#godly feast

[huewrite]

What I Think About Isekai

So writing an Isekai I kinda have this whole thing in my head of what I plan on doing. Some of it falls into tropes. We got the classics 1. Gods grab a just died soul 2. Hi here is some possibly OP powers but with limits 3. Nothing is properly explained. 4. OK GO SAVE 5. Start collecting friends

But there are a lot of isekai that don't have the person really reflect on the world they lost. Mourn it or miss it or anything. Sometimes it's because they hated it so forget them right?

But today I wrote a scene that got Enoki all sad thinking about hir family. What ze will never see agian.

It hits a bit hard and in a way most isekai don't. I mean, can you imagine never seeing your loved ones and eating a meal with them? Hanging out with them? Holding your pets again?

[kairaloi]

@huewrite

This was a Patreon Request!

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

the tension between two longtime lovers who are reincarnated gods trapped in the bodies of teenagers, one with memories of their past lives and one without, is actually something that can be so personal

[rosiesmuts]

Odd Atelier

BLACKPINK Jennie

Words: 4,000

Tags: 🍑

A/N: Happy Birthday Jennie

Probably the greatest birthday cake in existence. It's not the traditional kind in the very least. It's one that can't be shared among family and friends; can't be used for gifts or congratulations.

Outside of the walls of Jennie's bedroom is evidence of a party. Traces of her most loved ones that celebrated her 27 years on this Earth: balloons are floating around, streamers cover every room, empty pizza boxes and discarded plastic cups are everywhere. But now they're all gone—the only thing left is this magnificent birthday cake presented just for you.

Jennie Fucking Kim on all fours, her ass in the air, her winking starfish slathered in saliva. It's what she deserves—a fitting gift that honors the birthday girl perfectly. And you are the lucky gift giver. Slobbering over the woman that appears on billboards, magazine covers, red carpets and anywhere else hot women go. It's been thirty minutes of pure unadulterated feasting and Jennie's getting lightheaded because of it—her ass and pussy have been utterly adored by your lips and tongue.

So good. There's a fine art to eating ass—especially one that belongs to Jennie. Your face, chin, and entire jaw are a mess, so are the sheets under her knees. You can only imagine how thoroughly debased your upper lip must look right now.

It makes you throb. Having Jennie in this position. Her entire back is sweaty and arched like a cat. She keeps shaking because her legs feel like jello. You grip her right cheek with a tight palm, tug it a little before lapping at it once more. You reach her quivering ringed hole and lick the velvety skin with an aggressive flat tongue that makes Jennie mewl as your chin gets pushed against her cunt.

You can't help but plant another soft kiss over the rim, humming contentedly at how incredibly warm it feels. How inviting it is. And while it has been truly mind-blowing—to feast and devour the pussy and ass of a globally acclaimed woman… you've noticed a certain desire in the last five minutes.

Jennie Fucking Kim. World famous idol. Begging for everything while her face is smothered into a pillow. A pathetic, needy woman. Just for you.

Now she wants more than just your tongue. It's her birthday. She has presents waiting to be opened.

"Oh please..." Jennie whimpers. Her eyes are half-closed as if she was lost in a trance, only roused when your thumb slowly pokes the pucker. Your tongue on her cheeks, spreading saliva everywhere, getting her as wet as possible for what comes next.

You start to prod Jennie's puckered backdoor, teasingly sliding between her jiggling cheeks—earning you another moan. This would make one hell of a documentary if she was ever caught like this. Probably cause an outrage, too. Imagine the look on those thirsty fans of hers seeing their godly idol just... ruined. Debased. Mired in sex. It doesn't matter, of course, whether her fans would find her reprehensible for it. They don't matter now that she's on her hands and knees. Vulnerable in a way nobody should ever be vulnerable—not her. Especially not Jennie. But she is.

"Mmm..." There goes another sigh. A sigh of relief when a thumb presses against her crinkled rose. Slowly, lovingly, sinking into the deep confines of her forbidden place.

Her hips jump and you force her back down. You love her sounds; the soft sighs, and gasps. How can you not? Right now she's giving a little show, she loves the attention. Looking over her shoulder with an infectious grin on her face—an encouraging smirk, showing you that she's waiting on something a little more exciting. A lot more exciting. You raise your eyebrows in response. She purses her lips in answer.

Oh.

Of course.

"You ready birthday girl? Any ideas on what your present should be?" You lean back, pulling out a bottle of lube from her bedside table. Lathering the entirety of her asshole with it. She looks so damn gorgeous with her toned back in an upward arc and a sexy face contorted in an expression of pure want and lust.

"Surprise me..." Her response is a seductive purr.

The invitation is too hard to resist—especially since Jennie's arching back pushes her hips out and back, effectively shaking her ass side-to-side with a delighted chuckle.

"...OH!" The tip teases her entrance, making her entire body spasm before you're actually able to penetrate. Her backside is soaked, but there are some resistances as your shaft pushes, pushes, pushes… finally stopping only once the ridge of your head pops through.

Fuck, it's tight. Damn it all to hell and heaven, how is her ass always this tight?

There goes another delirious sigh. Hitched. Croaky. Slightly high-pitched. Another wonderful sound coming from a woman that sounds like an angel, looks like one, and sings like one. There are few things Jennie can't do; she's too talented. Too beautiful. An exquisite blend of form and function, pleasure and pain—both which she endures on a daily basis. All because she was made to be looked at by everyone, but never touched. To inspire all, but not to interact. Except tonight.

Tonight it's all about Jennie. The birthday girl always gets her wish.

Jennie clenches hard the further your cock invades. It feels absolutely electric—every last bit of it. The way her body stretches is nothing short of spectacular.

"Ah fuck! P-please. Slow..." She grits her teeth, digging her nails into her pillows, no doubt. She's trembling all over. It's hard for her to take, but she also knows that the pain will eventually make way for a sensational bliss. It always does. Her slim defined back is lightly coated in sweat.

"Slow enough?" You rub your fingers into her backside. A warm up of sorts before grabbing the cheeks with enough vigor to leave marks. Pulling and squeezing the soft flesh of her backside apart, lewdly examining where the two of you are conjoined, and with a sinister chuckle, give an experimental pump.

"FUCK!" She starts to shake uncontrollably and tries her best to remain steadfast, "Keep going..." It comes out as a pant. She's enjoying it, after all. Enjoys the little hurt it brings—gets off on the little sting you're able to provide.

Little by little, you push into Jennie's perfect heart-shaped butt. Into her ass that's incredibly hot and constricting—almost impossible to breathe whenever her body coils tightly around your hard-on.

"Yes!" She tosses her hair, biting into the sheets when your hips meet her ass with an audible slap.

You hold still for a moment. Rocking back and forth a little bit as the tight heat wraps you in pure silk. Almost overwhelming, considering just how tight she is. All you have to do is sit and savor the feeling while Jennie's chest drops onto the bed.

She's panting, heaving even, but she wiggles her hips in an attempt to get accustomed to your presence. Another meek sound of frustration is heard, causing you to release an amused breath as you stroke her back. When she looks over her shoulders—there's a wild gleam in her dark eyes. It's almost magical. "Fuck my ass like you hate me..."

And without further prompt, you pull out halfway before snapping your waist into her with all the force you can muster. That single action elicits a choked cry from her throat and then another and another.

You let it loose. Go all out. Use every ounce of strength and force until the two of you are shuddering and yelling, the obscene sounds of sweat and bodies mingle with moans and groans. It's so dirty; so filthy, yet Jennie absolutely loves it. In spite of everything she does for a living, her actual sexual appetite is simply unbridled.

Pulling her arms towards you, you gather both wrists within your right hand and pin them firmly against her lower back. Using it as leverage to ram yourself into her at an almost unnatural pace, watching in utter fascination at the way her back muscles shift and move, all to keep herself from tumbling face-first against the bed.

All the while, she's groaning. Slurring words incomprehensibly, asking for a little bit of pain—which you gladly deliver. Each slap is perfectly timed, enough to turn her flesh pink and vibrate from the impact, but not hard enough to do real harm. Just like that, Jennie is thrashing on top of her pillow, pushing back in an attempt to relieve the sting before grinding and rubbing against you. The little shit always craves more.

It's hard to imagine who's getting the better present here. For her, it could be the rough anal fuck she's been wanting for some time now. It's all she asked for all week—and for you, it was getting the chance to savagely pillage and conquer the ass of the hottest girl on Earth.

"F-fuck! I'm gonna-ah..."

Those words ring around your ears as they get muffled with her bedsheets.

"You're gonna what?" You pause to lean forward and growl into the shell of her ears. Tugging her arms and forcing her to arch her spine further until her back is kissing the skin of your stomach, causing her to hiss in satisfaction, "You're gonna cum like a filthy slut with her ass being reamed?"

"Yes!"

The thirty or so minutes of foreplay have certainly paid off. She started already wound up tight, and now her body is practically trembling, eager to let loose. It's impossible to prolong the pleasure for long; with a little more adjustment to the angle and speed, Jennie finally sings and wails—shaking and writhing her body on the verge of a world shattering climax.

Jennie Fucking Kim owns one beautiful little fuckhole and it squeezes every last bit of vitality from you, almost as if her ass was trying to strangle every last bit of life you had. Your entire frame trembles as her snug, grasping hotness envelops you in a hot prison and attempts to rip you off. For the duration of her climax, her hands scramble to grab anything and everything they can: her own hair, the sheets—the world, perhaps. There's a little bit of everything happening at that exact instant and you're almost too afraid to move from fear of losing such a heavenly sensation.

But of course, you move.

It's her birthday after all, she needs a few good spanks to feel fully appreciated. To let her ride out this intensity, her entire body jittering in pure elation. And you grant it to her. Delivering more spanks to her beautiful ass, reddening them further, adding to that warmth and almost euphoria-like state the superstar is experiencing.

Her pussy quakes and flutters. The feeling of cumming by butt alone is so much greater than it normally would've been. The tension was much more powerful, stronger in a way and almost addicting, despite the slight twinge in her cheeks and the noticeable bite of pain.

For a moment, everything is lost.

"So sensitive... C-can barely think straight..." Her head sways limply. You'd almost feel bad, if not for her pleased giggles and blissful sigh.

Jennie lies limply, spent beyond measure, all to satisfy her desires. You have to roll the idol on to her back as it seemed her strength has suddenly left her. All to ensure she doesn't completely collapse and possibly ruin this fun party for the both of you.

She's glistening in a thick sheen of sweat and her smile has never looked so brilliant and inviting.

"You're beautiful Jennie..."

"Funny that your greatest compliments come when you're fucking my ass." A sly giggle is shared. She raises a leg and holds it against her chest while the other one is casually parted open.

"What can I say? I'm a man of refined taste." You take the sight of her body in—of the woman splayed on her back like this; naked and satisfied, slick and supple skin glistening in a heavy sweat. The sticky fluids around her folds are starting to coat her ass as well and you can't help but smile to yourself in triumph. "Shame it's over already." You know exactly what to say. How to challenge her. And of course she's not gonna refuse. It's Jennie. Of course she has a few more tricks up her sleeves.

"Nope, this is just the beginning..." She smirks. The life returns to the doe-eyed beauty and the glint in her dark irises becomes nothing short of wicked. It's time for Jennie to stop being the submissive little bitch and take charge. To show that her famous curves are hers to own. Her beautiful body and devious mind is hers and only hers to use as she sees fit. You watch as she leans forward and puts both her palms on your chest—forcefully pushing you down to her bed and straddling you, grinding that beautiful ass over your stomach and making your unreleased cock twitch with need.

It's only 11pm and Jennie still has an hour left to celebrate her 27th birthday... and she intends on spending all that time savoring that delicious ache in her ass.

Happy birthday to her. Happy birthday to you.

"There's no time for a rest, right now I'm gonna ride you."

No complaints.

Absolutely none.

There isn't any way to decline Jennie. Not when it involves your cock and her ass.

After all, it's Jennie's night—the night she turns you into a quivering mess, the night when she puts you under her spell—and makes you fall harder than before. She turns up the heat—another degree hotter when she's at her sexiest, at her most mischievous and dominant.

Jennie winks. Her favorite, trademark move as her face glimmers under the twinkling lights. Her lips are slightly parted in that signature Jennie Kim pout and she's now putting her assets into a display of sorts; rolling her body slowly in an almost rhythmic motion. This dance, a teaser, and one that her fans would pay a premium to see, makes its way on stage: you.

Her toned lithe waist, the little things on her chest, and that godforsaken smile. So tight and perfect. Hot and inviting, and you just need to feel that intense grip around your shaft once more. There's no safe words here—not like Jennie will ever let you use them anyway. Her small frame begins to writhe to its own imaginary beat, shimming and shaking with purpose. The gentle rise and fall of her chest is hypnotic. A sway. Back and forth.

You want her. Badly. She holds your cock in her dainty palm and teases it over and over.

"This is for me and my birthday... Any objections?" Her smile becomes impossibly bigger. Playful and inebriating and there is only one answer that fits the occasion.

"No." Internally you're dying. She keeps pressing it against her starfish, but never quite giving in, only smearing the precum over the orifice.

She smiles in amusement, "Good." She leans forward, capturing your mouth with an affectionate peck on the lips. "Just a little longer. Wanna see how long you can wait."

And so the torture begins. The heat, the haze, and the melody of a sex-drunk woman.

A world-renowned dancer who shakes her hips as she rolls forward, running a finger against your pecs. She brings your hands up to do the same, telling you to caress every nook and curve of her. Make her feel that irresistible electricity that shoots straight down her spine when she's with you. To feel how soft her skin is and how malleable her beautiful little breasts are. She gasps with glee, giggling away in genuine amusement.

She rises from your grasp—her tantalizing curves a testament to her dedication, her passion. You swallow dryly as a drop of saliva drips off the corner of your lips. Such a lewd display has you seeing stars. Your jaw slacks and your eyes focus entirely on her figure—all its stunning contours, lines and edges.

"You really love my ass." A cute puff escapes her. A tinkling laughter before she fulfills out every one of your shared desires.

