#and childe happens to be among their ranks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bitchlessdino · 3 months ago

Text

scream : the death of a nympho (m)

Pairing: ghostface!seungcheol x ghostface!wonwoo x afab!reader

Genre: horror, scream au, smut

Word count: 6.8k

rating: rated R for ROUGH FUCKING SEX (probably the meanest i've ever written anyone)

tags: THIS IS COMICAL BUT VERY DARK FIC, PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION. CONTENT MAY NOT SUIT MOST READERS. Morally black woncheol with no redemption arc, VIOLENCE IMAGERY (stabbing, physical fights), mentions of knives, Mentions of blood, Mentions of alcohol, humiliation, degradation kink, name calling sexually and none sexually (bitch, slut, cum bottle, ECT), manhandling, slapping kink, deep throating, face fucking, double bjs, cum swallowing, unprotected sex

Summary: This worn-out little town has seen its fair share of bloodshed, but now there are two new Ghostfaces in town—and their eyes are set on you. Someone who craves intimacy just as much as they enjoy sinking their daggers into something.

author note: thank you @highvern for being a great betaread, they got some giggles in so i hope you guys get to as well! This idea was initially requested and offered by @smileysuh and I hope you enjoy the journey babes!!!

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone @stagefrjghts @pantumin @aaniag @mochisdayone @gyuguys

The town has witnessed its fair share of bloodshed, with pages upon pages of stories about murders staining its history since its settlement. Transplants from the past couple of decades knew of the Ghostface murders, had experienced their horrors, and were relieved to finally learn the identities of what they believed to be the only culprits, known by the nicknames BL and SM. What they didn’t seem to grasp was that there was a lineage—a deep-rooted legacy that would take the eradication of many Ghostfaces to completely sever.

One that has yet to happen. But now there was another problem.

With nothing left but their dread, the townies embraced twisted ways of coping. They chased oblivion in reckless sex and drugs, feeding a festering culture of heightening promiscuity and sexual deviants to businesses catering to their darkest urges. But this decay only primed the ground for blood, making it easier to spill.

The Ghostfaces, known privately among themselves as the Spirituals, saw it as their duty to cleanse the town. In their eyes, there was no room for the filth that seemed to taint their almost perfect town, and so they took matters into their own hands, delivering judgment on their own terms.

Seungcheol took after his father, who was currently detained after being caught serving judgment to the town’s notorious transplant mayor, infamous for his monthly group-sex gatherings. Now, as the head of the Spirituals, Seungcheol was determined to continue following his father’s creed, not once forgetting the scripture carved into him as a child.

Whereas Wonwoo took after his mother, a caretaker of many children within their society's education system who had fallen in sacrifice for the greater good. Now the right-hand man to the leader of the Spirituals, once a soldier and now captain to many of its followers, he knew nothing but how to uphold and worship the Spirituals' beliefs.

They were a duo not to be reckoned with—the youngest in history to hold the highest possible ranks, and the most effective at slaying the vermin of the town. Unmatched to even their predecessors. If they wanted something to happen, they knew just how to do it.

Their targets had a history of overlooking them, their spry bodies and youthful faces seeming harmless to anyone they encountered—until their daggers found the light under a bright moon. They killed victim after victim, and were careful to not have a single clue that could be traced back to them or the society. It was the perfect ruse, ideal for victims like you.

Fresh-faced and eager to start your next chapter, you arrived in town for college and had stayed ever since. You’d dated here and there, with more than the occasional fling—so the thought of the murders never really intimidated you. As an aspiring journalist, you found the town’s dark history more fascinating than frightening. To you, it was just material for dark bedtime stories. Yet, while many who had survived the horrors saw them as more than history or folklore, those who had evaded them were a lot like you—they saw nothing to panic over, just a few rotten apples already put behind bars.

But you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been tempted to test some of the theories. Almost eager, you found yourself wanting to investigate the current-day Ghostface rumors, wondering if they might be linked to the recent disappearances.

You pondered even now, nursing your third glass of red wine, the deep red hue swirling in the glass, mesmerizing under the effects of a light buzz that calmed your body. You and the bartenders of the high end Diamond Club, Hansol and Chan, had gotten acquainted in your time here—perhaps more than necessary—so they had a good idea of your usuals, whether it was your drink of choice or preferred form of entertainment.

“Red wine tonight, I see,” Chan flirtatiously engaged, wiping down whiskey glasses.

“Tonight called for something sweet, a little treat for working so damn hard,” You replied, finishing the last bit in your glass. “Where’d Hansol go? He had just serviced me.”

“Just getting something from the back, probably more of your wine.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, setting the wine glass down politely in front of him. “You both do know me so well. I don’t suppose there’s room for me to check back there too.”

“No can do today, beautiful,” Hansol said, emerging from the backroom as he rolled up his sleeves. “We’ve got a big meeting tomorrow morning, so we need to be on our A-game.” He threw an arm around Chan, signaling caution to his coworker, then regretfully scanned your attire.

Hansol’s gaze traced over the perfect lines and curves of your dress as he tightened his grip on Chan’s shoulder, both of them watching as you patted your lips against your napkin, leaving a kiss stain in mauve-red lipstick. He knew soon enough he’d regret his responsible decision-making. “But we’ll be sure we’ll leave a slot available for you after.”

Hansol turned toward Chan, looking for reassurance as the other man held the middle seam of his pants. “Right, Chan?”

“R-right,” the other bartender responded with a tinge of disappointment.

You softly pouted. “Okay. Another time. I’ll let you guys get back to work.”

The prospects tonight were slim, but not impossible. There were group gatherings and couples, but no one alone like you—that made it more challenging, and you loved a good challenge. You turned away from the bar on your stool, twirling your freshly topped-off glass from a new bottle, and scanned the room for another late-night treat.

In the corner, you spotted a diamond in the rough—a pair of men who couldn’t seem to tear their eyes off you, each idly toying with the dark liquor in their glasses. You flashed them a sly grin before turning away just enough to keep them in your peripheral vision, watching as they drank you in. They smiled back, one darkly handsome man to the next, their gazes unmistakably intrigued.

“Isn’t that a beaut,” Seungcheol muttered under his breath, hiding it under his glass drenched in bourbon.

“They are,” Wonwoo agreed. “Their reputation precedes them. We complete our duty tonight.”

Before Wonwoo could stand to approach you, Seungcheol tugged him back down, something more than authority in his gaze. “Hold on, brother. What’s the rush? It’s not every day we come across a sacrifice as…delectable as this one. I say we take our time.”

“But, sir… Seungcheol,” Wonwoo corrected himself, remembering they were in a public setting. “We shouldn’t leave any evidence.”

“And we’ll make sure of that.” Seungcheol grinned at his capable, steadfast captain. “Besides, I saw the way you looked at them. Don’t pretend you didn’t, soldier.”

Wonwoo had looked at you—perhaps longer than he should have. Sinful deviant or not, he could understand why others found it impossible to resist you. You were a vision to behold, a captivating stain on the town he might have allowed to linger under different circumstances. But there were no exceptions in the scripture. You would meet the same fate as everyone else they’d killed.

“Nonetheless, we have demands to meet… Seungcheol.” Wonwoo’s tone was even, but his eyes held a flicker of impatience.

The elder man sighed, swirling his drink with a slow, deliberate motion. “Sure taking advantage of my given name, aren’t you…Wonwoo?” He raised a brow, an amused glint in his gaze, though his words held an edge.

“We must stay focused, even if the distraction is so… distracting,” Wonwoo replied, his voice steady but his gaze briefly drifting to you before snapping back.

Seungcheol smiled cunningly, leaning back in his chair as he let his eyes settle on you. “All I’m saying is, why not reward ourselves with a taste of their mercy? Give them a final moment of sin before they see the flames of the inferno where they belong.”

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened. “And would we not be sinning too, brother?”

Seungcheol’s smile faded, and he leaned forward his captain in arms, voice low and commanding. “You dare question my judgment?”

A silence hung heavy between them before Wonwoo let out a resigned sigh. “We need our affairs in order,” he murmured, his tone weary yet resolute.

Seungcheol scoffed, rolling his eyes as he straightened. “Fine. We’ll do it your way,” he conceded.

They adjusted their jackets, sharing a brief, knowing glance before rising from their seats and approaching you with a leisurely stride, intrigue glinting beneath their composed expressions. Seungcheol met your eyes first, flashing that boyish dimple—the one that had gotten them out of more than a few tight spots.

“Mind if we join you?” he asked, his tone smooth, and inviting, but with an edge that hinted at something far less innocent.

Your teeth grazed your bottom lip as you gave a slight nod. “Both of you?”

“If that doesn’t intimidate you,” Wonwoo replied with a polite smile, the bar light catching his glasses and casting a faint glare that concealed the depths of his true intentions.

“Not at all. Sit.”

And they did, boxing either side of you, each exuding an intoxicating mix of decadence, spice, and something darkly earthy. The scent was almost hypnotic, stiffening the hairs on your neck.

Every glance, every subtle movement, spoke of a carefully restrained danger, like a coiled snake waiting to wrap around its unknowing prey. Their intensity crackled in the air around you, unsettling yet somehow magnetic. Something about this pair was dangerous on belief and your gut was screaming it loud, but instead of listening, you were anchoring yourself in place, wanting to find out just what it is you should be afraid of.

“I’m Seungcheol, and my colleague here is Wonwoo. And you are?” The dimpled man asked.

As you introduced yourself, both men let your name roll off their tongues, savoring each syllable as if committing it to memory. Wonwoo angled his body toward you, his gaze intent. “That’s quite nice to say,” he murmured, repeating your name slowly, watching closely to see how you reacted to the sound of it on his lips.

“What brings you both here?” you asked, subtly crossing your legs with a teasing smile. “Date night?”

Both men chuckled, clearly amused by how effortlessly they’d caught your attention. “Something like that,” Seungcheol replied, leaning in just slightly. “We’re just looking for a nightcap before calling it a night. Came straight from the office.”

You raised a brow, laughing softly. “It’s 10 p.m. You both work this late? And turn in this early?”

“Well,” Wonwoo countered, a strategic smile on his face, “we never said how long we’d be here… or how brief our nightcap might be.”

You hummed, sipping your wine as you eyed them over the rim of your glass. “You two really do everything together.”

“Yes,” they answered in perfect unison.

“Everything together?” you pressed, a playful edge in your voice.

“Yes,” they replied again, this time with a hint of menace that made the word linger in the air just a moment too long.

The longer you stayed in their presence, the more you couldn’t shake the feeling that something about their composed demeanor didn’t sit right. Call it survivor’s intuition, but something was off. Still—“I suppose neither of you has time for anything else tonight?” you asked a slight challenge in your tone. “A way to truly acquaint ourselves before the night ends.”

“That does sound interesting,” Wonwoo mused, pretending to consider, his gaze never leaving you.

“And what better way to end the night than with a new…friend?” Seungcheol added, his smile sharp as he leaned in.

It was almost too easy. One moment, you were at the club, indulging in a reckless amount of wine courtesy of these fine gentlemen, the night unfolding in a haze of alcohol and sultry gazes. The next, you found yourself in their penthouse, entangled in a kiss with Seungcheol as Wonwoo was tearing off your clothes, the world outside suddenly distant and irrelevant.

You could feel the warmth of the man’s breath against the back of your neck. His spectacles brushed lightly against your skin as he leaned in, the metal sending a subtle shiver down your spine as you counted the beats of his pants. He explored your body with reckless abandon, uttering your name under every tender kiss.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol was evidently impatient, his lips quickly latching onto yours in a frenzy. He wasted no time tracing the surface area of your mouth, as if time were ticking and he knew that sooner or later, it would run out. “By gods, you are something else.”

He pressed up against your body, only the thin layer of your lingerie to protect you as you began to undress him, the concaves and curves of his body scorching under your fingertips. Your moans muffled under Seungcheol’s lips as Wonwoo's moans muffled under your skin, the tautness of their body sandwiching you into a sweltering trap.

“You both have no idea how much I needed this,” you panted, hands roaming in Seungcheol’s hair as his lips latched around your tits.

Wonwoo softly scoffed, loud enough to hear but soft enough to be dismissed. “On the contrary, you don’t know how badly we needed you.”

You mewled under the sounds of his false pretenses and squealed when they brought you naked over the sofa. Seungcheol took a moment to admire your vulnerability, caressing along your sides, spreading your legs so he may position himself between them, and just behind you stood Wonwoo. Impatient for something else entirely, procured a knife from under the couch, just where he had left it.

Seconds before the spectacle man lifted it up, deciding to plunge it through your shoulder, chest, or even throat, Seungcheol stood up. “Just a moment, darling,” his eyes flickered over to the armed captain in caution, frozen with the hunter’s knife inches above you, “Me and my buddy got to do one last thing before we proceed. Wait for us patiently?”

“All right…don’t keep me waiting too long,” you purred, a slow smile curling on your lips, your heavy-lidded gaze smoldering with anticipation.

Seungcheol steered Wonwoo into a separate room, shutting the door behind them with a quiet finality. He fixed his subordinate with a piercing glare, the urge to drive him to his knees simmering just beneath the surface. “Tell me, soldier—what do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s not ‘soldier’ anymore, sir,” Wonwoo muttered, his voice tense. “I’m doing what we’re supposed to. We can’t indulge in this…” he hesitated, searching for the word, “…depravity. It only complicates the operation.”

Seungcheol stepped closer, his figure casting a shadow over Wonwoo as he instinctively leaned back, nearly cowering under the weight of his leader’s stare. “So you doubt our abilities, is that it?” he demanded, his voice low and venomous. “It’s been a minute since I took on my bitchbreaker on for a ride and you of all people are deciding to be a nuisance. If you’re so certain we can’t balance pleasure and duty, perhaps you should step aside—so I, your capable and trusted leader, can finish the job without you repeatedly defying me.”

He turned to leave, his movements sharp with frustration, but before he could take a full step, Wonwoo’s hand shot out, gripping his bicep tightly. The hold was firm, almost defiant, and Seungcheol could feel the strength behind it—a mix of resolve and the fear of regret that held Wonwoo back. Their eyes met, and in Wonwoo’s gaze was a fierce determination, teetering on the edge between loyalty and a barely restrained desire.

“I’ll follow orders,” Wonwoo said, his tone unwavering. “Your orders. I won’t question you again, sir.”

Seungcheol gave a smug smile, brushing off his right-hand man’s grip before leading him out of the room.

When they returned, they found you still lounging on the couch, but now holding something you hadn’t had before—something stark white and blinding, something that didn’t belong to you and should’ve gone unnoticed.

“Boo!” you laughed, lifting the Ghostface mask to your face with a playful grin as the rest of you was still nude, offering an enragingly tantalizing image.

Wonwoo’s voice nearly boomed as he tried to keep his rage in check, suppressing another sensation that fought him to break out. “What do you think you’re doing?” His eyes flashed a sign of panic, quickly narrowing at you. Had they been caught? Exposed? You were already a risky target, and now you were making things a lot more complicated.

You pulled the mask off with a casual smile, unfazed by the shift in Wonwoo’s demeanor, which was colder than it was moments before. “Sorry for snooping; I couldn’t resist.”

Seungcheol’s calm voice cut through the tension. “Where’d you find that?”

You held the mask in your hands, inspecting it from front to back, not fearing the consequences. “Under the coffee table,” you said, turning it over, admiring the attention to detail. “It looks really real.”

Seungcheol stepped forward, his presence looming as his eyes flickered over from the mask to you, its captor, with an intensity that bordered on possessive. “It is real. We believe it belonged to one of the original Ghostfaces...As historians, we collect these kinds of things.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Ooh,” you grinned, your lips curling in slight admiration.

Seungcheol studied you for a moment, his arms crossed in calculated intrigue. “You’re not scared?” His voice dropped slightly in defense. “Why?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know… I just find it more interesting than scary. And maybe kind of sexy… I don’t know.”

Wonwoo couldn’t hide his disbelief. His voice came out sharp, almost incredulous. “Sexy… you find centuries of bloodshed and thousands of lost lives sexy?”

You paused, your fingers tracing the edge of the mask. “Okay, well not that—the mask! I know it’s tied to awful, disgusting, horrific events, but…” You brought it up to your face, tilting it as you peered through the narrow slits, your voice trailing off in their signature tone of voice that the articles quote were ‘shrill and cunning.’. “There’s something about it that’s...captivating. Like, what kinds of things did they do, and why this mask? What makes it so...iconic?”

Seungcheol’s eyes darkened for a split second, a flicker of something realization passing through them, but he said nothing. Instead, he watched you with a calm amusement, his lips curling into a slight, almost imperceptible smile.

“Really?” Wonwoo’s voice cut through the silence, laced with disbelief. His eyes narrowed as he processed what you had just said, a quiet judgment simmering beneath his calm exterior. “You really think that is sexy?” His words hung in the air, thick with the implication that he couldn’t fathom how anyone could glorify such an image.

Wonwoo was quiet for a moment, his thoughts clearly racing. Yeah, I’m the one doing the killing, he thought, but they were sacrifices—an entirely different kind of thing. They were meant for the greater cause, something you could never understand. He had been the one to offer the death, to carry out the act, and yet you—you—were somehow making it seem like some kind of twisted, romanticized thrill.

He glanced at Seungcheol, whose only response was a raised eyebrow. The corners of his lips curved into that unsettlingly knowing smile, the kind that signaled anything but anger.

Seungcheol retrieved the mask from your fingertips, put it towards him, and shielded his facial features. “So if I wear it like this,” He stuck out a hand to grab you, tugging you by the waist and gliding his hand over your sides, “and touch you like this…”

His palms cupped the underside of your ass, digits digging into your flesh roughly, releasing a sharp breath from you. His body, gloriously exposed, was firm and warm, so inviting you couldn’t help but throw your arms over his shoulders to press against his waist. You stared into the eyes of the mask, stomach-churning at the increase of stimuli and you almost heard yourself growl under your breath. “I don’t think I could resist you.”

Seungcheol removed the mask, holding it in one hand and tightening his grip on you with the other. “You’re a weird little thing, are you,” he asked, narrowing his eyes, voice rich and dark.

“I’ve always wanted deep throat the cock of someone wearing one,” you blatantly confessed, your bottom lip caught in your teeth.

Seungcheol quirked a brow, interest piquing before tossing the mask in Wonwoo’s direction, who caught it flawlessly, looking back at it in concerned confusion. “Wear it,” said the fellow conspirer, “Make our little guest dreams come true while I enjoy the show.”

Wonwoo didn’t argue, and against his better judgment followed his leader’s orders, securing the mask on his face as he bared his nether region, regrettably taut and aroused. As soon as Seungcheol released you, you fell to your knees, gazing up at the Ghostface mask before drawing your gaze down to Wonwoo’s cock that stood on its own, full of life.

Beneath that mask, Wonwoo held on to his uncertainty, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to the image of your lips wrapped around him. It was about all he could think about since being aware of you, other than killing you that is. Even as you beckoned him closer, with your knees on the ground of where the blood he’s shed–the bodies he’s slaughtered–he couldn’t help but think about how to dispose of you. How to get rid of your stain next. But the moment your lips reach the tip of his cock, his worries and schemes seemed to fade away, vanishing even faster as your pace quickened so eagerly.

Your hands palmed over his waist, and the lust in your eyes was insatiable, making a man—even Wonwoo—wonder how that pretty little mouth could take so much cock. He groaned, grabbing you by the crown of your head, and pushing you closer as he started to thrust, gradually adjusting to the tight, warm press of your mouth. “Oh fuck,” his voice gave out, muffled by the mask.

He winced as he felt himself hit your throat, swallowing as he heard you gag on his cock—trying to fit all of him and he broke out in a hidden smile, and if he was being honest, he hasn't held a smile like it in a long time.

Why, Wonwoo hadn’t realized how long he’s had a good fucking like this. Ever since he took on as captain, sex was a thing of the past, something not even in the back of his mind, but you. Oh, you. You awoke something that should’ve stayed dormant. Years of training and discipline are suddenly out the window. And now he’s had a taste, he was going to ruin you until you didn’t even have the energy to breathe.

His hand locked between your tendrils, shoving your head impatiently. “Little toy that knows how to play. That’s rare.”

One hand found the underside of your chin, bringing your face up to gaze upon his, and watched as the mask on his face tilted in curiosity. Vice gripping that head of yours, he used your throat, letting his length slide down inside you. “Aren’t you a little slut? Just fucking wet having my cock down your throat, are you? Don’t try to deny it. I don't have to see or feel it. I can smell it.”

You confirmed with a strugged nod, salvia dribbling down your chin as tears began to burn your eyes.

Wonwoo let out a staggered breath, hitching another in his throat with a groan as felt your face touch the base of his cock, holding you in place and hearing you breathe with immense difficulty l. He pulled himself out of you, dragging you by your head, watching you cough on the ground, strings of your salvia ruining the floor and stretching from your cheeks. “You’re such a try-hard, taking my cock when I hear you practically gasping for air.”

He bent down to level with you, the mask staring back at you menacingly, so realistically. “What? You’re not gonna beg for more?”

“I will, I will,” you assured, a blubbering mess, gasping while the tightness in your throat failed to bother you like it should’ve.

“Is that right?” Wonwoo chuckled, squeezing your cheeks in a rough grip. “You gonna beg for me to fuck your face? Huh?” He inhaled your gasps, body convulsing. His voice was gravelly and stinging with repulsion. “Cockbreath.”

You whined, pleading: “Please, I want to feel it deep, deep inside me, Mr. Ghostface. Give me your cock.”

“Then let me hear how much you want it.”

Your mouth parted, fumbling for the right words, struggling to release them from your strained throat, the sound coming out rough and raspy. “I want your cock shoved in my throat. I want to feel it from one end and out the other. I live for you cock. I’d die on your cock. Please just stick in my throat and don’t stop please.”

Wonwoo looked down at you, surprised with the spew coming out of your mouth but went with it, shoving himself swiftly back in you, the sensation of your throat welcoming him like it never left. “I better see you swallow every inch,” he warned, his voice thick with malice. “If you so much as breathe, I’ll give you more than enough reason not to,” a smile laced with dark amusement edging his tone.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol watched as he promised, laying aloof back on the sofa with cock in hand and reveling in the sheer desperation from your voice as he stroked his cock to the pace of Wonwoo’s thrusts.

