was the most beautiful cock she had seen outside of porn- not that she was terribly well versed, but she had seen a fairshare in her time in the church.

Her burning face felt like it was glowing as she turned back into reality. He had been speaking to her.

“Huh?”

“I’m so sorry Sister. I should have warned you that I cannot wear anything underneath, since the lines show with those pants. You didn’t consent to this.”

Struggling to find the words as her lips stumbled around them, “it’s fine. I don’t mind, just a little surprised. Not that there is anything little about that surprise.”

Could someone come drag her into hell early? Why did her brain decide the proper response in that situation was to actually say that!

“Please step into these pants before I further embarrass myself,” begging as she refused to look at his eyes or his cock anymore.

The two of them worked together to force him into those pants. Even with her distraction at his firm thighs and well defined bulge that she did not need to use imagination to remember what was underneath, they finished well before his que.

“Thank you Sister,” he blew a kiss her way as he pushed past the curtains again.

Still braindead from lust she waved goodbye to him like a fool. Slamming her head against the wall the moment he was out of sight.

Oh Satan, they had to do that several more times. And the worst part is she wouldn’t get any privacy on the bus later to do anything to mimic what she wanted that cock to do to her.

***

“Mountain! Where are your shoes?”

She timidly approached the tall ghoul. Their height differences further accentuated by her eyes being glued to his sock covered feet. Feet lacking the shoes that should be on them.

“If there is something wrong with them I could try to fix them?”

Glancing up into the blank mask. Nervously shifting while waiting for some sort of response.

“They’re fine,” he answered in a deep rumble of a voice, so quiet it almost couldn't be heard. At her wide eyed questioning look he elaborated, “interfere with feeling the beat.”

Oh, so that’s why he didn’t wear them. She nodded, subconsciously fiddling with her grucifix in an anxious habit she was unaware of but that the ghouls had all picked up on.

“You do wear them outside though... right?” Her panic grew with Mountain’s continued silence. “Mountain, there is broken glass everywhere outside the venues!”

The stoick ghoul tilted his head to the side like a curious cat, tail flicking in interest at her words.

“You could get hurt!”

“Cute,” his words were followed by two light pats to the tip of her head. “Don’t need to worry about me.”

Turning to wander off again while she squeaked out his name in shock.

***

“Sister, a word- privately,” the Cardinal softened his words the moment her eyes met his. Striking white eye filled with silent care. “If that’s all okie dokie with you.”

“Of course, Cardinal.”

Gentle hands corralled her from her seat at the built in dinner booth where she had been losing steadily at cards against the ghouls. Door softly clicking shut behind them, enclosing them in the small private room at the back of the bus that was seldom used.

“What can I do for you Cardinal?”

“It’s more what I can do for you, Sister.”

Her confused, “huh” had barely left her lips before he continued on. Rushing as if the words would get caught if he did not push them out all in one breath.

“You have been traveling with us for a while, si?” He left no room for a response. “But um not once have you confessed your sins?”

Remaining silent she avoided his glance. Not wanting to admit that the reason she had failed to confess were her sinful thoughts of the man she needed to confess to.

“I just wanted to know if I had done something wrong? To make you, not want to confess, to me?”

Rubbing his fingers together, looking so concerned for her, so downtrodden.

“No,” she rushed to reassure him. “You’ve done so much to make sure I am comfortable here Cardinal! I just- don't have a lot to confess to...”

“Ah, good- that I have not made you uncomfortable! Not that you have felt unable to freely sin in honor of our Lord Lucifer!”

Taking a seat on the couch shoved into the corner of the room. The Cardinal patting the cushion next to him in invitation. Carefully making her way over to his side, trying not to trip over the corner of the bed also squished into the small space. Gingerly sitting down with as much grace as she could manage in the tight space.

“Eek,” she squealed when firm hands pulled her upper body against his, arm pinning her in place. Taking the only option available to her, hiding her face against his shoulder. Soft red velour tickling her face.

“Now that you have at least an illusion of privacy. Pretend you are back in the comfort of confessional back in the abby, piccola.”

Her mind went blank of any sins she could confess to beyond her obsession while in the limited privacy of the tour bus with thinking of the Cardinal’s perfect cock and how it would feel in her aching, empty pussy. Of grinding her throbbing clit against his firm, supple thighs. Hng.

“Oh, ummm vindicate my envy of...”

Small circular motions were rubbed against her back.

“No sin is too small, too indulgent, or embarrassing to confess. Let it out, Sister.”

“My envy of the little plushies that the ghouls are getting from fans, my pride of how my work is ensuring you all look hella good on stage, and hmm... My greedy hoarding of the extra blankets that Dewdrop kicked off his bunk.”

“Ah I will keep that last one very much a secret from our dear Dewdrop, otherwise you will find him sneaking into your bunk in revenge,” he teased. “Your sins are vindicated, and may your envy be rewarded at our next stop.”

Pulling away from him as she thanked him, pushing down the urge to confess to her attraction to him, “Thank you, Cardinal. I actually do feel better having had my sins vindicated.”

“I will give you any soft plushies I am thrown, Sister. Had I known you were wanting for one I would not have given them away at the end of the show.”

Giggling at his words as a beautiful thought entered her mind of what type of plushie she could be receiving.

“I offer to give you what you yearn for and I am laughed at, so cruel to me Sister.”

Melodramatically clutching his chest in anguish, the sweet little drama queen he pretended to be.

“I can’t wait to own my own little Plushia, Cardinal.”

“Nevermind, I would not dare give you such a cursed object, Sister!”

“They’re not cursed, they’re cute!” She insisted.

“Maybe to someone blind,” he protested with a smile as her laughter grew infectious.

***

Rushing onto the tour bus in a small panic, she looked for the Cardinal. Everything had been taken care of and put back into its proper place except for the pair of black pants that went with one of his infamous tailcoat suits. She had checked all the dressing rooms, backstage, and the racks of costumes- twice. It had been misplaced- she refused to say lost until there was no hope of finding it.

“Cardinal! I need you-”

The ghouls and Cardinal turned to look at her dramatic entrance. Freezing for a moment in intimidation from the brightly demonic eyes of all those already settled on the bus. In mere moments the Cardinal seemed to recognize her distress. Embarrassed at her surely sorry state she tried to settle her wild hair as he stood and rushed to her.

“Sister, are you okie dokie?”

His concern was sweet, but unfortunately made her spiral again.

“I can’t find it!” Not thinking in her panic to explain what she was even looking for, only able to press on with her worry. “I looked everywhere I could think of, even under the fucking couch in the dressing room which I am certain now is covered in bodily fluids that I don’t want to even think about.”

“Sister, you need to relax! Tell your Cardinal what you are looking for.”

“Your tight black pants are missing! Sister is going to kill me, summon me back from hell and then kill me again!” She cried out in anguish.

Losing this job would hurt, she loved it. The fun and excitement of touring. Getting to know her Cardinal and spending more time with him than would have been possible at the ministry.

“Oh Sister, I am so sorry. Satan and more importantly you forgive me!”

Heart dropping to the floor. They were ruined, or somehow they spontaneously combusted. Whatever he was going to tell her happened to them would ruin her life, certainly.

“I have them here,” he gestured to the built in diner style booth the rest of the band was sitting at.

“What?” Clearing her throat after the painfully croaked up whisper she let out.

“I may have um, popped a seam on them,” the Cardinal shyly admitted.

“That’s not the only thing that popped off due to those pants tonight,” someone teased.

“Oh, oh thank Satan I can fix that!”

“I am sorry I did not think to tell you I was taking them back to the bus, Sister.”

Hand pressed against her racing heart as it slowed down to a normal speed, coming down from the stratosphere.

“That’s okay Cardinal, only a minor heart attack was had,” she reassured the poor guilt stricken man. “We can go back into the other room for some privacy when you change back into it for me to fix it.”

“Ah, could it not be fixed while I am not wearing it Sister?”

“It could, but without knowing how much tension the seam should have based on where it broke it’s likely to have issues again. Best to let me see and do an invisible stitch on it.”

“Get it Cardinal,” one of the ghouls whooped.

“Now, Dewdrop no need to be crude. The nice Sister does not need harassment from you over doing her job,” wagging his finger to playfully scold the ghoul.

She really needed to learn how to tell them apart without their instruments when they were all still masked.

“So, I will um see you back there.”

Escaping from the situation by rushing back into the private area at the back of the tour bus, she busied herself with preparing supplies to fix the ripped seam. Distantly hearing something about a booty call followed by laughter from all the ghouls and even the ghoulettes who normally didn’t laugh at more vulgar teasing. It didn’t take long for the Cardinal to join you with a small fond sigh.

“I think they will be making fun of me for a while with this Sister.”

“What did you do, or rather where is this seam Cardinal?”

WIth how the ghouls were carrying on it was likely a crotch seam, but if that had been the case she was sure she would have seen videos by now of the wardrobe malfunction. Along with a dreaded voicemail from Sister Imperator.

With a flourish to try and hide his flustered cheeks he revealed the pants from how he had folded them. Squinting at them she struggled at first to see the issue, until she finally found it. A small opening of just about two inches. Right in the center of where his ass was.

“Small mercies that the tails cover that up, si Sister?” He laughed at himself. “Too much cake Dewdrop and Swiss teased, even though they know I have not had any cake since the party at the start of the tour.”

Smiling at him as he took initiative to get himself dressed for her to get to work. Doing her best to ignore his nudity and not sneak a glance. Something she failed at many times during those quick changes.

“It’s slang, Cardinal. They were saying you have a nice round ass,” pushing herself to voice the thought and live up to her name as a Sister of Sin.

Something that she would seldom do in front of anyone due to how flustered saying such things made her.

He squeaked at her explanation, playfully giving her a scandalized look.

“Sister you can’t say such things before you will be feeling up my ass or we will have a very different seam to start worrying about!”

The two of them broke into giggles together.

“Now turn around and let me see what you managed to do to those sinfully frustrating pants.”

***

The Cardinal wasn’t in the little corner of backstage that had been fashioned into a small dressing room of sorts. Frowning, she strained to listen for anything unusual happening on stage, peaking out of the privacy curtain again for the sixth time. Finally catching sight of a flash of pure white slowly moving towards her. Playfully pulling the curtain back and gesturing him in with a flourish that normally would make him laugh.

He didn’t give even a small giggle. Shoulders slumped as he refused to look at her. What had happened on stage?

“Cardinal?” She slowly asked for an explanation.

“I um, if you wouldn’t mind giving me a moment Sister... alone.”

Hands drifting up to start to gesture with his words before his face flushed a bright red, rapidly shoving them back down to cover his crotch. His, very well endowed and very clearly excited crotch.

