#THE COLORING ON THE CLOAKING IS MAGNIFICENT

[juniefruit]

♤ Immortal Rose ♤

♤ Vampire! Hyunjin x Fem! Reader (18+)

♤ Summary: It's never a good idea to walk alone in the woods, especially not when a vampire is on the prowl. Now you're in his mansion; what does he want from you? A companion, a lover, or maybe someone to satisfy his cravings? Hopefully the former. This story is for adult audiences only.

♤ Warnings: Reader held captive, reader wears dresses, possessive hyunjin, vampire bite & blood sucking, mentions of mates, pet names, piv, sexual intercourse, magic. again, MDNI.

♤ Notes: Happy Halloween! in celebration, here's some 'ween' just for you. ; ) No part 2 ya nasties this a kinktober special.

♤ Word Count: 3.3 k

“You’re awake, princess.” A voice above you grumbled, suave and elegant.

“Where am I?” Your eyes were still half shut, body resting across a velvet loveseat. 

“In my home.” This guy sure loved to talk. 

“Oh.” You only had vague memories, brows furrowing at the attempt to recollect them. All you remember was how dark the forest was, you could barely see the trees you were running past under the moonlight. Crows were squawking in the branches above, as if they knew you were distressed. You were torn between making a run for it or hiding quietly. The former won. You heard whooshing noises behind you, and footsteps that were definitely getting closer. Then, everything went black right after you turned your head to look behind you. 

“Can I get you anything?” The voice interrupted your thoughts. You’d turn your head to see him, but the back of the couch was in your way. At least he kept his distance. 

“Will it be poisoned?” You ask. 

“Possibly.” He jokes, but clearly out of practice. You hear the taps of shoes against the hardwood floor, and your ears twitch at the sound. The man walks until he’s stood in front of you, crouching to your level. His eyes, sharp yet laced with the slightest concern, scan over your face. “Do you feel alright?” You should be asking him that. His skin was ghastly pale, only a slight unnatural pink tint to it. He was covered from head to toe in dark layers of fabric, a long, satin black cloak covering his form. Adorned with fine silver jewelry, cascading down his neck to chest; he was magnificent- breathtakingly beautiful in a dangerous, mythical way. He must have noticed how starstruck you are because he smiled gently before you snapped out of it. 

“I feel fine, thanks.” He hummed in response. A hand like sculpted marble came up to brush a strand of stray hair from the side of your face. 

“Say my name if you need anything. I promise, I’ll hear you.” He stood up now, seemingly incredibly tall as he was towering above you on the couch. His figure was slim but filled out, from what you could tell. 

“Uh-” You stuttered.

“Ah, that’s right. My name is Hyunjin. Make yourself comfortable.” He loosed a small smile and a nod before he vanished, just like that. A small cloud of smoke was the only thing lingering in the air to signify he was ever here. You finally had the chance to glance around. You were in a sitting room of sorts, everything carefully carved and crafted from dark oak and ebony stone– with drapes, pillows and carpets of the richest ruby red color. Even the chandelier was grand, twinkling with crystals. The fireplace mantle was detailed with swirling stone and candles atop it. But the fireplace was not lit. The room was chilling, but not uncomfortably so. When you stood up, you remembered that you indeed had no idea where you were, walking quietly to the window. Shit, it’s dark outside. Glancing up at the full moon, it was a little further than halfway, indicating wee hours of morning. Frantically looking to the door, this place looked massive. There was no way you were finding your way out. And even if you did, the north star could only lead you so far. You whined at the fact that you were utterly trapped, no matter how hospitable that man, Hyunjin, was. So, you went to lock the big dark door and plopped back down onto the couch. Not even registering that Hyunjin could just teleport in anyway. Somehow, you drifted off to sleep, and woke up to birdsong from the thick woodlands beyond the walls of the mansion. 

In front of you was a platter of dried fruits, toast and jams of all varieties, a cup of tea and a note. The note, in graceful cursive, read:

I hope you slept well. Eat breakfast, then find me in the library. I’ll see to it that Kkami leads you in the right direction.

-H.H

When you finished, still in your clothes from yesterday, you walked over to the door, creaking as you pushed it open. To your surprise, A raven with feathers of the darkest night was perched atop a lamp in the hallway. It croaked out a greeting, then heaved itself into the air and flew down the hallway. Every minute or so it stopped, waiting for you to follow. The hallway, adorned with grandoise paintings and ornate chandeliers, and doors that led to god knows where. The bird stopped in front of a set of double doors, silently glaring at you to open one. When you did, rows upon rows of books and scrolls invaded your vision. Until you landed on a reading table in the middle of the gigantic room. You softly padded your way down the carpet to where Hyunjin sat, reading glasses placed on the bridge of his nose, engrossed in a book. You couldn’t tell what, though, the cover was too faded. Even the pages were yellowing. As were most books in here, you realized. This place was old. Deep in the pit of your stomach swirled a sizable amount of unease at this strange place. And possibly fear, for the eerie sense of calmness you felt. This place was too quiet to be just a regular mansion. 

“No need to be so scared, princess.” Hyunjin spoke, eyes not leaving his book until he flipped the page and set it down. Today, he disregarded the cloak and outerwear, opting for a crisp men’s dress shirt and slacks in his signature cool black color. His chair scraped against the floor as he stood up and walked over to you, feet cemented into the ground. You couldn’t run. Your body wouldn’t let you, too paralyzed with fear. He kept coming closer and closer, until he was leaning over you and pressing a kiss to your cheek. You let out a tiny gasp and a squeak. “I picked out some clothes for you. There, on that table. If they’re too outdated for your tastes, or if they need to be tailored, simply let me know.” He gestured behind you. And when you still didn’t move a muscle, he chuckled, and grabbed your arms with a firm grip and turned you around. His hands were just as cold as his lips. At least his lips were soft and gentle, like a lover, a timeless romantic. On a vast table were countless dresses and garb, ranging from puffy, glittering black ball gowns to simple linen dresses (black, of course). Although nearly everything was black, there were a few pieces with accents of dark reds and blues. Fitting, you thought. And yet, you loved it. You loved that he put in the effort. Stepping closer, the fabric was of exceptional quality and design. Every stitch, every button. “Do you like it?” He asks, still clutching your arms, and speaking into your ear from behind you. A lick of fire ran from your head to your toes at his voice. It was addicting. 

“No one’s ever done something like this for me,” You confessed, still in awe. 

��Allow me, then.” His palms ran up and down your upper arms before he pulled away, slinking back into his chair. “Pick something and freshen up, dear.” At his words, you spun around to see the raven, stomping his little feet by the door. You grabbed a simple dress, and the raven led you to a bathroom fit for an emperor– a bathtub that could have qualified as a swimming pool, sauna benches, towel racks and warm candles that enticed you. In the corner was a basket filled with clean undergarments, Hyunjin had really thought of everything, as if he’s been awaiting your company for some time now. The door shut behind you, and you slipped into the bath. Still on high alert, your eyes scanned your surroundings incessantly until you finished, quite enjoying the feeling of cleanliness again. Getting dressed, thus began your walk back to the library. 

Hyunjin seemingly hadn’t moved a muscle. He heard the door open but ignored it until you stood in front of him. He tore his eyes from the book, only to be completely taken aback. The breath was knocked out of his lungs, because when he spoke, he sounded breathless. 

“You look astounding, princess. You’ll fit right in.” He smiled, eyes crinkling. He rarely experienced joy like this. You hummed in response, words not finding you. Fit in where, exactly? “Fancy some lunch?” Despite your inner confusion, you nodded bashfully. 

Thus the days turned into weeks, and then months. You still didn’t know where you were, or if you’d ever see home again. But you couldn’t bring yourself to whine about it too much when Hyunjin was around, offering you light conversations, delectable meals and as much time in the library as you’d wish. Hyunjin, however, was losing his mind. He needed to have you. Soon. or he’d really go insane. He could smell your delectable scent– a fresh, unclaimed body. His patience snapped when you came up to him in his study, in a light linen dress that swayed when you approached. 

“What’s the matter, princess?” He asked, taking off his glasses with an impatient hand.

“Who are you, anyway?” He scoffed.

“A vampire; but that much was obvious, no?” 

You squirmed in annoyance. “How long will you keep me here?” 

His hands hit the table. His shoulders lurched as he stood up. Something was off about him today.

“You dare suggest leaving me?” He sounded offended, brows furrowed. “You’re mine. You are not leaving this mansion. You are too precious, and the world is too dangerous.” 

“But-” 

He surged forward before you could continue. His arms wrapped around you as your heart raced. His heightened sense of smell was making him go haywire at the proximity. His jaw is itching to just sink into your supple unclaimed flesh already.

“Please don’t ask such nonsense. I love you, isn’t that enough?” He spoke into your neck.

Your eyes widened at his confession. 

“I- I love you, too.” You spoke without thinking. You didn’t even know if it was true or not, but the damage was done. At your words, as if there was a magnet in his head, he dragged his cheek from your neck, up your jaw, until his lips were locked with yours. His lips were cold, sure, but his possesion was burning hot. 

“I need you.” He grumbled against your lips. You whimpered in response, but didn’t pull away. In the blink of an eye, you were transported to his grandiose bedroom, with a bed so large you could drown in the satin, blood red sheets. After the first night, he showed you your own bedroom too, but you much preferred this one right now. Wafts of Hyunjin’s dark and masculine yet fruity & saccharine musk drifted through the air, you had never smelled it in such abundance before. Still mute, you let him walk you to the bed where he set you down, the muscles bulging in his arm from restraining himself instead of jumping you like an animal. “Your blood smells so sweet… Run now, or we are not leaving this room until tomorrow.” He groaned, lips ghosting the junction of your neck where your pulse point was strongest. Your palms stroked against his covered biceps softly.

“Are we mates, Hyunjin?” He let out a shaky breath at your question. He was looming over you now, caging you to the mattress with his broad chest & arms. He spoke simply, deep eyes boring into yours.

“Yes.” And then he ravaged you. He started by pressing a searing kiss to your lips, then licking and nipping down your jaw and to your neck. His silky tongue felt so smooth and sensual against your neck, you whined. He was massaging you with his lips, spit-covered and sucking marks onto every curve in your skin. You were so divine, he wishes he could capture the essence of this moment and paint it, just like all the other archaic paintings throughout the mansion. He would put it on full display, surely. Right by the front door, so all his visitors could see what only he gets access to. Sadly, visitors are few and far between. Suddenly, you heard the roar of a fire and the following crackles behind Hyunjin, across the room. Looking over his shoulder, you saw a fireplace with a mantle of gorgeous intricate Victorian design, in his signature ebony black stone. The fact that he held such mystical power turned you on more than you’d like to admit. 

“My apologies, you must be cold, Hm? I sometimes forget that your kind is more susceptible to the cold.” He murmured into your neck. You shook your head, dismissing his guilt. He’s been working at your neck for so long now, the skin was red, raw and sensitive.

“Hyun… jin-”

“Mmm, love? He crooned in response, voice low and smooth like caramel. 

“Bite me,” His knees practically buckled, and a smile that was almost sinister spread across his face. He’s been waiting for this moment. “Isn’t that what you do?”

“As you wish, princess.” He took a deep breath in and you felt his lips spread across the junction of your neck. You had to give it to him, he was very charming. Albeit, his palms held on to your arms for dear life, as he was nervous himself. Bracing yourself, you squeezed your eyes shut when his smooth canines pinch against the first barrier of skin. He hummed in delight, and after that, you didn’t feel much as tingles spread scross the bitten area. His body pressed against your front, magnetized to you. His hips grinded against yours, each drag heavy with need. When he was satisfied, his deft tongue darted out to clean his lips of the ruby red liquid, sharp, lidded eyes piercing through yours seductively. His arm shuffled down to undo the buckle and button of his pants while keeping eye contact with you. His eyes asked a silent question; to which you replied with a hum and a nod. Hastily shucking the fabric of your dress up and over your head, his eyes were glued to the soft curves and planes of your body, drinking you in. He moved a hand up to smooth over your hair in a gentle caress, so jarringly different to the thoughts racing in his brain. The weight of his other palm sent waves of pleasure across your inner thighs, so close to your center. Sensually dragging his palm across your mound, his fingers dip into the fabric slightly. Pulling them off, a wave of chill air on your wetness made you gasp. His smooth and deft fingers played with your pussy, strands of slick stringing together between his fingers whenever he lifted them up to repeat the teasing circles from your clit down to your throbbing entrance. The puddle of slick was spreading into the crevices of your inner thighs now, making his movements glide against your skin and sending bursts of tingles through you.Throughout everything, Hyunjin would hum a simple tune, or make little noises of satisfaction when your thighs squirmed or when your pussy trembled. 

“I think you’re ready, are you?” He tilted his head slightly, eyebrows furrowed and eyes heavy-lidded.

“Mhm-” You whimpered in response, nodding downwards and meeting his eyes for a fleeting moment. He brought his hips in close, his bulge straining until he shoved everything down with one elegant hand and started pushing in with a huff. You could feel your walls stretching to take him in, but the wetness made it pleasurable. His breathing grew deep and staggered right next to your ear, making you arch into him.

“Oh, my good girl. You’re taking me so well,” You couldn’t hold back your smile at his praise. His hips stuttered from how sensitive his cock was, not fully used to the warm and soft walls of you yet. He grunts softly, his eyebrows furrowed and black hair framing his cheeks and occaisionally tickling yours. You sigh in pleasure at the rhythmic beat of his hips against yours, bodies rocking in sync. His thrusts pick up a frantic pace until you’re mewling and gasping, arms taught against his shoulders. As if Hyunjin had a second of clarity, he slows down again, wanting this moment to last as long as possible. He keeps switching every few minutes or so, fast and shallow for a few minutes until he feels shockwaves of pleasure and the urge to release at the tip of his cock. Then, with all his willpower, he slows down to hit deep and sensual thrusts into your squelching core, making you feel warm and satisfied. At every slow push and pull, the base of his length pulsed, making him whine at the feeling of his release tangling into knots in his lower stomach and balls that ached. As if it hurt him to do so, he tore a hand away from your waist to slither down to your clit, applying the slightest pressure to the very tip of it. You moaned at his touch, your oversensitive, swollen clit pulsing with need for more. The sensation made you pull your hips upwards, like you couldn’t take the feeling of his fingertips rubbing circles any longer. 

“You like it here, don’t you, princess? Why are you running away?” He said with a fake pout to his tone. He was only teasing but it nearly brought a frustrated tear to your eye. He slapped his fingers against your clit as a warning, the light sting making you let out an airy moan, music to Hyunjin’s ears. You willed your hips to stay grounded against Hyunjin’s assault at the apex of your thighs. Meanwhile, the ever-present feeling of veins dragging and rubbing against your soft, warm walls sent shockwaves of euphoria to your brain. Every thrust brought you a step closer, massaging against a spot so deep in your vagina you could feel your walls clench around him. It was the sweet spot that made your mouth hang open and eyes roll back. Hyunjin would have forced you to look back at him, only him, but he couldn’t pry his hands off of your heavenly hips and waist. Your lower body made him go feral for something he couldn’t pinpoint, something so primal it set his body ablaze. Maybe next time. Hyunjin’s hips came so close to you that he could feel the faint bulge poking right above your mound, and he gasped at the sensation. When it all became too much, the rope snapped, and your orgasm crashed down like a tsunami, washing through your body and out through your hands and feet. Hyunjin kept rubbing your clit in frantic little circles until your thighs shook, and your name sounded like a desperate prayer spilling from your spit slicked and raw lips. Your screams and moans of pleasure brought Hyunjin to his own peak, shivering with his release as he pushed all the way in and stayed there, rutting his hips in small but powerful movements. He stuffed you full and didn’t pull out until he’d caught his breath, scanned over your face to make sure you were okay, and caressed your waist and arms with gentle hands. The dull pulsing of your core making you squirm. He chuckled softly at your blissed out expression, pressing a chaste but dirty kiss to your lips. He swiped a thumb across the bruise that now surrounded his bite, two incisions at the curve where your neck meets your collarbone.

“You’re mine forever now, my immortal rose.”

