#now back to my incomprehensible chanting

[belle--ofthebrawl]

You are most definitely some sort of fae creature and bad at hiding it. With a light dusting of chaos incarnate.

Who said anything about trying to hide my impish nature? Perhaps at the start when I didn't know anyone but now...the glamour is dropped. Look through this hagstone, if you have the nerve to try. What will you see, I wonder...

[pucksandpower]

Under the Influence

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc knows three things (1) wisdom teeth have nothing to do with being wise (2) his face looks like a chipmunk and (3) he really really really loves his girlfriend

Warnings: mention of minor medical procedure

You wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing on the nightstand. Bleary eyed, you reach for it and squint at the screen. 37 missed calls and too many texts to count, all from Charles.

It’s the big day — your boyfriend is finally getting his wisdom teeth removed this morning. You had wanted to go with him to the oral surgeon but Charles insisted he would be fine on his own.

Clearly, that was not the case.

The phone starts vibrating again and you swipe to answer. Before you can even say hello, Charles��� slurred voice comes through the speaker. “Ma choupinette! I misssss you!” He draws out the last word for several seconds. You stifle a laugh at how loopy he sounds from the painkillers.

“Hi, my love. How are you feeling?” You ask gently.

You hear some shuffling on his end of the line.

“I feel ... so good! I can’t feel my face though. Is it still there?” More shuffling noises. “Yep, still here! Wow, my cheeks are soooo big and fluffy now!” He descends into a fit of giggles.

You grin and shake your head. Your poor Charles is definitely still under the influence of the drugs. “I’m glad you’re not in any pain. Are you home already?”

“Yep! Safe and sound in my bed. But it’s so lonely without you here. You should come over and cuddle me!” His words come out muffled, no doubt because his mouth is still numb.

You glance at the clock — it’s still relatively early in the morning. “I would love to but I have a few things to take care of first. I’ll come by this afternoon to check on you though, okay?”

Charles lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Fiiiiiine. Hey, did you know you’re the most beautiful girl in the whole world? And you’re so nice too! I’m the luckiest ...” He trails off into incomprehensible mumbling.

You have to press your hand to your mouth to hold in your laughter. Anesthetized Charles is even more adorable than regular Charles. “Thank you, my love. You’re very kind. Now get some rest, I’ll see you soon.”

“Okayyyy, bye bye gorgeous!” Charles singsongs before hanging up. Still chuckling, you set your phone down to start getting ready for the day. Your productivity is short lived however, as your phone immediately starts buzzing again.

Charles is calling you back.

With a mix of amusement and exasperation, you answer the call. Before you can ask what’s wrong, Charles’ cheerful voice exclaims, “I forgot to tell you I love you!”

You can’t help but laugh out loud this time. “I love you too, Charles.”

“Yay!” He cheers. In the background, you hear a woman’s voice telling Charles to stay in bed and get some rest. It must be his mother looking after him. Thank goodness for her help today.

You talk Charles into hanging up and leaving you be for now. As entertaining as loopy Charles is, you do need to run some errands. You eventually make it out the door and head into town. While perusing the aisles of the grocery store, your phone buzzes again. Expecting it to be Charles, you don’t even look at the screen before answering with an amused, “Yes, my love?”

Instead of your boyfriend’s sleepy voice, you hear numerous screams and squeals on the other end. Before you can ask what’s happening, the chaos turns into a bunch of people chanting “Say it again! Say it again! Say it again!”

Your stomach drops. You pull the phone away to look at the screen. Sure enough, Charles is broadcasting on Instagram Live and waving at an alarmingly large crowd of fans gathered below his apartment. Dreading what you’re about to witness, you bring the phone back to your ear. The chanting continues until Charles finally obliges.

“Y/N Y/L/N, I love you sooooo much! You’re the bestest, most bootiful, charming girl in the whole universe and I love you more than racing!” His confession is met with deafening squeals from his adoring devotees. You stand frozen in the cheese aisle, one hand clutching your grocery basket, cheeks flaming red. This is not exactly how you hoped your relationship would go public.

Charles is still slurring sluggishly into the phone, rambling on about how perfect and wonderful you are. You try to get a word in edgewise to stop him but his fans keep egging him on.

“Charles, honey, maybe you should get off Live and rest ...” you attempt feebly.

He gasps dramatically. “Wait, are you my girlfriend? Y/N? Is that you?”

You sigh, resigned to your fate. “Yes Charles, it’s me.”

The screams somehow increase in volume at this admission. Charles laughs with delight. “Guys, this is my girlfriend! Isn’t she the coolest? I’m the luckiest guy ever!”

Despite your embarrassment, you can’t help but melt a little at his ear-to-ear grin and heart eyes on the screen. He looks utterly smitten, even in his disoriented, post-op state. His fans seem to be eating it up too, flooding the comments with things like “My life won’t be complete until someone looks at me the way that Charles looks at Y/N” and “Charles is boyfriend of the year!”

You spend the next 15 minutes gently trying to persuade Charles to end the livestream and rest to no avail. He is having far too much fun gushing about you and interacting with his followers. You field a few questions from curious fans, keeping your answers light to avoid revealing too much. It’s clear they are enthralled by this lovestruck version of the normally private Ferrari driver.

Finally, after Charles has told the story of your first date no less than five times, his mother comes to your rescue. She appears on camera and tenderly tells Charles the “show” is over and he needs to sleep. He pouts adorably but allows her to tuck him back into bed and take away his phone. Just before the Live ends, he blows a loopy kiss to the camera and says “Love you, mon chouchou!” The fans go wild in the chat before the feed cuts out.

You slump against your shopping cart in relief. Your phone is already flooded with texts from friends and family who saw the Instagram fiasco. You shoot off some quick reassurances that you’re both fine and it was just the medication talking. Bagging the rest of your abandoned groceries, you check out as fast as possible. There’s somewhere you need to be right now.

Twenty minutes later you’re knocking on the door of Charles’ apartment. His mother opens it with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry about earlier dear, the anesthesia made him a bit out of it as I’m sure you noticed.”

Charles perks up when you enter his bedroom. “You came!” He mumbles happily, making grabby hands at you. You settle onto the bed next to him and he immediately nuzzles into you like an affectionate kitten. His mother slips out to give you two some privacy.

You run your fingers soothingly through his hair. “How are you feeling now, my love?”

“Mmm ... sleepy. And really happy you’re here." He smiles dopily up at you. “Did I do something silly earlier? I don’t really remember.”

You debate downplaying it but figure he’ll find out eventually when the internet explodes. “You may have repeatedly declared your undying love for me on an Instagram Live ...” you say sheepishly.

Charles’ eyes go wide. “No way, really? Wow ...” He blinks slowly, processing this new information. A sly grin spreads across his swollen face. “Well it’s true. I meant every word.”

You kiss his forehead tenderly. “I know you did. Now get some more rest, I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Charles looks up at you adoringly. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you more,” you boop him on the nose.

He giggles. “No way. I love you more-er.”

“Impossible. I love you most,” you insist.

“Nuh-uh,” Charles protests. “I love you most-est.”

You laugh at his stubborn persistence. “Alright, you win. Now close your eyes.”

Charles snuggles impossibly closer into your side and soon his breathing evens out as he drifts back to sleep. You brush a few curls off his forehead and whisper “I love you most-est-est.”

You make sure the blankets are wrapped securely around him and shake your head affectionately at your adorable, clueless boyfriend. Today certainly didn’t go as expected but you wouldn’t trade your Charles for anything in the world.

[myownwholewildworld]

Love is heartbreak

↪ a the age of adaline inspired fic

pairing: marcus acacius x ageless!f!reader. summary: kissed by the goddess juno on your day of reckoning, you are brought back to life, condemned to wander the earth for a century. until you meet the other half of your soul who offers you the life you yearn for. but will you be strong enough to accept such promise? author's note: yes, i've cheated on my other wips, I'M SORRY. but when the angst and romance call, i can only answer - i am only human afterall. hope you like this little story that was supposed to be a drabble but ended up being this long, oops! comments and reblogs appreciated. enjoy! x warnings: 18+, mdni. soulmates trope. angst, romance, smut. mild breeding kink (soz). infidelity. mention of SA (not by Marcus) and death. dual pov. reader is female and a blank slate. reader is close to 150 years old (stopped ageing in her twenties) and Marcus is in his fifties. not beta'd and very lightly proofread, apologies if you spot any mistakes lol wordcount: ~8.4k. divider by @\saradika-graphics

“I’ll do anything to stay by your side, amica mea (my beloved). I don’t care about what the future holds if it’s not with you,” Marcus’ broad hands held yours, his thumb drawing invisible circles on the back of your hands.

You hated this — how your heart twisted inside you, torn apart by the choice you had to make. Was this never-ending life not enough punishment? No, you also had to go through heartbreak — your own and Marcus’. For love, you had to.

With eyes averted, you looked down at your worn sandals. Tears teetering on the edge of your waterlines as your vision became blurry with sadness, regrets and fears washed over you like the Tiber kissing the shore goodbye.

In your hundred years wandering the ground beneath your feet, you never had to go through this. Always so careful not to feel, not to grow close to anyone, not to really live the life you wanted, and now you were in a position where it almost felt too real.