“Oh!”

Now her face matched his in being as hot as hell surely was.

“Just got a bit too into it with the thrusting, you know how it is,” he tried to deflect. “Or well you probably don’t, you uh don’t really have the anatomy that would make this an issue. Oh Satan, I need to stop talking now. Um, shutting my mouth now.”

During his rambling she realized the issue with letting him “take care” of his not so little issue on his own.

“Cardinal, you can’t jerk yourself off.”

Sending you a look of disbelief, “Sister, I have enough time before I’m needed back on stage and no one comes over here other than us, si?”

“You’ll get the costumes messy with your seamen and it will dry before I can clean it. It would never come out of the fabric,” she began to explain. “Even if you did manage to not get the costumes dirty your hands would be a mess and the sound crew would kill you for getting come on the microphone.”

“Shit,” his head was thrown back as he accepted the unfortunate truth you were giving him. “I don’t know how we will get me into that next suit, Sister. It’s just as tight as this one, though at least it will give me some more modesty. I swear this white one is made to be see-through on purpose!”

Begrudgingly he moved his hands away to start removing his top, while she got up close and personal with the source of both of their frustrations. The Cardinal wasn’t wrong. She could see more than just the outline of his thick, heavy cock pressing into the well tailored pants. The light blush pink of his cock tip was just visible to her when only a few inches away from it.

Hands stumbling at first- like the first time she had to help him undress, knowing now that he wore nothing underneath. The moment she yanked his pants down enough his cock sprung from its confinement. Hitting against his stomach. Swallowing the saliva pooling at the sight of such a pretty cock. Butterflies of the best kind taking up residency in her stomach at this soft moan he was muffling with his leather gloves shoved against his mouth. The sensation of the fabric moving across his cock stimulating him further.

“I think you’re right that you will not be fitting that back into pants without some help, Cardinal... I could help,” she tentatively offered.

“Please Sister, do not torture me like this. I cannot take it.”

“I don’t plan to tease, Cardinal. Not enough time for that tonight.”

Trailing a finger tip softly down the length, watching his thighs twitch while he squeaked.

“I sound like one of my rats squeaking for attention,” he whined.

Giving a playful lick to the tip while fishing for an answer, “I need consent from those pretty painted lips before mine get to work.”

She had never been so bold. Yet the pull of lust built up over the weeks made it easy to fall into this confidant role she was playing.

“Please,” he was more breathless than he ever was at the end of the show.

Capturing his cock with her lips, sliding down until she could take no more into her mouth. Sucking in more of him with each moan and whine he ruined his voice with. Hands resting against her hair, so considerate of her comfort that he took no control of her. Choosing instead to help keep her hair from getting in her eyes, letting her work his cock at her own pace.

The sound of the ghoul’s musical dueling creating the perfect rhythm to follow. Humming along lowly to parts to make her Cardinal let out the prettiest of sounds. Making sure to repeat the movements that got her the best reactions. They didn’t have much time. His foot moving to press the tips of his shoes against her clit, just resting with a light pressure that felt so good.

Moving her hands to take advantage of the situation to feel up his ass. So soft, just a perfect ass that she envied. She wanted to use it as a stress ball, indulging in some light squeezes as she forced his cock to tickle her throat. Swallowing down her saliva with his cock. She couldn’t afford to get saliva on the pants pooled around his ankles.

It didn’t take long to solve his “problematic” erection. A few bobs to tickle her throat while looking up at him with watery, pleading eyes made him come undone. Both whining as she attempted to swallow the burst of come flooding her mouth.

Lightly thrusting against his shoes with a small cry of need.

“Shit, so good Sister. Fuck! I need to get back onstage.”

Trying to control her pout was hard as they both rushed to finish dressing him in his next suit. Her consolation prize was him guiding her to lower her head for a soft kiss to the top of her skull.

“Later Sister I promise to live between your glorious thighs all night long like the ghouls have been teasing me for daydreaming about. Give you a little somethin’ something, yeah?”

#cardinal copia x reader #the band ghost

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shoshiwrites · 9 months ago

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Hi!! I would like to request the print “not realizing they are holding hands until someone points it out to them” OR “holding hands to pull someone away from something” from your prompt lists for Bucky and Jo. There were so many good ones I could not choose 😅 I hope I did this right. I love them together and your writing!!

Thank you so much, sweet anon! 🥺 That means so much. You absolutely did this right! I've actually got your first prompt in my inbox already, so keep an eye out for that at a later date! <3 Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC — more here, including prompt lists. From this list, "grabbing the other’s hand to pull them back from something."

“Coffee, Miss Jo?”

Lemmons makes his coffee on a little gas burner out on the strip, the kind you can stand a spoon straight up in for the grounds. The two guys working beside him wrinkle their noses. She’s heard Cleven refer to it as motor oil, to which Egan had made some crack about how Buck would take all the sugar in a fifty mile radius for his, if he could.

The village kids at Lemmons’ elbow had looked to him in confusion. “There’s something wrong if your motor oil looks like this,” she recalls him saying, pointing to the color and slurping it down with satisfaction.

It smells a little like gasoline, and looks like the coffee her friend Vicky’s family serves after meals, in prettier cups. Brewed with sugar and a little cardamom, Jo figures it won’t be brought to mind tonight.

“Thanks, Ken, I’m alright.”

Miss Jo, Ken. They’re casual out here in the flatlands.

She watches through the open door as the midsummer day fades out of the sky. That must mean it’s late. The door gets closed. She checks her watch, the olive canvas against her wrist. Late.

She’s expecting a call from Kay, later, about Kay’s reporting trip to Ireland.

There’s plenty to write about out here — too much, maybe, the flak holes and the cans of paint, the bloodstains, the dirtied hands. Nineteen years old. Ken wears a little puffed heart on a chain, the silver tone catching the light. From his wife, the girl in the snapshot tacked to the board on the wall.

She wonders if profiles like the ones she writes make it better or worse.

She wonders if she could sneak into the mess, sweet-talk herself into a better cup of coffee and betray the one she was just offered. Her hair smells a little like grease.

Maybe she ought to be gracious. She’s got plenty to do tonight, anyway. Sleep has been scarce, why not let it stay away a little longer?

“If you can spare any, actually-”

He looks up from the little operation, his face brightened, a curl loosed above his brow. “Sure thing.”

“‘M not driving you over to Redgrave,” says a voice from behind her. “When you start seein’ stars.”

Egan’s swinging the neck of a beer bottle between his knuckles, the liquid sloshing as he gestures.

Ken hands her the little steel cup, the walls dotted with grounds. “Evening, Major.”

“Good evening, Kenny.”

She peers behind him, but doesn’t see a jeep. They hadn’t heard one pull up, either.

“Just makin’ the rounds,” he says, when he notices her looking at him. She makes a noncommittal expression. “Nice night.”

It is, still pleasantly warm, with that little bit of coolness to the air. If there were any fairness in the universe a slow band would be playing, and the shelters dismantled brick by brick. Rendered useless.

“I should stop bothering the corporal here,” Jo says.

“Hey, now, you’re not bothering anyone.” Kenny smiles patiently, and she knows he’s lying.

“You’re very nice to humor me.” Beside her, the major nods.

She takes a sip. Very strong. Her mouth twitches, just a little.

“I told you!” he says.

She swallows. “My friends always tell me I’ve got a shitty poker face.”

Egan laughs, the kind of laugh that comes from hearing her curse, still. “They may be right about that.”

She sets down the cup with something of an apology, sure that someone else will drink it to get through the next few hours. “Thank you, Ken, but I think if I finish that I might start tasting radio waves.”

He cracks a smile, and the light makes shadow, makes the dark circles under his eyes even darker. “Alright.”

“C’mon, Captain. Let’s let ‘im get back to work.”

She starts to turn. “Ken, get me her parent’s address and I’ll make sure they get a copy of anything that runs,” she says. “Fonda’s.”

He nods, wiping his hands. “Yes, ma’am.”

To Bucky, as they walk out, she says, “that’s my line.”

The sky outside is a dark, dark blue, like glazed tile, the trees cut-paper silhouettes.

They’d trapped the light behind them with Kenny, in the outbuilding, behind the black paint on the windows. “You cold?” She shakes her head.

“You see that?” he asks, pointing. “Venus.”

“Awful bright.” She hopes she sounds appreciative. The moon shines on the horizon.

They walk, until they sit, near the line of trees.

“Pittsburgh, right?” he says. “Smoky City? You see many stars there?”

“Didn’t even know ‘em, ‘til I moved east. And even then. Had to drive out to see them.”

“How’s all this, then?” He gestures — the clear sky, the low buildings. Norwich in the distance is dark. She wonders where they run, if a raid starts.

She inhales, knows he can hear the sound of it. “It’s beautiful.”

He tips the bottle towards her, the last few glugs. “Sorry, don’t know why I didn’t bring two.”

“Don’t waste it on me,” she says. That relentless demand. The churn of it. She can’t think about it too long.

He holds it out to her still. “Don’t hurt my feelings, Josephine.”

It’s better than Lemmons’ rocket fuel, at least. His fingers brush her palm. The lip of the bottle is wet from his mouth, from the beer. She takes a sip, meets his eyes. “Thanks.”

“Always liked the stars,” he says. Like he knows it’s a silly thing, like saying you like the sun, or the moon. But there’s something quiet in it too. “Had a chart, as a kid.”

“With the constellations?”

“Yeah. Orion’s Belt. Ursa Minor. Andromeda.” It’s like he’s dusting them off, the names on his tongue. Like digging out a star-map from the back of the closet. “Cygnus. Cepheus.”

“What are we looking at now?”

“Hell,” he smiles, big and wide at the sky. “I’d need the map.”

He must not be flying tomorrow, she thinks.

Can you see them that much closer? she wants to ask. Up there? But they don’t fly at night.

“‘S a nice excuse though,” he says.

“For what?”

“Putting my arm around a pretty girl.” She wants to tell him that they’ve started writing her at the paper. Families. They don’t even know where she is, just England. That they think she knows something.

She tries to laugh. “Only if you know what you’re looking at.”

“Small detail. Unimportant.”

If the universe were fair he’d be on the lake shoreline, with a fire, or buying ice cream, or taking a pretty girl on a date.

She brushes off her trousers even though they’ve only been sitting in the grass, making to stand. The call from Kay.

“Hey,” he says, and it sounds so tired against the night sky. Tired, tender, reaching for her. His hand around hers, and she stumbles back to the ground, his legs, his lap.

“Oh!” She’s braced herself with her palms, either side of him. A quiet huff, a laugh. “You could’ve just asked me to stay.”

“Thought I was-” he starts. “Sorry about that.”