The snug fit is inevitable—after an incredible amount of teasing from your lovely playmate, she has finally chosen to go for it. Her back is arched upwards and she bites her lower lips when your rod enters her still raw hole—though there's a tiny bit of pain that never bothered her before.

"Shit..." Jennie holds your arm tightly for a moment. That is, before an unholy mixture of delight, satisfaction, and searing arousal overtakes her mind. This moment of weakness doesn't last for long and she immediately repurposes it. She bounces and grinds—each move has her inner walls massage your cock. You're in bliss. Everything that the star does is magical and you're so utterly infatuated. So hypnotized by the look of absolute indulgence. She's an elegant song, and a masterpiece to behold. The sweat pooling between her breasts only enhances her grace, a little bead trickles down her navel. She throws her head, luscious raven hair falls everywhere, and her eyes are squeezed shut, a guttural moan when she sits completely flush.

She rests for a second, catching her breath, still smiling all the while. Even at rest, she's mesmerizing. You notice how she holds your hands firm, fingers intertwined, she won't let you escape. You never wanted to.

The adorable whimpers of happiness are back as she looks up at the ceiling, rocking her hips lightly—teasing you, coaxing you for even more. With one smooth move she's rising and falling, faster, and faster still, going for a solid tempo that sees her hips pounding incessantly against yours.

"Fuck." a choked cry is pulled out of you, "this feels amazing."

"Oh yeah, you really like me fucking my own ass?" Her smug little comment is punctuated by a grunt and another hearty slap to her juicy cheeks. Jennie laughs in her unique sing-song way—breathy sighs and delicious whines. She bounces. And she bounces and bounces—both her beautiful tits, her raven-haired head, and that irresistible heart-shaped ass, too.

Jennie raises and falls on your length and her heavy breathing fills the air alongside her impassioned, sexy cries. She works so hard on top of you and pulls out all the stops: shaking her ass side-to-side, clamping down as she draws to the head of your dick, relaxing on the way down again. Jennie is a performer after all, and she can really put on a show.

She arches her spine back and traces a finger along her untouched flower. Teasing herself. That part of Jennie will be left alone, at least for right now, this is an anal adventure, and so her pleasure from that particular place will have to wait until later. The teasing is deliberate, playful, and a way of providing more stimulation to her greedy bum. It is enough to make her squeak in desperation. The urge to touch herself is overbearing, and only increased when you reach up and pinch the tiny nubs on her chest.

Her expression melts at the assault—completely uninhibited, free, and not afraid of getting messy. There's no one here to judge her. No one except the lucky, blessed spectator below and her own greedy one track mind focused on pleasure. On indulgence. Complete self-gratification.

The strain is showing. Her pace slows as her tired legs from exertion. And now you're the one showing her pity, running a palm over the damp hair sticking to her back, down to the subtle dimples above her ass. She sighs sweetly in response and then draws close, clutching onto your arms.

"Do something for me?" She asks cutely.

You smile in response, nodding your approval. Jennie relinquishes control, simply lays on your chest, awaiting for the moment your hips thrust in and out of her.

"Happy birthday," Your first kiss is to her cheek then your lips hover against her ear, "and to many more to come, Miss Jennie Kim."

Your next movement has her clamp a hand over her mouth in order to smother a lustful gasp. A roll of your hips followed by an upward pump. There is absolutely nothing that beats that first initial snap of the waist. Another after. You use one hand to steady her in her current prone position. The other one is at work, roughly pawing at her ass and smacking at the red cheeks, accenting each new powerful snap of your waist.

"Harder..." Jennie slurs with delirious elation.

You're not sure which one she's referring to, so you offer her both: pumping harder and faster as requested while striking her ass with enough force that the echoes reverberate across her bedroom.

"Fuu-ah... FUCK!"

For a moment, you're startled by her reaction. By how intensely her asshole grips, how hard she pants, how quickly she is cumming without warning. So much buildup and yet that's all it takes. Your chest tightens and you grit your teeth, fighting off the climax that threatens to shoot straight into her backdoor. But she's begging you, practically urging you, to fill that lewd forbidden place with everything that you got.

"You should feel lucky you know," Jennie moans between bounces. "If I let you cum inside, and believe me you'll be allowed to cum inside. You'll be the luckiest man in the world."

Fuck... No kidding. You already feel like the luckiest man alive at this very second.

But your legs are growing weaker, the knot forming at the base of your stomach tightens with each passing moment. The immense pleasure burning through you with each new throb. It's hard to stave off the inevitable release that is boiling just at the threshold.

You take a deep breath. Close your eyes and pray. It's the only way to stay sane—you have to remain in control for just a minute more.

"Go ahead. Be the luckiest man in the world."

Jennie offers permission. There is no denying her this time. And you'll do everything to ensure this birthday will be unforgettable—and you're ready to take that first step.

The idea of an impending explosion is intimidating, the reality even more so. Your body seems to go haywire—like a machine whose sole function is to thrust deep inside Jennie, causing her to spasm, her muscles to quake. Jennie moans. Louder and louder. Less controlled, less sensual. More animalistic and filled with need. Desperate sounds that don't stop spilling out of her the more you shove your hips into hers.

Over an hour of buildup all comes down to one single moment. An unceremonial release, both from Jennie and you. This climax, stronger than any, stronger than all the others. Your last ounce of strength goes to pin Jennie back against your lap, just as you unleash torrential floods of seed—soaking her, coating every part of her ass that is available and then some. At the same time, Jennie lets loose with an unrestrained series of whimpers and lets the warmth from deep inside her wash over. Let it run out between your tightly squeezed bodies.

A myriad of sensations hit the two of you like a tsunami: your entire frame erupts with sensation, shivers and shudders from the pleasure and euphoria. All around, your senses go out of focus, the room begins to spin, but not in that nauseous way—a heavenly sort of thing, and when Jennie purrs out your name in pure satisfaction, your pulse spikes. The hazy heady rush and feeling of ecstasy hits a crescendo, the pinnacle of satisfaction.

The breaths are still coming hard and fast. Hearts beating frantically. What started out slow is ending with a flourish.

She still has some time left to her special day but everyone involved in the intimate celebration is completely spent. Utterly exhausted, but content.

Jennie rolls off your body, uses whatever strength she has left to nuzzle against the crook of your neck, "Best birthday ever..." She presses an appreciative kiss against your sweaty, heated temple.

And that, to you, is a win—one that surpasses all the awards she has already achieved.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 07 Chapter 07 | renewal⌟

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The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

The echoes of screams and steel still seemed to bounce off the walls of your mind, yet here, in the dimness of your small room, there was nothing but silence.

Your eyes stayed fixed on your hands, fingers slightly trembling, stained with sweat, dust, and the faint impression of lyre strings.

You didn't move when the knock sounded—gentle but deliberate. A pause, then another knock, more insistent.

You drew in a slow breath, closing your eyes for a brief moment before forcing yourself to rise, your legs heavy, as though the floor might swallow you whole.

The effort it took to cross the room felt monumental, each step echoing the weight of everything that had transpired.

You paused, your hand hovering over the door handle for a moment longer than necessary, your mind briefly drifting back to the sight of the great hall—blood pooling across the marble, the scent of death thick and metallic, bodies strewn in the grotesque aftermath.

The image was there for only a second before you pushed it away, burying it somewhere deep, somewhere you wouldn't have to face right now.

When you finally opened the door, Telemachus stood there, his silhouette almost blending into the dim hallway behind him.

He was covered in dried blood, dark streaks marring his skin and tunic. His face was a mask of exhaustion, shadows deepening under his eyes, yet his gaze was still sharp, still searching, as though even now he was ready to act.

His hair was disheveled, the curls sticking to his forehead, and the tightness around his mouth spoke of the strain he was under, the burden of what he had done.

You looked at him, your eyes meeting his, the question slipping out in a whisper, softer than you intended. "Is it done?"

For a moment, his gaze flickered, the exhaustion in his eyes softening to something else—something like regret or maybe understanding. He sighed, the sound heavy, like it came from the deepest part of him. "It's done," he said, his voice low, almost reverent.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips before you could stop it, your shoulders loosening slightly as the tension began to ebb away.

Though you understood this was the way things had to go, that this was the consequence of the suitors' actions, you couldn't help but feel the fragility of it all—how fleeting human life truly was.

One moment these men had been laughing, feasting, vying for a throne they did not deserve, and the next... nothing.

The silence of the great hall, the emptiness of death—it was stark, final.

You blinked, focusing back on Telemachus, and the memory of his actions flashed in your mind—the way, as soon as the massacre had ended, he had found you.

The hall had still been filled with death, the scent of blood thick in the air, yet he had been at your side, his hands gentle as he guided you away.

You remembered the way his voice had dropped to a whisper, his lips brushing against your ear as he urged you to close your eyes. "Don't look," he had said, his tone soft, a stark contrast to the lethal determination he had shown only moments before.

He had shielded you, turned your head away from the sight of the fallen, ushering you from that room of death with a tenderness that felt almost out of place, but deeply needed.

The memory lingered, his presence a stark contrast to the carnage left behind. His hand had been warm, steady, a lifeline amidst the chaos.

The blood on his skin had smeared onto yours, a reminder of what had happened, but in that moment, all you could feel was his warmth, his reassurance.

He had spoken to you softly, his breath brushing against your temple as he murmured that it was over, that you were safe now.

Safe.

It was such a fragile word, yet in that moment, with Telemachus by your side, you almost believed it.

"____," Telemachus said softly, your name pulling you out of your thoughts. Your eyes snapped up, meeting his, and you saw the concern etched into his features, the way his brow furrowed slightly as he watched you.

"I wanted to let you know what's happened since... since you left the hall," he began, his voice still carrying that edge of exhaustion, but also something warmer, a gentleness reserved just for you. "Father's first priority was to cleanse the palace. Both spiritually and physically." His eyes darkened slightly, his gaze drifting for a moment, as if recalling the grim work. "He commanded that the hall be purified, that the bodies of the suitors be cleared. He wanted everything cleansed—the stench, the memory. He demanded that it be done immediately."

He paused, his eyes searching yours, and you could see the weight of his next words in the way he hesitated. "He ordered the disloyal maidservants to do it. The ones who... entertained the suitors. It was their punishment." He swallowed, his jaw tightening. "They carried out the task, clearing the bodies, scrubbing the blood. It was... not easy to watch."

You nodded slowly, your heart sinking. A part of you felt for them, for the horror of what they had been forced to witness and do.

Yet, you understood. Their betrayal had run deep, and the punishment, harsh as it was, felt just.

Balance had to be restored, even if it came at a heavy cost.

Telemachus must have seen the conflict in your eyes because he offered you a tired smile, a small attempt to lighten the mood. "But... not everything has been grim," he said, his voice softening, a spark of warmth returning to his gaze. "Father reunited with Mother."

Your breath caught, your eyes widening as a soft gasp escaped your lips. "Truly?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes shining with sudden hope. "The queen knows?"

Telemachus nodded, his smile growing. "Yes. She knows. It took some convincing, of course." He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Mother was cautious, uncertain. After all that she endured—the lies, the suitors' deceptions—she needed proof. She tested him." He paused, his eyes meeting yours, his expression softening further. "She asked Eurycleia to move their bed out of the room. The bed that Father built himself. The one that can't be moved because one of its posts is a living olive tree."

You watched him, your heart swelling as warmth began to spread through your chest, pushing away the lingering shadows.

Telemachus continued, his voice filled with quiet pride. "Father's reaction was... passionate. He was indignant, even, that anyone would think the bed could be moved. That reaction was all the proof Mother needed. She knew then that it was truly him."

A smile tugged at your lips, and you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. The thought of your queen, finally at peace, her long years of waiting rewarded—it filled you with something close to joy.

After everything, after all the heartache and fear, she had her husband back.

Ithaca had its king, and Penelope had her Odysseus.

"I'm so glad," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. "She deserves this. They both do."

Telemachus nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "We all deserve a little peace," he said quietly, and for a moment, the weight of everything seemed to lift, the heaviness replaced by something gentler, something hopeful.

But then, his expression turned grave, and he looked away from you for a second, his eyes darkening as if he were gathering his thoughts. Telemachus drew in a slow breath before speaking, his voice lower, almost hesitant. "There's... another thing I wanted—needed to tell you," he began, his gaze flickering back to meet yours, the seriousness in his eyes unmistakable.

You felt your stomach tighten, the sense of foreboding settling like a stone in your chest.

"Father decided that cleaning the hall and purging the memory of the suitors wasn't enough," he continued, each word heavy, deliberate. "Those who were disloyal to our family had to face something harsher—a punishment fitting their betrayal."

You nodded slowly, understanding what he meant, your heart sinking further.

Your thoughts immediately went to Cleo—how she had seemed so certain of her choices, so defiant. You wondered how she would take it, if she had even expected this outcome.

Telemachus cleared his throat, his jaw clenching as he looked at you, his eyes searching for something—maybe understanding, maybe forgiveness. "At first, Father simply wanted them banned, expelled from Ithaca. He thought that was enough," he said, his voice carrying a hint of bitterness. "But I... I insisted that it wasn't." He swallowed, his gaze dropping to the floor, a flash of shame crossing his features. "Their betrayal was unforgivable. I felt that they needed to be held accountable in a way that truly reflected the gravity of what they had done. I... pushed for a harsher punishment."

He paused, his hands curling into fists at his sides, his face tightening with determination. "Father gave me the green light to decide. He let me take over."

You blinked, your heart suddenly racing in your chest, a cold dread washing over you.

Cleo.

Her face flashed through your mind—her smile, her laughter, the way she had nudged you with that teasing grin, the way she had spoken about living freely, without care for consequences.

Your voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper. "What... what happened to them? To Cleo?"

Telemachus' expression hardened, his gaze steady but filled with an emotion you couldn't quite name—regret, perhaps, or maybe a sense of duty fulfilled. "I ordered the disloyal women to be led outside the palace," he said, his voice devoid of any softness now. "They were executed by hanging—it was meant to reinforce the message that their betrayal had cost them their place in Ithaca." He paused, his eyes flickering away from yours, as though ashamed to meet your gaze.

