#almighty master knife

[tasseren]

Aint no damn way I’m shoving the master sword at link in this restaurant au

[merrinla]

Davrin in the pantry after completing Lucanis' personal quest

So this must be the famous throne room of the almighty First Talon, Seer of the Shadows, Knife in the Night, Master Blade above all blades.

be like

[dorokora]

Chapter 14 Prologue Part 6

We start with Barong torturing(?) the captured investigator. Telling him to expose everything about him to the open. The brainwashed police officer said he will offer his body to the Entertainers. Barong says welcome to the Entertainers. We see how they use the police officer as bait to lure away Beowulf. We cut to Beowulf and Christine fight. Beowulf exclaims thats how the Entertainers are using brainwashed people. Christine said it’s not brainwashing, we’re just giving them joy (it’s still brainwashing). Brainwashed companion will let go of everything and become actors on the stage. Some will even sacrifice themselves and die. Beowulf throws away his broken sword for a new one. For him he doesn’t care as long as he keeps fighting. He will continue to fight the Dragon (MC). Christine said that’s how the Game Masters work, to keep the game going forever. Beowulf ask Christine what is her true goal. We see Barguest quietly relaying the information he learn to the other Wanderers.

We cut to the Wanderers and Arc. Arc thanks Kursha for helping them. We also see Hermes. Kursha ask him if he heard anything from Barguest yet. Hermes said they got some good info about the Ripper Incident that he could use to make a deal with the cops that has been chasing him. Arc ask if this place (the slums) is their base. Kursha said they have no base, they are rootless and move from place to place. That’s how they have been surviving against the Rule Makers for so long. The rulemakers seem to have a device that lets them know everything. Kursha said he knows about what happen to the Genociders. Flashback to CH8 where the Genocider sacrifice themselves to let Arc escape. Arc was planning on storming to the Rule Makers base. But someone get chased by drone fighters. Kursha also brought up Avarga who is also heading towards the Rule Makers base. Kursha said him and the Wanderers are working on a anti-occupation measure. The Wanderers ideology don’t get along with The Rule Makers who believe a almighty being will put them on the right path, while the Wanderers believe in deciding for yourself.

Back to the Kirito fight. Bigfoot proclaims he’ll protect MC. He rises WR Wakan’s powers (since he’s a substitute WR). Bigfoot said he loves MC. Kirito sees this and said that’s unforgivable. Mononobe has taught him things he doesn’t want to know. There’s no such thing as family in this world where you can rely on unconditional love. It would have been better not to know. In this world where I'd rather be killed, I don't need a place to belong. I just didn't want to be anywhere. I will take you out of this world with my own hands and I'm finally leaving this fucking Tokyo!

We cut to narration about a boy who ask I was supposed to be born in a world like this but he wasn’t. He’s human and they are beastmen. A beastmen mind in a human body, why was he born like that. He’s ashamed to be human. So he tried to suppress the beast inside of him in a cage. We cut back to the Angels fighting the beast. The beast is the Beast Tamer guildmaster, Yuma. There no reason for his actions, he’s just rampaging. The beast ran outside of Ueno on all fours.

Back to Christine. She starts to explains why the Rule Makers joined forces with the Entertainers. Simple, they want the same thing. They want King Solomon to exist in this world. But certain conditions need to be met. Back to Bigfoot, he uses his ability to exist everywhere, now no one can injure him. Kirito was waiting for this moment. Kirito stab Bigfoot with is his Sacred Artifact knife. Cut to Christine who said normally the scene where Kirito stabs MC will play out but this this time it will be different. A new script is made. Kirito tells MC goodbye as he disappears into the fog. MC went to touch Bigfoot with their ring hand and something triggered. The area became distorted as colors are reverse. The unsettling music from before begins to play. Christine said she couldn’t afford to miss this loop. Only in this loop Bigfoot is a substitute WR. The ring that belongs to King Solomon and a urban legend. The two conditions are now fulfilled. King Solomon begins to invade MC’s mind. Christine tells MC thank you for their hard work. And welcomes the great one, King Solomon. We cut to Curren, everything is going exactly as planned. Operation Zero Exception Handling begins.

To be continued…..

[djtheabishai]

This Is How MY Obey Me! Barbatos Is

This can get a bit NSFWy, so I'll put a divider before going into the section. He is also shipped with Simeon in my Obey! Verse, so, Simebarb. Also, cursing and purring demon

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The game stated he was never a kid, but didn't mention he was never a teen (haha! Loop hole!) So he was raising Brook and Diavolo at the age of (appearance wise) 16 - 18

He has 4 kids. D.J., Brook, Luke and Willow. Brook he found as an egg and raised her since she was egg. He got D.J. when she was thrown out by a unwilling 14 year old (by appearance) Simeon at the age of 8. He kept in content with Simeon so he can keep the angel in the light with how D.J. is doing in the Devildom. He got Luke when Simeon came along. They are a packaged deal. Willow is his only biological child he has with Simeon (Read Willow: Daughter of Simebarb for information how). He doesn't see Diavolo as his child, but more likely his nephew that he happened to raise and serve.

He doesn't use his power unless told to by Diavolo or he REALLY feels the need to disobey Diavolo and see the possible outcomes.

When it comes to Brook and Willow, he is "Father" Luke calls him "Barbatos" , and D.J. calls him either "Barb" or "Father Barb". He is also very protective of his children. He's not the over baring type, but he WILL NOT show mercy if one of his kids gets hurt.

"SOLOMON STAY THE FUCK OUT MY KITCHEN!!" He won't even let him stick his head in the room.

*sees a rat* ... "Where's my knife?" He'll freeze before he'll turn the place upside down trying to catch and kill the poor rodent and find it's nest to do the same. Not so bothered by mice though, he'll just catch and release them into the wild far from where ever he caught it.

Helps tend to D.J. and Diavolo's two headed dog, Cujo.

"You break my daughter's heart, I'll break your neck." - Barbatos to Lucifer about Brook

Doesn't know what to say to D.J. and Diavolo since she's with the prince and he's with Barbatos's daughter.

"I'm sorry, I love you, Father Barb, but if you break my Papa's heart, I'm coming after you." Barbatos slowly looks at the half dragon. " I wouldn't dream of it." Barbatos forms a shit eating smirk. " I'd also LOVE to see you try to come after me." - D.J. and Barbatos about Simeon

When it's just his family in the room, he's more than willing to playfully fight and argue with D.J. and Brook (mostly D.J. since she's the troublesome twin).

"Yup, that's my husband, Barbatos, the Demon Lord's Steward, almighty Master of Time and feared by all, " He's unable to keep a straight face. " arguing with D.J. about butter in the kicthen!" The fallen angel puts his face in his hand and laughs. - Simeon to M.C.

If you say something dumb, he'll stop whatever's he's doing, look at you, go back to whatever he's doing and call you a dumbass by "coughing" or he just closes his eyes, inhails, shakes his head, exhails and go about his business.

"My Lord... Get. Back. To. Work. D.J., stop distracting him."

Doesn't care what D.J. does, as long as she doesn't distract him or the Young Master from working. (She's usually working on Dragon Training anyway to be a distraction.)

Gave Willow a time controlling pocket watch when she was 5.

Willow is his baby girl. You mess with her, you're dead no matter the incident. But he also won't hesitate to punish her if she did something wrong.

He loves baking with Luke. It's his one of his favorite pass times and is getting more and more proud and prideful the more Luke gets better at it.

His other favorite pass time is spending time with Simeon. No matter what it is. Baking, relaxing, talking, "bed time". Don't matter. He loves his fallen angel and wouldn't trade his time with him for anything. He'll tell Diavolo to wait unless it's a dire need. (Diavolo doesn't really bother him that often anyway, knowing even he needs breaks and Simeon is the only one that can give it to him.)

One of his favorite positions is laying on the couch or bed, Simeon behind him, with the fallen angel's legs on either side of him, running his gloves less fingers through the demon's hair, massaging his scalp and base of horns, making him purr and tail wag (more like sway back and forth) a bit. The demon's ankles are crossed, Simeon's other arm is resting on the steward's stomach or by his side, holding his hand. Barbatos's tail tips, toes, feet or legs and fingers twitch every now and then, purring getting a little louder each twitch.

The moment Barbatos sits between Simeon's legs, the fallen angel automatically brings his fingers to the demons head and begins scratching and rubbing. With each pull of the fallen angel's fingers, Barbatos's vision begins to get more blurry and slowly droop and he slowly leans back into his lover, and his head eventually falls on Simeon's chest, the demon purring at that point and eyes closed.

Barbatos at this point is halfway between being awake and being alseep. He feels asleep but he's well aware of his surroundings and what's going on. Sometimes they talk about their day. Any other time it's a comfortable silence with Barbatos's purrs and the sound of Simeon scratching the demon's head fills the room with whatever is playing in the background, rather it be a show their kids are watching, whatever song is softly playing or just purring and scratching. If it's late at night, they'll eventually fall asleep like that, Barbatos still purring in his sleep.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\_NSFW!_/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The man is a switch.

If he feels he hasn't been useful enough by the end of the day, he'll let Simeon dominate the fuck out of him. Any other time he dominates the fallen angel. Which is half the time.

He loves to use his tail to tease and pleasure Simeon.

He has a master kink. Both Dominating and Submitting (Simeon found it to be very effective on hard, rough days at the castle and days when Barbatos feels he didn't do enough). He also growls.

Before Simeon fell, he'd feel a bit guilty about bedding the angel a majority of the time because he'd feel paritly responsible if the reason the angel fell (he paritly is). Now that he's fallen, he doesn't feel no guilt what so ever except when he accidentally hurts him.

Starts slow and teasing that gradually gets rougher and heated the longer they go at it.

Simeon's cries, moans and whines drives him up the wall. He loves giving Simeon blow jobs for this exact reason. He'll keep Simeon's hands and hips down with his hands and tail as he goes to blows him. (Simeon both hates and loves it because he can't move his arms and hips.)

After they go at it, he's tired, and very cuddly. He'll wrap his tail and arms around Simeon and hold him close. They tease each other on what the other said during their moment. Leads to round 2 half the time with the previous sub dominanting.

[bluedevilsrpg]

CHAPTER I PART I 

REDEMPTION

Os Ferventis Prison ⤬  January 13th 12AM 1706. 

BOILING MOUTH, a prison with a reputation to house lunatics, murderers and the scum of the earth. Savery is a form of survival beyond this impossible prison that stands tall like a tower - located near the fortress of Solaro. To dream of death is mercy to those shackled like animals for slaughter in this madman’s house. Here you’re chained by the throat to suffer silence as you bide your time in the despair of awaiting to be offered a measly plot in a nameless graveyard. Surrounded by the ocean on all sides, it is a sentence murmured for the damned - pray to all the Gods and perhaps they shall grant you a painful and restful demise. 

But tonight is a night like no other. 

Solaro shines in its glory as it celebrates its Emperor’s birth. Crowned and hailed as the almighty and great Emperor Antiochus II, the country and its many citizens are expected to hold extravagant festivities offered in gold, pearls, land and people. And thus, the ornate revelry of the kingdom has set the stage for an impossible mission that has never been achieved before. A dangerous idea set in motion by one arrogant man. Painstakingly, GOD KILLER has spent the last several years orchestrating an intricate plan into motion. The beginning is now, and from the shadows he shall step to launch forward in the Great Pirate Race. With or without birthright, it’s time to make his own mark. 

Yet despite the chaos that follows and the unraveling of events from the outside, the Captain who’s set forth all in motion remains missing. 

Instead, he’s sent a message - one for each squadron; carefully selected and chosen to join him on the race for the hunt of GOD. Each and every one invited for select criteria; that being - degenerate filth with the appetite for violence and crimes, each being worse than the next. And yet there’s pride in his decision, one that feels like the start of cementing a myth itself. Freedom lies beyond the horizon, this is the first trial that stands in this crew’s path. Paradise is impossible if you haven’t tasted Hell. 

Machinations set into motion - the Marines have set their focus elsewhere for this evening, some choosing to succumb to all the sins offered to man. And through careful persuasion of twisted mouths; blood between the knuckles and a blade plunged through tender skin - each and every one has assembled. And yet, they stand amongst their enemies in perplexation as a note is left, messily scrawled in words that appear akin to chicken scratchings. 

A note marked with AT, a scribble of what appears to be a knife and a skull in the corner. 

Dear Whores, Scum & Pieces of Shit 

If you’re reading this, I’m already long fucking gone. But, this isn’t to say that I’ve abandoned you from the proposition I’ve made. Rather, I’ve provided an opportunity for each and every single one of you to join me on my journey to capturing GENESIS. Your first trial lies ahead. You don’t have much time so unless you’d prefer to rot to your death, I’d hurry the fuck up. Also, it's up to you to remove the collars on your neck, if you don’t it’ll detonate the moment you step off this prison. 

