#circ’s fics

[circle-with-me]

i’m not saying y’all are going to be getting summer themed blurbs for all of the bomens boys (including matt) but what i am saying is i have four more docs with summer themed names and a brain full of ideas.

p.s. the next one is a bit smutty 🤭

[circle-with-me]

I’m gonna be accepting prompt requests from this list from today until whenever. i’ll make a post notifying everyone when requests are closed again.

I’m writing for:

All Bad Omens (including Matt) // Chris, Ricky, and Vinny from MIW // Will Ramos // Jesse Cash // Darius Tehrani

˗ˏˋ 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 + 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 | 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 ˎˊ˗

ೀ amira speaks! : part two of my fluff + smut prompt lists for requests, check them out here! requests are currently closed. remember to specify who says what to who when requesting! 彡 last updated : 08/03/2024 — ♡

116. (character) is talking to someone about you. they try to hide how they feel about you, but it’s quite obvious. “I like them a normal amount.” character says, “we get along, we’re just friends.” “and you’re a friend... who stares at them smiling to yourself like an idiot?” “shut up, you know nothing.”

117. lazy morning kisses and cuddles.

118. “so wet already? I barely even touched you. You must be quite needy.” (smut)

119. “Can I touch you over here?” (smut)

120. “Do you like it like this? Or should I go slower?” (smut)

121. “You’re blushing, that’s cute.” “Shut up, stupid.” (specify who says this to who)

122. “Can I please hold your hand?”

123. “You’ll have to beg for that.” (smut, specify scenario if possible)

124. “Please, if you could stay with me for the night, I would be grateful. I need you.”

125. (character)’s friends discreetly playing matchmaking by placing both of you in places where you can be alone together. You’re both oblivious to your mutual pining, so at one point they force (character) to ask you out for once and for all.

126. “They gave us... One bed?” “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” (could end in smut, or simply fluffy teasing)

127. “I think I might be dying... These may be my last words.” “It’s a small fever. If you don’t quit whining, the only thing killing you today will be my bare hands around your neck.”

128. “Touch yourself for me.” (smut)

129. “Your breasts are cold. Can I warm them with my hands?” “No.” “Pleeeeeeaseeeeee?” “Fine, but stop staring at my with those sad puppy eyes.” (smut)

130. Pillowfighting with (character). (Character) is better at it than you, but when you complain about it, they let you win because they genuinely feel bad.

131. Drunken love confessions to you.

132. Same as 131, but with you being drunk and confessing your love to (character).

133. “Don’t you like being all marked by me? Look at you, everyone will know you’re mine.” (smut)

134. “Someone might see us!” “Isn’t that the fun of it, love?” (smut)

135. “You are one pretty little whore. My pretty little whore.” (smut)

136. (character) gently removing your hands from your very flustered face after you give each other your first kiss, finding them smiling to themselves at how adorable you are.

137. “Who hurt you? I’ll get my revenge on them.”

138. “I could warm you up... From the inside.” (smut)

139. character introduces you to someone. “this is my girlfriend/wife!” (specify). you turn to them in confusion, becoming flustered. “yeah... your girlfriend/wife.”

140. “Stop stealing the blankets!” “Gods you’re so oblivious- I want you to come closer and cuddle me to seek warmth!”

141. “Why should I look up at the stars, when you have a whole constellation in your pretty eyes?” (so cheesy, woops)

142. “How come you were in love with me all this time?!” “I THOUGHT I HAD BEEN OBVIOUS ENOUGH ALREADY!”

143. “Look elsewhere, and I stop.” (smut)

144. “You have such a pretty, delicate little mouth. You surely take my cock so well.” (smut)

145. (character) lifting you from the floor, taking you in their arms, and happily swriling you around the place after not seeing each other for quite some time.

146. “We should film this.” (smut)

147. “Go fuck yourself.” “Only if you watch.” (could be smut or not, specify!)

[fangirlingpuggle]

Dumb Epic AU where Odysseus doesn't kill the infant in the middle of just a man realizes that while he's singing and lamenting choice Zeus isn't paying attention and very slowly hides infant and pretends to kill him.

When Gods run in with Odysseus like '...Is that Hectors son?' Odysseus just keeps bluffing like '...No... this is a different baby totally different'

Also Circe pretty much demanding to babysit during Underworld saga because 'YOU FUCKING MORON IF YOU WILLING TAKE A BABY TO THE UNDERWORLD YOU WILL HAVE ANOTHER 2 MORE GODS TRYING TO KILL YOU'

Bonus (Because suddenly couldn't stop thinking about Circe in this AU): This leads to them going back to Circe's island after underworld saga she takes one look at Odysseus post monster breakdown and is like... yeah no, you just stopped me from killing (and probably later eating your men) we are taking a deep breath and not going full murder mode ok, ok.

Circe tags along on ride back to Ithaca because 1) Fuck Poseidon 2) Odysseus is clearly about to have a breakdown 3) Fuck Poseidon 4) Odysseus got Hermes to agree to watch her Island because in his own words this will be fucking hilarious and again 5) Fuck Poseidon.

This leads to no siren slaughter, Circe there are other ways them flirting with them. When they say layer of Scylla the either

A) If we go with the myth of Circe cursing Scylla it's awkward, the crew trying to sail around while Scylla targets to Circe while Circe works on reverse spell, cue Scylla turning mostly back human helped on board and then fist fight with Circe (Then Scylla is just around for rest of story)

Or B) If Circe isn't involved... cue there are other waysing her... just Circe flirting with Scylla in full beast mode while the others slowly row them through.

When they do get back to Ithaca Odysseus hearing about suitors and just like '...you know the pig thing I get it... do your thing' Odysseus reunites with Penelope and Telemachus introducing them to Astyanax while Circe deals with suitors.

(Bonus Circe is about to head back to island when meets a certain priestess called Cassandra 'HEY DO YOU WANT TO GO BACK TO MY ISLAND WITH ME?')

[kettlefire]

Time forgets most (DPxDC)

I've been getting too many brain worms that I need to clear out the cramp space that is my idea vault. In doing so, I'm just posting off-handed, random things I've typed up at work. (Partly so my drafts don't just end up like my vault). Without further ado, a much too too long post

°•°•°•°

The movement of time is a much too complex thing for many to understand. The knowledge that time was not perfectly linear. The past did not simply stay in the past. The future is not simply something to look forward to. The present is not simply a fleeting moment.

Time is a complex web. Every point in time, connected to another point in time. A never-ending mess of webs and connections. Things that are to be. Things that can be. Things that are being. Things that will never see the light of day in this universe.