As the reigning leader of the Spirituals, he was accustomed to having others do his bidding, just as his father had planned. But through his experience in leadership, he discovered he preferred being directly involved. Very involved. And it was moments like this that confirmed it.

“Good little cocksleeve, ain’t they?” Seungcheol commented, licking his lips.

“They certainly know how to make use of themselves,” Wonwoo drawled, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he observed your efforts, taking him with as much excitement as you initially came with.

Seungcheol started getting up, standing beside his partner in crime with a growing cock firmly in his grasp. He cast his gaze down at you, his presence domineering and intimidating, yet all the more mesmerizing. Seungcheol scoffed as soon as your eyes flickered in his direction, and his hands found themself in your hair. “I wonder how they’d take two cocks. How does that sound?”

Seungcheol helped release you from Wonwoo’s clutches and invited you into his as he met your eye level. “Can two cocks,” He produced another Ghostface mask, lifting it to his face, “fuck that pretty mouth full? There’s only one right answer.”

“Yes,” you managed to answer, your voice trembling, tears streaking down your face as you exhale, your flushed cheeks betraying the weight of your words. “Always.”

“Exactly what I was looking for.”

Kneeling between them, you held them both in either hand and traveled down both their lengths. Each Ghostface was more wicked than the other as you shoved a cock down your throat, Seungcheol’s groan following in response. Your tongue dragged along its underside, mouth stretching to adjust its size and familiarizing with your throat just as Wonwoo’s had, and the familiar sting of your tears had caused another stream of heat down your cheeks.

“You dirty little slut, so this is the kind of treatment my partner here has been getting,” Seungcheol took you by the hair, and slammed you against the base before pulling you back to only reach the head, another fit of coughing to ensue. “You better work five times as hard if you want to please me too.”

You nodded, each stroke to either of their cocks deliberate and purposeful, the masked individuals looming in front of you anticipating your next move. Taking Seungcheol back in your mouth, you sucked all around his circumstances, memorizing the veins of his shaft to then do the same with Wonwoo, batting your eyes back at him, your mouth parted wide letting both exit and enter on your own accord.

It was then either tip breached one another, both of your hands rubbing against each other at once that you heard something so delicious in their voices, so real and so pure. And before you could truly savor it, both of them pried your mouth part, either cock rubbing against either inside of your mouth, stretching your cheeks, as they unevenly thrust into your mouth.

It looked like it hurt, and either man was glad for it because, in its own sick way, it was another form of punishment, catering to them would only guarantee your ultimate demise and proving to them once and for all how necessary their roles really were.

Still, they enjoyed it—hell, they were euphoric seeing you put so much effort into such an ordeal, but not more impressed than about how it felt. Each twist of your wrist aimed to pump ego in their lengths, the dampness of your slobber stretching from your chin to their shafts creating a path of viscous filth, and the tension building in their manhoods that never seemed to fade as they attempted to bury themselves inside of your face.

It was momentous, and Wonwoo, who was initially concerned, was elated to reap more of the benefits just as much as his leader.

They shoved you off as soon as one of them was close, landing you on the sofa, flushed with a thin layer of sweat. Wonwoo, lifting the mask slightly above his face, let his lips run down your body, the hard, cold of plastic the mask chill on your body, while his teeth were nipping your torso and soft growls hummed against your skin. Startled, you yelped as he tugged your legs toward him, his cock position almost perfect at your warm entrance before he inserted himself, not wasting time by giving you a warning.

You mewled at the sensation, his rock-hard length plunging against your moist, plush walls. You instinctively gripped his arms for support, his ruts definable sharp, guttural, and primal. He loomed over you, mask still in place, but the shadow cast over his face in combination with just the barest hint of his mouth exposed showed a twisted smile of lunacy, dangerous beyond recognition.

Wonwoo was rough, hurting you in a way you’ve never been fucked before, but it made it all the more pleasure and Wonwoo knew it more than you thought. Seungcheol joined your side, squeezing himself between you and the couch as he propped his cock towards your mouth, slapping it against your cheek. “Open the fuck wide,” he said in a gnarly rasp through his mask.

As you opened, he seized you by your chin, slapping the cushion of your cheek where it already stung, before slapping the shaft of his cock on your tongue. You looked up at him, panting in excited gasps before he filled your mouth, then emptied it, and then filled your mouth again. His free hand claimed your breasts, ruthlessly squeezing them, pinching at your peaks, before ultimately slapping them, every action you could only swallow at. At almost every end, you were filled to the brim, hung in the balance of their mercy, and not once could you open your eyes without seeing stars.

“Can’t fucking stand it, what’s a fucking slut like you think you deserves our cocks for,” Wonwoo slapped the underside of your thigh, the sting of it ringing in your ears.

Seungcheol chuckled, fingers threading through your hair, pulling your head back to see the glisten in your eyes, how they beg without saying so, or how they water in delight. “One would be lucky to be so fortunate. You’ll thank us later and it won’t just be with gratitude, it’ll be a plea for more.”

Wonwoo, almost as blinded with lust as either you or Seungcheol, gave a deep heart laugh as he folded your legs back towards you, feeling him bottoming inside you and hitting a spot that shot you up in space. At this point you were immobile of making conscious decisions that didn’t have to do with sex, deducing you to only something they could use—something they could fuck until they were sick of you.

You’d muffle something around Seungcheol’s cock, whether it be their names, or calling them Ghostface, it didn’t matter. It was as if the world outside this room didn’t exist and none of them cared for it to exist. Just them and you, and the sound of raw, unbridled sex. Succumbing to their primal urge to unleash pent-up tension and energy—and how effortlessly they did so.

Wonwoo felt his stomach seize, his abdomen tightening as the involuntary contractions slowed his pace, the warmth starting to overcome him, and his low groans took power over his voice as he doubled over. His cum up and out of him in thick ribbons up your path, the twitching of your orgasm quickening in response to his warmth. Simultaneously, Seungcheol filled your mouth, expanding your cheeks, and he gently stroked your throat, “Swallow every fucking bit of it, you fucking cumbottle.”

Your eyes fluttered, pushing the cum down your pipes as he still stood in your mouth, feeling it slide down with a heavy swallow, and you opened your mouth wide to show just how thorough you are.

Seungcheol finally peeled the mask from his face, revealing flushed pink on his cheeks and damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, making him an undeniably captivating sight—nothing short of a perfect reward.

Wonwoo followed, his presence marked by a familiar mirage, his smile shifting into a Duchenne grin—a smile that sparkled in a way most didn’t, reaching his eyes and revealing just how genuine it truly was. Underestimating the relief that consumed him. “Finally,” he gasped out.

He stood up, towering over your frame, his shadow falling over you. “Nothing short of our expectations,” he complimented before pressing a kiss to your lips, explosive and electric, foreshadowing how it’d be the last.

He started to retrieve the additional knife from under the couch, its steely presence finally making a comeback, and you managed to catch the glint of it peering at you at a lower glance. Jumping into action, your feet aimed for his gut, throwing Wonwoo off base as the knife scattered on the ground and crashing him hard into the glass coffee table behind him.

“Fuck!” Wonwoo shouted, pain pricking him at all sides of his body, blood gushing from the holes from which the glass had penetrated. “You bitch!”

“Like I was going to let that happen,” you spat, recovering from your fatigue.

Seungcheol pinned his arms behind you, an evil smile visible in your peripheral. “And you think I’d let you damage my property like that?” He hissed.

Before Seungcheol could avenge his comrade, you head-butted him from the back of your skull, momentarily blinding him as he clutched his face in agony. “Fuck! Holy fuck! My fucking face! You broke my fucking face!” He growled from the depths of his gut as you backed off of him. “I’m gonna enjoy fucking killing you.”

“God fuck, you knew! Didn’t you, you stupid bitch?” Wonwoo started inching closer to you, the knife a good distance away from him. “You knew who we were and came up here anyway. To what? Get one good fuck? Are you that stupid?”

“Of course, I didn’t fucking know! But I had a gut feeling,” you panted.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol taunted, eye swollen, cheeks and forehead red as he procured a knife from between the couch cushions. “Where that gut feeling take you? Besides getting them rearranged, that is?”

Wonwoo scoffed, finally finding the strength to get up. “Dumb slut like them didn’t get that far. Just good for a fuck.” He spat on the ground blood, gritting his teeth.

Your gaze flickered from one to the other, bare fisted, preparing for the worst. “Why don’t you test that theory then, boys?”

“Fucking gladly,” Seungcheol agreed, voice falling several octaves.

They bolted towards you in blind fury, grasping at you like straw and swinging a knife in your direction, barely nicking you. When Wonwoo ran at you from one end, Seungcheol came at you from the other, attempting to corner you. Determination oozing in their gazes, piercing through your very being, the mirage of the devil’s on both of their unsettlingly handsome faces.

“Nowhere to run now, you little bitch.” Wonwoo screeched venomously.

Seungcheol twirled the knife between his fingers, a grin stretching from ear to ear. “This is where you start crying. Or begging for mercy? It doesn’t matter like it won’t matter where or what we stab you with next.”

You slid underneath their swinging arms, the knife briefly slicing, forearm and you gasped in response, stumbling backward. Feeling cornered. You slowly backed away, searching for an escape, but by luck, you find something in your purse instead, abandoned on the ground just out of your assailants’ sight. “You fuckers aren’t gonna get away with shit by the way. You should be careful where you leave your things around here.”

They both laugh at you condescendingly, not an ounce of doubt in their eyes. “No one is believing your bluffs, darling. Just come over nice and slowly. We’ll only stab you 20 times each,” Seungcheol feignedly reassured.

Thinking you were defenseless, they charged at you at full speed—until you lifted what you’d hidden behind your cowering figure. A burst of pepper spray erupted from the canister into their eyes, and the sound of grown men screaming from the tops of their lungs, like terrified final girls, seared itself into every wrinkle of your brain.

”You stupid slut! Pepper spray? Seriously?”

”First you swell up my face, then fucking blind me? You’re in for a real one, cum guzzling little shit.”

Seizing your chance, you delivered a final kick, shoving Wonwoo in Seungcheol’s direction, sending them into an unexpected embrace. In the haze of pain, Wonwoo's eyes shot open, the piercing ache in his chest telling him everything he needed to know about what had just happened. “S-Seungcheol…what the fuck…”

As he stared into his comrade's eyes, Seungcheol’s eyes grew wide in realization, and looked down at the knife he held in his hand, now plunged into their chest. The leader followed him as he collapsed, taking the longest moment to register the events leading up to this as Wonwoo’s eyes began to drift close. Gripping his brethren’s shoulders with the anger of a million suns, Seungcheol bared his teeth, voice singing in regret. “You…I’M GOING TO CHOP AND FEED THEM TO MY PET SHARKS, YOU TRAMP.”

He turned to face you swiftly—too swiftly—because as soon as he did, his neck met the blade, slicing from one side to the other until you plunged it deeper, twisting it down his throat before pulling it out. Fury lingered in his eyes, barely alive, as he began to spit up blood, several drops landing on your face and body. Moments later, he collapsed beside his partner, his eyes dulling as the life slowly drained from his face and body.

You collapsed to your side, shakily reaching for the phone in your bag and dialing the authorities. “H-hello…I just killed two men that attempted to kill me…I think I know the address.”

Once you hung up, you summoned the courage to flip your phone to camera mode to capture the evidence, gasping for breath, ensuring yourself of the life left in you. As soon as you did, a gravelly voice cut through the silence. Its owner raised the knife that had once been lodged in his chest, charging at you with bloodshot, deranged eyes. “DIE, FREAK, DIE!”

You managed a quick, well-aimed strike where the sun doesn’t shine, slowing him down just enough. As he stumbled, you seized the knife you’d stolen from Seungcheol’s throat and plunged it into his head, again, and again, and again, screaming at the top of your lungs until he finally collapsed to the floor.

With trembling hands, you struggled to hold the phone steady to capture the scene. Blood streaked down your forearms, and your sniffles provided the only soundtrack to the aftermath.

You’d done it—you’d finally done it. It only took a hundred tries and countless hours of risk, but it happened. You had become the one–if not the only–true survivor of the town’s Ghostface murders. If this didn’t launch your career, you weren’t sure what would.

You just had hoped they wouldn’t come with backup.

1K notes · View notes

amourcheol · 2 months ago

Text

ave, general

❝The Eagle of Rome has returned to you at last.❞

historical! au | fluff, smut, crack | 16.1k words

s u m m a r y : after your husband returns from the wars in foreign lands, you could not be more proud to see him be the shining pride of rome. however, even among the celebrations and your own personal news, lee jihoon only wanted one thing—some time alone with you.

c o n t e n t : roman! au, roman general! jihoon, husband! jihoon, father! jihoon, mother! mc, a lot of historical background and roman terms to add historical accuracy, soldiers! bss + wonwoo and chan, this is bss and friends, all of them are so annoying it's a wonder they aren't executed, seungcheol is, in a literal sense, a baby, this is a bullying chan campaign, the soldiers do NOT know how to talk to a baby, domesticity <333 mature content ↠ mentions of loss of loved ones, descriptions of war and death, dirty talk, petnames (my love, my sweet, darling, mea vita), fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), slight exhibitionism, unprotected sex (roman contraceptives are dookie), multiple orgasming, slight aftercare

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @gyuswhore @lexyraeworld @moonlightwonu @spooky-goose1003 @dvalitaes @cookiearmy @lllucere @syluslittlecrows @mrsjohnnysuh @fancypeacepersona @thepoopdokyeomtouched @monstacheol @xabsolutelynothingx @kyeomiis @icecream-sundaes @peachytokki @jihanniecheol @ourkivee

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : she is here!! i promised myself i would release this once i've watched gladiator II and she is back...changed woman...i guess this is a belated bday present to jihoon? thank u for inventing music king </3 enjoy reading loves !!

back to masterlist

“WHERE IN JUPITER IS HE?”

The maid whined as she focused on the crowd once more—thousands of citizens gathered across in the Capitol, the road cleared for the procession about to occur. Giddy conversations of every man, woman and child flourished for a mile, and you had to hold onto the girl accompanying you to not be trodden over.

“Careful, mistress!” Myrtia, your servant, warned as you dared take a step at the edge of the hill. “They will be here any minute now!”

You did not listen, holding onto your heavy shawl tighter as you waited in earnest of what was to happen. Rome was a city of chaos, but you did not hear the noise—despite the crowds, the instruments, the chanting, every single voice seemed irrelevant as you stood over the Capitolium. The little houses underneath you swirled around the hill, all evolving the temple behind you, the destination of the people about to be welcomed. Columned buildings made of stone and marble surrounded the crowds, speckled with garlands, its bright colours of vermillion shining in the summer sun.

A small sigh left your lips. Today was the day he would come back home to you.

“By the gods!” Myrtia let out an excited screech, grabbing onto your arm and pointing towards the empty street, barricaded by the people. “They’re here, they’re here!”

Following her finger, you stared at the scene.

That was when the parade entered.

Screams of elation spanned across the crowd as thousands of soldiers flooded in tight ranks, accepting the cheers with pride as they marched along, prisoners of war being dragged along by their chains. There must have been hundreds, spanning back beyond your vision, dirtied and haggard, but that was the consequence of challenging the Empire. The soldiers all adorned their red and silver uniform, smiling at the city which welcomed them.

Your eyes scanned the front of the parade, lips curving at the five men on decorated horseback. Each and every one of them had their distinguishable responses towards the people who sang praises to them, and you longed to see them ride up to the Hill where you could greet them.

When your gaze hovered to what rode in front of the men, it widened.

Four horses, adorned in the finest metals and blood-coloured clothing, led the chariot of the same colour, fully festooned in laurels. Gold swirls cemented on its front, making itself heard with its screeching wheels.

It was not the chariot you cared about.

No, it was the man who stood in it.

The man who was clothed in royal purple and gold, holding a laurel branch in one hand and a sceptre in the other. The man, whose wild black hair perfectly settled the golden crown that another beside him held. The man, whose ghost of a smile sent the crowd in absolute frenzy, beginning up a chant to his name.

“Hurrah for the Triumph!”

“Hurrah for the Eagle!”

Your heart stopped to a standstill.

At last. At long last, the Eagle of Rome had come back to its nest.

“Mistress, look!” Myrtia exclaimed, pointing towards the star of the show, the lead victor in this parade. “Your husband achieved the Triumph!”

You glanced at her with unadulterated pride before focusing on the man in front, coming closer in your vision as he began the ride up the hill. The Triumph. A public celebration of a certain general who managed to lead Rome to a special, foreign victory. It meant the destruction of the enemy, complete desolation, which a mere centurion could not simply achieve. To receive the Triumph was to be respected by the highest of the Roman officials.

You smiled at the notion. The destination for the parade was the Temple of Jupiter behind you, its columns holding up the huge, faded roof, towering over the few beloved relatives of the generals that led the soldiers. “I never doubted he would.”

The crowds grew wilder as the generals journeyed closer, halfway up the rocky hill—everyone opened their doors, leaving their houses to witness the rare spectacle. “Do you think they would let us speak to them?” your maid wondered out loud, following your steps as you turned your back, walking to the Temple. Standing right beside the steps, upstaged till they reached your height. “Gods, I forgot how big the temple is sometimes!”

“Wait here,” you said, holding onto the polished stone as you climbed up the steps. The thundering sounds of hooves on cobblestone entered your ears, and the few other relatives which accompanied you silenced, joy in their faces as the parade ascended. You turned before the show, the entire building shading you with its presence.

There he was.

With his four white horses slowing, neighing wildly at the company that arrived at the hill. With his red and golden chariot inciting excited Latin from the crowd, there he was, swiping past in front of his friends. The horses finally stopped, just before the steps, and the generals behind him followed suit, halting their own as they waited for their commander.

Their commander let go of the reins—stepped down from the chariot, purple robe flowing after the steps. The head that wore the crown turned to the Temple, laurel and sceptre still in his hands.

His calculating eyes skimmed the crowd, face exposing a little pride at the turnout.

He then faced his destination—right on you his stare settled, standing alone at the entrance.

You swore you saw his entire body still.

You were not wrong. The commander parted his mouth, eyes widening with who welcomed him past the steps. Gods, he nearly dropped the possessions in his hands, staring and staring at the woman.

No, not just a mere woman.

But you, his wife.

One of the generals, instantly noticing their leader’s change, got off his horse, same black hair glinting in the sun. He walked over, taking the objects from his hands, smiling knowingly.

When the leader’s hands were free of the spoils, he willed his feet across the sanded street, first step atop the stairs. His gaze never wavered, unable to stray from the woman who haunted his nights.

You, however, could not wait at all.

A choked sob escaped you as your own feet dashed forward, barely able to control themselves as you ran to him. His arms began to raise as you collided against him, wrapping your hands around his neck and crying into his purple-clad chest.

“Missed you...Jihoon…” your muffled murmurs slipped into his attire. “Missed you...so much.”

You felt strong arms envelop you, a rough-hewn face burying into your shoulder. “I thought of you everyday, mea vita.”

Mea vita. My life. A smile caught onto your tears as you hugged him tighter. “And I thought of you every night.”

He returned it, feeling his lips curve upon your skin. Placing a small kiss, he pulled away slightly, only to take your face with one of his hands and lean in closer. Enveloping your lips with yours, he kissed you with the longing of a thousand lost souls, finally returned to their other half.

A soft groan threatened to leave your captured mouth, but then you felt your husband pull away, hands upon your waist. “I must stop here, my love, or I would not be able to stop afterwards.”

Cheeks burning, you did not let go of him. “Are you not finished?”

Shaking his head, he looked beyond you, to inside of the Temple. “I have to pay respects. It is the final part of the ceremony.” He turned to you again, aching to take you before the sacred grounds. “I cannot have you waiting for me that long.”

You were to object until the raven-haired boy behind him spoke up, waving his hand about. “We can escort her home, Jihoon,” he suggested, patting his general on the shoulder. “We do not need to go inside.”

“Are you sure, Wonwoo?” your husband asked, looking towards the other four.

One of the centurions, with straight, cropped black locks framing his face, grinned smugly, holding onto his reins. “Oh, just let her leave with us!” he exclaimed. “We all know she missed us more than your stone-cold arse!”

You chuckled as Jihoon knifed the man with a glare. “A few hours in Rome, and Soonyoung is already a pain in my backside.”

The younger centurion beside Soonyoung scoffed, brown locks being caressed by the wind. “As if he is not a bother for us all.”

Soonyoung mocked a gasp. “Seungkwan!”

“Everyone, quiet down!” Another man declared, eyes closed and head raised in pride. “We all know our Captain’s wife wishes to ride with me.”

Soonyoung began to chortle at the claim. “_____, you might as well walk home than take Seokmin’s offer,” he mused, earning a near-death experience with a dagger thrown at him.

Raising a brow at the bickering group, you raised a finger. “You know what? I think I shall ride with Chan.”

The said-boy perked up, eyes widening. “Me?” He asked, dumbfounded. “Well, of course, I just—”

“He would fall asleep mid-journey!” Seungkwan complained, crossing his arms. “It is already past his bedtime!”

“Hey!” Chan chimed in, but it did not help that he looked away, trying to stifle a yawn. Seungkwan pointed and laughed, proving his stupid point.

“Enough!” Jihoon shouted, silencing them all instantly. “If _____ says she wants to go with Chan, then that is final.”

All of them began to complain, but one warning glare from their commander had them quieting like scolded children. Chan, being the one chosen, began to smile in innocent satisfaction, earning the evil wrath of Seokmin and Seungkwan. Soonyoung merely shrugged, whereas Wonwoo put a hand on his chest, heartily agreeing with his commander.

You glanced at the man in charge, looking as ever the victor in his royal robes. “Come home soon.”

Stealing another kiss from you, he squeezed your sides in comfort, smiling in reassurance. “I already am home, vita.”

THE LEGACY COMMANDERS ALWAYS KNEW HOW TO MAKE THE MOST NOISE.

Throughout the half-hour journey, the five men talked of their lives for the near-two years they were away—the battles they had won, and the siege they had laid over Alexandria, where Mark Antony and Cleopatra were finally defeated.

