#beggars at the feast

[lonelyroommp3]

doctors of tumblr why does my (unknown soft tissue injury afflicted) hand hurt LESS after playing piano for the entirety of infamously long and infamously sung through musical les misérables. am i just giving myself inadvertent physiotherapy from the amount of octaves i’m having to play or what

[thatisntverycombefair]

hypotheically what if i was the master of the house?! what if i was quick to catch your eye and there was infact never a passerby who would pass me by. what if i was servant to the poor?! some might say butler to the great. comforter, philosopher and LIFELONG MATE!

[coeur-feyrac]

so i think kyle adams may also play the first customer in Master of the House, who later gets pegged(?) upstairs?? anyways. iconic.

[professorgtnt]

一位女性由未婚夫陪同,到液士顿市中心的凯悦酒店定喜宴。 两人仔细看过菜单，也选好了用什么样的餐具及鲜花摆饰。两人的品位都很高，账单算下来一共是一万三千美元。付了一半的定金后，他们回家准备奇喜贴。 就在要去邮局的那一天,准新郎临阵退缩：“我还是不够确定,”他说，“这是很大的决定，我们再考忠考虑吧。”

愤怒的未婚妻到凯悦取消酒席，公关经理完全了解她的心情。 经理说：“我也曾遭到同样的事。”她讲起她自己取消订婚的经历。 可是有关退费，却是坏消息。“合约不能改，我们只能退给您一千三百元。现在有两个办法：放弃剩下的定金，或是如期办酒席。实在很抱歉。”如期办酒席好像有点疯狂，可是这个气坏了的准新娘愈想愈觉得这个点子不错。不过可不是喜宴，而是大请客！十年前她曾经无家可归，住在收容中心。如今,她又站起来，找到好工作，存了不少钱。现在她有个大胆的想法，就是用她的积蓄让波士顿的穷人享受大都会的一夜。 1990年6月的一个晚上，波士顿城区的“凯悦酒店”举办了一场前所未见的酒席。准新娘把主菜换成无骨鸡，“纪念”新郎的临阵脱逃0,寄邀请函到各收容中心。那个温热的六 月夜晚，平常只能从纸盒里把别人吃剩的匹萨扯下来吃的人，享用着法国菜。凯悦的侍者穿着燕尾服，给那些拿拐杖、推步车的老年人端上精美的餐前菜。 流浪汉、捡垃圾的、有毒癮的，暂时拋开街头生涯的艰苦,坐在屋内浅酌香槟、吃巧克力结婚蛋糕，随着乐卧的旋律起舞直到夜深。

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝙸𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 ||𝙾𝚍𝚢𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚜 ||

A/n: here it is, our dear Odysseus fucking you while he is covered in the blood of the suitors.

A/n: Listened to Like A Prayer (the Glee version) and it helped 🤣

Warnings: Fucking, just pure smut, Ody being possessive, biting, dirty talk, p in v, oral ( female receiving) blood, blood shed ( start of fic with Ody killing the suitors) cream pie, Odysseus having a breeding kink. Mention of the Suitors wanting to S/A the Reader.

These men

No...not men

Filth

The great halls of Ithaca had become a den of jackals.

They drank Odysseus’s wine, gorged themselves on his feast, and laughed in the face of the gods.

But tonight—their laughter turned to whispers.

Odysseus, cloaked in rags, his face hidden by age and filth, stood in the shadows, hunched like a beggar, his hands curling around the wooden staff he used to mask his strength.

He listened.

His heart thundered.

His blood boiled.

And when he heard their plan—their wretched, vile, unforgivable plan—

He nearly lost himself to rage.

Antinous, the boldest and cruelest of the suitors, stood at the center of the gathered men, his voice rising over the murmurs.

“Enough.”

The room fell silent.

“Screw this competition,” he sneered, throwing his goblet onto the floor, his arrogance dripping from every word. “We’ve been here for hours. None of us can string this cursed bow—because we were never meant to.”

The men grumbled, shifting uneasily.

“Can’t you see?” Antinous continued, his voice laced with fury, his lip curled in disgust. “We are being played.”*

He turned, pacing before them like a lion preparing to strike.

“The queen weaves her shroud, unweaving it at night.The boy plots in shadows, whispering of his father’s might.And we— we sit here like fools, waiting for a king who is never coming home."

Odysseus’s grip tightened on the wooden staff, his knuckles white.

The suitors nodded, murmuring, some pounding their fists against the table.

“So, what do we do?” one of them asked.

Antinous smirked. “We take what is ours.”*

The room stilled.

“Telemachus returns tomorrow,” Antinous said sharply, his eyes glinting with malice. “Alone. No army. No father to save him.”*

A pause.

Then, with a voice as cold as the steel of a dagger, he declared:

“We kill him.”*

A shiver ran through the men.

Even among cowards, killing the prince was a bold move.

“We wait at the docks,” Antinous continued, stepping closer, weaving poison into his words. “The moment he steps onto the sand—we strike.”

His lips twisted into a cruel grin.

“We hold him down, until the boy stops shaking.We hold him down, while we break his bones.Cut the boy into tiny piece's until the Sea is the only one who knows and the gods forget his name.”

The suitors stirred, some grinning, others nodding in agreement.

Odysseus’s heart pounded in his chest, his body thrumming with barely restrained fury.

But Antinous wasn’t finished.No—he had worse to say.

The Unspeakable Sin

“And when the boy is dead…” Antinous mused, pacing once more, his eyes dark with hunger, greed, cruelty.

“The queen will have no one to stop us.”*

Odysseus stilled.His breath caught.His blood ran cold.

“We break down her door,” Antinous sneered. “We take her, claim her, strip her of her pride. If she does not bow, we make her bow. If she resists, we...well she will find out."

Odysseus moved.

There was no thought, no hesitation, no mercy.

The suitors barely had time to react.The twang of a bowstring snapped through the hall.The whistle of an arrow cut the air.And then—Antinous stopped speaking.

A single choked gasp escaped his lips.

He staggered, his hands clutching at his throat, where the arrow had pierced clean through.Blood gushed, staining his tunic, spilling onto the floor.

The goblet he had dropped lay beside him, shattered—just as he would be.For a heartbeat, the suitors froze, their eyes wide, their faces pale.

And then—they turned.

Turned to see where the arrow had come from.

Turned to see the beggar standing at the edge of the hall.But he was no beggar now.

He stood tall, his back straight, his grip steady on the great bow of Ithaca.

His disguise—torn away.His eyes burned with divine fury.

And in a voice that thundered through the hall, Odysseus spoke.

“You dare speak of defiling my wife?”

The suitors took a step back.

“You dare plot the murder of my son?”

Another step.

“You feasted on my food, drank my wine, defiled my home—and now, you will pay for it in blood.”

And Odysseus showed no mercy.For twenty years, they had taken.

For twenty years, they had tormented his wife, his son, his home.

Tonight—he would take everything from them.

And when it was over, when the last of them had fallen—Odysseus would finally return to the arms of the woman he had bled the world for.

His Y/n.

His queen.

His home.

When the men were slaughtered, bodies littering the floor nothing mattered but you.

You should have turned him away, looked at him with disgust but instead you took him in your arms, her fingers gliding across his cheek not caring that he was covered in blood. "My love you have returned to me."

Odysseus pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your hair, the softness of your body pressing into his. His strong arms encircled your frame as if afraid you might disappear like a mirage. "My little dove," he murmured, his deep voice thick with emotion. "After twenty long years, I've finally found my way back to you."

He cupped your face gently, thumbs brushing away the tears clinging to your lashes. His piercing gaze drank in every beloved feature - those luminous eyes, the delicate curve of your cheeks, the glossy pink of your parted lips. "You're even more beautiful than I remembered, if such a thing were possible," Odysseus said fervently. "Tell me, my heart, have you waited for me all this time?"

You choked back a sob as tears continued to fall as your fingers clutched his tunic. "Yes." You whispered as your fingers tightened its hold. "And I need for you to take me, My King. It has been far too long."

You needed him, desperately, hopelessly. You did not care he was coveted it blood. Nothing mattered because he was home.

Odysseus' breath caught at your impassioned plea. In one swift motion, he swept you up into his strong arms, cradling you against his broad chest. "As my Queen commands," he rumbled, his voice low and husky with desire.

He carried you swiftly to the bed, kicking the door shut behind them. Gently, reverently, he laid you upon the sheets, his hands roaming over your curves as if memorizing every dip and swell. "Let me worship you as you deserve, my goddess," Odysseus breathed, pressing hot kisses along the column of your throat.

His calloused fingers made quick work of the fastenings of your gown, parting the fabric to reveal the soft skin beneath.

Your lips parted feeling his hands push the fabric of your dress away, the blood from his palm cupping your breast. Thumb rubbing your nipple as the man bent down to kiss your stomach.

Odysseus paused, drinking in the sight of his wife splayed out before him like an offering. The moonlight filtering through the windows bathed your skin in an ethereal glow, making you look almost otherworldly. "Y/n," he groaned, his large hands then skimming reverently over your sides and hips. "My love, my life, my everything."