Despite what some may want to believe, Time has no master. Time does not yield to any singular being. That did not mean that Time didn't need a helping hand. A guiding hand to help keep the chaos of time to something just a little more... fluid.

The being came to exist well before the universe had. The being was festered, taught, and nurtured in a small pocket dimension. A small space just like an incubator.

Until the world blossomed around it. Life started to grow. Time kept moving. Living organisms found untimely deaths. Evolved, learned, and grew into the new space around it.

When the first little creature crawled out of the water, Time's keeper was let free. A bumbling little thing, breaming with life and curiosity.

Just like everything else in the world, this keeper wasn't safe from time. It still moved. Brought forth problems and adventures.

As time continued to tick. Moving in every direction, the keeper continued to age. Unlike the rest of the universe, the keeper didn't age the same as others.

Some days, he was nothing but a small boy, frolicking in a field of flowers and bees. Other days, he was a strong middle-aged man. Pulling the strings in just the right way, pushing for a timeline that felt right.

On days that have been happening much more often. He was but a crippled old man, hunched over his staff, and dropping much needed wisdom on the young lives around him.

Being the keeper of time wasn't an easy feat. Being completely out of time, experiencing things in broken order. There was only a clear start, and a jumble of things that followed.

The keeper was content with his life. Watching over the world as it grew and blossomed. He was content with his special kind of solitude.

That was until he saw the boy. In the webs of moments, the keeper's gaze had found him. A boy much too young, suddenly with powers much too great thrusted upon him.

The keeper watched the scenes play out. The tears, laughter, humiliation, triumph, and pain. He watched as the boy's family was ripped from him. Watched the twisted attempt at fixing his life, only for it to go horribly wrong.

He watched the bloodshed and chaos that erupted. The lives ripped apart and destroyed. Not a single sign of life left behind.

Then he watched as the boy, no, not a boy anymore. The keeper watched as the monster tore through the fabric of time. Ripped its way through the thin veils that divided the universes.

Universes that had never known the boy's existence were torn to shreds to. A flight driven with pain and anger.

Despite the keeper having seen the boy turn into such a monster. He could see it in the beast's eyes. The deep-seated need for a family, a life. To be loved.

Something about the boy's life, his story, spoke to the keeper. He found himself reaching out into the web of lives and moments. Finding the moment when things went the most wrong for the boy.

Just like that, the keeper had inserted himself into a life. He pulled the boy out of the cruel stream of time. Filled the boy with the knowledge he needed. Let the boy see just what could happen if he let it.

The keeper of time was soon a simple mentor. A simple deity looking out for the world. Taking on the mantel of Clockwork and finding a new purpose for his life.

A young boy's life has been flipped upside down two times now. And there were certainly more to come. This time, the boy wasn't alone. He had a guiding hand, and a communtiy behind him.

The keeper, no, Clockwork watched with a strange pride and happiness he hadn't felt in a long time. The boy was quickly surrounded by a family that helped him navigate his new powers.

Clockwork, alongside many of the other ghostly beings, watched on with pride as the young boy grew into a strong young man. Mastering powers, taking a stand, and making their home safe.

Despite the best efforts, time always beings problems.

It was one thing for Clockwork. He was the keeper of time. His life has reason to exist as long as time exists. Which will always be. His purpose was infinite.

But this boy... Danny wasn't like Clockwork. He was still partially human and terrified of losing his humanity. Danny's story had to come to an end, it's how time works.

Except, Danny wasn't in the timeline anymore. Clockwork had ensured that, pulled Danny into a separate timeline. An unaccounted for timeline.

He couldn't live here forever, not the way that Clockwork could. Danny needs a life, a family, a place, a purpose. He was still human.

It took more effort than Clockwork would have liked. He had to cash in favors from other deities that he hadn't spoken to in centuries.

It took a combined effort of everyone who cared for the little halfa. The strange boy that teeter on the line between life and death. The boy who had freed the Zone from a tyrant. Who wanted nothing more than for everyone to live a happy and filled life/afterlife.

Getting the magic and spells right was the hard part. But finding the location was easy. A beautiful planet just on the edge of the Milky Way. Unlikely to be disturbed or hurt.

The planet was undiscovered, primative even. Far enough from humans that Clockwork was certain Danny wouldn't be bothered. Only one species lived on that planet. Along the jungle like fauna, and in the water.

Cute little guys, barely bigger than two feet long and one foot tall. There was no name, no knowledge about them. Aside from Clockwork analyzing their way of life.

A simple cycle. They were born, they aged, they played, fed, mated, and then died. A simple but content life.

The aliens weren't unsettling. At least not to anyone who has seen more creatures than what Earth has to offer. It is a strange combination between frog, fish, and squid.

Scurrying around on two legs and four tentacles. A small frog-like face with eyes that seemed to take up half that space. Colors vary from blues to greens to the same sandy brown found at the bottom of the lakes.

Before long, the planet had its own protector. A young boy who once was lost and alone seemed to meld perfectly with these aliens.

Clockwork was always sure of himself. He never let anyone see otherwise. Except, Clockwork hadn't been sure. Not when he had performed the ritual.

As he molded and changed Danny's DNA until the man was a new being entirely. To anyone who didn't know the full story, the boy could easily look related to the aliens.

Gills now painted the sides of his neck, not necessary, but Clockwork felt like it had been. Webbed hands and feet to make transversing the underwater caves even easier. An ethereal, almost siren-like touch to Danny.

It worked out perfectly. Danny settled in easily. Building a routine and bound with the aliens. It hadn't been hard for the little creature to take a liking to him.

Before long, it was routine. Danny would spend most of his time on the planet, watching over his new wards. On some days, he'd portal back to the zone. Spend time with the ghosts and deities that saved his life. To check in on the new govermental system that had been put in place.

It was perfect. Simple and nice. Everyone got complacent. The longer time went on without a hiccup or a problem. The longer Danny was able to rest in his odd solitude. The more people got comfortable.

The more they forgot that time was as cruel as it was forgiving.

It had been just another day cycle. Danny was playing with the most recent litter birth. The first time he had seen the birth, he was more disgusted than anything else.

After the third time, Danny had started getting excited. He looked forward to it. Loved seeing the aliens flourish and grow. Watching them thrive and find more fun in the things Danny creates. Every new fun game or obstacle was always made with the things natural to the planet. Or debris that was caught in its gravitational pull.

Danny was playing with Plop. The little guy got his name, and he always plopped out of the water. Unlike the other aliens, this one didn't crawl out. No, he'd pull himself out of the water with his tentacles, only to plop down on the ground.

