#everyone has there place and cannot be removed or replaced

[pinkeoni]

Max might just be the most important character in El’s story arc

[melodic-haze]

Can I ask for a sub Jade x fem reader? Jade is so cocky and self-confident thinking that she will dominate the relationship, but reader puts her in her place by taking her to the extreme Thank you in advance and have a nice day!💕

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Jade x dom!afab!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: None? A lot of biting?? Does that count???? Rough sex in general

☆ — NOTES: To celebrate getting Jade I am writing about scissoring her she CANNOT escape me. As per usual I wrote this at the dead of night so if nothing makes sense then 🤷‍♀️

It's so funny, dating Jade, bc she's so self-assured of anything and everything—no matter how risky a deal may be, it's as if she has it all figured out.. and really, she probably does. That confidence transfers over to her general personality ofc which. Aha 💀 goodness

She's definitely convinced herself that she was going to take the lead for every single thing, taking care of you and punishing you if you deserve such treatment. She already does so in her daily life, what's a relationship with someone so precious as you make a difference?

A lot, she goes on to realise sooner or later when you have your first time together LOL

"So eager, aren't you," she practically coos at you as she steps further into the secluded room, taking off her hat and placing it carefully on the vanity.

"What, you rather I wasn't?"

"Now, I didn't say that." The pink-haired woman let out a soft laugh, "I would like to give you credit where credit is due, however, for waiting to get inside the bedroom rather than pulling me into the next available alley you find."

A huff slipped past your upturned lips, your eyes scanning every inch of your lover—who you once thought was unattainable without a hefty price, much like such precious gems are, is now standing in front of you at the foot of the bed with a not-so-innocent twinkle in her slitted eyes.

"I wouldn't dare have our first time together in some random setting," you simply say, "a lady should be treated as such.. and I wouldn't want to break you where everyone could see. Not yet, anyway."

That gained Jade's attention, her hand halting to a stop before she could slowly remove her singular glove. "Oh? I was under the assumption that I would have to take care of you, sweetheart. Unless you think that I can't leave you more than satisfied?" She walks up to you as she speaks, tracing your skin with a manicured nail before gently grasping onto your hand, "Because I assure you that I never leave my clients with the feeling of.. incompletion."

"One problem with that statement."

"Mm?"

"I'm not a client of yours, am I? I'm much more than that."

She raises an eyebrow, its shape perfectly sculpted and arched and perfect, "Confident in where you stand, aren't you? Such arrogance can often lead to one's downfall, you know."

You walk forward, prompting her to follow your motions like an intimate dance, "Are you saying that because you believe you're the exception to the rule?"

"Not that I'm the exception, no.. but challenging such things is something I am required to have expertise on, considering my line of work."

You hummed in response, "You've yet to prove that to me beyond professional transactions."

"Haven't I?"

You don't speak in turn, though instead you draw your hand back from hers before swiping it under her intricate blazer that hangs on her shoulder, letting it slip down.. and then pressing the same hand on the centre of her chest to push.

Your lover gently falls onto the mattress with a soft sound of surprise, with her long hair fanning out under her like some sort of pink halo. That momentary surprise is easily replaced with a pleased smirk, however, as her hands roam around her body to caress every inch of herself like a tantalising temptress, simultaneously opening up her outfit and fully revealing the lacy underwear underneath.

"So you caught me off-guard. That's a first."

You moved to straddle her, stripping off your topmost clothing and discarding them to the side, "Is it, though? No point lying through your teeth there."

"Ha. I suppose you do have a penchant for surprising me on the occasion." She puts her hands on your hips, gripping you and gently digging her nails into your form, "And I also suppose that that was you taking advantage of the situation, which.. bravo. I hadn't even noticed I let you take the lead."

You leaned down, capturing her lips with your own and cutting off whatever words she had planned to form after—if she ever even planned to, which you sincerely doubt it considering how her arms tugged you closer to her—before drawing back and leaving her wanting more. Her beautiful blue eyes, formerly slits, had seemingly expanded as she laid there in a silent daze.

"And you can continue. Letting me take the lead, I mean." You breathed out as you took one of her breasts into your hand and groped her idly, "Let me take care of your needs and desires this time, yeah?"

"Unfortunately that isn't in my job description," she jests with a slight rasp to her voice.

"Too bad you're not working right now," you quipped back.

And without any more to say, you lean back in as the two of you let your desires take over completely.

She definitely absolutely challenges your authority HAHAHAHA oh my god. She's SUCH a brat actually, teasingly trying to grab the reigns back and dominate you but somefuckinghow you're looking at her and acting a certain way that it actually sends a shiver down her spine once she realises you mean to consume her wholly like a snake with its prey

She isn't used to being on the receiving end, to being the one being taken care of, to being the one overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure you're giving her. And the foreign experience fucking thrills her bc almost nothing scares this woman in bed

I say "almost nothing" bc if your buttons are pushed enough bc she makes it a point to make it INSUFFERABLE for you bc you could just hand her control and she'd take care of you :((( and take the easy route like everyone else :((((( and you snap, there's no telling what'll happen to her 🥰

ROUGH HER THE FUCK UP and that's when she starts getting concerned for her wellbeing (in the fun way), though the thrill is still there and has never been this amusing and overstimulating since.. god knows when. It has her wanting for MORE

She wouldn't beg though. She refuses to do so—something something she still has some modicum of dignity in her—but that's fine.. you can just have her struggle in desperation 😋!!

Such a bestial, carnal act was unbefitting of such a classy lady.. and that debauched expression on Jade's face was even less so.

Her nails dug into your skin, though this time her grip was a far cry from its gentle yet possessive force. Instead, it was harsh and desperate, perhaps even enough to draw blood. Your neck and the line of your collarbone was in a worse state as your lower back was, though, with the multiple bite marks that littered your skin (and some of them were even the slightest bit punctured, not necessarily all that dissimilar to a snake bite).

Not like she was any better either, with how throwing her head back meant that you were able to see the myriad of marks all across her body—her skin was painted like a canvas, signed repeatedly by you and only you through some sort of binding contract.

You bucked your hips into hers with a crooked smirk to your lips that easily broke off as a groan escaped your lips. Your clit had rubbed onto hers in a certain way that had the both of you stumbling, if the time spent repeatedly switching from making her hold off from cumming, continuously pushing her off the edge and having her please you as a form of gratitude rather than her initial service didn't exhaust you two enough already.

Whenever you look at her, she always seems to be on the cusp of truly letting go and pleading for you to finally give her the release she needs from your constant minstrations throughout the night, always seems to be on the edge of admitting that you hold the power over her, that you were more than some random client like she joked about.. but she seems to have some extra willpower within her that prevents such sudden declarations.

Doesn't matter, though, because you have the power to simply draw back and leave her on the tipping point.

And when you look at her again, when you see her mouth smudged with lipstick move as she voices out her thoughts, when you see her reach out for her, when you feel just how embarrassingly wet she is...

When you see the Stoneheart at her rawest, without any sort of modification to suit whoever she deigns to interact with, you just can't help but give her a bit more.

Guys I'm a firm believer in Jade having fangs but anyway

Be mean enough to her and eventually she'll crack 🥰🥰🥰 and it'd be RUDE to leave her hanging..........or yk. Leave her hanging 😜 as a way for her to remember exactly how easily you can put her in her place

Either way now she knows FULL well not to get all cocky again unless she wants that hot-and-cold rough treatment again ☺️ and she also knows not to underestimate you ANYMORE what a way to learn not to underestimate someone

[aennasan]

Hybrid Sanctuary AU where avian crow hybrid Johnny is so enamored by you that in your eyes he is more like a puppy than a bird. When he was rescued, his kind was already deemed extinct, until you were brought in and rescued from a mansion which collects exotic hybrids.

At first, he was so surprised by your presence that he did nothing the whole day but stare at you. It was your fault because you got lost and it was too late before you realized your mistake. You went inside his nest, your awareness has been dulled after years of being chained down. You were so scared that all you could do was crouch down as he tower in front of you, waiting for him to kill you for ruining his nest.

But nothing happened.

When the rescuers can't find you, they started frantically looking for you, and almost fainted when they saw you inside Johnny's nest. Alone, scared, and shaking in fear.

They were able to save you from him and they brought you back peacefully in your place. Later you found out that Johnny was known to be unpredictable and deadly. That's why he was in solitary for years now. No one could explain how come you got lost in a cage that was supposed to be inaccessible by another avian without permission.

Although whatever happened has been scary to everyone, especially to the doctors who have been taking care of you, they somehow deemed that maybe being around you would make Johnny less intimidating. And so your cages were moved side by side with each other, with only the glass wall separating you.

You were fully convinced it was a bad idea. You were wary of him and the thing he may do. Until you were always woken up each morning with him tapping on the glass, leaving behind gifts, placed at the side of the glass wall where you can see it first thing in the morning. He would even bring you his meals. Gets frustrated when he realized that the rescuers will not allow him in your space. But ended up with a solution anyway as he decided to eat up his meals at the same time as you eat yours. Making sure that you are looking at him before he munches and tells you it tastes good. He would even try to talk to you but all you did was stare at him, still wary about being in the presence of a male.

The behaviour that started as odd to you, has become a habit. You are not as scared of him as before but still there is fear. You started to learn to be comfortable around him but maybe it was just a calm before a storm.

The alarm blared as it signals the emergency. Metal bars started replacing the friendly glass walls and all you can do is walk away from them, as you look around, shaking, and trying to understand what's going on. The intercom keeps repeating the same thing, "Abandon the facility now!" and your brain who wasn't taught enough words may not understand what was being said, still felt danger, and in panic, you ran away.

You don't know where you at. You don't know what happened. You didn't see any hybrids running away except you. So you were alone as you made a temporary shelter at a cave, behind a waterfall. You were so tired that the moment your head was placed in something comfortable, you slept, the water sound was soothing and you finally were able to get a shut eye.

It was the feeling of warmth that woke you. A hand draped on your waist, tightening when you whined about the feeling of being too hot. Your mind was still drowsy from sleep, but all your senses snapped open when a familiar thick voice warned you to stop grinding your ass on his cock.

You try to push him away, claw at his arms, almost gauge his eyes out but he only pouts and whimpers at your efforts to remove his hold on you.

You don't understand and cannot comprehend how Johnny found you and even slept beside you without you noticing. It was as if he followed you. Then something clicks and you froze when the realization hits you.

How did you run away in the first place without the facility finding where you are? Also, this whole thing is familiar. It was as if the reenactment of how you got lost in his nest when there is no way you could be lost there.

[ganondoodle]

totk is like a highly polished alpha build of a game to me

graphic- fantastic, i just love botws style of graphics, its the perfect blend of something more realistic but very stylized and timeless

visual design- great, i cant stand anything sonau (zonai), and ganondorfs concept art is better than final (and still involves lots of annyoing stereotypes) but overall still pretty solid

sound design- phenomenal, it really is, the underground, the rain on the parasail? unmatched, already loved botw but they really outdid themselves here

music- possibly best in the series to me, like ... theres so many fantastic tracks, in isolation i love so many of them so much ... which sucks bc being connected to such a lackluster rest sours them badly

mechanics- working but undercooked/unfit for the world, its impressive they got ultrahand working at all, but its still clunky/quickly frustrating and badly balanced also contributes to utterly destroying botws world design- this ability was simply not made for this world and is in the end both detrimental to it and itself, bc that mechanic could have truly shined in a game REALLY build around it (... if they could manage to balance it well and stop handing you the solution, it would be funyn if it werent so sad how many times the game literally doesnt even make you engage with its main gimmick bc it just hands you the prebuild thing) time reversal breaks every puzzle/challenge, also unbalanced, ceiling jump is the most harmless but i still think it lets you skip too much

writing- worst in the series, where would i even start with that, not a single character is written well/interestingly, most detrimentally the main characters, .. like all of them, zelda, ganondorf, rauru... and the "story", its barely even bare bones, its plain cardboard with an old divine right propaganda slogan written on, continuity in a direct sequel is non existant, there is no follow up on anything, why did they call it that when they dont seem to have any love for anything botw did given how much they trample over everything it established, i struggle to believe they actually thought this was good, theres has to have been trouble during development

world design/changes- a joke, ... i dont know how people dont feel scammed by how little was actually changed, no, a few rocks sprinkled througout are not meaningful changes, i was one of the people not worried about them reusing the world bc i loved this world and was sure theyd meaningfully change it- god how wrong i was; the sky and underground are both like the bare bones with textures and placeholder rewards/points of interest, they both do not matter at all and their potential is yet again utterly, painfully, wasted and only add more points of destruction to the map in case of the sky, and both add confusion about everything, not the good kind of intriguing confusion, the bad nothing makes sense confusion it really does seem like they put some quick changes into every main point of interest where most players would go to make them think they changed things when .. they only changed these parts, barely, either bc they knew everyone would skip around the world anyway so it wouldnt be worth it, or bc its ... unfinished

game design/structure- baffling (bad), connected to the point above, but it truly is beyond me why they repeated the exact same structure as botw while removing what made that work, why would you repeat every point of interest of the previous game, i know zelda games always have their regions and thats where stuff happens, but they REUSED THE SAME WORLD, you CANNOT repeat the exact same points in the same world, you just cant, its the same places, the same characters, the same structure (aka dungeons being less interesting/easier titans (divine beasts) with a paint job in structure), you basically erase the well integrated ancient tech civilization to replace it with another, not well integrated, more boring and overly pushed into your face, ancient tech civilization and make them the answer to everything that ever was (BORING), the same story structure (but worse, like the memory system but remove what made it work in botw)- AND THEN repeat the same points in the underground too? thats bonkers, literally baby bananas

dungeons/puzzles - worse than botw by FAR, as mentioned above, dungeons are less interesting titans with a paintjob (plus an extraordinarily awful cutscene, which is repeated like FIVE TIMES almost word for word), they serve no purpose but to act like they are totally real traditional dungeons when they are not, they are laughing at you, shrines are back with a paintjob with less interesting puzzles (if they even have one given how many just give you a spirit orb knock off) that can all be skipped, though the puzzles can often not even be called that (put log over gap WOOOAH puzzle) among many awful and unecessary tutorial ones (its not bad to have easy ones, but aside from the few ones that take all your stuff away -omg restrictions in MY freedom tm game??- which are the best ones, to have none be even a little challenging or not utterly skippable without even using glitches, its like they didnt even try to stop you from cheating, which is like being given a skip button with no strigns attached, doesnt even let you feel smart bc you dont have to try to cheat)

UI/controls- awful, you cant tell me this was tested by real people playing for longer than 10 minutes at once, how did the ghosty sage control scheme and arrow/weapon fusing get through this, HOW, its unbelievably tedious and detrimental to any fun (as im doing with my rewrite, a crafting system would have been so good here ..... like a proper simple crafting system, have the materials, craft your new arrow types in stacks etc) the ghost sages are not only utterly useless in combat, but clog your screen, play distracting animations as soon as you look at a slope, you constantly accidentally activate them or the wrong one bc its mapped to the main interact button!!! if you use them say goodbye to your framerate, fights are now spent chasing after some ghost guy whos actively running away from you, they do not invoke a feeling of 'connection' to my 'friends', they are invoking feelings of hatred and frustration

performance- ... passable (if you dont have the sages out .... well, it runs better than pokemon scarlet so i guess its fine, the lag when closing and opening the menu is rly annoying, especially combined with the finger and patience breaking menues and how often you need to open a game pasuing menue, but fights with a monster horde AND the sages out? yeah no its as bad as pokemon scarlet at its worst, not to mention the chaos of having five useless ghost scramble around you getting knocked around by enemies)

price- a scam, this game is not worth 70 bucks, its just not, if you get a used copy and dont spend more time in it than it takes for you to just go straight to the main points, or if you dont care about anything else but dicking around with a clunky building system ... then you can have some fun with it yeah ..... still not worth 70 money, theres probably better building games out there for less too

it jsut feels not done, not finished, its presentation and some parts are highly polished and their marketing for it is unlike anything i have ever seen, but its so .... unfinished, no amount of epic visuals is gonna let me not think of this game being half done at best, after what, 6 years of development no less? with most assets already being there and being reused unaltered??

