#mirth and mortality

[spilycoris]

those who would question—

—would be strung.

introducing my little au called ‘mirth and mortality’ where the lamb is narinder's court jester. there is nothing else going on. ...totally.

bonus: this fan art made by the lovely @7-ferrets-in-a-coat . thank very much for encouraging the making of the jester au. and helping with kallamar. yeesh.

[gravedwe11er]

Mecha AU Deadlock angst? Mecha AU Deadlock angst!

Or, I saw a post mentioning that someone is gonna have to explain human lifespans to the bots, and my brain ran with it. Based on the @keferon mecha AU.

CW: Discussions of death and mortality

Human and cybertronian lifespans are such wildly disparate things. Deadlock struggles with this newfound knowledge.

Forty local stellar cycles. Maybe fifty, if he’s one of the lucky ones.

Now, even before his crash-landing on this planet, Deadlock knew enough about organics to be aware they’re generally not as long-lived as mechanical species. Comes with being so breakable all over, if he had to guess, but-

That’s barely half a fragging vorn.

Even if he gets lucky, even if, for once, Deadlock doesn’t fail at keeping the people he cares about safe, the little organic medic is going to be dead in half a vorn. ‘That’s just how things are, for humans,’ Swerve said. ‘I’m sorry,’ Swerve said.

Slag, and what about Roddy? Deadlock’s pretty sure the pilot is younger than Ratchet, but still- that gives him, how long, a vorn? Less? Even the very thought of it just feels so damn wrong. The little guy’s so bright, how could anyone with an EM field like a fucking Prime have the lifespan of--

Deadlock desperately wants to shoot something.

Instead, he drives towards Ratchet’s workshop, transforming the moment he’s out of sight and heading straight for the doc once he finds him in the garage. It’s yet another testament to the man’s caring nature that he lets himself get picked up with only token grumbling, throwing a concerned look Deadlock’s way but not pushing the matter.

The human medic has always been scarily good at reading him. In moments like these, Deadlock can’t help but be overwhelmingly grateful for it.

Hugging the man to the side of his helm, he soon feels a small, calloused hand running gently down one finial. Deadlock wants to scream. The injustice of it all making his processor spin, his spark thrumming with pain and fear and overwhelming grief. How can he bear to lose all this so soon? He’s only just found him, the first glimpse of something like peace in eons, and he can’t deal with the thought of him gone, he can’t-

Ratchet grunts in his servos, knocking loudly on one of Deadlock’s fingers, and with a jolt he realizes just how tight he’s been holding the man. Immediately, he loosens his grip, gently petting down the doc’s back in silent apology. After a moment, a warm ser- hand pats his cheek.

“Feel like telling me what’s eating you, kid?” Ratchet asks, before lightly pushing against Deadlock’s face.

Responding to the wordless request, Deadlock pulls his cupped hands away from his helm, just enough so he can look into the human medic’s opti- eyes. He scrambles for a way to express his racing thoughts, vocalizer hissing with static, before abruptly spitting out, “Are you dying?”

To his surprise, the man bursts out laughing. “Shit, where’d you get that idea?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Now, as much as I’m sure a bunch of my previous employers would love to dance on my grave, let me assure you that I’m perfectly fi-“

“But you’re not!” Deadlock almost shouts, engine growling. “He said- decay of organic components, and human lifespans are-“ his voice gets stuck in his throat, vocalizer jamming, and he offlines his optics for a moment. Tries to get his slag together, at least a little.

When he turns them on again, all the mirth has left his human’s face. The medic’s eyes are serious, a sad sort of expression on his face, and Deadlock wants to curl himself around the man and never let go.

“Right,” sighs Ratchet, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I was sort of hoping you knew about that already.”

The last flutter of hope he was harboring vanishes. “So he was right? You only live for- eighty, ninety of your years?”

“Afraid so, kid,” says the man, suddenly looking so fragile in Deadlock’s palms. “Look, I know it’s not a lot to your kind, but-“

“And there’s nothing to be done? Can’t you- figure something out?”

He’s reaching and he knows it, but the human looks so- accepting of it. Like it’s a perfectly normal thing, to barely get to live at all before your body breaks down and dies, just like that!

Ratchet shakes his head with a wry smile. “Not how that works. People have been trying, sure, but nobody ever really got anywhere. And even if we did manage to drastically expand our lifespans somehow, the psychological effects it would have… we’re just not made for that, Deadlock,” he says, patting Deadlock on the nearest finger; a ghost of a touch, but still comforting. “I, hah, appreciate your faith in me kid, but not even I can do miracles.”

“I just don’t- how the fuck can you be so alright with that?” Deadlock asks, feeling utterly miserable.

The man snorts. “What else is there to do? It’s not like worrying about it would fix anything, and I’m not going to waste my life thinking about my death.” Then the human’s gaze softens, and he stands up to be more optic-level with Deadlock. “Listen to me. I know this is a hard pill to swallow, but there’s nothing you, or anybody else, can change about it. The only thing you can do,” he says gently, reaching a hand towards Deadlock’s cheek, “is make the most of it.”

Deadlock exvents, suddenly feeling deeply tired. “Right. Right, I guess I just- gotta make it count, then,” he mutters, carefully leaning into the contact and the comfort it brings.

Ratchet smiles at him. “That’s the spirit. Have fun with Roddy- safe fun,” he quickly adds. “Take him on drives, or, hell, feel free to bum around my workshop as usual, if that’s what you want. You know I don’t mind the company, provided you behave yourself,” says the doc, his words punctuated by a mock-threatening look. “Just… try enjoy the time you have with us, okay?”

“Mkay,” he answers, voice still choked with static, before pulling the little medic to his chestplates. This close to his spark, he can read the human’s odd, tiny EM field with perfect clarity – concern, quiet affection and a deep kind of care rolls off of him in waves. Sometimes, Deadlock wishes he could tangle their fields together properly, synchronizing their frequencies in an embrace only possible for his kind, but- this is good too. More than good, really – it’s something unique to the two of them, and that makes it perfect as far as he’s concerned.

“Now, I’d really like to know which tactless bastard just dropped all this on you,” jokes Ratchet, the vibrations of the man’s voice tickling pleasantly against his plating, “so I can go brain them with a wrench for it.”

Despite himself, Deadlock snorts. “I think Swerve might be a little outside your size class, doc.”

“Oh, don’t you underestimate me, kid!” the medic grumbles, but he’s laughing too, and the return to the usual banter eases some of the weight on Deadlock’s spark.

Forty stellar cycles, maybe fifty.

He’ll make those years count.

He’ll make them be enough.

(Maybe, if he repeats it a few hundred times more, he’ll make himself believe it, too.)

[bbyseok]

genshin dragon men : calling him handsome

♡ pairing: zhongli, neuvillette x gn!reader

♡ a/n: this was originally supposed to also have wriothesley, dan heng, blade, and jing yuan, but i ran out of ideas. if you’d like to see something for them, please lemme know lol

———

zhongli — flattery, you swallow me.

the former archon is rather composed in nearly every waking moment you’ve seen him. he carries himself with an aura of calm confidence, whether he’s dealing with business on behalf of the wangsheng funeral parlor or spending his time leisurely alongside you.

he has a way with words; speaking oh so eloquently on a variety of topics.. from today’s weather to the latest tale of liyue’s history he’s been wanting to spew.

zhongli doesn’t get flustered often, if not at all. which makes sense for a man like him. having had many experiences in his six thousand years of life, it’s not really surprising.

but let’s just say that you’re feeling rather.. determined to see what blushing looks like on the funeral consultant. his stoic expressions do nothing to deter the handsomeness of his facial features, but you’re sure you can make him even prettier.

it’s like any other day in liyue harbor: bustling streets full of commerce, clear skies overhead, and calm waves from the sea.

zhongli had proposed to you earlier in the week that you spend a day with him. “i enjoy your company,” he had said without batting an eye and knowing that those words easily had your heart racing, “even if we are simply doing nothing at all.”

you have yet to see him so far, waiting beside a food stall and trying to catch sight of his presence amongst the crowd. you shift on your legs, moving to lean on the stall and crossing your arms. ah, there he is.

dressed in his usual attire of brown, gold, and black, he catches your eye quite easily and begins to approach you. his strides are long and he’s quick to almost reach the spot where you’re standing.

and here’s your chance!

before he can speak and greet you, you take a deep breath, flash up your own smile, and say right as he closes the distance in the most suave voice you can muster, “hi, handsome.”

you’re expecting a reaction of surprise from him, of course. he’s no stranger to compliments, but he’s not used to them as brazen and blunt as this—especially from you.

but you still certainly don’t him to stumble and nearly fall at your feet. zhongli’s footing stutters ever so slightly and he has to regain it as he stands in front of you, clearing his throat with eyes that seem to widen for only a couple of heartbeats.

and you were right: he looks even prettier with the faint pink dusting over his cheeks. it’s barely visible, but it’s there. and it’s there because of you.

frankly, he feels like a silly fool, fumbling like that. even though his current status is one of a mortal, he had stood boldfaced during countless events in the middle of wrath and destruction, and these mere words from you has him acting like some- some teenager!

zhongli clears his throat again, trying to confirm that he hadn’t misheard you. “pardon?” he coughs, amber eyes sparkling with curiosity and a hint of mirth.

your smile is the same as before, tugging at the corner of your lips subtly. “hi, handsome,” you repeat cheekily, speaking as if you just hadn’t witnessed him trip oh so elegantly. you straighten your form so you’re no longer leaning on the stall. “was wondering what was taking you so long.”

his eyes are watching you closely, and he seems to have regained his usual composure, even with the blush still lingering on his cheeks. “ah, i apologize,” he muses, “i failed to realize the time.”

and then, it’s his turn to flatter you. because the feeling is mutual, is it not? your boldness should be repaid. after all, flattery is an exchange that goes both ways.

zhongli grasps your hand within his gloved one, lifting it up to brush his soft lips over your knuckles with delicacy that makes your heart skip a beat.

“a beauty such as you should not have to wait.”

———

neuvillette — oh, how the water stirs.

the chief justice of fontaine is a man of an honorable reputation. your hear nothing but good—and sometimes mysterious—things from the people of the nation.

being an assistant of the iudex, however, does allow you to see other sides to him. while he is strict and stern, almost immovable, in the court, he is also kind and tender to those he seemed fit to receive such treatment from him. (the melusines are a prime example.)

whatever he seems to be doing though.. he nearly always wears almost an emotionless expression on his alluring features.

now, there are many words that you can use to describe neuvillette’s appearance with: ethereal, striking, breathtaking even. but the last thing you want is to overwhelm him and embarrass yourself.

so you’ll start small, you decide. a short and honest compliment because the iudex’s assistant is allowed to compliment him sometimes, right?

today’s routine is quite normal so far—you help sedene and any of the other melusines that have tasks around the palais memoria before preparing to greet neuvillette and help him out with his papers and any other duties.

you can tell he has arrived when everyone takes a look and hushes down; the entrance hall of the palais memoria is usually quiet in ambience but even more so with the chief justice now present.

“good morning, monsieur neuvillette,” you greet him as well as he approaches, and he gives you a polite smile in return, cane stamping on the floor gently.

he says your name softly and shakes his head. “ah, i’ve already told you before. you can simply call me neuvillette— i insist.”

you chuckle in response and nod. first name basis with who is essentially one of the most powerful beings of the nation is nothing short of nervewracking. you don’t let it get to you though, gesturing to the door. “ah, right. sorry. shall we head into your office?”

neuvillette nods and walks. you move to follow him, but there’s a sudden tugging on your clothing and you look to see sedene behind you.

the melusine giggles, perhaps in a knowing way. “monsieur neuvillette seems to be quite fond of you, if i must say!” she says in a hushed voice.

you flush, waving her statement off. “oh, sedene!” despite feeling slightly embarrassed, you’re flustered as well. eventually, you head into neuvillette’s office, hoping he doesn’t notice anything amiss.

you settle into routine easily; briefing him up on any upcoming trials and cases, smaller notifications from the people of fontaine, and of course—situating his seemingly endless stacks of paperwork.

after a while, neuvillette now seated at his desk, he emits a soft sigh and bids you thanks. “thank you. that’ll be all for now.” his ever glistening gaze rests on you. “i do wish you a pleasant rest of your day.”

okay, you can do it. it’ll be fine. just tell him he looks good and leave! why does it seem like his eyes are boring straight into you? they’re unreadable as ever, leaving you to simply wonder what will go through his head when you say what you want to say.

nonetheless, you take a quick, deep breath and go for it. “you look handsome today, neuvillette,” you tell him, a sincere smile tugging at your lips.

he doesn’t say anything, and the brief silence that hangs in the air is nearly startling as he simply continues to stare. you clear your throat quickly and look away. “well, you look handsome every day, but i just wanted to let you know now and well-”

you’re rambling, great. “um, i’ll be taking my leave now, monsieur!” you awkwardly dismiss yourself and hurry out of his office, missing at how the tips of his ear subtly burn with a different shade of color.

you don’t even bother glancing at a curious sedene as you usher your way out of the bulding. oh, archons! how are you going to face him now?

unbeknownst to you, all that is left is the hydro dragon in deep contemplation, papers still completely untouched since your departure.

it is only when sedene enters the room with her clipboard does he stir, and he blinks at her appearance. his brows furrow, still deep in pondering.

“monsieur neuvillette, is everything alright?”

there’s a pause. for a rare moment, the chief justice allows himself to be hesitant and genuinely curious aloud.

“sedene.. am i… handsome?”

(it’s safe to say that for the rest of the day, fontaine has nothing but a sunny sky.)

[qwellterqustoinmark]

DC X DP

Dead on Main, Mad Scientist Danny Feton, bad reval, poor moewo mewos

Danny would call himself a guy. A dude, very chill if you must, and he was fine in his own little lab. Was it just the cramed basement of some abounded apartment complex that probably had more mold then wall? Yes, that did not matter. What did was the fact he could do everything he wanted! Not legally, but laws where made to be very vaguely followed, as his mother said.

Now, being know was good for business! Being the guy people went too when they wanted some shit was good! Was he happy that all (and by all he ment every single fucking one, even the kid he gave a healing pot too witch what the fuck?) of them where villains? No! He thinks he's aloud to be upset about that.

So Joker dragging in a new lab rat of his was not new. What was, was the fact the idotoc asshole kept comeing back. Kept dragging kids to Danny's feet like Danny was nothing but a senseless dog.

Danny's finger twitched of the gear of burner. The screaming was the worst part, that and the goofs cheery laugh.

"I won't take em asshole." Joker all but croons sadly. Still giggling over himself, "Yes- but this ones a ah! A favorite of you, mh, maddd types!" Danny paused. Shit this wasn't the normal gas test was it. God dammit.

Danny turns to look at the man. Ignoring the small voice in the back of his mind singing of a curuis cruletly. The voice of Phantom, ones hes tried so hard to squish. "Do tell," Danny urges comeing to stand infrot of the wooden box.

Joker smiles impossiblely larger. Hands clasped together as his shoulders shake with mirth. "Well! I know you live under a rock dear Docter, so let me say!" The clown dances around the box. Drumming on it before he leans over it. Hands on his chin, smirk on his face. "It's the dead Robin." Chackles Joker.

It dosnt smell dead. No, not more then anyone else in Gotham for that fact. Still Danny knocks on the box, not hollow though due to its size there lots of empty space. The nails are hammers down sloppily, and the holes are drilled as a after though. Usesly air holes mean their alive, or they want him to think they are.

"I'm no god Joker." Danny scolds. He'll have to decontimate now, witch is awful becuses if death has gotten into test AEA7 it would ruin the-

"Oh no, it came back."

What?

Danny stares at the mad man. The morth still wrote on the man's face and if he focuses he can hear the muted heart beat of something side the creat, drowned by Jokers erratically flailing one.

"What." Joker smiles at him, wiggling his finger at Danny like he had caught him. "I knew you Docters love something new!" Joker claims clapping to himself. "What the fuck do you mean?" Joker frowns at haveing been cut off by Danny but dosnt repermand him.

"It came back! It defined everything we know, and we'll, I ah, I know you Tinkiters love something that stays, well, hm, fixxed." Dear Acienects. Danny stated at that wooden box sering it for what ot was, a cheap cage. Something to keep them down till you found something better, or they gave in.

Something Danny's can imagen himself in. Can imagen Dani in. Fuck even Dan. Something he swore he'd never let in. Something he promised he'd keep others safe from.

He failed. Something he so obviously failed, and all he can feel is the numbness of his fingers as his nails dig into his palm.