Chan glanced back every five minutes to check you were stable on horseback, urging you to hold tight whenever a rockier road was being taken. You patted him softly where you rested your hands upon him, showing him you were well. “Do not fret over me, dearest,” you assured him, earning an uneasy chuckle from him.

Unfortunately, the few centurions, riding right beside you two, heard your reassurance, and instantly resorted to striking fear. “Hanging onto Chan for dear life will not help you!” Seungkwan remarked loudly. “One wrong bounce of the horse and he is flying off!”

The youngest of the men, on instinct, tightened his hold on the horse, now fearing he would drive his commander’s wife to her death. Soonyoung laughed at the scene, but set his sights on the next youngest down. “Seungkwan should not be talking,” he crowed, galloping further ahead. “Pray tell us, how much denarii did you borrow off Wonwoo to heal your broken leg? You know, after you tripped over a tent rope?”

“Careful, Soon,” Seokmin exclaimed over the horses’ hooves. “Or Seungkwan will not hesitate to call on all the escorts you went bankrupt over in Egypt!”

Soonyoung immediately whirled his head to you, who eyed him incredulously. “_____, it is an exaggeration!” he deflected. “It was only one visit, merely to see what the women were like—!”

“Is it true, Wonwoo?” you asked, who was fighting back a grimace at his friend’s endeavours. “Is our dear centurion as scandalous as he’s accused to be?”

The answer was swift. “Soonyoung’s cock is as clean as the city sewers.”

As everyone cackled, the guilty flushing with embarrassment, he quickly switched the conversation to everyone’s adventures while on the road to Alexandria. Soonyoung did most of the storytelling, with Seokmin chipping in with great pride—Seungkwan had to tell the two of them off when they exaggerated their military prowess, while Wonwoo only laughed, narrating the truth of their adventures. Whatever they told you, though, you knew that they came out victorious.

The Legacy Legion was destined for greatness—especially if Jihoon Park commanded it.

By the time they were done, you had arrived at your villa, almost on the outskirts of Rome. The huge estate had been gifted to your husband by his superior, Octavian, who was thankful for the continuous loyalty he had seen from the Legion. Its exterior towered over the five horses, guards opening the gates to let you and your friends inside.

The estate was basked in whites and greys, roof the colour of baked bricks adding vibrancy to the faded walls. When entering, you were met with your bustling courtyard, servants hard at work with preparations for Jihoon's return. Within the four walls were different rooms which served different purposes—you could smell the different breads and meat being cooked on a slow heat, taking their time to be fully made. The boys began to salivate at the aroma, and when you felt Chan’s stomach grumble beneath your fingers you reined in a laugh, waiting for him to heave off before helping you down as well.

“Take the horses to the stables,” you ordered one of the servants walking past you, who nodded, shouting for other men to come and help him.

Seokmin groaned as he sniffed the air again, holding his armour-clad stomach. “I cannot take this any longer!” He whined, stomping to where the smell took him. “____, I must have cena now or so help me Ceres!”

“Stop complaining about lunch!” Seungkwan crowed. “I gave you half of my breakfast, and you pinched Chan’s bread too!”

“Here we go again,” Wonwoo mumbled. He then heard grumbling in his abdomen, and knew he could not argue against his body.

You watched the absolute creatures in tenderness, and waved them all over. “Come,” you began, walking inside the first door. “I wish to show you something.”

“This better be some roasted boar!” Soonyoung grumbled, earning a jab in the arm from Wonwoo.

The destination was not far, and with one further turn, you ended up in a smaller, yet spacious room, golden sunlight streaming through the windows. You ushered the boys in, taking up the entire space, and they were all about to complain when you showed them.

Every single man in the room melted at the sight.

“By the gods!”

“Tell me it is not an illusion!”

“This is a better sight than roasted boar!”

Laughing, you put a hand to your lips. “Not so loud now! Jihoon is not aware of this yet, and I wish to tell him myself.”

“Of course!” Wonwoo agreed, eyes dancing. “By Jupiter, he would be overjoyed!”

“I hope so,” you voiced out your wishes, glancing at the surprise.

The boys were about to say more when they heard the distant sounds of thundering hooves near the villa, and everyone stilled.

“Quick!”

“Everyone get out of here!”

“Seungkwan, move—”

The five greatest centurions of Rome scrambled to get out of the tiny bedroom, rushing into the courtyard where Jihoon now made his entrance, crown still upon his head. He saw the rather guilty exit of his men, and raised a brow at their strange behaviour.

“What are you all—” he was about to ask, but then the boys dashed towards him, each grabbing his arm and pushing him to their last destination. “Wait, hold on—!”

“This is of extreme importance, we assure you!” Wonwoo simpered, knowing his end was near with the behaviour he and his friends upkept.

“Even more important than lunch!” Soonyoung added.

“Even more important than roast boar!” Seokmin chimed in.

Jihoon was about to throw them off when they pushed him into the small room, waving excitedly at you. “We will be looking for food!” Seungkwan called from the door, and Chan looked at you apologetically before following after his friends.

Watching them busy themselves, he turned to you, cocking his head. “What was all that for?”

“They are terrible actors, but they had good intentions.” You then bit your lip, glancing beside you. “Actually, they brought you here for a reason.”

“Oh?” He took a step forward.

Nodding your head, you put your hand upon the stone. “Jihoon, while you were gone, I had a life-changing experience.”

Furrowing his brows, he put his hands on his hips. “And that was?”

Exposing a little smile, you ushered him closer, gazing down at the said-experience.

“My love, I gave birth to our son.”

You felt Jihoon’s world still for a moment.

Within seconds after, he closed the distance to the cot, following your gaze.

There, wrapped in blankets, lay a small baby, lost in sleep.

The general did not know what to say.

He could only watch the little bundle of life as he dreamed of things which he could not understand, tiny lips brushing against his tiny thumb. The man’s heart began to race at the sight of his closed eyes, the flutter of his lashes as he stirred in slumber.

So innocent the baby was—so vulnerable that he wondered whether people of his time even knew what innocence meant.

He thought all good had withered from the world till his eyes beheld this child. His son.

“It was he that helped me cope with your absence Jihoon,” you continued, and you did not know why it began to hurt to talk. “You see, the boy looks so much like you.”

Your husband’s eyes flickered to you, catching the melancholy in your stare. He knew—of course he knew how you felt about him hardly being here.

You could not blame him, though. With a position of such esteem came great responsibility, which he would risk his life to fulfil. It was his honour, his undeterred loyalty in what he believed in, that made you fall so deeply in love with him. Still, you admitted that life was barely liveable without his magnetic presence near you.

He propped his hands on the edge of the cot. “May I...may I hold him?”

“Of course,” you replied, slowly pulling the boy in your arms, cooing softly so he stayed asleep. When you were sure he was peaceful, you held him out to your husband, who took a deep, shuddering breath.

With shaking hands, he raised them towards his son, feeling the soft cotton of his blanket beneath his fingertips. Staring at Jihoon, you made sure that he would not let go—satisfied, you gave him the stirring bundle.

Another hard sigh escaped him.

The child, on instinct, nuzzled further into his hold, right into his chest, and he knew his answer straight away. His heart fluttered nervously, holding his breath to not wake him. It was so bizarre that his nerves heightened with every second, fearing he would let go—his sword was heavier than this child, yet his hold on him was shaky, uncertain.

He wondered if he could ever get used to this feeling.

There were sensations he had experienced which brought him immense joy. His victories, his commandeering of the Roman legions, the subsequent victories that were guaranteed under his leadership. His centurions, who, despite their incessant complaining, shouting, general presences, were the catalyst to his success. You, who was behind the man that he was, and became—the reason he breathed.

A small murmur escaped the little boy, and all the love Jihoon had lost these years had come back.

He was never the one to expose such extreme emotions, but gazing at the baby brought him such…peace. In truth, he had not felt peace in a long, long time, yet the feeling washed over him, like small waves upon the shores of a beach. Each twitch of his fingers, every kick of his feet brought his soul to a standstill, then revived it once more.

He contributed to this creation. He was half the reason for the slumbering life in his hands.

His stare did not leave his son. “What did you name him, vita?”

Your gaze was rooted to him as you answered.

“Seungcheol.”

Jihoon’s rocking froze.

His eyes darted towards you, and the pure shock which emitted had your heart breaking. His mouth parted, only for silence to welcome his tongue.

It was now your hands which held onto the cot.

Seungcheol was not some ordinary name you thought up on the hour of the birth.

No, this name was originally held by the previous leader of the Legacy Legion.

Most importantly, the name was held by yours and Jihoon’s dearest friend.

Choi Seungcheol was a sweet, charismatic boy who had grown up in the same neighbourhood as you and Jihoon. He was the nail in your house of the trio, and the mastermind of the romance which weaved between the two of you.

He had an incredibly bright future ahead of him. Under Octavian’s army he had achieved the title of primus pilus—the leadership of an entire legion—with all of the boys, including Jihoon, under his command. He was an advocate of justice, and had risked his friends many times for defending the rights of Rome and her citizens against tyrants.

It was these very tyrants that brought about his downfall.

Jihoon was never meant to leave your side these past two years. He was meant to stay in Rome under Octavian, but the rivalry against Mark Antony had crossed lines, and war was about to be waged. Seungcheol, forever the hero, vowed his undeterred loyalty to the former, and promised to shed Mark Antony’s blood.

That very night, the commanders of the Legacy Legion were celebrating the war when a group of assassins launched an ambush—the five of them managed to cut out and leave, but Jihoon was on the verge of death fighting. Your husband was to die that night.

That was when Seungcheol made a sacrifice.

He hollered at the assassins to fight him, giving Jihoon the chance to escape. Your husband begged him to run, but he knew his friend would not listen.

When Jihoon saw the dozen daggers slash into Seungcheol’s chest, he could not let the sacrifice go to waste.

It was this act that brought him the rage to accept command of the Legacy Legion. It was this dire need of vengeance that helped him cope with the months of stalemates across Egypt, when he thought Mark Antony was to escape.

It was Choi Seungcheol’s sacrifice that made Lee Jihoon the Eagle of Rome.

Thinking of this particular past had your vision stinging.

Jihoon scoffed, stroking his baby’s brow. “Imagine how smug he would be now,” he mused, “If he knew we named our son after him.”

The thought had you rasping out a laugh. “Gods, we would never hear the end of it.”

He cracked a smile, gaze never straying from his bundle. He grew silent once again, clamping his lips together. Scared to wake him if he rocked him further, Jihoon settled the boy back into the pillowed cot, blinking back the stinging in his eyes.

He turned to you, and seeing his change of expression had you stepping closer. “Darling?” you got out, your hands raising to touch his face. “What troubles you?”

Shaking his head, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist. Leaning into your palm, he replied, “Nothing troubles me, vita.”

Then, he pressed a small kiss upon your skin. “I have no more troubles now that I have seen him…and I have him because of you.”

His gaze settled upon you, eyes glossed with teary gratitude. “Thank you, my love, for bringing me peace.”

The words nearly made you cry.

Jihoon did not let you, though, when, with his other hand sliding around your waist, he pulled you to him. He enveloped his lips with yours, and with a whine you accepted him, closing your eyes. The kiss you shared was achingly soft, seething with months upon months of longing—he turned your head slightly, and his lips delved deeper, taking you fully with the strength of a waking beast.

His hands dug deeper into your sides, feeling the desperation seep into his lips as he slowly pushed you back, your arms closing about his neck, needing him all over you. Sliding your hands within his locks, you revelled in its velvety softness, knowing you could live forever in him.

The action had your husband humming into your mouth, a perfect incentive as he backed you against the wall, pressing himself fully against you, extinguishing any last atom of space between you two. You could not get enough of him, trying to make up months of his absence in this kiss alone, but you wanted more, needed more, or you would collapse in his arms.

It was fortunate for you that he understood you perfectly.

However, your dear friends did not understand at all, bursting into the nursery in utmost hurry.

Five pairs of eyes rooted to the passionate scene before them.

Chan let out a shrill scream.

You and Jihoon repelled from each other, breathless gasps emitting as both of you whirled your heads to the door. The five centurions gathered at the doorway, stunned at the show that went on before they interrupted.

Seokmin let out a groan, clutching his stomach. “I regret eating that entire boar now,” he rasped out, turning away from the panting couple. Seungkwan elbowed him harshly in the gut, making the former double over.

Soonyoung sauntered in, stepping past you two in mighty fashion. “You both are insufferable!” he yelled, bringing out baby Seungcheol and rocking him in his arms. “Carrying out such atrocities with a child nearby?”

“I apologise for the disturbance, general,” Wonwoo said, glaring at the man who now cooed comically at the baby. “We were just...um, we were to ask ____ of the plans tonight.”

“But y-you seem to be very preoccupied!” Chan added, pulling the men near him away from the door. “So we shall not disturb you again!”

“You should have thought about that before,” your husband hissed. “And what do you mean by plans?”

“For your return,” you answered, smiling a little as you regained your composure. “It has been too long since you stepped foot at home. Of course I am to celebrate.”

“And do we not exist to you?” Seungkwan demanded, armoured hands at his hips. “You include Jihoon only as if we were here in Rome partying this entire time!”

“I wished that were the case,” Soonyoung drawled, stepping beside you, swaying the baby the entire time. “I would rather the company of wine than you foul-smelling bastards anyday.”

Seokmin, recovering, scoffed, pointing a finger at his fellow centurion. “Oh, do let us know then, Soonyoung, who was calling us his dearest friends on the march to Alexandria?”

“That does not count!” he countered, waving off the claims. “I was beyond gone from wine, and everyone spews rubbish when drunk.”

“You spew rubbish anyway,” Wonwoo muttered.

“You are lucky I am holding Jihoon’s child right now, or I would have knocked you out.”

“Just Jihoon’s child?” you crossed your arms. “And what if you were holding someone else’s baby?”

There was a pause at that. “I shall not comment further.”

“Enough!” the general ordered, silencing the bickering group. “Out, the lot of you! Go back to your own homes and leave us alone!”

“But _____ said we can stay here and help with preparations!” Wonwoo voiced out, stepping forward in haste.

“I never said that!”

“Please, Jihoon,” he continued anyway, “I have no wish to dump all responsibility on her.”

The said-man pursed his lips in thought, clearly in no hurry to keep his friends when he could be using this precious time to continue what he left off with you. Already his hands ached to linger further over your body, but if he was disturbed once again, then he would kill his subordinates without hesitance.

Seokmin stopped his train of thought. “Personally, I have no wish to do housework,” he jeered.

Your husband then smiled, which was more a flash of teeth. “Brilliant. You can piss off back home, then.” He then directed his threatening stare towards the others. “All of you.”

Five pairs of eyes turned to you, hoping for your objection on the matter. However, you only shrugged, holding out your hands to the man beside you. “General’s orders, I fear.” When a series of groans followed at your verdict, you took Seungcheol from Soonyoung’s hands. “Do not whine like that, friends! I am giving you the chance to have more fun before tonight’s celebrations!”

“Whatever,” Seungkwan grumbled, turning his cloak as he stepped out of the room. “I am off to get more drinks! Anyone but Jihoon may join me.”

“Hey!” the commander shouted, but the men were already leaving, save for Chan, scratching the back of his head.

Seokmin cocked his head in question at his friend’s stillness. “What are you standing here for, fool?”

“Well, um,” Chan started, his shy gaze levelling with yours. “I am not inclined to wine as of now, so I was hoping if I could...err, linger here and help around…” His eyes widened, raising his hands. “But if it is bothersome I will accompany the others!”

Your heart melted at his timidity. “What are you so nervous for? Of course you can stay. Those four idiots will only be causing trouble the entire afternoon.”

“And we intend to continue such troubles at night as well!” Soonyoung declared, almost skipping to the entrance. “Honey wine, here I come!”

“Chan, are you sure?” Jihoon asked, gesturing towards the exiting group. “You should rest a little after months of fighting.”

“I am alright, I insist,” his soldier assured him, raising his arms. “Let me take care of the child.” When you obliged, handing him the stirring bundle, he slowed his movements, ever so careful not to disturb him. He darted his gaze over you. “You, uh,” he said, and he chuckled sheepishly, a blush rising upon his cheeks. “You both carry on with whatever you were doing before!”

Before you could say further, the man was hurrying out, forgetting to close the door as he took Seungcheol with him.

You and Jihoon watched him go, stunned at the sudden entrance of the centurions, and then the sudden exit within minutes. You could not help the huff of laughter that escaped you at their antics, catching his attention. “What is the laugh for?”

“Your commanders, darling,” you mused, wrapping an arm around your husband. “They are more bizarre than usual.”

Exhaling through his nose, he returned your embrace twice over, engulfing you within his hold. “My half-witted commanders,” he reminisced, running his fingers across your back. “They are delighted to be back.”

“I can tell,” you giggled out, leaning into him. “I missed them greatly.”

His face ghosted a little smugness. “But you missed me more.”

“You keep convincing yourself of the notion.”

Feeling his laughter reverberating off him, you felt yourself being pulled at arm’s length, looking up at him once more. Your husband leaned in then, gently pressing his forehead against yours. “No one is at home anymore, vita.”

A raise of your eyebrow. “Chan just asked me to stay here.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” he insisted, brushing his nose with yours. “We are alone...with no one to bother us again…”

Much as you would like to follow his intentions, you feared the state of the pending party. It had been two years since the Eagle and his centurions’ return—their triumph will be celebrated without fault.

“Jihoon,” you murmured, taking great pains in retracting from his kisses. “I must go.”

His lips trailed down to your chin, making your willpower all the more weak. “Can you not spare me even an hour?”

If you could spare him half that hour, you would have gladly indulged him, but the party arrangements awaited. The soldiers, and your general, deserved the best of welcomes.

So you made yourself separate from his tempting hold, taking a few steps away from him. “I cannot offer even a second, my love.”

The man pretended to be beyond upset at your resistance. He waited till your feet landed on the entryway when he spoke.

“Perhaps it was better you did not give me a mere hour, vita.”

You looked back. Leaning against the stone cot, he let his lips curl upwards. “It simply would not suffice.”

The curiosity in your eyes had him further smirking. “I need an entire day to make up for the two years of absence from you.”

It was sheer luck you were holding onto the doorframe.

“Careful, love,” he cooed, which only had you stumbling further out of the door in shock. His laughter followed you faintly as you left the room, blood rushing to your cheeks in drastic speed.

You hoped ardently, without shame, that he would carry out his intentions.

Then, you aggressively shook your head, heading straight to the kitchens. Not these thoughts at the moment, _____.

You have a party to prepare for.

THE NIGHT OF THE WELCOMING ARRIVED AS QUICKLY AS YOU HAD HOPED.

The guests began to enter your estate as soon as the sun descended on the empire, bringing words of praise and gifts to your husband and his soldiers. Your pride swelled exceedingly at hearing the positive messages, encouraging everyone to drink to their health. The smiles did not cease, widening further when the men and women fawned over your child. They wished for your baby to grow up just like the man he was named after, and you smiled, scared that one word from you would have your tears gushing.

You had everyone lay on their seated beds, surrounding tables filled with nourishment. Orders spilled from your lips to never stop the plates of beef and veal and fish and infinite other meats—tonight, your guests would feast like emperors.

Eventually, the stars of the legion arrived, howling in celebration at seeing you adorned in indigo-coloured finery. You reckoned that they had drunk a fountain’s worth before showing up here, but you only hauled them inside, showing them to their place—cushioned couches all set up around low, circular tables, food nearly toppling off the edges.

Seokmin drooled at the sight. “Out of the way, bastards!” He declared, running straight for the bedding in the middle part of the cushioned arc, settling himself nicely before digging in instantly. “Tell your slave Chan to bring us some wine!”

As if on cue, the soldier came rushing in with huge jugs of the featured drink, looking at you. “Is this alright?”

“Of course, Chan,” you said, taking the jugs from him. “Now you lay beside your friends! You have helped me enough.”

“Where is that man of yours, my lady?” Soonyoung drawled, snatching a cup of honey wine from the servants. “He did not accompany us this afternoon.”

“He had to go meet Octavian,” you answered, the rest of the centurions lodging themselves on the cushions. “There were honours he had to receive from him before he could officially celebrate here.”

“As long as he gets drunk with us, I do not mind,” Wonwoo voiced, raising his cup in toast.

Seokmin, seeing Chan looking around in embarrassment, poured a cup full of alcohol and pushed it in his hand. “Drink up, boy! I am not having you shy away from your victories!”

The latter seemed much inclined to throw away the wine, but his friends began to groan. “Fine, fine, but only a sip!”

Seungkwan downed his cup, sighing into it. “He will never grow up.”

Wonwoo eyed you with concern as he plucked a grape from its pack. “Will you not have a rest with us?”

“You men have your fun,” you insisted. “I will settle when Jihoon comes home.”

Fortunately, that did not take more than ten minutes, you catching the sound of hooves outside the estate. Footsteps sounded from the entrance, and you whirled to see your new arrival.

The primus pilus of the Legacy Legion looked every bit his title—regal, powerful, magical in his purple robes, hemmed with gold as it draped over his loose white shirt, exposed on his right arm. His locks, longer than his hair months ago, curled slightly along his neck, roughening his usual soldierly demeanour.

Squealing, you rushed to him, greeting him with a kiss. “Come, come!” You exclaimed, ushering him inside.

“The general’s arrived!” Seokmin before you with the others following, albeit with more difficulty.

Jihoon directed a soft smile at you before sneering at his friends. “At least finish chewing on your food, you babies.”

“Care about your own baby before calling us such, you prick!”

“You are very lucky you are drunk, Wonwoo!”

“Sit with them,” you said, tugging him to a free space between subordinates.

As your husband obliged, he let his curiosity wander. “And where are you off to?”

Your gaze went beyond the dining hall, into the leeways that brought you to the kitchens. “I am a host, dear, and that means making sure all my guests are accommodated for.”

His grip on you was strong. “When will you come back?” He asked, thumb brushing over your hand.

You let your lips slip into a small smile. “Soon.”

And you were off, letting Jihoon’s eyes brush over you instead of his touch.

A few hours into the party and the chaos began.