The breath in her chest feels shaky. She can smell the hops on his breath, and the remnants of Barbasol, geranium and moss. “You’ll need more than that to convince a girl.”

The kiss he plants on her lips might be a start.

#masters of the air oc #mota oc #bucky egan x oc #anonymous #shoshi writes #jo's tag #motaverse #i feel like i should start titling these #<3 ken <3 #ready to spot my typos in 3....2....1....

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mozartbachtoven · 14 days ago

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MOZART & HIS COUSIN " MARIANNE " / " BASLE "

( An Enthralling Tale by WA Mozart )

* Maria Anna Thekla Mozart ( 1758 - 1841 ) - photo 2: self-portrait in pencil from 1777 or 1778/ Mozart Museum, Salzburg - called " Marianne " known as " Basle " ( " little cousin " ) was the cousin of WA Mozart.

* Photo 1: Mozart gave the portrait to his 18-year-old cousin Maria Anna Thekla Mozart, with whom he had a fleeting affair, probably his first. Thought to be worn as a locket, the 4cm image was painted by an anonymous artist in 1777 and is referred to a number of times in a series of nine letters written by the composer to his cousin during their short attachment – displaying his usual ‘scatological humour’.

( click image/s to see total )

( Between 11 Oct. and 26 Oct. 1777, 19-year-old Marianne met the 21-year-old Wolfgang in Augsburg. The young people developed a close, probably intimate relationship ).

* This story was originally told by Mozart in a letter to his cousin, Maria Anna Thekla Mozart, on 28th February 1778. She is the very same cousin who was the recipient of the infamous Bäsle-Briefe, letters hidden and censored for their scandalous content.

“Now I must tell you something before I close because I have to stop soon, for I am in a hurry, as I have absolutely nothing to do right now; and then, too, because I have no more space left, as you can see, I am just about out of paper; besides I’m tired, my fingers are aching from writing so much, and, finally, I wouldn’t know, even if I had more room to write, what else I could tell you? except perhaps the story that I’m going to tell. So listen!

It didn’t happen so very long ago, and it happened here somewhere out in the country; it created a big stir because it’s almost unbelievable. Nobody knows, just between you and me, how this thing will end. So then, to make a long story short, it happened about 4 hours from here, I don’t remember the name of the place–it was a village or something like that; at any rate, it doesn’t really matter whether it was Tribsterill, where the shit runs into the sea, or Burmesquick, where they make the crooked assholes; in other words, it was some kind of a place.

Well, then, there was once a herdsman or shepherd who was already quite old but looked still rugged and strong; he was unmarried and well off, and he enjoyed life. Oh yes, there’s one more thing I must tell you before I go on with my story: the sound of his voice was terrifying, people always got scared when they heard him speak. Well now, to be brief, you should know further that he had a dog called Bellot; it was a very beautiful, big dog, white with black spots. So, one day, the man came wandering along with his sheep, he had about 11 thousand, and he was carrying in his hand a stick that was decorated with a beautiful rose-colored ribbon. He never went anywhere without his stick; it had become a habit with him; but let’s continue: after he had walked a good hour, he got tired and sat down by a river. At last, he fell asleep, and he dreamed he had lost his sheep; in his fright he woke up and to his great joy he saw that his sheep were all there; finally, he got up and went on his way, but he didn’t get very far, for scarcely half an hour and gone by when he came to a bridge that was very long and had railings on both sides, so no one would fall off; well now, he looked at his flock and because he had to cross over, he began to usher his 11 thousand sheep across the bridge.

Now will you please be so kind and wait until the 11 thousand sheep are on the other side, then I will finish my story. I told you beforehand that no one knows how this thing will end. I do hope, however, before I write again, the sheep will all have crossed the bridge; if not, it really doesn’t matter much; as far as I am concerned, they could have all stayed on this side; at any rate, you’ll have to be satisfied with what I know and what I told you; it’s better I stop here rather than add to the story by making things up. In that case you might doubt the whole shistory as it is now–you probably don’t believe half of it, anyway.”

Thank you FB @ Lisa Mirren

#mozart #wolfgang amadeus mozart #a classical life #classical music #art #18th century #classic #classical history #classical art #classical musician #classical composer #classical #classical instruments

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dragxnborn · 11 months ago

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𝖒𝖞 𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖘𝖙 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖓 , aaand cue! hello everyone i am helia and quite late to the party but here i am to introduce to you all crown prince YI SERYEONG ! he is a big wip but i promise he's got cool vibes.

everything i have for him is extremely bare but i do have a small plots page up with a few listed general connections? if you'd like to write or brainstorm a pre-established connection with seryeong please give this a like and i will slowly saunter into your dms!

: ̗̀➛ twenty-eight years young , a firebender from the royal house of yi. many know them to be calculating . how unfortunate , truly … i’ve always found them to be gallant . they oft fulfill the duties of a prince , though i expect them to be present at the 25th agni kai as a mentor . well , you know how every storyteller bends the tale they tell .

PRESENT

seryeong is going through some spiritual stuff! he's always been deeply aligned with the beliefs and traditions of the royal family. in fact, so much so that he was completely ready to take place as one of the tributes for this year's tournament. something he had looked forward to for years but there was a shift in his dynamic with his dragon that changed everything during the process of his considerations.

his decision and desire to become a tribute hurriedly wavered and seryeong was faced with a lot of different truths and realities from different perspectives he had never had. in a moment's hesitation, he choose to become a mentor instead to fulfill a part of the wish to partake in the tournament somehow.

seryeong has lived a pampered life. privileged maybe, but nevertheless pressuring and overwhelming as well. things always came naturally to seryeong which has made life easy to navigate but it's also taken away a key thing - his identity.

from his role as the crown prince to who he is as an individual, seryeong seems to be the pillar and image of what everyone would expect a crown prince to be. but in building that pillar, seryeong doesn't quite realize how hard it's been to hear his own voice amongst all the hundreds of voices that speak to and for him.

PERSONALITY

at his mature age, seryeong is having some trouble with identifying his true self right now but he's pretty resilient through and through.

has great energy, and a pretty playful personality in comparison to what most seem to hear about the 'serious' crown prince.

he's pretty friendly all around but don't mistake that for trust or kindness! those are lengths that people really have to travel to be able to genuinely receive from seryeong. even then it's a little hard to tell who seryeong considers a 'true' friend when it comes down to it.

PLOTS & CONNECTIONS ( copied from plots page )

it’s easy being crown prince. on the flipside, it’s not always easy being yi seryeong. especially when it’s been drilled into him from his first waking breath that one day he was meant to lead an empire. remind him that he still belongs to himself every blue moon , won’t you ? ( a close friend )

during seryeong’s free time, he typically requests being left completely alone. in a quiet fashion, he dawns a new face with a painted scar and walks along the citizens with an unknown identity. it’s mysterious isn’t it? how scarce the scarred man you know is . ( a friendly acquaintance )

his eyes never quite seem to meet yours. but he’s far from shy. there are more things on his mind than a companion to have by his side. maybe he’s lost to the comfort or blind to the potential. if he hurts you, it’s never truly intentional . ( a romantic interest , f )

mentees

family and relatives

friends (real, fake, platonic, romantic, etc)

#rs.intro #[ ooc ]#[ as you all can tell im thoroughly unprepared #[ honestly i was so excited for lore on my muse but im running out of time and very exhausted rn ;u;

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realmythsmoved · 8 months ago

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@flownintothesun continued from here

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐂𝐘 for Lucienne seems like a plot twist in a book — the one before the great adventure, where the hero is looking over the terrain and realizing just how big the world is, and how far they’ll have to travel in order to succeed. Of course, her definition of success is different from maman’s in that she doesn’t know just what she wants yet — but she knows what she doesn’t. For all of her life, everything has operated under the guise of a well-oiled machine — and even her studies have been so. Things that looked impressive, things that would educate her to take over the world one day in one sense or another. She doesn’t even know how to put her own interests into use because she’s been too busy furthering maman’s. It also makes her a bit awkward around a pretty girl — living in stories are one thing — but realizing that she could live her own in the real world another entirely. Of course, that’s only an illusion as well. These trips are meant to culture her to the world surrounding her — they aren’t a permanent escape — but they are the only place that she can go to escape the Mafia. Well, mostly. She does have a security team that discreetly follows alongside her — usually two men, just in case she finds trouble. Luci finds that often men themselves are the trouble — though she wouldn’t dare speak that to maman after what had happened last time. Besides, she’s well into her adulthood now — she scarcely needs to tell her mother everything. “Lucienne,” she says gently, extending a soft hand manicured with french tips that are black instead of white. Her accent about half-matches her name — every bit the bastard of both Italian and French as the girl herself. “Or, mostly they call me Luci.” Mostly because they find the pronunciation of her very-French name more trouble than it’s worth back in Florence, where she grew up. “It’s nice to meet you, Alanna,” her lips curve into a smile. The other woman’s hand is soft in hers — and despite herself, Luci’s heart gives a sharp pound for it. Back in Uni, and in her private school before that — it had been easy enough for her to get into trouble. But since coming back to Florence, she’s been under her mother’s scrutiny. Probably, maman wouldn’t care if it didn’t mean dooming the family line, and all of the other dramatics Caterina Agosti can come up with. “Unfortunately I’m only visiting,” she responds with a genuine apologetic tone, letting go of Alanna’s hand to absently twirl one of her own long curls, “Are you free this weekend?” she asks with far more confidence than she actually feels. She doesn’t know how it works outside — she’s at a disadvantage. “It’s just,” she says, pausing in the right places with thoughtful consideration, “Adventures are more fun when someone is showing you the places they love. I think it’s a great way to explore a new city — it’s one of my favorite things about people,” she says with her eyes shining, “To see and understand what they’re passionate about. It’s a little like looking at a painting and understanding what the artist meant, rather than trying to decipher it on your own.”

Alanna senses some nervousness from the other woman. She hopes she hadn't said anything wrong. The stranger seems perfectly nice. So Alanna wouldn't want to upset her. She does know that she can be strange sometimes. Even her cousins sometimes don't understand her. But luckily they support her anyway. She's the type who would rather be writing and/or drawing than almost anything. However, Alanna doesn't know any other way to live. She absolutely adores creativity in all its forms. She always has.

Sometimes, she wonders what her father would think of her now. Sure, she doesn't need his negativity in her life. He hadn't accepted her sexuality and she doesn't need that. However, a part of her will probably always miss him. As much as she adores and appreciates her mother and her side of the family. Alanna does wish she could show her father her success sometimes. Just to show him how wrong he had been to not accept her. But Alanna knows that's probably just wishful thinking. Her father is not going to understand and accept her for who she actually is. So she'd rather things stay the way they are.