"Get out." His voice croaks. That same weak voice he'd cry to be louder, cry to stop everything. The voice he shredded for nothing.

Joker pouts. Twirling a finger in his hair like a school girl. "I'm helping!" He plays. Plays, like a humors fiddle life is. Like it's something one man can mold and shape. Like it's his to control.

He dosnt know how he ends up punching the bastred he jist know he dosnt stop. Claws dig into his face but this is no mortal man. This is a monster, more so then Phantom, more so then Danny.

His father always said monsters got braver the longer you let them linger. Danny knows now that he was right, and dosnt let this one return.

Guns are not typical lab equipment.

Guns dosnt usely have no safety, guns don't usely have a last name stickerd on it. Guns dosnt usely shatter a skull in one shot.

Danny whipes his nose. The body is still warm and Jokers chest rises and falls mindlessly. He's dead. Danny shoots him once more, and the body converses with the motion. Very dead.

The kid. The kid, fuck the kid.

Danny whipes the blood onto his coat, shoveing the gun as far as he can, he can, he jist killed their captor. Okay this could go very bad, or very good.

"Hey kid- your, shit, your okay now-" That is a grown ass man. That is a very awake, very drugged grown man.

Captive looks up twords him, head lulled slightly, and stares at him. Danny stares back. He's tempted to close the lid again, just wait till it's out of him, and he can leave. Yeah that might be the best plan of action.

"Is he gone?" The very adult man says. Voice a horseh whisper. Danny stops shutting the crate. Looking to stre back at the adult man (kid, he's a kid, mabye bot forever but right now he is).

"Uh." Shit what did Jazz said calmed kids? Danny slowly puts his hand in the box, "He is. Big Goof didn't start a chance against good old.. um.." he didn't really have the most hero nickname.

It didn't seem to matter, becuses the red helmeted man grabs Danny's hand. Nearly dragging him into the creat aswell.

"Thank you, thank you- thank you-" Danny just sat still. Red helmet dude clearly needed this.

Manye it could be okay for him too.

"Yeah, it'll be okay.."

[magicdustsworld]

His Favourite

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Tropes: King x concubine, fluff to angst. (Just a drabble)

Tags: intention of impregnation, suggestive smut, heian era, no mentions of y/n.

________________________________

Being Sukuna's favourite concubine has its perks.

She gets all the special treatment. From the jewels decking her radiant form to the luxurious amenities granted to her by the lord, himself; she has it all. The mealtimes as well as place for all the other concubines are set in stone. For her, no. She dines with his lordship, indulging him in stories of her own while he indulges her like a artist to his muse.

Ryomen Sukuna is enamored.

Enamored by this woman who was offered to him by the second clan head of the village – a means to negotiate with his highness to not exploit their land. A negotiation upon which Sukuna took an keen interest.

However, may the tale of that burning village be kept out for another day.

For today- and for all the forthcoming days, are meant for this very woman who he keeps by his side while he lets the mortals entertain him with their quandaries.

It's his decree, for he is the King of curses and she – his cherished.

Everyone who visits him would and should know that she demands as much respect as him. That she is a force not to be reckoned with. That by his side, she doesn't cower to fear instead commands it.

That's satisfaction. That's fulfilment.

That very fulfilment isn't attained until the woman tenderly grazes her hand against his. Delicately she runs her fingertips over the ridges and callouses of his skin. However, the relief only courses in his veins when she presses her lips on his palm.

Glancing up at him from beneath her lashes, the suggestive glint isn't elusive to him. The mirthful curve of her lips to the innocuous mien oftentimes left him ensnared in a cage. A cage from where he deliberately wishes to never attain freedom.

This little minx...

Isn't it laughable? The haunting nightmare of humanity left to a crumbling mess in front of his precious, his cherished, his soon to be consort.

Hence, he indulges her.

Indulges her in a passionate evening where he trails warm kisses down her spine, hand resting on the dip of her hip while he curls his finger in her warm core. The ridges of his knuckles brushes her lips, grazing the sensitive space in her he draws out her salacious moans. Her face twists into a series of expression – ones which he etches on his memories with all the others.

It isn't enough. He needs more. He needs to know her. All of her.

Her lower body spasms as she hits the peak of her ecstasy. He doesn't stop there, he cages her again in his arms; her only home. Anywhere else isn't safe for her delicate essence.

He continues the passion filled dance, aligning himself with her entrance before he is pushing in. The difference in bodies is starkly evident, no amount of lubrication would ever help the initial pain. However, when Sukuna marks the traces of tears in her eyes, he is quick to caress her with affection. Adoration brims in his irises while endearments combined with encouragement are befallen on her parched ears.

She smiles and may the lords be merciful...

He gains the signal and he keeps her in his embrace for how long no one knows. He jostles her body from one position to another, drawing out lascivious sounds from her as the wave of pleasure crashes over both of them simultaneously.

His seed drips out from her and Sukuna, for all is a twisted man, hence he can't help the pride that swells his chest.

One day, he tells himself. One day the very seed will grow inside her as his kin. One day, he will have her by his side as his queen.

Sukuna lets her rest in his chambers after the fateful display of lust and fire. She is fast asleep on the silken sheets and he finds himself, cleaning the mess – her. Verily, he has his servants but they don't get to see her like this.

This beauty, this vulnerability. All of its his and only his. She is his.

She has him enthralled.

Each glance, each smile, each honeyed word spoken to him, kindles a fire in the abyss of his existence. The unknown vulnerability ensnares him deeply, vexation causes the slight quirk of his brows when he observes her again – frolicking in the courtyard with the chosen mortals whom she calls her friends.

He scoffs.

The sun embraces her in its glows while the zephyrs play and curl her cascading strands. The butterfly perches on her bare shoulder while she feeds the pigeons in the courtyard. The daunting smile, the flicker of light, the luring whisper, even with all the evidences shouting at him, he tells himself that its only the nature.

The nature enthralls him, not her.

Yet, when the very nature decides to flaunt itself by rendering the land, the sky, the air in hues of the golden twilight, there's only one beauty he finds – her.

Ryomen Sukuna indulges what he desires.

He desires her, hence he indulges her as well.

From bringing her exorbitant jewels and fabrics to all the books she wishes to read, he does it all. She needs a relaxing bath after a day of endless toil? Uraume is ordered to watch over the luxurious bath. She craves for a certain kind of meal? Uraume must prepare it, no matter the situation.

At this point, Uraume just happened to be serving two masters simultaneously.

However, shimmering stoned and resplendent kimonos hold little light in front the affection she acquires. Little do his other consorts know about the poems he pens for her. Only her.

Yet, he is twisted. So is his affection. Therefore, he keeps the poems all around the map of his abode. For her to solve the mystery and finally gain the fruit of his affections.

If only... if only he wasn't such a twisted man.

If only, you never chose to step in this side of the garden. If only–

Under moonlit skies

Our fingers grazed, silent bliss

I knew that day, yet

Ignited hearts had senses merged

Melding in midnight's embrace.

Was it a cruel joke?

The knife twists itself into your heart, jabbing at the secluded corners with an intensity that physically hurt. Your shoulders trembles, nails dig into the flesh of your palm; so deep and so much that it draws blood.

The stinging pain of a pierced palm is negligible in front of a trampled heart. The pain courses through every vein, every pore, every inch. It's a kaleidoscope of memories that you're pushed in, fantastical memories with which you had always deluded yourself. The very pictures are running before your eyes as you struggle to breath, the lump forms in your throat as the tear pricks your eyes and yes– they tumble down. Smearing over your cheek and trails to your jaw.

Its almost like a concussion, the only difference is that your heart is hurting. A rippling pain grapples your entire being and then your knees give out.

You shoulders slump down so does all the breeze as the humidity causes your hairs to stick to your skin. You have your mouth agape, deep breaths for calming yourself down but it doesn't work.

Nothing works. Nothing works today. Nothing will ever work.

How could it when the man you love, loves someone else? How could anything ever be fine when the man you swore your loyalty to, never cared for it in the first place? How would you ever be alright knowing this is a grave you have dug for yourself?

You bring up the poem before yourself again. The very words swirling before your eyes akin bees near a flower.

Have you lost your sense or rationality? It hurts. It hurts so much. Yet, you read the poem again.

And again.

And again.

And then, you chuckle.

You bring your hand up to your mouth, suppressing the sounds which escape yet you keep reading. The chuckles continue with the streaming tears and finally, when the moisture in your eyes renders you incapable of proper vision, your laughs die down.

"Ah– just how foolish of me..."

Truly, so foolish of you.

After all, you're just another concubine while she is his favourite.

[sarahscribbles]

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐮𝐩, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟒.𝟔𝐤

𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 @inklore

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The God of Mischief is laughing beside you. 

It’s quiet against the happy chatter of the TV but still sends a rush of warmth straight to your heart - like taking a straight shot of Tennessee whiskey on a winter’s evening. It’s nothing like the bitter, sardonic sound he reserves for most of the team - this laughter is light and joyous and unquestionably happy.

It’s…nice, and it’s quickly becoming your favourite sound in the world. 

Much like how Loki is becoming your favourite person in the world. It’s been gradual, like the first blooming flowers of spring, and, if you’re being honest, entirely unexpected. Only a few months ago Loki was nothing more than a thorn in your side. Now, you can’t imagine your life without him. 

In a short space of time, he’s become your best friend and your confidante; he’s the first person you want to run to when you have a bad day, the first person you want to run to when you have a good day, and, steadily, he’s starting to feel like home. 

He isn’t a monster intent on destruction or a ticking time bomb ready to explode.

He’s just Loki, the man whose happiness is slowly becoming yours.

His chest bounces beneath your ear again. You have no idea what the narrator has just said, but it was evidently something that Loki found amusing, and his laughter pulls an easy smile across your face. “I love hearing you laugh,” you murmur quietly, nuzzling even further into his side. 

Maybe it’s because the man who so many people are still quick to call a villain is reclined back on your sofa with his legs stretched out on the massive ottoman, maybe it’s because he’s cradling you to his cashmere clad chest like he never wants to let you go, or maybe it’s because of the random kisses he’s been pressing to the top of your head all evening. 

Whatever it is, you’re overcome with softness for him. Behind the aloof, icy facade is a golden heart, and you’re seeing more and more of the goodness that lies within it every single day.

“Is that so? Then we should watch your little mortal box more often, darling. It’s rather endearing to hear Midgardians attempt to understand Asgard,” he reponds, mirth lighting up his voice while his fingertips trail softly along your upper arm.

He misses the fond roll of your eyes only because something else has caught his attention that he must pass comment on, and you listen enthralled while he explains the actual differences between Valhalla and Fólkvangr. You’ve both been watching this documentary on Norse mythology for over an hour, and Loki has spent a large chunk of it pointing out every wrong detail no matter how small. 

Each deep, exasperated sigh and pronounced click of his tongue has you giggling like a child beneath his arm, to which he squeezes you that little bit tighter. He’s proud of himself, and it makes you wonder if he’s actually annoyed by the portrayal of his home or if it’s all an act to make you laugh. 

With Loki, either is highly likely. 

“Do you know what amuses me, darling?” he says lightly, still trailing those elegant fingers along your arm. You expect to hear something more about what the documentary has gotten wrong, but that’s not what comes. “A few months ago, you actively despised me. Now, I believe you would climb into me if you could.” His voice is soft, leaving no room for you to doubt that he’s only teasing. 

You burrow deeper into his embrace. “I didn’t despise you,” you reply with a small smile.

His arm tightens around your shoulders again and something warm and golden blooms in the pit of your stomach. It’s too soon to call it what you know it is, but you feel the flame burn brighter with every second you spend with him.

The man you’re currently twisted around is brilliant and loving and your heart fits right in the palm of his hand. It’s safe there, you know. You trust him, even though everyone you know has warned you not to. 

It’s one of the easiest things you’ve ever done. 

Loki’s chest rumbles with laughter again. “Darling, you despised me,” he repeats, but you know he’s smiling along with you. 

You pretend to huff, but reach out to poke his side, delighting in the way he squirms beneath your tickling touch. “I didn’t! I didn’t like you, but I didn’t despise you, either,”

“That knife you threw at me in the training room after Yule begs to differ,” he shoots back seamlessly, while you force back laughter at the memory of his face frozen in shock at your expert aim. 

You shrug lightly into his chest. “Natasha told me I needed to practice more. 

“Darling, I can assure you she meant to practice on inanimate objects. 

You tilt your head back to peer up at him with a teasing smile. “You were inanimate; you were standing in the doorway.” 

Loki releases an exasperated sigh but wraps both arms tightly around you to pull you fully into his lap. “Little menace,” he replies while you pretend to squirm in his grip. It only makes him grip you tighter until you’re clamped inescapably against his chest. 

Through the rich material of his sweater, you can feel his firm chest and the taut muscles of his stomach. The man is a work of art, yet it’s you who's straddling his lap - an unremarkable mortal. 

He smiles at you as you continue to admire him, and it’s a smile that’s almost shy. “What’s going on in that brilliant mind of yours, hmm?” he asks quietly, resting his hands on your hips.

“You. Thinking about you,” you answer, watching the faint tinge of pink that colours his cheeks. 

His hands slide up from your hips only a fraction until he can dip his thumbs underneath the hem of your shirt to trace absentminded circles on your bare skin. It’s an innocent touch, but it sends something electric shooting along your spine. 

“Oh? Do elaborate, darling,” he purrs. 

Loki’s eyes are sparkling with amusement, but you can read the need for praise that’s swirling deep beneath the surface. It’s one thing you can’t deny him. 

“I was thinking about how beautiful you are,” you tell him, sliding your hands from around his neck to stroke his biceps. “And how lucky I am,” you continue. 

The muscles in his neck flex and you feel your resolve crumble to dust. It’s been calling out to you from the moment he pulled you into his lap, and you can no longer deny yourself the luxury of pressing your lips to his skin. 

Loki’s broken inhale is instant and his fingers curl tighter around your waist. Your teeth are quickly grazing along his throat while you suck a bruise into his skin. You want to mark him, to stake your claim on him. 

You want to leave no doubt that this god - this beautiful, wonderful man - is yours. 

“Darling, you need -,” he begins, but it melts to a moan when you run your tongue along his neck. “Darling,” he tries again. 

You silence him with a kiss. It’s slow and deep, and when you tangle your fingers in his hair to tug it, he rolls his hips experimentally against you. The hard length of him presses wondrously against you, coaxing your hips to grind down on top of him. Loki’s breath catches in his throat while he kisses you, and you know what’s coming before he even opens his mouth. 

“Darling, anymore of that and -,” 

“I’m ready,” you interrupt him, cupping his face in your hands. “I’m ready.” 

His eyes soften as they take you in, scanning your face for even a breath of hesitation. “Are you sure?” he asks, while his thumbs return to stroking your sides. 

“Yes,” you answer firmly, resting your forehead against his. “No more waiting. Please.” 

In one smooth movement, his arms are wrapping around your middle to press you tightly against him. One strong hand weaves its way into your hair while his lips find yours again. There’s a new hunger to his kiss - it’s raw and possessive and filled with a need that has been simmering beneath the surface for months. 

You expect him to flip you onto your back and finally make you his right here on the sofa, but his hands eagerly begin to run down your back and grip beneath your thighs. Suddenly, he’s on his feet and your legs are locking around his waist. You can’t help but giggle against his lips, because he’s not letting you break this kiss even for a second. 

“Beautiful thing,” he whispers into your mouth, effortlessly carrying you from your living area and down the hallway toward your bedroom. 

The Norse mythology documentary is long forgotten. 

His lips stay locked to yours until your back hits the bedroom door, and only then does he break away to curse as he fumbles with the handle. You laugh quietly - because for some reason it’s oddly endearing - and press a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

Loki wastes no time in kicking the door closed when you’re finally through. Vaguely, you notice a faint green shimmer cascade over the wood as it settles in the doorframe, but it’s pushed from your mind by the frenzy of kisses that Loki is pressing to every inch of your face. 

“Do you know,” he murmurs, trailing a haphazard line of kisses along your cheeks, “how long I’ve wanted this? Wanted you?”

His admission fans the flames of desire burning fiercely in your stomach. How have you lasted so long without inviting him into your bed? How have you not had this man again and again until his name is seared into your soul? How have you not realised how fiercely he burns for you too?

“Then take me. Please,” you murmur against his lips. 

His answering smile is soft and gives you another swift kiss. “Begging won’t be necessary, darling.” 