You knew it was bound to happen eventually, with the amount of wine being consumed—your friends alone downed half the deposits, the consequences of such reckless drinking being exposed by their behaviour.

The centurions’ area was by far the loudest: Seokmin drank to the point he pissed in the jug that stored his wine, Seungkwan then threatening to topple that very jug atop his head. Soonyoung resorted to self-praise in his stupor, with Wonwoo shaking his head, yet laughing uncontrollably at every unfunny quip the former slipped out. Chan giggled as he sipped his alcohol, Jihoon watching all his friends with a full cup in his own hand.

It was around midnight when you heard the voice of your beloved calling for you.

“Vita!”

Excusing yourself from your tipsy guests, you walked to your dear men, who were creating a ruckus in your home. You felt soft fingers caress your shin within your dress, and you looked down to see your general smiling at you.

“Sit, my love,” he said, tugging you down to him. “You have made me wait a while.”

“Fine!” You exclaimed with mock exasperation, laying down next to him.

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you to him, your entire back pressed against his front. “There,” he whispered, and the proximity of his breath had chills running down your spine.

You hoped he could feel the warmth radiating off you.

“_____!” Seokmin exclaimed, pointing his cup at you in accusation, wine sloshing out and spilling. “I have a bone to pick with you!”

“Oh, gods,” Jihoon cursed quietly.

“So I found out from our esteemed general that you named your son Seungcheol.” The man scoffed. “How could you commit such an action?”

When you raised your eyebrows, he smirked in disbelief, gesturing towards himself. “My lady, I am offended you did not name him after me.”

Wonwoo spit out his drink, unable to control his laughter. Seungkwan poured himself some more, clicking his tongue in amusement. “Gods forbid we have another Seokmin in our circle.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” the man demanded, bunching his robes from his arms.

“I know you are not that stupid,” was his sly answer.

“Boys,” Jihoon seethed, glaring at the two about to send the estate down with their fists. “Lay off the anger or lay off the wine.”

Grumbling as they broke off their spat, you looked up at the mediator, swirling his cup. “You know you do not have to be a general here.”

Your husband hummed absent-mindedly, lazily running his hand along you. “I know, vita. Can I ever rest, though, when I have such rowdy dogs barking around me all the time?”

Chuckling, you leaned into him, his honey-like scent engulfing you. “Have you drank?”

“Only a little.” You felt a lilt to his voice as he continued. “Sober enough to see clearly how divine you look. Especially in this dress.”

You stilled as his hands began to wander downwards.

Your voice barely came out as you said, “Jihoon, what…what are you doing?”

He did not respond, instead adorning a small smile on his face as his fingers ghosted down your body, to your stomach. On instinct you stopped his trail with your own hand, gripping his wrist. “Jihoon!” you hissed. “There are people right beside us!”

“People who do not know what is going on around them,” he added, gesturing to his friends. Sure enough, each and every one of the centurions were out of their minds, save for Chan, who was too preoccupied trying to take away their drinks.

Jihoon turned to you once more, eyes inviting. “I mean, I will stop if you wish.” His movements turned slower, your hand still on his. “If you have other…pressing matters.”

Your mind could only think of damning whatever ‘pressing matters’ there well to the underworld. Perhaps he could see it too. “If roaming eyes are what you fear,” he whispered, “Then let me solve that problem.”

In a flash, he brought one long slit of his toga, resting the huge sheet of fabric upon you so your entire body was cloaked, along with his wandering fingers. So casually he began his journey once more, widening your eyes with each finger spiralling downwards.

When he reached the spot, shielded only with your silk, his head rested softly against your neck. “There we go.”

He barely grazed the slit, but the very sensation had you squeezing your own hand upon his. “Easy, darling,” he whispered, as if he was not the reason for your change. “I haven’t even done anything and yet you falter.”

“Not my fault you went away for two years,” you hissed. It was a terrible thing to say, really, but your desire was bubbling. Your rationality, in turn, simply had to depart.

The comment only made your husband chuckle. “I was saving the Empire, vita.” His other hand, completely free, occupied itself, his solitary finger ghosting along your skin. “Would you rather I damn the world to the gods and serve at your feet instead?”

“As if you do not already,” you murmured, your hand loosening on his wrist.

Earning another soft laugh from him, his new freedom had him sliding down further. “And where did this…newfound confidence come from?” he asked, one finger delving into your slit and eliciting a shuddered breath. “I’d only hear gasps from you before.”

His slow endeavours found your clit beneath the silk, and the seething gasp that tore from your mouth had the bastard sighing in satisfaction. “Ah, see?” He continued, his hand upon your shoulder now sliding beneath his cloak. It found refuge upon your breasts, perked from the sheer desire burning inside. “Fuck, I missed, I–” His fingers circled your clit, and you closed your eyes, heart beating rapidly underneath his other hand.

Your breathing turned harsh, eyes darting to the members of your husband’s legion—completely unaware of the shuddering mess of nerves you had become. “Look at you,” Jihoon sighed out, fastening his fingers. “Acting out with our loved ones under this roof.” Your soft whines were music to his ears. “Whatever shall I do with you?”

“Maybe you should—fuck,” you cut off, your legs tensing, a dull, delicious ache growing at the small of your back. “Jihoon, I—”

Your line of speech was interrupted by another voice. You had hoped it would be your husband, taunting you further into oblivion, but it was a voice of pure concern.

“By the gods, _____, are you alright?”

You blinked back to see Chan, holding two glasses of wine, shaking off Soonyoung’s hands. Your eyes then widened, acutely aware of Jihoon’s fingers slowing, your release fading.

Sly as an asp, your husband retracted his hands, still under his cloak. “What is the matter, dear friend?”

The centurion had his gaze fixed on you, confused at your state. “Is _____ okay, general? Her breathing, she…it sounds uneven. Even her eyes are dazed.”

Soonyoung, taking the lucky chance of his friend’s engrossment, snatched the wine from his hand, downing the bowl. “She is drunk, you fool!” he exclaimed, loud enough for Wonwoo to double over, cursing his rowdy mouth. “And you should be as well, instead of ruining our fun!”

“My lady, allow me to indulge you with wine,” Wonwoo sang out, trying to catch a jug of alcohol from thin air.

Seungkwan snorted at his attempts, successfully stealing Seokmin’s drinks and chugging the lot. “Oi, you prick!” The latter yelled, nearly bringing the estate down. His friend merely laughed, calling him names and finishing the rest of the wine.

Chan, glancing for a moment away, focused on you once more. “Jihoon, I fear for _____.”

You feared for yourself too, but not in the manner the soldier spoke of—more your sanity at the pulsing, the near undoing now far from being reached.

Jihoon pressed a kiss to your temple, smiling at Chan’s words, despite differing intentions. “You worry too much, Chan,” he said, beginning to get up from his cushions, taking you gently into his arms. “It is as Soonyoung says. Mea Vita here has had a drink too much.”

The centurion seemed a little unconvinced, but his trust for his commander outgrew any suspicions. Seokmin scoffed at the couple attempting to leave, shaking his bowl at you both. “And where are the lovebirds off to?” he demanded.

“Lady _____ is tired from the honey wine,” Chan explained. “Jihoon is helping her sleep.”

“Ha!” was the boy’s reply.

“Are you really that dim-witted?” Seungkwan asked, laughing darkly at the youngest’s naivety.

“Huh?” Chan glanced at his general.

The general declared to his guests, “I will be retiring with my wife, but enjoy until dawn, friends!”

Cheers arose from every corner of the estate, no doubt eager to live up to his request. Jihoon then rested his eyes on his soldier, who looked up at him with great bewilderment.

He only offered a sly wink before slipping into the hallways.

Chan’s confusion only deepened.

Soonyoung spluttered into laughter. “You poor fool!”

Seungkwan’s smirk was prevalent as, taking the bowl filled with fresh honey wine from the tables, he sat beside Chan, offering him his first drink. “Let us educate you, dear man, on what exactly is about to happen between our general and his wife.”

IT TOOK APPROXIMATELY TEN SECONDS BEFORE YOUR PATIENCE SNAPPED IN YOUR DARKENED HALLWAYS.

You slapped your hands against Jihoon’s purple-clad chest, and tried to push him back into the stone wall. Of course, when one had the strongest general in the Roman Empire as a husband, physically overtaking them is an impossible action.

Which was why he began to laugh at your efforts before casually taking your wrists, whirling you about. Suddenly your back was against the wall, with his face near inches from you.

“Cannot control yourself for even a minute?” He purred, bringing your hands above your head. “Has the journey to our bedroom become too difficult?”

“Stop fucking about with me” you got out, aching to have your hands freed, touch his face, his lips, but he was too strong.

The man leaned further. “No, vita…it has been too long.”

He brushed his nose along with yours. “Don’t think I’ll be satisfied with simply fucking you against the wall.”

His words alone had your heart beating faster, eager to see how he would play the night out. It had been far too long since you had felt such promise of pleasure in these years.

“I won’t be either, general,” you mused, and the fire that sparked in Jihoon’s eyes could have very well brought you your undoing then.

That was enough for him to swoop in, damning all sweetness to the underworld as he collided his lips with yours.

You swore you could never tire of Jihoon’s lips as he moved hungrily, grip on your wrists tightening. A small noise lodged in the back of your throat, aching to be released but to no avail. His mouth refused to pull away, miss even a moment of how you felt against him.

The years away made you realise how much you missed his touch—lips in sync, bodies snuffing out any distance left—you had no choice but to whine into his mouth, opening yourself up fully to him. You wanted him all, without a single drop of hesitation.

Feeling the exact same, he happily delved further, an eon-old kernel of fire singeing his lips and searing you with his desire. His tongue, catching onto his lust, slithered past your teeth, swirling your tongue with his and increased the volume of your moans.

Gods, your moans, your little voices of passion were like victory trumpets to his ears, every single ah! or fuck! riling him further into a frenzy. He had not forgotten these glorious sounds when he was thousands of miles away, but it had been so fucking long since he had heard them in person, and not just his dreams.

So he relished in your moans. Completely engulfed himself in your bubble of desire as his one hand strayed from your wrists, skirting downwards along your body. Grabbing hold of your skirts, he raised them to your hips. He caught sight of your cunt, and he swore his mouth watered.

“Stop it…stop stalling, Jihoon,” you seethed, soul almost withering in wait for your husband to ruin you already.

Fortunately for you, he was the most accommodating man.

His hand freeing yours, it journeyed downwards to the real treasure. Your eyes widened at his finger sliding inside you, and the pure, ethereal sensation of his touch finally attaining your cunt had you dazing off completely. Your mouth forgot all words, as if forgetting how to speak the languages which Jihoon whispered now on your skin.

With your hands gaining newfound freedom, they carded through his hair, finding refuge in the soft, growing locks, tidied for the party. You would have done more had Jihoon not circled your clit, and the delirious sensation was back—your legs nearly gave way, and you let out a whimper as you held onto him tightly, lest you fell at his feet.

His sharp eyes caught onto your weakening state, slowing his ministrations. “How about I take this somewhere else?” He rasped in your ear.

Not waiting for your answer, he slid his hands underneath your thighs and picked you up, you instinctively wrapping your legs around him. He did not cease his kisses, his tongue dancing inside your mouth while finding the door to the bedroom.

He did not waste a single moment—kicking the door open with his foot, he settled you on the table right beside, throwing the objects to the floor. Giving you a small peck, he journeyed downwards, slowly kneeling before you while opening your legs.

His husky chuckling rang in your ears. “Gods, after so long…” he could not even finish, pressing airlight kisses upon your inner thigh, each phantom touch nearing the kernel of arousal. “So…fucking long…”

The minute he reached his destination his tongue slipped free of his mouth. Holding onto your thighs, he let himself take the last step.

His tongue sliding along your cunt had you melting on the table.

You were certain the table had crumbled beneath you, the ground fading as your husband explored you, lapping up the arousal dripping since the moment he graced you with his touch. A satisfied noise left his occupied mouth, you tasting like the honey wine you poured for him not an hour ago.

This. This made fighting relentlessly for two years worth it. This made every single drop of blood, buckets of sweat and floods of tears worth it. Life was hard, torturous even away from Rome, from you, but all that dark anguish in the time lost between you two was worth it if this was his reward.

And Jihoon would make sure this, too, would be worth it for you.

His tongue found your clit, and if you were not a mess before, the tendrils of pleasure that came with reduced you to cinders. He circled the bud like a slow march, growing faster with each passing beat. You moaned his name, a mantra on your lips which only rang louder.

“J-Jihoon,” you kept whimpering, and his tongue would circle faster. You begin to thrash against him, unable to sit still while he brought you such unadulterated thrill. You would have happily grinded against his face had his hands on your thighs not tightened, indicating to stop fidgeting.

In honesty you tried—you endeavoured to be composed, but the bastard made the task impossible. The writhing continued, and would have kept going had Jihoon not halted his actions.

You let out an agitated yelp.

“I’m sorry, vita, but you have to stay still,” he replied, fingers running along your thighs. “Do you not want to enjoy this?”

His lips glistened as he spoke, courtesy of your cunt. With his head in between your thighs, he was a feast for your eyes. “Fuck, Jihoon, I…I already am.”

Maybe he agreed that he was a fine feast, for he curved his shining mouth in a dark smirk, eyes not leaving yours as he slowly slung a leg over his shoulder. “Well then,” he began, repeating with the other leg, fingers skimming the naked skin. “Let me add to your pleasure.”

This time, when he dove in, he was relentless.

You gripped onto the edge of the table, fingers digging into the wood as he quickened the rhythm of his tongue, working on your bundle of nerves so deliciously you wondered how your soul still survived inside your body.

The wondering stopped, your questions answered when his finger joined in on the ravishing, sliding inside you and knocking the breath out of you. He was so undeniably good, knowing you liked the insertion slow, almost testing the waters before completely undoing you.

And gods bless him, for that is all he intended to do. The Eagle of Rome only knelt for the gods, but you, your whines, your writhing pleasure he drank like a man parched…

You had become a deity in his eyes; and a celestial figure deserved the best of service — hours upon hours of honing your desire because he was the only one who was capable of ruining you.

Another finger found itself inside you, and your cunt began to pulsate at the fullness it achieved, inching along the growing tension bubbling deep within your gut. Beads of sweat dripped down, your willpower to not thrash against his face about to snap, and when he fastened his pace an obscenely loud moan ripped through your mouth.

You were much too close to the final high.

“Fuck, Jihoon—!” you nearly cried, hands unable to stray from his hair, his wonderful, lustrous hair. “Jihoon, please, I’m so clo—”

His free hand on your thigh squeezed you ever so slightly, as if aware of your near absolution. He only sped up his work, his fingers gliding in and out so quickly you could not keep up. If that was not enough, his mouth sucking on your clit was ready to bring the sky down on your head.

But Jihoon was ready to risk the destruction of all the world. Ready to face the gods in his last hour as he swirled your swollen bud with his tongue one last time.

That was enough to come undone.

Your release came crashing, curls of pleasure riding all through your body as your mind misted into fog, no thought or idea save for the slow assistance of your husband, easing your throbbing. A lust-struck sigh came out of you, hand falling from his hair onto his tensed shoulder. Sensing your high washing over, he slowed his tongue, fingers withdrawn from your cunt.

He caught your gaze in his, two slick fingers hanging between you two. He dared you to look away as he brought them to his lips, slipping them inside and tasting the residue.

That sight alone could have made you come for the second time.

The bastard knew it too, for a ghost of a smirk exposed itself on his face, once his fingers were clean of your arousal. “Could not let it go to waste,” he murmured, as if your wetness was liquid gold.

Hands back on your thighs once more, he lifted himself up gently, toga in disarray over his service. With you sat upon the table, his fingers found home upon your chin, lifting your line of sight on him.

Pure hunger lay dormant in his eyes.

Not just his eyes, but his mouth still, when he leaned in and kissed you. You returned it without question, desire coiling around your soul as if it had not been released mere minutes ago.

You did not care. Not when you had waited so fucking long.

The man smiled between the burning kisses, humming at your lusted agony as he slid an arm around your waist. “My love—” a kiss upon the corner of your mouth —”What more shall I do—” another kiss, to the other corner—”For you?”

If he kept at it like this, you were going to forget your mother tongue. “Inside me…” you mustered between his lips on you, on your skin. A pathetic attempt, but your mind was still recovering from your release.

He paused, a malicious grin curving. “Pray, mea vita, my sweet, was I not just inside you?” Tugging you off the table, he held on tight as your knees buckled. “See? Even your body speaks for me.”

Your leg brushed against the weakness of his argument, almost tenting his toga. “Does yours?” you managed to remark, catching the defeated furrow of his brow.

His stare had you silent once again, butterflies forming in your stomach. Leaning in, his lips brushed against the shell of your ear.

“I’ll have your body screaming for me when I’m done, vita.”

Your body, in his response, shuddered against him.

Jihoon did not wait for more as he slotted his mouth along yours, igniting the flame again, unable to have enough of you as he whirled you around, eliciting the same little whines he adored so ardently.

He swooped you up in his arms, knowing your legs could not take the walk to the bed. Never stopping his kisses, he knew where to go by memory, hands skirting along your skin as he neared the final haven of tonight. Despite his words, he laid you gently upon the bed, continuing his trail upon your cheeks, your jaw, anywhere where you would allow him.

Your heart sang at what was to come. Memories flooded you, passionate nights of years ago reminding you of what had been, and what distance had snatched from you. You had never forgotten the last time you both had made love, the very last night you both had been offered before he was to sail away to satiate his need for vengeance. He had asked nothing from you, not a single request, even though he knew you would have given it to him in a heartbeat.

No, that night, he had explored every inch, every crevice of your body—burned his presence onto your skin till the entirety of Rome knew that Lee Jihoon had left a piece of himself in you. That piece morphed into the child you bore, but Jihoon had never really left your soul, despite the thousands of miles stretching between you two.

“Never again,” you let yourself whisper as he broke away, your hands fisting themselves in his toga, tugging off the fabric which was another form of distance. You needed him once again. Yes, you had withstood miles upon miles away from him. But now, you could not handle even inches apart.

He understood. He always understood, slipping off the clothing till it reached his hips. Climbing over you, his abdomen exposed, you could not believe your cheeks burned at the sight of him half-naked before you. A small chuckle escaped him, and he stole a quick kiss before burying himself into your neck.

His fingers reached for the loose straps of your dress, barely of use. “Take these off for me, darling,” he whispered, and the order vibrated along your skin, ready to be followed. While you desperately tried to pry your dress off, he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the base of your throat, making your simple task an impossible mission.

One strap fell, and Jihoon’s teeth slowly sank into your skin, sucking at the spot with such passion a soft groan trambles out of you, unsure whether you could get the other half of your dress off. Thankfully, with someone as accommodating as him, he pressed an unironically chaste kiss before finding the last straps himself.

The pure smugness in his eyes had you in near tears. “One little kiss, and you’ve ceased working,” he drawled breathily. “Must I do all the work, my sweet?”

You would have cursed his ancestors had he not brought your dress down, tossing the clothing to the side and drinking in your bare figure.

A breath shuddered out of him, certain that you could inhale the pure lust oozing from him. “I can’t…I cannot believe I went two years without…without this—”

The words were left unfinished as he wasted no time, indulging your mouth for moments before pouncing downwards, taking your left breast in his mouth and skimming his teeth softly against the nipple. The man was riling you up now, you taking his hair in your hands, certain you were trying to tear his locks out with the way you held onto him. Jihoon did not seem to mind, too occupied with your breasts to pay heed to your damage.

“Jihoon, please, I need you to—fuck!” cut off with his tongue encircling your breasts, you nearly had had enough. Your cunt ached for the final descent, your patience growing thin. “Please, I-I need you inside me!”

His answer was allowing one last lick to your right nipple, cold striking your breasts as he looked down at you, eyes glossed over with carnal delight. With his hand he ripped away the toga pooling at his hips, and his cock was freed, almost enraged to be cloaked away in silk.

You looked like a fool staring at it, but you could not help it—you did not remember it being so huge, even though it has been inside you countless times. Another piece of evidence that he had been away from you long enough.

“Ogled enough, darling?” his voice snapped you back, and you were almost embarrassed at the shit-eating grin that lit up his face.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, but you could not say more, you being silenced with his searing kiss.

Pulling away, his forehead rested against yours, black locks tickling your cheeks as he held your one side in one hand, and his cock in another.

Nudging your legs apart, the tip brushed against your folds, and your soul nearly departed from the ghost of a touch. “Careful,” he warned, thumb stroking your hip, and he stole a glance at you.

“I love you, vita,” he whispered.

And began the final descent.

His cock slid inside, slowly, ever so slowly, but with every inch you felt each layer of your spirit stop to a standstill. Jihoon never stopped watching—catching your parted mouth, the shallow, uneven breaths you took, the knitted brows, your fingers holding onto him for dear life. He could not help it, see—these few seconds, these few, transitory moments, where both souls are on the edge of the world, and none know whether they’d hang on, or fall to their doom.

This moment encompassed such an image within the features of your face.

And he relished it. Captured the image, and used it as fuel to his carnal fire as he buried himself into you, releasing a breath he kept inside the entire time. Maybe it was after so long, but the two of you stayed still, your husband fearing you might snap. A frivolous thought, of course, but one can believe anything when one is so vulnerable.

One look from you, though, had his doubts disappearing in an instant. You let a small smile escape, and it was all he needed before he slowly withdrew, the mere action so gratifying you wondered whether it was another one of your dreams, a vision granted by the mercy of the gods.

Maybe the gods were extra pleased, for Jihoon was no dream—only a very pleasing reality, waiting for your whimpers to fill the room before thrusting back into you again. The rhythm was beginning to strike, and you were its follower; the shy hesitations started to fade, and you could feel his desire burning with every slide out, and every slide in of his cock into you, holding onto your hips to keep you steady.

With each thrust you felt the stakes of your pleasure reach higher and higher. Tendrils of delight rippled through you with his movements, quickening yet keeping his fluidity, like an elegant dancer in a warfield, somehow managing to emerge victorious with his body alone. Of course, you could never doubt your husband. He was the favourite of the Empire for a reason.

