#he also probably could use a sword

[tulikettuun]

After climbing all the way up to the Wind Temple and fighting a giant worm, I think they both deserve a little break.

[non-un-topo]

Thinking about Yusuf and Nicolò as young men again

[firefly-suite]

hi and welcome to tdp callbacks that would actually send me

"if i am the king then you have to let me go"

"i'm corvus, i was specifically requested"

"i don't believe in locks"

"haha nice one callum, he deserves it"

"lady justice came to me in a dream"

"don't get yourself killed."

"strength isn't always about weapons"

"shhh, nobody likes a noisy mage"

"tell me she wasn't your world"

"you're just like your grandmother"

"she’s not my friend, she is my prisoner"

"rickety snickers"

"wasn’t the horse~"

"i am a storm dragon. i certainly hope it's working."

"in the name of love, you may perform acts so unforgivable… you will never forgive yourself."

"we could travel the countryside and try the seven cakes of xadia!"

"i am prepared to do anything to protect the king. anything. i hope you will understand"

"i guess it wouldn't be the first time i accidentally on purpose ruined a super rare magical artifact."

"don't do this. i will kill you" "probably"

"anyone know any adventuring songs?"

"we can find more practical uses for this one"

"well, i think about it like this, why see myself as chained down, when i can be chained up?" "i admire your tenacity"

"just the three of us"

"watch, he'll come back reciting an epic poem about his adventuring. he's probably late because he's stuck thinking of a rhyme for 'legendary heroics.'"

"the world just isn't ready for what we have. "

"i have been doing research!" "yes, i can see that"

"i do not understand girls"

"i thought you disapproved" "i disagree. but i stand by you anyway"

"you know what? in a few years, when you’re older, buddy, we’ll sit down and have a heart-to-heart talk about sandwiches."

"i would rather die a king, than live as a coward."

"edge-frazzled"

"soren is a doof but he's my doof!"

"it doesn't matter what happens to me. live or die, this dragon goes home."

"the kingdom of duren has been suffering from a terrible famine for nearly seven years. "

"you big dumb human."

"even if you were wearing the rarest legendary armor, forged by sunfire elves... super dead."

"fool me once, shame on you. fool me twice, shame on me. fool me three times, back to you again." "that's not how it goes." "shame on you."

[wignalluvion]

something something formal events at the Tower and Sion is not impressed

[millidew]

maizuru and milsiril are my favorite fucked up dungeon meshi mother figures

[completeoveranalysis]

[1]

Chapiter 182 - A Night For Vows

In which BATTLE HUSBANDS. 

Listen I don’t even care what else is happening we have the return of Battle Husbands. I’m happy.  

It’s giving the same vibe as the opening for Chapiter 17, but upgraded! They’re in battle, but now they’re facing the same way because they’re on the same page, plotwise, emotionwise, and directionwise. They’re not fighting different battles or aiming for different goals anymore - they’re united on the same path. And they’re no longer disguising their feelings through joviality or putting on a front. Now they’re both serious. 

In another contrast, the chapiter 17 cover had them in opposite colours, which is relatively common for them, but this new cover actually unites them visually. They’re wearing the clothing in a way that matches their personality, but the colours are vastly the same - white all over with the emblematic flames, a slash of black across their middle, as well as across their wrists. The only actual point of difference is in their faces - where Kurogane has black hair with a white band, and Fai has the opposite, but even THAT is brought in line with the other through other elements - ie, The symbol on Kurogane’s white band is an exact match for the one at Fai’s waist, and they’re visually RIGHT next to each other, so you can’t miss it! Kurogane also has a long looping cord across this waist, in white, while Fai has a black cord tying his hair back, with the same kind of tassels. 

Also! In the Chapitre 17 cover their weapons were crossed in an X (a visual clash) while here they they’re angled to be held in the same direction. This brings the visual focus towards them both, together, in the middle of the page, with their differing styles now united in the same goal. OH, and the physicality of their weapons? Before they held the weapons BETWEEN them. The X of the weapons actually kept Kurogane and Fai physically apart (as if they were on opposite sides of a conflict), but now the weapons are on the OUTSIDE, bringing Kurogane and Fai RIGHT in close to each other, with the weapons on the outside. So now even physically they're together, closer to each other than anything else, and on the same side of any conflict around them.

So they're aligned now, both symbolically and physically, and it's with intention from the characters themselves. They’re worked for this, and they’re choosing it deliberately, and they DESERVE it. 

Also like, a FLAME SCYTHE? GO OFF Fai that is INCREDIBLE.

And OOPS I totally forgot that the cover will have splash text as well. What does it say.

The translation I have is something along the lines of:

“Measuring and delimiting one another

Even so, those days come to pass. 

Tonight, the men shall

Link those swords.”

Which is potentially the most homoerotic way they could have phrased that and I strongly approve.

[t-u-i-t-c]

Chapter 5: The Sure-Kill Fangs

[science-lings]

You could combine the idea of Zelda’s dragon features spreading with the idea that not all the gloom was purged from link’s body? When he has a particularly bad episode, Zelda’s light powers are the only thing that can bring him comfort/lessen the pain. That also introduces moral conflict where Zelda doesn’t want to see link suffering but link doesn’t want Zelda to harm herself for his own benefit

ooooh tragic... bc i feel like the situation would be like, either she uses her magic to keep the gloom at bay so he can keep the use of his arm and not be in a whole lot of pain or he has to get his connection to the gloom severed, literally. So at first the decision is easy, with her secret stone, her light power comes so easily and at first there are no obvious downsides.

Then she starts gradually growing scales, and her teeth and nails get sharper and a little bit iridescent, and at some point little horns start to grow from her hairline. It's a little troubling but Zelda still thinks it's kind of fascinating and none of those are really much of an issue, but no matter how much they slow his treatments to get her own changes to slow, it only keeps progressing for both of them.

And while Link needs her light power to keep his sword arm, it gets to the point to where Zelda's more mental symptoms from her time as a dragon are getting worse, she's disassociating more, she's going into trances, her thoughts and memories are getting progressively foggier and who knows what could happen if it gets even worse. Would she start to lose her memory? Would she start to forget who she is? Would she forget where or when she is?

Even if it means sacrificing his sword arm, they have to put a stop to it before she hurts herself even more, and after some arguing, they both come to the conclusion that it needs to be amputated. It showed no signs of getting better the whole time she had been treating it, it would always return just as strong the next day.

Perhaps before it was Rauru's light power in his arm that kept the disease at bay, and each bit of pure light magic from the shrines weakened it's grip on him, but it was never enough, and there may not even be enough light magic in the world to combat it without consequences.

So at some point, they have to accept the arm as a loss. It's a small price to pay really, none of the sages died in the fight against Ganondorf, any other sacrifice was so minor that they're lucky the most debilitating thing lost was the swordsman's most essential arm.

[aromanticasterisms]

iansan relevance right off the bat let's fucking go

[fionnaskyborn]

On a scale from one to ten, how based of me is it that I took the GGST survey for the second time just to put a BlazBlue character that appeared in exactly one novel and then never again in one of my three "additional character I would like to see the most in the future" spots?

[dulcewrites]

can you tease anything coming up with cassandra and aemond? also, are you definitely going for just one more baby boy? I miss them <3

I’m currently trying to write the driftmark thing. I’m focused on gett part 8 of fcc out rn, but once that out I hope to focus on this. I’m leaning towards the twins options not even gonna lie.