With surprising gentleness, he lays you on the bed amongst your pile of pillows. Your legs fall open instantly for him, to which he quickly climbs between. There’s a hesitance to his movements, almost as if he’s scared to lay a finger on you. 

“I’m not going to break,” you say with a smirk. “You can touch me. I need you to touch me, Loki.” 

Your hands find the hem of his sweater, coaxing it along his back until he’s helping you pull it off. You’ve seen him shirtless before - many times - but your fingers still reach hungrily for his chest. Loki shivers beneath your touch and pride blooms happily in your stomach. 

An unremarkable mortal you may be, but you have a god shivering beneath your fingers. 

Slowly, his hands slip underneath your shirt, and cool fingers glide along your stomach to push it over your head. His eyes travel appreciatively over you before settling on your breasts. 

“Enchanting, beautiful thing,” he says, leaning to press his lips to your neck. 

The reverence in his voice has a rush of heat pulse between your thighs while you grasp his strong shoulders. Too many times, previous lovers have made you feel like you were nothing more than an object, something that was conveniently there for them to fuck. 

Not with Loki, though. The man has barely undressed you and he’s treating you like the most precious thing his hands have ever held. 

Boldly, you reach for his belt, shooting him a suggestive smirk while you unfasten it. He lets you work, diving in for another blistering kiss as you undo the button and open the zipper. The taste of him on your tongue and the feel of him beneath your fingers is electrifying, and there’s a newfound urgency in your movements as you try to push his jeans off. 

After a few strategic tugs they slide over his hips, granting you the freedom to run your hands greedily over the firm swell of his ass. You can’t help but moan shamelessly into his mouth while simultaneously squeezing him with both hands. He’s a work of art beneath your appreciative fingertips. 

Something close to a growl rises from Loki’s chest and he gently nips at your bottom lip with his teeth. “Are you trying to seduce me?” he purrs lightly. 

Grinning, you squeeze his ass again. “It’s been my evil plan all along.” 

“Ah! I’ve been bested by a beautiful little devil!” he teases and lowers his lips back to your neck. 

His kisses are slow and deliberate and punctuated by the occasional nip of his teeth. You know what he’s doing; you know that every mark he’ll place on you tonight is a claim, a message to anyone who looks that he’s finally made you his.

The molten beast of arousal burns fiercer between your thighs. You hope and pray that you’ll be covered in his marks tomorrow. You want everyone to know that you belong to him.

Loki interlocks the fingers of one hand with yours, all while slowly trailing a path of kisses along your chest and down your stomach. It’s silent adoration - a god worshipping his mortal - and he only stops when his lips meet the waistband of your leggings. You feel him hesitate, feel him run the pad of his thumb across the material while he lifts his eyes to yours.

It only takes you a second to realise he’s asking for permission. 

You nod quickly and breathe out a quiet “yes.” 

Loki presses a final kiss to your stomach and gently squeezes your hand. He lets go to hook both sets of fingers into your leggings, taking great care not to jostle you around while he tugs them - along with your underwear - easily down your legs. You’re suddenly bare before him and, stupidly, you feel a rush of nervousness pulse through you. This man has slept with gods and goddesses and beings more beautiful than you can even imagine. 

How can you compare?

Glittering green eyes travel hungrily over you. The earlier softness is still shining there clear as day, but now it’s swirling and mixing openly with undisguised lust. It causes a gentle heat to burn beneath your skin and, almost subconsciously, you attempt to cover yourself. 

But Loki is having none of it. 

His hands reach to clasp yours and he folds your fingers easily between his, pinning your arms to the mattress. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on,” he says slowly, making sure you hear every word. 

“Are you trying to seduce me?” you repeat his question back to him, though even you can hear the shakiness of your own voice. 

Loki’s answering smile is infectiously boyish. “Is it working?” 

He can likely hear your heart thundering in your chest, but you still reply with, “maybe. I’m not sure yet.” 

“Hmm, perhaps I need to try a little harder?” he says, still grinning impishly.

His hands slide to gently grip your wrists so he can guide your arms around his neck. It’s such a simple gesture, but it makes your heart swell in your chest because he trusts you enough to touch him. You hum contentedly and tangle your hands loosely in his hair, twisting silky strands around your fingertips as he drops his lips back to your chest.

His kisses are slower now and the warmth of his lips lingers like a dream against your skin. It’s as though he finds his pleasure from simply kissing you, like that alone is enough to send him freefalling into bliss. It’s a heady thought that has your back arching, greedily searching for more of him or maybe offering up more of yourself. 

You aren’t entirely sure. 

Loki’s lips travel lower in tandem with his hands that are curled around your middle. His touch is so intoxicating, so wonderfully addictive that you can’t stop the quiet whimper that slips from between your lips. You feel him smile against the skin of your lower stomach, feel his thumbs trace tiny circles against your hipbones, and when he hovers just millimeters from your cunt, you automatically hold your breath. 

When nothing happens you flick your eyes questioningly down to his. 

Loki is gazing at you with desire storming in his eyes, so much so that they’re almost completely black. He looks like a man starved and doesn’t break his gaze from yours as he bends his head to lick a firm, slow stripe along the length of your cunt. Electricity crackles almost joyously through your blood, setting every inch of you aflame and pulling a shameless moan from the depths of your throat. 

Through the haze of your desire, you feel Loki gently squeeze your hips. “Ok?” he asks quietly. 

The laugh you release is short and strangled. “Y-yes! God, yes!” 

A wolfish smile curls across his face. You watch transfixed as he dips back between your thighs, never tearing his eyes from yours as he buries his tongue in your cunt. A volcano of pleasure erupts in your core, twisting through every inch of you with each skillful flick of his tongue. You groan, you whimper, you grip Loki’s curls so tightly that you’re surprised he isn’t howling from the pain. 

“Ugh…fuck!” you groan when he slips his hands beneath your ass to pull you closer. 

His mouth is warm and wet and talented - god, it’s talented - and when his tongue begins to lap over your clit you can’t help but buck and grind against his face. You feel him hum appreciatively against your cunt, and he swirls his tongue firmly over your swollen clit once, twice more. 

“Loki!” you whimper. “Fuck, Loki, keep doing that! Please!” 

He’s only too happy to grant your request. His tongue traces swirls and patterns endlessly against your clit. It’s just enough pressure and just the right rhythm that the coil in your stomach quickly begins to wind tight. Every expert flick and swirl of Loki’s tongue is like diesel to a flame, setting your core alight until you’re completely engulfed by him.

If you died right now, you would greet death happily. 

Loki continues to lap at your cunt like a man starved, and when your back arches off the bed, he slips his hands further beneath your back to clamp you firmly against his warm mouth. It’s pleasure like you’ve never experienced - white hot and all consuming - and before long you’re balancing beautifully on the edge. 

“Loki…Loki, please…I’m…m’ gonna come!” you say, unsure if it’s a warning or a plea. 

The first tendrils of your release are licking through your core and each tiny cry that passes from your lips only encourages the god between your legs. The warm wetness of his tongue laps perfectly at your clit, making stars begin to dance at the edge of your vision, but when he moans against you - a deep, satisfied rumble of sound - you know you’re gone. 

Your orgasm engulfs you suddenly and without warning. The force of it sends your eyes rolling in your head and your hands tangling in Loki’s hair like a vice. His name leaves your lips in a scream to the heavens, and his head doesn’t stop bobbing between your legs until you’re panting and boneless on top of the mattress. 

Amidst the lavender haze that has settled around you like a favourite blanket, you feel Loki press a soft kiss to your still sensitive clit. It makes you jolt and pulls a strangled sound from deep in your throat, but then his thumbs are drawing lazy circles over your hip bones. 

I’m here. 

His lips begin a slow path from between your thighs, pressing gently and haphazardly along your stomach and between the valley of your breasts. He kisses across your collarbone and dips below your chin, making sure not to miss even an inch of your throat. 

Never in your life have you felt more desired.

“Exquisite,” he murmurs before his lips find yours. "Worthy of the gods.” He kisses you deeply and the taste of you is still heavy on his tongue. It’s electrifying and only serves to reignite the flames of arousal that he’s only just quenched. 

You can’t help but giggle against his lips and reluctantly break his kiss. “The only god I want is you,” you say quietly, cupping his face in your hands. 

He gazes down at you silently, looking as though you’ve just placed the secrets of the universe in his hands. It’s both endearing and heartbreaking - that he’s struggling to believe he’s the one you want - and it fills you with a renewed purpose to ensure this man never goes to sleep feeling unwanted. 

You tug him back down until his lips are back on yours. His kiss is slower this time, languid, as though he wishes to use every last second to commit the taste of you to heart. 

A god drunk on the taste of his mortal. 

“Touch me. Please,” he rasps, breaking from your lips for only a second. 

It’s a plea you’re only too happy to answer. Slowly - because you want to enjoy every last inch of this man - you slide your hands from where they’ve been resting on his biceps. You marvel at the broadness of his shoulders and drink in the smooth expanse of his muscled back. Lightly, you trace your fingertips along the hollow of his spine, delighting in how he shivers beneath your touch.

But it’s nothing compared to the deep, appreciative moan that tumbles from his lips when your hands once again squeeze the smooth swell of his ass. 

You laugh into his mouth and rest your arms back across his shoulders. “You are so beautiful,” you whisper, raising a hand to brush some stray curls behind his ear.

He catches your wrist before it can rest your hand back on his shoulder and presses a kiss to the centre of your palm. “You, my dove, are a treasure amongst mortals,” he says softly, all while positioning himself between your welcoming thighs. His forehead finds yours at the same time his cock nudges teasingly against you. “Let me pleasure you, darling, please. Let me give you every part of me.” 

Easily, you wrap your legs around his waist where they fit like a missing puzzle piece. “If you don’t, I’ll be very upset,” you tease him. 

He grins widely so widely at you that the corners of his eyes crinkle endearingly. “Well, we certainly can’t have that,” he replies, and slowly, you feel him begin to ease into you. 

You inhale deeply as the blunt head of his cock slips inside you. It’s barely anything at all but already your head is rolling back on the pillow and your eyes are slipping shut. You knew Loki would feel good, but nothing could have prepared you for just how good. 

You want to lose yourself in the feel of his body in yours, but before you can even draw breath two cool fingers are on your chin, encouraging you to tilt your head forward. 

“Keep your eyes on me, my darling,” he commands softly and you instantly snap them open. “Good girl.” 

His eyes don’t leave yours as he eases himself fully inside you, giving you all the time you need to adjust. He’s big, and every added inch has you clenching joyously around him if only to hear the groans that spill from him each time you do. 

“Fuck,” he groans, dipping his head between his shoulders when you clench particularly hard. “Little vixen. Beautiful little menace,” he continues, dropping haphazard kisses to your cheeks and chin. 

When you can take no more of him he coaxes your hand from where it’s been clamped to his shoulder, clutching it tightly in his own as though he fears you’ll melt beneath the cotton sheets. 

You can’t stop the small smile that tugs at your lips. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise,” you assure him, giving his hand a squeeze. 

A quiet puff of laughter escapes him and he dips his head. You see the sheepish look that settles across his handsome face and your heart swells for him, for this man who has known more loss than many would deem fair. 

You’ve barely left his side these past few months, but still he fears that he’ll lose you. 

“I know,” he answers softly, sounding unmistakably embarrassed. “Forgive me. Sometimes…sometimes I still struggle to believe that someone like you chose someone like me.”

Your free hand is instantly cupping his cheek and your thumb is caressing his flushed skin. Does he know that you feel the exact same way? “I will always choose you,” you tell him firmly. 

He hasn’t even been yours for a year, but you know with unwavering certainty that you would follow this man to the ends of the earth and beyond. 

Loki presses his cheek into your palm and leans in to steal another chaste kiss from your lips. “My darling mortal,” he murmurs with a roll of his hips that has you groan. “My beautiful girl.” 

You can’t look away as he expertly begins to build you up. You’re lost to the pretty gleam of his green eyes as they hold yours and how stray strands of ink black hair fall to frame his face; lost to the way his jaw falls slack when you roll your hips to meet his and clench around his cock; lost to how your name falls like spring rain from his lips, like it’s the only word he’ll ever need to know. 

The edge crests like a wave in your core within minutes, each ripple making you dig your heels into his ass in a desperate attempt to pull him closer, deeper. Your climax is bubbling white hot in the pit of your stomach, promising to drown you in pleasure like you’ve never known if you can just tip over the edge. 

“Loki…,” you cry, twisting a hand into his hair for leverage. “Loki…I’m ready…please!”

His hands grips yours like a vice. “Look at me,” he pleads, and your eyes quickly settle back on his. “Cum for me, my darling.” 

With five words, you go soaring off the edge. 

Your orgasm rips through you like a storm, each blinding wave of pleasure submerging you deeper until tiny white stars begin to dance at the edges of your vision. It’s all consuming and so powerful that it robs you of almost all your senses, though you’re vaguely aware of Loki burying his face in your neck as his own climax pulls him under. 

He’s ruined you for anyone else. 

As the final ripples of your release fade in the aftermath, you can hear Loki panting in your ear. You untangle your hand from his hair to stroke it and turn your head to press a light kiss to his temple. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out. It’s all you're capable of saying as you lie boneless on the bed, still basking in the warm afterglow of your orgasm. 

“Fuck.” Loki echoes, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him. 

You burrow happily into his side and feel him drape an arm around your shoulders. His heartbeat is still thundering beneath your ear - something that makes pride blossom in your stomach. 

“Darling?” Loki speaks up after only a minute of silence. 

“Hmm?” you hum back, excitement already beginning to fizz between your legs. 

“I’d like to do that again…if you don’t mind.”

[ma1dita]

solipsism

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader prev -> to catch a thief | next -> forever falling words: 5.1k summary: (post-TLT) drink responsibly… trouble doesn’t; you punch luke in this lol (novelization spoilers? kinda canon-compliant) The one where you finally pray to Hestia to keep your home safe, even if he's also trying to destroy it. Luke visits you four times during college, in a timeline opposite to yours (doctor x river song-coded) (lore expansion & explanation here) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader) a/n: i hurt myself with this one. anyways its canon (to me) that we’re roommates now !!!! (post 3/6, edited/betad @hotchfiles )

—

solipsism (the idea that only one’s mind is sure to exist)

You didn’t mean to send a prayer out into the world so strong that it would will an apparition of an Olympian, but burning cookies seems to be your specialty. Arguably, they weren’t the good kind, just the ones you grab in the freezer aisle of Walmart, and still, somehow they set your fire alarm off. Opening a window and waving through the smoke— Hestia, goddess of the hearth and home was standing next to the rickety dining table you bought off Facebook marketplace. 

“Holy shit, you scared me!” 

There’s mirth in her eyes at your reaction, though for all you know it could be annoyance—it’s not often that an immortal could be badgered enough to reveal themselves for an accident like this one.

“Dionysus was right. You’re too much like him for your own good,” she grins, taking a seat at the table like she’s an old friend. There’s a warmth to her unlike anyone you’ve met before—fire crackling in her eyes and an aura of serenity swaddling the air that you’ve never felt before in your student accomodations.

“I’m sorry I just… with all due respect, what’s going on?”

You go to toss the hot tray of cookies in the trash bin, before hesitating and putting them on your nicest plate. A gentle shove slides them over the table to the goddess, and she takes a crunch out of one happily.

“You were praying,” she states, like its common knowledge, “so strongly, in fact, I thought I’d make a visit to one of my most loyal devotees. Though in this case, you’re the object of his devotion, yes?”

Your hands are clasped across your lap and a familiar feeling spreads through you, then she jerks her hand up and points, “There. You’re doing it again. Y’know, it’s about time you start reciprocating the effort. Hermes’ son prays for you with intention.” You were thinking about Luke before she appeared—and hope glimmered like a tiny open flame. It’s still there, in the slow beating of your heart.

“He’s waging war with the gods. I don’t think he prays to them anymore,” you reason. Luke's offerings to the hearth must have been extinguished by the wrath he’s rained on Camp Half-Blood by now. The perfect storm.

“Not when it comes to you. Mortals never fail to surprise me. But it seems you’re a special case, my sweet. He’s made a home of you.”

To love Luke feels like having to keep a secret and never being able to tell anyone, but Hestia reaches for your hands across the table and looks at you knowingly.

“When I gave up my seat on Olympus for your father it wasn’t a sign of weakness, even if I did it so that others could be happy. I think your soul is a lot like mine in that you’ve given up so much of what you want to protect others. In turn, he’s doing the best he can to protect you; I listen to him every day, sweet girl. You are not weak for loving him still. There are generations of strength in your bones.”