“By the gods, you—” he plunged into you once more, and he grazed a certain spot inside you that had you seeing the universes. “You’re so fucking good to me, you—”

Never finishing his sentences, never even finishing his line of thought, the sole thing in his mind being your delicious fucking folds, your cunt which felt so perfect around his cock. He leaned in further, teething sweet love bites onto your neck, revelling in your pleasured groaning, growing louder and louder with each quickened thrust. “Yes, vita, just like that!” he exclaimed, never stopping. “For all of Rome to hear!”

He did not care a bit if the world heard them now. All that mattered to him was you, you and only you.

More so when that familiar, growing ache of nerves was back, warning you of your impending release. Jihoon was ruthless to you, relentless with his cock, unforgiving with his tongue and teeth which managed to devour your every inch. There was no escaping it—the ache was like a tightened knot, with his actions well on its way to unravel it.

“I-I’m close, Jihoon,” you breathed out, pressing your lips on his chest, his shoulder, anything you could grasp. “Please, love, I need to—”

“I know, vita,” he guttered, as if he, too, was close. He did not care much for that, though, when all he could focus on was you, all broken words and teary gazes beneath him. “I know.”

To add even more to your doom, he brought back an older prospect, fingers circling your clit and heightening the delight swirling within your gut ten times over. The nerves were pumping, faster and faster, and you were deathly aware that it was now or never.

Your eyes, seeing stars throughout, found your husband within the mist of desire. “J-Jihoon…”

Everything was forgotten. Not a word remembered in the fog of your mind but your vita’s name, your lover’s name, bright as the summer sun, as bold as the royal colours he adorned in his triumph.

As true as the love never lost between the two of you.

It was enough for the Eagle of Rome to capture your lips, holding you in a heart-wrenching kiss.

It was enough for you to completely ruin yourself.

Your cries drowned onto his mouth as release came crashing, legs shaking as you died and resurrected all at once, came undone within his hold. The world slipped away in that moment, with him as your anchor, saving you from being eternally lost.

While you lay breathless, Jihoon slipped himself out of you, breaking away from your kiss to cry out himself, spilling himself onto you and the sheets. A haggard fuck escaped him, arcing over you before throwing himself beside you.

Silence welcomed you after that.

The din of the party remained, and both of you gasping, but a silence followed, like a warm winter blanket. Both of you stared at the ceiling, the moonlit parts of the surfaces, trying to catch your breaths after what you both just experienced.

Turning your head, you caught Jihoon already stealing glances. They were heavy-lidded, unsurprisingly, yet you found it endearing, despite the circumstances.

“What?” you got out, cocking your head at his soft staring.

He shook his head, smiling tiredly. He stretched his arm out towards you, murmuring, “Come here.”

Obliging, you followed under his arm, resting your head against his chest. Despite the granite-hardness of his body, no other surface would suffice. Your head rose and fell along to his uneven breathing, a small comfort.

As the general gazed down at you, the softness returned; his thumb stroked along your cheeks. “I…” he began, voice huskier than usual, you humming in satisfaction.

“Yes?” you got out, hanging onto his every word.

Glancing away for a second, he looked to the window, and the view it offered of the world beyond.

He then glanced back at you, a better world he had found of his own.

“I am…so happy…” he whispered. Whispered because he had to tell his world what he felt. “So happy to come back to you.”

Your heart but into a thousand butterflies.

A smile as wide as you could muster was your response.

And as he continued stroking your hair, and you leaning into his hold, you too, knew that you felt the exact same.

For the Eagle of Rome had returned to you at last.

CENTURION LEE CHAN HAD WITNESSED HORRORS.

He had seen thousands of dead men, scattered across the sands of Egypt. He had seen ships sink before his very eyes—by the gods, he had even seen the beginnings of death, when he nearly drowned at the final naval battle that secured Legacy Legion its victory.

None of these events, however, made him more queasy as realising that you, while you were laid beside your husband, were not experiencing intoxication from honey wine. It was an exhilaration of a completely unusual kind, a feeling that had the tips of his ears reddening.

His fellow men’s reactions only made it worse. “What did you think they were going to do?” Seungkwan only demanded. “Sleep it off on their first night together?”

“Well, how was I to know?” the youngest visibly shivered. “I do not know how married people work.”

“Poor soul,” Soonyoung tutted out, no plans for pausing his drink. “I fear for when he is to wed.”

“I still do not understand,” Seokmin voiced out. “They have a whole child together. How did you not…”

“My apologies for not pondering over our general’s intimate life,” Chan grumbled. “How idiotic of me.”

“Do not mind these deviants,” Wonwoo assured him, handing him a fresh cup of wine. “You just drink their awful comments away.”

He spared a fearful glance at the cup, filled with honey wine. “I should not,” he meant to declare in a confident stance. His voice, already weakened from a previous revelation of his commander’s, had rendered his declaration as a childish mumble. “The baby would need my attention sooner or later.”

“Fuck the baby!” was Seokmin’s great exclamation, clicking his tongue. “He is already the star guest of this damned celebration. We—!” he patted his chest repeatedly—”We were supposed to be the ones our people fawn over!”

“Your need for attention never fails to astound me,” Wonwoo remarked, circling his drink. “The boy was named after our murdered friend.”

“It happens to men like Seokmin,” Seungkwan drawled, slinging an arm around him, “To those men who received no attention at home.”

“Fuck off!” Seokmin jeered, rasped out from the alcohol buzzing in his system. “At least our Roman women fawned over me this afternoon. Where were your girls?”

“My, my, our dear Seokmin’s imagination runs so wild!” The second-youngest cooed condescendingly, grabbing Wonwoo’s cup, which had the latter furrowing his brows. “He dreams of female attention when we have seen no evidence of it!”

Soonyoung wished to join in on the bullying, chiming in, “And now he envies a child that cannot control its own piss!”

As everyone laughed at the poor, drunk soul, who genuinely looked as if he might cry, Wonwoo waved his large hands around, as if attempting to calm everyone down. “No more harassing the unloved virgin.”

“We were not talking about Chan though,” Soonyoung instantly piped up, his next said-target narrowing his eyes.

“Just because I choose to save myself for someone I love,” he grumbled, which had chuckling resonating around the group.

“Gods help her when she turns up, then,” Seungkwan sighed out, drinking Wonwoo’s wine.

Perhaps Chan might have said something in retort—might have even garnered the strength to punch the honey wine out of his friend’s insides when one of the servants came hurrying.

He identified her as Myrtia, your personal maid, who looked incredibly distressed. “Centurion Lee,” she immediately began, “Seungcheol keeps crying!”

“Oh, gods,” Soonyoung crowed, “Wet-nurse first, soldier second, is it?”

“At least he is not a whore first, Soonyoung,” Seokmin muttered.

“Both of you, shut up!” Chan finally snapped, turning to Myrtia once more. “Where is he right now? Will _____ not tend to him?”

“Our dear _____ is a little occupied being tended to herself, remember?” Seungkwan reminded him, his smirk malicious.

The youngest flushed scarlet, shaking his head. “Right, of course…” He heaved himself off the cushions, to much of his friends’ agitation. “I will see what to do.”

“What?” Soonyoung sat up, but the alcoholic daze had him swaying slightly. “Wait, wait, wait, don’t just leave!”

“Take me to Cheol,” Chan said to Myrtia, but before she could even agree, four rounds of disapproving voices hurled towards the poor boy.

“No!” Seungkwan exclaimed first, taking great pains to hoist himself off the long tables. “No, no, you cannot go on your own!”

“Exactly!” Seokmin joined in, using Seungkwan’s toga to try hauling himself up. “You will die in there!”

Wonwoo clicked his tongue, even though he, too, was beginning to follow after his friends. “Chan is not going to die with a mere child.”

Chan watched his superiors rise carelessly from their furnishings, already feeling a little frantic. “What are you all doing?”

“Why, coming with you, of course!”

“Myrtia, my sweet,” Soonyoung purred, patting a hand on her shoulder, “You lead us straight to the baby!”

Hurriedly nodding, she turned and headed towards the destination, five centurions hot on her heels as they were led down the familiar hallways. Chan muttered to himself, but did not have time to self-ponder when he was constantly being distracted.

“How much longer is this going to take?” Seokmin whined, holding onto the walls for support. “And since when did the lamps on _____’s walls start shaking?”

“It has not been a minute and you’re complaining!” Seungkwan snarked out. “It’s a wonder you managed to walk forty miles everyday, lazy git.”

“Not lazy enough to slice your mouth right off!”

“Just this door here,” Myrtia said, turning into the empty doorway, dipping her head in respect as she stepped out of the way, allowing Chan to enter first, the rest stumbling behind him.

Sure enough, the first noise heard in everyone’s ears was the wailing—a screechy, whiny sound which reverberated off the stone walls, striking discomfort, irritation, turmoil in the hearts of whoever heard them. The man who felt it the most dashed to the cot, brows joining together in agitation over the sight of the baby.

“You would think Chan was the father,” Seungkwan retorted. “Do something about this crying, boy!”

“You really are heartless,” Wonwoo scolded, following after the youngest. Observing the crying child, he pursed his mouth into a thin line. “How does one…stop a baby from crying?”

“Only a mother can take care of her child,” Seokmin voiced out, as if he thought of a ground-breaking notion akin to Plato’s wisdom.

“We are not disturbing _____,” Seungkwan rebuked, shaking his head vigorously. “Those two have waited nearly two years to fuck each other again.”

“Let them have their fun!” Soonyoung roared, which had the baby crying louder. “Gods, Chan, you are the youngest after Cheol. Handle this sobbing mess!”

“I have seen twenty summers,” Chan muttered.

“Yes, so a baby in my eyes!”

“Of course you are going to consider Chan as a baby, you geriatric. It’s a wonder you did not collapse on the battlefield.”

I will kill you in the next war, Seungkwan.”

As the rest started grumbling amongst themselves, the youngest gently picked up the bundle, slowly rocking him in hopes to calm the crying. Seungcheol’s face was reddened with the constant sorrow, and it broke Chan’s heart a little, hoping that he would gain some newfound power and solve whatever problem ailed him.

A sigh escaping him, he began to mumble sweet nothings to him, morphing those whispers in a quaint song he heard from his own childhood. His melody was like honey wine, words so soft, his voice so sweet, that the men that accompanied him began to quieten, turning their heads to the origin.

Wonwoo watched the scene, smiling lop-sidedly. “You are a natural!”

“It is quite embarrassing,” Seokmin admitted, scratching the back of his head, “That the youngest of us is the only one able to calm a child.”

“None of us claimed to be good with children,” Seungkwan thought out loud, observing the younger soldier tend to the sobbing, which had quietened to mere whimpers.

Soonyoung tried to raise a brow—strong on tried, but he was too drunk to carry out such a simple action. “You always boasted of your relationships with your nieces and nephews.”

“That is different. I could care less about random urchins.”

“Seungkwan!” Seokmin exclaimed. “Seungcheol is no urchin.”

“He was though, was he not?” The man scoffed, albeit a bit tenderly as he began to reminisce. “Gods, did you forget how insufferable he was?”

“Always on our arses, too,” Soonyoung agreed, snickering. “Do you remember when he got us in shit with Octavian?”

“Talking back to Caesar’s successor during our first military session.” Wonwoo visibly shivered. “The punishment still haunts me.”

But the distant memory only made the rest chuckle, as if the centurions had not received verbal lashings from the leader of Rome at that time. Silence bathed the room, only Seungcheol’s voice sputtering through the surface of calm. It had only been a meagre two-and-half years since the inspiration behind his name had passed, but with the hardships of the Alexandria campaign, it had felt like decades. Even Chan felt the age of this campaign, although he was young when he suffered the loss.

He sensed the loss a little more that night as, walking away from the cot, he leaned against the wall. As if unable to stand, he let his legs buckle a little, sliding down and settling on the floor, feet spreading out before him. “I sometimes see him in my dreams,” he admitted.

There was a heavy pause.

Then, “He visited me more a year back.”

Everyone focused on Soonyoung. Travelling to where his youngest friend sat, he copied his position, continuing, “I told Jihoon about it, actually, right before Actium…I deemed it a sign of the gods.” A small laugh huffed out of him. “He then corrected me, saying it was all Cheol.”

“Typical,” Seungkwan said, smiling. “Take all the might of the gods and reward himself for it.”

“I cannot blame him, though,” Wonwoo countered, wandering over to the seated duo, looking down at their general’s son. “A loss of faith can come with a loss of a loved one.”

“Yes, but look at us now!” Seokmin reasoned, gesturing to them all. “Victors of the coming generation!”

“But these so-called ‘Victors’ cannot stop a baby from crying,” Wonwoo murmured, sitting beside Chan. “I doubt we deserve that title.”

“Hey, at least Chan deserves it.” Seokmin hurried to sit beside the former, watching tenderly over at the baby. “Look, he is silent now!”

“No way!” Seungkwan exclaimed, sauntering to the group and settling beside Soonyoung, reaching over to inspect the claim.

Sure enough—at the centre of the most powerful soldiers in Rome, almost slumbering in complete peace, was a silent Seungcheol, happy Seungcheol as he stirred only if Chan moved his hand, or shifted his legs. It was not as if they had not seen a mere child before, but, once again, this bundle, so full of life, was different. This was their commander’s legacy. Their leader’s soul extended from his own life-force, his evidence that he loved.

This Seungcheol that the five men stared at was the new beginning.

It was a long time before anyone spoke. “Do you think he looks more like one over the other?” Wonwoo asked.

“All babies look the same to me,” Seokmin offered his opinion.

By Seungkwan’s incredulous glance, it seemed it was not appreciated. “No one let this idiot have a child of his own.”

The accused frowned, genuinely hurt. “Hey! I should like to have a family one day. Give you all opportunity to become uncles again.”

“I would recognise your baby anywhere,” Soonyoung crowed, “Because it shall be the ugliest out of ours.”

The gasp that escaped Seokmin had Chan choking out a laugh. Seungcheol stirred at the action, which had the latter immediately stilling. “You guys need to insult each other’s future children a little quieter,” he whispered.

The former had other plans, though. “Wait, can I hold him?”

Chan shot a concerned glance. “Fine, but be careful!” he insisted, slowly handing over the bundle to Wonwoo, who, after smiling at him, passed him over at the end.

Seokmin began rocking the child, who glanced up at him, languidly blinking up at the soldier. He was ecstatic, softly touching the tiny nose, and feeling his mouth widen into a grin. “See? He likes me already!”

“Yeah, after Chan has done all the hard labour,” Wonwoo commented, beaming at the baby’s expression.

“I want Cheol after you,” Soonyoung demanded, crossing his arms, “So he can see what a real man is like.”

“Real jester, more like,” Seungkwan muttered, earning himself a hard elbow in the side.

What Seokmin wanted to do was tell the eldest to wait his turn. He did not have the opportunity when he smelt the air around him, and found it most foul.

Chan noticed it immediately as well, and within the next few seconds, the others caught on. Five pairs of eyes whirled to the baby, who had the audacity to giggle.

Seokmin let out a scream.

“BY THE FUCKING GODS—!”

Everyone scrambled to their feat, the rest struggling to hold back their amusement. “Not so loud!” Chan hissed, though he was restraining a laugh, only successful by the finger on his lips.

“Stupid damned baby!” Seokmin screeched, holding the bundle at arms length.

Wonwoo could not help his laugh, which spluttered out of him. “You cannot blame a baby for acting like one! It is like scolding a dog for running after a bone.”

The comparison had Soonyoung bellowing out, holding his stomach. “I always knew Seungcheol was annoying, but shitting on us is another low!”

Seokmin visibly shivered, patience running thin. “I hope he is rotting in the underworld,” he cursed, completely merciless.

“I hope he is laughing at you,” Seungkwan prayed instead, wiping a few tears from his eyes.

Chan only shook his head, walking to the doorway and stretching his head out. “Myrtia!” he called out, catching her tending to the guests in the dining areas.

Quickly she arrived at the scene, understanding immediately what had occurred, judging by the men’s reactions. “Hand him over, Centurion,” she ordered, he obliging her instantly.

“Sorry?” Seokmin offered, as if he was the one who soiled his toga. That had the others laughing even more, which had him furrowing his brows. “You men are the worst!”

“After ruining Chan’s night with all our complaints, it is only fair that we turn to you!” Soonyong explained, as if that was perfectly reasonable.

Seungkwan cackled darkly. “We really are each other’s worst enemy.”

Wonwoo somehow found that incredibly sentimental. “I would not have it any other way,” he said, slinging his arm around Chan, ushering the other three to join in. “After all, who knows us better?”

“You make a stellar point!” The eldest clasped onto Chan’s free side, poking him in the cheek. “I would not wish to befriend any other wretched bastard.”

“You do not possess the ability to make friends, Soonyoung,” Seungkwan pointed out.

“Then what are we?” Seokmin demanded, offended, the last to join the group.

“Comrades?”

“Colleagues?”

“People who have seen me naked?”

But it was Chan, who was quiet all this time, observing his older—usually irritating, sometimes diabolical, yet always beloved—superiors, there formed an answer which had been settled in his heart the moment he had found their company nearly a decade back.

“Brothers.”

The men surrounding him stilled, gawking at the centre of their group—the centre that was always the core of their brotherhood. Although there was ample opportunity to poke fun at the situation, they found no ground for such humiliation. They only watched as, in an almost comical image, four pairs of eyes softened at the boy who had grown right in front of them.

Wonwoo ruffled the youngest’s mop of waves. “And you are the dearest out of us all.”

“And do not forget it,” Seungkwan said. “Even if we make you seem otherwise.”

Chan smiled at them all, face flushing at the amount of attention received. A comfortable silence fell over them, everyone pondering over different notions, reminiscing of their times together.

Soonyoung, however, possibly still a little intoxicated, thought of a completely different opportunity—thoughts of the very near future.

“Men,” he began, “I have a proposition.”

The soldiers perked up, about to brace themselves for a revolutionary idea.

“Who wants to spy on Jihoon and _____?”

There was a momentary pause. Chan, visibly horrified, whirled his head left and right, praying to the gods that his fellow brothers felt the same.

“Go on, then.”

And as the four eldest centurions shuffled to the nursery’s entrance, Chan scrambled for a solution, because he would have rather been Mark Antony’s prisoner than listen to his commander and his wife…solidify their reunion.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

“Wait!”

The men paused, looking over their shoulders. “What is it?”

That intake of breath was released in complete devastation. So much for calling these utter shits brothers.

“How about we all drink? I shall…” A hard gulp. “I shall join you properly all this time.”

They could not believe it at first. Chan, however, trudged over to them, grabbing onto whatever shoulder was nearest. “I mean it.”

He swore his brothers seemed happier in that moment than they had been cradling Jihoon’s child.

“Well, what are we waiting for?!” Soonyoung roared, already leaving the entrance. “Let us empty the coffers!”

And as the five most powerful men in Rome ran to be utterly gone with alcohol, Chan could not help but huff out a laugh, and hoped he had done his primus pilus a favour.

YOU HAD ALWAYS ADORED THE WAY YOUR HUSBAND SLEPT.

As one of the most esteemed, strongest generals ever walked on Roman soil, Lee Jihoon looked as vulnerable as your baby son as he lay next to you. His body rose and fell with every breath, his arm a strong comfort around you.

You could not help the smile that slipped past your mouth, watching him rest so peacefully after two years. You loved every single inch of your husband, but these little pieces of him, offered to you on rare occasions—with the sun bleeding through the bedroom windows, cool air drifting inside, kissing your skin—were a treasure rarer than all the wealths of the empire.

You dared not wake him, lest the moment ended, only allowing your fingers to stretch a little forward. Your fingertips caressed the small cuts, scars on his skin, wishing you could fill every crevice of his battle-worn face with your liquid love.

How beautiful he was, with or without what his experiences added onto him.

Perhaps he could feel the adoration radiating off of you, for he began to stir faintly, humming to your caresses. His arm around you pulled you closer, and you were mere inches from face.

What fortune to be so close to him, because you witnessed his eyes flutter open. Dark, chocolate irises welcomed you, and you wished with your heart that you could dive into them, and be forever lost in their haze.

“Morning,” you uttered, smiling.

He offered a lazy one in return. “Morning, my love.”

You almost beamed. “I love it when you say that.”

His brow raised absentmindedly. “What? Morning?”

You tutted. “I think you need to sleep some more.”

“Hmmm…” he nuzzled into your neck, closing his eyes. “I will if you sleep with me.”

“But I already am.”

He craned his head back, nestled in your chest. “I think you know what I mean, vita.”

Involuntarily, you caught your lower lip between your teeth, and by the look on Jihoon’s face, he had half a mind to copy your actions.

Perhaps you would have let him too, if you did not hear a suspicious sound.

You perked up, head turning towards the door, where the origins of the voice—voices, as you listened in—lay. Your husband, catching onto your change of countenance, stretched himself before sitting up straighter, eyes squinting at the door.

Grabbing onto your clothes, which lay unceremoniously on the floor, you half-dressed yourselves before you reached just before the entrance of the room. The voices were much louder, a sense of agitation filling each one.

The loudest of the noise, amongst all the bickering, was a soft wail.

“—you stupid prick, I told you not to feed it that!”

“Well how was I supposed to know what it likes?”

“I hope you and Seokmin never have children—”

“Gods, Jihoon is going to be raging mad—!”

“What it deserves for being called Cheol—!”

You did not get to hear the end of the discussion, for Jihoon grabbed onto the doorknob and burst open the door.

Shrieks were heard on the entrance, five centurions stumbling into your bedroom, one with a special, wailing package in his hand.

“By the gods!” your husband exclaimed, shaking his head at his subordinates, scrambling to stand straight. “What are you all doing, muttering about behind our door?”

“Uhh…general!” Wonwoo declared, earning a sharp hiss from his friends. “We actually…uhhh…” He looked at the others, confused. “What were we here for?”

Soonyoung, rubbing his temples, seethed, “Seungcheol, you idiot!”

“Ah, yes!” Wonwoo straightened, deepening his voice to pretend sobriety. “Seungcheol!”

Seokmin’s eyes widened. “But Seungcheol died years ago!”

Seungkwan then smacked him around the head. “Not that Seungcheol, you fucking idiot!”

You are the fucking idiot, you ugly bastard!”

