#and my apollo header

[brodorokihousuke]

gee, I wonder who my favorite character is

[glossglamour]

icarian task

/ɪˈkɛːrɪən tɑːsk/ • collocation

when you have a task you know you’re going to fail at anyways, so why not have some fun with it before it all comes crashing down.

[cobrakaisb]

day 'n' nite

summary: every friday night, like clockwork, the older counselors and campers waste their nights away at a party. usually you’re the one taking care of luke but tonight the roles are reversed and all the cards are laid out on the table.

word count: 3.1k

featuring: drunk!reader, happy luke + reader (hence the happy luke picture in the header), them being giggly and in love, a little sad at the end (but only a teeny tiny bit)

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giggles tumble out of your mouth, filling the already loud atmosphere with your pure joy. you clutch onto katrina’s arm, pulling her flush against your side, as your cheek rests on her bicep. she laughs at you, moving her arm to support your weight. 

you gasp, loudly, as her hand rests gently on your waist. “i have a boyfriend,” you snap, suddenly able to hold yourself up.

you stand, albeit a bit slowly, and move away from the girl. she does her best to hide her laughter, but fails. her laugh, however, builds up more anger in your chest, and you cross your arms.    

“oh he’s your boyfriend now? i thought you two didn’t do labels,” katrina teases.

you pout at her words, answering, “well luke says that not me. everyone knows we’re together.” 

“who’s together?” jade, a girl from the apollo cabin asks, sliding into the spot next to katrina.

you throw a nasty look in her direction, or what you assume is a nasty look. even in your inebriated state, you know that jade can’t be trusted. she was one of the first campers to hate on you, and she’s one of the few that continue to do so. once the novelty of hera having a demigod child wore off, most people left you to your own devices. there were still the occasional whispers and rumors, but jade and her friend group always seemed to be behind them. 

“none of your business,” you snap, turning your nose up at her like a fifth grader. 

she scoffs at you, “ugh whatever,” and walks away. 

you smile, a satisfied look on your face as you reclaim your seat next to katrina. she’s holding onto two cups, and you’re positive that one of them belongs to you. you reach for one of them, but she pulls it away, lifting it just out of your reach.

“i think you need a break,” she says, voice soft and caring.

“no ‘m fine,” you mumble, trying to reach for the cup again but completely missing. 

that’s the funniest thing in the world, and you burst into another giggling fit. katrina stares at you, a soft smile on her face. your hand comes up to cover your mouth, but your shoulders continue to shake with, now somewhat stifled, laughter. you can’t even register what’s so funny, but everything seems to have you in a giggly mood. one that only gets worse when luke walks across the way, followed by a group of boys who you know to be his friends.

“luke looks like a dragon prince,” you announce, pointing in his direction. 

katrina chuckles at your words; they make no sense. you, however, think they’re the most accurate description in the world. the orange and red hues from the large fire pit, courtesy of cabin nine, illuminate his features. he’s laughing at something one of his friends said, but his eyes are still deep and serious. the white scar tracing down his cheek shines brightly in the dark, and you wonder if landon knows he hurt his king. 

luke feels your eyes on him, because he turns and meets your gaze, smiling at you. you gasp as he throws you a subtle nod, like something out of a teen movie. your right hand clutches at katrina’s shirt sleeve, and you shake the material vigorously between your fingers. she looks to you, and notices the deep flush and dilated pupils. 

“he’s looking at me. i think he has a crush on me. oh my gods what do i do? i know my mother’s the goddess of marriage, but i’m not ready for this,” you ramble.

katrina laughs, again. luke looks your way, again. you start to panic, again. 

“relax,” katrina says, “he’s your boyfriend.” 

her tone is teasing, but you don’t pick up on it. all you feel is shock. your mouth falls open, and your head swivels between the curly headed boy and your best friend. 

“you’re lying,” you conclude. 

katrina shakes her head, “i’m not.” 

before you can refute her claims, the dragon king himself is in front of you. he slides into the empty seat on your left hand side, throwing his arm casually over your shoulder. there’s a can of something in his other hand, and he lifts it up to his mouth for a swig. you watch, with deep fascination, as his adam’s apple bobs while he swallows the liquid. when he’s done, he leans down to your ear, lips ghosting over the piercings that adorn it. 

“hi,” he whispers, pulling at your golden hoop helix piercing with his teeth.

you're stunned into silence. all that you can muster is a small gasp, and you turn to katrina, wondering what you should do. she’s already staring at you, but so are these other two guys, and a girl who you barely recognize. you point to luke with your thumb, asking a silent question. katrina nods, and one of the guys, another brunette, hides his laugh behind a red solo cup. 

you turn your head again, making eye contact with the cute guy next to you. you just stare at him for a while, and he holds your gaze the whole time. his right hand, you realize, is tracing circles on your exposed shoulder. the pad of his thumb is calloused and rough against your soft skin, but you like to contrast. you lean into his touch, shifting closer to him on the wooden bench. 

“ouch,” you mumble, lifting up your hand. 

“what’s wrong?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

“i think i got a splinter,” you explain, holding up your palm for him to see. 

he inspects your hand, and there’s absolutely nothing there, but replies, “don’t worry. i’ll take you to the infirmary tomorrow.”

you nod, and he kisses your palm, right where the supposed splinter is. his lips are soft, you think, but then why is everyone giggling? you look around, but none of the four people surrounding the two of you provide any sort of explanation. 

“i know. my girlfriend makes me use this lip balm she really likes,” he says, and you’re still confused. 

“huh?” you ask, head tilting. 

“my girlfriend gave me this lip balm. it’s from glossy or something,” he answers, holding up the tube. 

you snatch it from him, looking at the label. even drunk, you know a high quality lip balm when you see one. 

“glossier! i love it there,” you exclaim.

everyone laughs again, even the boy next to you this time. you look at him, a shy smile on your face, as you unscrew the cap. you squeeze the tube, and lift the lip balm to your puckered lips. you rub them together, smacking them a couple times. luke doesn’t take his eyes off you; you don’t take your eyes off him. 

there’s relatively no distance between you two now, but you can’t bring yourself to care. luke doesn’t seem to mind either as he shifts his arm and way that pulls your body even closer to his. the little space that remained is gone, and your thighs are pressed together. you want to be touching him in some way, and lift your left leg to drape over his right one. you nudge his left calf with your converse, gaining his attention. you giggle at that, stifling your laughs with his shoulder. 

“she’s gone,” he observes. 

“oh i know,” katrina answers. 

“you smell so good,” you say, adjusting your head so that your cheek rests against him, and your eyes meet his. 

the two boys, the ones who you can’t recognize at the moment, burst out laughing. your eyebrows furrowed at that, a soft huff escaping you as you cross your arms and lean further into luke. you close your eyes for a minute, basking in his warm presence and the smoky undertones emitting from his shirt. 

“how many drinks have you had?” he asks, large hand rubbing up and down your back. 

“two,” you answer confidently, holding up two fingers. 

katrina scoffs, “try three cups of jungle juice and whatever else at the pregame.” 

“you pregamed?” luke asks, voice low against your ear. 

“mhm. cause what if they didn’t have any drinks i liked?” you reply, holding your hands up in defense. 

he chuckles at your words, humming in agreement as he kisses your forehead. that action, for some reason, registers as oddly intimate in your mind, and so you’re pushing him away. in your drunken state, you can't comprehend that he’s your boyfriend.

“i shouldn’t be doing this. katrina says i have a boyfriend,” you slur, shaking your head. 

“no, you said you have a boyfriend,” katrina replies. 

“well either way!” you yell, throwing your hands up in exasperation. 

“isn’t he your boyfriend?” one of the boys asks, pointing to luke.

“he can’t be. he’s too hot,” you answer confidently. 

everyone laughs at that, except for you and luke. luke’s cheeks are flushed red, but he looks at you with nothing but love and adoration in his eyes. he smiles at you, gently shaking his head in disbelief. 

you shrink back into yourself, slouching down in his arms so that the back of your head rests against his shoulder. luke’s hand fiddles with the hem of your jeans, fingers ghosting over your hips, and you squirm. you shove his hand away, covering your face with your own. 

“what’s wrong?” he asks, bending down so only you can hear him.

“i embarrassed myself,” you whine, peeking at him through a gap in your fingers.

luke chuckles, “it’s okay baby. i still love you.” 

you light up at his words, wrapping your arms around his neck. you pull his face down to yours, smacking kisses all over, only stopping to giggle from pure, unfiltered happiness. normally, you save the affection for the private confines of your cabins, but all of your reservations are out the window at the moment. 

luke smiles brightly at your actions, dimples and everything, as he squeezes your hips three times. it’s your silent code, an unspoken way for the two of you to communicate your love and appreciation for one another, and you smile happily at his use of it. you hug him again, burying your face into the crook of his neck. you can tell that he’s been smoking, and maybe that’s why his eyes are a little red-rimmed. you don’t mind, however, and opt to keep your head resting there. his arms wrap securely around you, cradling your body the way someone would hold a toddler. 

“tired?” he asks, rubbing a hand down your back.

you want to say no, but the giant yawn betrays you. 

“c’mon, i’ll bring you to bed,” he says, patting your thigh to signal for you to get up. 

you agree, holding out your hand for him to take. once your fingers are safely stowed away in his palm, you walk up to katrina. 

“goodnight tree,” you mumble, hugging her tightly. 

“g’night,” she replies, squeezing you just as tight.

with that, you let luke lead you towards the hera cabin as you focus on not tripping over your own feet. you stumble on the stairs, and luke squeezes your waist, holding you steady. he’s your rock, and you don’t know what you’d do without him. 

he opens the door, waiting for you to enter the cabin before following. you look around, and your eyes land on the giant statue taking up a majority of the room. you gasp, hands covering your mouth, as you meet your mother’s cold and calculating stare. 

“i don’t think she should be seeing me like this. can we go to your cabin?” you ask, turning to face luke.

“it’s a statue,” luke deadpans, shaking his head.

“but she’s all knowing,” you reply, pointing to the marble goddess. 

“you’re gonna be fine,” luke explains softly. 

you’re eyes are wide, and you continuously shake your head no. you grab onto luke’s hand, intertwining your fingers together. his hand is rough and worn from all the training he does, a testament to how long he’s been at camp. your mind wanders back to his position as king of the dragons, and you want to ask him if his hands are scarred from the claws of a rival. yet, it doesn’t seem appropriate, so you keep your mouth shut. 

“where’s you toiletry bag?” luke ask, letting go of you hand as he wanders around the cabin. 

“i don’t know,” you answer, following him towards the area you’ve deemed your bed. 

he huffs, standing back from the bed to monitor the situation. his hands are on his hips, eyes scanning the area for your bag with makeup remover, skincare, and other bathroom necessities. you find the pose extremely comical, and laugh. he looks at you over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“what’s so funny?” he asks.