Also, I’m expecting all of you. Should one person be found slaughtered, you’ll be trapped here for the remainder of your ungrateful shitty little life. So don’t fuck it up. See you soon assholes. 

The Best Captain.  Axar 

― ♦ ―

[ 𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ] FLOWER OF ICE, CROOKED HOUND, MASTER OF DEATH, MOON BLADE, BLOOD THIEF. 

The group reads the note to their annoyance as they stand amongst each other. CROOKED HOUND pries the piece of paper off the wall, they flip it over to study the back, “I believe it’s for the best we work together to make it out alive.” FLOWER OF ICE seemingly nods her head but her eyes flitter to MASTER OF DEATH in utmost distraction - a person of interest who was finally standing before her. MOON BLADE parts her mouth, “I think that’s a brilliant idea brother,” a feigned innocence in her voice as she licks the corner of her lips, a dig just for him. BLOOD THIEF ignores the others and is the first to navigate in another direction. From a distance, the sound of footsteps and quiet murmurs could be heard from the approaching guards. 

There is no other choice but to move onward, the collective group making their way to an iron door. And it’s with the strength of FLOWER OF ICE that unlatches it, making way for them. 

Pitter patter. 

It continues to drip. 

A gurgle of sound echoes from beneath the ground. “Oh no …” MOON BLADE is first to notice. 

There’s nothing quite like walking through filth and being knee high in the putrid stench of contaminated water in combination with excessive waste disposal. 

[ 𝐒𝐄𝐖𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 ]

― ♦ ―

[ 𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ] MADAME MASSACRE, DEMON EATER, QUEEN OF PLAGUE, KING OF DROUGHT, CURSED SOLDIER, RAZOR FIST. 

The hostility is thick in the air as there is indisputable tension lingering between all parties. CURSED SOLDIER is the first to speak, “there’s something on the back of this.”

“Well tell us what the hell it is,” QUEEN OF PLAGUE hisses the words with lethality. The others glance at the paper, there are two drawings, both which appear entirely unfamiliar to all. “It’s a series of arrows,” DEMON EATER pieces together, “and a fucking symbol,” MADAME MASSACRE finishes. “Let’s fucking go then, I’m planning to make it out alive,” RAZOR FIST announces as he sprints off first. KING OF DROUGHT follows quietly after but his steps are paced more carefully as he looks toward the signs on the wall and the paper. 

It isn’t long before they arrive at a twelve foot door, made of steel, intricate carvings marked on all parts. DEMON EATER lifts up the paper - the symbol matching perfectly. Now lies the problem of opening the gateway to whatever hell lies beyond. “Fuck, do you think we can run through that?” 

“Unless you want to die,” says KING OF DROUGHT to RAZOR FIST. 

“Let’s look around, there’s got to be a way in.” DEMON EATER interrupts. 

[ 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 ]

― ♦ ―

[ 𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ]  SAINT GUILLOTINE, CHILD OF FLAMES, LITTLE MISS RED, BELLS OF HELL, SUNKEN WITCH,  ANGEL OF TERROR.

LITTLE MISS RED flips over the note this time - the words are written in a language she doesn’t quite understand. The others stare at the words in equal confusion, some blatantly more lost than others. “I can’t read,” SAINT GUILLOTINE confesses. ANGEL OF TERROR eyes the other, making no verbal comment but the expression that lingers on his face is enough to reveal his feelings. 

“We should fucking burn it,” CHILD OF FLAMES declares, pyromancy apparently the answer to everything. “And where would we get the fire?” SUNKEN WITCH remarks, a brow turned upward. 

“Read it later, we got a prison to escape,” BELLS OF HELL quips.  The path that unfolds before them is one that looks both decrypt and touched by grime. It appears to be a secluded area within the prison that’s never been touched. The walls are covered with what appears to be moss and vines, small insects crawling through the cracks present. The group walks onward with little trouble. 

But a rumble can be heard from a distance. 

[ 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 ] 

― ♦ ―

OOC GAMEPLAY 

Please make sure to utilize the #OOC discussion [story] channel to plot ooc with your team! To begin the journey, make sure to @all members of your crew and create a thread for your team in the #admin plot drop section. 

Stay on the lookout for ADMIN interjections within the #admin plot drop section / group thread. 

All current game time involving the prison break out will be secluded within 3 threads ( one per group ) 

Please use the forums to tag accordingly (1x1s). Two forum sections have been provided, one for member characters and one for admin & mod team! 

If you’d like to rp with me (admin emma, axar will be available for prologue threads - read below for more info. ) 

A PROLOGUE SECTION is provided for characters to interact with days prior to the prison break out, a schedule of the prison’s daily running can be found below. *These threads must take place before January 13th. [ Estimated dates to use are January 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th, 12th ] 

Os Ferventis Prison [ A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A CRIMINAL ]

8AM - 8:30AM [ SECLUDED BREAKFAST // consists of slop ]

9AM - 12PM [ SECLUSION & SOLITARY CONFINEMENT ]

1PM - 2PM [ 1 HOUR OF INTERACTION ] 

2PM - 7PM [ SECLUSION & SOLITARY CONFINEMENT ]

7PM [ SECLUDED DINNER // more slop ] 

7:45 - 8PM [ COMMUNAL ICE SHOWERS ]

8PM ONWARD [ SECLUSION & SOLITARY CONFINEMENT ] 

In order to progress to the next part of the drop, please make sure to prioritize the group threads and work with your team members. The rp will not move forward until everyone completes & participates! For further questions, please contact Emma. 

[the-white-soul]

Master of the meals

"Alright Papyrus I'm finished eating. Hey look in the news."

"What is it human."

"'Due to the untimely death of dearly missed robot someone has taken over the food parlor. This is' oh sh*t."

"Who?"

"'For the last 2 months it has been owned by spider lady.'"

"And?"

"I need to go there imminently."

Muffet sang:

"My band of soaks, my den of dissolutes My dirty jokes, my always pissed as newts My sons of whores (no, no, no, no not tonight) spend their lives in my kitchen Homing spiders homing in They climb through my doors And they crawl out on all eights

Welcome, Monsieur, sit yourself down And meet the best baker in town As for the rest, all of 'em taste: Sbout as bad as all of there butts Seldom do you see Honest girls like me A gent of good intent Who's content to be

Master of the meals, making them with charm Ready with a fork knife and an open palm Tells a saucy tale, makes a little stir Customers appreciate a bon-viveur Glad to do a friend a favor Doesn't cost me to be nice But nothing gets you nothing Everything has got a little price!

Master of the meals, keeper of the rules I'd be fine to sell one of there sou or two Watering the cide, making up the weight Pickin' up their knick-knacks when they can't see straight Everybody loves a baker Everybody's banana's friend I do whatever pleases Jesus! Won't I bleed 'em in the end!

Master of the meals, quick to catch yer eye Never was a bad meal to pass her by Servant to the poor, maker to the great Comforter, philosopher, and lifelong mate! Everybody's boon companion Everybody's chaperone But lock up your valises Jesus! Won't I skin you to the bone!

Food beyond compare. Food beyond belief Mix humans in mincers and pretend it's beef Kidney of a horse, liver of a cat Filling up the sausages with spider that Residents are more than welcome Bridal suite is occupied Reasonable charges Plus some little extras on the side! (Here we go!)

Charge 'em for the lice, extra for the mice Two thousand Gs for looking at my torso twice (Hand it over!) Here a little slice, there a little cut Three thousand G's for eating with the window shut When it comes to fixing prices There are a lot of tricks I knows How it all increases, all them bits and pieces Jesus! It's amazing how it grows!

Master of the meals, quick to catch yer eye Never was a bad meal to pass her by Servant to the poor, maker to the great Comforter, philosopher, and lifelong mate! Everybody's boon companion Everybody's chaperone But lock up your valises Jesus! Won't I skin you to the bone!

Burgerpants:

(Oh, sorry love Must get something done about that) I used to dream that I would meet a princess But God Almighty, have you seen what's happened since?

Master of the meals? Isn't worth my spit! Maker, philosopher and lifelong sh*t! Cunning little brain, regular Voltaire Thinks she's quite a lover but there bosom's as big as mine What a cruel trick of nature landed me with such a screech God knows how I've lasted living with this bastard of the meals!

Master of the meals! Maker and a half! Comforter, philosopher Don't make me laugh! Servant to the poor, butler to the great Maybe I should've tried to inebriate!

Everybody bless the baker! Everybody bless her spouse!

Everybody raise a glass Raise it up the spider's a** Everybody raise a glass to the Master of the Meals!

[homedecor-shop-online]

5 spiritual Ganesha wall art you must buy this Ganesh Chaturthi

There are only a few days left until our beloved lord Ganesha resides in our house on the joyous occasion of Ganesh Chaturthi. It is one of the most popular festivals in our country, and people eagerly wait for this occasion.

If you are not someone who brings home a Ganesha idol, you can celebrate the festival by buying a Ganesha painting. Unlike idols, you don’t need to immerse the painting in water after a period of time.

In this blog, we will look at five beautiful Ganesha paintings that you can bring into your house to celebrate the joyous festival. We will also talk about one of the best stores in Mumbai to buy Ganesha and other spiritual wall art.

Ashirwad Ganesha

Dhananjay Chakroborty's Ashirwad Ganesha is a magnificent work of art to behold in your home. Any room will benefit from the exclusivity and sophistication that this dazzling Ganesha artwork brings. This high-end piece of artwork, along with its aesthetics, will also bring positive vibes and the blessings of Lord Ganesha.

Boy offering flowers to Ganesha

This exquisite boy offering flowers to Ganesha painting by K. Prakash will look lovely in any house. The painting depicts the pure love a child has for the elephant god. The orange Ganesha symbolises spiritual growth and auspiciousness. This painting is perfect for a house that has toddlers, as it can bring them closer to their culture and religion. This painting will infuse your environment with divine energy and joy because of its vivid colours and accurate depiction of the youngster giving the Lord a flower.

Meditating Ganesha

This is the calmest and most relaxing painting on this list. This exquisite meditating Ganesha painting by K. Prakash is perfect to hang in a meditation room or a place you often go for relaxation. The vibrant colours and fine details of this artwork make it the ideal approach to adding a spiritual element to your decor.

Ganesha Seth

This painting of Ganesha Seth by Rima Roy  is guaranteed to be a lovely addition to any home or office cabin because of its fine detail and brilliant colours. The painting will undoubtedly offer a timeless and significant adornment for any room. This calm, handmade painting for the living room is perfect to lighten the space. You can also hang this painting at your home entrance, as Lord Ganesha is known to stop any obstacle from entering your house.

The Mangal Murti

Ranjit Sarkar is a master of the knife painting method, which combines thick oil and acrylic paints to give the artwork an embossed appearance. His aesthetic fits the category of modern Indian artists who don't mind experimenting with their works of art. The painting shows Lord Ganesha sitting on a throne with four arms and Mushak Maharaj near his feet. Mangal Murti is a perfect combination of Indian traditional painting and spiritual painting.

All the paintings that are mentioned above will be shipped in rolled form without frames. If you want a framed painting, you can contact Satguru’s.

Conclusion 

It is impossible to overstate the importance of Lord Ganesha in our lives as we get closer to the auspicious day of Ganesh Chaturthi. Beyond the customary festivals and ceremonies, this revered deity's spiritual essence illuminates our path of devotion and self-discovery. The decision to add spiritual Ganesha wall art to our homes not only gives a touch of aesthetic elegance but also strengthens our relationship with the almighty.

If you are looking to buy spiritual wall art for your house, you must check out Satguru’s. All the paintings mentioned above are available on their official website. Along with wall art, you can also buy Ganesha idols and other God paintings. Visit their website to learn more about their products and delivery policies.

[ultraericthered]

Anime Update V2 59

Vinland Saga S2 - I’m still just watching some characters, mainly two slaves, working on farmland and having some conversations with each other, and somehow this anime is making me super invested in it every time! Helps that the conversations tend to be really tense and revealing about the characters having them. There was some action with the visitng warriors setting Olmar up to kill the slaves, and then the one guy slashing Thorfinn repeatedly (to the point of slicing part of his ear off) without Thorfinn once breaking and getting scared to die given what Hell his life has been and still is. With Einar realizing the sort of man Thorfinn is and the warring he’d been involved in, he’s actually tempted to try and strangle him in the night, but thinks better of it. The scariest part was the very last part I saw, where we suddenly see Canute standing among marked graves in the night...

Hunter x Hunter - Welp, Kite’s dead. He fought Neferpitou and got Killua to leave with a KO’d Gon, and Neferpitou murdered him. The end of the episode shows he severed Kite’s head clean off his body! How are we expected to beat these guys now? This is terrifying! However, there was one part of it that sort of cut through that tension - Gon expresses optimisim that Kite’s not dead (even though we soon see he’s wrong) and keeps upbeat and warm-hearted as usual even in spite of what happened, and Killua is just in awe of his pal Gon, internally solioquizing about how Gon’s a big ray of sunshine, or like the sun itself, and there is NO heterosexual explanation for it!

