#dear god. great heavens

[codecicle]

👀👀👀👀 you started SOW you say /silly

theo this campaign got me so fucked up im posting screenshots from my doodle pages on tumblr again. she the on my wall till i . haha, well. lets just say. my zephreal

[shining-kommo-o]

Scrapped flamingo pokémon concept art.

[sha-cam-things]

I shall call him... "Pweenix"

what a lovely little guy! hope he doesn't cause any mischief!!

p w e e n i x a c c e l e r a t i o n

[pureseasalt]

i truly cannot wait for the skip & loafer anime to get to the breakup chapter bc i just know. i just KNOW that it will change the trajectory of how people will see shojo josei romance anime FOREVER

[bulkheadbignaturals]

GOODRA ART POST GOODRA ART POST EVERYBODY REJOICE AND CHEER

The brainrot has spread so much i am now making my own Transformers AU

Here's my designs for the main Autobot cast! (for now...... Also i can't design cars for SHIT)

[coa4]

me shutting down my pc excited to play bg3 later

me laying in bed remembering it's got DICK sliders

[tadpolesonalgae]

Lost In Paradise

Azriel x reader

a/n: I don’t know what the fuck overcame me when writing this—heads up they’re in the Day Court, by the way

Warnings: dear gods Azriel, Azriel in jewellery—diamond piercings to be precise, with kohl lined/smudged eyes, biting, oral (f receiving), smut, overstim, Azzie being a bit mischievous—implied orgasm denial, light wing play, light breeding kink

word count: 3,009

“We have a dinner to go to, Az,” you insist, inclining your chin as he noses along your throat, broad palms running slowly, reverently, up and down the bare skin of your back. Calloused and scarred hands rasping against the smooth, shimmery expanse of your skin, fingers touching along the knuckles of your spine.

“You’re a three course meal all on your own, pretty thing,” he murmurs beside the shell of your ear, gripping your waist lightly, letting his touch span across the sheer silk of your dress, marvelling at your feel, your shape beneath his hands—how finely you fit with him. 

Your pulse spikes at the flattery, heart beating quick in your chest, head tipping back as his lips press firmly to the small notch in your throat, kissing down to your collar bones, keeping you tight to his front, grip firm and unrelenting. “We’re guests,” you try faintly, already lost in his heaven, “it would be bad etiquette to not show up to the first meal—Az…!”

In one smooth motion he’s swept you off your feet, guiding your legs around his waist, thighs squeezing his hips while his palms appreciatively support your ass. “Bad etiquette would be not eating you out before I fuck you,” he drawls atop your mouth, a cocky smirk on his softened lips, staring down at you with his kohl-smudged eyes, diamonds swinging from his ears, the gold fastenings gleaming in the burning yellow sunset, setting the ocean on fire with molten metal as the sun melts atop the glistening waves. 

“Bad etiquette would be wasting a perfectly romantic evening for the sake of one measly dinner that we aren’t even required to attend,” he murmurs, that smug, self-satisfied look in his shining hazel eyes, flecks of amber and jade set alight through the refraction of the setting sun. Gleaming and swirling like they’re precious stones infinitely more valuable than even the tiny, glittering diamonds making up the jewellery adorning his marvellously handsome features. 

“You look good in Day Court attire,” you mumble breathlessly, clinging onto him as he walks you out onto the balcony, laying you down atop the pillowy, padded massage table, creamy fabric turned a perfectly-baked, golden-brown in the evening light, fitted over the cushions.

“You like how much skin it shows,” he drawls, palms settling either side of you, your hair splayed out from where he’s set you, strewn in lustrous glory against the pillow. “You like how easy it is to manoeuvre around.” 

Sure enough, with the soaring temperatures during a sun-filled day, with heat beating down upon the marble-carved pillars, the attire is perfectly suited for the arid climate. Clothing comes in light colours—mostly cream or off-white—and it contrasts the colour of his skin perfectly. The flush on his cheeks despite the cocky look highlights the hunger delightfully. And thanks to the opulent nature of the Court itself, it gives reason for your mate to wear some of the piercings he rarely adorns himself in for the sake of practicality. The ones you love—his ears the main focus, but with wandering hands your fingers clutch the hem of pale, heated linen, raising it from his toned stomach to reveal the incredibly self-indulgent piercing he’d gotten for his belly button, white diamonds set around the narrow golden band. 

“Gods you’re edible,” you pant, the shallow breaths having little to do with the heated evening and more to do with the hot and hungry look he’s pinning you with as he pulls the troublesome shirt off and over his head. His wings flexing and flaring now they’re rid of the fabric brushing the base of the great limbs. Showing off his well-endowed magnificence, as he should.

“Feel better about skipping that dinner now, pretty thing?” Azriel asks roughly, fingers catching the hem of your dress and swiftly pulling it out from under you, pushing it away further along the pale, padded table. “Maybe you had a point about my bad etiquette,” he drawls hotly, open palm coasting up your stomach, fingers grazing between your breasts. He leans over, dark silky hair flopping across your brow, kohl-rimmed eyes making the hazel of his irises simmer with the ravenous intensity of the setting sun, setting you ablaze. “I’ll be eating first.” 

“How brash,” you breathe, fingers dancing up the bare muscle of his upper arms, nails squeezing lightly at his shoulders, raking teasingly over his gloriously powerful back. He begins laying kisses to your collar bones, teeth nipping at your shimmering skin—you’d spent some time refreshing and making use of the scented, swirling lotions available—slowly trailing down between your breasts, tongue flicking over your nipples teasingly. “Weren’t you ever told not to play with your food?” 

“How can I resist when there’s such a beautiful meal before me? Taste is important but it’s more than that, wouldn’t you say?” Fingers hook beneath the golden strings at your hips, guiding them down your thighs as his mouth trails lower, kissing down your stomach. “I need to appreciate all of you. Not just with my mouth, but with my skin, and touch. How can I enjoy you without indulging all my senses?”

“All of them?” You question, back arching as he reaches your abdomen, fingers threading through his hair to encourage him closer. 

Azriel laughs, the sound coming from deep in his chest, splashing over your skin like melted butter and honey, bathing you in arousing sweetness. “All of them,” he whispers. 

“Sight.” Dark rimmed eyes flick upwards, licking over your form as he connects with you, lashes thick and heavy atop his gaze—equally heavy. 

“Smell.” He noses the intimate skin of your inner thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he parts your legs to make room for himself, your ass resting just at the edge of the cushioned table.

“Touch.” Fingers slip between your parted thighs, trailing up and down your centre, slicking himself in your wetness. Circling your clit twice before dipping back down. 

“Sound.” His thick digits slide in, a cocky smirk on his mouth as he curls them causing your back to arch, beckoning you forward, a heady moan spilling from your mouth as he pushes deeper, rubbing against spots he knows you like. 

“Would you like to tell me the fifth one?” Azriel drawls, dangerously low, arousal thickening his tone to something dark and syrupy. 

“Taste…” You breathe desperately. “Taste…Azriel!” 

“Good girl.” His lips curve in a sinful grin, diamonds twinkling their mirth as he lowers himself to your cunt. “You’ve earned it.” 

A rich, heady moan spills from your mouth as his tongue flattens over your clit, fingers working you with heavenly ease while his mouth remains at the apex of your thighs. It’s nothing short of paradise, floating high above in the clouds, nestled in a pillowy cushion as he bathes you in pleasure, rubbing it into you in ways that shouldn’t be permitted—how can something so good exist on this plane of reality?

Your head tips back into the cushioning, moans rising from your chest unabashedly, singing your pleasure with every curl of his fingers, every lovely flick of his tongue. The high approaches far faster than you ever would have expected, spine arching, grinding down on his mouth, hips swirling as he suckles at your clit, able to feel the impending high as your muscles brace for the powerful onslaught. 

You cry out as you come, nails raking through his hair, his wings flaring with male satisfaction as you orgasm, feeling you tighten and flutter around his thick fingers, clit pulsing as pleasure rapidly fires through your body, racing up and throughout your skin, spreading right to your fingertips. Your mouth opens as sound fails you, eyes squeezing shut, Azriel’s rough palms gripping your hips tight as you begin to squirm and writhe, seeking to crawl away from the pleasure—but he likes seeing you like this, and won’t allow it to end anywhere near prematurely. 

His forearm bands across your hips, pinning them down as you try to buck upward, forcing you through the aftershocks that have your body trembling, strength draining, leaving you powerless to resist his dominating touch. Azriel’s relentless in the pursuit of your pleasure, keeping his fingers tucked inside of you, keeping the pace, keeping his tongue swirling around your hardened clit, dragging it between his lips when he feels you coming down and teasingly tugging on it with his teeth.

A lovely whimper graces his ears, mouth parting into a wicked grin as you muster the strength to look down at him, your legs spread with slick gleaming on his lips, threading between your inner thighs where he’s gotten you especially messy. 

“Ready for the main course?” He drawls, your nipples peaking at the rough, rolling timbre of his voice, skin prickling as awareness sweeps through you. “Main course?” You pant, already falling out of it, unable to grasp what he’s referring to with that wicked smile as he stands, wings looming over his shoulders. Shadows pull the band of his loose, pale linen trousers from their already low placement on his hips, allowing his hands to settle either side of your waist as he presses flush to your messy heat. 

“Both of us,” he whispers, leaning down atop your mouth, “together?”

You think your eyes roll slightly at the reminder, nails threading through his inky hair as you pull him into a hot kiss, thighs wrapping snugly around his hips. His cock rests hot and heavy against your cunt, slowly riding back and forth to coat himself thoroughly, before aligning his tip with your entrance. 

“Go slowly,” you beg, clutching onto him with anticipation—you’re far to sensitive for any of his rough treatment. But he smirks over your lips, hips drawing back so his tip drags down over your hardened clit, his leaking cock nudging the entrance of your drooling cunt, messy and sloppy from previous attention—about to be made much messier. 

“Go slowly?” He muses, a low laugh in his voice that makes your skin prickle, hairs standing on end. “You’re perfectly warmed up, aren’t you? All ready and pliable, huh? What could you possibly want me to go slowly for?” You flush deeply, hands twining together over his broad shoulders, trying to push as much sternness into your gaze as you can manage—which isn’t much, judging by the way he chuckles. 

“Is my girl too sensitive?” 

That smirk. That sinful fucking smirk. 

“Whatever you do to me I’ll be delivering right back,” you warn, thighs squeezing his hips. “I’m getting you in my mouth after this, remember…” 

“How could I forget?” He groans, hips pushing forward. “Gonna taste both of us.” 

A pleased moan sighs from your lips as he fills you up, gripping one leg to bring it up his chest—the underside of your thigh pressing to his lower stomach as he pushes tight against you. Azriel’s gaze is nothing short of ravenous as he takes in the arch of your spine as his palm splays across your abdomen, applying a slight pressure to really get you to feel him. 