You glanced at Chan, whose focus only lay on the crying child. The one who held him looked as if he might burst into tears too, but you spoke up before you had any more crying children in the house. “Here, let me tend to him.”

The boy handed you your son, but you noticed he dared not look you in the eye. “Is something the matter?” you asked him softly.

Soonyoung scoffed at your question. “Silly little virgin has been shitting his toga ever since he heard you two fucking like rabid dogs.”

“Watch your filthy mouth,” your husband guttered, which had the scolded-man shrinking back behind Wonwoo.

Seokmin snickered, Seungkwan smirking as you glanced at the youngest. “Chan…” you trailed off, not really sure on what to say.

Thankfully, your husband seemed to have a solution. “Chan, please grow up,” he remarked, crossing his arms over his tousled clothing. “You were holding my child mere seconds ago.”

“He just needs to stick his cock into someone,” Seungkwan said, a bit too matter-of-factly.

“Or something,” added Seokmin, the honey wine clearly still talking.

You saw Chan physically recoil from the statement. “What did you even have in mind?” Wonwoo asked, nose scrunching in distaste. “Actually, I do not want to know.”

“Sober up, the lot of you,” you said, unable to stay serious, despite the death glares Jihoon offered them. “I need you all to help me clean the place up today.”

Everyone unanimously groaned, causing the latter to get irritated. “If I hear a sound from you pathetic drunkards, then it’s 40 miles around the city.”

Soonyoung turned his head to you, clearly exasperated. “_____, did you bite his cock or something?”

“Soonyoung!” You gasped.

“I need to lie down,” Wonwoo groaned, turning towards the door. “I shall be dunking myself in a well nearby.”

“Take Seokmin with you,” Seungkwan drawled, fixing his hair. “Maybe this time he will actually drown.”

“If I drown little man, I’m taking you with me,” the man snapped.

“Chan, dear, please sort them out,” you requested, hearing him sigh.

“I shall try my best, my lady,” he mumbled, knowing that his best efforts will be in vain.

As he began to leave, you called out his name. He looked back, and you smiled as you rocked Seungcheol in your arms. “You are his favourite, Chan.”

The revelation had his frown morphing into a small smile, bowing his head ever so slightly before turning to his centurions. “Let us give our general some privacy.”

Seokmin grumbled underneath his breath, following after Chan. “As if they had not had enough privacy…could have made another baby for all we know…”

Jihoon focused his gaze on Soonyoung and Seungkwan. “Remember. No fucking about or it’s 40 miles.”

The latter waved his hand, opening the door. “Yes, yes, we are aware.”

Soonyoung mocked a salute, adorning a most dramatic drawl. “Of course, your excellency, no doubt at all, your royal highness, please, do give us further idiotic orders to taunt us with, your magnanimous majesty!”

Jihoon’s glare did not waver. “Get out.”

“…right on, general.”

And so the last of the centurions were out, you standing at the door as they made to leave. Before they exited, though, they all simultaneously waved at you, some a bit too enthusiastically, others a soft gesture.

“Ave, _____! Ave, general!”

And they left, laughing already with plans to bring more merriment into their lives.

Your husband joined you, leaning against the opposite door frame. “I have a feeling they’re going to drag poor Chan into some brothel.”

“I think the boy would pass out before that would take place,” you said, chuckling as you glanced down at your child. “At least he takes care of Cheol well.”

“Does he?“

“…better than the average soldier, then.”

“At least they had fun yesterday.” Jihoon took a step closer, observing his son giggling at his mother’s entertainment. “Though they test my patience everyday, they deserve all the reward.”

“Do not exclude yourself, my love,” you reminded him. “You did not enslave yourself to your armies to disregard yourself like that.”

“I do not exclude myself.” His hand reached out, holding Seungcheol’s little head. How strange, that his entire head could fit in his palm. “I am simply happy with what I have right now.”

He offered you a smile. “I am more than happy with you and my son beside me. I ask for nothing more.”

You returned his smile, heart bursting at the seams as he leaned in, enveloping your lips with his in a sweet kiss.

And as the two of you played with your son in the morning light of the Roman sun, you snuck glances at your husband, the light of the Empire. The Eagle of Rome.

Finally, your home was now complete.

#seventeen imagines #lee jihoon imagines #seventeen smut #lee jihoon smut #woozi imagines #woozi smut #svt imagines #svt smut #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #lee jihoon x reader #woozi x reader #jihoon imagines #jihoon smut #jihoon x reader

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months ago

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Why does Leona call MC an herbivore, what does herbivore mean to Leona

I have previously spoken about this topic (among other characters’ ways of referring to Yuu) here. You can also read this post, where I discuss herbivores more in-depth. Please give those a read! But to summarize the relevant details for Leona:

“Herbivore” is NOT a nickname he uses exclusively for Yuu. There are multiple instances in which he uses the term to refer to groups of people (typically including humans) or other individuals that are NOT Yuu.

It’s a common misconception within the fandom that “herbivore” is Leona’s special nickname for Yuu simply because of how often the term is used in fandom works to refer to them. This same misconception also happens with Malleus’s use of “child of man”.

Leona does have nicknames for people, but not for Yuu. For example, he calls Malleus "lizard" and Idia "daikon radish sprout".

The meaning of “herbivore” is NOT meant to be taken by its traditional dictionary definition (“a creature that eats only plants”) or even the slang definition (“a man who expresses little to no interest in marriage and/or is not assertive in romantic relationships”). Neither definition makes sense in context.

The most likely definition of herbivore can be inferred by how Leona acts and uses the term. He’s often using “herbivore” when he’s annoyed or talking down to others. From this, we can glean that he’s using the term in a derogatory way to imply he is “above” others in rank or strength. Recall that Leona himself is a lion/carnivore and therefore he is “above” herbivores in the food chain. It’s not meant to be a cute or endearing nickname, it’s a subtle way to insult others and to assert his own dominance over them.

Leona has also been noted to use “omnivore”; he refers to Fellow Honest with this term and has yet to use it for anyone else. The reasoning Leona gives for giving Fellow that label is because of Fellow’s opportunistic behavior. He’ll suck up to whoever he has to in order to get whatever “food” (benefits) he can and get ahead.

Interestingly, Leona has occasionally mentioned carnivores (such as in his voice line about Fellow being an omnivore), but has yet to call anyone specific a carnivore. Maybe this is because he has yet to face anyone he deems to be on “his” level.

#twisted wonderland #twst #Leona Kingscholar #Fellow Honest #Ernesto Foulworth #notes from the writing raven #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #question #Yuu #Idia Shroud #Malleus Draconia

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sisternightroad · 8 months ago

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Lady Oscar's flaws and weaknesses

In case someone is interested, I've written in an italian blog a small analysis of Oscar from Rose of Versailles, so I've translated it to post it here too.

Thank you for the dive into the past. To give some context, I primarily base myself on the manga because it is the original medium and, as almost always, the most complete. The original Oscar is very different from that of the anime, because the latter makes different narrative choices from the beginning. Among other things, since Oscar is not born as a protagonist but as a sidekick to Marie Antoinette, her character is initially less deep and set up differently.

Moreover, the anime has a predominantly dark and dramatic tone, but the contents have been overall very softened, especially in the edition with Italian dubbing, while the manga alternates comic moments with moments of great tragedy and violence, even very brutal for a shojo of the time. But let’s cut to the chase:

From the beginning, Oscar is characterized as a tomboy, which serves as a recurring comic element in the story. Even at the time of her birth, her father mistakes her for a boy because she screams and thrashes about like a little boy.

[Oscar’s birth in volume 1 and a comic callback in volume 6]

Despite her refined and elegant appearance, she often behaves in a decidedly rude manner, spits and swears. In her character profile, the author emphasizes that she always behaves like a man and loves weapons, alcohol, occasionally going to drink in the commoners bars and that her flaw is that she is ready to start a fight.

[A snippet of Oscar’s profile and a brawl from volume 3]

Another thing went a bit lost among the transpositions is that Oscar is a huge troll. She often behaves in a brazen and insolent way to mock scandals, pettiness and gossip of court life. The funniest example is when her father wants her to organize a ball to find a husband, in the anime criminally reduced to an innocent scene. General Jarjayes asks her to commission a dress from the best tailor in Paris and Oscar shows up at the ball with a flashy dress uniform complete with bell-bottom pants in '70s style. To complete the work, she spends the evening dancing and flirting with her throng of admirers, even kissing two and threatening to duel a guy she stole the girlfriend from. Priceless.

[Lady Oscar happily trolling her father and her suitor Girodelle who, along with the other contenders, despair in the background in volume 6]

Moving on to more serious matters, in both versions Oscar is notoriously cool and detached, but in the manga she is less fickle, impulsive and reckless. She tends to be a risk-taker, but most of the time the risks she takes are calculated or at least justified. One of the first big examples is when she threatens Madame du Barry with her sword for trying to frame Oscar’s mother for the poisoning of a maid. In this case, she draws her sword in defense of her mother to scare du Barry, because she knows even the countess may not want it to be known what happened.

[Oscar threatens Countess du Barry with her sword in volume 2]

In addition, beneath her cold exterior, she often shows herself to be emotional and quick-tempered, characteristics that come out especially during the most dramatic moments, such as the killing of the child by the Duke of Guémené, when the black knight injures André’s eye or the soldiers of the French guard want to push her to punish them.

[Oscar getting furious about the extravagances orchestrated by the Duchess de Polignac in volume 4]

In the manga, Oscar does not live her military career as an imposition, but rather as a source of pride. Also for this reason, she shows from a very young age to be competitive, ambitious and even a bit arrogant. In fact, she is the one who personally requests the assignments of the capture of Jeanne de Valois or the arrest of the black knight, thanks to which she reaches the rank of brigadier general and, if she had not let the latter escape, she would have advanced at least one more rank. Moreover, in the comic she decides to join the French guard not to get away from Fersen, but to prove that she can make it even outside the privileged environment of the royal guard.

[An adorable little Oscar who already thinks big in volume 1]

Since Oscar, like all nobles, has always lived a privileged and protected existence, especially at the beginning she is naive and ignorant about the conditions of the world and the people around her. It is also for this reason that she is sometimes excessively indulgent towards Marie Antoinette and tends not to take into account André’s feelings for her, even though she knows he loves her.

[A moment of tragic realization on Oscar’s part in volume 5]

Finally, Oscar has an ambivalent relationship towards her femininity. While this does not represent a flaw in itself, it remains one of her major weaknesses that makes her suffer and rends her very vulnerable. While she is in every way a woman, she occupies a place that in a very rigid and hierarchical society is traditionally reserved for men and she wants to be treated like a man. For this reason, she often shows to consider feelings as something exclusively feminine to reject. This side of her identity cracks when Oscar’s expectations and desires as a woman and those as a soldier clash with each other, such as when she falls in love with Fersen and for the first time in her life she dresses as a woman for him or when her father wants to push her to retire from the army and marry Girodelle. This would force her in each case to give up an important part of her life and identity. Only at the end does she understand, after André dies and she stays by his side instead of returning immediately to the battlefield, in the scene that I find the most touching in the manga, that her feelings do not make her a “woman”, but human.

[Oscar crying over André’s death in volume 8, much better than that crap of episode 39]

I want to close by saying that this is a manga and a character that I love very much also and especially for its shortcomings and very human imperfections. It is these gaps that push her to mature beyond the boundaries of her golden cage and to break down the social and personal barriers that prevent her from living her life not simply as a man or a woman but as herself.

It is by navigating her complex and difficult feelings, touching firsthand the despair of ordinary people and gaining the respect of her rebellious subordinates that she understands that she is only a small cog in the great wheel of History and thus comes to choose which side of it she really wants to be on.

#rose of versailles #versailles no bara #lady oscar #riyoko ikeda #manga #oscar françois de jarjayes #analysis #character analysis

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otaku553 · 1 year ago

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Hello! It’s me! And I’m back on my crossover bs again

A few years ago I had an idea for a Kirby demon slayer crossover but at the time my ideas for Meta Knight weren’t fully fleshed out. You can read some more of my ideas in the read more!

So originally my idea was that Kirby was an extremely talented young urchin that Meta Knight picked up in a town or a forest somewhere. Meta is the last remaining member of the Star Estate, a group of talents swordsman in the Corps that was nearly completely wiped out within the last century. Meta Knight, finding Kirby, saw not only extreme power and raw potential, but also a way to revive the Star Estate through a young talent that may grow up to be even stronger than him.

This inevitably happens, but happens much sooner than Meta expects, when Kirby is only 10 years old. Kirby learns the Breathing Style of the stars that Meta teaches him, but also has a terrifying talent for mimicry, and is able to temporarily copy any Breathing Style that he witnesses. Having surpassed Meta Knight in power and rank, Kirby takes Meta Knight’s official seat among the Hashira. That said, Kirby doesn’t have much of a mind for the more tactical and official side of the Corps’s duties, so Meta tends to take over for him during meetings.

Reactions to Kirby’s presence are mixed. Many of the Hashira bear some amount ill will against Meta, believing that Meta took in a child and trained him just to revive the seat of the Stars. They dislike that a child is fighting their battles for them, but have to begrudgingly acknowledge Kirby’s sheer strength. This results in a lot of people being rather surprised at just how tenderly Meta Knight treats his little ward, buying him little gifts and souvenirs wherever they go and making sure that he is healthy and safe.

Similarly to Urokodaki, Meta wears a mask to conceal his face, since he has been told that his face is too kind or too soft for his profession. He has offered to make Kirby one as well, but a mask would not do much to hide Kirby’s height and age anyways. Meta also carries two swords but only uses one— the second one is one of Kirby’s spares, just in case Kirby accidentally forgets or loses his own. (This happened about three times before Meta Knight started carrying the spare around.)

In this au, Dedede is a prefectural governor who continued ruling over his land after the daimyo-ruled han were abolished for prefectures. He comes from a long line of aristocracy, and is aware of demons wandering around at night but doesn’t get involved much with the demon slaying side of things. Meta is an old friend of his, and keeps him updated on recent local happenings with the demons.

Here are the two of them separately!

#kirby gijinka #meta knight #demon slayer #kny crossover #kirby kny crossover

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cenittxnadir · 1 year ago

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Master Chief Dating Headcanons

It is not news that John is not the most social of the group. Not even from the Blue Team. That position will probably be split between Kelly and Fred. So seeing John in a relationship is something completely new and unexpected, but it was nice to see, especially for the rest of the team who jumped at the opportunity to annoy him. It's not every day you get to outsmart Master Chief.

Leaving this clear, expect a lot of doubts and awkward moments with him, not in a negative way, this is all new to him but he is willing to learn your likes and dislikes while he discovers things that the UNSC has long been in charge of taking away from him.

John can be someone quite serious but behind closed doors and among his fellow Spartans he is one of the most relaxed, you won't see him laughing out loud or being flashy but with you he feels like he can be that child he couldn't be, not in a sense of immaturity but for the first time he feels that there is someone who can take care of him.

Dating Spartan is complicated, no matter what generation is. Everyone has trouble interacting outside of their fellow Spartans. So it is not something that despairs you, you will have to be very patient if you want to have a relationship with them.

In John's case, it's probably you who initiated the physical contact part, he doesn't mention it verbally but he really likes the attention you can give him and the day you told him how much you liked his hugs, he kept asking you if you wanted one He was happy, he felt that he was doing good in the relationship.

Consent for John is something vital, he is not used to being touched in a more intimate way, so all the time he will be asking you if he can hold your hand or hug you. He does not do it out of shyness but rather out of respect for your personal space. The last thing he wants is to bother you and it's the same thing he expects of you.

He's the epitome of a provider, something he didn't even know he was. Not only in the economic and material part. He is a protector by nature, so expect him to be aware of everything that happens with you even if you don't mention anything to him, so be careful trying to lie to him or hide something from him, he probably already knows but he won't tell you anything. Maybe you have your reasons for not telling him, but be very careful with this, he may feel insecure, so it is best to maintain good communication.

Speaking of economics, Spartans do have a salary, most of it goes into savings, since the UNSC provides them with all their needs. So taking this into account and John's military rank, he has a few zeros in his pocket. So when he discovered that many couples gave each other gifts as a sign of affection, he took this method to compensate you every time he had to go on a long mission. Soon after, he practically became your sugar daddy until the gifts were enough and you decided to put a stop to it. You explained him that a hug from him after so long without seeing him was worth more than any material gift.

John, being a protector, will be watching you at any time, not because he distrusts you but because you are important to him and he does not want anything bad to happen to you, he has had enough bad things in his life, you are one of the few good things that has. He can become jealous, but he would not do anything extreme or sick, as long as your life is not compromised, in case something like this happens, he will not hesitate for a second to use all possible means to protect you, even if it means abusing his of position.

In conclusion, you are the most precious thing he has, he will not let anything bad happen to you and that is a promise he made the day you agreed to be with him. Despite his appearance, John has learned to be more relaxed and enjoy the little things more, as long as you are by his side to show him how valuable his effort has been all these years and that now it is his turn to be taken care of by someone else.

#john 117 #master chief x reader #halo infinite #spartan 117 #jhon 117 x reader #john 117 x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #master chief #halo x reader

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forest-hashira · 6 months ago

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Noble Blood - Chapter Ten

...hi guys. long time no see... i promise i didn't mean to make you guys wait almost two months for an update, but. i survived a hurricane and got a new puppy among other Life Things in the meantime, so. you know. also i had to split this chapter yet again, so the events i thought would be contained in one chapter (ch8) now spans four whole chapters, which means more for you guys to read! so i hope that makes up for it.

also, going forward, satoru's mother will be referred to as "gojo-hime", with "-hime" being an honorific used for high ranking/noble ladies. i am aware that gojohime is also a ship, but that is not what i'm referring to in this fic! for clarification purposes it will always include the hyphen in between the name and the honorific. anyways, hope you guys enjoy!

fic masterlist | read on ao3 | wc: ~6.2k | cw: gender neutral reader, the beginning of the aftermath of finding reader's dragon, satoru's dad is once again a dick, light angst, some crying, brief moment of light violence, i think that's it!

You exchanged a baffled look with your friends at the sound of your mother’s rage, though for a moment none of you moved, unsure of what you should do. When the sound of your mother’s voice grew closer, though, her anger practically rattling the walls, you nearly toppled out of your seat in your rush to meet her.

“Ma’am, you can’t go that way without—”

“I will search every inch of this estate if I have to!” your mother interrupted, and you opened the door to the dining room just in time to see her turn on the staff that were attempting to stop her. Her hair was a mess, a bit tangled and clearly unbrushed as it fell around her shoulders. She still wore her robe, a small bit of the fabric of her pajamas peeking out at the neck; it was unclear if she’d slept fitfully the night before, or if she’d even slept at all, but even with signs of sleep draped over her, she was a force to be reckoned with.

“If you do not tell me where my child is right this instant I will tear this house apart, starting right here in the hallway. I’ll pull the floorboards up with my bare hands. What has that man done with my baby?”

The servants in the hallway stood frozen in place, more than one of them having gone pale faced at your mother’s rage, but what drove you to call out to her wasn’t pity, it was the ache in your chest that had been there since you’d been commanded to stay the night away from home.

“I’m here, mom,” you said, stepping out of the dining room, still clutching Takara to your chest. “I’m right here.”

The sound of your voice had your mother whirling around again, her eyes wide as she finally caught sight of you. “Oh thank god,” she choked out, closing the distance between you in just a few steps and falling to her knees before you. With tears in her eyes, she looked you over for any sign of injury, taking your face in her hands and tilting your head back and forth, her voice nearly frantic as she repeatedly asked “What happened? Did they do anything to you? Are you hurt?”

“Nobody did anything to me, I’m not hurt,” you told her, your own eyes filling with tears now that you were reunited with your mother. “I’m okay.”

Your mother seemed to relax a bit at your reassurances, but when Takara let out a small, curious noise from her spot in your arms, your mother startled a bit and looked down. When she caught sight of the creature in your hold, her eyes flew wide again.

“What—”

“She’s mine,” you said quietly. “Her name is Takara.”

As you spoke, Takara shifted slightly in your hold, resting her chin on the side of your hand and looking back up at your mother. She didn’t make a sound, though her emerald eyes remained unblinking all the while.

After another moment of staring at the hatchling in disbelief, your mother lifted her gaze to yours again, and her expression softened a bit. “She’s lovely,” she said quietly. “I told you you’d find your dragon soon, didn’t I?”

You nodded at her words, but when one of her hands released your face to stroke your hair, you felt your bottom lip begin to tremble as tears filled your eyes. “Yeah,” you agreed. “You did.” You didn’t protest as she carefully wiped away the tear that slipped down your cheek, though she didn’t otherwise acknowledge that you were crying, which you appreciated.

The moment between the two of you came to an abrupt end when Kenji and Niji raced out of the dining room, squeezing themselves between you and your mother, both of them sniffing you all over until the boys called them back. Seeing your friends’ dragons made you realize that your mother’s was absent.

“Where’s Spark?” you asked, brows furrowed slightly.

“Your father made him stay home,” she replied. “He wasn’t handling my mood very well, and probably would’ve just made the situation worse.” She stood, pulling her hands away from your face in the process, and offered you a smile. Exhaustion was plain as day on her face, but it was clear she was trying to hide it for your sake, so you said nothing.

“Now,” she said, reaching towards you once again, as if to guide you down the hall and out the front door. “We should be getting home, don’t you think?”

Before you could give so much as a nod in response, a familiar voice set your heart racing with anxiety.

“They won’t be going anywhere for the next week,” Gojo-sama said, stepping into the hallway from who knew what room in the house. Despite the early hour, he looked as composed as ever, dressed in clothes that you could tell from barely a glance were more expensive than your family could ever hope to own, his greying hair combed back from his face, not a single strand out of place. His hands were tucked into the sleeves of his shirt, and he wore a placid yet stern expression.

Upon noticing his presence, the servants bowed deeply, then rushed to get out of his way. The rest of you – dragons included – turned to face him, practically frozen in place as you waited for him to speak again. Before you’d had to face him in the dragon housing the night before, you’d never fully understood why people feared your best friend’s father the way they did. It was clear to you now, though; his mere presence was enough to have you shaking, authority and muted anger practically radiating from him.

