#also can i just say i love how you write caesar

[leftfair]

her new life flickers like a candle with every waking day -- the safety from the games, with the unyielding need to change something. anything. though, she does her best to improve where she can ; she knows her efforts are futile at best. ( how can one's hidden attempts to aid outweigh a monarch's incessant desire to remain stagnate ? ) even with the hinderance stationed at every stop -- tempest still finds herself incapable of giving in. ( an unstoppable force met with immovable prevention. ) now, heeled boots click down echoed hallways, as she makes her way to the untelevised host. interactions have been sparse -- though, never unfriendly. she's not sure he's capable of unfriendliness ; at least, not to those undeserving.

doorknob is twisted and pushed open. as if a sugar - coated cloud awaits her, the perfume overtakes her senses with ease. she's become familiar with such scents, but his rings of something new -- something saved for him only. the embrace takes her by surprise, but she is quick to return one in favor, a honey - laced smile tinting her lips. eyes survey the room with quick glances, as she looks for signs of others peering into their new found moment. "caesar," her voice is even, careful to keep a tone of importance she's grown to feign in everyone's presence. "it is always a pleasure." niceties fall from painted lips, as she pulls back from the embrace just enough to take look at his features. "i must admit [ . . . ] i like the new color."

years  in  the  working.  it  had  been  a  process  before  he  had  ever  spoken  her  name.  the  gears  had  spun,  the  system  in  its  works.  the  backstage  to  the  hunger  games  had  become  a  ground  for  plotting,  for  bettering  what  they  could.  his  purpose  had  been  clear,  and  the  beloved  victors  had  been  a  task  naturally  extended  to  none  other  than  caesar  flickerman.  the  man,  with  salmon  eyebrows  and  hair,  who  had  invited  tempest  to  a  familiar  space.  no  bugs    (  plutarch  be  thanked  )    as  the  drink  settled  on  his  table,  and  the  door  opened.    "  tempest!  "    excitement  burst,  arms  embraced,  and  the  wave  of  perfume  seeping  into  her.

>> starter for @leftfair

[bunni-v1]

What do we have here…?

🍓Couldn’t get sending Harumasa nudes out of my head and then I saw @mini-ism post about Caesar going through Livhters phone and had Jimmy Neutron Brain blast. (My moots are so awesome and talented and everyone should give them love). Like... what DO they have on their phone, if anything? So that's what this is. Also took this as my chance to write for my favorite straight white cat boy Seth.

Tw: Nsfw; recording during sex; rough sex (all); somnophilia (Harumasa); breeding kink (Seth); bottom harumasa and seth; Mommy kink (seth); grammar errors (inevitable)

Info: Fem bodied reader (no pronouns i think? use of mommy though); Harumasa x Reader; Lighter x Reader; Seth x Reader; I tried to add plot but who am I kidding this is porn

Harumasa Asaba

The first time Asaba Harumasa asked to record you during sex, you declined. He'd wanted it so he could use it at work, during those days that he really needed you most. It's not like you were shy about your body, especially not with him. He'd seen you naked a million times and done more than just admire your body on numerous occasions. You just didn't want to do it, not with the risk of his very important friends possibly seeing them. The idea of sweet Sokaku sneaking on his phone and somehow finding the videos was mortifying, to say the least. The consequences afterward would probably be even worse, you'd never be able to look Yanagi in the eyes again.

So, you told him no, and who is Asaba to press you on something like that. Feminism was hot, or whatever. He just wanted to see what he could get away with. Little did he know he planted a seed in your brain that kept on growing and growing until, one night, you asked him if he was still into the whole recording you thing.

He wanted to say "No fucking duh." But instead, he smiled and nodded all cute-like, "Oh? I thought you didn't want to? Don't tell me you've been holding out on me now..." And thus began your unexpected obsession with making amateur porn.

Harumasa isn't an idiot, of course, he keeps everything in a hidden folder within a hidden folder, accessible via a password only he knows. (He would give up any chance at living a long life to keep Sokaku as far away from his porn stash as possible). It's surprisingly well organized, coming from him at least. Categorized by type (picture and videos), who was topping, and which kinks you indulged in.

His personal favorites, though, are saved in a separate folder within those already existing folders. They're his go-to when he's feeling so very pent up at work and needs release fast enough that Yanagi won't come looking for him. Like right now, the phone under the desk and the volume just loud enough that only he could make it out by straining his ears. A little treat for his hard work today.

The first one starts out with shaky camera work -- you'd grabbed and started recording in a hurry like you realized this one would make good content for him. (You were right, as usual). The sun is peaking through the curtains of his dark apartment, and with the light, he can just barely make out his sleeping face. You pan the camera down, and one of your hands is gently tracing along his slowly hardening cock, already free and begging for you to suck it. It jumps in your hand as you rub the tip, and then all of a sudden the camera flips and he gets to see your face. You have eyebags under your eyes and your hair is sticking out in several places with little bruises littering your collarbones. Just how he likes you. Shuffling follows and the camera jerks around awkwardly until it rests on his abdomen and refocuses on you, dick still in hand and eyes blinking innocently at the camera.

You tap the tip against your cheek a few times, Harumasa's hips pressing up into your hand as you do so. You smile a little at him offscreen, and it's almost affectionate until you swallow him down in one go. What you can't fit in your mouth you fist with your hand, bobbing in a perfectly trained rhythm that he knows would have him seeing stars. His hips awkwardly jerk, but you take him so well that it doesn't even bother you. The camera shifts again as Harumasa himself begins to wake up. A confused, "Oh fuck," is moaned out in the background, just barely audible over the heavenly sound of you sucking and swallowing him up. Then, your eyes flutter up, right as a hand fists its way into your hair. The video cuts shortly after that, leaving the rest of it up to his impeccable memory.

The next one is a bit longer, and honestly humiliating for him, but he can't get enough of it. Again you're holding the camera, but this time he is awake. It starts with your hand on his ass, marked with the harsh imprint of your strikes, bright and red and sure to bruise (it did). You make sure to get a good angle of yourself pounding him into the sheets, the sounds of squelching mixed with incoherent babbling from him something sinful. You glide your hand over his bare back, camera following along, then tug on his fluffy black hair. He lets out a pathetic whine as you push the camera into his fucked out face. Cheeks red, drool dripping down his chin, eyes watery and unfocused. It's all he can do to answer you when you finally ask, "You were a good boy today, weren't you Harumasa? Tell the camera how good you were today."

"Yessss, 'm a very good boy~" He hiccups out through your harsh thrusts.

You coo at him, pressing a little kiss to his cheek which gets him smiling like a moron in the video, "You know what good boys get to do, right?"

He visibly jolts in the frame, right as you wrap your pretty fingers around his swollen cock just out of frame. A whorish moan leaves his mouth as you pick up the pace, determined to make him cum. His whole face twists in pleasure as he cries out your name, releasing all over your fingers and the sheets. The camera flips, and you're giggling as you spread the covered hand playfully for the camera. "Such a good boy~" You hum, and the video cuts as you begin sucking each finger clean.

The last one he has, which is the only one where he's holding the camera, is his personal favorite. You're in the Section 6 office, legs spread out and perched wobbly on the arms of his desk chair. Miyabi, Yanagi, and Sokaku were all out for lunch and you'd been so sweet to bring him the one he'd 'accidentally' forgotten at home. His pace was fast and rough as he slammed into you. He preferred taking things slow, but even he had to admit he liked the thrill of a quicky in such an open area. One hand comes down to hold your thigh at a different angle, and you let out the squeakiest excuse for his name he'd ever heard. "I thought you didn't want them to see you like this... you're awfully contradictory~" He teases from behind the camera, not that you have it in you to do anything but whine at him. "What would Miyabi think of you..." He tuts, "and poor Tsukishiro might have a heart attack... how shameless can you be?"

He zooms in on your face, head thrown back and mouth stuck wide open with empty gasps just begging to become moans. Your body shakes as his thrusts become less fast and more rough, skin slapping against skin in the quiet office on the very desk he was scrolling through his phone. He can see his name form on your lips.

"Harumasa," Came Yanagi's voice instead, he jumps, quickly locking his phone and slipping it into his pocket, "I understand paperwork is boring, but scrolling on your phone is-"

"Unacceptable, I know," He sighs, "I'm getting to it I promise. Just... right after a quick bathroom break, okay?"

He's up and gone before she can respond, already deciding which video he should watch to fix his little issue. Oh! Or he could ask you for a new one right now, it'd been a minute since he'd gotten you masturbating.

Lighter Lorenz

Lighter didn't get the appeal of it at first. Why would he settle for videos and pictures when the real thing was so much better? Just didn't make sense to him, but sure, he'd let you do what you want. You were damn adorable with how excited you got when he said yes to another video or picture.

It wasn't until an extended period of time away from you that he realized how badly he was missing out. He was horny and you were too far away to do anything about it and no matter what he imagined he could not get off for the life of him. So, he caves and asks you to send one of those videos you'd made. It was probably the fastest he'd cum by himself since getting with you.

Lighter admits defeat, you were right, those videos are something else. Not nearly as good as the real thing, but close enough when he needed it. He's very selective about what does and does not get filmed though. There are some moments he wants to keep just between the two of you, no cameras or anything like that. However, once he gets into it he really gets into it, and those videos are cinema for amateur pornstars.

He keeps the videos and pictures in an unlabeled folder on his phone, not nearly as meticulous about hiding it as Harumasa or Seth might be. He didn't have the risk factor, the girls wouldn't go through his phone without asking first, and he wasn't careless enough to leave it out for others to dig through its contents. He also wasn't stupid enough to look through his little stash with others around, always waiting until he was completely isolated to look.

You were out for the night doing something or another for someone, too kind for your own good, leaving only Lighter and his hand to keep his dick company. He clicks open the folder, smiling to himself when he's met with pretty pictures of you.

He scrolls a bit, then clicks on a more recently recorded one. The camera is focused on your stomach, just low enough that he can see the flared red tip of his dick teasing your swollen clit. A deep chuckle sounds from behind the camera, followed by a grumpy little whine from you. He takes the hint, sliding his tip down and slowly dipping it into your drooling cunt. You let out the cutest squeal as he stretches you out, his hips angling up so his cock presses against your tummy.

The camera zooms in on the outline of his tip, pressing just below your navel. You babble something incoherent, and Lighter hums like it's the most interesting thing in the world. His calloused hand comes into view, tracing the outline with a low hiss. "Fuck, you feel me inside baby?" You mumble something out again, a much smaller hand sliding under his. He presses down as you trace a finger over him, and a whorish moan leaves your mouth. He ruts himself into you, hand pressing down so both of you could feel just how deep inside he was. Your body trembles with each hard thrust, and the camera work gets shakier and shakier the louder Lighter gets until it stops altogether after an annoyed groan — literally thrown across the room so he could focus more on you.

The next one he picks among a sea of delicacies is an older one, one of the first he'd agreed to make with you. The camera is set up on the nightstand, angled nicely so he could see your pretty tits bouncing with each thrust of his hips up into yours. You're wearing his scarf around your neck, and you look like sex incarnate hopping up and down on him.

His veiny hands grab at your hips, guiding each movement with careful precision. You're leaned back, head thrown to the sky as you call his name like a mantra. Each thrust makes your voice peak a little higher, the only thing louder being the slap of wet skin on skin. One particularly rough thrust has you keening, falling forward to press your sweaty face to his just out of frame. He can see your hips roll desperately into his own for all of a few seconds before his hands wrap around your thighs to hoist you up so he can bully his cock into your abused pussy. The whole bed shakes as the headboard slams into the wall, the camera tumbling to the ground forgotten as it records your brainless sobs over the sound of his brutal pace. A weird habit he’s noticed consistently in these videos.

He's close, he can feel it, as he strokes himself a little faster. Just needed the perfect thing to push him over the edge. He taps one of your personal favorites, citing it as 'the most fun' for you to film. In it, he is holding the camera down, you're kneeling between his legs, head resting on his thigh as your deft fingers play with his member. You smile up at him, sliding the bead of precum around the tip like a game.

He's huge in your hand, and it's a miracle you manage to fit your slim fingers around his fat cock. Slowly stroking down, then back up, your thumb sure to run over that vein that made his toes curl. You keep a steady pace, teasing him with the sweetest grin on your face.

"Feelin' good baby?" You purr up at him, amused at what is likely a very red faced Lighter.

There's an audible swallow, and the camera shakes as he answers, "Real good. Takin' good care 'f me."

You giggle, satisfied with the answer enough to lean down and start sucking on his balls. Your other hand scraped against his thigh, the muscles beneath tensing at the sensation. The sound of your sucking, mixed in with his little whimpers has him cumming prematurely, not that it stops him from fucking his hand through his orgasm. The video continues on like that, you teasing him to the edge and denying him his orgasm like a monster. Unlike then, he had quiet the mess to clean up now.

He thinks better of just cleaning it up, though. Instead snapping a quick picture and sending it to you with a little, 'Miss you.'

Seth Lowell

Seth is an incredibly polite, considerate, sweetheart who would never in a million years dream of asking to record you during sex. He might just be the most vanilla guy in all of New Eirdu, and recording seems... a little violating of your privacy. It's not something he considers an option.

Until one day, after a very long week where you and Seth hadn't seen each other for more than a few hours thanks to his work schedule. He's lying in the dorms, texting you about mundane tasks when you throw out how much you miss him. He obviously misses you too, and says so. You ask him if he would like to see how much you miss him, and the sweet thing he is the undertone goes right over his head. He expects a picture of you maybe pouting, doing something you would typically do together by yourself.

When he opens it he's greeted by you, two fingers deep in your own cunt, pretty juices glistening in the dim lighting of your bedroom -- oh god is that his shirt you're wearing? He short circuits, literally just staring slack-jawed at the phone for god knows how long until one of his buddies comes in and starts poking fun at him. He slams the phone down, and he makes it home in record time. That was all the convincing he needed from you to record your (rather basic) sexual escapades.

Seth does not save the videos, ever. They're all in your text chain, pinned there for easy access, but he refuses to keep them in his album. Way too risky for him with his family and his coworkers and... well... knowing himself. They're really only there for you, he doesn't have any free time to watch them and get off. He does, however like watching them when he's alone in the dorms for the night. Just a nice reminder of what he'll be doing next time he sees you.

Like this one, where the camera is pointed down on him, red-faced and teary-eyed as you ride him like no tomorrow. His chest is littered with little purple love bites, and your fingers splay out across them as you roll your hips deliciously against him. He whimpers in the video, shying away from the camera. The hand on his chest reaches over to flick his already too-hard nipple, twisting it a little. A giggle bubbles out of your chest when he keens.

"You like it when I ride you, don't you Seth...?" You coo, tracing your fingers over to the other nipple to give it attention. He nods with a whine, biting back his moans. You pinch him harshly as punishment, "Use your words."

He sighs, humiliated at the degradation, but swallows his pride and responds, "Yes Mommy."

He grimaces at his own voice, quickly closing out of the video to find something a little less... vocal. He settles on one where the camera is pointed down, you're wearing pretty blue lingerie. In this one, he's between your legs, ears flattened back as he gives you little kitten licks to your sensitive bud. The rough texture of his tongue makes your legs twitch, nearly closing on him, but fighting themselves back open.

He looks up to the camera, or more so past it, to look at you just begging for approval. Your hand comes into the frame, rubbing at one of his ears encouragingly. He lights up, taking the sign as his chance to swallow you down. He dives in like a kitten into milk, slurping and sucking with your hand guiding his movements. Your little sighs of approval get his tail curling up in the air behind him. Your little happy kitty, servicing you like the queen you are. “Good boy~” You coo so sweetly, and his tail twitches excitedly behind him.

He smiles fondly at the phone, was it weird to find it more cute than hot. Maybe he was too lovestruck. It didn't matter too much to him as he found one that you had favorited in the chat. He... didn't remember this one at all from the thumbnail, it got him curious.

The first thing he's greeted by is you face down in the sheets, his pale hand pushing your head into the pillows. Then he hears the wet slapping of skin, the camera following down to show where he was fucking you from behind. His entire abdomen is literally shimmering with a mix of your and his cum, the sticky white substance quite literally all over your back and his hands now that he was looking.

This was... he can't believe he had the mental capacity to think to record himself fucking you during his heat. His cock stirs in his pants, but he's too curious to stop watching before he screws himself over too much. The camera shifts as he leans over you, giving it a perfect view as he bites into the back of your neck. Your face is stained with tears, and your mouth is wide open with pleasure -- no sound escaped though, and Seth realizes that he'd fucked your throat raw in this video.

"Gonna fuck you full of my kits, wanna make you a real Mommy. That's okay, right? You wanna have my babies too don't you?" his rough voice mumbles into your skin, and you only nod in response, too fucked out to really do anything else.

He thinks the video will end there, but instead, the camera pulls up again as Seth pulls out. A broken, muted wail leaves you at the loss, but Seth ignores it in favor of recording your used pussy. Globs of cum leak out of it, down your thighs, and Seth's nimble fingers scoop it up and shove it back inside like in a trance. He clicks his phone off at that, way too flustered at the sight.

A frustrated sigh leaves his lips as he falls back into the uncomfortable bedding of the dorm. Great, now he was rock-hard and had no way of getting off. He had work in two hours, but there was no way he'd be getting any sleep like this. He frowns at his lock screen, a picture of the two of you together. You wouldn't mind if he came home and interrupted your rest that much, would you?

[derekhighwaytf]

Witches and Twinks

MONDAY

The small London restaurant’s dim light flickered against the wine glasses, casting soft Merlot shadows onto George and Adam’s lips, noses, the entirety of their smug, helpless faces. This should have been the perfect pairing.  They were both intellects, with high senses of self and a love for information (ie. control), and though they’d talked for nearly an hour at this point, the conversation felt more like a fencing match than the start of a beautiful new friendship—each word a parry, each retort a thrust. Adam, dressed in his sweater and khakis, leaned back in his chair with a faint smile, his tone sharp but measured for every measure George tried to fling upon him.