Of course, Plop had also been the first alien to approach Danny when he arrived. It's how they formed such a strong bond.

Everything had seemed perfectly fine. The day was rolling along just like it always did. That was until a small group of the more elder aliens suddenly came scurrying into their main cave.

They hadn't waited a second before diving into the water. Danny watched, confused and concerned, as each one of them grabbed one of the young. Before shooting straight into the underwater cave system.

The once bustling and living cave was suddenly eerily quiet and void of any aliens. Leaving behind only the confused Danny in the pool.

At least that's what a certain Green Lantern saw when he followed the trail of retreating aliens.

This planet had been categorized to have no signs of intelligent life. It seemed to have the option to nurture life, but there had been no signs.

When Hal Jordan got word of a seeming spike of activity from the supposedly empty planet, he had added it to his rooster.

A quick peek, just a look into what kind of life might be starting to grow there. The little aliens he had seen were adorable, sure. But they didn't seem all that evolved. Still in their evolutionary journey.

That was until Hal saw him.

Now, Hal was no stranger to running into ethereal beauty. It's what happens when someone interacts with aliens on a basic daily. That was something he was used to.

Except, all his breath seemed to be knocked out of him completely. The cave alone was stunning, a stark contrast from the almost barren surface he had first seen.

A deep, shimmering blue pool that vanished into the rocky space around it. Trees, bushes, and flowers decorate the area. It looked almost too good to be true. Like an oasis in the middle of a desert.

Then there was the being that caught all of Hal's attention. Bright blue eyes that looked like gems, pale blue-tinged skin. Long black and white hair seemed to look almost like the night sky. A deep abyss littered with stars.

The closest thing that Hal's brain supplied was a siren. A beautiful, ethereal creature that lured men to their deaths. As beautiful as it seemed, Hal knew there could easily be danger.

Except, the creature didn't attack or threaten him.

Instead, he seemed almost shy. Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, sharp deadly teeth flashing in the light with each motion.

Hal had just opened his mouth, taken a hesitant step forward. He wanted to know, and he needed to know how this happened. There wasn't supposed to be an intelligent, sophisticated life on this planet.

The moment Hal's lips parted, the creature let out a trill. A sound that seemed more scared than aggressive. Before suddenly, the beautiful creature vanished into the pool.

Hal moved before he could think, rushing to the edge of the pool. He peered into the crystal clear water, just in time to take the webbed feet of the creature vanish into a tunnel.

Now that left Hal with two options. He could either report this and wait for backup...

Or...

Or...

He could jump inside. The ring would protect him, and his lungs would be fine. Perks of being a Green Lantern.

That option seemed much more tempting to Hal. Nothing about this scream an outright threat. He felt more like a strange imposing on someone's home. A home that was meant for safety and protection of the young.

Yet, the shimmering water seemed to be calling to Hal. Something in him was trying to push him to get inside. To find the beautiful creature and learn more. Learn how this happened.

Without realizing it, Hal Jordan sealed his fate the moment he dipped a finger into the cool pool. Rippling the steady surface just slightly.

Just enough to get him wrapped up in the strange web created by time and its keeper.

[sunstone-smiles]

There Are Other Ways to Put On a Brave Face

Author’s note: Wooo!!! My first EPIC: The Musical fic! And my first fic of 2025! I was inspired by the rest of the fandom and their wonderful fics, so I wanted to add on with one of my own! I feel like Circe and Odysseus would be friends after the events of the Circe saga since he poured his heart out to her about being away from home and she assisted him on his journey. Plus, they share some things in common about being a leader. I hope you enjoy!

Series: EPIC: The Musical

Characters: Odysseus and Circe (when they’re friends Lol)

Word count: 3,015

Summary: Odysseus is about to meet his crew, but Circe sees that he has a low-spirited appearance that could drag anyone’s mood down. She doesn’t want him to leave unless he puts on a brave face!

---

Odysseus and his crew know firsthand how powerful of a sorceress Circe can be. But, after a tense battle and a little negotiation and sympathy, Odysseus is fortunate to have earned her trust as an ally. Especially since the next step in his journey is towards the dreaded Underworld, it’s reassuring to know that he doesn’t have to add Circe’s name to his ever growing list of enemies that he has, somehow, gained over the course of his journey.

Circe, with her long hair hanging at her back and tied with ribbons, stands over her desk and swipes a quill across a long sheet of parchment. Odysseus waits patiently and silently in the middle of her room, staring down at the rug and leaning back and forth on his heels. The sorceress adds a few more strokes of ink and a refined scribble or two across the page before laying the quill to the side. 

“There. Done,” she proudly states. With a twirl of her finger, the parchment rises from the desk. It rolls up neatly into a bundle and a red ribbon materializes around to wrap it. The now tied parchment drifts into Circe’s palm. She turns around, walks over, and presents it to Odysseus.

“Here you are. A map with instructions to the Underworld. Keep it safe.” She hands the map to the king. He clutches it tightly.

“Thank you again for your help, Circe. And thank you for returning my men back to humans,” his voice is grateful. “How can I repay you?”

Circe shakes her head. “You don’t need to repay me. I only ask that you get back home safe. Allow your love to prevail that you so desperately miss.”

Odysseus nods, glancing back down at the carpet as he’s reminded of those he lacks by his side. His wife and son. Penelope and Telemachus.

The captain lifts up his head as much as he can with the images of home pushing down on him. His eyes make contact with Circe’s, though his gaze is fragile and a step out of reality. 

“I will do my best.” His eyes drop to the floor as he turns to leave; his head angles towards his feet. Circe’s expression shifts to concern as she watches his shoulders hunch like a bolder was wedged between his shoulder blades, and every step he takes is like crushing his own, already low spirit. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Circe speaks up. She catches up with him. “Now where do you think you’re going?”

Odysseus lifts a brow towards her. “Back to my crew?” his eyes glance to the doorway like it was obvious.

“Not like that you’re not!” She snatches the map from his hands and spins before placing it on a nearby table.

“What?” Odysseus stands there bewildered.

“Look at you! All hunched over and slouched,” she taps his shoulder with the back of her hand. “You haven’t even been to the Underworld, but you’re acting like you’ve already sailed to hell and back!”

“Well, you’re not too far off…” Odysseus shifts his gaze to the side.

Circe sighs with strained air. “Regardless… A captain should be the face of their crew. Put on a brave face! Stand strong!” The sorceress demonstrates by straightening her posture. She begins posing the king like a doll, “So shoulders back, chin up, chest out, and let me see a smile!” She steps in front of him and points to her own cheeks that are holding a smile. 