[baeshijima]

— spoils of war

as heir to the throne, you were more than prepared to face the consequences of losing a war. your duty will forever remain for as long as you breathe, and if that meant bearing the weight of countless sacrificed souls and carrying it with you for the rest of your life, or even being forced to watch your land burn before your eyes was the price you had to pay, then so be it.

the last consequence you could have ever expected and were the least prepared for, however, was an offer of marriage from the ruler of the victorious nation.

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 3.5k wc, fluff, slightly suggestive ending, royalty!au, marriage of convenience (kind of), vague mentions of war & blood, mentioned assassination attempt, mentions of having children (very vague and in the "heir to the throne" kind of way), use of "mydeimos" and "mydei", reader is having an existential crisis; mydei is, um, mydei-ing, written pre-3.0

A/N : is this ooc? um... we will find out haha !! (the moment i saw this man i was wondering how i could royal au-ifiy him (outside of him already being a crown prince, that is). i thought of him being a mercenary or personal guard, but @sfznyxio ty for putting the words 'king' and 'mydei' in the same sentence when u showed his drip in the server bc this idea was born and now i am terminally unwell for him 🙏 but also how did this turn into an actual fic when it was literally a 2 para brainrot in discord... where did this plot come from...)

King Mydeimos, present ruler of Kremnos Kingdom, is infamous across the lands. He is a rumoured tyrant thought to have killed his bloodline in order to obtain this position, whose name alone strikes fear into many, and the very same being who just won the war against your own kingdom.

When marching through the capital to reach the steps of the palace after seizing victory and bathed in the lights of glory, his troops following close behind, you thought he would demand for the materialistic spoils such as the kingdom’s trove, maybe choose to seize control over the defeated land and its troops, or perhaps even wreak further havoc within the castle walls. Given the name he has built for himself, it certainly wouldn't surprise you if he decided to forgo all formality and instead brandish his sword like a blood-bathed barbarian.

And so when he appears in the palace entrance, the setting sun giving his rugged appearance a far more... put together look than expected (you refuse to admit the enemy's ruler to be... handsome, of all things), a recitation of prayers hammered into your head throughout the years of etiquette training spring to mind. If you're destined to fall here, you at least wish to perish with thankful thoughts!

...At least, that was the original plan.

So why is it now you're hearing him ask your father and mother, the king and queen of this now defeated kingdom, for your hand in marriage? Where did this sudden formality come from? No, why is he suddenly bowing to his defeated enemies? And�� lord almighty above, did he really have to do this here and now? In front of your nation's high council and his own men, no less!

It is safe to assume every jaw except for Mydeimos' dropped into the nether realm, all eyes gawking at his tall, unperturbed figure bowing in respect towards your parents in the centre.

Having probably sensed the rather awkward air bubbling amidst the dumbfounded troops, your parents turn to you in wait for your decision. Despite the apparent pleas in their eyes for you to not agree to such a ludicrous turn of events, what choice do you really have other than to accept? Who knows what this so-called tyrant could do should you refuse this offer when he is being so lenient!

An audible gulp escapes the base of your throat the moment his scalding gaze locks onto you after your hesitant words of approval, searing a trail of where his eyes trails onto your skin.

Seriously, you haven't been on the receiving end of many — if any — wars, but you're almost positive they don't end this... pleasantly, for a lack of better words.

(Who would've thought you would be a spoils of war, as opposed to the national treasure trove...)

Set to depart when the sun rises, there is little time to gather your bearings and your belongings. Servants are bustling while your parents crowd around you, asking if you're really going to go through with this and, “You can say no! If they don't take your rejection well, we can smite them with our army!”

To that, all you have to say is, “...What army? They're all dead.”

They didn't take that very well, if their concerning increase in flowing tears have anything to say about it.

The send-off is nothing too grandiose, save for the entire palace standing at the gates shouting farewells through tear-streaked wails and blowing handkerchiefs. Your parents are at the forefront of it all. Your mother holds your hands as she tells you to return promptly if it gets too much regardless of the consequences (you appreciate the sentiment, but you don't want to burden your family nor your nation because of a dislike), while your father stands before Mydeimos with an order for him to treat you well and respectfully and, “If you damage even a mere hair on my beloved child's head, I will have your head on display!”

...Perhaps that would have been more threatening if not for the slight tremble of his legs and waver in his voice but, again, you appreciate the sentiment. Mydeimos, if anything, takes it in stride with a calm nod of his head and a promise to take care of you. Really, does anything other than the battlefield phase him...?

Soon you're in the carriage and settled opposite your soon-to-be husband, on your way to your new life with a heavy heart. Is this what all your training to take over the throne has surmounted to? Have all your efforts and dedication spent on being the perfect heir for your kingdom simply come down to being wed to an enemy nation's ruler?

Well, perhaps “enemy” is not the right term anymore; not when both your kingdom's are now in a mutually beneficial alliance, along with the promise for one of your heirs becoming next in line for your kingdom's throne.

Ha! What makes him so sure you will have more than one between you?

...Was what you had asked back when he first made the declaration to your parents, only for him to respond in kind with, “If you'd rather adopt, then we can do so.”

(Bastard. Can't he break composure at least a little?)

As the ride drags on, silence permeates. Whether it is the lingering nerves you hid from your parents or this suffocating intimidation confined within the small carriage space, one question still remains at the forefront of your mind: why did he decide to marry you? Truly, it miffs you. He could have just left you to suffer in the downfall of your nation if he wished to do so, or even let you stay as the heir to the now-allianced kingdom.

Upon questioning his motives for your hand in marriage, his response was merely a slow blink before uttering, "The council wouldn't stop pestering me about getting married."

Oh. Was it really that simple of a reason?

Lips pursed, you press a little more. “Then why did you add benefits, such as an alliance with my kingdom? Even if you, King Mydeimos, were to just—”

“Mydei.”

“—just cut down…” trailing off at the sudden interruption, you blink at his cross-armed figure seated across from you. “Oh, um, what?”

“Mydei,” he repeats once more, attention solely focused on you. “No need to bother with formalities. Just refer to me as such.”

“Oh, well, alright... Mydei?” At your uncertain tone, he nods, as though urging for you to carry on. “Right, well, as I was saying... What was I saying...?”

Without missing a beat, he responds, “You were asking why I offered your kingdom a mutually beneficial alliance when I have the means to cut down the nation with brute force and take what I want through violence.”

“Oh, right…” Huh. Did you say all of that? Well, you certainly were thinking of it, but were you that harsh in your wording? Considering how he recited it all without hesitation, you probably did say all of that, with him being a pretty good listener and you perhaps needing to think over your words before you speak them. “So what is your answer to my curiosity?”

“I simply thought you would be happier if I spared your land and made an offer both of us would benefit from.”

“...I see. Well, thank you for your consideration.”

“Think nothing of it.”

And so the ride continues in silence once more, though this time you find yourself more at ease compared to the prior situation. You, however, still have your doubts about the benefits he gave with the alliance proposal, amongst the absurdity of this entire situation.

...Is the man sitting before you really the feared tyrannical ruler people made him out to be? Surely he is being far too merciful for someone of such reputation. There has been no threats, no coercion (well, if you don’t count the whole marriage fiasco as such, but you did willingly agree to it…), no usage of violence — did people perhaps badmouth the wrong monarch?