“Like that?” He asks, short on breath. Mouth curved in that smug grin. So self-satisfied. “Look at you,” he coos, shifting his hips, dragging them back so his head is again at your entrance, before pushing his cock all the way back inside. “So hot and flushed. All of this for me?” His thumb swipes across your clit, and you moan helplessly, tossing your head to the side as your eyes squeeze shut, nails scraping over the cushioning. 

Before you can formulate a reply he’s setting his pace, giving deep, almost punishing thrusts of his hips that roll firmly to your own. Sharp and decisive, just as you like, spine arching with every buck. 

“Can you even count to three right now?” He taunts, shadows swirling over your breasts, teasingly playing with your nipples, curling around them and tugging lightly. You try to shoot him a glare—that side of him has been coming out more frequently as of late, and you really don’t want to deal with his mean streak right now. Not on such a perfectly set up evening for romance and intimacy. 

So you extend your arms toward him, fingers opening and closing as if to grasp onto him. “Azriel…” you moan, reaching. His hips buck sharply of their own accord, swearing you could feel him twitch from pleasure—he might enjoy being mean from time to time, but it’s all for getting you nice and needy. He’s an undeniable soft spot for your desperation. Like putty in your hands once you reach for him, your toes curling from pleasure.  

“Fuck,” he curses low under his breath, driving his cock firmly into you as his palms splay either side of you, letting you touch and feel all over him, practically shivering with the greed in your fingers as they explore and grope. “Such a sweet little thing to everyone else, aren’t you? Such a wicked little devil when you’re with me.” 

Teeth tug on your lower lip as you try to keep your smile to yourself, but you fail miserably, smiling wide as your head tips back into the pillow, relishing the pleasure. “Wicked devil?” You moan out, forcing yourself to meet simmering hazel, heat sizzling just beneath your skin, clit itching for release as his abdomen grazes the apex of your thighs. 

“Like this?” 

A startled noise slips from his lips as you reach further over his shoulders, stroking his wings slowly. Teasing out his pleasure to have him playing nice with yours. His forehead drops to your own, brows pressing together, close enough to share panting breaths, your breasts grazing his chest with each heaving inhale. 

His lips part on an unabashed groan that licks up your spine, pooling between your legs at his deep confessions to pleasure, repeating the slow strokes to his wings. 

“Like that,” he confirms, jaw wound tight as he tries to cope with the overwhelming onslaught of stimulation. Hazel eyes warily open, a sharp glint in them as his instincts snarl and grapple with reasoning, but you want him to yield to them, not fight them. 

It seems he gets the message. 

Azriel’s palms snatch at your wrists, slamming them down on the cushioned table to keep you pinned, forcing you to take every brutal buck of his hips and you can feel as both of you swoop for that high that’s rising. His wings flare wide, their total span easily twice his height, casting a dark, dominating shadow that you know is an instinctive show of possession. 

Shadows wrap beneath the arch of your spine, clutching your hips to raise them from the table, and the angle has you going dizzy. Moans spill and babble as he pounds into you, grip remaining tight on your wrists to keep them trapped, driving in and out relentlessly until you think you might have screamed from overstimulation, panting and out of breath when you return to reality beneath him. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growls against your skin, teeth scraping the tender length of your throat, searching for a spot to choose, to bite down on. He picks a section, pushing his teeth in, licking and sucking to push a feverish kiss into your skin, only pulling away once he’s satisfied. 

“Az,” you whine, cupping his cheeks in your hands, squeezing lightly as you arch into him. “It’s my turn.” 

“Your turn?” His hand wraps around your wrist, nosing the centre of your palm, pressing a kiss to its heel, delivering a small lick that zaps straight to your clit. His hips pull away, then push back in, able to feel as his cum begins seeping out of you. “You’ve hardly taken any of it, pretty thing. You need to be full up before moving onto me. Can’t have you going on empty, hm?” 

“Azriel!” You yelp as he rolls his hips to yours more firmly, bucking against you with enough force to nudge you further up the table. “That isn’t fair,” you squawk indignantly.

“My sweet little devil’s going to tell me what’s fair now, is she?” 

His lips curve into that smirk, and your willpower crumbles, legs wrapping themselves tighter around his waist to press him deeper. Azriel’s subsequent laugh reignites arousal in the pit of your stomach, tightening around his cock, urging him to follow through with his taunts. “Do it,” you whisper, “hurry up.” 

“You wanted me to go slowly earlier. I said you needed to be filled up, not that you needed to come.” 

“Azriel!” You gasp when he pulls out entirely, flipping you onto your front so you’re bent over for him, arms forcefully dragged behind your back to give him full control. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to me,” he muses, lining himself up. “But the evening’s too good to waste, don’t you agree? It would be a shame to have it over and done with so quickly.” 

“And you called me the devil,” you mumble into the cushioning, squirming lightly beneath him to feel the unrelenting strength of his grip. “You’re going to cry when I get my mouth on you.” 

He chuckles again, shackling your forearms to the base of your spine with his shadows, rough palms easily gripping your hips. “It’s adorable you think you’re going to make it through that far. We both know you’ve never managed.” 

Azriel leans over you, cock slowly sliding in as he settles at your back. You can feel his lips against your ear, breath fanning the sensitive expanse of your neck. “I’d tell you to hold on tight, princess, but you can’t even manage that most nights. So tonight all you need to do is lie still, and take it.” 

His palm slides beneath your jaw, raising you from the cushioning, a mocking note to his deep and honeyed voice. “How does that sound?” 

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes @kksbookstuff @feerique @ratgirl2020

[onyxstyx]

ʜᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ʙʏ ᴀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴅ | emperor geta

pairing: emperor geta x fem!reader

summary: the fates spin the thread of destiny, and mortals have no choice but to follow its path. you have other plans.

➺‘the fates, who give men at their birth both evil and good to have, and they pursue the transgressions of men and gods… until they punish the sinner with a sore penalty’ - theogony, hesiod ➺‘whatever happens to you has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time’ - marcus aurelius

A/N: i watched gladiator ii, devoured all the geta fics i could find (ty writers for feeding me <3) and i’m still ravenous. the man is gnawing at me from my insides so i had no choice but to get typing. haven’t written for like a yr so bear with me. if this flops it never happened xx

warnings: mention of miscarriage (not reader's), period-typical misogyny, morally ambiguous reader bc she’s fighting for her life out here. she’s just a girl fr :( YOU try being a girlie in ancient rome :/ enjoy !!

w/c: 5.9k

latin translations: fatum - fate, carissima - dear, domina - my lady

As the moon ascends in wake of the sun’s descent, the gilded walls of the imperial palace glint softly in the moonlight. Glorious tapestries line these walls, each one telling the tale of hallowed heroes, of terrible tyrants and of revered rulers. The history of the Roman Empire.

Their patterns, depicting stories of both rise and ruin, are woven by none other than the three Fates. One Fate spins the thread, and an heir is born. Another Fate weaves it, and a battle is won. The last Fate cuts, and an emperor meets his end.

As three pairs of hands work nimbly in the heavens, another tapestry begets itself in the mortal realm, where our story takes place.

From a tender age, you had been taught to believe in fate.

Fatum.

You had first learnt the word as a little one.

You’d been a curious creature, like most children are. Sheltered from the terrors of the world, your appetite for life was insatiable. You’d wake up with a hunger for new knowledge about the world around you, and go to bed still hungry for more, no matter what had transpired during the day. Thus, you found it impossible to go to sleep of your own accord - you relied on your mother’s bedtime stories to satisfy your appetite, and lull you into slumber.

Perched by your bedside with a gentle hand stroking your hair, she regaled you with the tale of Rome’s beginnings. A tale of abandonment, wolf-mothers and fratricide. Enough thrill to tire you out, she hoped. To her chagrin, she looked down to find widened eyes, without a trace of sleep in them, staring up at her expectantly. Instead, your eyes shone bright with the excitement of unanswered questions.

She sighed fondly before prompting you to talk. “Yes, carissima?”

And so the floodgates opened. You fired her with questions with all the sternness of a Roman general, and she listened intently with all the patience of a loving mother.

Why did the king try to kill the babies? Why didn’t the wolf eat the babies?

And finally, taking great care to be gentle, you placed a tiny hand on her rounded belly and asked the most burning question. Why did Romulus kill his brother? Your innocent mind struggled to comprehend it. You hadn’t even met your little sibling yet, and you already couldn’t fathom the idea of bringing harm to him. Or her, you thought, but your father had insisted that all refer to the babe as the male heir he so desperately desired it to be.

“Fatum,” was the simple answer she supplied. “Without the king’s cruelty, without the wolf’s mercy, without Remus’ death, our great city would never have been built.”

Eyes shining with knowledge yet untold, her gaze held yours. “Whatever happens to you, has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time,” she quoted, a tone of finality in her voice.

As well-loved children do, you’d lapped up your mother’s answer as readily as the twin babes lapped the wolf’s milk.

You had first witnessed fatum some years later, at the age of twelve.

On the brink of adolescence, much about you had changed compared to the little girl having bedtime stories told to her. Much except one. Age hadn’t quelled your curiosity - if anything, it had grown.

You’d exhausted all the resources available to a girl of your standing. You’d read enough philosophical texts to debate with Aristotle himself, asked questions faster than your tutors could find answers and yet, you knew there was much more that the world had to offer. So, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

With age had also come a newfound deviance. Observant as you were, you’d learned that there was much to be gained with certain types of information - if you knew how to use it to your advantage.

As such, you’d taken to eavesdropping on your father’s meetings with his fellow senators from behind a pillar. For weeks on end, they had spoken of a play becoming popular amongst patricians and plebeians alike. Oedipus.

At the centre of their discussion was a ploy to ban the play from being performed. Abhorrent, they had called it. A threat to their authority, if the people are led to believe that even kings are subject to a thing as fickle as fate. At that statement, your eyes twinkled with mischief and a devious smile found its way to your face - you were determined to see this for yourself.

So, on the fateful night you caught your older cousin in the arms of a man bearing no resemblance to her betrothed, you knew you’d struck gold.

Desperate to protect her reputation and far too embarrassed to berate you for sleuthing around when you should have been asleep, she’d hastily agreed to the terms of your silence. She would sneak you into the city’s amphitheatre to watch the next production of Oedipus, if you swore to secrecy.

And so your plan commenced. Hidden under the large folds of her toga, you observed the story unfolding before you. The mighty king of Thebes brought to his knees by the tragic fate he’d tried to escape, to no avail.

A real spectacle, the performance elicited emotions from you that were both old and new. In a short two hours you’d been perplexed, horrified, scandalised. You’d learned quickly why you had to be sneaked in - fate wasn’t the only mature theme you were educated on that night.

But you only came to understand fatum when it took the person dearest to you, two summers ago.

Pregnant again, the fifth time that you could remember, your mother had taken ill. Perilously ill. After years of unsuccessful attempts to produce an heir - one daughter, two miscarriages and two stillbirths - she had breathed her last. In her womb? The son your father demanded of her. The son he had longed for. Prayed to the gods for. What else could bring forth such a tragic end, if not the hands of the Fates?