“As much as people romanticize magic or ‘karma,’ it’s all just bullish storytelling,” Adam said, swirling the last of his drink. “Yes, Shakespeare and Marlowe write about it, but even they understood that human intellect, not divine intervention, drives our fate. Julius Caesar—perfect example. ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.’ The real power lies in reason and intellect.”

George, dressed more casually in his loose-fitting green shirt, met Adam’s judgey gaze with a bewitchingly bemused smile. “Shakespeare also believed in the supernatural,” he countered. “The witches in Macbeth didn’t rely on logic to mess with the characters. Magic, fate, karma—call it what you may, but it holds an inexplicable force over more than just imagination. You’d be surprised how much control you don’t have.”

Adam chuckled, leaning forward slightly, his confidence more than bordering on just arrogance. “Macbeth? The witches merely represent internal fears and ambition every man or woman has in themselves. You can interpret them as mystical, inexplicable forces if you must, but at the end of the day, it’s Lady Macbeth’s persuasion and greed that destroy her husband. Shakespeare knew that intellect was the ultimate weapon. Magic? That’s just an excuse for weak minds like yourself who can’t handle the complexity of the human condition.”

George’s smile twitched as if he found the power not to turn Adam into the jackass he’d been acting like right then and there. “You academics, always trying to boil everything down to logic. I think you’re missing the point of the supernatural entirely. It’s not always about intellect. There are forces beyond understanding, beyond your understanding,—forces that aren’t impressed by your degrees or how many times you’ve read Troilus and Cressida.”

“An underrated work, if I say so myself.”  Adam’s smirk deepened. “And yes, the mysterious ‘forces beyond understanding.’ Tell me, how do they rank next to a Ph.D. in Shakespeare? I’d be curious to know.”

George tilted his head and took a swig of his drink, his gaze softening in a way that made Adam’s need to seek scholarly validation seem hollow. “You think Shakespeare would’ve agreed with you?”

“I know he would’ve,” Adam replied, superiority painting his tone. “The entire premise of his greatest works is that humanity’s biggest downfall is ignorance, not the supernatural. He’d side with intellect.”

“Or maybe he’d side with me.” George leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “You don’t think Shakespeare had a little magic in him? Maybe even enough to change a man forever?”

Adam’s smile faltered slightly, a small crack in his polished confidence. “What are you getting at?”

George’s just giggled, something dark and knowing flashing behind them. “I’m saying that not everything in this world is logical, Adam. You’re sitting here, lecturing me about Shakespeare, as if your intellect puts you above magic or fate. But I could change your entire world with just a flick of my hand, and all that book knowledge would evaporate into thin air.”

Adam’s gulped, unsure whether to get up and run or call the waiter. “Magic doesn’t exist,” he scoffed. “This isn’t some fantasy. It’s reality. You want to impress me? Show me something real.”

Without hesitation, George raised his hand, a scarred palm outstretched, and without breaking eye contact, he waved it through the suddenly thickened air with an inexplicable grace. The motion was so sudden, almost imperceptible, but Adam’s reaction was immediate. His breath hitched, his confident posture writhing and wilting as his widened eyes fluttered in confusion. The polished veneer of intellectual superiority melted away as something unfamiliar and overpowering gripped him.

Suddenly, Adam found himself folded over the table, unable to look away from George. The irritation he’d felt moments before evaporated, replaced by a deep, floundering passion—something that made his heart race and his chest tighten. His thoughts scrambled, no longer sharp and clear but clouded, fogged by an overwhelming sense of need.

“I…” Adam stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t understand… what were we—?”

George shushed him, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. “You’re not supposed to understand, love. That’s the point.”

Adam’s breath grew shallow, his pulse quickening as his gaze locked onto George, unable to break away. His mind, usually so sharp and critical, was a jumbled mess of scrambled eggs. Everything he knew, everything he prided himself on, suddenly felt distant, irrelevant. All that mattered now was George—his voice, his presence, his timeless beauty.  George was Adam’s everything now.

“You’re…” Adam’s words trailed off as his hand reached across the table, trembling. “You’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met.”  He swallowed his own tongue, choking on his own breath.  “Will you marry me?”

George’s smile widened, a quiet, knowing victory in his eyes. He leaned back, looking under the table, watching as Adam’s brain couldn’t catch up to his…heart.

“And just like that,” George whispered, “all your intellect can’t stop what you feel now, can it?”

Adam blinked, his face flushed with a mix of confusion and something else, something deeper. “No… I… I can’t stop it.” He swallowed hard, his voice small, vulnerable. “I don’t want to.” 

George’s eyes glittered with satisfaction. “Good,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “Now, why don’t we talk about something that really matters back at your place?”

Every part of his intellectual, collected self knew better than to let this menace into his home, but all Adam could do was nod at his newfound love’s commands. And how bad could it be?  All’s well that ends well, right?

Adam fumbled with the keys to his flat, his hands trembling with an erotic urgency he’d never known before. A man of his knowledge and tact would never sleep with a man so quickly, but alas, his once methodical mind, the same one that could cite King Lear on a whim, now reeled only with thoughts of George on his bed—George's lustful eyes, George’s sweet cock, George's very presence seemed to fill every emotional crevice of his being. His usual restraint, his prudent superiority, was gone, replaced by a consuming need to be filled by this cunning, enchanting strange.

They stumbled inside, the door locking shut behind them. “I’ve never…” Adam’s voice cracked, and he shook his head, words failing him. “I don’t know why, but I want you, I need you. Now.”

George’s lips curled into a soft smile, almost pitying. “Not yet, love. You’re tired.”

“No, I—” Adam’s horny existence began to protest, but before he could finish, George raised his hand and with a single flick of the wrist, Adam’s body crashed into a wave of heavy and irresistible drowsiness. His knees buckled slightly, and he stumbled backward onto his bed, the fatigue wrapping itself around him like a thick, suffocating blanket. His eyelids fluttered as the last bit of resistance left him, and in moments, he was fast asleep, still in the preppy clothes that once defined him.

George stepped forward, his eyes brooding as he stood over Adam's sleeping form. His fingers trailed lightly over Adam’s temple, tracing the outline of his brow. “You’ll thank me for this one day,” George murmured, though he knew Adam couldn’t hear. 

With that, George’s expression shifted from amusement to something far more dangerous. He moved to the center of the room, kneeling over, and began reciting words in Old English, his voice low and rhythmic, like a conjurer summoning something deep and ancient.

“This man doth dress in shorts of scanty seam,  

But two inches, nay more, could his cloth bear.  

All trousers, all pants, dare try to redeem,  

Will twist and turn, yet still they'll shorten there.”

As the words slipped out from George’s lips, the change began. Adam’s legs, still clad in his conservative khakis, twitched. The fabric shimmered like glitter, rippling unnaturally, as though it had come alive beneath him. Slowly, the pant legs began to pull and pull, retracting themselves upward inch by inch. The sturdy material warped and shrank, tightening suddenly as it rose. In moments, the khakis had transformed entirely into a pair of short, nay, outrageously short gym shorts—barely two inches of inseam, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

The fabric clung to Adam’s shivering thighs, exposing pale skin that had seemingly never seen the light of day. His knees, his nonexistent calves, everything that had been carefully covered up was now on display, with the hem of the shorts barely reaching the tops of his legs. He lay there, still sleeping, completely oblivious to the transformation.

George’s eyes gleamed as he watched his imagination solidify into reality, their bright, synthetic fabric snug against Adam’s skin. “Much better,” he whispered, stepping closer. But alas, he wasn’t done just yet.

“In tanks of muscled shape, his chest laid bare,  

Neckline to navel, each nipple shall show.  

Armholes so deep, their movement none can spare,  

In every stride, his shirt reveals more woe.”

Another shift rippled through Adam’s sleeping body, this time around his torso. The sweater he’d been wearing—the very picture of propriety—began to distort itself, the fibers unraveling at his collar. The neckline dipped lower, and lower, and lower still, until it stopped just above his flat belly button. The sleeves, too, warped, pulling up and away from his twig-like arms until they were nothing but gaping holes that left his ribcage completely exposed. The fabric thinned as the sleeves disappeared, leaving him in a muscle tank so revealing that his nipples couldn’t help but to peek through with every slight motion.

The soft knit of his sweater had become a thin, athletic material, stretched across his chest and shoulders, barely covering anything. His once modest outfit was now reduced to something shamelessly provocative, his entire upper body on display, his pasty white skin brushing against the air with every breath.

George admired his work, his fingers drumming lightly against his thigh as he took in Adam’s new look. “Perfect,” he murmured. And yet, there was still more to be done.

“In high shoe laced, his socks pulled crisp and white,  

A chain of gold doth glisten 'round his neck,  

Beneath it all, a jock to fit him tight,  

No other cloth for him shall fate select.”

Once again, for the final time tonight, the changes swept through Adam’s cold, lifeless body, this time starting at his feet. His Sperry boat shoes dissolved, giving way to a pair of bright white Nike hi-tops, their thick laces tied into the most perfect bows for the treadmill. The socks that appeared around his ankles pulled up snugly, reaching mid-calf, their crisp whiteness almost blending to the cream of his skin.

Next, the thinnest, most douchiest gold chain materialized itself around his bony neck, resting just above his exposed collarbone. The delicate glint of the necklace caught the light, its subtle flash at odds with the rest of his now athletic ensemble. Finally, the transformation moved beneath his shorts. His boxers melted away, replaced by a tight-fitting jockstrap that cupped him in place, offering minimal coverage and the most maximum exposure, almost as if he were a twink stripper on the Miami shore instead of the next youngest professor at Yale.

George stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Adam, once a picture of scholarly decorum, now lay before him clad in nothing but slutty gym shorts, a muscle tank that exposed far more than Adam would ever desire, hi-top sneakers, a thin gold chain, and the most illuminating jockstrap. It was absurd, provocative—and exactly as George had imagined.

For the final touch, George recited the couplet, his voice soft but firm:

“Forever cursed, his garments shall remain,  

In shorts, in tanks, he'll live his life in vain.”

With those words, the spell was sealed. No matter what Adam touched, no matter how hard he tried, every article of clothing would morph into this same, revealing outfit. George smiled, satisfied, and took a seat in the armchair across from Adam. He watched him for a moment, sleeping so peacefully despite the irreversible change that had just taken place.

But as the night crept on, George allowed himself to sleep too, a smirk still resting on his lips as he lied next to his creation. Tomorrow, when Adam awoke and his spell of infatuation wore off, George knew that’s when the real fun would begin.

TUESDAY

“AHHHH!”  Adam woke up, his heart racing as the morning light shone onto his hungover face. His body felt strange, but his mind was far more disturbed. The events of the previous night seemed fragmented, cloudy—George, the strange pull, the overwhelming desire, none of it made sense. He sat up in his sheets, his eyes darting around the room, his chest heaving.

He looked beside himself and dear God, there he was. George was still asleep, draped casually across the sheets, his face peaceful in the way that seemed entirely at odds with the havoc he’d wreaked. Adam’s stomach turned. I slept with him, Adam thought, his mind spinning like a top. He clenched his fists in the sheets, his face flushed with shame. How had he let this happen? His mind, so methodical and proud, had completely failed him and allowed him to degrade himself for some vampiric twink.

Panic gripped him as he stood from the bed, only to stop mid-step when he realized a breeze he’d never felt before. His legs were bare, his thighs on full display. It was then that he noticed his reflection in the mirror across the room. His mouth fell open in shock. Gone were his conservative khakis and sweater. In their place, he wore nothing but a pair of impossibly short gym shorts, a muscle tank that exposed his chest and nipples, white socks pulled up to his calves, and, what on earth, a jockstrap?  He looked at himself again and thought he looked like a child dressing up in his musclehead uncle’s clothes.

He quickly shuffled to his dresser, desperate to change out of this ridiculous, humiliating outfit before George woke up. He rifled through his drawers and pulled out a pair of khakis and a button-down shirt, but as soon as his fingers touched them, they shimmered and twisted, morphing into the same slutty gym shorts and revealing muscle tank that now clung to his body. Adam's eyes widened in horror. He threw the clothes aside and reached for another pair, only for the same thing to happen. Every single item he touched—his jeans, his sweaters, even a pair of pajamas—all transformed into the same jock-bro ensemble.

“What the fuck?” Adam muttered under his breath, the frustration building. His heart pounded as he rifled through his now everchanging closet, grabbing hangers and tossing clothes aside in a frantic attempt to find something—anything—that wouldn’t transform. But everything he touched met the same fate, shrinking and twisting into the cursed, douchebag outfit.

Behind him, he heard a soft laugh.

George finally awoke, sitting up in bed, arms crossed, a lazy smirk plastered on his face. “Having trouble love?”

Adam spun around, his face flushed with fury. “What the hell is this?” He gestured to his outfit, his voice rising. “What did you do to me?”

George laughed again, softer this time, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “What’s wrong? What happened to the complexity of the human consciousness or whatever bullshit you were spewing last night?”

“Magic?!” Adam’s voice cracked with a mixture of disbelief and anger. “Is that what you’re blaming this on?  You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, but I am, love.”  George stood, casually pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. “Oh, come on. Don’t you like your new look? I think it suits you.” He took a step closer, his smirk growing wider. “And honestly, after all that big talk, I would’ve thought you’d handle a little transformation with more grace.”

Adam clenched his fists, his voice shaking with rage. “This isn’t funny, George! Somehow you’ve made me look like some jock-bro idiot. What the hell am I supposed to do like this? Just tell me what you did!”

But George’s expression darkened. “You still don’t get it, do you?” His voice dropped, the playful tone gone. “You can’t just insult me, mock what I believe, and expect no consequences.” He took another step forward, his brooding eyes locking with Adam’s. “You wanted to prove your intellect was above everything—above magic, above fate. But you’ve proven nothing except how small your mind really is.”

“Small?!” Adam barked. “The only thing small here is you, you psychopathic, egotistical—”

But before Adam could finish, George’s pupils flashed with anger. He raised his hand, the air around him seeming to hum with energy. “Careful what you say next,” George warned. “Or you might not like what comes next.”

Adam’s lips parted, the insult on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated. His pride warred with his common sense, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You’re nothing but a dumb fucking slut."

Suddenly, quiet filled the room as the words escaped Adam’s quivering lip, but once he got himself collected, George’s voice rang out in outrage, calm, yet oh-so commanding.

“This man shall bear a curse of feet most foul,  

With stench of sweat, his socks shall rot and tear.  

His pits shall reek, his skin a pungent scowl,  

Athlete’s rot shall mar each inch laid bare.”

Adam barely had time to register what George had said before a horrifying sensation crept up from his feet. He looked down, his newly acquired hi-tops feeling unnaturally damp. His socks, once crisp and white, were now soaked with sweat and dirt, clinging to his wretched skin. He wrinkled his nose at the sudden, overwhelming odor that wafted up from his shoes. It was rancid—like rotting toe cheese mixed with mildew and and an ocean’s worth of sweat. His feet itched uncontrollably, the skin burning as if something was crawling beneath it.

At the same time, his armpits began to burn and sting. He reached up instinctively, only to pull his hand back in disgust. His armpits were slick with a salty wetness, and the stench hit him like a punch to the gut—thick, sour, and overwhelming. It was as if he hadn’t showered in weeks, months even. His face flushed with embarrassment as the realization set in: his body reeked. His feet, his armpits—every part of him was drenched in sweat and stench, a walking cloud of filth.

“What the—?” Adam staggered back, staring at George in disbelief. “What did you—?”

But George wasn’t finished. He raised his hand again, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction.

“This man shall itch where modesty once laid,  

His bush shall grow, his groin a scratching hell.  

He’ll fight in vain to stop his hands’ parade,  

As arse and crotch demand his touch as well.”

And just like that, a sharp itch exploded itself across Adam’s groin, so intense that he doubled over in shock. His fingers flew to his waistband, instinctively trying to scratch the burning sensation beneath his jockstrap. The itch was so unbearable, spreading across his groin and into his backside, radiating like fire near his hole. No matter how hard he tried to resist, his hands were drawn to the sensation, scratching furiously, desperate for relief.

But there was none. The more he scratched, the worse it got. His fingers dug into the fabric of his shorts, and soon, he was practically clawing at himself, unable to stop. His face flushed red with embarrassment. The itch was maddening, and it didn’t care about decorum or propriety. Weak, he was scratching himself in front of George, his hands running over his crotch and ass, completely helpless against the overwhelming need for relief.

“Stop this,” Adam gasped, his voice shaking as he continued to scratch. “Please, stop.”

But George only smirked, his voice calm as he began the next quatrain.

“Each hour, his body shall release its gas,  

With burps and farts to shake the very air.  

No matter where he goes, no lad or lass  

Will dare endure the odors he’ll declare.”

Before Adam could breath in, his stomach rumbled violently. His eyes widened in horror as his body took over, an enormous belch ripping from his throat, so loud it echoed through the tiny studio. A second later, a foul-smelling fart exploded from him like a cloud, the stink so pungent it nearly knocked him back. 

“No—” Adam gasped, but his body betrayed him again. Another belch, followed by another fart and another burp, and yet another fart. The stench filled the room, thick and nauseating. His face turned crimson as he stumbled back, his hands flying to his mouth as if he could stop the sounds from escaping, but it was no use. Every few seconds, another belch, another fart, the air around him quickly becoming unbreathable.

George watched, amused, as Adam staggered, his eyes wide with humiliation. He raised his hand one last time, his voice soft and final.