“And why, exactly, is that?” your mother asked. She was completely rigid at your side, but her voice was steady, not betraying any hesitance or fear she might have been feeling.

“Because the first week spent with a dragon after bonding with them is an incredibly delicate time, as I’m sure you’re aware,” Gojo-sama replied, his voice dripping with condescension. “And historically, that period is especially precarious and important for metallic dragons and their riders. It’s best to disturb them and their surroundings as little as possible. Which means they’ll both have to stay here for the time being, I’m afraid. They need someone to keep an eye on them, to make sure nothing is going wrong, and that the whole process is as smooth as possible.”

“Are you insinuating that I am not capable of caring for my own child? That our own home isn’t suitable for them and their dragon?” Your mother’s voice was sharper now, a hard edge you weren’t used to hearing from here, even when she was scolding you or disagreeing with your father.

“What if I am? Metallic dragons and their riders deserve the best of everything the world has to offer, and you and I both know which of our families is capable of providing that.”

The smug expression he wore didn’t last long. Her anger finally seeming to win against her fear of the man, your mother stormed towards Satoru's father and slapped him across the face before anyone else had a chance to stop her.

You, Satoru, and Suguru watched, wide-eyed, as your mother lifted her hand as if preparing to strike him again, but this time he caught her wrist.

His eyes burned as he glared at her. “I would advise against trying that again,” he growled, voice low and simmering with danger. “Your luck will not be so good a second time.”

“And I would advise you release me right this instant,” your mother bit back. “If you don’t I’ll scream so loud the whole settlement will hear, and I’ll tell every single person that you kidnapped my child. That wouldn’t be a very good look for you, now would it?”

Gojo-sama’s face flushed bright red all over, briefly disguising the handprint your mother had left on his cheek. Even from several feet back, you could see the fury in his cold eyes – the same blue as Satoru’s, but completely lacking the playful warmth – and he only seemed to tighten his grip on your mother’s wrist.

The silence that blanketed the hallway was deafening, no one even seeming to breathe as the stalemate between the two adults dragged on. Just when it seemed that Gojo-sama had decided he was going to exact some sort of punishment against your mother for her behavior, another person stepped into the hallway.

“Goshujin-sama,” the woman called out softly, and your eyes went wide when you realized who she was. With her pale skin and long white hair – an even purer white than Satoru’s, somehow – there was no mistaking the lady of the house; Satoru’s mother, Gojo-hime. You dared a glance over at Satoru, unsure what his reaction would be to seeing his mother intervene in this conflict, especially since you’d gotten the feeling that Satoru didn’t often see his mother, much less outside her bedroom.

Apparently equally as shocked by the woman’s appearance, both your mother and Satoru’s father turned to look at her. Your mother’s eyes were wide, and for the first time since she’d arrived, she looked almost embarrassed over her behavior. If Gojo-sama harbored such feelings, he did a much better job of disguising them.

“Gojo-fujin,” the man replied, his tone measured, almost cautious, as he looked over at his wife. “Are you feeling well? I’m sorry if our… unexpected guest has disturbed you at all.” His words earned him a scowl from your mother, though she offered no actual argument, most likely in respect of the woman before her.

“A servant came to fetch me when they noticed your disagreement,” Gojo-hime explained, carefully making her way over to her husband. “I know you both want what is best for the child and their dragon,” she added, placing a hand lightly on her husband’s shoulder once she reached his side. “But you have differing opinions on how to give them that.”

Her gentle gaze landed on her husband’s, and she offered him a smile. “Why don’t you and I discuss it in a bit?” she suggested. “In the meantime, you should let this kind woman return home. She was just worried about her child when they didn’t come home last night. Weren’t you?”

The last two words were directed at your mother, and she quickly nodded. “Yes, I was,” she agreed. “But I can see now that no harm has come to them. So if you would be so gracious to allow me to return home without argument, Gojo-sama, I will go willingly. And I will only return if I am summoned by you or Gojo-hime.”

Gojo-sama returned his gaze to your mother, clearly not thrilled by the proposal. He also seemed hesitant to disagree with his wife, though you weren’t entirely sure why; Satoru had never mentioned seeing his parents be even remotely affectionate with each other, and you found it hard to believe the man could actually feel love for another person, based on the way he’d treated you since you’d been caught with a metallic hatchling in your arms.

Eventually, though, he let out a sigh, and reluctantly released your mother’s wrist. “Very well,” he said, words clipped. “We will send for you once we’ve reached a decision on how to proceed." His eyes drifted to you for a moment, and he added, “Do not linger longer than you have to.”

With a nod, your mother was quick to turn away from the man and hurry back to you. She pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly to her chest for as long as she dared. It wasn’t long enough to soothe the ache in your chest, even when she dropped a kiss to the top of your head before she released you.

She turned back to the heads of the family, bowing low and murmuring, “Thank you, Gojo-hime, Gojo-sama,” before making her way down the hall. You understood why she didn’t look back at you again, but every step she took brought you closer to tears.

You startled slightly when a hand landed on your shoulder, but relaxed again when you saw that it was Satoru. More than anything, you wanted to turn and fall into him, to let your tears fall and let him comfort you the way you knew he would, but the humiliation of showing such emotion – which no doubt would be perceived as weakness – in front of Gojo-sama made you feel sick to your stomach. So, instead, you offered your friend a small nod of thanks.

When Gojo-hime called your name, her voice just as soft as before, you both turned back to face her. The smile she gave you was gentle, her eyes warm and kind as she really took in the sight of you. “Would it be okay if we talked for a bit?” she asked. “We can go back to my room, if you’d like. We’ll have more privacy.”

The words had barely left her lips before Satoru’s hand was falling from your shoulder. You were quick to look over at him, and what you saw broke your heart all over again; you’d never seen him look so defeated, apparently resigned to the fact that he was likely never going to get any quality time with his mother ever again, even if other people did.

Standing on the other side of the snowy haired boy, Suguru caught your attention, his expression painted with a worried frown that mirrored your own. Without even needing to exchange any words, you knew that the two of you were in agreement about what needed to happen.

“Only if Satoru can come with me.” As you spoke, you turned to face your friend’s mother, trying to remain respectful even as you asserted yourself.

Gojo-hime’s sparkling eyes drifted to her son, and her expression softened even more around the edges. “Of course he can come,” she agreed. “I would hate to separate you from your friends.”

Her words had your ears perking up a bit in interest. “Suguru can come too, then?” you asked hopefully; it didn’t seem fair to leave the other boy on his own if you and Satoru were to be whisked away for who knew how long.

“Absolutely, as long as that’s what he wants.” Her eyes drifted from her son to the dark haired boy then, her serene expression never changing.

Suguru was quick to nod in agreement, though he said nothing.

“Very well then,” Gojo-hime hummed, her gaze meeting yours once again. “You can all follow me.”

Though he barely moved, the woman squeezed her husband’s shoulder for a moment. “I’m more than capable of handling them on my own, goshujin-sama,” she told him. Her smile seemed a bit tighter as she spoke, her words almost too sweet when addressing the man.

Despite obviously being displeased by the unvoiced rejection, Gojo-sama made no attempt to argue, only sighed and nodded. “We will speak about this again later.”

“Of course we will.”

With one last glance at you, the Gojo family patriarch took his leave, heading down an adjacent hallway, heading off to a different part of the estate to… do whatever it was he did all day, you supposed.

“Shall we?” Gojo-hime said, smiling at the three of you and tilting her head slightly in the direction she had first come from.

Wordlessly, you nodded, adjusting your hold on Takara to where she was secure in one arm. Once your other hand was free, you reached out and took Satoru’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before you started after the woman. There was a small sound of surprise from your friends behind you, but they quickly fell into step, Kenji and Niji taking up the rear of your little parade. At one point you glanced over your shoulder to see how the boys were feeling about the situation, and you noticed that Satoru’s other hand was gripping Suguru’s; for some reason seeing that made your heart give a little flip.

Soon enough, Gojo-hime came to a stop in front of a wooden door, delicately carved with what appeared to be cranes and lotus flowers. She turned the knob and pushed it open, then turned to the three of you and ushered you into the room first, only stepping inside herself and closing the door once again once Kenji and Niji had cleared the threshold.

“Please, sit,” she encouraged, her smile never once leaving her face. “Wherever you’re most comfortable is fine, I don’t mind.”

The three of you sat down on some large floor cushions, all of them somehow both softer and more solid than you had expected. Once you were all settled, you realized you had wound up in between the boys, and for that you were privately relieved; having them on either side of you made you feel more secure. Kenji and Niji settled beside their respective masters, heads in their laps, eyes focused on Takara, where she now laid curled up in your own lap.

“Now, I know you’ve just had breakfast,” Satoru’s mother continued, “but would any of you like something to drink? Any tea, or anything like that?” When all three of you shook your heads, she settled down on her own cushion a few feet away, facing you. She spent a few moments in silence, apparently just taking all three of you in.

Feeling a bit uncomfortable under the weight of her gaze, no matter how kind, you allowed yourself to glance around the room. Despite the fact that the sun had risen a few hours before, the room was very dimly lit, the windows covered with heavy curtains, and the screens in the shoji door at the opposite end of the room seemed thicker than you were used to, not letting in as much light as the rest of the shoji doors in the rest of the house. You couldn’t help but wonder if the low lighting was because of her headaches. Satoru had told you before that, when he had his headaches, almost any amount of light felt like daggers in his eyes; maybe it was the same for his mother.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t go home with your mother.”

The words nearly made you jump with how quickly they drew you from your thoughts, and it took you a moment to realize they were directed at you.

“I’ll do my best to get you home to your parents as soon as possible,” Satoru’s mother promised. “But in the meantime, I’m glad to see that the clothes I sent for you this morning fit you.”

You nodded dumbly at her words, glancing down at your shirt. Seeing its color again had a question spilling from you before you could stop it. “Who do these clothes belong to? Satoru and Suguru don’t wear colors like this.”

Her expression grew sad at your enquiry and she dropped your gaze, though her smile remained intact. “I had a lot of clothes made when Satoru was very young,” she explained softly. “I… I had hoped for a long time that I would be able to have another baby, but it never happened.”

She met your eyes again with a small, bittersweet laugh. “But I accepted that years ago. I’m just glad the clothes won’t have to waste away in boxes anymore.”

Your throat felt tight as you listened to her speak, having not expected such an answer from her. It seemed almost miraculous that she could still be so kind after a hurt like that, and you were glad that she was so kind, so gentle, even if nobody would have blamed her if she’d grown bitter instead.

Maybe, you thought to yourself, she needs somewhere for all her love to go.

“Thank you,” you managed after a moment, blinking rapidly to keep from crying over what she had shared with you. “They’re very nice clothes, and I promise to take good care of them.”

“I wouldn’t be upset even if you destroyed them,” she assured you, then looked over at her son. “Satoru knows. He ruined more of his clothes when he was small than he would probably care to admit.”

When you turned to Satoru, you weren’t all that surprised to find he’d gone bright red, mumbling something under his breath about how it wasn’t his fault expensive clothes weren’t good to play in. The sight made you giggle, and you heard a soft chuckle from Suguru and another quiet, melodic laugh from Gojo-hime. With a groan, Satoru covered his face with his hands and flopped backwards, trying to escape the spotlight in any way he could.

Apparently deciding to have some mercy on her only child, Gojo-hime called your name again, waiting until your attention was back on her to speak again. “I really would like to know how you’re feeling about all this, and how you want to handle it.”

Your smile slipped at her words, and you took a moment to really consider what she was asking you. How did you feel? You weren’t really sure. Everything had happened so fast, you weren’t even entirely sure you’d processed all of it.

“Well,” you began tentatively. “It still doesn’t feel completely real, honestly. I mean… I’ve been waiting so long to meet my dragon, I guess I just kind of stopped thinking I ever would?” Your gaze dropped to Takara, who was already looking up at you, completely still except for her breathing. The corner of your lips twitched in the tiniest hint of a smile, and you stroked the top of her head lightly with a fingertip.

“I’m thrilled to finally have my dragon, of course, but… I just don’t understand why I’m the only person to bond with a metallic dragon in so long.” Your voice grew quieter and quieter as you spoke, until your words were barely above a whisper. “Why me? What makes me more special than anyone else? I’m not even from one of the big clans.”

You lifted your head to meet Gojo-hime’s gaze yet again; though her eyes were so much darker than Satoru’s, you could see the same warmth in them, the same openness. Despite your best efforts, you felt tears spring to your eyes once more. “Why did it have to be me? I never wanted to be anything special. I just wanted to meet my dragon and go back to how things were, living at home with my parents and spending time with my friends. I didn’t want to be anyone important, I just wanted to be me.”

By the time you finished speaking, your vision was completely blurred over and tears were pouring down your cheeks. Your breathing turned shallower, more like hiccups than regular breathing, and when you felt two sets of arms wrap around you, two warm, steady presences holding you between them, you only began to cry harder. Everything you’d kept bottled up, even beyond the previous day’s events, came pouring out of you, and you were powerless to stop it at all.

The feeling of two soft, slender hands cradling your cheeks caused you to finally lift your head from where it had fallen against Satoru’s shoulder, and you sniffled weakly as Gojo-hime carefully wiped your tears away.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, thumbs stroking lightly over your cheekbones. “You were always going to be important. Everyone is important in their own way.”

“But some people are really important,” you replied quietly, still trying to quell your tears.

She only shook her head at you. “Everyone is equally important, okay? Everyone. I’m not more important than the three of you, or more important than any of the staff that work here at the estate. None of us can do what we do without each other.”

You were silent for a moment, but eventually you gave a small nod. “Okay…” you whispered. Sniffling again, you let yourself lean into her touch, your eyes fluttering shut as she continued to wipe your tears away.

“I don’t know why it was you,” she continued after a moment. “I wish I had an answer for that, but I don’t. But I do know that you’re going to do great things. Whatever reason you were chosen for, no matter what it is, you will be more than capable of living up to it.”

“How do you know that?”

Gojo-hime just smiled at you, her genuine affection for you spilling out in her words. “Because you won’t have to do it alone. The people who love you will help you through it all.”

You wanted to ask how she could be so sure, ask her why she was so confident that you would eventually be able to do whatever needed to be done, but you didn’t want to argue. Knowing she had faith in you was enough for the moment, and you nodded slightly, allowing her words to reassure you, at least for the time being.

Once she was convinced you believed her, Gojo-hime pulled her hands from your cheeks, moving back to her seat. She allowed you a moment to compose yourself and wipe the few remaining tears from your face before she changed subjects a bit.

“How do you want to handle this, sweetheart?” she asked. “I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to convince my husband to agree to everything, but if I know where to start, it will be a bit easier to get him to compromise.”

“I want to go home,” you answered, almost before she finished speaking. “I miss my parents, and I want to go home. As soon as possible.”

“Of course. It’s clear that your mother wants you back home as soon as possible, too, so I will do my best to make that happen. Anything else?”

Knowing she would sit patiently and wait for however long it took for you to come up with an answer did a great deal to ease your mind, and took off the pressure to already know exactly what you wanted. “I think… it would probably be good for me to train with Yaga-sensei. My parents will help me as much as they can, I know, but… metallic dragons don’t show up for no reason, right? And I need to be as prepared as possible for whatever is coming.”

Hearing yourself say those words aloud was almost surreal; it was a mature take on the situation, a logical next step, but you weren’t ready to be mature like that yet. You wanted to be a kid for a little while longer, to spend time with your friends without responsibilities for another year or two, but that clearly was no longer in the cards for you. Growing up was coming sooner rather than later.

You spent a bit longer considering what you wanted and telling Gojo-hime those things as you decided them. She’d said she probably wouldn’t be able to get you everything you wanted, but she had promised to try her best, so you had hope. It was hard to gauge exactly how long you’d spent in the room, due to the reduced amount of light, but it felt like you’d been there for ages. Not in a bad way, though; being around Gojo-hime with your friends beside you and your dragon in your lap was rather peaceful, actually, even if the situation wasn’t ideal.

When you finally felt you had covered all your bases, you glanced over at Satoru, the smile he offered you doing wonders to boost your confidence that you’d done well. Suguru wore a smile for you, too, when you turned and looked at him. Though his smile was a bit softer than Satoru’s, it was no less encouraging, and you felt the last bit of tension bleed from your shoulders.

“Thank you, Gojo-hime,” you said, turning back to face the woman. “I feel a lot better now that I’ve gotten to talk it out a bit.”

“You’re very welcome, sweetheart. I know this is a lot, and I wanted to give you an opportunity to take it in.” She hadn’t said anything about it in all the time you and your friends had been in the room with her, but you could tell how tired she was. “I won’t keep you here any longer, though. You can go if you’re ready.”

You nodded, picking Takara up with one hand and carefully standing from your seat. The hatchling shifted in your hold, making a small mumbling noise before falling back asleep. You could hear your friends standing from their seats just behind you, and you bowed to the Gojo matriarch as you thanked her once again.

She waved you off with a quiet laugh. “There’s no need for those kinds of formalities when Gojo-sama isn’t around,” she promised.

A bit embarrassed, you nodded, then turned with the boys to leave the room and give Gojo-hime a chance to rest. You turned back almost instantly though, a question you were eager to have answered jumping to the front of your mind. “Where is your dragon?” you asked curiously. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with a dragon before.”

Her expression brightened a bit as she answered, “Oh, she stays in one of the housing buildings on the other side of the estate. You met her last night.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “I did?”

“You did,” she confirmed. “Takara is her daughter.”

Eyes flying wide with shock, you blinked dumbly a few times, before uttering a very intelligent, “Oh.”

Your response drew another soft laugh from the woman’s lips, though it was clear she wasn’t making fun of you. “Funny how those things work out sometimes, hm?” she mused, then pushed herself to her feet.

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly, once again turning to give Gojo-hime her space back. Before you’d taken more than just a couple of steps, though, you heard her voice call out again.

“Satoru, could you come here for a moment, please?”

Pausing, you exchanged a look with your best friend, only continuing on when he gave you a nod. Suguru opened the door, and you stepped out into the hallway, Suguru and Niji close behind. You turned back towards the room as Suguru pulled the door closed behind himself, and in the crack of the open doorway, you caught a glimpse of Satoru hugging his mother tightly, her arms wrapped around him as she pressed a kiss to the top of his head. You were quick to look away, not wanting to intrude on such a private moment.

The next day, after what you could only assume was a very long discussion with his wife, Gojo-sama summoned your mother back to the estate to discuss his proposal for your life going forward; thankfully you were in the room for the discussion, too. Gojo-hime had been right when she’d told you her husband wouldn’t agree to everything you’d asked for, but he had conceded to more than you had thought.

“Your child will stay here at the estate for the remainder of the bonding period, but after that they can return home with you for a while. Once their dragon is big enough to begin training under Yaga, they will live here for most of the week, but will be allowed to return home to you and your husband a day or two each week.”

“That is not acceptable,” your mother was quick to interrupt, already beginning to scowl at Satoru’s father.

“Which part specifically?” he asked, already looking a bit exasperated with the whole situation.

“Expecting my child to live away from me most of the week for the foreseeable future. I won’t stand for it.” As stubborn as your mother was, you knew that this was one thing she would not allow Gojo-sama to deny her.

He let out a long sigh through his nose, closing his eyes for a moment as he asked, “What would you suggest as an alternative, then? Because it was your child’s idea to train with Yaga in the first place, and I doubt you want to deny them that opportunity any more than I do.”

Apparently a bit surprised that you were the one who had suggested training at the estate, your mother glanced at you briefly before returning her attention to the man before you. “I want them home every night for dinner and to sleep in their own bed,” she said. “They can be here during the day for training, and even for academic lessons, if that’s something they want, but they will be home to eat dinner with myself and my husband every evening, without exception, and will get to sleep in their own bed overnight.”

For a long moment – one that seemed to stretch on for hours rather than seconds – the two adults stared each other down, neither of them apparently willing to back down on the subject. The apparent stalemate they were in made you worry; what would your mother do if Gojo-sama told her no? And what would Gojo-sama do if your mother caused a scene? You were fairly certain you didn’t want to know.

Eventually, the man seemed to resign himself to the fact that this was not an argument he was willing to have, at least not right that second. “Fine,” he huffed. “They will spend their days here, and evenings at home with you.” He turned his attention to you, then continued. “Do you want to attend academic lessons with Satoru and Geto-kun?”

It rubbed you the wrong way that he didn’t refer to Suguru by his first name, even after the boy had been living in his house for nearly three years, but at the same time you were more than a little glad there was no apparent sense of familiarity between them. “…May I have some time to consider it?” you asked after a moment, hoping he would agree, because really, you didn’t know what you wanted just then. You felt your shoulders sag slightly with relief when he gave you a short nod before returning his attention to your mother.

“Once the bonding period has come to an end and the festival is over, I will see them escorted home to you. Are those terms satisfactory?”

“Festival?” you and your mother parroted together. Nothing had been said to you about a festival, so you were beyond confused.

“Yes, the festival,” Gojo-sama confirmed. “There has always been an elaborate celebration held when a metallic dragon appears and bonds with a human.”

“But nobody said anything about—” you began, but were swiftly cut off.

“And I apologize for that,” the man said, looking at you once again with his cold blue eyes. “But the whole celebration is non negotiable, I’m afraid. It is going to happen after your bonding period is over. That is final.”

His tone left no room for argument, and you felt your words of protest die in your throat. Tears burned your eyes as you nodded, whispering a small, “Yes, Gojo-sama,” as you dropped your gaze to your lap, where Takara lay curled up and sound asleep. The rest of the conversation between the two adults faded to background noise as you fought not to cry; you knew your mother would fill you in later on anything you missed or didn’t understand.

When the two of you were finally dismissed, all you felt was relief. You kept your head down as you stood from where you’d been kneeling on the floor and followed your mother out of the room. She stopped once she heard the door shut behind the two of you, turning to face you in an instant and pulling you close, though she was careful not to crush Takara between you.

Unable to hold back any longer, you cried into your mother’s shirt, hiccuping nearly nonsensical statements about how you didn’t want to be the center of attention, didn’t want to be the reason for a festival; about how you wanted to go home and be with her and your father because you missed them.