Odysseus’s head tilts towards the comfort of the ground. “It’s hard to do so when everyone has already been through so much.”

Circe’s concerned, almost motherly look returns on her face, although this time with a twinge of heartbreak as the captain’s words strike true. Circe gently lays a hand on his shoulder.

“I understand,” she says softly. Odysseus’s pained eyes meet hers. “But I bet your crew feels the same way. That’s why they need someone, more than ever, to put on a brave face and guide them.”

Odysseus pulls his eyes from Circe’s. 

When Circe felt like his crew were strangers, she did what she thought was necessary to protect her nymphs, the ones she cares for as if they were her daughters. She was stabbed in the back once before when kindness made her heart vulnerable, and in turn, a scar of cautiousness formed in the wound. Odysseus doesn’t blame her. Her cautiousness came from fear, and fear, like lightning and water, creates a chain reaction that courses through waves of people unless the two elements are ever prevented from touching. Circe, standing tall and like a warrior to her nymphs in the face of any unknown visitors, is that barrier.

Odysseus finally nods. “You make a fair point…” he says, allowing Circe’s words to take effect. He lifts up his head to face her with a little more strength than before. “Okay, I’ll try.”

“Good!” Circe steps in front of him like a captain who is about to give orders (or like Athena who is about to go over a lesson). She positions him again as she speaks, “Now roll back those shoulders, look straight ahead, flatten out that spine…” She pauses and Odysseus remains still so he doesn’t mess with her progress. Circe scans the king from head to toe to check her work. “And while we’re at it, let’s straighten out your stance,” Circe grabs Odysseus’s sides. Suddenly Odysseus yelps and scrambles away as fast as he can, nearly tripping in the process. He whips around, hugging his arms close to his torso.

“Circe! A little warning next–”

“What was that?” the sorceress cuts him off. 

Odysseus clears his throat and his posture shoots up like a tree that sprouted from the ground. His eyes are a bit wider, more alert, than they were before. “Nothing– It was nothing,” he says with his eyes darting to the side to avoid any eye contact whatsoever. “Just an old battle wound that I got from Troy.”

“Odysseus, please. I can see right through your lies,” she says as a matter of fact. “It wasn’t nothing. A battle wound wouldn’t make you jump away like that with a faint hint of a smile,” she leans forward with a subtle curl to her lips, like a lioness closing in on prey.

Odysseus grumbles, trying to stand his ground. “Okay, fine! It just…” he trails off as the confidence leaves him and the butterflies surface in his stomach.

Circe smirks, “Go on.”

Odysseus glares back at her, his fire as an impenetrable leader bursting through. “It just tickled! Okay? There!” He crosses his arms like a child who was forced to comply.

“Oh, is that all?” Circe shrugs and she strides up to him. Odysseus watches her movements like a hawk as she approaches by his side.

“Well, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Circe says.

Odysseus loosens his battle-ready stance, taken by surprise by her response. “Well, good,” he stands up straight, like the interaction never occurred. His eyes dart to the side, “Okay then–”

Circe continues, “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about because you should be happy. Happy because now I know a way to get you to smile.” She leans forward on her toes with her hands behind her back and that same mischievous curl to her lips. Odysseus gulps and steps backwards, further into the room. Circe takes a step forward and reveals her fingers that are slowly wiggling in the air. 

“Circe, you can’t be serious,” the captain's voice remains calm, but his wide eyes that are unwavering from the sorceress reveal his frantic thoughts.

Circe takes another step forward, as poised as ever. “I’m as serious as Poseidon is to get his revenge on you.”

“Wow, okay. Harsh,” the king says with a bit of sass, but he immediately regrets getting distracted when Circe suddenly charges at him. Odysseus, with panicked yelp, turns on his heels and runs. 

Circe quickly closes the gap thanks to her head start. The captain rushes to the other side of the room, ready to make a tight turn before crashing into the pink cushioned sofa, but he feels a sharp tug at his cloak. He spins around to yank the fabric from Circe’s hand, only to be startled by the fact that Circe was right on his heels. He flaps his arms as he loses his balance, toppling backwards onto the sofa and wedging himself near the arm of the chair. Circe waltzes up to the opposite side of the couch and hovers over the captain with a grin.

Odysseus regains his bearings and sees Circe standing above him. Wasting no time, he scrambles to vault himself over the arm of the couch, but Circe lunges forward, catches his leg, then yanks him towards her as she takes a seat beside him. Clawing at the cushions, Odysseus flips onto his back and presses his spine against the arm of the couch.

“Circe–!” is all he can exclaim before a shout escapes from his lips when Circe’s hands strike and scratch at his sides before he could set up his defenses. A wave of giggles immediately follow, spilling from the king as he curls forward and digs his heels into the cushions.

“My goodness, Odysseus. I’m barely even touching you, yet you’re already giggling up a storm that even Poseidon would be jealous about. Are you really this ticklish?” Circe asks with a smile that won’t leave her face.

“Nohoho! I’m nohohot!” Odysseus shakes his head, trying to contain his reactions to uphold at least some sense of his dignity, though failing miserably.  

The sorceress lets out a long sigh. “Lying to me again, I see. For once, can’t you tell the truth?”

“Fihihihine! Yohohou’re tickling me! Now get ohohoff mehehehe!” he playfully snaps back. He kicks his leg at Circe. Circe dodges and looks appalled at his attempt.

She exaggerates a huff. “Good, but we can do better. And we need to work on that attitude of yours! You just tried to kick me!” she adds a bit more pressure to her wiggling fingers at his sides.

Odysseus barks out another laugh and throws his head back in the middle of his giggling that’s growing louder. “Yohohohou tried to kill mehehehe!”

Circe rolls her eyes. “That was before we were allies. Now we are allies and you still just tried to kick me!” She repeats herself to the captain like siblings squabbling between each other. She scribbles her fingers a little higher towards his ribs. Odysseus wraps his arms tighter around his giggling torso and sinks further down the arm of the sofa. As he slides down, he paddles his legs in the air as if he was swimming.

“Ahahahand I’ll dohoho it again!” Odysseus sasses, following through with his claim with another kick at Circe. The sorceress catches his leg in the air. With another smirk, she flutters her fingers into the back of his knee, causing the captain to let out a screech of laughter as he tries to sit himself up and grab at Circe’s hands, only to tumble back down and remain in a giggling, squirmy heep in the cushions. 

“Really? Well, you can’t do much kicking while your knees are being ticked, can you?” Circe teases, adding a few squeezes right above the top of his knee. 

Odysseus, being the stubborn and witty leader that he is, refuses to stand down and instead decides to taunt her, “Yohohohou call thahahat tickling?!” 