Within reach — you only had to extend your hands and hug him in a tight, soothing embrace. Only needed to accept the life that Marcus was offering. Though as much as you wanted to—you wanted it, him, so badly—you could never.

And what was worst, you couldn’t explain why. First you would see the horror in his eyes, that frightened look glittering, then incomprehension, and finally disgust. Your heart couldn’t take it.

“But I do care, Marcus. Yours is bright, your military career is about to take off. I would only hinder you, your dreams. I am no one, and—” you tried to reason with him.

But love was blind. Love was deaf. Love didn’t care about impossibilities, because love was defiant.

At least his was.

“Do you think I care about being disowned? Do you truly believe that I would choose such dreadful life over you? Over a wonderful life with the person I love most?” Marcus squeezed your hands before one of his found your chin, tilting up your face to him. “Omnia vincit amor, et nos cedamus amori (love conquers all, let us too yield to love).”

You shook your head in denial, his words ringing in your ears like chants of war. Because Marcus waged war in all aspects of life, even in love — he’d conquered your heart so fully, you’d never asked him to return it. It would forever be his to cherish, to cry over, to destroy, to hate.

Because he would need to hate you to overcome the heartbreak you were about to cause.

“You don’t have a choice here. You are to marry the lady your family has arranged for; her family’s prestige will do you good. You’re just infatuated, Marcus, it isn’t true love,” you forced yourself to let a soft laugh out, wiping your tears as you took a step back. “At least, for me, it isn’t.”

Marcus’ expression folded and your heart with him. You hated yourself for saying such a vile lie, but a necessary one. The passage of time would not affect you, always stagnant in your early twenties after a fateful day when Juno decided to save your life from certain death. The Goddess of love and marriage was also one known for Her eternal youthfulness — one She would only share with those who had been wronged. And you had been so wronged in your mortal life.

And here you were, so close to committing the same mistake all over again. But you knew better this time — not because you didn’t trust Marcus, but because Fate was capricious. It didn’t matter if Juno was watching over you.

“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t. This is true love, lux mihi (my light), one that would live through eternity,” Marcus muttered breathlessly, reaching for you again, looking for that unbreakable connection you both strongly shared.

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus,” you retorted, forcing your tone to sound mocking.

Another step back with an unmovable expression and you saw realisation dawning on him. Slowly like a river widening its meanders, steady like the constant flow of water. Relentless you were, steadfast in your resolution.

“Ave atque vale (hail and farewell), Acacius,” were your last words to him.

35 years later...

“Father, may I marry her?”

Marcus gazed down the dining table, eyeing his son with consideration. He knew what it felt like, how true love messed up your head to the point of madness. He had felt that way only once in his life, and it wasn’t for the woman sitting beside him.

As cruel as it sounded, Marcus never loved his wife, because his heart belonged to someone else — the now hazy memory of a woman who always lingered on the edges of his mind. A cruel reminder of how feeble and fleeting love was, how love turned into heartbreak with just a few words.

“At least, for me, it isn’t.”

That sentence alone had broken him, his ability to feel some sort of romantic connection died that very same day. At night it would haunt him, filling his dreams with nightmares. The same scene playing over and over in his mind, his heart cracking even more every time those words would hit him.

He’d waited for weeks, months. A year it took him to realise you truly were not coming back, that you meant it. He’d only been a plaything for you, a toy you discarded once things got too real. And at that point he surrendered to the pressure his family put on him. Marcus had followed through with the arranged marriage in the end, despite the agony and the empty hole in his chest.

And now his son was following in his footsteps. His heir looked so much like him, like a reflection of the past staring back at him. It pained him — he saw himself in Magnus, almost as if the roles had reversed and he was his own father thirty-five years ago. Pleading, asking to marry the love of his life even though his hand had already been promised in holy matrimony to another.

His wife, Prisca, waved one of her hands with disdain, the spoon clattering on the porcelain plate.

“Nonsense, Magnus,” she tutted at their son. “We’ve already been through this. You will marry Verina. You’d put us in a very compromised position with Gellius if you don’t.”

“But—”

“Quit your whining and man up, my son. Gellius is the Emperor’s best counsellor. It will bring our family great reputation,” Prisca reasoned, tone poisoned with greed. “And riches.”

“Father?” Magnus’ eyes shot to his, pleading him to intervene.

Marcus sensed Prisca stiffening besides him, gripping the arms of the chair like a vice. He didn’t look in her direction but knew how her orbs distilled venom. She would never understand what their son was talking about, but he did. Too damn right.

“I would like to meet her before giving you my blessing,” he spoke calmly, lacing his hands together on top of the wooden table.

Magnus’ eyes sparked up, a hopeful smile curling his mouth.

“Of course, of course! She’s waiting right outside,” and then his son hurried out of the room.

Prisca stood up, the screeching noise of the chair’s legs irritating Marcus.

“Like father, like son,” she muttered maliciously before disappearing too.

In this moment of silent respite, Marcus pinched the bridge of his hooked nose. The patience he had to muster was titanic. His life had been nothing but heartache and war, his son being the only reason he stood by his wife’s side in public. He’d tired of the pantomime, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

He would meet the woman who had stolen Magnus’ heart, just to make sure there was no deception from her part. Marcus wouldn’t wish for his son to go through the same heartbreak as him. If everything was at it should, then he wouldn’t oppose.

“Father,” Magnus called, and Marcus removed the hand from his exhausted, battle-scarred face.

His heart literally stopped.

A warm smile softened your expression when Magnus asked you to join his family in the dining hall. You had been sitting patiently in a small waiting room, wondering if this was right.

The first time you had laid eyes on Magnus a week ago, your heart jolted, and your mind went blank. He reminded you so much of your one and only true love, the one you ditched thirty-five years ago because you were too afraid to embrace the beautiful life he had offered you. The one you still felt in your heart, dormant yet very present in your everyday life.

Perhaps it was wrong of you to encourage this situation, whatever this was. When Magnus had asked you that morning to join his family for supper, he had caught you off guard, so you found yourself agreeing to it.

Deep down you knew why you hadn’t disappeared yet: you wanted to live this moment one more time. Wanted to remember how it felt to be loved so fiercely by Marcus, a yearning you’d been craving for over three decades. Only this man wasn’t Marcus, only someone who was his spitting image.

One dinner, a few hours more of playing pretend, and then you’d vanish again. Leave Rome behind after such brief visit before someone recognised you. You couldn’t afford to give any explanations, so you’d only visit this place once every decade.

You walked behind Magnus, head slightly bowed and hands laced in front of you. Magnus’ broad body blocked your vision, but soon enough he stepped aside to introduce you.

You curtsied, eyes averted, fixed on the marble slabs.

Before you straightened your back and introduced yourself, the man across the room spoke your name — your real birthname.

Inevitably, your heart sank to your belly with panic and your eyes quickly drifted up to meet the darkened ones you once had allowed yourself to swim in.

Marcus. Your Marcus.

Your heart raced in your chest and filled with pure joy. You couldn’t stop the smile that had started curling your lips nor the glassiness of your eyes.

Your one and true love was staring back at you with widened, tired eyes. He had gotten up off his chair and was striding towards you before he suddenly halted a couple of meters away from you with confusion painting his handsome features. Ones that had not remained impassible to the passage of time and war, but ones that you daydreamed about every single day without fail.

So within reach — you would only need to close the distance between you two and hug him, hug him till dawn and never let go. Oh, how much you missed him, how much you still loved him. With your whole heart, the one that ached and wept with regret in your chest right now.

Would he love you back? Did you break the love you shared past the point of mending?

“What? Her name is Aurora, father,” Magnus chuckled nervously, his eyes dancing between the two of you, puzzled. “This is the woman who has stolen my heart. I would like to marry the love of my life with your blessing.”

Your eyes flew from Marcus to Magnus at the revelation, bewildered. Marriage? Was this what it was all about, the purpose of his invitation to meet his family? Marcus’ son wanted to marry you?

You had not seen that coming, as it wasn’t your intention at all. You had only wanted to live this fleeting fantasy of yours for a few days, but there wasn’t love. Not like the one you felt for Marcus, that could never compare.

“Your name is Aurora?” Marcus’ question forced you to look in his direction, your heart twisting maddingly inside you. You nodded with hesitation, “I thought you were…” Marcus pronounced your real name again, the sinking pit of your stomach churning.

“That was my mother,” you quickly came up with a lie. You could never tell him the truth.

“Your mother,” he repeated slowly, shock and pain transforming his beautiful face. “I knew your mother.”

“What? Really?” Magnus intervened with a laugh, palming his father’s shoulder. “That’s such a coincidence!”

You looked at both of them, but your eyes inevitably lingered on Marcus’ darkened ones. Would he believe your lie? Again?

“The resemblance with her is… uncanny. You look so much like her, Aurora,” Marcus rasped, taking a step back and steeling his posture with determination.

He didn’t need to speak for you knew his hurt. Because the same memories that were flooding his mind, had been drowning you for decades.

The atmosphere felt heavy with unspoken truths, your face burning — you loathed yourself for the pain you had caused him. Pain that still contorted his expression every time his eyes flicked to yours.