Your legs suddenly felt weak, the strength draining from them as the full weight of his words hit you. You reached out, your hand grasping the doorframe for support, your knuckles turning white as you leaned into it.

Cleo... was dead?

The world seemed to blur for a moment, the edges of your vision darkening as you tried to steady your breathing. You swallowed hard, your mind reeling, unable to fully process the reality of it.

She was gone. Just like that. A life snuffed out, her laughter silenced... forever.

You closed your eyes, a shuddering breath escaping your lips as you tried to ground yourself, to find some sense of stability amidst the turmoil in your chest. The room felt as though it was closing in, the air too thick, too heavy.

Telemachus' voice broke through the haze, softer now, almost pleading. "I know it was harsh. I know. But I couldn't let it go unpunished. Not after everything." He paused, his gaze finally meeting yours again, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and conviction. "I had to do what I believed was right for Ithaca. For my family."

You nodded faintly, not trusting yourself to speak, your throat tight with emotion. You understood, on some level, why he had done it. But that understanding didn't make the pain any less real, any less sharp.

"I'm sorry, ____" Telemachus whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm so sorry." he reached out, his hand gently brushing against your arm, but then he pulled away, as if unsure of whether he should offer comfort or remain distant.

You took a shaky breath, swallowing down the hurt that rose within you. It was painful, the realization that someone who had once laughed by your side, who had shared moments of friendship, was gone.

But still, you forced yourself to take a step toward the prince, your legs feeling heavy as though each movement took all of your strength.

A wobbly smile pulled at your lips as you looked up at him, tears swimming in your eyes, blurring your vision just a little.

Your hand shot out, quick and instinctive, wrapping around his before he could pull away entirely.

The warmth of his skin grounded you, your fingers trembling as they closed around his.

"It's... it's okay," you croaked out, the words shaky but sincere. You paused, clearing your throat, trying to steady your voice. "I understand why you did what you had to do. There is no excuse for the betrayal they committed... not after everything Queen Penelope endured, all the kindness she still showed even in her darkest times."

You watched as Telemachus' face slowly began to untighten, the tension in his features easing.

His shoulders sagged slightly, the weight he carried seeming to lessen, even if just for a moment. He fully grasped your hand now, his fingers interlocking with yours, and he stared at you, his eyes filled with both sorrow and gratitude.

You continued, your voice softening, trailing off with a sigh. "The only thing I am truly sad about... is Cleo. Her decisions, the way she chose to live—it wasn't supposed to end like this." You closed your eyes for a brief moment, shaking your head slowly, trying to push away the image of her face.

When you opened your eyes again, you squared your shoulders, squeezing Telemachus' hand a bit tighter. "But I understand, my prince. I do." You forced yourself to smile again, hoping that it might bring him some comfort, even if it couldn't heal the wounds entirely. "We move forward from here, as we must."

Telemachus' gaze softened, and he nodded, his eyes glistening with a mixture of emotions. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze in return, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you. I... I needed to hear that." His eyes searched your face, as if trying to gauge whether you were alright, whether you could handle what came next.

You swallowed, offering him a small nod, though the words you wanted to say felt caught in your throat, tangled with all the emotions you didn't know how to express.

He nodded back, a hint of a weary smile tugging at his lips. "We have much to do," he said, his voice a little stronger now, a little more like the Telemachus you knew—the one who had always looked forward, even when the weight of the world tried to hold him down.

And you knew he was right.

The massacre was over, but the real work was just beginning.

☆

☆

Side by side, you walked through the palace corridors, the silence between you both as heavy as the air that hung in the aftermath of all that had happened. The long hallway to the throne room seemed endless, each step echoing faintly against the cold stone floors.

The few servants who passed by moved with downcast eyes and hushed footsteps, their presence almost ghostly. You counted only one or two every other minute, each one looking tired and burdened by the knowledge of the events that had taken place.

Your eyes flickered to Telemachus, a worried frown pulling at your brows; you couldn't help but voice the fear gnawing at your chest as you stared up at him. "Were we truly betrayed by so many?"

Telemachus let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly, the weariness evident in the lines of his face. "Yes," he admitted, his tone thick with exhaustion. "There were more than we imagined... We'll have to find new servants, people we can trust, but until then... we'll manage."

Your lips pressed together, your brow furrowing even further at his words. You could see the strain etched across his features, the weight of what lay ahead already pressing down on him.

Without thinking, you blurted out, "Maybe we can start by training some of the sheep to carry trays—at least they're loyal."

Telemachus blinked, a look of confusion crossing his face before he realized you were joking. A surprised laugh escaped him, sudden and unguarded, his eyes widening slightly as he shook his head. "That's horrible," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth lifted into a reluctant smile.

You giggled, a small sense of triumph bubbling up within you at the sight of his smile. There was a pep in your step now, pride welling up inside you for managing to lighten his burden, if only for a second. "Horrible, maybe," you said playfully, "but it made you laugh, didn't it?"

Telemachus shook his head again, the smile lingering on his lips as he glanced at you, the weariness in his eyes softening just a bit.

The two of you continued on, the throne room drawing nearer with each step.

As you rounded the corner, the grand doors to the throne room came into view. Telemachus paused, reaching out to push one of the heavy doors open, his other arm extending just slightly for you to slip through first.

You met his eyes, offering him a soft smile as you whispered, "Thank you." You slipped under his arm, stepping into the room, with Telemachus following close behind.

The moment you entered, both of you froze at the scene before you.

In the center of the throne room, instead of the two royal seats occupied by separate figures, there was a single, intimate silhouette—Odysseus and Penelope, wrapped in each other's arms, oblivious to the grandeur surrounding them.

They stood at the heart of the space, a quiet monument to love and endurance.

Penelope's arms rested around Odysseus' shoulders, her hands gently tracing the back of his neck, as if grounding herself, ensuring he was real.

She looked down at him with a softness in her gaze that betrayed years of longing, a gaze only two people who had known both separation and deep love could share.

Her dark hair cascaded down her back, catching hints of the sun's warmth, and her face, usually guarded and composed, was now tender, her lips parted in a silent reverence.

Odysseus, in turn, gazed up at her with an expression that was almost childlike in its vulnerability.

The lines of hardship and the sharpness of war softened in his face as he looked at his wife, his hand lifting to trace the curve of her cheek with a gentle reverence. His thumb brushed just below her eye, a touch so light it seemed almost as if he feared she might vanish if he pressed too hard.

There was a tenderness in his eyes, a deep, unwavering devotion that spoke of both gratitude and relief—relief that, against all odds, he had returned to her, that this moment, once only a distant hope, was finally real.

As he traced her face, his hand slid up to cup her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed as if savoring the warmth of his palm. She tilted her head down, pressing her forehead to his, her lips curling in a gentle, almost shy smile, one that held years of love, longing, and relief

They didn't need words. The silence between them was rich and full, a communion that transcended speech, filled only by the gentle cadence of their breathing and the slow, rhythmic beat of their hearts.

Their love, once tested by time, loss, and separation, had returned to bloom, stronger and more resilient than ever.

The throne room itself seemed to share in their reunion.

The sunlight bathed the scene in a warm, golden hue, illuminating the lovers as if blessing them.

The once cold stone of the palace was now softened by the light, casting an ethereal glow that made everything feel otherworldly, almost enchanted.

The columns, the high vaulted ceiling, even the shadows themselves seemed to embrace the moment, framing the couple in a warm, protective cocoon.

You and Telemachus found yourselves hesitating at the threshold, not wanting to break the spell that enveloped them.

Telemachus' hand lingered on the door, his gaze fixed on his parents. His expression was a mixture of awe and deep, unspoken emotion.

His mother and father, finally reunited, had become more than parents or rulers in this moment—they were a testament to everything he had fought for, a symbol of everything that made this kingdom worth saving.

For a moment, the two of you simply watched, the light and peace of the room seeping into your souls.

The throne room was empty, yes, but it was fuller than it had ever been—filled with the presence of those who had returned, with the love that had endured, and with the hope of a new beginning.

The peace in the room seemed timeless, untouched by the world's sorrows, as though the gods themselves had blessed this moment, wrapping the long-awaited lovers in a warmth that was both eternal and fragile, like a dream finally brought to life.

Odysseus, sensing his son's presence, turned his head slightly, a soft smile forming on his lips as he said, "Hello, Telemachus. Hello to you as well. ____."

But even as he acknowledged his son and you, he didn't release Penelope. He held her closer, as though anchoring himself in her warmth, her solidity, as if reassuring himself that she was no figment of his imagination.

His other hand moved to the small of her back, drawing her just a fraction closer, and Penelope straightened to face you and Telemachus, her arm still wrapped around her love. Her gaze was tender, her eyes shimmering with both joy and a vulnerability rarely seen.

Penelope's lips curved into a smile, and she reached out with her free hand, her voice soft and filled with affection. "My son," she said.

Telemachus took a step forward, his movements almost hesitant, his steps jittery as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

When he finally reached his parents, both Odysseus and Penelope wrapped him up in their arms, pulling him close, holding him securely between them.

You watched, feeling your heart swell with warmth. Your eyes shimmered, tears blurring your vision as you placed your hands over your chest, as if to hold in the feeling of love and relief that threatened to overflow.

For a moment, it was as if Telemachus was a child again—sheltered between the two people who meant everything to him, the tensions of the past few days melting away as this family was finally reunited.

The sight brought a small smile to your face, and you could almost feel the weight of all the fears and worries lifting. The image before you was something sacred—something that spoke to hope, to love that could endure the worst of trials.

Penelope turned her head, her eyes catching yours as her smile widened. She waved at you gently, her voice inviting, "Come here, dear."

You blinked, a bit taken aback, your brows rising as you stuttered, "M-Me?"

A soft chuckle escaped both Penelope and Odysseus. Odysseus nodded, his gaze warm. "Of course. Penelope has told me all about you," he said, his voice full of appreciation. "You played a vital role in keeping our kingdom alive. You have our deepest gratitude."

Swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, you nodded, feeling a rush of warmth and something akin to disbelief. Softly, you began to walk up the steps toward the royal family, your steps shaky, your heart racing.

When you reached them, Telemachus looked at you with that warm, familiar smile that never failed to calm your nerves. He gently reached out, grabbing your hand.

You let out a small yelp of surprise as he pulled you forward, drawing you into the embrace.

Suddenly, you were wrapped in warmth—surrounded by Penelope, Odysseus, and Telemachus.

It was overwhelming in the best possible way, the love and warmth pressing in on you from all sides.

You could feel Penelope's arm resting gently against your back, Odysseus' sturdy presence beside you, and Telemachus' hand squeezing yours.

Your heart raced in your chest, and you could feel tears stinging your eyes again, but this time, they were tears of happiness.

For a moment, everything felt perfect—like all the pain, the uncertainty, the fear, had been worth it just to be here, embraced by the people who had fought so hard for this peace.

Your chest tightened, filled with hope, warmth, and love.

It was a family reunited, and though you were not born into it, in this moment, you felt as though you belonged.

For once, there was no distance between you and those you stood beside—you were part of something larger, something enduring, and it filled your heart with a sense of quiet joy.

Slowly, the embrace broke.

Penelope and Odysseus still held each other, their arms wound tightly as though unwilling to let go even for a second, while you found yourself standing beside Telemachus, his presence comforting by your side.

Odysseus then turned, his gaze sweeping the room, pausing for a moment on each face—Penelope's steadfast gaze, Telemachus' thoughtful expression, and even your own, as if pulling strength from those who had stood beside him.

He drew in a breath, the tension in the air palpable. "My dear family, and you, who have been loyal to us through everything," he began, his voice rich with emotion, "our journey has been long and arduous, filled with trials I would not wish on anyone. Ithaca has suffered in my absence. Our people have faced uncertainty, hardship, and loss."

You saw Penelope's expression darken, her brow furrowing as those memories returned—the suitors, the constant manipulation, the feeling of being cornered.

Telemachus, too, looked down for a moment, his eyes clouding with thoughts of the years without his father, the struggles, the moments when hope had seemed lost.

"But," Odysseus continued, his voice rising above the weight of the past, "we are here now. We have survived, and we will rebuild." He looked to Penelope, his gaze softening. "Together, we will heal these wounds. I will not let Ithaca remain broken, not when it has so much potential for prosperity."

There was a conviction in his voice, the kind that left no room for doubt. The people deserved a leader who not only defended them from threats but also ensured their prosperity.

And he wanted to give them that.

You could hear the weight of his words, each one resonating with a sense of duty. He was not merely concerned with power; Odysseus was a protector, a man who saw his kingdom not as territory, but as people who needed him.

He then turned to Telemachus, his gaze softening, the fire in his eyes shifting to something more paternal, more tender. "Telemachus," he addressed, "As the rightful heir to Ithaca, you have much to learn. The road won't be easy, but together we can restore Ithaca to what it should be," he added, his voice laced with both challenge and hope. "Are you ready for what lay ahead?"

You watched as Telemachus listened, his face serious, his eyes reflecting the weight of his father's expectations. There was no hesitation, no hint of the boy who had once doubted himself.

Instead, you saw a young man who had faced darkness, who had seen the price of weakness and betrayal, and who had emerged with a stronger will.

Telemachus seemed to stand a little taller before his father, his posture straightening, his eyes meeting Odysseus' with newfound strength and understanding. "I understand, Father. I am ready," he replied, his voice steady, a glimmer of something resolved in his eyes. "I have waited for this my whole life—to learn, to be worthy of this kingdom, and of you."

You could see the resolve in his eyes, the promise he silently made to both his father and himself.

The trials of the past days had forged him into someone who understood the cost of leadership—the sacrifices that must be made, the difficult choices that lay ahead, and the burden of carrying the hopes of others on his shoulders.