♤Thanks for reading! Check my masterlist for more!♤Warning: Everything I post is 100% my original writing & thoughts. This also includes the moodboards at the beginning that I create. Please do not plagiarize or copy. Tag for inspiration or add-ons. Reblogs are appreciated! <3

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x Reader)

All Chapters List

Chapter 2: The Letter

"Omnia, quae fiunt, eveniunt ut oportet; et si diligenter observaveris, hoc ita esse invenies." M. Aurelius

“Everything that happens, happens as it should, and if you observe carefully, you will find this to be so.”

The carriage shook from time to time as it traveled along the stony roads of the capital. Octavius was sitting across, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as you peered out from under the curtain, eager to see where you were being taken. You had many questions, but you were hesitant to ask him directly. After all, in their eyes, you were just an ordinary woman with the status of a slave.

But as you watched outside, you realized that you were more fortunate than other women of the same status. Instead of being taken away in a cart like you, they were dragged, beaten, and forcibly taken away in chains.

As the carriage approached a huge rounded building, you opened your mouth in astonishment. It had to be the Colosseum, you had heard so much about it, but you never expected it to be this huge. This massive structure was so magnificent that it was truly pushing the limits of the human mind. It was fascinating, frightening, and amazing.

You stood in awe of the most intriguing structure on the streets of Rome until it disappeared from view. Then, with a sigh, you turned your head in the direction the cart was going. After passing insulas, temples, aqueducts, fountains, and gardens, you drove through a large wooded area. The car began to sway noticeably as the terrain shifted from stones to dirt and grass. Then, a large villa appeared in front of you.

Unlike the sand-colored villas in the Egyptian lands, this one was almost white and had a crimson herb-colored roof. At the entrance to the garden, the tall white columns holding up the roof were decorated with various figures and reliefs. It was extraordinarily beautiful, and as you looked around for a long time you were surprised to realize that Octavius had already gotten out of the cart and was waiting for you to come out.

"My lady," you were even more surprised when he offered you his hand.

You lifted the hem of your cloak and carefully stepped down from the carriage.

"I am not a lady, sir," you gripped the handle of your bag tightly instead of taking his hand.

Octavius withdrew his hand and looked at you in confusion.

"I know, I didn't want to address you as a slave, you are so much more."

On the outside, this burly man had a stern temperament that was not to be crossed, but he was very kind.

"That's all right, sir, I appreciate your kindness, may I ask you something if I don't overstep my bounds?"

He nodded.

“Why am I here? Why did the General buy me?”

Obviously, he didn't care about you for ten days, why did he suddenly remember you and bring you to his villa, you wondered.

"Ask him when he arrives, I was only supposed to bring you here, I must leave now as I have completed my mission."

"Sir!"

A middle-aged, chubby woman ran up to you, and from the way she looked at him, you realized that she knew Octavius very well. She was about to ask him something, but she turned her head and looked you up and down, her eyes wide with astonishment.

"A slave? Or did the emperors send her as a gift to our master again?"

You took a step back, your eyes wide with panic, and turned your head to Octavius.

A gift? What did she mean by that, you asked yourself.

“No, they didn't send her. The general bought her from the slaver,” Octavius stated firmly as he strode towards the carriage. "Show her to her room and make her comfortable. I have to go now."

"Yes, sir," she said, then turned her head to you.

But you were looking at the carriage speeding away, feeling abandoned by his departure.

“Hurry up, girl, inside with me. The General is almost here. You need to dress properly," she commanded, beckoning you with her hand.

You did as she said, and passed between the imposing columns, entered the garden with a large pool in the center which welcomed you with its sparkling water. The villa had a large courtyard and more than one garden. In the center of the square pool in this garden was a statue of Neptune holding a spear in his hand.

There were vines surrounding the tall white columns and short trees accompanying them, and in front of them, a fountain made of white marble. You listened to the sound of the water running through the fountain as you walked behind the woman. It seemed peaceful, but that was not exactly what you felt inside.

When you entered a small room, the woman called one of the other girls over. In this room, there were two wooden wardrobes and a large wooden chest. A young girl with red hair came running to you. The other woman grabbed you by the arm and looked at your clothes, her face disgusted.

“Dress this girl quickly, she must be ready before the master arrives,” she touched your hair and ran her fingers through it as if combing it. “She looks like she's had a bath, but her clothes look terrible, get rid of them when you're done,” she said as if giving orders. It was obvious that she was in charge of things here, maybe because of his age.

The girl opened the closet door and took out a white silk and tulle fabric. You took out your bag and put it aside, but you were not comfortable. After all, there was something very important in your bag.

"Are you nervous?" the girl asked you curiously when the other woman left.

"A little, but about what?"

"About spending the night with the General," she said, lowering her voice.

You looked at her in shock. ‘I'm certainly not here for that,’ your voice trembled with anger.

The girl let out a little sigh as she helped you get undressed. You felt uneasy, but she was so kind and gentle. ”He won't touch you anyway,” she opened the wardrobe and took a piece of fabric in her arm. “He’s never touched any of the girls the emperors have sent for him. They've all been sent away the next day."

"Why is that?" Your voice boomed in the small room, couldn't help but wonder why a man would refuse such a thing.

The girl laughed at your reaction, and you smiled back shyly. She stood in front of you, draped the wool fabric dress over your shoulders, letting it drop over your breasts, and tied it to the belt around your waist. Your arms and neckline were bare, and you covered your wrist with your hand, but it was clear she didn't care about the bruise. "Nobody's sure, but we think it might be because of his wife whom he divorced a long time ago. He's a noble and decent man. I'm sure he'll treat you well, just like he treats all of us.”

"He bought me, not the emperor," you stated assertively, tugging at the belt around your waist and trying to feel comfortable.

"Did he? That’s even more strange. He hasn't bought any new slaves for a long time." The girl touched your hair, combing it with her fingers and gathering a strand on the right side before fastening it with a thin hairpin. "But maybe it's because you are so beautiful," she said, smiling at you warmly. "Where are you from?”

"I grew up in Alexandria, but as far as I know, I am Roman, an orphan," you stated confidently. "You don't look like Roman though."

The girl smiled but her eyes held a hint of sadness. "I was taken as a captive of war at the age of fourteen, but I tried to escape, and the slaver beat me to death." She took a deep breath and continued. “I would have died on those cold cobblestones if he had not been kind enough to buy me and let me live in his villa here.”

You suddenly realized that your story didn't seem as bad as hers. You felt sorry for her.

"I apologize," you said sincerely.

She had a warm smile, and warm brown eyes, her hair was a mixture of red and orange, and she had freckles on her face, she was friendly and one of the nicest people you would meet in a long time. She touched your shoulder with a warm smile.

"The General isn't as harsh and ruthless as he seems. If he brought you here, he must like you. You're lucky."

“But he's never met me,” you said suddenly. There was no situation in which he could have liked you. In fact, he almost broke your wrist because he thought you were the enemy.

That's why you were worried. You wanted to believe he was a good man, but your instincts told you otherwise.

"I'm Norell, by the way," she said, smiling.

"I've never heard that name before," you said, raising your eyebrows.

"It means from the north. I'm from Scandinavia. Do you have a name?"

You wanted to tell her the name your uncle and his wife had given you, but the woman from earlier came over and scolded you both a little for stalling. When she tried to take your bag, you resisted strongly and held it in your arms.

She frowned at you and pointed to the bag, "It looks old and dirty. Put it where you will stay, out of my sight. Norell, show her where she'll be staying. I have to check the kitchen.”

"Yes, Tullia," she said as she led you out of the room. You touched your new clothes as you walked into another room. These clothes were ordinary clothes that any slave would wear, but for you they were unusual. You'd always worn men's clothes when you were with your uncle. You'd never let your hair hang over your shoulders outside the house. That's why you almost like dressing like that if you ignore the fact that your neck and shoulders are completely exposed.

"This way," Norell said, pointing to a room that was slightly larger than the last one. There were two mattresses a large wooden chest and a small closet in the corner. She pointed to one of the mattresses against the wall.

"You can sleep here.”

It wasn't the most comfortable option, but it was far superior to the beds in the Valetudinarium. You sat down and put your bag under the blanket. Meanwhile, she was observing you curiously.

"It's what's left of my family," you explained.

"Don't worry, I would never touch your things," she assured you. You trusted her, even though you'd only just met. But you'd promised your uncle about the letter, so you tucked it under the mattress when she left the room. You were eager to open it, but you wanted to make sure you were completely alone first.

While you were sitting there, you realized how tired you were. You didn't know if it was the effect of traveling with the ship, but your head still felt like it was shaking. Your body was almost collapsing when you noticed a cat outside the window.

Since you grew up in Egypt, you had a cat in your old house too, that looked just like this cat, was dark black with beautiful green eyes. You called it over with your hand, but it ran ahead, towards another garden in the courtyard so you ran excitedly to it.

As you followed her at a brisk pace, you couldn't fit through the gap the cat could, so you entered through the wooden gate of this separate garden, fortunately, it was open. It's a beautiful garden with many herbs, plants and flowers. You distinctly remember using the hypericum (St. John's wort) plant with your uncle on many occasions. This is a medicinal plant with healing properties. You sat on the grass and picked a bunch of hypericum. You crushed the leaves with your fingertips and rubbed the bruises on your wrist with the liquid that came out. Then the cat brushes its tail against your feet. You take her in your arms, sit her on your lap, and begin stroking her head feeling her soft hair under your fingers making you feel peaceful. But you were exhausted and could not keep your eyes open, so you lay down and closed them. 

As the general arrived at his villa, the sun was preparing to bid farewell to the capital of Rome. He had barely sat down since he stepped ashore. He was tired, yes, but also filled with an indescribable excitement. He tried to remember why or when he had felt this way for so long, but he couldn't even remember. He had been on the road for months, on his way to Egypt to put down the rebellion. He had finally succeeded, but it had exhausted him. Moreover, being assassinated and wounded on the way back, and having one of his soldiers mutiny while he was recovering, was not something an ordinary man could handle. He touched his wound through his leather armor and felt grateful to one who healed him. Even though his body was so tired, he was determined to meet this girl.

Tullia greeted him with a happy smile and ran to him.

“Sir! You're home at last! I sacrificed three pigs to Mars to ensure your safe return!”

Acacius smiled at her and stepped out of the carriage, his eyes fixed on the garden of his villa. "Tullia, the girl Octavius brought here today, I want to see her." His voice was firm and impatient.

"Yes, master, he did. She's inside. Come in."

Acacius strode into the garden, leaving the squire struggling to keep up. He looked around but couldn't find what he was looking for. "I don't see her, Tullia. Where is she?"

Tullia swallowed, "My lord, she was here. I'll find her," she said as she started to leave, but Acacius stopped her by raising his hand.

"Send her to my room and prepare my bath," he ordered, heading for the stone stairs leading to his room.

Everyone mobilized to find you at once and prepare their master's bath.

His squire entered Acacius's room and helped him remove his armor. Once he was finished, he left the room. Acacius removed the shin guards from his knees and took a deep breath, now wearing only his burgundy tunic. He felt relieved but still impatient and decided to go out onto the balcony to watch the scenery. He was thinking about you when he gazed at the gorgeous city in the distance. He smiled to himself as he recalled his first experience of falling in love. He had assumed that he would never feel that way again, ever since he had turned his back on love. He was convinced that Venus’s son Cupid would never grant him a new love. All this time he thought of himself as an unlucky lover, punished by Mars, the god of war. Mars had endowed him with the ability to fight, he wondered if it was because love could be his weak point. He was about to find out.

As he made his way inside, he noticed something in the garden below that caught his eye. He noticed a young girl with golden hair, resting on the green grass in the garden that bordered his chambers.

Acacius made his way down the stairs of his balcony, his heart beating faster with each step, filled with excitement and curiosity. As he made his way down the last step and drew closer to you, he was a little disappointed to see your eyes were closed. He was curious to see those eyes he'd seen in the tent before. He approached you and leaned in, looking at the beautiful girl sleeping peacefully, waiting for you to open your eyes, just as you were waiting for him then. He looked at your wrist and, gently grasping it, was pleased to see the bruises. His fingers matched the purple spots, as if they were meant to be there.

You felt pressure on your wrist where the bruise was. You opened your eyes, not because of the pain, but because you were already dreaming about it, remembering that moment. When you realized that his face was just a few inches away from yours, you opened your eyes wide in surprise. You wondered if you were still dreaming. His dark brown eyes had taken over yours, making it impossible to look away. Then his perfectly-shaped lips curled into a wide smile.

"So it was you," he said with soft voice.

You were rendered speechless. You attempted to rise to your feet, but he grasped your shoulders gently, maintaining eye contact with you.

"I made a mistake. I apologize," you mumbled.

"Mistake? You healed me, so there's no mistake or reason to apologize.” He smirked and stood up, holding out his hand. Despite your initial hesitation, you took his hand and got to your feet.

"I shouldn't have slept here like this," you said, embarrassed, as you shook your dress out to get rid of the leaves and dirt.

“It was such a treat to watch,” he smiled at your surprised face and turned around heading to the stairs. "Come with me," he beckoned you, not asking, but commanding.

You followed him without complaint, though your tension has increased. Acacius entered his room and waited for you to come in. As you entered from the balcony, you saw the armor he had just taken off on the right. Beyond that was a desk and chair, then a small table and two chairs, and in the other corner, a large bed and a closet.

Tullia came in with a tray of food, knocking on the door of his room first.

She opened her eyes in surprise when she saw you.

"I've been looking for you all over. What have you been up to?"

Before you could respond, he ordered, "Leave us alone and let me know when the bath is ready.”

“Yes master," she said, giving you a quick look before she left.

"Are you hungry?" he asked while pouring wine into a cup.

You shook your head no but it was a lie, your eyes were on the food, swallowing. He smirked, sat down in a chair, and took a sip of wine. "Sit," he indicated the chair opposite him with a gesture.

When you didn't, he frowned. "I know you're hungry. Come," he said, his voice unyielding this time.

You approached and sat across from him, avoiding eye contact meanwhile.

"Eat," he commanded, pointing to the spoon.

You took a spoonful of food you had never seen before, but it looked delicious. As soon as you put it in your mouth and swallowed, you felt the bite reach your empty stomach. Realizing how hungry you were, you quickly took another bite, surprised even by yourself.

He watched you closely, his eyes were on your hands. With a quick move, he grabbed your other hand gently, and placed it in his palm, as if measuring sizes. "These fingers are too thin to be a medicus," he muttered, looking at you. "How did you become a medicus? It must have been very difficult for you as a woman."

As you swallowed the morsel, he poured another glass of wine and handed it to you. You were taken aback by his unexpected politeness, but took the cup from his hand, then took a quick sip.

"My uncle taught me everything I know, sir," you confessed.

"This Medicus was your uncle?"

"He was, yes," you almost whispered, the mention of him having renewed your pain. He studied your face, reading your expression.

"May the Gods bless his soul and grant him sustenance in Elysium. I’ve never met him, but thanks to his knowledge I am still breathing, I will be grateful to him until the last moment of my life.”

As he speaks, you sense a sincerity in his voice that helps to ease your pain a little. You are surprised that you do not feel the same resentment towards him as you did before. His words seem to console you.

“You're not his slave, then. Who are you?"

He looked at you with unwavering eyes, waiting for your answer.

“I am Aya the orphan, a girl who was found on the banks of the Nile when little and raised by the man I called uncle, sir,” you stated frankly, but he appeared perplexed.

Acacius leaned back, still looking at you ‘Aya’ he murmured himself. ‘It's a name I've never heard before, I wish to know its meaning.’ He crossed his arms.

“This name I was given to me by my uncle and his deceased wife means ‘miracle.’ I believe they thought I was sent to them by the Gods.” You looked at him, feeling uneasy. “I think it’s-.”

“It's beautiful,” he completed your sentence in his way, and you took another sip from your cup, feeling his eyes still on you.

“You said you were an orphan? You don't know your mother or father? Your uncle must have found out why they abandoned you in the river.”

You shook your head, you didn't know, but he didn't seem to be satisfied with that answer. He put his cup down on the table, then stood up and walked over to you.

"Your uncle, or the man who found you, raised you as a medicus until this age. You probably had to wear men's clothes all the time. He let you live as a man, not as a woman. More, he never wanted you to marry a man," you noticed that he said the word 'marry' in a different tone. You felt like he was interrogating you also startled as he knelt beside you. "Like he's hiding you from something or someone.”