Fruits Basket - Episode covering the whole backstory of Akito’s parents and how Akito was born and shaped into the vile, wretched creature we know her as now by absolute shit parenting. Akira was basically 2001 anime Akito with his illness taking his life while still fairly young, and the dub even has him voiced by Chad Cline, creating a chilling effect whenever he fanciful words of exalting and expectations-raising onto his daughter, which was countered by his crazy wife speaking the truth but doing so in a way that makes Akito out to be a worthless existence that should regret her own birth if she were not, in fact, born for that untruth her father spoke of. And the head servant is just as awful, lying to the young Akito about her father’s soul being inside a box that she must keep shut, and then there’s Shigure who is his own brand of evil altogether. None of this excuses or justifies the behaviors Akito has exhibited and the choices she’s made to control and abuse others just to hoard their devotion to her, but God almighty, it’s hard to see how she could NOT turn out so fucked up from all this. And then even she acknowledges that the box was always empty, that her and her family’s whole “eternal banquet” life was always broken and doomed to fail, and that her life to this point has been one gigantic waste. Even Kureno, the one who’s most kind to her, failed her by enabling her and giving her the false hope of “they’ll all always come back to me”, and as his punishment he ends up on the other end of a knife. Yeah. Akito is now out for blood.

Fate/Stay Night: Unlimited Blade Works - Shirou, Saber and Rin try to plan out an effective strategy for dealing with Caster before she can initiate her mass murder plot. Rin and Shirou talk about what drives them in being mages. Saber notices that the left side of her master’s body has become numb and that he may be suffering the side effects of projection magic, and Archer drops by to help Shirou with that and also disparge his heroism ideals once more. Dick.

Re:ZERO - Soooo it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Roswaal is totally an evil bastard. He was sketchy to start with and at this point he’s just going to start making it more and more obvious that he’s the bad guy. Felt bad for Emilia continuing to have to endure traumatic memories (that we weren’t shown yet) in order to complete that trial, felt bad for Subaru having to worry for her and put up with Roswaal’s apathetic and self-interested bullshit, and I have to wondder if Ram has actually forgotten about Rem at all given her face when she hears Subaru speak Rem’s name. Then Subaru heads back to the mansion to speak with Frederica again only to find it seemingly vacated all of a sudden. ....And then he gets skewered from behind by none other than Elsa Grandhirte! Did NOT see that one coming!

Symphogear GX - Watched the OVA shorts for this series. Not quite as fun as the last ones, but still insanely entertaining, especially the ones with the F.I.S girls serving their jail time (they’re always stealing the show, aren’t they?) and the ones with Carol and the Autoscorers making preparations in their lair, which showed Carol’s more silly comedically serious side and somewhat humanized the villains more.

Eureka Seven - A lot of the episode is spent on Holland and Talho still dwelling on their past war crimes while Gekko State goes to catch a big wave that’s supposedly brewing in the sky on the other side of the planet, and we see Dewey now clean-shaven and getting his hair cut and groomed as he gets an update on affairs from his twerpy lackey Dominic. Talho ends up redirecting the Gekko to the ruins of a military base that holds some special meaning for her and Holland. Then Anemone and her Nirvash unit, The-END, arrive at Dewey’s military base and oooooh geez, things are creepy already!

Gintama - Odd Jobs Gin is no more! Didn’t you guys read last time?

[xxsabitoxx]

The pillars and their kinks

Thank you for the request anon!

As usual with 18+ posts, no Muichiro cause he’s a lil baby

No gender for the reader in this! Just some kinks ;)

A/N: this little warning sign I made makes me laugh every time I post it lol

Giyu

✷ dom/sub — leans towards sub cause he’d rather you be in control

✷ bondage (not crazy tho)

✷ definitely likes to be praised since he is so used to being degraded (lmfao I’m sorry)

✷ ironically though he likes to degrade you

✷ gagging, like actually gagging you so you can’t speak and you gagging on his cock

✷ here me out…knife play. He discovered this one by accident

✷ stigmatophilia (attraction to tattoos / piercings)

✷ lastly…wax play… idk why though… I just feel it

Shinobu

✷ blindfolds — this goes both ways

✷ despite her status I think she likes the risk of public sex

✷ she’s a fan of “accidental” arousal. Like something innocent turning very hot n heavy quick lol

✷ dom/sub as well but it depends on her partner. (I see her being more dominate with men and more submissive with women but that can change depending on her partner’s preferences)

✷ choking, I’ll let you do with that what you will

✷ breast play / torture — this also goes both ways

✷ cunnilingus is an obsession for her ngl (again giving and receiving but I think she prefers to give)

✷ And lastly… face slapping (giving…don’t try and slap her it won’t end well.)

Rengoku

✷ dom/sub — y’all may disagree but I think this man is a sub

✷ objectification — he gets turned on by the idea of you seeing him as nothing more than a toy for your pleasure

✷ slave / master — he like having a strong and dominant partner

✷ breeding kink — regardless if you can get pregnant or not.

✷ breath play is also a turn on for a man who is very in control of his breathing

✷ He’s a masochist I’m sorry to break it to you

✷ like Giyu, he’s also into tattoos and piercings

✷ fire play. I’ll let your mind run around with that one

Tengen

✷ man likes to think he’s dominant — and if it’s one on one sex he usually is

✷ Group sex thought? He at the mercy of his partners.

✷ bondage, and I’m talking like intricate restricting bondage

✷ BDSM — abuse this man he gets off to it like nothing else

✷ impact play — lord forgive me for this one

✷ humiliation — this man gets off to being made fun off lmfao. For some reason he likes his ego being DEMOLISHED during sex

✷ orgasm control — both giving and receiving. He likes being told and telling others when the can cum

Mitsuri

✷ dom/sub — she’s submissive regardless of her partner’s gender

✷ definitely a pillow princess — loves to receive oral

✷ into bondage if the items are cute (like pink lace and silk ribbions etc)

✷ huge praise kink — don’t degrade her or she will cry

✷ overstimulation — edging will — again — make her cry

✷ definitely willing to try just about anything as long as it doesn’t involve inflicting pain on you or her

✷ she is also into breast play but not really into the idea of “torture”

✷ also likes role play

Obanai

✷ dom/sub — definitely prefers to be dominant

✷ definitely into degrading his partner

✷ I feel like he is rather cruel in bed (unless it’s Mitsuri)

✷ definitely has a breeding kink

✷ choking & breath play

✷ cuckolding (gets off to seeing other people fuck his partner and degrade him)

✷ impact play but not on him lmfao (trauma…)

✷ he’s also into knife play

Sanemi

✷ LORD ALMIGHTY

✷ absolutely feral in bed

✷ dom/sub — strictly dominant unless you manage to convince him to try otherwise

✷ choking — breath play — chokers and gags

✷ definitely loves degrading you

✷ he is into bdsm and bondage but will only go as far as you are willing to let him go

✷ please…hear me out… CNC (consensual non-consent)

✷ definitely into public sex

✷ marking is another turn on, he needs everyone knowing what you two were doing

✷ this also includes a breeding kink — once again regardless if you can get pregnant or not lol

Gyomei

✷ vanilla as fuck y’all I’m sorry

✷ he is the definition of gentle giant

✷ he will let you do as you please

✷ nothing crazy like at all

✷ tbh his only “kink” is he has a bit of a size kink

[imagine-a-dream]

Don't blame me

Otto Octavius x female!reader

summary: You are a superhero that takes the job of protecting citizens after the sudden disappearance of Spider-Man. Things do not always go according to plan, but sometimes they turn out even better than you imagined.warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, vaginal fingering, dry humping. requested by none other than my thirstword count: 3235AN: You can read it on AO3 as well and there's version in Russian here (idk just in case). Part 2 'Bruises' (flashbacks)

Your back hits the wall with a loud thud, the force of it knocks the air out of your lungs and the world goes dark for just a moment. But you don’t have time to recover; two metal claws immediately dig into your shoulders, tearing the fabric of the superhero suit and the delicate skin under with the ease of a red-hot knife through butter. The cuts are shallow, barely bleeding, and it hurts your pride more than brings you any real damage. The lack of oxygen burns your lungs and you take a deep breath, greedily swallowing the cool evening air.

You snap your head up, and the silhouette of the master and creator of the mechanisms pinning your body, is stepping out of the dark. His regal figure approaches you slowly, if not reluctantly, and his shadow swallows all the light around you hiding you from the whole world. It seems like the darkness comes from within himself.

Octavius stops right in front of you and only by a slight tilt of his head, you realize that he's looking you over.

“Here you are, birdie.” His voice is steady, simply stating the fact. Here you are, indeed.

You can’t see his eyes behind the dark lenses of his glasses, but you just know that they have the same malicious excitement of an animal finally catching his prize after many days of chasing. For some reason, this comparison amuses you. Between the two of you, it’s debatable who is the real prize here.

To be completely honest, you had no desire to break out of the three-fingered paws on your shoulders. Not, when you had their owner right when you wanted him after many weeks of seemingly fruitless flirting. You did wiggle a little, even if just for a show, but other than that you did not make a move to free yourself, arms hanging loosely at your sides. If it weren't for the sunglasses hiding his eyes, you could swear you'd be able to see a reflection of your own, almost sadistical, enjoyment of the current situation.

The light from a passing car illuminates his face just for a few moments, and in the darkness of the alley where this madman lured you in, or more like thrown you down from the top of the near building, your eyes manage to catch a crooked smirk with a slight touch of pride. You want to wipe it off his face with either a sandpaper or your own lips, you're fine with either.

He opens his plump lips, no doubt to throw some witty and clever remark you way, that you will replay in your head for the next few days in the loneliness of your apartment, but this game of cat-and-mouse turned you on so much already, that the next words came out of your mouth before you can even think of it, bypassing any stopping points in your feverishly excited brain:

“Easy, tiger! I do like it rough, you got me here, but maybe buy me dinner first, eh?”

He stops dead in the tracks with his mouth agape, and you don't even try to stop your mouth from speaking your thoughts anymore: “Though we can skip the dinner. With you looking like a damn five-course meal and a dessert… I bet I'll be full enough for the evening.”

You watch the change of expression on his broad face with almost childish excitement. The poor man seems to be so taken aback by this ridiculous and out of place comments that don’t even notice his metal devices unclenching, releasing your rather stiff shoulders from their grip.

If you were a ‘real’ heroine, like the notorious Avengers or X-Men, so almighty and full of honor and dignity, this small interaction would be a part of a distraction plan that would offer you some time to escape or strike another blow to the villain, taking advantage of his confusion… But you were not like them.

You believed that lying to yourself was a bad and useless habit, so you were always willing to admit even the darkest of your desires. And at the very top of this not very long wish-list for the past few weeks was him.

You shoot Otto a playful wink and leant forward, raising a hand as if to cup his face, but the supervillain recoils and takes a step back, almost stumbling over one of his appendages. You find his reaction almost comical and can’t help but laugh out loud. He clearly w as not expecting such a turn of events and the furrowed brows tell you that he’s quite angry with your amusement. He opens his mouth again, but you happily interrupt him once more:

“Aw, don’t pout, Doctor, I am serious! Don’t blame me, though, when it’s all your fault. I mean just look at you, such a tall, strong man and a genius at that. And these tentacles…” With each word, you took a step forward until your palm finds its place on the lapel of his inner coat, barely grazing over the only exposed area of skin. “I can only imagine how useful they can be.”

You grin broadly, noting with pride how even in the darkness of the street you still can clearly see the blush coloring his face and spread further down his neck. It’s even adorable, you think, if you forget about his failed attempt to rob a jewelry store not that many hours ago. That poor security guard must be in great pain with this many broken bones.

Despite the obvious lewd subtext behind your words, the man stands still, only titling his head slightly, and don't make another move. You were foolishly hoping that maybe this way he finally catches on your true intentions, but it seems like the luck isn’t on your side today. You're almost disappointed.

“Shame. Judging by our previous encounter, I thought you would be… braver.”

You click your tongue on the roof of your mouth disappointedly and give his body a dirty look over. Your gaze lingers on his broad chest, slightly glistening in the dim light of street lamps with tiny beads of perspiration all over it. You stare for a few moments longer than the situation requires. And definitely much longer than any norms of decency allows.

You let your covered thumb connect with his skin finally, giving it a gentle whisper of a caress, and breath out dreamily.

“But what a sight…”

“Oh, you little minx.” A barely audible whisper reaches your ears and you find yourself pressed against the nearest wall for the umpteenth time of the evening. You cry out in surprise, digging your fingers into the soft flesh of his chest in an attempt to stabilize yourself. One of his prosthetics quickly snakes his way around your arms, connecting them tightly behind your back, and the other wraps around your legs, completely depriving you of the chance to move and escape their death grip. The devices raise you slightly to Otto’s face level.