Would he ever forgive you? Would he know that you lied so many years ago? That you truly and irremediably loved him? That you would always do?

You bowed down your head, mainly to conceal the unspent tears brimming on your waterlines.

“So I have been told, General,” you muttered softly as Magnus’ hand rested easily on the small of your back, his lips brushing your temple gently.

“I know this may seem sudden, father, but I know that Aurora is the one,” Magnus confessed shyly, pulling your body towards him in a warm half-embrace.

Never in your life had you wished yourself to disappear so badly. Marcus’ sight burnt through you and you couldn’t help but reciprocate him. The sadness—no, the heartbreak—in them was like a dagger through your heart, and you wondered if the decision you made so many years ago had been the right one.

By the looks of it, he had done well for himself, just as you had imagined he would. The villa was beautiful, sumptuous even. It spoke of his status in the Empire, how highly rewarded he had been for his enterprise. You assumed that Marcus had married eventually after you left, and you only hoped he’d married for love.

“I see,” Marcus murmured in reply to his son, walking back to his chair. “Let’s eat first. Prisca, my wife, won’t be joining us. She had to excuse herself because she wasn’t feeling well. Please forgive her absence.”

Prisca. So he hadn’t married for love, his family had won and forced him into an arranged marriage after all. Your heart cried for him, for the injustice you had showered upon him with your departure. Perhaps he ended up loving her so his life wouldn’t be as miserable.

That last thought stung, the dagger further twisting in your heart. You wanted his happiness, but selfishly you hoped Marcus still loved you. Undeserving of such love you were, that was clear to you, but you still hoped anyway.

“Of course, Dominus,” you hushed as Magnus guided you to an empty chair.

The food served was delicious, but the silence looming over the table tinged the atmosphere uncomfortable. Magnus did a remarkable effort to keep the conversation going, but Marcus’ succinct replies didn’t leave much room for chatter. And when Magnus pushed again about the marriage proposal—to you dismay—Marcus said that it could discussed tomorrow over breakfast.

Even though the man in front of you had aged, you still saw him as he was thirty-five years ago. He had a scar on his upper cheek and across the bridge of his aquiline nose, crows feet kissing the corners of his brown eyes, his thick curls were greying, and his demeanour was more stoic, but he was still your Marcus.

The only difference though was his lack of… life. His eyes didn’t sparkle anymore, they were tinted with darkness and sorrow. Had war changed him? Had you changed him?

Your throat collapsed on itself, tightening to the point of suffocation. Just in time, you reined in the tears as the last maid removed the plate in front of you.

“I should be going,” you announced, pushing back the chair to stand up.

Marcus sprung to his feet before his son did. And when he realised his promptness, he cleared his throat but didn’t speak.

“It’s late,” Magnus said, standing up to be by your side, throwing a confused glance to his father. “Could she stay the night, father, please?”

Marcus nodded.

“I will ask one of the servants to prepare one of the empty chambers,” Marcus conceded, walking around the table to meet his son.

“Oh,” Magnus sighed, and you knew he’d hoped to share a bed with you tonight.

Your face burnt once more with shame when Marcus’ eyes looked for yours. However, you didn’t meet his gaze, scared of what you would find in it.

“Thank you, General, you are most generous,” you husked in a low voice.

“I will show you around the villa in the meantime, amica mea,” Magnus said, his hand quick to rest on the back of your waist.

You subtly flinched at his endearment. That was what his father always called you. It felt wrong when he said it now, completely out of place — it didn’t at first, when you looked at him and imagined he was Marcus instead. But with the love of your life standing firm in front of you, it sounded so vile.

This fantasy of yours was a dangerous game, one you didn’t want to play. Not if it meant hurting Marcus again, because you could see the way he studied you. How his pupils dilated with anger every time his son would seek your touch. It was killing him, and you in the process. When everyone went to sleep, you would leave in the middle of the night, as the shadow you were condemned to be.

Magnus urged you to turn around and walk beside him, when you heard Marcus gasp.

“Your birthmark,” his words stopped you right in your tracks.

When Juno touched you to bring you back to life over a century ago, Her caress left a mark on the back of your left shoulder. The shape resembled that of a peacock, the loyal animal known to accompany the Goddess.

“What about it?” Magnus intervened, confused by the interruption.

Slowly you looked over your shoulder to glance at Marcus. His eyes were a window to his restless, half soul, desperate and blown — he knew. He searched your face for a crack, a way in, but your expression didn’t tumble.

You wished you could veer around and throw yourself in his arms, kiss him and apologise, ask him to take you back. But you just couldn’t. Love was heartbreak, and it would have to remain that way if you didn’t want to hurt Marcus even more than what you already had.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, jaw tight with a tic on the muscle.

Marcus stirred in bed, unable to get any sleep.

Your face haunted him brighter than ever — every time his eyes shut, your sorry expression would gnaw at the confines of his mind. Seeing you right in front of him after so many years, all curled up to his son’s side, drove him mad.

At first, he thought himself crazy. You looked exactly as you did thirty-five years ago — not even a wrinkle kissed your skin, not a greying hair anywhere to be seen in your plaited hair. So when you explained you were the daughter of the woman who broke his heart, he had believed you.

That was until he saw the birthmark on your shoulder. The unmistakable shape he had joked about in the past, telling you that you had been kissed by Juno Herself at birth. It was impossible that you had inherited such a peculiar mark.

But it was even more impossible that you had remained as youthful as you were, as if not a single day had passed. How was that even possible? Some people were gifted with slow ageing, he had seen some, but to remain exactly the same? No, there was something else lurking, an explanation he could not grasp because it was too surreal, too unfathomable for a mortal.

Marcus needed answers. His mind was a tangled mess, this new discovery shining a different light on the conversation that destroyed him over three decades ago. Did your words have a meaning he had not been able to see before?

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus.”

What had you truly meant by that? Did you understand what eternity really was in a level he couldn’t even start to comprehend?

Heart pounding, he quietly removed the covers and sat on the bed. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Prisca was sound asleep. Not that she would miss him anyway.

In darkness, Marcus palmed around until he found his toga and quickly changed to then walk out of his bedchamber with a clear destination in mind.

He trudged along the cold corridors of his villa until he found the door to the room you were sleeping in. For a second, he doubted, thinking he was crazy for the implausible reason taking form in his mind. But if it wasn’t that—that you were, somehow, ageless—he still needed to know why. Why hadn’t you aged? Why leave him? Why not tell him the truth?

As his shaky hand lifted and curled to knock on the wooden plank, the door swung open.

You appeared under the doorframe with a wild expression and widened eyes, obviously in a hurry to leave. Again.

“Marcus,” you gasped, one hand flying to your chest in surprise as your beautiful eyes met his.

He froze in place, all the words he had planned to say stuck to the back of his throat, forming a lump that would not let him speak. Your beauty was dazzling, but it was the buried love he harboured for you what stopped him from talking as it resurfaced.

His memory of you had not faded, able to remember every single feature of your face regardless the passage of time. Everything about you was engraved in his mind, but he had almost forgotten how sweet you smelt. Roses, with an earthy hint of grass.

As your scent numbed his mind, Marcus finally found his dry tongue.

“Don’t leave, please. Don’t leave again,” he begged in a hoarse whisper, his eyes diving in yours.

You looked up at him and he felt himself under a spell. The same one you had him under years ago, when the heart was shattered and the mind bleak. Because even when you waved him goodbye, he still loved you. Never stopped, was never able to hate you for what you did, what you said.

“Can we talk?” he pushed before realising your eyes were glassy with sadness. “I know your name is not Aurora. I know it’s you.”

Your bottom lip trembled as a single tear fell from the cliff of your lashes. Moved by his own ghost of the past, Marcus reached for your cheek with his palm, the thumb brushing away the tears that followed the first one.

You let go of a deep sigh, kissed the palm of his hand and nodded. His heart was beating so loud, so fast, he almost missed your words.

“I owe you an explanation, Marcus,” you finally spoke, a broken sob almost tearing his resolution.

As you stepped aside, Marcus came into the room you were so eager to leave behind. Your heartbeat had spiked the moment you saw him and hadn’t slowed down since then. Perhaps you didn’t die of heartbreak but could die of a heart attack.

For decades you had been running until you found him. Until Marcus made you believe you could have everything he promised. It had been the first time you had actually considered growing roots. But the thought of not being able to grow old, to see the love of your life wither away while you remained sane, was paralysing. You had panicked — too scared to accept the love of a man who would give up everything for you, too frightened to trust someone again.

But was Marcus not worthy of your trust? He demonstrated repeatedly how he would always protect you, always cherish you. Not only with words, but with actions too. He had been so considerate, so loving, for a moment in the past you thought it a ruse. How could someone be so damn perfect and still be real?

Your heart clenched in pain, seeing him latch the door behind him and turn around to face you. The look of confusion, of sorrow, ate at your conscience. Under the candlelight, his torn features stuck out, time unforgiving. He was still gorgeous, would always be in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing that slipped out before the quivering of your bottom lip let out a sob. “I’m so sorry, Marcus. I didn’t know Magnus was your son, otherwise I would have never—” you shook your head, taming your cries. “I should have known. He looks so much like you. When I first saw him, I thought it was you. That somehow you had been able to still time and be with me.”