Alanna takes the other woman's hand and shakes it gently. "Nice to meet you, Lucienne. What a beautiful name." It truly is. In Alanna's opinion it's straight out of a novel. And a beautiful one too. "I love your nails." Alanna had never seen the tips black like that. It's unique, which makes her love it even more.

"Thank you. Glad you're happy to meet me too." Of course, it could just be politeness. But Alanna has a funny feeling that she's met a kindred spirit. Perhaps she's reading into it too much. But she hopes not. It would be nice to make a new friend. At the very least. One can never have too many friends, in Alanna's point of view.

"Ah, I see. Where are you visiting from?" She can't help but ask, intensely curious to hear where Lucienne is from. She had noticed an accent but hadn't been able to place it. Perhaps it's a combination of things. Some people have many ethnicities after all. Including Alanna herself. Her mother is Indian, while her father is English. Though she no longer has anything to do with her father or his side of the family, she understands about being a blend of cultures. Since Alanna herself is one as well.

"Oh, yes." She replies when asked if she's free that weekend. Alanna nods along to Lucienne's words. "I agree. It's great to see what places people enjoy. Though I will warn you, mine aren't exactly touristy for the most part." Alanna tends to frequent bookstores and cafes and sometimes a place that's both of the above. She will try to think of some interesting sights for them to see together, though. The last thing she'd want is to bore Lucienne.

"I tend to like things that are off the beaten path. Bookstores, cafes, museums, that sort of thing. I will try to find some interesting ones for you, though. Do you like to read, by the way?" If not, the two of them can skip the bookstores, though it would hurt Alanna's soul a bit. Especially ever since she got her book published, she's loved reading. She always had, but publishing a work of her own had only increased her love for it. And she thinks that makes sense. Now she feels a part of something she had only been observing from the outside. Her current work in progress is a graphic novel. So she's been reading quite a few of those, to see what she wants to borrow and what she'd like to change about the genre with her foray into it.

#convo #the joy and the fear (alanna v1.)#my soul is new and full of creativity (c: alanna chakrabarti.)#made myself mythical; tried to be real (ic.)#crime cw #homophobia cw #flownintothesun #q built up a world of magic

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melisusthewee · 2 years ago

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happy friday mel!! "[ WHISPER ] : sender leans close to receiver’s ear in order to whisper something to them." from the sexual tension prompts - for Inquisitor Trevelyan/Ser Morris??

This was a prompt that made really go "hmmmm..." Almost all of Quinn and Morris' story/interactions is from either before DAI or post-Trespasser that there isn't much opportunity to write anything between them when Quinn's the Inquisitor. But the way this prompt was given, I decided to think about what their dynamic might be like during that time and had a lot of fun with this! Thank you!

Consider this a missing scene from my in-progress story where the Inquisition enters the Grand Tourney. This is SFW, but I can assure you what happened later was decidedly not.

for @dadrunkwriting Word Count: 898 words

The two men stare at each other for a very long time. Each of their expressions is one of barely hidden disbelief as they seem to examine the other carefully. Quinn's hair is shorter and he looks more put together overall, but the elements are still the same - the runaway forelock that can never be tamed, the faded scar across his brow from some mishap he certainly lied about, the high cheekbones and sharp jawline - it'll there just as Morris remembers from when they were boys. But they're not boys anymore. Quinn's actually got facial hair and it isn't wispy or patchy or horrible to look at.

Quite the opposite actually. He is quite wonderful to look at. Morris feels a bit like a hog in a sty, have sweat inside his gambeson whilst strapped into a bit of piecemeal plate for practice. When he removes his helmet, he knows his cheeks are red and his head of dark curls is matted in a mess across his forehead. But Quinn's expression doesn't change. If anything, his eyes focus more closely on Morris, seeming to study him carefully before letting out a low whistle.

"Ser Horatio Morris. Grand Tourney knight. I'll be damned."

Quinn's familiarity feels a little too bold for their present company. The Herald of Andraste arriving at one of the training rings for the melee has turned heads. Not that Morris can blame anyone. He can scarcely believe it himself. All the stories and rumours about the Divine's death and demons pouring out of the sky, and the person in the stories is the same one who got Morris in and out of so much trouble as a squire. Then again, perhaps him being at the center of it all isn't so strange after all. But the name sounds odd. It no longer rolls off the tongue as easily as when they were just some story circulating like the Champion of Kirkwall or Hero of Ferelden.

"Then don't refer to me by it," Quinn says, and he sounds both so serious and so casual at the same time that Morris isn't certain how to read him. "I like Inquisitor Trevelyan better anyway."

"Is that what I should call you?"

Quinn shrugs, bending forward slightly as if to formally inspect Morris' things. But it is clear that painted shields and blunted training weapons hold only the most mild of interests to him.

"You could also call me 'Your Worship'," he says, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Plenty do."

He turns his gaze back to Morris and holds it for a second too long before returning to his ruse. Morris almost laughs in disbelief. How many years has it been and the only thing that has seemed to change is that now Quinn blushes less when he attempts to shamelessly flirt.

What Quinn doesn't know is that Morris can dance with the best of them too, perhaps even better than Quinn as he values his privacy more. So it is with only the barest hint of a smile that he asks, "Do they fall upon their knees while doing so?"

He is rewarded with a snort from Quinn, a sign of the other man's barely contained amusement. But it is encouraging was Quinn does not miss a beat when replying, "That depends upon their level of devotion."

"Hmm..." The invitation is there. It is open and obvious. And Morris does consider it. There is no mistaking it, especially when Quinn picks up Morris' discarded helmet for inspection. They share only the barest glance at one another as Quinn runs his fingers among the decorative feathers, but the movement of his hand as he strokes the colourful plumes makes his intent clear.

But Morris' resolve is strong. He will not make it easy for him. He is owed that much after the way Quinn just disappeared on him all those years ago. And besides, he tells himself, he does love watching nobles squirm.

Quinn watches him intently as Morris rises to his feet, taking a moment to stretch out an imaginary stiffness of his limbs before he takes a couple strides over to Quinn and gently plucks the helmet from the other man's hands.

"It is a shame then that I am not a pious man."

It is clear that Quinn is trying but he cannot hide his frown - not from Morris. But to Morris' surprise, he continues to be gracious and this time it feels like it is less for public appearances and more because he does genuinely want to be kind.

"You disappoint me, Ser Morris, but I appreciate your honesty."

Morris raises an eyebrow at Quinn. He should not give up so easily. "Honesty has nothing to do with it. I simply know how much you like a challenge."

"Is that what this is?" asks Quinn, and the eagerness beneath his surprise is not lost on Morris.

This time it is Morris who smiles and it is not the polite chivalric expression of a knight before his lord, but of a man who knows he's played his cards well enough to have the upper hand in this trust. To anyone observing, he appears to simply go on his way, but there is the barest touch of shoulders between them and the whisper of warm breath in Quinn's ear as Morris asks one last question:

"Isn't it always?"

#dadwc #da drunk writing circle #oc: quinn trevelyan #oc: horatio morris #inquisitor trevelyan #grand tourney #dragon age #melis writes stuff

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jonathankatwhatever · 2 years ago

Text

I have little time this morning, 7 Feb 2023. My head filled some dark thoughts of a new kind, more like playing out weird conversations and arguments about which life you choose and being truthful about that. I tried to take these as preparation, but it’s difficult to go through.

Then I read through a piece about the importance of path-integrals as a concept to explain reality, and the entire way through I kept saying duh, this is what we produce. So, I’m confident in saying we produce the entire least action construct, in its various forms, and that the path-integral method of determining amplitude is a 0Space calculation method which looks at the the very math we’ve generated. This is what I first saw in Feynman’s writings decades ago. I only started to realize this connection was here maybe yesterday or the day before, as the conception of flickering, what we’ve called tick-tock, particularly the tick-tock of alternation, meaning the transformation of rotation through gs process.

I can scarcely believe we can describe this. Or that this intuition from around when you were born flowered into this depth of understanding. Except that it has.

I’ve been walking with the cat. It’s an exchange for keeping him inside in the morning so the coyotes don’t eat him. I walk around and he follows, then I follow him around. He likes to walk me like he’s the dog and I’m on the leash, staying about 1 step ahead and to the right, and he controls where we go. After a bit, he leads me to the door so we can go in. This seems to satisfy his need for both exchange and dominance. No poop next to where I sleep! No pee either, though I’ve been congested a lot lately.

I’ve always felt that you’re like Caravaggio in the way you try to invite the viewer in, notably by holding a glass to the edge of the picture plane. And also the way the act hides motive, and I don’t only mean like ‘cheating’ or perhaps sleight of hand with cards again. I mean like the way Caravaggio puts himself in the picture as an actor, even to the intimations I see in his work of shall we say his problems with love and women. I don’t have the images in front of me to be more explicit.

I haven’t thought about this in ages, but I spent a lot of time on it, and every single one of those investments has come true so far. Oh, I never saw it before: Michelangelo Merisi di Caravaggio. MM. So similar in terms of method infusing classical form, acting and painting.

The gender switching in my head right now is something to behold. A ton of behaviors I’ve experienced sort into what I would not actually do, switching the rest over to the other picture space, which of course is a phrasing which explains why this MM drew me in: it’s a literalization of the 2T communicating space to space over the picture plane. Performative spaces.

On that note, a break.

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talldarkandroguesome · 2 years ago

Text

3rd of Sun’s Dawn, Fredas

I knew that the house was up to something!

As it turned out, they were having a sort of surprise celebration. Actually surprising, it was not suggested by Sildras or Avon, but by Father. It seems so out of the blue that he should suggest it at all. That he would even think to do so!

Further, it is hardly a special number of years. If I were reaching one hundred and ninety years, I would understand, but that is still a couple years off yet.

Regardless, it was lovely to have the family all there for breakfast. And to be showered in gifts. Mother gave me a beautiful censer carved out of hematite. I do not know if this is a begrudging acceptance of who I am, or if it hints to her knowing there is more afoot than we have spoke of directly.

Father gave me special permission to utilize sections of the rare and precious collection within the Tribunal Temple, both here in Mournhold, and the one in Vivec. It was certainly a more thoughtful gift than I expected of him. In years past he gives me some small token that may or may not have anything to do with my interests, or if he is unavailable, he will simply sign his name to whatever message Mother writes. Occasionally his distinctive handwriting will add a line or two, but Mother has a very feminine standard hand of large rounded lettering. Father, on the other hand, writes incredibly fast and with little regard to how his brush may come off the paper.

A real irony for a mer who has been renowned for his calligraphy, which is so meticulous and clear, you could scarcely believe the same mer responsible.