Circe scoffs as if she just heard the most offensive thing. 

“Oho, that’s it!” she exclaims. She yanks Odysseus’s leg forward and his back to plops completely flat onto the cushions. She pounces a hand towards his stomach, then claws at his belly like her chimera playing with a ball of string. Odysseus shrieks and kicks out his legs as a reflex; his laughter nearly hits another octave as he tries to shove at Circe’s hands digging at his sensitive tummy.

“WAHAHAIT! CIRCEEEEEhehehehe! I’m sohohohorryyyy!” Odysseus finally caves in and drops the sassy act.

“Oh no, Odysseus. You had plenty of chances to cooperate! Sorry isn’t going to cut it now! You asked for this!” Circe declares with a stern tone but through a wide smile. She starts scribbling her hands around his torso, like she is trying to find a specific spot that holds buried treasure. “Now, where are you the most ticklish?” she asks not Odysseus, but out loud to herself. 

Maneuvering around the king’s widely giggling frame, she crawls her hands over his ribs, pausing momentarily between some of his bones to test for larger giggles. When she moves her hands higher, the king absolutely squeals when a pair of her fingers graze across the upper half of his ribs that curve near his back. Odysseus quickly shoves her hand away.

Circe stops in her tracks, almost stunned by the reaction. Odysseus releases his backed up giggles before glancing up at Circe. His eyes widen and his laughter ceases from a gasp once he realizes what Circe discovered.

A devilish smirk grows on Circe’s face. “Well, that’s convenient,” her teasing words pair with her wicked expression. 

Circe makes a move towards his ribs. Odysseus immediately wrestles her hands away and grabs her wrists. 

“C-Circe! Hohold on! Dohohon’t!” Odysseus nervously giggles. Circe attempts another attack at his ribs. Odysseus re-grapples her hands and holds them away from him, keeping them both at a giggly standstill.

Circe chuckles at the game. “Looks like you’ve cornered yourself, Odysseus.” She leans forward and looms over him with a laughter-hungry smirk gracing her features. “If you make one wrong move, then you’re done for.”

Odysseus’s giggles already bubble over from the anticipation. Circe tugs and slips her hands from the captain’s grasp. Odysseus frantically slaps and shields away any of Circe’s tickle attempts like they were blades in the midst of a battle. She’s persistent, he’ll give her that.

“Circe! Wa—AHAIT!” he jolts forward when Circe finally digs into his ribs, finding just the right opening through his defenses. He throws his arms across his chest and boisterous laughter rumbles from his belly all the way into the room. Occasional high-pitched bounces of squeaks and squeals pair with his melody of hysterics. He rolls from side to side and tosses his head around, sometimes huddling his head up near his shoulder then giggling towards the ceiling. In the midst of her attack, Circe climbs her hands towards his underarms before quickly sliding them back down to his ribs, causing Odysseus to reel forward and a snort to emanate from the king. 

“Huh. It seems I didn’t even have to turn you into a pig to hear you squeal and snort,” Circe quips, greatly amused by Odysseus’s reactions.

He would try to counter her remark, especially after she so rudely teased him like that, but in his immobilized state of laughter, where words want to come out as clusters of giggles, surrendering to the sorceress is the smarter move.

“Ohohokahahay!!! CIRCEHEHEHE! Mercy! Plehehehease!” Odysseus manages through his rush of laughter.

“All right, all right,” Circe yields and pulls away her hands while retaining a smile. Odysseus plops onto his back and coughs out his remaining giggles that he was nearly drowning in. He’s thankful that Circe doesn’t have Poseidon’s version of mercy. 

The sorceress places her hands on her hips, staring down at the heep that is the captain. “So, when you leave this room, will you put on a brave face for your crew?”

Odysseus heaves himself up on his arms to sit up like he had just awoken from being knocked out. With his hair tousled about and his clothes all askew, he looks at Circe directly in the eyes, as sharp as an arrow landing in the center of its target. 

“Yes.” The captain replies with a tone that means business. After he answers though, his face eases into a soft, lingering smile.

“Good,” Circe nods. “Now that’s the captain I remember when he first strided into my palace with unmatched confidence.” 

Circe gracefully stands from the cushions as if she was lifted by a gust of air. Odysseus watches her walk past him before he swings his legs off the couch for his toes to touch the ground. He runs a hand through his hair, then stands so he can smooth out his clothes to tidy his appearance. When he looks up, Circe is in front of him, handing him the map to the Underworld. Odysseus takes it from her.

Circe provides him with another warm smile. “So then, let me see it. Let me see how you’ll stand tall when you meet with your crew.”

Odysseus releases a short breath of laughter. Even after all their roughhousing, she’s still not letting him off the hook about putting on a brave face just yet. 

The captain straightens out his back, holds his head up high, widens his stance, and smiles. For good measure, he even places a hand on his hip.

“How’s this? Is this brave enough for you?” the captain says with his regular whip of sass. 

“Ha, I could do without the attitude,” Circe responds. “But it’s much better,” her voice turns soft and caring. “Now go out there and be with your crew,” she nods to the door.

Odysseus bows. He’s, once more, appreciative of all the help the sorceress has provided him. “Thank you, Circe.”

He takes his leave from her room, eventually reaching the great halls of the palace where his men await. Some sit on benches, while others stand, but all look to Odysseus for guidance when he enters the room. 

His crew greets him with smiles on their faces.

Because they see their captain adorning one too.

As Odysseus converses with his crew, he sees Circe off to the side, leaning her back on a pillar as she watches. She gives him a wink. Just one brave face, like a boulder thrown into the sea, is all it takes to create a ripple amongst the waves.

[southdiamond89blogging]

EPIC The Musical but with Kanej would work so well

[gothamite-rambler]

Circe (annoyed): All these new-fangled spell names. “Oh, I cast nipple twister,” and “Oh, look, I can cast testicular torsion.” Well, I cast “Endometriosis"!

Circe waved her fingers and directed her spell at Zatanna as she shouted the spell name.

Zatanna (suddenly hit with the spell, eyes widening in shock): What—My vagina!

Zatanna toppled to the ground, moaning in pain, causing the other women in the room to back away, hands raised defensively.

Circe (smirking, gesturing dismissively): Yeah, yeah, don’t test me! I researched the disease. Men can get it too! It’s rare, but I will hit you with the spell!

The male heroes exchanged nervous glances and took a cautious step back as well. Zatanna slowly rose to her feet, clearly struggling.

Zatanna (voice strained but determined): Give me like five minutes, and then we’re fighting. Fucking witch bitch.