You sobbed a pitiful laugh, unable to look him in the eye. It was shameful having to admit something like this — that you had chased after a boy because he reminded you of someone you loved. But despite your immortality, you were still capable of human mistakes.

“So you didn’t know he was my son?” Marcus asked quietly. You could see the inner workings of his mind ruminating as you shook your head no. “Do you love him? Were you really going to marry him?”

The questions caught you off guard. Although at some point you were expecting them, you didn’t think it would be this early in conversation. It might be for the better if it got out of the way as soon as possible, so you could explain yourself.

The first cut would be the deepest, although the rest would still hurt.

“I love the idea of him,” you emphasized, ashamed of yourself for giving in to such fantasy. “I thought I could love him the way I did you, that he could be a vessel of my love for you. That I could, for a few days, remember how it felt— how you felt. That I could have you one more time,” you paused and sighed, intertwining your hands together to twist them nervously. “I only met him a week ago, marriage did not cross my mind at all. I was going to leave once—”

“Once it got too serious,” he finished for you.

Marcus went quiet again, his eyes transfixed on you. You wished Juno blessed you with the ability to read minds, to know what he was thinking right this moment. Did he hate you for what you just revealed? Did he think you were sick for trying to live out a fleeting dream? Would he forgive you for such despicable behaviour?

“Do you still love me?” his gravelly voice was so low, for a moment you thought you had imagined it.

But the doubt, the fresh hurt in his wounded gaze, told you otherwise.

You gaped for air, your lungs strained with sorrow. You should fib, stand by your initial lie, tell him you didn’t. But what had that gotten you the first time around except for a life of misery and loneliness? What had that gotten him?

“I do. I do love you, Marcus,” you whispered, out of breath due to the pounding of your heart. “Couldn’t be any other way. You’re the other half of my soul that I’ve been missing for so long.”

Time stilled as you looked Marcus dead in the eyes. You were not expecting anything out of your raw confession, because the time for those had passed. It was what you should have said thirty-five years ago, not now. You were too late to mend the love that had slipped through the cracks of time.

“Then that’s all that matters,” he finally broke the silence, his voice laced with emotion.

The admission shook you. Could this be true, really happening? Did he still love you after all this time?

In a couple of strides, you found yourself in his arms, the way it should have been ages ago. His forearms wrapped around you like a warm blanket as his head bowed down to taste your lips.

You kissed him back, first sweetly, then fiercely. You kissed him with all the unexpressed love you held in your heart, with the passion your true love deserved. His tongue was as sweet as you remembered, as soothing as your memory recalled. A dance ensued, his tongue reading a love letter to yours.

Your hands, which had been resting on his chest, drifted up to cradle his face — his moustache and stubble pickling the skin of your palms. Marcus untied his mouth from yours to kiss your tears goodbye, then pressed a peck on your forehead. His heart was beating as loud as yours, in unison like true soulmates.

“I’ve missed you. I never stopped thinking about you, lux mihi,” he confessed under his breath. “Life was never the same after you left.”

His admission made your heart flutter even further, and you couldn’t help but let your hands roam his back. Your fingers played with the knot holding the toga in place, his seeping warmth beckoning.

“I need you, Marcus. Make love to me,” you pleaded, leaving a love trail of kisses on his neck.

Marcus’ chest rumbled at your plea, his lips hunting down yours in a heartbeat. His hands were quick with your clothing, worshipping the curves of your body as it was revealed to him. You did the same with his toga, until you were both bare, standing in front of each other.

You saw his eyes lingering on every nook and cranny of your skin before they found yours. A thunder of connection ran through you, of yearning. On your tiptoes, you kissed him again, pressing your breasts onto his chest while your fingertips traced the map of his back.

You didn’t expect all the bumps and grooves you found on his skin; battle scars dotted around everywhere. Some thick and protuberant, some thin and soft. Marcus keened at your touch, silently letting you know that some of them were too sensitive to be caressed.

How much hurt his body and heart had endured, a life dedicated to war and duty. Your heart cried for him, for not being able to be by his side when he needed you most. Had you taken up his offer, had he run away from responsibility with you, his skin would tell a different story.

But the past couldn’t be changed, only the present was malleable enough to shape a new future.

Slowly he pushed you towards the bed, his hands resting on either side of your waist while his thumb drew lazy circles on your bristled skin. Raking your fingers through his silver curls, you leaned back on the mattress, his warm body blanketing yours.

His hands found the apex of your breasts, soft fingers rubbing your taut nipples as your head tilted back. Marcus licked the salt of your exposed neck, finding your pulse point. He kissed the spot and lingered, your vein pulsing against his lips as one of his hands discovered the slick your thighs harboured for him.

The feathery caress of his ring finger outlining your seam turned you into a whimpering mess. His pad stroked your nub, a slight flick followed before it slid down your slit and found your weeping hole. He circled it a few times, taunting you effortlessly, before returning to your clit.

You heaved, lips pursed so your moans would stay contained. In the dead of the night, you worried this show of love would seep through the walls. But not even the thought of his marriage, the thought of Magnus lying in bed a few rooms over, could stop you from joining your bodies together the way the Gods intended.

Marcus’ mouth travelled down the column of your neck, kissing the center of your clavicle before he went further down. Your unattended nipple was soon enough smothered by the wetness between his lips, and you fisted his hair in response, gently tugging at it.

“Marcus,” you moaned, eyes shut. Rejoiced.

One nipple drowned in his spit, the other pinched between his fingers, and his ring finger pressing tight circles on your thudding clit had you fighting to remain silent. But the moment the hand between your hands moved down and his digit teased your walls apart as it sank in your slick warmth, you couldn’t stop the muffled yet loud moan.

“Sing for me, meum corculum (my little heart),” Marcus husked. The gentle pumping of his finger in your wet heat had you quietly howling a few seconds later. “That’s it.”

Your felt your walls contract, pulse around his finger, holding onto him for dear life. Feeling your need as his own, Marcus dunked his middle finger in your pussy too, stretching you while his thumb stroked your clit. The combination of it all made you clench around him, almost begging for release.

“Let go for me,” Marcus asked between licks, and you couldn’t resist his prayer.

The coil that had been tightening inside you finally snapped, releasing a wave that coursed through your quaking body like a tumultuous sea. Your back slightly arched as your thighs trembled around his forearm, chest rising with a dire need for oxygen.

Marcus chuckled softly, setting your nipple free as he searched for your mouth again. He devoured you as you came down from your high, his erect cock gently resting on your mound. The weight of it on your sensitive skin felt like it belonged. The anticipation of welcoming him inside you made you gush.

“Let me drink you, kiss you, savour you,” he pressed a kiss on your mouth after each pause.

Your skin flushed; the proposition was somewhat indecent. It was lewd, frowned upon, and you were tethered to the chains of social decency. But there was nothing decent about infidelity, after all.

“Please, mea vita (my life). I can make you reach for the moon and the stars in the ceiling above if you let me, make you touch them,” he promised.

You shyly nodded, and his boyish grin grew wider, his lips tensing. So contagious, you smiled back as he came off you and moved your body until your butt was on the edge of the mattress.

He scooted you over towards him until the back of your knees were resting on his shoulders — leaving you completely exposed to his hungry gaze. His eyes lingered on your leaking dampness, his dilated pupils tracing the outline of your seam. The intensity of it all, the deep connection, made your thighs press together against his neck, wanting to hide your core from him.

You had nothing to be shy of, as Marcus had already seen you bare before. Sex with him had always been ardent, fervent — the heat of passion always got the best of you both, a certain urgency to consummate your love. But now? Now was different. There was no rush in his movements, in how his thumbs pried your pussy lips open, in how his warm lips brushed the sensitive skin on your inner thigh. His calm confidence in taking you as he had promised was new to you, who never had all the time in the world. But right now, you did. For Marcus, you did. Always would.

Your lashes fluttered, kissing the apples of your cheeks the moment the languid strokes of his tongue met your swollen flaps. He kissed one gently, then the other, before the wet muscle lapped from your gushing hole up to your clit. So venerating were his licks, your limbs relaxed at the intimate kiss.

“You taste like ambrosia, lux mihi. The best relish I have ever been graced with,” his hot breath collided with the cold skin on your slit, your body trembling in response.

“Marcus, please,” you begged, although you were not sure why, or what you were asking of him.

He didn’t leave you waiting again. His fingers sank in the flesh of your thighs while his tongue dived inside your slick furrow. So dextrous were his charges, you couldn’t help but mewl like a starved kitten in a back alley asking for leftovers. First, he flicked your excited bundle of nerves, and then he suckled on it, his jaw working you through the climb to another orgasm. The buildup was intense, but it became feverish the moment his finger joined the action — it slid easily inside, curled to caress the precise spongy spot of your arousal.

Unaware of your own actions, one of your hands slithered down your belly until you fisted his curls — pushing him towards the centre of your heat, not away from it. He hadn’t lied — the stars appeared behind your eyes, bright like the future you wished you had with him. A sea of constellations, all imploding at once in an amazing rain of stars that blinded you as you came crashing down from the skies.