“This man of filth, of shame, of rank decay,  

Shall live apart from grace, in filth to stay.”

With that, George turned toward the door, leaving Adam in the haze of his own stench, his body a twisted caricature of everything he once prided himself on. The smell of his own filth lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive, but it was the itching, the relentless belching, and the horrible farts that kept him anchored to the spot. His whole body was a battlefield of sensations he couldn’t control. His intellect, once his greatest weapon, felt utterly useless now.

He staggered toward the bathroom, desperate to scrub away the grime of his new persona. He turned on the shower, hoping the water would wash away the stench and the shame. But as soon as the water hit his body, it did nothing. The sweat, the reek from his armpits and feet, even the itch in his groin—it was all still there, clinging to him like a second skin.

After multiple futile attempts, he stared at his reflection in the fogged mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, his face flushed from scratching and embarrassment. His once carefully maintained hair was now matted with sweat, and his body, encased in the ridiculous bro-ey outfit, made him look more like a lazy frat boy than a Ph.D. candidate.

Adam threw on a hoodie, hoping it might cover up some of the smell, and pulled the hood over his head, trying to obscure himself. He couldn’t just stay home. He had a meeting with his professor that afternoon—he had to go. He had to maintain some semblance of normalcy, even though nothing about this felt normal.

As he left the apartment, he became acutely aware of the looks he was getting from people on the street. Some wrinkled their noses, others shot him a glance before quickly looking away. His footsteps echoed in his ears, punctuated by the sound of another loud fart escaping him, followed by a huge, gut-shaking belch. The smell followed him like a shadow, and the itch in his groin was impossible to ignore. He scratched absentmindedly, wincing as he did, but the relief only lasted a second before the itch came back with renewed intensity.

The closer he got to campus, the more nervous he became. His body wouldn’t stop betraying him—every few steps, another belch, another fart, another desperate scratch of his groin and butt. He could feel the sweat pooling beneath his shirt, the odor rising with it. He pulled his hood tighter over his head, hoping to disappear into himself, but nothing could hide what was happening to him.

By the time he reached his professor’s office, he was a mess of nerves. He stood outside the door, trying to compose himself. You can do this, he thought, even as his body itched and groaned in protest. But the second he stepped inside, the look on his professor’s face told him everything.

“Adam,” Professor Wilson said, his voice hesitant as he looked up from his desk. His nose wrinkled almost immediately, and Adam saw him discreetly glance toward the window as if considering opening it for fresh air. “Are… are you feeling alright?”

Adam swallowed hard. “I—I’m fine,” he lied, but even as the words left his mouth, another loud belch erupted from his throat, followed by the unmistakable sound of another fart. The air around him was thick with the stench, and he could see the professor’s face go pale with disgust.

Professor Wilson stood abruptly. “Perhaps we should reschedule,” he said, clearly trying to hold back his revulsion. “It seems like you’re not… in the best condition today.”

“I can explain—” Adam started, but even as he spoke, his hands betrayed him again, scratching furiously at his groin and rear, the itch unbearable. He tried to stop, tried to keep himself composed, but his body had other ideas. Another belch, another fart, each more embarrassing than the last. The smell in the room was unbearable, and Professor Wilson’s eyes were wide with a mix of pity and horror.

“Adam, I think it’s best if you go home and take care of… whatever this is,” Professor Wilson said, his voice tight with discomfort. “We’ll discuss your dissertation another time.”

Adam’s face burned with shame as he nodded stiffly, his throat too tight to speak. He turned and left the office, another loud fart escaping him as he hurried down the hallway. The students he passed gave him wide-eyed stares, some covering their noses, others whispering and laughing as he stumbled past them. Each new step felt heavier, the weight of the day pressing down on him, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the nightmare his life had become.

By the time he could finally make it back to his apartment, he was utterly defeated. His body reeked, the itch in his groin had only gotten worse, and his belly was constantly churning with the pressure of more belches and farts waiting to erupt. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow. The day had been a disaster—there was no way he could continue like this.

As the evening settled in, Adam lay there, his mind racing even as his body continued to betray him. He had to find George. He had to fix this. There was no other option.

He couldn’t live like this—he couldn’t endure the stares, the laughter, the humiliation. His career, his entire life, was at stake. With each itch, each stench, each belch and fart, he felt his old self slipping further away, and he was terrified of what he would become if this continued.

With a heavy sigh, Adam closed his eyes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would find George and demand that he fix what he’d done. Tomorrow, he would get his life back.

WEDNESDAY

Adam sat desperate against his pillow and his headboard, his phone clutched in his hand, staring down at the screen with a sense of failure. The stench from his armpits, the itching in his groin, the endless belches and farts—everything had become so utterly unbearable. The reflection he caught in the mirror was still that of the cursed gym rat, his outfit vulgar and ridiculous against his scrawny body, the stink so thick it began to cling to the walls of his flat.

He began typing. His fingers trembled slightly as they tapped against the glass, carefully crafting the text to George. His pride screamed against it, but he was out of options. He couldn’t live like this, not anymore.

"Hey George,  

I’ve been thinking a lot…and I just wanted to say how sorry I am. I was so out of line, and I didn’t mean to insult you or dismiss what you believe. I get it now—there are things beyond intellect, beyond control, and…beyond me.  I was wrong, and you were right. There.  I should’ve believed in magic instead of trying to mock it. Please, is there anything I can do to fix this? I don’t want to keep living like this, I just can’t."

He hesitated for a moment before hitting send, his stomach twisting into a knot of hope and dread. Adam tossed the phone onto his bed and laid back, staring at the ceiling as the minutes stretched into hours. Every itch, every foul-smelling fart reminded him of his new reality. He tried to distract himself—cleaning the apartment, watching plays on Youtube, attempting to focus on some new Shakespearean analysis—but nothing worked. The stench hung in the air like a punishment, stuck to him no matter what.

By midday, Adam’s hope had started to wither into nothingness. George wasn’t going to respond. He probably didn’t even care. Maybe this was it—maybe this revolting, humiliating state was his life now. He sighed, dragging his hands through his sweaty hair, glancing toward his phone again. Still nothing. He swallowed the lump in his throat and paced around room, fidgeting with his bro clothes that clung to his now lean body like a cruel joke. 

Bzzzz.

Adam rushed to his phone, his heart thudding against his chest as he unlocked the screen. A message from George appeared, and his breath caught.

“Curses can’t be undone, love.”

Adam’s face flushed with frustration. His jaw clenched as he stared at the words. All of that groveling, all of that begging, and this was the response? He typed furiously, his anger bubbling to the surface, but before he could send anything back, another message appeared.

“But I must admit.  I didn’t think you would actually say that.  Honestly, I really appreciate the apology. Why don’t call it even, huh?  Why don’t I give you a gift?”

Adam blinked at the screen, his anger slowly dissipating into confusion. A gift? What kind of twisted gift could George possibly mean? If it was anything like the last, then he could keep it. But before he could protest, another message filled the screen.

“His arms, like oaks, doth stretch from end to end,  

With strength to lift the world or crush its weight.  

Their power matched with beauty none can fend,  

Two mounds so vast as sunset’s final state.”

As Adam read the words, he felt a sudden warmth spread through his arms. Not again, he thought, but then his eyes darted down in alarm as his previously thin, lanky arms twitched, then bulged. He watched, wide-eyed, as his biceps began to swell, the muscles rippling and bubbling beneath his skin. The skin of his arms grew tight, barely able to contain the massive growth. His once scrawny arms were transforming into huge, muscular limbs—so strong, they looked like they could crush stone with a single flick.

He flexed experimentally, his new muscles hardening themselves like marble. His biceps were enormous, so large they cast a shadow on his bony torso. He stared in disbelief at his own body, feeling an unfamiliar surge of power rush through him.

His phone buzzed again, another text:

“His chest, like breasts of Venus round and great,  

Two orbs of strength that push against the day.  

Each pect’ral it’s own ball upon a beach,  

So full, so firm, none dare to turn away.”

Adam’s gaze shifted down towards his chest, and once again, he felt the same warm, tingling sensation spread across his torso as he began to feel an unnerving top heaviness. His pecs swelled, pushing against the straps of his tank top until the neckline stretched even lower than before. His chest ballooned outward, each pec growing into a massive, rounded mound of muscle, firm and solid beneath his skin. His nipples presented so visibly, his chest now so large it jutted forward, casting a shadow over his barren stomach.

The weight of his new pecs made him feel even more powerful, even more in control. He couldn’t stop staring, watching the way his body filled out, how his once-flat chest had been replaced by two enormous mounds of muscle that jiggled involuntary with every breath. They were so big, so round, they almost looked unnatural—but Adam loved it nonetheless.

Another text…

“His stomach, carved like canyons deep and wide,  

Each groove a trench, each line a valley low.  

His legs, like trunks of ancient oaks abide,  

With strength to stand through storm and sun and snow.”

Adam’s abdomen contracted, the sensation rippling through his core. He watched as the muscles on his stomach began to etch themselves into deep, chiseled grooves. His once-flat belly was now an eight-pack, every ridge and line so pronounced it looked like his abs had been carved out of granite. His waist boxed in, accentuating the sheer mass of his chest above and the powerful definition below.

His legs were next. His thighs bulged beneath his gym shorts, the muscles expanding rapidly, filling out with every second. His calves thickened into pillars of strength, his quads growing into enormous slabs of meat that made his legs look like logs. He was massive now, his entire body transformed into something that looked like it had been sculpted by the god Zeus himself.

The final couplet arrived, and as Adam read the words, he felt the last part of the transformation taking hold:

A man’s man, dominant, in every stride,  

With looks that none, not man nor beast, can hide.”

As Adam gazed into the mirror, his eyes widened in awe. His reflection had changed entirely. He stood there, towering, his body brimming with strength and raw masculinity, as if he’d eaten raw eggs every day of his life since he was ten. His jawline was sharper, his posture more commanding, and the way he looked—it was undeniable. He was an alpha now.  He demanded attention, respect, and desire. The smell, the stink that had once plagued him—it didn’t matter. His overwhelming physicality eclipsed all of it.

Adam grinned, a wave of confidence crashing over him. This was power. This was control. He grabbed a jacket, still feeling the massive stretch of his biceps as he slipped it over his shoulders, and headed out.

At the nearest gay bar, the moment Adam walked in, all eyes were on him. His broad shoulders and massive arms filled out his jacket in ways that left little to the imagination. He could see heads turning, guys sneaking glances at his hulking frame, his thick pecs nearly busting through his shirt. He walked up to the bar, and within seconds, a couple of older men sidled up to him, their eyes wide with interest.

One of them, a trucker looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and the crustiest mustache, leaned in, his voice low. “You’re looking good, boy. Smell like man too.  Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

Adam wrinkled his nose slightly. The man was old, rotund, and ugly.  He could do better, much better. “No thanks, ..sir,” Adam replied coldly, his voice deeper and more commanding than he remembered. The man’s face fell slightly, but Adam didn’t care. He was too busy reveling in the attention, in the way every guy in the bar seemed to be watching him, wanting his body.

As the night wore on, more and more guys approached, trying their luck with him. But none of them were good enough for Adam. He was an alpha now—he could have anyone he wanted, and the more he held out, the more they wanted.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow, he would go see George again.  If George can do this for him.  There’s no telling what else he could get out of the witchy twink.

THURSDAY

Adam took the tube immediately once he awoke and stood in front of George’s door, the weight of his muscular new form making him feel absolutely invincible. His inflated biceps and thick chest on the reflective glass of the door fed his ever growing ego, but deep down, he couldn’t help but shake this nagging doubt. George had done this to him—made him into a walking Marvel superhero, sculpted from stone, pure lust, and raw, unadulterated power. But was it enough? No, Adam wanted more. Needed more.

He knocked, his hairy knuckles bristling past the door handle. The first time he’d sought George, he’d dismissed the supernatural as nonsense. Now, with the power of George’s magic coursing through his sculpted body, Adam was ready to claim yet another piece of it. But this time, he knew he had to play his cards just a tad bit differently.

The door creaked open, and there stood George, his face shifting from surprise to a soft, almost suspicious smile. “Adam,” George purred. “Back so soon?”

Adam leaned against the doorframe, his massive arms bulging as he flexed them just enough to show off the strength George had given him. “Missed me?”

George raised an eyebrow, but his gaze lingered on Adam’s tits, those enormous pecs straining against the thin straps of his bro-ish muscle tank. There was a flicker of something in George’s eyes—desire, interest, maybe even a sliver of actual emotion, something he hadn’t felt in centuries. Adam noticed, and he played into it, taking a step closer, his voice low and smooth.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Adam said, his hand grazing George’s arm. “About I’ve been thinking about just how much I owe you for this body, for… everything.”

George tilted his head, still guarded. “And what exactly do you want this time, Adam?”

“I don’t want anything,” Adam replied, his lips curling into a seductive smile. “Just you.”

He moved closer, his muscular frame dwarfing George’s, his presence overwhelming in the cramped air of the doorway. George hesitated for a moment, but Adam’s hand slipped to the nape of George’s neck, pulling him in with surprising gentleness. Their lips met, slowly melding together, turning into something hotter, far more dangerous. Adam’s thinly veiled cock rubbed against George’s abs as his walls came crumbling down, and for the first time, Adam felt the subtle shift in power—he had George, really had him.

The day blurred into heated moments, their bodies tangled in sheets and sweat. Adam was relentless, his new body a weapon of seduction, and George, for all his magic, succumbed to the raw physicality of it. They moved together with an intensity that neither had expected, sucking, fucking, and by the time they lay spent, George was quiet, staring at Adam with something akin to affection.

Adam, however, was already thinking ahead. He turned to George, still catching his breath. “You’ve got power, George. Magic.”

George giggled with a flush.  “You’re just saying that.”

But Adam turned cold.  “I want more of it.”

George’s face darkened. “What exactly are you asking for, Adam?”

Adam grinned, his arrogance returning now that the heat of the moment had passed. “Whatever gift you think I deserve. You’ve given me all this, how can I doubt your judgment, my sweet baby.  My love.  I’ll leave it up to you. Surprise me.”

George’s expression shifted from curiosity to something more guarded, his eyes narrowing as he watched Adam’s smug face. “Anything I want, huh?”

Adam shrugged, confidence oozing from every pore. “I trust you.”

George sat up, his fingers trailing along Adam’s broad chest as if considering his next move. For a long moment, he said nothing, then with a quiet, deceptive murmur, he recited:

"A man so well endowed, his length shall grow,  

Eight inches, thick as snake in fabric’s cage,  

His buttocks firm, a perch for all to show,  

A bubble round to seat him firm with age."

Adam’s goosebumped body tingled immediately, the familiar warmth of transformation spreading through his lower regions. He let out a low, grunty moan as the sensation deepened, his cock thickening and lengthening under his teeny tiny shorts. Diameter growing as his ass tightened, the muscles swelling into perfect, round bubbles that pushed him slightly upward in the bed. He grinned, looking down at himself, clearly satisfied with George’s work.

“That’s more like it,” Adam murmured, his hands roaming over his newly enhanced assets. The heft of his cock felt incredible, and his ass, firm and plump, made him sit taller, more confidently. “I can’t wait to use this out in SoHo.”  He turned to George, expecting more praise, more lust, but George’s face remained unreadable.

Then, George’s voice darkened, and he continued the sonnet.

"But this thick snake shall rise and never fall,  

In constant stand, no peace, no quiet still.  

His rounded arse shall breathe and stretch at call,  

Each muscle loose, no seat can meet its will."

Adam’s smile faltered, confusion flickering in his eyes. The change happened so quickly—his cock, now a monstrous length, hardened immediately, pushing insistently against the fabric of his gym shorts. It throbbed, always erect, always at attention, with no sense of relief. He shifted uncomfortably as his ass, once firm and perfect, started to feel strangely loose towards the center. It twitched and clenched on its own, the muscles stretching and relaxing without his control, as if it was becoming an underground tunnel.

“Wait, what the—?” Adam stammered, sitting up, his hand moving to adjust his cock, but it wouldn’t soften. His asshole kept opening with a subtle, almost breathing sensation that made him feel unstable, as if he could fit a tube station in there.

George smirked, watching the realization dawn on Adam’s face. “Not quite what you expected, is it?”

Adam’s panic grew as he tried to stand, but the constant, unrelenting erection made every step uncomfortable. His ass moved with a will of its own, making it impossible for him to walk without awkwardly adjusting himself.

“Stop this,” Adam demanded, his voice sharp with fear. “Fix it!”

But George continued, his voice soft, but with a cutting edge:

"For every man he sees and thinks of thus,  

A need shall spark, his body shall obey.  

Two seconds more, his lips will ask with trust,  

And if they say ‘yes,’ he cannot turn away."

Adam’s eyes widened in horror as the words sank in. The change was immediate. His mind, sharp and calculating, suddenly snapped. The second he looked at George, an overwhelming desire flooded him. He took a step forward, his voice trembling.

“George, I—” He swallowed, trying to fight the words that wanted to spill out, but they escaped anyway. “I want you… I need you. Please, let’s do it again.”

George’s smirk faded into something almost pitying as he stepped back, shaking his head. “No.”

Adam blinked, the refusal shocking him, but the need remained. His body trembled with desire, the thought of George sending his blood rushing. He reached out, desperate. “Please, I can’t—”

But George stood firm. “This is what you wanted, Adam. You wanted the magic. Now you’ve got it.”

Adam’s desperation turned into panic, the uncontrollable lust gnawing at him as he realized what had happened. “Please, you have to stop this! I can’t live like this!”

George’s eyes softened, but his voice remained firm. “If you never see me again, I can never curse you again. Plain and simple.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the curse pressing down on him. He had no choice. He nodded stiffly, his voice shaking. “Fine.”