He then captured your lips in a searing kiss, pouring twenty years of pent-up longing and devotion into the press of his mouth against yours. One hand tangled in your tresses while the other mapped the curves he'd dreamed of for so long. Odysseus trailed his lips down the column of your throat, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. "I want to taste every inch of you," he growled against your flesh. "

You let out whimper, a gasp as you pressed yourself into him. It's been to long, you craved his touch to much as you let out a shaky laugh your fingers ranking through his hair tugging at the strands.

"Nothing is stopping you from doing so my King."

A wicked grin spread across Odysseus' face at your breathy invitation. "As my queen wishes," he purred, his voice a low, seductive rumble. He began his sensual assault, trailing open-mouthed kisses and teasing licks down the elegant line of your throat. His hands roamed your body with bold possessiveness, caressing every dip and curve he'd yearned for during his long absence. The blood of the suitors coating your body.

Reaching the swell of your breasts, Odysseus lavished attention on the sensitive mounds, suckling and laving each peak until they pebbled under his ministrations. He took his time exploring you, determined to rekindle the passion between you both to make up for lost time. "You taste even sweeter than I remember, my love," he murmured against your skin, his beard scratching deliciously.

"I have waited so long for this moment and you are finally mine." You whispered as you placed a hand on his cheek until you shifted your body, your tongue trailing across his neck licking the blood away.

Your night gown rising as your legs parted for him, your heart pounding in your ears. You wanted to feel his tongue on you again.

Odysseus shuddered as your tongue traced his neck, your intimate gesture igniting a fire in his veins. He could feel the heat of your core as your thighs parted invitingly beneath him. With a low groan, he settled between your legs, his broad shoulders nudging them further apart.

"Patience, my eager little dove," he chuckled darkly, his breath ghosting over your most sensitive area. "I intend to savor every moment of our reunion."

Slowly, torturously, Odysseus dragged his tongue along your slit, relishing your unique flavor. He lapped at your folds with long, deliberate strokes, circling your aching pearl with the tip of his tongue. Two thick fingers slid inside your slick channel, pumping steadily as he suckled your clit.

"Mmmm, still so tight for me,"

"Odysseus!" You whined, your fingers grabbing a fistful of his curls, another whine escaped your lips as your hips bucking. Your body shuddering with pleasure, your could the blood of the men he killed coating your body but you didn't care.

Not when you had your husband back.

Odysseus growled in approval as your fingers tightened in his hair, your desperate movements spurring him on. He redoubled his efforts, alternating between deep, curling thrusts of his fingers and firm suction on your throbbing bud. The obscene wet sounds of his ministrations filled the room, mingling with your increasingly high-pitched moans.

"That's it, my love," he praised huskily, his voice muffled against your sex. "Let me hear how good I make you feel. You've been so brave, waiting for me all these years. Now let go and take your pleasure."

He added a third finger, stretching you deliciously as he crooked them just right to rub that special spot inside you.

Your body was writhing on the bed and soon you were seeing stars as your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave.

Odysseus felt your walls clamp down around his fingers as your climax crashed over you. He worked you through it relentlessly, prolonging your pleasure until you were boneless and panting beneath him. As the last aftershocks subsided, he slowly withdrew his digits, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean with a satisfied hum.

"You taste divine, my queen," he rumbled, crawling up your body to capture your lips in a searing kiss, letting you sample yourself on his tongue. Odysseus settled between her thighs, the thick head of his arousal nudging insistently at your entrance.

"Are you ready for me, My Queen?" he asked, his voice strained with barely restrained desire. "I need to feel you surrounding me, to know that this is real and not just another fever dream."

Chest heaving, you nodded your head as you did your best to return the bruising kiss your husband with your body still trembling.

"Yes my love...and I need you to fill me." You whispered. "Let me give you another child."

Odysseus' heart swelled with love and desire at your impassioned words. With a powerful thrust of his hips, he sheathed himself fully inside your welcoming heat. "Ahhh, Y/n!" he groaned, his head falling forward to rest against your shoulder as he savored the exquisite feeling of being one with his wife once more.

Slowly, he began to move, setting a deep, sensual rhythm as he rocked into you. Each thrust was a declaration of his love, a promise of a future together. Odysseus peppered your face and neck with tender kisses, murmuring sweet nothings against your skin. "My heart, my soul, my everything," he panted, his pace gradually increasing. "I'm going to fill you up so thoroughly, plant my seed deep within you and watch your belly swell with our child."

Your body shuddered, leg resting against his hip as you did your best to match the man's thrusts.

"Odysseus!"

Your walls clenched around him, the blood that clung to your husband's skin making your bodies slick.

Odysseus felt your inner muscles flutter and clench around his cock, drawing him deeper with each powerful thrust. The slick glide of your sweat-slicked bodies, combined with the coppery tang of his dried blood, created an intoxicating friction. "Yes, my love! Take me, all of me!" he growled, his hips snapping forward relentlessly.

One large hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he pounded into you, chasing the shared release. The other tangled in your hair, tugging lightly as he claimed your mouth in a bruising kiss. Odysseus could feel the telltale tightening in his loins, signaling his impending climax. "I'm close, my love," he panted against your lips. "Come with me, my queen."

Your buddy shuddered at his words, nails digging into his back as your fingers clutched and tugged at his hair. "Odysseuss...I." Your breath hitched and soon you were seeing stars, as you hit your climax."

Odysseus felt your velvety walls clamping down around him like a vice as your second climax overtook you. The rhythmic squeezing of your sheath proved too much, and with a guttural roar of completion, he buried himself to the hilt inside your welcoming heat. His cock pulsed and twitched as he emptied himself deep within your fertile womb, painting your insides with his potent seed.

"Y/n!" he cried out, your name a prayer on his lips as waves of ecstasy crashed over him. Odysseus collapsed atop of you, careful not to crush your smaller form beneath his larger frame. He peppered your face with tender kisses as they both struggled to catch your breath, basking in the afterglow of your passionate reunion.

"My love, my life,"

You let out a weak laugh, you could only imagine what you both might have looked like but you could careless because Odysseus was home.

"My King, My heart. You are home."

[antinousletmehit]

Okay here me out please… can you pretty please write a Telemachus x reader where when ody returns and is being made fun of by the suitors while still in this begger disguise reader starts fighting off the suitors and yelling at them for being rude and maybe joins ody while he is hunting them down and Telemachus has a love sick look while watching reader just like ody did for Penelope when they were teenagers and after seeing how cool and awesome of a warrior reader is, ody turns to his son and says “I aprove of this one 😏” and poor Telemachus is just like 😳

୨୧┇Telemachus x reader

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The hall of Ithaca’s palace echoed with the crude laughter of the suitors, their voices grating as they lounged at tables meant for nobler men. Odysseus, disguised as a beggar, shuffled into the room, his weathered cloak draped over his shoulders. He kept his head low, scanning the faces of those who had sullied his home. The suitors noticed him almost immediately.

“Well, look at this!” Antinous sneered, rising from his seat. “Another beggar come to steal what little is left of the feast!” The others laughed, and Eurymachus leaned back, gesturing mockingly. “Shall we toss him a scrap or two, Antinous? Or maybe your leftover bones will do?” Odysseus gritted his teeth but said nothing, his hands tightening on his staff. Before he could respond, however, you stepped forward.

“Enough!” you snapped, your voice sharp and commanding. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to you. You were no servant or passive bystander, you were a fierce protector of the palace, one of the few who still stood loyal to Ithaca and its rightful king.

“This man has done nothing to you,” you continued, your eyes narrowing at Antinous. “If you have any shred of decency left, you’ll leave him be.” Antinous scoffed, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “And what will you do if I don’t? Throw me out yourself?” “If I have to,” you replied, your hand resting on the hilt of your blade.

“You always have to play the hero, don’t you?” Eurymachus muttered, rolling his eyes. “Better a hero than a parasite,” you shot back.

At that, the room erupted into murmurs, some of the younger suitors chuckling nervously. Telemachus, standing near the doorway, watched you with wide eyes, his heart racing. The way you stood your ground, fearlessly defying men who thought themselves untouchable, made his chest tighten. Odysseus, still playing the part of the beggar, smirked as he caught sight of his son’s lovestruck expression. Leaning toward Telemachus, he whispered, “I approve of this one.”

Telemachus’s face flushed a deep red. “Father, please,” he mumbled, barely audible.

“She’s got fire,” Odysseus continued, his voice low and amused. “That’s what you need, boy—a woman who won’t back down. Just look at her.” Telemachus did look. He couldn’t help it. The way you glared at Antinous, daring him to make a move, left him in awe.

Antinous, meanwhile, was fuming. “You’ve overstepped,” he growled, taking a step toward you. You didn’t flinch. Instead, you stepped forward as well, meeting him head on. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Before the tension could escalate further, Odysseus cleared his throat, drawing attention back to himself. “Perhaps you should listen to the lady,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “She seems to be the only one here with sense.” Antinous glared at him but reluctantly backed down, muttering curses under his breath.

As the suitors returned to their seats, Odysseus turned to you, his eyes gleaming with approval. “Thank you,” he said softly. You nodded, though your gaze remained sharp as you watched the suitors warily. “Someone has to stand up to them.”