You heaved and wailed his name in ecstasy, your entire body quivering with the strength of a thousand suns. Your entrance clenched around his finger as you held your breasts, your thumbs ghosting the taut buttons. You leaked your pleasure on his mouth, and he drank unashamedly, grateful of your offering.

A sweet kiss on your mound before he towered over you, and you could only look at him in awe with raw, true love. When his battered body blanketed yours, you draped your arms around his waist, hands lightly resting on his lower back. The knowing smirk on his lips spoke of a muted “I told you so.”

“I love you,” he whispered instead.

Your heart swooned and healed and cried and exploded. All at once. He hadn’t said those exact words yet, but they were veiled in every sentence, every action he had said or done tonight. Deep inside you were eternally grateful that he hadn’t grown to hate you, that his love for you remained intact despite heartache, circumstances and time.

Unbeknownst to you, tears welled up, ones that Marcus drank too. As he did, your palms stroked his ribs, careful to avoid the scars you had come to learn were too delicate. Eager, one slid off his skin until your fingers wrapped around his throbbing manhood. Eyes down, you saw the pearly bead of pre-cum commending you to butter it on his flushed head. With your thumb you caressed the tip, and Marcus’ lips parted in need — an invitation you quickly accepted, dunking your tongue in his mouth.

A few pumps had him groaning and soon enough you were guiding him to the pocket of heat between your thighs. His cockhead kissed your gushing entrance the same way his lips did — knowing, denuded, possessing. And slowly he made his way in, parting your flesh like a new stream disturbing the earth beneath. The burning sting was most welcomed, blossoming into a fullness you had craved for decades.

“I’m home,” Marcus rasped when he was fully seated in your cunt.

Your throat clamped a little, emotion overtaking your senses the same way his erection did.

“Welcome home, dilectus (beloved),” you muttered with a loving smile and teary eyes.

You melted into a slow kiss as Marcus rocked his hips, rutting into you almost lethargically, wanting the moment to last. You let him set the pace, the drag of his cock in your pussy a delight that had you reaching for the stars again and your inner walls squeezing him tight. The sweet rhythm of his swaying tightened the slick, hot coil that pooled low in your belly, and the moment Marcus gained momentum, you followed.

Needily he started fucking into you with precision, chasing both of your highs. His dick pulsed inside you, your heartbeat instinctually adapting to his in a second. Both so close to the sky above, gasping for air now, you rocked underneath him to amplify such pleasure.

“Marcus,” you whimpered, your hands now cradling his face. You lost yourself in his eyes, blown and loving. “Please, inside,” was everything you murmured.

Even after your petition, the snap of his hips against yours didn’t falter. Instead, the pace increased as his wild orbs studied your blissed out expression.

“Do you mean it?” You nodded effusively. “Do you want your belly round with my child?”

You didn’t even know if it was possible — yes, you looked young but were closer to a hundred and fifty years on this earth than to the day you were born. The fertility of your womb was one you never dared to test in your immortal life, but the thought of having such a memory—someone—to remember him by when the days grew cold and the nights dark was overpowering reality.

“Yes, I do,” you reassured him, pecking his lips softly.

His head fell, his face resting on the crook of your neck, while he made love to you. His moves stuttered, announcing his climax, and your pussy hugged him tight in a natural response. The moment the first ropes hit your cervix, you came undone too. As Marcus filled you with his warm spent, you creamed around his beating girth, your hands holding onto his shoulders as your back arched and your nipples kissed his chest.

It took both of you a few minutes to come down, for the haze of lovemaking to slowly dissolve in the musky air. Marcus hungered for your lips and he hunted them down with eagerness. Your bodies finally untied, his cock leaving you empty yet satisfied.

You hoped—prayed—his seed would take root in your womb. Even if it was impossible, the sliver of a miraculous possibility gave you a resemblance of hope. So you pressed your thighs together, greedy of his gift.

Marcus rolled off you, falling onto his tummy besides you. Quickly you laid on your side, your fingertips tracing the lines of his skin again. A feathery touch to alleviate the harshness of life. He unburied his face from the pillow and turned to look at you.

His smile was instant, and so was yours.

For an hour no words were spoken at all, no sleep was achieved either. You both remained silent, staring at each other, soaking up the love that flooded the chamber.

Replacing your fingers with your lips, you kissed the scars on his back, his shoulders, his arms. And finally his nose and cheek, where you dawdled as if your caress could erase the pain they inflicted.

“What are we going to do, amica mea?” Marcus husked after what felt like an eternity.

Reality set in, leaving a gaping hole in your belly. What could you do? Would you be strong enough to stay by his side for however long the goddess Mors took to claim him? Strong enough to build a life you knew was ephemeral? And once he was gone from this mortal plane, what would be left of you?

The choice was an impossible one. One that you should have made decades ago, when the heart was whole and the mind still strong. Now you knew how arduous life was without him, how—for years—you had looked for him in the small details and every single man who resembled him, how the regret and the grief haunted you at every turn of a decade. Now you knew that life wasn’t worth living if you didn’t have Marcus to share it with.

You traced the profile of his nose with your lips before pressing a soft kiss on his.

“I am not sure, but I am willing to try… if you are,” you whispered, leaning back.

The implications of such life were huge for him. Married, with a son who though himself in love with you, an acclaimed General who served Rome even when Rome didn’t serve him. His responsibilities were greater than yours, Marcus had so much to lose. Had you accepted his proposal when you should have, neither of you would be in such dire situation.

Marcus sighed heavily, rolling onto his side to face you. His calloused hand cradled your cheek, his eyes filled with a determination you wished you had back then, when life was easier.

“There is nothing nor no one that could stop me from spending the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” he mumbled, hand dropping to your hip. “I said it then, and I will say it again: I do not care for this life if you are not with me. I don’t care about reputation nor retaliation. For over fifty years I have done what was expected of me, and I am done living my life for Rome and her vice. You’re the stars that light up my path in the darkest of nights, the warm sun that guides me home. For however long you’ll have me, I’ll be with you. My heart was always yours, mea vita, since the moment I landed eyes on you. And I don’t want it back, ever, even if you have to leave again.”

The softness of his delivery, the truth his words emanated, brought tears to your eyes. You thought yourself unworthy of his love, his devotion, when you had only caused heartbreak. But this was your second chance, one you were not going to let go.

You moved closer to him as his arm wrapped around you. With your forehead resting on his naked chest, you traced invisible lines on his ribs.

“I won’t leave. That broke me once, can’t handle it a second time. I love you and want to spend the rest of our time together showing you how much I do, making up for lost time. For however long,” you repeated, kissing his chin.

There was a brief pause, and you knew what his next words would be.

“How old are you?” the question you had always avoided, dreaded.

“Close to three times your age,” you confessed, looking up at him through your lashes.

The answer slowly sank in, but instead of horror, incomprehension and disgust, you only found acceptance. As if it was just another fact about you, nothing of major importance.

“You look amazing for being close to one hundred and fifty years of age,” he joked with a grin to lighten the mood. You let out a soft laugh in response. “How? If you want to share.”

The story of how you came to be ageless wasn’t a pleasant one. But your life was full of secrets that had ruined every human link you had to this earth, and you wouldn’t let them spoil the only real connection you had left.

“I… I was promised to a man, one who I thought was worthy of my love. There were things I was blind to at that time, and only time showed them to me. I thought everything was going as expected, he was always so courteous and respectful in public. Until our wedding night, when he…” you paused, the memories too painful even after all this time, “he abused me, and let his friends use me. When they were done, they left me for dead in a ditch.”

Marcus’ arm draped around you tighter, his heart beating so loud you could hear it thumping against his chest. He hugged you close, his warmth calming and reassuring. Marcus was nothing like that man, if your abuser could even be considered a person. You knew he never would be so despicable — you were as sure as the first lights of the sun would wake you up tomorrow.

“It took me hours to finally drift away. And when I did, Juno greeted me. Said the man had wronged me, and that I should have a second chance to understand what marriage and true love actually were about. Then she touched me right here,” you caressed the peacock-shaped birthmark, “and breathed life into me.”

Marcus leaned back a little to inspect your torn features. The heartache he had to endure paled in comparison to yours. How could someone inflict such hurt on another? He couldn’t even fathom such disgusting scenario. That man was the reincarnation of evil, and he wished he suffered the most agonising death.

He had only seen your soul’s purity, your kindness, your benevolence. Anyone who didn’t was blind.

“You did not deserve that ending, amica mea — no one does. He didn’t deserve you,” his heart cried for you, for the weight you had carried for over a century. “You’ve got the purest heart I have ever known. A soul that I will protect until my dying breath.”

“A half soul,” you interrupted him, and Marcus looked at you confused. “Because your other half completes mine.”

His heart jolted, this time because of the sweetness of your confession. That muscle had grown bigger in the last two hours than in his entire lifetime. He sworn himself to stand by your side, come what may. You would never be wronged again, not if he could avoid it.

“We’re leaving tonight,” Marcus declared without skipping a beat.

“What? What about your wife, your son?” your eyes had widened, but his resolution was firm.