Without another word, he fled the apartment, the constant throbbing in his pants making every step unbearable, as if he were walking with a third leg. His ass twitched, loose and awkward, making him shift with every movement. He tried to keep his eyes down, avoid seeing anyone, avoid thinking about anyone. But as he neared his flat, he saw him—the old, fat man from the bar, the one with the crusty mustache he’d brushed off so easily the night before.

Adam’s eyes locked onto him, and the thought, just two seconds, crossed his mind. The change was instant.

“Hey,” Adam called out, already relieving his itchy erection, his voice unabashed from shame. “You wanna fuck me?”

The man’s eyes widened, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, I do.  Let’s go boy”

Before Adam could stop himself, he moved closer, his body betraying him. They ended up in Adam’s flat, the humiliation sinking deeper as he stripped down, his body moving on its own, giving in to the fat man’s cock. Every moment was pleasure, the curse forcing him to enjoy it all. As the man’s fingers roamed into his hole, Adam’s cock stood painfully erect, his ass twitching and clenching, unable to resist the pleasure.

By the time it was over, Adam lay in bed, the old man’s snores filling the room. He stared at the ceiling, the weight of his actions crushing him. He hated it. He hated the curse, hated George, hated himself. But as he thought back to the encounter, a sickening sense of satisfaction settled in his chest.

Maybe this was who he was now. He’d become the horny, bro-ish slut he’d always railed against.

But hey, at least he still had his wits about him.

“You wanna go again,” he asked the sleeping bear.

He awoke.  “Fuck yeah I do.”

FRIDAY

Adam groaned, his body still humming from the night before, shifting slightly in his bed, the weight of his smelly, bulging muscles pressing against the mattress in ways that felt less and less alien. The stench of sweat and sex clung to the sheets like a cruel reminder, but what gave him the most relief was that the old mustached bear, the fat man who had taken him, or he’d taken in, last night, was gone, leaving Adam with what few shreds of dignity he had left. For but a brief moment, Adam felt a glimmer of his old smart self, something buried deep beneath the layers of this cursed, grotesque transformation.

He brought himself up slowly, running a hand through his cum-soaked, dampened hair, trying to ignore the disgusting aire of musk that followed him everywhere. The night’s events replayed slowly in his mind, and each moment sent waves of heat rolling through him. He was disgusted with himself, yet somehow also satisfied. As much as he wanted to shake off the craziness of last night, something darker tugged within him—or instead, someone.  Someone he couldn't control.

George.

The mere thought of him, that witchy smile, made Adam's heart pump and race. He tried to resist it, clenching his fists as he paced around his tiny studio. No. He wouldn’t give in. Not again. But the more he fought it, the stronger the curse became. His cock twitched in his shorts, eternally hardening more and more, his mind clouded with an overwhelming desire as he let out a massive burp. It was George. He needed George. He needed to see him, fuck him, even if it meant more and more of these horrible, disfiguring changes.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Adam was out the door, heading toward George’s place. His brain screamed at him to turn back, to stop this madness, but his feet kept moving, each step heavier with the weight of inevitability. He arrived at George’s door, his heart pounding so hard it echoed in his ears. Before he could second-guess himself, he knocked.

The door creaked open, and there stood George, the same knowing smile curling on his lips, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Back so soon?” George asked, voice dripping with mockery.

Adam swallowed, his throat tight. His body screamed with need, the throbbing in his pants unbearable. “I… I need to fuck you,” he stammered, the words barely making it out. His muscles tensed, his breath shallow. “Please, George. I just want to stick my-”

“No.” George’s tone was sharp, cold. “I warned you, Adam.”

Adam froze, his heart sinking. Panic flooded his chest. “No, wait, I… I—” He turned to flee, the humiliation too much to bear, but George’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

“You’re not going anywhere,” George said softly, a cruel edge to his voice. With a flick of his hand, Adam’s body locked in place, muscles freezing as though they were held by invisible chains. Adam’s eyes widened in fear as George circled him like a predator, his gaze sweeping up and down Adam’s massive form.

“You could’ve been so wonderful, Adam,” George whispered, his fingers trailing across Adam’s rigid biceps. “If only you weren’t so obsessed with being better than everyone else.” George stopped in front of him, his eyes gleaming. “But don’t worry. I’m going to fix that.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, his giant mind racing with panic. He tried to move, to speak, but nothing worked. He was trapped, helpless, his body at George’s mercy. And then, George began to recite.

“This man, with wit so sharp, shall find it dull,

His tongue to fail at words with length and grace.

In single beats, his speech doth make him full,

No thought can break the barrier of his face.”

Adam’s head buzzed as George’s words sank into his soul. He tried to protest, to say something, anything, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out were simple, one-syllable words, clumsy and slow like the dumbass he used to make fun of, the one he was about to become. “Wh-what… you… do…?” he stammered, struggling through each word. His brain felt like it was being squeezed, cell by cell, every attempt to say something even somewhat intelligent or complex was met with a foggy, impenetrable wall.

“No… more…” he managed, but even that felt like a battle. His tongue stumbled within his mouth, his speech slurring as the magic took further hold. Adam’s face twisted in frustration, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t even think of a word longer than one syllable. His mind was trapped in this humiliating simplicity, a far cry from the sharp intellect he once wielded.

George smiled, watching the struggle unfold with sadistic delight. “You’re already looking more like yourself, love.” He continued, his voice low and melodic.

“A jaw so slack, it barely knows its place,

His mouth hangs wide, flies wander through the door.

With 'duh' his mind reflects upon his face,

A smile so dumb, he trusts each word, what's more.”

As the next words spread themselves throughout the air and landed onto Adam’s face, he felt his jaw slacken into a relaxed position, the muscles in his face going completely limp. His mouth hung open, agape, his lips parting into a dumb, vacant expression. He could feel the cold air tickling his teeth as a small, stupid smile crept onto his face. He tried to close his mouth, to tighten his jaw, but it wouldn’t obey him. No matter how hard he tried, it remained slack, open, like a door left ajar.

Flies buzzed around, and before he knew it, one flitted into his mouth. He barely registered it, too dazed, too numb to even care. His face felt frozen in that idiotic grin, his eyes glazed over. Worse yet, every word George said sounded so… true. Every part of him wanted to believe whatever George told him, his gullibility sinking deep into his bones.

Adam’s mind screamed at him to resist, to hold onto what was left of his pride, but that part of him was fading fast. His lips, still curled in a stupid smile, parted again. “Uh… yeah, right…” he muttered, barely able to form coherent thoughts. His voice sounded thick and dopey, like it belonged to someone else, someone who couldn’t even spell Shakespear.

George’s voice softened, almost tender. “See, isn’t that easier? No more thinking, no more overcomplicating things. Just smile, and trust whatever I, or anyone tells you.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, but his mind couldn’t focus. His thoughts were slipping away, replaced by something far simpler, far more primal.

“His thoughts now cloud with only two desires,

To lift, to bed, these things alone will stay.

His mind a fog, of neither will it tire,

And all else fades, in gym and bed to play.”

With those words, haze descended over Adam’s mind. Thoughts, once sharp and filled with wit, were now muddled, clouded with only two overpowering urges. He wanted to work out. He wanted to fuck. Everything else—his career, his pride, his intellect—faded into the background, meaningless, never to be seen again.

Images of bench presses flashed into his shrinking mind, the sensation of cold iron in his sweaty hands, the strain of his muscles as they bulged and flexed. And then there was sex—hot, mindless sex. His cock throbbed in his shorts, and the desire, the absolute need for physical release overwhelmed him, drowning out any other thought. Working out, fucking, working out, fucking, again and again and again. That was all that mattered now. Nothing else made sense, not like he could comprehend it anyways.

Adam tried to resist, to push through the fog, but alas, it was no use. His mind was too far gone, too consumed by primal urges. He let out a resonant, needy groan, his thoughts too disorganized to form any coherent plan of escape.

George watched with satisfaction as Adam’s transformation neared its end. With a triumphant smile, he delivered the final couplet.

“And now this man goes by initials who,

With knowledge slight, no higher than eight-two.”

As George’s last words took their hold, Adam felt the last remnants of his old self slip away, the final pieces of his mind shattering like glass into a distant oblivion. He wasn’t Adam anymore. He was… AJ. His name was AJ, always had been. That dumb, jockish grin became permanent across his face as his old life rewrote itself. His memories, once filled with scholarships, academic debates, tragedies and comedies, were now replaced by scenes of the gym, of flexing in front of the mirror, of fucking nameless faces in dark, sweaty backrooms.

His chest swelled with pride at the thought of lifting those heavy weights, of feeling the burn in his muscles as he pushed himself harder and harder. His thoughts were no longer burdened by complicated ideas or big words. They were simple, direct. Lift. Fuck. Repeat. That was it.

AJ blinked, his slack jaw hanging open as he stood there in front of George, his once bright mind now dim, sluggish, and focused only on the most basic of desires. His body reeked of fart and musk, his mind a tangled mess of lust and primal urges. His life as Adam, the intellectual, was gone. All that remained was AJ, a dumb, slutty, smelly jock.

George stepped back, admiring his handiwork as AJ smiled dumbly at him, his eyes empty, his brain no longer capable of critical thought. “You look perfect, AJ,” George said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

AJ’s grin widened, his thick tongue lolling slightly as he scratched at his crotch. “Th-thanks… bro,” he slurred, his voice deep and stupid.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” George murmured, tilting AJ’s chin up so their eyes met.

AJ’s smile grew even wider, his lips twitching as he struggled to form words. “Yeah, bro,” he said, his voice slow and thick. “I’m… real good.”

George couldn’t help but laugh. AJ was exactly what he had imagined—empty-headed, obedient, and driven by nothing more than his primal instincts. “You won’t be needing any of those big words anymore, will you, AJ?” George asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

AJ shook his head, his brow furrowing slightly as if even that small movement required a great deal of effort. “Nuh-uh,” he mumbled. “Big words are… uh… too hard.”

“Exactly,” George said, patting AJ’s cheek lightly. “And from now on, you’re going to live a very simple life. No more worrying about being better than anyone else. No more trying to prove how smart you are. You’ll be much happier this way. Just working out, fucking, and doing whatever you’re told.”

AJ nodded slowly, his thick muscles pulling and rippling beneath his skin as he flexed unconsciously. “Yeah, bro,” he agreed, his voice, like his mind, slow. “I like… liftin’... an’ fuckin’...”

“Now, AJ,” George said with command, “I think it’s time you head to the gym. You wouldn’t want to miss leg day, would you?”

AJ’s eyes widened slightly, the thought of working out sending a thrill of excitement through his body. “Leg day,” he repeated. “Yeah, bro. I gotta… lift.”

George smirked, watching diligently at his Frankenstein creation as AJ’s single-minded focus shifted completely to the gym. “That’s right, big guy. Go on, hit the weights, and make sure everyone sees how big and strong you are.”

AJ beamed, his dim-witted grin stretching even wider. “Gotta pump some iron.”  And as AJ disappeared into the distance, George sighed, knowing the man who’d once scoffed at him, at the very idea of magic and fate was now living proof of it’s power, his entire existence rewritten by just a few simple words. George smirked, satisfied once again, and waited for the next asshole to match with him on Hinge.

AJ, meanwhile, wandered toward the gym, his thoughts a jumbled mess of anticipation and primal urges. He could feel the weight of his bulging muscles with every step, the tightness of his tank top stretching across his massive chest. The constant itch in his groin had him adjusting his shorts every few seconds, a fart always ready in the chamber, and his cock already hard at the thought of the next guy he’d meet, or the next weight he’d lift.  He grinned stupidly, flexing his biceps as he prepared for the first set. “Let’s go, bro,” he muttered to himself, his voice thick with excitement. “Time to get swole.”

And with that, AJ’s transformation was complete. The man he had once been—Adam, the intellectual, the scholar—was gone, replaced by a farting, burping, simple-minded, horny, muscle-obsessed jock who lived only for the gym, for sex, and for any task any man asked for.

“Life’s good, bruh.”

[teojira]

Really enjoyed your headcanons on Caeser and Proximus, do you mind doing the same with Noa?? 😊🙏

[Noa and day to day life with him!] [Headcanons!]

Summary: Noa takes you back with him to his home, and the clan accepts you as one of them. Even if you're concerned otherwise.

Word count: 1k (Jesus christ)

Warnings: None that I can think of! Can be read as Platonic or Romantic! You and Noa are attached to one another. (Yes, this is me projecting.)

A/N: Noa is so near and dear to me, I literally did not mean for this to be so long, and I STILL cut myself off. This is 1k words worth of headcanons for him, and it is not enough. I'm Noa's #1 fan, I am sorry to all my friends and family who have to hear me talk about him constantly.. Ask me for Noa anything, and I will give you the world.

Do me a favor and strap the fuck in for this it's alot.

I am so glad someone asked about Noa bc I got ALOT to say.

Noa has had it with humans, Mae put him, his clan, and countless others at risk, he should not trust humans, really he shouldn't, but he can't help it. She also betrayed you in the process, and now you're alone.

You agreed to help him and Mae against Proximus, you're the only one who actively goes up against Proximus as well.

Swinging and trying your best to try and get Proximus off of Noa, yelling and crying while the other apes just stare in fear. (Later on they apologize, but you don't hold it against them.)

It's a huge risk to invite a human with them again, but then he remembers Rakas words, Caesars words, and decides he can't told another's decisions over you.

So when he gently grabs your hand in his, looking down at you with a strained smile, blood seeping from his lips, you follow, back to his clans land.

Now on to the good stuff, it's kinda awkward finding your place among the eagle clan, the elders are gone, his father Koro is gone, there really is no guidance as to where to place you.

You drift mostly, either helping Dar or helping with the young ones, teaching them how to read and write, helping fish, farm, the basic tasks.

Dar loves you by the way, doting on you and making sure no one messes with you in a harmful way. She teaches you their customs and traditions, all the while playfully teasing you about Noa. She's a mom, she knows.

You're happy with your work, happy with your place among the clan. It's genuinely shocking how much they were willing to forgive and to not hold any grudges against humans after one ruined everything.

It helps that Noa takes accountability for you, somehow so trusting that you will not cause harm. His faith in you speaks volumes and you remind him everyday that it won't go to waste.

All he does is send you a sweet smile and ruffles your hair.

You find yourself helping Noa alot with crafting new tools and contraptions, being a second pair of eyes that can catch onto things he can't.

"Very smart." "Thank yo-" "For an Echo." and he does that stupid cute little sniff afterwards and it makes it tremendously hard to hit him.

He's such a little shit I fucking hate him.

You're his shadow when his duties permit, he's taken on a higher role of the clan, sometimes going out for days at a time but you're always at the edge of the Village waiting for his return, anxiously working your bottom lip until you see him in view.

You're both extremely attached to one another, Soona and Anaya become attached to you too, dragging you along in everyone's free time to go climbing, to eat, to hunt, just about any group outing has you as their fourth member.

Noa was worried about them accepting you, but they love you just as much as he does.

It makes his heart swell when he sees you and Soona together, giggling about something surely only you both understand while Anaya groans and complains about being left out.

It's like you've always been meant to be with them, to round out their group.

Soona and Anaya will offer to be the one to carry you this time, they do want to, genuinely, but Noa won't let them 99.9% of the time, He's used to your weight, he trusts that he can keep you safe the best. (Says the ape that literally almost died multiple times doing stupid shit)

"Noa worries too much, they will be fine." "Anaya is clumsy. Can't trust you to carry yourself, much less echo."

He tries not to carry you everywhere, but it is so much more convenient than waiting for you, so he scoops you up often enough that the stares don't bother you anymore.

Remember how in the movie, all the apes sleep together communally? Well you're at first extremely nervous about that, not wanting to ask what exactly are your accommodations because surely they don't want you there with them.

Actually, Noa does, so jot that down.

When you shyly move away, he raises his palm up at you, nodding to the space besides him.

When you don't move, he gently tugs you down, laying on his back and shutting his eyes. The clan hasn't really fully rebuilt and started to gather things needed for shawls and coverings, so it's not strange to him that you cuddle up to him to steal his warmth, peeking an eye open to see your face squished into his side, knocked out.

He wraps an arm around you, incasing you in more warmth.

This is a nightly routine until you finally take it upon yourself to throw yourself on him, he chokes out a breath as you make yourself comfortable.

Soona and Anaya usually join in, he cannot fucking breathe but he's so happy that it outweighs it.

When Mae inevitably shows back up, she sees you out in the distance, you look so genuine happy, so at peace with where you are. You even have some eagle feathers in your hair, integrated into their life that it shocks her.

It's enough to make her put the gun away, grasping at Rakas necklace like a lifeline, sucking in a deep breath to stop her from crying.

Maybe apes and humans can live at peace with one another after all. She hopes you prove her wrong.

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴏɴ!

[myownwholewildworld]

requiescat in pace (a "per aspera ad astra" drabble)

main masterlist | series masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader. summary: you learn of marcus' son's death. a/n: welp... yea. can what i say, i enjoy making these two suffer c: apologies for the brief passenger's lyrics references. i appreciate comments and reblogs, they make me happy knowing that people enjoy my writing <3 take care x warnings: 18+, mdni. angst (what a surprise). mentions of death. marcus says "my lady" and i think that should be a warning. let's just assume that this whole series is pure angst, alright? w/c: 2.1k

“Did you offer your condolences to General Acacius, filia mea (my daughter)?”

Your father’s question broke the trance you had sunk into, the bronze spoon falling from your trembling fingers onto the porcelain plate set in front of you.

Leaning back, you looked at your father as if he had spoken a different language. Surely you misheard him — your mind still numb with grief, unable to process anything since you received the news of your husband’s demise.