Odysseus smiled, a warmth crossing his features that was rare in the years of battle. He stepped forward, his free hand reaching out to rest on his son's shoulder. "Telemachus, you have already proven yourself worthy. What remains is for us to build this future, side by side. It will be hard—harder still than what we have faced—but I believe in you. I believe in us."

You watched as Penelope closed her eyes for a moment, as if to absorb the strength of Odysseus' words, her lips curving into a faint smile. She reached her hand out to her son, her fingers brushing against his arm. "Telemachus, Ithaca is as much yours as it is ours," she said, her voice filled with both love and a gentle seriousness. "This is your future too."

Telemachus nodded, his chest rising as he took in a deep breath. Then he turned, looking down at you standing beside him. His eyes were kind but tinged with uncertainty, and you could see the vulnerability beneath that mask of resolve. "We have all had to make sacrifices," he said softly, his words directed towards you. "And you—you've been with us, helped us more than you know."

You felt a warmth spread through your chest, your heart pounding at the sincerity in his voice.

The royal family—Odysseus, Penelope, and Telemachus—were not just rulers, not just legends. They were a family bound by love, by their trials, and by the quiet promise of better days ahead.

You gave Telemachus a small nod, your eyes meeting his. "I am honored to serve," you managed, though your voice was barely a whisper.

Penelope's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her hand tightening around her husband's arm. "We have waited so long for this day," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "And now that you are here, I know we can do it—together."

Then, Odysseus' eyes softened as he turned to his wife, his smile growing warmer. "Now, Penelope, prepare a feast—a gathering not for celebration, but for remembrance and hope. It is time to honor those who have been lost, those who fought for Ithaca, and to mark the beginning of a new era."

Penelope smiled, a soft, knowing expression crossing her face. "Of course, my love," she said, her voice gentle, filled with both relief and affection. She glanced towards Telemachus, who in turn looked towards you, his eyes lighting up with an idea.

"Perhaps you could play for us," Telemachus suggested, his gaze resting on you, a hint of encouragement in his expression. His mother immediately nodded, her eyes sparkling in agreement. "Yes, please do. It would bring such warmth to the gathering," Penelope added, her voice sincere.

You felt Odysseus' eyes cut to you, his gaze evaluating for a brief moment before softening. "I have encountered many in my travels," he began, his voice carrying the weight of experience, “but I do not think I have ever heard one play or sing a tune as sweetly as you." His compliment was genuine, his eyes holding yours as though to impress upon you the depth of his words.

Heat rose to your face, and you bowed your head slightly, a warm smile spreading across your lips. "Thank you, my king," you replied, your voice filled with pride. "I would be honored to play."

With that, the conversation shifted towards preparations, the room slowly filling with a sense of purpose.

You found yourself standing beside Telemachus once more, his hand briefly brushing against yours as you both turned to follow his parents. A small smile played on your lips as you looked towards the future—one that, for the first time in a long while, felt hopeful and bright.

A/N: alright, first arc done/building up the romance between telemachus, now onto two our nextn contestants. hm, should it be apollo or hermes? or should i leave apollo last to meet???; also, how do you guys like my newest fic, 'godly things?' i'm trying my hand at tackling a more softer mc, so i hope i make her empathetic/not too apathetic like makima from the kne one lololo.

[muzanswaifu]

Bittersweet

Demon! Sanemi x Fem! Reader

18+

Request: "I have been waiting to read something like this for so long. Demon Sanemi craving blood because fem!reader is on her period, so yk he eats her out without mercy❤️"

Demon Sanemi is so mean I love hiiiim :3 Need me a man who would eat me out on my period 😒 Jk jk that shit gotta taste nastyyyyyyy

NSFW Warnings: Yandere, Non-con, Smut, Sexism, Kidnapping, Forced Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Menstruation, Blood Kink, Forced Orgasm, Kinda Gross ngl

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The rhythmic pitter-patter of feet echoes through the green, a slow churn of water thrumming with the flow of the current. Even the thick noise of crickets and wind couldn't drown out the hint of life found deep in the brush, the figurative curl of a finger beaconing him to draw closer, to close the union of rarity.

He took a breath. A deep one. Taking in the pungent scent of weak males. And a female.

Shinazugawa could nearly taste the delectable meat already, the flavor settling on his tongue and seducing his taste buds. Drool nearly threatened his mouth, but he withheld himself. He wasn't an animal. Not technically, anyway.

But he might as well be. Only an animal could hunt as he did, track as he did, kill as he did. But a beast was not nearly as precise as he was, not leaving even a scrap of evidence in his wake. Only the crime scene would be found, a gorey scene of bone and torn flesh, remnants of his well-earned meal. But only the males would wither...

As for the female -

Oh gods, did just the thought of it make him salivate, his very bones trembling with need. Her scent alone made him feel weak with hunger, his tongue curling with horrid intent. The fragrance was familiar to him, a vague memory of his past existence of rare blood, the same unique trait only serving as a grand pillar toward his success as a demon. Her blood ran the same, her veins full of the powerful elixir that his kind would quite literally kill each other for. But he had no need for such rivalry.

The path the cattle strode upon was a hidden one, veiled by a plentiful layer of wisteria about fifty feet aways on either side of the trail. The effort wasn’t so useless, he supposed. Perhaps it served useful against weaker demons of no rank, the fiends not yet powerful enough to develop some resistance to it. But his godly build was stronger, the frail flower only giving his skin a lingering sting. His hunger far outweighed it.

He had long stalked his prize. The demon had patience in these rare situations, biding his time for the perfect opportunity to make his efforts all the more worth it. It had been several moons ago that he’d first stumbled upon her delivery across these lands, his keen eye catching the lingering dust kicked up by the horses that pulled her carriage. Even back then, the chance had been perfect. The men were unknowing, all walls of defense down as the car came to a halt, surely one of exhaustion. Shinazugawa drew closer, only a breath away from finally feasting when his vision was obscured by a heavenly vision.

A small thing she was, her skirts nearly catching under her feet as she gracefully stepped down from her traveling abode. The moonlight shimmered brilliantly off her glazed skin as she bent her delicate neck back, stretching out the aching tightness trapped there. Her (h/c) hair was frizzy across the outline, the static from the summer heat pulling at the threads and giving them a coiled curl. His maw fell open with his amazement.

He’d come across several humans of marechi blood in his infinite lifetime, and most, if not all, were nothing much to look at, quite ugly in his opinion. They all bore the same simplicity and naïveté, their only unique trait being their delectable composition that gave them their sole purpose of feasting. But she was so drastically different.

Everything about this female sang rarity, her natural features reminiscent of that of ancient goddesses that mortal men could only wish to touch. But here she was. Within an arm’s reach, he could have her, do with her what he wished. He was nearly disgusted with himself, being far more captivated with his food than he should’ve been. Sparing her of death would’ve been such a waste of opportunity, one that even those lower than him wouldn’t have been so idiotic as to squander. Yet, his own self-doubt swallowed him as he drew back into the dark wood, letting her little toy soldiers bring her back to the safety of the nearing daylight.

He’d gorged himself after that, consuming soul after soul at a nearby village in an attempt to quench his own frustration and need. There weren’t many options to consider. He couldn’t spare the thing entirely, he wasn’t that fucking stupid, but he didn’t very much want her dead either. Turning her definitely wasn’t an option, women just didn’t have as much potential as demons, and he had his own personal beliefs that women shouldn’t dirty their hands. But dear gods, her scent, her smell alone probably called upon hundreds of demons to her location daily, perhaps it would’ve been a mercy to take the female’s life.

Fuck.

He hated himself for how indecisive he was. Not once in his entire demonhood had he been at such a crossroad of hesitance. There had to be another option that held the best of both worlds, yes? Shinazugawa just hadn’t come across it yet.

But fate gave him a hint as he snatched up the severed half of a female he’d killed, her guts spilling into his lap as he gnawed on her fat ankle. His daggered eyes trailed up her cold thigh, lining the dark trail of blood that seeped from under her skirt. A small confusion fell over him as he mulled over the strange placement. His blade’s cut through her navel had been clean, her blood pooling into the muddy grass and not at all staining much of her clothing. Yet the chain of red kept its existence, running into the conjunction of her thighs. Cursing his own curiosity, Sanemi swept the pesky material aside, only to be met with the brilliance of a cruel idea.

It hadn’t been hard at all to follow along the woman’s usual route of travel again, her men taking the same path,  ignorant of its dangerous discovery. Yet the timing was unfortunately off, her smell still sickeningly sweet and clean rather than bitter and dirty. He’d have to wait for next time. And the next. And the next. He’d nearly given up hope entirely until the fated night his lungs were filled with the metallic scent that had his belly tensing with primal famine. Just the mere aroma of ichor had drool gathering in his jowls, his fists clenching with need. It only grew thicker as her quaint carriage drew near, the clicking wheels singing a dreadful tune with each snap against the road. Sanemi could already taste the woman on his tongue, her savory flesh plump and tender between his teeth… god, he was going to lose it.

He nearly did as she stepped from her carriage in the same manner as their first meeting, her hair knit in tight braids across her crown, framing her delicate features. She was dressed more eloquently this time, Her gown long and loose yet hugging her figure with a gentle tightness. He mused to himself that perhaps she was on her way to some formal event to maintain appearances, maybe even earn herself a husband. Yet the notion of such a possibility irked him all the same. He’d never felt a hunger like this before, if one could even call it that. This felt so much more significant, crucial even, as if his very life depended on it. And maybe it did, since he would most definitely not let himself live if he couldn’t get even a single taste of her blood. Her body was his to take.

It took him no time at all to do away with the weaklings, the men’s bodies falling one after the other into the gravel, making a sad splash as their vitals funneled out. The man ogling at her backside was the first to go, his head severed the instant his eyeline met the wide curve of her dress, dropping to the ground with a thud and rolling to a leisure stop to her heel. When the woman finally turned from her distraction of the ominous wood, she was met with pure, bloody isolation.

Her horrified scream echoed loud, her hands clawing at her own face as she looked upon the gory scene of blood and guts that surrounded her. Shinazugawa was almost impressed at her reaction speed as she quickly turned foot and bolted, running through the thick bush despite her frailty. He couldn’t help but snicker, so enamored by her utter foolishness of trying to escape. If the men protecting her couldn’t even survive, what made her think she was the exception?

“God, you’re fucking stupid, ha!” he cackled, leaping about the tree-line, nipping at her backside but giving her just the right amount of space to let her hope she could get away.

She was not at all athletic, her stamina quickly dwindling as her frail figure fought with itself to continue on. Her chest burned, her feet hurt, her will to keep moving dwindling by the second and feeding into the persuasive idea of giving up. Yet the monster snatched her before she could choose, slamming her into the soft, melted ground and caking her elegance in earth. His hand wrapped around her pretty neck firmly, another snaking down her bodice and tearing open the gold buttons of her dress. His tongue swept across his lip as he unwrapped her, taking his sweet time to unveil every inch of her pristine flesh to his ravenous eye, her little fists pounding at his chest as she sobbed and screamed for help.

“Shut it,” Sanemi growled lowly, surprised to see her actually listen, her lip wobbling and eyes flooding as she silenced herself. He could still hear her pathetic whimpers as he stripped her, her small frame shaking as he brushed down her stomach, removing the lacy undergarments that hid her delicate body from his sight. He could see her plush intimacy coming into view from beneath her coverings, her curved hips thickening her figure, her thighs trembling as they tried desperately to hide themselves. But there was nothing that could be done about that now as she lied there, helpless, powerless, weak.

He opened his mouth wide, exposing sharp canines and letting his hot breath wash over her firm abdomen as her tears began anew and wept down her flushed cheeks. The demon was pleased, relishing in her surrender and submission as he gently ran his tongue down her navel, sampling his meal and savoring the girl's pitiful sobs. He loved it when humans cried, when they begged and pleaded for their lives like the weaklings they were, it made things so much more exciting.

His tongue flicked out over her pelvis, gliding over the pudge over her sex as he breathed in the scent of her musk, tainted with ovulation. Sanemi could already feel the saliva gathering in a jowls as he began to peel down her underwear, a cotton cloth clinging to the crotch of it. Her breath stuttered.

"N-no, no, please! Please... please!" she cried out, shaking hard and grasping at her own face, nearly clawing her eyes out with panic. But she knew better than to try to fight him off again, clearly more afraid of what he would do then than what he was currently doing. He couldn't help but grin against her supple flesh, his edged teeth nicking her thigh. She jerked at the sudden pain and the warm sensation of blood trickling down her leg, soaking into the dirt.

"P-Please, p-p-please don't... h-hurt me," her words shook with her exterior, her sniffling likely a strong persuasion to those who had a heart. He obviously didn't but was still bothered by her pestering fear of being eaten. "If I was going to eat you, don't you think I would have done it already?" he groaned sarcastically.. The human slowly removed her fingers to peak down at him, her eyes red and welled with tears, lip trembling. He laughed.

"I mean come on, you think I'd let you bitch and moan this long just to kill you later? If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Quit fucking crying," he hissed.

She sniffled again. "B-but -"

"Zip it."

Her mouth snapped shut, quickly obeying before her brain could even comprehend him.

Sanemi growled. "Talk again and you get to join those fuckers back there." He nodded his head back to the direction of her abandoned carriage and dead guards. His claws dug into her thighs, pulling them to spread wider to encompass his presence. "The sooner you let me take what I want, the sooner I let you go. But I don't deal with brats. You either listen or you don't, 's up to you bitch."

He wasn't sure how he expected her to react, but it definitely wasn't for her to spread herself wider, without any instruction. It was almost touching how quickly she gave in, not even needing a moment to think it over before she opened herself up for him to do as he pleased. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she were eager for it.