Then again, the majority of his prowess and achievements stem from the battlefield. Was all this information just mere hearsay from those jealous of his noteworthy feats, or do their words truly hold some merit in their claim? And really, what do you know about Mydei? From his thoughts, to his motives, to the reasoning behind each action… you know nothing.

Well, considering how he has entertained each of your whims thus far, he has the ability to entertain one more, right?

“Mydei, if I may,” you start, looking to him for approval to continue. When he nods encouragingly, you continue. “You said you made an offer we would both benefit from. While I acknowledge the military and protection we receive from you, what benefit do you reap from us?”

Had you not been eyeing him so intently, perhaps the subtle stiffening of his muscles or twitch of his fingers would have remained unnoticed. 

“Apart from the high quality agricultural and material trade, I have obtained one more thing. Rather than a benefit, however,” he trails off, gaze shifting to the carriage floor. His voice tapers slightly, subtleties of fondness seeping into his tone. When his eyes move to meet your own once more, your mouth runs dry at the undeniable warmth which swirls within his gaze, the rapid pounding of your heart betraying your thoughts. “I consider meeting and having the privilege of marrying you to be the most priceless of rewards I could have obtained.”

(...Who knew a subtle smile could be so beautiful.)

Settling into your new role as the co-ruler of Kremnos was a far easier transition than you’d anticipated. Despite some initial apprehension at your sudden intrusion into the citizen’s lives and you being from another nation, the reactions you were greeted with upon arrival were well-within your expectations.

Apprehension? Sure. Skepticism? Great. Concern over your abilities? Fantastic! Immediate, wholehearted acceptance with preparations already made for your arrival? Um… Come again?

Yes. Compared to the civilian’s very normal, completely expected doubt and uncertainty about you being thrust into the role of their new co-ruler, the same cannot be said about the palace staff. The moment Mydei helped you out of the carriage, a line of servants were at the ready, lined up with the necessary preparations already made to look after you. Your dumbfoundedness must have been quite obvious for Mydei to take note, squeezing your hand with enough pressure and warmth to anchor you down and fill you with comfort before guiding you through the tunnel of awaiting servants ready to receive his orders.

While a little unnerving the palace staff’s ready acceptance and preparation for your arrival may have been, you cannot deny the flicker of warmth which surges when spotting something that reminds you of home.

That particular fruit you enjoy only found in your homeland? An abundance has been procured with the palace gardener equipped with all the necessities used to grow it, alongside a bed of your favourite assortment of flowers already beginning to show signs of blooming.

There was a certain dessert you enjoyed partaking in? Look no further, for the palace patissier has already mastered all the techniques needed to make it the most delicious version you have ever tasted!

Oh, you’re used to having a certain textile in each of your fabrics and certain colours are more to your preference? Don’t worry, the temporary bedroom used until your wedding is made to your liking, and once the wedding is complete your shared bedroom will have all the necessary arrangements!

Truly, the experience of having practically everything needed for your stay to be comfortable already prepared was an… interesting one, to say the least.

It doesn’t escape you, however, the manner in which everyone is rigid in demeanour and stiff with etiquette when in the presence of Mydei. Ducking their heads to avoid eye contact, tensing their bodies as though afraid one subtle movement will trigger his wrath, rushing away as quickly as possible once given their respective orders.

He doesn’t appear bothered; if anything, matters outside of you and battle don’t seem to move him at all. He merely regards everything as a duty to be carried out, an honour to uphold and see through so long as he bears the weight of his title. 

Despite his admitted nonchalance for most matters, you have seen him be expressive on several accounts.

Like that time you were both strolling through the extensive garden holding pleasant conversation about each other’s day, stopping to admire the roses and ready to sing the gardener’s praises, only to catch the smile and unfairly soft expression directed towards you. (Seriously, the difference a smile and relaxed expression can make on his features should be criminal.)

Or the days you choose to visit the training ground and catch the battle-hardened fervour of a warrior which radiate so starkly within his typically stoic demeanour, easily parrying and holding his own against even a large number of his knights rushing to best him, only to hastily avert your eyes when he takes note of your presence and amble his way towards you with a towel in hand. (Well, his torso is practically on full-display all day, but somehow seeing him entirely shirtless after a particularly gruelling training is a little… different.)

Not to mention that one night during your third month in Kremnos wherein an assassin managed to slip through surveillance and sneak into your room, only to be thwarted mere moments before the fatal strike as a sword pierced their torso, their cries of agony quickly silencing and the flecks of warmth clinging to your skin promptly discarded as the deafening hammering of your heart drowned out everything in the vicinity. You weren’t sure how long you were out of it for, but the image of Mydei’s distraught expression and uncharacteristic loss of composure is a sight you’re certain will never leave, much like the rare vulnerability found in his fragile, broken whispers of, “Not again... I thought I’d lost you again. Why must fate be so cruel? Please… Just this once, stay with me until the end.”

(You never really questioned how Mydei caught wind of the attempt or what he meant by his whispered words, too caught up in your near-death experience to properly process anything, but the immeasurable relief upon being embraced within his familiarity was undeniable as you melted into him, allowing him to stay by your side for the night and then the following nights soon after as his attentiveness only grew.)

The time from your first arrival has flown, and now, five months later, the long-awaited wedding is finally being held.

The ceremony itself was nothing too grand. Despite Mydei asking for your thoughts and preferences on how the ceremony should be held, the ideas he’d suggested aligned perfectly with your own preferences: a simple ceremony with the necessary guests in attendance for privacy, a ceremonial carriage ride through the capital to honour the matrimonial bond between you alongside quelling any uncertainties the citizens may have, and to end it all off with a banquet to diminish the doubt brewing from within the nobility of high society.

Thankfully, everything went off without a hitch. Your parents attended the ceremony and greeted you with a tearful embrace upon seeing you in your wedding attire. As it turns out, they will be staying as guests within the palace for about a week, all thanks to Mydei’s preparations. Apparently.

(Upon asking your parents who is taking care of the kingdom’s affairs in their place, you probably should have suspected it to be the trusted, overworked aide who has been by your father’s side since young. Despite his already cushy salary, he should get a raise for having to deal with all this.)

And as you stand here now, chatting idly with some of the knights in attendance who were present in the whole proposal fiasco, you find yourself believing that perhaps your new life here will not be as bad as you feared.

You have to admit, letting loose every now and then is rather rewarding. After all those mental and passive aggressive battles with some of the nobles before eventually gaining their respect and approval (you didn’t have strict heir training just to have nothing to show for it!), you can now relax and let the night pass by. With the knights talking joyfully amongst themselves, you’re sure the night will fly by.

Their topic of conversation shifts constantly, ranging from battle tactics to which is the best amongst savoury, sweet, or spicy to debates about whether that one maid and apprentice chef are secretly dating.

Eventually, the topic of conversation loops back around to your newly sealed marriage; you know, the whole premise for the current celebration. One of the knights, tickled a light pink in the face from the warmth of the venue and the drink half-emptied in hand, turns to you with a jovial grin.

“Y’know, until you came into the picture, I’ve never seen our king so happy and expressive. It’s a nice change.”

Another chimes, “Yeah! I’ve definitely seen him smile a few times when you visit the training grounds! Though he still glares daggers into my soul when we spar…”

“That’s because you suck and His Majesty gets a migraine just from the sight of your sloppy footwork.”