“you look like my dad,” you wheeze. 

he pauses, mouth agape like a fish out of water. he opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, but ultimately comes up empty handed. just when it seems like he’s about to say something, you’re bounding over to your bedside table, grabbing a bag that’s clearly overloaded. 

“found it!” you shout. 

luke cringes at the volume, but takes the bag from your hands without further questioning. he marches over to your closet, the one he helped you set up, and grabs a small towel from one of the shelves. you smile at him. he’s so endearing, you think, how’d i get so lucky?

“let’s go to the bathroom,” he says, tilting his head towards the door of your cabin.

you nod in agreement, taking his outstretched hand. luke smiles at you, allowing you to lead the way, despite your drunken state. he admires your beauty in the moment, although he knows you’d argue you’re anything but. your makeup is messy, your cheeks are flushed from all the alcohol, and your top is falling off your shoulder, yet he still believes that you can rival aphrodite. he shouldn’t think that, he realizes, as she’s one of the only gods he still prays to, but he does. 

the two of you enter the bathroom, and you're surprised by how empty it is. however, the peace and quiet is nice for a usually chaotic space. you decide on a mirror and sink in the middle of the collection, and turn to face luke, waiting for his approval. when he sets the bag down, and removes the towel from his shoulder, you know you’ve made a good choice. 

“alright, let’s take your makeup off,” he says, patting the small of your back. 

you fumble with the zipper of your pouch, trying and failing to get the bag opened. you pout, holding it out to luke, with a pleading look in your eyes. 

“i’ll help you. you want to sit on the counter?” he asks.

you nod, and turn around so your back is towards the sink and mirrors. you brace yourself, ready to test your physical strength in your drunken state. you fail the first attempt, not even making it onto the ledge. luke watches, amusement clear in his eyes, because it’s not like you to ask for help. 

“need a hand?” 

“no i can do it! i’m a demigod,” you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

he chuckles at your response, but goes back to digging through your bag for the cotton pads and micellar water. he also takes out your face wash, moisturizer, toothbrush, toothpaste, and other skin care items he thinks you might need. 

“luke,” you whisper, tugging on his sleeve. 

he hums in acknowledgment, turning away from the array of products to face you. 

“help?” you ask with a shy smile. 

“i thought you didn’t need it, cause your a demigod,” he teases, crossing his arms. 

you’re drawn to his muscles, flexing against his tee and you’re temporarily left speechless. he’s just so hot, you think. 

“gods i hope my mom answers my prayers,” you blurt out. 

“about what?” 

“us getting married. i really want to. i think…if we were in vegas, i’d drag you down to the chapel,” you reply. 

luke’s mouth drops open in shock, “you think about marrying me?”

“nonstop,” you answer, finally climbing onto the counter. 

he stands there for a minute, unsure of what to say or do. all he knows is that he thinks about getting married to you too. he envisions you, regal as ever, like the true daughter of the queen of the gods, walking towards him down an aisle. it’d be small. you, him, and a handful of close friends, but every single part of it would be meaningful. 

“let’s get you ready for bed,” he says, changing the conversation. 

“okay!” 

it takes him much longer than usual to get you through your bedtime routine, but he doesn’t mind if you don’t. and, you seem pretty content right now. you’re smiling and giggling, making goofy faces at him in the mirror with toothpaste smeared on your chin and a fluffy headband keeping your hair at bay. the whole scene feels oddly domestic, especially when he takes your towel and gently wipes the corners of your mouth. it’s serene. it’s perfect. 

“you’re perfect y’know that?” he asks, looking at you earnestly. 

you flush, turning away from him. 

“stop.”

“‘m not lying! you’re perfect for me,” he whispers, cupping your cheeks. 

you pucker your lips, and luke lays a gentle kiss on them. you burst into giggles, engulfing him in a hug. 

“i want to change. come back to my cabin? please?”

he agrees, following you to the end of the earth. it was an easy request, nothing too extraordinary.

“let me get my pajamas, and then i’ll be right back, okay?” he mumbles, kissing your forehead before leaving you alone with the eternal glow of hera’s flames. 

by the time he gets back, you're standing in one of his tee shirts and a pair of sleep shorts. he’s just wearing a tank top and flannel pants, put he comes up behind you to wrap you in his arms. you away for a minute, dancing to a song only you two can hear. then, you wiggle out of his grasp, climb into bed, and pull the covers up to your chin.

“come lie with me,” you beg, patting the spot next to you.

he wraps you up on his arms, pulling you flush against his chest. once your breaths even out, he sneaks out of the bed, waiting just a second to make sure you don’t wake up. quietly, he pulls the candy out of his pocket — two blue raspberry jolly ranchers.

“please hera, let me marry her. aphrodite, keep her by my side, whatever it takes. please.” 

and for the first time in a long time, luke castellan makes a genuine offering.

taglist: @percabethlvr @iwantahockeyhimbo @hottiewifeyyyy @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @maraschinocherry3 @used2beeeeee @harrysnovia @cami-is-reading @mxtokko @cxcilla @obxstiles

[skythealmighty]

why am i just now finding out about thisisnotawebsitedotcom i feel a little stupid.. then again i dont have the Book of Bill so maybe im lucky to know about it ???

#rocket talk #gravity falls #miss this show. anyway twink cipher fuckign jumpscared me

(3 notes)

👓 the-nerdiest-glasses Follow

Why Flatland counts as an object show: an essay

Keep reading

🔧 warp-pipe-sfx Follow

Why Flatland does NOT count as an object show: a rebuttal

Keep reading

⛓️ chainsaw-massacres Follow

why flatland isnt an object show: its a book + movie you assholes

#this argument is fucking stupid its just flatland

(3,821 notes)

🔘 join-my-evil-polycule-deactivated08142020 asked: Im going to tear apart your circuitboard until its broken irreparably

🌈 super-rainbow-epic-computer Follow

lol ok have fun w that 👍

also do u know any recipes for roasted pumpkin seeds the internets failing me rn and im cooking a big dinner for me and my bf

🔘 join-my-evil-polycule-deactivated08142020

Oh yeah sure https://www.jessicagavin.com/how-to-roast-pumpkin-seeds/#wprm-recipe-container-35845

🔘 join-my-evil-polycule-deactivated08142020

Wait why am I telling you this go die I hate you

🌈 super-rainbow-epic-computer Follow

thx for the help!

☝i-date-iconic-posts Follow

Date of origin: November 3rd, 2021

(216,025 notes)

❌ mephonex-deletes-your-favs Follow

~~Welcome to MePhoneX deletes your favs!!~~

I'm mod Xav (the only mod rn - -"), here to cause trauma to your favorite characters :)! PLEASE keep in mind that submissions will take a while to get to, because I have to photoshop out the limbs + background or even completely recreate someone's object if they're transparent!

The background flag is in the header and the X (recreated from an image of MePhoneX) I overlay on top is the profile picture if you want to make your own :) just @ this blog and I'll reblog it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~❌~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

RULES ABOUT SUBMISSIONS:

NO INANIMATE INSANITY CONTESTANTS. I would like to avoid Apollo's Dodgeball thanks (plus it's insensitive)

No algebralien or algebralien-adjacent characters! I love those guys too I get it but I honestly don't have a good method of 'deleting' them planned. Feel free to do it on your own time though!

If someone asks me to take down a submission with them in it I will do it without questions. This is for a variety of reasons, but I think you get it.

Alright, that's it! Have fun :)

#not xed out #mod xav #pinned post #your fav is #your fave is #mephone #mephonex #inanimate insanity #ii2 finale

(681 notes)

📁 sticky-note-hit-post Follow

has anyone else wondered why this spaghetti code webbed site can connect across DIFFERENT UNIVERSES??? or is that just me

(2,416 notes)

🦀 thesamepictureofbaxtereveryday Follow

follow for the same picture of my crab every day!!!!! look at him :D

(3 notes)

anonymous asked: greeny how does it feel to be technically a higher being than most other people on the site

🟢 greenyguy Follow

sir this is a wendys

#i didnt order an existential crisis today :(

(37,102 notes)

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

todays liveblog!! B)

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

knife and suitcase made it to the finale!! hell yeah so proud of them

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

balloons talk with suitcase didnt go so well :/ i hope they can get some alone time without anyone else so they can like talk properly next time

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

mepad???

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

oh i think the finale challenge is happening

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

baseball looks worried but lightbulb's brushing him off :|

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

ojs backing away from paper??? wh

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

WHJDT THE FUCK

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

WAIT I HAVENT SEEN SOAP IN A WHILE WHERE IS SHE???

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

OH GOD

#mics ramblings #SOAP???!??

(11 notes)

anonymous asked: evil woman are so hot <3 i will do whatever you want queen

🌐 dr-who-could-never Follow

Awwww, this means a lot to me, anon! Could you find Film Reel for me and doxx him? That would be really helpful <3

#He's been evading me #It's really annoying #Hard to take over the world when I have to worry about him 🙄

(6 notes)

🥄 only-a-spoonful Follow

WHY DO I KEEP GETTING SENT ASKS ABOUT PREGNANCY?!

#I'M GOING TO QUIT TUMBLR AT THIS RATE.

(47,284 notes)

📗 journal-of-secrets Follow

if this fuckass hand keeps showing up at the edge of my vision i'm going to hit something

📗 journal-of-secrets Follow

#maybe hes in love with you

what the hell is wrong with you.

[k-is-for-potassium]

about me!

hey there!! you can call me maggie! (or babna lol)

they/she/he pronouns page :3

please use gender neutral/fem terms. im okay with and use stuff like dude and girly in a gender neutral way, lmk if you don't want me to :)

main of @apollo-god-of--like--everything (epic the musical rp acc)

everything is platonic!! i say things like "<3" and "ily"platonically, so if you're uncomfortable with this lmk!!

also i swear sometimes quite a bit, i don't usually tag it but i do if there's a lot or smth

legacy of apollo ☀️🎶🏹⚕️✍️

my timezone is est (maybe...) i am in the us tho

i am a minor, adults are okay but no 18+ or big nsfw please

EVERYONE is loved here (unless you're a homophobe, transphobe, terf, aphobe, racist, sexist, map, etc.) 💖

not really any dni's, unless you're someone listed above or a weirdo (you know who you are)

more under the cut!!

interests/hobbiessss!!

music: taylor swift, olivia rodrigo (shes literally me yall), conan gray, chappell roan, ajr, tx2, noahfinnce, cavetown, eminem, mcr, green day, måneskin, TROY (hes the epic hermes voice actor) lots of broadway musicals, and MUCH more

im always looking to broaden my music horizons, so lmk if you have any suggestions!

also my music taste is crazy i like basically anything so i'll probably love any of y'all's recs lol

musicals: EPIC the musical, hamilton, in the heights, SIX, dear evan hansen, be more chill, heathers, les miserables, and beetlejuice, but the list is always expanding

movies/tv shows: the owl house, gravity falls, mean girls (movie and musicals), house md (not done yet, on season 7? i think), hazbin hotel, helluva boss, percy jackson, bluey, all versions of tmnt (especially rottmnt), the hunger games, metal family

games: minecraft, animal crossing, splatoon (2 and 3), kirby, pokémon, stardew valley

i have my own pink switch lite :3

books: pjo, hoo, toa, tsats, mcga, kane chronicles (not done yet), the iliad, hopefully the odyssey eventually) les miserables (not done yet but ive already seen the movie), the hunger games, wof, kinda lotr and hobbit, probably more that i can't think of

im currently working on reading the second kane chronicles book and rereading hoo!

i am a musician! i play clarinet in my school band and flute, piano, ukulele, and guitar in my own time :)

i am also a scout! (bsa) my rank is tenderfoot :3

my favorite colors are purple and yellow!

i LOVE making new friends, if you wanna be moots you can dm or askbox me :D

☆~ credit ~★ babna origin 😨 @/s1eepy-0 – my beautiful header 😻 @/saradika – all the beautiful dividers!! and my pfp is from this picrew ♡

[ohforficsake]

Talk Refined

main masterlist

Summary: Orpheus and Eurydice. A Blacksmith and a Warrior. A Lawyer and the Lady He Meets at a Bar. Two souls fated to find each other across lifetimes. Here are just a few of those stories.