Telemachus stepped closer, his heart still pounding. “You were incredible,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. You glanced at him, a small smile breaking through your serious demeanor. “Thank you, Telemachus.”

Odysseus smirked again, clapping a hand on his son’s shoulder. “She’s a keeper, lad. Don’t let this one slip away.” Telemachus’s face turned scarlet, and he stammered something unintelligible. You tilted your head, curious but amused by his sudden shyness.

[nasatshirts]

well that's a bit of a rollercoaster 😅 they're all from my summer playlist !

Tags (if u guys want to): @freakwiththeknifecollection @tirednapentity @poolboyvmprmansion @mossandchaos @axolotlsauce @bart-allens-boyfriends @audliminal + anyone i forgot (rip my terrible memory 😔) and/or anyone who just wants to!!

put your ‘on repeat’ playlist on shuffle & let your friends pick their favorite of the first five songs!!

thank uu for the tags @blackberry-sunset @tigolbittys <33 np tagging @misomilf @biscuitlovie @nocturnal-phantom @ravenous-rage @remuredshampoo @kaleidoscopexsighs @frank-lilac @drowsyanddazed @angelfruittree @shipsnsails mwah mwah 💋💋

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (runaway)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: what remains

- Next part: the hill

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril @lordofthunderthr @mrsnms @itisjustwhatitis @urdxrling @meowmeowmothermeower @nen-nyy

The banners of House Lannister rippled in the wind, a sea of crimson and gold stretching across the fields before Riverrun. The Riverlands had always been a land of deep greens and rolling waters, but now it stood scarred by war. The campfires of the siege burned in steady rows outside the castle walls, surrounding the ancient fortress like vultures waiting for a corpse to still.

Jaime rode at the head of his host, his golden hand gleaming in the morning sun as his men approached the Frey encampment. The Frey banners, duller and less grand than the Lannister lion, fluttered weakly atop their makeshift barricades, and the men within their ranks stood with slouched shoulders and restless eyes. They had been here for moons, wasting away in stagnation, unable to break the Blackfish’s defenses.

Beside Jaime, Bronn adjusted the reins of his horse, his expression unimpressed as he surveyed the state of the Frey forces. “Seven hells, Jaime, I thought this was supposed to be a siege, not a farmer’s gathering. These men look like they’d rather be anywhere else.”

Jaime smirked faintly, but the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s because they would.”

Bronn scoffed, shaking his head. “If I were the Blackfish, I’d be laughing myself to sleep every night watching this lot try to take his castle.”

Jaime said nothing, but he couldn’t disagree. The Freys had botched this siege from the start. Even as he rode through their camp, he could see the lack of discipline, the slackened formations, the outright boredom in their eyes. These weren’t soldiers eager for battle; they were men waiting for someone else to solve their problem.

And now that someone was him.

As he dismounted, several of the Frey commanders rushed forward, their stiff-backed forms doing little to disguise their clear discomfort. Lame Lothar Frey and Walder Rivers led the group, their expressions sour with thinly veiled resentment.

“Ser Jaime,” Lothar greeted, his voice coated with forced civility. “An honor to see you take command.”

Jaime raised a brow. “Is it?”

Walder Rivers cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “We’ve maintained the siege as ordered, but the Blackfish refuses all terms of surrender. The old man is as stubborn as they come.”

Jaime removed his glove, tucking it into his belt as he surveyed the scene before him. The walls of Riverrun loomed ahead, high and impenetrable, the Tully banners still flying defiantly from the ramparts. The drawbridge remained raised, the gate sealed, and despite the weeks of siege, the fortress itself looked far from weary.

Jaime exhaled slowly. “You’ve been here for moons, and yet the castle still stands, its defenses unbroken, its men unfazed.” His gaze flickered back to the Frey commanders. “Tell me, do you want to take Riverrun, or are you content to sit outside these walls like beggars at a feast?”

Lothar bristled, his jaw tightening. “We have followed Lord Walder’s orders to the letter.”

Jaime smirked. “And what an excellent job you’ve done.”

Bronn snorted behind him.

Walder Rivers scowled. “The Blackfish will not yield. We have sent envoys, offered terms—he will not listen.”

Jaime tilted his head, studying them. “Perhaps you sent the wrong men.”

Lothar scoffed. “And you believe you’ll fare better?”

Jaime smiled coldly. “Yes.”

The Freys exchanged uneasy glances, but neither argued.

Jaime turned back toward the castle, the weight of the coming battle settling over him. Riverrun would not fall easily. He had known that before arriving, but now, seeing the state of the siege, he realized just how much work lay ahead.

Still, it had to be done.

His father had commanded it.

The war needed to end.

And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he wondered how you would react when you learned that he was the one leading the charge.

Would you hate him more than you already did?

Or had you always known this was inevitable?

Jaime exhaled sharply, pushing those thoughts aside. He had a siege to win.

And the Blackfish was waiting.

The sun hung low in the sky by the time Jaime rode to the walls of Riverrun, his crimson cloak trailing behind him as he approached the drawbridge. A handful of his men followed at a distance, Bronn among them, though Jaime had made it clear that this was to be a conversation, not a battle.

The Blackfish was waiting for him.

Ser Brynden Tully stood atop the battlements, his armor gleaming under the fading sunlight, his expression carved from stone. His presence was unshaken, his shoulders squared with the pride of a man who had never once surrendered.

Jaime tilted his head, resting his golden hand against the hilt of his sword. “Ser Brynden,” he called, his voice carrying over the still air. “It’s been some time.”

The Blackfish peered down at him with cool disinterest. “Not long enough.”

Jaime smirked faintly, though there was little humor in it. “I was hoping we could speak.”

The older knight exhaled sharply through his nose before nodding to one of the guards. The gate remained shut, but after a moment, the drawbridge was lowered just enough to allow Jaime through. Two armed men flanked the Blackfish as Jaime dismounted, their hands resting on their weapons, but Brynden himself seemed unbothered.

Jaime stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. “I’ll keep this brief. You’re surrounded. Your supplies won’t last forever. Surrender Riverrun, and I’ll ensure your men are given fair terms.”

Brynden crossed his arms, unimpressed. “Fair terms from a Lannister? Forgive me if I don’t place my faith in your father’s mercy.”

Jaime inhaled slowly. “My father isn’t here. I am.”

The Blackfish scoffed. “And I should trust you?” His gaze flickered to Jaime’s golden hand before settling back on his face. “You haven’t won a real battle in years, Kingslayer. Tell me, how many oaths have you broken since last we met?”

Jaime smirked, though his patience was already thinning. “I’ve never broken an oath to my wife.”

The Blackfish’s expression darkened instantly.

Jaime tilted his head. “Ah, so you do know. I thought you might.”

Brynden stepped closer, his glare sharp enough to cut. “I know you forced her into this farce.”

Jaime’s smirk faded. “I did no such thing.”

The Blackfish scoffed. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that Eddard Stark’s daughter chose to wed you?”

Jaime’s jaw tightened. “She made her choice.”

Brynden let out a bitter laugh. “Aye, a choice with a lion’s claws at her throat, no doubt.” He took another step closer, his voice lowering. “Tell me, did she weep on your wedding night? Did she flinch when you touched her? Did you break her as you Lannisters have broken so many others?”

Something inside Jaime snapped.

His smirk vanished, his fingers clenching into fists. “Watch your tongue, old man.”

Brynden did not flinch. “Or what? Will you push me from a tower, too?”

Jaime shifted on his feet, steadying himself. He had expected resistance, had known that speaking of you would only provoke the Blackfish further—but still, the words cut deeper than he wanted to admit.

Brynden’s eyes burned with barely restrained fury. “Your father orchestrated the deaths of her kin. He gave the order that killed her brother unfairly in battle. And now, you claim to call her your wife?” He spat at Jaime’s feet, his voice dripping with disgust. “Eddard Stark is turning in his grave.”

Jaime’s fingers flexed against the hilt of his sword. He forced himself to remain still.

“I didn’t come here to debate my marriage.”

Brynden scoffed. “Then why did you come here, Lannister? To gloat? To tell me I should be grateful you took my niece’s daughter as your broodmare instead of handing her to the Boltons?”

Jaime inhaled deeply, steadying himself. “I came here to offer you a way out. Surrender Riverrun, and your men will live.”

Brynden shook his head. “You’ve wasted your breath. This castle belongs to House Tully, and as long as I draw breath, I will not yield it to the likes of you.”

Jaime studied him for a long moment, then spoke slowly. “You know this war is over.”

Brynden’s jaw tightened. “Then let it end with steel, not surrender.”

Jaime closed his eyes briefly before opening them again, something heavy settling in his chest.

“Very well,” he murmured.

The Blackfish gave him one last long look before stepping back. The moment between them passed, and just like that, the drawbridge was raised, sealing Riverrun once more.

Jaime stood there for a moment longer, staring up at the castle walls.

Then, with a slow breath, he turned and walked away, the weight of what had to come pressing down on him.

Because, one way or another, Riverrun would fall.

And this time, there would be no Starks left to save it.