Now a grown woman, the beliefs your mother had impressed upon you would soon be tested. Left with no living sons to continue his legacy and no living wife to bring forth such living sons, your father’s lofty political aspirations could only be fulfilled through his daughter. You.

Your father wasted no time in advancing his plans.

After a long day spent praying at the temple of Pluto, you had been ready to wind down and relax. A good distance away from the centre of the city and situated atop a number of hills, a trip there takes up the whole day. You had set out at dawn, and as the sun set over the Tiber river to bring forth dusk, your shadow darkened the entrance of your family villa.

Exhausted both emotionally and physically, your body went through the motions of preparing yourself for supper, but your mind remained absent - occupied with thoughts of what could have been and what will never be.

After your bath you called for your maid and allowed her to dress you, head still in the clouds. It was only when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the bronze mirror atop your vanity that you noticed something was amiss.

Your eyes squinted as you inspected the image reflected on the polished surface.

“Why have you dressed me in these garments? I wish to wear my usual attire.”

You wore a tunic, the draped garment secured by an ornate brooch resembling an owl, with eyes made of precious gems. Nothing out of the ordinary.

What was out of the ordinary, was the saffron yellow hue of the tunic — since your mother’s passing you had been in mourning and thus only wore dark colours. A fact well-known by your maid, who dressed you day and night.

The hands fastening the brooch faltered as she gathered a response.

“My apologies, Domina.” She stepped back, head bowed in deference. “I assumed you would revert to your previous wardrobe, seeing as yesterday marked the end of…” She trailed off meekly, allowing you to fill in the blanks.

The previous day had marked a year since your mother’s passing, and thus the end of the customary mourning period. As such, it would be socially acceptable for you to appear happy and content again, reflected in the abandonment of deep plums and drab greys for sunny yellows and bold blues. You supposed it was not odd for her to assume you desire to don brighter colours.

But upon closer inspection, your suspicion rose again. Detailed with beautiful patterns and made of the smoothest damask money could buy, the tunic was much too elaborate for a simple family dinner in the villa. The last time you wore it was to a relative’s wedding, where your father made a point of telling anyone who would listen just how much it had cost to import the material from China.

You poised yourself to question her further, but the words died on the tip of your tongue when you saw the pleading look she gave you.

“Please, Domina.”

She offered you no further explanation, but the fear in her eyes was explanation enough. She was not doing this of her own accord, but under instruction. And if you knew your father well, under strict instruction.

Whatever plans he had for you, you knew you would have little to no choice in the matter.

Wordlessly, you acquiesced and allowed her to continue. You did not protest when she brushed, braided and pinned your hair into an elaborate updo. You were compliant when she lined your eyes with kohl and blotted your lips with mulberry juice.

Primped and primed like a prized show horse, you dismissed your maid, sat by the window and awaited your fate.

Not long passed before the sound of a male timbre filled the room.

“It appears your outfit is missing something.”

You turned to the direction of the voice to see your father standing in the doorway. Instinctively, you stood to your feet - less as a show of respect and more because you were used to being on guard in his presence.

In his hands he held a translucent, gauzy material, sheer in nature and vibrant in colour, that was all too familiar to you.

Your mother’s favourite veil.

Usually fixed firmly atop her head during special occasions - festivals, birthdays, weddings and the like - you could recognise it from a mile away. Growing up, you had associated this veil with womanhood itself. You would traipse around the corridors of the villa with it wrapped around your head haphazardly, the excess fabric trailing behind you as you ran as fast as your little legs could carry you.

What a foreign sight it was to see it in the hands of your father. And what a foreign sight it was to see him in your chambers.

Following your mother’s passing, the two of you had not conversed beyond what was formally required of you, your already fragile relationship fracturing completely. Yet here he was, extending a peace offering. An olive branch.

Pleased as you were to receive it, you were not foolish enough to believe this to be a genuinely affectionate gesture. A politician through and through, your father was no stranger to symbolic gestures, and he had made no attempts to mend your relationship prior to this moment. This sudden generosity, paired with your extravagant dressing, could only mean one thing.

He wanted something from you.

Now, you had two options. Comply with his request, or comply with his request begrudgingly. You chose the latter, of course. Even if obedience was your only option, you weren’t going to make this easy for him.

You casted him a quick look of derision. “If you wish to barter for my forgiveness with a piece of cloth, I am afraid your efforts have been wasted.”

Unphased, he stepped further into the room.  “Now, now, peace, dear daughter. Let us be civil.” The faux humility in his tone was almost comical.

“Perhaps you feel…wronged by me for holding your mother to a certain standard. But, you must understand that I was simply fulfilling my duties, by encouraging her to fulfil her own. I have particular responsibilities to this family. As do you, now.”

You levelled him with an icy glare, wise enough not to express your discontent verbally, but too headstrong not to express it somehow.

“And even if I have, in some unfathomable way, wronged you; to err is human, to forgive, divine.” 

After knowing him for as long as you did, you knew this was the closest thing to an apology you would get. You also knew your father was a talented orator - it’s how he gained a large enough political following to join the Senate, after all. And so you prepared yourself to be subjected to one of his moving speeches.

“It is common knowledge that women are the weaker sex,” What a great way to start, you snarked to yourself. “Yet, I have always seen a unique strength in you. Not physical strength, of course, but a mental fortitude. Since you were a young girl you have been willful, stubborn,” he took a step closer to you with each word, purple-lined toga brushing the floor as he advanced. 

As he said the last word, he gave you a knowing look. “Nosy.”

You failed to hide your shock. “Oh yes, I saw you slinking around behind the pillars.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It matters not, now. In fact, whatever dregs of information you picked up from eavesdropping on my discussions may soon prove useful.”

His face was a picture of smugness, with an eyebrow cocked and the corners of his mouth upturned as if he knew something you didn’t. With just a few sentences he had complimented you (even if it was backhanded), revealed that he knew your secret, and teased you with a nugget of information. The perfect combination to make you anticipate his next words.

Silence filled the room as he kept you in suspense, mind whirring as you mulled over his cryptic words. 

One hand held your mother’s veil in front of him, while the other caressed its folds delicately. His eyes had a faraway look in them that suggested his mind had travelled to another time.

“Your mother was a strong woman. Not strong enough in the end, regrettably, but strong nonthele-”

“Don’t.” You interjected. “You will not sully her memory with your caustic words.”

His lips spread into a diplomatic smile, but the twitch of his eye betrayed the irritation he felt. Belligerent as he was, he ignored your outburst and continued. 

“Unlike her, you have the makings of a lady of great influence. Much like me, you have the mind for politics. That potential lies latent within you.”

With a gentleness you wished was also reflected in his words, he draped the veil over your head. “I advise you not to waste it, dear daughter, and suffer the fate of lesser women.”

You scoffed at his words, readjusting the veil so it rested perfectly atop your head and shoulders. “And how do you suggest I fulfil this…potential? The Senate is not exactly welcoming of women.”

Well-pleased that your interest had been piqued, he finally reveals his true intentions.

“Accompany me to the imperial banquet tonight. We will celebrate the successful conquest of Britannia.”

“I do not care for banquets, nor do I spare a thought for conquests.”

“You may not care for military conquests, but this banquet itself is a conquest of the political sort. In my experience, much more is won with words, than with swords. And tonight’s event presents an opportunity for much gain.”

Again with the cryptic words.

“Allow me to present you to the Emperors. Your face is comely enough to garner their attention, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, some men find opinionated girls like you to be charming.” 

Is he insinuating what you think he is?, you thought incredulously. Surely not.

“The Senate may not be the place for women, but the Senate is not the only facilitator of politics. Why not practice your politics from Palatine Hill?”

There was no mistaking it. He intended to make an Empress of you. Equally as curious as you were sceptical, you decided to test his logic.

“Beauty is fleeting. Charm wanes with time. How would I maintain their favour?”

“That, dear daughter, is up to you. I am certain you will find a way, formidable as you are.”

While it pained you to admit it, he was right. You and your father were more alike than different, what with your scheming and blackmailing. Besides, you were formidable. You were cunning. You were capable.

There may be greater things in store for you yet.

And those greater things began with this banquet.

Upon arrival, you were met with the most magnificent sight you had ever seen. Sat proudly upon Palatine Hill, the palace looked like the image your mind conjured when picturing Olympus. After ascending the intimidating number of steps that led to the entrance, you truly felt like you’d ascended to the land of the gods. Wherever you looked there was amazing artwork that instilled equal parts awe and fear in you. 

Look up, and there were grand arches to behold. Look to the side, and the spectacular frescoes offered a feast for the eyes. Look down, and there were beautifully designed floor mosaics you almost felt bad for stepping on.

As you passed through into the atrium, it was much the same. Ostentatiously decorated, it boasted gilded walls and glorious tapestries, each feature a testament to the Emperors’ opulence, and Rome’s riches.

But it was impossible to focus fully on the artwork with the room heaving as it was. Eyes darting from one person to another with every passing second,  you were captivated by the spectacle the hoard of partygoers presented. Something seemed to be happening in every square foot of the room, each guest having their fill of whatever their vice of choice was for the night. Wine was in abundance, giving way to loose lips, and scantily-clad whores prowled about in the shadows, giving way to loose purse strings.

You had been to your fair share of lavish affairs, but this was a whole new world of revelry.

Between the loud percussion of the musicians’ instruments, the aroma of the heavily seasoned foods and the leering gazes of overexcited men, you began to feel overstimulated. You stuck close to your father as he led you into the heart of the throng, finding comfort in the familiar when surrounded by the foreign. Better the devil you know.

Oblivious to your discomfort, he reprimands you under his breath. “Stop clinging to me like a child, lest our venture fail before it has even begun.”

You’d been so taken by your surroundings that you hadn’t registered where your father was leading you to. Now you stood in front of the two men at the centre of this affair, who were seated majestically upon a golden threaded couch. You prayed you didn’t look like the bewildered little girl you certainly felt like. 

With a grand, sweeping gesture of his hand, your father bowed. 

“Imperators, what an honour it is to partake in these…wondrous celebrations with your Majesties.”

“Senator,” one of them said, voice smooth like honey but with an edge that demanded caution. His face bore a smile, but his tone was calm and measured. “What a pleasure it is to see you.” The twitch of his eyebrow suggested otherwise. “In a more agreeable mood, might I add.” The man beside him sniggers.

More agreeable? Whatever could that mean? For the second time in one night you found yourself deciphering cryptic words. Father must have angered the Emperors, somehow. 

“And you’ve brought…” He trailed off, looking at your father expectantly.

“Yes, Emperor Geta, Emperor Caracalla,” with a single clap and an officious clearing of his throat he stepped to the side, no longer obscuring their vision of you. “May I present my daughter…”

You managed to regain your composure, exhibiting a grace only a lady of the upper echelons of society could possess when you sunk into a deep curtsy. Lifting your gaze, you were met with the hair-raising sensation of being observed. Not just observed – scrutinised.  