“My wife… she’s not been my wife for years. She’s poison. And my son…” he shrugged, conflicted. “He’ll eventually understand, or so I hope. I believe he might already have an inkling that something weird was at play from the moment I said your real name.”

“Marcus, are you sure? You’d be sacrificing so much for me, I wouldn’t want to—”

He didn’t let you finish, his mouth covering yours in a passionate kiss that slowly turned gentle and soothing. Your hands caressing his battle-scarred skin was like a balm; your touch the first and only one to cure all his ailments. Unhurriedly, he sat back up on the bed, dragging you with him.

“Let’s leave now. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” Marcus purred against your lips.

Fifteen minutes later, you were both clothed and atop of two horses, blending in with the shadows of the night that concealed your departures, in search of a new life. Together.

taglist: @orcasoul @lilac-boo @picketniffler @almostfoxglove @gothcsz @liciafonseca @namenotimportant1373

[melancholiaincarnate]

so far so good

warnings - none

authors note - hi :P this is my first published acotar fic :3 i mentioned in a post a couple of days ago i wanted to start a series with ficlets about mated azriel x reader who happen to adopt a shadowsinger child named piper. here's the first installment :) i plan on making more so if you have requests for them send em in :D

"okay piper," azriel stretches, an action that causes a swirl in your stomach as his shirt lifts up slightly, revealing the hair decorating his tummy. "ready?"

"i'm ready!" she bounces on her feet, excitement visible on her face. shadows zip quickly around her - faster than you can blink. her shadows are impatient and easily excited, unlike azriel's, who prefer to wait and watch.

"remember, we're practicing winnowing. can you do that?" azriel cracks his knuckles and his wings shudder, then he disappears. he shortly reappears behind piper, and she squeals with delight. "i can't winnow so my winnowing looks a little different than yours but i promise - it's practically the same thing."

"yes! yes! i know! you told me! i can do it, azzy, i swear!" she shouts back at him, shadows twirling at her feet, "it's my turn!"

"alright, alright. it's your turn, pip." he smiles softly at her, crouching down to whisper something in her ear before she shuts her eyes so hard her whole face squishes.

"remember to envision where you want to go." his voice is soft in the child's ear. you watch as he smoothes down her hair as he stands to observe.

piper's body begins to slowly disappear but when she murmurs a "i'm doing it!" her body comes back into focus.

"you have to stay focused, pip." he reminds, giving her a nod. "focus is key."

"focus is key." her small voice repeats, and then suddenly she's at your side.

"hi! wait - woah- hi- hi! i did it! look, i was over there and now i'm over here!" you're sure you've never seen such delight on a single person's face before. "i did it! i did it, azzy i did it! look!"

"good job, piper." his voice is as stoic as ever but pride swims in his veins. azriel assumes that this is why cassian and rhys want children. the pure joy that sits in his chest right now has no match for anything he's ever experienced.

and yet, there's a clawing deep in his mind. it's in his chest, his bones, in the scars on his hand. he feels an attachment to this child - this girl that he and you found in the woods alone. this is not his daughter.

as piper runs off with you in tow, screaming about telling cassia, azriel glances at the scars on his hands. azriel could never think about hurting piper. it'd taken half of the inner court to restrain him from going to hunt down piper's attackers.

piper was not his daughter but he was his fathers son. anger rises through him - how could his father look at his own child and do what he'd done, when azriel could not fathom doing it to a child he had no part in creating?

shadows swarm in his ear chanting incomprehensible words to him. the anger is white and hot and it's so consuming that it sends a throng down the bond towards you.

in return, he feels you tugging the bond, tugging towards you, tugging him towards the light again. he breathes - he is not in that basement. "come, az." you whisper softly down the bond, "please."

and who is he to deny you? he unclenches his fists, steadying his breathing once more before tucking his wings and strolling away from the room as if he hadn't nearly fallen into a pit with no way out.

[elusivecagedmockingbird]

Play It As It Lays

[taehyung x reader] [1.5k smut: mirror sex, creampie, unprotected sex, virgin kink??, really just porn with a lil bit of plot; Taehyung is a famous Cellist who was hired to tutor OC.

Just a self-indulgent fic.

-

People said to never meet your heroes.

You'll be let down, they say.

But you would beg to differ.

And beg, you do.

With your bodies sitting naked on the couch, Taehyung has you facing the mirror and the sight of your petite frame slotted between his bulging naked thighs shoots up your arousal. Your perfectly intertwined limbs could inspire a whole series of shunga artwork.

Calloused hands grip each of your knees and push them wider apart before a hand returns to cup your dripping sex.

"Please," you whine. The words that fell from your swollen lips were almost incomprehensible because of how breathy and timid it sounded.

But that was just one of Kim Taehyung's effect.

The man lives up to his reputation in the Classical music industry—charisma just as alluring as people described and his presence calls for attention, not because he, himself, demands it, rather there is something lingering in his aura that just lures and pulls you into him. And when he looks at you, it's a mixed feeling of intimidation and desire to keep his eyes on you.

And to you, it makes you want to defy him. You itch to see if you can crack that calm and stoic demeanor of his.

Taehyung only hums in response to your plea and you feel his chest rumble on your back. It's close to an hour and yet all he did with his finger was tease you. Everything he has done was all build-up, never the climax.

"You're so delicate." His lips graze your ear as he whispers to you. His body is so close, you hear the wet smacking of his tongue inside his mouth as he speaks. He dips his fingers inside your pussy as he presses his thumb on your nub, leaving you shuddering in pleasure. "And so sensitive. My pretty virgin," he tsks. "You're making a mess, darling."

You mumble out a half-hearted apology to which he snorts at. You struggle to keep your tears at bay. Frustration and defeat are obviously written on your face. If only you knew how to touch yourself, you would've done the job yourself. But no. You can play with yourself all you want, but you've never experienced an orgasm. And none of what Taehyung does to your body now matches the pleasure when you touch yourself.

And so, you remain at his mercy.

It was torture to be teased, but the way Taehyung's arm muscle clenches and your body twitches has your attention stuck to the mirror. It was as if his hand was a bow and your body held the strings that create the most beautiful melodies.

His right hand pushes in and out of you in timed intervals and his left hand grips your neck, arms across your body to hold you close to his. It was oh-so-intimate.

But of course, this was also a way for Taehyung to restrain you.

"Take it," he lectured when your body thrashed around from sensitivity. "The pleasure is tenfold if you endure it. Just like playing the cello—a sublime piece is achieved from laborious and seemingly endless revisions. So, take it."

The growing warmth between you has you both sweating—the smell of sex in the air grows potent by the minute, pushing you further into your shared haze.

You don't mind that all Taehyung does is play with your body. He can do whatever he wants to you for all you care. But you also have this feral need to learn about his body—play with his cock and grip it as tight as you hold your instrument in place between your thighs. You want to hear the sounds he makes as you play with his body. He has been hearing you chant his name with moans and sighs in different pitches; it's his turn to sing.

You focus on Taehyung's hand disappearing and reappearing from your cunt. The velvet couch that carries your bodies is vandalized with your slick and his precum. His hands are truly just as skilled in playing the cello as it is in flitting around your body. You can almost taste it again—your sweet peak.

But you can't come like this. Not yet.

Your hand halts Taehyung's movement, tongue darting to wet your lips, "S-stop," you stutter. His eyes meet yours in the mirror, one eyebrow raising in question. And so, with your senses still muffled with lust, you try your best to answer clearly, "Wanna cum on your cock, sir.”

Your legs wobbled as you changed positions—you're now kneeling on the floor with his thick dick right on your face. You gulp at Taehyung's size but also swallow the pooling drool in your mouth.

You ought to thank your parents for hiring Taehyung to give you private lessons. Albeit this isn't the lesson they had in mind, you personally think this is more… beneficial for you.

Without wasting another second, your hand grips his base to erect his cock and you run your warm tongue from his balls to his slit. The man above you throws his head back as air is expelled from his pretty lips. He leans his body backward, arms propping him up and he sets his eyes on you. "You're a feisty little thing, aren't you?"

You only respond with a smirk; smug eyes refusing to look away as you make a big show of sucking his tip like it’s the sweetest lollipop.

You're halfway there, you encourage yourself. You want to see the moment you break him.

Mimicking a move you watched on porn, you wet your hands with your slick before returning your hold on Taehyung's dick. With one hand stroking him up and down, your other hand caresses his balls within your palms like two delicate marbles.

Taehyung curses. You were sin incarnated.

Determined to get more from him, you push your head closer to his crotch, deep-throating his cock.

Unexpected and unprepared, Taehyung makes a guttural wail; his arm shoots up to hold you by your hair and his body reflexively sits up and pushes his cock at another deep angle inside your mouth which pulls another moan from the man.

You fight the urge to gag, and your eyes start to flood with tears. You could only claw at Taehyung's thighs.

Taehyung was quick to gather his wits and then chuckled at your state. His hand on your hair moves to cup your face before smudging your mascara as he wipes your tears before they fall.

"Come up," he instructs as he pulls his cock from your mouth. A plop is heard, and a string of your saliva mixed with his precum lingers from your lips. Taehyung's hands take control of your hips—his bruising hold guides you to sink down to his cock until you take all of him, pulling a pained moan from you.