Pairing: Ezra x f!Reader. Reader is able-bodied and takes many forms. Described as having hair that can be pinned back in one instance, generally open description in others.

This is my submission for @wannab-urs Hozier Drabble Challenge! My character was Ezra, and my prompt was "Talk" off of Wasteland, Baby!. This was such a fun challenge, thank you so much for organizing it, Gin!

Word Count: ~5.8K (I blew past drabble, I'm so sorry)

Rating: Explicit 18+ / brief fingering / brief handjob / unprotected piv / language / main character death / Minors DNI

A/N: This was so incredibly fun to write and I actually had a huge smile on my face when I finished it that I'm pretty sure is still there. I'm incredibly happy with how this turned out. I've never written for Ezra before, so this was a really interesting exercise in finding the voice of a character that I found quite challenging to get to the heart of. Ezra folks, I really hope I did your boy justice.

Notes on literary references and the source of Orpheus' speech (not written by me) included at the end.

I'm also kind of just launching this super hot off the press, so please forgive any typos you may find and definitely message me about them once you're done reading.

Massive thank you to @beskarandblasters for the beautiful cover art for this story! 💚 Go hit Kel up if you're looking for a lovely header for your work!

Dividers by @cafekitsune!

Part I: The Darkness of the Night

He’s called Orpheus in this lifetime. Blessed with his mother’s tongue. 

No way of knowing he forever will be.  

A twist of phrase. A glint in the eye. 

A white patch at his hairline is the only mark of his father. As if licked there by the rays of Apollo’s creation.

And he is his mother’s boy, plucking at lyre strings and humming low, branches bending to his ambit as he harmonizes with the rush of Zephyrus’ wings through tall grasses.

But you are a rich distraction indeed.

A distraction perhaps of the West Wind’s own making, for the god has always been a soft touch. 

The breeze toys with your chiton as you drift in and out of dreams. 

Molding gossamer to your form.

A promise of something just for him.

Orpheus reaches to run his knuckles down your arm, awaiting your stirring before he takes fingers over your shoulder, up to cup your cheek.

You turn to press against the warmth of his hand. The pad of his thumb softly skimming your bottom lip.

It sends sparks racing across your skin.

He hums a laugh and fits closer to you, warmer now than the midday sun. You slant your eyes up at him, greeted with a smile before he bends to press a long kiss to your mouth.

His lyre is discarded in the grass now, wildflowers poking up through its strings.

The hand on your cheek moves to pull at his red linen handkerchief around your neck. Tied there in the morn to guard the late-hour transgressions of his lips from judgmental stares. 

Again revealed to him now.

He tucks the cloth into his zoster before his fingers dip under the gauze of your robes, cupping one breast before his lips replace fabric.

“The dryads, my darling,” you whisper a warning into the heated hollow of his mouth.

“Fret not, my love,” he chides with a whisper.

And you whimper a wanton, insincere protest as his hand adjusts to move lower still, nimble fingers inching your hemline up until your thighs are bared to him.

“Surely such creatures would sympathize. Look favorably on newlywed dalliance.”

“For they understand pleasures such as these,” he murmurs as his fingers slip over your core.

"The nymphs haven’t our flesh," you gasp against his curls as he bends to nip at the lush of your breast.

"They have our desires."

"The nymphs know fertile things in ways we never shall, my darling Eurydice," ghosts hot against your skin. 

"And surely they know what comes of something flush with want."

The press of his length against you causes your hips to tilt into his hand as your languid knees fall open.

"To deny that nature is to deny the nymphs themselves, little dove."

He tips his face to brush petal-soft lips against your frantic pulse as he shifts over you.

"For you see, they don’t care."

And the breach of him causes your back to arch, nails digging into the corded muscle of his arms.

You bend enough for your eyes to land on the grove of oak trees.

Unsure if begging forgiveness. 

Or reveling in their jealousy.

But there are other eyes on you this day. Watching the deft way your husband wrings pleasure from your form. 

The way he rolls you over on a bed of meadowsweet to press deeper still.

Holding your body to his as he pulls music from your throat.

Other eyes, indiscreet in their desire and relentless in their pursuit.

Other eyes that lead to your journey across the Styx.

Lead to Orpheus’ torment.

They say there are ways to speak with the dead.

But words will not pacify the poet when the possibility exists to feel you beneath him again.

A body that writhes under his own. Skin soft against the way his burns.

The way you welcome the thick weight of him.

All of him.

Into the warm clutch of your wet cunt.

And Orpheus, driven by his desire and blessed with his mother’s gift, marches boldly into the depths of grief.

“You powers divine of the subterranean kingdom, where all of mortal creation must one day sink to our doom, if you will give me permission to tell you the truth unvarnished by shifty pretenses…”

“I’d hoped to be able to bear my loss and confess that I tried.”

And the dance of his fingers over gut string pricks the ears of the damned as he gives verse to his flesh’s torment.

“In the name of these confines of fear, in the name of this vast abyss and your realm of infinite silence, I, Orpheus, implore you, unravel the web of my dear Eurydice’s early passing.”

A prayer for relief.

“This is the place that we all are bound for, our final dwelling, and yours is the longest reign that the human race must endure.”

Through vulpine teeth.

“Eurydice too, when her due of years has been ripely completed, shall own your sway. Till then, I beg you to let me enjoy her.”

And it moves the hound to cease its lashing. 

Moves the one eternally punished to rest upon his stone. 

Moves the dead of Winter to cave to the tender brush of Spring’s hand.

And you are called forth by a voice between what should be your ears. 

And Orpheus begins to move.

Daring to hope for your sweet clutch again as your footsteps grow louder against stone.

As you take the form he knows, more corporeal with every footfall.

The tenderness in your ankle made manifest with flesh.

And his cock throbs with the thought of you.

His wife.

His muse.

But there’s a pause in the lilting cadence of your step.

Where you’ve stopped to grab for the fallen handkerchief that slipped from his belt.

And the panic flooding his breast moves him against all hope.

And he turns.

And you reach for him.

Before disappearing for the final time.

With forgiveness swimming in your eyes.

Part II: Pilgrim, Stranger, Wanderer

He’s called Doran in this lifetime.

A name you learn upon ducking into the blacksmith’s workshop with another man’s name on your lips. 

“Callum!” You call, greeted instead by a shock of white hair where blonde should be.

Round brown eyes where you expected green.

“Apologies,” you offer, “I am looking for the smith.”

“Callum was called away to his family in the north country.”

His answering voice like honey just starting to crystalize. 

“I’m called Doran,” he bends his head in customary greeting.

And you note the broad spread of his hand against his chest.

“I apprenticed under Callum, in what feels like a lifetime ago now, I admit.” He offers a small smirk. “He asked that I mind the forge in his absence.”

And you give him your name but not your full belief in this story.

“May I help you with something, dove?”  

You straighten against the rake of his eyes. “My horse requires particular shoes. She is of a larger breed and nothing standard will suit.”

And you turn your back to him leading the way outside.

Doran whistles low at the sight of your mare, a sturdy Friesian glossed blue in the morning sun.

“She is a stunning creature,” he purrs, gently taking his fingers over her strong neck.

Pausing to thumb the iris stamped into the leather of her bridle.

“She’s no delicate thing,” you watch as he circles the horse. “Her grandsire was a draft who pulled the High King’s carriage.”

He fits one massive hoof between his knees, gently brushing away the feathers at her ankle before she starts fighting his touch. 

He adjusts her gently, inspecting her irons before she protests in earnest.

“It’s apparent,” he says, quickly dropping the horse’s foot and jumping aside before she stamps and shakes her head, “that her blood runs hot.”

“She does not favor the touch of men,” you answer, soothing a hand over her hindquarters. “I should have forewarned you.”

“A fair lady is entitled to her opinions when she is that beautiful,” Doran gives her a wide berth.

And takes his eyes over you instead. 

“You are the nobleman’s daughter.” He squints against the sun. “The warrior?” 

“I am.”

“Now,” he pulls a rag from his pocket and rubs at his hands, “I know well the dangers of feminine beauty but a warrioress is altogether new to me. You are not riding into battle soon, I pray?”

“One in my position exists in a constant state of preparation. But there is no rumble of battle on the horizon.” 

His smirk dimples one cheek now.

“I shall have the shoes for your láir within the week. And I shall pray you need not fly away before then, little dove.”

“May I make half the payment now for your services? This was the custom with the old smith.”

“The only payment for my services I can insist upon is merely the chance to sit in your presence a moment longer. Would a fair lady allow a humble blacksmith that much?”

And you see straight through him. Through to the tools on the wall. 

But the broad set of his shoulders under ash-smudged linen. The way he moves, lithe and light on his feet as he dances between his stock of iron bars and his cache of hammers. The bright wideness of his eyes that betray sincerity or something of its kin.

A humble one no. But this one, perhaps.

You drop a pouch of coins onto his anvil. “Where?”

“Meet me here. In the morrow?”

And you tell him “maybe” in the moment as you climb into your saddle.

But you arrive on foot the next morning. 

_____

You meet him three mornings in the week it takes him to forge your mare’s irons. 

On the first day he tells you of his travels through Spain and France. Of scrambling up the masts of the ship that brought him to your shore. 

On the third, he recites The Bard’s work with such nuance that you’re not entirely sure he isn’t the man himself.  

On the fifth day he leads you out to the ruins of an old monastery, up a winding staircase until you’re forced to stand so close on the crumbling parapet that you can feel the heat of him at your back.

Your head spins from something other than the height.