He was waiting for an answer, but his face being so close made you tense up. You had to take a moment before answering him.

“I was pleased with helping other people, curing them as a medicus, sir. He never forced me to do anything I don’t want to.” You were confident and sincere, and he could hear it in your tone.

He stood up abruptly, “I see,” he murmured still thinking about it. There was a knock at the door. They informed him that his bath was ready. "I want you to accompany me," he said suddenly, his smile making your heart race but you were trying to figure out the best way to decline his offer gently and respectfully.

"Sir, I-“

“Since I’m so tired, I want you to help me bathe, and as my medicus, you should check my wound, right?”

"That makes me your medicus as well as your slave," you frowned at him.

He approached you with a bold move that made you jump, but he had a mischievous look on his face. "I'm gonna have to get completely undressed for both, so."

Your cheeks flushed and you tried to look away, but you knew he was right and you hated it.

He opened the door and gestured for you to follow him, you took a deep breath and followed him. Norell smiled when she noticed you going downstairs, but you couldn't smile back, following him to the bathhouse made you nervous.

As you moved from the courtyard to the other, to the west wing, you could tell by the smells that the kitchen was there. It’s because of the hot water circulation, just opposite the kitchen was the balneum (small bath house). There was no separate bath house in your uncle's small house, so you had to go to the Egyptian bath house three or four times a week to bathe.

Tullia pushed the door open for you two to enter. Acacius told her to leave you two alone and closed the door after you entered. The hot water was ready, and the balneum was filled with the scent of various oils and essences that dissipated in the steam with the heat of the water. Since you were well-versed in herbs, you could easily tell which scents belonged to which flowers by their aroma.

When you saw Acacius heading for the bathtub, you clenched your dress in your hands. It was scorching hot inside and you were sweating buckets. He turned to you, and you knew from the look in his eyes that he was asking you to come closer. You walked towards him, trying your best not to think about anything else but his wound. He grabbed your fingers and led them to the hem of his burgundy tunic, making you grasp it. He watched you patiently as you tried to stay calm, pulling the tunic up to check his wound. He seemed to enjoy it when he noticed you were tense.

“I need to take it off completely. Could you?" he said in a soft, gentle voice.

You took a deep breath and pulled the tunic from his head with trembling hands, letting it fall to the ground, trying to ignore the fact that he was completely naked in front of you. You concentrated on his abdomen where his wound was, trying not to look down at his lower parts. As your fingers traced his abdomen to check his wound, his eyes wandered over your face, admiring your beauty.

“It is almost completely healed on the surface, sir, but it may take a little longer to heal completely from the inside. If you feel any pain or inflammation, I may need to make a herbal ointment,” you said as your eyes caught by his.

He brought his face closer to yours and you felt the heat radiating from his lips. You could feel the steamy air and your sweat making your dress a little damp. His hot breath caressed your neck, making your heart race and you almost gave yourself to him to take you, but you managed to pull yourself back.

Acacius chuckled, turned, and sat down in the bathtub. The water rose with his weight, and some flowers floating on the surface hit the edge.

He seemed to relax, threw his head back, and closed his eyes, making a gesture with his hand.

“Rub my back a little, maybe your soft, healing hands can take away some of the pain.”

“That sounds more like the work of a slave than a medic," you muttered, he ignored you but you could see his lips curl into a half smile.

When you touched his shoulders with your fingers he sighed, you tried not to care but he seemed strangely pleased, a soft moan escaping his lips as you rubbed in gentle strokes. Your eyes traced the scars on his body, wondering how he got them.

“The God Asclepius must have endowed you with his healing powers," he purred. How can I repay the owner of these fingers that healed me?”

Suddenly, you stop rubbing his back and glare at his face behind his partially curly and gray hair, trying to think of something to say.

“I wish you would set me free," you bit your lower lip, wondering if it was too much to ask.

Acacius opened his eyes. "You have no family to go to, do you wish to return to your home and live all alone?

He was right. Even if you went back to your home, you wouldn't have an uncle or anyone to live with. You had to face this truth and you hated it. He turned his head to you, "Shall I give you a chance to choose?”

You tilted your head to look at him, the steamy air making your throat dry.

“If you don't want to be my slave, why don't you live here as my medicus? I am a soldier and a warrior, I may need your help in the future.” As he turned his body fully towards you in the tub, some of the squashed water ran out and soaked the hem of your dress.

“Wouldn't you stay here to heal me?”

“But I am a woman, sir, I cannot be a medicus, no one would call me that.”

“As long as you are under my roof, you will be called that,” he said in a reassuring tone.

“But I will remain your slave outside this roof?”

“You will, yes.”

“And will you set me free one day?”

“No,” he said loudly, his voice echoed off the marble walls.

When you sighed and pouted, his large hand cupped your chin, then slowly slid to your neck to your shoulder, moving to the fabric of your dress, clearly trying to gauge your reaction meanwhile. You grabbed his hand and stopped it as he peeled the fabric over your shoulder, "I choose to be your medicus, not your slave, sir.”

“Very well,” Acacius snickered, grabbed your wrist this time, and looked closely at the bruise. “It seems to be healing,” his fingers rubbing your bruise, somehow you didn’t feel angry, you liked it when he touched you with his big strong fingers like only they can heal it.

“I won't touch you against your will,” he assured you. Then he pulled his hand away and laid back, closed his eyes again. “You may leave now,” he said coldly as if trying to calm himself.

You were grateful, but you couldn't ignore the feeling of his absence on your skin. But you did as he said, left him alone in the balneum and went out. You shivered as the fresh air hit your almost wet body as Norell approached you with dry and clean clothes in her arms.

“Is he coming out?”

“No, he asked me to leave him alone.” You wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

That night in your new room under the roof of your new home, after a long talk with her, you waited patiently for Norell to fall asleep, but your eyes were so heavy you couldn't keep them open any longer.

You were planning to open the letter when you woke up, but you never got around to it. It was not as easy as it seemed to be alone in this big villa.

But since you saw the General leaving the house in a hurry in the morning, you knew his room was the best place to be. No one could get into his room while he was away, and this was your only chance. You were told he would be back late in the evening, so you had time to open the letter.

You weren't sure what to expect, but you were determined to find out. You considered the possibility that your true family might be wealthy or even royal. But why did they want to push you away or abandon you? What did the previous emperor's seal mean? Why did he seal with his own? Was it normal for him to put his own seal on every letter? There were so many possibilities and questions but you were tired of thinking. You were going to open it as soon as possible, find out everything, and move on.

In the villa, everyone was preoccupied with their morning chores, so it was simple to slip away unnoticed. You were already on a mission to collect the dirty laundry and bring it downstairs to the wash, so you had a good excuse if you got caught.

You strode into the general's room, took a quick look around, and put the dirty laundry he had taken off into the laundry basket in your hand. Then you put the laundry basket aside and sat down on the floor next to it. When you were sure that no one was coming, you took out the letter you had tucked between your chest and the fabric of your dress and started to read.

You took a deep breath, carefully pulled and removed the rope around the letter without harming the seal, then lifted it, which belonged to the previous emperor Septimius Severus, and opened the letter. You saw the letters clearly written in neat handwriting.

“My dearest child, my beloved daughter blessed with golden hair and hazel eyes. The irises of your eyes are a soft brown hue, with a greenish tint, as if they contained the nascent growth of spring.

Gazing into your eyes, I see Rome, the beautiful and prosperous days that await her. You bestow joy and fortitude upon me, enabling me to actualize this vision. It is my ardent aspiration to ensure your collective felicity and to witness your growth and prosperity. It has been a considerable span of time since I lost your mother, my esteemed wife, the resplendent Paccia Marciana. I am yet to fully acclimate to her absence, but I had to remarry because I had to have an heir. I don't want to offend you, my pretty, golden-haired daughter. I do not intend to accuse you of being a girl. I hope you won't misunderstand me child, but I'm afraid it's not possible for you to stay in Rome. Julia is not as understanding as your mother Marciana. My son Caracalla is even less so. He is a very cruel boy. I am concerned that when I ascend to the Gods to the Elysium and he is on the throne, he may be troubled by your presence and do you harm. I cannot allow them to harm you in memory of your mother, so I must send you away from them, away from all. I have placed my old friend Vibius, the medicus from my youth, in the land of Egypt. I believe you will be safe with him. It would be best for you to be as far away from here as possible. I truly hope that Caracalla will rule Rome well. I am not entirely certain, but I sincerely wish to believe that he will.

And I hope that when you are a young girl, reading this letter, you will understand my reasons for sending you away. You are my firstborn child, my only daughter with spring eyes and golden hair, the first of the name Septimia Aurelia, who brought blessings to Rome the year she was born. And you will always remain so my sweet child.

Your father,

Imperator Caesar Lucius Septimius Severus Pertinax Augustus.” 

You read each sentence again and again to make sure you hadn't read it wrong. Everything was correct. You closed your eyes and threw your head back, and you knew it was real, not imagined. You sat there, detached from time and reality, as tears rolled down your cheeks and dripped onto the letter you were holding with trembling hands. Your life began to pass before your eyes piece by piece, the lush green fields where you used to run around with joy as a little girl, the people you called uncle and aunt who raised you with love, always protecting you from the outside, keeping you away from other people, your uncle taking you on as an apprentice when you were very young and teaching you all his knowledge, buying you flashy girl's clothes on the condition that you only wear them at home when you wanted to wear them, insisting that you always wear a cloak when you went out in public, all of these were completed like the missing pieces that brought you back to where you belonged.

You wished you had never opened the letter, never imagining that the truth would hurt so much and leave you so helpless. You had no home to go to, your Empress mother and Emperor father were no longer alive. In their place were your Emperor brothers and their mother, your stepmother, and your father had warned you about them in no uncertain terms.

The word "Emperor" will forever hold a new meaning for you. Everything you knew, everything you learned, everything you lived, felt different now. But you were the same person. It was unreasonable to expect you to be anyone else, regardless of what your name was.

As you wiped away your tears, you heard voices outside and swiftly folded the letter back into its original shape. You didn't have time to hide it. Your first thought was to put it into the general's wooden chest full of papyrus, empty envelopes, and papers. You would come and get it later.

“What are you doing here?”

The last thing you expected to hear was the General's voice yet he was there, had opened the door looking at you curiously. He was wearing an all-white tunic, white leather armor and a white shawl that fluttered like angel wings in the wind behind his shoulders, all embroidered with gold. Seeing him like that you forgot the shock you just had, he was looking breathtaking. Suddenly you realized that you didn't answer his question, so you quickly picked up the basket. “I'm here to pick up the laundry, sir,” you said bowing your head, hoping he wouldn't be suspicious.

“I thought you chose to be a medicus and not a slave,” he said as he approached you. “Let the others do it, come with me now.” He grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the room with a serious look on his face, hurried down the stairs, and stopped to call Norell out as he observed your clothes. "Dress her properly," he ordered.

While you were trying to figure out what was going on, Norell held your hand and led you to the dressing room to do his bidding. She opened the wardrobe took out some fabrics, all white, and placed them on a chair in the room. You couldn't help but ask when you saw that the clothes were different from the last time.

“Why am I wearing these?” you asked her curiously.

“Today's a bit special.”

You were startled to hear the General's voice just outside the door.

“And the color of the dress you're wearing has to match mine.”

How can I match his charm, you thought, it wasn’t possible.

You didn't mind being naked in front of Norell, but knowing the General was just outside the door made you a little nervous. Norell sensed your unease and giggled, then she helped you put on a white tunic, then a peplos (long dress) of the same color and a gold embroidered palla over your shoulders, then tied it around your slim waist and put the other part over your head. She was an expert, or so you felt because it was the first time you had ever worn this kind of dress. You felt as if the wish you had made as a little girl had come true. Norell combed your hair, first downwards and slightly side parted, then combed it again, then braided it, took a piece from the front left and twisted it round the back of your head. She secured the twist inside the braid by inserting a wire barrette inside the braid and finished the braid, letting it hang over one shoulder. When she was finished she looked at you and smiled, “You look beautiful. Now all that's left are the accessories.”

The General opened the door, he eyed you up to down, then grabbed your arm gently. He gestured to Norell, and soon she returned bearing a box containing a gold bracelet and assorted jewelry which produced a tinkling sound when she moved.

“Sir, these don't look like something a slave would wear,” you were surprised.

Acacius quickly put the bracelets on your upper arm and wrists. “My slave wears whatever I want,” he said firmly, his gaze fixed on you one last time, a confident smile on his face. You felt your cheeks flush, but the word ‘slave’ bothered you more than before. Yet you still couldn't be angry with the General, not when he was dressed like this.

“But where exactly are we going?”

“To the place where the ceremony will take place, then to the Colosseum. Come on, get your sandals on, we have to hurry.”

Norell appeared beside you, lifted your foot, and helped you quickly put on the sandals, despite your insistence.

“Looks pretty,” he pushed back a few strands of hair that had fallen on your forehead with a gentle touch then you weren't sure whether he was in a hurry or impatient, he put his arm around you and pulled you out of the courtyard with quick steps.

“I saw you leaving, this morning,” you said while Acacius tugged and pulled the shawl he was sitting on with his hands to feel comfortable.

He cleared his throat. “That’s right,” he looked at you. “I didn't want you to miss a day like this, so I came back for you,” he admitted. How could he be such a charming, gentle, and at the same time dangerous warrior? You also wondered how all your anger, all your resentment towards him had passed so quickly.

“I'm grateful, sir,” you said sincerely, he smiled at you.

As soon as the carriage entered the alleys of the Capitoline Hill, one noticed that the streets were full of people, just like yesterday. It was as if no one had returned home and spent the night on the streets. Soon as the carriage approached Via Sacra Street, you realized you were wrong, it was even more crowded than yesterday. In Egypt, such crowds only gathered on special occasions and religious festivals. However, you were not used to being in a crowd, walking freely in the streets, especially when you were dressed as a woman. Despite having resolved the queries that had troubled you since childhood, you still felt unfulfilled. It was not that you held any resentment towards anyone, but your father and uncle both tried to do you good in their way, but you still couldn't help feeling wronged. Somewhere deep in your heart, a voice kept telling you that something was wrong, and it grew louder with each passing moment. What your uncle had said to you kept echoing in your head. “You’re going to have to choose.”

But what were you going to choose? To go to your emperor brothers and explain everything and have them give you official recognition and hope that they don't kill you as a result, or to go back to Egypt as if nothing had happened and live as before, far away from everyone and everything?

“What makes you think so much? I wonder.”

At the general's voice, all your thoughts dissipated like a cloud of dust. You had almost forgotten that you were in the cart together and that he was sitting in the seat opposite you like a statue of a god.

“I'm a little nervous, sir,” you said honestly.

“Nervous about seeing the Colosseum for the first time?”

He was right, that was one of the reasons, but the real reason was the thought of seeing your half-brothers in the flesh.

“Yes,” you clenched the fabric of your dress.

“We'll be there after the ceremony, I'd love to have you with me but the slaves and others will be watching from the stands upstairs. I could ask the emperors for special permission for you to stand beside me, but I am concerned that your beauty will inevitably attract their attention,” there was not the slightest trace of humor in his voice. It would have worked in your favour, if you didn't feel ready to face your stepbrothers.

“Sir, it's not a problem really, I'll watch from where I'm supposed to be,” you said with a half smile.

“The more I can keep you away from them the better,” he murmured vaguely, peering out from behind the curtain. “Here we are.”

When the carriage stopped, the crowd's enthusiasm rose, Acacius stood up and came in front of you, a serious expression on his face as he reached for your hand and grasped it.

“It is no longer possible for me to hold your hand and for us to walk side by side, you can follow me at a distance.” He stroked your fingers with his thumb, withdrew his hand, and got out of the carriage.

You looked at him as he got out, his shawl fluttering in the wind behind him, caressing the steps of the cart.

“Sir!” Octavius ran towards him through the crowd, cheerful. You watched the two of them with their backs turned, talking to each other, the crowd chanting the General's name. Then they both turned their heads back towards you, Acacius nodded for you to come out, no one was looking at you anyway, and all the attention was on him, you took a deep breath and climbed down out of the carriage. Acacius and Octavius made sure you got out and began walking forward. As you walked behind them, keeping your eye distance, you could hear people talking and chanting. You couldn't help but wonder if one day if something happened and you sat on the throne as the emperor's daughter, would they cheer for you like that? You shook your head and tried to dismiss the absurd thought.