“Wha— hey! You’re the one with a weak swing and can’t even break the training dummy in one strike!”

“I’m telling you the material is tougher on the ones I’m given!”

A breathy laugh escapes you at their back and forth. Sometimes you forget how playful the knights can be outside of their intimidating demeanour, though you suppose their leader is similar in his own right.

Taking a light sip from your drink, the chatter of the knights slowly die down. Just as you’re about to ask if everything is alright, a warmth you have become able to identify looms over your back. It doesn’t take a genius to know why they stopped their bickering.

“What were you all discussing?” Mydei asks, moving to stand beside you with a drink of his own in hand. You weren’t expecting to see him until later, what with how swamped he appeared with greetings and talks of his own.

His knights seemed to have thought the same as you, if their apparent dumbfounded reactions were anything to go by.

“Oh, um, well…”

“We were, uh…”

“We were just chatting like good ole pals, haha…”

Stifling a laugh at their poor attempts, you decide it would be best to give them a helping hand. Mydei’s curious gaze certainly isn’t helping their case.

With an amused sigh you begin, “Nothing much. Just how much they admire and look up to you—”

“We were discussing how your dear spouse thoroughly enjoys the sight of your body at the training grounds!”

A deafening silence.

…You take back every nice thing you said about them. You hope Mydei exchanges all the training dummies except for his own for super-ultra-mega tough ones, just so they can feel the embarrassment you currently do when they are unable to break a mere training dummy.

First off, how did they even know this highly confidential information?! You most certainly were not openly ogling at your now-husband! (At least, you hope you weren’t…)

Second of all, here you were trying to help them save face from all their bickering, and what do you get in return? A loss of your own!

And third of all, that is blatant slander! In front Mydei, their king and commander, and your spouse, no less!

Ha ha. You don't know whether to laugh or cry at this turn of events.

In hopes of salvaging what remains of your thoroughly battered and bruised image, And there it appears, you quickly turn towards Mydei, a myriad of retorts ready to fire on the tip of your tongue. It fizzles out just as quickly as it appears upon what you find yourself gazing at. Though barely noticeable, the lingering remnants of his laughter which spill from that wretched curve of his lips never fails to speed up this traitorous heart of yours. And when his unabashedly amused gaze meets your own mortified one, your mind regains its former desperation.

Before you can think up a retort in a last-ditch effort to save face, he swiftly leans into your ear and whispers, “I would like to hear more about this. Perhaps you can enlighten me when we return to our quarters later.”

…Nevermind. Perhaps it is Mydei who should be getting the super-ultra-mega tough training dummy so he can taste humiliation for the first time in his life.

(However, despite the horrendously dizzying flush you are currently victim to, if it meant seeing his warm gaze and heart-melting smile more often then, perhaps, you wouldn’t mind embarrassing yourself in front of him every now and then.)

(Not too often, of course. That would be too much.)

if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33

trivia !!

wanted to add this section in case some might be wondering why i went with the timeloop trope yet again (if u did not figure that out from the bits and pieces throughout the fic + mainly the assassination attempt scene then, um, oops. haha.) BUT !! i actually decided to do a spin of his lore for it.

so in his drip market post, it says:

Kremnos, swallowed by mist! City riven between chaos and war! The blood of patricide flows through its royal line, and its god bears the title of calamity.

The undying Mydeimos, the lion apart from the rest. O Chrysos Heir that seeks the Coreflame of Strife, you must suffer a thousand deaths, be bathed in blood on the path home, and bear the madness of fate alone, for one was must slay a god to become one. Iron-hooves pound across the wilderness for the campaign, and must eventually soak in the blood of their homeland.

and mydei is also known by the following aliases "the last prince" and "the undying". now all of this info is more than likely referring to his ability to survive torturous pain, as opposed to dying and and resurrecting a thousand times (or maybe i am right... who knows...), but my first thoughts went to how he had the ability to come back to a certain point in this past after the so-called fate drove him to madness which he alone must bear.

in this context, i wanted for him to be a king who suffered a thousand deaths, but lived through a thousand lives of the same never-ending fate, doomed to watch the fall and bear the madness and watch as you in each and every lifetime suffer at the hands of a fate he cannot save you from. and that is why he marries you because he knows you even if you do not know him and will always choose to lead the same path if it means he has you by his side once more.

...does this make sense? maybe it does, maybe it does not, but what matters is it made sense to me ;w;

oops got a little carried away there with lore and theories um !! haha !! anywho that is enough from me ,,, if u read this trivia then hi !! ty for sitting through and reading my deep dive into the crumbs of lore and how i put my own spin on it :'D

[tapakah0]

SH- ATE MY TAGS AGAIN OKAY CAN YOU WARN ME WHEN I'M AT THE LIMIT YOU BOZO??? #I can't with the fact that they already act like a couple.... Shepherd will need a raise to not spit at this fact...... #Am I a bad person for enjoying them dominating?.... # I pity birds but I did know them for less pages than I did know Marmors help # This birdy has a blessing,,, that probably won't be that easy m....

Part 10 >:0

Warning. Brain cell used. Stunt performed by professionals, do not repeat this at home

Previous

Masterpost

[rubys-domain]

yeah, i'm gonna skip the lyney/yelan banner. i'm fucking tired after the struggle to get kokomi. i might pull on the weapon banner if there's good 4 stars (namely sac sword/sac frag), but beyond that, i'm saving for venti's eventual rerun. at least on main.

on the alt, as much as i'd rather not, i'll still have to keep pulling. i decided to not do what i said i'd do and kept pulling on the kokomi banner anyway. since thoma refused to come home, i can at least try to get yanfei's c4. i'm already at c2, and i still want a rosaria anyway just for her exploration passive so why not. if xingqiu does rerun with yelan i'll probably be fine. i still have a decent amount of freemogem sources outside of archon quests. after that, i only want shenhe and zhongli and maybe beidou for a potential taser team. so i can be locked and loaded when another good claymore comes out that chong can use. that or just redhorn rerun. (seriously i'm waiting on beacon and hunter's path reruns so fucking hard but who knows when that'll ever happen.) the good thing about redhorn is that refinements aren't as appealing since, having fairly low base def, the passive doesn't really apply to chong. still hoping navia or wriothesley bring about new claymores that chong can use that are better than redhorn. tho if wrio's gonna be a standard banner character then i hope his weapon is shit for chong so i don't have to feel bad about not being able to get it like i do with beacon

[0bticeo]

air sex with mark. reader has begged him to take her flying before, but bouncing on his dick in the sky is new for him. i feel like at first he would be hesitant, but then would enjoy the thrill of showing off his strength. and maybe he also likes the idea of someone looking up and seeing, as a treat

WHAT'S NEXT, ALIEN SEX?

summary:

what happens next can probably be explained by a mix of sleep deprivation, adrenaline, and not having seen your boyfriend for two months. fuck martians. fuck the nasa. fuck cecil.

“mark?”

“mm?”

he keeps pressing soft kisses to the side of your neck, hands already reaching for the small, silver zipper of your catsuit.