A pair of eyes, deep brown like rich soil, trailed over your form. The man that addressed your father with contempt - Geta. His brows furrowed as he took the sight of you in. Lined with kohl much like yours, his eyes were smouldering in their examination.

Another pair, red-rimmed and cloudy with the haze of inebriation, were the perfect contrast. The man that sniggered - Caracalla. With irises of a cold blue hue, they would have been intimidating if they belonged to a face other than his, what with his rosy rounded cheeks and seemingly perpetual impish grin. 

Despite their differences, the relation between the men was clear as day. Flaming locks of hair and the gold laurels that circled their heads confirmed their identities. These were the infamous twin tyrants.

But it wasn’t just the weight of their eyes that you felt. Lounging around the couch in various positions and in varying states of undress, was an entourage of courtesans. You did your best to avert your gaze, as theirs bore into you. 

And what a pleasant sight you were. Adorned with ornate jewellery and clad in the finest of silks, you were easily one of the best dressed at the banquet. Before a word had been uttered, your appearance relayed a message – you were a lady of fine stature, more than accustomed to luxury and thus, would be well-suited to palace life.

Well-suited to be Empress.

Not taking any chances, your father decided not to leave anything up for interpretation.

He began listing your virtues as if reading from a handbook - 100 Things to Look For in a Roman Wife. He spoke of your piety, your beauty, your fertility. With every trait of yours that was mentioned, you grew increasingly more irate and keeping the docile smile on your face became increasingly more difficult. 

“...and lest I forget, she is most gifted with the lyre-”

“How quaint.” Caracalla interrupted, a peal of childish laughter bubbling from his lips. “He presents his daughter’s hand as if he is lobbying for a law to be passed!”

Geta scoffed, “Or a conquest to be forfeited.”

At this, Caracalla doubled over in laughter, the overfilled cup of wine in his hand threatening to spill over the rim with every jostle of his frame. Clearly there’s a joke you’re missing here.

There’s a wicked glint in Geta’s eyes that tells you this joke has guile. 

“Three sennights have lapsed since you last stood before us, spewing nonsense about abandoning our pursuit of Britannica.” The vitriol that coated his voice strung a discordant note in the mellifluous tune of his brother’s continuous laughter. “Yet here you stand in your Emperors’ palace,” he gestured at the ongoing frivolities. “Drinking and making merry with spoils from the very war you so vehemently opposed.” 

Ah. It finally clicked. From what you had picked up from your father and his associates’ discussions, you knew that this conquest had long since been under contention among the Senators. The campaign was taking longer than anticipated, and required more reinforcements than expected. The Roman force was fatigued. At home, the starving plebeians of Rome were one famine away from revolting, and without the full support of the army, politicians relied on empty promises to appease their constituents and maintain order. Yet, the Emperors were adamant on expanding Rome’s borders.

For whatever reason, at the last Senate meeting three weeks ago your father had been the unfortunate soul to suggest that the troops should draw back. And now he stood before them at the celebration of the successful conquest, presenting you as a bargaining chip to secure his pardon. Opposing the Emperors was costly, and he decided you were going to pay that price on his behalf.

Geta leaned his head on his hands as he asked, “Tell me, Senator, what makes you think you will triumph this time?”

You watched your father’s reaction with bitter disbelief. For the first time in your life, your silver-tongued father, the man that had landed you this fate, floundered for words.

Fine. If this was the hand dealt to you, so be it. But you were going to do this your way.

“Your Majesties,” At the sound of your sweet voice, Geta’s gaze affixed itself to your face. Instantly, he was beguiled. “If I may…” 

With the slow incline of his head, you were permitted to speak. 

“I know little of war,” you feigned ignorance. “But I do know that defying the odds to bring glory to Rome is no small feat.” Preening at your praise, Geta leaned forward in his seat, a silent encouragement for you to continue. “Rome and her citizens are fortunate to be led by you, Imperators, and I am grateful to be in the presence of such wise rulers.”

His mouth spread into a self-satisfied smirk. “I bask in your praises, my lady. It pleases me to see that someone in your family has a semblance of loyalty to the powers above them” A pointed look was shot at your father. “You see, all those that oppose their Emperors,” His venomous gaze roved over the group of Senators shifting uneasily as they watched this ordeal. “Will soon learn that there is only one way for a man to wield power.” He held up his index finger for emphasis and paused for suspense. “War.”

With all the self-assurance of a man that has never truly been challenged, he stalked towards you.

“What other power can bring a man to his knees and cause him to surrender?”

“I can think of nothing greater than war!” Caracalla piped up from behind him.

“Yes, brother.” Geta held his cup of wine up in agreement. “By no other means can a man wield such power. I am sure my lady agrees?” He offered his right hand, each finger as bejewelled as the next.

The ultimatum he presented you with was clear. Kiss the ring, let all be forgiven and allow this encounter to end pleasantly. Refuse the ring, and…well, don’t refuse the ring.

But compliance was predictable, and would only get you so far. Your beauty and charm had ignited a spark of interest in him, but that wasn’t enough. You needed that spark to burst into a flame.

With swan-like grace you knelt before him and took his hand, smiling inwardly when his eyes followed your descent with rapture. You didn’t miss his quick intake of breath when you halted your movements to look up and meet his eye, lips an inch away from the stunning signet ring.

“Upon second thought,” You tilted your head as if considering his words. “There exists another power great enough to make a man kneel in surrender.” At your bold words, the hand you held tightened around your fingers until he had a firm grip of your hand. “A power so great, even Emperors are not immune.”

Gasps of shock came from the onlookers sober enough to process what they had heard.

“Impertinence!” Caracalla’s cry of protest tore you from the captivity of his brother’s gaze. 

“Forgive my daughter, she oversteps her bounds.” Your father spat the words out and fixed you with a look of warning, a late and unappreciated attempt to de-escalate the night’s proceedings.

With a wave of Geta’s hand, his words were dismissed. For the sake of keeping your resolve, you pretended not to see the Praetorians return their drawn swords to their scabbards.

You returned to the intense stare of brown eyes narrowed in… intrigue? Suspicion? You weren’t sure, but you had his attention. 

“And what power would that be?”

Your gentle smile had him entranced. “The strike of a drum, the strum of a lyre’s strings. Music, my Imperator, holds much power.”

See, while your father was busy waxing lyrical about you, you had been studying Geta closely. As he listened to others speak, his fingers unconsciously tapped the thigh of the courtesan perched on the arm of the couch. But they were not tapping any old rhythm – they tapped to the beat of the percussion in the background.

The ring your lips had puckered up to kiss was not embossed with an imprint of Mars, the god of war, but Apollo, god of music. Geta the Emperor championed conflict and violence, but Geta the man held music dear.

Rich eyes twinkled as his laugh rang in your ears. “Ah, yes. Your father mentioned your skill with the lyre. He failed to mention your humour.” He didn’t believe you.

“I assure you, Imperator, my lyre-playing is unparalleled.” You indulged him with a coy smile.

“You believe you would best our most talented musician? That your playing would put your Emperors’ finest to shame?” He challenged your claim.

“Given the chance, I would outplay each of the Nine Muses,” you asserted boldly. You rose to his challenge.

His eyes gleamed with ardour as he regarded your statement with a raised brow. “I await the day I hear you play with baited breath, my lady.”

“It would be my pleasure, my liege.”

Not risking any more excitement, you curtsied and took your father’s arm as he guided you towards the outskirts of the atrium, and away from watching eyes. He wasted no time expressing his displeasure.

“Have you lost your senses, girl? Has some strange plague come over your mind?!” He released an exasperated sigh. “You should have held that tongue of yours.”

 “Oh, and left you there, stammering like a bumbling fool? Father,” you uttered the paternal term without an ounce of familial affection. “You entrusted this ploy into my hands, so leave it there.”

Anger flashed across his face like a clap of thunder. Before he could berate you for your indolence, however, a piercing shriek stole the moment.

You pushed through the crowd to see the commotion, weaving past bodies stilled with shock at whatever it is they were witnessing. When you got to the centre, you were met with a most harrowing display of fraternal discord.

Geta lay sprawled out on the marble floor, the corded muscle of his limbs tensing as he strained to hold back the man towering over him, wielding a dagger above his head. Caracalla. 

At first glance one may have supposed this fray was borne of anger, but with the spittle flying out of gritted teeth that gnashed and snarled like those of some inhuman beast, the incoherent stream of words and the crazed look in his eyes, it was clear that he did not have full agency of his person.

The rumours were true. He was having one of his infamous episodes.

Your eyes darted from Praetorian to Praetorian, waiting for one of them, any of them to take action. Their hands rested on the hilt of their swords, hesitation rooting them to their spots. To raise a hand against Caracalla would be treason, punishable by death. To ignore the distress of Geta would be treason, also punishable by death. They were at an impasse.

The chatter of mingling guests and the ambience of the musicians’ instruments had long since stopped, leaving the grunts of the brothers to take their place. All watched on in stunned silence, revelers turned horrified spectators.

Their scrambling continued. Geta managed to hook a leg around Caracalla’s ankle, toppling him over to join him on the cold marble. Wine cups clanged as they were knocked to the ground, collateral. The cacophony of sound nearly masked the sound of Geta’s desperate plea.

“Break the spell! Break the spell!”

Moved by an impetus you couldn’t explain, you barreled further through the crowd until you reached the musicians’ corner. You grabbed the lyre from the hands of the bard (who was too focused on the ongoing tumult to protest), and started strumming the tune of a nursery rhyme favoured by Roman children both rich and poor. 

Dulcet tones and sweet symphonies echoed through the chamber as you sang of Rome’s rolling hills, of fair maidens awaiting the return of brave soldiers, of the Tiber River’s ebb and flow.

Those around you listened intently, enraptured. They stepped aside, clearing a path for you towards the quarreling brothers. You walked forward as you sang, and as you reached the last verse you stood a few feet away from where they squirmed, limbs akimbo. 

From your position you saw the exact moment the muscles in Caracalla’s face relaxed, and his body went limp. He released a weak whimper better-suited to an injured animal than the tyrannical emperor he was rumoured to be.

Eyes fixed on you over his brother’s shoulder, he dropped the dagger as if compelled. Tears began to run down his face as he wailed, balling himself up into a foetal position. When they noticed his change in disposition, his entourage took the chance to spirit him away from the room. 

The final note of your song rang out. A beat passed as everyone came to, as if they too were held captive in a trance. Then, a slow, steady clap from one became a roaring applause, your fellow guests lauding your performance as if it had been planned. 

Chest heaving from exertion, Geta used a three-legged (formerly four-legged) stool to pull himself from the floor and adjusted his toga. At the raise of his hand, the clapping stopped. Flopping back to sit on the couch, he gestured for you to come forward. His expression was inscrutable. 