The sun had dipped lower in the sky by the time Jaime rode back through the siege lines, the weight of his conversation with the Blackfish still pressing against his ribs like a vice. His horse’s hooves kicked up dirt as he passed rows of campfires, where Frey and Lannister men loitered, some sharpening their swords, others drinking their fill of sour ale as if this was any other evening. They were waiting—waiting for him to end this siege, waiting for the next command, waiting for Riverrun to fall.

And for now, all Jaime had to offer them was action.

Bronn was the first to greet him as he dismounted, the sellsword stepping out from where he had been leaning against a wooden barricade. He was already smirking, his arms crossed over his chest, watching Jaime like a man who had already guessed the outcome.

“So,” Bronn drawled, “I’m guessing talking didn’t work.”

Jaime clicks his tongue as he passes his reins off to a nearby soldier before rolling his shoulders. “How very perceptive of you.”

Bronn grinned. “Well, you do have that look about you.” He gestured vaguely at Jaime’s face. “That ‘I just wasted my fucking time’ look.”

Jaime unfastened his cloak, shaking the dust from it before draping it over a nearby wooden post. “The Blackfish isn’t surrendering.”

Bronn let out a mock gasp. “You don’t say.”

Jaime shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

Bronn chuckled, falling into step beside him as Jaime moved toward the command tent. “So what now? We keep sitting outside their walls like a bunch of idiots hoping they die of boredom?”

Jaime ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening. “No. We take Riverrun by force.”

Bronn lifted a brow. “Now we’re talking.”

Jaime paused just outside the tent, his fingers flexing. “We begin the assault at first light. No more waiting. No more wasted time. The Blackfish had his chance. He made his choice.”

Bronn nodded approvingly. “Can’t say I’ll miss sitting around doing nothing.”

Jaime exhaled, stepping inside. The command tent was filled with scattered maps and reports, detailing every attempt the Freys had made to breach Riverrun’s walls—all failures. The Blackfish had held this castle with fewer men than any Lannister commander would have thought possible. But even the strongest walls could not withstand a full force battering against them.

Lothar Frey and Walder Rivers were already inside, awaiting him. Their expressions were sour, their patience clearly wearing thin.

“Well?” Lothar asked, arms crossed. “Did the Tully scum bend the knee?”

Jaime shot him a flat look. “No.”

Walder Rivers scoffed. “Of course not. The old fool’s been holed up in there for too long. He still thinks there’s something left to fight for.”

Jaime stepped closer to the map, tracing his fingers along the rough lines of the Riverlands. “There’s always something left to fight for,” he muttered under his breath.

Bronn, standing just behind him, let out a snort. “Sentimental, aren’t we?”

Jaime ignored him, shifting his attention back to the Freys. “We take the castle by force. No more waiting. The siege ends tomorrow.”

Lothar frowned. “You’re sure?”

Jaime’s jaw tightened. “Would you rather sit outside these walls for another six moons?”

Walder Rivers nodded slowly, rubbing his chin. “It’ll be bloody.”

Jaime didn't even look at him. “Then let’s make sure we’re not the ones bleeding.”

Lothar hesitated, then smirked. “What about Lord Edmure? We still have him.”

Jaime inhaled deeply. Edmure Tully, the Blackfish’s nephew, the true lord of Riverrun—if only by name. A hostage, nothing more, another piece to be played.

Jaime shakes his head lightly. “Not yet.”

Lothar and Walder exchanged glances but did not argue.

Bronn sighed, clapping Jaime on the back. “Well, I guess I’ll start making sure your grand plan goes smoothly.” He grinned. “I always did enjoy a proper fight.”

Jaime barely heard him. His mind was already turning, already moving through every possible path forward. He knew how this would end—Riverrun would fall. Whether it took days or weeks, it would fall.

And when it did, he would have to live with the fact that he was the one who made it happen.

The halls of Casterly Rock felt heavier in Jaime’s absence. The golden fortress of the Lannisters, carved into the very bones of the cliffs, stood unmoved by time, war, or the burdens of those who walked its gilded corridors. But to you, it felt suffocating. The weight of it pressed against your chest, a silent reminder that you were not home, that you were never meant to belong here.

Jaime had left days ago with his host, marching for Riverrun under the Lannister banner, leaving you behind to oversee the Rock in his absence. It had been Kevan’s idea, and even Tywin had agreed—it would not do for his son’s wife to be seen as a mere prisoner. You were to rule in Jaime’s stead, to play the role of Lady of the West, to tend to the affairs of Casterly Rock as if you were one of them.

But you were not one of them.

And you were anything but calm.

Lady Dorna Lannister had done her best to keep you engaged, to instruct you on the matters of the keep, the dealings with merchants, the demands of the bannermen. You had listened—at least, in the beginning. But now, seated in the grand solar with ledgers open before you, your mind was elsewhere. Your fingers curled against the edge of the wooden table, your jaw tight as the weight of your helplessness coiled inside you like a snake ready to strike.

Winter, sensing your unease, sat close to you, his great silver-white form a constant shadow by your side. His eyes flickered up every time you shifted, every time you sighed or drummed your fingers impatiently against the table. He was watching, waiting—just as restless as you.

Lady Dorna set her goblet down with a quiet sigh, folding her hands before her. “You will wear through the table if you keep doing that.”

You stilled your fingers. “Perhaps I should ride for Riverrun instead. I might be of better use there.”

Dorna’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “You know that would not be wise.”

You looked at her then, your gaze biting. “Why? Because your lords would see it as treason? Because I would bring shame to the Lannister name?”

Dorna did not flinch. She had been married to Kevan Lannister for decades; she had long since learned the art of patience. “Because you would be riding into a warzone with no allies and no plan. Because Jaime—despite what you might think of him—would chase you down himself if he had to.”

Your breath caught, your fingers curling into fists beneath the table.

Jaime.

You could still hear his voice from the night before he left, still see the way his expression had tightened when he told you where he was going, what he had to do.

"It won’t change anything."

"It changes everything."

You had been furious, had wanted to scream, to claw your way out of this wretched marriage, out of this wretched Rock that held you prisoner. But he had only looked at you with that same unreadable expression, as if he had already accepted that no matter what he did, it would never be enough.

And then, in the cold light of dawn, he was gone.

The memory left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Winter let out a low growl, his ears twitching as he sensed the storm brewing inside you.

Lady Dorna exhaled, leaning forward slightly. “You are not powerless here, you know.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “I feel like I am.”

Dorna studied you for a long moment, then sighed. “Power is not always in swords and battlefields, my lady. Sometimes, it is in patience. In knowing when to act and when to wait.”

Your jaw clenched. “And if I wait too long?”

Dorna’s expression softened slightly, though her voice remained steady. “Then you will have to trust that Jaime knows what he is doing.”

You let out a shallow breath, turning your gaze toward the open balcony, where the light of the afternoon stretched over the sea beyond the cliffs. The waves crashed against the rocks below, endless and unmoving.

Trust.

It was such a foreign thing to ask of you.

But what choice did you have?

You glanced down at Winter, running your fingers through his thick fur, grounding yourself.

For now, you would wait.

But you would not wait forever.

The halls of Casterly Rock had never felt more stifling. The walls, gilded and adorned with the banners of the golden lion, seemed to press in on you, suffocating with their weight. The days since Jaime’s departure had crawled by in agonizing stillness, each moment stretching like an eternity. You had done what was expected—played the role of Lady of the Rock, overseen affairs, listened to Dorna’s words of caution—but it was all meaningless. Riverrun was under siege, your uncle fighting against impossible odds, and you were trapped, useless, within the lion’s den.

Until today.

You had made your decision long before Tywin summoned you.

The summons had come in the morning, carried by one of the stewards in that stiff, impersonal tone that made your blood boil. It had not been a request. It had been an order.

And so, you went.

The chamber was dimly lit, the high windows allowing only slivers of sunlight to cut through the cool interior. Tywin stood at the head of the room, his posture as rigid as ever, his hands folded behind his back. Kevan was absent, leaving only guards stationed at the doors. This was not a council meeting. This was something else.

Tywin did not look up as you entered, but the weight of his presence was suffocating nonetheless.

"You’ve been restless," he said, his voice even, controlled.

You stopped a few paces from him, lifting your chin. "What a keen observation."

His gaze flicked to you then, sharp and piercing. "Do not mistake my patience for tolerance. Your behavior has been noted."

You scoffed. "Noted by whom? Your spies? Your servants? Or do you simply take pleasure in watching me pace the halls like a caged beast?"

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I allowed you the courtesy of overseeing Casterly Rock in Jaime’s absence, believing you understood your place. Instead, you sulk and scheme, making a spectacle of yourself in front of my bannermen."

You clenched your jaw. "My place is not here while my family is being slaughtered."

His expression did not change. "Your family is dead. Those who remain have chosen their fate."

Your fingers curled into fists, anger burning hot under your skin. "My mother is alive."

"And she is nothing but a shadow of what she was." Tywin stepped forward then, his gaze never wavering. "Do you think she will embrace you if you ride to her side? That she will take you into her arms and fight beside you?" His voice was quiet, cutting. "She is not the woman who bore you. She is something else now. Something broken. You would throw away your position, your protection, for what? A ghost?"