(i am holding tightly onto the theory of it either having an extremely troubled development that is being hidden bc of their reputation, or some sort of neglect in order to focus on other more lucrative projects, this is just all too weird to me)

[letsgobarbs]

Chapter 3 (Fin.)

INDEX Warnings: They are provided on the Index page A/N: Anaticula means little duck/duckling.

Acacius stared at the honey cakes on the table. He knew Lucilla had not meant to be cruel but the sight of them made his chest tighten. He wondered, not for the first time, what they would taste like in his mouth with the same poison lacing them as she had used on hers. He could bet they’d taste sweet, they would taste of reunion. 

Acacius…

“Acacius.” 

“Acacius,” Lucilla called. He broke out of his reverie to blankly stare at her. And he regretted it. 

As his priestess had not completed her contracted term with Vesta, Lucilla had taken her place as a replacement since there had been no requirements of youth or virginity— divorcees were acceptable albeit frowned upon. The role suited her as she had a post in the College of Pontiffs; since the death of the previous chief Vestal, Lucilla had taken her seat and established her voice in the Senate. But he couldn’t look at the red and white ribbons in her hair without choking on his sobs. Acacius went back to staring at the cakes. 

“You cannot keep living like this, Acacius. It has been months since we have heard you speak.” 

It wasn’t that he could not speak anymore. He has heard the sound of his voice when he wakes up in the dead of the night clammy, tears staining his cheeks and a hoarse scream on his lips— begging his priestess to not leave him. He just did not have much to say these days.

No, he actually had far too much to say. All his words were lost in his heart somewhere, they filled him up to his throat and suffocated him— stifled him— but they stuck to his mouth because the person supposed to hear them was not here. She had not left him, not truly. She resided in his heart. He spoke to her there without having to talk.

“Lucius could use your guidance… some of the Praetorian Guards are dissenting. We could use your help.” 

They didn’t need his help, he was a soldier, not a politician. And last he had heard, their new Emperor was making the Praetorian Guards fight each other in the arena in the name of training. As for the guards who were causing too many problems by terrorizing the public or plotting a coup, Lucius would fight them in the arena himself, reasserting himself as a public hero. 

His priestess had left him a letter, advising him to take the throne and then work towards establishing a republic rather than foisting the country over to rotting administrators and decaying pillars. She had counselled Lucius to wait for the senators to succumb to their vices; and nurture better successors for them. 

She may have hinted that it did not take much to remove a senator from his post— both Lucius and his priestess shared a devious mind. Just last week Senator Thraex suffered an apoplexy while he indulged in his whores and had since passed away. The Emperor has been steadily introducing legislature that cut into the power of the Praetorian Guards, and levied higher taxes based on income. 

Their mutual friend Ravi had leveraged her extensive information network to benefit the new Emperor who kept a very close eye on many restless Praetorian Guards and Senators. Any voices of dissent were swiftly nipped in the bud. But Thraex had been correct about one thing, politics did follow power; after an example or two, all other senators had fallen in line. 

Ravi, too, had received a letter from his priestess. Lucilla, as well, who had been tasked with continuing his priestess’ efforts to educate the poorest children of Rome. She had left letters for Publius, for the Vestals, for her servants, for employees, for clients, for friends, for whores— even for Fortuna, Macrinus’ former slave. 

There were letters for everyone but him. And that fact bothered him like a speck of dust in his eye he was unable to remove. He would sometimes wonder if she had cared so little for him, but he knew that was not the case. The absence of a letter for him, when everyone had received one, had felt like a purposeful slight and that thought hurt more. He had not known his anaticula to be so cruel. Which only meant she had been upset with him for not remembering her— for not recognising her. 

After a particularly restless but clear night, when he had felt like smoke had diffused into his every breath, and when pacing along the roads of Rome had not worked, Acacius had found himself on the doors of the Temple of Vesta. He had made every little Vestal acolyte read aloud their letters from her. One of those girls had the eyes the same colour as his priestess. He had to leave because he couldn’t bear looking at her. He had dreamt of her giving him daughters that took after her. 

“You should join us for the festival in a few days,” Lucilla continued explaining her planning for the festival. He appreciated her kindness, truly; he could understand she was trying to be there for him. After all, they had grieved Maximus together. But she would never be able to grieve for his priestess with him— she didn’t know her. After Maximus, Lucilla had her son to live for, and Rome to live for. He had nothing. He was not going to that festival, he couldn’t stand to be in a room full of people who didn’t know her— who didn’t speak of her. He felt too raw and vulnerable to be around those who were celebrating and making merry.

They shouldn’t worry, he wanted to say as much, but the words felt futile because he knew they would worry anyway, so he didn’t say them. The sun would set soon, and Acacius would go to the domus on the far side of the city and cook the food. He left the feeding part to others who could listen to the gossip, and glean important information. Acacius found his thoughts would drift out of his control, he was unable to focus on extensive conversations.

Then he would climb the mountain to watch the sunrise, he would lay on his back and reminisce about all the things he should have said to her then— informing her of his plans foremost, so she would not have… taken the drastic decision she took. He had shed countless tears into the earth of this mountain, softening it so it could engulf him, swallow him whole. And each morning the ground did not accept him, he would watch the sunrise even though its light no longer felt warm, it scratched and chafed him like dry, arid sand.

He would spend his morning training soldiers. He taught them how to march and fight. Help them with the construction of buildings, fortify city walls, and maintain the roads. There had been blissfully no wars, and what skirmishes had arisen had been dealt with diplomatically— Rome now offered people more sovereignty over their land, but still collected their tax. In the absence of war, he did woodworking. Acacius carved several idols of Vesta in her human form; they had all looked like his priestess.  

He would go to the baths then, the ones she made free for the public, to ensure they were being operated in good condition. It was by no means something she entrusted to him, but the man she had left it to was ageing and could use the muscle. As all people in their older years, this man too was prone to nostalgia and reminiscing. He would recall the glory days of his youth as a soldier, and his stories would feature his beloved pupil— a young Vestal child he taught the art of fighting. His priestess.

Then it would be evening. There was something very morose about evenings. The silence of his home gnawed at him. The grief he had veiled in the air floods out in a deluge, and the waves of time slow. Acacius would wish nothing more than to reunite with his beloved in his dreams but sleep eluded him. He wished could drown himself in drink but found that he did not like his sight blurred because then he couldn’t envision her clearly. More often than not, he would sit staring into the blazing hearth and imagine her sitting beside him. 

He could not express the injustice of it all if he tried. She was close at all times, he took her with him everywhere— nestled in his very being. Acacius belonged to her, but he would never know if she was his or not. They existed like two opposite shores of a river that do not meet— so near yet so far away. The distance, the grief, was unbearable. 

It was not that he had not considered covering that distance. It would not be too difficult to swim across the river of the dead if she were waiting for him at the bank. But… he loved her. And that was reason enough to breathe. She had not just saved him at the Colosseum, she had breathed new life into him; and now he carried a part of her within him. He could not bear for that small flame to extinguish— deprive the world of that small part of her. For decades, he had only known that world which had been darker and crueller without her.

It was not that her work, and her accomplishments, required him as champion and supporter. What she had done in life will echo in eternity. And as she had hoped for, the people rallied for their communities; new faces took her place to continue the work she had begun. He knew others would take their place in the future.

Her name still rang on their lips, there were still signs of her around him. But he knew that one day she would be forgotten. The world would move on without her and it would leave him behind with her. But he wanted to live so he could remind them of her— her light, her kindness, and her love; because he would always remember her. Acacius would never be able to breathe in a world that had forgotten her.    

“Lucius likes her brother. He wants him to join him in the city… run for senate. But the man has been resistant.” Lucilla was still talking to him. He wasn’t always this bad at listening— Acacius had always been more of a listener than a conversationalist. He stroked the soft red fabric spread over his leg; he had later learned that his priestess had spent days embroidering his cloak personally. Acacius did not dare read into the significance of the act fearing it would drive him insane. 

“Acacius… I’m talking about her eldest brother. I heard you were friends once.” Her brother? 

Instantly he felt ashamed, nervous. He had prided himself on being a man of his word but he had not kept the promise he had made to his priestess’ brother— his friend. Her family had been the only ones to welcome him with open arms when he had first come to the city in search of work. 

He remembered her father, a respected general, who had taught him honour, hard work, and valour. Acacius had been incensed when they were accused by Commodus, and heartbroken when they had to leave in disgrace. He remembered her mother; Acacius had been too self-concerned as a young man to speak to her about her work and trade. But he remembered her rose petal jam, the taste of it, the scent of which her daughter wore on her body. 

His priestess would always hide behind his legs after breaking her mother’s precious artefacts, knowing she would not be punished in the presence of a guest. Acacius would unabashedly lie for her. But he had not been treated as a guest in their home. He remembered her mother’s eyes full of admonishment and mirth, “I know the demon that has crawled out of my womb, Marcus. You’re much too sweet of a boy to destroy or break anything.” How wrong she had been, all he had done his entire life was destroy things. And he had allowed his actions to destroy her daughter too. 

He thought of her brother, one he had called brother himself. They had fought battles together; he had never had to worry about being attacked from behind knowing his friend stood at his back. His friend had never taken to bloodshed the way Acacius had; he had the cunning of a politician tempered by his kind nurturing. He had promised his friend to watch over his little priestess, they had been so worried to leave her alone in the city without friends or family. And he had not kept his promise. She had died because of him. 

“You could visit her family at their countryside villa… convince her brother to come to the city…” Lucilla left after some time without an answer from him— as was their routine. She did not need to hear the answer anyway, he would always say no. It was funny, he would have never imagined denying her several years ago. But he had been freed of his oath. 

He could never face her brother. He wouldn’t know how. But the thought of seeing him had firmly grown roots in his mind, he could not stop thinking about it. Her brother had the same eyes as her, and he just wanted a glimpse of them full of life and vitality. That night, Acacius left without informing anybody, not that there had been anyone to inform.

Acacius paused, he was a soldier. His instincts never lead him astray. They helped him survive. He had already spent several days in this town which had been both blissful and distressing. Her presence was strong here— her scent was in the air; he could sometimes hear her laughter; he would see wisps of her hair in the crowd or turning the corner; he would hear whispers of her name. It had all felt like a dull knife sawing on his heart, reminding him of the loss and grief he carried. 

But Acacius looked around him, and carefully studied his surroundings. The food stall served rose petal jam along with cheese and bread. There was a woman eating her meal; the sleeves of her tunic were tied into a more flattering shape with red wool strings. Despite their wealth, women wore their hair in much simpler coiffures. Women tended to wear their palla with intricately woven designs incorporated while the fabric was being produced on the loom; this town sported the additional fashion of embroidering over the cloth.

He made his way over to an old man sitting under a tree, unsure and hesitant about phrasing his question. Anticipation curled in his belly. But he sat there for several long seconds before clearing his throat. 

“The family that owns the land here… I heard their daughter returned.”

“Aah”—the man grinned—“You must be one of the prospective suitors.” Hope unfurled in his chest, could it be?

“Prospective suitors?” Acacius asked.

“Yes, a retired Vestal virgin with a handsome pension from the state, who wouldn’t want to marry her.” 

“She was in Rome?”

“No, no… not Rome. We heard about the Vestal they buried there. Terrible business that, killing an innocent woman for politics. This one was south of Rome, the temple in Bovillae, I think.” Acacius felt an incredulous laughter overcome him. 

“You’re in luck, all the wealthy Patricians from neighbouring territories have come down to see her… But she hasn’t taken a liking to any of them. You are handsome enough to test your mettle against her. She’s no ugly duck that one but she is not young. Men prefer younger brides…” Acacius did not stay to hear more. 

The instincts of a predator had already overcome his rationale. He stalked down the street in search of his prey. It would be easier to just show up at her estate lying in wait for her. But he had heard her laughter just around a few corners. His gait was quick and sure, she would not escape him— not now, not ever. 

Acacius was in disbelief, a muscle twitched in his cheek, he was frozen at the sight of her. There she stood under the setting sun, bathing under its glowing light tasting the food out of a pot in the cart. He had walked past that cart just a few moments ago and had not realised it had shielded her from him. His feet carried him to her involuntarily, he heard that laughter again as she nodded about something, her gaze trained on the person speaking to her. He grasped her elbow and whirled her around to face him. 

It was her. She was alive. She was alive. She was alive.

His fingers grazed her cheek, oh so gently, fearing she was a being of air and mist conjured by his dreams and hallucinations. Her skin was warm under his touch; her eyes stared up at him speechless and bewildered but alive— bright with vitality. 

He didn’t know whether it was laughter or sobs that were escaping his mouth, but even as he enfolded her in his arms, they racked through his body. He held her tighter still as she jostled in his arms because of his own heaving breaths and jagged sounds. Acacius did not relinquish his hold on her, grasping her closer to him, feeling the shape of her shoulders and the strength of her spine with trembling hands. His legs too were trembling as sheer relief flushed through his body, she braced him around his chest— holding them both up so they didn’t sink to the floor. 

He would remember to be angry at her later, but his tears soaked her clothes now. She was whispering something into his ear that he could not hear. Multiple hands were trying to pull him off her; another time he would realise how inappropriate it was for him to even touch her let alone hold her against him. But the entire Roman army could not pull him away from her now. He had forged all his strength, tenacity and ferociousness through decades of war for the sole purpose of holding on to this woman. He will not let go now that he has her again. 

Her words finally pierced through the fog surrounding his ears, “Marcus… Acacius you are hurting me…” 

He loosened his hold, just enough so that he could look down to observe her. He still kept her pressed into him; Acacius studied the contours of her face; and watched her take deep, steady breaths. She was panting with effort, her ribs struggling to expand against his own. He gave her more space within his enclosed arms, but she swayed on her feet, her hands grasped his shoulders for support, clenching his tunic in her fist. His lips lingered over her brow and temple, firmly kissing her, uncaring of the crowd that had formed around them.

“Step aside… give way, step aside.” 

His priestess flung away from him at the new voice, turning around to face the intruder. 

“Brother…”

Acacius looked at the man as he dispersed the crowd and sent them back to their jobs. The years had been kind to his friend, he looked fit and healthy, his skin flushed bronze from work under the sun, his hands still strong and powerful.

“He thought I was someone else.” His priestess explained without having been questioned. The sardonic stare his brother levelled at the distance between them, Acacius knew he didn’t believe her. And Acacius would not corroborate her lies. 

He stepped away from her anyway, part in acquiescence with his pointed stare; but mostly so that when he chose to hit him for taking liberties with his sister, his priestess wouldn’t be accidentally hurt. But instead of the blow he had braced for, his friend engulfed him in a warm, welcoming embrace with several hearty pats on the back. 

“We just got our sister back, Marcus. Have you come to take her away from us so soon? You must know we will not easily hand her over to you.” Her brother spoke over his shoulder. Acacius struggled to make sense of his words. Regardless, if they did not want to give his priestess to him, he would make peace with living at their doorstep like a pet dog just to be close to her. There was no getting rid of him now. His friend released him with a firm grasp on his arms. 

“There will be no handing me over to anybody… I have considered renewing my vows with the Temple of Vesta.” His priestess primly interrupted, before leaving him staring behind her agape. 

“Seems like you’ve upset her, Marcus.” His friend was having fun at his expense. 

The dinner had been sadly oppressive. It wasn’t his host’s fault; they had all been enthusiastic in their welcome, and the conversation had flowed smoothly. Tears had stung his eyes, his nose had burned when he had met his mentor; the man was still strong for his age, jovial too. Acacius had been ungrateful for severing his connection with the man who had shaped him. He also wondered when he could start pleading and begging for their forgiveness for not having protected their daughter. But they had surprised him by tearfully thanking him. 

Things had all gone downhill from there. He was tongue-tied, ashamed and lost. His priestess had lied to her family and had credited him for rescuing her. She would not meet his gaze the entire time. He had wanted to burst out the truth, Acacius was neither familiar nor comfortable with lies. Every time he had tried, she had spoken up to guide the conversation elsewhere. He couldn’t eat, his palms felt clammy and his skin crawled with anxiety until he had worked himself up into a temper.