“fuck me while you fly us home.”

tw: air sex, piv sex, fingering, slightly ooc!mark but it'll make sense in part 3 i prommy, switch!mark, cunnilingus, mark being whipped, fluff, couples fighting together against a common enemy à la will turner/elizabeth swann minus the swords, if u know who the art belongs to pls lmk so i can give credit pls, the author being a vv slow writer and apologising, pls show my bby some love and leave a comment, mwah

part 2 to boyfriend material

having a superhero boyfriend has its perks. 

sure, you may get interrupted mid-date by a world-ending emergency or a bank robbery - because invincible has range like that. sure, cecil stedman has you on watch because anybody that gets close to mark gets the GDA premium treatment of you-could-potentially-be-useful-so-we-keep-a-close-eye-on- you-in-case-something-happens. and sure, nolan grayson's ice cold gaze - assessing, cutting, predatory - sets you on edge.

but at the end of the day, you're in love with mark grayson. mark grayson is invincible. so you love invincible. perfect syllogism. however, you could really do without the flaxans invading downtown chicago in the middle of your coffee date. 

“seriously? it’s the third time this month!”

he sends you an apologetic look over his sugary monstrosity of a beverage. something with so much caramel and whipped cream you’re getting vertigo just by looking at the damn thing. viltrumite biology-induced cravings, maybe?

you’re cut in your musings by panicked passer-bys running for their lives.

he takes a sip through his straw, brown eyes darkening, split earth after a thunderstorm. a little pout has his lips curling downwards. you kiss it away, a short, sweet peck that has him smiling against your mouth.

“karma’s a bitch,” you grumble, downing your coffee - black, no sugar because you’re no heathen.

mark lets out a huff of laughter, something awfully soft in his eyes. his fingers lace with yours, bringing your hand to his lips.

“c’mon, baby. duty calls.”

duty is a damn bitch is what she is. one flick of your wrist has your civilian outfit - pretty, casual, a nice little sundress that had mark do a double take because you don’t wear these that often - melting away in the shadows, replaced by your trademark coat and catsuit. 

shadow’s back in the game and she’s pissed.

(her boyfriend’s struggling in the men’s room with his invincible suit, because clark kent makes wearing his super suit under his everyday clothes seem easy, but it really isn’t.)

it’s a bloodbath. 

downtown chicago has been turned into a one-sided battlefield, the harsh, viscous green of alien skin burnt into your retina. your jaw ticks. they’re aiming at civilians, laser beams turning innocents into fine, bloody paste.you witness a little girl, no older than five, face half melted in the concrete, whimpering as she takes her last breath. a twenty something college student cradling his abdomen, innards spilling out. christ’s sake, a dog, half eviscerated, crawling towards its dying master, man’s most loyal companion.

you step forward, cracking your knuckles. 

“sorry lads. the earth is closed today.”

the sun is still high above, a witness to dull afternoon hours turned into a horror scene. your shadow spreads and spreads, encompassing the army standing before you. you tilt your head, eyes rolling back behind your domino mask as you call in the darkness. the shadows twist. you raise your hand, pointing at the first few ranks aiming at you, barking in their language. 

further back, near the portal, on what appears to be their equivalent of a tank, their leader, face marred by a long, jagged scar running from his brow to his lips. they twist in a snarl upon glimpsing your silhouette. he raises an arm, finger vengefully pointed at you. ah, so they do recognise you.

looks like somebody didn’t appreciate being on the receiving end of your tridagger. pity.

you clench your hand into a fist. it doesn’t deter them, the way the ground shifts under their boots. the slow corruption of the concrete below, as it is rendered one with the dark. your shadow’s stretched out enough to encompass all of them and give them a nice, cosy one way trip to the shadow dimension. its many beasts are hungry for fresh meat. maybe then they’ll stop ruining your dates.

something shifts when the first bullet manages to hit you, the laser burning away both leather and kevlar. blood drips from your shoulder.

“oooh, so you want it close and personal, huh?”

 you grin and throw yourself in the fray, black cloying the edges of your vision.

adrenaline courses through your veins. your shadows move along with you, sliding and shifting, the ground caving in treacherously under the aliens’ feet. concrete splits open. the one on your left shouts, beady eyes wide and panicked, and shoots. bang. dodge, duck, slam your foot at the back of its knee and watch the fucker fall into the abyss. kick up its rifle and shoot. slam it in an alien’s skull before it gets to you.

the scent of charred flesh fills your nostrils. ah. you’ve been hit again. spots dance in front of your vision. you take a hit. another. another - your lips split, grin flashing wide as your hand pierces feeble tactical gear. blood drips on the ground. the alien looks at the gaping hole in its sternum.

(shadows bend to your will, you’ve explained to mark when you first met, on the edge of midnight city where you hail from. your legs were dangling carelessly at the edge of a skyscrape under his watchful gaze. even then, even before the both of you became something too much to be put into words, he wanted you safe.

you’ve demonstrated it for him. harmless things, your fingers molding together, shapes taking form on the wall, shadows rippling as they came to life, dripping down like ink as small rabbits hopped out of the dark and around mark’s legs. 

you’ve shown the lethality of it. 

your gloved hands shifted, middle and index fingers pointing towards an approaching thug, other hand cradling your curled fingers.

bang.)

you’re laughing, cradling the poor thing’s heart, darkness like ink coating your fingers like a glove. you  make it sharper, deadlier. 

a shift behind you. the burning energy of a laser bullet aimed your way, straight for the head. too fast for you to dodge. 

a fist closes on it. 

you smile, lazily.

“mm. you’re late, invisible.”

invincible grins, a little sharp, wiping away flaxan blood on his suit, red a stark contrast against the bright yellow of it. lasers ricochet off him, rippling across his broad back as he turns to face you, shielding you with that cocky little grin you love. he rolls his shoulders, barely affected by it. you bite your lip at the sight.

“sorry, shade. you wouldn’t believe the traffic.” 

he moves, liquid smooth, hands on your hips as he shifts you away from an opponent. you use the momentum to head kick the fucker, its jaw giving away with a sickening crack under your soles. a sharp, screeching sound as it crumbles to the ground. you kick up its rifle, leaning on it with a sigh.

a tilt of your fingers and a shield rises before you, lasers sizzling against the surface.

invincible’s lips brush your jaw, gaze lazily surveying the progression of the flaxan troops.

“can i make up for it?” he breathes. “being late?”

even with his goggles hiding his eyes, you feel the weight of his gaze, something that has heat settling low in your core. his grin sharpens at that, nose brushing against the sliver of skin left bare by your suit. his thumbs rub small circles on your hip bones, and you’re intimately aware of how close he is, the firm line of his body pressing against yours, all hard edges, battle-honed. you lean back into him.

“maybe later. y’know, when earth isn’t invaded by murderous aliens.”

he chuckles, pressing a soft little kiss to your cheek. you gasp when he squeezes your ass. cheeky bastard.

“lemme deal with that.”

and fuck, the way he tears into them and slams their leader into the nearest building, fingers digging in the soft, breakable flesh of its throat, concrete shattering upon impact… you watch, eyes wide behind the lenses of your domino mask, as he crushes its skull between his hands, the bone brittle under his palms.

he turns back to look at you, floating above the battlefield, sun setting low behind his frame, his shadow stretching and stretching. blood drips down his clenched fist. you think of the deadly edge of a sword, perfectly poised, teetering on the edge of carnage. 

the flaxans look up, panicked, and aim at him. 