Your throat tightened.

You hated him.

You hated the way he spoke with such certainty, as if he had already decided what you would become. As if he had won.

"I would rather fight beside a ghost," you said, voice steady, "than rot here as your prisoner."

Tywin’s expression did not change, but something in the air shifted.

"You are not a prisoner," he said, though the words felt hollow. "You are Jaime’s wife. You are Lady of Casterly Rock. Your duty is here."

You inhaled sharply, forcing down the lump in your throat. "No," you whispered. "My duty is to my family."

The silence between you was suffocating.

Tywin studied you for a long moment, and then, finally, he exhaled. "You will not leave these walls."

A finality. A decree.

But he had underestimated you.

For the first time since you've met, you did not answer him.

You turned and walked away.

It was nearly dusk by the time you reached the stables. The sky was painted in hues of deep amber and violet, the salty breeze from the sea biting against your skin. The guards stationed at the gates had been doubled since Jaime’s departure, a quiet but clear message from Tywin: You were not to leave.

But you had never been one to obey.

Winter was at your heels, his presence steady, his ears twitching with alertness as you approached the stables. The horses shifted restlessly as you entered, the stablemaster turning with a startled expression.

"My lady—"

You didn’t give him time to react. You moved with purpose, reaching for the nearest stallion, a strong, dark-coated beast already saddled.

"Prepare him," you ordered, your voice leaving no room for argument.

The stablemaster hesitated. "My lady, Lord Tywin has given orders—"

"I do not care what Tywin Lannister has ordered," you snapped, turning on him. "Saddle the horse. Now."

The man swallowed hard, his hands twitching at his sides. He was not a soldier, nor was he brave enough to defy you when you stood before him with fire in your eyes.

He did as he was told.

Within minutes, you pulled yourself into the saddle, gripping the reins as Winter let out a low, eager growl beside you.

The guards at the gate reacted instantly, drawing their swords as you urged the horse forward.

"My lady, you cannot leave," one of them barked, stepping into your path.

You glared down at him. "Move."

The guards hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances. "Lord Tywin—"

"Lord Tywin is not here," you interrupted. "And I will not ask again."

Tension crackled in the air. The guards were sworn to House Lannister, to their Warden of the West, but you were his son’s wife. They could not harm you—not without consequences.

And they knew it.

One of them hesitated, his grip on his sword loosening.

You saw your opening.

Without another word, you dug your heels into the horse’s side, spurring him forward.

The beast reared for only a second before charging through the gap between the guards, Winter a silver blur at your side.

Shouts erupted behind you.

"Close the gates!"

"Fetch Lord Kevan!"

But it was too late.

You were gone.

The wind howled against your face as you rode, the cliffs of Casterly Rock shrinking behind you. The road stretched ahead, winding toward the Riverlands, toward Riverrun.

Toward Jaime.

Toward war.

And no Lannister was going to stop you now.

[yanderenightmare]

more gojo with curse!darling please! i lobe this concept<3

Gojo Satoru

P1 & P3

TW: abduction and captivity, mild condescension, mild coercion, NSFW hints, some descriptions of darling, but nothing too specific, a joke dissing people with blue eyes and pale skin

gn reader - fem labels (drama queen) & fem accessories (jewelry: various)

He kept you like one would a stray cat. Leaving you be as you found places of comfort around his apartment, hiding when you wanted to be left alone – which was almost always.

You hadn’t warmed up to him yet. Understandably so.

He’d set out food for you, locking the door with seals when leaving – scoffing out a laugh after coming home only to find the dish still on the table. He keeps forgetting you don’t eat.

You may look it, but you’re not exactly human.

But you are getting thinner, unfortunately. Suppose his apartment isn’t ideal hunting ground for a curse. And as you’ve gotten weaker, you’ve become wilder – primitive in a way – hissing at him when he gets too close – feeling vulnerable. 

You’re very cute.

But, cute or not, he doesn’t want to starve you. He isn’t cruel. So he walks and wonders what it is that you would find appetizing. 

Watching your behavior – how you sneak around his apartment looting – like a crow – collecting shiny objects to deck yourself in. Stealing all his rings, chains, watches, belt buckles, manchets, any gold or silver-rimmed glasses, and anything else you can use as jewelry – old coins, can tabs, all the silverware – along with everything else you deem pretty – fabrics, flowers, decorations, all his silk shirts. 

You rob anything and everything of value, making a nest of it all in the tub. 

His theory is that the bathroom is the shiniest place in the house and, therefore, where you feel you most belong. You sleep there despite him having given you a room – coveting all your findings.

He’s never really thought about how a curse can have such behaviorism. It’s not too odd to keep tamed ones as pets, but still, he’s never thought about why one would aside from utilizing them in combat. But you weren’t made for such intents and purposes. You were… just fascinating to have. Not far off from being an exotic pet.

But even for a curse, you’re unusual.

It’s not fear or death you thrive on. It’s… something a lot more innocent, actually – which is probably why you have no malicious instincts to hurt him – not that you could if you tried. But he can tell… you don’t want to be a curse, do you? In fact, those few times he has nicknamed you curse, you’ve scowled at him a little more than usual. 

No, what you desire is devotion – to be worshipped. 

What you want is to be a god.

Quite like him, actually. You like having your ego stroked. 

It’s your pride that needs feeding, and he can only asses that it feasts on people’s mad desire for you – of which he has plenty to give.

But you reject it.

“I won’t rely on the pity of a filthy jujutsu sorcerer. I’d rather starve.” You tell him with a sneer, curling yourself up with folded arms upon your chest – pouting with eyes closed, drowned in your treasure bath as though everything wasn’t nicking your skin, trying to ignore him.

He slants his head to the side, crouched down beside you with his arms resting on the tub, a smirk on his face – playing cute as he reaches a slim finger out to touch your cheek.

“Won’t you let a filthy jujutsu sorcerer worship you a bit? Trust me, a curse has never made me feel so weak before. Don’t you think I’d make for the best beggar?” 

You grimace, brows deepening into a vexed frown without opening your eyes, but you don’t flinch away. “I won’t be patronized. You keep playing with me like I’m your toy.”

“Maybe a little,” He chuckles softly. You’re such an honest and expressive little curse. “But I do think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen~”

“Naturally.” You reply simply, the furrow in your brow softening, but you don’t offer much more.

“Come on, pretty curse.” He drawls. “Let me help you before you waste away.”

You scoff. “Tch- foolish, selfish human… you really are such an ugly thing to behold.” The furl returns, but still, you keep your eyes closed. “Do you honestly think that your rancid touch is going to save me?” Then you laugh – harshly and mockingly. “Please, don’t flatter yourself. A god requires offerings left at their shrine, not the filthy touch of the peasants that leave them.” Your nose scrunches suggestively. “You should consider it a blessing to even be allowed to look at me.”

Vain and stubborn, he thinks. You are the curse of beauty. But still, he's never experienced rejection before.

Suppose he has to try a little harder…

He soon finds himself courting you. Trying to make you comfortable.

He starts giving you gifts – first, silver silk bedsheets that lure you into sleeping in your bed instead of the bathtub, along with other changes that make your room more appealing – ornate wallpaper, canopy drapes surrounding the bed, and a smaller chandelier for the ceiling. Happy to see you abandon your former treasure in the tub in favor of your new dwelling.

Then he gifts you other pretty articles – clothes and such that actually fit you – patterned silks and lace. He attempts to give you clothes you can use to cover up more of yourself, but you seem partial to wearing less – most comfortable in just an elegant kimono you can easily discard on the floor.

You’re confusing like that – walking around his apartment half-naked but hissing and scowling at him when he stares.

It’s more the jewelry you enjoy wearing – crowns, earrings, necklaces, body chains, rings for your fingers and toes, bracelets for your wrists and ankles – everything in abundance. Jingling when you step about.

You seem healthier after receiving his presents. Also, a bit less skeptical – now engaging in conversation with him – although often about what his next gifts will be and if he can buy you diamonds and rubies for you to bead your hair.

“Sorry, but the banks closed. I’m not giving you a single dime, your highness.” He laughs one day, eyes bright and smiling, watching the puzzlement befall your face before the spread of horror that soon followed after hearing his next words. “In fact, I’m gonna start taking things away.”

“You wouldn’t-” Your voice had dropped into something so weak it was adorable, no longer having that strident overconfidence you’d built up.

It makes him feel almost bad watching your face drain and become so distressed like a spoiled little brat who’d just been told no for the first time.

“Oh- I would.” He grinned like it was all only a cruel joke to him – something just for shits and giggles. “Satoru Gojo giveth and Satoru Gojo taketh away.”

“But-” Your lip wobbles, and he can spot the tears brimming in your eyes already.

He doesn’t let it bother him. Or at least he doesn’t let it show.

“I think I’ll start with all your jewelry- how about that necklace you’re wearing right now?” He threatens, pale hand reaching towards your neck to pull your pearls off – but you shrink into a ball on the floor before he has the chance to.

“No, no, no, don’t-” You start sobbing, and he thinks it’s the first time he’s seen a curse be so sad and desperate.