Taehyung is a tight fit, and you fight through the initial discomfort as you move your hips. You teeter between the stinging stretch and warm addicting pleasure.

With a satisfied groan, Taehyung gently guides your head to level your sight with the full-length mirror and holds you in place. "Take a look at yourself. You look as heavenly as you sound," his voice in your ear is so soft and saccharine, you believe him. "And see how well you take me like a good girl," he praises, the tone switching to a little bit strained as your pussy clenches—the pain morphing to lust and desire. His hand goes back to your hips to help you ride his cock. The minimal movement gives you both pleasurable tugs, you can't help but moan.

With his thighs now caged between your own, you momentarily bend down to kiss his knees. Your action has him throwing his head back once again. But his eyes trail down to your curved spine all the way down to your ass perched on his hips.

Deciding that you've adjusted to his cock, Taehyung bounces your hips on his cock. The sight of your arousal creaming around his crotch has him salivating. As much as he wants to lick you clean, he badly needs a release. It's a miracle he lasted almost more than an hour.

You plant your feet on the ground and start moving at your own pace. Each slam of your ass on his thighs reverberated in the room as if cheering you on as you bounced faster and harder on his cock.

A contrast of warmth and shivers washed over your body as Taehyung laid open-mouth kisses on your back. As he reaches your neck, he sucks on the soft flesh to claim you, mark you—so you remember this night which will be the first of many. He promises.

You grab and tug at his hair to pull him toward your puckered lips and he obliges. The echoing sound in the room is no longer just your skin slapping but the smacking sound of your lips as you breathe each other in.

"Sir-r, I-I’m close," you stutter out between kisses amidst overwhelming pleasure. Taehyung meets your thrusts halfway. And as your pace increases, so does the frequency of the moans of the man behind you.

With a powered thrust, your body trembles as you climax. Taehyung follows not long after—your pussy spasming around his dick has him shooting up his cum inside you as he wraps you in his arms.

People who warned you to never meet your heroes, clearly never had the privilege of meeting Kim Taehyung.

-

[giorno-plays-piano]

House of Chains

Part V

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x mage!reader

Warnings: noncon, yandere, obsession, threats, canon-typical violence, chase scenes, death of minor characters.

Words: 1.5k

Summary: In return for help to come back to your home world, you have been faithfully supporting the Greens to put Aegon on the throne. But when your promise is fulfilled, neither Otto nor Aemond are keen on letting you go.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

_________

The end of your dagger touches the boy’s throat before he takes a breath.

“Don’t move, and I won’t kill you.”

He nearly jumps, and you have to restrain him further, making Lucerys put his head up to glance at you, the dagger so close he can feel the sharp cold steel on his skin. You don’t want to hurt him, but you are not playing games.

“You!” He gasps, blinking rapidly when he recognizes your face, having to say nothing but, “you are the Queen’s niece!”

You huff out a little laugh at the statement, but don’t correct him. It doesn’t matter. The only thing he needs to know is that you will kill him if he doesn’t do what you say. Although, considering you had just appeared out of thin air for all he knows, you have already attained your goal as Luce just stares at you dumbly, open-mouthed.

“Where did you- The room was empty!” He squeaks, frozen in place, and you do your best not to roll your eyes at his reaction. Everything points out to the boy being extremely unprepared for the war that is to come. The fact that Rhaenyra leaves her son unguarded in these volatile times is unbelievable to you, but it’s only to your advantage.

“It was,” you agree, snorting. “Take a note, Luce. Now stop asking me stupid questions and take me to Daemon.”

The boy starts to visibly tremble, finally recognizing how deep in shit he is with you ready to cut his head off, “Wha- what? Why?”

Your grip on him is firm, but it seems you don’t need to resort to violence: Lucerys already got scared out of his wits, his breathing growing elaborate, heart pounding violently against your arm as you hold him close. It seems he is the best target you could have chosen. Hopefully, everything goes as planned. You can’t have any intervention - it’ll result in your death, no doubt. But it’s easier like this, with plain violence and threats than going the long way and hoping for Rhaenyra’s understanding. You are more than convinced she will treat you similarly as Otto has done. Despite her image in Viserys’ eyes, she isn’t much different from the Greens, and with war arriving swiftly, she won’t let you go.

Dealing with monsters is easier. Hence, you go to Daemon the Rouge Prince who hates the threats with all his being, retorting to violence for even smaller offenses. You can predict what he’ll say when he sees you and Luce.

“The guards will catch you!” The boy cries in hysterics as you move to the door along with him, your sharp dagger gleaming dangerously in the daylight.

“They won’t,” you murmur against his ear before you chant an invisibility spell again, and Luce stills against you, listening to the strange words of a language he has never heard before. Thankfully, he stops resisting, and you feel the need to calm him down. “I don’t want to hurt you. Just be a good boy and take me to Daemon.”

Luce hiccups, “So you could kill him?”

“I would have if I wanted to. Don’t be silly, I just need a favor from him.”

“What sort of favor?”

You grow tired of the rows of questions he keeps shooting at you, so you growl, pressing the blade until the boy whimpers against you. “Bring me to your stepfather, Lucerys Velarion, before you force my hand.”

He mumbles something incomprehensible but then shows you the right corridor with a trembling hand, seeing the guards looking right through the both of you as if you simply don’t exist. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, but you have no time to explain when Luce tells you Daemon is in the catacombs below the Dragonstone’s castle.

Funny, it seems you will have to examine all of Westeros’ dungeons before you get a chance to leave.

You feel your blood pressure rising with each step you take closer to the catacombs despite the inconvenience of dragging the boy with you, your heartbeat growing irratic. You can’t fuck this up. If there’s not enough dragon breath, you’re as good as dead: either Daemon makes Caraxes eat your alive for your offense or keeps you hostage for your magic. You don’t even know which is worse.

Lucerys shakes even harder once you move past the guards who don’t pay him any attention, but he keeps his promise and doesn’t ask any more stupid questions. He feels something is very, very wrong. Maybe it’s for the best, though, that he is compliant. You don’t plan on hurting him unless he does something silly: you aren’t in the business of killing children, even if they are dumb and privileged. Luce is Aemond’s problem, not yours.

“Down to the left,” the boy whispers, horrified when his own brother walks by without giving him a single look, and you turn, taking the stairs, walking carefully not to let the kid or yourself slip. Your hand, holding a dagger to his throat, doesn’t waver.

After many minutes of painful wandering in the catacombes that reek of dragons - in a good and a bad way - you can almost see the tall figure with a torch in his hand.

Calm down, you tell yourself, biting your tongue, metallic taste immediately filling your mouth. Daemon is clearly insane but not stupid. He wouldn’t risk the death of Rhaenyra’s child over something so inconsequential. Hell, if anything, he’d probably be extatic if he had a possibility to burn Otto’s supporter just like this, quietly, with no fuss. What are the chances someone would even know? Besides, he’d get to see someone he hates screaming inside the fire of his own dragon, and you’re pretty sure it’ll be the highlight of his week.

“Please don’t kill me,” the kid whispers, and you raise your brows at him, finally remembering you’re not alone on your way to the mad prince consort. You didn’t expect Lucerys to plead.

With a sigh, you stalk closer to Daemon until there are but fifty meters between you. “I won’t, kid. A word of a mage.”

You don’t realize it was a slip of the tongue, but Luce is quiet against your dagger. You don’t see his expression changing to pure horror at your words.

The cave you end up in is a large one - big enough to fit a couple of dragons. Considering how many bones and sheep leftovers you see around, it seems Caraxes made it his lair: you can see a huge, lean, red beast with its nasty horns, baring its teeth at you, an abomination as all dragons are. It is a pity killing a dragon is a feast for heroes, not mages, you think with disgust. You surely wouldn’t mind pearcing a skull of this one with a spear.

The creature grows restless: born with an ancient magic running its veins, they are granted protection against most spells, and Caraxes can feel a stranger approaching. So does Daemon when he turns to you, taking the veil of the spell off. His eyes fixate on your dagger as you keep it close to the boy’s pale neck.

“You chose a peculiar way to threaten Rhaenyra,” he says in a too-calm voice, eyes narrowed. “She’s upstairs, not here.”

Although there is no threat in his words, you feel his desire to hurt you with your skin. Daemon is no paper soldier, and, unlike with Aemond, you don’t humor yourself, thinking there is much human left in him. He’s like his dragon, a vile, heartless creature that wants to burn and bring death to anyone he can. Were Viserys to abandon his throne, Daemon would drown Westeros in the blood of its own people.

You have to swallow before you speak, remembering to put on a brave face in front of the Rouge Prince. Daemon is the same sort of predator as Aemond, only older: when he feels someone’s weakness, he capitalizes on it overly quickly.

“I’m not here for her,” you smile, showing all your teeth in the same fashion as Caraxes just behind the prince. “I’m here to ask you for a favor.”

Judging by the sniffling you hear, Luce is crying.

Daemon cocks his head to the side, not even looking at the boy. “My favor? Surely, you aren’t trying to convince me to give up on this war?”