Before you could scrape together an apology, or some sort of explanation, you were utterly disarmed by the grin that spread across his face. 

“My lady,” He huffed between words, still catching his breath. “I stand corrected. It appears your flair with the lyre is equally as bewitching as your looks.”  

Your cheeks heated up at his confession of attraction towards you. “It pleases me that you think of me so, my Emperor.”

“Mmm.” He hummed, dark eyes taking their time to appraise you. “The power to bring a man to his knees can be very dangerous, you know. I believe it would be in the best interest of Rome and her citizens if such power was… managed by the capable hands of their Emperor.”

The chill of deja vu ran down your spine when he extended his hand in your direction. A second invitation to kiss the ring. Most people only get one.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

As your lips made contact with the cold metal of Apollo’s face and you sealed your fate, you closed your eyes and said a silent prayer. When you opened them again, you found eyes the colour of rich soil searching yours. 

He turned the hand that gripped his and pressed a surprisingly sweet kiss to the back of it. His kisses travelled up your arm, growing more and more fervent, the plush of his lips leaving warmth on every spot they pressed against. He used his hold on you to pull you towards him until you were close enough to smell the heady scent of patchouli mixed with the subtle musk of perspiration, and count the freckles on his speckled cheeks, peeking through the layer of makeup. 

His palm ran up and down your arm repeatedly, inching further up each time.

“You will make a home for yourself here, in these palace walls.” Brown eyes gazed into yours, full of a veneration you couldn’t fathom. “And you shall be my little Muse.” 

As if the troubles of your life thus far had not been a sufficient allotment of suffering, the Fates had now tasked you with weathering the twin tempers of the Emperors Geta and Caracalla. And surviving.

Gods help you.

A/N: thank you ever so much for reading ! i'm working on part two so let me know if you want me to post it when it's done <3

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated x

© onyxstyx tumblr 2025

[jokersfangirl84]

Frankie!!! Oh dear heavens. I'm writing a fic about him right now. He is so.......🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

PEDRO PASCAL as FRANKIE MORALES

TRIPLE FRONTIER (2019)

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

A/N: Another Fern fic at last, requested by a kofi member ^^

Shrinking down to Fern’s side seemed almost fun at first. Getting to save money on food expenses and cuddling with your boyfriend while being the little spoon was great!

It only occurred to you a few hours after becoming a tiny human that you still had to do everything your big self had done before.

Except now you were the size of a pencil.

“Ahh, I still have to write out a report, make my lunches for this week, call my mom, do the laundry-“

Fern watched you panic from his usual spot on your bed, his head propped up by his hands. While you were struggling, he was relaxed and content to have his mate smaller than him for once.

“Calm down, princess. Don’t forget you have me to help. I’ve been this size my whole life, doing your chores can’t be that hard.”

Fern was terribly wrong.

Attempting to type out a detailed report by jumping key to key was exhausting, and after he messed up several times you had to do it alone. It left you too tired to do anything else.

“This would usually only take me 30 minutes, how much time has passed?”

“… three hours.”

You groaned, burying your face into his shoulder as he played with your hair. “How do you do it, Fern? You always seem so happy go lucky, but being small can’t be easy on you.”

He smiled, looking down at you fondly. “It’s not easy, but when you’re around it’s hard to be exhausted or angry.”

This made your heart flutter, and you let him guide you to the laundry room.

“My vines aren’t agile enough to help you type, but they can throw laundry into the washer and take them out no problem.”

He used his magic, vines creeping in through your window. They clumsily tossed clothes into the washer, and Fern flew you up so you could select the proper settings.

“Now I need to call my mom and make some lunches… how long will I be like this?”

Fern was too busy soaking in the feeling of you in his arms as he flew towards the fridge to really listen, so it took him a moment to process what you had said.

“… a few hours, maybe a day or two perhaps.”

‘Hopefully longer…’ Fern though, even though he felt guilty for it. Who could blame him? His lover was finally the same size as him, who wouldn’t want this to last forever?

The two of you laughed, both covered in food after struggling to finish packing your final lunch.

“Come, dear. Let’s get cleaned up.”

You sat in the small tub, feeling Fern’s cock twitch as he held you against him. He didn’t acknowledge his erection, a soft pink dusting his freckled cheeks.

“There’s mustard in your hair too, love.”

You pouted at him, feeling Fern’s fingers scrub the mess from your hair. You were glad you had bought such a large tub for fern to use for bathing, it had enough room for the two of you to sit comfortably without being squished.

Again, his erection rubbed against you, a soft hiss slipping from his lips as he clutched your hips. It was clear he wanted you, but was holding back.

“Fern…”

He whimpered when you reached back to stroke his cock, nearly cumming on the spot.

“Mmph! That’s… ahh…”

His hips bucked, a moan leaving his parted lips as he let out a needy whine. Now that you were small, he could truly have you…

Before you knew it you pulled into his lap, straddling him as his cock nudged at your fat pussy. God, he had dreamed of this day…

Getting to watch his cock stretch you out was heaven to Fern. You struggled with his size for a moment, your pussy clenching around him as he rubbed at your clit.

Unbeknownst to you, he had been looking over your shoulder at the smut you read at night, and had learned a thing or two.

As he bounced you on his lap at a steady rhythm, he pulled you in for a kiss, his slipping to the small of your back. You tasted sweet, like the chocolates the two of you ate earlier. He wanted more, so much more…

Cumming deep inside of you, stuffing you full of his seed felt… amazing. Fulfilling. It had to be the best thing to ever happen to him.

You were so beautiful, so warm and tight, he just couldn’t help but spurt thick ropes of hot cum into you, painting your walls and praying that this got you pregnant.

After that, he carefully washed the both of you up, occasionally using his fingers to pump his cum back into you when it started to drip out.

You returned to your full size the next day, but Fern was just happy with the memory of his cock stretching you out…

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko

[vivelegalite]

dear dead boy detective (especially paynland) enjoyers: have you yet heard of the biggest gift bestowed upon the fandom so far, aka jayden's charles playlist? the one he mentioned in interviews? well, he dropped it on twitter at 19th of may. and man, do i have stuff to say about it.

there's a lot of 80's bangers, for sure, great to get into the mood and character, but some of the choices...

i'm gonna focus on a few of my favourites, songs that made me go insane when i saw them. honorable mentions: - category 1 (so devoted the lines blur): ain't no mountain high enough by marvin gaye and tammi terrell, there is a light that never goes out by the smiths, inkpot gods by the amazing devil - category 2 (family life): family line and summer child by conan gray, seventeen going under by sam fender, matilda by harry styles, father by the front bottoms - category 3 (being queer in the 80s): smalltown boy by bronski beat, boys don't cry by the cure - category 4 (there's no heterosexual explanation for this one): good luck, babe! by chappel roan, yellow by coldplay, fight or flight by conan gray (is this about monty? the cat king? i need answers!), the prophecy by taylor swift, arms tonite by mother mother, sweet by cigarettes after sex, head over heels by tears for fears

this list is by no means complete or comprehensive!

and now, the songs that made me go the craziest: (they're predominantly in charles' pov as it's his playlist)

found heaven by conan gray

the only reason this song made it into the list and not the honorable mentions instead of smalltown boy is that it makes almost the same point, just so much more explicitly. i don't think i have to say much about it, it's a story of a young person griping with their queerness, being forced to leave home, a common theme of the playlist. "you're in love, you found heaven" when he chose edwin over his own afterlife, heavily implied to be heaven, and built his heaven with him on the mortal plane? ouch! (and we see this same notion repeated in another bop from the playlist, heaven is a place on earth by belinda carlisle).

2. like real people do by hozier

"i miss kissing" charles rowland, 202X romantic meaning aside, the verses show a sort of a common understanding the boys have around the manner of their deaths and their lives before it. we already know from the show they don't really talk about it, with edwin not knowing about the severity of the abuse charles suffered. it feels like one of them saying "let the past be past, we're together now, yeah?". but also, jayden: can there ever be a platonic explanation for this? ghosts can't touch, can't feel, so they wish they could just kiss like "real" (alive?) people do?

3. flaws by bastille

not the most romantic song, but i absolutely love how well it fits their dynamic. despite his edwardian brand of repression, edwin truly is the one that's more open about his feelings (recognising of course that in this case, the bar is so low it's in hell. haha, get it). edwin has worn his flaws upon his sleeve, and charles has held them buried - eg. bottling up all of his anger and resentment towards his family and his own death. the song presents a very sweet outlook, in which their flaws are brought up to the surface (for example, charles' outburst against the night nurse in episode 4), but they learn to accept them as they are, an extension of themselves.

4. a pearl by mitski

you know it's gonna get intense if there's a mitski song in the mix.

the song is about a person who finds love in their partner, someone who treats them way better than they've ever been treated - and yet they cannot bring themselves to reciprocate the affection ("it's not that i don't want you, sorry i can't take your touch") despite reciprocating the feelings themselves because of the trauma. charles is known to bottle things up ("you're growing tired of me and all the things i don't talk about"). the person in the song recognises the love the other person holds for them ("you love me so hard and i still can't sleep"), which reminds me of charles' response to edwin's confession. not a "no", but a "maybe, as time passes".

5. fair by the amazing devil

this one made me genuinely gasp when i first delved into the lyrics. it's simply so sweet, such a genuine and domestic portrayal of love. at first i thought it was way too open about being a love song (normal text instead of the subtext i'd be used to) for jayden to choose it with edwin in mind, but... there's no one else it can really be about. it's far too domestic, too "established" to refer to crystal. refers to a relationship that's laster for a longer while.

the narrator in the first verse is a person deeply in love with the other person, someone who loves to make his lover laugh and simply drinks in their presence. the "he" in the song i believe is charles, while the "she" refers to edwin. edwin promises to fight off anyone - or any feelings pulling charles down (we can see this in the first episode: "you ever think... what if death did catch us? she'd force us to go to the afterlife and split up" "i will make sure this never happens."). charles feels left behind by the world (seeing as he clings to crystal at first, refering to her as "someone their age who's still alive") and believes edwin to be so much stronger than he's ever been. i'm not going to break down the song verse by verse, but if you read it yourself while subbing out "he" for charles and "she" for edwin you'll see just how sweet (and... strangely very in character?) the song is.

6. work song by hozier

if the previous song made me gasp when i saw the lyrics, this one made me go "NO WAY" out loud when i saw the title. the first one verse is just pure toothrotting sweetness, but the chorus is what i want to draw attention to:

when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold, dark earth no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her

HELLO? charles, who keeps escaping death and afterlife to be able to stay with edwin? charles, as he literally takes his last breath with edwin right there, choosing to be by his side rather than move on? charles, who keeps choosing him despite night nurse's promises and threats? charles, who literally crawled through hell for him?

verse 2, to me, can be interpreted as referring to when charles died. edwin found him at his worst, and he "woke" up with his presence comforting him. he was shivering due to hypothermia and his injuries. edwin didn't ask him about what happened or pushed him, he simply listened. the lines "i didn't care much how long i lived, but I swear, i thought i dreamed her" are pretty self explanatory.

in verse 3 we still see the same attitude of "damn the afterlife, at least we have each other" as charles portrays througout the series. they're free, and heaven and hell are simply words to him.