Acacius and Octavius were joined by other soldiers, and it was clear from the crowd that there were many people from different social classes. The wealthy, the nobles, the dignitaries, the craftsmen, and the slaves. Looking at them, you realized your clothes seemed strange to you. They had almost no jewelry on their sleeves; they were ordinary. But here, slaves could accompany their masters or enter the Colosseum, unlike in Egypt. The crowd also included women, nobles who looked at you with a piercing gaze. At first, you were perplexed by their actions. But when you looked them up and down, you saw the problem: jealousy. In Egypt, everyone ignored you, thinking you were a thin young boy in a strange cloak. Here in Rome, you were a beautifully dressed young girl, the envy of even the noblewomen. Life should be full of miracles and surprises.

The Roman triumph was a civil ceremony and religious rite of ancient Rome, held to publicly celebrate and sanctify the success of a military commander who had led Roman forces to victory in the service of the state or, in some historical traditions, one who had successfully completed a foreign war.

The venue for the ceremony was the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, one of the most important temples in the capital. Most Roman festivals were calendar fixtures, tied to the worship of particular deities. While the triumphal procession culminated at Jupiter's temple on the far end of the Via Sacra (sacred road) in the Roman Forum, the procession itself, attendant feasting, and public games promoted the general's status and achievement. In effect, the general was close to being "king for a day", and possibly close to divinity.

Accompanied by the red rose petals thrown to him to honor him, the General ascended the white marble stairs of the temple with quick steps, shining like pearls in the sun. At that moment you immediately recognised them, they were not unnoticeable anyway, your half-brothers, the emperors, approached the General. They were dressed in white and gold, just like him. From their appearance, it was not difficult to guess which one was Geta and which one was Caracalla. The general greeted them with a hand pressed to his chest and Geta gently placed the golden crown of laurel leaves on his head. While everyone was shouting and cheering with enthusiasm, you suddenly felt a pain somewhere deep in your chest. You deserved to be with them, you wanted to be, it was your birthright. But your emperor father had to take you away, was it because you were not a man? He had asked you not to blame him, not to be angry with him, but you couldn't help it, as they stood there in all their reality you realized that you really had to choose. If not now, one day. Looking at him from a distance, Caracalla raised his hands towards the people and spoke, and you wondered if your father's warning about him had been right. His hair was the same colour as yours, but his face was different. His eyes were wide with excitement and eagerness. He didn't seem so bad besides you knew it was wrong to judge a person at first glance.

You soon realized that there was some tension between him and the priest next to him, Geta raised his hand to silence him, which was very rude and disrespectful. Obviously, your half-brother was not a man of religious tradition.

“Now that our ceremony is finally over, are we ready to watch the big games?”

The whole crowd let out a roar of excitement, and it was clear that everyone was just as pumped as he was.

“Then let's head to the Colosseuuuuuuuuuuum!” he shouted and pointed in the direction of the Colosseum with his right hand.

“Our gladiators are waitiiiiiiiing!” Caracalla joined him in shouting, their voices blending and echoing throughout Capitoline Hill.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing when you realised that the General was smiling forcibly as he applauded him, you could see how annoyed he was with them. Fighting all these emotions inside you, you had neglected to pay attention to the general, but if anyone dazzled you more than anyone else, it was him. With his golden crown on his head, he was more than an emperor, he was like a God, the son of Mars, Marcus himself, who more than lived up to his name. He was glamorous, sending his radiance first into your eyes and then sending vibrations deep into your chest. As your heart beat faster than ever, you wondered if this was what love felt like. If love wasn't what this man was making you feel this way, what else could it be? You could only guess because no one had ever advised you to do so. So you realised that you wanted to remain this man's slave until you die without revealing your identity.

Now that the crowd was heading away from the temple towards the Colosseum, you followed them. You tried to keep the general and Octavius in sight, but it was difficultPeople were hurrying along, bumping into you. As people rushed past, you wanted to go to another direction to avoid getting lost, you passed more people and got closer to the temple, and you looked for him. You saw the Emperors and General were going down the road in a chariot. You were about to run after them when the senators came down the stairs. And then your eyes met with a dark-browned skin member of the senate, he looked at you with wide eyes. You looked away and went into the crowd because he was coming towards you. But more people were coming from the road, so you turned left and went behind the temple to hide. When you reached the corner wall, you looked back and saw no one. Then someone called out to you as you headed towards the other road. You ignored him, but this time he called you by name. “Wait, Aurelia!”

You froze in shock. That was your real name, and you thought everyone who knew it was dead. You turned your head with curiosity and saw the man from earlier running towards you. You gripped the dress fabric in your hands feeling extremely nervous. The man was panting as he approached. "Is it really you?"

You swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, sir, but I think you mistaken me for someone else."

The man looked you in the eye and smiled with confidence. "I'd recognise those eyes anywhere, it's you." He was observing your hair. "Septimia Aurelia, do you know how much I have searched for you, my lady?"

@myownwholewildworld @orcasoul @pedroslut4eva @immyowndefender @lailathepedritofan @screechingchildfury

if anyone wants me to tag them please comment :) thank you all <3

[eunsuri]

Sanctuary

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Summary: While spending time in your sanctuary, Namor's latest artwork captures your attention.

Word Count: 1287

A/N: I just can't get this beautiful, stunning, gorgeous man out of my mind so I had to write this. This was meant to be a lot longer, but I hated the flashback so I cut it down to something cute and sweet for now hehe hope y'all enjoyyy! Let ya girl know what you think 🤍

For those who prefer to read on AO3, I’ve also posted it there! 🤍

Sanctuary; protection or a safe place. That’s what Namor’s cavern had become to you over the years. Your sanctuary.

Talokan was beautiful, it was almost unbelievable to see an entire nation built underwater, a sun made of vibranium glowing above Namor’s gilded throne, bringing light to the depths of the ocean. You would gladly spend hours on end just exploring the kingdom, and speaking to locals who initially gawked at you, a surface dweller, swimming through their cities. But this cavern was your safe haven.

A relaxed sigh slipped through your lips, tilting your head back to take in the magnificent art in front of you.  You would often find Namor there, painting stories intricately across the walls, splashes of vibrant colors melted together to create a visual history of his world. It was his sanctuary too.

You gently tugged his cloak closer over your shoulders as you stood, stepping closer to the wall and tracing your fingers over the figure which depicted himself, along with the Black Panther, telling the story of the alliance formed with Wakanda. A small smile pulled at the corners of your lips, your eyes trailing to the left where you discovered a more recent painting, a familiar figure decorating the wall.

It was your story. 

Your escape from the research facility, the crash landing into the large cave, your near death at Namor’s hand. You were a surface dweller with strange power he had not seen in all the centuries he’d lived, trapped in a research facility, as scientists attempted to take your power and reproduce it to create more enhanced individuals. 

In your escape, you’d found yourself sent crashing into the waters of Yucatán, where you’d awakened in a large cave with a destroyed ship and surrounded by Talokanil warriors. Namor would have killed you that day for endangering his people, knowing your escape could lead more surface dwellers to Talokan. 

“Do you know what they would do to my people?” He’d spoken dangerously into your ear, gripping your jaw in his hand. “You are too dangerous to be kept alive here.”

And yet, when they came for you, the two of you fought side by side along with the Talokanil army. The agents were slain before they could even reach the water, wiping any trace of your location from the organization. 

When he saw how you cared for his people, aiding any of the wounded that you could and shielding his underwater lands, Namor offered you protection. So long as you remained in Talokan, keeping their nation hidden and protected, you would be safe from the clutches of the surface world.

This was your home now, your safe haven; where you were free to live as you were, in the depths of the ocean, hidden in underwater caverns. 

Your heart swelled at the memories, the lingering scent of Namor wrapped around your shoulders, his cloak warming your skin. The paint was still fresh on the mural, his tools strewn about on the rocky table behind you, waiting to be cleansed for his next piece. 

Namor was a magnificent storyteller, through both his words and his art. His words rung through your ears, memories from when he’d told you the story of how Talokan came to be, about his mother. It was heart-wrenching to hear how his people had fallen victim to the death and diseases brought by Spanish invaders, how they had to leave their lives on the surface and begin anew underwater.

"He called me, 'El Niño sin Amor', 'the child without love'. And I took my name from there. Namor. Because I have no love for the surface world."

It was strange to hear, for a man who was filled with so much love for his people, his nation, the world they’d created for themselves where they could survive without the threat of the death and diseases brought by the surface. He had no love for the surface world or its people, and he would do anything to protect his home from being ravaged again. Yet, he’d found love in a surface dweller.

Rippling water behind you broke you from your thoughts, the sound of jewelry lightly clicking and wings fluttering, causing your heart to skip a beat at his presence. His footsteps were light as he made his way to your side, his figure towering to your right, the golden bands on his wrists glimmering in the corner of your eye. You couldn’t restrain the smile that tugged at your lips, turning silently to face him. 

“My love,” you greeted, before reaching for his hair, pushing it back to reveal more of his face. Namor’s hair was thick between your fingers, it soaked your skin with water as it folded into place.

He was beautiful. From his pointed ears, to the curve of his nose, and his wet lips, which curved into a smile of his own, while his eyes trailed down your cloaked body.

“It suits you,” he complimented, running his hands over your shoulders where the cloak hung and down your arms. “I could have one made for you, as my queen.”

You shook your head, lowering your gaze with a light laugh as a warmth spread across your cheeks. It wasn’t the first time he’d suggested something like this, but it could never be that simple.

“Please, amor. A surface dweller as queen? There would be an outrage.” You chuckled at the idea, lifting your head while he tugged you closer to the warmth of his body. 

“Well, yes.” He nodded, shrugging his adorned shoulders, the stunning jewelry around his neck clicking as it shifted. “But your home is here now. You are no longer a surface dweller, an outsider.”

“And yet, some still look at me as one.” You pressed back softly and shook your head once more. 

You both knew such a prospect could divide the Talokanil, though they loved and revered Namor as K'uk'ulkan, the fear and hatred for the surface world burned in many of their hearts. To see an outsider from the surface take a throne alongside their leader would cause confusion and go against the beliefs of many. While the people showed kindness and respect to you for the work you had done to protect them, some remained wary of your presence. The risk was too high.

Tearing yourself away from the idea, you nodded towards the mural on the wall with his latest creation. “It’s beautiful.”

The warmth of his hand cupped your cheek, bringing comfort to your mind as he regarded you with those deep eyes. The eyes that once glared at you threateningly, ready to kill you, now gazed at you with an adoration that made your heart swell and your stomach flutter. His touch brought you peace and safety. A breath you didn’t know you were holding in escaping quietly through your lips.

“Thank you, for protecting me.” You spoke softly, placing your hand over his and leaning into the comfort of his warmth with a light kiss to his palm.

Namor brought you forward, lowering his forehead to your own. “I’ve waited centuries for you, In yakunaj.” My love. The cool surface of his jewelry tickled at your skin. “You are mine now, and I will always protect you, as long as I live.” 

“In k’áatech.” I love you. You knew he loved it when you spoke his tongue, rewarded with an affectionate smile. “And I will be by your side, always.”

He closed the distance between your lips and you melted into the kiss, feeling all your love pour into him as he drowned you with his own. “In k’áatech.”

He was everything. He was your love, your home, and your sanctuary.

[fel-09]

Clothes for a seamstress

In Mirkwood, an air of anticipation filled the silence before the harvest festival. Elves worked tirelessly to adorn the hall for the celebration, but all the royal attire, exquisite and majestic, was the work of a modest seamstress. For years, she had crafted garments for the elves and for the king himself, finding purpose in her craft.

This time, she had poured special care into Thranduil’s attire. Each stitch held her devotion and precision; each element reflected her pride. His cloak, the color of the midnight sky, was embroidered with golden threads that shimmered like starlight, and intricate symbols of his lineage adorned the cuffs. The garment was beautiful, embodying the wisdom and strength of the king of Mirkwood.

On the day of the celebration, all the garments for the elves were ready. She had meticulously arranged the final touches, assisting each of them in donning their finery, adding pearls and brooches with her delicate touch. Despite her modest role, her work was deeply appreciated—each elf expressed gratitude with warm smiles, though many did not even know her name.

The festivities had begun, and joyous music filled the hall, but the seamstress lingered in her workshop. She hadn’t found time to tend to herself, so she wore a simple, modest dress. Though it was a deep shade of blue, it drew little attention, and the narrow belt only accentuated her slight frame.

Eventually, she made her way to the celebration, hoping to remain inconspicuous. The hall gleamed with torchlight and dazzling outfits. She stood against the wall, quietly observing as Thranduil, dressed in her magnificent creation, greeted the guests. Her heart swelled with satisfaction, though he barely glanced her way. She resolved to stay in the shadows, but just then, an advisor approached and conveyed a simple, solemn request:

"The king wants you to come to his room."

A hint of mystery in his tone left her slightly apprehensive. She didn’t know the reason behind the king’s summons, yet she left the hall and followed him, abandoning her hope of remaining unnoticed. Entering his quarters, she found Thranduil standing by the window, deep in thought. His posture was proud, and when he turned to face her, his expression held a calm but intense authority.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice your contribution to this festival?” he began, his gaze meeting hers. “You labor for everyone, yet you come to the celebration in such humble attire, as if you are of no importance.”

She wanted to respond, but the king stepped closer. “You are a master of your craft and deserve honors no less than any guest here,” he said gently, his tone leaving no room for protest. With that, Thranduil produced a gown of purest white from a chest. Unlike her plain dress, it was beautifully embroidered with silver threads, shimmering in the moonlight like milky rivers beneath the stars. “Allow me,” he murmured, helping her into it.

Every movement of his was filled with respect, and she felt her heart quicken as he He began to take off her clothes slowly, her heart skipped another unexpected beat when she was practically naked in front of him, Thranduil tenderly dressed her in her clothes, his fingers expertly tying the knots in her dress , while his eyes looked at her open neck and shoulders with special trepidation.

He didn't dare to speak first, many years had passed since they stopped talking, because... he was still hurt that he pushed you away because of his grief. But now... His fingers gently ran down your back, making you shudder.

"In those moments several centuries ago... I though ..." Stopping, Thranduil did not dare to continue what he wanted to say, but his arms wrapped around your waist, pressing your back to his chest, burying his nose in your neck.

"I miss you," he whispered, leaving a timid kiss on your shoulder.It was necessary for him...and for you as well, but he wanted to make amends with you.

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Humorous dialogue behind the scenes----->

Link to the post

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[xeno1queen]

Growing Strong With The Dragon - Part II

Aemond Targareyen x Tyrell!Reader

Summary: The wedding day has arrived, maybe the princess won't be as lonely anymore.

Warnings: No warnings, just a chill fic. No character description. Afab.

Authors Note: English is not my first language so the grammar might be a bit janked. After a quick search I found out that going from Highgarden to Kings landing by wheelhouse could take more than 2 months, wtf. Part I

After a long and brutal journey, you found yourself in front of the gate of the gods, a magnificent sight that signified the near end of your journey. As you passed through the city, you noticed that it smelled much worse than you imagined; Highgarden had never smelled this bad and was never this dirty. Once you reached the gates of the Red Keep, you sighed with relief; your horrible journey had finally ended. The loyal servants of the crown were quick to bring yours and your family's baggage to your assigned chambers. You had a small bedroom, much smaller than yours at home but comfortable nonetheless. You had arrived late in the day, so your new ladies-in-waiting helped you change into a more comfortable evening gown. You usually read before going to bed, but tonight things felt different. With the next day being your wedding day, you felt the anxiety from the day you met the prince return. Is he also nervous? Could he be thinking about you? Those questions plagued your mind into the late hours of the evening.