Not to mistake those countless curses he’d made cry and plead for their life, but that wasn’t what you were doing. You were grieving. 

You’re really such a simple thing, aren’t you?

His smile softens into something not so cruel. Crouching down to your level, placing his hand atop your head where you’re bowed and bawling, petting you soothingly. “Okay then, drama queen. Stop your crying. I’ll let you keep it.”

You raise your head, hopeful. Looking at him with terribly puffy eyes - cheeks streaked with teardrops hanging off your lashes. Looking so pained and vulnerable, it made his heart ache at the sight. 

You don’t say anything but he can tell there’s a question on your lips you’re unable to voice.

“Under one condition.” He answers. 

You flinch when his hand slides from your hair to cup your cheek, holding your chin as he rolls on his feet and places a kiss on your salty lips.

You gasp and allow it for a second but then abruptly push him off – falling back on your butt. “No- you’ll make me filthy.” You rush out. “Beauty is meant to be admired, not reaped. It’s not right. You can’t-”

He watches you blush and stutter and thinks it’s silly how he hasn’t thought about it before. But now it’s become clear. Curses spawn from human fears, after all. It’s not strange that they’re so similar. But still… he’d never think a curse would be afraid of losing their virginity.

“It’s okay,” He coos, setting his knees down softly – crawling forward to where you sit, hiding your face behind small hands decked in too many rings. “I’m not gonna stain you…” He promises, his breath warm on your skin. “I’m gonna make you feel like the most desired diety in the world.”

Your breath shivers as he takes your hands and uncovers your face – eyes wide looking at him.

“And after I’m done admiring you, I’ll get you more diamonds and rubies than you can count.”

You swallow – eyes skittering from one of his blue ones to the other.

“Really?” It’s below a whisper.

“You bet.” He answers with a smile, flashing you a smirk. “I’ll get you enough to swim in.”

Your nose does a little twitch like it usually does, but this time, it’s not to express disgust. “Do you promise?” You bite your lip – staring at him.

“Let’s make it a binding vow.”

And that’s the arrangement.

You let him admire you in ways you’ve never let anyone else before, but only if he fulfills all your greedy heart’s desires.

He doesn’t mind. It’s nice to have something to spend money on that’s worth it.

You’ll lie next to him and he’ll get to study you up close – finding things that betray you – model details that aren’t in line with human imperfections. Missing bone structure, flawless symmetry, hairless skin devoid of any and all accent of mark or spot – just smooth milky texture without a single fault.

He says it’s sad – that the standard for beauty isn’t even achievable, to which you reply that it’s only fair everyone should be subject to the same disappointment, never to achieve perfection like you.

He asks if you think he’s really that ugly. And you say yes.

“Liar.” He accuses. Head propped on his hand, his hair a tousled mess lying in the bed beside you.

You’re looking up at the ceiling but close your eyes insouciantly at his comment. You tip your chin a bit as you speak – lips pouty and proud. “Lies are an ugly trade- in which I don’t partake.”

“Oh, really?” He rolls on top of you and you give a whine. Looking up into his sparkling blues and how his pearly hair falls loose and wispy. “Then look me in my eyes and tell me I’m ugly.” He dares.

“Puh-” You scoff, folding your arms above your puffed chest, looking off to the side, still with eyes closed as though to dismiss him like you so often do. “Men with beady bright blue eyes and pink skin look like pigs.”

You sneak a peek with one eye when he doesn’t answer. He’s still looking down at you – still daring you. 

And you continue. Raising a finger to nudge his nose up. “Say oink-oink, piggy.”

He brushes your finger away as he leans in closer. Now with his nose rubbing yours.

“Tell me I’m ugly.” He repeats – his voice dipping low into that serious tone that makes your breath tight and your stomach flurry.

“You’re-” You try but it ends up swallowed, stifled beneath those big worldly blues. “You’re…” You try again but it’s worse than the first time, making you bite your lip. He’s not budging.

You look away. Feeling defeated and mopey because of it.

“You’re not as pretty as me.” You finally sulk.

So cutely grumpy with your pursed lips and vexed brow, he just has to laugh. “Tch- now that we can both agree on.”

And then he forces you to laugh too – beginning to snort like a boar into your ear, placing sloppy kisses to your neck while you scream out that it tickles.

P1 & P3

[lady-of-the-upside-down]

Thoughts on The Odyssey (1997)

(YouTube, Amazon Prime)

- Love that it starts with the birth of Telemachus, and how they made it the same day Odysseus gets called to Troy by Agamemnon and Menelaos.

- Enjoyed the brief snippets of the Trojan War with Achilles dragging Hektor’s body all over the outskirts of Troy, as well as the infamous Trojan Horse gift and the sacking of the city.

- The crew on Ody’s boat are absolutely funny. I love fat and balding Polites as well as the flute guy. Eurylochus and Perimedes were amazing too, and not nearly as antagonistic except for when Perimedes opened the bag.

- As soon as I heard sheep noises on the first island they landed in, I said “oh no” out loud. Sure enough, it’s the Cyclops cave. No club; he just tears up some crew members and eats them.

- Circe is so beautiful, they made a great choice with the actress there. Definitely has a similar vibe to her EPIC counterpart. Interesting that her island was way up a steep mountain so the crew really needed a lot of effort to get up there. Genuinely enjoyed the part of the animals acting off as a hint that they’re former humans. Also, they made the choice to combine Circe with the lotions island, having her offer them the flowers. Really genius choice because both islands in the book have the warped time dilation effect so it’s a good idea to combine them if given a time constraint in the adaptation.

- The Underworld was a fiery place and I love the part where he meets flute guy again who leads him to Tiresias. On the way out, he sees his mother (who “got in the water” earlier) and that scene broke my heart so much.

- The interspersed Telemachus scenes were fun. Child!Telemachus was a menacing gremlin running around the palace, and Teen!Telemachus has so much angst in him like he was emo before emo was even invented.

- No sirens, they go straight to Scylla and Charybdis. Scylla was hidden in the caves with no woman as lure, just snakes with mouths scooping up crew members and one goat. Some dialog here will be familiar to EPIC fans. Same can be said with Charybdis who is a many-toothed worm monster like in EPIC.

- The remaining crew after Scylla all die in Charybdis, so no mutiny and no cow incident. Odysseus clings onto a single log until he reaches Calypso’s island.

- Calypso and her island are BEAUTIFUL. The vibes are just amazing and it’s like a sort of ice cold spring spa with some feasting going on inside. Calypso doesnt do anything too bad here except the occasional kiss, and later the refusal to let go of Odysseus even when Hermes requested it.

- Telemachus, now of age, goes on to the diplomatic mission to Sparta, but Menelaos is meaner and just tells him that his father is dead, though he compliments the prince’s similarities. I love the set design and costuming in this part.

- Poseidon being a face forming on waves is a really fun adaptation, really hammering home that he IS the water and being in the water when disliked by Poseidon is a really terrible idea.

- There is a brief visit by Odysseus to the Phaeicians after leaving Ogygia, and he actually doesnt doc himself when asked for his name this time, though King Alcinous already knew who he was because of his hint that his name was cursed that it cannot be spoken. The Phaeicians are the ones who give him a ship and crew to get him home, and that’s really sweet honestly.

- The discovery of the un weaving of the loom came at such an intense time because I genuinely thought Eurymachus was going to be successful at seducing Penelope but she really stood tall and said that she can’t (probably inspiring the Ody and Circe part of EPIC). The loom-burning that happens after was genuinely terrifying snd sad.

- Athena giving Odysseus a magical old man beggar disguise that only lifts when he later shoots through the axes (right before the slaughter) is such a genius idea rather than just having base Ody wearing rags. Eumaeus is the first one who recognizes him form how he behaves in the palace farm area. Telemachus runs into the two and learns that the beggar is Odysseus in disguise.

- The wrestling match between Telemachus and Antinous after the former got home from his diplomatic mission definitely inspired the events of “Little Wolf” and their dynamic. It almost turned into a knife fight if not for beggar!Odysseus stealing attention, and promptly getting hit by Antinous with a chair.

- EURYCLEIA RECOGNIZING ODYSSEUS gosh that part shakes me to my core. Athena likely intentionally left the scar from the boar there as a hint for those who know him well. So at that point it’s Tele and Eurycleia who knows.

- The slaughter was such a satisfying part, especially since in this version majority of the kills were done by Telemachus, with Odyssseus only taking out a few—notably taking out Eurymachus and Melantho with only one spear through both of them, a traitor-kebab if you will. Best part was during the beginning of the slaughter when Odysseus goes “Now is the right time, let out your anger” to Telemachus

- The part where Penelope and Odysseus lay by the olive tree bed again made me so emotional. They’re together again and they’re happy!!

- The practical and special effects are great for its time, and I definitely prefer it to the over-polished VFX green screen that the present day movies use. This movie just feels more authentic.

- Casting and costume design is also solid. I am especially obsessed with the costumes at Calypso’s island, and how it depicts that they’re removed from the rest of Greece so they ended up developing their own culture.

- Set design is amazing, I love how there is a contrast between the almost dilapidated and dirty palace of Ithaca compared to the other Greek kingdoms we encounter throughout the movie, showing the hardship they were going through with the absence of rod a kung and the presence of a flock of suitors that insist on staying there.