“What else am I supposed to do? I search for him in everyone I meet and I’m not sure I’ll ever find that type of love again.”

These are thoughts you’d never told anyone—not Annabeth, not your father, not even yourself and surely never aloud.

“I hope you never do,” the goddess says, and you know it too.

i. no winter lasts forever (a night out after a drive home from virginia)

Flick. Flick.

“Come on, Hestia. Not you too. Don’t fail me now,” you mumble. The frigid metal of your zippo lighter rubs against your thumbs as you cup it in your hands, shielding the tiny flame that fights the harsh winter wind. Trying to focus as you lean against the brick of the Inferno, you take a deep inhale of smoke to warm your bones. Healing was never supposed to be easy.

Breathe in.

It’s somewhat of a routine you’ve made since getting back from visiting Annie. You’re a regular at this pub now—not even acclimated to the ins and outs of your sleepy college town, and though you don’t know the name of the hall your classes are in, you do know there’s a barstool in the corner of the Inferno with your name on it. There’s something funny about using your father’s gift as a form of fake id, and you wonder if he knows how heavily you indulge in your vices. Five vodka redbulls down the hatch have your knees feeling weak under the alley light until a stranger looms over you like a shadow.

“Those things are gonna kill you one day.”

Breathe out.

“Gods willing,” you laugh, stumbling over your boots and Luke catches you like he was never meant to let you go in the first place. The leather of his jacket is musky and his hair is buzzed. 

Either you were wasted or uncaring of who he was (both), you toss him your car keys and climb into the passenger seat. It’s a silent ride to your apartment besides you giving him the directions and Luke wonders how bad he must have hurt you for you to lay out for a stranger and waste away like this. But he’s the farthest thing from a stranger, even in this error in time and you’re still the daughter of the god of wine so after the third time you try to put your key in the lock he helps you because he hopes you’ll let him in.

“Y’know Annie would get a kick out of your haircut. Come inside.”

You’ve always been able to see right through him.

He’s standing in the hallway with his hand around your waist and he’s already broken too many of the titan’s orders by being here, so he scoffs, “You’re not gonna remember this by morning.” But you leave the door open anyway, dragging him by the wrist and your hand still feels the same in his even after all this time. What more is there to resist when there’s not much left of him to lose? 

This is the last time, he reminds Kronos, and there are monstrous hands around his brain, but yours are still gently holding his heart. The little part of his soul that hasn’t been eaten away holds on for a bit longer, tethered to your being by the way your hands are tied.

“I can, if you want me to.” 

He looks ready for war, and he is— yet you have him following you around the tiny living room almost in a trace as your arms loop around his neck. Luke doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know if you’d want to see him sober, especially when his absence is still fresh for you.

“Baby you look different from the last time we met,” you slur, stepping onto his feet as he takes you for a spin around the coffee table, dancing in the quiet. He’s older than you’ve ever seen him, voice deeper and colder. This is not the boy that ran from you in the forest many months ago. This is a man who’s seen horrors you haven’t lived through yet. You can deduce that he’s the cause of them too.

“So do you. Though still as beautiful as I remember,” he whispers like he’ll get struck for saying it. Your eyes are unfocused as he inspects your face, still soft and young with hope. The titan grips his features now, almost burning through his sense of self—though it’s not tangible he wonders if you could see it.

“I see you all the time. I just… usually have to drink enough to make it feel real. I just miss you.”

He looks pained at your words, and for a moment you wonder if he even heard you. Luke pushes you towards your room, an aura of darkness spreading through him like fire but he relents, pushing past the flames. He’s on borrowed time now, but Luke would gladly waste those minutes tucking you into bed.

Lifting your arms up, he pulls an old shirt of his over your shoulders, and his eyes catch onto the fact that you’re still wearing the dragon scale necklace he made you. Luke digs through your medicine cabinet while you sloppily wash your face and his calloused hands rub serums and moisturizer into your cheeks like how you taught him once upon a time. These are the things he won’t forget. Kronos can take it all away, as long as he gets to keep you. You lean against his chest and shut your eyes, scared that if you open them again he won’t be there.

“You’re not supposed to be here, are you? Are you mine?”

“I’m always going to be yours,” he says with no hesitation, “Four years later, and there is still not one living thing worth losing you,” he says, lips chasing after your fingertips as you trace his jaw. Your eyes flutter in exhaustion, and Luke’s eyes survey your room and he finds traces of you that he’s missed as he rubs your back lovingly like he has all the time in the world.

Your hands cup his face, making him look at you, and he surrenders himself to you as you pull him into a kiss. He’s a ticking time bomb about to detonate in your arms. The warnings that Kronos is beating into his head is nothing compared to the pain of knowing he won’t be with you for much longer. And he kisses you like he could save you from his blaze by doing so, lips and tongue and shattered breath saying I’m here, and this is real. Maybe your worst vice is not being able to wean yourself off the taste of him.

“Tell me what I need to hear. Even if it’s not true…Even if you’re not real,” you say between gasps, and your position on his lap makes him wonder why he’d ever give the world up and burn it down when it’s sitting right here and staring at him with violet eyes.

“It’s always going to be you and me. I’ll love you until the end of my days and then some.”

You laugh in the way that drives him crazy—though he already is, for loving you still. Luke lost all sense of himself when he left camp four years ago. All that remains is you, pushing him so that his back hits the bedspread. He lets you consume what’s left of him, and he’s on fire.

You wake up the next morning with a jolt. It’s still winter, and you’re still alone but despite the chill, you feel warm.

ii. autumn years (with a familiar visitor who finally shows up on time)

Knock, knock.

There’s someone at the door, but your date isn’t supposed to be here for another 10 minutes.

“Babe, someone’s here for you!” your roommate Jo calls out, and you tell her it’s fine to let them in.

The pantyhose clings to the lotion on your thighs and you fix the bracelet on your wrist, stepping out from the bathroom hollering, “You’re early, Kit! Don’t tell me you’re skipping to the good part; I’m a lady i–”

“Who’s Kit?”

Luke’s standing in the doorway of your bedroom and his eyes flit to the reflection of your naked back peeking through the undone zipper of your dress. You look stunning, lips painted red and eyes smoky, but you’re also furious. Too bad he’s always thought you looked extra hot when you’re mad.

“None of your business. As you can see, I don’t exactly have the time for this, Castellan.”

He shrugs, closing the door behind him gently and with the raise of his brow, Luke is leering at you like a teenage boy. Respectfully, of course. The glint of celestial bronze against his hip reminds you who he’s become though.

“I’ll make the time if you say the words, Trouble.”

Sighing, you step forward, but then he does that thing again from the last time you saw him out on sea, twisting the crick in his neck like he has to resist your touch.

“You’re still funny. Some old habits die hard I guess,” you scoff, turning and lifting your hair out of the way so that he can zip you up. He opts to not touch you, sliding the dress closed until it fits against your body. You think you can feel his fingers ghost above your skin, and goosebumps rise where he leaves and his breath is warm on the back of your neck.

“Leave your weapons at the door. I run a tight ship, unlike you.” 

Gliding away from him while his hands are still in the air, you turn and sit at the edge of your bed, crossing your legs as you nod at him. Luke picks up the pair of heels next to where he sets the sword against the wall, and like it’s nothing out of the sort, he gets on his knees. You offer a foot to him while he speaks, “I could tell by the taser on your bedside table. You’ve killed monsters before, why a taser?”

There’s freckles on his tanned cheeks and he smells like the sun. You wonder what he’s done to come see you tonight.

“I’ve found out that not all monsters are mythical. When…are you?”

His eyes dart away from yours, securing the buckles on your ankles, and his touch sears through the mesh of your pantyhose.

“A few months ahead.”

There’s an eyelash on his nose, and your finger reaches out to touch it, but he flinches away. Face pulling into a frown, you spit, “You never slow down enough to let me catch up with you, huh?”

You can hear the microwave whirring in the kitchen, your roommate none the wiser of the sound of two hearts breaking. The both of you suddenly realize this is the first time you two have been alone (and the same age) since he left camp. There’s a silent question of if it will ever happen again as he gets up from the floor.

“So you’re seeing other people. Must’ve been easy, h—”

You punch him in the face before he finishes speaking, and all he can do is laugh. You would never let him off so easily.

“Fuck you. What, you think you can just hop in here and act like everything’s okay? What do you want, Castellan? For me to grovel at your feet and beg for you to fix what you broke?”

And you’re right, he supposes. This is the closest to peace that you’ll get in this life you’ve created without him. He won’t be able to take you on nice dinner dates like Kit can, or hold your hand without feeling like fate is going to smite him for existing. You scoff at the lack of his response.

“What happens next?”

Luke watches you chew on your lip, and even if he shouldn’t touch you in fear that you’ll will away his reason for defecting, by the gods does he want to.

“What do you mean?” he mutters. The cord of his necklace is tucked into your dress now that he looks closer.

“If I’m right,” you say (and it’s rare that you’re not), “each version of you that comes to see me knows less, and each time I see you I learn more. You were 23 last time. Why didn’t you see me at 22?” You know he won’t have an answer, but this is the only time you’ll be able to ask the real him. The one that’s yours, just a few steps ahead.

“There’s already been a lot that’s happened since I last saw you.”

“Are you going to hurt me?” you offer him, like he hasn’t already. He can feel the bruise blooming on his cheekbone and he grimaces with what he’s about to say.

“Never intentionally. I’ll try not to.”

It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth and you feel stupid with how empty you feel just watching him. He’s made a home of you, choosing moments in time to visit, but when he inevitably leaves, then what? Luke taught you how to be a home, forgetting you exist until it’s convenient and now there are things about yourself that you can’t unlearn yet don’t know what to do with.

Your roommate knocks on your door asking if you want a shot of vodka before your date starts, and Luke is already walking towards it since he’s overstayed his welcome. He raises his sword to open a portal but you shake your head.

“Go out the way you came,” you swallow, fiddling with the copper pendant around your neck, “and take the purple umbrella in the hall. It’s raining outside.”

When you walk into the kitchen moments later, the front door shuts gently and Jo’s sitting at the table with a mouthful of ramen noodles.

“Is he warming up the car? Your date’s hot as fuck, babe,” she grins, steam coating her glasses.

Knock, knock.

Your phone buzzes and there’s another knock at the door. Kit is 15 minutes late.

iii. auld lang syne (ringing in the new year with an old friend, or more)

Your apartment is filled with friends and acquaintances, but who the fuck cares anyway? There’s 10 minutes to midnight and you’re crossed out of your mind. Holding onto a half-empty bottle of prosecco, your heels clomp over to the window in the living room as you crawl onto the fire escape. 

Clack, clack.

The air is chilly as you hug yourself, and you hear someone step out onto the stairs behind you. 

“What are you doing out here alone?”

You sigh, not even turning to look at him, “What are you doing here, period?”

He takes the bottle of prosecco out of your hands, making you swivel your head to look at him as he takes a big gulp. He’s younger again, and it makes you laugh at how fucked up your luck must be to never be able to see him when you want. It’s always been on Luke’s terms.

“You’re too young to be drinking that,” you drawl, knees bumping against his when he takes a seat next to you. Long Island is quiet at night, and the lack of city lights is nice when you can see the stars so clearly. Music blares through your JBL speaker in the living room, and the sound of cheers gets louder when The Neighborhood starts playing.

“We used to do worse,” he laughs, but something in it sounds hollow. The breeze picks up and you shiver, taking the bottle back from him and swigging it.

“All these visits…you sure do know how to make a girl feel special. But you never come in the summer.” 

He clears his throat, before leaning back on his elbows, “ I haven’t gone a summer without you since we were 14.” This Luke doesn’t know what’s ahead of him yet, but you realize that he’s right. Even now, he keeps up the habit of pissing you off and raising hell on Camp Half-Blood every summer. You notice he’s not wearing his camp beads, and he notices you shiver again in the chill. 

Clack, clack.

Your heels rattle the metal of the fire escape as you readjust your position. He takes off his jacket to sling it around your shoulders and neither of you realize you’ve missed the countdown until fireworks burst in the sky above you. The red and blue reflect off the planes of his face, but what stands out to you is the orange of his shirt, and you comprehend now where he just came from.

“I had to see you. I didn’t get to say goodbye when I left,” he says, and you take another sip before handing him the bottle to finish off. The only new years’ kiss you’re getting is through the lips that hold the last remaining drops of prosecco. 

You nod, remembering it all too well as you both watch the fireworks in silence. He wasn’t able to watch them properly the last time he was with you, Annie, and Percy just a few hours prior.

iv. spring cleaning (only big days are ahead for the both of you) 

It’s quiet in your college apartment this morning. 

The moving boxes are half-packed and stacked against the wall of the entryway and the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the French press on your kitchen counter permeates the air. Perhaps the idea of caffeine is the last thing on your mind, hands twitching as they smooth over the black polyester of your graduation regalia. There’s a few hours still before the ceremony, but you’ve never liked being unprepared. Pollux is driving your dad down the Island because despite the war you’ll inevitably be fighting in once you cross the stage and get your degree, D specifically told Zeus that he’d wage another if he was made to miss your big day.

Parting your hair to fit under the ugly graduation cap, the tassel swings in front of your face as you grab a few bobby pins from the side table. A golden medallion of Castor’s smiling face almost whips into your cornea and you stifle a laugh. D said in his Iris message last night that all three of them would cheer so loud you’d be able to hear it from Elysium (and honestly, jokes aside—he probably has a way of making that happen). A staggered breath leaves your lungs, and you’re filled with anticipation, though you’re not sure what for. 

Time is a thief and you know that too well by now. After all, you’ve spent the past four years running from the truth of your heritage—dodging monsters between study sessions and grief welcoming you every time you come home. Four years later, and who are you trying to fool? While walking across that stage later you might as well take a bow. After all, your ex-boyfriend is the reason why there’s going to be a war of both blood and ichor, mortal and undying and still, you find yourself in the middle of it. You’ve found yourself fielding questions this last semester like dodging celestial bronze, the questions always a little too close to home and the answers you give are too entertaining to be considered the truth.

So, what are your future plans? 

Oh no big deal, just going home and dealing with generations-old family drama. If it drives me crazy enough I might enlist! 

Gods. 

How do you even articulate that these past few years were those future plans? That you didn’t expect to be alive this long, much less have the comfort of feeling secure enough to dream… It’s been years since you’ve had a good dream to work towards with a boy you once knew holding your hand through it all. But the expensive piece of paper you’ll be receiving later feels fake somehow. 

Who does that belong to? Surely not you…surely, someone who dreams without bearing the weight that comes with it. Someone who doesn’t have to look over their shoulder everytime they walk to work in the mornings, who can convince children that monsters aren’t real without having to lie. Psychology was a great field to learn from the mortal side of things—to know the reasons why brain chemistry affects us so deeply instead of just willing it away with the touch of your fingers. You like making people feel better. But who can ever do that for you?

A gust of wind sweeps through your room, the multicolored tassels hanging off your neck swaying from the force and you shut your eyes knowing he’s there again. Citrus and musk, and something that’s just him. He knocks over your hamper, cussing under his breath until his eyes follow your motionless figure in front of the mirror.

“Shit. I can explain, um… I thought you’d still be asleep,” Luke sputters, his converse falling into your laundry pile like quicksand. He bends over, stuffing your pajamas and sweatshirts back into the bin with fidgety hands as his eyes take a quick scan of your room. There are no pictures of you and him on the bedside table. For a moment, he wonders what that means but then his cheeks redden when he picks up a pair of your lacy underwear. He shoves that down too.

“Big day today. You know I can’t sleep when I know something is about to happen,” you smile wistfully, and you keep your eyes shut for longer, because like this, it’s almost like he’s actually there in real time. In a world where things went your way, this would be his apartment too, and his clothes would be scattered around your shared bedroom like how they used to back in cabin 12. You always used to put them on The Chair, as he would call it—but Luke’s known to make a mess of your life regardless of your efforts.

“When isn’t there? Something’s always going on when you’re around, Trouble.”

Click. Scattered memories flicker in your head like images through a view-finder, spinning through your vision as you hear the sound of his laughter, gently tapping away at your heart again. Click. In the ones you pre-selected, he’s draped in sunlight, honey eyes sweet and kind, and his kisses are perpetual instead of an indulgence. Click. He’s always wearing faded orange, worn-out, but most of all well-loved. Click.

You open your eyes and they meet his own in the mirror. Time stops for once, letting you catch your breath.