His head fell down to her core again, his fangs pricking the surface of her skin yet again, drawing forth a shallow line of blood as he slid them down her inner thighs, his eyes locked on her frightened yet curious gaze. She shivered at the sharpness of his touch, her legs trembling as he moved further south, trying to appease his hungered excitement. He resumed pulling down her panties, reveling in the aroma of moon blood that filled his senses as he took away all obstruction. It was beautiful. The smell of blood. The sight of red dripping from her puffy lips. He could only imagine the taste, so eager in his imagination of its excellence. He'd never tasted pure ovulation blood before, never even thought of it actually. It would be stupid to use just his tongue when he could devour with his teeth in an instant and move on to the next meal. But this was a different situation entirely. This woman could satiate him for years, decades even, with marechi blood. It didn't hurt that she was a hot piece of ass either. If he didn't get himself together soon, he might end up fucking his food as well.

The woman's eyes lingered on his leisure movements, the drawl of his dangerous eyes along her sex as he studied the meal. Embarrassment quickly rose in her chest as she realized his intentions, praying that he’d move on with whatever he was trying to do so her dignity could recover. Although, she supposed letting him taste her menstrual blood was better than getting eaten alive... but hardly.

The demon felt her pulse quicken in his grasp, her breathing growing faster and her patience dwindling as she began to quiver again. He didn't blame her though, not in the slightest. But he had every right to  such a rare female, he deserved everything. And if the needs of others were sacrificed, so be it. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist her for too long. He was ravenous.

And he was horny.

He smiled as his head dipped down, his tongue flicking out to smooth against her swollen clitoris, barely brushing the top as he inhaled the fragrance of her blood. Her legs trembled, her muscles tensing as her hips buckled in response, shocked with the sudden feeling of sensitivity. She had to bite her lip to silence her noise of surprise. He chuckled as he teased her, dragging his tongue from one side to the other, teasing her wet folds and leaving behind a thin trail of saliva. He didn't really care for her pleasure at the moment, but he was curious of her response to it. Dinner and a show. That was fine by him.

She bit her lip harder, her thighs flexing to keep from touching him. Sanemi was excited at her reaction, watching her face contort with each and every careless stroke of his tongue, her hips subconsciously rising to feed herself into his awaiting mouth. A few times, she almost grabbed for him, but her arms were still pinned to her side by her own strong will to survive. He liked that, enjoyed her struggle as he continued to lick her up and down, her clit becoming more sensitive with each and every pass. Her blood was intoxicating, his head already growing dizzy as he drank her from the source. He thought it would be difficult to keep himself from biting down but the thought never even grazed his mind as he continued giving sloppy licks and sucks to her weeping heat. She was so tasty, so sweet, so ripe. It seemed like she would never stop bleeding as his tongue was eternally blessed with a fresh coat of red. He wondered for a moment if it was possible to drain her of it all in one night.

He growled, his head lowering down to her opening and his tongue falling out again as she whimpered in anticipation, eyes closed tight. She felt like she was losing her mind with every pass of his ravenous tongue. Her head was so foggy and light, her pussy so warm, she couldn't stop herself from letting out small noises of pleasure as he kept feasting upon her. It took every ounce of her being not to wrap her legs around his head and trap him into her center, forcing him to cease his cruel teasings. What little was left of her fear only heightened the experience, giving her a blissful taste of sin that she'd never indulged before, the sense of danger giving her such a rush.

Her ichor only grew sweeter on his tongue by the second, her slick diluting her blood in heavier batches that gave him more a taste of lust than power. He focused on her hole then, realizing that nipping at her clit certainly wasn't helping the situation. Yet, her pleasure rose none-the-less. His tongue worked hard, dashing inside of her, licking up every drop of liquor, drinking it down as if it were a fine wine. It was nearly too good to be true, this level of strength he felt. He looked down at the girl, his eyes burning into her as he watched her squirm and grip the earth. She was so delicious.

But he needed more.

His tongue pumped into her again and again, dipping as far as it could reach before retreating to her entrance to lick up anything that had escaped him. She shuddered, her hips subtly grinding on his face to chase her nearing end. It continued building in her belly, sending bolts of electricity up her spine and warming her insides. She couldn't even feel the pain of her cramps anymore.

Sanemi sipped at her wetness more vigorously, his tongue lapping at her like a dog, desperate for more of his meal. He slowed only for a moment as the woman gave a small cry, her hips and thighs quaking harshly and tensing in his palms. He wasn't even angry when her juices sprayed him, drenching his lower face and dripping down his lips. If anything he was amused, only a human could come from such little care. Yet, he stopped, her cunt hardly even bleeding anymore being so wet with arousal and relief. What was the point of pleasing her when he gained nothing in return.

He rose from his position on the ground, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as his eyes raked down her sloppy appearance, certainly not that of a noblewoman. Her backside was caked with mud, her hair messy and matted, her face red and mouth leaking with drool. She nearly looked peaceful as she let out gentle pants, still softly shaking from such a strong orgasm. He rolled his eyes.

"Get up," he commanded, uncaring of her condition. "I don't have all fucking night."

The woman only rose when his growls became violent, her movements awkward and her head still in the clouds. She still attempted to cover herself, tucking an arm over her breasts and cupping her sex with another.

"I'm only going to explain this once so I suggest you pay attention-" he began, her eyes quickly lighting up with fright, "You are going to come back to this path every month during your menses. You will come alone. No guards. No friends. No nobody. Understand?"

She squirmed nervously in her footing, her fear beginning to crest again. "B-but I-I won’t be a-allowed to travel for n-no r-r-reason..." she stuttered.

"Not my problem."

"A-and how would I come back without anyone to take-"

"Not. My. Problem." he hissed meanly, making her cower away.

He stepped forward to her, towering over her little form. "I'm not here to negotiate. I'm just telling you what you're going to do. I don't give a fuck how you're gonna do it, but if you know what's good for you, you'll obey. You want anyone else dead because of you?" he sneered.

Her lip quivered and tears glazed in her eyes. "N-no."

Sanemi chuckled, looking down at her and pressing a strong hand over her lower belly and brushing away her small hands, dangerously close to her privates that were still glazed with his saliva.

"This is mine," he stated, passing two fingers between her puffy cunt lips, "Give it to anyone else and I'll kill them and make you watch. I'll make it slow too. You want that?" She violently shook her head, nearly on the cusp of pissing herself from the terror of such a suggestion.

He hummed with his approval of her response, giving her another once over with his eyes and a quick squeeze of her breast before backing away into the night, undisturbed with how on earth she was going to get back home. It would've been any second that he could lose control of himself and pounce, a desperate need growing in pants to satiate himself. He'd have to establish that as another rule - no fucking when she was edible. Maybe he'd pay her another visit later when her period was over, at her estate perhaps, just to take away her innocence and test out how useful she was to him. He could only imagine how pathetic she would look speared on his cock with nowhere else to go, but that would be for another night, he couldn't forget her main purpose.

And he couldn't wait to get a taste of that again.

-

@acehyacinth

@chaik1

@tomiokas-lunchbox

@walkingtravesty97

@keimuras

@akazaapologist

@prostheticmind

@doumakiss

@uchihabucketlist

@tired-writer04

@magoliaomega

@bishishbored

@animeblog123

@sparklyphantom

@vividelreyy

@ledafox

@that-bih

-

-

[yanderemommabean]

What do you think of Ganondorf just getting entirely pussy-drunk & feasting on his Darling?

Like, Yan!Ganondorf, but instead of hurting Darling if she acts up, he overstims her until she's a weeping mess & begging him to stop.

I feel he’s never the type to hurt his darling. Yes he’s incredibly intimidating and evil, the very embodiment of it, but I also feel he’s the type where if you do manage to make him love you (against your will or not) he’d never hurt you.

At least, not in the sense where you couldn’t recuperate.

You’ll definitely be weak, shaking, sweaty and sore when he gets his hands on you however. He’s so much larger you don’t really have a choice but to submit and allow him to remind you exactly who’s in charge.

Slow deliberate licks, languid and thorough, tasting your juices while you whine and squirm, but all you can do is sit there and take it as he takes his time (at first. First round is always the one he takes his time on. He likes to humiliate you by indulging in you).

After you climax from the worship, as he always wants you to feel like your body is godly, he then acts like a thirsty dog, lapping and sucking away, forcing those marked up thighs apart or locking them around his head, either way you aren’t getting away. He knows just how to flick his tongue, to nudge his nose against your clit, how to crook those fingers inside of you to have you screaming and jolting, clawing for any sort of purchase and grounding but ultimately you succumb and coat his face in your essence.

And it’s never enough. He wants more. More. More.

-Mommabean

[gotstabbedbyapen]

I drank too much coffe in the evening and now I'm struggling to get some sleep. So have my 1 AM Hyapollo Half-Dead AU (or Zombie AU, which ever you prefer)

Basically Hyacinthus was ressurected from the dead through dark magic or a one-in-a-lifetime glitch in the life-death cycle. He is a bit off and doozy from the sudden shift but still obtains most of his personality. However, due to being a disrespectful defiant to the natural order (I imagine Persephone often call him as such), Hyacinthus cannot eat human food like before or feast on ambrosia like the gods.

So to keep his lover alive and not hungry while not endangering others, Apollo lets Hyacinthus drink his ichor and eat some of his flesh. Yeah, allowing your lover to sustain on your own godly blood if their love language, don't judge.

Apollo is a full god so ichor loss isn't a problem to him. It might hurt when he got bitten, but Apollo is willing to do anything for his defiant-to-the-natural-order Hyacinthus. Anything to keep him well fed and happy.

Edit: I'm gonna re-name this to Theophagy AU. The new one sounds fancier :>

[teddybeartoji]

HIHIHIHIHHIHIIIIII HELLO SPRING MORNING TREAT!!!!!!!

ARI MY MOST BELOVED LITTLE IRIS MY ANGEL MY SWEETHEART HIIIIIII!!! I'M SORRY IT TOOK ME A MINUTE BUT HERE I AM NOW AND I AM SO FUCKING READY!!! it's relatively early.. by relatively early i mean it's 2pm but yk.. i have my coffee and i'm in bed and i'm ready to melt away<33333333 there's no sun here today so this'll just have to be the new sun i guess!! i know it will.

ok i'm one line in and i just already need to say that you're so right about suguru belonging in the kitchen it's the mother instinct in him yk i can just see him there soooooo clearly wahhhhh AND I CAN HEAR HIM HUM AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HE WOULD ALWAYS HUM WOULDN'T HEEE very long dreamy sigh i love him so much

a tenderness uprooted, a fondness watered and trimmed, a hungry plant only satiated at the sight of this; the back of his head, raven locks cascading down his broad shoulders in obsidian waves, hair put up into a lazy half-down bun. a little messy, a little too breathtaking for words. wearing a black turtleneck that hugs his waist just right.

mickey found dead in a ditch i need an emoji that has it's tongue out with x's for the eyes silly ahh emoji but that's just how i feel okay "a little too breathtaking for words" yeah thank you for saying that this is what i feel every time i read your art thanks for understanding me

WAITTT SUGU WITH GLASSES???????????? SUGURU??? WITH GLASSES????????????????? ARI???????????? SUGURU GETO WITH GLASSES???????????? YOU PUT GLASSES ON HIM??????????????? MICKEY FOUND DEAD IN A DITCH PART TWO THIS IS A DIFFERENT DITCH BTW THIS ONE IS ACROSS THE STREET FROM THE OTHER ONE

he enjoys taking care of you, all three of you. always has.

😭😭😭😭.....................don't tell me i have to do another counttt😭

GRUMPY LITTLE SHOKO😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭FUCKKK THAT'S SO FUCKING CUTE SHE'S A LITTLE ANGRY LOOKING KITTEN OK

you got to see them, be with them. that alone would’ve been enough.

love is stored in Just Being you know................ time spent together is never wasted time IT'S ALWAYS ENOUGHHHH THESE FOUR LOSERS ARE ALREADY KILLING MEEE OH TO JUST SPEND A MORNING WITH THEMMM😭😭😭😭😭

SUGURU LOOKS WELL-RESTED WHAT IS THIS ALTERNATE UNIVERSE :00000000000000000 no i'm so happy for him he deserves the sun and the moon and the stars and the planets and the sky and the milky way and a maybe a snickers bar too........

i think a forehead kiss from him would fix me i would never complain about anything ever again. please suguru.... just one smooch....

the kiss is chaste, familiar. warm, warm, a faint heat that simmers in your chest, a tiny firework of a feeling. + his thumb rubbing tender circles over your forearm. practiced, memorized, that familiar waltz of motions.

noboy writes about love the way you do. NOBODY!!!!!!!!! it's just so fucking warm and tender and soft and it always makes me wanna melt into a puddle of Something. you're insane and i love you

okay what the fuck my heart just stopped....... sugu calling you "love" 🥴🥴🥴🥴no i am not okay by the way LOVE IS SUCH A BEAUTIFUL THING TO CALL YOUR BELOVED BC THAT'S WHAT THEY ARE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OK STOP AND NOW HE'S MAKING YOU DRINK THE COFFEE??????????? 🥴🥴🥴🥴 when i said that he can fix me i meant that he's gonna fix me and then take me apart again

now you really are pouting. he shifts, until you're standing chest to chest, and kisses it away. twice, for good measure.

HE'S KILLING ME ACTUALLLYYYYYYYYYYYY ARIII WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOUUU (VERY FUCKING AFFECTIONATE) HE KISSES THE POUT AWAY😭😭😭😭😭TWICEEE😭😭😭😭😭

it gives him an excuse to run his fingers through it. even when shoko whines for him to cut it out, and satoru purposefully shakes the branches to make the tiny white petals even harder to find. he must like having his hair ruffled like a misbehaving dog. 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA STUPIDS TOGETHERR!!! you write them all so beautifully yes i think satoru liking having his hair ruffled like a misbehaving dog is incredibly fucking beautiful

SUGURU WILL MAKE MARMALADE??????????????😭😭😭😭 HE'S THE BEST WIFE IN THE WORLDDDD you always add the sweetest little details into everything and wahh you're just so amazing

WORLD'S OKAYEST BOYFRIEND??????? ASJHASHAGSSJAGSDJASDGJAGSDSA

PLEASE I'VE NEVER NEEDED SOMETHING AS BADLY AS I NEED THIS FUCKING MUG YOU'RE SUCH A LITTLE GENIUS ARI

suguru making sure that shoko's coffee won't be lukewarm:(((((((( bc she hates it sm:(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((( i love them i really love them HER CUTE LITTLE FROWNNNN:(((((((((((((((((((((((((((

satoru can’t sleep without hugging someone, and suguru can’t fall asleep unless he knows you’re all sleeping well. shoko isn’t picky, but you know she feels safest when she’s linking elbows with you, or touching pinkies with suguru, or snoozing on top of satoru’s chest like a weighted blanket.

ari i think your brain is getting too big i just might need to kiss you stupid a little YOU UNDERSTAND THEM ALL SO WELL IT KINDA MAKES ME MADDD LIKE WDYMMMMM HOW ARE YOU LIKE THIS HOW ARE YOU SO GOOD i just know you spent ATLEAST one of your lives with them

obviously i love all of them but satoshoko dynamic is just... something special..... they mean so much too me satoru sneaking into her room to make sure she'll sleep???????? i'm gonna cry again i think their dynamic is just soo good too wahh i wish we could see more of them overall:(( but yk thank fuck we all have you!!!!! idk what the fuck we'd do without you smhhh. die probably.