Avon got me the most amazing silk housecoat. I look forward to wearing it. It is in the most luscious sanguine color. He says it is to bring out the color of my eyes, the flatterer. He knows that I will happily be accepting his other usual gift later tonight in bed. Though I have been in need of one, the old one is nearly threadbare at the seams along the left side and to such a point as to be beyond simple mending any longer.

Sildras, though, provided me the most treasured gift. He painted us together. I have already asked Cheerz to have it put up in my study at once. I wish to gaze upon it whenever I feel discouraged in all the sea of responsibilities for the House. It will brighten my day. I was near tears when he presented it to me, so apprehensive, as if I would not feel his love all the more keenly. Now I know why Avon was insistent upon taking Sildras to his lessons and picking him up. It was so that they could organize the gift in secret.

I only wish that the rest of those I love could be with me. Kuna and Cariel will not arrive until next month. Who knows when the House will give me leave to speak with Qau-dar. I really need to, too. If the House remains adamant about my taking an official mistress, I will need to speak with Qau-dar and the other spouses about it. Not that I believe that they will say no, they understand that I have duties, however, I made an agreement when I married into their family and clan that I would always speak with them first and make sure that it is alright before I pursue any new long-term relationships, especially of a reason such as siring children. No doubt the Clammother will wish to see the child educated with them as well.

Avon has told me that, since it is my nameday, should I seek a short period to indulge in the usual way, he will make my excuses for me. He truly is the greatest friend a mer could ask for.

Now, to go and give the rest of my offerings of gratitude.

#ESO #TES #RP #Dunmer #Elder Scrolls Online #The Elder Scrolls

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lady-rose-moon · 2 years ago

Text

Beautiful, as always || Prince Hal || 18+ || Kinktober 2022 ||

Part of my Kinktober Masterlist that you can find ~here~

My main Masterlist can be found ~~here~~

Summary: the King is asleep but you aren't, so you experiment.

Warnings: nipple play, fingering f!receiving, King Hal

A/N: I will not be writing in Shakespearean. I love his works but that language is dead for a reason 😂

The King of England had been quiet for the last few days, backlogged with meetings and visits down into the town. You scarcely saw your husband until he appeared in your bed at the end of the night and even then, he did not indulge your sinful thoughts.

You had known the King when he had just been Hal, a wayward Prince typically found in the taverns with a woman in his lap and a gay smile on his face. The young prince had respected you, never once touched you in a way you did not allow, and always listened to you. You were the one that brought him back to the palace whenever he was too drunk to get home himself.

Now, the man was a King. Shortly after the passing of his father, Henry the Fourth, Hal had become King Henry the fifth and he was secured on the throne with you as his wife, as his Queen. Every time he felt out of depth, you stepped in with a hand on his shoulder to guide him through it.

Tonight was just like any other night, Hal was in bed and you were wide awake with the insatiable feeling of lust trailing through your mind. Tiredly, you turned to your husband and admired his form.

The King never slept clothed when you were in residence at Windsor Castle, his body was always bare for you to see when you slept beside him. The King was certainly built for battle, the scars of his other ventures onto the field of war elegantly painted over his body like a mural of respect.

You shuffled a little closer to the King, hoping to catch a glimpse of more of his god-like body. You had been married to him for a grand total of two years now and yet you were still very intrigued by every detail of his features.

Slowly, you raised your hand and began to caress his chest, lingering over the small scars that were scattered across his chest from likely nicks from chainmail and the catch of armour. Your nails descended to his nipples, rounded and perfectly pebbled from the chilly air of early autumn. With patience, you scraped your nails over the buds and watched as your king groaned in his sleep but did not rouse.

Spurred on by the reaction, you scraped again, a little harder, enough to leave red scratches in your wake for him to see. The result was another groan escaping your king but he merely turned onto his back and resumed sleep.

You waited a moment before leaning down and securing your lips around the soft skin of his nipple, flicking your lip against the nub as Hal sighed above you. Your hand trailed to the neglected nipple and your thumb rubbed it gently, causing an airy moan to lift out of Hal's throat and his eyes to open, taking in the sight of you latched onto his nipple.

"Good morning," the King drawled, his fingers slowly tracing up your back as he observed you, "what has brought this on?"

You pulled away from his nipple and whispered softly, "I have missed you, my King, two long weeks have passed without us sharing ourselves thus."

Hal hummed and agreed before watching you play with his nipple and your mouth return to the other, releasing a moan to spur you on. "You are a vision, my true love," the King whispered, his hand snaking down to between your legs, one finger sliding easily into your entrance, instantly coated with the warmth of your arousal, "you could have just told me."

You whined at the feeling of his finger sliding easily into your dripping cunt but you carried on working the King's nipple, the stimulation from your whining causing the King to moan again and sink another finger into you. With every flick of your tongue against the hardened pebble of his nipple, his fingers drove deeper into your wanton folds.

"God," the King swore, his head relaxing back against the soft pillows on his side of the bed, "I should leave you waiting more often."

You glared at him and yet, broke when another finger was inserted into you, thrusting into your core hard as Hal became desperate for the alluring sensation you had shown him that he could feel through his nipples.

A coil began to grow in the pit of your stomach as his fingers worked you so you began to suckle on him harder, twirling the nipple in your mouth, biting it between your teeth before pulling back and letting go, allowing the nipple to return to its natural state and earn a desperate moan to leave the King's throat.

His thumb met your clit and you moaned with excitement at the feeling of the stimulation on your swollen bud as you worked his own sensitive nipple. You cried out in pleasure as the king's fingers continued to thrust into your desperate cunt.

"M-My K-King!" you panted, your eyes rolling and your attention to his nipple decreasing with the length of time it took for your orgasm to reach you.

"No," the King muttered, lifting your head with his other hand and glaring at you in the eyes, his beautiful ocean blues giving off the aura of the powerful king that he was, authoritative over everyone and yet, so perfectly equal to you, "you will continue to pleasure me while you cum, understood?"

You nodded weakly and continued to suckle desperately on his nipple, biting and pulling, watching as the King's head pressed deeper into the pillow and his cock strained underneath the blankets. He sighed with satisfaction when you bit down on his nipple as your orgasm crashed through you, your body tensing and moans stimulating his pebbled nipple.

"That's it," the King sighed with a smile, gently caressing your hair and pulling you off his nipple, "my amazing Queen."

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Hope you enjoyed!

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@lokisgoodgirl @lokisninerealms @evelyn-kingsley @slpnbty2001 @jennyggggrrr @hahaha12123445 @ozymdias @holdmytesseract @itsybitchylittlewitchy @lovingchoices14 @xorpsbane @huntress-artemiss @muddyorbs @nerdy-fangirl-65

#King hal x reader #king henry v x reader #king henry v x female!reader #shakespearean character x reader #kinktober 2022 #henry v #prince hal x reader #prince hal x female!reader #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston character x reader #tom hiddleston x female!reader

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azure-cherie · 2 years ago

Text

Sylvia Plath for each zodiac

Aries

Burning the Letters

I made a fire; being tired Of the white fists of old Letters and their death rattle When I came too close to the wastebasket. What did they know that I didn’t ? Grain by grain, they unrolled Sands where a dream of clear water Grinned like a getaway car. I am not subtle Love, love, and well, I was tired Of cardboard cartons the color of cement or a dog pack Holding in its hate Dully, under a pack of men in red jackets, And the eyes and times of the postmarks. This fire may lick and fawn, but it is merciless: A glass case My fingers would enter although They melt and sag, they are told Do not touch. And here is an end to the writing, The spry hooks that bend and cringe, and the smiles, the smiles. And at least it will be a good place now, the attic. At least I won’t be strung just under the surface, Dumb fish With one tin eye, Watching for glints, Riding my Arctic Between this wish and that wish.

This fire may lick and fawn, but it is merciless: A glass case My fingers would enter although They melt and sag, they are told Do not touch. And here is an end to the writing, The spry hooks that bend and cringe, and the smiles, the smiles. And at least it will be a good place now, the attic. At least I won’t be strung just under the surface, Dumb fish With one tin eye, Watching for glints, Riding my Arctic Between this wish and that wish.

So I poke at the carbon birds in my housedress. They are more beautiful than my bodiless owl, They console me — Rising and flying, but blinded. They would flutter off, black and glittering, they would be coal angels Only they have nothing to say to anybody. I have seen to that. With the butt of a rake I flake up papers that breathe like people, I fan them out Between the yellow lettuces and the German cabbage Involved in its weird blue dreams, Involved as a foetus. And a name with black edges.

Wilts at my foot, Sinuous orchis In a nest of root-hairs and boredom — Pale eyes, patent-leather gutturals! Warm rain greases my hair, extinguishes nothing. My veins glow like trees. The dogs are tearing a fox. This is what it is like — A red burst and a cry That splits from its ripped bag and does not stop With the dead eye And the stuffed expression, but goes on Dyeing the air, Telling the particles of the clouds, the leaves, the water What immortality is. That it is immortal.

Taurus

Rhyme

I’ve got a stubborn goose whose gut’s Honeycombed with golden eggs, Yet won’t lay one. She, addled in her goose-wit, struts The barnyard like those taloned hags Who ogle men

And crimp their wrinkles in a grin, Jangling their great money bags. While I eat grits She fattens on the finest grain. Now, as I hone my knife, she begs Pardon, and that’s

So humbly done, I’d turn this keen Steel on myself before profit By such a rogue’s Act, but—how those feathers shine!Exit from a smoking slit Her ruby dregs.

Gemini

Two Views of a Cadaver Room

(1)

The day she visited the dissecting room They had four men laid out, black as burnt turkey, Already half unstrung. A vinegary fume Of the death vats clung to them; The white-smocked boys started working. The head of his cadaver had caved in, And she could scarcely make out anything In that rubble of skull plates and old leather. A sallow piece of string held it together.

In their jars the snail-nosed babies moon and glow. He hands her the cut-out heart like a cracked heirloom.

(2)

In Brueghel’s panorama of smoke and slaughter Two people only are blind to the carrion army: He, afloat in the sea of her blue satin Skirts, sings in the direction Of her bare shoulder, while she bends, Fingering a leaflet of music, over him, Both of them deaf to the fiddle in the hands Of the death’s-head shadowing their song. These Flemish lovers flourish; not for long.

Yet desolation, stalled in paint, spares the little country Foolish, delicate, in the lower right hand corner.

Cancer

The Everlasting Monday

Thou shalt have an everlasting Monday and stand in the moon.

The moon’s man stands in his shell, Bent under a bundle Of sticks. The light falls chalk and cold Upon our bedspread. His teeth are chattering among the leprous Peaks and craters of those extinct volcanoes.