On the seventh day he places four horseshoes, lovingly wrapped in burlap and bound with hemp cord, into the hand he has cradled in his own. 

Warm and worn.

“Can I see you again?” He murmurs, barely a foot between you.

“Is that wise?”

“I have been mistaken for many things, little dove.” He brushes two knuckles over your cheekbone. “Nary a man has included wise among them.”

And you scoff but press into his touch all the same. 

“Forgive me my boldness,” he takes his fingers under your chin, “but I must pose the question.”

“Your mare does not favor the touch of men.”

“But,” he purrs, “do you?”

And your lips form the word “goodnight” but you don’t dare move.

Your eyes flash with a want that does not go neglected. 

“Must you take your leave?” He thumbs your bottom lip.

“I must.”

“But what of my payment,” he hums.

“As I recall you beseeched me pay with my time,” you tilt your head, reveling in the brush of warm breath against your skin, “I dare say I’ve tendered more than my share.”

“And yet I am in debt every time you take your presence from me,” he smirks. “There is something of you, little dove, that I fear has a hold on—”

You steal the words from his lips with your own.

And the unabashed delight dancing over his features when you part makes you kiss him again.

You fling your arm to rest the irons on the first surface you can find, desperate to wind your hands in his hair as his fit to your waist.

He urges your mouth open with the soft slip of his tongue. Humming when you let him inside.

“Little bird,” he pants when he tears his lips from you, forehead thumping hard against yours. “I confess if you stay past this moment I shall not be able to exercise any measure of restraint.”

“Is restraint what you desire?” You angle heavy-lidded eyes up at him. 

“Not in the slightest,” he swallows hard, fist still gripping at your hair. “But you are a gentle lady with a good name, and I—”

“I want you, Doran,” you murmur. “This.”

And his head falls back on his shoulders with a tight, pained hiss.

“I confess I have given in to the fantasy of hearing that fall from this lush mouth many nights since first we met.”

And he expects heat to rise to your cheeks at his admission. But the hand that cradles your neck finds no such warmth.

“Do you know how it works?” He hums low, running his palm down your sleeve to lace thick fingers with yours. “Pleasure?” He brings your knuckles to his lips, eyes glinting in hearthlight. 

And there is sincerity evident in his gaze.

For you are a gentle lady with a good name. 

“Mmm, have you felt this?” He takes your hand, gliding it over the rough wool of his trousers.

To the hard line of his length underneath them. 

Your breath skips.

You are no stranger to amusement of the flesh. But never before have you felt so—much. 

“Feel me, birdie,” he hums, rolling his forehead against yours, “what you do to me. I fear there isn’t any blood left for the rest of me.” He kisses you again. “Only for you. This. Just for you.”

“Your bed, Doran,” you murmur against his mouth.

The hand over yours encircles your wrist and he leads you through to his chambers.

He pulls you tight to his body again, mouths locked as his hands roam your form, unable to settle upon what features his fingers must traverse first. 

You push the braces from his shoulders and he helps you with the buttons of his shirt, your hands skating up the smooth expanse of tanned skin before tugging at your own shirttails.

Your lips find his neck as he unbuttons his trousers. You’ve already stepped out of yours.

“So eager, birdie,” he wraps you in his arms, and your skin burns with his touch. “Surely you’ve seen it with beasts, yes?” He salts your neck with kisses. “It’s quick with them, you see. It doesn’t have to be. Doesn’t have to—”

A moan cuts off his babbling from where you’ve taken him in hand. 

“Although I may yet need to beg your forgiveness,” his hips buck into your hand, “my stamina may yet waiver, upon this first time.”

His tongue slips into your mouth again and finally he finds himself enough to back you up until your thighs meet his bed. 

“It’s been so long. So long, birdie, since I have held a woman.” He leans you back with his body as your hands fly to his hair. “Longer still since I have held one as soft. Supple and pliant as you.” His lips map your collarbone, nose skimming the valley of your breasts as he takes one in hand.

“Never before is a long time indeed.”

He sucks at tender, pebbled skin, drawing an arch in your spine as he shifts to settle between your legs.

“I give you my word that I will indeed take my time with you but I offer a preemptive apology in the instance that I fail upon this first time.” His fingers slip down to toy with your folds, groaning against your ribs at the wetness that he finds there. “Perhaps we are no different than animals indeed.” 

You hear only half of his babbling. 

The static of anticipation under your skin crackles in your ears as your hips tip into his hand. His thumb slides over your clit and you cry out. 

“You see, sometimes a man just needs to bury himself deep.”

He slings your legs over his hips and sits up on his knees, stroking his length with your borrowed wetness as your hands find his thighs.

There’s a dark edge to his voice now. Heavy-lidded eyes locked on the core of you.

“This need. It’s far stronger than I ever will be.”

“Now, Doran, I need—”

He doesn’t make you wait.

And he keeps his word in the moments it matters. Slowly rocking his hips to stretch you open on his cock before your body begs him deeper.

Large palms settle around your waist as he builds in pace, alternating slow with fast. Tenderness with force that drives the bedframe to knock against the wall. When his thumb winds circles against your clit you cry into the night as pleasure rips through you. Greedy lips crash against yours as his weight blankets your reeling form. Fevered moans in his chest thrum through you as he savors the way your walls pulse around him. 

He buries his face against your neck and you feel the bite of his teeth as he snarls, drawing closer and closer to the edge.

He cants his hips just so at the last minute, pulling himself from your heat a moment before his seed streams hot over your thigh.

You soothe a hand over the nape of his neck as his hips spasm with the last of it, wide hand cradling your jaw and tipping your face to his.

Kisses softer now. 

Grateful.

“You are a rare bird indeed,” he murmurs against your ear, lips ghosting over your neck. 

He finds himself enough to rise from bed and kneel on the floor, searching for his handkerchief amongst the tangle of his clothes. 

Yours peeks from the pocket of your trousers, red against brown wool, and you lazily twirl a corner of it around your finger and draw it out.

Doran catches it from your hand, gently cleaning your thigh of his spend before pressing a kiss there. 

“I shall return this to you clean,” he holds it up briefly before craning to press a kiss to your lips. “Don’t trouble a hair on your head with moving, birdie,” he bids you before disappearing to the kitchen.

You trouble the hair on your head all the same as you pull the jostled pins from it, tousling it out of the style your nurse had so meticulously placed it in this morning. 

Doran returns with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He fills them as you prop yourself up on your side and he settles on the floor. One arm slung up on the mattress.

Adoration in his eyes as he tips his glass against yours.

“You didn’t tell me this was not your first time. Although I do find it rather a pleasant surprise,” he rubs a hand over the curve of your waist with lust-hazed eyes.

“I could scarcely utter a word amidst your chatter,” you tease with a grin as you take another sip of your whiskey.

His smile dimples his cheek. 

“Are you—”

For once he hesitates to speak.

“Are you promised to anyone?”

You catch his hand and bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his palm before he thumbs your cheekbone.

“None but myself. And my duty.”

He hums in acknowledgment. 

You finger the white patch at his hairline, twirling a clinging curl. 

“Angered a horse as a child and she made it known with her hooves,” he offers. “Frightened the color from that spot, I’m afraid.”

“There’s character in it. I’m quite fond.”

He turns in and rests his chin on the bed, hand back to trailing over your curves. 

“Dove?”

And you frown at the nickname.

“I am nothing so delicate, Doran.”

“A shrike then, perhaps,” he smirks, knuckles ghosting over your stomach. 

And something about it makes your heart preen.

“Has a man ever,” his fingers dip lower over your abdomen, “put his mouth on you?” 

It sends a fresh jolt of pleasure racing up your spine. You turn onto your back without thought, basking in his touch as fingers trail over your mound.

“Right here?” The pads of his middle and ring fingers wind softly against your clit.

“No,” you gasp.

“Then may I have the pleasure of being the first?”

And he is the first in a way that has you wishing for him to be the last. 

The only.

_____

Your handmaid was sympathetic to your cause, having been driven from her own house for true love. They share a small cottage on your father’s land now.

Your mother, though she did not know the intricacies of your continued dalliances with the blacksmith, knew the shift in your demeanor was a man’s doing. And she always was a soft touch for love.

Your father.

Was your mother’s concern. 

And so your nurse covers your footsteps with a tickle in her throat that needs clearing.

Ushers you back into your chambers before morning light with a knowing smile.

“I always thought you would make a pass for the stable hand,” she confesses one day as she pours heated water over your hair. “The blacksmith is a surprise.”

“An unpleasant one?”

“Not in the slightest. He’s handsome.”

You can tell there is more to the sentiment. 

“Yes, and?” You ask with a raised brow.

“Rakish.”

“Perhaps rakish is what I need,” as you rub water from your eyes. 

“No lady with sense needs rakish, my darling girl,” she chides as she rubs soap at your scalp. “But a lady with sense should indulge in it from time to time.” 

This draws a smile across your lips.

“He treats you well?”

“He treats me to pleasure the likes of which I have never known. If I offer this kingdom the breath in my breast every time I leave its gates, the least I may be permitted is the choice of a lover.” 

And so she fixes you bitter tea every morning that you return from your rakish man.

_____

The pair of you take to late night meetings at the old groundskeeper’s shack on your parents’ land. 

Where the splashing of the brook over rocks and the churn of the water wheel stifle the way he makes you cry out in pleasure.

And for one so verbose, he does excel at discretion. Raking ashes from the forge through the patch of white in his hair. Bending shadows around himself as he slips from town and into the forest at the edge of the estate. 

The pair of you carry on for months. Until summer sun yields to the darkening blanket of fall. 

A welcome change that lengthens your stolen hours.

“I’d wager that we were lovers in lives past,” he muses one night, lips pressing kisses against a scar on your shoulder. “You know me, little bird. The very depths of me.”

“Perhaps,” you roll over in a luxuriant stretch, “you are easy to know.”

“The Townsfolk would perhaps beg to differ, my darling.” He rests his hand on your cheek as you curl into him.

“Must you go in the morrow?” He asks softly.

“I’m afraid I must. For it is my duty. To ensure the safety—”

“—of the kingdom,” you both finish.

“In that case, I have made you a gift.” He reaches over your form down to the pocket of his cloak, and produces a small canvas pouch.

He sits up with you, pulling your back to his chest, arms around your middle as he watches you. 

A small silver disk threaded on a chain falls into your palm. An iris stamped into the pendant.

“Doran, it’s beautiful. You made this?”

“It is perhaps more crude than a silversmith’s work,” he helps you fasten it around your neck, “but I wanted you to have something to remember my touch in the absence of it.”

You turn towards him such that he can see you in the firelight. Ash on your jaw from where you held him to your neck, perched atop his hips while he ground deep. 

Silver pendant hanging just above the valley of your breasts. 