The day of the wedding arrived; your dress had been made by the seamstresses of King’s Landing with your exact measurements and it was a perfect fit. Your ladies-in-waiting woke you up early, and you didn't sleep much, but you weren't tired at all. You felt your heartbeat strong, and your palms sweaty as you got dressed and your hair done, it was braided in a lovely way. You wore a beautiful off-the-shoulders white dress with blue floral embroideries, and your favorite piece of jewelry was placed on your neck, a pearled necklace with the biggest sapphire in Westeros. Being pampered this way made you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. You heard the chime of bells echoing throughout King’s Landing, signifying the wedding was about to begin. The sept was full of lords and ladies that you had never seen but heard much about. Prince Aemond felt nervous but didn't let a bit of that nervousness be shown to those outside his head.

As you entered the sept, everyone got quiet, and you could hear some gasps. It made you feel anxious for being the center of attention, but you also felt powerful. Everyone was there for you and for your prince’s marriage. You were escorted down the aisle by your father, who had a stoic look on his face. Once you reached the end of the aisle and got up the small set of steps, you were given away to your prince with a bow from your father. With you being so close to your soon-to-be husband, he finally noticed the blue stone you had on your neck. It was the same stone that was placed on his missing eye, to him, that felt like a message from the gods that you were meant to be his. Once in front of the Septon, Prince Aemond placed on your shoulders a cloak with the colors of his house and gave you a sincere smile, the first you had seen from him, and you returned his smile with one of your own as you were officially declared husband and wife with a grand applause of all the ladies and lords.

As you arrive in the grand hall for the feasting celebration, you hear drums and your family's name being proclaimed. You move though the filled corridor, everyone has gotten up and looked at you, but the only eye that matters to you is the one from the prince.

Once he saw you enter the throne room, he felt out of breath, almost as if he saw you for the first time again. He never liked the idea of marriage, but seeing you like that made him change his mind. You are going to be his forever.

You climbed the small set of stairs in front of the dining table. Prince Aemond got up and held your hand, softly kissing it as he led you to sit next to him.

As you were eating the appetizers, you felt an immense wave of anxiety as your hand held your dress. "Maybe if I drink more wine, the nervousness will dissipate," you thought to yourself as you emptied your cup. Prince Aemond noticed and he raised his hand asking for more wine for both of you. You looked at him with a soft smile in gratitude and you felt a hand creep under the table to where yours was holding your dress. You felt Prince Aemond's ungloved hand; it was soft, and his fingers were lean. He placed his hand on top of yours as a means to give you comfort in such a stressful moment and you felt your hand ease the pressure on your dress.

After a little while, both of you had to do the bridal dance. You were trained for this dance your whole life and even though you knew you were prepared, you couldn't help but feel nervous. Prince Aemond got up and gave you his hand so you two could go to the middle of the hall and dance. You felt everyone's eyes on you, but dancing made you feel free. You almost felt like you were flying with each spin of your gracious moves. Once the dance was finished, you both bowed, and everyone applauded while joining you in the middle of the room. You both danced together for a while until you were interrupted by another lord asking you for a dance. Seeing you dance with another lord made Aemond's blood boil with rage. Someone else touching what was his by right was not to his liking, so after letting you dance for a while, he swiftly made his return to you with a clenched jaw and grabbed you tightly by the waist. He pressed you against him, you had never experienced such intimacy before, as you were sheltered from men your whole life in means to keep your virtue. This new experience made you feel things you weren't used to; maybe it was the wine doing things to you, but you felt nervous in a different way. Aemond looked into your eyes as you were pressed against him and said, “You look beautiful, my wife.” You felt your whole body get hot. “Thank you, husband.” you answered with a soft smile of gratitude and nervousness on your lips. You couldn't leave each other for the rest of the dance, always making eye contact as if you both were connected. He knew he had made a lasting impression on you.

Taglist: @maddyb-rapps

[hollowed-theory-hall]

can you talk more about harry being able to feel magic throughout the series?

Sure, so there are a few instances I recall of Harry feeling magic and I honestly don't know some of them. Like, some are questionable evidence and some are much clearer...

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. His panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He stepped in front of it.

(PS, 149)

Compared to Ron:

“See?” Harry whispered. “I can’t see anything.” “Look! Look at them all…there are loads of them.…” “I can only see you.” “Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am.” Harry stepped aside, but with Ron in front of the mirror, he couldn’t see his family anymore, just Ron in his paisley pajamas. Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.

(PS, 151)

Ron is implied to not feel the urge to look at the mirror the way Harry does. Not only that but Harry just instinctively gets how the mirror works, where you need to stand to see the reflection, and why Ron can't see it from where he is standing. This isn't something he experimented with before, he just, knew.

Harry couldn’t explain, even to himself, why he didn’t just throw Riddle’s diary away. The fact was that even though he knew the diary was blank, he kept absentmindedly picking it up and turning the pages, as though it were a story he wanted to finish. And while Harry was sure he had never heard the name T. M. Riddle before, it still seemed to mean something to him, almost as though Riddle was a friend he’d had when he was very small, and had half-forgotten. But this was absurd. He’d never had friends before Hogwarts, Dudley had made sure of that.

(CoS, 218)

Harry senses the Horcrux in the diary. It's possible this is because he, too, is a Horcrux and not because he is sensitive to magic in general, but I'm noting it here anyway.

“Three . . .” muttered Mr. Weasley, one eye still on his watch, “two . . . one . . .” It happened immediately: Harry felt as though a hook just behind his navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. His feet left the ground; he could feel Ron and Hermione on either side of him, their shoulders banging into his; they were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; his forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling him magnetically onward and then —

(GoF, 73)

In this above one everyone is urged forward, it's the hook painful sounding sensation I'm not sure others are experiencing.

Moody raised his wand, pointed it at Harry, and said, “Imperio!” It was the most wonderful feeling. Harry felt a floating sensation as every thought and worry in his head was wiped gently away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. He stood there feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of everyone watching him.

(Gof, 231)

Again, I'm just not sure how the Imperius is supposed to feel, but Harry describes a light floating sensation besides his worries being wiped away (the latter of which I think is part of the curse, but I'm not sure about the first one)

“Disillusionment Charm,” said Moody, raising his wand. “Lupin says you’ve got an Invisibility Cloak, but it won’t stay on while we’re flying; this’ll disguise you better. Here you go —” He rapped Harry hard on the top of the head and Harry felt a curious sensation as though Moody had just smashed an egg there; cold trickles seemed to be running down his body from the point the wand had struck.

(OotP, 54)

Harry feels the disillusionment charm washing over hum in cold trickles. Again, it's hard to say if it's normal or not since no one else describes feeling anything like that from what I remember.

“Sirius?” Harry spoke again, but much more quietly now that he was nearer. He had the strangest feeling that there was someone standing right behind the veil on the other side of the archway. Gripping his wand very tightly, he edged around the dais, but there was nobody there. All that could be seen was the other side of the tattered black veil.

(OotP, 773)

I talked here more about Harry and his weird sense regarding the vale, but yeah...

“You’re quite right,” said Dumbledore serenely, shaking back his sleeve to reveal the tips of those burned and blackened fingers; the sight of them made the back of Harry’s neck prickle unpleasantly.

(HBP, 67)

It could be a description of stress and discomfort, but I don't think Harry used these words to describe discomfort or worry at any other point in the books. And considering it's Harry Potter who spends most of his life in discomfort I think it's interesting and likely Harry sensing the curse.

Harry could not tell whether the shivers he was experiencing were due to his spine-deep coldness or to the same awareness of enchantments. He watched as Dumbledore continued to revolve on the spot, evidently concentrating on things Harry could not see

(HBP, 557-558)

This is what I mentioned in the post anon is referring to.

I don't have notes of something like this from DH, since I'm still compiling them, but I did find this scene to add on the train of Harry's magic being super intuitive and intuned with his emotions:

Dust swirled around Harry like mist, catching the blue gaslight, as Mrs. Black continued to scream. “Mudbloods, filth, stains of dishonor, taint of shame on the house of my fathers—“ “SHUT UP!” Harry bellowed, directing his wand at her, and with a bang and a burst of red sparks, the curtains swung shut again, silencing her

(DH, 171)

Harry literally casts "shut up" as a spell, and it not only works, but it works when no one in the Order succeded in shutting the portrait up magically! Harry is so insanely powerful I don't know what to do with this information anymore...

[mahiiimahiiii]

office hours

a/n: rizzard in his happily married middle aged glory, God dropped this plot in my head. finally posted, sorry for all the teasing. '

Cw: fear of voyeurism (and kind of like threatening it??), named tav, dw the door is locked, off-hours fantasy, gale is a bit chunkier, rizzard in his middle aged glory, notes on tav still looking young, (not similar life spans), lunch, notes on tav being a brown person, worship, uncomfortable (yet satiating) sex, sloppy as hell sex, breeding, notes of pain from cervix, squirting, ear play, vers gale, spit for lube (and the soreness that ensues), gale wears glasses, he also wears sock garters, I have a vision ok…….., whispering & dirty talk.

(Tav is a teifling with brown skin and some vitiligo pigmentation, she has curly hair that forms a little halo around her head, bangs with side pieces that fall longer than her typical length of hair. She is a bard!)

read here, or under the cut!

The halls of Blackstaff were magnificent as always, perfectly so. Decorated with filigree and the faint shimmer of enchantment. The halls were harder to navigate, ever turning, and ever changing.

This made delivering lunch weekly on your day off mostly difficult. Your husband, the wonderous gale of Waterdeep- or perhaps now, just professor Dekarios. he had said ‘just will the path into existence’, which you earnestly thought was stupid.

You had always been practical with magic, being a bard helps with that. But you stressed slightly, how many hours, perhaps minutes did he have left to eat and relax. And how many minutes would you have left for chores, and dinner prep.

Busy, busy, busy. Never a dull moment.

A sigh of relief left your mouth as you found his lecture door, his soothing voice echoing out in waves from the crack. Still in lecture! You gingerly slipped through the door, careful not to let the hinges creak behind you. Chalk tapped against the chalkboard as he sipped gently at a mug of tea and cleared his throat continuing with his speech. His hair was thrown back into a loose half up and down messy bun, staticky hair poking and prodding out like new spring buds. He wore a new suit vest, a stripped pattern with an argyle tie, and a light blue button down, paired with the same-colored magenta slacks. His tie pin was one of a crescent moon, (he had been on a theming kick recently). Today was on magic in other areas, written on the board were a

couple pooled questions by the students. Does music automatically equal magic? How do paladin oaths work? Is It possible for magic to be innate?

He finished off his mug tapping at pages to read on the board, waving off the students and their cloaks that looked way too large for them. A stream of bobbing heads, ears and horns followed out the door. You had to maneuver around the groups of students, slowly moving their way out, a few stragglers lounging around the professor’s desk.

“I hope I’m not too late- “you approach him, setting the tin of food wrapped in a handkerchief onto his desk.

He beamed when he laid eyes on you, cheeks flushed a rosy hue. “you’re right on time, I’ll see you in the office, I just need to help a student with a spell pronunciation- then I’ll be with you.” He caught a finger under your chin, kissing your brow. His breath smelt of an earthy green tea, sweetened with honey, and the zeal of lemon juice that followed. He turned his back to you, helping the student to write it out phonetically. You heard his bright praise as the thick office door closed behind you.

The office- you remembered dearly, you helped assemble. A room with high ceilings, decorated with diagrams of spells and sheet music. One wall was clad with photos of his family, a portrait of both of you front and center. Small linocuts of your companions sat on a bookshelf nearby, as well as tomes discussing your previous acts, which he so proudly showed off. He had asked for a new cupboard to house all sorts of dried teas, which he unhinged the doors of and installed onto the walls, framing them with delicate laces. It mirrored a little alchemical shop. The walls were a cozy and warm purple with white and brown accents. He had a little hearth and big windows facing the bay, a window ajar, the new tressym kitten may have gone out exploring. Tara the second, Gale called her.

The door creaked open as you admired the wall of portraits, you jumped within your shoes, tail swishing in a slight panic.

“I’m sorry little love, have I frightened you?” he kissed your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist and swaying gently. His lips found their way up to the shell of your ear, nipping it gently. He spun you around, taking in your new sundress, yellow with pops of white blooms, a pair of lacy socks and brown kitten heels to match.

“You look positively divine- are you sure there wasn’t other intentions behind this?” he cocked a brow, the settled in features of his face creasing with mirth.

You’ll be completely honest with your feelings, jobs, children, life in general has led you two apart. Intimately it seems-

This you had no problems with, as gale had all the love in the world for you. He made sure to show his affections readily and often- with you in turn.

To this- you sheepishly nodded, tucking a curl behind your ear. “Perhaps there was motive… if you’ll oblige me of course.”

Something new swirled into his eyes, a fiery spark of desire. He cracked a grin turning heel to the door. “Shame lunch will be spoiled then; I do have an appetite for something else in mind. And I wouldn’t be a smart man to waste an opportunity like this.” With a quick flit of his fingers a secure spell of arcane lock was cast. His lashes dropped in amusement, striding over and draping himself over a dark velvet fainting couch near the small hearth of the room.

You bent down, unlacing the leather straps around your ankles and stepping out of the heels, setting them down beside his desk. He mirrored you, taking off his tanned loafers and crystalline spectacles.

“You look rather dashing today, I had meant to tell you before you left for work.” You glided over to him, tail wagging as he made space for you to settle into his lap. You clambered over him, your limbs not as refined and delicate in their actions as they once were. You settled into his lap, conscious of the warm throb in his pants. You quirked a brow, as he ground up against you his hands cupping and fondling your ass.

“Already my love?”

“Already…” his words were feather light, a wonky smile plastered on his place. “I am always ready for you.”

You bent over cupping his chin, thumbs and fingers running over the rim of his ears. He groaned gently into your mouth, his lashes fluttering. His hands wove into your hair pulling you close, one leg bouncing against the floor. You hummed, rocking your hips in time with him, the sensation felt delicious on your neglected clit. You ran your tongue against his lip, he bucked his hips in response- mouth falling open sightly. You ran a hand through his messy hair gripping the base of his waves eliciting a whine from his lips. You connected panting mouths again, warm groans spilling into your mouth as you found a rhythm of pressure. His hands settled and gripped your thighs, pressing your warmth onto him for stimulation. You ran a tongue along the indents of his teeth and the ridges of his mouth, the kiss became sloppy as you gently sucked on his tongue.  He broke away, hands shuffling to unbuckle his taught pants. He paused, watching you remove the flowing dress revealing the lacy blue set of underwear, completed with pink ribbons near the ruffles.

He sighed, shoving down his pants and taking off his sweater. He bemusedly slowed down catching your eyes as he slowly undid his button-down shirt.

A whine caught in your throat, crawling towards him- shuffling his hands away to undo his buttons. Once partially removed your ran a hair through the swirling patterns of hair on his chest.  You fit yourself into his neck, kissing the shell of his ears, nibbling and biting at his lobe. He shuddered, his hands going back to busying themselves to filling with your form. You kissed down his chest biting at him with your sharpened teeth, he squirmed under your touch- his hand gripped the back of your curls.

You glanced up catching his eyes, he nodded. You unlaced his boxers which crackled at your touch, tugging them off his legs and tossing them somewhere. You exhaled, tail thumping against the cushions in slight excitement. Gale pursed his lips and averted his eyes, pink warming his already rosy cheeks. You kissed down the happy trail that lined his soft stomach, inhaling the scent of him contained by his skin. Rose water, oak, pine and musk, he smelt wonderfully fresh.

He was slightly self-conscious of this newer version of him, a body softened by age like a ripe peach. You thought it fitting- the softness of course- he aged well. You cupped his sides, squeezing them gently. “Have I ever told you how gorgeous you are?” you ask softly.

“Many times-why do you ask?” he quirked a brow.

You shrug, lifting his thighs around your hips, giving them a firm squeeze again. “Thought I’d remind you.” You mold to his body, thighs rubbing together adding pressure to his already neglected member. Your lips mark their place down his neck, staining his skin a soft pink from your lip balm.  You made your way down again, making sure your lips marked every surface of his skin. His hips strained for movement but found none to meet it.

You marred his inner thigh with bite patterns, his skin breaking into patterns of pink and red. Your tongue ran its way up his perineum sending flames to his stomach, a squeeze to his heavy sack had him tensing beneath you.

Your nose buried in his happy trail once more- you let out a contented sigh.

His hips bucked slightly his cock tapping your chin. “My dear- be kind please- “

You grinned “gale, I don’t intend to be kind- perhaps I’m trying to enable your behavior for later.”