He had come to several infuriating realisations when he had later found his priestess reposed over a bench admiring the moon, “Where you ever going to tell me?” His voice thundered through the garden. 

She appeared unphased at his outburst, “General Acacius.” She had called him Marcus when he had found her.

“How many people know?” He choked on his words, he could not shake off the feeling of betrayal that coated his chest.

“Know what?” Her tone was mild as if they were discussing the weather. He scoffed.  

“Oh. Not many, but they all will eventually. Since I am still in trade.” 

“Why”—his voice broke—“Would you do this? I had promised to rescue you. I would’ve come for you.” Acacius took several deep breaths in the silence between them, shoving his sobs back down his throat. She was never going to tell him that she was alive.

“I was just tying up loose ends.” 

“Loose—” He laughed this time, loud and scornful. Loose ends? Did she not realise he was the loose end? His heart was a loose end?

“But I came for you.” His voice was small and vulnerable— it expressed the injustice he felt. But the placid, distant way she looked at him made him feel like had no right to object to how she had wounded him. 

“I’m sorry it was done that way.” There was not a hint of regret in her voice, just endless politeness that was driving him crazy— it made his jaw clench and teeth itch.

“Why tell your family I rescued you?” He demanded. 

“Because you made plans for it. I appreciate your attempt at rescuing me, it would have worked had I not made my own arrangements.” Acacius paced the short length of his garden, her eyes followed his form curiously but tentatively. 

“You do not need to worry about it,” she continued, “I saved your life at the Colosseum. And you made plans to save mine. Consider your debt to me repaid.”

He whirled around to face her, “Is that what you think this is? Agony over a life debt?”

“Well, of course.” She genuinely looked confused.   

“So why do it? If you knew I would worry over a life debt, why make me believe you were dead? Why go with your arrangements? Why did you not wait for me? Why not trust me?” His words were rushed and frenzied. There was an angry fervour to them which made her flinch back and stare at him like he was an animal that would pounce on her. 

Acacius abruptly put distance between them, he had enjoyed that fear in the eyes of his enemy, but he could not bear for her to look at him thus. He tried to rein in his temper, she was inexperienced in the ways of love, and she probably didn’t even know what he felt for her. His priestess had spent so many years alone, protecting herself and others with nobody to depend on. It must have been difficult for her to trust someone else to come to her rescue.

“No, you could not have saved me.” Her words were heavy with meaning. He believed the moonlight was playing tricks on him, her eyes could not look so cold, dark and lifeless. Acacius felt an urgency course through his veins, and sweat broke out against his back. She seemed so far away like she could slip from between his fingers again. Just as he moved to grasp her arm, her eyes met him in a hard, contemptuous stare; the polite smile on her lips was disingenuous and false.   

“You would have forgotten about me. The moment I disappeared from your sight, you would have forgotten about me. That is how it has always been between us… it is how it will always be.” She had delivered the words with such certainty that they lingered in the air, suffocating him, long after she had bid him goodnight in that same soft, placating tone. 

“Acacius?”

Her father stood behind a column, and Acacius spun to face him— flustered, embarrassed and entirely overwrought. He did not have any more conversation or niceties left in him. When had the man snuck up on him? How long had he been standing there?

“Join me for a drink, Acacius.” He had no choice but to follow.

He poured him a drink of wine, as both men sat facing the hearth. A large painting hung over the fireplace, it was his priestess’ mother. She had her mother’s eyes and colouring.

“The thing about brilliant women, Acacius, is that their mere memory could sustain you for a lifetime. Do you not agree?” And Acacius sighed with relief— because he knew. Her father knew that he had not saved her. 

“I agree,” He whispered. 

The older man gave him a kind smile, “How long do you plan to stay with us?” 

He knew the question demanded a different answer. This was no host making living arrangements, this was a father asking Acacius what his intentions were for his daughter. There was much he could tell him, that he loved her, cared for her— every day without her was a struggle for survival that exhausted him like he had fought an entire battle when he had not even stood from his seat. But the words stuck to the roof of his mouth along with his tongue. She deserved to hear these words from him before anyone else. 

“I am sorry… for not protecting her—”

“It’s not what I asked. I cannot blame you for not protecting her when I have failed to, as well. I know how it hurts to let her down, Marcus. And I am her father.” There was a charged silence between them before the older man sniffed into his drink. 

“She used to send us these letters through her tutors. Desperately begging us to take her home, she would never say what was wrong… nobody could tell what was wrong. Her mother and I worried, but we always told her to be strong… You couldn’t imagine the horror we felt when we found out she had poisoned the Pontifex Maximus, what had pushed a child to such extents… she never sent us letters again, unless we wrote to her first. Never asked for help. I was surprised she came home honestly, grateful, but surprised.” 

Acacius felt a stone lodge in his throat; worry and fear warred within him. She had needed a protector, he was supposed to have been there… He calmed his twitching fingers by pressing them to his thigh, hoping to ease the uneasiness in him. He remembered the previous Pontifex Maximus, the man had barred him from seeing his priestess because she had been too busy playing by the sacred springs. He bit the inside of his cheek in realisation that he had been lied to, he had gone home content to know she had made new friends, and was enjoying herself in the temple. He had believed that monster. 

“She dug under the walls, you know?” The man looked smug and proud.

“She paid her men to dig from outside the city walls, tunnel under it to reach the crypt. Thank you for leaving her those extra supplies, she had needed them”—her father raised his glass at him in salute and gratitude—“she had to break the mud bricks lining the inside of the crypt to access the tunnel.” 

“I had to send one of my men to fill the tunnel again to fortify the city’s defences.” He informed Acacius with a sigh.

“I had promised to visit her often and watch over her… I am sorry for not keeping that promise.” Shame coloured his voice, it came out so low that he was afraid the older man would not have heard him. 

“We do not blame you, Marcus. The politics at the time had been… murderous. As a general, I understand. As a father, I will say that my daughter deserves to hear that apology. She always looked at you with hero-worship in her eyes, even when you were nothing more than a young inexperienced boy who didn’t deserve to be called a soldier.” 

Acacius smiled at the memory of her large, twinkly-eyed smile, she had always depended on him— trusted him. It would have hurt her more for him to not have been there for her when she needed him. 

“She will forgive you, I know. Maybe she already has. My daughter wrote the most colourful letters describing your ascent in the military. Nobody was prouder than her. So were we, I hope you know. My wife and I relished every news we heard of you— well— except for your marriage that is.” 

Marcus felt his eyebrows rise in surprise as he shared a laugh with his mentor. He had not realised they would follow his career and life so closely. 

“Her mother was so angry when you had married. She almost beat me up while we were sparring. Blamed me for stubbornly ruining things… If she had her way, she would have foisted our daughter on you as soon as she had turned seven, she would say to me”—His voice took on a higher pitch and an accented lilt to mimic his late wife—“you don’t understand, old man. I have travelled the world. I know a good man when I see one. This one is a diamond in the rough, you will never find someone better for our daughter.” 

Marcus felt humbled, a warm glow spread across his chest. He had been nothing then, he had nothing with which they could trust him with their daughter. But their confidence in him was sobering. 

“You do not have to tell me how you feel about my daughter, Marcus. The truth pours from your eyes. You have never been one for schemes and lies.”

You carefully peel the outer petals of the bloom before arranging it again in the vase; it instantly looks fuller against its companions. You heard the door shut behind you, it was probably someone who collected your empty breakfast tray. Someone cleared their throat, someone with a voice so deep it sent a girlish thrill through you. But you were far too embarrassed to face him this morning. It was best to get this over with as fast as possible. 

Marcus. He looked at home in his soft tunic and wool toga, and briefly, you hated that he still looked so comfortable when he had you so unsettled since yesterday. You gave him what you hoped was a gentle smile and not the grimace you were desperately trying to contain. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

You both spoke at once. You couldn’t help but give an answering smile to his amused one. 

“I’m sorry about last night,” you decided to lead, “it was wrong of me to question your honour. I know you would have come to rescue me. But I am used to depending on myself.” 

“And I am sorry that I never visited you at the Temple. I should have been there to lend my protection when you had required it. I know you are more than capable of protecting yourself, but you should not have had to.” He sounded so earnest. 

“It is not your fault, Marcus. You were still a child yourself, and away at war for most of the time. Commodus was also purging those loyal to his father at the time. And with you fighting under Maximus then. Helping this family’s daughter would have just unnecessarily made you an eyesore.”  

He was silent for a while as if considering his next words, he cleared his throat again, “Last night… I spoke to your father. And I expressed my interest in you— marrying you.” 

You blinked in shock, it would have been more believable if he had told you the clouds were green today, and the heavens brown. An incredulous laugh builds in your chest as you realise he is entirely serious. “No.” It was all you said, all you could manage. And it had taken all your strength to say it, you had fought every dream and every instinct to deny him. 

“Why not?” He asked so gently. 

The truth was that you loved him, more than he could ever love you. And if you were to marry him, you would waste no effort in making him love you. But if he didn’t love you then you would grow to resent your marriage because you would be trapped in an endless cycle of begging for his attention and affection then feeling lonely and bereft at the lack of it. Eventually, you would wither away from the loneliness in a marriage to a man who loved another.

You gave him an excuse that was part truth and part lie, “Because we do not love each other, Acacius.” I love you, so much. You do not love me.

“But I love you.” 

For a brief horrible moment, you think the words had slipped past your lips— that your mind had finally tired of keeping it a secret and shoved it out of your mouth. But as you looked at him, standing there with his brows furrowed over hesitant, pleading eyes, you realised he had said it. Acacius said he loves you… He loves you? 

“Of course, I know. You have always loved me… but brotherly affection cannot sustain a marriage.” He didn’t need to go so far as to marry you to compensate for whatever way he imagined he had failed you and your family. Because that could be the only reason for marrying you. Anger curled in your belly, blistering and ravenous, did he truly believe you would settle for his marriage of duty and honour… after you had loved him for so long?

He was slowly stalking towards you, as if you were some spooked little animal he did not wish to alarm. He weaved around the table and the sofa, and you took a step back with every forward step of his until your back touched the wall behind you. 

“You love Lady Lucilla.” You tightly remind him, he had said as much in the arena that day as well. 

“Ah, yes, but brotherly affection cannot sustain a marriage.” He had a teasing glint in his eye that only infuriated you further. He stepped even closer, his hand clasped the side of your waist; you squirmed away from his touch— it was overwhelming. Did he enjoy being cruel to you?

You had never felt so angry at someone and noticed how beautiful they were at the same time. He was infuriatingly perfect— even with all his little imperfections; you adored the enraging way his left eyelid drooped ever so slightly more over his eye than the other, the creases across his forehead, and the crevices formed around his eyes. 

“Do you think I am stupid?” You hissed at him as you fiercely shoved against him. But the bull of a man he was, Acacius didn’t budge at all. Damn him.

His fingers gripped into the softness of your belly, and he pulled you against him until your chest touched his. His other hand came up to roughly tangle with the braids and coils in your hair. He firmly pulled your head back, exposing your neck to him. It made you feel far too vulnerable, he could see the wild beating of your pulse on the side of your throat. He could probably feel the tiny shivers of anticipation racing across your spine.   

“No… I do not think you are stupid.” He whispered, his breath teasing across your lips.

“You”—you were mincing the words in your mouth before they came out—“you… arrogant, stupid, self-centred, BASTARD!” You had shoved against him again, mixing physical strikes with the verbal ones. You clenched your fists and rained blows over his chest and arms. He absorbed the force of your hits as if he couldn’t even feel them. It only made you struggle harder in his hold. 

“No doubt, I am all those things… but tell me why you think so, anaticula.” He sighed his endearment against your throat, his lips brushed your jaw. You flung your head to the side, hitting his nose with your jaw. You paused, panting with effort, and watched him twitch his nose and flare his nostrils to check the damage of your hit. 

“Tell me.” He demanded once he believed his nose was alright. 

Your face contorted into a scowl of rage, lips trembling with the pain you held inside. His hand receded from your hair to cup your neck. Acacius brought his thumb to gently massage the side of your jaw you had hit him with, his gaze on you intent and focused. It seemed he was reading your every fleeting thought and wavering expression. Helpless, resentful tears streamed down your face, they scalded your cheeks. 

You could not possibly bear his gentleness right now; you had used all your strength and courage to leave him behind in Rome, and then again just now to seemingly deny him your hand in marriage. You were weak, your soul fragile— you could not barricade him out of your heart for too long. You summoned the last of your strength. Your hands found purchase on his shoulders and you leveraged their steadiness to fling yourself up and savagely bite his ear. 

He reared back, pulling his ear out of your mouth before you could painfully bite down. He laughed, wild and free, as he squeezed the back of your neck to shove your face in his chest. He pulled the both of you off the wall, while you fought him with flailing arms and legs. Your foot caught his shin with a dull thud, you heard him grunt in pain. Acacius threw you on the seat of the sofa, knocking the wind out of you. 

You gasped for breath while he stood over you, but you were not silent for long. You lunged for him again, screaming long and loud, uncaring of who heard you in your home. In a swift, smooth movement, he had you pinned down under him, his legs pressed down on yours preventing them from moving, your wrists were grasped in each of his hands, and Acacius pushed down his weight on you effectively cutting off both your screams and your breath.

Somebody furiously pounded on the door of your office, “General Acacius! My Lady!” 

Acacius shouted at them to go away while he finally shifted some of his weight to his elbows. You tilted your chin up to take large, gulping breaths of air. 

“If anyone opens that door, they will face my blade, do you hear?” His threat was ironclad; his voice— deep and hoarse. This must be what he sounds like in battle. The thought sent a pleasurable little current straight between your legs. You were embarrassed to feel your nipples tighten under your tunic. Please, please don’t notice them. 

He did not take his eyes off your face, and the footsteps finally receded from the door. A tiny voice in the back of your mind panicked that the servant would return with your brother or, Dear Gods, your father; you would be caught with Acacius on top of you. You continued your struggle against him much more silently but with newfound vigour, arching and turning into him to throw his weight off you and onto the floor next to the sofa. 

Acacius shocked you into stillness by licking a wet, long stripe across your cheek and tasting your tears. He looked at you with wild, overbright eyes. His grip on your wrists was beginning to ache. 

“Stop struggling, you will hurt yourself, dulcissima.” Even though he spoke slowly, his voice sounded otherworldly, like he was possessed by some crazed, bloodthirsty spirit. 

His grin was savage and predatory. “Tell me.” He commanded again. 

You laughed hysterically, no doubt surprising him, bending your wrists in his grip to scratch your nails against his hand.

“I saw you,” you viciously informed him, “I saw you take that stupid oath to protect her and her child. I saw you marry her.”

Your chest heaved, touching his with every breath, the contact far too sensuous on your oversensitive skin. You had no more tears left, the last of them were drying on your cheeks. But the rage, the frustration, the pain still churned in you— they overwhelmed you, burned you alive. 

“I have watched you for years!” You sobbed, “And you never saw me…”

It was as if the dam had broken with this one little truth; everything you had hidden and suppressed gushed forth with vengeance. 

“I see you now.” He said. Damn you. 

“You didn’t even know my name.” You shouted once more.

Acacius bit the uppermost swell of your breast, leaving indents of his teeth. A broken, keening sound left you and you arched into his mouth. When had he untied your tunic?

“I know your name now.” He swiped his tongue over the teeth marks he left.

“You…”—you swallowed another moan—“you didn’t even remember me. You forgot I existed.” All coherent thoughts had left your mind, you continued to mindlessly thrash against him, throwing your bitterness and aggravation at his body.

“I remember you now.”

Acacius leaned away and slid down your body, you nearly wept at the loss of him. His hands were rough and warm against your thighs; he had lifted both your tunic and stola until they bunched around your hips. He guided your foot over the back of the sofa where it limply hung in shock. He grasped the other foot under your knees and spread you open to his eyes. There was a mortifyingly wet sound at the movement; you could feel a slick moisture coating the inside of your thighs.

You struggled to cover yourself again, trying to pull your clothes down over the most intimate part of you. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t Acacius— Acacius would never do this. He would never take your virginity and deprive you of a choice in your marriage. Desperation burned in your throat. And you resorted to one final act of protest. Your hand reached up to soundly smack against his face. 