“Beautiful,” he smiles, pressing a kiss against your lips, thumbing at the smudge on your chin. “I have always thought there to be something undeniably sensual in the furl of iris petals,” he rumbles, “how fitting for them to be your favorite.”

“Your imagination is swift, Doran.”

“You have not beheld what I have, dearheart,” he pulls you down against the bed linens once more.

Holding you against his heart. 

And he is quiet for a long while, fingers running softly over your stomach, nose buried in your hair.

“What of my safety?” He asks. 

A plea to keep you here. 

“What shall I do?”

“I have no doubt you will find another iris that unfurls for you in the meanwhile,” you hum. Eyes slipping closed. 

“There is only one, my love. I shall wait for your return.”

_____

A grand crowd lines the streets as you and the men of your battalion ride towards the village gates the next morning. Full of cheers and blessings.

And you offer the customary wave and nod.

But your heart hammers against chainmail. 

Eyes darting through the crowd.

Willing a shock of white to appear. 

And as you near the gates he greets you.

Warm brown eyes and a grin of pride. He rushes to push through the crowd as you approach on your mare, eyes never leaving each other. 

You slip one foot from your stirrup and he jams one of his into it and stands, briefly.

Long enough to cup the base of your skull and lay a parting kiss against your lips.

You hurriedly pull your red handkerchief from behind your breastplate, pressing it into his palm as he drops away.

Crushing the cloth to his heart as you slip through the gates. 

And it will yield the ire of your father and the warm, joyous tears of your mother.

But they matter not.

For you do not return home under your own power. 

You return home under a shroud. 

Your nurse slips into the night, treading your path with your necklace in hand.

“She was found with her hand over her heart. And this underneath it.”

And the blacksmith. 

Wrought with grief.

Is never seen again.

Part III: The Helper. The Protector.

He’s called Ezra in this lifetime. 

Brought to this bar by a group of associates keen on celebrating his win in federal court this afternoon. 

And he knows it’s an excuse to drink on the firm’s dime.

He was an associate once too. 

But they helped draft the brief that saved their client $44 million. A few drinks is a small thanks. 

Ezra sticks to the corners, entertaining chatter only when approached. Kindly redirecting the advances of a first year who’s too young to realize flirting with a partner is career suicide.

He’s content tonight to sip his bourbon and observe.

“Okay, but I told you that Bismark case was horseshit and the judge was going to see that!” One associate who is two drinks too deep roars.

“That was so fucking risky, I still can’t believe you put so much weight on that,” another chides.

“Fucking WORKED though!” And the first man spreads his arms wide.

Knocking you into the sip of red wine you were about to take from your seat at the bar. 

“Jesus, fuckin’—” you start before taking a deep breath and glancing down at the patch of deep burgundy beginning to spread on your white blouse. 

Fuck.

“Boys, boys, this lovely lady didn’t consent to hearing your opinions on bullshit 4th Circuit rulings, okay?” Ezra appears, stretching an arm between you and the men. “Let’s be a little more careful, take it to a booth, yeah?”

“Miss, I apologize on their behalf,” he starts and you take another centering breath because you really are not here for some hotshot lawyer’s apologies. This is your spot, and they’re fucking with your Thursday night nightcap.

But the brown eyes you’re met with are wide and sincere.

And something at the very core of you thrums momentarily with something you can’t name. 

“Please, allow me to replace your wine and cover your tab for the night.” He’s already calling the barman over before you can assure him that’s really not necessary because they’ve fucked up your night already and you just want to go home. 

“Could you please arrange a fresh glass of wine for this lovely lady, place her tab on the card I gave you, and may I have a shot glass of white wine. I need the white wine as quickly as you can, please. Thanks very much.”

And you’re still staring at those brown eyes.

Bristling and dumbstruck at the same time. 

“Ezra,” he holds out a hand in belated introduction, and you offer a firm shake and your name in exchange.

“Sorry, a shot glass of white wine?” You quip as the bartender places it in front of Ezra.

He slips a red pocket square from his jacket and dips a corner into the shot glass.

“Apologies, may I?”

And inexplicably you turn in towards him on your bar stool as he dabs at the stain on your shirt. 

Just over your heart. 

“White wine will keep the stain from setting,” he proffers.

You crane your neck to the side, trying to settle your focus on cut glass bottles and not the stranger tending to the fine layer of cotton just above your left breast. 

He’s gentle though. Respectful in a way you perhaps didn’t anticipate. 

He smells of hinoki wood and worn leather.

“Right as rain,” he announces and takes half a step back before offering you the handkerchief. “If you want to hold that there to blot some of the excess.”

“Um, yeah, thank you. Thanks,” you hold the cloth over your heart as the bartender returns with your fresh glass of wine. 

Ezra settles on the barstool next to you.

“How…did you know that?” 

“About the wine?” He swallows a sip of bourbon. “Must’ve read it at some point and it just stuck.”

“Seems you’re a good man to have around in a crisis then,” you smile and tip your glass in his direction. He gently touches the side of his against it, before tapping the heavy base against the bar and taking another sip. 

Everything he does is briefly fascinating. 

“I apologize again for these kids,” he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, producing a business card which he slides over to you face-down. “You should be all good with that,” he gestures at the handkerchief, “but I insist on you sending me the dry cleaning bill. If I’ve recalled incorrectly and it does stain, I will procure a replacement for you, you have my word.”

“That’s really not necessary,” you start and yet find yourself unable to stop, “and I’m not even sure it’s possible this is vintage—”

“Alexander McQueen, I know.”

You turn all the way towards him on your barstool now. 

And his eyes glitter with your fascination as he runs his hand through the patch of white at his hairline.

“What are you reading,” he tips his head to the side as if to glimpse the cover of your book but he doesn’t break your gaze. Cheek dimpled with a half smile. 

“Ovid. Metamorphoses.”

“For fun?” There’s a hint of surprise in his voice but it’s far from belittling. 

“It’s…” you start before a smile splits your face, “yeah. For fun.”

And he echoes your grin.

“I re-read it for fun last year. I think the passage about Orpheus’ death is my favorite.”

“Fascinating,” you swallow a sip of your tempranillo. “Why that one?” 

“Well, I believe it’s a commentary on both the unbridled rage of passion and a testament to the obstinate nature of true love.”

“Obstinate?” You incline your head incredulously. “That’s quite a choice.”

“And yet it holds true, does it not? Orpheus, arguably one of the most talented figures in Greek mythology,” and he’s gesturing broadly now, “able to enchant the very souls of feral beasts and move trees to bend their limbs just to be nearer his music.”

He jabs his finger into the bartop between you, “he moved Hades, both the realm and the deity himself, let’s not forget, correct?”

And you nod, amusement playing across your features. 

“The earth and the underworld fell at his feet. And he shunned it all out of love for Eurydice.”

“And so what moral value do you place on obstinacy?” You ask.

“Obstinacy in love is the only way to experience it. To feel it so completely that you forsake everything else. Defy the world. For love. Fidelity to the wife that you betrayed by turning back.” Brown eyes are wide with his conviction.

He adds, “even Shakespeare said let it be virtuous to be obstinate.”

“Okay, in a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT context!” Your turn to erupt now, with arms thrown in the air where you’re met by his wide smile. “You cannot cherry pick that out of Coriolanus choosing to abandon his family out of sheer stubbornness, and frankly, contempt for his own people, to extol the virtues of love! Let it be virtuous to FORSAKE that love, is the whole point of that line.”

And this is the moment.

That Ezra falls in love.

And you’re not far behind.

Time slips from this point on. Patrons file in and out. More wine and whiskey is poured. Associates drunkenly clap him on the back as they make their way home, but none of it registers.

The world spins around the pair of you.

Until finally the bartender insists that he close his tab. 

And you both step out onto a city street wet with the aftermath of a brief summer downpour. 

“Thank you,” Ezra starts, “for the absolute pleasure of your company.”

He holds a tentative hand out, which you shake with a heartfelt “likewise.”

“Oh, your handkerchief,” you pull it from your pocket and hold it out to him. 

“Keep it.” He smiles. 

And you both spin on your heels. Proceeding in opposite directions.

But the warp and weft of the red cotton square that you keep rubbing between your fingers forces you to stop in your tracks. 

You turn around.

And look back. 

Meeting Ezra’s gaze from where he hasn’t moved a step.

He thumbs the corner of his lips, brown eyes locked on yours.

And you both move. 

Urgent steps pulled by Fates’ string.

Colliding as you throw your arms around his neck and he locks you against him with biceps around your ribs.

Lips crashing together with the relief of a thousand lifetimes. 

Lifetimes that you’ve known each other.

Lifetimes that you’ve lost each other. 

And this lifetime. Having found each other again.

Taglist of folks who may be interested, as always, please do let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged, or if you'd like to be added!

@morallyinept @iamskyereads @tinytinymenace @for-a-longlongtime @legendary-pink-dot

@oliveksmoked @nerdieforpedro @julesonrecord

Subpart headings are the meaning of Ezra's name in that section.

Orpheus' monologue included herein in italics is quoted from David Raeburn's 2004 translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, published by Penguin Classics. The text of this translation just felt so Ezra that I had to include it in that form. If you'd like to hear it read by Hozier himself, head on over to his instagram circa summer 2020's Poetry Fridays for this and some other wonderful work.

This story references the version of Eurydice's death as precipitated by Aristaeus.

Láir means mare in Irish Gaelic.

"Let it be virtuous to be obstinate" is quoted from Coriolanus by William Shakespeare.

[epitomereally]

Celestial Navigation by @sabrecmc

18 year old Omega!Tony finds himself Bonded to Captain Steve Rogers. He isn't happy about it until he is.

An absolutely gorgeous story of learning to love yourself, even when you feel like you don't fit in & that you grew up wrong. I'm so happy to have gotten to bind this mammoth work for Sabre & as a gift exchange for @mourningmountainsbindery (who bound me this beautiful copy of Astolat's Let the River Run—JUST LOOK AT THAT COVER!).

Also to anyone who has @ed me lately (looking at u, em @powerful-owl & tacky @tackytigerfic particularly) & I've been derelict in responding, here is WHY.

This has been the longest binding project I've undertaken, both in page count and in time. My original message to Sabre was on March 16th—can't decide if I want to use the laughing or crying emoji here—and the colophon says I made the book in April 2023 (which was when I started typesetting, maybe). I had been randomly perusing dying videos on Youtube in bed on a Saturday morning, as one does, and came across a video showing how to spiral tie-dye. I IMMEDIATELY had a design premonition of the full design for this fic as a two-volume set, planted into my brain wholesale by the binding gods. I learned many new techniques throughout the process (edge painting, edge trimming/sanding, tie-dying/dyepainting, embroidery, typesetting meta from tumblr which copy-pastes with the worst goddamn formatting in the world, kill me now). Overall, alternately extremely painful & wonderful, and I'm extremely proud of this set.