Right now, he looks just as you like to remember him, as you knew him four years ago. Multicolored camp beads are resting easily against his broad neck instead of weighing him down, and he’s wearing the red converse his dad gave him. He’s too young, and so in love with you that it blinds him, but even then…now, he knows the look on your face and it makes him ask, “It’s not my first time visiting you is it?”

“You’re usually more discreet, the door right behind me wouldn’t have been your first option. But you’ve never failed to surprise me before. Tell me about your day, Luke.”

A hesitant smile crosses his face as he sheathes Backbiter against his hip, adjusting under the weight like he’s not used to it yet, and then he speaks, “We ate strawberries in the fields today, straight off the vine, but I argued that the ones you conjure will always taste sweeter to me. You smushed one against my face and I carried you home. You?”

You nod, turning around to face a ghost of your past, and the both of you meet in the middle only a hairs distance away as you admire each other.

“I graduate today. Annabeth’s driving up with her boyfriend and the rest of my family is coming to celebrate.”

He doesn’t know of Percy yet, of Chris’ insanity, of your brother’s death, and the immense hurt he’s caused everyone. The smile that lights up his face makes you realize he thinks he's still a part of this—with you. And you miss him—even when he’s right here, fuck, you miss all the versions of him that have come to visit, even the ones you don’t know of yet. Tears brim your waterline as you take a deep breath; the last thing you want to do is scare him away.

“This was his promise to me. By showing me something I was sure of—and I always knew you’d graduate and make it big. Wanted to see it for myself, baby,” he grins, tangling his fingers with yours like your strings of fate, and though you know the answer to your next question you still take a chance, just in case.

“If I tell you what’s happened since…you. Would it be too late to change your mind?”

“Trouble, do you want me to? Kronos’ plan is already set in motion. I think…” he swallows, and your vision blurs without your permission as tears start to fall. Through the film over your violet eyes, Luke frowns and pulls your fingertips to his lips, kissing each one. He hasn’t done that in years.

“Did I make a mistake? Do I lose you, in the end?”

“Angelface…” you sniff, leaning your cheek against his hand, “You were so scared of losing me that you didn't even stop to think of what losing you would do to me. I lost you so long ago, Luke. And you’re not mine anymore. I don't think you have been in a long time.” In these heels, your forehead is closer to his lips so he kisses that too, hoping that somehow this time he can will away your pain instead of his. He doesn’t know what to do but hold you until you say something again.

“I’ll tell you something you need to hear. And no matter what you say or think, babe—it’s the truth. Even without all the glory in the world I would still be yours. I still am, even if I can’t bear it.”

Though he’s holding you, it somehow feels like the opposite—a purer version of him in your embrace while he holds the broken pieces of you together with his golden touch. Right now, you look into honey instead of gold. The both of you look at each other in the mirror melded together like kintsugi, something good still shining through the cracks of you two together like this.

The sound of keys jangling in the lock of the front door lifts you from his embrace, and with one look you both know its time for him to go; Luke’s brows furrow as he mutters, “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this, and we’ll be together. I promise.” You nod anyway, hoping at least one of you believe it.

“Go home, Luke. She…I still need you. I’m always gonna.”

He’s already got Backbiter in hand and one foot through time when he looks back at you. Your voice sounds a lot like how it does when you tell him you love him. Luke wonders how long it’s been since you did. Your bedroom door opens with a bang and some laughter.

“Hey troublemaker, you left the dryer on! All your clothes are gonna shrink,” Jo grins, peeking her head through the doorway of your room and she’s looking at you in your graduation gown standing there alone.

“Were you on the phone? Who were you talking to?”

It’s quiet in the apartment again. Your fingernails make indents in your palms, bunching up into fists before you let go. A sad smile crosses your face as you let the settling wind kiss your cheeks, before reality kicks in and everything settles back to how it was before. 

“Just someone I used to know.”

—

“And no one can ever figure out what you want, and you won’t tell them, and you realize the one person in the world who loves you isn’t the one you thought it would be, and you don’t trust him to love you in a way you would enjoy.” -Richard Siken

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?)

1/2 luke taglist: @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko@bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303  @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r@visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri

[spilycoris]

i take this au very seriously

[mirandasidefics]

hi!!

can i request poly!bat boys x plus sized reader?

if you're comfortable writing about children, could you write a lil one shot about them just taking care of their children throughout a busy and chaotic day and then the 4 of them head to bed for the night and reminisce on their days before children?

(like they love their children to death and wouldn't trade them for the world, but they still acknowledge that their kids are WORK [but judging by the parents, they're not surprised 😭] and not for the weak)

Adventures in Parenting (miniseries)

1. Chaos and All

Pairing(s): Poly! Bat Boys x Plus Size! Reader

Word Count: 1.9K

Warning(s): None really. This is mostly fluff and parenting chaos.

Author’s Note: The more I wrote this one-shot, the more I want to turn this into a small little series. So, if anyone else has requests for this family set up send them in! I didn’t do the multiple mates with this Polyship, I hope that’s okay. I also used my youngest nephew as inspiration for the twins. He is a ball of chaos and I fully believe he is the mortal embodiment of Loki. I love him. Some of these events also may or may not be based on actual incidents that happened within my own household. Don’t worry, no one was injured, and consequences were appropriately implemented. Raising children is not for the weak!  

ACOTAR Masterlist Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

“JUST WAIT UNTIL YOUR FATHER GETS HOME!” The echo of your roar reverberated along the stone halls of the House of Wind. It was quickly followed by two distinct sets of giggles. Cassian and Azriel, having returned early from Wind Haven, overheard the slew of curses flowing from your lips.

Soon, two boys rounded the corner and immediately squealed in excitement upon seeing Cassian. The large Illyrian bent down to his knees as the pair of 6-year-olds raced towards him. Effortlessly, he picked them both up, blowing a raspberry against each of their cheeks. The children were absolutely delighted. That was until you came around the corner following them. Your expression was far from amusing. With a hand on your rounded belly, you came to a stop before the males and your shared children.

“Warren, are you tormenting your poor mama?” Cassian asked.

“No Papa.” 

“Yes.” 

The twins spoke simultaneously. Azriel had to suppress his laugh. Your eyes burned with ire.

“Mama’s being mean!” Warren stated, pointing his little index finger at you. You raised your eyebrow at his boldness.

“Oh, I’m being mean now?” You crossed your arms, your son merely copying your stance. “Do you want to tell Dada and Papa what you did? Or should I?” The two children remained silent.

“Alright then, you had your chance,” You huffed. “Mama is being mean because she had to put out the fire you set in the bathroom!” The two boys shrank within Cassian’s arms.

“They did what now?” Azriel’s expression hardened.

“You heard right. They thought it was okay to play with the candle I had burning in the bathroom,” You explained, making your way over to the Shandowsinger, “A candle that was only lit because Ryder complained about Warren stinking up the toilet!” The twins giggled to themselves. You recognized the mirthful gleam in Cassian's eyes as he tried to maintain a serious expression. It was clear that you were at your wits end. And the stress wasn’t good for the baby in your belly, which was due within the month. Azriel moved to stand behind you, and once in place he wrapped his arms around you and underneath your belly. With the slightest of movements, he supported the weight for you. He could feel the relief wash over you. From over your shoulder, he leveled a stern glare at the boys.

“Well Mama,” Cassian started, “What’s on your mind for a fitting consequence?”

“For these two I honestly don’t know any more,” You tried to keep the hormone fueled frustration tears at bay. “A week with no dessert seems too light, but a literal grounding- a week of no flying-seems cruel. I leave it to you males. They don’t listen to me anyway.”

“I’ll be the first to agree,” Azriel’s words were careful. “They need to understand how dangerous playing with fire can be. One of you could have been seriously hurt.” You placed your hands over Azriel’s in comfort.

“I think the first thing that needs to be done is an apology,” Cassian finally set the twins back down. “Boys, apologize to your Mother.” His tone was stern and unyielding. The voice of a General. That tone always stirred something in you. Azriel’s nose brushed along the side of your neck, and you felt his lips curve up in a smile. Damn your hormones.

“Sorry Mama,” their tiny voices murmured in unison. Cassian shooed them away and back to the playroom. He quickly kissed your lips before following them. You were at a disadvantage when it came to the wild energy of your twins. Rhysand and Azriel could only chuckle to themselves half the time, filling you in on stories of Cassian’s own behaviors growing up. Unfortunately, the two boys had begun to act out ever since your eldest son went to train with the Darkbringers. You didn’t want him to be exposed to the cruelty of Hewn City, but Rhysand insisted upon some type of military training. And since he was your only child born without wings the elite unit of the Court of Nightmares was his best option.

“We’ll take care of the kids,” Azriel whispered against your neck. “Why don’t you get some rest?” You nodded, rubbing along his hands still holding up your belly. He carefully let go, and you groaned at having to support the weight on your own again.

He followed you to your bedroom and helped you settle into what surely had to be the largest bed in existence. After tucking you in underneath one of the deep mahogany throw blankets, he quietly left the room. You could faintly hear your children’s laughter as they played with their father, the joyful noise allowing you to drift off into a peaceful nap.

Hours later you had awoken to the sound of the bedroom door opening. You reached to turn on the faelight near the bed and turned to face the entrance to the room. Rhysand stood near the door, looking sheepish at having woken you. You smiled at seeing your third lover.

“How did doling out the punishment go?” Slowly you turned from your left side onto your back. Rhysand continued to make his way across the room, removing his shirt as he approached the bed.

“No dessert for the week, per Mama’s orders,” He supplied. “And all their toys are being gathered up by Cass and Az as we speak. Well, they get to keep their favorite stuffed toy for sleeping.”

“All of the toys!” You sat up straight. “Rhys are you trying to drive me insane? What are they going to do all day?” The door to the bedroom squeaked on its hinges, the light from the hall revealing Cassian.

“They’ll be in Wind Haven,” Cassian stated as he strode into the bedroom. “With me.”

“They’re too young to start training!” You shouted, which seemed to displease the babe inside you as it kicked against what you could only assume was your kidney. Your hand went directly to the spot and your eyes fluttered closed at the discomfort. Rhysand moved to sit behind you.

“They will not be training,” Rhysand reassured, setting a leg on either side of you before encouraging you to lean back against his chest.

“They will be helping the wounded males with some of their daily tasks,” Cassian finished. “At least tasks that they are capable of doing.” You worried at your bottom lip. It would be a valuable experience for them to have those interactions. However, most of the wounded received said injuries during a fight of some kind. You hoped the twins wouldn’t get the wrong ideas and start to romanticize war and violence. Mother above that was the last thing you needed!

“If it makes you feel better, they will be assisting the shopkeepers and not the battle heroes' ' Rhys said, kneading the muscle around your right hip.

“Additionally, for each task they help with they earn a toy back,” Cassian added. He lounged across the foot of the bed.

“That all sounds more than fair,” You took a sharp inhale as Rhysand’s knuckle rubbed against a particularly painful spot. The pressure against the knot hurt, but also relieved the growing ache. Your muscles had become so tight from carrying the extra weight of your unborn child. You turned your head back to face him and kissed his cheek.

This little one in your womb would place you with five children. Five. You had agreed to a total of three pregnancies. One for each of the males you loved so fiercely. But Cassian just had to sire twins. And then Rhysand insisted on performing the Great Right at the most recent Calanmai. Making this fourth pregnancy completely unexpected. Especially since you also laid with Cassian and Azriel that night. You also had no clue which of the three males was the biological father. But that didn’t really matter in the long run. While each male had their biological offspring, they raised all the children as if they were their own blood. A sudden realization hit you like the cold winter winds in Illyria.

“What about after?” You asked. “I love my children, but we are outnumbered.”

“What if Al-” Rhysand started.

“No, don't send for Aldrin, he’s 15 and just now settling into figuring out what type of person he wants to become. I won’t place the weight of being a caregiver on him. I need one of you here, especially when the baby is born.”

“I will stay,” Azriel offered entering the space as well. He was carrying your current youngest, Aria, in his arms.

“Did she have another nightmare?” You reached your arms out to her, but Azriel didn’t lower her down to you. Instead, he sat in the rocking chair with Aria still in his arms. Her wings were tucked in tight against her back. Her head rested against Azriel’s shoulder; her large green eyes open yet still looking between each of her parents. She was always so quiet.

“No, she saw me and just wanted to be held for a while,” He pushed the rocking chair back and forth using the balls of his bare feet.

“Like father like daughter,” You chuckled. The room settled into a comfortable silence. Cassian at your feet, rubbing them and your swollen ankles. Rhysand at your back, continue his own massage of your lower back. You were in your own personal heaven as you watched Aria from the spot on the bed. Watched as her eyelids drooped before fully closing. Slowly Azriel stood from his seat and carried the 2-year-old to bed. When he returned, Cassian was now sprawled on your right side, Rhysand still sitting behind you.

“It feels like it's been years since we’ve all had a quiet moment like this,” You broke the silence, closing your eyes and leaning onto the male behind you.

“True, so why did you go and ruin it,” Cassian said in jest. However, he quickly yowled in pain from Azriel hitting his arm.

“We certainly have a rowdy bunch of younglings to contend with,” Rhysand hummed, his fingers tracing up and down your arms.

“As I said before,” Azriel began his own nightly routine of readying for bed, “I will stay with you when the baby arrives.”

“What about-”

“If there is need of a spy, we have others that can complete whatever mission I need,” Rhysand advised. “He will be here to assist when either Cassian or I am busy.” You were so grateful for these males.

“And on the bright side, soon they won’t be as…energetic,” Cassian’s devilish smile spread across his face, “And we can go back to more grown-up activities.” You couldn’t hold back the laugh. The other two males just rolled their eyes.

"Need I remind you three, that our grown-up activities are exactly what created those lovely little terrors we call our children,” You gave Cassian a pointed stare.

“While that wasn’t what I was referring to I’m certain we can always accommodate our female’s more carnal desires,” He tried to defend himself. You scoffed, doing your best to hide the flush that bloomed across your cheeks.

“I agree with Cassian,” Rhys started. “While I miss the days before children, those days will return faster than we can fathom. And I am completely content in being present for what we have now. Chaos and all.”  

General Tag list: @loving-and-dreaming

[thisisjustfanfic]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{You wake up to a surprise from Sylus and Xavier. Your time at the beach house is coming to an end, and you have something to tell your boys.}

Read on ao3. Part One.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Ocean, Beach Shenanigans, Three!some, FMM, Lots of lovey doveyness in this one.

Chapter 16: The Beach House

You awake to the softest of sounds. The puffs of air punched out of sleep-drunk lungs, steamy and lurid against the still air of night. 

Lying on your stomach, your senses only barely pick up the thing that roused you. The shifting of sheets, the movement so slow and quiet but just enough to tickle at your periphery. To alert that part of your brain and entice it to wake. 

“Shh, my prince.” A dark, husky whisper meets your pricked ears. “Keep quiet or you’ll wake her.”

It’s the devil. Satan in his perfect, beautiful allure. There is desire and destruction in that voice, and it drags your poor mortal soul into it. Nothing but a weak, sinful piece of flesh. 

A low, choked noise makes your eyes press tightly closed, fighting to open. 

There is no mistaking what the noises are– as you rise from dreamland and into the cold waking world. Wet, slurping noises too rhythmic to be anything but the slide of hips. The press of flesh against flesh, the very air is hot with desire. 

When you manage to open your eyes, ever so slowly, you’re certain you’re dreaming. Or something like it. A hallucination perhaps. Tricks of moonlight and stardust forming an image so very foul and fair it makes you jolt. 

Sylus and Xavier. The two fair haired men lie on their sides facing you. Sylus has an arm around Xavier’s neck, nearly in a headlock, pushing the other man’s chin back and exposing the long, pearly column of his throat. 

The blankets are pushed down to their thighs, and their pants pushed down just enough. They must have been desperate. Desperate to be close. Desperate for touch. Desperate not to wake you. 

Xavier’s cock jolts when you meet his eyes, and a low, drawn out moan filters through his rosy lips. A little drop of precum leaking from his tip. Sylus moves slowly behind him, pressing into the wet heat of his lover’s ass with thrusts that can only be deemed torturous. 

“Look what you did.” Sylus growls in Xavier’s ear. So softly, yet full of mirth, “You woke her up.”

You haven’t moved anything besides your eyes at this point, unable to find the strength to do so. What if moving breaks the illusion– The perfect, debauched vision of Xavier getting sleepy fucked in the bed next to you. 

Behind Sylus on the bedside table, you see a bottle of lube. Had that always been there? 