There was a stinging current in your palm from the impact. A redness bloomed on his cheek, along with an imprint of your hand. You began to regret your choice of action at the sight of his marred face. For several long moments, Acacius was frozen with his head still whipped away from your strike. You anxiously waited for a reaction, forgetting to even right your clothes. 

He slowly turned around to face you again, and gently clasped the hand that had him. He frowned at the redness of your palm before tenderly pressing his lips to the warm centre of it while giving you a reprimanding look through his lashes. He massaged and caressed your palms before interlocking your fingers with his.

Just as you had thought the storm had passed, Acacius swooped down in a swift and urgent motion. His jaw stretched, and the hot cavern of his mouth entirely covered your dripping sex. His tongue started flat against the base of you, between the cheeks of your arse and dangerously close to another hole farther down. It licked a strong swipe between the folds, scratching past the pert bud of nerves on the way to the very apex of her where short hairs curled. You arched into his mouth, quite incapable of sound as your belly contracted with the shock. Your eyes rolled back in your head and fell close until all you could do was feel. 

There was a difference between innocence and ignorance; you had spent enough time with whores on the street to know what sexual congress between two people looked like. But they had failed to inform you of this…

He was tasting you, slow and intimate, as if he had all the time in the world. Each stroke elicited a different sound from you, he perused your reactions to him to draw forth more of your pleasure. His tongue circled the throbbing bundle of nerves sitting at the top of your slit before enclosing his mouth on it and he sucked. You rocked your pelvis into his face to ease the tension building at its spine.

Acacius dragged and pulled on that bit of flesh in his mouth, rolling it between his lips and tongue. You were quivering under him, his hands found your hips and pressed them back down into the seat under you. You felt his teeth graze over that sensitive bud as he nibbled on it. The tension snapped, and an intense white heat spread from your centre until you saw stars behind your eyes. You came, shuddering with the force of pleasure; every nerve felt alive. The loud wails and moans escaping your mouth broke on the need for you to gasp at the intensity. You had forgotten how to breathe.

He was still licking into your folds with devastating accuracy, coaxing more tremors from your body as he cleaned up your release with his tongue. Acacius pressed his tongue deeper into you, barging inside where your flesh was still contracting and releasing. You clenched over the sudden intrusion and… Dear Gods, Acacius was trembling between your legs. A low groan rose from deep within his chest and disappeared into the fluttering walls of your cunt. It was an intoxicating thrill, to know you could provoke such a response in the usually steadfast and composed man like him. 

You waited, limp in the pool of pleasure and warm relief, for Acacius to resurface between your legs. There was a thin, silvery string that still connected his shiny, wet lips to your opening. He licked his lips regretfully, no doubt tasting you, his eyes voraciously trained on your pussy. His head bent down again, and you thought he might repeat his actions. Any resistance you might have had was already melted away from your body. 

But his eyes flickered up to the door, hearing something you could not hear over the rush of blood and ringing in your ears. His shoulders slumped in defeat against your legs. And he pressed a reverent kiss against that sensitive and raw piece of flesh that made you twitch under him again. He looked down at your wanton form, thighs spread wide open for him in invitation, gaze half-lidded and enticingly parted lips. 

There was a rightness that enveloped you as Acacius consolingly kissed inside your knee as he pulled your leg from the back of the sofa. There was… a new awareness, a new yearning as he helped you sit up and pulled your clothes back down your legs. You watched him, fascinated, as he fruitlessly fussed over your hair to fix your coiffure before settling to tuck the loose strands of hair behind your ear. 

He kneeled by your feet. His large hands firmly stroking your thighs over your clothes, it sent another pleasurable thrill down your spine. Acacius reached for his toga that he had abandoned on the floor in your struggle, wrapping the cloth around him and draping it to cover the insistent bulge pushing forth below his torse— you caught a wet patch staining his tunic before you averted your eyes. Your mind configured lewd images of what the whores had taught you, but it was Acacius… Acacius inside you, inside your mouth. His hands came to rest on your knees as he sighed your name. 

“I cannot change the past dulcissima.” The man was obscene. His tongue flicked over the side of his lips to taste you as he called you dulcissima— as if you truly did taste sweet.

“But I can promise you now that I will never have another woman except you in my lifetime— even if you refuse a marriage to me. You are everything I want. You are all I see now.” His eyes were earnest and sincere. 

You looked down at where his hands were clutching onto your knees, his grip betrayed the anxiety and nervousness he felt in the moment. But you were distracted. His hands had new scars. They sprawled over his hands, some of them flat and lighter in colour, others puckered and slightly red. Your nails had scratched into the thin skin of his scars and drawn blood; you gently and apologetically grazed over his wounds before coaxing them around to see his palm. The skin of his palms was coarse, new callouses had formed over abrasions. 

“What happened to your hands?” Your question was whispered into the skin of his palm as you imitated the kiss he had given your palm just earlier. 

“Nothing.” His voice was deeper, lower in octave, you could sense the emotions he was trying to bury. The scars weren’t nothing if he wasn’t able to tell you how he got them. These weren’t the callouses one got from holding a sword or weapon. One of his fingers sat at an odd angle like it had been broken and then fixed. 

A suspicion arose in your mind, “What did you mean last night when you said that you had come for me?” 

He did not answer you, he did not need to. Acacius was a man of his word, nobody could have stopped him from digging you out. 

“But I made a show of drinking poison. They must have told you.” He harshly gulped, his jaw twitching before he gave you a soft smile. His hands climbed from your thighs to hold your waist while he leaned up on his knees to give you a chaste kiss on the lips. It was nothing more than a press of two warm lips but it made a current run through your veins. You were going to marry this stupid honourable man who had fought over your grave to pull you out. 

“I love you.” You finally told him. A wave of joy and euphoria overwhelmed you. 

“I love you, too.” You giggled at his admission, still in disbelief. 

You leaned down towards his face, Acacius turned his head to catch your lips but you jerked your head back from his. You both watched each other, and you admired his features again as he acquiesced to your silent demand to turn his face forward again; he watched your movements out of the corner of his eye. 

You lined your cheek to Acacius’ jaw and in a fluid, cat-like movement rubbed yourself against him until the bristles of his beard scratched all the way down your neck and to your shoulder. You gasped at the delicious scraping sensation on your skin that sent a jolt of pressure to your nipples, through your belly and between your thighs. He huffed a small, amused laugh at your actions. 

“Never known what beards felt like… thought they’d be softer— like fur.” You explained, eyes still coloured with lust.

“Should I shave mine off?” He teased.  

There was a spot just to the side of your folds, inside your right thigh, that was still vaguely itchy and burning, his beard had rubbed that patch of skin raw. You looked down at him, dark and forbidding. 

“I will never marry you if you shave it off.” You threatened. 

The door of the office flung open; you and Acacius scampered away from each other. Your father and brother stood by the entrance looking livid as their eyes studied the both of you. Oh dear. You stood to say something in Acacius’ defence, but your brother turned to you with an accusing glare. 

“Why would you do this to him? You cannot act like a savage animal in this civilised home!” You gasped, affronted and shocked, looking to your father to rein in his son. 

“Really, anaticula, look at the state of him. What did you do to him? How will we ever find you a husband?” What did you do to him? You should be asking what HE did to ME! 

You looked at Acacius. There was a clear imprint of your hand on the side of his face. You noticed with a wince that blood had dried near his ear, had you truly bit him that hard? His hands were also bloodied from your scratches. Very well, he looked like he had been mauled. It wasn’t fair at all, you were incensed at being unable to defend yourself. Even more so when you realised his shoulders were shaking from laughter.

“About the husband… I have just asked your daughter if she would marry me.” All three men turned to look at you. And you only had your eyes on one of them. Acacius looked… happy. His eyes were warm, twinkling with delight and contentment. He looked like a man in love. He was in love with you. 

“Well… you haven’t exactly asked.” You still replied petulantly. Both your father and your brother whipped around to look at Acacius whose gaze on you was affectionate and devout. The smile gracing his lips made him look boyishly young. 

“Anaticula, I find myself hopelessly and irrevocably in love with you. I know I have made you wait for far too long”—you both swallowed the emotions clogging your throat at the moment—“but will you please reach into your endless reserves of mercy and deign me worthy of marriage to you?” 

You laughed through your tears, the words were so unlike Acacius that you could see him physically searching for them in his mind. 

“Very well, but only because you begged so prettily.” You knew you would pay for your words later when lustful heat flashed past his eyes. But for now, you were drawn into each other’s arms again— as it was always meant to be.    

INDEX A/N: I hope you guys had fun reading that last smut hehe. I enjoyed writing it, it's inspired by this romance novel I read during COVID (can't remember the name or the author) and I remember the heroine fighting the hero because the hero was a manwhore and she was like 'You never noticed me!' and he was all like 'I see you now.'

[postsforposting]

at the altar

previously i had thought there were only two weddings: the van and the reactor. however. there are four weddings and a funeral. because finding true love is hard, and the support of "friends" is essential. the movie has four "successful" weddings, one aborted wedding, and one funeral. the "successful" weddings all end in divorce. the funeral is for the partner of a gay man, but as this is during 1990s UK, they were not allowed to legally marry. it is explicitly said that they were "as a married couple". this funeral depicts "true love", but it's not "lasting" due to death. the one lasting, successful couple explicitly refuse to get married, and they are the only ones who have a family in the end.

the idea is that a "real wedding" cannot stand in for or replace real love and commitment. every single "real" wedding failed. in a line: beating out death--life after death--gives you forever, and no wedding gives you true love. in two senses: weddings literally don't replace love, and the lack of a wedding is defined as true love.

in dpw, there is no real wedding.

there is one failed funeral, in the reactor when everyone thinks they're dead. being joined in death is the only way to find forever; being joined in life is the only way to find love. to love forever, you must stand under god as one, reach forever by pledging yourselves "to death", and rise again together.

in biblical numerology, four represents stability and "freshness", aka "getting fresh" with each other in the sense of both insults and sex. insults, after all, get personal. character assassination is just a little ribbing joke between friends in this franchise. that's why there's four, and why they trade off roles.

wedding one:

in the movie Four Weddings and Funeral, there are actually five weddings held. the one that isn't counted as a "finished" wedding is where doubts were expressed during the ceremony that the groom loves someone else, and the bride dumps the groom at the altar.

wade dumps wolvie on the floor at paradox's altar after walking down the aisle with him.

paradox refuses to accept wade's proposal.

unlike in FWF, wade dumping wolvie wasn't about rejection. it was giving him a choice about whether he wanted to go through with this--to say "i do". he gets up and follows wade to "hell" of his own volition. for better and worse, right? they're joining at a low point because if you can't take him at his worst, you don't deserve to be his "best friend". this goes for deadpool and "worst" wolvie equally.

the "funeral" in this scene is paradox refusing to halt the death of the universe, insisting that everyone is going die eventually and there's nothing to be done about it. being sent to hell is also a literal death sentence, because no one is supposed to come back: it's forever.

this is an "aborted" wedding and a symbolic death, no funeral. wade pledged first but logan came right after.

wedding two:

the van. they make it to the altar, veil of seatbelts and all, but get driven away. they were dying to get there, too. what a shame.

a bower is both a wedding arch and a shady place under the trees. that's why they stop in the forest. they lay together, but not as one before the altar--no handholding here. they also didn't even get to the removal of the veil.

wedding three:

jumping into the marvel sparkle circle under the eyes of cassandra.

......jumping a "bundle of sticks" to a golden ring in the eyes of god.

while alioth, personification of death, is just a tick too late. not even the threat of death kept them from the altar. they weren't standing as one, together, though, so it's not a proper wedding.

in this one, logan wins the race: he falls first, and harder.

wedding four:

the reactor. down on their knees standing together under god: that's going to church. logan is the bride whose veil gets blown off.

it was supposed to be a funeral. paradox even gave them a eulogy. death did happen, and they thought it would last forever this time. but then they started a new life together, as one: marriage. they even said, repeatedly, "it should be me"-->"i want to be there for you"-->"i do". it could be read as both of them objecting that "you deserve better" while replying "but you're the one i want".

wade got to the altar first. even though it took logan longer to get there, he went at it harder.

this is the only wedding they got the whole way through, with all the necessary bits, and the only funeral. but it also wasn't a real wedding and the funeral didn't stick: that's how you get real forever love with four weddings and a funeral.

[yannaryartside]

Sydney and the bear

Is the bear doomed? Is relaying on Syd actually holding Carmy back?

Maybe a controversial opinion

The reason I thought that it would be better for Syd to leave the bear is because there is a part of me that thinks that restaurant is not the place for her to be what she is destined to be. It is a place for Carmen, and that’s the reason he has insisted on not letting her ideas take place (even if he doesn’t ir subconsciously). The bear is his beast to control and heal.

The bear (restaurant) is kind of a haunted house. Cicero mentioned in s1 that just being in the building making him have bad thoughts. Carmy has hallucinated burning the place down, Richie and Mickey had a running joke about actually burning it down. The test to make sure that didn’t happen was a big plot point in s2.

In s3, while Carmy is setting the restaurant, putting everything in place, stocking books, he literally brings Mickeys ghost back in order to defend his vision of his dream, a dream they were supposed to share.

The bear is the place carmy is using to resolve his trauma and grief, and yet is the place where the frezzer is located, the metaphorical cage of s3. Is literally a simulator of Carmy’s inner world, his dreams, his sorrow, his people, the love of her life (Sydney) is presented in him 24/7. But it may also be too haunted.

I would like it to be a place that can nurture new life, a garden for everyone to grow, and not just dead ground. There is a reason Sydney’s ideas had not being able to grow properly, because the ground is so poisoned by Carmy’s trauma he doesn’t know how to remove the dead ground and replace it with a fertil one.

So yeah I would like for Carmen to be a better gardener but maybe we just need to restart in another place. Maybe the bear is just the version of himself Carmy is limiting himself to be. I would even find poetic if the pace ends up burning up as an answer to the money trap Cicero got himself into.

Syd may need to find her own ground someplace before Carmy and her can cultivate in actual equal ground.

Edit: my biggest concern

Is relaying on Sydney preventing Carmy to take responsibility for his trauma, aka the Bear ?

Sydney was the one that was able to make the team follow the brigade regimen. Her risotto dish warded them the only good review the restaurant has earned till present day. In s2 she leaded the renovations with Nat, while Carmy was messing around with Claire.

Then in s3 she was the super glue keeping the staff and the operations in as good as shape as it was possible. The literal moment carmy actually took charge of the Bear, it was only to steal them in the direction of chaos.

When Carmy say “I couldn’t do this without you” it was no my just a sentiment.

There is an argument to say that she the perpetual crutches of a person that refuses to understand they cannot move forward. Maybe Carmy only would look at his wound after Sydney is not there to keep things functioning.

[jayceshammer]

The subtext in Jayvik

We see this eerie scene with Viktor showing Jayce his accomplishments, in a way, inviting him in.

We get this look:

I'd argue Viktor still had faith in Jayce at this moment. He seems rather surprised that Jayce is actually going to take the hit, based on his eyes's expression. I’d also say that, from Viktor’s point of view, it’s almost a rejection. He expresses his “affection” towards his partner, they diverge paths and suddenly his ex partner comes back to pull the trigger on him. In my opinion, he didn’t think Jayce would attack them because he believed their personal bond would prevent such a thing.

We get Jayce's line of dialogue: "I won't fail, I swear it"; which we know later is another promise to Viktor.

While he shoots, we can see him struggling with his actions, visibly reluctant to face what he's doing. We also hear Viktor’s breath catch, which signals his surprise, yet again.

We can attest Jayce's remorse after the act:

And, finally, we get Viktor's speech:

"I understand now. The message hidden within the pattern. The reason for our failures in the commune. The doctor was right. It's inescapable. Humanity. Our very essence, our emotions. Rage. Compassion. Hate. Two sides of the same coin. Inextricably bound. That which inspires us to our greatest good is also the cause of our greatest evil"

Someone pointed out that this is a turning point for Viktor's character, since he recognizes that there's no real choice. The human pattern of emotion constantly defies pure logic. Even if you have autonomy, individuals are inherently bound by the society they live in and the actions of others, which cannot be controlled. This is proven by Jayce's attempt to kill Viktor, the catalyst for his transformation. From this moment on, Viktor concludes that the only path to true equality is to remove individual choice, creating a perfect society where everyone is one.