Design-wise, I went whole-hog with the scifi stars theme. Endpapers are recolored versions of the star charts from the Apollo 11 mission:

Title page & chapter titles are both rips in the galaxy:

Epigraphs both star-themed:

Some more glamor shots because I'm so proud 💕

8.6 lbs // 3.8 kgs worth of books (~3000 total pages) 🥰

Celestial Navigation is also INCREDIBLY popular, and Sabre has been incredibly generous answering asks on her tumblr + writing additional one-shots in the universe. There is also a veritable volume of fanart. I was so inspired by seeing @robins-egg-bindery copy of ********, with its appendix of fanart & meta, that I promptly copied them.

fanart redacted because lots of the artists are no longer active on tumblr but just know i am ECSTATIC about the amount of art in these books

Lastly, I love how @clovenhoofbindery includes their 'Illustrator mess' with their bind posts, as a behind-the-scenes look into the wild process of designing these books. I don't actually have an Illustrator mess for this book (the chapter titles & title page pretty much came in one take), but I do have a DYING MESS. It took me sososo many tries to figure out how to get the dye to look how I imagined in my head. I ended up 'dye painting' instead of tie-dying in the end, but my inbox is always open to chat hand-dying/tie-dying/dyepainting (or what I did differently between any of these attempts). Numbers are the dying attempt.

Last process shot: I hand-dyed variegated linen thread to match the colors of the bind, which ends up being incredibly difficult to see on the finished bind, but was super fun while I was sewing!

Materials:

Body font: Kepler

Title font: Compaq 1982

Chapter number font: aliens & cows

Endpapers: recolored versions of the star chart used by Michael Collins during the Apollo 11 mission (archived at The Smithsonian)

Bookcloth: dyed using Dharma Trading Procion Fiber-Reactive Dyes

Title page and chapter headers: designed in Photoshop using the Ultimate Space brush pack by jeffrettalyn on DeviantArt

Metallic embroidery thread: Cosmo Nishikiito thread

I would dye for this embroidery thread. It is LIGHT YEARS better than the classic metallic embroidery thread from DMC: much easier to work with & much more sparkly. Literally so eye-catching; it truly doesn't translate to photos.

Paint for edges: Daniel Smith watercolor tubes in Iridescent Sunstone and Prussian Blue

Note: these are GORGEOUS watercolors. The color is so saturated and strong and beautiful BUT I don't think I'd recommend watercolors for edge painting. They went on very differently depending on the grit of the sandpaper I used for the edges + they sometimes bled into the pages + they had to be set with fixative, which then stuck the pages together.

[apollomes-supremacy]

Hello Gress can you please tell me the name and creator the splendid oil painting of Phoebus Apollo and Mercury that you have displayed on your Tumblr? I really like the painting and wanted to ask who's the painter because I like the old art of Apollo.. Thank you if can help me with this😃...

Hello! 🦢

I believe youre refering to the painting on my header: Apollo or The Three Protector of The Muses by Charles-André van Loo (Carle Van Loo), 1745.

(I previously thought it had another name, but apparently I was wrong lol)

This artist also has some other mythological works that I really like!

Marsyas Flayed by the Order of Apollo, 1975.

Juno, 1736.

Perseus and Andromeda, c.1735 - c.1740.

Venus and Cupids with the Arms of Mars, 1743.

Education of Cupid, c. 1750.

Jason and Medea, 1759.

Mercury and Argos, 18th century.

Baccus et Ariane, 18th century.

[roxenworks]

Intro Post!!!!

Hello! Welcome to my blog :) You can call me Roxen or Onyx. I'm going to be writing whump of course, with the main focus being on my OCs! The universe these OCs are Fantasy. Expects lots of magic and nonhuman whumpees and whumpers. Though I will say they do have modern aus, whether or not I'll write it is up to question.

Favorite Tropes:

Magical/Fantasy Whump

Pet Whump

Angel/Demon Whump

Hero/Villain Whump

Captive Whump

Disliked Tropes:

Giant/Tiny

Team Whump

Sickfic

Tags (To Be Continued):

#roxenwrites for all my writing

#roxenanswers for my asks

#roxenspeaks for all my regular posts

Series! (WIP Names):

Treacherous Magic:

(This series is about Apollo and Elliot. Two dragons. Though there may be other characters once in a while. I do not plan to write this in an exactly concrete timeline. Just using them in prompts. Do not expect comfort.)

Out of The Pan and Into The Fire Exhaustion Drabble

Fallen Feathers:

(These series is a bit more complex, the main people being Griffin and Dante. Demon and Angel respectively. The main focus being pet whump, specifically training pets. This will be much more in depth lore wise and timeline wise.)

Worse Than Dying Whumptober Day 8

I'll be taking drabble requests for all my OCs!

Requests: 0/3

image credits:

PFP and header by: @/hiddencircus

Dividers by: @/mmadeinheavenn

Theme by: @/n0nspace

[epically-ace-attorney]

Hello There!

I was wondering what characters are seen in this au and also who they are analogous to ^^

Hi!

I'll give you a few for now :)

In the header image we have: Phoenix - Odysseus Edgeworth - Penelope Apollo - Telemachus Trucy and Sebastian are also kids of Miles and Phoenix, just adopted after Phoenix left for war ("my real wife knows I don't have a daughter" - he does, he just doesn't know about her yet, and we also figured that the sirens' interpretations of what their daughter might look like would be different to Trucy) Clay is there because we love him and he and Apollo have history and vibes so we had to. Clay lives!

In the fic I wrote we find out that Maya and Pearl are both Tiresias (bc we couldn't think of a role for Maya tbh and her being with Pearl fits), and that Kristoph is Eurylochus. We originally planned for him to be Antinous bc then he'd be up against Apollo, but then we swapped him with who we originally had for Eurylochus and it fits better. I hope that makes sense ^^;;

Larry is Polites. It's super sad, I know, but Larry has that upbeat kinda energy that Polites has in EPIC.

Mia is Athena! I love the idea of Mia as Athena and Siren agreed with me haha - as for Athena Cykes, she's a highly trusted handmaiden, mostly of Trucy but also with Miles sometimes.

We loved Gumshoe too much to put him in a role where he might die, so he's one of the top guards of the palace <3

Hope this answers a few things! :D

~ Wel

[magicalgirlfia]

Started playing Cosmic Turnabout, these are my thoughts so far.

ID:

[A drawing of Apollo Justice running on a blue and white gradient background. The header text reads: “JUST WALK OUT” with smaller italic text below it reading “you can leave”. Next to Apollo there is a list reading

work

social thing

court

home

crime scene

hospital

best friends death

too fancy space station

blackquill if your quick

friend ships

The bottom text reads as “IF IT SUCKS… HIT DA BRICKS!!” With cursive text underneath it saying “real winners quit”]

END ID

[ctimenefic]

Since March is idling its way towards the Ides, I hope I can get away with pimping my Galex Roman Emperor AU fic where George is modelled on old Gaius Julius Caesar* himself.

(I'm trying real hard not to be self-deprecating about it, but I made the header myself and ooooh boy it was a journey in learning to hate Canva)

Featuring: knives! plots! dubious use of olive oil! way too much research!

Here's the start to prove I'm not totally insane:

George had cried at his first triumph. Alex had been too far ahead to see, crammed in with the other magistrates, but by the time George climbed the steps of the Capitoline temple, it had been obvious - pale gullies under his eyes where the red paint had washed down his face, dripped down his neck. He'd looked like he was bathed in blood even before he slit the bulls’ throats and offered them to Jupiter. He’d been shaking too. Alex had realised when he’d stepped close and they’d walked to the wooden scaffold to watch the legions march by. The crowds below had been screaming his name, worshipping their king-for-a-day, a roar of noise. The force of that much love seemed to hit George like a physical blow, over and over, so his shoulders twitched under the purple of his toga, under the solid weight of Alex’s hand. It had taken days for him to settle, turn his mind back to the tedium of daily life. Not so this time. George is not crying now. He does not shake. Lying on the couch of his private triclinium, he’s so still he could be dead, or sleeping, but for the warm glow of him, and the way his eyes, half-lidded, track Alex from the moment he enters the room.

He still has the laurels nestled in his curls, but he’s washed the paint from his face and the long line of his neck. Not Jupiter, then, but still a godling, a model for any sculptor at the temple of Apollo. The folds of his purple toga have fallen open, so Alex can see the way George’s knees are splayed, the soft gold of his inner thigh. “Alexander,” George calls, though his lips barely move. “Is the procession finally over?” This high on the Palatine, the drum beat of thousands of sandalled feet is harder to hear, almost indistinguishable from a heartbeat. Alex has to clear his throat twice before he’ll trust his voice. “It will be hours yet - the Sixth Legion are barely off the Field of Mars. But it will be over in time for the games.” He drops his scroll cases on the small table by the second couch, waits for George’s slow nod before he takes a seat. “I brought the grain counts from Libya and Egypt-” “Accounting? On the day of my triumph? You are a harsh master, Alexander, but I’ll take it.” “Your triumph was yesterday,” Alex says carefully, and George rewards him with a smile as slow as a snake.

Read Imperator here on AO3

*Okay, so, Gaius Julius Casear Octavianus, but it still counts

[aspoonofsugar]

Hello! I hope your week is good to you, and if not that it gets better. It appears that you are intrigued by Lore Olympus. May I ask if you could do an analysis on Hades there, if you have the time. I love your thoughts on Persephone, and her duality. Also, have you ever had any thoughts on changing your header and icon to prevent from being thought as a bot?

Drink water and eat vegetables regularly. Drink milk also if you could.

Hi!

My week was good, thank you! I hope yours was fine, as well :)

So, I'll start from your last question about my icon and header :P I have, but never did out of laziness tbh. Probably I will one day, when I feel like it :)

Now, for your main question... yes, I enjoyed Lore Olympus's run! I am more of a casual reader, so I do not know the story or characters, as well as I do for other series. Still, it was a very fun read to have weekly:) I love the art and I think it had some genuinely great ideas and characters. I also think there was a drop in quality at a certain point and some pacing issues, but overall it managed to stay consistent with its main themes and delivered a satisfying conclusion to the two main characters' arc... All of this to say that I think the series gets way too much hate, which is honestly disproportionate and kinda absurd tbh... Like, there are series that screwed up more than LO ever did and get waaaaaaaaaaaaay less criticism. (Also, personally I feel strongly against the whole it isn't a good representation of the original myth argument...).

Anyway, this was all to say that yes, I can do a quick analysis of Hades. Or to better say, I can share my thoughts on him and what I think his role in the story is.

In general, Lore Olympus is a revisitation of Persephone and Hades's myth, which is extremely rich. So, it can be interpreted in many ways and a retelling can focus on many different aspects of the classical story... You can focus on Demeter's point of view and explore the story of a mother losing a child to an unjust society... You can have a Persephone trapped in the Underworld who is trying to escape from an abuser... You can even have an enemy to lovers' version of the myth... It all depends on what intrigues you the most about the story.