With a quick movement of his gloved hand he takes off the glasses, finally revealing to you his beautiful chocolate eyes framed by thick black eyelashes. He narrows his gaze, locking your eyes, and you almost choke on your breath of the intensity of it, feeling more vulnerable than ever. Despite the life-threatening situation, you can't help but notice his pupils dilating wildly and consuming the soft brown, leaving only blackness.

He pulls himself closer, completely covering your body with his own. His chest is pressing against yours so hard that you can feel how each of his breaths pushes you deeper into the wall; the uneven surface of the bricks scratches your back, but it only turns you on more. Your faces are dangerously close to each other, so close that his breath burn your lips, and the tip of his long, slightly hooked nose touches the short hairs on the end of your nose, tickling it.

You take a deep breath through your nose and the bitter and distinct smell of cooling asphalt and gasoline hits your nostrils; somewhere in the back you can hear barely audible-expensive Cologne with a light touch of sweat and metal. The wild mixture of aromas is suffocating, it settles on the insides of your throat like a sticky veil, and your head starts to spin with intoxication. Or is it from the feeling of his hot body pressing yours into the cooling hardness of the bricks? The contrast of temperatures makes the feeling of sweet anticipation spread through the body like wildfire and you shiver against him which doesn’t go unnoticed.

Otto chuckles darkly and tilts his head just so that his lips are barely grazing over the corner of yours now; his nose pokes your cheek right under the edge of the mask that hides the upper half of your face, protecting your identity. You gulp, unable to move from the sudden intimacy of his movements. He ghosts his lips over your face, moving agonizingly slow, until he rises to the very lobe of your ear; to this moment every inch of your skin feels like it’s melting under his touch.

Your eyes screw shut when Octavius presses his lips on the inner shell of your ear. His deep rumbling voice flows into your ear like liquid lava and your body responds with a strong, almost painful, spasm in your lower abdomen.

“You really think you’re ready for me to be brave, huh?”

You find the strength to exhale a stubborn “Surprise me, Doctor.”

His dark chuckle sends a wave of electricity through your whole body. You can feel it traveling from the very tips of your fingers to stop in the pit of your stomach.

“Oh, damn you, calling me Doctor like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it.”

Your brain is so far away that you can’t come up with any sort of at least somewhat believable lie. You just nod, admitting the truth behind his words. And it earns you a very pleased “Bad girl.”

The next moment he sink his teeth into the flesh under your earlobe without any warning and you already feel a bruise forming on the delicate skin. A gasp escapes your lips and his wet, thick tongue slides like a snake over the burning skin, apologizing for the caused pain. Your lower lips are throbbing with desire, walls clenching with only one wish; of him inside, stretching you to the hilt. And you feel almost ashamed, but you push these feelings away, focusing on other, more important sensations.

Otto leaves a trail of wet kisses all the way down to the collarbones and stops only when his lips reach the collar of your supersuit. Soft breeze pleasantly cools your now wet neck and the soft sound of your moan seems so foreign that at first you don’t realize that it comes from your own throat.

“Won’t you look at yourself, birdie. So quiet, so… submissive. I like it.”

He’s cheeky, knowing exactly what en effect he has on you, and you can hear it in his voice, but it doesn’t matter anymore. The tentacles tighten their grip around your wrists and ankles and you hiss at the tug.

"Easy, boys. We don't want to break her yet."

You feel the tips of his fingers wandering around your chest, grazing over it tentatively. They wander over the surface of the suit, drawing obscure patterns on it. The touch is so light it nearly drives you mad and you arch your back to feel him, but he pulls his hand back just in time so you don’t have much-needed attention. You whine pathetically and he shakes his head, disapproving of your impatience.

He then raises his hand as if to cup your cheek but stops halfway and changes the trajectory. You’re about to ask him what is that he’s doing, but the question is stuck in your throat when you see his teeth ever so gently bite into the hem of leather glove on his middle finger.

Enchanted, you watch his hand slip oh so smoothly out of the piece of clothing and it hang empty, captured by his teeth. You let out a choked moan and his small smirk turns into a wide grin. That bastard is clearly enjoying your reactions. He quickly pulls the glove off his other hand and puts them both in his pocket. Not wasting another moment, his hot palms land on your breasts and he squeeze it gently. You groan simultaneously.

The heat of his hands warms your insides more and the flames of desire spread through your body, quickly turning into a wildfire, burning out the last remains of any other feelings but lust. Doctor massages your breasts and lets out a hoarse moan. You lick your lips at the sound, your walls flattering in need of attention. One hand travels carefully from your chest to your stomac; his palm glides down over your body gently, stroking every curve on the way, and stops right above the belt.

He turns his palm so that his fingers face your womanhood, the movement of his fingers tickle your soft stomach and the muscles contract; it gives Otto enough space to snake his hand under the belt inside your pants. He stops abruptly and looks up at you, questioning. But he doesn't need to ask, because at this point you’d willingly do any damn thing to feel him inside of you. Only after your affirmative nod he allows his hand to travel further in your underwear. The other hand moves to the waist, fingers diggint into your love handles.

He reach your pubis and hover over the labia, teasing the swollen lips with a whisper of a touch. You whine, and try to lower yourself in a pathetic attempt to get at least some satisfaction, but Octavius just clicks his tongue and continues the sweet torture.

You can’t take it anymore and despite your better judgment whisper feverishly: “Please… please, please...”

His voice is dripping with smugness when he asks. “Please what, darling?”

“Please!” You raise your voice in despair. “Please… touch me.”

He hums satisfied. “Since you asked so nicely…”

Suddenly his middle finger roughly press on the head of your pulsating bud and your whole body jolts in shock. You groan loudly, voice hoarse and shaky. He exhales loudly and mumbles under his nose, you only hear something along the lines of ‘already’ and ‘wet’, but you don't even think of asking him about it. By this point, you don't care about anything in this world but this man.

His strokes are gentle and slow and it makes your hips thrust on their own accord. Skillful fingers working on you with care for a few more minutes, and in any other circumstances this kind of attention would be a pleasant start, but right now it's too slow for your liking. Your heavy head falls on his shoulder, you whine and writhe under his touch like a bitch in the heat. You feel the pressure building inside of you slowly, but it’s not enough, and in a pathetic attempt to reach your peak faster you squeeze your thighs to press his hand closer to your core.

You feel his body rumble with soft breathy laugh and his chest vibrates under you, stimulating sensitive nipples and making you shudder. Mercifully, he dips index finger fist, and then the middle finger right into your slick opening, thumb taking their place now, rubbing your bundle of nerves. He doesn’t give you any time to adjust to the stretch of his thick fingers and start to move them inside of you. Your breath increases and comes out in short whimpers when he fastens his pace and you hide your face at the base of his neck breathing in his scent.

Even, through the pampering blood in your ears and street noise around you hiding spot you can hear wet sounds of his digits pushing in and out of you in a rapid pace. You think that your moans and heavy breathing can be heard from miles away, but all of the thoughts in your head disappear when Otto angles his palm and insert a third finger and the pressure of his digit on your throbbing bud increases; the pace of his pumping and the force of his hand are so perfect that it makes you see stars.

Your thighs shake from how good he makes you feel. Your leg twitches involuntarily and your knee ends up captured right between his legs and under his crotch. His bulge pokes in your upper thigh, and you feel his huge excitement. The connection makes him groan loudly and his hips thrusts in your leg.

His fingers on your waist tighten harder and you’re almost sure that he’ll leave his fingerprints there for you to remember. You strain your thigh a little and he nearly chokes on his gasp. He pulls into you even closer, squeezing you with his weight as if he wants to merge with you. He rolls his hips once, twice, and it’s not long before he’s humping your leg without a care in the world. He’s pleasuring himself with your body, hips rubbing his member in sync with his fingers thrusting into you, massaging your walls so deliciously.

His low almost animalistic growls pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You're close, so close...

And then the world explodes, your walls clenching violently around him and body convulsing in the world-shattering orgasm; your mouth opens widely in a soundless scream. To prevent the shouting of his name in bliss for every soul to hear, you clench your jaws and your teeth dig into his neck, leaving a dark mark for him to remember. Octavius groans and increases his speed, helping you ride out your last waves of pleasure and chasing his own release.

Your body goes limp on him with a final sob; he makes a few more sharp thrusts and stiffen at last, shaking. His breathy moan gets lost somewhere in the crown of your hair. You stand there for several minutes, breathing heavily. After some time, when your breath is steady and heart is calm, he carefully removes his hand, covered with your fluids, and wipes it on the inner fabric of his coat. He takes a step back and the restraints on your arms and legs loosens, and you almost fall to the ground, legs weak and boneless, but he catch you just in time.

He gives you a few more minutes to recover, hugging your smaller form almost lovingly, until pulling away completely.

“Well, I must admit it was a pleasant turn of today’s events, even if a bit unexpected.”

His upper claw returns his hat, that fell off his head in a fit of passion, to its rightful place. Otto adjusts it to his liking, looks over your ruined suit, and bows in a mocking manner, holding the brim of his hat with two fingers.

“Until next time, Y/n.”

He all but purr and your legs nearly give up from the sinful tone of his voice.

It’s only when his figure disappears in the night streets you realize that he called you by your name. You real one.

“Wait, what the f…”

masterlist | request rules

[lyrabythelake]

This one is a prompt from @pokegeek151:

‘Time is exhausted and finally falls asleep. Everyone is running in circles to make sure he gets to stay asleep’

I crown you queen of writing prompts, Latte, the ones you gave me were all marvellous! I might put a couple of the others on the back-burner for another time, but this one was my favourite :)) Thanks so much!

“SHHHH!”

Sky and Four stop both mid-stride and mid-conversation at Warriors’ less than warm welcome into camp.

“What?” Four whispers, a little affronted.

Warriors widens his eyes expressly and gestures to a person shaped lump on the ground under what seems like every blanket they collectively own. Four’s irritation fades as he spots a tuft of sandy-blond hair poking out of the top.

“Time’s finally asleep?” Sky whispers.

“He conked out about half an hour ago,” says Hyrule in a low voice as Sky and Four walk past him to deposit the logs they had collected for the fire. Four lets out a relieved breath.

“Thank the Goddesses.”

Time‘s insomnia had gotten so bad over the past few days that the eight of him had taken to walking subtly close behind him lest he collapse in the middle of the path. Legend had even started talking about slipping him a sleeping potion without his knowledge. They are all very thankful they won’t have to take that particular route now he’s finally asleep; who knows what he would have done when he found out.

Wind watches him worriedly.

“Do you think he’ll sleep through the night?” 

“Not if you don’t manage to lower your voice,” Legend hisses indignantly.

“I am lowering my voice!” he argues, to which several people tell him to “Shhh!”

“No offence, Sailor,” whispers Wild, who is in the process of adding various spices to the cooking pot, “but you haven’t exactly mastered the art of volume control. Maybe you should just… not speak for a little while.”

Wind’s eyes go as wide as saucers.

“What?!”

Another round of “Shhh”-ing.

“You can’t just tell me to not speak, Wild,” he says, ever so slightly quieter. Legend shoots a nervous look at Time who seems not to have stirred in the slightest. “It’s rude. And impossible!”

Wild shrugs and throws some beans into the pot.

“Sorry. I didn’t think it was that big a deal.”

“Not everyone’s like you, Cub,” Twilight says in an undertone. “I bet Wind couldn’t go an hour without making some kind of noise.”

“Hey, that’s not true!”

“Really?” Twilight grins. “Prove it, then.”

Wind narrows his eyes.

“Oh, I see what you’re doing. As if I’m going to fall for—”

“Ah, ah. All I hear is you demonstrating my point,” Twilight interrupts. Wind scowls and opens his mouth to retort, then pauses. Visibly coming to the sudden, internal realisation that he has no way of winning, he wrinkles his nose, crosses his arms and sits back on the log behind him, mouth set in a straight line. Wild stifles a snigger.

The quiet that follows is a peaceful one. Nothing but the sizzling of the cooking pot, the steady hollow sound of Sky’s knife against his wooden carving block, and the muted rustle of Hyrule and Legend sorting through their belongings on either end of the camp. It’s almost enough to send some of the rest of them into a sleepy daze.

Unfortunately, the peace lasts all of five minutes before a loud CLANG rings out across the camp. Everyone freezes and snaps their heads round to look at Time who luckily, and perhaps a little miraculously, still seems to be fast asleep.

“Sorry!” Wild whispers, shoulders hunched sheepishly as he holds his ladle with a strong grip. He must have knocked it against the side of the cooking pot.

“Goddess Almighty, you would’ve thought a group of seasoned heroes like us would be able to stay quiet for more than a few minutes,” mumbles Twilight. 