Overall a solid 5/5 stars, and I highly recommend it to anyone who enjoys Greek mythology, specifically The Odyssey and EPIC: The Musical.

[micksmansion]

throwback to that time i saw a local les mis production and right after stars javerts actor hurried off stage in the dark but a pedestal thing wasnt fixed properly on the stage so he tripped and he almost fell on his ass and proceeded to curse under his breath with his mic on

it happened to fantine as well with another pedestal

then gavroches actress forgot to wake up for gavs deaths scene and enjs actor had to mildly tap her shoulder

thenardier stole my glasses for a moment (i was sitting right at the corridor), then he pointed at me AGAIN during beggars at the feast at the "that ones a queer" line (it happened the first time i went to watch this same company perform the month before)

best les mis experience i have ever had i think

[amphinomusthemusical]

Amphinomus: The Musical!

Writers!

Penelope/Penny. Writer and current writer for @nausicaathemusical | @penelope-asterios

Willow. Artist/designer for this show! | @wielderofarrows

Zippy. Second artist/designer for this show! | @zippyskyfalls

Messy. third artist/designer (hope you’re fine with being tagged! tell me if you don’t want) :3 | @messymoonmad

Nausicaa/Mary. Writer numero dos!! | @whenthechipsared0wn

Writer number three! | @iwasboredsoiwrote

How long has this been in production?

2 years, I’m ready to share lyric snippets. I will have to get my little sister to sing. Since I have this thing called ✨ mutism ✨

Will this be accurate to the Odyssey?

Of course! Not fully, with some creative liberties taken here and there, but I promise I’ll make it as accurate as I can! I’ve read the Odyssey many times for this.

Songs:

Characters:

Others:

Instruments:

Song List:

What Comes After the War?

Suitor’s Game.

This Isn’t What I Came For.

Feast and Farce.

A Prince From Dulichium.

The Weaving and Waiting

This Isn’t Me

Three Years and a Day

Speak True, Speak Low

Birds In the Hall

Blood In the Palace

You Could Leave

A Thread In the Labyrinth

Let Me Speak

The Old Beggar

The Warning

Apollo, Forgive Me

Red Wedding

Blood In the Palace (Reprise)

[turtle-paced]

what could’ve cersei have done to outdo maegery “When she was feeling pious she would leave the castle to pray at Baelor’s Sept. She gave her custom to a dozen different seamstresses, was well-known among the city’s goldsmiths, and even had been known to visit the fish market by the Mud Gate for a look at the day’s catch. Wherever she went, the smallfolk fawned on her, and Lady Margaery did all she could to fan their ardor. She was forever giving alms to beggars, buying hot pies off bakers’ carts, and reining up to speak to common tradesmen.” (A Feast For Crows, 424)” with nobles oblige

Cersei could have been doing the same thing... for almost as long as Margaery's been alive.

Almost as a rule, Cersei acts too late.

[sweetpianoxoxo]

Cold Hands, Warm Heart - Aemond Targaryen Headcanon

"And when i saw you, I fell in love, and you smiled, because you knew." - William Shakespeare . The only Daughter of Lord Stark is married to Aemond Targaryen.

Warnings: doesn't follow the plot of hotd, cregan sides with the greens just for the sake of this marriage agreement, but he's still noble your honor🙏, smut, fluff, very protective aemond, sorta ooc, dislike for alicent as a mother, cregan ships them, religious insecurities, part two?

The young lady of winterfell was by all accounts, a rare bird of the north. She had long, curled ginger locks and a face that held strength in beauty.

She was said to be a kind soul, eager to help the people of her community, feeding the beggars and filling the pockets of the poor. Creating homes for orphaned babes, and safe places to work for both men and women selling themselves to get buy.

Aemond wondered why Lord Stark had petioned him for his daughter. Sure, be was notoriously less rowdy than his brother, however he was not said to be any more kind or forgiving, besides, would a woman as charitable as her not make for an excellent queen? He did not wish for a kind wife, he needed someone hardened for when the war started.

Of course, the moment he laid his eyes on her he wanted her for himself, and he was ecstatic he hadnt asked the council to change their minds.

Lady stark was not excited for her bethroal. She had heard of the targaryen prince, Aemond One-Eye. She had heard tales of his brutality, even around children, and she was horrified she would be expected to conceive with a man who is said to hate babies.

Of course, she would normally assume most of these to be rumours and lies, but jacareys talked to her while he visited Winterfell, to plead his mothers case. He may have lost in her fathers eyes, however he gave the young stark girl information she couldnt do without.

He told her that Aemond was a brute and he wasnt capable of love. Jacareys explained in his detail, how Aemond attacked them as children, forcing his younger brother to retaliate and ever since then his uncle hated children.

Of course, Lady stark didnt know this was an exaggerating claim of a man sprung with jealousy. She'd be married to Lucerys, Jacareys' younger brother had Cregan agreed with Rhaenyras cause, and Aemond had he agreed with Alicent. He had an agenda

Now, lady stark wasnt naive. She knew the prince couldnt be the monster jacareys described him to be, however she wouldnt discredit the words of his cousin, nor a man she aspired to be her friend

They met in the throne room upon her arrival perhaps a moon and a half from their wedding, late, late at night. The only others in the room were King Aegon (who was very upset to be woken), Alicent, Ser Otto, Helaena (who had also been upset to be woken), Ser Cole, and a couple trusted servents. They wouldnt wake the whole palace for a meeting, instead they'd hold a grand feast on the morrow to intoduce House Stark, and the preperations for wedding.

Lady Stark and her father would come in the room wearing thin furs made purposely for the trip. There was an obvious fondness to represent their house as they strode closer to the group, Aemond could spot a silver pendent on her necklace, holding a direwolf sigil, and it shone in the candlelight of the throneroom.

Aemond stepped forward, instantly entranced with his betrothed. She was as if a winter princess born of an affair between gods of snow and beauty.

He outstretched his hand to take hers and took of her glove, slowly. He bowed as he kissed her hand and although the act was very much so appropriate, it felt sensual in the way he stared up at her.

"My young lady Stark, its an honour to meet your acquaintance, i hope we'll be able to spend much time together before we are wed." There was a certain knowingness in his voice, a joking tone that made even the tried King crack a smile and snort, and have Cregan glare a dagger into Aemonds one eye.

The rest of the introductions were boring and Aemond stared at his to-be-bride the whole time, only looking away as the stark family was brought to their chambers.

The next day, before the feast, Aemond would look for his bethrothed in her chambers and not find her, he'd soon find her in one of the smaller libraries in the palace.

"I can show you to our grand library if you'd wish. The books here are merely copies of them and theres many more in there, believe me." He startled her enough to cause the peaceful expression on her face to falter and make her jump a bit. "My apologies, i didnt know a wolf would be so jumpy."

Their conversation went on from there, he asked her about what she was so interested in, and she told him it was the Targaryen history. He didnt want to admit how that warmed his heart a bit, and instead told her that the grand library would certainly have more informed books, he of course also slipped in that his own personal library had some additions he'd be happy to show her.

She dismissed his shameless flirting, but took him up on his offer to see the bigger library.

He asked for her arm as they walked through the halls and she gave it to him wordlessly. Aemond was almost startled at how quiet she was being.

When they arrived at the library, Lady Stark noticed a guard at the front doors and must have looked puzzled enough for Aemond to take it as a sign to answer her unspoken question.

"There are scrolls and scripts in here worth more than a kings ransom, my dearest. All precious things must be protected."

Aemond watched as his bethrothed walked around the library, observing the organization before carefully walking to the section she wanted. "V" for Valyrian. She thumbed through pages of the first book she picked up and bit her cheek

After selecting two books from that section, she moved behind bookshelves out of Aemonds' sight, and reappeared in the "T" section. She was holding three more books.

Aemond would stride over to her silently, he wouldnt get too close in a bit of fear of spooking her, and yet he still startled her.

"Let me hold them." Lady stark smirked a little bit. Oh, so he was a gentleman, too? She briefly wondered if it was because she was a woman he was being so kind, or had Jacaerys been bluffing in how brutish the prince was?

"Some of these are about the north?" Aemond questioned, "Do you not know the history of your own home?"

"Of course i do!" She bit back, a bit angry at his insinuation. "I'd wish to learn what you southerners learn of our home. How you talk about our people and our land." She justified herself graciously. Aemond shocked her by apologizing. He wasn't someone she had ever expected to bow to a woman, and yet he bowed below her, took her hand, and kissed it gently.

"I would never intend to offend you, my lady."

Within a week and a half, Aemond and Lady Stark had become very close. Alicent was almost proud of her son for being so dutiful before he was even married.

Aemond enjoyed Lady Starks' presence. She was smart. Smarter than his dimwitted brother, more sensible than his kooky sister, he felt like they were on an even playing field mentally.

Lady stark, however, was just enjoying a break from the roughness that comes from Winterfell. Men there were chivalrous, sure, but they lacked warmth, Aemond one eye was filled with fire.