[lorianbladeoflothric]

Quick and dirty guide for people who want to write the Early Modern English-ish dialogue in their Elden Ring fics and art

Thou - you, the subject “Thou art* here”

Thee - you, the object “I entrust this to thee.”

Thy - your, preceding a consonant “Thy brother”

Thine - your, preceding a vowel “Thine own brother”

(Same goes for my and mine)

* thou conjugates differently. Its never “thou are” or “thou will” its art and wilt and I believe if it ends in a vowel or a consonant that can’t go straight into a t it gets the “-st” ending. Like “thou mayst” or “thou believest” or “thou thinkest”

The “-eth” ending is third person singular so it’s never like “I goeth that way.” It’d be “He/she/they/it goeth that way” But only in present tense. Past tense gets the standard ending.

And as always bc English is a fuck this isn’t standard across all words (a good example is may. I may, thou mayst, he may instead of he mayeth)

[divinehedons]

i won't hurt you.

navigation: masterlist

word count: ~1.9k words

summary: you meet joel in the aftermath of a terrible accident. reeling from the aftermath of the event, there is a looming shadow that complicates your relationship with the southern man you just somehow happened to meet 

warnings: explicit (but not graphic) content–MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! relatively dark(?)-ish joel miller, allusions to smut (not heavily detailed), graphic depictions of injury, some scenes include hospitalization (not in graphic detail), dubious consent, joel miller radiates mansplain / manipulate / malewife energy, men are trash in general wbk

note: oh. my. god. it has been far too long and i’m so so very sorry for just now coming back! i’ve hit a terrible writer’s block alongside very bad mental health and i’m just now recovering :’D thank you so so so much for 800 followers, it’s going to take a while for me to respond to everyone but i’ll be going through them! i love you very very dearly, mwah!

note 2.0: pls pls lower your expectations, 🫣 i am trying to get back into the groove of things!

You remember the screech of tires on frozen asphalt. A flash of headlights. Spinning, spinning, spinning. Your body ignited in pain. Then… darkness.

Darkness that seemed to spread before you for an eternity. Untethered and stuck in limbo, perhaps in another universe, you would call it the most peaceful slumber of your life. The misfortune comes when you wake. Lightning strikes shake you awake from the darkness of your subconsciousness. Electricity trembling in your chest as it shoots through your beaten frame. A light peers through your closed eyes. Brighter, and brighter… bigger and bigger. A ringing in your ears that almost deafens you.

The world shifts around you, and you wake paralyzed, staring at the ceiling in the warm sun that falls on your body lying there. Everything hurts. There is a humming in your head that you cannot seem to shake out of.

The solitude lasts for a beat. Then another. That’s when you see him.

A sleepless, roughened man looking at you with his warm eyes. Through the bleary vision of your own gaze, a shaky breath escapes him. His crinkled eyes looking over your features with a swift once over.

“Oh, Christ, you’re awake.”

And that’s how you met Joel.

–

In the week that followed your complicated recovery, Joel tells you he saw the crash. Tells you the asshole who ran you over was nowhere to be seen. He says most of it with his eyes averted. Yet you hold your gaze.

You will not be weakened by the shame of your misery.

It is two days later when you confess to him; your throat still rasping as the pain in your head boils and toils beneath your skull. You look at him when he arrives, paint-stained shirt providing evidence of a messy day of working. “I don’t want to think about what happened to me anymore, Joel.”

Your tongue grabs at words the way young children do with sticky fruit in the summer. As if language has become foreign to you.

Joel, keys in hand, meets your gaze with a furrowed brow. “Sure, sugar. Whatever you need.”

Maybe your eyes were tricking you, but you could’ve sworn you saw his shoulders relax from some kind of tension leaving his body.

–

Joel doesn’t know what he had gotten himself into. What he does know is that for some reason, he couldn’t bear the idea of staying away from you. You tell him fragments of what little you remember, your concussed consciousness blindly clawing at every last bit of beaten brain matter for some kind of answer. 

You sometimes cry from the effort it takes you to think, but he’s there. The first few times, he held your hand. As the hours bled into days, he held you as you wet his shirt with warm tears. Sometimes, when the nightmares reach him in his own bed a few miles out from the hospital, it feels like you’re bleeding into him.

From the moment he saw you, he had been marked. And no matter how many times he scratched at his own skin, he could never wash away the blood on his hands.

–

He’s the one to take you home to your quiet little apartment, having grown dust in your absence. You apologize, he waves you off. He watches you as you peer out of the window, comprehending a view that had once been so mundane, transformed into some shred of a miracle for you to still be there, witnessing it all. He’s behind you, ten feet away, tilting his head as your hair catches what little sunlight blessed you the day you left the hospital.

He says your name, and you look back at him with a curious smile. “My God,” he followed. “You look just like starlight.” He steps forward, and that’s when you know everything had fallen into place. Without another moment lapsing, he takes your face into his hands, pulling you into a searing kiss.

You apologize so many times. For the hospital smell on your skin. For your trembling knees. For the dizzying sensation of human contact without the involvement of medical processes. For feeling so unclean.

Meanwhile, he apologizes, too. For kissing you. For pulling you to him. For holding you. For carrying you to the forlorn couch grown cold from the absence of human warmth. So many times that there are times that you don’t know what is there to apologize for. You shake your head each and every time.

The tears roll down your cheek just as he pulls away and his eyes immediately soften. You shake your head, pulling him into another kiss as you whine.

There are many things you want to tell him. But you don’t dare tell him this: Sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you have been ruined.

“Tell me to stop, honey, and I will,” he murmurs, holding your cheek as you pause between touches. You shake your head immediately. You want many things. You are hungry and untamed. But you do not want him to stop.

You tell him as much. “Joel, don’t you dare stop.”

And he doesn’t. Not when you’re naked and he sees your bruised skin, purple and yellowed in places. He looks to you just as your body tenses. His demeanor softens, kissing along your jaw and your neck with a shaky breath.

“I won’t hurt ya, darlin’.”

He keeps to that promise. Even when your legs are around his waist and he’s caught in your warmth. He says it again and again as you whine into the cool, quiet solitude of your home.

I won’t hurt you, I won’t hurt you.

–

Falling in love with Joel was both so complicated and so simple at once. Whenever you wake beside him, you wake up writhing from the pain of your injuries; sometimes crying from the nightmares that followed every waking moment. You felt marred by shame for putting so much of your perceived burden on his shoulders. He never departs from your side, his strong arms placating you while his lips press against your temple.

It’s all so simple, the way he cares about you. And whether or not you admitted it, you like the feeling of being cared for. Of having someone that cares.