Episode 7

Summary

Jayce is transported to an alternate dimension, a future where Hextech has completely corrupted the world and everyone is dead (including himself). He hurts his leg and is stuck some time in a cave until he can finally get out and meet the mage who saved him as a child. After speaking, the mage sends him back to his original dimension.

Scenes

Again, Viktor and Jayce don't really interact as much. However, there are a few things that stand out from the episode.

Jayce's leg symbolism

After Jayce breaks his leg, he ends up trapped in a cave, where he is forced to survive on his own. Some have pointed out that it's interesting, given how also Jayce and VIktor are two sides of the same coin, that he broke his leg. He can now understand Viktor's pain when it comes to his disability, and he symbolically and literally needs to climb out of the cave to get to the top (which mirrors Viktor's ascent from Zaun to Piltover). 

He also hallucinates Mel and Viktor, who again parallel each other.

It's definitely an interesting choice to represent Mel being consumed by the fire only to be replaced later by Viktor. Although not inherently romantic, it could potentially symbolize how Jayce's feelings towards Viktor are changing, realizing their romantic undertones once he compares him to Mel. Viktor is literally taking Mel’s place (visually).

There's also another detail that I've noticed, which is that he doesn't hallucinate Viktor's voice while in the cave (except for a brief moment near the end). We keep getting lines of dialogue from Mel and Heimerdinger–two figures who represented opposing stances in Jayce's life. We know they were the ones who pushed him to take political decisions and placed the burden of responsibility on him. In a way, he's fostering remorse towards them as he starts spiraling, projecting the hardships of his situation onto them. Their voices represent his internalized conflicts, where he feels as though he's been manipulated, leading him to feel betrayed by both his mentors and his own desires.

We also see Jayce looking up to Viktor (the mage). Once again, Viktor is the reason why he decides to keep going, unbeknownst to him.

Once Jayce gets to his own grave, we can see that it has been taken care of by Viktor. As others have pointed out, it appears more illuminated and more “alive” than everything else we've seen in this world.

Episode 8

Summary

Viktor unites forces with Ambessa and the Doctor. He believes he can complete the doctor's transformation with Hexgate's anomaly. He agrees to empower Ambessa's soldiers in exchange for protection against Jayce. 

Jayce speaks with Mel, until Viktor appears and they fight. Viktor is much faster than Jayce, but he is able to defeat his robot with Mel’s help. Because of this, Viktor orders the Doctor to begin his process. Meanwhile, Jayce apologizes to Mel for being an asshole (his words). They have a touching scene where he comforts Mel and they part ways. 

Jayce tries convincing Zaun to join forces with Piltover against Viktor and Ambessa. Sky leaves Viktor as he evolves in his final, glorious evolution. 

Scenes

The first thing Viktor says when he wakes up after being killed by Jayce is this:

"Doctor. Your ingenuity deserves praise. I am grateful. The world I now see is more lucid than ever"

We can see how Viktor establishes a hierarchy between himself and the others, elevating himself almost to a deity figure as he becomes omnipresent, being able to control his followers however he pleases. He has taken their complete autonomy and is now convinced that they need to become one in order for the "Glorious Evolution" to take place. 

We can also attest how Sky's devotion is slowly disappearing as she realizes Viktor's lost his final piece of humanity. 

Then, we have Jayce, who appears defensive when he sees Mel in her white cloak (probably because he might associate it with Viktor's mage form). It’s definitely interesting how, yet again, Mel and Viktor parallel each other in a way. They are both mages now, and both have worn cloaks.

Upon seeing Mel, they acknowledge that they have both changed.  Shortly after, he blames her for not having saved the others during the attack.

"Why just me, why not save all of them?"

This is obviously unfair to Mel's character, since she had no control over her powers at this time and this is why he later apologizes. Regardless of that, there's now an emotional distance that can't be breached between them, given Jayce's remorse and Mel's newfound understanding of her own powers. They argue because now their goals are completely different. Jayce wants to save Piltover and rebuild peace, while Mel’s story is now centred around her identity as a mage and her ties to Noxus. She distances herself from the conflict in Piltover, but she still participates in it because she remains involved due to Ambessa. Jayce also feels used by Mel, by which he hadn't realized at the time was manipulation:

"You called us investments, you used me and Viktor"

This is a clouded judgement of his character, as we could see in past episodes that Mel did develop a genuine love towards Jayce. However, this is not enough to salvage their romantic relationship. As they argue, Jayce senses Viktor's presence in the room and he shoots at him with his hammer.

Others have mentioned that Viktor's robot's designs resemble Mel, given their colour palette and the way they move, agile and swift. They have pointed out this could be Viktor's way of trying to convince Jayce: to embody the person he thinks he loves most. Despite his attempt, it doesn't work and Viktor ultimately loses the fight.

Some lines of dialogue I thought worth paying attention to:

"Had you given me the chance, I would have shown you the merits of my work. Our work"

This is a parallel to season's 1 dialogue:

"Our Hextech dream"

In a weird way, Viktor is extending an olive branch to Jayce because he knows they will lose the fight against him. It's a matter of whether they'll fight back or resign. 

"Somehow I think you already understand what must transpire to complete my mission. I would prefer to do so in peace"

Viktor admits he himself struggled with fear while accepting the Glorious Evolution:

"In my confusion, I was unable to reconcile this. But I now understand. The Glorious Evolution is destined"

This is an attest to how he had to give up his morals from season 1 to become the Herald in this season. I believe the catalyst to his reasoning is Jayce killing him, as we see during his speech after his death. We also get this scene:

“Let us instead do this once again as partners"

"My partner died in this room”

When Viktor finally gets the chance to kill Jayce, he stutters and gets distracted. 

Finally, Jayce is saved by Mel and Viktor's current body is killed. This propels him to initiate "the process", as he tells the Doctor. I believe this is his last straw, where he realizes he can't convince Jayce to join him, so he decides to give the order. 

We also get this visual of the robot with tears in the holes of its face:

We can see this turn of events affects Viktor deeply, as he's panting. Although Sky tries to comfort him, it's too late.

Parts | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |

[thunderstomm]

HWLR: Race Suit Design Concepts !

I did something similar to this around the start of the year when s1 released, but over time, and with the second season releasing, I found myself liking those designs less, and the direction of making them all look very uniform. So I went back to the drawing board, and designed these! I love the idea of everyone getting their own race suits, and the reflection of progression from “protégés” to “professionals” it could represent.

If I was to give an “in-universe” explanation for the change, I would have them be a parting gift of sorts from the Ultimate Garage to each of the six campers! Each of the designs were done by the campers or include concepts, designs of features which they suggested. For the most part, they’re very personalised to each camper’s style and skills! (As for Cruise’s- it is her canon suit given a small redesign, so there’s no explanation beyond her add perhaps adding a few flourishes before the final race.)

If you’re interested, I’ve left some of my design notes for each character under the cut. Thanks for reading! (:

Notes for each character ! List order is the left-to-right of the artwork.

Brights

The only suit to have short sleeves, as to accommodate for her prosthetic arm. Has slight flares before the sleeve, as to give it a more distinctive appearance. The loop-heart shape featured is a nod to the orange loop shape on her original overalls, while evolving the concept by changing the shape. I’ve also seen Brights described as the “heart” of the group (she’s friendly with everyone, and is generally a very bubbly person) so I thought it was a fun visual nod to that aspect of her character!

Axle

Axle’s suit is intentionally designed to heavily resemble the race suit which his father, pro racer Striker Spoiler, wears. The shade of red used for the base suit is darker, and the white is replaced with a grey, as to distinguish it. The black details included are also to add more individuality to the look. The overall idea behind his suit is for him to both honour the legacy of the Spoiler family, while making it his own.

Mac

Visually, the patterns on Mac’s suit were somewhat inspired by the race suits from Team Hot Wheels- another Hot Wheels series which I think did a really good job with its outfit design for the core cast. (This wouldn’t be an in-universe explanation, after all, the shows take place in completely different continuities!) The yellow base of the suit is taken from the Baja Jump Truck variant which he drives most across the series run. His hat remains unchanged- cannot mess with a staple!

Coop

Coop’s suit is designed to match the Super Twin Mill- the upgraded Twin Mill model which he’s rumoured to drive come next season of the show. The colours and patterns on the suit are either inspired or lifted from such, such as the white base colour, orange stripe down the centre, and the blue patterns resembling the shape of the windshield. The stripes on the arm are meant to resemble the checkered strips on his original jacket, while removing the pattern for a more streamlined look.

Spark

Spark’s suit is designed to be simple and practical! Her suit is the only one to feature a belt of sorts, as to allow her to carry around tools for emergency upgrades! While Spark’s associated colour is yellow, much like her original outfit, the racing suit features more orange, to create visual familiarity. She also keeps her goggles as part of the design, with the colour of such matching the elements on her suit.

Sidecar

Sidecar’s the only one of the six campers to already wear a race suit, and I wanted to both keep nods to it, while making it a little more individual! While Sidecar’s new racing suit shares a few matching details with Axle’s suit (the show has them match so I will always try to do the same, even if it’s more subtle), including the checkered pattern and grey pockets, the placement of the details are in different areas. The colours of his suit are taken from the Mad Manga, as well as featuring his leaderboard grey.

Cruise

For the most part, Cruise’s suit matches her original one, with a few minor changes. The black base colour is shifted to a dark purple, as to reflect her colour on the leaderboard. The suit also features pockets, and a name-patch on the sleeve. While the lime stripe and sleeve are still asymmetrical, I added the green to the ends of both sleeves. The stripe also features black details, as another nod to her Father’s outfit.

[windmaedchen-oceanhorn]

Lavinia's Hypogean Heart

An explanation of her condition

When Lavinia was targeted the second time, the assassin managed to drive a knife into her heart. Usually such damage to the heart muscle causes death. It was Berial's intention to tie Lavinia to him, and so he stepped in to save her life. When he began to materialize to emerge from her chest, his hand got damaged by the blade as well, and his Hypogean blood bonded with Lavi's heart. It isn't really healed in the way we would assume, but most of the blood clotted and closed the gap, while the rest now flows through Lavinia's veins. The surface wound never truly heals but scar tissue from Berial's blood slowly closes the skin. The line between life and death (Dura/Annih, Celestial/Hypogean) is thin, and Berials Hypogean magic could only revitalise the Hypogean part in Lavinia herself. She isn't dead, but isn't truly alive either.

As mentioned, Hypogean (and Celestial) magic are so unique that they cannot be replaced by anything else. Merlin could remove the Hypogean magic from Lavinia's body, but the damage still remains and a dead heart cannot be resurrected (unless we create a Graveborn from the corpes). So rather than killing Lavi, Merlin attempts to teach her how to use it for her advantage.

The Leylines of Magic

One thing needs explanation beforehand: Dura's and Annih's magic flow through Esperia, like the strings of intertwined fabric. Particular strong strings are what we have heard of as Leylines. It's actually a super small mesh, though, that extends not just as a flat 2D plane, but actually fills all space. Any being of either magic can "retreat" into those respective strings of it's magic, which you can imagine being like a space-realm on its own. Earthly matter is still there, so creatures within that realm can still see "the real world" and move around it with the simple advantage of being invisible to everyone else and able to phase through most matter. This is where Hypofiends are before they emerge into the real world, or were Berial hides in when he disappears (or where Dionel was resting before he woke from his slumber at the Moon Temple).

The Hypogeans use their realm, while the Celestials can use theirs. They will never be able to enter each others realm.

Lavinia's Abilities

Lavinia is able to retreat into this realm of the Hypogeans on Esperia. As she is not fully made of Hypogean magic, however, her time there is limited.

She can sense hidden Hypofiends and be ready when they emerge to avoid panic and chaos.

She can actually also gently nudge them to appear, causing distractions to her enemies. These summoned Hypofiends will take on her form.

She might be able to learn to use Hypogean magic to apply buffs to herself or to equipment. Or potentially use it to create more aggressive offensive magic, too.

Other interesting implications

Since Lavinia's life is running on the blood and magic of an immortal being, she might be immortal herself (I see her then staying at Merlin's side, once they outlive their current friends and families).

Her life could also very much be tied to Berial's life. Meaning that if he dies, as the source of her beating heart, she would die as well.

It could even be taken further and HE is just as dependent on HER life as she is on his. So, she could kill Berial by having his magic removed by Merlin. (This would actually also mean that Berial is no danger to her, unlike the other options, where he conveniently forgets about her.)

If the magic left by Berial is of particular strength, I do think it will overtake Lavinia from time to time, as it did in Knight of the Dark. She would become a Hypofiend, a mindless pawn. In such cases Merlin has to step in to dampen the corruption until it stabilises again. And yes, Merlin might then have to place a seal on Lavinia, to avoid her accidentally hurting her family and friends. (Thanks to @afkhowstrange for the mental food!)

[vanfleeter]

I've had a horrible Dad!Jake thought:

Fluffy blurb below the cut, that is your warning:

Jake loves to cook. You know that. Everyone knows that. Even his kids.

They're always excited when Daddy cooks dinner in the evenings when he's home or in the mornings because he makes the best cheesy scrambled eggs.

Tonight, however, they want to assist Daddy in the kitchen. Per usual, he cannot tell them 'no'. He loves when they help him in the kitchen.

"Aprons." He says as he helps Tommy and Lily put on their aprons and tie them around their waists.

"Wash your hands."

"Can you stir this in the pot?"

-

Though cooking with little kids, you must always expect a mess to occur.

"Lily, can you bring me the oil?" He says as he grabs a pan from the cupboard.

"Yes, Daddy!" Lily hops down from her stool and goes over to the pantry.

Having his back turned around from the two kiddos and setting up the pans on the stove, he hears a dull thud followed by Lily's little voice, "Uh oh."

He turns away from the stove to find her bending over and picking up the bottle of the oil that she had dropped and is now spreading clear liquid on the tile flooring. "Oh Lily.." He chuckles as he goes over, careful not to slip on the spilt oil.

"I'm sorry, Daddy.." Lily whimpers. "I didn't mean to."

He smiles and reaches up to lift her chin. Her eyes are glossed over with tears and her bottom lip quivers.

"Lilypad, it's okay." He says as he uses the pad of his thumb to wipe an escaped tear. "It was an accident." He chuckles again and kisses her cheek. "Go help your help brother stir the soup while I clean this up, okay?"

She sniffles and nods her head. "Okay.."

As she carefully tip toes around him, she goes over to the stove and climbs up onto the step stool beside Tommy who hands her the wooden spoon to stir the soup. Jake picks up the bottle of oil and sets it on the counter top before grabbing the paper towels to wipe up the oil.

-

"Oh! Careful, careful!" Jake exclaims as he rushes over to the stove and turns down the fire.

"It was starting to simmer Daddy," Tommy says. "I had to turn the fire up."

"You and fire, my child," Jake laughs. "Do not go together." Tommy giggles and leans back against Jake's chest. Jake ruffles his hair and kisses his forehead. "I think the soup is finished. Go on over and help your sister roll out the dough for the biscuits."

Tommy looks behind them and giggles. "Does that mean I can cover myself in the flour too?"

Jake looks over and sighs. Lily's always making the biggest mess in the kitchen. "Lilian," He laughs. He lifts Tommy iffy the stool and sets him on the ground before going to Lily. "You are just a hot mess today, aren't you?" He dampens a rag and cleans off her face. "I guess we can give you a bath while the biscuits bake." Lily giggles when he pokes her nose.

And finally, when dinner is finished and both kids are bathed, he sets everything out on the dining table while the kids help place the silverware. He scoffs and picks up a shark fork that placed on his plate.

"Tommy, since when do I use the shark fork?"

"Ha!" Tommy laughs. He scurries over to Jake and removes the shark fork from his hand and replaces it with a silver one. "I got a little carried away."

Jake shakes his head and wipes his hands on his jeans. "Alright, go wash your hands again and get seated. Mommy's almost here."