SHOKO CLINGING TO SATORU YESSSSSSSSS THIS IS WHAT I MEANNNN THEY'RE EVERYTHING TO MEEEEEEEEEEE<3333

and shoko is silent, blinking drowsily, twitching when his loud voice buzzes in her ear. she makes no move to push him away. 

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭THEY'RE IN LOVE AND I'M GONNA CRYYY YOU KEEP DOING THIS TO MEEEEEE

SHOKO. I. SHOKO- I. I CAN'T THINK. WHY'D YOU HAVE TO MENTION HER THIGHS WHAT THE FUCK ARI WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO CONTINUE ON LIKE THIS??????????????? AND THEN OH????? SHE KISSES YOUR CHEEK???????????????????? BROOOOOOOOOOOO????????????

satoru giving out a loud ass mwah! he's just like me

their heartbeats mingling together.

ari the poet you mean so much to me this is such a beautiful line i wanna eat it

MEOWWWW CATORU IS HUFFING AND PUFFING HE'S SO CUTEE

”unbelievable. and during women’s history month, too!” ”you aren’t a woman, satoru.” ”i could be.” 

ASAJGSUAIWDWJADUWAKHDADWAGHJ STOPPP THIS MADE ME LAUGH OUT LOUDDDDD HE'S SO FUCKING STUPIDDD WHY DO WE LIKE HIMM it's unbelievable how much i like him i would not have a chance if i ever actually met him the ego boost he'd get from me????????????? oh dear god i think i'd have to be locked away just for doing that i love him so fucking much

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AND WE HAVE ANOTHER FOREHEAD KISS I'VE YET TO RECOVER FROM THAT LAST KISS MY HEART CAN'T TAKE IT. OH AND HIS DIMPLES AND HIS FRECKLES AAAAAAAAAAA HE'S MY BABYYYYYYYYYYYY HE'S PERFECT HE NEEDS TO BE HELD AND KISSED AND LOVED AND I AM READY TO BE DOING ALL OF THAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SATORU THE SUNSHINE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA YOU'RE KILLING MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE YOU'RE KILLING ME ARI HE'S SO SWEET AND SO BRIGHT AND HIS SMILE CAN CURE JUST ABOUT ANYTHING I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

yep yep yep yep reader is very real for folding. i'd fold too if he'd look at me like that. my love for bullying is fading away as i type..........

see and there you go again with the little details that make me go even more insane bro i can hear the institution calling my name they're gonna take me away if you continue on like this WDYMM HE'S PULLING YOUR CHAIR CLOSER TO HIM AND CURLING HIS LEG AROUND YOU AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

shoko being a bit shy about getting called a "doctor" :((((((((((i love her so much and pls satoru having to kiss the both of you after taking a SIP of your coffee he's so unserious (and i love him)

ANOTHER SUGURU WITH GLASSES MENTION THE CROWD CHEERSSS YAYY YIPPEEPEEE YAYYY (hehe peepee)

...the.... silver.... in... his....... lip piercing....................... they're having a moment buT I'M HAVING AN EVEN BIGGER MOMENT WAWAWEEWA SUGURU WITH A LIP PIERCING OH HOW I LOVE YOU SOOOO ARIII KISS KISS KISS C'MERE YOU DESERVE SO MANY KISSES FOR THIS

he’s smiling, and he’s looking at you like you’re spring personified.

sigh you already know i lost my mind at this too............ i cannot catch a fucking break the love is overwhelming

but they’ll be waiting once you get back — and tomorrow, you’ll have breakfast again, just like this. forever and ever. you never want the coffee to run out, never want the apricot trees to wither. you want to stay greedy for a long time to come. 

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭WHY ARE YOU SO GOOODD😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭WHY DO YOU WRITE SO FUCKING BEAUTIFULLY😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭WHY ARE YOU THE SUN IN MY SKY😭😭😭😭😭

the sun lets her golden hair flow throughout the city, melting rivers and warming benches. she falls across shoko’s lecture hall, sneaks into satoru’s classroom, kisses her way up suguru’s neck. you let a sigh slip past your lips, and the sun breathes it in again. a vein of joy awoken, slumbering inside your veins; and you smile.

WHAT DID I JUST SAYYYYYYYYY I WILL NEVER BE NORMAL ABOUT YOU EVER. NEVER EVER. I JUST CAN'T. I DON'T HAVE IT IN ME I SIMPLY CANNOT. "THE SUN LETS HER GOLDEN HAIR FLOW"???????????????????????????????? THE SUN CONNECTS THEM ALL EVEN WHEN THEY'RE NOT TOGETHER FUCK MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE I PROMISE I'LL BE A GOOD HUSBAND OKAY I'LL BE SO GOOD TO YOU YOU'LL NEVER HAVE TO WORK EVER AGAIN YOU CAN JUST READ BOOKS AND WRITE AND SUNBATHE AND EVERYTHING WILL BE GOOD BECAUSE YOU JUST DESERVE IT YOU DESERVE IT AND YOU WILL GET IT

diabolical. every post you make just changes me. i am not the person i was before reading this. i've been altered. for good. i'm gonna be on my death bed and i'm gonna be fucking quoting your art. trust. granpa mickey grandma mickey what the hell are you saying?? be quiet child this is a love story and you will fucking listen actually this is a story about love those are two different things and this author will teach you tell you all about it

this was just so sweet and so real. i know i've said it before but your writing always ALWAYS feels so fucking real sigh it's perfect. they're all in love and i wanna be there with them i hope we can all feel this kind of love one day actually i know we will let's not be stupid here

i love you so bad. my heart feels so warm. i am making tiny sentences. because i feel like i'm floating rn. and it's kind of hard to make sense of what i'm typing. thank you. for writing. and thank you. for being. idk what the world did to deserve you but i'm so glad you're here. here's a good old sloppy loud mwah! i hope your day has been good to you i hope you slept well i hope uni isn't bullying you too hard. eat well, drink well!! i love u<333333333333333333

dear spring, stay forever ; satoru gojo, suguru geto, shoko ieiri

synopsis; just another mellow breakfast shared between you and your partners. (you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of it.)

word count; 3.8k

contents; sashisu/reader (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, all of u are whipped, lots of petnames, literally just breakfast fluff, it ended up kinda sugucentric on accident (not my fault btw he just really loves making breakfast for u that’s on him), also ended up kinda sappy at the end (that’s on me), implied no curses au, they’re in their twenties but it isn’t specified, everyone is eepy and in love <33

a/n; a little breakfast fic bc i love mornings and i love them :33 (tagging my beloved sashisu soldiers @catchuuu @staryukis i am making breakfast for both of u btw ☕️🥞) pls listen to spring thief by yorushika it’s the most sashisu song ever

as always, suguru is the first of you to make it into the kitchen.

he’s humming. it’s soft, a low lull of his voice, beckoning you closer like the call of a siren. sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, fiddling with a pan, sizzling and simmering and breathing in the scent of pancakes; it pairs well with the espresso steam from the coffee pot to his right, the vase of hydrangeas by the windowsill.

it’s a sunny morning. the perfect setting for the start of your day, an atmosphere you can savour, like the gradual sipping of your soon-to-be morning cup of coffee. somewhere outside your vision comes a morning symphony, chirps and songs by cicadas and robins. splotches of sunlight splatter against the windows, the kitchen table, the floorboards — illuminating the man in front of the stove.

something in your chest constricts, when you look at him. a tenderness uprooted, a fondness watered and trimmed, a hungry plant only satiated at the sight of this; the back of his head, raven locks cascading down his broad shoulders in obsidian waves, hair put up into a lazy half-down bun. a little messy, a little too breathtaking for words. wearing a black turtleneck that hugs his waist just right.

you should be used to it, by now. suguru has always been an early bird, always the first to rouse from his slumber, only ever contended by shoko and her occasional bouts of sleep-deprivation. he’s always waiting for the three of you, just like this — in front of a sizzling pan, adjusting his glasses by the kitchen table, cooking or reading or simply reminiscing. content to stir in the peace and quiet of the morning hours, before the world wakes up. 

and he’s always taken to preparing breakfast for the four of you, always ready to greet you with a smile and a cup of freshly made cappuccino. he enjoys taking care of you, all three of you. always has.

(it wasn’t any different back when you were kids. suguru was always the first one in the dormitory’s kitchen, messing with the rusty french press or making a grossly bitter smoothie for himself. he was snarkier, more roundabout — but no less thoughtful. grumpy little shoko would always get the last bitter pumps of espresso, and sleepy little satoru would get a french toast if he asked nicely enough. and you? 

you got to see them, be with them. that alone would’ve been enough. the steaming cup of cappuccino left on the kitchen counter — a little too tailored to your taste to be a mere coincidence — was always nothing more than an added bonus.)

the soft humming falters, for no more than a beat or two. suguru shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and suddenly you can’t resist the temptation.

with clumsy steps, heavy feet weighed down by a sleepy sense of numbness, you stumble towards your target. it’s a familiar waltz, five steps to reach him, a warmth that spreads throughout your body in tandem with the curl of your arms around his waist. slumped against him, cheek squished against his upper back, you hold your breath.

silently, you wait. one, two, until you hear the familiar roll of his breath; a delighted little sigh that slips from his parted lips.

when suguru cranes his head to get a glimpse of you, his amber eyes are leaking adoration. a sense of liveliness, a joyous spark — like a firefly, the flicker of a rusty lighter. he looks well-rested, dark circles long faded, only the dimmest remnant of them still visible beneath his eyes. 

he holds your gaze, steady and kind, and then he’s leaning forward; eager to press his lips against your waiting forehead. glasses slipping ever so slightly down the bridge of his nose. the kiss is chaste, familiar. warm, warm, a faint heat that simmers in your chest, a tiny firework of a feeling. even the metal of his piercing feels warm on your skin. 

you melt into his spine, fingers searching for a pair of hands that find yours first — his thumb rubbing tender circles over your forearm. practiced, memorized, that familiar waltz of motions. he lingers against your skin, breathing in satoru’s favorite strawberry shampoo. you’ve been stealing it for weeks now. 

suguru’s lips curl up into something amused, still not quite willing to part from you. 

but then he does. turning towards the stove, reaching for the coffee pot with one hand, the other securing your own and lacing your fingers together. he gives them an affectionate squeeze, still resting on his lower stomach. a silent greeting that he always ends up voicing anyway.

”g’morning, love,” he croons, a little raspy, but sweet and nice. honeyed and deep, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. you hear him pour something into a cup. ”how did you sleep?”

all you can give him is a tired grunt, stretching your limbs out, blinking sluggishly to shoo away the drowsiness. suguru knows what to expect; he simply smiles, endeared, pouring steamed milk into your favorite cup. with a clink of his spoon against the ceramic, he adds the foam, stirring it carefully.

then he’s shifting his weight, angling his face towards yours, and pressing the rim of the cup against your lips — not before blowing on it gently. he watches as your eyelids flutter, waiting for the hum of contentment he’ll hear once you have your first sip. and he gets it. the rich aroma stirs you into a more awakened state, and a single taste of the creamy foam has you standing up a little straighter, humming in sleepy delight. suguru smiles, crow’s feet hidden behind his glasses. 

you accept the cup with a grateful squeeze of his palm, and he makes sure it’s steady in your hold before he faces forward again. another sip, and your throat feels a little less dry, your mind a lot less sluggish. so you answer his previous question. 

”… slept well,” another tiny sip. it’s hot, warming you up from the inside. ”i would’ve preferred waking up to you, though...”

a low chuckle bubbles up in your boyfriend’s throat. it makes you want to pout, but you smile instead. traitorous lips. 

he’s looking at you again, unable to help himself, reaching over to brush some loose strands of hair away from your face. ”aw, ’m sorry,” he coos, teasingly, sickeningly sweet. ”but then you wouldn’t have woken up to a fresh cup of coffee, hm?” 

now you really are pouting. he shifts, until you're standing chest to chest, and kisses it away. twice, for good measure. he must be in a good mood.

he usually is, at this time of year. when the air starts smelling of honeydew and snowdrops, and he’s awoken by barking dogs, luscious sunbeams splattered on soft bedsheets, the pitter patter of sudden spring rain. when the apricot trees outside your apartment complex begin to bloom; a flurry of sickly-white kisses pressed against your windows, sticking to the locks of your hair. it gives him an excuse to run his fingers through it. even when shoko whines for him to cut it out, and satoru purposefully shakes the branches to make the tiny white petals even harder to find. he must like having his hair ruffled like a misbehaving dog. 

they make suguru sigh and sigh, exasperated, but there’s always a smile waiting somewhere out of view. he’s not very good at hiding it.