Regardless, you cannot escape the fact that someone did this to you. And whenever the pain shocks your body, everything but rabid rage escapes your body. You curse the stranger, whoever they may be, for that cursed night.

Joel sees glimpses of this. He saw it most that one afternoon when the hospital called, saying you had been taken care of. By who, they didn’t say. Only that the stranger apologized for what happened.

You were on the floor, hands trembling in the fists you held them in. The hospital bill crumpled a few inches away. You do not see him. What you see is all red.

A wail escapes your trembling mouth just as your hands claw at anything they can touch. It is an uncontrollable surge of blinding, mouth-foaming, unbridled rage. He’s there, trying to hold you down before you hurt yourself. Each wail pierces another hole into his aching heart. Each struggle followed by his gentle shushing, trying to assuage you in the crest of your emotion.

“Whoever it was,” you told him then as you sobbed. “They ruined my life.”

“Darlin, darlin’...” He breathes in, cupping your face. “Maybe he’s around and he regrets-”

“No!” You claw at him, just as he holds you tighter against his chest. “If he could find me, then he could say it to my face. He wouldn’t be some coward who left me alone like this after he ruined my life!”

It destroys him. And you can see it in his face. All he can do is hold you as you cry against his chest. All he can do is shut his eyes, letting the waves of grief crest over and over your frame. Letting your sobs tear him open and burn him out.

He tells you nothing lasts forever. That he’ll be there for as close to forever as possible. You shake your head because you know better. He says nothing lasts forever. He doesn’t know he’s just afraid your pain can last longer than he is capable of loving you.

–

Perhaps, to the end of his days, Joel will regret that drunken night. He’ll regret following his bleary gaze through the quiet, sleet-slick roads. He’ll regret the fact that he couldn’t have stopped his truck sooner.

When he steps out into the cold just as he smells the acrid scent of burning tires, he sees your bloodied face in your car. So small. So undeserving. He muttered a string of cusses. The sudden shock of adrenaline washing away the last of his drunkenness. He looks back at his truck, horrifically beaten, his gaze doubling from his last bout of drunkenness.

He bargains that night. Calls up someone high up amongst the police rank to bail him out. He negotiated for ten minutes. Then he hides the truck somewhere off the side of the road for him to come back to and dispose of. And then, only then, did he call for help.

Only then did he reach you in the driver’s seat, blood now caked to your skin as he lay you out amongst the concrete.

You make some sound, and he cusses to himself.

His rough palms cup your cheek, trying to get you to look at him then. But you were too far gone.

He spoke, anyway. Just in case you’ll hear it.

“It’s alright, doll. I won’t hurt you.”

Even now, weeks after he stole your life from you, he holds you and tells you the same thing anyway. The same set of words that manage to calm you down.

He does love you. And it breaks him every day to know he was the one to endanger you.

I won’t hurt you, I won’t hurt you.

[justaz]

I think Morgana should’ve had a Circe arc,, I think the powerless status of women in Camelot/Albion should’ve been a bigger factor in Morgana going down the path she went down. Countless women with little to no power, even noblewomen, and then all of a sudden having magic which grants power and the ability to be feared. Fuck yeah no wonder so many women were “evil” sorcerers. I’d be one too. Anyways, I think Morgana should’ve been an even bigger man-hater and lesbian. She should’ve had her little coven of fellow witches that hated men and killed them but hey what do I know

[circle-with-me]

Tag List Updates!

i’ve seen a few friends doing this and i haven’t updated my tag list completely since i started it several months ago so i figure now is a good time to go ahead and do it!

if you would like to be tagged in my fics, even if you are already being tagged, please fill out this form.

thanks 🤍

[telemy]

Just published the first part of ACOB !

Here yall go, the link to the fic :]

____________________________________

https://www.wattpad.com/story/376953849-%F0%9F%97%A1%EF%B8%8F-acob-a-crown-of-blood-an-epic-odyssey-au

____________________________________

[tsartistry]

I absolutely love your Niobe kidnaps Lester au!! In a post you said that Niobe was dating Circe, so I'm just wondering that since Circe is a witch, would she teach Lester some witchcraft? (Other than the ones you have to be born with)

No, at least not at first! Lester's brainwashing is a continuous process. There are times when Circe needs to cull memories that bubble up from time to time. If she teaches Lester how to practice her witchcraft, there's a small risk that he might realize she's been using magic to mess with his memories.

Since Egyptian magic is different from Circe's brand of witchcraft, she and Niobe are a little more comfortable with him learning it.

[roseofithaca]

"The Siren thought Odysseus had a daughter because he has girl dad energy."

Good news! In some myths he has a daughter with Circe, Cassiphone!

I've seen a few fics where Ody raises Astyanax or even his sons via Calypso; how about one where a little nymph sneaks off Circe's island and attaches herself to Ody and he can't go back to Aeaea so he's like "OK I'll adopt this kid I guess"?? And the rest of the Odyssey plays out as is except he's having to look after this little girl along the way (who also has nymph powers of her own so she helps him too, like Grogu and Din?).

Just saying, if you're itching for girl dad Odysseus....

[kattythingz]

I'll release your men and I'll get you to the Underworld instead / Wait, you're helping us?

BACK ON MY CIRCE AU BULLSHIT, WHAT'S UP. This time with a proper scene (and close-ups) under the cut!!! Many thanks to my dearest @sirchenchen for drawing Ling as amazingly as always, everyone check out her other art, it's just as amazing!! This scene was yet again inspired by a gorgeous animatic, so check that out too for context and to have your eyes blessed~

Ling stopping Ed gently during There Are Other Ways, telling him, “I do think you’re beautiful. But I have more respect for you than that. And I think you have more respect for yourself than that too.”

Ed’s stunned. “What are you—?”

“I’m telling you no, Edward.”

So succinctly. And yet…

Respect. That’s the word Ling used. Respect for Ed? After he blushed at him and looked at him like that, just like every man before him has?

It should be laughable how bizarre the concept is to Ed. But all he can do is sit back unconsciously from Ling, allowing him to rise too.

“I understand now why you responded to our arrival with hostility,” Ling says softly. “And I must clarify, if any of my men did anything to imply otherwise—we are here for no such thing. I am not here for such a thing. We sought your island for rest from the storm, and, truly, the party’s only intent had been to scout for our safety. We mean you and your own no harm.”

“What are you here for, then?” Ed asks lowly. A near hiss, defensive as he shifts the knife to plain sight over Ling’s chest. “Give me one good reason to believe you, mortal, because believe me—your lot have tried those words before too.” 