It had been three days and the gaping hole in your heart had only gotten bigger. Like an umbra lurking in the shadows, you had stayed in your shared bedroom, crying your sorrow onto Resius’ breastplate, hugging the last piece of him you would ever hold. You grieved for your love but also for the life you would never spend with him, for all those precious moments that would remain in your memory as what if’s gnawing at the confines of your mind.

But now, right now, your pain lessened for a second, your brain focusing on something else.

“What do you mean, Caesar?” you whispered, voice cracking in the last inflexion.

The Emperor eyed you from across the dining table, silence lingering and stretching in the space between you. Your heartbeat picked up its pace, the wait almost forcing you up to stand on your feet.

“General Acacius lost his heir at the battle of Sarmizegetusa. He has asked to return to Dacia to retrieve the body of his son and bring him back home for proper burial,” he explained with caution, watching your every expression.

Your heart had now climbed up your throat, the pulse wild in your eardrums. You hadn’t misheard, your father had said Acacius very clearly, dragging the word out.

Mind racing, you fidgeted with your hands on your lap, twisting them in despair as you tried to recall your conversation with him a few days ago. “He’s resting now,” he had said when you asked about Augustus.

Resting. You had assumed he meant that his son was back at his villa, resting from the extraneous physical toll a battle would take on the body. Not for one second had you considered that Marcus actually meant resting in peace.

You had been so blind, letting your own grief consume you, you had not noticed the tells in the General’s behaviour. The feeble smile, the downcast almost solemn expression, the stiffened nod he gave you, the brevity of his response. It all made sense now, and you couldn’t help but feel… selfish. So drowned in your sorrow, Acacius had kept it together so you could cry your loss in his embrace.

Your stomach churned at the thought — the General had no one left by his side. No wife and no son waiting for his return, not even his best friend. How would he have felt in the emptiness of his home with no one there to console him? You at least had your family and closest friends, who had checked on you from time to time to ensure you were safe.

Had someone checked on the General?

“May I take my leave, pater (father)?” you requested with your gaze averted, a sudden need to find General Acacius, your hands twisting uncontrollably.

You needed to know he was… okay. Alive? He had talked to someone at least, asked to go back to Dacia to get his only son back home. You could only imagine his heartbreak, the hell he must be going through. The thought of him dealing with all of it alone… it fractured a piece of your soul.

The Emperor watched you attentively, eyes lingering on the full plate in front of you. There was something about his wary demeanor that didn’t click right away — and right now you were too preoccupied with something else to be paying attention to politics.

“You may go, but tread carefully, filia mea,” was his veiled answer.

With no time to waste, you stood up and curtsied before disappearing from the dining hall.

Marcus’ body was controlled by another being — a non-sentient one. He got up, attended his duties to the Empire, paid a visit to the barracks in the outskirts to train with his army, and then got back to an empty home.

It all felt like a sick loop, one he could not break from. His feelings had deserted him, leaving him be a hollow carcass of who he once was. There was no joy, no incentive to even pretend there was.

It took him a couple of days to finally let the dam crack in the solace of his villa. It all came to be because of something as simple as Augustus’ toy gladius. The one that Marcus himself had forged for his son’s tenth birthday. Little Augustus had been so excited, he had almost hit his head against the edge of the dining table while running around wielding his new toy. That memory had resurfaced unexpectedly and the smile that came with it quickly mutated into a sad grimace.

He longed for something that that was safe and warm, but all he had was all that was gone. Marcus felt as helpless and as hopeless as a feather on the Tiber. And the river was wide, so much he was scared he wouldn’t make it to the other side. And what would he find on the opposite shore? Did he really want to cross?

Marcus couldn’t, at least not yet. He needed closure before he could carry on with his life, if that was even a possibility. Augustus belonged in the family’s mausoleum next to his mother, so they could both be laid to rest in peace together. With Dacia under the iron fist of the Romans, he could retrace his steps and get his heir back home.

His leave had been approved that same afternoon. In a hurry, he had packed the bare necessities he would need for the long trip and headed towards the barracks once more. In the stables his stallion was awaiting, all prepped by one of the ostlers.

He was ensuring that the saddle was properly on when a gentle voice called his name.

“General Acacius,” as soon as you spoke, he recognised your delicate accent.

Marcus turned around, his back bending immediately at your presence.

“My lady,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the straw splayed across the dirt on the floor.

What brought you here, he wondered. The horses belonging to Traianus’ family were kept elsewhere, away from the mediocrity of the reminders of war. This was no place for someone of noble birth like you. It reeked of the musky scents of nature to which he was immune now, but you sure weren’t.

Your hand found the way to his shoulder, a light tap to silently ask him to straighten out his posture. He obliged, his brown orbs showing his confusion at finding you here. And you seemed unbothered about the mess surrounding you.

“How may I be of service?” his question was a trained response, the only reason for you being here was that you required something of him.

Perhaps you needed to know how everything unfolded so you also got closure. Perhaps you required details, something more than just a “General Atticus perished at the mercy of a Dacian sword�� — had he been too concise in his explanation, too General-y? Or perhaps you were after the reassurance of a life well lived with your husband, a reminder that there had been light amongst the darkness.

The Gods knew he felt that way sometimes too.

“That is not why I am here, General,” you hummed with a broken smile, your hand dropping off his shoulder like the last needle-like leaves clinging onto a toppling, decaying cypress after a wildfire.

Your admission took him aback, unsure now of what else you could need of him. What else would he have to give for Rome to appease the Emperor — was his heir not enough? But you weren’t your father; Resius would always say you were too kind of a soul, would only speak high praise of you. But was not that what a husband was supposed to say about his spouse, especially Traianus’ daughter?

So perhaps he was mistaken in that regard, although he couldn’t know. Marcus had interacted with you multiple times, in serious and more relaxed settings, but the barrier was always there — he was just a General you graced with your presence because of Resius. You participated in conversation, laughed at Resius’ and his jokes and offered words of wisdom to Augustus like the mother he never had.

But despite all of that, he didn’t really know you. Knew your persona, the way you portrayed yourself to the crowds, but it was fair to wonder how much of it was just a front.

That was, at least, until three sunsets ago, when you cried your loss with him — something he had not expected. How your façade tumbled the moment his perhaps-not-so-carefully-delivered words furrowed through your mind until they took root. How he tried to console you in spite of his own sorrow.

The crease between his brows accentuated slightly, a small tell of his confusion.

“I heard,” you only said, a whisper that made his skin crawl with anguish, his throat squeeze.

The softness of your eyes left no room for misinterpretation, an unmistakable mist in them. About your son’s death, was the bit you did not pronounce out loud.

His chest tightened as his gaze drifted down, catching a glimpse of your fidgety hands, twisting nervously.

Did you feel guilty? Was that the purpose of your unexpected visit?

“My son lived and died for the glory of Rome, Your Highness. Honourable to the end, he gladly gave his life for the Emperor and the cause. A warrior’s death, I couldn’t be any more proud of his sacrifice,” he attempted to put your mind at ease, tone steady repeating the words he had been saying every time someone approached him with empty condolences.

Your hands paused wriggling, your expression shadowed by his automatic reply.

“Oh, Marcus,” you whispered, taking a step forward but stopping yourself before you reached for his forearm. “You don’t need to— to pretend this is okay. It’s not,” your trembling fingers played with the golden bracelet adorning your wrist. “War is a disease, an ailment to mankind, to ourselves and our loved ones. I regret to know that you have given so much for Rome’s thirst. You shouldn’t have to. My father… he asks too much of his people,” you added, the mist in your eyes developing into a single tear falling off your bottom lashes. “Far too much.”

Pain stirred within him, lost for words he was. What you just said was a good outline of his own feelings — thoughts he couldn’t put into words, because they would sound treacherous. Did you really mean it?

“I… thank you, Domina mea. I appreciate your sentiment,” he accepted with a stiff nod, his voice raspier than usual. But he wouldn’t let emotion overcome him.

“I was informed you have taken leave to bring Augustus back home. I came to see if you would accept a few soldiers of my own personal guard to escort you,” you offered, your tone gentle and delicate.

Marcus was moved by your offer, one he didn’t expect. Were you worried for his safe return? That the journey back with his dead son in tow would break him, his resolution? Because he was worried too.

“I am touched, my lady, truly. But it’s not necessary. Some of my men will be accompanying me,” he assured you.

Marcus was lucky to have loyal fighting men under his banner. People he could blindly trust in battle, and outside of it.

“Please, send for me upon your return, General. I would like to attend Augustus’ wake. Unless you want it to be private, in which case I completely understand,” you almost stumbled with your own words towards the end, lips pursed with nervousness.

Resius was right. You were too kind of a soul, worrying for him when you had your own demons to deal with. The dull ache blanketing his heart lifted ever so slightly, your petition soothing and a reminder that he was not alone in grief. You would understand.

So Marcus nodded, his throat tighter.

“I will, Augusta (Imperial Princess),” a promise he would keep.

“Safe travels, General. May Salus watch over you.”

[ghostyeyestohide]

I Put A Spell On You

Pairing: Terrance (Foe) x Valerie (Plus Size Black Fem OC)

Warnings: SMUT (not too extreme), 18+ (MINORS, SCROLL AWAY), buildup (if you got the attention span of a squirrel, DONT READ), titty fondling, oral sex (f receiving, m receiving), bisexuality (from m), masturbation, slight edging, spitting, slapping, smoking, choking, striptease, some femdom, dirty talk, praise kink, creampie, cussing, aftercare, mentioning of death, a hint of voyeurism (from Junior), and Non-Canon.

Parts: Part Two • Part Three • Finale

Summary: After a day of examining Junior, Terrance returns home for a sit down dinner with his wife, Valerie, who wants to do a little more afterwards.

A/N: So, I basically restarted this app with a new account just to snoop around and read smut. I noticed that Aaron became even more popular now, and since there is already a lot of Terry fics, I thought it would be perfect for me to finally show my idea of how I think Foe should’ve went if I was in the writers room as someone who has seen the movie and read the book. I’m making this a two (or four) part series as I got the perfect bisexual hookup scene for Terrance, Junior, and OC since Ian and Garth didn’t want to give it to us in the movie, so that’s otw! And this is a one time thing as I been retired for a decade from fanfic (smut) writing, so ENJOY!

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do not copy or repost my work. I do not authorize it.

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Valerie was in the kitchen, spreading parmesan and fresh basil on top of the toasted cheesy garlic bread when she heard a car pulling up in the driveway. She walks to the window near the door, pulling the curtain back a little to see who it was.

The sounds of the door unlocking is heard, with it lifting up. Out comes Terrance, her husband and OuterMore’s hardest worker. He looked exhausted in his light brown top, black slacks, and black dress shoes, but happy. She smiles, walking towards the door to greet him.

“And there’s my beautiful girl in her pretty, ruffled dress.” Terrance states as he walked through the door, smiling as he puts his suitcase down and pulls her into an embrace.

Valerie chuckles before placing her lips over his, giving him a long but sweet kiss, to which he responds by doing the same.

“Sounds like someone had a good day today.” says Valerie, wrapping her arms around his neck and looking at him.

“Yes, I did. Love to tell you about it over dinner because my word, it smells wonderful in here.” he replies, getting a chuckle out of the both of them.

“Oh stop! It’s nothing crazy, just spaghetti with meatballs, cheesy garlic bread, some Caesar salad with the crisp parmesan, and that bottle of white wine you got from your previous assignment.” she replies sly, tracing her finger over his shirt.

“And I’m guessing you’re the dessert?” he asked in a low, seductive tone that enhances his British accent well while rubbing over her curves. Valerie laughs as she pecks his nose with a kiss.

“I mean…..I could be that, but I was looking forward to eating my homemade lemon loaf, drenched in homemade lemon buttercream, with that vanilla ice cream I also made, but we can go with your first option!” she responds with a smile.

“Dont tempt me with temptation already out there, Val.” he replies, kissing her again.

“What’s that suppose to mean?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

Terrance stammers, looking for the correct thing to say.

“You know I’m talking about that cake, dear. But, I’ll go change so I don’t keep you waiting. I am hungry after all!” Terrance exclaimed, kissing her one more time before going up the stairs to their room.

“Hurry! I’m not one to be waited on, Terrance!” she replied jokingly as she picks up his suitcase and places it on the living room table before walking back to the kitchen.

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As the couple ate their dinner and drank their wine, Valerie started first with how she spent her day crocheting new clothes for herself to wear, reading some books, and prepared the food as Terrance talked about what him and Junior did, from him watching him do farm work to doing scans on his body for measurements, assuring he has everything that the real Junior gave them.

“And then, I had dinner with them. Of course, I didn’t eat as I told them you were cooking, just some wine and whatnot. For some odd reason, Junior started going off.” said Terrance as he bit into his slice of lemon loaf and ice cream.

“Going off?” asked Valerie, very confused since he told her he was perfectly fine all day.

“I told them the trip to the space station is coming sooner and he knew this when I told him on the farm. But now, he was mad, saying “I don’t want a robot living with my wife!” angrily and demanding that we go outside and fight.”

“With a broken arm?” she asked as she ate some of her slice. Terrance nods as he dranked some of his wine.

“You had to be there to get it. It was a bit scary, but…..it was very indecent that he was doing all of that while not looking at Hen not once.”

“Hm.” she nodded, looking down at her bowl.

“And what was Hen doing by the way?” she asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Oh. She was trying to calm him down. Saying “do the fight test with me, not him” blah blah, and then, I can’t remember the exact words, she said something and he basically called her stupid. I laughed, which I shouldn’t have and she got mad at me. So, she got up from the table, crawled across it slightly, and slapped me…..” Terrance replied, with his voice going quiet with the last few words.

Valerie sat there expressionless, taking in the words that just came out of her husband’s mouth. Hen slapped Terrance kept replaying in her mind, slowly adding to the burning sensation that was growing inside her. Finally, she got up and put her bowl in the sink.

“Val, are you oka—“

“You let that miserable bitch slap you…..you let Hen, who changes emotions like she has a permanent period, slap you?!” Valerie cuts him off, looking at him with anger all over her.

Terrance gets up, slowly walks up to her in order to not make her even more mad.

“You have to understand: I deserved that slap. He basically insulted her and I had no business laughing!” he responded with.

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re the one who insulted her, she had no right to put her hands on you! And you’re calm about it?” she said, slamming her hands on the island in front of her, startling Terrance.

Valerie shakes her head, thinking if he should continue his assignment of watching Junior and Hen or stay home permanently for her sanity.

“I can’t do anything or we’ll accidentally reveal what he truly is.” he replies, throwing his hands up. Valerie scoffs, just in shock at how calm he’s being about this.

“Why couldn’t she take it out on her walking sex toy since he the one who said it? You’re the not the one in a loveless marriage.” she states.

“……do you see yourself as that?” he asked her.

“In a loveless marriage?”

“No. What you called him.”

“…..no. I’m just…..ugh. How can you hate your actual husband, but fucking on a replica of him?. Is it love? Is it hate? Or is she just confused…..” she said, stopping in her tracks before looking away from Terrance.

Terrance looks back at her confused, trying to figure out how would his wife know that if he never told her much about Hen. Then, it hit him.

“…..you been reading my files behind my back again. After I told you not to do that”

Valerie lets out a cold laugh before looking at Terrance again, tears swelling up in her eyes.

“That’s the only way I can keep pretending to live the life the real Valerie would be as the man, who makes endless promises to not push her to the side, fawns over his growing sexual attraction to his newest assignment in Junior.” she responds with, tears now falling down her face.

Terrance exhales quietly, leans up against the counter as he faces away from her.

“You read that in the notes, huh.”

“…..is it true? Or are you just toying with him and keeping proof?”

Terrance sighs, rubbing his face as he stands near the island in front of her. Taking in what she said, he pulls out a cigarette, lights it up and smokes it, blowing the smoke away from her.

“Okay. I am attracted to him. I’ll admit it.” he replies.

Valerie wipes her tears, inhaling and exhaling quietly before clearing her throat.

“Always knew the minute you can home and told me about meeting them. The way you mention his name, what he does, how he acts, his instant rejection to being chosen to go to space…….almost similar to Valerie’s story. Which I’m assuming you have yet to mention that to them.” she said, locking eyes with him.

“They don’t need to know that.”

“Why not? Will it make things worse when you ask him to run away with you?”

He looks at her in disbelief, caught off guard with what she just said.

“If you think I’m leaving you for him, I’m not. I can’t have any type of sexual contact with any of our subjects or I get terminated. And they take you back since you’re their property. You knew this the minute you were made.” he says, blowing more smoke out.

Valerie looks down, slightly embarrassed about throwing that accusation out. She was afraid that he was going to risk everything by being with Junior, putting everyone in danger. Terrance blows out smoke one more time before tossing the cigarette and stands in front of Valerie.

“Hey.” he gently holds her chin up, looking into her eyes. “I can’t throw off this feeling I get when I’m around him. He just brings something I never seen in other subjects out of me. But, I have control. You know me too well for me to abandon you like that.”

He wraps his hand around Valerie’s face, wiping away tears as he kisses her.

“Those notes don’t mean shit to me right now. You do. You’re the only thing I have left of her, replica or not. You been with me all these years and never once have I ever did anything that seemed like I don’t value you anymore. I never forgot about the things you love, the things you do, and the things I do for you that make you happy. I always go home to you, which OuterMore hates since it violates the ‘staying at the subject’s house’ rule, but I refused to let you be here all alone out here. And this won’t change that.” he says as he begins to rub on her body.

“I know you’re being genuine, but this……this is becoming an obsession and it needs to stop.” she responds, pointing at Terrance’s suitcase on the table.

He laughs, gently rubbing his hands all over her body as Valerie tries to fight against it, but fails.

“I’m serious, Terrance.” she states, gently pushing him back.