He also against black frost Would pick sticks, would not rest Until his own lit room outshone Sunday’s ghost of sun; Now works his hell of Mondays in the moon’s ball, Fireless, seven chill seas chained to his ankle.

Leo

By Candlelight

This is winter, this is night, small love— A sort of black horsehair, A rough, dumb country stuff Steeled with the sheen Of what green stars can make it to our gate. I hold you on my arm. It is very late. The dull bells tongue the hour. The mirror floats us at one candle power.

This is the fluid in which we meet each other, This haloey radiance that seems to breathe And lets our shadows wither Only to blow Them huge again, violent giants on the wall. One match scratch makes you real. At first the candle will not bloom at all — It snuffs its bud To almost nothing, to a dull blue dud.

I hold my breath until you creak to life, Balled hedgehog, Small and cross. The yellow knife Grows tall. You clutch your bars. My singing makes you roar. I rock you like a boat Across the Indian carpet, the cold floor, While the brass man Kneels, back bent, as best he can

Hefting his white pillar with the light That keeps the sky at bay, The sack of black! It is everywhere, tight, tight! He is yours, the little brassy Atlas — Poor heirloom, all you have, At his heels a pile of five brass cannonballs, No child, no wife. Five balls! Five bright brass balls! To juggle with, my love, when the sky falls.

Virgo

Virgin in a tree

How this tart fable instructsAnd mocks! Here's the parody of that moral mousetrapSet in the proverbs stitched on samplersApproving chased girls who get them to a treeAnd put on bark's nun-black

Habit which deflects All amorous arrows. For to sheathe the virgin shapeIn a scabbard of wood baffles pursuers,Whether goat-thighed or god-haloed. Ever since that first DaphneSwitched her incomparable back

For a bay-tree hide, respect'sTwined to her hard limbs like ivy: the puritan lipCries: 'Celebrate Syrinx whose demursWon her the frog-colored skin, pale pith and wateryBed of a reed. Look:

Pine-needle armor protectsPitys from Pan's assault! And though age drop Their leafy crowns, their fame soars,Eclipsing Eva, Cleo and Helen of Troy:For which of those would speak

For a fashion that constrictsWhite bodies in a wooden girdle, root to topUnfaced, unformed, the nipple-flowersShrouded to suckle darkness? Only theyWho keep cool and holy make

A sanctum to attract Green virgins, consecrating limb and lipTo chastity's service: like prophets, like preachers,They descant on the serene and seraphic beautyOf virgins for virginity's sake.'

Be certain some such pact'sBeen struck to keep all glory in the gripOf ugly spinsters and barren sirsAs you etch on the inner window of your eyeThis virgin on her rack:

She, ripe and unplucked, 'sLain splayed too long in the tortuous boughs: overripeNow, dour-faced, her fingers Stiff as twigs, her body woodenly Askew, she'll ache and wake

Though doomsday bud. Neglect'sGiven her lips that lemon-tasting droop:Untongued, all beauty's bright juice sours.Tree-twist will ape this gross anatomyTill irony's bough break.

Libra

Epitaph for Fire and Flower

You might as well haul up This wave’s green peak on wire To prevent fall, or anchor the fluent air In quartz, as crack your skull to keep These two most perishable lovers from the touch That will kindle angels’ envy, scorch and drop Their fond hearts charred as any match.

Seek no stony camera-eye to fix The passing dazzle of each face In black and white, or put on ice Mouth’s instant flare for future looks; Stars shoot their petals, and suns run to seed, However you may sweat to hold such darling wrecks Hived like honey in your head.

Hatched with a claret hogshead to swig He kings it, navel-knit to no groan, But at the price of a pin-stitched skin Fish-tailed girls purchase each white leg.

Mouth’s instant flare for future looks; Stars shoot their petals, and suns run to seed, However you may sweat to hold such darling wrecks Hived like honey in your head.

Now in the crux of their vows hang your ear, Still as a shell: hear what an age of glass These lovers prophesy to lock embrace Secure in museum diamond for the stare Of astounded generations; they wrestle To conquer cinder’s kingdom in the stroke of an hour And hoard faith safe in a fossil.

But though they’d rivet sinews in rock And have every weathercock kiss hang fire As if to outflame a phoenix, the moment’s spur Drives nimble blood too quick For a wish to tether: they ride nightlong In their heartbeats’ blazing wake until red cock Plucks bare that comet’s flowering.

Dawn snuffs out star’s spent wick, Even as love’s dear fools cry evergreen, And a languor of wax congeals the vein No matter how fiercely lit; staunch contracts break And recoil in the altering light: the radiant limb Blows ash in each lover’s eye; the ardent look Blackens flesh to bone and devours them.

Scorpio

November Graveyard

The scene stands stubborn: skinflint trees Hoard last year’s leaves, won’t mourn, wear sackcloth, or turn To elegiac dryads, and dour grass Guards the hard-hearted emerald of its grassiness However the grandiloquent mind may scorn Such poverty. No dead men’s cries

Flower forget-me-nots between the stones Paving this grave ground. Here’s honest rot To unpick the heart, pare bone Free of the Fictive vein. When one stark skeleton Bulks real, all saints’ tongues fall quiet: Flies watch no resurrections in the sun.

At the essential landscape stare, stare Till your eyes foist a vision dazzling on the wind: Whatever lost ghosts flare, Damned, howling in their shrouds across the moor Rave on the leash of the starving mind Which peoples the bare room, the blank, untenanted air.

Saggitarius

Maenad

Once I was ordinary: Sat by my father’s bean tree Eating the fingers of wisdom. The birds made milk. When it thundered I hid under a flat stone.

The mother of mouths didn’t love me. The old man shrank to a doll. O I am too big to go backward: Birdmilk is feathers, The bean leaves are dumb as hands.

This month is fit for little. The dead ripen in the grapeleaves. A red tongue is among us. Mother, keep out of my barnyard, I am becoming another.

Dog-head, devourer: Feed me the berries of dark. The lids won’t shut. Time Unwinds from the great umbilicus of the sun Its endless glitter.

I must swallow it all.

Lady, who are these others in the moon’s vat— Sleepdrunk, their limbs at odds? In this light the blood is black. Tell me my name.

Capricorn

Recantation

‘Tea leaves I’ve given up, And that crooked line On the queen’s palm Is no more my concern. On my black pilgrimage This moon-pocked crystal ball Will break before it help; Rather than croak out What’s to come, My darling ravens are flown.

‘Forswear those freezing tricks of sight And all else I’ve taught Against the flower in the blood: Not wealth nor wisdom stands Above the simple vein, The straight mouth. Go to your greenhorn youth Before time ends And do good With your white hands.’

Aquarius

Insomniac

The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper, Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars Letting in the light, peephole after peephole — A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things. Under the eyes of the stars and the moon’s rictus He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.

Over and over the old, granular movie Exposes embarrassments—the mizzling days Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams, Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful, A garden of buggy roses that made him cry. His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks. Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.

He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue— How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening! Those sugary planets whose influence won for him A life baptized in no-life for a while, And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby. Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods. Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.

His head is a little interior of gray mirrors. Each gesture flees immediately down an alley Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance Drains like water out the hole at the far end. He lives without privacy in a lidless room, The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.

Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments. Already he can feel daylight, his white disease, Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions. The city is a map of cheerful twitters now, And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank, Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.

Pisces

The Sleepers

No map traces the street Where those two sleepers are. We have lost track of it. They lie as if under water In a blue, unchanging light, The French window ajar

Curtained with yellow lace. Through the narrow crack Odors of wet earth rise. The snail leaves a silver track; Dark thickets hedge the house. We take a backward look.

Among petals pale as death And leaves steadfast in shape They sleep on, mouth to mouth. A white mist is going up. The small green nostrils breathe, And they turn in their sleep.

Ousted from that warm bed We are a dream they dream. Their eyelids keep the shade. No harm can come to them. We cast our skins and slide Into another time.

Thank you 💕

#sylvia plath #sylvia plath poem #zodiac #astro community #astrology #aries zodiac #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #saggitarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces

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prianya · 2 years ago

Note

I have something!! I think. Well, now that Ren is growing to be a government to overthrow, maybe something where the reader is a part of the Not Resistance Resistance?

I love me a bit of pain and angst and I heard you love them just as much so maybe the King's demise will be in the hand of his past lover?

And thank you!! You write angst good so can't wait to see more sweet and salty fic :'))

All's Fair

Ren x Reader ▪︎ Formerly Romantic

Word Count ▪︎ 968 words

Summary ▪︎ While governments may rise, this monarchy will fall. By your hands, yes, but hands covered in blood are no better than hands hoarding wealth.

Note ▪︎ I absolutely loved this! I actually wrote this in two pieces, and it's a bit obvious which one I wrote first. I had some friends read this one, and safe to say they enjoyed it. One of them rated the last piece a 20/10, actually. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this!

Your first mistake was joining this faux rebellion. It had seemed a good idea, a joke if you will. Monarchy was scarcely found within the Hermitcraft servers, and even more rare was a rebellion to go with it. The closest you had ever gotten to governments was Scar's overzealous plans to monopolise on sand, and that had been a fruitless endeavor. Against your better judgement, you had relented to the idea of experiencing one of these rebellions yourself, and the ceaseless begging of some certain people.

Your next mistake had been believing the others when they insisted that the resistance would be painless. They had made Ren seem the villain, painting a false narrative of him hoarding the wealth on the server. You had believed them, having been off-server for a while, dealing with issues outside of the hermit community. You had been hesitant to base these decisions on the little information you had, but it was the only information you were given. You had been told that it would be simple, that the resistance wouldn't hurt anyone.

Your third mistake was agreeing to something so blindly. You had been asked to spearhead the attack, topple the "corrupt" king with your own hands. You had no idea what this entailed, yet you agreed. Under the impression that it meant you would corner him, get him to surrender in a peaceful way, you went along with the coup. After learning of the plot, you were floored. The realisation of your decision was difficult, and pushing down any remaining feelings for Ren had been even more difficult. You had to steel yourself before finally going through with the operation.

The day of the uprising had started with a bang, in every sense. You had been awoken by the screaming of fireworks, and had quickly armed and readied yourself for what was to come. You stopped halfway through your routine, a silver pin resting on your palm. The pin was ornate, small etchings tracing the weighted surface. You trace the swirl near the top of the pin, the elegant spiral leading into a cursive 'R' engraved on the pin, paired with your first initial carved on the back of a pendant that rested with Ren.

The gift had been given to you at an anniversary celebration, years prior. You wore it every day, never stopping to think about its origin. This pun had been with you for years, yet it would stay with you when you killed the one who gave it to you. With resolve, you push the pin into your hair and finish getting ready.