Ling swallows at the edge of the knife so close to his unarmored chest. He looks between the active threat and the even more dangerous one, perhaps, glaring down at him.

“We only wanted one thing since the beginning,” he says after a pause. “We want to get home.”

“Home. And where’s that? A long way from here, I’m sure.”

Ed says it sarcastically—mocking the flimsy excuse to him, certainly.

He’s surprised, then, when Ling’s expression twists with a real agony, as he rasps, “Yes.”

Ed furrows his brow, and Ling continues thickly, “We’ve been seeking home for ten years now. We only just escaped another danger keeping us from there, and it was—” A hard, swallowing pause. “It was much larger than we could’ve handled. The ship we docked at your shore is all that’s left of us.”

“What was it?”

Ed gazes down at him impassively. Compelling honesty from Ling, and nothing else.

Ling can’t even lie if he wants to. “Dante,” he whispers.

He’s surprised when Ed jolts at the name, reeling back.

“What?” Ed spits. “That fucking bitch? How’d you go and piss her off? Do you realize how hard it is, with how little a shit she gives about you damn mortals?"

The words sail sharply into Ling’s exposed pain, and he flinches.

Yes, he’s well aware.

“I didn’t know,” Ling rasps. “I thought... I thought I was doing the right thing. But it wasn’t, and—it cost my men instead of me.” His throat bobs with a startling emotion to Ed. “That’s why I beg you, Edward. Release what little I have left of my men. We won’t overstay our welcome. I swear it.”

It’s a long, awful pause before Ed’s sharp gaze leaves Ling’s face.

Ling’s heart stops with the abrupt sigh Ed lets out.

“Well, shit.”

Ling scrambles to sit fully upright when Ed gets off him. He fears Ed will spell him while he’s defenseless, but Ed only swirls a finger to tie up his hair into a regal high ponytail, golden waves and decorated braids swaying as he says, “I won’t kill you, Ling Yao. But I’ll have to ask for the rest of your story.”

Hope flutters golden in Ling’s chest, and he fixes himself to do exactly that.

Ling begins his story from their first steps away from Amestris, and, as he speaks, Ed moves about his spellworks room. When he reaches the devastation Dante set upon his men, Ed looks up in reflexive horror at the loss. He hides it swiftly, but the spark of sympathy keeps Ling’s voice steady as he finishes up to the present.

“Well, that definitely checks out for the old bitch,” Ed says when Ling’s done. “Good riddance with her abomination of a son, though. I’m surprised you got the drop on him at all.”

Ling looks up, surprised at Ed’s—friendliness? What’s this supposed to be?

“You couldn’t have killed Gluttony if you’d tried,” Ed then tells him, shuttering Ling’s lungs from breath. “He’s not just a god by your standards, but a fake one. Created by the bitch herself. Though, I honestly can’t tell you why.”

Ling doesn’t know what to say to any of that, so he gulps.

“You won’t last another day in the ocean if she’s so hot on your tails,” Ed continues, rattling a half-full potion bottle in his hand. Whatever the motion tells him must be good, as he nods to himself before dipping it into the cauldron to fill the rest of the way. Ling watches the process with some interest, straightening up when golden eyes fall on him again afterward. “Not without some help, at least."

Ling understands immediately.

“You’re helping us?” he stutters.

“Don’t take it so personally yet,” Ed says with a tug of his lips. “Consider this a trial run. You’re an oddity, Ling Yao. And I don’t like ignorance. I need to figure you out somehow. And this”—he clinks the bottle in his hand on Ling’s dangling earring—”is my first experiment.”

His lips catch a full, coy smile when he notes Ling’s idle rubbing of the disturbed earring—otherwise unaffected by Ed’s closeness and state of dress.

“Whether you’re worth a second experiment... That’s completely up to you.”

“Just for curiosity’s sake...” Ling starts, eyeing the silvery potion and the ominous glow of the cauldron. “What, exactly, does this experiment entail?”

Ed grins at the blatant anxiety. Still smart, this mortal. Good.

“You’ve heard of the Underworld, haven’t you?” Ed hums, flicking a hand to shift the “smoke” into a silvery vision. He doesn’t risk turning around when Ling’s eyes widen at the image of Al. “I’ve got... a friend, there. A prophet. He can read your future so you can do your thing and dodge it. Or so you can accidentally fulfill it.” He spins around as he snaps his fingers, and the illusions snuffs out just in time. He lets out a soundless sigh. “Whichever you’re capable of.”

“And—what do you get out of this, if I agree?” Ling can’t help asking despite his hope.

Ed smirks back at him over a shoulder. He doesn’t answer as he makes a “come hither” motion for Ling to follow him outside, and Ling does so blindly, distracted by Ed’s robe also floating over to wrap back around him at the same time.

“Nothing, technically,” Ed says as they walk, ignoring Ling’s falling behind as he begins looking around the palace properly. The overgrown vines and wildflowers from the cracks are unlike any plants Ling’s ever seen before, sans the few hanging in the cauldron room just now. They don’t resemble the moly Greed gave him, though...

Ling starts, “You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust… that...”

He putters off when his gaze lands naturally on Ed. Without the shadows of Ed’s hair obscuring his face, the sunlight brushing that skin put a spontaneous pin in Ling’s foolish heart.

He noticed it much earlier, naturally, but...

Edward is beautiful.

And he’s smiling now.

Not directly at Ling, but at an unseen distance. An unseen memory, perhaps. Or a train of thoughts Ling really oughta pry after for his own safety.

And yet, no such instinct strikes when Ed says, “I’m figuring it out too, I guess.”

“Me?” Ling realizes faintly.

Ed’s eyes sparkle even without the sun when they turn to Ling. “I told you not to take it personally yet.”

Ling straightens. “Am I wrong, then?”

Ed shakes his head, staring ahead with a low chuckle. He doesn’t answer that either, but Ling has a feeling the answer wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

Edward’s giving him a chance. A chance to patron to their journey home, should Ling please him. After the loss of Athena’s favor, this is a golden opportunity. In several senses of the word.

For now, the best response is this: to kiss the back of its hand before he leaves—and pray to the gods he doesn’t waste another blessing.

(“Ooooh, looking a little red there, goldilocks. Guess this one’s okay, after all?”

“WHA—GREED! There you are!”

“Aw, did you miss—ohhh, shit. Put down the rat spell, kid—”

“SHOULD’VE THOUGHT OF THAT BEFORE YOU GAVE HIM THAT DAMN MOLY! GET BACK HERE!”)

[imissmywife0]

IM FUCKING SLITTING MY WRIST OPEN AUAHAHSJIAKAKS