They make it approximately two minutes this time before there’s a sound like cracking glass. It probably wouldn’t have been too loud on its own, except Legend immediately lets out a vehement string of swear words.

“Vet!” Warriors hisses reprovingly, and once again, everybody turns to check on Time. They collectively relax when he remains still and quiet.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Legend whispers guiltily. “My ice-rod went off in my bag.”

His hand emerges from his satchel holding a large chunk of ice with what seems to be half his belongings encased within. Warriors barely represses a snort.

“I thought you were supposed to be the Veteran. That’s the most rookie mistake I’ve seen any of us make.”

“You say that like I wasn’t rehemming your tunic last night after you singed it with the fire-rod,” Legend says coolly. Warriors turns slightly pink.

“For the love of Ordona!” Twilight hisses. “Would everyone please shut u—”

An explosion sounds from near the cooking pot. The effect is instantaneous; half of them scramble to draw their swords and the other half practically fall off their makeshift seats, frantically trying to find where the explosion came from.

It doesn’t take long for them to notice Hyrule, hair smoking, the lines and creases of his face blackened with soot, sitting stock still in front of a small, smouldering crater in the ground. His expression is fixed somewhere between astonishment and utter mortification.

“Whoops,” he says quietly, as if whispering will do anything at this point.

“What did you do?!” hisses Legend, eyes practically bulging.

“I thought that bomb was a dud,” he replies hesitantly. Then adds, “Turns out it wasn’t, though.”

“Yeah, I think we all got that!”

A tired groan comes from Time’s pile of blankets and everyone audibly holds their breath as he shifts to lie on his back.

“Time?” Warriors asks softly. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” Time says wearily, muffled by the layers on top of him. Twilight buries his head in his hands and Wind silently glares at Hyrule who looks extremely guilty.

Warriors sighs resignedly.

“…You’ve been awake this whole time, haven’t you?” 

“Yep.”

[hxney-lemcn]

Compassion — Five Hargreeves x fem! reader

Summery: Reader is apart of the Commission. Being Five’s partner was rough, but her thoughts change when he helps her.

tw: Swearing, blood, killing

wc: 1.5k

Main Master List | TUA Master List

The scent of lavender filled my lungs. My muscles relaxed as I continued to inhale the calming scent. My mind just seemed to stop working as I dipped myself further into the steaming water. The dried blood that stained my body slowly rubbed off, some of it mine, most if it not. My mind couldn’t stay silent for long as flashbacks of earlier ricocheted through my head like a bullet.

Her screams of terror filled the empty house as I stabbed her husband. Shit she wasn’t supposed to be here. My target was a man who owned a small thrift shop. 

‘Innocent,’ I couldn’t help but think as I stared at his wife who broke into panicked sobs. Yet I had to do this. She wasn’t supposed to witness this, but she did, so now she has to die as well. 

Maybe it’s better this way. Now she won’t have to live the rest of her life in grief. But what if she was able to move on? No don’t think that way, just kill her now. Though I didn’t show any expression, inside I was dying. Every kill I die a little inside and I have no idea how to cope. 

Quickly I take the knife and stab her, instantly killing her.

“May you both find peace,” I mumbled looking upon there bodies. 

‘Your fault,’ My mind told me as I stared at their bloodied bodies. I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails pierced through the soft flesh. 

I clenched my eyes shut, putting my head below the water. Hoping that the water can drown out my thoughts literally. When the water started turning cold I got out. I walked to the shared motel room, already sent on my next job. For some reason she had me go with Five, the best assassin at the Commission. I’m guessing The Handler didn’t think I could do this on my own, so then why am I here?

I laid down on my bed, facing Five. I don’t trust this at all. It just doesn’t make sense why the Handler didn’t just send Five unless I’m the target. I stared at the 20 year old man as he wrote down in his book that he kept with him this entire time. We didn’t talk, he seemed reserved and I didn’t want to start a conversation either. 

I turned around and decided that if I was gonna die now, who cares? I tried to close my eyes, but every time I do I see the bodies of my victims. I didn’t want to be an assassin. I never wanted this life. I was forced, and I still am. If I leave I die, but honestly I’ve been caring less and less lately. My humanity is getting the better of me, I hate killing all these innocent people. And now? Another innocent person is going to be killed. 

“You should rest,” I couldn’t help but say once it turned to 1am. The lights were still on and I could hear him writing in that damn book of his. I swear it was driving me nuts. I didn’t turn around to face him either, so I have no clue how he took it. 

“You should too,” I heard him retort. I can imagine his eyebrows being furrowed at the moment. The light turned off but his writing did not. The sound of his writing was driving me nuts, but at the same time I feel like it is keeping me slightly sane. 

“We have to get up early,” I responded with a small sigh. “It also doesn’t help that your writing is keeping me up.” 

‘You mean I’m keeping you up,’ My mind chided. I internally rolled my eyes at myself. The writing stopped for a few minutes, but then it picked back up again. I sat up and turned to look at my partner for this mission. The almighty Five who has killed oh so quickly and efficiently, who has killed the most dangerous men. I could sort of see that, but it was still hard for me to believe. He had soft looking black hair with matching ocean blue eyes. I could sort of make out his figure in the dark, the streetlights that shined through the curtains helped. 

“Do you not sleep?” I asked, feeling sleep try to crawl into my head, yet that incessant scribbling was keeping me alert. The more tired I get, the more rude I get. The less I care about what anyone else thinks about me. Five just kept on writing whatever the fuck he was writing about. I was about to snap at him but he finally stopped. 

I laid back down, hoping he decided to rest as well. Yet I was wrong of course.

“Fuck,” I heard him whisper to himself, and that’s when I lost it. 

“Okay I know you don’t give a shit but please shut the fuck up,” I snarled turning my entire body towards him. “I haven’t gotten any sleep for the past month and I definitely won’t get any with your annoying ass.”

I noticed him turn towards me, returning my glare tenfold. Now if I wasn’t so tired I would’ve apologized right away and hoped to survive, but damn it I was angry and tired. 

“What I’m doing here is more important than your precious sleep,” Five snarled back at me. “You wouldn’t understand with that tiny brain of yours, but I doubt you would give a shit about the world anyways.”

“Well joke’s on you, but it has been scientifically proven that tiny brains mean you’re pretty smart,” I countered with a victorious grin. “And don’t think so little of me to think that I don’t care about the world.”

“You know killing Helen isn’t my only job here,” Five growled. My eyes widened and my heart started to beat faster. Any sense of sleep long gone as adrenaline filled me instead. My body tensed as Five watched my every move cautiously. 

I let out a dejected laugh, “I expected that honestly.” They knew that after all this time I was ready to snap like a rubber band. I really can’t take this killing any longer and I was trying to plan a way to escape. This is quite the problem with my plan though. 

“Yeah, so maybe if you don’t try and irritate me anymore I’ll let you live a bit longer,” Five said. I felt angry at that. “And if you happen to escape when I’m sleeping, what can I do?” My anger vanished and I felt my stomach churn. Was he... The stern Five who many feared and looked up to at the Commission was going to let me go. He was going to help me escape hell. Strangely compassionate. 

“I...” I trailed of as he looked at me with those deep eyes of his. “B-but you’d get in trouble!” 

“The Commission won’t get rid of me,” Five shrugged, like this whole situation was no big deal. “I’m too valuable.”

“They’ll hunt me down forever,” I realized. “They won’t just let me go.”

“How about this,” Five sighed standing up. “Cora Davidson is dead now. You are now (y/n) (l/n).” I liked that name. She is someone who hasn’t killed, who just lives her life like everyone else. No more Cora Davidson, a Commission assassin drone like all the others.

“Why are you doing this?” I whispered out. He crossed his arms and looked to the side.

“Because I know what it’s like to be stuck doing something you don’t want to to survive,” Five replied back just as quietly. Then it struck me like a truck, Five didn’t enjoy this just as much as I did. I felt so selfish, leaving him to go back to the commission alone.

“But-”

“I’ll get out when I do,” He said like he read my mind. “Now go.” We looked at each other for a few seconds before I got up and gathered up the few things I brought with. I took all the money as well so I wouldn’t be a bum. I couldn’t just leave him like this though. He was being so kind and I could do nothing to repay him. I was probably never going to see him again and I now owe him my life.

I put my bag down on the bed and walked up to Five who was leaning against his bed, watching me. I felt myself start to shake slightly, I was so grateful to him. I pulled him into a tight hug. He tensed and his arms were stiff at his sides, but I hugged him for a few more seconds.

“Thank you,” I whispered into the side of his neck. Five patted my back awkwardly before I let go. “Sorry about that.” A tear slid down my face as I looked at him one last time. Grabbing my items I left out the door and didn’t look back.

Little did I know, that wouldn’t be the last time I would see him.

[rithalie-sideblog]

The daughters of Dracula

When Vlad Dracula first hears the prophecy he laughs and bellows with a voice that shakes his castle to the bone. 

Him? Falling in love with a mortal woman? Inconceivable, unheard of, simply a figment of an old man's scribbling imagination.

But then Vlad Dracula starts to think. And wonder. Because for all of his wealth and goods he managed to accumulate he was born a beggar and a thinker, as such happens when one learns life on the streets.

Prophecies have power.

So Vlad Dracula devises a plan. To make sure, he won't fall for the novelty that is a mortal woman, much less give her a son to fulfil the damned prophecy.

The first step he takes, he scours the village for his prey.

Mortal women, of all height and weight, from the plump daughter of the baker to the muscled heiress of the mercenary group. He kidnaps them from ungrateful families and bargains for them and soon his castle is filled with women's voices, their whimpers and terrified sobs. 

He avoids the young ones, as pretty as they might appear because Vlad Dracula might be a monster, but even he had rules by which to live his immortal life.

He never harms the women, despite their hostility and suspicion towards him. He leaves them be for the longest of times and watches as they slowly make the castle their home.

The women clean the spider webs, dust the old forgotten rooms and chambers. 

As they slowly grow more bold, they begin to take down the most horrid paintings from the walls, wash their clothes in the well in the middle of the cursed garden, stringing lines of laundry between the sculptures of demons and gargoyles.

Vlad watches it all happen from his tower, curiosity taking over him as he waits. Observes. Studies.

Finally, one woman seeks him out.

A pretty one, with her hair the color of honey, tangled way past her knees with her unable to cut it without any sharp object.

She demands a knife with a trembling voice and desperation laced with fear.

"Give it back soon." Says Dracula in his velvet voice as he gives her a dagger.

The woman never takes her eyes off of him as she backs away from the room, weapon held tightly in her hand.

By the end of the next week, most women have their hair cut, or braided into something new.

The honey-colored woman comes back with the dagger, placing it delicately in Vlad's outstretched hand. 

And she stays to talk.

A few years pass before most of the women warm up to Dracula, even if for him, it hadn't been much more than a blink.

They smile at him when he passes the corridors of his once gloomy castle, some wave to him, kneeled over the freshly planted potatoes in the gardens that once hosted the most exquisite of Louvre's hedges.

They come to him for his judgement, they trust him with their pleas and for his part, Dracula does his best to judge fairly. Years after Dracula's decision, the first woman wishes for more. He does not chase her away, even if his dark heart remains unchanged, curiosity driving him dangerously close to the edge of destiny's sword.

Vlad wonders if he should kill the woman before she can give birth to his descendant. If she were to bear a boy, the prophecy would come true and everything Dracula had done would have been for naught.

"It's a girl." announces one of the women as she comes out of the birth chamber, hands covered in blood up to her elbows. Vlad tries to not stare at them much as the relief washes over him.

A daughter, no son to slay him, no vengeance to come forth from his mother's mistreatment.

His plan is saved.

There are two more births that follow, and with each child being born a female Vlad grows more confident. Convinced he managed to beat the prophecy, he once again disappears into his tower.

He meets his daughters sometimes.

Pretty creatures, not a flaw to be seen on them. With hair the color of honey, mahogany and obsidian, they look at him with eyes of crimson and sunlight and moonlight, their sharpened ears uncovered proudly in the safety of his home, his vast galleries and libraries.

Dracula goes down deep into the guts of his castle and brings up the jewelry, old dress materials and sewing kits for them to use. He does not care what they do with the gift, but something like pride flashes in his eyes as he catches a glimpse of them covered in gold and silk.

As they grow, they get more and more bold, coming to his tower and asking questions about the world and life outside their castle.

Their Inquiries rarely go unanswered.

Dracula begins to let the mortal women go, the youngest of them past the age of her prime now. Some of them leave, but some of them stay, unwilling to uproot their lives again and comfortable with what they learned. Dracula begins to travel, living his years free of the burden of the prophecy, confident that his fate has finally been changed.

So when an angry woman shows up at the door of the castle, a three-year-old with crimson eyes' hand, gripped in hers, it comes as quite a surprise.

Dracula kills the woman, for she was not one of his, one of them, despite the claim she made upon Dracula's paternal role in the child's life. 