7. orpheus by vincent lima

i literally have no words for this one. it fits too well. if you want commentary for this one, just... i don't know, rewatch the staircase scene.

8. francesca by hozier

(cracks knuckles) this is the big one. the album francesca is from, unreal unearth, is based on dante alighieri's divine comedy, a fourteenth century poem about a man venturing into hell, purgatory and eventually heaven. the eponymous francesca is one francesca di rimini, a woman who was politically married off to a man older than her, called giovanni malatesta. francesca didn't love him, and eventually fell deep in love with giovanni's younger brother, paolo. the two carried on with the affair for years, before being murdered by giovanni upon his finding out. francesca and paolo are mentioned in canto v of the first book, inferno, as two souls damned in the second circle of hell, lust. their punishment is to be permanently locked in a hurricane, swept away by the winds the moment they manage to get close enough to touch one another.

as opposed to their portrayal in the poem, the song is from the perspective of paolo, explaining that no matter the punishment, he wouldn't change anything about his life because he got to know, and love, francesca.

the first verse brings to mind the scenes in hell, especially on the staircase ("do you think I'd give up? that this might've shook the love from me? or that I was on the brink? how could you think, darlin', i'd scare so easily?" as an echo of charles' "sorry. no version of this where i didn't come get you"). "my life was a storm since i was born, how could i fear any hurricane?" could relate to charles' tumultuous family life, an assurance that nothing he has to deal with while by edwin's side will faze him given the things he's lived through. no, despite everything he's suffered through, charles wouldn't do anything differently - because his (admittedly shitty) life led him to edwin ("i'd tell them, put me back in"). we already know charles would choose him over heaven, willingly sacrificing his own afterlife to stay with a boy he's known for hours, someone kind enough to keep him company as he drew his final breath. all of it - his father's abuse, his schoolmates' bigotry, the pain of his own death, as well as everything he's gone through since - he'd do it all again, for edwin.

"for all that was said of where we'd end up at the end of it" could be taken as an allusion to the fate the boys would meet at "at the end of it", when they're finally caught by death and separated, or as more of a general "if you sin, you will go to hell when you die" (up to you to decide what the sin itself would be - an interpretation that would work with other songs on the playlist is that one such sin would be same sex attraction). then their hearts ceased, they never knew "peace", nor did they want to find it in death. their deaths were too soon, them being ripped away from life, but even though it would break his heart: charles would ask to do it all again.

the outro, i think, beautifully pulls it all together: heaven is not fit to house a love like theirs.

to wrap it all up:

jayden, what were you cooking in there? what do you know??

[willows-peak]

*･ﾟ✧ How the JJK characters show their love for u (love languages)

tags: multi character x reader, gn! reader, fluff, just overwhelming amts of fluff

word count: 1.3k

a/n: im starting off with some fluff, bc they all deserve some soft loving <3

⋆｡˚ ♡ PHYSICAL TOUCH: light squeezes of your hand, hugs from behind, leaning on your shoulder on the train, holding your wrist while you walk together, no matter what their hands are on you. they just love you too much to keep away from you, can you blame them? the feeling of you against their skin makes them feel happier than they could ever expect, even when they're coming across as clingy sometimes.

nobara will tug on your sleeve until you oblige and follow her around the mall, your hand either taken by your girlfriend's or the brightly colored shopping bags she'd acquired over your trip. some for her, some for you, because she was just dying to put you in some of the shirts she'd seen around the mall. and she's smile and kiss your cheek when you went with her requests with no fuss

yuuji will take no liberties in picking you up at any point. greeting you? you're up in the air before you can say 'hello'. god help you if you even mention being tired, because he will carry you in his arms without a moments hesitation, holding you close to his chest and claiming he can't in good conscious let you walk while tired! as your boyfriend, its his job to take care of you

gojo will never ever hesitate to embarrass you with how doting he can get. dramatically gasping whenever he sees you in his kitchen making a snack and rushing over to you, pressing kiss after kiss to your face and squeezing you while praising the heavens he's able to see you today, ignoring how you turned your face away and whined at him to lay off

⋆｡˚ ♡ WORDS OF AFFIRMATION: with someone like you, how do you expect them to keep their mouth shut? they can never get enough of the way you blush or laugh at their compliments, or their daily vows of love. "you're a great cook, dear." if you made them a meal, or fawning over how great you look today, despite you being dressed in loose pajamas with a messy bedhead. they need you to always know how in love they are, constantly.

sukuna, surprisingly, can offer quite a few bits of praise to you through the day. while you may have to pause and figure out his wording to actually receive a compliment at times, that doesn't change how he'll always show his approval of you in his own way. he never fails to acknowledge your effort in something, patting your shoulder and congratulating you on whatever you did.

nanami is always straight to the point when he speaks, wasting no extra time to dance around a subject and often being more blunt than necessary with his words. and that carries over to how he loves you, of course. kissing the temple of your head, murmuring about how lucky he is to be with you, brushing hair out of your face while you lean in for a proper kiss.

⋆｡˚ ♡ GIFT GIVING: plastic charms, figurines, hair clips, clothes, jewelry, stuffies, flowers, games, they're never ending. you're never not on their mind, so it's really impossible for them to be out and about without seeing some beautiful roses in a shop window and not hesitate at all with buying it for you. a single off handed comment about how you're a fan of something, and suddenly your arms are full of different kinds of merch. you've had to reorganize your room countless times to fit everything they've gotten you in there, and you're starting to look like a hoarder. but, it makes them happy, so what choice do you have?

getou could plant acres of flower fields with how much roses he'd gotten you. you can't even remember when you'd told him your favorite flower, the innocent seeming question still forcing you to fill up vase after vase of beautifully picked red roses. the amount of times getou had shown up to your door, hands behind his back with a smile plastered over his face at your weary sigh. "what did you get now, sugu..." "i don't have a clue what you mean, my love."

maki will take the extra step and take you with her when she gets a gift idea, finding the way you'd fret over her funds as she casually bought you yet another scarf she caught you eyeing much cuter than surprising you with it. this happens so often that she's caught you snapping your head forwards when letting your eye linger on something too long, making her laugh and peck your cheek before snatching it up before you could notice.

⋆｡˚ ♡ QUALITY TIME: quiet nights, spent curled up next to each other simply enjoying the others presence. sitting next to you while you play your favorite game, throwing occasional questions at you and smiling when you eagerly answer them. sometimes they get sheepish at how in love they are, that you simply being there makes them feel happier than anything. but when you're cozied up next to them, snoring softly against their chest, they can't seem to care too much about anything else

megumi is the king of silent time together, claims it helps him study and plan for missions when nothing is happening around him. and while that's true, often times he will replace 'feeling lonely and wanting your company' with 'studying for an exam'. he's sure you aren't aware of what he truly means when he asks to come over though, even when he shows up with no textbooks or notes to 'study from', and immediately goes to cuddle up against you when you usher him inside your room.

choso is..very clingy lol. always following behind you wherever you go, sitting next to you with a soft smile even as you aimlessly scroll through your phone. he's so silent that you've forgotten his presence entirely a few times, yelping when you hear a low sigh or a shuffle of his hand against your own. you felt a little exposed at first, always being under surveillance by him, but you adjusted pretty quickly and accepted his way of affection.

⋆｡˚ ♡ ACTS OF SERVICE: call it a hero complex, but they just adore being your knight in shining armor. holding the door open for you, finishing an assignment for you after learning how stressed you've been recently, wrapping their coat around you when it gets too chilly out, making your favorite meal just because they could. why should you have to do things when they're right there?

toji, despite having cast away his family name, was still raised by a traditional family. which meant he'd assigned himself to any hard work that needed to be done. plumbing, cleaning, repairing of any kind, he was on it. at first he did it out of habit, used to being forced to pick up any chore that others didn't feel like doing. but over time, the way you'd thank him and hug him tight when he did something for you made his heart melt. nowadays, he almost gets giddy when he hears your frustrated mumbling from across the room, happy to help you yet again with whatever you needed.

yuuta is really the sweetest thing... he's always ready to help you out, no matter how small the issue is. the mornings are his favorite, though, watching your chest rise and fall peacefully while sunlight slowly made its way across your sleeping form. he loves being able to tidy up your room and get breakfast ready for you while you peacefully sleep the sunrise away. he'd turn his head towards the hall as he heard your footsteps shuffle closer to him, a blanket draped over your sleepy figure as you greeted him.

inumaki, even with your reassurance, still feels guilty at times for not being able to talk with you how you're used to. deciphering rice ball ingredients in response to you asking when his is birthday isn't the simplest task, unfortunately. so, he always makes sure to show his love through simple tasks he can do for you. keeping extra snacks in his bag for when you get hungry during class, handing you his umbrella if he notices the sky beginning to dribble on your way home, even when you insist he keep it. he doesn't mind the rain if it's with you.

[kitten4sannie]

blinding faith (teaser)

fall in line now, bow your head

pairing: cult leader! yunho x disciple! reader (fem) x elder! mingi feat. woosan

genres: twisted religious romance (if you can even call it romance), smut, late 1970s setting

summary: the founder can’t accept it when you begin to show signs of deception and doubt for his righteous cause. he has no other choice but to rely on his most trusted brethren to help him show you the light.

bend your knee, Child of God

warnings: aged up dom! yunho, aged up dom! mingi, subby innocent! reader, huge corruption kink, perversion, major sacrilegious vibes and behavior, mostly pet names/some name calling, praise/false praise, major voyeurism/exhibitionism (there’s a whole audience BAHAH), use of restraints/blindfold, masturbation, use of a rosary (i’ll let you figure that one out….), sloppy seconds, double penetration, loss of anal virginity, cum eating, cum swapping, size kink, major breeding kink, felching, squirting, dumbificafion

a/n: this is a lil teaser for a very special series that i’m writing for a very special someone ;3 i’ll be posting it at the end of next week on the 30th <33 without further ado, i’d like to introduce you all to our beloved leader yuyu 🫶🏼 try not to let him corrupt you~~ and if you’d like to join the taglist (if you’re not already on my general taglist) just click on the tiny heart at the end of the teaser ＼(^o^)／ have a lovely day/night!!

You were taught by Yunho, your beloved leader, your savior, your everything, that God allowed those he loved the most, those that remained tied to their earthly bonds, to endure deep suffering and endless tribulations — because within that pain, within that humiliation, laid pleasure. Unimaginable pleasure that sat just below the surface. Yunho took great satisfaction in reaching into the darkness, into the depths, and ripping it out with his silver trimmed talons, always willing to graciously bestow it upon his followers.