Now, obviously what intrigued LO's author is Persephone and Hades's complementary, which gets reflected in their designs, their personalities and their arcs.

Persephone is young, linked to spring (life) and feminine (hence why she is pink and has softer lines)

Hades is old, linked to the underworld (death) and masculine (hence why he is blue and has harsher lines)

The twist is that even if superficially Persephone and Hades seem to embody their gender stereotypes to a T, they are actually more complex. Persephone angers easily and can be impulsive and violent. Hades is sensitive and dreams of romance and belonging. They are both forced to comform to their gender stereotypes by society, which we soon discover having been created through a cycle of abuse. This violence is both generational (parents abusing children, who end up abusing their own children as a result of their own trauma) and domestic. Every King is able to rise to power only by using a more powerful Goddess and stealing their agency. As a result, Hades and Persephone's stories deal with these two kinds of abuse. And they do so in a mirrored way.

Initially:

Persephone's story focuses on her complicated relationship with Demeter, who is an abusive mother

Hades's story focuses on his complicated romantic story with Minthe, which is unhealthy

As the story goes on, though, the focus shifts:

Persephone faces Demeter and the two find closure. Meanwhile, though, she ends up as the object of sexual abuse by Apollo and she has to deal with the aftermath and the complicated feelings this violence leaves her with.

Hades and Minthe's relationship comes to an end (in a rather tumultuous way) and Hades can slowly address the root of all his complexes. That is his relationship with Cronos, his violent and abusive father.

Basically, by the end Persephone deals with romantic and sexual abuse. Her conflict with Apollo is linked to the mysoginy present in Olympian society. The mysoginy that made so all fertility goddesses before her were used and eventually discarded.

Hades's storyline instead deals with generational trauma and child abuse. He faces Cronos and realizes he doesn't have to be the kind of father Cronos was. That his father's abuse does not define him and that he can be happy with his new family.

This complementarity is made very obvious in the final arc, where Persephone deals with Apollo and Hades with Cronos. Not only that, but before facing their respective abusers both Persephone and Hades help another character:

Persephone resurrects Hera and frees the potential Zeus had been suffocating in their unhealthy relationship. She helps an older woman to find her own agency again.

Hades reassures his future daughter Melinoe that it is not her fault Cronos is abusing her. He saves his inner child by helping a small girl.

Finally, they do so by inverting traditional gender roles. On the one hand Persephone is given the chance to rage. The wrath she had been accumulating (which is literally embodied by Eris) gets to come out and she gets to humiliate Apollo and to walk away. On the other hand Hades gets to forgive Cronos. He frees himself from the hate and manages to move on.

When it comes to Hades, he is also throuhgtly foiled with Hera in this. In his final moments, Cronos is still projecting gender roles on both Hades and Hera. He projects Uranus on Hades and sees his son as an extension of his father. He instead sees Hera as a feminine presence that can understand, empathize and ultimately heal him. Well, it turns out he got them both wrong. Hades is the one empathizing with him, he is the one who has tried to understand Cronos all along. Hera instead is the one who despises him and who chooses not to care nor to forgive him in the end. Cronos does not understand them, so he ultimately dies without empathy... That is because he asked it from the wrong person.

Anyway, after defeating their respective abusers, Persephone and Hades find each other again and they unite their powers. However, they do so in the opposite way all the other royal couples did. Hades is the one empowering Persephone and not the other way around. As a result, Persephone fixes the macrochosm by reliving all the other fertility goddesses. Hades instead plays a key role in the microchosm by assisting Persephone. This is even highlight by Persephone becoming a giant and Hades happily flying around her.

So, these are my general thoughts on the series, its main themes and Hades's meaning for the overal narrative.

Thank you for the ask!

[nanamismoonchild]

deceiving the moon

->chapter 11- the pan handler

->pairing: namjoon x oc (persephone)

->genre: greek god, fantasy

->wc: ~1.5k

->warnings: choking, name-calling, rough fingering, power dynamics on both sides, unhinged namjoon and oc (both of them are crazy), Persephone being mean

credits: this fic was beta read by the lovely @augustbutwinter and the header was made by the lovely @birbdae

a/n: somehow i found enough time to write a few words.it's been *checks notes* a whillllleeeeeeeeeeeee since i wrote namjoon and our girlboss persephone. please comment or send an ask my way if you enjoyed it. Or better yet, send an owl with a lovely letter. :D OH OH I hope you all get the reference too!

prev next

also posted on ao3

Persephone had hoped Namjoon would let her explore more of her new kingdom. However, he explained that they had an appointment with a familiar god by the name of Park Jimin. 

To humans, he was Pan. To Persephone, he was a nuisance much like the rest of the gods that she had met so far. The only difference is she had interacted with Jimin more times than she would have liked to admit.  

Her mother enjoyed his company and invited him to help with harvests. He also lurked around the lake surrounding her old home, flirting with the nymphs. And with her. She couldn’t count on her fingers how many times she rebuffed him, only for him to come back the next day.  

In fact, she had a feeling, she already knew what he would say the moment she was in his proximity. 

“You picked him? Over me?” Jimin screeched, damn near tossing himself into her personal space. He managed to sound both accusatory and hurt at the same time. 

“And why on Gaea’s green earth would I ever choose you?”

Sulkily, he replied, “Because obviously I’m the better choice. I’m your mother’s favorite.”

“My mother didn’t have favorites,” Persephone said plainly, hoping to hurt the man’s feelings. “And if she did, she’d be foolish to choose you.”

“You can be such a bi-”

Namjoon huffed and stood up from his chair, swiftly, trying to save his friend from getting slapped into the next century. “If you’re done flirting with my wife, Jimin, I’d like to begin this meeting. I’d like to get some sleep tonight.”

The new goddess of the underworld and the young god of the wild both turned their heads to Namjoon at the same time, and eerily, both said, “You’re organizing?”

Namjoon’s heart broke a little.

“Yes, but that’s neither here nor there with you, Jimin.”

Persephone sat next to Namjoon, easily sliding into her business persona. A persona she didn’t even realize she had until now. Being Queen was changing her, and she loved every single moment of it. 

Jimin scoffed, “Right. You want to hold a ball in this silly dirty-”

“Do not insult my new home, shepherd.”

Jimin braved the intentional insult and kept going.  He was used to Persephone despising every man that walked into her life. From what he’d heard, she had already knocked Yoongi down a couple of pedestals, made Jungkook bleed, and put Namjoon into his place. He wasn’t (yes, he was) afraid of what she’d do to him.  

“I’m sorry. Your lovely castle. You want to turn this place into the finest place ever. With my help. Why not just call Apollo?” “Tried. No answer, “ Namjoon said plainly. 

“Of course. He must be off doing some trials or something. I heard he got into some really bad stuff.”

“Before you two turn into gossiping nymphs, what is this about a ball?” Persephone questioned, turning to look at Namjoon. “This is the first I’ve heard of such a thing and we’ve both spent the night taking care of…errands.”

Jimin didn’t bother asking what errands the two of them took; he felt if he asked his feelings would get more than hurt. 

“Ah, it was a last minute thing. And it’s not really a ball. It’s more of a ceremony for the both of us.”

He side-eyed Jimin. 

“I wanted to create a song for you. And I thought that Jimin would be the perfect candidate to help me. After Apollo of course.”

Namjoon thought he heard a small “whatever” come from Jimin. 

The look of complete disgust was painted onto Persephone’s beautiful face as she realized what Namjoon had suggested. 

“I’d rather listen to the cries of the dead as they cross the Styx and realize they’re being rowed away on a boat driven by that idiot you trust so much.”

Damn. The woman managed to insult all three men and one of them wasn’t even in the room. 

“Persephone, my music is not that bad. The Pan Girls say that-”

“Pan Girls,” Persephone rolled her eyes. “They are nothing more than women who have laid in bed with you on more than one occasion. That is the name that common men, such as yourself, give them. It’s close to being called a whore. Please do not ever call the women who idol you that despicable name.”

Jimin felt as if an arrow had been shot and lodged in his chest. His cheeks became warm and red as shame rose up his body.  He had thought it was one of those adorable fan names. 

“And please, no music made by a man has ever made me happy,” Persephone added to complete the reading she had just given the poor man. “Now, if you had asked Euterpe, I would have taken any song by her.”

“Well, she was unavailable, considering she’s one of the nine.” Namjoon gritted out, wanting to add a demand that Persephone stop insulting his friends or he wouldn’t have anyone except Cerberus.  

“Hm, too bad. I guess I’ll take the half goat then.”

Jimin was ready to cry. There were only so many insults he could take, and the Queen may have just found his limit. 

“Namjoon, I don’t think I feel comfortable singing a song for the bitch who clearly does not like me.”

Namjoon sucked in his teeth. Enough was enough. If she was going to be a queen, petty insults needed to stop.   “Persephone.”

“Yes?” Persephone asked innocently, instantly hearing the low tone Namjoon used with nuisances. “Please apologize to our guest.” 

The grin that spread across his queen’s face was absolutely terrifying. It was the smile of a woman who knew she had all the power. And no one could take it from her. 

“Now, “ she started, tracing circles along Namjoon’s arm, “if I do that, it wouldn’t be sincere. And Jimin deserves a sincere apology. Don’t you, Jiminie? ”The tone she used was sultry and, obviously, fake, but that didn’t deter Jimin. 

He loved being called Jiminie, and finally hearing it from Persephone, someone he had been infatuated with for years called him tha,made every insult she had made towards him disappear. 

He was sucked into her charms immediately.

“I do deserve one. Listen, I’ll make up calling my admirers, Pan Girls, by writing and singing the best song you’ve ever heard.”

“You will?” Persephone gushed, still putting on a false performance. 

She knew Namjoon wasn’t pleased but to hell with him. 

The god of flutes nodded giddily and took off before Persephone or Namjoon could say anything else. 

The throne room was empty besides the two of them. Normally, a swarm of servants would come over.  Persephone still couldn’t register the days or nights in the Underworld very well; however, she knew from her the sleepiness that suddenly overwhelmed her, it was late in the night, which meant the servants were also in bed. 

She yawned and stood, aiming to stretch her legs. She became aware of Namjoon sliding next to her; she made the mistake of presuming he was going to offer to carry her as he normally did. 

Instead he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into his front. His other hand made its way to her throat. And pressed. Not enough to completely cut her off, but enough for her to feel lightheaded but excited all the same. 

Namjoon leaned in close to Persephone’s ear, so that he knew she was listening. 

“Whenever we have guests, my queen, you will respect them,” he moved the hand that was on her waist to her middle, bunching up the night dress she wore. Almost exposing her. 

“No more of these petty jabs. Business only.”

She decided to mess with Namjoon, “Or what?” 

Mistake. A big one. 