“S-Sylus…” Xavier whines, hips pressing back. They must have been at it for some time because Xavier is in that breathless vacuum of edging that makes him speechless. 

“You were so insistent…” Sylus groans, biting softly at Xavier’s earlobe, “Not to wake her up. That she needed to rest. Didn’t let me even have a taste, and look what you did? You woke her up anyway.”

“Wha–” You breathe, mouth finally back in your control. You lift up onto your elbows, “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Sylus’ laugh sounds like a rumbling growl, the echoing baritone of a beast in a cave. All hunger and lust. 

“Didn’t–” Xavier chokes as Sylus slams his hips a little harder into him, “N-needed rest. Still hurt.”

Fuck that, You think, and move to close the gap between you. Xavier, for all his half-hearted denials, reaches out to you first, and kisses you like he might try to drown himself. Sucking on your bottom lip and gasping at the taste of your tongue like it’s the last drop of water on a desert island. 

“Poor prince…” Sylus coos almost mockingly, “He was so hard, kitten. Rutting like an animal against you. I had to give him something to distract him with.”

Xavier’s jaw clenches and he reaches back to grab a harsh fistful of silver hair, which only serves to make Sylus grin. A pleased moan leaves Sylus’ lips, the pain Xavier seeks to inflict only spurs him on more. 

“Poor Xavier,” You whisper, taking on a placating tone. Starry blue eyes snap to you, utterly wrecked as you drift your hands along Xavier’s torso. “You should have woke me. If you needed me.”

Xavier’s mouth is open like he’s trying to speak, but only half-jolted sounds leave him. Punished out of him from Sylus’ thick cock that spears him. 

“I tried to tell him.” Sylus drawls, nipping at the skin of Xavier’s shoulder and making the man keen. 

This power dynamic is trippy. Some illicit, heady drug that makes you feel like a conqueror. A high-ranking general in a crusading army, and your plundering victim is Xavier. Pliant, weepy Xavier– who so often takes charge. Who commands the room and everyone in it with his quiet dominance. To have him writhing as the tips of your fingers toy with the tip of his cock– god there’s nothing like it. 

“You’re so mean to me, Xavier.” You whine, and Xavier whimpers in reply. He’s clawing at you. Holding onto your arms and then your waist while he’s being so thoroughly, slowly fucked. 

“Come here kitten,” Sylus calls, and you have to press your body against Xavier’s to reach him. Over Xavier’s shoulder you kiss Sylus, his teeth finding purchase on your bottom lip and sucking a harsh mark there. “I want you to lay back for me. Can you do that, please?”

You nod and roll away, and the friction Xavier found against your abdomen is gone– leaving him panting in feverish want. 

On your back, Sylus hums in satisfaction and commands you to remove your clothes– so you do. Bare in the moonlight, you see the already dilated pupil of Xavier’s eyes widen even further. Drinking in every expanse of skin you gift him. A predator studying his prey, understanding the very way your ligaments connect your bones. 

You’re dripping wet by the time they move. Shedding their own clothes and Sylus has barely slipped out, and Xavier’s barely got his pants full off before he’s on you. The blond man, pressing flush to your front, the heat of his cock so very close to the quivering slit you desperately want him inside. 

Xavier is playing with your clit, and drinking in your moans while Sylus comes up behind him. 

“This will be fun.” Sylus croons. His wide hands find controlling positions at Xavier’s hips, and like a marionette he moves Xavier to your core. It’s Sylus’ control that has Xavier entering you, and the thought of it has you keening, high pitched and pathetic. 

Sylus’ smile is all canine. Nearly drooling as he watches with utter fascination as he’s able to move Xavier’s hips in, and out. He takes a few minutes to fuck you using Xavier, and the man between you two is just as gone. 

You’ve never seen Xavier so overcome. So utterly lost in sensation. He’s never been so pliant before. He’s the tide and Sylus is the moon, push and pull and following his every call. You’re just the observer, the sailboat shifting along the waves. 

His eyes find you through the fog, glassy with yearning and every time Sylus pushes him back inside you, you meet his wanting lips. 

The friction is so delicate and yet so erotic that you’re moaning into Xavier’s mouth with every tiny movement, and you whine at the loss of movement when Sylus stops. 

Xavier’s cock is pressed snugly against your cervix, a tight, almost painful sensation but it still makes you tremble every time he twitches. Your senses are so full of Xavier that you barely notice Sylus moving. Pushing Xavier a little higher up so that he can push himself back inside. 

You half-expect Sylus to enter you. It’s been too long since you’ve had two at once. That indelible stretch makes you feral, stripping you down to your bones of animalistic desire, but that’s not what happens. 

The sound that leaves Xavier’s lips can only be classified as disastrous. It’s an overcoming of sensations that leaves the mind fracturing around it. The mental shattered by the power of the physical as Sylus thrusts inside him. 

Xavier is gasping for air. The incalescence of your wet cunt squeezing him, and the depravity of Sylus’ thick cock against his prostate is more than his mind can comprehend. 

No one has moved, and yet Xavier’s mumbling, “I’m gonna– Oh god, I’m gonna come bunny. “

“Not yet,” Even Sylus sounds on the edge of madness, like the added chain reaction is grating on the very last shred of his self-control. “Kitten comes first, right?”

The words strike some kind of cord inside Xavier because he’s moving his hips. Every press back spears him further on Sylus, and every press forward pushes him deeper inside you. “Please,bunny. Oh please– ngh, I can't– Oh god, bunny come. Come for me. Come on me. I need it. I need it. I need it.”

Xavier lifts up just enough to start madly playing with your clit. His scalding desperation makes him sloppy, but it's enough to send you careening toward orgasm. You peer over Xavier’s shoulder at Sylus, and see him biting his lower lip until it bleeds. His hands are clenching around Xavier’s hips so tight they’ll likely bruise. Xavier might be the one with teary eyes and begging lips, but Sylus is just as wrecked. 

Sylus, unable to resist for a second more, starts moving his hips in short, powerful thrusts. They send Xavier slamming into you, and one look at the blood dripping down Sylus’ chin and depraved look on his face has you coming suddenly and violently.

You gush around Xavier, and the blond man gasps like you’ve taken hold of this throat with your teeth. He’s only a half-second behind you, dissolving into rhythmic moans as his cock throbs painfully with release. He fucks his come into you with desperation– thrusts turning into purposeful rolls of his hips. 

“So p-perfect,” Xavier moans into you, “You take everything I give you so well. Oh, my love. My starlight.”

Your hands, which had been holding onto the bedsheets for dear life, come up to cup the sides of his face. Jostled by the punching thrusts of Sylus.

“Fuck, fuck.” Sylus snarls braced over the two of you and so very close, “Fuck, I’m gonna– I’m gonna f-fucking fill you up.”

You reach out to Sylus, gripping his wrist tightly and letting your nails bite into his skin. A shocking cry bolts out of him, and his hips slam against Xavier– who whines at the harshness. 

Sylus rolls his hips with the aftershocks of his orgasm. And the three of you take a moment to bask in this odd sandwich you’ve created. Sticky and satisfied. 

You’re the first to catch your breath, caressing Sylus’ arm and then down Xavier’s side, “What time is it?”

“Three AM.” Xavier rasps into your neck. “Last I checked.”

“Ugh, that’s so early.” You whine as you press back hair from your face, “Any chance we can just….go to sleep? Clean up in the morning?”

Xavier laughs, and you can feel it in your cunt, making you gasp softly. A matching one escapes Sylus, and you forget how intrinsically you all are connected. 

“Cleanup first.” Sylus says as he presses a kiss to the middle of Xavier’s back and then pulls out. “I’ll get the shower started.”

Xavier concurs with a soft hum, and tenderly brushes the side of your face with his nose before kissing your temple. “Just a quick one. Then we can sleep, and I’ll make sure you’re able to sleep in tomorrow. Alright?”

“Only if you sleep in with me.” You whisper, and catch him before he can pull out by wrapping your legs around his waist. You feel his cock stir with interest at the movement.

“If that is what the lady desires.” Xavier replies, “Anything you wish.”

You smile and pull him until he’s forehead to forehead with you, “I think you’re the only one I haven’t said it to yet.”

Xavier’s brow creases a little, and you feel it more than see it. “Said what?”

“I love you.” You breathe into him, and he pauses. 

There’s a moment where nothing happens. He just stares at you, illuminated by the moonlight looking like dew upon the delicate petal of a myosotis. Sticky with the resin of your previous desire. 

You watch as he processes what you’ve told him, and with a bit of surprise, you see his expression harden, “I’m the last one you told?”

You can’t help but laugh, and Xavier silences you with a searing kiss. He pulls away and you pull him back, licking into his wanting mouth to quiet whatever jealous or insecure thought must have urged him to say such a thing.

“I love you. I love all of you. There is no order.” You insist with a smile, but Xavier’s expression doesn’t soften. “I’m sure you’ve told the others you love them far before you even knew me. It’s not a race, Xavier.”

“No, it’s not a race.” Xavier’s voice is calm, but his cock is hard again, and he rolls it back into you with a purposeful thrust, “But I loved you before I knew you. There is a part of me that did know you. That will always know you. When we were just stardust, I knew you. And I loved you.”

You gasp at his words coupled with a languid thrusts of his hips. You didn’t realize you were fucking again, or that your body even could go another round until that familiar coil tightens in your belly. A snake of sin swirling up your spine. 

He pauses. Nestled as deep as he can go, and then wraps his arms around your waist. With less effort than should be possible, he lifts the two of you up. You lock your ankles together and hang on for dear life as he walks across the room and over to the bathroom– still snug inside you. 

The sound of the shower only barely muffles the sound of Sylus’ amused laughter.

The shower isn’t as big as the one you have at home, and so the three of you squeeze inside. You squeal when Xavier presses you back against the blue and teal tiled wall. He wastes no time in plundering your mouth and pushing short, focused thrusts into your dripping heat. 

Sylus’ hands come up stroke along your sides, another line of overstimulation. You mewl and press the side of your face against Xavier’s as he chases after another incandescent high. 

“You always take me so well.” Xavier praises, breathless and adoring. Among the steam and the misting water, little starbursts of light begin to sparkle. Floating lazily in the air– the pure manifestation of joy. “My darling. My love. Made for me.”

It doesn’t take much longer for the two of you to finish. Warmed and pliant by the heat of the water cascading down your bodies. And it’s lazier than it was in the bedroom. A quiet, last hurrah of the night that Sylus talks you through.

“You two make quite the sight,” Sylus purrs, “But let’s stop at two rounds, yes? I don’t think the poor kitten can take it.”

Xavier sucks a mark onto your pulse before slowly lowering you down onto your feet, but his hands never leave you, letting you lean against his chest while he turns you to be in the center of the shower’s spray. 

The three of you get cleaned up, and you’re sat on the countertop to be dried off. A towel tossed over your head and gently massaging your dripping hair. Sylus leaves the bathroom for a moment and comes back with some clothes. He slowly helps you put a pair of red panties on, and then a large shirt that smells a little too much like cognac and musk to be yours. 

Back in bed, you’re boneless. A boneless, wrung out rag sapped of your very soul. Xavier crawls in right behind you, curling around your body like a form fitting body pillow. Sylus takes a second to go and open one of the windows slightly, the sounds of the waves filling the room with their hypnotic lull.

Sylus enters the bed on the other side of you, walling you in. A battlement of stone and silver. There’s a unique kind of comfort that comes from the loss of movement that their heavy bodies provide, and you succumb to it with abandon.

The next day is filled with lounging beneath the beach umbrella, the sun-heated sand soothing the slight ache in your bones. Rafayel lies on his side beside you, propped on his elbow and placing a line of seashells down your back. The cool touch of each shell is like some kind of sensory spa experience, and you’re too sleepy to ponder on it. 

Resting on your stomach with your head cushioned by a rolled up towel, you submit to Rafayel’s little decoration exercise, and only peek your eyes open when you hear the shutter sound of a camera. 

He’s holding up his phone, a pair of charms dangling from the side– a fish and a kitten, a joke from Sylus. When he notices your incredulous look, he grins at you, “Stay still, cutie. I need some good reference pics.”

“Reference pics?” You repeat but Rafayel hushes you.

“The shells are perfect. They match the line of your spine just so. I need to get the right angle, hold still.” Rafayel is thorough and the sound of the shutter is near constant. His poor phone’s memory…

Sylus comes over, a long paddleboard tucked under his arm, “Get some vertical shots. I need a new phone wallpaper.”

You lift your head to scowl at Sylus, who grins toothily at you. You feel a few of the shells at your shoulders slip further down your back, and Rafayel whines in utter disbelief. “Don’t move!”

With a sigh, you lay back down but peer up at Sylus as best you can, “Are you going to surf?”

Sylus chuckles and shifts the board in his hold, “No, the bay is too calm for that. Zayne and I are just going to paddle around for a bit. He thinks we’ll see some dolphins.”

Your interest is piqued. “Dolphins?”

“You’re ruining my photoshoot.” Rafayel huffs. “Now you’ve promised dolphins. Go on then, go see the dolphins, cutie.”

Rafayel leans back, and you roll over to let the shells slide off. “Can I come? Do I need a board?”

“You can sit with me. Just don’t tip me over, okay?” Sylus lends you a hand to help you up, and you bounce to stand. Following him down to the water with a fluttering giddiness in your chest. 

Zayne catches up to you while Sylus helps you onto the board, telling you to sit before climbing onto it behind you. The dark-haired man’s even expression falls into displeasure, “She should have a life jacket.”

“Zayne!” You screech, “I’m not five! I can swim perfectly fine, and we have no intention of falling in, do we Sylus?”

“I’ll be at the very tippy top of my game.” Sylus replies mirthfully. 

Zayne grumbles a little, and climbs up onto his own paddleboard, “Accidents happen even at the best of times.”

“Well, good thing I have two strong men to rescue me should little ole’ me fall into the depths below.” You reply, only feeling a little bitter. 

Sylus hums and begins to paddle, pushing away from the shore and out towards the bay. You keep your knees close to your chest but let your fingertips dip into the edges of the water. Zayne follows a few feet back, and you can feel the tension in the air around him. Literally. The air around Zayne is several degrees cooler than the rest. 

You know he means well, and your injury has only exacerbated that protective side of his. He cares, and having such an extensive medical knowledge of all the very many things that can kill someone must be overwhelming. 

Thinking about it, with a clear head that matches the endless clear horizon, you realize that you’re much different than you used to be. Zayne knew you as a child. As a reckless, carefree child that was fearless even on their worst day. Then, as adults, he knew you as a hunter. A trained, honed professional that handled monsters and criminals without batting an eye. Getting hurt was a part of your job, but back then you had a team. 

There was protocol to follow for Hunters to minimize risk. Your fellow fighters could pull you out if things got too hairy, and the medical response was nearly as fast as your team was. 

Now? Now, you were alone. A suspended hunter who carried a firearm to make her lovers feel better. You’d turned into someone you barely recognized from your grief, and you realize that maybe…maybe Zayne didn’t recognize you either. 

The trip around the bay is slow. The paddles cutting into the water barely splash, and it’s achingly peaceful. Helios and Aeolus play a balancing game– the heat from the sun tempered by the wind's cool gusts. 

There isn’t much talking, not until you spy a dolphin less than twenty feet away. And you jump in utter childlike surprise that nearly sends Sylus toppling into the water. He smacks your arm slightly with the paddle for being foolish, but it's barely a tap. 

It’s barely a glimpse but it’s amazing! The pod of three silvery creatures swims just nearby but then quickly away, spooked by the unfamiliar creatures that are you and your boys. 

You wish you had your camera or something to commemorate it.

However, when you get back to shore, Rafayel has plenty of photos from the beach of the three of you. The reflection of the clouds on the water gives the optical illusion that you’re floating in the sky, and it's utterly magnificent.

You spend two weeks at that beach house. Two weeks of luxuriating like a Roman emperor on fine food and hedonistic sex. Wine is drank, and every surface of that house is christened with some new, creative act of debauchery. 

One morning, Zayne and you are the only ones awake. He sets you in the window seat on the eastern side of the house– the morning sun a halo behind you. The coffee you made is forgotten on the counter, and Zayne spends the next hour enjoying his breakfast. He eats you out like he’s actually starved for it, and doesn’t stop until you’ve come three times and the coffee has long since gone cold. 