He let out a strained moan, his lids scrunching shut. “God id like that so much- please- “

“Like what now gale?” you teased pinching the head of his pink cock, rolling the skin up and down.

His hips strained again, a low hiss through his teeth. “Gods, you know- I don’t want to spell it out, hells.”

You stopped your slow steady strokes to kitten lick the head of his member, his fists began to clench and unclench. “I’d like to hear what you’d like, professor Dekarios. Lecture me- if you will.”

He swore under his breath one open, “you-!” his chest heaved, trying to buck his hips up from under your heavy hand. “Fuck- fine- I want to be in you- I want you to bloat with my seed. Gods-! Want everyone to know your mine- so help me- going to fuck you over my desk-.” His breathing was labored, his thighs clenching under you. His eyes went wide as he covered his mouth, poor gale was surprised by even his own vulgarity.

“you’d like to try for another child Mr. Dekarios?” you squeezed his balls sucking gently on his inner thigh.

“By the weave-! Yes-!” he sounded exasperated, his lip quivering.

“Very well, you’ve been good. I suppose you’ve earned your treat” you lowered your mouth onto him, a groan rolling through his throat. You dragged your tongue against his skin, the salt refreshing to your taste. You found the small spot on his head and rolled your tongue against it. His hands shoved down your head, burying your head into the patch of curls framing his cock. He shuffled his hands moving to your horns squeezing and fondling the base ridges. Your moan reverberated around him, he lifted his hips, the garters that held his socks squeezing the meat of his thighs.

You tapped his hip, the wizard’s grip loosening from your roots. The air around you smelt like him, you sputtered a little coming up for air. His face was flush, lips gently parted in gasps for air, curls clinging to the sides of his face. Gale’s eyes, taken over by the darkness of his pupils, held only desire and need.

You cupped his ass, a growing grin on your face as your lips found his length again. He rolled his hips up, thighs snapping like a steel trap around your head. Youd hope that perhaps you’d die this way, buried in your lovers’ thighs. A heel to your back cuts off some oxygen making your head spin. You glance up at him, his eyes pressed shut in focus. You hollowed out your cheeks, taking him further into your mouth, feeling the muscle in his thighs tense at the sensation.

“li’ia- “he gasped “my darling- I’m certainly close- I’d feel bad if you didn’t have your fun as well.”

You let out a muffled acknowledgement.

His legs loosened around you, his hand gently rubbing at the sore part of your scalp. Your lips leave with a soft pop, lip balm well and truly smeared against his skin. He hissed at the cold, maneuvering around you to stand up.

“Desk.” His voice slightly roughed as he commanded. He followed you, catching small kisses on the back of your spine. He sighed happily as you bent over the desk, almost like a planned muscle memory. Gale’s knees popped as he knelt, tugging down the delicate lace of your underwear. He maneuvered to rest in the space between your hips and the desk. The professor tapped a leg to push up on the desk, giving access for him to be nestled into the wetness of your cunt. His tongue lapped a stripe between your folds, he shifted one hand on your thigh the other groping needily at his cock. You watched him work, hand steadying yourself on his desk. A framed page of your journal that you gave him of the two of you rocked gently against the desk.

Gale hummed, his lips buzzing around your clit, nipping at the bud carefully. His tongue dipped inside of you, laying it flat against your core to rock at an easy pace. He nipped the inside of your thigh, signaling his contentment. you lifted your leg out of its slowly cramping position, setting it on the floor. The wizard made his way up your body, hands squeezing and fondling anything it could touch, his lips placing gentle kisses up your stomach.

“Come- sit upon your bone throne.” He chuckled at his own bad joke, sharing a cheeky grin with you. You tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Someone with a lovely pair of thighs must sit for that feat to be achievable.” You pressed against him; his member throbbed in the small amount of space between your stomachs. The pads of his fingers trailed over your skin as he walked past. Seating himself with legs spread for better access to him.

You settled on his thighs, spitting a couple of times into the palm of your hand. The mixture of slick and spit in your palm coated his twitching member, running and cupping your hand against his length, he let out a low warble. Carefully, and as delicately as you possibly can manage, you lifted your hips and guided his tip to your awaiting entrance. He held his gaze in your eyes, both of his hands supporting your hips.

You lowered.

A brilliant flare of fireworks went off inside your head, the heavens parted for some foggy clarity of how neglected you were. Your walls stung and clenched protectively at the stretch; gales hips quickly snapped upwards out of reflex adding to the tinge of pain at your core.

You held a hand on his chest and tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, “hurts- hurts.” Your tail strained behind you, every part of your muscles tensing.

“Come here- “he wrapped an arm around you, sheltering you with his arms, your nose found the notch in his neck and pressed small weepy kisses into it. His thighs flexed under you, impatient, but concerned at the hurt that he may have caused. He kissed the crown of your head, rubbing at your back in slow motions. “Let me remove this off of you” he whispered; words filled with reverence. You rocked your hips back, a pressure shifting to nestle itself under your bladder and against your cervix. Gale hooked his thumbs underneath the hemline of your cotton bralette.

“I like these- where did you get them? Lovely color too, suits such pretty brown skin. Then again, my star, you look delicious in any color.”

“I do find that reds make me look too red though.”  She hummed thoughtfully, “in Mephistopheles, it is better to wear blue. Within infernal societies we tend to note our heritage by the color of our skin. I often get mistaken for a teifling from Avernus if I wear red.”

“Blue doesn’t look as lively on your pretty face.”

“Oh shush. The recommendation was from a lovely spawn, who recently moved to the underdark.”

“He didn’t move until now? It’s been ten years!”

“He had to convince his partner, my love. Halsin doesn’t want to live without sun so easily. He sent me an assortment of things, new fabrics he said.”

“Perhaps I have let him in too much on my fashion tastes. Never again will I gossip with Astarion.”

“A wise decision, that one.” You chuckled.

He tentatively rolled his hips as a retort, hands finding the swell of your breasts. His head nestled in the crest of your chest, hands cupping your chest, fingers nimbly pinching your nipples. Your thighs tensed again, another, but thankfully smaller ping of pain emanating through your lower abs. “Would this be more preferable?” the pads of his fingers brushed against your throbbing clit, sending little electric sparks to your toes. Your exhale told him all he needed. He curled an arm around your waist, throbbing inside in tandem of your clenching walls. He pinched and massaged the mound, your tail beginning to wag. Your core warmed to him, the stretch and pain completely vanishing. He slowly rocked his hips, a hand cupping your ass,

reclining against his chair, his eyes all but rolling into the back of his head. “Gods…” he whispered. “Oh, how I long for you… oh how much I wanted this.” Words burbled from his lips, slightly incoherent. “Gods, if any of my colleges caught me like this- I would be fired for sure-! Oh, but they would truly witness what a goddess looked like.”

“I can’t grant you powers gale.” You chided, though secretly flattered. “I would gladly worship you instead of Mystra…my devotion- its eternally, irrevocably- only yours. God if they could watch, only to witness your own glory.”

“it’s a good thing I offer my light to you, beloved.”

“Oh, it’s such a good thing indeed. A little part of me wants to show those who would witness us what it looks to worship- what it means to be- utterly devoted.”

“My dearest gale- you are babbling nonsense; may Cyril bless you with the wit and constitution to say something meaningful.” You tease, adding a playful roll of the hip.

He rolls his eyes, aiding the lift of your hips up and down his length. “With you I forget myself, we are a one connected entity. You are my lifeblood.”

“You say such sweet things” you capture his chapped lips in a kiss, the rolls of your hips and the slick pooling at the cleave of his ass wrecking an echoed cacophony in the padded room. He pants into your open mouth, his hips pacing varying from quick snaps to slow languid thrusts into your warm and waiting walls.  The wizards’ fingers rubbed against your clit in circles, pressing the rest of his fingers into your lower abdomen to stabilize his wrist.  His fingers buzzed with a slight enchantment that he rasped into your mouth in-between nibbles and kisses.

You kissed his crows’ feet that crinkled around his eyes, the furrows of his brow from focus, and the mismatched dimples in his cheeks. The curl that settled itself in the middle of his forehead bobbed gently.

“Do you want me to-?” he stammered, biting down on his lip. He was close, his hips jumping at the chance to be fully sheathed inside of you. “I wanted to- if you’d like- I know we’re getting older, but I don’t think just a cat- would be my desire... to propagate- “he continued to babble. “My mother would- greatly appreciate, a child- from her only son.”

“She isn’t satisfied with a cat?” you pretend to be against between hearty sighs.

He bit his lip again, his eyes closing, overstimulated by the sensation of how tight you were around him. You braced his shoulders for better leverage, his head hit the back of the chair, gasping out for release. You felt the knot in your stomach tighten, bumping your hips into his vibrating fingers.

“Hells- yes- id love that- Gale I’d love to be a parent with you. There is nothing that would make me happier- “he cut you off, shoving your hips into him, fully sheathed he could finally combust within you. His lips found yours for a feverish kiss, wrapping his arms around you. You ran white hot in your core, a series of fire rockets blasting off in your loins, sending dizzying signals into your head. It was like he cast cloud of mist into your head. He rocked his hips a couple of times, your walks milking him of cum. Ropes of cum spent directly into your awaiting womb. Another flash of heat, you felt a deep pressure release onto his hips below.

You press your foreheads together, exhaustion seeping into your bones.

“Can you take the day off- “you murmur into his skin, a soft sinking feeling inside of you as he went soft. His seed within you dripped out and mixed with the rest of the liquids pooled in the seat.

He snuggled himself into your shoulder, watching your tail wag idly. He finally sighs, “I have classes in thirty minutes or less…but! You are welcome to stay in my office until you feel better.” He chuckled softly “earnestly, I’m not entirely sure I want to get up. My hips hurt.”

“You poor thing…” you kissed the crown of his head, scratching small circles into the back of his head. “Let’s get you cleaned up then- I’m certain we made a destructive mess.”

“No mess can withstand the realms of magic.” He puffed his chest out with pride.

You glared at him slightly, though you gave in and finally patted his cheek. “Fine, do your magic.”

He pumped the air summoning things to help clean up. With you, he took the utmost care.

[oh-snapperss]

The King's Sunrise and the Rebellion's Golden Hour

Hello! This is a piece I wrote several months ago for @hermitseasonzine! Now that the zine is out, I'm excited to share this with you all:)

(be sure to check out the zine!)

(read on ao3!)

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

At dawn, the preparations began. Most of the server slumbered, but for the king and his maker, rest would come with the end of their reign. They entered the throne room silently, somber and contemplating; the king stood before his throne, and the maker to the side. After a moment of reverent peace, they began. 

“Bring forth mine armor, Bdubs.” Ren adjusted his glasses, peering over to his kingmaker. The armor was strapped on the king with such pomp and circumstance as the king required. The gray light was giving way to muted shades of color when Bdubs spoke. 

“Your sword, my liege.” Bdubs knelt at Ren’s feet, presenting the sword above his head. Ren bowed his head, the weight of the crown enough to threaten his balance. He’d toppled over before – but not today, the most important of his days as king. 

“Thank you, Sir Bdubs.” Ren took the sword, looking up from the kingmaker. “We shall die today, I’m afraid.” 

“No, my king! We will be victorious!” Bdubs hastened to his feet. Ren met his eyes, sheathing his sword to reach for the cape that clasped over his armor–the mark of a king, of one about to fall. He’d had it made red, for this day – red as the blood that would stain the deepslate of the vault later. 

A snicker from the doorway of the throne room cut through the air, and Ren spun around to face whoever had interrupted–

“Sir Cleo!” Ren gasped, appalled. “The king is most displeased at your disrespect in his final hours!” 

Cleo’s lips twitched, eyeing the juxtaposition between Bdubs in his mossy cloak and Ren in gleaming netherite. “My… my deepest apologies, my lord! Please, do…” she gestured vaguely between them, “carry on your most kingly of tasks and… preparations for the event later.” 

“Thank you, Sir Cleo,” Ren turned back to Bdubs, who seemed to be holding back words of his own. “You may continue.” 

“You’ve been a great king, my liege,” Bdubs started back, eyes flitting to where Cleo was, before taking the cape from Ren. “Allow me.” 

Ren knelt, allowing the full weight of the crown to weigh his head down. “I fear what may come of this. Those ruffians broke into my most private of areas! They must not succeed today!” 

Another muffled snort came from the doorway, followed by a cough. 

“But, my king–” Bdubs moved towards Ren, draping the cape over Ren’s shoulder like a shroud billowing over one lost. “You have created the most magnificent of vaults! They’ll never break in! They’ll never even get past me!” 

Ren rolled his shoulders, settling the cape fully as he rose back up. “The world is unkind, Bdubs. You must do your duty, even as we fall in noble battle to those miscreants.” 

Ren turned to Cleo. “Sir Cleo–would you stop that!” 

Cleo uncovered her mouth, shoulders still shaking slightly from the silent laughs they had been holding back. “I–I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my liege. I am simply… doing my duty! To you!” 

“You’re the worst, Cleo,” Ren informed them, deadpan. “Let me have this, I’m a theatre kid!” 

“Fine!” Cleo straightened up. “My liege, who will take the crown after you fall?” 

“I know not. But know that you are worthy.” Ren turned back around. “Bdubs, please ring the bell for the rest of the knights to come and pay their homage at the square table.” 

“It will be done, my liege,” Bdubs knelt one more time, and Ren wondered – would that be the final time the kingmaker knelt for the king? 

The sunrise peeked over the horizon, bathing the throne room in warm light as they left. Ren felt deeply satisfied - his theatrics for the day were off to a wonderful start!  

—- Meanwhile, on the Hermitcraft Server —-

“Three… two… one… GO!” Gem called. 

Pearl broke into a sprint. Nearby, Impulse huffed, keeping pace. To Pearl’s left, Gem’s hair flew out behind her. In the distance, Pearl’s alien plants seemed to turn towards the blazing sun, while shadows cast from Gem’s castle gave blessed shade over the three runners. This was their third run of the day. But Pearl needed a break from her building, Impulse was looking just slightly too pale for a dwarf that spent the majority of his time underground, and Pearl personally believed that Gem needed the challenge for enrichment purposes. 

Focus. 

Still sprinting, Pearl spotted the bows up ahead. She reached them just a breath ahead of Gem, and grabbed hers, tucked into a roll, came upright, and shot the arrow at her target – King Rendog’s head. 

“Dang it!” Pearl cursed when her arrow flew to the left. A second arrow, Gem’s, whistled a merry tune past her ear, and sailed right into the target. Impulse wasn’t too far behind, his arrow impacting nearly on the target’s heart. 

“Nice!” Gem cheered. Pearl offered Impulse a high-five. 

“It was sheer luck, I didn’t even aim-” Impulse started, but Pearl shook her head. 

“Luck or not, that was incredible!” Pearl stretched her arms out. “Jog back around to the front of the castle, then a break?” 

“Sounds good to me,” Gem agreed, and they were off. They kept pace with each other, running slower since the sun didn’t cast nearly as much shade on this side of the castle. By the time they reached the entrance, Pearl could feel beads of sweat on her neck, and she sat down on the steps. Impulse sat with her, but Gem stayed on her feet, bouncing up and down with that boundless energy of hers. 

Impulse perked up after a few moments of heavy breathing. “Oh, guys, I brought something to celebrate the King’s downfall tonight!” 

“Oh?” Gem came over, peering over Impulse’s shoulder as if she could see the contents of the enderchest Impulse had placed. “Is it–” 

“Soup!” Impulse brought out the bowls excitedly. “I brought us all soup. I thought we could use it before we dethrone Ren.” 

“Oh, Ren,” Pearl shook her head, taking the bowl offered to her. “What kind is this?” 

“Mushroom! I know that’s you guys’ favorite.” Impulse sat back down. “So, we’ve been training, we’ve gotten decently good with arrows, Gem is gonna demolish everyone with her sword work, Pearl will swoop in and figure out the challenges first, and then…”

“No more tyranny,” Gem said cheerfully. “Hey, what do you guys think Ren is gonna do after this?” 

“Maybe he’ll go back to his bakery?” Pearl suggested.

“Oh god, I hope not,” Gem groaned. “The pies are good, but having them as the legal food was a bit much. We’re breaking the law right now, y’know.”