[depressedhatakekakashi]

An interaction that I would like for your birthday is the one between Tsunade and Kakashi, sometimes (almost always) I feel that she treats him like her grandson and I love that a lot💜

Ficlet near the end of this post

I would probably go more with Godson, since as far as we know she is or is around Sakumo’s age. I’ve seen a lot if art where her and the other Sannin interact with baby Kakashi and i love it.

I do think she acts very much like she is closer to Kakashi than we’re actually given information on. Like she entrusts him with a lot of missions, doesn’t seem to actually punish him for turning his back on her and going after his students (in the sasuke retrieval arc) almost as if she sort of expected it or is at least use to it (maybe she saw Sakumo choose his friends over the mission a few times, but he always finished the mission until that final one that caused his fall from grace)

She also seems to lean heavily on him for support in her role, and when it comes time for her to retire she chooses Kakashi. Now we don’t know if she chooses him because she’s informed that everyone pretty much unanimously chose him (except for the dumb elders) as her replacement, or if he was the replacement she had in mind anyways

I love the thought of her slowly getting him prepped for the job by having him do paperwork she doesn’t want to deal with. Like having him read through it and make a pile of ones he thinks she should sign and what needs to go into the trash.

Save her from having to do so much reading XD

I can also see her being the one to tell Kakashi to take it easy on himself and rest. It’s mostly his friends who tell him to do that, but hearing it from a medical nin and the Hokage cements the fact that he probably should do it

Which is good cuz Kakashi knows when to rest when he’s chakra exhausted, but i think he also pushes himself way too much and doesn’t allow himself ti properly rest until his body forces him to, and tsunade hates that

She wants her shinobi to take care of themselves, not kill themselves doing mission after mission. She’ll give him those missions of course, but if she see’s him starting to sway in place looking like he’s about to collapse she’s giving him a day or two iff

The mission can wait. She cannot replace Kakashi

Ficlet below

“Really?” Kakashi stared at the paperwork that Tsunade has set down in front of him. “Isn’t there something else i can do? Something more… productive?”

“This is very important paperwork,” she grinned as she rested her arm on the top of the pile and stared down at him. “Besides, you’re still on bed rest, brat. You’re lucky i gave into your whinning and came up with this idea or you’d still be in the hospital.”

“But-“

“No buts,” she insisted. “These are papers from my office so you need to get them done quickly.”

Realizing what was happening, he sighed. “You fell so far behind you need to shove some paperwork off onto me now?”

“Fell behind? No. Willfully ignored the growing piles of paperwork i didn’t want to deal with? Yes. I had better things to do.”

“Like gambling away all of your money.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m sorry, i thought i was speaking to Kakashi, not Yua the judgmental.”

Crossing his arms over his chest he leaned back into the chair. “You’re the one always saying i got her personality.”

“Yes, well…” removing her arm from the pile of paperwork she pointed at it. “You also got her ability to read five times faster than me, so this is your job now. You read through all of these and decide which ones need my signature.”

“And the ones that don’t?”

“That’s what this is for,” she pointed down to the trash. “If you’re unsure or think it needs my opinion, put it in a separate pile that Shizune will bring back to me. And no,” she silenced him before he could even speak “you cannot just put all of it into that pile.”

With her part said she turned away from him and headed straight out of the tiny office she’d assigned for him to this task, leaving him with a stack of paperwork that terrified him more than any mission he’d ever been on.

“Well,” he sighed, reaching to the top of the pile and picking up the first piece of paper. “Better get started.”

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - 18

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing. (SMUT)

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 18: Ruination

AO3 - Masterlist

Joyce carefully placed the last pearl in a velvet-lined box, setting it aside as she helped Daenera remove her jewelry. The princess’s fingers trembled as she unfastened the clasp, her mind weighed down by the events that had unfolded in the arena. Her dress had been shed, replaced by a flowing nightgown and a silk robe adorned with intricate dragonfly and dragon embroideries. 

Daenera sat before the vanity, her eyes distant as Joyce gently brushed through her hair, working the rosemary oil into the strands. The fragrance filled the air, a soothing balm for both the physical and emotional tension. Although they hadn’t spoken about what had transpired in great detail, Joyce had been informed by Fenrick. 

They shared a silent understanding, awaiting the news. 

Suddenly, the door swung open, and Jelissa stumbled in, her face flushed and her hair tousled by the haste with which she had arrived. Everyone in the room turned their attention to her, their expressions filled with apprehension. 

“Well?” Daenera asked sharply, rising from the vanity. She twirled a ring nervously on her finger, anxiety tightening its grip on her. 

“He-he lives,” Jelissa breathed, leaning against the doorframe, her breath ragged and labored. 

“But?” 

Jelissa’s voice quivered as she continued, “His nose is broken-”

“That can be healed,” Joyce interrupted, waving off the minor detail dismissively. 

“He’s awake and alert, but he has a concussion and… it seems that his back was broken during one of the blows,” Jelissa’s voice wavered and she swallowed thickly. “He’s… he’s unable to move anything below the waist, as well as his left arm.” 

The room fell silent as the weight of those words settled upon them. Daenera’s heart sank, and an indescribable heaviness washed over her. She rubbed her forehead, closing her eyes for a moment. 

“Are you sure?” Joyce asked Jelissa with a slight tremble in her voice. 

Jelissa nodded, tears streaming down her face. “The Maesters have said he will never be able to walk or ride again. They’re uncertain about the extent of the movement he may regain in his arm, if any.” 

Joyce shook her head, her hand instinctively covering her mouth in shock. “Poor boy. Will Boris Baratheon face any punishment for it?” 

“It was a dishonorable display of violence,” Fenrick answered, his voice tired and weary. “But Baratheon can claim it was an unfortunate accident. It is the risk one takes when entering into a competition like this. Aran Blackwood is lucky he did not lose his life.”

“Lucky,” Joyce scoffed indignantly, shaking her head and placing her hands on her hips, brows in a deep scowl. “There’s no luck in this. The boy would have been better off dead.” 

Joyce was right. Many would rather have died than become crippled, and for a moment Daenera wondered if it really would have been better had Aran died. It was harsh of her to think, and she felt guilty for thinking it, but most agreed with the notion. 

Tears welled up in Jelissa’s eyes, her hands wringing in front of her. “But what about the princess? Can she still marry him?”

“Of course not,” Joyce snapped. “The princess cannot marry a man who is unlikely to father any children.”

“But he’s still a good and kind man,” Jelissa argued in a sob and she wiped her cheeks, trying to regain composure even as the sobs wrecked through her body. “He would still make a good husband.”

“He is crippled,” Joyce told the sobbing girl, her expression caught somewhere between compassion and a scowl. “It is impossible for him to marry her now.”

Tears flowed freely as the weight of the situation seemed to settle upon the girl, and she crumbled into sobs, her hands covering her face as her shoulders shook. 

“Leave. I wish to be alone with my thoughts,” Daenera cut through the sounds of sobs, feeling each of Jelissa’s heaving crack across her skull like blows, only enforcing the pounding she felt within. 

Joyce stepped towards Daenera, concerned, but Daenera held up a dismissive hand. Reluctantly, Joyce complied, pulling the bawling girl with her as well as Fenrick. They shared one last look at one another, before the door closed, leaving Daenera to grapple with her emotions in solitude. 

She paced back and forth, the weight of the news settling heavy upon her soul. Shame mingled with guilt, creating a storm of emotions within her. Her mind restlessly played the events of the melee, the haunting image of Aran Blackwood falling and the thunderous blows of Boris Baratheon’s sword striking his back. In that fateful moment, Aran’s life had been irrevocably altered. 

Daenera’s hands trembled as she clenched and unclenched them, the ring on her finger digging into her skin. Frustration surged through her, fueling her inner turmoil. 

Amidst a whirlwind of white cotton and yellow silk, Daenera paced the room, finally kneeling on the floor to rummage through one of her many chests. Her hand delved into the layers of fabric, eventually retrieving a dagger. But it wasn’t the only tempest brewing within her. 

There was a storm of emotions raging inside her, mirroring the glint and glare of the steel as she unsheathed the blade. It felt sharp and cold in her grasp. 

Aran had been a good man, and he still was. What had befallen him was unjust and cruel. Her heart pounded in her chest, and anger coiled like a viper in her stomach. It was all so unfair. Aran possessed goodness, kindness, and sweetness. He would have made a suitable husband, who would have treated her better than most. 

The bitter taste of the lost opportunity linerged in her mouth.

Daenera rose abruptly and snatched one of the candle stakes, causing the flame to flicker in response to her rough movements. Despite being aware of the need to step back and consider her actions, she found herself unable to do so. Instead, she was driven by an absurd thrill that she wrote off as anger, and she pushed against the door she had discovered on the day Aemond had unexpectedly appeared in her chambers. The door was set within wooden panels adorned with a tapestry depicting a dense forest. 

Her actions felt reckless, even foolish, but her anger had overridden rationality. As she opened the door, a gentle gust of wind brushed against her bare legs. The passageway beyond was dimly lit and narrow, similar to the many secret passages that crisscrossed the Keep. It reminded Daenera of her younger days, when she would run through these passages, attempting to commit their routes to memory. 

She hoped she hadn’t forgotten which part led to Aemond’s chambers. 

The existence of these secret passages was a testament to Maegor’s foresight. The passages were perpetually cold and damp, and in the darkness just beyond the reach of the candlelight, there were scuttling sounds. Pairs of small eyes glanced at her from the shadows, and the pungent smell of rat droppings hung in the air like thick fog. Daenera managed to navigate her to Aemond’s chambers, her hand gliding over the stone until it encountered the wooden surface. The concealed door to his chambers was cleverly hidden within a wardrobe. 

Prince Aemond’s chambers appeared tidy, yet the table in front of the crackling fire was cluttered with stacks of books and scrolls. In one corner, various weapons were lined up against the walls. It was not the image Daenera had envisioned for his chambers. 

Placing the candlestick on top of one of the book piles, she freed her hand to caress the leather-bound cover of a particular book about Valyria, its language, and its customs. The book had been written by one of the Maesters of the Citadel. 

Daenera furrowed her brow as she contemplated it; Daemon would disapprove of such a book written by the Maesters. 

And she did not think Alicent would approve of her son's reading either. 

Suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed under the crack of the doors. Daenera swiftly concealed herself behind one of the ornamental screens, clutching her dagger tightly against her chest, her heart pounding. 

As the door swung open, Daenera peered through the narrow crack in the screen, observing Aemond as he closed the door behind him. He loosened the belt around his waist, eventually removing it entirely and putting it on a chest by the doors. Next, he untied his doublet, pulling the blavk fabric over his head and casually discarding it aside. The white undershirt he wore hung loosely on his frame, appearing too big for his narrow form. 

Aemond rolled his neck, releasing tension, and took a seat at the table. He reached for the flagon of wine, pouring himself a cup before reclining with a weary sigh. His hair cascaded over his shoulders like strands of spun moonlight, grazing the exposed skin of his collarbone. His skin, stretched taut over the bone, held a smooth and pale complexion. 

For a fleeting moment, Daenera felt her anger subside, replaced by a morbid curiosity. But quickly, she directed her anger inward, berating herself for such thoughts. The thing that churned within her chest, the emotion she labeled as anger, coiled tightly around her heart. 

“You did it,” Daenera’s voice pierced the silence, her words uttered quietly yet carrying weight. She emerged from her hiding spot, stepping into the open. Aemond’s gaze locked onto her immediately, a mixture of intrigue, disdain, and a touch of annoyance evident in his eye. 

“What did I do?” Aemond leaned back in his chair, resting his head against its tall back. He relaxed demeanor ignited a fiery anger within her, tempting her to hurl one of the books in his direction. Would he even react? After all, she brandished a dagger before him, yet his only response was a flicker in his eye. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You know what,” Daenera sneered, advancing towards him. The flickering light from the fireplace danced upon the blade in her hand. 

Aemond remained irritatingly untroubled. Did he believe she wouldn’t follow through with her threats? Did he take her anger so lightly? Had she not proven how capable she was?

Through gritted teeth Daenera seethed. “Aran.” 

The corners of Aemond’s lips curved ever so slightly. “What unfortunate luck. He was quite skilled, I must admit.”

“Luck?!” Daenera spat, her grip on the dagger tightening. She closed the distance, standing over him. With one hand, she gripped the back of the chair, towering above him, while the other menacingly pressed the tip of the dagger against his neck. Her breath came in furious heaves. “Aran is paralyzed because of you! He will never walk again, never ride or fight or–”

“Marry a princess,” Aemond cut her off, finishing her sentence, his eye gleaming with malice and fire. He found amusement in all of this, she could see it–the sharp smirk on his lips, the cruel glimmer in his cold eye. He goaded her. “But you wouldn’t have married him regardless, would you?”

“That is not the point!”

“Isn’t it?” Aemond provocatively asked. “Wasn't that the purpose of this entire charade?”

“Aran was good and kind. He had his whole life ahead of him, and you snatched it away. You stole his future!”

“It’s a grave accusation, Princess,” Aemond responded nonchalantly. “I wasn’t the one swinging the sword.”

“No, you were the one scheming. Why else would Baratheon relentlessly target Aran? Why would he continue to strike him?” Daenera’s grip on the dagger tightened, and she leaned in closer.

“Boris Baratheon is his own man, in full control of his own interests,” Aemond drawled. 

With her free hand she seized his hair, tugging it back against the chair to expose his throat and force his face towards her. His eyes fluttered, lips parting in a hiss that could be taken for a moan, and he stared back at her dangerously.

Daenera bared her teeth in a seething hiss. “Boris Baratheon may be his own man, but I know your influence played a part in this madness. Without you, Aran might not have suffered as he did.”

“Has it crossed your mind that Boris Baratheon might have thought to honor you by winning over the boy who so brazenly put forth his hand in marriage to you? That it was a mere act of honoring you.” 

“There was no honor in this,” Daenera sneered. Baratheon was the puppet, and Aemond the puppet master. Even if Boris would have won the competition, without Aemond’s machinations, Aran might not have endured such harm. 

“And what of you?” Aemond challenged.

A perplexed frown etched itself on Daenera’s face. “What about me?”

“Let’s not pretend that you ever truly considered him as a viable choice,” Aemond drawled, his confidence in his words palpable. He met her eyes with a knowing look, stirring something wretched inside that went beyond anger. Startled by the light touch of his fingers on her knee, Daenera instinctively moved to step back, but Aemond swiftly seized her wrist, keeping the blade pressed against his throat. The thin fabric of her nightgown and silk robe suddenly felt inadequate as layers between them. 

“You are lying to yourself if you thought he was enough for you.” His voice was a gentle murmur, that lulled as the calm stream in a forest. 

“I care for Aran,” Daenera uttered, her voice thick and wavering, as doubt clouded her own conviction. Aran was a good man. A good man… 

“Do you?” Aemond questioned. 

“I do care for him,” she insisted, as if trying to convince herself of her own words. He was a good man. He would have been a good husband. Kind.  Comfortable . She let the tip of the dagger press into the fragile skin of his throat, straining it on the verge of breaking the surface. She swallowed. “I do. I do .”

“Mmm,” Aemond hummed, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest. “Perhaps you do, but you could never love him. You would never yearnfor him— burn for him .”

“Is that why you conspired against him? To same me from a passionless marriage?” A snarl of disbelief and exasperation contorted Daenera’s face. She took a step back, lowering the dagger as her eyes scrutinized him, dissecting his posture, the flickering fire in his hungry blue eye. His smirk persisted, slightly pursed, and his seemingly relaxed demeanor held a subtle tension. He pressed a finger to where the point of the dagger had kissed his neck, as if the ghost of it remained. 

“Oh, gods. You’re mad,” Daenera declared, a humorless smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You paralyzed Aran simply because you desire me. You don’t want anyone else to have me, even when you don’t have me.”

Aemond rose from his chair, towering over her like a figure of barely restrained power. He prowled towards her, resembling a predator closing in on its prey. Daenera lifted the dagger to remind him of her weapon. He dismissively glanced at it, then lifted his eye to meet her gaze again. “Do not pretend that it does not excite you.”