Another evening, Xavier comes into your room, shushes you before you wake Rafayel at your side, and takes you out to the beach. He lays out a blanket and the two of you lay out under the stars. He points out constellations and planets– systems that are millions of lightyears away, and yet he knows them with such certainty. So, you have him keep naming the stars while you ride him. Watching as his eyes fall closed in rapture as he lists off the Triangulum galaxy and talks about the Magellanic clouds. Weeping of Andromeda on his lips when he finishes inside you. 

Rafayel tries on more than one occasion to get you into the water. Luring you out like a siren with promises of this being your little secret. The doctor doesn’t have to know. Just a little swim. You compromise on a soak in the large bathtub. The sunset painted him in shifting hues of copper, blush, and lavender. The water is warm, and bubbles overflow over the side of the clawfoot monstrosity that fits you both comfortably. Delicate little rainbow bubbles that pop silently with every shift. He makes love to you. Lips only parting for breath. and hips flush together. Instead of thrusts the two of you just roll together. Grind like flint and steel but the sparks turn to effervescent bubbles in the pool of your longing. 

Sylus steals a moment after the others have gone to bed. You help him lather some aloe over the sunburns on his back and shoulders– coating his nose for good measure as well. He returns the favor by massaging a citrus scented oil into your skin. Not stopping until you’re certain he’s touching you for the fun of it and not for anything else. He takes off your clothes like unwrapping a delicate parcel– piece by delicate piece. And all the teeth and aggression you’re used to from him has somehow dissolved into reverent tenderness. His movements are slow. They’re methodical. He lavishes you with the softest of kisses up and down your body. Like he might memorize the map of your skin through lips alone. 

When he carries you upstairs to the only empty bed left, he lays you down on it like a groom might a bride. And you suddenly feel the immortality of your feelings. The everlasting, never-changing permanence of what you feel for him. What you feel for all of them. 

He takes you slowly. With you beneath him in the oldest of fashions, and speaks words of poetic adoration the entire time. 

This trip has changed you, in a way. Not only have your ribs mended and flesh renewed, but your heart feels safe. Safe in a way it’s never felt before. The security of requited affection with no expiration. 

So, on your second to last day, you sit in the living room– words bubbling at your lips. Xavier and Rafayel sit across from each other at the coffee table, a game of scrabble between them. Zayne sits on the couch next to you– the both of you spectating the tenuous match while Sylus pulls a casserole out of the oven. 

“When we get back,” You start, voice shakier than you’d like. “I think…I’d like to go back to being a Hunter.”

The game of Scrabble stops. Rafayel pauses halfway through the word ‘juice’. All eyes turn to you, and you see a mixture of surprise and confusion. Xavier is the first to visibly react– a look of anticipatory excitement lighting up his face. The prospect of you returning to hunter work means working near him– working with him.

“What was that?” Zayne asks, sitting his magazine aside– not a magazine, a medical journal, Zayne had informed you when you’d teased him earlier.

“I know it changes things.” You amend quickly, “But I’d like to try. Captain Jenna said my job would be waiting for me. I could…I could do part time, so I can still keep up with the housekeeping–”

You’ve barely said the last word before Sylus is laughing. Filling the air with the dulcet sound of his rich-man laughter. He sheds his baby blue oven mitts, and walks over from the kitchen to the family room, smirking, “Sweetie, don’t be ridiculous.”

You sit up a little straighter, “What do you–”

“If you want to work part-time, that’s fine.” Xavier says, intervening on Sylus’ amusement. “But not because you need to be our housekeeper.”

“To be honest, I’m glad you brought it up.��� Rafayel says with a sigh, “It feels weird to be your employer and your lover. I’d rather be the latter please.”

You laugh breathlessly, “So, it’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay,” Zayne says with a hand to your back, “I tried to get you to stay without all this housekeeper nonsense to begin with.”

Inexplicably, there are tears springing to your eyes. You duck your head to wipe them away, laughing breathlessly at the absurdity of your body’s reaction. “I’m sorry. I guess…I wasn’t sure what you guys…if it was alright if I stayed…”

In an instant, you’re surrounded. Being cradled from all sides.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Rafayel hums, taking your hand and kissing the pulse on your wrist. 

“As long as you want to stay, you have a place with us.” Zayne whispers into your hair. His arm around your waist squeezes you tightly. 

“I can find us a bigger house,” Sylus says confidently, and then laughs, “Or have one built.”

Xavier is kneeling in front of you, hands on your thighs, and he nuzzles the side of his face against your knee like a cat, “I’ll talk to the Captain– or whoever else I have to. You’ll have your job back. Don’t worry about that.”

It all comes at you so quickly. The knowledge of your returned affection is one thing, but this blatant invitation to their fold is world-altering. You couldn’t imagine being without them, and it’s been that way for a long time. It’s been too scary to actually ask to stay. To stay not because you’re the housekeeper but because they want you there. 

That night, they move the furniture in the living room to make room for another large pile. All the blankets in the entire house are laying out in a nest bigger than your massive bed at home. Pillows piled high and your boys nestled around you.

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[forlix]

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・767 / 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・felix x gn!reader / 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲𝘀・fluff, established relationship, they're in love your honor, pt. 2 of me being very normal about paris lix

𝟬𝟮:𝟮𝟭 — The stars hang over your heads like rice wine dripping into a navy basin. Paris sprawls over your shoulders like a stretching sphinx. Yet the world, in all its rare, tranquil beauty, does not exist.

Nothing exists except for you. You, with your hood pulled over your head and the drawstrings tightened so the fabric scrunches around your wind-bitten cheeks. You, with a few strands of hair escaping from the cotton ring, catching on your eyelashes as they flutter, slipping between your lips as you speak. You, you, you.

Sometimes, Felix experiences something strange. It happened when you walked into the kitchen with puffy eyes and terrible posture, a spot of toothpaste on your chin. It happened at the sight of the warm smile you gave the barista as you ordered at your favorite cafe. It happened when he found you faceplanted into your keyboard at 3 A.M., the last fifteen pages of your research paper comprising nothing but the letter ‘g.’

And it happens now, as you recount the embarrassing situation you found yourself in that afternoon, sporting a smile that splits your face into two. Not down the middle, but slightly off to the side, the way it does when you’re really laughing.

Cue the telltale signs: an explosive blossoming in his chest, a mounting tightness in his throat, a feeling like he’s been ripped out of his body and, from a distance, finally recognizes himself for what he is.

A mortal man tasked to contain the galaxy that is his love, every sun and moon, every asteroid, every scrap of space debris belonging to you.

How he hasn’t yet burst at the seams is beyond him.

“I complimented the cab driver’s ass,” you say.

He blinks at you. “What?”

“I was trying to—”

You’re overcome by a breathless giggle, your interlocked hands swinging between your bodies.

“I was trying to thank him. Merci beaucoup, right? And then he looks at me like I’m crazy and drives away, and then it hits me.”

“Oh.” Felix says, and he, too, starts to smile, his mirth melting his face like a spreading flame. “Oh, no.”

“Merci beau cul,” you sigh. “I told him merci beau cul.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“A Freudian slip?”

“No wa—”

Your expression goes suddenly contemplative.

“Maybe, actually.”

His bark of laughter echoes around the empty grounds, accompanied with your insistence of you should’ve seen that thing, babe. He takes your word for it.

Your jetlagged adventure reaches climax some ten minutes later. You let go of Felix’s hand to run the rest of the distance, heels kicking up puffs of dust. The land silhouette sinks away, replaced by golden speckles that trickle into his field of vision until they’re all he can see.

At the hill’s pinnacle, you stand in silence. The strands of hair floating around you prior now thrash in the wintry winds, and you’ve swapped your wild grin for a stupefied gape. Your eyes glisten like mirror lakes, the city before you reflected in the pools of your pupils, cordoned within the shores of their lids.

There it is again. That familiar feeling of being torn away, of being crushed by the tonnage of his amour. He opens his mouth because he needs to, because he’ll burst at the seams if he doesn’t, just barely keeping the tremble in his voice at bay. 

“Can I take a picture of you?”

You look at him, confused.

“Only me?” He nods, and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Just trust me.”

And you do, with everything in you.

You turn your back to the nightscape. He positions himself a few feet away and slots his eye against the viewfinder. The lighting does you no favors with how it plunges you into shadow; you do Paris no favors with the radiance of your smile. Click.

Soonafter, you drift back to his side, plant a soft kiss to his cheek. He gazes at the live preview without a word, clutching his camera as tightly as if it's a piece of a shooting star.

Gently, you dust a finger beneath his chin. He lifts his eyes to meet yours, discovers your face meager centimeters away.

You will never know what you do to Felix, not to the fullest extent. But there are times, he thinks, when you have your suspicions, and this is one of them.

“You okay?” You whisper, your hand lifting to the curve of his cheek, and he slides his own around your wrist, the plush of his thumb nestling over your pulse. 

“Yes,” he whispers back, an understatement of prodigious proportions.

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© 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘅 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support.

[zarnzarn]

Random odypenath thought that I had today and needed to share.

Imagine this: Athena and Ody showing Penelope how they used to spar when training Odysseus, they spar a few times and times and Athena wins all of them, because duh, she's a goddess.

And Athena despite denying a lot is quite prideful, so she gloats a little saying that in over their 30 years of sparing Odysseus never once managed to beat her.

But we all know Ody is a little shit a heart, so he asks for another spar with her, to which she agrees without questions. Everything is going normally and Athena has him immobilized, she's ready to say that she won again, but then Odysseus suddenly kisses her.

It's nothing more than a quick peck, but this surprises Athena so much that she lets down her weapon and ends up letting Ody destabilize her making her fall down, giving Odysseus his first win against his teacher.

Athena's first instinct after falling is to look for Penelope, but to her surprise the woman isn't upset by the fact that her husband just kissed another person, she actually looks quite happy hiding her smile behind her hands.

"I won my love!" Odysseus says with the joyfulness of a child, practically jumping in the arms of his wife.

and Athena gets up and her mind still isn't quite sure if she's supposed to be flustered or annoyed.

And Odysseus just replies with his voice dripping with smugness that Athena herself had taught him that there wasn't such a thing as dirty tricks in a fight and that every tactic is valid if it helps you win a battle.

And Athena tries to argue against that, but she ends up lost for words because sadly she taught her little warrior of the mind too well and his argument was very solid. She ends up just huffing and saying that that was enough training for the day and she turns around to go back inside the palace. Odysseus and Penelope laugh themselves silly at their goddess's embarrassment, but nonetheless, they follow her inside.

Many hours later back at her palace on Olympus Athena freak out realizing that that was her first kiss and that oh my gods Odysseus had just taken her first kiss.

Anyway that was a lot of rambling that I probably won't manage to write into an actual fanfiction but I wanted the CEO of the odypenath fanbase to know

HI HELLO DANTSEM THANK YOU SO MUCH THIS WONDERFUL IDEA HAS BEEN ROLLING AROUND IN MY HEAD FOR AGESSS!!!!! sorry it took so long to answer my friend, I was tumbling it like a stone in my mind until it was perfect and shiny.

THIS IS SO. SO TRUE. OH MY GOD. even just odysseus and Athena sparring would be so cool after some 30 years of dirty tricks and training and fighting; all fancy footwork and fast attacks and smirks that have Penelope crossing her legs.

and of COURSE Athena cackles when he goes down- he learnt his trashtalk from somewhere after all- teasing him about how not even one win after all these years must SO grating, that it was kind of sad he hadn't even bested her ONCE.

penelope, because she is a rat, immediately goes oooooh while odysseus' mouth drops slowly open in offended shock, but still curled into a half-smile almost against his will. their eyes crinkle with their mirth even as Athena raises an eyebrow in challenge, because this is as known to them as breathing; not once had she ever mocked him without him springing to his feet and retaliating immediately.

(i imagine this is the first time they're acting this comfy again after the return; they were still tiptoeing around each other a bit emotionally till then but blood pumping + familiar ground of fighting means they're both open)

and he snaps up and swings out at her and athena parries with an amused, lazy smirk, that Penelope's husband matches with a wild blaze of teeth-

she's having the time of her life btw. Spartan culture still has its grip on her and seeing them fight, she is just. dying of lust on the side. dying, truly. between her husband keeping up with a goddess and the war goddess fighting on mortal soil at full power... poor woman's about to pass out from the heat.

they both get a good fight, spears knocked away and both of them reduced to a mad wrestle on the ground- but eventually, he grabs the wrong arm and she manages to pin him down, hands crossed and pulled in opposite directions, knee in the stomach.

she barely has time to grin in victory, ready to gloat, before his eyes flash with that spark of mischief she knows well and he's leaned up to press their mouths together.

she's so shocked that she barely registers movement until there's a foot in her abdomen and the world is upside down for a few odd seconds, eating dirt and then landing hard on her back, making her grunt.

"HA!" Odysseus shouts, eyes shining with victory and grinning wider than she'd ever seen him, pressing down his knees on her shoulders for three seconds before letting go with a whoop and running off so fast athena's left gawping at the empty sky, breath knocked out of her, cheeks burning. Her mouth is open in affront, at the blasphemy, at the fucking audacity- "Penelope, holy fuck, did you see that?"

Athena jerks at the queen's name and rolls up on one elbow, a mixed bag of furious on Penelope's behalf, a need for a commiserative do you fucking see this shit, and an odd need to start apologizing frantically, even though she did nothing.

But Penelope has her hands on her knees for support and is laughing behind one hand, face lined with mirth as her husband dances around her, hooting and hollering like he would have if he'd beaten her when he was twelve-

Athena's brain finally resumes its motions and she pushes herself off the ground with a scoff of disbelief, mouth still open. Her chest burns with a confusing cluster of emotions, now that the initial response to look for Penelope's reaction seems to be... unnecessary. Doesn't know whether to start shouting or lie back down and let Gaia take her out of embarrassment.

"I cannot believe you," She says finally. "I should set Diomedes on you."

Odysseus laughs and looks at her, eyes clear as he hangs off his wife. "Your top student, Athena, lover of clever strategies. No such thing as a dirty tactic, remember? I beat you, fair and square."

"Hah, please," She says automatically, waving him off, even as her chest pangs with something she's never felt before. "Not a person alive would call that a win."

She has never had a student best her. Not once. She has to swallow against a lump in her throat, eyes burning oddly even as she pastes on a teasing smile.

"-in fact, I have it written down, the merits of a good distraction, because you insisted-"

Athena makes the mistake of turning to glance to the side as she brushes herself off. Her heart skips a beat when she catches Penelope's gaze staring right back at her, no longer with the placidly uncaring look of earlier- eyes dark and expression calculating.

And then- Penelope smirks, small and dangerous, and raises an eyebrow. You liked it, didn't you?

"Training is over for today," She says, walking away quickly to the sound of laughter, and is subsequently heckled all the way back to the palace, the both of them cackling behind her all the way.

-

Later, she sits on her bed, getting all the way to taking off her armour and lying down, when the memory slams into her with full force, lips burning.

Her eye twitches. Her stupid fucking champion's idiot face swirls into mind, grinning like a maniac for finally having bested her and she snarls. She has no idea how to feel. Pride It was a good fucking tactic, too, which just makes her more annoyed.

Athena takes a deep breath in and out. Reaches for the nearest pillow.

The entire pantheon still wakes up when she screams.

-

"Why the fuck did I do that?" Odysseus says for the thousandth time, staring up at the ceiling with haunted eyes.

Penelope grunts unhelpfully next to him, almost asleep.

"She's going to get her bearings tomorrow and kill me," He says fatalistically. "Pallas Athena is going to beat me to death in a rage, because I am the stupidest creature alive, and- Penelope. Penelope. I kissed her."

"I know. Sleep."

"I'm not a dog!" Odysseus protests. "And aren't you listening? I kissed Athena."

"She won't do anything," Penelope rasps, moving closer and draping one arm across his chest. "Also I know. I was there. You have not shut up about it since she left."

Odysseus groans and pushes his palms into his eyes. "Why didn't you stop me?"

"Honestly, I wanted to see if you had the guts," Penelope says, hiding a smile in his shoulder as he looks over to glare at her. "And I say this with love, sweetheart, but everyone has been waiting for this for ages. In fact, I have bets to collect tomorrow, do remind me."

Odysseus sputters. "Who 'everyone'?" He demands.

"Telemachus, for one," Penelope yawns. "And probably every being with a trickle of divinity in them and a couple thousand without-"

"TELEMACHUS?" Odysseus sits up, so incredibly offended that she chokes on her yawn and wakes up a bit more to laugh at it. "MY SON? HER STUDENT? MY OWN FLESH AND BLOOD-"

"He actually thought you two already were, I think," Penelope muses, tucking her hands behind her head. "He already knew how she stood in as my husband when times got... tough, during Troy. And the champions frequented our halls often at the start, and had many irritated anecdotes of how Pallas Athena absolutely doted on you, whispering wisdom and cheating in your fights so that you won."