The daughters that greeted her warmly once she arrived had not known such violence before. They lick their lips and wrangle their hands at the sight of blood before them, and when Dracula sees that he gives them the woman's body to feast upon.

The boy is spared, if only for the foolishness of one of the women who rushes him outside when the carnage begins. 

He runs and when Vlad finds out about it, he flies after him in hot pursuit, but the boy is nowhere to be found. The prophecy protects him and fate is on his side and no matter where Dracula looks he cannot find him.

No harm befalls the woman who helped him, but upon hearing about the prophecy she weeps, for she did not know what calamity she brought upon her host. She leaves the castle in shame.

Three daughters of the Dracula grow hungry for blood, their beauty shining in its ethereal light brighter than before. Vlad feeds them and begins to teach them. Slowly but steadily he allows them entrance upon his dark and shrunken heart. They become his confidants as Dracula admits his defeat against the prophecy, preparing for the final act of the play. 

If his daughters showed promise even unattended, they shine with brilliance under his attention. Soon the castle is alive with the sound of magic, verbal disputes and turned pages.

When the child, now a man fully grown, comes back, bearing the Alucard title, Dracula steps forward to battle his destiny. He makes his daughters swear not to join him, and stay far away from the fight, for he had made arrangements for his knowledge to live on in them were he to fail.

Alucard is strong, but not as strong as his father.

He is quick, but not as quick as Dracula.

He is vengeful and drunk on the prophecy's promises, but not quite as desperate as Vlad is.

And yet, what finally brings The almighty Dracula to his knees is the fact that Alucard isn't quite as honorable as him.

When the edge of Alucard's blade rests against the honey-haired daughter of the Dracula he stops fighting.

After many years of undead existence, his daughters became his legacy, and he refuses to lose even a slight part of it.

Dracula's pause gives Alucard a chance to defeat him, and as he does that, all three daughters cry out in anguish.

Dracula's body caves in itself and turns to ash, and as Alucard lifts his fist in triumph, ready to claim the castle and all of its wealth as he was promised, he is met not with the radiant smiles of the saved woman but with weeping and sneers. The woman may have hardly loved the monster who kidnapped them, but his presence meant safety. It meant freedom to pursue what they desired, no mortal husband or any kin present to dictate their lives.

Three daughters of the Dracula weep the loudest, and through their tears they growl and hiss, blind in their rage. They chase Alucard out of the castle, the man unable to defend himself against their fury.

The brown and dark-haired ones stay on the stairs of the castle, but the honey-colored one chases Alucard to the edge of the woods, red droplets of blood flying from the spot where he threatened her. She almost gets him, her claws marking the tree, behind which he ducked with three deep lines.

And when the dust finally settles and the castle stops trembling with the sobs of the grieving women, they all come together to plan.

The rumors grow, ones of an imposing castle deep in the woods, that one day disappeared from all maps. 

Some say it's still there, just concealed with the magic of a really powerful witch, no matter what the church claims about having burned them all.

Others think it crumbled to the ground, unable to stand any more without its master there to keep it together. 

The Vatican claims to have destroyed it in the name of God, the village men grow bold enough to boast about the treasure they supposedly stole from there.

Alucard's tale grows, even as the man shrinks into itself, once his prophecy has been fulfilled and his sole reason to exist finally slayed. 

Very few remember Vlad Dracula's daughters, but there are traces of them left in the history.

Hushed female voices telling each other stories over the fire. Tales of the place where husbands' heavy hand won't ever reach. 

Rumors of libraries and workshops where all the knowledge is at your fingertips, your fate finally yours to choose.

Whispered clues to find the farthest tree on the south of the main road, its bark marked with three fine lines in the shape of the hand, and to march three hundred steps north of it.

And finally, three names to call forth when you reach the clearing, given to their daughters by the desperate mothers who wish for a better life to happen upon them.

Do you know the names? 

Did you ever have to call for them, deep in the night, three hundred steps away from the tree where a daughter almost avenged her father's death?

Don't you know the heart of greed and entitled desires? Have you ever heard of self-fulfilled prophecies? Didn't you see the hate in the eyes of the people?

Don't let them know.

Whisper the daughters names in the night, gain their strength. 

And don't let the world know where we are.

[sage-nebula]

do you have any song recs for jinx or arcane in general? i want to make a fanmix but im having trouble coming up with songs

I do, but I can't promise they will be to your taste. My current Jinx playlist (which also features songs for her relationships with the Lanes kids, Vi, Silco, and Caitlyn) is:

1.) "Enemy" — Imagine Dragons (Jinx)

"Oh, the misery, everybody wants to be my enemy. Spare the sympathy, everybody wants to be my enemy. Pray it away, I swear I'll never be a saint, no way."

2.) "Smells Like Teen Spirit" — Malia J (Powder, Vi, Claggor, Mylo, Ekko)

"I'm worse at what I do best, and for this gift I feel blessed. Our little group has always been, and always will, until the end."

3.) "Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up) — Florence + The Machine (Powder/Jinx)

"I must become the lion-hearted girl, ready for a fight, before I make the final sacrifice. This is a gift, it comes with a price. Who is the lamb and who is the knife?"

4.) "Papercut" — Linkin Park (Powder/Jinx)

"It's like I'm paranoid, lookin' over my back. It's like a whirlwind inside of my head. It's like I can't stop what I'm hearing within. It's like the face that is right beneath my skin."

5.) "Sleep in the Fire" — 10 Years (Jinx & Silco)

"You were there for me, nowhere, when you had nothing to gain. You always seem to find pleasure in my pain. You nurse and nurture me back from all my injuries. You break me down to keep you around — you're my cure and my disease."

6.) "Believer" — Imagine Dragons (Jinx)

"Don't you tell me what you think that I could be. I'm the one at the sail, I'm the master of my sea. I was broken from a young age, taking my sulkin' to the masses."

7.) "Waiting" — 10 Years (Jinx)

"I'm hanging on by a thread to a life I never had. And I've tried, and tried to leave it all behind. But my past remains a future I can't change. And it drags me down . . ."

8.) "I Will Not Bow" — Breaking Benjamin (Jinx)

"I don't wanna change the world. I just want to leave it colder. Light the fuse and burn it all."

9.) "Crawling" — Linkin Park (Jinx)

"This lack of self-control I fear is never-ending, controlling. I can't seem to find myself again, my walls are closing in. I've felt this way before, so insecure. Crawling in my skin, these wounds they will not heal. Fear is how I fall, confusing what is real.

10.) "I Wish" — 10 Years (Jinx & Vi)

"I wish I knew just how we became such strangers now, fading out. Am I losing you? I wish I could erase every single memory haunting me. Am I losing you? All is fair in love and war."

11.) "Drumming Song" — Florence + The Machine (Jinx & Vi)

"There's a drumming noise inside my head that starts when you're around. I swear that you could hear it, it makes such an almighty sound."

12.) "Girl With One Eye" — Florence + The Machine (Jinx & Caitlyn)

"I said, hey, girl with one eye, get your filthy fingers out of my pie. I said, hey, girl with one eye, I'll cut your little heart out 'cause you made me cry."

13.) "Sunday Morning" — No Doubt (Jinx & Vi)

"Sappy, pathetic, little me. That was the girl I used to be. You had me on my knees. I'd trade you places any day. I never thought you could be that way. You look like me on Sunday."

14.) "Branded" — NateWantsToBattle (Jinx)

"I'm hearin' voices in my head, and everything they said, it's never making any sense. I've got a burning in my heart, it's tearing me apart."

15.) "Until the Wolves Come Out" — NateWantsToBattle (Jinx)

"Broken mirrors, and what do I see? A man with no face, he's lookin' at me. I know, I've got a million scars, wear 'em all on my sleeves."

16.) "Fix Me" — 10 Years (Jinx)

"Crossing lines, small crimes, taking back what is mine. I'm fine in the fire, I feed on the friction. I'm right where I should be, don't try and fix me."

17.) "Wasted On You" — Evanescence (Jinx & Vi)

"I don't need drugs, I'm already six feet low. Wasted on you, waiting for a miracle. I can't move on, feels like I'm frozen in time. Wasted on you, just pass me the bitter truth."

18.) "What Could Have Been" — Sting (Jinx & Vi)

"Why don't you love who I am? What we could have been. I hope you know we had everything, but you broke me and left these pieces. I want you to hurt like you hurt me today. I want you to lose like I lose when I play what could have been."

[doorsclosingslowly]

Hell is just a beat away (3/9)

Despite early promise, young Maul has turned out to be a disappointment, willfully delaying his training with secret attempts to make himself friends from scrap metal. He must be properly motivated, and so Darth Sidious sends him to a slave market on an impossible mission. It backfires. Star Wars: Darth Maul (2017) comic AU | 5.2k | warning for slavery, sexual assault of a teenager (non-graphic)

Ten to doomsday, moving fast

Eldra does not sleep. She refuses. If she has to bite her fingers bloody when her eyelids threaten to drop, then so be it. Master Fyaar would have chastened her for it—she always insists that Eldra be at her best regardless of circumstance, and staying awake for what must be more than one or two entire standard days now will help with neither her innate distractibility nor her willful emotions. Her secret inadequacy, unknown to all but Fyaar, who chose Eldra when she was ten and had yet to develop the mind that is, and she has rarely admitted to those fears even in the privacy of her own brain, the mind that is perhaps fundamentally unsuited to the noble path of the Jedi. Sure, she does well enough in her classes, though she drives her teachers to frustration with her incessant fiddling with any trinket at all within her reach and her doodling and her daydreams. Sure, she mostly behaves acceptably among people, though she does not pick up on the right cues to be a diplomat and she vacillates too often between excited talking and secret loneliness, when she, once again, finds her peers more interested in each other than in whatever she has wanted to share. Her one friend in the Order is Bayro who’s two years older, though now she’s not even sure if Bayro would see her as more than a friendly, clingy acquaintance, and—

Will Bayro even miss her? They’ve made plans to watch a holovid after Eldra’s back from Teth and Bayro aces the Advanced Test on Coruscant Sublevels 6665 through 7900. Vague plans, though, and since Eldra didn’t know how long she’d have to guard Mayor Woobudg… Bayro will probably notice in a few months that Eldra hasn’t returned to the Temple, and then watch the holovid with one of her many other friends. She’ll—

Watch your feelings, Eldra, she remembers. It hurts. The memory of Master Fyaar hurts worse than even the imaginary indifference of Bayro does, but it’s necessary. As ever, Master Fyaar’s warning is right, even if it’s only the ghost of Fyaar living on inside Eldra’s grief. Eldra almost lost her calm over a scenario of her own imagination, yet another reminder of her unsuitable mercurial temperament. Yet another reminder of why she needs Fyaar, needs her constant watch, if she wants to remain on the path of the Jedi.

And Master Zalandas Fyaar is dead.

Fyaar’s dead.

Eldra watched her murder, and the murder of everyone she was supposed to protect on this mission. Eldra watched her murder and did not reach for the dark side of the force to avenge her. Eldra watched and held still.

Eldra allowed herself to be abducted.

She does not sleep in her tiny cell, just as she didn’t sleep on the freight ship that carried her to an unknown planet far away from bloodied Teth. She didn’t sleep then as stubbornly as she does now, but even before her wide-open burning eyes the pictures will not stop. The blood. The touch. The grin of her vile captor when he said that she would fetch a tidy sum, despite being a blue twi’lek (“A dime a dozen, they are, and this one’s not even a trained dancer! She hasn’t even… look!” Her captor had pulled her upper lip away then, and she had snapped for his fingers. “She’s still got those awful sharp teeth! Who the hell lets a twi’lek girl walk around with sharp teeth? She could tear a guy’s throat out, with these!”) she would still be worth a quick sale to her captors but only because she is (was) a Jedi padawan, and apparently there are quite a few pieces of shit out there who’d like to hurt a Jedi. Or—she keeps her eyes open, open, open till tears threaten to drop, and yet the thought comes. Or fuck one. Same difference.

A toy that’s padawan-shaped. That’s why they let her keep her own robes. But at least they did.

Watch your feelings, but still, Eldra shakes to her very core. She’s never thought of herself as being anything but a person, slightly inadequate perhaps in all ways that matter to her but a person; a luminous being, a small conduit for the very force to act through in the material galaxy; but now she’s been caught and taught that what she is is actually just a twi’lek girl. Cheap. Interchangeable. Nothing but her species and her gender, nothing but her flesh: a pretty dancer, never mind she hates dancing and if she ever makes it out, if the Jedi find and rescue her, please, please, she will never ever dance not even a single one of those silly novelty dances ever again even if Bayro does it first. She’ll go to whatever lengths needed to never be appraised, judged, looked upon, perceived as anything but a luminous dutiful Jedi ever again.