“sorry guys.” he cracks his knuckles, his grin sharp. “can’t keep my girl waiting.”

and fucking hell, you think as you leap towards the now empty tank, taking advantage of them being distracted. you should be focused on smashing the device creating their portals. it’d be easy enough, to use the shadows as an exoskeleton to enhance your strength. 

it would be, if mark wasn’t so bloody gorgeous while smashing his enemies to pieces. you think you hear him laugh as he does, something almost boyish. sunlight hits him, all goldens and reds - so much red, dripping down his chin, staining his goggles. you watch the lean muscles ripple under his suit, the way his fingers flex as he curls them into fists, the way his shoulders tense. the way he toys with them, faster than they can perceive, dodging their shots at the very last second. he’s making them harm their own kin.

snap out of it.

you smash your rifle against the complex machinery beeping before you. utterly unrefined, but you’re not exactly well-versed in alien mechanics, so it’ll have to do. the green light of the portal fizzles out. it’s closed.

mark flies above, lazily cracking his wrist.

a low, mournful cry rises from the troops.

//

you’re standing in a secluded alleyway, having bravely fled from the crowd of journalists creeping closer to the scene of carnage. 

“wasn’t that meg?” you muse, taking off your domino mask with a relieved sigh.

mark’s thumbs find the underside of your eyes, gently massaging the skin where your mask has been pressing.

“oh, her?” 

he pouts. you giggle at that, leaning into his touch. gently, you pry off his mask, revealing what has to be humanity’s most devastating puppy eyes.

“what? she’s pretty.” a conspiratorial smirk. “i need to know where she bought that skirt.”

his hands drop from your face, lightly resting on your waist in a way that makes something primal in you purr. he’s soft with you, mindful of the cuts on your shoulder, on your forearm. from this close, you can smell him, sharp ozone, and something distinctly mark that has you almost nuzzling him, burying your nose in the crook of his neck. 

“actually that’s not a bad idea.” he grins. “it would look good on my bedroom floor.”

“mark, you little-”

“what? would you prefer your bedroom floor?”

you slap his chest.

he cackles at that, looking down at you like you’re something precious.

you inch closer, hands pressed up against his chest. you watch as his pupils dilate, a never-ending void consuming the soft brown of his eyes. his gaze darts down to your lips and he frowns. his thumb brushes away a small drop of blood oozing from the thin line where your lower lip has been split.

his thumb meets the tender skin of your mouth and you press a soft kiss to the tip of it. 

mark finds his heart stuttering in his chest. you’d think he’d be used to have you by now. three months in, tangled up in each other in both hero work and school work and yet there he is, back pressed up against the washed up wall of a dingy alleyway come dusk, flushing under your adoring gaze. 

you’re devouring him, hunger practically oozing off of you as you take him in, all firm lines and soft gazes. god, you think michelangelo might weep in despair for having died in an era without him to immortalize. his hand clenches, long, slender fingers left bare by his suit flexing smoothly in a motion that has you pressing your thighs together with a soft sigh. 

dusk settles over chicago, golden sunbeams brushing the sharp edge of his jaw and you raise your hand to trace it, absently. a smile curls up your lips when he leans into your touch, as your gloved fingers brush past his jaw to go up, up, up, carding through the soft mess of his hair. blood and viscera got stuck in it. he does get violent when he fights, you muse, absently.

there’s still blood splattered on his suit.

maybe you love him a little too much. maybe you should be worried your boyfriend once tore out one of the mauler twins’ head for having made fun of your hair, laying it before your feet like an offering. doesn’t matter when you feel him against you, hard and wanting. doesn’t matter when he’s burying his face in your neck, teeth nipping at the soft skin, marking you. 

what happens next can probably be explained by a mix of sleep deprivation, adrenaline, and not having seen your boyfriend for two months. fuck martians. fuck the nasa. fuck cecil. 

“mark?”

“mm?”

he keeps pressing soft kisses to the side of your neck, hands already reaching for the small, silver zipper of your catsuit. 

“fuck me while you fly us home.”

he freezes, parting from you. you nearly whine at the loss.

“wha- baby are you…?”

a soft flush blooms on his cheek and you coo, peppering soft kisses to his sweet face.

“c’mon… it’d be fun…”

you send him that look. the look that had him reeling at teen team’s base after a group mission. the look that had him fucking you in their showers, one hand firmly clasped on your mouth to muffle your moans as you heard rex and eve arguing outside. the look that had him fighting for his life under cecil’s no-nonsense gaze during briefings. the look that kept him company during his two months trip to space, palming himself through his suit to the thought of you.

fuck martians and their unchecked sequids invasion, he wanted you by his side. 

he has you now, so he puts his mask back on and pulls you close, breathing you in. coffee. that one vanilla and caramel perfume you love. blood. his thumb grazes the cut on your shoulder. you squirm in his grip.

“let’s get you home, mm? i’ll patch you up there.”

he scoops you up in his arms, fingers digging in the fat of your thighs as your legs wrap around his - sinfully small - waist. you’re in the air before you know it, arms wound tight around his neck, gloved fingers playing with what little baby hair is left uncovered by his mask. he shudders at the contact, a small whimper leaving his lips, barely audible with the roaring of the wind whipping past you.

you glance down. chicago stretches out, glimmering gold. at the edge of the horizon, you watch the sun set, all-consuming gold bleeding into creeping night blue. mark keeps flying you higher, careful not to go too high, where the air would be too rare for you to breathe.

your fingers dig in his shoulders, pulling you closer to him. he wouldn’t let you fall, you know.

(you’re in his bed, still panting, flushed and full in a way you’ve never felt before. mark has gathered you in his arms, and you’re curled up against him, head on his chest as he strokes your hair. he hasn’t been this relaxed in a long time, and you’re putty in his hands. 

you inch closer, fingers lacing with his, lips pressed to his knuckles. the bruises from his last fight are fading.

“mark?”

“yeah?”

“i meant it, y’know. i’m falling for you.”

he stills, a split-second of terrifying second-guessing. too much? too soon? you open your mouth, mortification creeping in. you close it when you meet his eyes, impossibly fond, the softest you’ve seen them yet.

“don’t worry. i’ll catch you. always. can’t have my baby falling.”

you boop his nose.

“sap.”

there’s a wide grin on your face. your heart feels light.)

his grip on you tightens. his lips brush against your ear, his voice low.

“i need you, baby.”

you feel his breath, harsh and heavy on your nape, the way his shoulders tense, adrenaline still coursing through him. your fingers palm his bulge, and you grin against his collarbone when you find him hard and wanting. you can feel the outline of his cock, even through the damn kevlar. you think you might feel the way he’s leaking through his boxers, too, tip flushed the same pretty shade of pink spreading across his cheeks. palm pressing in, grinding against the kevlar of his suit, you look up at him.

his breath catches. his hips stutter, his flight grows haphazard. his lips part in a soft, ragged little exhale of your name. you don’t think you’ve seen him this needy, with the way he presses you close - not just for safety - his hands somehow managing to knead your breasts, your ass, your thighs. 

it has you clenching your thighs, desperate for any kind of friction.

you lean closer, a soft whisper in his ear, lost to the icy wind nipping at your cheeks.

“is it the suit that turns you on?”