Daenera gritted her teeth as his words pierced her skin. Gooseflesh rose across her body, and she felt a fiery heat course through her, her skin alive and electrified. She despised her own reaction, yet the disgust waned as Aemond advanced towards her. She stepped back. “Don’t.” 

His head tilted in discerning curiosity. “Why did you come here tonight?”

Daenera opened and closed her mouth, uncertain of what to say. Would she tell him that she came to avenge her friend? Or that she threatened him with a dagger because she was furious over the loss of her choice in the matter? She cared for Aran, but he was a fleeting distraction. The anger she felt wasn’t truly for him but for herself. And what was even worse-much worse-was that she desired Aemond. She wanted the man who was willing to harm others to possess her. She wanted him against all reason and sense. She wanted him despite his clear intentions for her downfall. 

“Cat got your tongue?” Aemond taunted. 

“I came here to avenge Aran,” she replied, even though she had already concluded that it wasn’t true. “I came here to pluck the other eye from your skull.”

Aemond saw through her response immediately. “Liar.”

“Step back,” Daenera commanded, brandishing her dagger. 

“What are you going to do?” Aemond questioned, taking a step closer. “You come to my chambers with a dagger, you threaten me, and then what? Are you going to kill me?”

Aemond seized Daenera’s wrist with a firm grip and forcefully pulled her towards him. He spun her around, causing her back to collide with his chest. One hand held her wrist of the hand in which she gripped the dagger, the blade veering dangerously close to her face, while his other arm wrapped around her, securing her in his arms. 

Daenera squirmed, attempting to break free, but a deep chuckle resonated from deep with Aemond’s chest, the reverberation traveling down her spine. He was relishing the moment far too much. 

“You are despicable!” Daenera spat.

His breath caressed the shell of her ear. “I am.” 

Now it was Daenera’s turn to laugh, the sound ringing through the room, cold and tinged with a touch of desperation. It was cruel. She could feel his heat enveloping her, his chest pressing against the thin layer of fabric stretched across her back, his hand sinking into the flesh of her hip, scorching her skin. He smelled of cinders, she thought. And his touch was a forest fire. Above it all, she sensed his undeniable desire for her. 

“I wondered what would drive you to such lengths just to hurt me,” Daenera remarked. In the past, he had shown a willingness to scheme and plot, but in those instances his ire had been directed solely towards her. This time, this scheme of his was far more elaborate–an escalation. “I thought it might be common cruelty, considering your fondness for it… but the answer is much simpler, isn’t it? You were jealous.”

“You know, if it had been me down there, on the arena sands, facing the Blackwood whelp,” Aemond sneered against her ear, his lips grazing the skin, paying no heed to the accusation of jealousy. “I would have run him through with my sword.”

“How terribly green of you,” Daenera mocked bitterly even as she felt something awful inside her flutter. 

“And even then,” Aemond murmured, brushing away the strands of hair that fell over her ear, his voice a mere whisper. “You would still desire me.” 

Daenera stomped on his foot with her heel, then thrust her elbow back into his stomach, employing the combat skills she had honed with her brothers. Aemond wheezed and doubled over, clutching his abdomen. But Daenera didn’t stop there. She grabbed him and forcefully pushed him until he fell onto the bed. 

Straddling his hips, Daenera gripped the thin fabric of his shirt with one hand while pressing the blade beneath his jaw with the other. She could slit his throat–so easy it would be to draw the blade across that pale, smooth expanse of his neck and watch it be painted red with blood. If she played her cards right, she might even get away with it. 

Aemond didn’t appear overly concerned. He reclined on the bed, gazing up at her with heavy-lidded eyes, hunger evident in his expression. His hands gripped her hips, urging her downward. 

Power surged through her, a thrilling rush coursing through her veins, setting her skin ablaze. With a wicked curiosity, she tilted her head, lips slightly parted, as she drew the dagger from his hec and instead pressed the tip against the delicate skin below his remaining eye. 

Aemond’s grip on her hips tightened, bordering on bruising, and a wicked gleam flickered in his eye–a lingering bitterness. 

It amused her.

“I should pluck your eye from its socket, just as my brother once did,” Daenera drawled, increasing the pressure of the dagger against his skin. 

A wicked smile played upon her lips.

“And perhaps one day I shall, Aemond Targaryen , should you continue taking things from me,” Daenera declared. “If I burn, you shall burn with me.”

The blade of the dagger lifted from his skin, a solitary drop of blood welling from the tiny cut. Daenera leaned back, still clutching the weapon, observing Aemond intently, daring him to be a man of his word. 

Aemond studied her for a moment, taking in her haughty gaze, a faint surprise in her expression as if she couldn’t believe she was willingly here. 

In one swift motion, Aemond sat up and captured her lips in a scorching kiss that made her skin burn even more fiercely. She felt like a flame given flesh, and Aemond was stoking the flame into a roaring blaze. The dagger slipped from her hand, and tumbled onto the mattress and then to the floor with an unnoticed clatter. Her hands tightened their grip on his strong shoulders. 

Aemond’s hands ventured beneath the delicate fabric of her nightgown, their touch igniting a trail of fire along her thighs and hips. With a firm pressure, he pressed her down onto the unmistakable bulge in his trousers. As his fingers moved higher, they tugged at the edges of her nightgown and robe, revealing her bare shoulder. 

Daenera closed her eyes, relishing the sensations that flooded her being. She felt his lips descend upon her jawline, leaving a trail of scorching kisses along her neck and shoulders, where he nibbled at the exposed flesh. 

A soft moan escaped her lips as she surrendered herself to the intoxicating pleasure of his touch, his every caress fueling the yearning within her. Without inhibition, her hips instinctively moved, eliciting a sharp intake of air from Aemond. 

The neckline of her nightgown strained against its limits, the small buttons barely holding the fabric together. Aemond paid no heed to their feeble resistance, tearing at the neckline until the string that bound the buttons snapped. His hand cupped her ample breast, his thumb teasingly grazing her nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking with a fervor that sent shivers down her spine. 

Each movement of his tongue and the firm pressure at her aching core intensified the desire pooling inside of her. 

Daenera moaned in response, her hips grinding against him as she sought relief from the building ache between her legs. Her hand intertwined in his hair, pulling him away from her chest, her perked nipple now glistening. She pressed her lips hungrily against his. Her hands bunched in his shirt, causing the fabric to strain as she pushed it over his head. 

In a swift motion, Aemond had effortlessly flipped her onto her back, positioning himself between her legs. 

Daenera’s intense gaze met his, her exposed breast aching with desire, her neck adorned with marks of fervent kisses, her lips swollen with the heat of desire. As he unlaced his trousers and lowered them down his legs, Daenera’s eyes widened with a mixture of anticipation and curiosity. She had seen unclothed men before, but never a naked, aroused man–especially one as generously endowed as Aemond, his physical presence invoking a primal longing within her. 

He gave her no time to admire him, swiftly climbing on top of her and crashing his lips against hers once more. The kiss deepened, fueled by carnal desire, while his hands slid up her legs, pushing up her nightgown, exposing her aching cunt. 

She felt the inside of her thighs smeared with her own slick as they spread apart. 

There was nothing sweet about this encounter. No reassurances, no tenderness in the caresses. It was raw, a primal need consuming them without mercy. 

Daenera’s breath hitched as she felt his hard length at her entrance and she bit her bottom lip, as he let his cock graze along her folds. He ran his tongue over his teeth, and spat on to her aching cunt. 

Daenera let out a shaky breath and swallowed the moan that threatened to spill from her lips. 

“What is it, Princess? Scared?” Aemond breathed mockingly, his voice a rumble with desire and arrogance. 

“Of you?” Daenera retorted sharply, “Whatever is there to be afraid of?”

A wicked smile curled across his face as he pressed into her. 

Daenera bit her lip, as pleasure and pain washed over her. Her eyes welled up with tears as her nails dug into his arms, seeking an anchor amidst the overwhelming sensation of his cock sinking into her. The pain was searing, and for a moment she did not understand why women agreed to this. The taste of blood filled her mouth as she bit into her bottom lip, raking her nails across his shoulders to make him feel a fraction of the pain she felt, and she screwed her eyes shut and turned her face away, to hide the tears that threatened to spill. 

A groan escaped Aemond’s lips, his hand tightly gripping the blanket beside Daenera’s head, his breath hitching as he pressed himself further into her tight cunt. 

“Mmh,” Daenera hissed through the discomfort, her teeth gritted. His cock inched forward slowly, testing the limits of her capacity. For a fleeting moment, doubt crept in, questioning whether she would be able to take the entirety of his cock. Aemond was both long and thick, and she felt every inch of him. 

But then, his pelvis rested alongside hers, and a strange sort of satisfaction coursed through her. 

One of Aemond’s hand’s released the sheet and instead curled around her face, fingers pressing painfully into her cheeks, pushing her lips to purse. Aemond leaned down, his expression inscrutable. “Let me witness the breaking of your poorly defended maidenhead.”

The taunting words ignited a blaze of anger within her, her eyes narrowing with rage. She refused to avert her gaze, defiantly pulling her face from his grip. His smirk widened, savoring the challenge. 

Aemond momentarily withdrew before plunging back into her depths, reawakening the sensations of pain and pleasure. He repeated the motion relentlessly, each thrust pushing her further to the precipice of her own undoing. 

After a few more thrusts, Daenera’s hips instinctively rose to meet his, matching his rhythm with a fierce determination. The pace intensified, the force behind his movements unyielding. 

Only when she acclimated to the rhythm, her breath ragged and heated, did Aemond fully withdraw from her, leaving her cunt empty and fluttering around nothing. With an agile movement, he grabbed her and flipped her onto her stomach, lifting her hips from the mattress to take her again. 

Daenera groaned, her nails digging into the fabric, her eyes rolling back in response to the change in position and the depth with which Aemond filled her again. Every inch of him inside her was palpable, his cock twitching as his thrusts grew harder. Each powerful stroke against her walls amplified her pleasure, sending electric waves of sensations coursing through her body. His balls beat against her clit, sending jolts of pleasure through her that came out in breathless sounds.  

Daenera bit her lip, determined to deny him the satisfaction of hearing her moans of pleasure. She wouldn’t grant him that. 

“It seemed Aemond made a similar vow of silence. Apart from the occasional grunts and low hums, he remained wordless, letting the symphony of their flesh collisioning resonate through the room. 

It was wrong. So wrong. Daenera buried her face in the mattress to stifle a moan. She felt her cunt tremble around him. 

Aemond’s hand slid to the back of her neck, grabbing onto her tightly, keeping her firmly in place, while his other hand found its way around her hips, his skilled fingers seeking that bundle of nerves every woman had. His relentless pace continued, each forceful thrust driving them both to the edge. 

Daenera gulped in the air as she turned her face away from the mattress, her hands gripping the sheets tightly as she felt her legs begin to shake, and the muscles in her lower abdomen tightened. She was going to fall over the precipice. 

“Fuck, Aemond,” she gasped, her voice wavering into a breathless moan, fulled with urgent longing. She surrendered to the feeling, let the fire lick and stroke at her insides, igniting into an inferno that threatened to consume her. 

“Say it again,” Aemond demanded, his voice a primal growl that sent shivers down Daenera’s spine. 

Defiance seemed futile in the face of their raw desire, her resistance crumbling as a pulse of pleasure reverberated through her entire body. With a shaky voice, she surrendered to his command, her lips parting to form his name, “A-Aemond, n-ugh .”

As the intensity between them surged, Aemond’s pace quickened, his thrust becoming shallow and desperate, as fervor coursed through his veins. The grasp he had on the nape of her neck tightened, and he pulled her closer, causing her to back to arch, her shoulders colliding with his solid chest. The hand slid around to her throat, wrapping tightly around it. 

With each ragged breath she took, her breasts heaved, their delicate curves bouncing in a rhythm. She lifted one hand to grip his wrist in case she needed to pry it away, while the other reached around to grab his hip for support. 

The tension between them reached its peak as Aemond’s fingers pressed into the delicate skin of her throat, exerting a controlled pressure as he increased the speed of his thrusts. Her eyes rolled back, overwhelmed by the building pleasure that wracked through her body, threatening to erupt and overflow. 

“You would be fucking me,” Aemond murmured into her ear. “Even if I had killed the boy myself.”

Daenera’s body betrayed her as her cunt fluttered around him, pulsating with a rhythm that was not her own. She felt how her cunt sucked him in, as if she did not want to ever be empty again. Her walls tightened around him, a fierce grip that made each of his thrusts feel almost impossible to bear. 

It was both painful and exhilarating. 

Her entire being was engulfed in a torrent of warmth, sending a surge of lightning through her veins, setting her ablaze from the inside out. And then, in a primal release, she felt Aemond spill his seed within her, painting her walls with a burning intensity that added to the waves of pleasure cascading through her. She lost herself in the eruption and let herself be washed away. 

With a sharp intake of air, Aemond released his grip on her throat, allowing Daenera’s body to fall back onto the bed. Her hair fanned out around her, a dark halo against the sheets, while her back rose and fell with each heavy breath. The evidence of their passion adorned her skin, with red marks marring her shoulders and delicate bruises decorating her hips, like petals of a forbidden flower. 

Aemond remained within her, his presence a lingering reminder of what had been done. He remained until he was completely spent. His rugged breath was similar to when he had spent hours practicing with his sword, a testament to the exertion of them both. 

A shiver went through her body as Aemond withdrew from her, her breath hitching. A mixture of relief and a sense of loss washed over her. She felt the cool rush of air against her exposed flesh, the evidence of their indiscretion leaking out of her. 

Her eyes flickered downward, and she couldn’t help but feel both fascinated and vulnerable as she saw her own arousal glistening on her inner thighs, mingled with the traces of Aemond’s seed and the blood of her maidenhead. 

Aemond, his gaze fixated on the sight before him, felt a surge of possessiveness and satisfaction as he marveled at her spent body, leaking the evidence of her submission. His markings were littered across her flesh, imprinted into her very being. The sight was raw and primal, and it stirred something deep within him. With a subtle flick of his hand, he brushed his hair out of his face, his piercing eye locked on Daenera’s shivering form. 

Unconcerned with his disheveled state, Aemond pulled his trousers up around his hips, purposefully leaving the lace untied and allowing them to hang loosely, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the expanse between his bellybutton, hips, and cock. The raw power he exuded only added to the tension in the room. 

Walking back to the table, Aemond settled himself in a chair, his movements casual and confident. He poured himself a cup of wine, the rich crimson liquid swirling as it was poured in. Without hesitation, he filled another cup.

Daenera lingered on the bed, her body still pulsating with the echoes of their intimacy. The ache between her legs, both a reminder of the pleasure she had experienced, and her indulgence, served as a constant presence in her awareness. Every movement, every breath, sent tingles coursing through her. 

She sat up, her hand instinctively reaching down to touch the source of her discomfort. It felt as if something inside her had been altered, a hollowed-out space or a shift in her very core. The sensation was peculiar, leaving her feeling unsettled, like wearing a pair of new shoes that hadn’t quite molded to her feet just yet. 

Gently brushing the curls from her face, Daenera rose from the bed, feeling the stickiness of Aemond’s seed trailing down her thighs. The sensation was strange, a conflicting mix of satisfaction and a sense of impending doom that sent a shiver down her spine. With a heavy sigh, she dried herself off with her ruined nightgown, setting it aside on the bed. She reached for the unruined robe, wrapping it around her body, securing the dagger in its waistband. 

Her eyes connected with Aemond’s and she found him observing her with an intrigued, yet, uncertain gaze, his head tilting to the side in curiosity. 

Taking a deep breath, Daenera bunched the ruined nightgown into a ball, her eyes locked with Aemond’s as she made her way towards the hearth. The flames danced, casting a flickering glow into the dark room, as she tossed the evidence of their night’s venture into the fire. The fabric burned instantly, consuming the bloodstains and the traces of Aemond’s seed, turning it all into ash. 

The act was both a cleansing ritual and a symbolic gesture, a way to remove the evidence that was not emblazoned on her flesh.  

Aemond extended a silent offer, presenting her with a cup of wine. 