"Doted?" Odysseus gawps at her. His cheeks are red. "As if, half the time she was yelling at me-"

"-And how she was cold and distant with her stewards, but always had time for her favourite-"

"I wasn't her favourite!" Odysseus protests, even as his voice cracks a bit in the middle, some small part of him still stuck in the moment where she had tossed him aside over that first slight against her will, that had grown roots believing all those years after that she had never looked back, and gone on to other students, other champions.

"Are you embarrassed?" Penelope laughs, pushing herself up. "Odysseus, come on, there is absolutely no way you do not know! I've heard all the stories of Troy and how much she did for you- Do you think interfering this much is the norm for gods? Would any patron stand up to Zeus in their favour? Would anyone know their champion's preferred fruit? That goddess is gone for you, take it from me and all her other incredibly jealous followers. Anyone with eyes can see it."

Odysseus frowns, feeling uneasy about the picture she paints, how any other woman would take it. "Penelope, I'm sorry if- you- there's nothing-"

"Ah, yes, how woeful that I don't the troubles of a normal wife with a husband blessed by a god," Penelope snarks. "Would have to deal with the incredibly cruel fate of watching my incredibly attractive husband fuck my incredibly attractive patron goddess, but no, I had to get stuck with the only two idiots who don't enjoy a good coupling and couldn't express an emotion if your lives depended on it-"

"Penelope! We're just friends!" Odysseus says loudly. "And more importantly, she's my goddess- the virgin goddess, if you've somehow forgotten- I would never-"

"Friends don't cuddle on the grass after spars and murmur to each other like that!" Penelope says louder, throwing her hands out. "And it's one thing for you to not know, you're married and dumb as a rock about it- what's her excuse for not knowing you're in love with her?"

Odysseus wheezes ungracefully, feeling somewhat like he's taken a fall off a tall flight of steps. "I'm not-"

"Oh, don't even try," Penelope rolls her eyes, sounding for all the world like they're having an argument about the curtains. All the women of the country would hate having to fight for their beloved's attention in the face of godliness, and here Odysseus has to deal with this woman sulking that he wasn't gone over- fuck, he can't even make himself think it. "You haven't heard yourself pray. Or talk to her. Or just talk about Athena in general."

"And, what," Odysseus demands, pushing himself up on his elbows, staring at her in disbelief. "You're fine with this?"

"Fine?" Penelope looks at him like he's the crazy one here. "I've been waiting for weeks for something to happen! Oh gods- do you seriously not know?"

"There's nothing to know!" Odysseus shouts. "I'm not- she's not-"

"Unbelievable," Penelope says, putting her face in her hands.

"What is wrong with you?" Odysseus bursts out as the craziness of the situation finally bursts upon him. "Are you mental?"

"How am I mental?" Penelope throws her hands up. "It's true!"

"It's-" Odysseus' denial dies on his tongue as his mind forces him to consider it without his consent, and. Well.

"You're mad," He says quickly, and flops back down face-first into the pillow. Penelope hollers in victorious, mocking laughter overhead and he reaches out to tickle her to get her to stop. She squeals and a smile catches on his lips- he's too weak to her laughter to not follow up.

"Is this- ah, stop!- the thanks I get?" Penelope demands a few minutes of struggling later, giggling still. "Just you wait- Athena! Oh goddess of the iron and loom, the spear and thread- AH!"

"Have you lost your mind?" Odysseus demands, shaking her by the hand over her mouth, half-laughing himself.

"Trust me!" Penelope drawls, eyes sparking with cunning. His smile falters in the face of it, beautiful though it makes her look, as the rest of the night comes rushing back and with it, the possibilities of absolute disaster that his wife was clearly heading towards in her delusions.

"Penelope, listen-" Odysseus sighs, but before he can say anything more, she's reached out and snapped off one of the branches from their tree.

"ATHENA!" She yells, loud enough that Odysseus rocks back from the force of it, then rocks back forward from the sharp familiar crack from the back of the room.

"I am not a dog!" Athena snaps, hands thrown out and curled into claws the way it only gets when she's really annoyed. Odysseus has one brief moment of considering wildly every direction he can fling himself towards to hide in the mere seconds he has before her gaze falls upon him, but it's already too late.

"YOU!" Athena snarls, still in her white robes, eyes blazing with anger. Odysseus yelps and scrambles backwards, pointing at Penelope with one hand and raises the other in mute surrender.

Athena growls like a lion and stalks to the bed, fists clenched at her sides. Her hair is raised up like a bush, as if she was running her fingers through it, making her look more crazed than he's ever seen her.

"I. Fucking." Athena slams a hand and leg down on either side of him, glaring still, making the bed shake as she climbs over him. "Despise. You."

Odysseus' words falter on his lips as he looks up at her, feels the pieces fall into place as fast as falling marbles seeing his own emotions reflected in her eyes- longing and confusion and hesitation and hilariously, the same little bit of disgust- and he reaches up the same time she leans down and-

Athena makes a noise and abruptly pushes her face off to the side so his lips drag across her browbone. He stares up at the ceiling for a few moments with the crushing anxiety of what did I just do, before he feels Athena shiver against him and automatically wraps all limbs around her in an embrace borne of some animal instinct to keep a person warm.

She obligingly shrinks down to human proportions and clings back. Every last argument, every last stilted apology feels like it pales in face of this embrace, like it finally has settled in for both of them that it's over. He no longer has to be her warrior, just her friend. That they'll be alright.

He has a feeling they both might be crying a little.

"See!" Penelope chirps and they both nearly jump out of their skin. "Told you."

"Yes, yes," Odysseus gripes, Athena scowling up at her grumpily. Penelope smiles wider and he feels them both soften grudgingly, Athena sighing as Odysseus pulls Penelope down to kiss her. "You were right."

"Hm," Penelope preens, rolling closer to both of them and throwing an arm over Athena's lower back. The goddess looks at her narrowly, and she grins back.

Athena huffs in acceptance and closes her eyes, shifting minutely to allow Penelope to stroke up and down her back curiously, playing with the feathers at the nape of her neck. Penelope's going to try kissing her tomorrow, she wearily thinks.

"You didn't win that round, by the way," She says suddenly and Penelope snorts.

Odysseus makes a loud noise of offense. "Of course I did-"

[nellynee]

There's something very viscerally emotional, something between enamoured and inspired and being seen, that pings in me about the relationship between Love and Divinity in Great God Grove.

The game has such a pointed commentary on censorship through redefining and mislabeling things in Hobbyhoo that I can't help but feel like the "unappealing to the masses" tension that was edited out of "Oh Partner Mine" wasn't unappealing for its queerness but from its openness, the romance itself, the love.

And I think about the large gap in time between innovation and creation, and that of love. How the world of GGG had needed love so much that they exalted the spread and embodiment of it into Divinity after centuries without a new god. The world before and after Thespius and how he must have reached the hearts of literally thousands to get the vote on love alone. How it touches and empassions the worshipers despite its lack of general appeal.

I think of the Rebellion in BuzzHuzz being about reunification, not mutiny. About Mildread and community and memory and the plenty of the earth being the same. About Bauhauzzo's tears and his adoration for the good and bad. I think about the ancient god of Nighttime's tears, heart exposed, and a gathering of worshipers standing in the rain, more worried about her emotions than a flood. About Click Clack wanting to love Thespius so much that the greatest gift he can imagine is the entire world's love.

I think of Inspekta's fall and the lack of love there. About a pantheon with such a wide gap in time, about how surely, surely Inspekta was not the first god to change his mind. The way the gods adore their worshipers, but are distant, referring to them as almost a part of the self. Self love, but not connection. How they pair off and find connection with one another. How Mitternacht lost all capability after disconnecting from her favorite mortal. How Cobigail's domain is withering and she's loosing herself. I think about how she and Inspekta are both mortal within living memory of the population, how Inspekta is at a crossroads that Cobigail seems to have successfully navigated, the acceptance of that disconnect from mortality into the Divine love for all. How he probably took one look at his aging congregation, and realized that he embodies a concept built on loneliness without said congregation, on the concept of being on top, and realized there was no one left for him soon, and the loneliness that must have inspired, the fear, the lack of love, and how he falls from grace. I think about how he grew up in a world where love was a form of worship, and how wanting it as a god must have hurt his pride, to need the blessings of another god the way the others didn't seem to need him anymore.

I think about the open queerness of it all and yet the Grove isn't treated as a queer paradise where you can express yourself. It's treated like this is simply the world, an entire planet in which expression is seen, but stories of love and words of affection can be bitten back in fear. The devout who live in the grove open and affectionate in ways visitors aren't.

The god of memory cries. The goddess of night weeps. Creation, innovation, stories, song, mirth, elequence, teamwork, communication, community, LOVE!

LOVE LOVE LOVE

(Love is Zelotism, and not everyone is a zelot. We must appeal to everyone. Spread the Good Word Click Clack)

In a world without a god of war, a god of victory or medicine or the sun, for the first time in ages, the people demanded Love!

Love is Worship! Love is Divine!

I think of the world outside the grove, and the depictions of love, how love must seem to some degree now like prayer. The very real vision that Love equates to worship; a malcontent masses choosing repression and privatization of their love as an act of atheism.

Love is an act of God!

Idk what my point here is. Something about that one might look at a heart locket as one might a cross on a chain. The relationships people in general and individually might have with love as it's associated with religion. The story of these gods and how successful they are in terms of love given and received. There's something fascinating there to chew on.

[ultravi0lence14]

ANGEL BABY

SAM WINCHESTER X FALLENANGEL!READER

SUMMARY: until you gave up heaven so we could be together. . .

WORD COUNT: 762

your feet felt like lead, anchored to the ground as five of your brothers and sisters stared back at you with glaring faces. your own was solemn, downturned with tears pricking your waterline. they weren’t falling because of the decision you made, they were falling just like you were about too; and that’s what scared you the most.

this decision was out of love, out of pure, unadulterated adoration that you held for a mortal. the other angels didn’t understand that. they went down to earth, saw humans as weaker and lesser beings, atoms and hunks of mass that they were greater than.

but you saw love and happiness. you saw connections that the angels couldn’t even bear to understand.

“why are you doing this?” the one angel in the middle asked, hands stuffed into his pockets as he stared at you glaringly. the rest weren’t any better, and the shaking in your hands started to become worse.

holding in a tight breath, you fisted the bottom of your white dress before the answer left your lips. “i realized that humans have something that we don’t. they have souls — they care, love, laugh, cry, hold each other; and i find that more devastatingly beautiful then what i am programmed to feel.”

you were slowly dying as an angel. wings drooping and the word forever started feeling like mirth in your palms. it became something you could easily give up so you could be human; be with the man who allowed you to realize all of these emotions.

sam saw you dying, saw your resolve slowly cracking, and he brought you back to life in a revival that could muster the emotion from a thousand men.

rage in the angels’ eyes were clear as your truth, and you could tell that they didn’t understand your words, didn’t understand your meanings.

the same angel with his hands in his pants pockets just glared, keeping his iced over eyes on your timid yet resolved features. “you know what this means, don’t you? you aren’t an angel, you aren’t our sibling, we don’t want to see your traitorous face ever again.”

his words were sent to cut you down, tear long gashes into your chest and make you beg for forgiveness. though you didn’t feel a thing. the only emotion swimming through your mind and body contempt as you waited to reunite with sam again.

a nod was all you could muster, your hair billowing around you like the halo you were about to lose. you should’ve been scared, should’ve been shaking at the thought of falling down to earth from the highest heavens. but you knew what was waiting for you when you landed. the soft, gentle hands that would cradle your mangled body like it meant something.

and that left you less nervous than you thought you’d be.

nothing else was said. nothing else could be said. all the head angel did was nod back, and in the snap of fingers, you were tumbling down from the heavens.

it was less scary than the stories you heard. other angels gossiped that it apparently felt like your bones were filleting themselves. yours probably were, yet all you could feel was peace.

arms outstretched beside you, dress floating around your body, the wind blowed in your eyes as you descended to earth.

it was melancholy.

ethereal.

the first breath of love.

as you landed harshly on earths soft soil, you could feel the crawl of ivy bloom on your skin — flowers igniting on your arms and sunshine beating down on your face.

sam didn’t know his touch was such a comfort to you. that his arms wrapping around your body would feel like ivy, that his fingers tracing patterns on your skin would be the bloom of a rose, or not his soft breath on your cheeks would be helios shining down on you.

it was all so romantic, and the smile that broke across your cheeks was proof of it.

luminous green eyes came into your view, hands shaking as they reached up to touch the angular face above you. “sam?” his name came out like a question, a larger smile breaking on your face when you felt the head in your palms nod.

“it’s me, angel. all me.” tears were leaking down his cheeks, soaking your hands as he bent down and kissed you on the forehead.

soft like silk, a breath of fresh sunshine and new beginnings, sam whispered in your ear.

“my angel baby. my girl. finally she is home to me.”

TAGS: @starzify @titsout4jackles @daylighted @deansbeer @bluemerakis @sunsbaby @littlesoulshine @figthoughts @haunteres @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @j2archives @nekkiotine @a-lil-pr1ncess @s0urw00lf @flow33didontsmoke @whump-loverz @sunnyteume @mostlymarvelgirl

NAT BABBLES: saw a lily calloway edit to this song, listened to it, loved it, wrote a fic about it

[p0ssywhippedcream]

I have another tt idea I've had brewing, and since you seem eager...

Same set up, apollo x newlyimmortal! wife reader where she sees him in his true, immortal form for the first time. Idk, it's an interesting concept imo, but I hate to milk you for 2 reqs in a row!

Thanks again ✌️🩷!!!

"That's it?"

"W-what do you mean that's it?!" Apollo resolidifies into his usual look just to dramatically gawk at you.

"Well, I was expecting more." You shrug from where you stand on incinerated grass. He took you to a desolate field for this, and in truth it didn't look nearly as impressive as he made it out to be, even if it was a sight to behold.

"More?" He yells again, exaggerating his baffled demeanor. "I just gave you a whole light show!"

"I dunno... could've been cooler." At this point you're just milking it as you fake a yawn behind a hand that stiffles giggles when he throws his arms around and stutters.

"You- I- This is- You're being ridiculous! That beautiful demonstration of power has killed mortals!"

You have to bite your lip to help from laughing when you retort, "What a lame way to die."

"Sunshine, I swear-!" And it's now that he notices the shake of your mouth and the rosy tint in your cheeks as you hold back chortles. "You- You're joking?"

You burst out laughing, tears easily flowing from your eyes as you double over. Apollo watches you with an unimpressed look on his face as he conceals the quick smile that comes from seeing you happy.

When you finally gain control of yourself, you approach him and rub his arms with mirth in your eyes. "It was very cool, baby. Very impressive." You assure him.

Despite his eye roll, a proud smirk takes his lips anyway. "Yeah, yeah, I'm aware."

[art-missy]

The best choice of your life. Your inspiration at its peak. Your creativity at its best. Your ultimate piece of art. You could only feel pride while staring at it, your chin held high and your smile wide.

"Are you for real, dude ?"

There, immortalised on the canvas, a painting of Larry wearing pigtails.

"I am, Larry-bear," you nodded, fists on the hips and a big grin on your face. "Isn't it beautiful ?"

In the background, one could hear Gizmo wheezing of laughter. Sal, on the other hand, was silent, too focused on his video game. But with enough attention, one could see his shoulders shaking in mirth.

"I admit that it is well executed," Larry snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. "The colors are warm and well harmonized and your shading technique is sick. I can't believe you had the idea of painting me with pigtails and made it awesome."

His words made your chin hold even higher.

"Bow before my greatness, you pitiful mortal !"

Playfully rolling his eyes, Larry complied with a clumsy curtsey, another snort escaping him.

"Satisfied ?"

"Very," you nodded. "I should offer this painting to your mom."

This time, Sal let out a laugh so booming he lost his game and Gizmo jumped on a shelf in fright.

"You what ?" blinked Larry. "Why ?"

"I mean, she did spawn the source of my inspiration. I should give her this masterpiece as a sign of my appreciation for her work."

Larry momentarily looked at you with eyes that were wondering if you inhaled too much paint, then ended up shrugging, now used to your antics.

"Don't forget to sign it," he reminded you, ruffling your hair.

"Next time, I'll paint you as one of these ponies Charley and Sandy used to collect."