To these people, she’s not a person. Not a Jedi, unless the fetish counts, not really, not to the slavers and—watch your feelings, but still, the seething disgust returns and she wants nothing more than her lightsaber through her captor’s hearts or their hands torn off by her teeth—perhaps, maybe, please no, not truly anymore either to herself.

⁂

Maul wakes up to insistent beeping. He’s never heard the noise before, except—somewhere behind the headache and the nausea he remembers—except roughly five minutes ago, and five minutes before that, and five minutes before… He’s read about those periodical noises. Snooze button on an alarm clock, they’re called. He’s never used them before. He’s never used—Master teaches that a slothful tool is a tool broken, useless, and he’s never before dared to oversleep, even with his throat swollen and filled with mucus he didn’t, but now—it is a mercy he does not deserve, that Master was not here to witness Maul fail so deeply on this mission and just because something beats a booming drum inside his head and stuffed his stomach full of eels twisting up languidly through his esophagus.

Not real eels, though. He checks his vomit after throwing up. No eels. No animals hatched inside him; it’s just an inconvenient illness. And he feels better already, after spewing out the clear oily water and half-digested bread and no eels whatsoever. He does feel much better. Definitely. Illness during his mission would be inconvenient.

He has ample time to travel to the palace of Xev Xrexus before the padawan is sold there. Time he is grateful for, because Master’s ship will not let him in, so he has no access to his stilts or anything else he prepared apart from his cloak and the vocoder mask he carried in his satchel to the convenience store like a talisman of ingenuity and pretense. He doesn’t have his finest Sith robes that he left safe inside, only to be worn in the moment of Darth Maul’s triumph, and most of his weapons, too, apart from one anonymous knife strapped to his shin, are still tidied away in the ship Master gave him that will now pulverize anyone who dares approach.

Luckily, Maul is both incredibly clever—he figured out the location of the padawan! Despite Master giving him a wrong date and location! Solely by his own superior Sith cunning!—and he is within another sucker’s ship now—he sliced the lock in minutes! Because he is Darth Maul!—and the ship is full of new tools for improvisation.

Such as the large pair of black sunglasses that helps guard him at least slightly against the sun’s sickening poking and poking and poking of his cerebral cortex. Such as the trio of black shirts that, belted with a strange deltoid strip of fabric, bulk up his frame considerably and also make him feel toasty warm. Nar Shaddaa is cold, but Maul isn’t. Yet another victory to add to his tally.

With the gloves and the vocoder mask and the Sith cloak added on top, every square centimeter of Maul’s flesh is covered, and as he struts in front of the berth mirror he decides: he looks both incredibly dignified and scary, not to himself obviously but to those forcenull denizens of the underworld who will yet learn to tremble before the almighty Sith. He looks almost as impressive as Master. He doesn’t have the pale chin lurking under his cowl, obviously the most Sithly of looks, but in a pinch the black leather covering his cheeks and the opaque gridded speaker over his mouth should do almost as well.

Before he leaves, he ransacks the ship. No point in abandoning tools he might yet use. Everything he can carry, he stuffs inside his satchel.

Then, he begins the long pedestrian march to the palace of Xrexus. As usual, while he walks, he seethes in the Sithly anger of how much faster he could go if only he had a decent speeder bike. Soon, he reminds himself. Soon. After the oncoming awesome success of this mission, Master will be impressed enough to bestow the title of Darth and gift him a CK-6 swoop bike tuned up to the limits of terrestrial speed. Soon. Besides, with how slow the nausea is to settle, it’s perhaps a tiny bit useful that he is forced to take this brisk long walk in the Nar Shaddaa morning air. Although his coat and shirts fluttering with the speed of his bike would look very cool… He loses himself in his daydreams, and before long, he spies a duo of falleen in white dress shirts and black pants before the palace that belongs to Xev Xrexor.

The most adventurous part of his mission has just begun.

“Greetings,” Maul growls haughtily with the handsome baritone of his vocoder. “I have chosen to purchase a Jedi slave today. I trust this is the location for these sorts of errands?”

“Are you on the guest list?” the left falleen asks.

Guest list? Yet another complication. But Maul must not fail. “I am Ma Goweelr,” he says, borrowing the name of the man whose ship he ransacked. He found an identification card with his name on it and wisely brought it with him. He pulls it out now.

“You don’t look like Goweelr, friend,” she says.

“Unfortunately, I had… an accident.” Blast. They cannot see his face, so tt’s the height issue again. If Maul had his stilts, he could have made his way through easily, but because Master saw fit to lock the ship—no, it’s not Master’s fault. Because Maul was stupid enough to leave his tools aboard the ship, he now falters. What to do. What to do. What to—

“He’s slow,” the other bouncer whispers to his partner, but loudly enough that Maul heard it without issue. He stares intently at Maul, almost if he was expecting a specific reaction.

The left falleen winks. “All right. A little grease in the palm goes a long way, friend.”

Grease? Necessary for the function of machines. Cooking, apparently, also. Often a type of fat, either animal or plant-based, though hydrocarbons mined on certain planets or synthesized in labs such as Corellia’s X-Tech Max nowadays are a far more affordable and controllable—

“He’s dumb, Brighta. We don’t care whether you’re on the guest list. We want a bribe.”

A… Maul’s certain he read about bribes somewhere, but—

“Cash. Money. Credits.”

Credits! Maul found some on the ship. Since they were light enough, he put them in his satchel. The force is with him! He pulls out the chits he found, rummaging in a perhaps less than dignified way—the falleen exchange a look over his head that he’s too busy to try to read, but it doesn’t seem hostile—and when he hands over five thousand credits their vague non-hostility turns to genuine excitement.

“House Xrexus is honored to host you for this auction, sir,” the male falleen says when he opens the door.

“As am I,” Maul replies with a bow. When he walks past, the female bouncer taps him on the shoulder and then bends down to whisper in his ear.

“The Jedi’s auction’s in two hours, but the preview starts in one and she’ll probably get snapped up then, so. Might wanna hurry.”

“Thank… you?” Maul rumbles and winces at the vocoder turning his slight surprise into a question, but the falleen does not laugh this time.

“Appreciative customers are rare. Come back anytime,” and she winks and pushes him with her—warm, strong, startling—hand the rest of the way through the door and then slams it shut.

Presale. Other customers. Complicating factors Maul would not even have known about if it wasn’t for the bouncer—and for the force, therefore, willing him to succeed—because he didn’t… He did not actually expect any competition. After all, there are no other Sith but the Master and his apprentice. Who, then, would have need of a Jedi padawan? Who has need of Xrexus’ auction at all when they are not sent by their Master? Their… Master. Master might compete with Maul at this sale, both as a test of Maul’s readiness and as a failsafe, should Maul not manage to succeed in his mission. Master is incredibly smart after all, and foresees any number of possible twists and turns of a scenario, as unlikely as they might be. Even such unlikely eventualities as Darth Maul not completing in his mission. Master considers everything. It’s why he’s the Master.

Luckily, Maul was forewarned, and so when he passes a fire exit plan of the palace that’s nailed to a wall in the empty entrance hall he looks for any possible… There. A server room. A small bureau. Two places where Maul might gain access to the databases of Xrexus and convince the filing system that he has already bought the Jedi, before the first competitor has even placed their bid. It’s the only surefire way of preempting a person as thorough and prompt as Master is, and besides… Maul understands machines. He can charm and bend them to his will. His confusion at the bouncers’ hints and the tip the falleen gave him when he would never have expected anything of the sort based on the way the previous part of the encounter had passed—never mind the blasted lack of his carefully constructed stilts—were a sore reminder that in the field of people Maul does not yet excel to the standard of a Sith. Something he must remedy, but perhaps not on a mission as important as this. (Perhaps not among people who are oily and stare too hard.)

Laughter peals in a room straight ahead, but the server room is one floor down a side staircase. It’s sectioned off by a dangly gold chain that Maul needs to barely duck to pass under, and no-one passes through either the main corridor he left or the dusty unlit staircase while Maul hops down, thinking I am Sith alternating with I am shadow on every step.

The hallway leading to the server room is just as deserted. The door is locked, but Maul has sliced the access pads of twelve ships now and has refined his technique to under three minutes of elegant fiddling. This lock takes two seconds.

A datapad is already hanging inside right next to the door, from the cable with which it’s plugged into a socket there. Maul picks it up. Its screen is thrice-cracked and fixed up with clear tape. The touchscreen is incredibly sluggish to react, but as much as he might love the challenge of repairing it he only has less than an hour to spare. If he must, he will, but—gloves. He removes the right one, and the datapad responds.

A login screen.

Thus-far, the security has been abysmal. Worse than what he improvised for the secret hiding space of the first functional droid he built, and so he enters root, root. It works.

Pathetic, Maul thinks. Disappointing. Embarrassing. Horrendous. Useless. Awful. You deserve this. You deserve worse. It almost takes off some of the giddiness at how well Maul has been performing on his mission, thus far. His opponents are veritable morons. It is no great feat, to succeed against people as unprepared for basic survival as these, and it does not take a Sith’s cunning—it’s not worthy of the great Darth Maul who learns under Darth Sidious the greatest creature in the galaxy—to fight them.

In the central database he changes the status of the Jedi padawan to Sold and the buyer to Ma Goweelrand types in 666666666 for the winning bid. It’s a large number, and Jedi means valuable. It should pass muster. Probably. Money: yet another area where Maul requires further instruction. There was another card Maul stole with information on Goweelr’s account with the InterGalactic Banking Clan, and he enters it in the respective field. As to the user listed as making these changes, he picks the fifth-most appearing in the database. If he wanted to arouse no suspicion at all, he would need to research Xrexus’ organization in total, but—he’d really rather not. Even glancing at some of the entries of the database reawakened the eels in his stomach.

He pettily changes the admin password and wipes the screen carefully before he logs out.

Mission almost complete.

Half an hour left until the beginning of the presale, a clock tells him, and that’s most likely when they will check the padawan’s entry and approach Goweelr as her legitimate buyer. Everything is going according to plan, as long as he is not caught down here.

Since Maul is Sith and shadow and incredibly silent and deadly, he isn’t.

He sneaks back up and then strides, with as much power and dignity as he can muster when he wants to skip giddily to celebrate a job well done, into the room where the laughter comes from. It’s—

It’s bright. Loud. Full. But more than any other adjective, it’s huge, a room that is a thousand times bigger than anything Maul has ever set foot in, with a domed ceiling rising so far above that he can’t make out any details there. Can’t see whether there are any cameras, or snipers—can’t see anything but the luster and wealth on display. Plants growing on floating bowls of silver, plants he has never seen anywhere but in holos (Most plants are plants he’s only ever seen in holos. Almost all of them. Master rarely makes him train off-planet, and there is nothing but fire on Mustafar.), plants and waterfalls. Delicate staircases that appear to hover in the air just like the tree-bowls are. It looks like something out of a dream, if Maul’s dreams were able to imagine impossible worlds and not just impossible people who’ll save him.

Below it all, there are throngs of people in various kinds of festive garb, chatting and sipping on dainty glasses. People of most species he’s ever read about. Even…

Even a zabrak. There’s a zabrak over in a corner, not an Iridonian zabrak like the ones Maul finds often in his research but a zabrak who looks startingly close to him, hairless and bright and black-marked, only he’s much taller than Maul—he’s tall! Maul always worried that his species was doomed to remain as small as he is right now but he’s tall! He won’t need stilts forever!—and he’s yellow.

Idly—or trying to appear idle but actually shivering with curiosity—he saunters closer. The zabrak, it’s quickly obvious, is not here as a buyer. He’s chained up, both manacles connected to the neck cuff, though the bonds look so flimsy that Maul could have snapped them. He’s almost naked except for a pair of trousers that barely reaches his thighs and, moreover, is made of a fabric far too flimsy and tight to fight in. His skin is weirdly shiny as well, as if he was sweating but that is unlikely, given Maul’s not too hot under his three shirts and a cloak (in fact, it gets colder the closer Maul comes to the strange zabrak), and the yellow zabrak’s not exercising either but standing completely still, feet slightly apart and arms raised in a poor imitation of a fighting pose. The claws on his hand and feet would be called neatly trimmed if Maul didn’t know intimately that this length means they’re cut so close to the bed that it irritates several internal nerves. The horns are filed too close as well, and they look blunt.

A fighting slave.

No. A pretend fighting slave.

Everything about him might look fearsome to one who does not know what to watch for, but he does not stand or dress or groom himself like a fighter.

It’s—it’s difficult for Maul to sort out his reaction. This is a zabrak, the first person like him he’s ever seen, but he’s also a mockery of the warrior he trains so hard to become. Are all other zabraks like this? Does Maul look like this to other people? Flimsy and fake? It is almost enough to be ashamed of the association, and Maul is glad that with his clothes no-one else here can guess at their shared species.

“Welcome,” the unchained human next to the zabrak shouts, and Maul cranes his neck but apparently it’s addressed to him. “What are you looking for? A nightly companion? A gladiator? A—”

“This is not a gladiator,” Maul growls.