(he likes the apricot trees. likes watching them change shape, colour, likes waiting for them to wither and blossom and turn into fruit.

once they’re ripe enough to pick, i’ll make marmalade for us.)

the morning waltz continues. while suguru continues to flip his pancakes, you sleepily decide to set the table. fondness erupts behind his eyelids at the gesture, small as it is. you stand on your tiptoes to reach the highest shelf, just to grab satoru’s favorite mug; one you all got him for his 19th birthday, a heartfelt message of world’s okayest boyfriend etched into the front. it was meant to make him pout and whine, but you’ve never seen him drink out of anything else at home.

you place the cup on the table with a soft thunk, along with plates and cutlery. suguru has already brought down a cup for shoko, seated on the kitchen counter next to him, soon to be filled with the same rich espresso he always drinks. he’s waiting until she joins you both, so it doesn’t end up going lukewarm. there’s nothing shoko hates more. you can practically hear that grumpy scoff, see her cute little frown.

your sleep schedules differ from day to day. suguru is always up early, satoru always sleeps in. shoko fluctuates between the two. you usually end up rousing from your slumber whenever the bed starts to feel a little too empty — a fact you doubt they’ll ever quit teasing you about.

that differs from day to day, too. sometimes you sleep with suguru, sometimes the other two, sometimes all three. you have your separate rooms, but always end up with your limbs intertwined one way or another; even if one of you comes home late or falls asleep on the couch watching tv. satoru can’t sleep without hugging someone, and suguru can’t fall asleep unless he knows you’re all sleeping well. shoko isn’t picky, but you know she feels safest when she’s linking elbows with you, or touching pinkies with suguru, or snoozing on top of satoru’s chest like a weighted blanket. as for you… 

you’ve gotten way too used to their touch to ever go without it. last night, you ended up in suguru’s room, tucked underneath his chin, while satoru snuck into shoko’s bed to convince her not to pull another all-nighter. you’re assuming it worked.

”mm, smells good. you makin’ pancakes?”

a bubbly, groggy voice spills into the air, just as a light breeze flits in through the window. soothing, refreshing. you turn your gaze towards its source.

and there they are. sleepy satoru, and grumpy shoko, the former clinging to the latter like an overgrown koala. satoru seems to be in high spirits, calling out to you with a smile, blue eyes glimmering like a sunny sky; but you can tell he’s tired by the way he’s stretching out his limbs, only wearing a pair of pyjama pants. and shoko is silent, blinking drowsily, twitching when his loud voice buzzes in her ear. she makes no move to push him away. 

suguru gazes at them with a smile, in tandem with you, nothing but fond. loving, in the way the amber of his eyes gleams and swirls with promises of something everlasting. he’s a little intense, honestly. but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

and, admittedly, your sleepy little partners are a sight for sore eyes. 

shoko meets your gaze, and finally decides to shake off the man with an arm over her shoulder. said man huffs, but makes no move to follow her when she stumbles into your arms. 

her limbs find their way around your midriff, her chin to the curve of your shoulder. her hair is loose, almost as long as suguru’s, messy and brushing against your cheek. your hand goes to smooth down her back, the fabric of her oversized shirt, soft and laced with the scent of laundry detergent. she yawns, right by your ear, lips jutted out into a small pout, and something in your chest returns. a hungry plant, drinking up her raspy voice, the glimpse you get of that mole beneath her eye. her stretch marks, when she pulls away and her shirt rides up enough to expose her thighs. little lightning bolts.

”morning,” you chirp. she presses a tiny kiss against your cheek, dangerously close to your lips; sometimes you think she does it just to tease you.

”hey, how come i didn’t get a morning kiss?”

shoko turns her head, finding satoru’s accusing stare. he’s pouting, tilting his head, already making his way over to suguru. but she only rolls her eyes.

”you’re such a baby.”

”you know you love me!”

suguru stifles a puff of laughter, leaning back against the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the marble. watching his partners with barely contained delight. satoru notices, grinning softly, throwing his arms around his boyfriend’s neck.

satoru’s kisses are always sloppy. you hear that drawn out mwah! even without looking at the pair, even without seeing his lips against suguru’s jaw. a phantom warmth sprouts on your skin. 

”good morning, handsome,” he purrs, low and rumbling through his chest, pressed flush against suguru’s — their heartbeats mingling together. soft skin against smooth fabric. there’s mischief in those aquamarine eyes, something teasing, and it makes suguru want to return the favour. 

”good morning, baby,” he presses his lips against satoru’s cheek. voice muffled against his soft skin, silky and deep. ”you kinda smell.”

a moment passes. the calm before the storm.

satoru blinks, barely registering shoko’s dry chuckle from behind him — and then furrows his eyebrows together like an irritated cat. a scandalized noise builds up at the base of his throat, and he glares at the man in front of him, frustration only growing when he notices that suguru isn’t returning the favour. his gaze is still fond, like an artist admiring a marble statue, drinking in his pouty boyfriend’s fluffy hair and droopy eyes and rosy lips. flattering, but the damage has been done.

”oh, i see how it is,” he withdraws his arms and takes a step back, crossing them with a hmph. ”bullying your sweet boyfriend first thing in the morning, huh? have you no shame?”

”sorry. you just look really bulliable today.”

another offended little noise. he turns on his heel, messy strands of hair swaying with the movement, glaring at shoko instead. ”unbelievable. and during women’s history month, too!”

”you aren’t a woman, satoru.”

”i could be.” 

you huff out a breathy laugh, taking a seat by the kitchen table while your lovers bicker. sipping from your cappuccino in silence, soaking up the mellow morning mood. until you feel satoru staring at you; eyes like marbles, big and bright, rich with mirth. his pout fades away, and he closes in on you with a smile. troubles forgotten. 

before you can greet him, he’s leaning down to leave a fat kiss on your forehead — messy, uncoordinated, but loving. a coo on the tip of his tongue. when he’s this close you can see his dimples, those tiny freckles that only come out in the light of the sun. 

you feel him smile against your skin, pulling back to speak. parting his pretty, glossy lips. ”and good morning to you, my dearest.”

he’s silly.

your lips bloom into a sweet grin, honeyed nectar on your teeth. he’s illuminated by the light streaming in through the window, a little disheveled, with his cute bedhead and bare chest exposed. a giggle slips from your lips, and your voice carries a melodic lilt, coming out as a soft croon. ”good morning, sunshine.”

satoru blinks. just once, before the telltale signs of his excitement start to show; his face brightening, breaking out into a cheshire grin, something sweet in the way his eyes crinkle. like folded origami, like messily cut fruit. citrusy and smooth.

before you can protest, those strong arms are reaching around your waist — hoisting you up into his arms with a coo of c’mere. he spins you around, just once or twice, and chuckles at the way you let out a sleepy yelp. even after stilling, he doesn’t put you down, only guiding your legs to wrap around his middle; his naked chest and muscles pressed flush against you. he’s warm, one large palm on your back and the other on your thigh. he touches you like it’s muscle memory, every ridge and dip, every part of you he’s already long mapped out.

honestly, you don’t understand how he can get so overcome with joy so early in the morning. but who are you to complain when it means getting smothered like this? 

”oh, and i smell great, by the way,” he suddenly huffs, directed at the partners behind him. he’s quick to smile down at you, tilting his head and searching for approval. ”don’t i, baby?”

for a second, you’re tempted to join in on the teasing. some part of you wants to. unfortunately, it loses against the parts of you still mesmerized by the splotches of white inside his pretty eyes, those cute little freckles. so you nod.

”yeah,” you breathe. inhaling, taking him in, sunlight and strawberries and laundry detergent. ”you smell like spring.”

his smile continues to blossom, turning sweeter by the minute. brighter than the sun. he throws a victorious glance behind him, delighting in the simultaneous roll of their eyes — before finally putting you back down. he wastes no time in plopping down on the seat to your right, dragging your chair closer to his, until they’re pressed against each other. curling a leg around yours. so clingy in the morning. 

suguru and shoko are quick to join you. they blink slowly, sipping on their cups of espresso, a rich aroma spreading throughout the kitchen. it blends well with the plates of pancakes suguru scoots towards you, drizzled with the syrup satoru likes. he’s attentive, making sure you’re all comfortable, rising to his feet when shoko asks for a single cube of sugar. she’s started to mellow out a bit, no longer as grumpy, soothed by the bitter taste on her tongue. and satoru keeps your leg locked in place beneath the table.

it’s hard not to feel nostalgic, like this. when spring is blooming just outside your window, when all three of them are just the same as you remember. some things have changed, sure, but they’re still so unapologetically them. loud voices, rude eye-rolls, teasing comments and all.

they munch on their pancakes, sip on their coffee, and you chat about what to do when you all get home. what movie to watch, what food to order, what food to make because suguru doesn’t think you’ve been eating enough homemade meals lately. bickering and bantering. smiling.

(it feels like high school every day.)

shoko is the first to leave. she glances at the clock on the wall and stutters out a string of curse words, a mutter about being late. suguru plays dumb when she accuses him of not reminding her on purpose. she kisses you again, right under your jaw, and lets her clingy boyfriends give her one kiss each on the lips — despite her protests that they’ll mess up her lipstick. then she’s heading out.

”goodbye, doctor!” satoru calls, cheery even as your girlfriend rolls her pretty eyes.

”don’t call me that yet,” she snorts, adjusting her scarf. ”there’s still a good chance i’ll drop out. or cheat my way to a doctorate.”

so she says, but you all know her. you catch that glimmer of amusement in her eyes, something smug in the way she straightens her back. a little embarrassed, maybe. but the faith you have in her makes her glow.

then it’s satoru’s turn. he’s whinier, about it, ignoring the alarms on his phone on purpose. suguru has to bribe him, promising him kikufuku and take-out and an extra tight hug when he gets home. only then does he get up from his seat, untangling his leg with yours.

”do i have to?”

”yes, you do,” suguru tuts. ”the kids have an exam today. be responsible.”

another pout. but he listens, slipping on his sunglasses, putting on a coat and stealing a sip of your coffee that only makes him grimace. he has you both kiss the taste away, and you indulge him, because he’s silly and stupid and yours. 

and then it’s just you and suguru. he has a day off, and you don’t have to leave until later. the kitchen falls silent, back to a mellow morning rhythm, that quiet waltz of motions and sunshine. suguru pours you more coffee, gazing at you from across the table, and you thank him with a smile. he adjusts his glasses and flips through the morning newspaper; absently, you wonder if shoko and satoru would’ve teased him for it if they were here.

what the four of you have is an odd arrangement. but that’s what all of you are, anyway; a little odd. 

and as you sit there, serenaded by cicadas and morning birds, senses caressed by cappuccino foam and apricot blossoms and a hand holding yours over the table… you think to yourself that even if everything shattered around you — if the earth stopped spinning or the stars crashed through the roof of your apartment — you’d probably still keep on living. you’d do it, if only to continue chewing on these memories, these mornings, like savouring the faded flavour of an old piece of gum. over and over again, until you can’t tell where your teeth end and where the gum begins, so that you’ll always be able to taste it on your tongue. for the rest of your life.

it’s melodramatic, yes, but they are too. you’re sure suguru is pondering a sentiment even more dramatic, right now, even heavier with devotion. something so sappy you’d have to hide your face in your hands and beg him to stop talking. 

and, lo and behold, he suddenly speaks up. 

“are you happy?”

the question breaks you out of your silent stupor. you look up from your plate, his amber eyes already taking you in, drowning you in fondness. he’s smiling, and he’s looking at you like you’re spring personified. the silver of his lip piercing catches the light of the sun. a couple apricot petals are stuck in his hair, woven between his raven locks. 

you blink. inside your chest, something unfurls, twists and turns, grows and withers all at once. a whole garden of love, just for them.

you lean forward, elbows on the table, and brush through his bangs. petal caught between your fingertips. when you lean back, you’re smiling.

“yeah,” you answer, truthfully. inhaling the scent of spring. “i’m always happy when i’m with you.”

a breeze caresses your cheek, your hands, and the whole apartment smells of apricots. suguru seems pleased, returning to his cup of lukewarm coffee, a little clink of ceramic against porcelain that strikes you as distinctly heavenly.

soon, you’ll have to leave. you’ll have to manage without their jokes and banter and touches, without them, for a grueling number of hours, one tortuous lecture after another. but they’ll be waiting once you get back — and tomorrow, you’ll have breakfast again, just like this. forever and ever. you never want the coffee to run out, never want the apricot trees to wither. you want to stay greedy for a long time to come. 

and you’re sure they feel the same.

the sun lets her golden hair flow throughout the city, melting rivers and warming benches. she falls across shoko’s lecture hall, sneaks into satoru’s classroom, kisses her way up suguru’s neck. you let a sigh slip past your lips, and the sun breathes it in again. a vein of joy awoken, slumbering inside your veins; and you smile.

it’s springtime, now, a little warmer. 

(here’s to another year together.)

[huewrite]

Fan art!

There is a place I share snippets and someone drew a fast doodle for me it ask if this was what I was showing.

When I tell you I wanted to cry getting this I am not being over the top.

Please know that 999999 times out of 1000000 creators love getting fan art. Even lil doodles.

Make them. Do the art.

[the-final-sif]

DSMP AU Taglist

This is a masterpost for all my DSMP AUs, which will be updated as I remember them.

Convict Childcare AU - c!Sam makes a break for it and steals a toddler without thinking, and then decided that he's got this whole prisoner right here so clearly this is a functional babysitting arrangement. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

Godling Dream AU - This is that one AU that's like 3 posts of world building where DreamXD is doing whatever he can to keep this child alive so he won't be alone anymore. He's not perfect, but he's dealing with a lot.

Feral Ender Dragon AU - There's an ENDER DRAGON, loose on the SMP!

Eldritch Dream AU - Listen, in c!Dream's defense, he thought they were just playing around with all that torture and murder stuff. How was he supposed to know it was real for them? He's so sad about all the worldbuilding he did for this LARP that now's totally wasted.

Dreamon Improv AU - c!Dream got possessed by a dreamon that feeds off of his connections to other people. It's an old virus that has destroyed countless servers, it's feasted on hundreds of thousands if not millions of players before him. But c!Dream has something that none of those people had; an absolutely batshit plan and a willingness to commit to it 1000%.