“it’s just…” he lets out something suspiciously close to a whimper. frustrated. needy. “i’m not sure how we should do this, y’know? logistically, i mean. i won’t let you fall, you know that, but what if-”

you press your lips to his, sweetly, softly. he melts against you. it feels like the roaring of the world has finally stopped, his mind a delicious, blissful blank. he’s stopped flying, he realises absently, pulling you close to him by the waist. you shiver, nestling against him, eager for warmth - viltrumites run hot. a side effect of having to fly in cosmic depths. 

he shudders deliciously when your nose brushes the sharp edge of his jaw, your mouth hot against his pulse, rabbit-fast under your ministrations. 

“baby…”

“you think too much,” you breathe.

he lets out something like a strangled gasp when you bring your hips closer to his, thigh brushing his aching cock. you stroke his cheek over his mask and he’s burning, inches away from ripping his suit off and fucking you senseless. 

he leans into your touch with a sigh, nuzzling your palm. 

“hey.” you give him a tiny eskimo kiss. “we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“no, i want to.” 

his grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging in the fat of them hard enough to leave bruises. he wonders how long it will take him to lose control, with the way you look at him like that, flushed and needy, practically gasping for air, like you can only breathe when his mouth is on yours. 

still he hesitates, because there’s something about the way you press yourself against him, catsuit drenched in blood, about the soft ripples of darkness fluttering along the edges of your coat, about how fucking out of it he makes you -

he couldn’t stay away from you if he tried, even if he should, for your sake.

he all but pins you against him, relishing in the feeling of your smaller frame pressed tight against the broad expanse of him, his hand finding its way to your chest, to that small, tantalising zipper between your collarbones. his thumb brushes the sliver of skin you’ve left exposed. for comfort, you said. 

he flashes you a grin, thumb soft on your pulse. persistent. deadly.

“comfortable?”

you splutter.

“mark!”

“that’s invincible to you, shadow.”

your jaw snaps shut. you swallow. right. no names while wearing the suit, but fuck. it’s getting hard to breathe, and the lack of oxygen isn’t at fault. mar- invincible cups your chest, hand gently squeezing the soft mound under your suit. you feel your heart hammer violently under his touch and know he feels it too. he hums, finger circling your nipple, the kevlar brittle under his touch. the motion, the rush of air as he slowly makes his way through the skies, the only thing stopping you from plummeting to your death being him-

it has you wet beyond reason.

“invincible,” you whine, desperate. 

it gets to him, the way your voice softens, the way your hips grind against his thigh mindlessly. he can’t see your face, with the way you’ve been trying to bury it in his chest, with a flustered noise.

fuck, you’re cute.

he pins you to him, your back to his chest, one strong arm locking you in place, a vice grip around your middle. you bite back a soft cry, his erection firmly pressed against your ass. his mouth presses against your neck, a hint of teeth against your carotid that has you gasping his name.

his fingers grasp the zipper, the motion a delicate little thing. cold air hits your skin and you whimper softly, invincible’s cheek nuzzling yours as he pulls it down, down, down, until your breasts spill out of your suit, nipples pebbled and aching, until his fingers reach your cunt.

“shit…” 

you see him bite his lip from the corner of your eye. his fingers dip between your lips, teasingly, barely brushing against your clit, enough for him to find you soaked and eager.

“all for me?”

you smile at his eagerness, at the (almost) innocent surprise in his voice. 

“you see anyone else here?”

he nips your earlobe, grinning wide against your ear.

“cheeky.”

you and invincible- fuck it, you and mark had sex before. hell, you lost your virginity to him in what has to be one of the most intimate moments in your life. but this? this is close second. this, you and mark, suspended hundreds of feet above the ground, head in the clouds, watching as the sun sets. mark’s lips slot against yours, your head tilting back to meet him halfway, his fingers curling in you in a way that has you seeing stars.

he sweeps your coat away with a soft growl.

“careful! it’s a gift!”

“yeah, a very inconvenient one.”

“you gifted it to me you- ah!”

somewhere along the way, he managed to free his cock, the bite of the cold air harsh against his leaking tip. you let out a soft whine of protest when he drags it along your folds, robbed of the sinful vision of his leaking tip. 

“m’gonna put it in, okay?” he babbles against your ear, hips grinding against your ass. “oh, baby-”

he lets out a low, soothing sound, nuzzling your neck as he drives himself deeper in you, until you’re clawing at his bicep with a keen.

“m-mark-”

it’s one thing to have him take you from behind, his hand warm and steady on your hip, pulling you impossibly closer to him. it’s another to do it in the air, where you have little to no leverage to make him feel good, too. 

“fuck- do you like it?” he rasps, hips snapping forward.

“mm-”

you’re caught in the in-between, the cold air nipping at your skin, mark hot and heavy behind you, fucking up into you like he’d die if he didn’t. your vision blurs at the edges. it’s too much, the delicious drag of his fingers as he teases your clit, the way his cock fills you to the brim. so fucking warm you feel like you’re about to melt into a puddle of heat. 

looking down would mean a casual reminder of your situation, hundreds of feet above ground, but you do. the sight has you moaning, wanton and debauched, with the way mark’s cock has your lower abdomen bulging out ever so slightly with each thrusts. 

you don’t even realise he’s leaning back until you’re faced with a flurry of emerging stars, watching you from lightyears away. he’s practically lying down in the clouds, the humidity of it raising goosebumps on your heated skin, like he’s baring you to the world.

slowly, he pulls out and has you straddle him, facing him.

he grins up at you, hands resting on your hips, thumbs drawing soothing circles on your hips as you sink down on him with a soft little moan of his name.

“talk about being on cloud nine.”

you snort.

“and i’m the cheeky one?”

“absolutely. my cheeky, adorably fucked-out girlfriend.”

you open your mouth to bite back when his cock hits that sweet, sweet little spot inside of you and your words die in a low, needy little moan. he’s taken off his mask, you realise, absently, discarding it god knows where. he’s taken off his mask, and he’s looking up at you like you’re his sun.

and you’re beautiful, he thinks, running his hand along the slope of your neck, relishing in the contact, in the way you melt against him. absolutely breathtaking, the setting sun cradling you in gold until, shadows framing the dips and planes of you as you ride him until you come apart. he groans, watching your slick coat the base of his shaft, your cunt milking him for all he’s worth until he’s bursting at the seams, your name the only constant on his lips as his hips buck up into you. 

“mmm fuck- i wanna try something-”

“mmn?”

he grins, something a little sweet, a little sharp. there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s up to no good.

“sit on my face.”

“you- mark!”

“what? i won’t let you fall. besides… i did say i’d eat you out, didn’t i?”

you’re trembling, when he slides out of you and pulls you to him, eager, arms wrapped around your parted thighs as he settles you over his mouth. you keen at the first contact of his tongue against your cunt, hips bucking up instinctively. he groans against you, the vibration sending shivers up your spine. 

“taste so good, baby…”

he’s looking straight at you, feeling his cock harden as you grind yourself on his face, the lapels of your coat spread out on his abdomen like he’s about to spread you out, thumbs parting your nether lips to sink deeper in you, to taste you better. 

next thing you know, he’s sinking his fingers in you and sucking at your clit, the sharp press of his teeth against the sensitive bundle of nerves a shock to your system. you fist his hair and feel him tense beneath you, his eyes hooded as they take you in.