Your flight to the meeting spot is quick, the cool morning air cutting against your face harshly. Sometime during the short flight, you bring your hand up to the pin and hold it there. Before your thoughts can run rampant, you catch sight of the designated place and begin to descend. Your feet hit the dewy ground harshly, and mud is kicked up slightly from your landing.

The meeting is quick, much of the plan having been discussed at previous times. You had been told where to go, how to sneak in. All the tools were given to you for this, yet you didn't feel prepared. It was as if you were going in deaf but not blind. You had the knowledge of what was going to happen, yet you couldn't truly comprehend the outcome.

---

The time had come, and the mood in the castle had dampened. The proceedings had continued, dulled in such a way that it seems as thought the castle itself was devoid of joy. Despite this, you could see Ren's face from the rafters, and he was as lively as you remember him. Before you had the opportunity to reminisce, the signal was called. You stand, balanced on the wooden beam crossing the vaulted ceiling. You nock an arrow, pointing the crossbow at Ren's back. He was turned, unaware of the fate about to befall him. Just after you release the arrow, he turns around and spots you.

Your arrow cut through the air beautifully, the dark metal of the arrowhead glunting in the light of the lanterns. The minute you shot it, your heart dropped. Seeing Ren's face, eyes wide in distress had broken you. Your name fell of of his tongue seconds before he was struck, and it was as if you could feel the arrow hit you aswell. You dropped your weapon, the crossbow hitting the stone with a crash.

You place your hands on his wound, cupping the end of the arrow's shaft that protruded from his chest. You feel his breathing become shallow, his chest stuttering as it rises. Soon enough his heart beats for the last time, and you wail.

Your hands fall onto the stone, and the way your palms sting after hitting it clears your head. You open your eyes, and gape at the scene you see. You're kneeling in a puddle of blood, the crimson staining the knees of your pants. The liquid seems to crawl up your arms, staining your skin a bright and unforgiving red.

Your breath catches in your throat, the gravity of what you had done setting in. Everything's too bright, too loud, too overwhelming. You wheeze, clutching at your throat as you begin to tear up. Sobbing silently, you slump to the ground and wrap your arms around yourself. The tears falling down your face burn.

You lie on the ground, anguished, for hours. Blood crusts on your face, specks of red falling when you move. Ren's body is long gone, having dissapeared the minutes his heart had finally stopped. You knew that his death was temporarily, that he would return, yet you couldn't bring yourself to leave. It seems like you had made your final, and most grave, mistake. Your heavy breathing echoes off of stone, and you mourn what was.

#hermitcraft x reader #rendog x reader #ren x reader #pri writes!!#platonic x reader

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imaginethebeautifulworld · 3 years ago

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Heyyyy I saw some posts with Gil as the god of death. Could you maybe write like a Hades/Persephone au reader thing? If you can't its ok! Love your writing!

Hi, Lovely!

I actually recalling seeing a few of those floating around myself in the past; I think I have some really good works from our fandom's talented artists buried deep on my main... It's a great concept for him, and I can think of... many possible ways to play with the concept.

For your request, I had several possible ideas come to mind, but the one scene that absolutely refused to leave me alone was the transition scene between Hermes "rescuing" Persephone from the Underworld and the moment Zeus declared that she would spend half of her days with her mother and the other half with Hades.

This is a bit emotional, I offer fair warning. A lot of conflicting tensions, and it is quite long (3300+ words!). But I hope you enjoy~

Olympus was even more beautiful than anything you could have ever imagined.

Caryatid columns crafted of living marble, climbing to impossible heights, cradled the Heavens as their very ceiling. Clouds painted in gold and hyacinth and dusty rose drifted lazily across the stars, which danced not from the dismal palette most often chosen by Night, but rather the blues of a sapphire, soft and familiar in a way that made your heart ache in nostalgia.

The floors shimmered in the light, polished so smoothly you could make out your own reflection. You were captivated by the figure beneath, surprised to see so little remaining of the person you had been before. The features were the same, but your eyes had a new depth to them, Shadows clinging to you, dancing in your gaze.

Marvelous your surroundings may be, yet you knew beyond certainty that this was not a place of belonging.

There was a sense of wrongness here, much like an ill-fitting garment. Despite its beauty, despite the years you had yearned, wondered, and dreamt of the day when you would finally be granted entry to Olympus-

It ate at you, such sublimities vexatious in their perfections. Whether that dislike was birthed from your upbringing in the Natural World or if it was an aftereffect of so long in the Underworld, one thing remained absolutely transparent: this was not your realm.

The corridor eventually came to its end, tall, gilded doors opening smoothly to grant you entrance to a large chamber filled with other deities. Hermes rested a hand on your shoulder, guiding you towards the center of the room, a familiar voice and, more importantly, a familiar face brightening as soon as she saw you.

“Persephone?”

You felt your heart lighten, relief flooding your veins. “Mother!”

You scarcely had time to brace yourself as she pulled you into her arms, a fierce, desperate embrace. You were quick to return it, clinging tightly to her; it had been far too long. And with no way to reach out to her, to let her know you were okay-

She was chattering away in that rapid way which used to annoy you so, as if each moment needed to be embellished with her thoughts. But you couldn’t find yourself upset now, only content to be hearing them once more.

You recognized few of the gods and goddesses in the room, though many of them nodded to you in acknowledgement, several of whom seemed relieved to see you safely returned.

You swore you heard some whispers about whether Hades had harmed you, certain you saw more sympathetic expressions than your circumstances had warranted.

Your mother had pulled away, her arm linking with your own, leading you further into the room, still chattering away, as if you had never left her side.

It was… familiar, yet you couldn't help but feel almost uncomfortable, too many still giving you looks of pity, so many others pressing closer for a single taste of tantalizing scandal.

You felt confined, and couldn't help yearning for the open spaces of Hades' vast chambers. He habitually filled them with his own ramblings- a favor you often returned- but you weren't caged.

You would surely need to correct your mother soon, preferably somewhere more secluded. You missed her, truly, but more than anything you missed your husband.

A shift in the light stole your attentions for a moment, a flutter of movement and the sensation of a soft sigh against your neck distracting you entirely.

You stole a glance behind you, frowning when you saw nothing beyond the sea of gossip-hungry faces, drooling much like a pride of lions preying upon a defenseless lamb. The image irked you, but the aggrievance was forgotten as you caught wind of your mother's words, their crass nature absolutely appalling.

"I swore it; every mortal!" Her tone was irreverent, as if she were ignorant of how horrific her declaration truly was. Even more abhorrent were the reactions of your fellow gods and goddesses, most laughing along with her.

How could the woman who raised you, who had always been so full of love and light, be so callous and cruel? You tried to keep your thoughts to yourself, tried holding your tongue, but learning of this threat, this demand-

"How could you?"

The whispers between various minor deities near you fell to silence, and your mother's posture stiffened as she processed your voice.

You had never spoken against her, neither need nor desire having ever arisen. Yet her words were too horrific, her possessive nature too alarming, and after finding your voice, having been encouraged to use it- you found you were unable to restrain yourself, and you ripped your arm from hers, stepping away from her in disgust.

"Mortals are not pawns for you to toy with. They are as important as any one of us! How dare you hold their lives over my head, as if they were nothing more than-"

"They are nothing, Persephone," she dismissed you with a wave, as if your words were nothing more than a childish rebuttal.

You had forgotten how uncaring the Others could be, so detached in their Eternal Infinities that the fleeting moments of a human's life meant absolutely nothing to them. A few blazing, bright exceptions came to mind, but their stories were nothing more now than legends.

But Hades-

Gil.

You had witnessed firsthand how much he cherished every soul, how much he cared, hidden behind the facade he donned around the Others.

He knew that every single Mortal held worth, was far more precious than the gods could comprehend. It was one of things that you first loved about him, one of the things you most loved about him.

"You're wrong, Mother."

Silence descended, so thick not even Hephaestus’ blades could pierce it.

The expression which corrupted your mother's features was beyond monstrous, something foul and dangerous that twisted a spike of fear deep within you, yet it lacked the strength to truly deter you from your stance.

With a resolute step, you approached Zeus' throne, bowing your head in respect, in gratitude, in desperation. "My lord Zeus."

Zeus was studying you with something akin to amusement, yet he spoke with kindness. "Yes my child?"

Your mother was still silent behind you, though you could sense her nearness, knew you had only once chance to plead for what you knew would truly make you happy. "Please, my Lord. I thank you for the rescue, but I am afraid it was unnecessary."

"Oh?"

"Persephone, what are you doing," your mother hissed, standing just behind you. This would break her heart, surely, but you couldn't deny your heart.

"I wish to stay in the Underworld."

Your words had the rippling effect of a boulder crashing to the sea; whispers and gasps resounded from each cluster scattered about the chamber, stories of your audacity likely already carrying well beyond this room, perhaps even beyond this Realm.

In another life, you would have shied away from such knowledge, shuddered at the revelation that you were the subject of gossip. But here, as you were, you were unwavering, unfaltering, unaffected. You had made your choice, and you were going to stand by it.

Another shift of light shuddered in your peripheral, a shadow rising and falling from your focus in a single breath. And with it came a voice, hidden away in the deep shadows of a column near the edge of the room, rising above the din.

"Well. That'll certainly make this easier."

A familiar stillness, its presence heavily saturating the air.

A footstep followed, another shift in the light.

In that other life, where you had always remained at your mother's side, where you had continued to live in ignorance, you would have mistaken the skip in your pulse as fear, would have thought this feeling hanging over your shoulders to be dread.

But you were no longer naive; this was relief, anticipation. Your heart was soaring in joy knowing Hades had come to rescue you, yet again, to stand by your side where he belonged.

You found his eyes, molten scarlet easily distinguishable against phantasmic white skin, almost glowing from the shadows. A bright smile stole across your face, and a soft, lazy grin was soon creasing his own in reply, your heart softening at the sight.

"Hades," you heard Zeus acknowledge, though your gaze remained firmly fixed on your husband. "Brother," the other replied, and it seemed to take a great deal of effort for him to finally turn away from you.

Gil steadily made his approach to the center of the room, the dancing shadows following his every step, bending to his whims. An intimidation tactic, you would stake money on it; he thrived in the Darkness the Others feared, knew that his very presence was enough to set Them on edge.

His eyes found yours once more, a sparkling determination in them making your smile melt into something a bit fonder. "Despite how much Others may wish otherwise, Persephone can't leave; they've bound themselves to the Underworld."

He found the pomegranate.

He must have.

You had only taken the fruit at the insistent requests of a very grateful gardener, had possessed every intention of passing it along to your favourite guard back in the palace later that evening. But you were so hungry, and-

Everything in life comes down to choice, not chance.