There was no greater joy than to witness the moment his dear flock began to walk in the truth. He savored the sweet sounds of ecstasy that tore out of their sweat-ridden throats, longed for the moment their rosy faces ceased their contortions, their lips, wet with saliva, their unfocused eyes, wet with tears, knowing that another one of his beloved disciples had seen the light. And they would always look up at him with delicious desperation, begging for another chance to catch a glimpse of heaven once more. And, only because of his unending benevolence and boundless love, he brought them back, expecting nothing in return, except for their undying loyalty.

Yet, none of them were ever as loyal as you. His angel from above. If only he had clipped your wings sooner.

“My love, my heart, my dearest angel, why do you look at me this way? With those tears in your eyes? With such devotion?” Yunho sighed out against your flushed cheek, his body flush against yours, the cold metal of his rosary splayed across your hot skin. You simply couldn’t speak, not with the way he was spilling inside you.

The corners of his lips quirked up into a sadistic smile, his warm, uneven puffs of breath hitting the bottom of your jaw, as he clutched your slick, trembling thighs, holding them farther apart to ensure that he could continue accessing the heaven you kept in between them, the hot, wet haven you only allowed your savior to access. “Is it because I’m filling you with my own devotion? Does knowing that my seed will soon grant new life inside of you bring you to tears, Y/N?”

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[bunbun-mochi]

Queen of Onychinus II

Sylus x MC

Fluff and Smut (MDNI!!!!)

Warning: cursing, strangling, Sylus and MC making babies, idk (don't hesitate to comment/message me if there needed more warnings.)

Word Count: 2505

Preview: Sylus needed to leave N109 zone for a few days for business. His beloved wife(MC) insisted she take care of N109 zone, which Sylus hesitantly agreed to, but with one of many conditions: "Give me a list of anyone you want to get rid of. Let there be a clear message that anyone messes with my wife, messes with me."

Writers note: Forgive me for any errors, I was busy fangirling about Sylus.

Strings of filthy sounds came out of my mouth and my lower half as my husband's hip gently bumped into mine. Filling me in every place unimaginable. Wet kisses trail along my neck and chest before gently covering my lips.

"You're so beautiful, sweetie," Gods, his voice itself can let me come undone, so deep and sexy. I can only moan in response. I cannot imagine what I would be like in front of a mirror, feeling intoxicated with his touches.

Gentle kisses and gentle hands touched every single inch of me, giving love to every piece of me. Tears rolled down my face from the overstimulation as Sylus kissed them away.

I felt my whole body shake. Rounds after round, hour after hour, and before we knew it, the crimson moon rose high in the sky.

I leaned back onto Sylus chest in the bathtub, feeling satisfied from the heat of the water and the scented smell from the soap. Sylus gently massage my thighs while giving kisses along my face and neck. I giggled, "We went through so many rounds and you still haven't had enough?"

Sylus groaned, "I never get enough of you. Even if you give me an entire week, I would still beg for more."

I turned back and faced him, giving him a small peck on the mouth. "I love you."

"I know," Sylus said before kissing me deeply. I felt his hands slither between my legs.

I gasped, breaking off the kiss, "Sylus." I warned.

Sylus chucked, "Relax, darling, I'm just cleaning you."

"Cleaning? I know you have a different intention-" I felt his fingers brush between my thighs. Instinctively, I closed my thighs, still feeling the aftermath of the overstimulation several minute prior on the bed. "Sylus..."

Sylus trailed kisses along my neck as he continued to stimulate me. Although tired, my body continued to betray me, begging him to continue. Before I knew it, we went for another few rounds in the bathroom.

"You are... you're a monster..." I felt my soul ascending to heaven as my body already went through several times prior before coming back from the high.

Sylus chucked, "Sorry, darling, you were too tempting."

I pouted, "Lame excuse!"

Sylus, already dressed in a suit, sat on the edge of the bed and leaned in for a kiss, which I gladly gave.

"When will you be back?" I asked between kisses.

Sylus gave me a final peck before answering, "About 4 days. Don't miss me too much."

"Too late, I already miss you. What about N109 zone?"

Sylus stood up and draped his outwear over his shoulders, "I'm sure it'll live while I'm gone for a few days."

"Yea, but everytime that happens, you end up having a mountain of work to do once you get back." I pouted, "Then you won't be able to spend time with me once you get back. Maybe I should threaten and kill anyone who gives you extra work."

Sylus chucked, "That would be great. I'm sorry, dear, I'll try to get things done as soon as I can so I won't leave my wife alone for too long."

I folded my arms and shook my head, "I don't like this."

"What would you suggest then?"

"Let me do your business here in N109 zone. I'll do the meeting that you decide to do after you come back. That way, you can come home to me first once you get back and not that stupid meeting."

Sylus shook his head, "Absolutely not. If the meeting gone wrong, bad things can happen to you. I absolutely hate the idea of something happening to you while I'm not there."

"I don't think it will be that bad. Besides, I'm not weak. I just don't have a strong evol as yours, but I'm capable of fighting. Worst case scenario, I come out with scratches. Also, my luck always had been better than yours."

Sylus scowled, his voice serious, "Sweetie, I still do not believe it is a good idea."

This time, it is me who scowled, "Honestly, what kind of husband goes to a meeting after their business overseas and not see his wife first? How come those bastards get to see you first instead of me? Unfair and cruel."

Sylus sighed deeply and massaged his temples, "Sweetie..."

"How about this, I bring Luke and Kierra with me. I will not let my emotions get the better of me and won't start any fights at all in the meeting."

Sylus opened his mouth, as if adding something before I cut him off. "And, I have to report to you every 12 hours."

"Make it every hour," Sylus negotiated.

"6 hours."

"2 hours."

"4 hours! I can't keep calling and messaging you! It'll get in the way of your work!"

"Fine, 4 hours." Sylus finally agreed. "However..."

I inwardly groaned. Another request? This man is so demanding!

"I want you to keep a list of all the names that you want me to deal with once I get back. You can't start a fight, but I can end it."

"Fine."

"Good girl." Sylus kissed me on the forehead. "I'll see you in 4 days, love."

I stare out the window, grasping every hope that Sylus would appear. Wishing his car would appear in the distance, speeding through traffic to get home. Wishing he would rush toward the door, hug me, kiss me, and apologize to me for how late he was. However, I knew this wouldn't happen. It has already been 5 years... Did he forget all about me? Of all the things we been through? All the love I had given him? Did he find a better woman...

"Boss only left for 5 hours, why do you look like he died?" Kieran asked.

"Yea, your face is like he died and cheated on you at the same time." Luke added.

The twins completely ruining my "reminiscent". Tsk.

"You should report to him how upset I am. Maybe that will make him second think about leaving me for those meetings." I huffed.

"I'm sure boss wouldn't want to leave either," Luke said, clearly trying to cheer me up.

I sighed, "Yea, I know." I stood up from the chair and stretched. "When is the meeting?"

"I messaged all the members for the meeting and the earliest they can do is the day after tomorrow," Luke answered.

I nodded, "good, that'll allow me to prepare."

I spent the days before the meeting preparing, choosing outfits, and weapons, and reporting to Sylus. And by reporting to Sylus, I mean sexting.

The meeting was not the way I wanted to go. Those "aristocrates" are like parasites. As soon as you're vulnerable, they attack. Quite disgusting if you ask me.

At the meeting, they were expecting Sylus. The room was cold and silent as if they were expecting death. But once I walked through the door, the atmosphere changed immediately. There was confusion for a few minutes before every single one of them looked at me like I was their prey.

I love it. I love appearing weak in their eyes before I show my fangs. I love the reactions they make when they realize the mistake they have made.

However, this meeting is especially hard as I am expected to sit still and prevent any fights. I promised Sylus so I cannot break this promise. If I do, I know he will not let me go to any meetings. And I know he will feel the pain more than me. I don't want him to go through those emotions.

I walked into the dimly lit room, my high heels clicked loudly on the marble floor. Luke walked ahead of me toward the head of the table and pulled out the giant chair. I sat down and Luke pushed the chair in. I crossed my legs, leaned forward, and interlocked my fingers, trying to look as confident as I could.

After a few minutes of silence, I scowled, "What? Am I supposed to start the conversation?"

I heard some clearing their throat and some huffed, as if they can't believe my arrogance.

"I suggest we change this meeting," One stood up.

"I suggest we start now," I countered.

"I believe Mr. Sylus would have a better grasp of this situation."

I leaned back onto the chair and crossed my arms, "How so?"

"I believe that Mr. Sylus, as a leader himself, should be at this meeting."

"I am his wife, I should be in second in command. We are starting this meeting now. If we do not start today, the next meeting will be next month and all the requests you have today will be moved toward next month. I am sure you would like your request heard as soon as possible."

They looked at each other, whispering to each other. Sylus was right. This meeting is truly boring. All those people are trying to be the best actor and fool the leader on who to believe. I have to admit, finding the traitor among those are hard. I know full well majority of them will turn their backs as soon Sylus become weak.

Suddenly, a loud slam on the table, causing the table to shook. A large man stood up rapidly, making his chair topple backward. "This is ridiculous. Why are we doing this meeting today of all days? It was originally meant to be in two days, why do we have to come now just to talk to this woman!"

"I would suggest you to be careful of what you say," Luke said cautiously.

"Damn this. Damn this woman. His wife? We know this is bullshit. That man don't look at one woman and then decide her to be his wife. A woman shouldn't even be here in the first place." He said, jabbing his finger toward me.

"Where should I be then?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.

"The fucking kitchen, you wrench." Ah, the typical answer for misogynist boys who believe they are men.

"Mr. Aglio, you apologize this instant! You do not have the power to speak ill-" Luke started.

Aglio slammed his fist on the table again. "This is ridiculous. Just because she is his wife today, does not make her in power. What kind of joke is this?"

Aglio aggregated nearly everyone in the meeting. Many sided with him, while others stood silent, watching how the situation unfolds. Those who sided with Aglio yelled vulgar words, making the atmosphere incredibly tense.

I was scared. Not of them. I was scared that a fight would break off. I don't want to break my promise with Sylus. Not when he already trusted me with this. I sat there, racking my brain to try to calm this situation down.

"Enough." I said loudly. My voice boomed and echoed through the meeting room. The room immediately turned silent. "I suggest we continue this meeting and I will report to Sylus immediately. That way, we won't waste any more time."

Many nodded their head in agreement, but not Aglio. He huffed sarcastically, "you think Mr. Sylus would listen to you? You're just a slut-"

Suddenly, the room became suffocating. Many of them are grabbing onto their necks, trying to relieve themselves from an invisible force grabbing onto their necks. The room was silent except the sounds of those aristocrats suffocating and the clicks of the shoes hitting the floor, walking toward the room.

Click... click... click...

I immediately knew those walk pattern belong to. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as the door slowly opens, allowing more lights to shine into the meeting room. Red mists were around those aristocrat's neck, squeezing tightly.