“mark- mark i can’t-”

he presses a soft kiss to your clit. sweet. reverent. you don’t know if you find it cute or unfairly hot, not with the way you’re dizzy with him, begging for something, anything. something in you builds, coils low in your underbelly and snaps, leaving mark’s lips drenched and his eyes rolling back in his sockets with a strangled moan. you make out more than you feel his hips stuttering, coming to a stop as he cums.

there’s a ringing in your head. nagging. persistent. it won’t go away, no matter how badly you want to shake it off. the world is narrowed down to you, mark, and the way his tongue gently lap at your oversensitive cunt, cleaning you up with tiny kitten licks that have your heart hammering in your chest.

then, slowly, he peels back from you, his face ruined by your slick. he presses a kiss to your inner thigh as he pulls back, a teasing little bite, and zip up your suit.

“can’t have you catching a cold on me, can i?”

the sun sets. mark grayson tucks you in his arms and flies you to midnight city as you doze off, his heartbeat strong and steady against your ear. he looks at you, all pressed up against his chest, head leaning against his shoulder, and smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

when he gets to your home - a small little flat tucked away in sixth avenue, midnight city, seventh floor, third window to the left - he lays you down on the couch and fetches the med kit. you curl up into yourself, half-asleep, reaching for the soft blanket draped on the armrest. a little meow interrupts you, nero looking up at you blearily. you scratch him behind his ears and watch at your cat falls back asleep on the blanket, his little paws curling. 

mark takes in the sight of you, sleepily petting your grumpy furball of a cat, the two of you curled up on the couch, and feels something tug at his heart. affection. boundless love, the kind that would raze cities and bring civilisations to ashes if needed be. he settles next to you, med kit on the coffee table, helping you shrug off your coat and catsuit.

“it’s not too deep.”

his hand brushes your shoulder, relishing the contact with your soft skin. you hum, drowsy, exhaustion catching up with you.

he patches you up, quietly, pulling you close once he’s done. he breathes you in, burying himself in your hair, taking in your flat. a little messy, books everywhere, little plants soaking up sunlight because you like your tomatoes and basil fresh. your cat, snoring lightly on the armrest. you, breathing slowing down, curling up against him with a soft little: “thanks.”

he leans back on the couch, pulling you closer, and thinks, stroking your hair.

he’s been deep in the abysses of earth and felt the tides struggle against him, trying to push back. he’s been close to its core, and felt gravity weigh him down, a feeble attempt at bringing him to his knees. he’s been in space. he’s seen supernovas burn before his eyes, stood before a black hole and watched the event horizon as it tried to pull him into its orbit, a gaping, hungry maw.

but, at the end of the day, it’s you he orbits around, the earth to your sun. 

taking the liberty to tag the the amazing ppl that left comments on my mark os: @gaiasmight @vinnyvamppp @odessa-is-my-queen @shadylilac @linkwho1 @tokoyamisstuff @sp4ceboo

[deikshen]

The Shen Yuan that dies - really dies. He actually dies and doesn't transmigrate, but well, you know, death is a timeless thing and the flow of time itself in the world of the dead is so weird lol So, well, let me make up that all the demons and ghost kings and cultivators inhabit this powerful timeless space where the dead also go, and oh, there's Shen Yuan now -

So, Shen Yuan is just a silly ghost fire filled with pent-up rage, damn shitty novel, damn shitty author. Is he “alive” for something? Because of how much he hates PIDW and its fucked up ending. Get a lower-ranking ghost body because he's just... angry at Airplane. His new form is, ah, well, different and weird, but he can grow his hair to go unnoticed, and can steal some robes.

Get a small job eventually just because he was bored and although he don't need to eat, it would be nice to have extra money - and the tea house owner doesn't care if he's a human or a ghost as long as he's not creepy with the customers and serves their tables. It's a routine that gives him the quick financial support to get bad books, complain more - and maybe he's getting stronger because of it? Because of his anger at mediocre authors and repressed anger? Does it even make sense?

At some point, Tonglu opens. Shen Yuan has headaches and the desperate feeling that he must go, as if he summoned. He tells his boss he's going to be out for ghostly reasons - his boss is like, oh, you needed a vacation anyway. And Shen Yuan goes.

It's a massacre, of course. A mix between the Hunger Games and the Purge, but Shen Yuan has something they definitely don't: a lot of knowledge in shooting video games. And he doesn't have a gun, but hey, he can shoot resentful spiritual energy and it works like bullets or something - he soon discovers that the more ghosts he overcomes, he becomes stronger. He has more power to throw, more skills, a stronger body.

Go to the kiln. Have bloody fights. At some point he gets a sword and it takes him forever and nothing like a training sequence to use it properly. And finally, the kiln opens and Shen Yuan comes out looking... Well, stronger.

He returns to the teahouse to change and take a bath. The owner tells him that it's been thirteen years, what the hell, but lets him in and gives him hot water and clothes.

Shen Yuan's new body and new abilities are strange to him. He notices himself taller. Stronger. His hearing and smell have improved. His abilities seem to be more wordy, as if he could persuade people if he spoke to them in a specific tone, as if his words could bind them. Well, it's not a bad way to be dead.

Shen Yuan tries to continue working at the tea house, but the humans are clearly terrified by the powerful ghost king aura in their area, so there are hardly any customers. Shen Yuan just sighs and decides to leave. He has some savings anyway.

Ghosts run away from him. Humans either try to kill him or hide. Shen Yuan is fed up; no matter if it is in the mortal world or the ghost world, people are gossiping about him and how he has not taken a Territory, about how unorthodox he is, about how they are waiting for him to start his killing spree one day.

Shen Yuan learns to change his appearance from creepy ghost to normal human, hide his resentful energy, and camouflage himself in the human world. It's a long way from his old tea house, and so many years have passed that the kind owner has probably already died, so Shen Yuan gets another job at a bookstore. Nothing unusual. Just a boy who was once from a wealthy family and was disinherited when his older brother took over the family leadership because of their bad relationship. Now he must work to live.

People swallow that story like a good meal, some even feel sorry for him.

And Shen Yuan is having a decent afterlife. Boring, mostly, but with good days. He reads a lot, gets angry a lot, writes authors letters that reach their desks without them even realizing how the hell did this crazy guy find his addresses. Let's just say he's having an interesting life.

Then one day, he meets Luo Binghe.

He... He literally knows that he's Binghe. It couldn't be anyone else but Luo Binghe. He does his investigations, and apparently, Emperor Luo Binghe exists, he has been there all along. It's not like Shen Yuan knew it; the ghost realm and the human-demon realm are divided, and even if they have a common mortal ancestor, demons and ghosts don't usually meddle in their own things.

Not that Shen Yuan wants to be cannon fodder anyway; he keeps his distance in Binghe, works at that bookstore, gives friendly greetings to his customers, and keeps sending angry letters to authors.

And one day Shen Yuan receives a direct visit from Luo Binghe at his door. With a letter in his hand.

"This letter was on my Second Wife's desk," Luo Binghe says, with a fake smile. "No one but her can open or read it, so this Lord wonders after discovering the resentful energy signature on the paper, what missives does this Ghost King exchange with one of the Emperor's wives?"

Shen Yuan is not surprised that Luo Binghe knows who he is - ever so OP the Protagonist! However, it is more difficult to explain that his wife actually writes cut-sleeved novels that the fact that Shen Yuan was reading and criticizing them in the first place.

Well, he's been dead for over a hundred years, really denying that he's at least bisexual at this point in his life...