“I know, baby. I know,” your mother soothed, rubbing your back and resting her cheek atop your head. “It’s all going to be just fine, though, I promise. Everything will be over and you’ll be back home before you even know it.”

“But it feels like so long,” you wept, words muffled by fabric since you didn’t bother to lift your head from her chest. “I feel like I’ve already been here forever.”

“It’s just a few more days though,” she assured you. “And besides, you have your friends here with you to pass the time. You’re going to be alright.”

“Do you promise?” you asked, finally peeking up from her chest.

“Yes,” she murmured, kissing your forehead. “I promise.”

ok so, while i am in the process of learning japanese currently, i am by no means fluent, so the titles/honorifics that satoru's parents use for each other are based on some research i did! honorifics are confusing so i think i used them correctly, if not please don't skin me. also they are intentionally kind of archaic/ obsolete/overly formal, to fit with the traditions and dynamics of the family and the semi-historical setting of the fic.

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gale-gentlepenguin · 11 days ago

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Gale Reviews: EPIC: The Musical

(Thanks to @knightsweeties for this image)

Now this maybe my most unique review. As technically speaking. This is a Concept Album that then became a unique full on musical.

Epic is a musical adaptation of Homer's The Odyssey created by Jorge Rivera-Herrans.

And this means I will not be discussing the Visual Quality. Which is something I am heavily reliant on for my reviews of things.

But for such a special case. I think I have found my areas of review

The Plot

The Characters

The Music: (Are the songs good? Are they good Narrative? What do the songs say)

The Themes (What are the moral lessons)

Inspiration vs Interpretation (What does it do different from The Odyssey?)

Final Thoughts

_____________________________________________________________

The Plot

The story takes place at the very last days of the Trojan war. Odysseus and his allies are inside the Trojan horse. (A complex monument to Athena to trick the Trojans to let them into their city) They want to end the war and go back to their families.

(The Horse and The Infant)

The crew bust out of the wooden horse and proceed to attack the city, rescue Helen (the whole reason they are in the war in the first place) and finish this war.

During the invasion, Zeus gives Odysseus a vision of his death, which he says can only be prevented by killing the threat here and now. And shockingly, Odysseus finds out the threat... is an Infant.

Zeus and the gods tell him that this baby will grow up and murder him along with everyone he loves Unless he kills him now. (Including his Wife, Penelope)

Odysseus wrestles with this morally as the child reminds him of his own son who he hasnt seen in 10 years. But eventually does kill the baby by dropping him off the side of a wall (Just a man)

After the raid, Odysseus and his fleet leave to go home to Ithaca. But during the trip they realize they are out of food and must find some or they will starve before making it home (Full Speed Ahead) So Odysseus and his best buddy, Polities go to check the first island they find.

Polities notices Odysseus is obviously a mess and tells him he needs to be more accepting of life and others (Open arms) which allows them to talk with the Lotus Eaters, who tell them where they can find food.

After this, Athena slips into Odysseus' mind to tell him to get a grip by reminding him of his past (Warrior of the Mind)

Ending the first saga (Troy Saga)

The crew go to the cave and find a ton of sheep, enough to feed the entire fleet, but Unfortunately find out that this cave has a Cyclops that is pretty ticked about them killing his Sheep. (Polyphemus)

Despite trying to negotiate, the Cyclops attacks (Survive) The result has Odysseus losing Polities along with several soldiers. But Cleverly the wine they gave the Cyclops was drugged with the Lotus that the lotus eaters had given them earlier. The crew Blinds Polyphemus and Escapes (Remember them) After which they steal his sheep and right as they leave, Odysseus reveals his name and that Polyphemus will Remember this pain. Which was not a smart move.

Athena sees this as proof that Odysseus has changed and she is Done (My Goodbye) so she tells Odysseus she is leaving. Odysseus tells her not to let the door hit her on the way out. As he has some grievances

(End of the Cyclops saga)

And because of Plot, a Storm appears and is making it impossible for Odysseus and Company to get home (Storm). But they thankfully find some Floating Islands which happen to be the home of the Wind god Aeolus, whom Odysseus believes can help them, but after what happened the crew is starting to have doubts, including Eurylochus (Luck Runs Out). But Odysseus pulls rank and says we going to ask anyway.

So Odysseus meets with Aeolus who helps them if he plays a game. Aeolus put the storm in a bag and tells him no one can open it or it will release the storm. While also spreading a rumor among the crew that the bag Odysseus is holding has treasure. (Keep your friends close) And Odysseus tells them its a rumor and that NO ONE can open the bag. His Paranoia keeps him awake for 9 days as they sail across the calm sea. But unfortunately when he fell asleep, SOMEONE opened the bag and the storm got free, blowing them to the land of Giants... where Poseidon happened to be.

Poseidon reveals that he knows about what they did to Polyphemus and He is not happy. As surprise, Thats his kid. And decides to teach Odysseus a lesson about how "Ruthlessness is Mercy upon ourselves" (Ruthlessness). The sea god wipes out the fleet, leaving only 43 men under Odysseus command. But before Poseidon could finish Odysseus and the last ship. Odysseus used the last of the wind in the bag to escape.

(End of the ocean Saga)

Odysseus and the remains of his crew end up on an island. Odysseus is pretty shaken over the whole thing and tells Eurylochus to hold whatever he was going to say and go scout. Eurylochus takes some men and goes scouting, only to come back alone. He reveals the men got turned into pigs by a powerful Sorceress, Circe/ (Puppeteer).

Odysseus goes off on his own to go plan how to deal with the powerful magic user when Hermes finds him and gives him a flower that will counter Circe's Magic. (Wouldn't you like). So with this he goes and confronts Circe alone.

Odysseus and Circe clash and are basically even until Odysseus managed to get his sword at her throat (Done For). But Circe decides to use the power of seduction to get a handle on him. Which fails as Odysseus is too in love with his Wife, Penelope to fall for the seduction, and he simply pleads with her to free his friends. (There are other ways). Circe, moved by his devotion tells him that there maybe someone that could help him, but the man is dead and that they would need to go to the underworld to find him.

(End of the Circe Saga)

Odysseus and Crew make it to the underworld where as they are searching for the Prophet Tiresias, Odysseus is haunted by the deaths of his comrades, Polites, and then by his mother who died of a broken heart waiting for him to come home. (Underworld).

They Find the Prophet who says that he doesnt see a world where he helps him get home, but does foreshadow events of the future, including how the man that is with Odysseus' wife is haunting and has a trail of bodies behind him (No Longer you).

Odysseus realizes that if he wants to get home, he must embrace Ruthlessness and become a monster. (Monster) And so the group leave the underworld.

(End of the First Half. End of the Underworld Saga)

Sirens appear and one pretends to be Penelope to get Odysseus to jump in the water. But Odysseus manages to get the siren to tell him what path to take to avoid poseidon, which involved going through the Lair of Scylla, a monster that crossing has a cost. (Suffering)

Though as soon as he got the information, he shot the Siren with an arrow and revealed he knew they were monsters. He and his crew capture them all and reveal they put beeswax in their ears to block out their song and he had read their lips to get the info. Now knowing where they need to go, Odysseus orders his men to cut of their tails and throw them back in the water, making them drown. (Different Beast) Revealing he has accepted Ruthlessness.

After that, Odysseus and crew make it to Scylla's lair, where Eurylochus finally confesses that HE opened the windbag. Odysseus felt the betrayal, but instead of responding with anger, simply tells him to light six torches. As they enter, Scylla appears and feeds on the crew, mainly the 6 holding torches. (Scylla)

After they escape the lair, Eurylochus figures out Odysseus just sacrificed 6 of them to Scylla to get past. He confronts odysseus who doesnt deny it. (Mutiny) Resulting in Eurylochus attacking Odysseus in a fight for leadership, which Odysseus nearly wins but was stabbed in the back (Literally) By his crew. Eurylochus takes command and when Odysseus wakes up, they are on the Island of the Sun god. Where there are cows roaming. Odysseus realizes that this is VERY bad and says to Eurylochus to NOT touch the cows. But he says that he is hungry and kills one. Unfortunately... that was a mistake. Odysseus is quickly put back as captain and he orders them to get on the ship and Row as fast they can before the sun god sends someone... but its too late. the Sun god sent Zeus.

Zeus tells them they messed up and that they will need to pay. (Thunderbringer). Zeus gives Odysseus a choice, His life or his crews. Odysseus not wanting to make that choice, still picks his own life. Because above all else, he wants to see his wife and son. Zeus kills the crew and destroys the boat, leaving Odysseus alone.

(End of the Thunder Saga)

we cut to 8 years later. Where Telemachus is living his life without his dad, wondering what his life will be and only knowing his dad through stories. He also describes how Suitors are after his mom and they bully him. (Legendary) One Suitor, Antinous is especially crass and Telemachus tells him to shut up, to which Antinous says "Or what?"

This leads to a fistfight in which Telemachus is badly losing, until Athena intervenes to help Telemachus. It still ends with the boy's loss but he put up more of a fight. (Little wolf).

Telemachus bonds with Athena and convinces her to go help her other friend. (We'll be fine).

Athena then searches Odysseus' memories to find out where he is, only to find him on Calypso's island. Calypso being a goddess and holding Odysseus there against his will, Odysseus was trapped their and is almost on the brink of ending his life as his guilt is harassing him to a point of no return. (Love in Paradise). He even desperately calls out to Athena.

Athena decides to help Odysseus by pleading to Zeus to have him Released. Zeus says "Lets make it a game" and tells Athena she has to convince Apollo, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Ares, Hera and then himself if she wants Odysseus freed. (god games) Athena Agrees and gets each one to agree until getting to Zeus, who nearly kills her over being made a fool of in his game. But her pleading did eventually get him to agree.

(End of Wisdom Saga)

Odysseus was building a raft from materials on the island when Calypso appeared and told him that she is letting him go, as someone demanded his release. She proceeds to tell him her feelings on the matter (I'm not sorry for loving you) in which she sort of apologizes (but more like how a Youtuber apologizes) Odysseus tells her he does love her, but not in the way she wants. Which pisses her off.

He sails on the raft when Hermes appears who gives him the Wind bag containing the storm, saying this is his final chance while telling him how to get home (Dangerous), explaining how super risky it is. Odysseus follows the plan which leads him to facing Charybdis and successfully sailing past him (Charybdis). Odysseus is finally approaching his home as he sees it in view, but Poseidon appears, revealing he had been WAITING for him.

Poseidon tells him that he needs to get in the water and accept his fate. Odysseus pleads for forgiveness as its been so long and they have both suffered enough. (Get in the Water) But Poseidon takes the words as an insult and hits him with a god move, Shatter the Ocean. As Odysseus sinks to the bottom of the ocean, he hears the voices of all his dead friends and loved ones saying they are waiting for him, and he takes his final breath... Until he reawakens as a monster.

Odysseus revives and uses the storm bag to get out of the water and unveil HIS finishing move on Poseidon (Six Hundred Strike). He bests Poseidon, but the storm has been released and now Odysseus cant get home. Odysseus tells Poseidon to call off the storm, or else. Poseidon tells him he cant kill him. Odysseus says "Exactly" and proceeds to stab Poseidon until he begs for mercy and agrees to call off the storm

(End of Vengeance Saga)

We cut to Penelope who saw the storm on the Horizon dissipate and take it as a sign that her life is going to change. So she puts a challenge to the suitors. String her husbands bow and shoot an arrow through 12 axe heads and the one who succeeds will be king (The Challenge)

The suitors end up trying for several hours to achieve this but all fail. Antinous points out how this is all just a trick to stall and that they should just go to the shore to ambush Telemachus who is on a diplomatic mission, and once they kill him, the queen will be theirs to do with as they please (Hold them down) but as he got them all agree, an arrow flies through 12 axe heads and strikes Antinous in the throat, killing him.

Odysseus reveals himself, and he knows their plan. Odysseus is Super pissed and says he will kill them all. (Odysseus) He is now the monster. Odysseus made sure all their weapons were gone and methodically kills them all. The suitors try all sorts of tactics, from sneak attacks to pleading for mercy, this of course fails. Some suitors managed to find the room with the weapons, only to find Telemachus waiting, who was armed and a full fledged warrior of the mind, and he is doing work as the suitors all rush to attack him to use him as leverage to escape Odysseus wrath. After some time, Telemachus is worn down, but Odysseus appears and VIOLENTLY MURDERS THEM ALL.

After the suitors are dead, Telemachus and Odysseus talk and finally reunite. After the reunion, Odysseus tells Telemachus to tell his mother he is home and that he will be there in a moment. He wanted to talk with athena who was there with Telemachus. (I cant help but Wonder) Athena and Odysseus both talk about what they both want next, understanding that they are in different places, but its a sign of mutual respect and care. Athena wishes him luck.

Odysseus finally arrives in front of penelope. In which he bares his soul to her, unsure if the monster he has become is worthy of being by her side, and asks if she would fall in love with him again. (Would you fall in love with me again). Penelope reveals that he is still her husband deep down and that she has waited 20 years for him and she doesnt care where or when, He is her husband and that she will love him, over and over again. They finally reunite.

So yea, thats the plot of Epic and its beautiful

Granted there are changes from the Homer epic poem its based from. But... that will be covered later.

Overall, solid plot. Beautiful and simple.

9/10

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The Characters

There are a lot of Characters named in Epic. So bare with me.

Odysseus: The main Character. The journey he went on from a man that was gripping with the pain he has caused, to a man accepting ruthlessness, and becoming a monster to get home, while still realizing he is still who he is deep down is a fascinating character exploration. If we compare him to the Odysseus of the Homer myth, he might actually be a much more morally gray character. But for Epic it works as he has his wants and desires. He is cunning and loves his family, and his desire to do whatever it takes to see his family again is surprisingly human despite the monster he becomes. He is my favorite character in the musical. He is deeply flawed but he is the best for this story. 10/10 (Funfact, his instrument associated with him is a guitar, nylon when normal, electric when in intense scenes)

Eurylochus: He is the supposed 2nd in command but as the journey goes on he grows to doubt his captain's abilities. I like how he is a hypocrite in several things within the story, showing that perhaps he always wanted to be the one in charge, but also has love and care for Odysseus. Out of all the characters on the crew, he likely understands Ody the best, but also failed to see what he was becoming. 10/10 (Fun fact, his wife, Ctimine is odysseus sister. She isnt mentioned in the musical, but it makes Eurylochus his brother in law making the betrayal extra tragic)

Telemachus: The son of Odysseus and Penelope. He has spent his life getting picked on by the suitors. But after he becomes friends with Athena, he discovers how strong he can be. He is a pure soul and believes his father is still out there. He becomes a warrior of the mind thanks to Athena. I do wish we got a bit more out of him, but he does do his part well. (Fun fact: His Nickname, Little wolf. is a reference to when Poseidon calls odysseus crew a wolf pack swiming with the shark. Since he is Odysseus kid) 8/10

Athena: The goddess of wisdom, and battle tactics. She starts off the musical more calculating and cold, pointing out how Odysseus is losing his composure and smarts because of his emotions. She eventually leaves after a huge argument and is filled with remorse, deciding to make amends by watching over his son, She befriends Telemachus and really realizes her mistake. She even goes as far as to fight Zeus to get Odysseus free, a fight which left her scarred. Athena going through an arc of GAINING empathy and mercy, as opposed to odysseus, making their reunion touching but also sad, like old friends that are now on different walks of life. Her dynamic with Telemachus is top teir. 9/10. (Fun fact, Athena's ability is often misconstrued as time manipulation, but its actually her speeding up thoughts to make everything around them seem slow. Its similar to the power of the Flash)

Poseidon: The god of the Sea, he basically is the big bad of the story as his introduction basically shaped how Odysseus went about trying to get home. Poseidon is pissed that Odysseus blinded his son and left him to suffer, stating that this is all odysseus' fault. He even mocks and reprimands the King by stating if he had just killed Polyphemus, none of this would be happening. He kills most of the crew, and shows how much of a force of nature he is. It isnt until we get to the Vengeance saga that we see Poseidon's true colors. He is petty, cruel, and vengeful. He isnt Ruthless as he claims, because if he was, he would have Killed Odysseus earlier. He wanted Odysseus to suffer. And its only when the tables are turned we see how pathetic he actually is. Solid performance. 10/10 (Fun fact: Poseidon's music in EPIC is represented by trumpets and brass section that gets more electronic and distorted the more wrathful and angrier he is. He was also meant to appear earlier and Tempt Eurylochus into opening the bag, but this was cut.

Penelope: While technically only in 2 songs, Penelope is the most influencial character in the story, as She is Odysseus' drive to get home. She is the one holding things down in Ithaca while she is missing. And when we meet her, we find out how clever and strong she is. She had held the suitors down with her own tactics, keeping them from acting out longer than many could expect. She even figured out Odysseus was arriving after seeing a storm. But what stands out most is that she is the person that defeated the Monster Odysseus was. She saw right through it, she knew her husband. Penelope showed she was the strongest in spirit, and her love for Odysseus matches his love for her. And its truely beautiful 10/10 (Fun fact: She is the most mentioned character in all of Epic. and is only not mentioned in the Cyclops saga.)

I could also go on about the other characters such as Circe, Antinous, Polyphemus, and more. But I think I can summarize and say. Phenomenal characters

Overall

10/10

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The Music

(Are the songs good? Are they good Narrative? What do the songs say)

Yes AND YES

When it comes to the music, Epic does a great balance of Having a solid Narrative through line for most of the songs. Though there are some bits that do need explanation of how things get to point a to point b. But its usually a minor thing.

I think Epic's soundtrack falls into two categories.

Songs I listen to when I listen to the whole thing.

Songs I can listen to by themselves.

Now for me, Songs such as Just a Man, My Goodbye, Ruthlessness, Done for, Thunderbringer, Legendary, Dangerous, Get in the Water, The Challenge, and Would you fall in love with me again.

Are all songs that I can listen to by themselves and not even need to think about the plot, these are songs that are perfect for AMVs and are emotional Peak.

This isnt to say the songs not on this list are bad, its actually a case of, listening to them makes me want to go through the whole saga. Its great in a different way.

If I am being honest, this maybe my personal favorite musical. The attention to detail Jorge does with call backs to previous songs or foreshadowing. The special association of characters to instruments is (Chef's kiss) The more you listen to the songs, the more you find out.

It is mainly an album which means the focus is the songs and it shows.

10/10

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The Themes (What are the moral lessons)

So interesting fact, according to Jorge, Epic's main lesson is about Ruthlessness.

Now many people misconstrue what Ruthlessness actually means.

Many assume it means brutal and harsh tactics in order to achieve what one wants. But that is not the case. We actually see how in some cases being Brutal and harsh ARENT ruthless.

To be Ruthless one must do something without being merciful or compassionate. It means you are going in without taking emotion into account. You want to get to your goal no matter what.

Another way of putting it, it is being determined to get to what you want no matter what. That is how Ruthlessness is defined in this musical.

to be honest, I actually find that moral lesson kind of weak.

BUT there is another lesson in Epic that I think is a much more valuable lesson.

Love is a powerful Action.

Whether it is for good or bad. Love is the driver of EVERYTHING in Epic.

Odysseus was willing to sacrifice his crew for Love. Odysseus fought a god for love. Penelope waited for 20 years and dealt with the worst people, all for love . Never waivering.

Love is what convinced Circe to help Odysseus, Wanting love is what made Calypso force Odysseus to stay on the island.

Athena's Love (as a friend) for Telemachus helped her go so far to save Odysseus.

Love is a powerful action that can shake the world.

That is what I believe is Epic's TRUE theme is.

8/10

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Inspiration and Interpretation (What does it do different from The Odyssey?)

So there is a LOT of changes to Epic that make it distinct from Homer's The Odyssey.

I dont think I will be able to list them all, but I will list a few

The story starts at the end of the Trojan war, where in the odyssey it actually starts with Telemachus 10 years after this point

Odysseus never directly faces poseidon, Poseidon just sent a few storms.

Odysseus isnt torn up about what happened in Troy. His crew was hit with a storm after they were being bad sports in the war

Aeolus was actually a king and not a wind god.

Odysseus was not Athena's champion, their dynamic was added for this play. Diomedes was actually athena's champion.

Odysseus dealt with Charybdis and Scylla at the same time in The Odyssey, and no one mutinied him over it

Odysseus actually had to sleep with Circe to save his men, and they chilled on her island for like a month. While in Epic, he doesnt sleep with anyone except Penelope.

(And this is a fun one) Tiresias actually does help him, telling him to NOT sacrifice the cows on Helios' island as it would result in him not getting home for a long time.

Odysseus was actually at Ithaca for a bit before he attacked the suitors, meeting Telemachus earlier on in which they hatched a plan.

There were no games to free Odysseus, the gods basically agreed he suffered enough.

Telemachus heard from Athena that Odysseus is alive, but she was disguised as an old man when she told him

The bow the suitors had to string was a Recurve bow, its not mentioned in the song, but the men had no idea there was a special trick to stringing that bow.

The Winions arent real, the Lotus eaters were originally humans in the Odyssey and were just high on Lotus.

Odysseus was given a unsinkable garment that helped him get home.

And thats most of the interesting ones

Anyway The Odyssey also tells a tale more focusing on the trials and tribulations, praising Odysseus' cunning while reprimanding his dishonorable tactic. While Homer!Odysseus was mainly babysitting idiots, Epic!Odysseus was actually a bit more at fault for things that happened. One odysseus had to be freed and left to his own devices while one had to learn Ruthlessness to get home.

They may tell the same tale, but they do it in different ways.

Epic is different enough that it is clearly Inspired by, not ripping off

this one isnt for grading, I just wanted to put this here.

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Final Thoughts

Epic is truly Epic.

It is a wonderful musical that gives a little bit of everything. it rewards the listener if they dig a bit deeper. It is filled with emotion and it was crafted with pure passion.

It may have started as a concept album, but it is a tale of Ruthless determination and a will to dream.

I love this musical and I hope you all give it a shot.

btw, here is additional art my friend made

#epic the musical #gale reviews #jorge rivera herrans #epic the ithaca saga #epic the wisdom saga #epic musical #epic the vengeance saga #epic the thunder saga #epic the troy saga #epic the cyclops saga #epic the ocean saga #epic the circe saga

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