Terrance turns Valerie around, with her back against him as he has her pressed against the sink. He begins placing soft kisses all over her back and neck, making her let out some soft moans.

“He’ll be home soon. That Junior will go back to the factory and we’ll move on from all of this. It will always be just the two of us. You. Just. Need. To. Trust. Me. Val.” he responds, with each sentence and word ending with a kiss as he slowly lowers himself to his knees, positioning himself in front of Valerie’s ass. He starts tracing over her legs, brushing closer and closer to her pulsating heat.

“Uh-uh” she responds, placing her right foot against his chest and gently pushing him back, creating some distance as she turns around.

“I can’t get a taste first?” he asked, looking into her eyes with a pathetic, begging look.

She shakes her head ‘no’. “Go sit on the couch.” she says as she gently removes her foot from his chest.

Terrance smirks before carefully getting up and walking to the couch. She grabs their wine glasses, pouring the remaining bottle in each one before bringing it over to where he’s seated at.

She places his glass on the table before walking over to their vinyl player, turning it on before placing the needle on the disc, tuning the volume as the song begins to play:

Turning around to face Terrance, who has his wine in his hand now, she begins dancing seductively while drinking, hitting her marks as she lipsync to the voice of Nina Simone.

I put a spell on you

Cause you’re mine as she points at him, earning a smile back from him, who is slowly becoming even more aroused at her movements.

As she slowly walks over to stand in his view, she notices a male stranger is standing outside of their window near the door, watching them. He looked intrigued, with his messy clothes, dark brown hair, Roman-sculpted face and piercing blue eyes staring at her. Noticing a bandaged arm wrapped against his chest, she realizes who this stranger is.

“Junior,” she said in her mind.

“Everything okay, baby?” said Terrance, very concerned for why she stopped suddenly.

She snaps back into motion, not mentioning to him that his subject is also watching her do a dance that’s only meant for his eyes. She doesn’t seem to care, only focusing on showing where the love should always be.

You know I can’t stand it

You’re running around

You know better, daddy as she gently sits in front of him on the table, placing her glass on her left. She begins to untie the knot on her strings that hold her breasts up, letting the top fall down to expose them.

He leans forward, tempted to touch her, but she slaps his hand away, belting out the next part:

I put a spell on you

Because you’re mine as she stands up and walks behind the table.

You’re mine as she removes the rest of her dress, leaving her in just her lacy underwear. She gestures him to remove his clothes, but play with himself afterwards.

Now even more aroused, he complies with her order, gently taking out his semi-hard length and begins jacking off slowly, growing with each stroke.

Sipping her wine, she locks eyes with Junior to see if he’s still watching. To her amusement, he was, gently breathing against the window while slowly stroking himself. This is exactly what she wanted to happen: two men who are avoiding each other to not violate the rules both salivating over her. Just one gets to fully experience her as the other one watches.

I love you, I love you as she sits in a chair that faces Terrance, rolling her hips as he watches with hunger in his eyes.

I love you, I love you anyhow

I don’t care if you don’t want me as she gently removes her panties.

I’m yours right now as she tosses them towards him.

Oh you hear me

I put a spell on you as she opens her legs, exposing her glistening bliss towards him, gesturing him to come to her, but slowly.

Terrance gets up, walking towards her as she gently rubs her clit, looking at his girthy, long length swinging back and forth.

Because you’re mine as he kneels in front of her, giving her a fat sloppy kiss before moving down towards her pussy, placing his mouth over her slit, making her inhale loudly at the friction of being touched.

He begins to flick his tongue in and out, burying his face deeper in between as she places her hands on his head, gently pushing it down a bit more.

“Wow, you really were hunger.” she laughs before being replaced by her moans.

He hums on it to vibrate around her, gently rubbing her folds with one hand as the other creeps up to her breasts, gently rubbing them.

“Fuck…you’re so good when you’re on your knees, pleasing me.” she whispered as she exhaled loudly when he inserts one finger inside, gently rubbing at her spot that she likes that he hits while fucking her.

As he adds another finger inside and speeds up the pace, she looks at Junior once more, see his self pleasuring has sped up too. There shouldn’t be a reason that Val is enjoying this so much, being devoured by a man who helped create her to replace the emptiness of his deceased wife as a replica of another watches them hungrily, desperately wanting to join them.

“I’m getting closer and close—oh, fuck!” she exclaims as Terrance begins sucking hard on her clit, repeatedly plunges his fingers inside her, watching her squirm with his eyes locked on her.

After her moans grow louder and louder, she finally releases, the sensation washing all over her and Terrance’s face. After a few minutes of regaining herself, he removes his face from her, which is covered in her essence.

“Come here.” he mumbled as he gently pulls her up for another sloppy kiss, mixing in her juices with her mouth. She responds by kissing him back harder, gently wrapping her hand around his length and stroking it, causing him to groan.

“Fuck, you’re perfect. You know that, right?” he says, throwing his head back as she strokes around his tip.

Valerie gives an ‘mmhm’ as she places kisses all over Terrance’s chest and abs, leaving a few marks as she trails lower and lower to his length. She lets go, tracing it with her tongue before engulfing him into her mouth, making him let out a soft moan.

“Just like that.” he says as he gently grabs a fistful of her curls before she slaps his hand away.

“I mentioned you have to work for it. That means no touching me and following my orders.” she said as she looks up at him, stroking his length in her hands.

“You let me eat you out. And push me down into it.”

“That’s your job. Being on your knees for me and me only.”

Terrance chuckles quietly, nodding his head as Valerie continues sucking him, gently massaging his balls as she strokes the rest of what she can’t fit into her mouth.

She looks out the corner of her eyes to see if Junior was still watching, but noticed his disappearance. I guess he couldn’t bare to see more of something he can’t touch physically. She looks up at Terrance and begins bobbing her head & hands faster, going off the adrenaline that sudden decided to pop inside her.

“You’re gonna make me bust fast, doing that.” he groaned, tensing up at his growing climax inside him.

Valerie laughed, speeding up the pace. Terrance began letting out some expletive, hinting that he’s near. Just as it was about to release, she stopped just in time, with him inhaling and exhaling hard.

“Told you you’re working for it.” she says, winking at him before letting it go and laying back in the chair. He laughs slyly, licking his lips as he examined her body. Her curves fit in the right places, her skin glowed like she was a diamond, and her busty elements enhanced her beauty. She was the perfect woman for him and he wouldn’t give that up for anything. Not even him.

“Where do you want me to be?” he asked, gently stroking himself.

Valerie repositions herself, put each leg on the post of chair, exposing her heat like she did previously before he ate her out. She gently taps her pussy, gesturing him to insert there first. She was eager to feel him inside her, waiting enough to get what she wanted.

He nodded, lining himself up to her entrance. Before he inserted, he let out a long trail of his spit out of his mouth, using his tip to rub it all over her clit and lips. He then inserted himself inside, both lovers letting out a loud gasp as she instantly clenched around him. He gripped her legs, gently moving his hips to get her adjusted.

“No matter how many times we make love, mm,….it still feels like you’re getting bigger and bigger each time.” she whispered, gently scratching over his abs.

“Oh yeah?” he asked before pushing all of him inside her, lifting her legs towards her chest. Valerie gasps, taken aback by the sudden move. He laughs before gently kissing her face, swaying his hips around a bit.

“What do you want me to do now? Since you’re in charge.” he mumbles against her cheek.

“You know how I like it. Don’t overexceed it.” she replies before moving his right hand around her neck, keeping both her hands wrapped around it.

He starts with a quick thrust, causing her to let out a low moan. Then, he picks up the pace a bit, continuously slamming his pelvis into her thighs. He squeezes her throat a bit as his thrusts become even more aggressive, making her let out a bunch of lewd sounds she never thought she could make mixing in with the sounds of her wetness being poked fills the living room.

“Fuck, you’re gonna break me, Terra-mmhm! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she yelled as he hit her sweet spot over and over, moaning louder.

Terrance puts his left hand on top of the chair, holding it in place as he continued fucking her, slowly building up both of their releases as Valerie becomes a pleasure mess under him.

“Come on and let me release, Val. I already got your release coming and I’m not too far behind you.” he states as he looks down at her, giving her deep thrusts.

She lets out a hoarse chuckle before being cut off by how sloppy his thrusts were becoming, feeling herself on the edge of release. Just as it was about to occur, she pulls his length out, feeling it beating hard in her hand.

Terrance, puffing very hard, looked at her in disbelief, once again being denied release. He scoffs sarcastically, gently rubbing her breasts.

“You’re making me work hard for mines, you’re denying your own.” he said.

“Makes this even more fun. And worth the wait. Now lay across the table.” she replied, gently pushing him off her.

He bits his lip as he walks towards the table, grabbing a few pillows and placing them on it before laying onto, carefully positioning himself.

“Hands above head.” she says as she gets up.

He obliges, placing his hands above, anticipating what she’s gonna tell him to do next. The cool air in the air, settles on his skin, creating goosebumps as his heated length slightly moves up and down, yearning to be touched again.

As she walks over slowly, something in the window between the kitchen and the living room (by the fireplace) catches her eye. She notice its Junior instantly, admiring her and him. Had he been standing there the whole time or does he moves to get a better a view of the show?

Becoming even more aroused, she kneels down in front of Terrance, beginning to place a trail of kisses, from his thighs to his length to his chest to his neck and lastly, his mouth, positioning herself on top of him. She sits up, looking down at the man, who’s looking at her with a dark glare in his eyes.

“Are you gonna be a good boy for me? she asks, slightly moving her hips to grind on his length, making his hands and mouth twitch.

“Mmhm.” is all he could get out, fighting real hard to not touch her.

Suddenly, she slaps him across his face. It wasn’t hard, but with the way she gasped, that wasn’t her intention at all. Trying to play it off, she wraps her left hand around his throat, squeezing it. He lets out a stifled groan, breathing hard as the stinging brewed on his cheek.

“When I ask you a question, I expect an answer, not a sound. So let me ask you again: are you going to be a good boy for me?” she asks, tilting down towards him.

“Yes. Yes. I am going to be a good bo—“ he’s cut off by her lowering herself onto his length, causing him to buck his hips upwards.

“Fix yourself right now. Or you don’t get a release.”

He relaxes, letting his hips lie down as she begins moving her hips back and forth, creating a aphrodisiac motion that makes her moan his name a few times and praising how good he’s making her feel right now.

“Touch me up here and look at your art, please.” she cries out as she pulls his hands towards her breasts, letting go of his throat. She looks at him quickly, who is mesmerized at what she’s doing, before look back at him, slamming herself down on him again.

Terrance gently massages them, breathing hard as he was in awe at how much she’s enjoying doing this. Every bounce, every speed, every curve, every moan, he was happy that this was pleasing her as much as it’s pleasing him. He can feel her release building up again as she begins to slow down her pace.

“Mm. Can you…can you finish……” she asks as she collapses onto his chest, breathing hard. He chuckled, amused that she lasted almost close to her release.

“Do I have permission to receive my release?” he asks, gently massaging her back.

“Yes. You deserve it, finally.” she replies in an exhausting manner.

He kisses her forehead before hooking his arms under her legs, picking her up as he stands up, not fully removing her from his length. He gently lays them on the couch, positioning a pillow under her before he started to pound her, causing her to let out some screams.

“Not so dominant after slapping the shit of me, huh?” he asked, aligning himself face-to-face with her as he wrapped his hands around her neck, still having her legs hooked in his arms.

Valerie lets out a stifled ‘no’, moaning loud as she watches his length go in and out of her, feeling like she’s losing oxygen at the sensation.

“Play with yourself for me. I wanna see this beautiful pussy cumming all over me, this masterpiece of a body shake, making its mark as I fill you up. Can you do that for me, Val?” he whispered as he deepens his thrusts, sweat dripping down his face and body on her, who is in a daze with her body’s reaction.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!” she yells as finally, while rubbing her clit, her release washes over her, causing her to shake unbearably and squirt all over him and the couch.

Terrance moans “that’s my girl” as he thrusts a few more times before releasing inside her, letting out grunts as his load pumps into her womb, laying on top of her until he was finished.

The couple laid in silence, calmly rubbing each other, for a few minutes before Terrance removes himself from her, both groaning at the separation. He gets up and goes to a different room, disappearing for a few minutes.

As she waits for him to return, she looks again to see if he was still watching. He was gone this time, taking what he saw with him back home. She smiled, knowing this about to be so awkward when they finally meet.

A wiping between her legs snaps her out of her thoughts. She looks up and see Terrance, wearing a robe now, wiping off any juices or sweat with a wet cloth. He sits her up, lays a robe near, as he walked to the dirty laundry basket, tosses the cloth in there before walking to the kitchen. He grabs the both of them a bottle of water and sits next to her, taking out a cigarette to smoke.

“Drink.” he whispered, handing her a bottle.

Valerie nods, taking it and sipping some of it. She grabs the robe and puts it on as he lit his cigarette.

“Anything feel loose? Feeling low on your fluid? I can go grab your case so you can change your tab.” he said.

She shakes her ‘no’, tying the robe string around her waist to close it. She leans over to give him a few kisses, placing some over his face.

“…I’m sorry for slapping you.” she says, giving him puppy eyes.

“You’re good. You were just in your element, that’s all.” he replied, puffing out smoke.

“You sure? Cause I can see my hand mark slowly forming on your face.” she said, leaning over as she traced it with her fingers.

“At least you marked your territory.” he responded with, making both of them laugh.

Valerie laid on Terrance’s shoulder, slowly closing her eyes as she is exhausted from the partaking she did. He gently traces over her thighs, looking down at her.

“Did you see something out there while we were making love?” he asked.

“Hm?”

“You kept looking at something towards the window for a few moments. Was there something there?”

“….no. I think I was….getting myself caught in my own spell. And I kinda like it.”

“Glad you do. It makes you even more hotter.”

She feels him smile against her head before he placed a kiss on it, continuing his smoke as she fell asleep on him, tiredness finally taken over her. He looks at his suitcase again, thinking about what the next few weeks here is gonna look like.

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A/N II: Started this at 8 PM on Saturday and I finished it this morning. This is how you know I’m a writer with experience (writing fanfics, essays, screenplays, reviews of film and tv) because I cannot believe I wrote all this in two days.

Part 2 is currently in progress and it is now a four part, but two of them will be like a little emotional so I can show a little more of my writing in screenplays style.

If you want to be tagged in it when I publish it, let me know so I can make a list. Have a good day/night, everyone! 🫶����🫶🏽🫶🏽

[perfectlyvalid49]

Sorry for grossing you out but uh, I have a complex claim to a lot of religions and cultures because of how colonialism (arguably Israel is a settler colony state so uh… hmmm) has impacted me.

As you’ve ascertained (correctly) I’m a non-Jewish American, only by technicality, because I haven’t found a rabbi that will even support the fact that I’m gay and the “three asks” thing feels like a troll move which feels… homophobic???

I need you to seriously consider how my life has been negatively influenced (hence the circumcision poll) by a bastardized JEWISH practice, and what the fuck that means for my identity as it feels like fate to some degree and a bit offensive that you would yuck my ability to find yum in Yhwh or w/e because I’m… too much of a faggoy? Idk man… just asking questions. I’d love to clarify your response in a dm since its… a lot. Not meaning to offend just sick of being put in a box because my circumcision and mother aren’t “right” enough to be in the in club because Hekate or Satan or whatever swooped in and said “NOPE” 🙃

Cheers

Trying to understand Israel through the lens of settler colonialism is a failing proposition. Consider the following:

Jews are indigenous to Israel. We have a historical record that says they’re from there in both the Greek and Roman written record. Like there is as much if not more evidence of Jews in Israel in Roman writing as there is of Julius Caesar being a real person. We also have archaeological evidence. Israel is covered with digs that find evidence of Jewish life dating back 2,000-3,000 years. We also have genetic evidence. DNA studies have shown that even super white looking Ashkenazi Jews have significant portions of DNA that are most closely related to other groups from the southern Levant.

So to call Jews settlers either denies all that evidence, insists that indigenous people can be settlers on their own land, or posits that indigenous people can somehow lose their status as indigenous if you wait long enough. The first is anti-intellectual and antisemitic, the second is ridiculous and the third is a dangerous line of thinking for all indigenous people. How long before Native Americans no longer have a claim to their land? How long before Maori no longer have a claim? It’s not really a place we want to go.

As for colonial, the definition of a colony is “a country or area under the full or partial political control of another country, typically a distant one, and occupied by settlers from that country.” So which country controls Israel? I think we’ve seen over the last year that it’s not the US given the way Bibi has repeatedly blown off Biden, so who is it? Which country is sending settlers to control the area? Again, it’s not the US. While some American Jews make Aliyah every year, the vast majority of Jews in Israel are either from Europe or the Middle East. To be a colony, you have to be a colony of some other power. What is the other power here?

So we can see that Jews are neither settlers nor colonizers. But you know who did colonize the area? Arabs. Arabs are indigenous to the Arabian peninsula, not Israel. And in the 7th century, Arabs came from the Arabian peninsula into Israel (and other places), conquered the locals and did their best to eradicate their cultures, forced conversions to the conquering religion, and settled in the new lands while being under the political control of the far away Caliphate. Sounds like settler colonialism to me. So if we must understand someone in the area as colonial (and I still don’t think it’s the best way to look at things, but if you do) then it’s the people that Palestinians are descended from.

Having said all that, just because colonialism has impacted you, it doesn’t mean you have a complex claim to Judaism. Here are ways you can have a complex claim to Judaism: 1) your father is Jewish and your mother is not, 2) you have Jewish ancestors who were forced to convert and you are now trying to reconnect with the religion that was taken from them. I don’t know your history, so it’s possible that one of those is true. But if you have no Jewish ancestry, then your claim is not complex, it’s non-existent, and if you do have Jewish ancestry but your ancestors willingly left the tribe, then you don’t really have much of a claim either. That doesn’t mean you can’t convert, but given that you seem to think you have claims on other aspects of Judaism as a non-Jew, my gut reaction is to be very doubtful toward your claim on Judaism in general.