God Meeting AU - c!Kristen keeps showing up to drag DreamXD to meetings and accidentally grabs the wrong Dream. She's in a bit of a rush, so she decided this is fine and c!Dream finds himself drafted into showing up to godly meetings since DreamXD refuses to.

Apology Cake AU - Is c!Sam a moron or attempting murder?c!Dream isn't sure. But his head is aching from escaping from hunters and he's decided this is probably fine.

Time Blind AU - c!Dream left 5 minutes into making the SMP and got replaced by an impostor, something only discovered when someone stumbles onto the giant parkour course he's been building, unaware that he's been gone for like a year and not a few hours. Adhd's like that sometimes.

Admin c!Dream AU - c!Dream is the admin of the DSMP, he's self taught, and c!Phil is in hell.

Manhunt AU - c!Dream is suddenly being chased by like 5 men and he's kinda fine with it.

[extrajigs]

Wanted to get into the Abby choirs. These are some of the fellas from an undisclosed (read: the favorite) Abattoir! INFO DUMP BELOW!

Starting with names! From left to right, Daniel, Michael, and Kirstin! Have a big post cooking about how to get into the club but for now what the job entails. Choirs are those blessed with slivers of the Gods power, BUT unlike the dragons and abattoirs they are born from within the Abby they'll serve. Not that Abattoir residents know that there are any others!

Choirs are tasked with keeping order and stability within their Abbies, the two main tasks are ensuring that the populace stays in good condition and making absolutely sure the tobacco quota is met. The latter being far more important than you'd think at first.

The God Worms kind of give them free reign to do whatever they want otherwise, so it kind of depends on the vibe of the choir for how your internal Abby experience shall go! Some are more laid back, some are more totalitarian. Gods don't really care as much as they probably should. These fellas within the favorite Abattoir are more laid back than most, defaulting to a more democratic approach to keep the people they're watching happy. Michael has been there the longest, a few thousand years, Kirstin and Daniel have been there a few hundred years.

Another IMPORTANT NOTE is that every choir member looks like that is because to become a member you need to partake in some divine flesh to gain godly power. Such power violently corrupts those it meets! But should you survive the process, you get a fun monster form and power in one of two veins. That of either flesh or soul. Both the separate domains of the Gods so you can only be particularly good in one. Flesh is far more common than soul, as leaning too hard into the soul aspect may result in getting kicked out of your body. :(

That's the main gist! Oh another big perk is also the initial reason most people try to join the choir! Choir members are exempt from the yearly feast.

[abyssus-aeterna]

我が肉を貪り喰へ。我が姿は値打ちも無く、永遠に暗き魂也。

灰色より他に何の物にも倒れはせず。神格化の混ぜ合はせ物。

我が全ての所を崇め立てよ。曲がりたるも、眞直ぐなるも…。

孰れも神々しく視らるれば也。我等が體は土にて朽ち果つべし。

[Classical transliteration]

Wa ga sisi wo musabori-kufe. Wa ga sugata fa ne-uti mo naku, tofa ni kuraki tama nari. Fafi-iro yori foka ni nan no mono ni mo tafure fa sezu. Sinkaku-kwa no maze-afase-mono. Wa ga subete no tokoro wo agame-tateyo. Magaritaru mo, masugu naru mo…. Idure mo kaũ-gaũ-siku mirarureba nari. Warera ga karada fa tuchi nite kuti-fatu besi.

[Modern transliteration]

Wa ga shishi wo musabori-kue. Wa ga sugata wa ne-uchi mo naku, towa ni kuraki tama nari. Hai-iro yori hoka ni nan no mono ni mo taore wa sezu. Shinkaku-ka no maze-awase-mono. Wa ga subete no tokoro wo agame-tateyo. Magaritaru mo, masugu naru mo…. Izure mo kō-gō-shiku mirarureba nari. Warera ga karada wa tsuchi nite kuchi-hatsu beshi.

feast upon my flesh, my form is worthless, a forever dark soul:

succumbing to nothing but the grey, the mixture of deification;

worship all those parts of me, both crooked & both straight...

for both our so saintly viewed, our bodies shall decay in soil.

[yescallmejosey]

something something being blessed by greeks gods

Decided to make an entire au based on the many different takes of the gods blessing different characters. By the way this is just me throwing ideas so it might be a bit...ooc.

Also this is going to be a long post so bear with me

PENELOPE

Ever since the Troyan war, Hera has made sure that Penelope's mental state does not deteriorate. She has blessed the woman with dreams of her husband, dreams of hope and reuniting him with her once again. On nights where Penelope cant sleep, Hera offers her the comfort of drowsiness and dreamless sleep. There are times in which Penelope cannot move or get out of bed or moments in which she can only look at the horizon, hoping that in the distance Odysseus's boat would become visible. And in those moments Hera speaks words in Telemachus's ears disguised as his own thoughts. They tell him to check on his mother and comfort her if that is what she needs.

But when the suitors came, Hera knew things would be so different. So she whispered words in Penelope's dreams with the voice of her husband, telling her to set The Challenge up in case of emergency. She couldnt help but to be proud of Penelope when she came up with the idea of tricking the men with her weaving.

She does small actions, hiding the weapons of the suitors in corners of the castle so they cannot reach them and taunt Telemachus. She floods the gardens with peacocks that bite the suitor's ankles and mess up their feasts. She grants Penelope swift thinking and steps when she does not want the suitors to be near her, or shuts doors on their faces.

There is not much Hera can do, not much that makes her husband realize she is favoring Penelope at least. She wishes she could reveal herself to the queen of Ithaca, offer her comfort and reassure her that her husband lives and that he is trying to get back home to her, but she cannot.

Penelope is the queen of Ithaca, loyal to her husband until her death. Hera is the queen of the gods, loyal to her husband for all eternity.

In a way, they are the same.

Except she can help Penelope to get the happy ending she always deserved

CTIMENE

I would be lying if I said i wasnt torn between making Hephaestus or Ares as Ctimene's partron gods. The truth is that they both fit.

Ares would understand the rage in Ctimene's heart, the jelousy that fills her mind. He is also the shadow of his sister, of Zeus's favorite child. He would teach Ctimene how to control her anger through fighting, the spear that collected dust could now have a purpose. She would leave behind her vases, never touching clay again before becoming a guard for the king of the Same.

Murder and bloodshed would be her first choice

Ruthlessness will not get her heart broken

Hephaestus would also understand her bitterness. The gods of Olympus treat him as something less than them just because he did not held beauty or because of his missing leg. He was disabled, but that did not mean he was useless. Creativity is his weapon, his out of the scarring feelings he held. He would reach to Ctimene to show her that her vases could be something wonderful, that she could do so much more. Learning about weapons and their weaknesses, learning how to make a rope dart with the magnents that the Seme gathered.

Her rage would be tamed by the abilities of her mind.

EURYLOCHUS

Eurylochus cares for those he loves and will fight for them if needed. We know he cares for the crew, their well being always being first for him. We know Aphrodite has a war side, Aphrodite Areia and that she is just as ruthless as a warrior to protect those she loves.

He would be her chosen one, and she bless him in so many different ways. The rush of adrenaline he feels when he thinks about Ctimene in the battle, the anger of the betrayal after Scylla.

His love for Ctimene fuels Aphrodite's caring nature, reminding her of her and her godly lover. Eurylohus and Ctimene are what Ares and Aphrodite could never be, happily married. The Olympians would frown upon that.

So she guides him, protects him as much as she can. Though her blessings sometimes are beyond needed. The art of seduction on a very a awkward does not turn out well and neither does the urges of the goddess to make him trick others in acts of lust.

Although

She is a good sex therapist and she does offer him good stamina when he and Ctimene have sex

I think I might write about that if you guys are interested

[kiame-sama]

Guys, please stop asking me if I am going to keep making content for other things (ie. Hazbin Hotel, HunterxHunter, One Piece, DBZ, ect) I intend to at some point, but the more someone asks for something I am not currently fixated on, the less likely I will be fixated on it in the near future. I have ADHD and Autism, you try to tell me to focus on something other than my current fixation and my brain will get annoyed/indignant and avoid the thing you want because that is how my brain unfortunately works. I work in fixated bursts, feast or famine, and those who have been following my page for a while know I eventually circle back to things.

I appreciate the concern for those who tell me to slow down or take it easy, but the moment I do, my brain loses interest. Object and subject permanence are fleeting in my mind and if I don't focus on something I will eventually forget about it and lose that spark I have for it. When the fixated spark smacks me once more, I will circle back to a topic/character/show/series, until then it remains dormant for another round of feast or famine.

I intend to keep working on various series (ie. 28 years, Drag Me To Hell, Sin Eater, Close to Godliness, Little Spider, my OCs, ect) but you have to let my brain come back to them on its own. Ideas and suggestions for them are fine, but flat out sending in an ask that goes like "when are you doing this again?" "Are you still writing for this?" "Are you not writing this anymore?" Just makes my brain a petulant brat that picks up its toys and stops playing all together. That is how I burn out.

So long as I let my flighty brain play with the plot bunny it wants to play with, I won't burn out. The moment I try to force it to focus on something other than the chosen fixation is when I can't focus on anything- current fixation or not- and the grey-matter refuses to give me anything or ideas on anything.

[physics-of-one-piece]

Merlot & Primroses Moodboard + Excerpt

Doflamingo x Reader

Your husband’s brother finds you. Life with him and his sham of a family is as cold as the snow your husband was found buried in, the dog tags around his neck missing. You're going to wilt slowly living with Doflamingo, you’re sure. No flower can survive in such snow.

A/N: The Red Suit Doffy fic that is set in the same setting as I'll build castles for you, my love with Reader as Rosinante's wife, except in this one, Doflamingo is faster than the marines, and gets to Reader first and takes her to his ship. The snippet below are Doffy's first lines/thoughts/scene in the fic. I'm sending this as a little gift for @fanaticsnail and her birthday celebration🎂 Have some Red Suit Doffy & Donquixote Brothers Feels, Snail. Thank you for gifting us with your writing. You're amazing. ❤️

How does betrayal feel like? 

It feels like silence. 

Silence of four years, a gap battled with taps on the den-den mushi and ink on paper.

It feels like the silence being broken by a voice. A voice not as deep as Doflamingo’s but sounding godly all the same, confident and calm, a softness Doflamingo’s didn’t possess.

His little brother’s voice, which Doflamingo mourned the loss of, not knowing he was mourning an empty lie. So many nights he spent thinking how Rosinante's voice would sound like as an adult, how his laugh would sound like, hoping maybe with time, he would hear it - one day, one day, one day — not knowing it was there all along and Rosinante had denied him all of it, had given it to the marines, to Law, to strangers Doflamingo didn't know.

Doflamingo hated them all. 

Why did they get to have it and he didn’t?

Rosinante was his little brother, his family, his only equal, the only one who understood, the one who’d been through the same hell as he had... And yet, Doflamingo never got Rosinante back, never truly met his brother as an adult, not really. All Doflamingo got from Rosinante was a mask and silence, while they got everything. 

All Doflamingo was given was a scrap, and lies. 

So many lies.

Rosi — the one who gave his nickname to him because he couldn’t pronounce Doflamingo’s full name when he was two, shortening it into a harmless nickname full of fondness — didn’t even call him Doffy.

The first words Rosi said to him after four years of silence, after eighteen years of nothing, was his fucking marine code.

Rosi talked to him like they were strangers.

“You just had to go and screw everything up! Why did you come back just to mess with me, Corazón?!”

What Doflamingo meant by those  words was: Why? Why did you come back? You should’ve stayed away from me if you hated me. Then this wouldn’t be happening! I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d stayed away from me!

The pain of betrayal is sharp and agonising.

Like a bullet.

Like red blood on white snow.

Doflamingo wouldn’t be surprised if he was bleeding in the same places Rosinante had, too.

Vergo’s words rang out in his head.

“Your little brother has a wife.”

Doflamingo stared at the picture of you. The one Rosinante gave everything to.

Finding out something like this...

It felt like... Like the first inhale of the fresh, clear sea morning, like the first bite into a feast after starving for a week, like the most pure, fresh water after trudging through a desert.

Doflamingo thinks he understands now why Rosi didn’t stay away from him, why Rosi returned.

Because Rosi couldn’t stay away. If not for himself, then for you, his wife.

Would Doflamingo be able to stay away, if he knew his brother was alive somewhere, with a wife, and hell, maybe planning to have a family? Would Doflamingo be the one considering a choice; stay away or meet? Cursed if you don’t, cursed if you do. 

Would Doflamingo be able to do it?

He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be able to stay away from Rosi, or from Rosi’s family. Because Doflamingo was family, too. Rosi’s family was Doflamingo’s family, too.

Just like now, Doflamingo couldn’t stay away from you. It was impossible. It felt like his own threads were pulling him toward you, urging themselves forth from his fingertips, reaching out to wrap around you, no matter how much he was sure you didn’t want them to.

Just like how Rosi couldn’t stay away from Doflamingo no matter how much he hated him, Doflamingo couldn’t stay away from you no matter how much he knew you hated him. 

He just couldn’t. The thought was painful to bear, the mere image of staying away threatening to shred the last remaining piece of Doflamingo’s heart held together by strings.

“Doffy?” Vergo’s voice across the snail pulled Doflamingo out of his thoughts; he was still staring at your file, at the picture of you, at your name. “What do you want to do?”

Doflamingo got out of his chair, grabbing the feather coat that laid on it.

“I’m going to go get her,” he said, swinging the pink mantle over his shoulders. He grabbed a quill and parchment, writing down a note for Trebol and the others to find. He looked outside. It was early in the morning; Vergo's call and documents he sent had woken him up. It was still dark out in the sea.

“Understood,” said Vergo without question. “Safe travels, Doffy.”

Doflamingo hummed in response, and put the reciever back down on the snail. He exited his cabin, walking to the balustrade of the ship, putting his right foot atop the rail. The wind was chilly, brushing at his face.

He still had a family. Rosinante had not only left Doflamingo behind.

He left a wife behind, too.

Doflamingo took to the sky.