“Yeah, but…” Pearl took a satisfied bite, letting the flavors of the soup melt across her tongue. “Soup is good.” 

“Soup is good!” Impulse agreed. “I think Ren will be fine. He’s got his log business, he’s got that secret project he won’t tell anyone about yet, he’s got the pies, he’ll do great. We just have to do his challenge.” 

“I’m looking forward to it,” Gem said idly. “It’ll be entertaining to see what all the court cooked up.” 

“For sure,” Pearl nodded. “Speaking of, we’d better go and get ready. The sun’s going down.” 

“How much do you wanna bet Ren prepared everything this morning so that he could do it really dramatically with the rising sun?” 

“I’m not taking that bet. I’m sure he did.” 

[recycledmoviecostumes]

This purple velvet cloak with decorative silver clasps looks slightly different in color depending on the lighting. It appears to have a cooler blueish undertone in outdoor settings, while indoors, it appears to have a warmer undertone. 

Müjde Uzman first wore the cloak as Armin Hatun in the second season of Muhteşem Yüzyıl (Magnificent Century). It made two additional appearances in the second season, first on Selma Ergeç as Hatice Sultan in the sixteenth episode and later in the season on Ezgi Eyüboğlu as Aybige Hatun.

The eighth episode of the 2013 fourth season saw the piece make its final appearance when Vahide Perçin wore it as Hürrem Sultan. 

Costume Credit: Wardrobeoftime

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[fangirlofallthefanthings]

[Things are finally starting to get interesting! And Odysseus gets a divine visitor 👀]

That night, Odysseus was fast asleep—or as asleep as he could be with his arm wrapped in a sling and throbbing with dull pain. He was in uncomfortable unconsciousness, his sleep neither deep nor filled with dreams—just pitch darkness.

Then, a soft buzzing blossomed in the back of his skull. The darkness behind his eyes gave way to bright gray. He looked down and realized he was standing in a grassy field. Turning around, he found a tall lady sitting in a chair. A hood obscured most of her face, but Odysseus could tell she was beautiful underneath.

A vast blanket of fabric spilled over her lap, and she passed a needle with thread through it. Her embroidery gave birth to colorful images that Odysseus was certain could amaze even the most incredible seamstresses in the castle.

Odysseus had this dream before, but he couldn’t move in the past. This time, he was determined to know what it meant, and he could feel his limbs and feet solid beneath him. He slowly walked up to her, taking in her skill.

Odysseus watched as she stitched swirls of vines, blades of grass, and forests of trees. The tapestry taking form in front of him was grand and embellished with golden twine. Rich colors deeper than any he had seen danced across the cloth.

“Hello, little one.”

Odysseus nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. He didn’t think she noticed him, but her sly smile peeking from underneath her hood told him she had been aware of him for a while now. Odysseus felt his face heat up with blush, and embarrassment gripped his chest.

“You were a challenging mind to contact. I was concerned this would take much longer to get through,” she said as she finished outlining a leaf with gold.

“You were… Looking for me?” Odysseus asked hesitantly.

“Unless I am visiting a different boy that defeated a boar of my creation,” she replied with a shrug, “and you received that scar on your leg from elsewhere.”

Odysseus took a few steps back. “How did you know about that?”

The hooded lady just smiled. “I know many things,” she said, “Especially concerning challenges I have issued.”

“So you sent that boar?” Odysseus’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, “Who are you?”

“I am a being of many names. Many titles.”

“You speak in many riddles, my lady.”

The woman chuckled. Her laugh was refined and proper. Her hand politely covered her mouth, but Odysseus could see that her smile had a hint of danger to it. “And you are a very clever boy.”

“So I’ve been told,” Odysseus shrugged.

“I can teach you how to use that cleverness to your full potential.”

“Full potential?”

“Yes,” the lady said, “I would like to be your mentor.”

“But who are you?” Odysseus asked sternly, “How do I know I can trust you?”

The tapestry on the lady’s lap disappeared in a flash of gold. Odysseus gasped and took a few steps back as the lady stood up from her seat and grew to twice her original height.

She removed her hood, revealing wavy crimson hair decorated with precious pearls that shined like stars, and a silver circlet resting just above her brow. Her eyes opened and stared at him. They were completely gray and reflective, like the finest polished silver. Her cloak wrapped tighter around her, transforming into magnificent armor. The needle she wielded grew into a brilliant spear, its shaft decorated with gold.

A knowing smile spread across Odysseus’s face from ear to ear. Now, he knew it to be true. The appearance in a dream. The disguise. The gold in the tapestry and the skill of her embroidery. The cryptic words. And now this transformation.

It all pointed right to his suspicions.

“I knew it!” Odysseus shouted with glee.

The lady tilted her head, bird-like and confused.

“You’re one of the old gods!” Odysseus laughed as he jumped around the lady, “I knew you were!”

The goddess watched as the little prince jumped and danced around her. Odysseus could have sworn he saw the faintest smile on her lips, but he paid no mind. He had tricked one of the old gods into a false sense of security and made her drop her disguise.

“Very good… Now, who am I?”

Odysseus stopped celebrating in an instant, frozen in place. “What?”

“If you knew I am one of the old gods, who am I?” The goddess asked, “What is my name?”

Odysseus tilted his head and put his hand to his chin. “Well… You’re very tall.”

“Yes,” she laughed, “And?”

“You have armor and a spear! So you must have something to do with war. But… you were making a tapestry before. So that can’t be it.” Odysseus looked up at the goddess again. “Can it?”

The goddess shrugged. “The world is not so simple. Neither are the gods.”

Odysseus hums in thought. The goddess looked familiar to him, but something was missing about her.

“This is a trick question.”

The goddess smiled, dangerous yet curious. “And what led you to that conclusion?”

“You’re not giving me all of the information. With all due respect, there is a reason we call you the old gods, my lady. Very few people still give you worship,” Odysseus replied with a triumphant smile, “You’re not in the full regalia that is present in your statues. You look familiar, but you’re not specific enough for me to know who exactly you are.”

“Right again,” the goddess said as the circlet around her head began to glow.

The light melted and molded itself around the goddess’s head in dripping splashes like water sparkling in the sun. A drop landed on her chest plate and grew in tendrils in the center of the metal piece. Large shapes sprouted from her back in a shower of sparks, painting the dreamy sky above with thousands of stars for a blinking moment. Then the glowing stopped, revealing a helmet, a monstrous emblem of a lady with snakes for hair on her armor and magnificent, silent wings.

Odysseus stared in awe at the figure before him. She was like a more detailed version of the vine-and-moss-covered statues that sat high in the mountains, the stone smoothed and cracked with time. But the goddess was real. Intimidating. Her polished, silver eyes seemed to know his every thought. A strange power radiated from her—pure knowledge.

“Athena,” Odysseus said, “goddess of wisdom, strategy, and craft. That’s who you are.”

“Well done,” Athena said, “Though you are still very young, your logic is impressive. Enlighten me, what is your name?”

“Two can play this game, goddess. You know that as well as I do,” Odysseus said as he folded his arms with a smile, “You tell me. Who am I?”

Athena smiled. “Good answer. However, I already know who you are, Prince Odysseus.”

Odysseus’s smile slowly left his face, and he looked down at his feet. This was the goddess of wisdom, and she was looking for him. Of course, she would know who he was.

“Do not take my knowledge too harshly,” Athena said, “You passed my test and learned your first lesson: never reveal your true self unless necessary, and let your opponent think they made the first move.”

“So… You’re serious about training me?” Odysseus asked hopefully.

“Of course. As I told you before, I see great potential in you. Will you accept my offer?”

“Yes!” Odysseus exclaimed, but he quickly schooled himself to a more calm demeanor and cleared his throat.

“I mean, yes. I accept your offer, my lady,” he said with a slight bow.

“Good. Training starts the moment you are well. I will do all I can to make your recovery swift.”

“Thank you, my lady!” Odysseus said with a beaming smile, “This is amazing! A Goddess and human, the best of friends!”

Odysseus held up his forearm for Athena to bump, something he often did with Polites and Eurylochus. However, the gray-eyed goddess stared at him. Whether she was looking at his arm in hesitation or amusement, he did not know. Her polished eyes gave away no emotion.

“We shall see,” Athena mused as she turned to walk farther into the gray dreamscape, “For your next lessons, we will focus on patience.”

“Okay…” Odysseus said quietly. He put down his arm and quickly made his way to match Athena’s walking pace.

She seemed to almost glide with every step. Each movement looked calculated to be as efficient and silent as possible—the mark of a warrior in every aspect.

“This is where our meeting ends,” Athena said, “I have other matters to attend to, but I will not be far.”

“What should I do until we meet again? And how will I find you again?”

“Rest. I will make your sleep more comfortable tonight and complete our connection. Though you may not see me, I will be watching.”

“A connection?”

“You will know it when you wake,” Athena said vaguely, “I expect great things from you. With my guidance, you will achieve those great things. Until we meet again, little one.”

With that, the world around them melted like quicksilver, and Odysseus fell into deep sleep.

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Part 1

[sephirthoughts]

If you dare, something I haven't seen much: vincent valentine & rufus shinra

I'm curious how you see them interacting. if you have a thought, go for it, otherwise providing options: 2, 5, 28, 34

OK! Vincent and Rufus! I got things you said (2)through your teeth, (5) didn't say at all (28)in the dark, and (34)whispered in my ear. I loved this prompt because it produced this absolutely ridiculous scene. Enjoy!

He sat in the dark, into the small hours of the morning. The office lights off, so the poisonous, green glow from the reactors could and must be appreciated to its fullest. So there was no glossing over the ugly reality. That Shinra was a machine that swallowed blood and spit out gold. That he was a petty autocrat, enthroned on a mountain of garbage. A dead man ruling an empire of bones. 

“You are not your father,” a man’s voice whispered, right into his ear.

His hand was instantly on his gun, but a cold, metal claw had already caught him by the throat, and was squeezing threateningly. His eyes flashed to Darkstar, whose monstrous bulk was coalescing amongst the inky shadows, fangs bared and crimson eyes ablaze. 

One look at the intruder, however, and the massive, demonic hound gave a high-pitched whine and cowered, like a whipped cur. Rufus glared disdainfully after the beast, as it slunk away, with both its tails between its legs. Some fucking guard dog.

“Are you reminding me, that I am not my father, or yourself?” he asked calmly, removing his hand from the stock of his gun, and placing it flat on his desk, with the other.

“You seem to need to be reminded,” the intruder answered.

Rufus sighed forbearingly. “If you were going to kill me, you would have, by now, so do you mind getting to what you want and sparing me the theatrics?”

“Said the man sitting alone, in the dark, at the top of a giant tower with his name written all over it.”

“It’s not money,” Rufus mused. “You’ve bypassed my security to get to me, which means you could easily have walked into a bank vault and taken what you wanted. No, you…you believe in your own righteousness. You have the stench of ideology, all over you. Let me guess, Avalanche? Is this an absolutely fantastic bit of irony?”

“Coffin wood.”

“I suppose y—what?” Rufus said, actually caught off-guard.

“It’s not ideology that you smell all over me, it’s coffin wood. And dry-rot.”

“Do you think convincing me that you’re deranged is going to further your goals, somehow?”

The man sounded offended. “I’m not deranged, I sleep in a coffin.”

“You’re not deranged…you sleep in a coffin. Can you hear yourself, when you speak?” Annoyed past the point of prudence, Rufus looked up at the man holding him by the neck and gave a start. “A Valentine?” he said aloud, before he could stop himself.

The man looked surprised. He also looked fucking magnificent. Rufus suppressed a scowl. These goddamned Valentines and their perfect genes. No wonder that lunatic Hojo was so obsessed with them. 

“How did you know?” asked the most obvious Valentine ever. 

“You look exactly like your father. And I’ve seen your personnel file. Employee profile: Valentine, Vincent,” he said, to no one in particular. 

A glowing holographic screen obediently materialized above the desk, displaying the HR file for Vincent Valentine, including a large, full-color photograph. Notably, the upper right corner of the file bore a stamp that read ‘DECEASED’ in red ink.

“Hm. I’m impressed you recognized me. I was so young in that photo.”

It took Rufus a full five seconds to comprehend that the man wasn’t joking. Then he was even more irritated. “Your hair is long now. That is literally the only difference. Are you absolutely certain you’re not deranged?”  

“Fairly certain.”

“Well then, Vincent Valentine, will you kindly tell me what the hell it is that you want, that has you in my office in the middle of the night, threatening my life, before I kill myself from exasperation?” 

The Valentine stepped back and pulled something out of the idiotic cloak that he was somehow making look amazing. Rufus stared at the object in blank disbelief. It was…it was one of those stupid robot cats, that Reeve was always playing with. 

“I came to return this,” the Valentine explained, which only raised more questions. “I wandered into the wrong office.”

Rufus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You wandered. Into. The wrong. Office.”

“Mn,” he nodded. “Sorry about that.”

“Then why, pray tell, did you grab me by the neck!”

“You would’ve shot me, if I hadn’t, and there would’ve been a big scene. I really don’t like noise.”

“And the creepy whispering, about me not being my father?”

“I already told you, you seemed like you needed to be reminded.”

“You were right about that, at least. Because if I were my father, you’d be dead already.”

“He didn’t have anything capable of killing me, any more than you do. If you knew of a way for me to die, I would welcome it. Not to be a bother, but could you direct me to Reeve Tuesti’s office, so I can return this thing? I’m getting sleepy and I’d really like to leave.”

“You have gone far off course,” Rufus informed him. “Director Tuesti’s office is three floors down on the—wait, no! I am not giving you directions! You are trespassing! And you just threatened my life! You may think you’re invinci—”

“Three floors down, got it,” the Valentine interrupted, with a solemn half-bow. “Thank you, Rudolph.”

“Fucking…Rudolph???” Rufus ground out, through clenched teeth.

He had officially had enough of this shit. He whipped out his gun and fired a shot, just in time to entirely miss the red-cloaked menace, as he vanished in a melodramatic, crimson whirl. God damn slippery vampire-ass Valentines!

He had his hand over the button to summon building security, when he thought the better of it, and drew it back. The last thing he needed was a gaggle of fools in here tromping around, tracking in dirt probably, failing to find anything, and publishing a description of a suspect that very much fit Count Dracula. People would say the new president was losing his mind, and hallucinating fairytale monsters. 

No, there was no use kicking up a fuss just to be humiliated. He’d send the Turks after the Valentine…in a little while. If he gave the man a head start, maybe he’d kill that annoyingly upright pain in the ass Reeve, while he was down there. Now, where was that stupid dog?

“Darkstar!” he shouted, into the cavernous blackness of his idiotically massive office. “You have five seconds to get over here and explain yourself!”

[NOTE: it's probably unclear, but (5) things you didn't say at all was Rufus' name. Vincent never said it because he called him the wrong one.]

[robot-roadtrip-rants]

Fulgrim's toga

Ok I need to share this with y'all.

So during the war council about the war on Laeran, we get this description:

"The primarch wore a long flowing toga of pale cream, and the dark iron hilt of his sword, Fireblade, was visible at his hip, the blade itself sheathed in a scabbard of gleaming purple leather. The flaring wings of an eagle were embroidered in gold thread across his chest and a slender band of lapis lazuli kept his silver hair from his face."

So far so good. For those keeping track, Fulgrim probably looks something like this:

But as the council is wrapping up, this happens:

"'Then the word is given, Captain Kaesoron,' said Fulgrim, casting off his robes to reveal his magnificently polished battle plate."

There's a lot to unpack here. First of all, the usage of the word "reveal" implies that his armor was completely hidden. A toga very notably leaves half the chest uncovered. So Fulgrim isn't just wearing his armor beneath his toga, he's wearing it beneath his tunic. And remember...power armor is full plate. It covers more than a classical tunic-toga combination. Let's fix that image:

But even this image isn't enough. As @lolipop1920 points out, this is what Fulgrim's armor looks like:

I don't have the art skills to edit this properly, so I want you to pause for a moment and try to picture how a toga-tunic combo would look draped on top of all that. You can leave off the cape.

Yeah.

And remember, the text says describes this moment as a REVEAL. Apparently Fulgrim walked into a room with a tunic/toga pulled on over his POWER ARMOR, and nobody noticed.