"What did I just hear?" Loud deep voice boomed through the room. Please repeat what you just said, to me."

"Sylus, dear, you are too tight around their necks, they can't speak," I said, nonchalantly, even though my heart is beating fast and my mind screaming.

"You're right," Sylus lighten his mist, just enough for them to speak.

"We just wanted to... have this meeting... with you...." Aglio gasped.

"What's wrong with the meeting with my wife?"

"N-nothing! Nothing at all!" Aglio coughed. "I just thought it would be... better with you, Mr. Sylus."

"Nothing wrong with my wife. So, when I heard those disgusting words that were describing my wife, I must've heard it wrong. Is that right, Luke?"

Luke shook his head, "No, boss. They did in fact called madam many vulgar words."

I felt anger surged from Sylus and he tighten his mist around Aglio. Aglio can only whimper in response.

"You got nerves, I give you that." Sylus said before slamming Aglio out the window, dangling him from 70th floor by the foot. A single movement from the mist will result in Aglio falling to his death.

Sylus slow walked around the table, looking down the aristocrats. While everyone is fearing for their life, I felt heat pooling between my legs. The way Sylus walked around was very sexy. His long legs strides forward, his eyes stern and dark. If I weren't sitting down, I would've clearly fainted.

Sylus stopped at the other end of the table. He looked straight at me, "Give me a list of anyone you want to get rid of. Let there be a clear message that anyone messes with my wife, messes with me."

"First, bring Aglio back in here."

Sylus immediately brough Aglio back into the room without questions, as if he is listening to every order I say.

"Second, I would like those who called me... those lovely words to kneel in this room for three days. Those who kept their mouth shut live for another day."

When no one moved, Sylus narrowed his eyes, "Should I teach you how to kneel?"

Immediately, those who bad-mouthed me kneeled down, with their heads on the ground.

I smirked at their shaking bodies, "third, I would like you to carry me to the car and take me home. I'm tired."

"Your wish is my command, dear." Sylus smiled as he walked around those shaking kneeling bodies, pulled out the chair and carried me bridal style, out of the meeting room.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, "You're here early."

"That bastard thought those cheap counterfeit protocores could fool me. So I thought it would be a lovely surprise for my wife if I returned early, so I decided to detonate the entire building."

Sylus is rushing to get back to me just to see the scene before him. I leaned into his neck and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"There is nothing for you to apologize for. Whatever you do, I will gladly give you anything to support you. You do what you want, whatever the aftermath results from it, I will deal with it."

"I know you would."

"Then you should know I want to hear something else from you."

I smiled, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

As long as Sylus is alive, I will never be alone.

Thank you for reading, I'll post a continuous part (part 3) tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. In case you dont know, this part is the continuous part of "Queen of Onychinus I".

I'm also playing around the settings in tumblr, cuz I haven't writen on tumblr for a while. I also desperately want to understand how to do a freaking line break without adding line break pictures

dividers, templates, headers, and banners are from @uzmacchiato

[vandal-flower]

Great Power Comes with No Responsibilities

Ror men with a powerful but lazy s/o.

Requested by 🦅 anon.

Characters: Qin Shi Huang, Jack the Ripper, Buddha and Loki.

Warnings: A bit of angst in Jack's part. 😶

Notes: Do you think I wrote too much this time?

Scenario:

"Female god reader who is extremely powerful but lazy , lazy in the means she liked to lie down and sleep a lot , if she wants to she could kill zeus and she can be really intimidating but shes soft around them."

Qin Shi Huang

He didn't even notice you were a god.

You looked too exhausted to function, and yet you were ready to fight whomever tried to harm him.

He would take care of any obstacles that would dare present itself to him, but he loves how you sort the situation than he does.

There were times where you offered to lift his curse, but he declined.

According to him, if he as an emperor could not endure this curse, how could he rule a nation.

You haven't heard such wise words from anyone else before. You smile at him, and gently give him a kiss on his head.

No one dares to challenge either of you as they fear the both individually.

In private, he declares his love and loyalty for you, as the two of you embrace each other.

"Even if the Heavens dare to object our love, we'll remain ontop."

Jack the Ripper

He's honestly surprised how someone like you could love a man like him.

He has faced many hardships, threats and much more from people who knew him and those who don't.

However, when it comes to you, he can't help but cry a little at the smallest hint of love and kindness someone has ever given him.

Someone who is even more powerful than Zeus himself. Despite your intimidating nature, he finds it soothing.

Especially when you are so soft around him. He often wonders what he did to be loved and cherished by someone like you.

Many wanted to end his life even before he fought Hercules. He is very thankful that you continue to defend him even with your reputation at stake.

You often don't mind defending him against the other gods, after all he is your lover.

It's unknown how you two got together, but it does not matter as the two of you are head over heels for each other. (Good for you.)

"I don't know what I did to have to have you in my life, but I promise to cherish our time forever my dear."

Buddha

My guy here is taking advantage of the whole situation.

You can't blame him though, he is literally in a relationship with someone who is as strong, if not stronger than a primordial god!

Many wonder how in the world did you end up with someone like him, but seeing how lazy you are, it makes sense.

Often times, when Zeus threatens to punish him, you put Zeus in his place, promising an eternity of pain should he ever hurt your lover.

The smirk on his face says it all. (Me too.)

He is happy at the fact that even though you are powerful enough to defeat Zeus, or any chief god, you don't get arrogant.

Despite how powerful you are, he treats you the same way he treats everyone, just with more affection.

You bet he's telling Jataka about you, and how much he loves you!

"Thanks for taking care of the other gods for me. I'll cuddle you later if you want honeybun."

Loki

Another one on the list of taking advantage of this, however to an even greater degree. (What did you expect?)

Whenever he pranks Thor or Odin, he immediately runs to you. The two can't do anything but give him a death glare.

He's busy giggling his bum off behind your back, as you wake up from your nap and question who woke you up.

He often questions you if Zeus truly is the Grandfather of the Cosmos. To which you reply an exhausted, "No, it's only because he is powerful and looks older than he is."

At first he thought you were a demigod due to how sluggish you were acting. But quickly straightened up after seeing Zeus treat you with more respect than anyone.

He tried pranking you, but you were too tired to notice anything. And when you did notice, it backfired on him, resulting to him being confined in the emergency room.

He definitely thinks you're weird and has voiced this, but knows you won't care either way. He also tries to get a reaction from you.

He likes telling you the latest stories (or gossip) from the Heavens. You sometimes stay awake just to hear them.

"Apparently there was a rumors spreading around about Aphrodite's beauty salon."

I probably wrote too much didn't I.

My inbox is open. Check out my Rules.

[books-and-omens]

Rather a big thing, by the way, that many of us are probably re-evaluating right now is Crowley consistently not wanting to be called kind or nice. Especially not by Aziraphale.

In S1, that was what triggered the wall slam. ‘Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me’—but in S2 we see more about how strong Crowley’s feelings are on the topic.

In the Job minisode, Crowley vehemently insists that he is a demon. He is so angry at God. When Aziraphale tells him that he is certain Crowley does not want to destroy Job’s children, Crowley takes his glasses off to expose full-demon irises and looks Aziraphale in the eye as requested and says, “I want to”.

Aziraphale is heartbroken over that. His shoulders slump, he exhales shakily, his faith in Crowley has indeed cracked. Look at him:

And then, of course, he figures out the trick, and it turns out that he is exactly right about Crowley. “Well,” he says, and looks vindicated, triumphant, amused.

He was right. He knew Crowley would resist atrocity with everything he has. He knew Crowley would understand it’s an atrocity in a way Gabriel and Michael did not seem to (and neither did those two care). What Aziraphale sees is that, for all of Crowley’s demonic posturing, Crowley came through.

(He remembers the angel that Crowley used to be. So joyful. So happy. So unlike Gabriel and Michael, too: the angel Crowley would never have gone along with killing Job’s children.)

At the end of this minisode, Aziraphale is ready to go to Hell. He thinks he must: he lied, he thwarted the will of God. Crowley, of course, tells him that he is simply an angel who goes along with Heaven as far as he can.

Aziraphale will process this in some way later, but… he won’t process it in the same way as Crowley. Aziraphale won’t reject the idea of Heavenly goodness—Heaven is supposed to be good, that’s the whole point—but he will take note of how, time and time again, Crowley exemplifies this idea when the actual Heavenly angels do not.

Across history, Aziraphale sees Crowley do things that are good. And then disclaim them, reject them, call them something else. A demon could get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing, Crowley had warned him a long time ago.

Aziraphale will remember this.

Don’t say thank you, Crowley hisses in the Bastille. My lot do not send rude notes.

And the Victorian minisode?

Off my head on laudanum, not responsible for my actions, Crowley tells Aziraphale vehemently after saving Elspeth from suicide. (In Christianity, certainly in the 19th century, suicide condemns a soul; one who died by suicide does not even get a Christian burial. So Crowley has actively diverted a soul from Hell by drinking the laudanum.)

And—look at how indulgently Aziraphale is looking at Crowley as Crowley insists he is not responsible for his actions.

Of course you aren’t, my dear, he seems to think. We both know you did it on purpose, to have a plausible excuse for Hell. But of course we both know that you are in fact responsible for your actions, and that, at great personal risk and cost, you have once again chosen to do good.

So by the end, from Aziraphale’s point of view, Crowley has a much better idea of Good than Heaven itself. And—oh joy!—in the finale, Metatron, the voice of God, finally acknowledges that fact and validates it. Your demon recognized me when nobody else did, Metatron essentially says.

(I just cannot with the ominous dramatic music that plays as Metatron leads Aziraphale out of the shop. Get the FUCK OUT David Arnold, this is so pointed and disturbing. In this season and in the last, the music is narration, it tells us so much without a single word.)

Anyway! Yes! In the finale, Aziraphale is being manipulated, and part of why it works is that he still does not understand Crowley’s motives in insisting he is not nice or good. He has been interpreting Crowley’s insistence solely as protective, which makes a lot of sense from what he has seen. A demon doing good deeds must hide to avoid punishment and pain. Crowley has hid for six thousand years, has gotten used to hiding. Sure, the last four years were different, but even in these years the danger hasn’t gone away, and six thousand years is a long time to set a pattern.

Aziraphale wants to see Crowley happy. He wants to see him—both of them—safe. And here, finally, is an official Metatron-offered way. Heaven is finally admitting and working on its mistakes. Surely Crowley will forgive them? Surely Crowley and Aziraphale can make Heaven better, together? Make into what it should be? (And they would be safe, they would be safe, they would be safe.)

They still haven’t talked. Aziraphale still does not understand Crowley’s choices. In the past, it might have been too dangerous for Aziraphale to know exactly why Crowley Fell, while for Crowley, it might have been too vulnerable a thing to discuss. So they haven’t talked, and Aziraphale does not know the exact questions Crowley had asked, does not know the exact reasons. He assumes.

And his assumptions, oh so well-meant, are going to be catastrophic.