Daenera’s gaze lingered on him with narrow eyed suspicion, her emotions in turmoil. One part of her longed to scream at him, to hold him responsible and accuse him of seducing her. But another voice, softer, yet, undeniably present, reminded her that she had desired this, craved it even. The truth was undeniable–she had willingly embraced the path that had led to this moment. Now she had to confront the consequences of her choice. 

Aemond’s words echoed in her mind, reminding her of the warning he had given her. You will ruin yourself. The realization that he had been annoyingly right settled upon her like a heavy weight. She took the cup of wine he offered, raising it to her lips and gulping it down in a single, defiant swallow. It tasted bitter. 

Aemond’s gaze remained on Daenera with an expression of curiosity and intrigue. He watched her intently, hoping to catch a glimpse of the thoughts swirling in her mind. Daenera Velaryon was a puzzle he couldn’t solve, an enigma that defied his understanding no matter how hard he tried. 

She threw the ruined nightgown into the fire, with a casual expression upon her face. 

A subtle smile curved his lips as he continued to observe her. He pushed the cup of wine towards her, offering an extension on their truce. 

She looked at it for a moment as if deciding how to respond, and he wondered whether she’d break or accept her new circumstance. Daenera took the wine and drank it in one mouthful and put it back on the table with a calm demeanor he did not expect of a woman who understood the consequences to her actions. 

A lesser woman would have broken. 

In that moment, it dawned on Aemond that she truly was like poison, deadly allure that enticed and enchanted. There was darkness within her, an essence akin to nightshade, that seemed to drip into his bloodstream.

[toubledrouble]

More quick pjo/hoo headcanons

(most of these are cabin 6) (also, if I accidentally stole your headcanon, definitely let me know so I can either delete it or credit you)

Listen, I'm tired of Athena kids being only the architecture/math kids. Give me Athena kids who excel in humanities. Athena kids who know everything about their latest hyperfixation, that's it. Athena kids who are craftsmen or artists of any sort to the extent where you could mistake them for Hephaestus or Apollo kids

Generally just. Different cabins discussing someone's godly parent, because really, if you take a closer look, many gods have common traits. Like Apollo being the God of logic, music and poetry while Athena is the goddess of wisdom and art/craftsmanship. Plus Hephaestus being a blacksmith - also a craft. Dionysius, Athena, Hermes and Apollo are all associated with theatre. Hades and Hecate are both associated with magic. Is it a Demeter kid, or an Athena kid that really likes botany? You may never know. It's like Frank thinking he was a son of Apollo only to discover he is actually a son of Mars - you can have a tip and there is quite the chance you will be proven wrong.

Also. The deal with Athena kids and chess. Listen, I love you, but as a strategy lover with adhd, I have to tell you that I keep losing because I just can't focus on it. Just. Nope. Not working.

Similar goes for word games - do you think a bunch of dyslexic kids is going to love them? Maybe if it was in Greek, lmao.

I cannot get over this one: Athena kids playing instruments. Obviously, not with such an ease as many Apollo kids, but Athena kids are still pretty decent at it. Also, Athena is after all the creator of the flute. That's right. Musical talent runs in the family xd

I am once again here with my sacred animals headcanon. Gods sending their sacred animals to check on their kids. Kids being able to talk to those animals, or just being surrounded by them. Cabins having them as pets (yes, give me a cabin with a whole damn lion on a gigant dog bed)

All of the art god kids™ team up and try to convince Cheiron to let them see different musicals. So far, they have succeeded only with Hamilton, but that doesn't mean they'll give up.

Tyche, Nike and Hermes kids have bets that get out of hand very often, but they're unstoppable. Also, along with Athena and Ares kids, they take competitions to a next level, none of them willing to lose

Actually, genuenly: I'm cancelling the blond Athena kids thing. I'm moving it over to the Apollo cabin and establishing that if anything like this should work there, it should be with brunettes, because Athena herself is most commonly depicted as a brunette. Case closed.

You know that paint that basically turns everything you paint it with into a chalkboard? Or those gigantic stripes of blackboard that you can stick on your wall, mostly made for little kids to draw on? The Athena cabin has that.

Or you know what? Had. It had to be removed and replaced with whiteboards because the cabin was filled with chalk dust, which covers everything and also isn't very comfortable to breathe in.

The cabin smells like lemon and peppermint, both of which repel spiders

It also has automatic floor heating because everyone knows that the floor is the most comfortable place to study

Oh, and there is a ton of creative projects in various stages of progress

The Athena cabin sends out a messenger (animal or a person) to bring a literal olive branch when they seriously want to settle things - it's both a clever reference and a symbol of Athena. Ares cabin is the only exception because last time, they set it on fire.

You've heard all about the language headcanons, but what about Demeter kids understanding the language of flowers?

Apollo kids are either extremely afraid of snakes (because of Python) or they love them (like Asclepius), no in-between. I'm convinced that at one point, a kid determined to get their siblings to love snakes as well got one and named it William Snakespeare. That is officially the only snake liked by every cabin 7 resident

Apollo kids actually love their godly sibling, Aristaeus - God of shepherds, beekeeping, cheesemaking, stuff related to that, medicinal herbs, olive growing, oil milling and the winds that provide respite from the heat of midsummer, aka the chillest guy I've ever heard of. I'm convinced he visits the camp once in a while and brings them the good stuff. Asclepius probably visits sometimes too, but as the God od medicine, he's a busy guy. He still loves helping his sibling when it comes to his area of expertise.

All Athena kids have a gift directly received from their mother (and most of the time, it's sending a mixed message)

A cool gift concept - a weapon in the style of Jason's, except it turns into a weapon the user needs the most at the moment. It's also great because Athena kids easily adapt to any weapon with little to no training and obviously, this is a very strategic weapon to have. I also think that unlike Riptide, it could be lost very easily - Athena would definitely want to teach her kids a lesson about keeping an eye on their stuff.

You aren't allowed to ask the Athena cabin about their favourite philosophers because it always turns into a fight

Since Athena only needs a mental connection of sort to have children, there are definitely Athena kids with mortal moms or infertile parents

One time, an actual child of Minerva shows up to Camp Jupiter. Needless to say, the Romans aren't taking it well. Children of Athena are probably called to explain the circumstances of their birth, which results in a discussion uncomfortable for both sides

Since Apollo stays basically the same in Roman mythology, it can be kind of hard to tell if his kid is roman or greek. I think many children would be relieved to know that both options exist and they aren't just weird

Have I talked about how different regions worshipped gods a bit differently? Yeah. I want that to be a thing noticeable in demigods. I think I mentioned this in some of my earlier posts.

Poseidon kids instinctively know the international code of signals (a flag code used for communication between ships)

Hera's (goddess of family) and Hestia's (goddess of home) cabins can be used by unclaimed demigods

[eldritch-spouse]

I have a nitty gritty question that leans into your world building!

Are your named OCs the main/only employees at the Eye? I’m thinking that occasionally you write fics where somebody goes on holiday, or the employees are messing around in the break room.

What are the opening hours like at the Eye? If Gallon isn’t serving the bar, is somebody else? Does he leave it to the bobbles? Are the bobbles All trained enough to run the place when employees step out? (Other floors included)

Like if there’s two bars at the eye now, does that mean a new bar tender is required?

Do employees have rooms at the eye the can stay in when they’re off or do they always go home when their shifts are done. How do they go home if the building is transporting around the world on the regular?

[Hoo boy, this is long.]

Lore questions

Are the "named ones" the only employees?

Yes. I've left things open ended enough that I can always slot a new staff worker in if I feel like it, but the "base" is pretty established, and everyone has their role, so to say.

Holidays and breaks are usually scheduled, but there's nothing to say that occasional, sudden abandonments of the workplace don't happen, and those are dealt with efficiently. I'm also giving a fair amount of leeway for fics where workers are encountered outside of TCE. For creative purposes mostly.

What are opening hours like?

The workers that don't actively live in The Clergy's Eye ""clock in"" essentially at the same time, so the very beginning of their shifts is spent in the break floor, preparing and conversing.

Employees are warned ahead of time about any special events that may be taking place, and while the building itself can be ordered to mold certain shapes and "spawn" objects -Which removes a fair bit of remodeling work from the hands of staff- Extra hands may sometimes be needed to perfect the settings, which implies coming to work earlier.

The workers that reside in The Clergy, such as Vinnel, Patches, Belo, Sybastian and Fank-e, for example, have a tilted work-leisure relationship and are always somewhat in "work mode". Nonetheless, they commune with the others in the break floor for the start of the official shift.

Admin (or you) is usually always there for a variety of reasons, be it to gouge the overall mood of her subordinates, answer questions about anything special going on, or give general pointers as well as warn anyone of something that's gone awry. She can also ""motivate"" a worker in need.

If Gallon isn't serving the bar, is someone else?

Mainly Martin, his bobble. Martin can and will orient other stray bobbles to come help him with several orders at once. Of course, his speed and skill is nowhere near as remarkable as Gallon's, but the bobble has been expertly trained. He can also protect himself from the hands of unwitting customers by hitting them with a silver tray.

Being a gray bobble, he's very rational and can quickly deal with the loss of extra bobbles by sending one to Patches, requesting more.

Are bobbles trained to replace workers?

Plenty of them, yes.

Citri, for example, is Grimbly's hybrid bobble. She works with him during most shifts and has her own, smaller team of bobbles all equally dolled up to help serve customers during busy days or when Grimbly is called away/absent.

Turnip, Alfredo and Pepper are also proficient at running the kitchen on their own when left alone. Though sometimes Grimbly comes and helps if Morell is truly absent.

Jingles cannot replace Vinnel. Vinnel can't be replaced by anyone, and neither can Patches, for that matter. Santi is also not very easily replaceable.

Purpur obviously can't take the store into his own tentacles, but Admin occasionally replaces Nebul. If not her, then Patches.

Fank-e is sort of a last resort to substitute other workers, but he can put a serious work face on when nudged.

A bobble which started out as a complete accident, deemed unviable, unstable and unprofitable yet quickly rose to a very precious factotum/"jack of all trades" is Agner. Provided the large bobble is stabilized, he's proven himself to be a fast learned and is absorbing plenty of the skills other staff have, though at a slower and less proficient degree- But a sustainable one nonetheless. Agner has replaced Gallon on occasion, acted as a security guard when Belo is away, helped out in the kitchen several times, handed Vinnel a variety of utensils, replaced Nebul for a very brief amount of time, and more often than not helps Patches out at the lab (given Patches has become his sort-of father figure). Santi has occasionally gotten the big boy to help him out but Agner is pretty sexually shy and inexperienced.

If there's two bars, does that mean a second bartender is required?

No. Not exactly. Besides, if a second one was acquired, Gallon might murder them. Because, as mentioned several times, these manbabies are extremely competitive and don't take kindly to someone being better at their own jobs than them.

The aquarium bar is not always open. It opens according to demand, although there's always a selection of drinks readily available for people to buy. Stock, if you will. Sometimes, depending on the flow of clientele, Gallon will relocate to the aquarium bar (as happens in some events). Wherever he is, the other bar is usually held up by Martin and company or Agner. Agner is a tad tired of Glauk pestering him and Magus attempting to steal bottles with one of his massive tendrils. Gallon is better at keeping those two at bay.

Do employees have rooms they can stay at in The Clergy's Eye?

Definitely. Santi does, that's been established in Gifted. And before that as well.

So does Vinnel. And Belo. Patches essentially lives in his laboratory like a gross little neet, but he does have a room too. All of them can rent a room to be theirs whenever they feel they need one.

Seen in Gifted, a couple of floors, two usually, are dedicated to rentable rooms, available to both clientele and workers. There are way too many of these, and sometimes they switch place. But so does the number on the key each worker keeps, so they'll always know where their room has relocated to when The Clergy's Eye is in "refresh mode". Alternatively, they can just look at the number on the door when they leave their room at the start of a new day.

How do they make it home if the building changes locations?

The building used to more commonly change location when it was establishing itself and collecting workers. It was unstable and suffered many changes both in exterior, interior as well as modus operandi. Perhaps I wasn't clear enough about that. This also meant that, initially, workers spent a lot more time sleeping over at the building.

Since this is done for safety concerns, when Krulu feels safe, he doesn't change The Clergy's Eye's location. In fact, at some point it becomes entirely static, especially after he confronts Miara, and is told that siadar authorities no longer surveillance Earth.

Krulu will eventually drop the cloaking The Cergy uses altogether.

Putting all that aside, workers return home usually with help. They request to be dropped off somewhere, and Krulu eventually does it, giving them a set amount of time before they're yanked back into the building via vaguely traumatic hands emerging from the floor and effectively transporting through a rift.

Santi is a special case. He doesn't usually need help going to his frequented locations, since at least one of his rings is always set to aid with transportation. Though if he wanted to appear in Buttfuck Nowhere, he'd still have to request it from Krulu.

[isei-silva]

As I am replaying Deyaenus and re-exploring his character through RP, I noticed the difference in how I RP'd him in the past, versus how I play him now - especially in regards to his confidence. His lack thereof before, to today's abundance. Back in the day, Deyaenus was far more ill-tempered, anxious, and depressed; a reflection of myself. We often say and try not to bleed over into our characters, but these figments of our imaginations are our brain-puppets, and as ours as can be are inevitably reflected by the thoughts, emotions, and constitution of their birth place.

Once my exterior environment changed and bettered, so did I. And, by extension, so did Deyaenus. This reflected itself in RP through a burst of confidence and tempered demeanor from the character that was a pleasant surprise.

Mind you, the meat and potatoes of the character has not changed: opinionated, stubborn in some archaic beliefs, and faction biased. You know, the good stuff that people dislike him for. And that's fine! I enjoy being the "in-the-wrong" character if it helps push other people's RPs and character development. Both those things can only really move forward with conflict.

"It's me hi, I'm the problem, it's me~"

It's just funny how I remember Deyaenus, as a Holy Priest, desperately clinging to the doctrines of the Church, the Light, and stomping his foot about being right in it all, when he was at his emotional lowest because being part of something greater and as non-negotionable as The Light made him feel just as indomitable. He could hide behind the white robes, and the verses and preaching, behind prayer, behind dogmatic virtues of beliefs carved by mortals, because it made him feel good. He wanted to be a preacher for the immediate idolation he would get, for the attention, the praise, bask in the benefit of devotion, from the lack of receiving the same in his home life. Of course he never recognized this himself, and he DOES truly, honestly believe in the goodness that the Church has extended and wants to be part of that, but with that little sidenote of "and I will get everyone's love and respect because of it too".

Now, as a Shadow Priest, stuck with a parasitc infant (not so?) Old God and dealing with it through the adventures, trials, and shenanigans thereof, he is both at his loneliest (no guild, friends moved on, on-and-off romance(?)) and, at the same time, his most confident. I've been personally headcannoning and RP'ing that the void parasite - named Junior - managed to anchor itself to the physical realm by feeding on Deyaenus' depression and poor emotional state. He doesn't know it, recognize it, or think about it, under the misguided belief that this is just normal and every shadow priest has a little bugger like his. It's not like the parasite has 'eaten' or removed or replaced Deyaenus' depression. It's, much like in Real Life, you can eventually learn to positively live with it! I still have the same poor thoughts, fears, and insecurities as before, when I first roleplayed Deyaenus and these were more evident both in RP and in myself, but over time I've grown to nurture myself, build myself up, and find confidence inwardly.

Nowadays, I like thinking that while Junior is the symbolic, physical manifestation of depression (how similar are those corruptive "your friends hate you" whispers in-game to actual depressive thoughts?), Deyaenus has learned to depend on himself and keep positive momentum regardless. Junior works for him. Deyaenus can't afford to wallow in these poorly thoughts, even though he won't ever get rid of them. And if ever he did end up overpowered by those thoughts, THAT'S when corruption would kick in at its strongest. THAT'S when depression eats you alive IRL too.

Deyaenus cannot ever get rid of depression, mental illness, what-have-yous, but what he has done is recognize it ("I guess this weird worm is part of me"), take responsibility for it ("The actions of this weird worm and the powers thereof are what I make of them"), and move forward with it ("Weird worm is coming with me whether I like it or not"). And he's that much better for it.

Not perfect, but better.