If you can’t find a rabbi to support your conversion because you’re gay, you’re looking in the wrong places. The senior rabbi at my synagogue is gay, and we have several queer families as part of the congregation. There are literal signs on the door to the main office that say Trans and Queer Jews welcome here. This doesn’t mean that all congregations are welcoming, but lots are.

The three asks thing is a metaphor that some rabbis take literally. Converting to Judaism is a big decision. The three asks are to make sure that you’ve really thought about it and are really sure – that you’re taking it seriously and thought through all the consequences. If that feels like trolling to you, then maybe Judaism isn’t a good fit. Honestly, from my interactions with you this week, I would bet that the rabbis you’ve met with haven’t said no because you’re gay, they’ve said no because you don’t seem super interested in taking on Jewishness, you just want to take from it instead.

I don’t know what happened with your circumcision. If it went wrong and it was done by a mohel then you can feel angry toward the Jewish people I guess, but I would want to know why your parents had a bris for you if they weren’t planning on raising you Jewish. If you were just circumcised as a medical procedure, as many American babies are, then you may have trauma related to it, but you don’t need to be taking it out on the Jewish people, which is exactly what that poll was doing.

Don’t write down those four letters. Don’t try to pronounce them either. We have asked, repeatedly that people not do that, and once again, the fact that you are is super disrespectful to Jewish people. Write G-d, or God if you must, or even Hashem (I don't think goyim should, but it's better than what you did), but not those four letters. It’s not yucking your yum. You are allowed to enjoy what you want. But what you are doing here is the equivalent of coming into my house and saying that because my dinner looks delicious you can just reach onto my plate with your bare hand, scoop up some of what I’m eating, take a bite and throw the rest back. It’s disrespectful and offensive. I am not objecting to your joy, I’m objecting to your lack of respect to my culture.

Being Jewish is about more than just being circumcised and having the “right” mother. There is a culture here that you need to understand. If you are raised in it, then you get to join the club that way. If you’re not, then you can put in the work to learn it and learn to be respectful of it and join the club that way. So far, you haven’t been able to find a rabbi that thinks you’re willing to do that work, and from what I’ve seen, I’m willing to agree.

[butchhamlet]

do you have any good shakespeare retelling book recs?

what a beautiful time to ask this, says guy who has left this ask collecting cobwebs in his inbox for months! because guess who has two thumbs and just finished queen goneril by erin shields! WHAT a fucking play, holy SHIT, this is some of the best characterization of the lear sisters that i've ever read and the exploration of womanhood as filtered through class + race + shitty families + political maneuvering is so so so good. also the things shields does with the og playtext... chef's fucking KISS

anyway, recency bias aside, i've been meaning to make a post about my favorite shakespeare retellings for a while, and i think i never actually did it because i wanted to make a lear retelling ranking list and then i never read some of the ones on my TBR. so whatever. the learlist will happen someday. here are my favorites in general. (here is my goodreads shelf for the retellings i've read, good and bad, and here is the shelf for the ones i have yet to read.)

in no particular order:

a thousand acres by jane smiley: outsold. epitome of what makes an effective retelling--a book that clearly has something to say about and to the original text, but that also isn't afraid to diverge, to exclude here and zoom in there. ungraciously, this is "lear on a farm" and it starts a little slow, but holy fucking shit, i can't do justice in a paragraph to the way this book unraveled me. one of the best books of all time mayhaps. also, introduced the edmund character by describing his ass. 10/10

the last true poets of the sea by julia drake: i don't read that much YA anymore but jesus fucking christ. books tailored for me specifically. twelfth night retelling about siblings + mental illness + being bisexual + love triangles that actually make sense (emotions are confusing!) instead of being contrived + beautiful description + excellent dialogue + THE MENTAL ILLNESS. books that made me start crying in zoom class in 2020

rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead by tom stoppard: kind of a cop-out answer because we all know this one. but that does not detract from how good it is. this is one of those plays, at least for me, that makes me think, "ohhhhhh, THIS is what theater can do. this is using its medium to the absolute utmost." it is so clever and it makes me want to cry. i think about "i don't know. it's the same sky" more often than i can say

american moor by keith hamilton cobb: not exactly a retelling, but a one-man play about a Black man auditioning for the lead role in Othello, tangling as he does with his relationship with shakespeare's work and cultural dominance. suuuuuch a good fucking play even beyond the analysis of othello (which is excellent); the language is so fucking incredible. everyone who likes shakespeare should read this.

teenage dick by mike lew: modern teenage richard iii; this one's more reimagining than retelling, because it diverges pretty sharply from the plot of richard iii, but god, it's so fucking fun. and upsetting! really upsetting also.

foul is fair by hannah capin: i will be so real. i read this in high school and some of the YA books i've revisited since did not hold up for me. so idk if i can tell you this is "good" with my full chest. but the pitch is "lady macbeth gets sexually assaulted at a party and decides to fucking kill the boys who did it" and i stayed up until like 1am to finish it because it was such a vicious gleaming wild ride

the stars undying by emery robin: does this count? hard to say, because it's just as much a retelling of roman history than shakespeare's antony and cleopatra (honestly, more, since it focuses on the era where caesar and cleopatra were lovers, which is before shakespeare's play). but i'm counting it anyway because it's bisexual space opera cleopatra and it's the best book i've read so far in 2024 and it's making me crazy and i'm writing a thesis on it < genuinely

peerless by jihae park: macbeth, but college applications, featuring asian macbeths (they're twin sisters >:3) who think their classmate has taken their place in their dream school because of affirmative action/DEI. this play is absolutely VICIOUS. it's macbeth x heathers. think it mirrors macbeth in faltering a little in its final stretch, but it still fucks hard

the wednesday wars by gary d. schmidt: okay, not a retelling; this is about a preteen boy in the 60s. but it's one of the best most genuine and heartwarming books i've ever read and it manages to be hilarious while also foregoing cheap slapstick punching-low humor for a hell of a lot of warmth and passion. and the main character interacts with shakespeare a lot as a running theme so i can justify putting it on this list. #evangelizing

of course, i would be remiss not to mention that @suits-of-woe / @mjulianwrites has written the best take on Two Gentlemen of Verona to ever exist, and i mean that quite seriously. unfortunately it hasn't been published yet so we'll all just have to prayer-circle about it. i would also be remiss not to take the opportunity to. uh. coughs. do a bit of casual self-promo. if you 1. have ocd 2. have gender or 3. think about malvolio a lot. boy do i have the novella for you

will definitely add to this when i read more retellings; feel free to drop recs in the tags/replies/reblogs/my askbox!

[txttletale]

what are some things you like about fnv?

so much! i like the character writing, i think every companion is well-written and compelling--i like the extremely tight and overarching but (mostly) unforced focus on theme. 'let go, begin again' gets said verbatim maybe a bit too much in dead money but it's also the theme of all the other DLC and every individual companion quest and the most popular of the four main story paths and i think that kind of broad coherence really shines. i love the quest and world design, i love how many different skills will pop up in conversation because it lets you genuinely roleplay, getting the option to e.g. tell dog the cage must be locked from the inside or bypass difficult combat encounters because you have a high lockpicking skill makes you feel like your character is an expert lockpicker in a way that just being able to get optional loot sometimes just doesn't--i love how you will be directed to important or interesting locations from multiple quests, how all these places interconnect.

and i also deeply love how fnv's world is a world of history and people, not of facts and lore. you can kill caesar and kimball and their factions don't just explode without them--and you will hear multiple, contradictory takes from people in the world about how those deaths will impact those factions. if you kill caesar, house says it won't matter at all, boone says he has successors, ulysses and some NCR guys say it'll collapse the legion, and you never really get to know for sure. and so much about the world is like this, stuff you can get endless perspectives on and no single authoritative 'neutral' information. and in that line i love how the world is more than those people! how the world is much more than you., as impactful as the courier can be, the world reacting and moving and changing is prioritized over absolute player freedom to Experience Content--i love that, for instance, if you're vilified by the NCR before House gives you the quest to protect kimball, he just says "they're not going to let you get close to them, we'll just have to let him die" and then you can't do that quest and kimball dies! little shit like that makes new vegas' world feel real instead of warping around wikis and lore bibles and the protagonist.

so yeah i like a lot about fnv! i am a bit more vocal about my criticisms just bc quite frankly i think all of the things i like are things most people like and i see people saying basically all of this every time the game is brought up while i don't see people talk about the stuff i think is weird/bad as much. and i'm naturally inclinced to like, say whatever i think my more original trhoughts are so i'm not just adding to a chorus. but i do love fnv a lot

[loveless-in-nowheresville]

-JJBA love letter headcanons-

Summary: What their love letters to you are like

Characters: Joseph Joestar, Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli, Dio, Rohan Kishibe, and Yoshikage Kira

Warnings: Unhealthy relationship with Dio and Unhappy relationship with Kira.

Dating/married, different relationships for characters

-Joseph Joestar

His “stationery” is typically just pages ripped out of a well used journal, but that’s got its own charm to it too.

His letters are clearly not written in one sitting, just little thoughts and ideas written to you throughout the day, sometimes a bit vulgar in his honest affection towards you, sometimes sweet and creative. He isn’t the type to wax poetic…he doesn’t believe in that. He’s open, honest, and doesn’t dance around what he likes about you and what he wants for the two of you…the word that comes to mind is “blunt”. You can picture him so clearly with a little journal balanced on his thigh, tapping the back of a pencil against his chin in thought, plotting to woo you over with bold, showy words.

He’s a bit of a wild animal. You never know how much you can trust him and his little declarations of love but…he’s just so charming. You can’t turn him away when he’s so captivating. You’ll always make room for him in your heart, unfortunately, no matter what might happen, and you’ll treasure every letter and keep them stored away in a little box.

He’ll send a couple of short letters in one envelope every couple of months. He writes in a bold, confident cursive…he really does have an amazing mind, one of a kind…the quickest, cleverest, most confident man you knew.

You can’t help the way your heart flutters when he writes something like: “And when you read this sentence, I know you’ll smile and grip this letter a little tighter…”

-Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli

Such a classic, romantic man. You don’t just get sweet letters from your lover on floral stationery…he sends photographs and poetry, flowers and sweets he thinks you’ll like, sometimes you can expect a whole package instead of just a simple envelope from your favorite man.

His love language is definitely words of affirmation, and you can see it so clearly in his letters of adoration he crafts so carefully for you, filled with every ounce of his devotion to you.

However he is ALSO a passionate gift giver and he does not hold back when it comes to you. You feel a little guilty about accepting so many gifts from him, hence why he sends them in the mail…you wouldn’t hurt him by going through the trouble of sending them back, now would you?

His envelopes are perfumed with your favorite scents…expect lots of letters in his envelopes. He writes a lot for you, the words just pour from his heart when it comes to expressing his love for you, and he puts every word down on the paper to send to you.

And his poetry…if he knows you can’t read Italian, he’ll write it in Italian so you’ll ask him to recite it for you. His poems are long, too…so he can spend more time with you when he’s reading them to you.

He sends his letters at consistent intervals, so that you will always get his letters around the same time, every two weeks or so.

-Dio

Uses paper with beautiful, intricate gold detailings along the edges.

His letters are usually about a page and a half, written in large, elegant and complicated cursive.

His words are honeyed and sweet, a man who knows how to get what he wants, and somehow you can feel his overwhelmingly dominate presence just from his letters and you can’t help but submit to it, feeling reminded of his greatness, his grandness, how throughly divine he is…anyone would be weak to even just Dio’s words…and you are no exception.

If he’s a cage, your heart is a bird, watching the door slowly shut and yet making no move to escape, because the cage is made of gold, it’s so warm, it’s so safe, it’s so secure…the cage is better, the cage is where you want to be…you want the door to shut faster.

He writes so many words and manages to say nothing at all. Sweet nothings, empty promises, false flattery…all the while he has the audacity to act like you owe him your submission. And for some reason you eat up every word and lick the plate clean, in an attempt to savor every last flavor he had the graciousness to offer you.

You fall asleep with his letters clutched to your chest, treasuring the subtle scent of him that clung to the paper for as long as it lasted.

He occasionally scents envelopes with something akin to his own cologne, especially when the two of you have been apart for a while…it’s a great way to put you back in his pocket, as even a reminder of his scent is enough to remind you why you stay in his pocket…or in your case…his golden cage.

His letters arrive at his whim, typically when he happens to remember you, and how easy you are. Sometimes just a few weeks in between…sometimes too long for your own sanity, and you find yourself so desperate for him that as soon as his letters finally arrive you find yourself moved to tears merely at the sight of his personal seal upon an envelope.

Rohan Kishibe:

Rohan always strives to make you feel some sort of way with his letters…even if he can’t be there to see your reaction part of the pleasure that comes from penning you letters is imagining how you’ll look when you see what he’s decided to surprise you with.

They tend to come in little packages, since usually he tries to send you various other things with his letters…photographs and souvenirs from his adventures, sometimes in the form of various teas or candles or books.

He’s inconsistent with when he sends his gifts to you, since he wants them to be a surprise, but they’re usually never any more than two and a half months apart.

He will always scent his envelopes, and send you a small vial of whatever fragrance he used. Every letter he sends has a custom border that he draws himself, so each of them are totally unique, and significantly monetarily valuable, given who the illustrator and writer is (you would never try to AUCTION OFF his personal letters to you though, right??!!)

His penmanship is neat and tidy, like you would expect from him.

He’s not really a romantic man, even in his private correspondence to you, often opting instead to write about himself and whatever shenanigans he has recently gotten up to. You wouldn’t have it any other way. You’d rather hear his stories and about how he’s doing than read him trying to wax poetic to you about how much he adores you.

His letters range in length, typically from one to four pages, depending on his current situation. He’ll send you illustrations too, whether doodled in the margins of his letters or on drawing paper, tucked safely away in the package.

He draws you scenery, or pictures of you from memory, sometimes things he knows you like…and you’ll always get a special preview of his current projects. It’s only right that he shares his progress with the most important person in his life…and he’ll always value your feedback over most others.

One thing about Rohan though…he expects you to make good use of everything he sends you. And he’ll expect you to write back. He will literally not send you anything else until after he receives a letter from you, typically with no exceptions unless you are quite literally unable to write back or something of the sort.

Seems like a fair trade off to you…exchanging correspondence with such an interesting man is truly a delight, even though you feel you never have anything quite as interesting to share with him in turn.

To your surprise, he doesn’t ever seem bothered about the unfair trade-off. To him, your letters are perfect just the way they are.

He’s always relieved to hear you’re feeling well and living a peaceful life than stuck in life-threatening danger, no matter how interesting a story it might make.

-Yoshikage Kira:

One letter once a month on plain white paper in a plain white envelope, sealed shut with a single, simple heart sticker, occasionally scented with a neutral lavender perfume. Exactly one page long. He’ll leave it on your doorstep.

His penmanship is neat and clean, precise…he writes nice words…for such a quiet man who keeps to himself he does know how to sound sweet.

Something always feels just Slightly off when you receive his letters though. They’re written so nicely, and yet you can’t help but get the nagging suspicion that he’s holding himself back, or not quite believing his own words…like he’s saying it in an attempt to win you over, or keep your affection.

They are letters that are only worth reading once. You have no real proof, technically nothing is wrong with the letters…but you just can’t shake that slight pinch of doubt.

You would rather not read them. If he was being disingenuous with you, you’d rather it be to your face, since you don’t notice it that way.

He’ll only ask you about the letters a few days after they were delivered, just making sure you remembered to grab them and look over them and didn’t just leave them on your porch.

You keep the letters in a small box, tucking them up on a shelf somewhere out of sight, so you don’t have to worry about them too much.

[reddesires]

As a human, living with apes can be challenging in many ways, we know that. Especially considering that not all of them have sympathy for humans. The reader also has to constantly struggle with these difficulties. She needs some consolation after a hard and bad day. The Ape mens are there for her. <3 I really like your writings btw <33

A/N: Thank you so much for the support, Love. I CRI every time you guys give me a compliment. it's the sweestest! ❤️

Caesar:

Since Caesar was reared by humans, he understands how important words of affirmation are to them.

He'll softly speak to you with comforting words while he holds you in his arms in your nest. Caesar holds unmeasurable empathy for you, he knows that you struggle with adjusting to this new way of living and the partial attitude they could have towards you so he'll assure you that your doing a good job and everything will be okay.

Caesar doesn't really indulge in unnecessary small talk but when he knows that you've had a hard day then he'll seem very talkative and it truly helps you with feeling a while lot better since it feels like your mostly ignored by the others in the colony, only a select few willing to speak to you.

Caesar assures you that they'll come around. Your kind nature truly rubs off on others. It worked on him, so it won't take long till it works on them, too.

"How are you so sure?" The pout on your lips pulling a chortle from him as he draws in your waist closer to him, nuzzling his face into your nape and you giggle at the ticklish feeling his fur has on your neck "I just do." It's best to trust him. He is the Ape King, after all.

Noa:

Noa makes you laugh. He will try his best to make you smile to forget the bad day you had.

He's aware of the impartial views some Clan members have of you, and he truly tries to take your mind away from dwelling onto it too much. He'll pull some antics from Anaya's book like playfully rough housing you, throwing you over his shoulder running aimlessly and tickling you till your sides hurt from the laughter racking your body.

He wants your focus to be on him, he knows that your mind will wander back to the events of your tough day so he'll occupy you with jokes or say something sassy about the others that pulls a mischievous laugh from you.