You had known for a long time that you no longer held any desire to leave the Underworld.

You were happy; Gil only encouraged your curiosity, truly listened to everything you had to say, and treated you as nothing less than his equal, giving you his chosen name and even constructing Elysium at your suggestion.

He loved you, in ways you hadn't known gods could love: the aching, yearning, gentle love you had only read about, the playful, steadfast love the Nymphs used to dream of.

You remembered the warnings, knew that eating the fruit of the Underworld would eternally bind you to this Realm, would bind you to him.

But thinking of his smile, his stories, his kindness, and the way he would speak your true name-

You had only eaten six seeds before Hermes found you, before yet another god was stealing you away from your home.

The pomegranate itself was resting in Gil's hand, the stains on your fingertips only serving as further evidence to your actions. He was staring at you with an unreadable expression- a bewildered hopefulness.

This wasn't how you had wanted him to find out; this wasn't at all how you planned the revelation.

Before you could justify your actions, before you could begin to explain yourself, Hades was making his way over to an alarmed Hermes, expression friendly but posture conveying an underlying threat. "I can forgive you for following orders, but next time I would advise thinking twice before stealing what's mine."

Gil clapped a hand to Hermes back as if he were an old friend before returning his attentions to the room at large, and his eyes finally settled on you, their spark betraying the curiosity masked beneath his shroud of arrogance. "As always, it’s been an absolute delight seeing you all again, but I think Persephone and I will head home now."

You were fully in agreement, had even taken a step forward before your mother was blocking your path and scowling at your King.

"How dare you?" There was venom in her demand, a sticky, rotting thing that made you shrink away. "Persephone is my child."

You didn't see his expression shift, but the shadows crept closer once again, Gilbert's reply spoken coolly. "And they're my consort, Demeter. By Persephone's own hand." You heard the small inflection in his words, the scarcely concealed brush of disbelief even as he spoke, as if he still hadn't fully accepted the reality of your decision.

Your hand found your mother's shoulder, and you met her surprised eyes. "It's true, Mother. Hades holds no sway over my decisions."

You offered her an apologetic smile before steadily, confidently, approaching Hades. He met you halfway, abandoning the fidgeting Hermes and studying you carefully, a familiar hope clear in his eyes.

"I chose this," you whispered, the words meant for him alone, an assurance that his hopes were not without foundation, before you spoke more firmly, ensuring your message was clear to the assembled gods and goddesses. "I choose this."

I chose this.

I choose you.

In this and every lifetime, I choose you.

His expression visibly softened, the true meaning of your words needing not be spoken.

His hand rose, cupping your cheek with such gentleness, such affection, that the room around you no longer mattered, your audience’s discordant harmony of both scandalized and approving voices unheard as you leaned into his touch.

His fingers languidly drifted from your cheek to seek out your hands, and he lifted them slowly, as if in a dream, before studying the wine red remnants of your silent act of devotion.

You felt a shiver as he pressed a kiss to each fingertip, his eyes meeting your own. You were dizzy from it, intoxicated, weakened, floating from his touch.

It was only your mother’s outraged outburst that forced Reality to reclaim you, dragging you back down to the Mountain.

"My Lord Zeus, this must be a trick!"

Gilbert glowered, his lips scarcely lifting from your fingers as he spoke, anger crisp. "No tricks; I assure you."

"Such assurances, coming from the god of treachery."

Gil's gaze shot to Demeter, eyes narrowing in repressed fury. "I am not Dolos, madam."

Shadows grew around the room, the chamber darkening in the wake of his wrath, a warning which revealed just how furious her words had made him. You squeezed his hand almost instinctively, and with a harsh sigh, the shadows were retreating at his command, all remnants of his tempestuous thoughts confined to the fiery depths of his eyes.

“How could you choose him, Persephone?”

You had thought you had steeled yourself against her, but the misery- the heartbreak- in her voice was a weapon you had not shielded against. It cut deep, piercing through your resolve and leaving a sharp sting in its wake. You thought she would simply let it fester, a poison to rot you from the inside-out, regret and doubt making a sanctuary of a walking corpse.

Hades’ grip tightened, a reassurance that provided some relief, a warmth you instinctively sought refuge in.

Yet her onslaught was far from finished.

“You’d choose the one who stole you from me? Who locked you away?” You sensed her stepping closer, though you had cast your gaze away, biting your lip to keep yourself from visibly reacting. “You’d choose to leave everything and everyone you love behind?”

Curious thing, poisons. Often, their salvation came in self-destruction, the same remedy which would cause devastation needing only one more ingredient to turn into something triggering preservation, that which had been birthed to harm transfigured into that which could heal. In her ill-considered choice of words, Demeter had also chosen your salvation.

“You allude to my freedom, yet you never once offered it before.” Embracing the fierce resolve blazing through your core, you dared to meet your mother’s anger with your own. “You want to cage me again, and it’s you who is trying to make me leave the person I love behind.”

Gilbert tensed beside you, such a subtle transition you wouldn't have noticed were it not for your nearness. Weighing your words, you realized this was truly the first time you had confessed your feelings, and you squeezed his hand once more as a reassurance.

“Hades is my husband, Mother. There is nothing you can do or say that will change that. I love him; I-” You spared a glance to the man at your side, warmth filling you to your very toes when finding the affection in his gaze, breath catching at the pride.

“I love him,” you breathed reverently, before you forced your attentions to Demeter. “I’m sorry, Mother. But I choose my own path now.”

Your mother was coldly studying you, eyes searching your own as if you had become a stranger to her. And perhaps… Perhaps you had.

You felt a flicker of remorse, but it was buried deep, the embers of the child you had once been, hidden deep within the person you had become.

You couldn't bear to look at her for a moment longer, feelings so palpable that Gil was guiding your attention away with a soft whisper in your ear. "Let’s go home."

He barely spared a glance at Zeus as he started to lead you to a hidden doorway, secluded in shadows. You followed quickly, desperate to escape your audience, the societal constraints, and the deluge of your mother's empty threats, piercing through what still remained of your resolve.

Gil was resolute however, keeping you rooted to your path. It was to no avail alas, one of Demeter's threats striking true. "If you leave with him, I swear I will kill every living thing upon the earth!"

You faltered, Hades scowling at her words. There was rage in his eyes, and for a moment he truly scared you, the loathing in his eyes sharp enough to sting.

He huffed quietly, a tension in his jaw that alarmed you. "She's bluffing," he growled, likely more to reassure himself.

"And if she's not?"

"Zeus would never allow it."

It was enough for you, enough to propel both of you to the doorway, the gentle brush of Shadow embracing you like a forgotten, long-lost friend.

“I swear it! By the Fates, I will destroy every spark of Life!”

Your stomach dropped at her intonation; this was no mere empty threat, no empty promises meant to keep you innocent and naive.

Before today, you would have thought her incapable of it. Your mother, while fierce, had always been a source of joy and light, leaving tranquility in her wake. But you now understood the twisted love that flowed through her, the corrupted protectiveness that had been festering beneath the surface, blossoming into something mangled and hideous.

She would do it; the world would plunge into famine and death, even the stores of harvested grains and cured meats would see rot and disease. Not even the rats would survive your mother’s wrath, should she truly follow through.

You loathed the net she cast, despised the knowledge that she was using your greatest strength as your greatest weakness- threatening everything you treasured out of her selfish desire to keep you at her side.

Yet what you hated most, beyond having your autonomy ignored and choice overlooked, was that her words were working.

You couldn’t stand to watch anyone suffer, even at the cost of your own happiness.

Even at the cost of your freedom.

“Gil,” you whimpered, unable to keep the tremor of terror from your voice, unable to conceal the cracking coursing through your core.

He stopped just before he crossed the threshold, hovering in the place between Shadow and Light. You couldn’t see his expression, could only guess at his emotions, only the shift in his shoulders and the slightest dip of his head. “I know.”

Defeated.

Resigned.

These were the words that came close to describing the tone of his voice, but they were entirely inadequate for describing the agony corrupting his features, an emotion so crippling he could no longer summon even a hint of his alleged arrogance.

You were surprised that this was the expression he wore even as he turned to face your mother, taking a determined step towards her, your hand falling from his.

"What do you hope to accomplish here, Demeter? Persephone has no choice but to return to the Underworld."

"They will stay with their mother, and return to their proper place."

"They can't, you wretched-"

"Hades!" You protested, appalled, rushing over to his side as he visibly loosened his posture. He relaxed, as if your very presence was enough to calm him.

"They will die if they stay on Earth, Demeter," he continued with a low growl, disdain and desperation and disbelief bleeding into his warning.

It was a strange sensation, having the consequences of your actions so clearly laid on display, a heavy burden that had always been hanging about your shoulders, yet remained imperceptible till they were revealed by another.

Gil turned to you with a broken expression, shattered in a way that pulled tightly at your heartstrings, made you gasp at the sensation. "I can't let you die. I can't-"

For the gods, for the goddesses, death was permanent, perpetual, an infinite state of Nothingness, Nonexistence. You had made your choice, even knowing the risks, never once imagining that you would face a situation such as this.

"Gil-"

"I would rather my child die than be forever bound to someone like you."

Of all the foul words Demeter had spoken in the moments prior, none of them had affected you as much as her final statement, so caustic and contemptuous that you were rendered completely speechless, only now reminded of your witnesses as they responded in turn- yet another boulder crashing to sea.

Gil had shifted to stand protectively between you and your mother, his eyes wide in horror, his knuckles going whiter with how tightly he was clenching his fists.

"Mother," you whispered, the effort almost too much, your thoughts still colliding with one another, another and another fighting to claim your focus. You turned to her, no longer able to see the woman you had loved, who had raised you, who had taught you all you knew, who guided you through even some of the most turbulent trials of your lifetime. This person-

Some of her fury dispersed as you met her eyes, a hint of regret already shining from within them. But words could not be reclaimed, and you knew she would stand by her promises. You took another step closer to Gil, comforted by his presence, consoled by the concerned glance he gave you.

"Persephone, I-"

"Enough." A new voice interrupted your mother, cutting through her remorse and stunning her into silence. It resounded throughout the room, commanding attention, every head turning towards Zeus.

Gone was the amusement from earlier, and gone was the curiousity. All that was remained was disappointment, and the distinct air of anger. "I've reached a decision."

Perhaps it was for the best that Zeus would have the final say, would determine the final outcome.

The scales were too heavy for you: your happiness, your freedom, your life versus billions of innocent creatures, plants, and mortals, which in theory should be an easy decision, but-

Everything always comes down to a choice.

You could only pray Zeus’ would be just.

Thanks for reading!

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