She didn't trust him yet, she wasnt sure if she ever could despite him never having done anything wrong to her. She found him kind, almost too kind. It went against everything anyone had ever said about him

Before long, Aemond started noticing a chance in lady starks demeanor. She was more generally sad looking, and she kept away from the people she used to look forward to being with, her maidens for tea time, Helaena, and even Aemond.

Aemond became noticeably angrier theoughout the week she distanced herself. He was upset, and he couldn't figure out why.

It was Lord Cregan Stark who had settled the tension. He had found Aemond in his study and knocked sternly to get his attention.

"You've been good to my daughter boy, made her happier than any other northern man, so I'll tell you this:" he'd begin coming closer into the room, catching Aemonds attention. "She is connected to home. Winterfell is her place. She is a baby of snow and ice. Those connections can not be broken, and it's not just to the cold. Her faith, her tradition, its all been engraved in her head and now she cannot have any of that, be gracious."

At first, Aemond almost took it as an insinuation that he couldn't make her happy because he wasn't a northerner, but he wasn't as quick to temper and thought of it logically. He was her father, of course he'd know her better then he did.

Aemond knew that lady stark believed in the old gods, but he had assumed it was in the same way his family believed in the seven, loosely. He hadn't taken interest in her religious traditions, and he should've.

He prided himself on being a smart, insightful man and as he fell more attarcted to Lady Stark. He knew he wanted to be a good husband, and eventually a good father.

Lady Stark had been missing her home. She missed sitting under the heart trees with her brother Rickon and reading him stories of the strong warriors of the old north. She missed the stew made for supper almost every week, and she missed praying before it every time, praying to her gods.

She didn't mean to push people away she just needed some space. Everyone she talked to in kingslanding unintentionally pushed their culture on her with every interaction.

She had taken all meals in her room or the given study used between her family and spent all her time in the smaller libraries and her chambers.

She wasn't isolating herself, she just wanted familarity.

As she traveled back from the east wing library to her own chambers, she noticed a lack of guards in her family's guest hall

Disregarding the fact, she would go to her own chambers and drop a heavy stack of books on a table near the entrance.

Aemond was sitting on her bed.

He was thumbing through a book lady stark recognized as her fathers. A Winterfell Tradition and History guide. Lady Stark thought about what she had said when they first met in the library, that she wanted to know what southerners write about them, and she had told him later that it was barbarically uncharacteristic.

He was showing an initiative to learn about her interest. He atleast in his head he was trying. He talked to his grandfather, Ser Otto, and asked if their was any way to have a godswood somewhere he could take his wife when they wed, somewhere he could create a place of worship for lady stark so despite being a three days dragon trip from home, could feel like she had a place.

He knew this wouldn't solve the total matter. He would have to do more to help her feel like Kings Landing would be her home just as much as winterfell was. But he hoped it may have been a beginning.

"Aemond," she broke him out of his reading. He knew she was there, of course, but he hadn't looked up.

"You dont need to acknowledge me if you dont like. I'll sit on the edge of your bed and let you do whatever in silence. I can't stand being away from you anymore, my dear, im sorry, i didn't think of how hard your adjustment has been. I'd like to help you in any way, even if it's just being by your side." He stood up as she walked closer. "Your interests are important to me. Your history is. The first thing you did when you came here was learn about my history, and i should've taken the initiative to do the same."

Lady stark felt like crying. He was emotionally invested in her and wanted to be with her. He wanted to learn her.

The couple had a conversation for hours, moving to sit in a position where she was lying in his chest. She had told him it was wrong and sinful to lay together before marriage, but neither really cared.

They read the book together, Lady stark smiling widely as she pointed out some of her ancestry, and Aemond some of her favourite childhood stories.

By the end of the night, Lady Stark realized she was happy with this arrangement. She had been wrong about Aemond, and the idea of marrying him no longer scared her.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsterhunt: Savogorg, Demon of Deliciousness

Demons reflect the most destructive impulses of the living and while most default to primal feelings like fear, pain, and despair... the feeling this saccharine salamander embodies could best be described as "the irresistible urge to stick your finger in a freshly frosted cake".

Driven by an indulgent need to taste all the finest things without ever worrying about hunger Savogorg crashes feasts, burgles pantries, and pinches pies from windowsills heedless of the chaos it causes in the process.

It takes an act of supreme immoderation to summon the demon of deliciousness, an inability to be satisfied that goes so far beyond hedonism that it wounds the soul. A ruler who beggars the realm with their elaborate feasts, An epicurean restaurateur who seeks ever more exotic experiences for her exclusive clientele, the taverncook who insists that this time he'll finally be able to make his grandmother's recipe as good as he remembers it. Those that suffer this affliction find themselves beset by bouts of reckless appetite, and with every mouthful the demon's stake upon them grows until it is finally able to manifest in the world.

Adventure Hooks:

Everyone knew it was a bad omen when the earl's secondborn shot the white stag. Legends of earning lordship be damned, it was plain as day the creature was beloved by the forest goddess. Butchery and trophytaking was bad enough, but to serve the flesh to your spoiled friends only to spit it out as "gamey"... now that truelove was worthy of some divine wrath. Now the noble lad wanders the wood in a state of ragged confusion, delirious from hunger and mushrooms and fermented berries, sometimes asking passersby for help, sometimes attempting to bite them. Folk susspect he's become a werewolf, and the earl is offering a rich reward to those who can bring his boy back and break the curse, while his firstborn is willing to pay extra to ensure that doesn't happen. She's become convinced her brother desires her inheritance, and what could it hurt if he stayed mad?

A prestigious culinary competition has been thrown into chaos after a series of disastrous incidents and atleast one contestant going missing. This is an excuse to riff off your favourite baking shows while the party plays detective trying to find who's eating the supplies... and the staff.

There's no such thing as forbidden snacks when you're a hunger demon. Having slithered into an elven temple dedicated to the god of earth and wine, Savogorg has laid it's greedy fingers on a sacred artifact in the form of a heavily laden bunch of grapes each sculpted from a precious gemstone and swallowed it whole. Ignorant of the demon's existnace the elves are incensed at this trespass, and begin hunting and questioning would be thieves. Tracking the demon might be easier than expected, as the holy artifact has given it divine indigestion, and the amphibious fiend keeps burping up minor mirracles as it moves about the city looking for a place to sleep off its tumymache.

Challenges & Complications:

Despite it's bulk, the demon's squishy body allows it to pass through any opening the size of a fist, allowing it to slip into unexpected places through drains, chimneys, and cracked doors, leaving behind only a sugary slime. This also allows it to unexpected escapes should it be cornered by the party. Experementation may reveal that extensive cold damage may cause the demon's body to semi-solidfy, preventing this ability.

As a demon of appetite, Savogorg is sustained by the act of eating, and will freely regain hitpoints anytime it focuses on chowing down rather than fighting the party, or if it's swallowed one of them whole. Poison can be useful here, souring its stomach and preventing it from actively eating anything more.

Artsource

[antinousletmehit]

sorry for another ask in advance

odysseus x fem reader with the same odypen married out of duty but just friends and odysseus in love with reader but in this one reader stayed with penelope and they both took care of telemachus growing up

but then PAM PAM PAM the suitors come and try to marry penelope to become king and sleep with reader beacuse lets be honest theyre creepy like that

and then odysseus comes back and hears them plotting (hold them down vibe) ithaca saga was so cool

୨୧┇Odysseus x reader

୨୧┇this one’s a bit short

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The halls of his palace were unfamiliar now, filled with drunken laughter, scattered feasts, and the arrogant voices of men who did not belong. Odysseus, disguised as a beggar, stood in the shadows, his weathered cloak draped over his broad shoulders. His eyes burned as he took in the scene before him. The suitors lounging carelessly, devouring the fruits, plotting to steal what was his.

He had slipped in unnoticed, blending in as another begger seeking scraps. None had paid him any mind, too busy with their drinking. But now, he lingered near the edge of the great hall, his ears straining to catch the conversations of the suitors.

Antinous sat at the center, his posture arrogant, his voice carrying over the others. His dark eyes gleamed with cruel amusement as he leaned forward, addressing the group.

“We’ve waited long enough for Penelope to make her choice,” Antinous sneered, lifting his goblet. “This farce of weaving and unweaving her loom—it’s a game, nothing more. She thinks she’s clever, but we’ll outwit her yet.”

Odysseus gritted his teeth, his knuckles white as he gripped his staff. “And what of her loyal little shadow?” another suitor asked, his tone mocking.

Antinous smirked, swirling the wine in his cup. “Ah, her sweet handmaid,” he drawled, referring to you. “Always hovering, always watching, as if she could stop us.” The suitors laughed, but Antinous’s expression turned darker. “I’ve had enough of waiting,” he continued, his voice low and venomous. “If Penelope won’t come willingly, then perhaps her handmaid will loosen her tongue in exchange for mercy. Or perhaps…” He trailed off, his smirk widening, leaving the implications hanging in the air.

The laughter that followed sent a chill down Odysseus’s spine. His blood boiled as he imagined Antinous’s hands on Penelope—or on you. He gripped his staff tighter, his nails digging into the wood.

He’s going to slaughter these fools.