He keeps things light and fun for you, he's rather protective of your feelings, he sees you as delicate both physically and emotionally, it really does bother him that your having difficulty with your new life in the clan but he knows that you'll fit in soon enough, it'll be like you have always belonged there with them for now he'll just have to fill that gap with your laughter and smiles while the others adjust to your presence in the Clan.

"The Elders don't like me, do they?" You mutter, a dispirited tone dripping from your voice, he frowns looking at you as you picked at the grass dejected, he grabs your hand in his, kissing the top of your hand.

"Eh, they're Elder in the head, I like you." He chitters in response, grabbing and pulling you on top of him, ticking your sides. You laugh as you try to escape his grip.

What wasn't there to like about you is a constant thought for him. He liked everything about you.

Blue Eyes:

It's a tie between taking you out or cuddling you, or even both.

He'd rather take you out of the environment that's stressing you, so in order to take your mind off of your bad day he'll take you to the nearby river to hunt for the seashells that cohabited the banks and later on at dusk, he'll bring you to your favorite spot in the clearing not far from the colony.

It brings you peace to be there alone with Blue Eyes as you watch the sun set and the stars takes their centered stage above you. The difficulties that you face while in the colony don't reach you here it's like you and Blue Eyes are transported to a different realm here, a place that you could call your own with no worries of the outside world or the blaring differences between your humanness and his apeness, none of that matters here.

He cares for your well being and from what he's learned from his father, humans tend to be fragile emotionally when it comes to trying to fit in, he could see how rejection affects your mental well being, though he's sure this is only a temporary setback so he's gotta step in and make sure that your doing well both physically and mentally.

"I know you're worried. You don't have to be.." You gently speak, your voice a stark contrast to the silent atmosphere surrounding the both of you, your back leaning back into his solid chest. He plops his chin on your shoulder, his arms wrapped around your midsection comfortably.

"I always worry.." He murmurs, you lightly smile, turning your head as he takes the chance to press his forehead to yours "your mine to worry about"

[machisneedle]

hii, I just saw that you have open requests ^^Can I ask for a lighter x reader who has the personality or is similar to Clorinde 🙏🙏🙏🙏 I beg you. I hope it goes well for you 🙏🙏🙏Sorry if there are any spelling mistakes because I lost my glasses.

Hellooo, ofc I can !! Also your spelling is perfectly fine <3

Lighter x s/o with a personality similar to clorindes ・₊✧₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎

✧ content: headcannon format , fluff , confessioning love , pre-relationship and current relationship.

Safe for minors to read !!

✧ I feel like his serious but also unserious mood would be a refresher for you , also helping you become more comfortable around him. For example , if you're dealing with something stressful , he'd be the type to try to keep you out of the house and even if it's just to hang out with Lucy or ceaser knowing your not alone makes him feel better.

✧ he'd definitely fall for you first. your strong and stoic front you put on is so intriguing to him because he's a serious person when he wants to be , but the fact he's NEVER seen you break that serious personality apart from a couple chuckles or when your trying to make Lucy feel better about something silly , it makes him want get closer to you. He also finds you badass as fuck but he'd never say it.

✧ when you finally realise you somehow like this man , you considered a complete and utter idiot. You're in complete denial , like how could I fall for HIM type thing.

✧ he is the one to confess 100% . He was confident , but he never thought you'd actually say yes to him. He was expecting you to stare at him like he was a creature from the hallow , so when you said yes he was actually taken aback by your word's , he totally hit you with a " yeah thats cool... cool " while he's internally screaming , before thinking about telling caesar and the others about it. He is a girl dad at heart ok.

✧ it might not be your cup of tea going out to his fights , but PLEASE do it at least once , this man will be yours for life if you do. Even if you sit there looking uninterested as normal because you finally gave into his begs, he'd be over the moon totally, not because you finally gave into going. He'd try to catch your attention by winking at you when you'd look his way , or if he was feeling extra like a little bitch he'd blow you a kiss being met by ur disappointed eye roll never got boring for him. When you find him afterwards dragging him home, he'd hit you with a " c'mon it wasn't that bad darlin " with that classic smirk on his face... let's just say he got a bonk on the head for that one.

✧ he sometimes found it hard to understand your emotions because of how closed off you could be. He would go to one of the girls about it and ask them what he should do , this man is a dumbass when it comes to love sometimes. He'd always be told to just go to you about it , so after a while , he gave in and went to you. It wasn't easy at first getting you to open up for him , but when you did , it made your relationship a lot better.

✧ at first, if anyone tried to hit on you, he'd be instantly at their throats, but there was one time he was grabbing something to drink while you sat and waited. He came back to a guy walking away uncomfortably looking like he was about to burst into tears , " What's up with him, huh ? " he chuckled , sliding you your drink. " he tried to hit on me, so I told him it straight. I wasn't interested. " You shrugged , " you don't say, " he replied. Ever since then , if someone hit on you he just let you give them that resting bitch face that made men run for the hills. Most men apart from him , personally found any face you pulled stunning .

✧ so , in summary you both have your Flaws mainly with communication , but you both try your best and that's all that matters <3

This is my first time writing lighter so sorry if he's abit out of character !! This request was really fun because I love clorinde

[wa1kerbait4592]

planet of the apes 🦧

dude… i have now seen the new kingdom of the planet of the apes in cinema twice and the first time around i wasn’t all that impressed and i left the theatre kinda disappointed but the second time around i left a little more impressed and a little less disappointed.

the movie was still weak compared to the first three films, (the rise, dawn and war) but im glad it was made.

as a whole i believe this franchise is criminally underrated on multiple different levels. The poetic nature of the films is something i don’t think i would ever articulate or write on paper to perfectly capture how beautifully made these films are, they are just chefs kiss

proximus caesar was a funny villain that i think deserved more screen time and back story, it makes me kinda sad to think that we wont really see his character again.

the symbolism that links all four films together is incredibly well done and throughout the entire series there are crumbs of the films that came before them, which is a part of the reason why i love these films so much. i like how they made noa so similar to caesar, not only in his appearance but in his characteristics. i like to believe it was intentional that noa and caesar (particularly in dawn of the planet of the apes with malcolm) cautiously but willingly trusted a human. noa is so incredibly similar to caesar it would be criminal to suggest otherwise.

dude these films are so visually well done you almost forget you are watching cgi. the visual effects alone blow my mind but the accuracy and attention to detail when it comes to the mannerisms of the apes is out of this world and deserves more recognition. in terms of cinematography planet of the apes have always been amazing at beautifully capturing emotions from all the apes and even better at showing the wonders of a post-human run world. the forests and surroundings that the apes find themselves in continue to amaze me, especially in this newest film were we see a variety of different landscapes.

as much as i am growing to love kingdom of the planet of the apes, i feel as though we could have waited for noa and his story. i think cornelius and the others that were left behind after caesars death deserved a closing chapter. i would have loved to know how the community handled the loss of their leader and saviour and how they all moved on. also i feel as though we needed back story on how the apes separated and became different clans spread all across the continent. as an example i would have also loved to see how the misinterpretation of caesar and what he stood for became so strong and wide spread, as well as why noas clan and their elders knew nothing of caesar or chose to leave him out of their history. there were a lot of open ends and unfinished stories that deserved more screen time, but in saying that, that could mean an eternity of story telling that everyone may not want to see.

at the end of kingdom of the planet of the apes they left it open for another film which i am looking forward to seeing where they take story line. are they going to fully circle around to the original films were they capture more humans and start to use them as slaves or will the story begin to get repetitive? i hope repetition won’t sneak its way into these films like is has with so many other franchises, but we can only hope right?

anyways-

long live monkeys… i love monkeys and we need more monkey movies

also- i know i don’t really do this sort of this thing on this account but i was beginning to genuinely tweak if i didn’t word vomit my thoughts on these movies <3

[mossy-chaos]

These are all of the codes I could find in the Book of Bill!

The order is decoded message-page-type of cipher

Spoilers under the cut (for those of you who decode yourselves):

Black and white-back of the cover jacket-authors cipher

Even his lies are lies-inside the front cover-theraprism cipher

Praise the fallen angle-first actual page-Cipheric (this is the only time Cipheric is used for some reason)

Olaf was here-same-rune (not sure what this is a reference to)

Remember us-same-Bill's cipher

Let him in and break the seal between what's fiction and what's real-books new master-Bill's cipher

The Axolotl thinks he's won but Ciphers games have just begun-handprint page-color cipher

Irregular-fake covers(very top)-color cipher

The one who writes the codes-about me-Caeser cipher

Glotto/slotheny-Magazine cover(7 new sins)-Bill's cipher (I love the new sins lol)

Not a phase-Stanford pines here(on the goth moth)-Authors cipher-love the jack skellington reference (if thats what that is lol)

Warning/Folding this card may/result in crossovers-the universe is a hollogram-rune (Maybe that's how we finally get an owl house/gravity falls crossover)

My optometrist never saw it coming-What is a human-Theraprism

Paper is book skin/Shave your grandma-Skin-Bill's cipher

Love pain-Bill's tattoo knuckles-Same

Lies-How to trick everyone into loving you-same

Regrowing limbs is Axy's art/but can he regrow a ripped out heart-How to cheat death-Bill's cipher (he must really be mad at the Axolotl)

Eye doctor of a different kind/who wants to make his patient blind-silly straws-caesar

The doctor says/three sips a day/will make the visions/go away-Same

Fussy eater/baby Billy/wouldn't drink/unless it's silly-same (love how this implies that he only drank out of silly straws)

Mason-Embarrassing memories-Bill's cipher (love seeing Dipper's real name again)

Booberry-the meaning of life(popsicle stick)-Bill's cipher

One eyed king-the early years-theraprism

Suck it-The good times(liscense plate)-Caesar

Can warp narrativity/protect fourth walls-Alert from time baby-A1Z26

Lone survivor of the Euclidean massacre-Rune (I wonder what happened during that event and what that event actually is)

Tantrum-Bill's Cipher

Which henchmaniac ratted me out-The shaman-Theraprism (I find this one funny)

Titans blood-the dark ages(Wizards hat)-Rune (Love the owl house reference here)

Suck it Merlin-Never trust a wizard-Rune

Daryll-Cipherstitions(lobster lord of the deep)-Theraprism (love how that's his name)

Curse Wittebane-Witchcraft-Rune

It's all made up-America(the dollar)-Caesar

Countries aren't-Bill's cipher

Rubberhose-Animation-A1Z26

Bill cipher-top secret file-Same

Six fingered freak-Lost in the woods-authors cipher

Stanley would have made her laugh-same (he just rolled better charisma dude)

If lost return to Bill-my muse and me-Theraprism (love how he said this means wise one and also more billford hehe)

Forget the past-A voice from the past page 2-Bill's cipher (this implies that Bill wants Ford to forget Stanley so he won't get in the way)

Hopefully F's gloves will hide what Cipher has done to my hands-I was wrong about everything page 2-Author's Cipher (I love this one <3)

Ouroboros-Wakey wakey here's a snakey (on the snake)-Bill's Cipher (I guess this is the snakes name?)

Miss you-try to forget (on window)-bro's secret code

Have I been too harsh all along?-Should I contact S-Bro's secret code

Hotxolotl-Dimensional authority call transcript (on the sauce packet)-Bill's cipher

I can write codes too it's not that hard!-Dipper's page-Bill's cipher (he do be flexing his intelligence there)

(What a buncha) Love ya bro-Stanley's letter-Bro's secret code (love how this shows that they both still remember the code they made up as kids)

Just fit in (repeated)-SSSSTANNNNLEEEYY-Rune

Holy mackerel-color cipher

AXOLOTLLOTAXOLOTLLOTLAXLOTLAXLOTLAXOLOTLLOTLAXLOTLAXLOTLAXOLOTLLOTLAXLOTLAXLO-Theraprism

Wellwellwellbeing-message from the theraprism-A1Z26

Spheremonger, Eternalor, Bill cipher, The Logicube, Paingorious, Jessica, Shadorg, Mr Silly, The beast-recent inpatient names-Theraprism (the hallucination dog is still creepy lol)

Justice for Scrimbles/Remember Grembley-inside Back cover-Theraprism/Rune (JUSTICE FOR SCRIMBLES!!!!)

Those are all of the codes that are in this book! (Or at least that I could find lol)

[teojira]

Ooooh just finished reading your koba drabble and its soooo good??? I would love to hear your thoughts how the other apes, Rocket, Maurice, Ceaser, and Blue eyes, think about Kobas' new human shadow... or the way they squabble 👀 I imagine its a mixed bag XD. Amazing writing as always ❤️

[How the rest of the colony apes react to you and Koba's 'friendship']

Summary: The other apes worry about your sanity.

Warnings: Platonic relationship with Koba (based off of my previous Koba request!)

A/N: First time writing for Maurice, Rocket and Blue eyes!!! I was so excited to see them included here 😭 I hope you enjoy anon!

Caesar:

He's already warned Koba multiple times to not take things too far, that just because you've decided that you want to follow him around, doesn't mean he can mistreat you.

Keeps a close eye on y'all when in vicinity, but he knows Koba better than others do.

Koba can claim he hates you as much as he does, but he hasn't done anything to truly drive you away, he could hurt you, bite into you with his canines and do damage but at most, he growls and tries to swat you away like a fly.

Koba also in the same vein will follow you around when you're off doing your own thing, especially if you decide to leave the colony on your own.

He's not slick, telling Caesar that he's off to rest.

Caesar literally sees Koba climbing trees to trail you. It's amusing just how much the bonobo is denial that he cares for you.

It's obvious to Caesar that a part of Koba enjoys the attention, and enjoys your company despite everything, so he doesn't interfere.

Maurice:

Actively tells you to leave Koba alone, he's genuinely not about the whole idea of you and Koba being together.

It gives him anxiety, he's not your father, he's not your family but he's concerned.

He'll talk to Caesar about it, trying to get him to put a stop to it but alas, Caesar says you're both adults, he can't control who you spend time with.

He agrees of course, and while yes Koba does show some semblance of...care for you, it doesn't change his mind.

Please you're stressing him out, give him a break and eat dinner with him and the children instead.

Koba is threatening to bite your fingers off for touching his berries and Maurice genuinely cannot tell if it's a valid threat or not.

Rocket:

Rocket doesn't include himself into the situation, but is another worrier deep down, he's a father, he can't help it.

I see him as the laid back chill uncle who's like 'Hey, do what you want to do but be careful.'

He'd had to step in a couple of times when he thinks Koba is genuinely out to harm you, hooting and calling for Caesar. This ends in him and Koba squaring off against one another and you frantically telling Rocket that you're fine.

By now he doesn't interfere, but he does keep an eye out, always fighting the urge to grab you and take you away from Koba.

Tries to offer you to spend more time with his previous wives, Ash or himself.

Blue eyes:

Blue eyes and you are kinda in the same boat, despite Koba's faults, Blue eyes does look up to his father's close friend.

Koba would never hurt Blue eyes, not without great repercussions, but he could hurt you, the tiny human that has no defensive measures against a huge bonobo, so forgive Blue if he's a little nervous at you pestering Koba.

The young chimp makes sure to check in with you after your random little fights with Koba, it doesn't matter how many times you tell him it's all in good fun, he will make sure you're okay.

He's worried, okay, he gets it from his father, Caesar has told him just how fragile humans are, how their feelings are easily hurt, it makes him treat you damn near like glass.

Side eyes you everytime you go to Koba's nest to mess with him.

Ash will try and make bets with how long it'll be til Koba tries and kills you as a joke, only for Blue eyes to choke on his spit and tell him off, baring his teeth and jostling his friend around.

"Do not make fun!" The young chimp signs frantically.

[gyuvision]

riize as ur fav songs i think this would be so cute

+how are you i hope all is well🫂

you are so right this is so cute and i love it sm like now i have the urge to start a miniseries ab this (and im doing good, i hope you are too!) i love these songs sm

[cw ; none but its a bit angsty] wc: 0.6k

shotaro : as better for you (by siopaolo) - as a dancer and perfectionist you never feel like its good enough no matter how perfect. feeling this way can leak into how you feel generally about relationships so i feel like shotaro is most like this song because even though hes perfect, he doesnt always realize it.

eunseok : as japanese denim (by daniel caesar) - this song references to love that lasts a long time because japanese denim is meant to be durable and strong. eunseok is most like this because hes the type to cherish love and make sure it lasts as long as it can.

sungchan : as pink (by wave to earth) - sungchan is such a wave to earth boy idc what anyone says!! this song is refreshing and calming like beach waves, just like him! pink is about being free and looking back at a past relationship. i see sungchan as a nostalgic person, but also someone who makes you feel free, someone you could run away with.

wonbin : as winter (by se so neon) - this song is a little.. sad, but its good. its about longing for someone who you arent/cant be with, leaving you trapped with the thoughts in your head. wonbin is like this song because hes gives kinda rock band leader vibes, he would totally write something like this song to express his feelings when he cant say it to you himself.

seunghan : as strawberry soju (by jesse barrera) - a little similar to sungchans, but seunghan is like this song because it references how strawberry soju is intoxicating and sweet, just like love. it talks about not wanting to let go of someone left behind in the past. i see seunghan as this song because hes the type to fall hard when hes really in love.

sohee : as blue butterflies (by jhin) - its like a fresh breath of air, its cute and relaxing, very calm and lofi vibes (just like sohee<3). this song talks about falling in love and wanting to show deep affection to that special someone, and i feel sohees very expressive so this is just for him.

anton : as about time (by sarah kang) - this song is incredibly nostalgic and reminiscent. it means even though time continues to pass by, the memories are still there and will always hold its meaning. i think its like anton because it feels like a classic ldr relationship that didnt work out. like he meets you in the states, but after school is done he has to go back to korea. even though hes thousands of miles away and he may have forgotten about you, the memories are always going to stay with him.