“Ah, well, he’s versatile,” the slaver says. “Do you see his muscles?” He squeezes the other zabrak’s biceps. The zabrak does not react. “He is excellent at bearing pain as well,” and alright, Maul will give him that. From this close, he can see the faint network of scars.

“He’s truly a wild beast when you want him that way,” and if to contradict him—the first time Maul feels anything approaching pride at their kinship—the zabrak refuses to bare his teeth, even when the human slaps him in the face twice and then prods him with something bearing electric sparks. Still, the zabrak will not relent. He’s breathing and moving but somewhere deep in his eyes he looks nothing short of dead.

“I have business elsewhere,” Maul stutters out and the vocoder smooths it into a low growl. The queasy pit in his stomach must be the return of the eels, or else the force aims to reveal to him that he might be being observed by fleets of holodroids, a technological wonder he should research immediately upon completion of his mission, when he will never think of the scar-covered zabrak and his empty eyes ever again. He won’t even remember his face or his color. No, Maul will attempt to engineer holodroids and present them to his Master, who will be proud.

That’s what he thinks about, while he wanders the huge room at random. Holodroids. He doesn’t think about zabraks. In fact, he’s forgotten every fact he ever heard about that species. No zabraks exist but Maul. That’s the way it goes.

He doesn’t think of zabraks at all for several more minutes, and then a tannoy system message calls out for Ma Goweelr and his time of floating is over.

⁂

Thus far, the boy’s little adventure has been a disappointment. There were moments of fear and shame and misery, but mostly, what Sidious receives from him is bright giddy elation at being entrusted with this mission. It should have figured that Maul is not intelligent enough to see through his Master’s true plans, and yet—it was folly on his part, Sidous is prepared to admit that, but he expected more of his little zabrak.

Well. More agony, mostly.

He’ll have to be a little more patient. Someday soon, Maul’s luck will have to run out.

⁂

“This is her, Sir. Opening the cell now,” a woman says in front of the suddenly-bright cell, and Eldra’s hard-won, tattered, wide-eyed serenity dissipates.

It’s Dilar. Dilar, self-loathing traitor of a twi’lek slave. Eldra’s only known her for a day and enjoyed exactly zero seconds of it. The old woman’s hatred and revulsion at what she is forced to do, preparing slaves to be sold on, crowds out the very air. For the slavers, her utter loathing might be imperceptible—Dilar is a grudging, but polite tool—but it’s everywhere in the force, and Eldra cannot breathe. It’s hard enough keeping herself calm—keeping herself Jedi—when she knows that any time now a lecher with a Jedi fetish will come to her cell.

A lecher, or her rescuer.

Watch your feelings: do not give in to despair, Eldra, as Fyaar would say if she could. Maybe a Jedi will come.

It’s a war inside her, equal parts of hope and terror, and without her Master’s guidance how will Eldra find the strength to make herself calm again? Calm, serene, like the Jedi she was supposed to be.

A Jedi is better than this.

There is no emotion. There is peace.

There is no hatred, especially. Eldra should not hate Dilar. She shouldn’t hate every single slaver in the entire world, with even deeper depths of seething odium reserved for anyone selling or buying her. She shouldn’t. She does.

She isn’t wearing a force-suppressant collar, but that doesn’t matter. There are things far more binding than chains, than collars, in this world: Eldra promised her Master that she would be strong. She promised. She promised, and she hates these slavers. If she reached for the force now, she wouldn’t be able to call herself Jedi anymore. She would fail her Master and lose herself.

She would use her hatred to kill her tormentors. She would tear their throats out.

She would Fall.

Fear, raging and cold, has been her only companion for uncounted waking days now, that and bitter loathing. Master Fyaar died in front of her. Eldra’s been stripped of everything she thought she was and turned into a commodity, and now the only bright spot in her life is the fact that Martrey Woobudg the slaver, slaver, slaver who brought them to Teth is also fucking dead. Hopefully, it hurt.

The sudden hope is new, fragile and staggering and still too volatile to make reaching for the force safe. Hope: maybe the new arrival isn’t one of them. Eldra’s Master was in constant contact with the Temple, after all, and they must know about the ambush by now. They must have sent someone to save Eldra. (She tries very very hard not to remember that they don’t, sometimes, search for missing padawans, because of deferring to a higher purpose and the will of the force and being instruments of the Galactic Senate and not privileging attachments, including to their padawans, over the greater good et cetera et cetera, which is a code of conduct that Eldra, too, had always believed in. Until she got thrown in this cell, at least.)

Please, let it be a Jedi. Even if she gets thrown out for her hatred. Please, let it be a Jedi.

“Get up, girl,” Dilar says.

Eldra struggles onto her feet. She almost loses her balance, and that would kriffing hurt, because she’s got little chance of breaking her fall. Her hands are cuffed in front of her, encased in thin manacles she could easily break out of if it wasn’t pointless. If she wasn’t watched at all times. If she could use the force without Falling. If there was any way off this planet she doesn’t even know the name of. She could break them, but she can’t. They’re tight, and her shoulders ache from the forced immobility. (Almost, she’d told the slavers that restraining someone like this for days on end was a sure way of causing muscle damage, that they were lowering her value—were hurting her, by treating her like this, but she’d reconsidered. It would probably count as ‘helping slavers��. She hopes instead that they lose all their captives to their own bad practices. Eldra will not help them, if it kills her.)

If her visitor is a slaver, they’ll probably enjoy the sight of her helplessness. If they’re a Jedi, there may be compassion, pity, judgment—they’ll feel how scared she is, and how close to breaking—and that’ll be even more embarrassing to deal with afterwards, but at least there will be an afterwards for her.

For a second, the force floods with pain. Anger. Then, the presence hides itself again. Doesn’t matter. She’s felt it.

A force user.

A… Jedi, then?

Would a Jedi… Eldra herself would be angry, if she saw anyone else treated the way she is now, no matter how hard she tries for serenity. Eldra isn’t a good Jedi though. She’s too scared for that.

She looks up. If the visitor is a Jedi, Eldra doesn’t recognize them. But that means nothing: they’re covered head-to-toe in layers of black fabric. They’re wearing some sort of mask that covers their lower face, too, and oversized mirrored-glass sunglasses, and gloves, and a cowled cloak and what looks like at least two shirts, one over the other. They look like a black ball with legs sticking out. They look like someone decided to dress up as the platonic concept of shady. They look ridiculous.

They’re very short as well. They’re about twice the height of Grandmaster Yoda, and shorter than pretty much everybody else that Eldra knows. Well… they could be Master Piell. Would Master Piell dress up like this, though? Would he come to rescue her? Would he… well, he wouldn’t feel like the visitor in the force. Even Piell is a Master of the High Council. He wouldn’t fall prey to emotions as easily as Eldra did. He would not fail the light.

The only bit of skin that Eldra can make out is the bridge of the nose, between the jaw-mask and those sunglasses. Red.

Whoever it is isn’t human.

It might give hope, but—whoever it is has already paid and they own Eldra now, they tell the slavers, in a deep and slightly mechanic voice.

Paid.

Own.

Not a rescue, then. The Jedi wouldn’t reward a slaver for abducting a padawan.

Eldra will not cry. Not because if does not befit a Jedi, because the Jedi didn’t come for her. Eldra remained faithful—barely—she didn’t give in to her hatred and fear, didn’t Fall… and no-one came to rescue her. She will never see the temple again. She’ll never watch those holovids with Bayro, and Bayro—will she even notice? Will she mourn Eldra? Or will she be relieved that the clingy kid is gone?

She won’t cry. She will not give Dilar or this new buyer the satisfaction.

The shielding of Eldra’s cell opens. Dilar attaches a chain to Eldra’s manacles and her buyer ties the other end to their belt. They barely look at her, at least—in the nightmares she refused to allow herself to grow into images they always looked at her, excited and hungry, but this buyer seems curt and weirdly business-like.

Without another word, they start walking.

Eldra has no choice but to follow. The Jedi didn’t come. She is alone. Whatever awaits her outside, though, it can hardly be worse than this cell.

[twopoppies]

Hi there! Was wondering Do you only read fanfics? Or is there some m/m books that you enjoyed? For me some of the ones that stuck with me is "under the knife" (which i believe was originally a fic) "captive prince" (my all time fav♥️)

Hi sugar. I’m have to say that I’ve barely read anything beyond fic for years now, and there aren’t a lot of LGBT books that I’ve delved into. However, I loved all of these:

Captive Prince Trilogy

Damen is a warrior hero to his people, and the rightful heir to the throne of Akielos. But when his half brother seizes power, Damen is captured, stripped of his identity, and sent to serve the prince of an enemy nation as a pleasure slave. Beautiful, manipulative, and deadly, his new master, Prince Laurent, epitomizes the worst of the court at Vere. But in the lethal political web of the Veretian court, nothing is as it seems, and when Damen finds himself caught up in a play for the throne, he must work together with Laurent to survive and save his country. For Damen, there is just one rule: never, ever reveal his true identity. Because the one man Damen needs is the one man who has more reason to hate him than anyone else...

Song of Achilles

Greece in the age of heroes. Patroclus, an awkward young prince, has been exiled to the court of King Peleus and his perfect son Achilles. By all rights their paths should never cross, but Achilles takes the shamed prince as his friend, and as they grow into young men skilled in the arts of war and medicine their bond blossoms into something deeper - despite the displeasure of Achilles' mother Thetis, a cruel sea goddess. But then word comes that Helen of Sparta has been kidnapped. Torn between love and fear for his friend, Patroclus journeys with Achilles to Troy, little knowing that the years that follow will test everything they hold dear. Profoundly moving and breathtakingly original, this rendering of the epic Trojan War is a dazzling feat of the imagination, a devastating love story, and an almighty battle between gods and kings, peace and glory, immortal fame and the human heart.

The Scottish Boy

1333. Edward III is at war with Scotland. 19-year-old West Country knight Sir Harry de Lyon yearns to prove himself in the war, and so jumps at the chance when a powerful English baron, William Montagu, invites him on a secret mission with a dozen elite knights. They ride north, to a crumbling Scottish keep, capturing the feral, half-starved boy within and putting the other inhabitants to the sword. And nobody knows, or nobody is saying, why the flower of English knighthood snuck over the border to capture a savage, dirty teenage boy. Montagu gives the boy to Harry as his squire, with only two rules: don't let him escape, and convert him to the English cause. The price of failure? Forfeiting his small, heavily indebted Devon estate to the Baron.

At first, it's hopeless. The Scottish boy is surly, violent, hoards sharp objects, and eats anything that isn't nailed down. Then Harry begins to notice things: that, as well as Gaelic, the boy speaks flawless French, with an accent much different from Harry's Norman one. That he can read the language – Latin, too. That he isn't small so much as desperately under-fed. That when Harry finally convinces the boy – Iain mac Maíl Coluim – to cut his filthy curtain of hair, the face revealed is the most beautiful thing Hary has ever seen.

With Iain as his squire, Harry wins tournament after tournament and becomes a favourite of the King. But underneath the pageantry smoulders twin secrets: Harry and Iain's growing passion for each other, and Iain's mysterious heritage. As England hurtles towards war once again, these secrets will destroy everything Harry holds dear.

My Policeman

Inspired by the life of E.M. Forster and his relationship with his long-time companion Bob Buckingham and his wife, this is an exquisitely told, tragic tale of thwarted love

It is in 1950s' Brighton that Marion first catches sight of Tom. He teaches her to swim in the shadow of the pier and Marion is smitten—determined her love will be enough for them both. A few years later in Brighton Museum Patrick meets Tom. Patrick is besotted with Tom and opens his eyes to a glamorous, sophisticated new world. Tom is their policeman, and in this age it is safer for him to marry Marion. The two lovers must share him, until one of them breaks and three lives are destroyed.

In the Company of Shadows

In a post-apocalyptic future, the Agency works behind the scenes to take down opposition groups that threaten the current government. Their goals justify all means, even when it comes to their own agents. Sin is the Agency's most efficient killer. His fighting skills and talent at assassination have led to him being described as a living weapon. However, he is also known to go off on unauthorized killing sprees, and his assigned partners have all wound up dead. Boyd is not afraid to die. When his mother, a high-ranking Agency official, volunteers him to be Sin's newest partner, he does not refuse. In fact, his life has been such an endless cycle of apathy and despair that he'd welcome death. In the newly revised Director's Cut of Evenfall, the first volume follows these two cast-offs as they go from strangers to partners who can only rely on each other while avoiding death, imprisonment, and dehumanization by the Agency that employs them. 120,000 words. Warnings: Explicit violence, physical and psychological abuse. Note: This is the first of the two volumes comprising Evenfall, the first book in the ICoS series.

Since there are books and I can’t tell you to read the tags, if you have questions about any of them, feel free to come chat.