But it gets better! Fulgrim casts off the whole ensemble to reveal his power armor! Again, this is what a toga looks like!

So either he unwound his toga and then pulled his tunic over his head...OR he just ripped the whole thing off his body.

Normally at this point I'd say, "Graham McNeill just doesn't know how this garment works." But check out this bit from a little earlier in the book:

"First Captain Julius Kaesoron was a man not used to conflicting emotions, which made his current situation deeply uncomfortable. Dressed in the triumphal purple of his toga picta and the martial red of his lacerna clock, he cut an imposing figure as he marched swiftly to the Heliopolis...A pendant of fiery amber hung around his neck and nestled between the carved pectorals of his golden breastplate."

Someone's been doing their research! I'd argue that most Westerners have some idea of what a toga looks like, it's a pretty iconic garment, but the different varieties of togas? The Latin name for the cloaks/capes that the Romans wore? Hell no.

(Also note that Kaesoron is also somehow wearing a breastplate with his toga. A toga picta is just a purple-colored toga with gold embroidery. It involves just as much complicated drapery as a regular toga--possibly more, since it's a very formal garment. I guess he could wear the breastplate over his tunic and under the toga, but that still seems like a weird combo).

So yeah, McNeill definitely knows what a toga looks like, and he still wrote this scene. And of all people it's Fulgrim who pulls off this fashion atrocity! FULGRIM! The primarch most famous for his style, elegance, and class. The peacock of 30k. That's the guy who just walked into a room with a tunic and toga pulled on over his goddamn power armor. This is at the war council for Laeran! He hasn't even set foot on the snake orgy planet! You can't blame this on Slaanesh!

[chasingthedragons]

Wedding gowns in the Seven Kingdoms

Lady Alicent Hightower with King Viserys I Targaryen

The future Queen wore a magnificent but simple bright white gown printed with the crest of House Targaryen, with a golden V-shaped embroidery in the center, two winged dragons crowning the shoulders with a pair of open wings. The sleeves, open at the elbows and as long as the skirt, are shagged in a red with a gold and dark red quadrille pattern. An ostentatious gold necklace, gold and pearl earrings, and a splendid crown of gold, pearl and rubies.

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen with Ser Laenor Velaryon

For the opening banquet of the celebration, the Princess wore a beautiful white dress with a pattern of scales, gold embroidery and inlaid with rubies at the neckline, with a small gold braided brooch, and the belt, which is attached with a gold brooch with two dragons and a gold chain, equal to the eight that hang on each side of the arms of the princess. Rings, bracelets and earrings of gold and rubies, a grand necklace of gold and rubies, rubies crowning her hairstyle, a hair brooch of gold, pearls and rubies and a piece of carved gold for her braid.

In addition we can see her maiden cloak, black and with the emblem of House Targaryen in red on one side and blue with the emblem of House Velaryon on the other. Golden lapels and shoulder boards.

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen with Prince Daemon Targaryen

On the coast of Dragonstone and according to Valyrian tradition, she wore a sand-colored suit with red gradient on sleeves, skirt and shoulders, with a red garment under it. A belt of the same color as the dress and neckline. Crowned with a black headdress decorated in the same color as the dress.

Lady Lyanna Stark and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen

Lady Lyanna was married in a secret ceremony wearing a gown of light ice-green, sleeveless fabric and silver and gold leaf ornaments, like a belt, at the neckline and going up from her waist, past her neck. Because of the haste and secrecy of their betrothal, there was no maiden's cloak.

Princess Daenerys Targaryen with Khal Drogo

At her wedding, the Princess wore a simple pale lilac dress with straps, bracelets of which matching fabrics gave the impression of sleeves, silver metallic details matching the color of her dress, on her neckline and sleeves, also holding and styling her hair.

Lady Talisa Maugyr with King Robb Stark

Lady Talisa was married in a secret ceremony during the war, in a forest near the camps of King Robb's forces. So she wore the same dress she wore every day, a simple model in gray tones and a cloak in earth tones.

Lady Roslyn Frey with Lord Edmure Tully

The young Frey girl wore at her wedding to Lord Edmure a lovely green dress with flower print over a simple white dress. Long and wide sleeves and small embroidered details on the neckline. Over the dress she wore a delicate white cape woven with flowers.

Her maiden's cloak, white and earthy with intricate prints and embroidery, and a pattern of branches and leaves all around the edge, in very similar tones to the rest of her costume.

Lady Sansa Stark with Tyrion Lannister

For her wedding in the Sept of Baelor Lady Sansa wore a gown of a shimmering purple fabric with a golden floral pattern and a cross embroidery of golden lions and wolves. Metallic ornaments on her hips and a necklace with the emblem of House Lannister.

Her maiden's cloak, of red velvet with gold collar and sleeves with the lion of House Lannister in red on them.

Lady Sansa Stark with Ramsey Bolton

In the godswood of Winterfell she wore a shiny silver dress with a delicate pattern of slightly brighter lines. Over it, a short-sleeved coat of thick white velvety fabric with a braided pattern and a pair of silver brooches in the center. Covering each shoulder, a pair of white furs.

Lady Margaery Tyrell with King Joffrey Baratheon

For the most ostentatious wedding of the era, the future Queen wore an ice blue dress with an open back and matching blue rose embroidery leading to a rose-covered train. A silver necklace and a beautiful gold and silver plated crown with the antlers of House Baratheon and the roses of House Tyrell.

Her maiden's cloak, white with gold embroidery of lions and red borders, the same that Queen Cersei Lannister wore at her wedding to King Robert Baratheon.

Queen Margaery Tyrell with King Tommen Baratheon

In her second nuptials, in a much simpler ceremony, Queen Margaery wore a beautiful copper-colored dress with gold prints, sleeveless and deep neckline, plus a beautiful and ostentatious necklace that follows the shape of the neckline, crowned with the same crown she used in her wedding to King Joffrey Baratheon.

Her maiden's cloak, white, gold and red, matching the colors of her dress. The colors of House Lannister.

Lady Lysa Arryn with Lord Petyr Baelich

For her hasty wedding to Lord Baelich, Lady Lysa seemed to have her dress already prepared. She wore a light blue dress with sand-colored prints, a bust of the same color and ornaments of birds under the bust and neck from where a cape of the same fabric of the dress is born. She did not use a maiden's cloak because the ceremony was private and very simple.

[adobe-outdesign]

Have you reviewed the lilipup line already? If not what do you think?

I want to like Lillipup more than I actually do because it is so very cute, with its big eyes and little dot mouth. Lillipup, like the rest of this line, is based off of a terrier (most likely a Yorkshire terrier), which will become more evident as it evolves. The fur around its face is unique, and makes it stand out a bit from the rest of the line.

However, there are just a bunch of strange design choices here. Like, the face is so flat there's just straight up no muzzle, not even a line indicating one. It also is the only one of the line to have a red nose... for some reason.

Also, the dark blue patch on the back is meant to tie into the rest of the line, but it looks out of place here; I don't think it would've been a problem to just let the dark blue come in at the second stage, and if you really wanted blue you could've had some blue accents elsewhere on the body, like the ears or paws. Speaking of the paws, the way they have a division but are all one color is also strange; why not use the cream from the face to better balance the colors? Don't get me wrong, the design as a whole isn't bad, but all of the details kind of throw me on it.

Herdier's probably my favorite out of this line. I've heard some people say it's too similar to an actual dog, but I think the combo of the shepherd's cloak-like fur on the back and the design of the facial fur are pretty interesting. The colors are better balanced here, with the cream fur drawing attention to the face while the dark blue eyes and nose balance the color of the back fur. The stern expression is also fun and really gives it a good sense of personality. It's nothing crazy or anything, but its a pretty solid design all around.

Stoutland takes what Herdier has going on and cranks it up to 11 with an absolutely insane mustache that would make an Alakazam feel ashamed. It also majorly grows out its cloak, becoming much shaggier in the process; kind of like a Newfoundland.

Visually, it shares a lot of the same elements as Herdier, with the cream drawing attention to its magnificent mustache, dark blue fur that completely covers its body, and an even sterner expression. However, I think the body becomes a bit too shapeless due to the amount of fur on it; even an actual Newfoundland has a good amount of anatomy under the fur, whereas Stoutland is weirdly rectangular. (The difference is the fur going down to the feet instead of stopping higher up around the stomach, and the back sloping down in the middle.)

Also, I'm not a huge fan of the coat becoming greenish at the base. I get wanting to break up that color a bit, but something more blue would've been better. The lighter color also probably should've been further down, as you can't see much of the dark blue due to the mustache covering most of it.

Anyway, these are some pretty good dogs, minus a few weird visual quirks. The concept and execution are super simple, but each stage manages to be unique despite that. These guys should be plenty pleasing for anyone who's a fan of terriers, that's for sure.

[izunias-meme-hole]

Top 5 supervillains?

LOOK AT THIS DUDE ASKIN' ME FOR MY TOP 5 SUPERVILLAINS!

In all seriousness though, I'll be glad to indulge, though be forewarned that my top 5 consists of supervillains from Marvel and DC, so like if this seems basic forgive me but I am allowed to be cringe in this instance because I've been dragged back into full on purgatory.

Number 1. Doctor Doom -As I've said before, I've always respected Victor, but I've never been super crazy about him. His animated and game adaptations are good but not perfect, and the movies so far have failed to get his character across in a great way, so that might've been a part of why I wasn't a Doom Superfan. Though after getting back into the absurdity and impactfulslness of superhero comics, it soon hit me... Doctor Doom is a villain made for comics. He's overdramatic, grandiose, terrifying, bombastic, egotistical, pragmatic, powerful, absurd, nuanced, insecure, lonely, the whole package placed within a suit of armor and a green cloak. He's an arrogant, tyrannical, cold hearted technological and magical genius who embodies every inch of supervillainy you could imagine, while remaining a genuinely sophisticated, and honorable figure even with his history of pettiness. Overall Doom is just one big magnificent bastard.

Number 2. The Joker - The Joker is a crook who fell into a vat of chemicals and got a clownish makeover, who ended up becoming the nemesis of Batman. While the other rouges have their particular danger levels, they all have some type of cause they're fighting for or they're purely out to benefit themselves. Joker just causes chaos, death, and suffering, for the sake of his twisted sense of humor. He is willing to kill and ruin lives in the most creative way possible, so long as he finds it funny. Yet despite how twisted he is, this evil ass clown actually can be funny. Not only that, but he's the most effective contrast to Batman, even more than the other rouges. Batman is a frightening figure with a semi-demonic visage who suffered one bad day in his youth, yet he is a hero dedicated to the cause of justice and protecting the innocent citizens of Gotham City. Joker is a colorful figure with a big 'ol grin on his face and a jovial demeanor, yet he is perfectly okay with causing as much unwarranted harm to others for the sake of artistic chaos. Ultimately, the Clown Prince of Crime is a villain that's managed to last for decades, despite the ever marching clock, for these exact reasons.

Number 3. Magneto - He's honestly on par with Joker in my honest opinion, and I'm saying this as someone who's been familiar with Erik for a LONG time thanks to the X-Men films and Evolution, and has gone through his history in the comics. Magneto is basically one of the most famous examples of a "Knight Templar" in fiction, a self-righteous figure fighting for a crusade that he deems noble at any cost. As for why he feels the need to do this? He's a holocaust survivor, it's as simple as that. The comics are the legit only piece of media that go into deeper details about Magneto's life in the concentration camps and the aftermath of that hell which only led into more hell, but that's the basic gist of what makes him tick. Magneto's lived in a world where innocent people got killed because of state approval, and he's not letting that happen again.

Number 4. Loki - Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, and Larry Leibber making the norse God of Mischief, the Poetic Edda's best figure, a supervillain... wasn't a bad idea. The result of that however was a wannabe king in a silly little outfit with devil horns who also happens to be Odin's adoptive son and the brother of Thor. This is inaccurate as hell and shouldn't work, yet it somehow does. He's a delightful trickster at every turn with a lot of gears consistently turning in his head, and while in the comics he's not really a villain anymore and his (in)famous run in the MCU ended on a surprisingly high note, he's still fun. Am I overrating him? Maybe.

Number 5. Lex Luthor - Superman's biggest hater being a self-made millionaire that is the embodiment of the best and worst of humanity will never not be fitting. Though if I'm being honest, I don't feel like DC has gone far enough with Lex. Still he's genuinely a pretty good villain for the man of steel to face.

[johnconway]

I've decided to turn the tables on AI. It gives me the prompts, I paint the pictures. They are painted as quickly as I can. Sad to say, I'm still a little bit slower than most online generators. But perhaps if I get enough VC backing I can improve performance.

I used my local LLM, Zephyr 7b, which is a Mistral derivative (if you care about this stuff!). So, I asked it to give me prompts, and it gave me back these d33p artistic ideas:

"Amidst a field of wildflowers in full bloom stands a towering structure that seems to defy all laws of nature. Its angles are sharp and unforgiving, its surfaces gleaming and reflective like polished steel. Yet despite its futuristic appearance, this edifice is grounded by the very earth it stands upon; roots winding their way deep into the soil, inextricably linking man-made structure to natural landscape. This image represents the tension between progress and preservation, a call for us to find harmony where they meet, rather than let them stand as opposing forces."

-----

"As an artist envisioning a complex tableau, I seek to create a visual metaphor that speaks to the dual nature of human existence – our inner turmoil and external serenity. The scene is set at twilight, where the last rays of the sun meet the onset of night in a symphony of colors, blending the boundaries between day and night. At the center stands a colossal, ancient tree, its roots deeply entrenched in the earth, symbolizing our connection to nature and our foundational beliefs. The tree's branches stretch upwards and outwards, bifurcating into intricate patterns that mirror the complexity of human thoughts and emotions.

Half of the tree is lush and blooming, covered in verdant leaves and vibrant flowers, teeming with birds and wildlife, representing the vitality of life and the beauty of outward expressions. The other half, however, is starkly different, with gnarled branches, devoid of foliage, whispering of the silent struggles and the decay that lurks within. This dichotomy illustrates the contrasting aspects of our lives – the visible joy and the hidden sorrows.

Beneath the tree, a serene pond reflects this duality, not just as a mirror image, but with a surreal twist. The reflection shows the tree in full bloom on the barren side, and vice versa, suggesting that what we see on the surface is not always the reality.

The visual style for this image will be inspired by the Pointillism technique, where small, distinct dots of color are applied in patterns to form an image. This style will add an element of surprise and depth to the artwork, as the scene's full complexity and beauty will only be revealed upon closer inspection, symbolizing the idea that understanding and empathy require a closer look beyond the surface.

This artwork is an invitation to the viewer to contemplate the balance between our external persona and internal struggles, encouraging a deeper understanding of the human condition." -----

"In the center of a vast and barren desert landscape, there stands a lone figure cloaked in a long, flowing dress made entirely of shimmering gold fabric. This woman appears to be walking through the sandy expanse with ease, her every step leaving behind glittering footprints that twist and turn like winding rivers. Her hair is a cascade of purest silver, billowing gently in an unseen wind.

As she moves deeper into the desert, the woman begins to transform. Her skin takes on the same radiant quality as her dress, becoming infused with a brilliant golden glow that seems almost otherworldly. And atop her head, where once there was only silver hair, now rises a magnificent crown of swirling gold and silver filaments that shimmer and dance in the air like living fireworks.

This woman is a personification of hope and resilience, an embodiment of the human spirit that can weather even the most barren and desolate landscapes with grace and determination. Her dress is symbolic of her inner strength and her ability to transform adversity into something beautiful and valuable. The golden glow she emits represents the radiant light of hope that shines within us all, guiding our path through life's challenges no matter how harsh they may be. And as for the surprising visual style I mentioned earlier? Well...what if this woman isn't walking alone after all? As viewers follow her progress across the desert, we begin to notice tiny glimmers of light dancing just beneath the sand at her feet - and before long, it becomes clear that she is actually surrounded by a throng of shimmering golden fireflies that flit and flutter around her like living sparks. This unexpected twist adds an extra layer of meaning to the image, reminding us that even in our darkest moments, there is always hope and beauty to be found - if only we know where to look for it."

 I also put the prompt back in to DALL-E 3, which is the final image.