Namjoon whipped her around and pushed her into her throne. The Egyptian cotton stuffed velvet pillow felt like heaven underneath her,  but Namjoon didn’t give her time to enjoy the feeling. He lifted her dress, and slid two fingers inside of her warmth. 

Persephone moaned and began rocking on his fingers before the arm he wasn’t using pinned her thighs down. She pouted, but the onslaught of Namjoon’s fingers didn’t allow her to chastise him. She quickly felt a coil begin to emerge, and couldn’t believe it was so soon. 

Unfortunately, just as soon it began, it ended. 

Namjoon slid his fingers out, her pussy making a shameful wet noise as he removed them.   The sound warmed Persephone’s cheeks as she tried to catch her breath. 

“You keep doing what you’re doing–you won’t get what you want,” Namjoon said, his voice still dripping with the dark vibe. He licked both fingers clean, relishing Persephone’s taste. 

Persephone opened her mouth to complain, but it was promptly shut with Namjoon stuffing both of his fingers into her mouth. She tasted a little of herself, and Namjoon’s own saliva on her tongue.  

“We’re going to go to our room and sleep. You’re not getting that orgasm tonight. We’ll see how you behave in the morning.”

Persephone nodded, reluctantly. 

Namjoon smiled, no, he beamed. It was the same terrifying grin that Persephone had earlier. No one could take away the power Persephone had as the Underworld’s Queen. Except the King, her king. 

[bones4thecats]

I am going to write a piece while my headers for Demon Slayer and Diabolik Lovers get finished. I wish you all Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year in the meantime!

[huntersmoon1]

JUST PUTTING THIS HERE!

IF ANYONE IS wondering where the gif in my header is from, it’s from the Netflix movie Damsel. A new favorite of mine.

Also the chapters I post for RoR and RoR:Jack the ripper case files are not leaks,

they are official Japanese releases and here’s the link to the site. Be warned for some chapters you must buy tickets to unlock. The link is also in my bio.

On to the imagines ⬇️

•Ok I just saw a fan art of Hyoga from dr.stone as a beastman and now I want a similar plot to this but for Hyoga only.

•And instead of a clouded leopard he’s a leucistic leopard of the African variety, no not in the race swapping sense. And on that note you know Tsukasa would be a lion beastman.

•single dad beastman Hyoga has two young cubs, one is leucistic like beastman Hyoga and able to walk around in his beast form but crawl in his beastman form.

•The other melanistic and has brown fur with black rosettes and able only able to crawl on her belly in her beast form and not able to move around at all in her beastman form since she’s only a few days old.

•They dress the same and have the same ability to shift and have the same physical characteristics like the pouch as Jack (see the below pictures) and the life style is the same as with Jack.

•They live in their cozy den deep in the jungle beneath the roots of a large uprooted tree.

•The den is far from any bodies of water to prevent the den being flooded during the monsoon seasons and hidden by tall grasses and flowers to mask his cubs scents from those who would kill his cubs for food, like anything bigger than the cubs that eats meat, sport like poachers and hunters, or to just eliminate future competition like other jaguars, both beastmen and regular jaguars.

•They get sucked through a portal from their cozy den Into the world of dr.stone.

•Beastman Hyoga quickly finds what he deems to be a safe place to use as a temporary den to hide his cubs in while he goes to survey there new environment and go hunting.

•While beastman Hyoga is away from the den Ginro finds the den and the cubs.

•Being the idiot he is, he grabs the cubs and runs back to senku and the gang to show them strange creatures he found.

•Chaos ensues.

———

•Love&deepspace boys Zayne, Xavier, Rafayel. Same plot/concept different characters⬇️.

•original post⬇️.

•ROR JACK AND NOAH SINGLE DAD BEASTMAN AU IDEA! IF YOU WANT TO WRITE IT LET ME KNOW! THIS IS CRACK I KNOW BUT MOST IF NOT ALL MY IDEAS ARE!

•Au single dad jaguar beastman Jack and Noah and their tiny daughters fall through a portal in their world from their cozy den deep in the jungle beneath the roots of a large uprooted tree far from any bodies of water to prevent the den being flooded during the monsoon seasons and hidden by tall grasses and flowers to mask their cubs scents from those who would kill their cubs for food like anything bigger than the cubs that eats meat, sport like poachers and hunters, or to just eliminate future competition like other jaguars both beastmen and regular jaguars.

•They fall through the portal right into the arena while the match between Leónides and Apollo is going on in the RoR world.

•Beastman Jack and Noah and their daughters dress similar to this minus the rope around his neck. ⬇️(The guy in the picture is the good guy I promise.)

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•But look more like the next pic ⬇️ .

•Jack has albino fur with faint silver rosettes and his daughter from this mating season has brown fur and black rosettes while the older one from the previous mating season has white fur and more visible silver rosettes since she is leucitic instead of albino.

•Noah has melanistic black as night fur with slightly darker black rosettes and his cub has the common golden fur with black rosettes.

•I headcanon that Jack is at least 5 to 10 years older than Noah after think about it for a while so Jack has sired many offspring and has 10 years worth of experience.

•He has successfully raised almost every single one to adulthood except for the cubs from his first three mating seasons.

•He remembers the mistakes he made in the first three mating season out of the 10 seasons he’s been raising his cubs.

•The first cubs drowned during a monsoon that started while he while he was out hunting because the den he chose was to close to a river that’s water level was low before the monsoon began.

•The second was killed by a predator because they stayed in one den for too long and a predator picked up his cubs scent and killed them while he was away hunting.

•He returned to find his cubs dead and half eaten with the killer long gone, killed for food or to eliminate future competition.

•He tracked the killers scent and killed it so it wouldn’t try to make a meal of any of his cubs in the future.

•The third was killed because the den wasn’t hidden well enough and he was followed when he brought a kill back to the den for his cub.

•The next day when he came back to the den after a hunt he found only blood and the scent of a poacher, his cub was killed for sport by a bullet of some sick poacher who thought it would make a nice mantelpiece.

•Jack tracked them down and killed them the next day, the locals knew of his crime and why he was killed because he’d been bragging about his prize the night before. (Think of the animation Wolfsong on YouTube.)

•His cub from the previous mating season is old enough that she can run around and play, unknowingly practicing hunting through play often sneaking up and pouncing on her father or Noah or playing with their tails the way tiger cubs do but is still young enough to be in her fathers pouch and to nurse, not quite old enough to be weaned off his milk but old enough to be introduced to meat, she doesn’t stay in the pouch quite as much as her newborn younger sister but is still in there a lot like when sleeping or nursing or when she’s not playing and wants to cuddle.

•Meanwhile Noah is new to the game and his newborn cub is his first cub of his first mating season so he goes to Jack for advice when he needs it or leaves his cub with Jack when he needs a break or just needs to go hunting. Jack will also leave his own cubs with Noah when he needs a break or goes hunting.

•They can change between their semi furry form and their all animal form like in the picture and they do have tribal markings on various parts of their body’s but their semi furry form has more fur they have fur everywhere but their face,neck,and center of their chest, and Jack and Noah each have a pouch like a marsupial that they keep their daughters in when they’re not out hunting or fighting.

•Although the walls of the pouch are thick and cushioned enough to keep the cubs safe and uninjured even if they get deep lacerations on the pouch or if they fall on their belly from a great height if they have to fight while the cub is in the pouch.

•Beastman Jack and Noah also have four teets inside their pouchs that produce milk for their cubs, like kangaroos since they gotta feed their mammal babies somehow, and the females just give birth and ditch like some species do.

•Their back/lower legs are a fusion of human legs and jaguar hind legs and their faces look human just no human ears, having jaguar ears on top of their heads, their eyes look a little more cat like, and they have whiskers although Jack still has his mustache along with the whiskers. They have retractable claws and long canine teeth.

•(jaguars have the longest canines and strongest bite and muscles relative to body size of all the big cats meaning the tigers bite and muscles are stronger but if the jaguar was the same size as the tiger there would be no competition the jaguar would win hands down.)

•In both forms they are just as flexible as any cat, especially since when they have no access to clean water or if they need to brush there fur, they clean their fur the same way cats do, gotta be able to clean the places humans can’t reach without a back scrubber, and inside their pouch as well as the cubs when their in or out of the pouch, without assistance since they’re mostly solitary, the also have a tongue like a cat backwards facing bristles and all.

•They can speak the human language but also can comunícate like their animal counterparts in both forms for example roaring, growling, purring, chuffing, crying, calling, hissing, exe.

•In the au beastman Jack and Noah are from the males are the ones to raise there offspring for there whole lives and the females have no part in it they just mate,give birth,and they’re gone like some species of animals.

•Their kind are mostly solitary except for fathers and their offspring or siblings or when it’s mating season, with the exception of Jack and Noah who were raised by their mothers together cuz the fathers ditched before they were born, so their mothers couldn’t pass them over to their fathers right after birth.

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•RoR people postpone the fight to try and get the familiar beastman out of the arena.

•Jack and Hlokk’s reactions to seeing all this on her tv.

•Apollo being the narcissistic god he is and having zero regard for boundaries, sees jaguar Jacks and Noah’s pouches and being the asshole he is just moves at the speed of light and takes out what’s in their pouches just as fast (aka jaguar Jacks and Noah’s tiny beastman cub daughters).

• The younger cubs starts crying while the older one starts wriggling around trying to scratch and bite apollos arm while growling her baby growl and roaring her baby roar cuz they’re scared and confused at very suddenly not being in the warm safety of their fathers pouches.

•They don’t recognize the scent of the person holding them in his hands in a not so comfortable way and in a way that they can’t see who’s holding them.

•Their voices sound like a fusion of a very young jaguar cub and a human baby.

•Jaguar Jack and Noah growl in warning after they ask Apollo politely to give their cubs back and when Apollo doesnt cuz lesser beings dont give Apollo orders, its followed by loud roars and then chaos ensues cuz jaguar Jack and Noah are not having it.

•Later Jaguar Jack and Noah and their daughters are sent to Hlokk’s room and Jack and Hlokk meet the beastmen and their cubs. Jaguar Jack and Noahs cubs nurse inside their pouches cuz their hungry, and because suckling (either for nursing or like when a human baby sucks on a binky) helps babies calm down.

•After a while jaguar Jacks and Noahs daughters come out of the pouches while their fathers are laying down, the younger ones crawling around on their fuzzy baby bellies while the older one looks to her father first in silent question to see if it’s safe to come out, then crouches low while slowly walking around, sniffing the air, wide eyed and curious but cautious after what happen with Apollo.

•The cubs explore their new surroundings and meet Jack and Hlokk.

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•This is a very informative about Jaguars living in the jungle. ⚠️ Be warned though there is brief male genitalia shown once or twice because jungle natives I think so watch with caution.

•Not my best edit but here’s a rough idea of how the look in my head. I just noticed I forgot to add a tail.