“No.” Your smile grows wider as you see Caraxes takes one step towards you, and press the blade into boy’s skin so much he starts to bleed a little. “I won’t be fighting a battle that wasn’t mine to begin with.”

Daemon doesn’t divert his attention to anything, regardless if Lucerys is whimpering in your hands, absolutely defenseless, but the eyes of the Rouge Prince gleam dangerously when he stares you in the face. “What do you want, Hightower girl?”

Well, finally, you think, your smile unnaturally wide. You hope this time it would go better because your enemy wants you die the most painful way possible.

________

“I want Caraxes to burn me.”

Part VI

Tags: @heavenly1927 @yazzzmints @devils-blackrose @lost-and-founds @kennafild

[hwangyu]

smile for the camera!

kai is blonde. you record him.

pairing; huening kai x gn reader (no pronouns are used and no body parts of readers are mentioned)

warnings; overstimulation, crying from overstim, dom reader pretty much, mentions of sweat and drooling, a little bit of begging? cum eating, praise, a vibrator is used, reader records him. it's p short but lmk if i forgot smth! not proofread. 18+ mdni.

wc; 628

“Smile for the camera, baby.” You told him with a teasing grin, your chin resting on his shoulder. You aimed the phone to get Kai’s face in the shot as he drooled all over your fingers that were placed in his mouth to keep it open. After all, you just couldn’t accept the way he had been trying to stay so quiet. If you’re making him feel so good that he moans loud enough that everyone in the building hears it, then so be it, right?

Kai’s gaze shifted to look into the camera lens after a second or two had passed since you asked and another second or two passed before he whined, seeing himself all fucked out and dumb, cheeks red, dried tears and drool and his messy, blonde hair. Along with the vibrator strapped around the base of his cock going at its highest speed and the also dried cum on his tummy barely in the frame.

“Please.” He pleaded, head turning slightly to look at you, somewhat incomprehensible from the way your fingers were still stuffed in his mouth, the poor boy—he’d lost count of how many times you’ve made him cum by now. 

Tilting your head to the side and letting your fingers slide out of his mouth, you feigned ignorance and asked, “Please what, sweetheart?” 

”Please!” Kai cried, squirming vigorously in your lap, “‘Ts too much! I— I can’t!” 

You clicked your tongue. “Aw, my poor boy. You’ll just have to take it, though. Come on, I know you can give me another one, just one more for me, okay?” you told him, keeping your eyes on him through your phone, “Just one more.”

Kai shook his head rapidly, “Can’t!” He squeaked, but you weren’t having it. “You can, you will. Look at the camera while you cum for me, okay?” Your tone was stern and despite the boy’s state, he let his head fall to rest against yours as he turned back to look into the lens. 

Taking your free hand, you took your index finger to tease at the tip of his cock, Kai lifting his hips up slightly in response with a moan and mumbling incoherent words. “Do you see yourself, pretty boy? See how good you look for me, how good you look all fucked out? Now you’ll get to see how pretty you look when you cum all over yourself.”

You trailed your finger down to the vibrator, pressing it against his cock and Kai let out a long whine, placing his hand on your thigh to dig his nails into the fabric of your pants and chanting your name as he just barely reminded himself to look into the camera as he came for the nth time all over his tummy while you placed soft kisses along his shoulder.

“There you go, my good boy. Let it out, just like that.” You told him softly, letting him ride it out for a few more moments before you took your finger off of the vibrator to feel for the remote you had placed somewhere beside him earlier, switching it off. 

Kai’s chest heaved, hair messier than it had been just minutes earlier and sweat dripping down from his neck onto his chest. Scooping up some of the cum from his tummy, you brought it to his lips and he complied immediately, wrapping his lips around your fingers and sucking them clean until you pulled them out of his mouth.

Humming in content, you ended the recording and set your phone down. “Such a good boy for me.” You praised with a soft voice before pressing a few more kisses to his neck, Kai hummed himself to your praise and gave a lopsided smile and mumbled,

“Thank you.”

a/n; yall i struggled so hard to post this. srry if its not the greatest i wrote it all in one day and just a lil drabble for my cute ningdungies </3 smut is so embarrassing to post istfg

[ejzah]

A/N: Here’s my first post-series fic. Sigh.

***

Happy Ever After

Deeks stepped in through the patio door, a blast of cool air shocking compared to the heat outside. What had started out as a suggestion of drinks with Sam yesterday had turned into a full blown cookout with the inclusion of Anna and Callen.

Quietly padding through the house, he found Kensi curled up with one year old Caleb cradled against her chest. She’d brought him inside to escape the heat for a little while she nursed him. She looked up from her phone with a smile as he walked in.

“Hey, I thought you were manning the grill.”

“Hotdogs, hamburgers, and fowl all cooked,” Deeks replied, leaving over to kiss the top of Caleb’s head. Caleb looked out of the corner of his eye, distracted from his current task.

“I really wish you would quit calling the chicken that,” Kensi said with a roll of her eyes.

“So why aren’t you being the gracious and enigmatic host?”

Deeks shrugged. “I missed you guys.”

“Oh, well that’s a very good reason,” Kensi decided, kissing Caleb’s cheek. “You’re going to be too big for me to hold like that soon,” she to,d him, rearranging her shirt.

Caleb regarded her seriously for a second, the smiled, revealing to tiny white bottom teeth.

“How’s everybody doing out there?”

“Well, I heard Callen talking with Rosa about the best way to dissolve a body and I’m pretty sure Sam’s giving Sophia state secrets,” Deeks responded flippantly.

“Excellent,” Kensi said with a nod. “Can you take him back outside?” She stood, giving him a last squeeze.

“Yep. You need anything?”

“Just this.” Kensi beckoned to him, drawing him closer by the back of his neck, kissing him soundly. “Now I’m perfect.”

“Mm, me too,” Deeks murmured. Between them, Caleb made a smacking noise, looking at each of them expectantly. “And a kiss for baby too,” he added, kissing his round little cheek.

“Ok, I’ll be out in a few minutes. I gotta cut up some more fruit.”

When Deeks walked back out, things were much the same as he’d left them, though Anna was now standing with Rosa and Callen, and they seemed to be mapping out some kind of game in the grass.

Deeks wandered over a few yards where Sam sat on a law chair, Caleb’s twin, Sophia, balanced on his knee. “Uncle Sam,” Sam coached her slowly, emphasizing each sound.

“Dee,” she said.

“That was a good try, but not quite. Watch my mouth. Ssssam.”

Sophia screwed up her little face. “Deeeee!”

“We’re still kind of working on the basics,” Deeks informed Sam with a smile. “Like mom, dad, up. We’re very good at saying ‘no’.”

“No!” Sophia and Caleb shouted together right on cue, reaching for each other.

Deeks set Caleb on his feet, letting the little boy hold onto his index fingers as he toddled forward to his sister. Sam set her on the ground with a reluctant sigh.

“You know, I swear the only reason you come around anymore is for the babies,” Deeks teased him.

“So what if I do? Nothing like a baby’s laugh,” Sam said without any embarrassment.

“You got that right, brother.” They watched the twins “talk” to each other in a combination of almost words and incomprehensible jargon. Apparently it made perfect sense to them though.

“The one you should be questioning is Mr. I-Don’t-Know-If-I-Want-Kids over there,” Sam told him, pointing across the yard. “Every time I come here, he manages to find some excuse to tag along.”

“Hey, we’re happy to have you guys. Makes up for not seeing you every day at work,” Deeks said.

Picking Caleb up under his armpits, Deeks swung him around to face him, then tossed him a few feet in the air. Caleb squealed, face delighted as he safely landed back in Deeks’ hands.

“Mo!” he shouted, clapping his hands together. Grinning, Deeks obliged. Sophia pulled herself up using Sam’s leg as leverage, clinging with one hand as she reached towards Deeks with the other, and chanted,

“Da! Da! Da!”

“Of course I wouldn’t forget my baby girl,” Deeks crooned, giving her a couple turns.

“Which is why you’re going to be in so much trouble when she gets older,” Kensi observed, approaching them with a partitioned plate full of strawberries, watermelon, and blueberries.

“Heh, tell me about it,” Sam chuckled.

“Bebe?” Sophia requested, pointing to the plate and Kensi handed a halved strawberry to her. Caleb chose “meme” (watermelon).

Sam winced as a sticky had grabbed onto his clean shorts.

“Yeah, you’re probably going to wanna keep your distance until these guys are done and we have a chance to hose ‘Em down,” Deeks suggested wisely.

“Oh, Uncle Sammie wouldn’t mind a little stickiness for his favorite little niece and nephew, would he?” Kensi asked innocently.

“First of all, it’s Uncle Sam and they’re my only little nephew and niece at the moment. And I’ll change diapers and burp them, but I draw the line at sticky and gooey,” he disagreed. “But I bet their Uncle Grisha would feel differently.”

“Ok, but last chance to smell like strawberries and watermelon for the rest of the day. No takers? Fine.” Letting Kensi take Caleb, he hefted Sophia onto his hip, ruffling her golden brown curls. “There’s more beer in the white cooler if you want it.”

Stepping into the grass, they made their way over to Sam, Callen, and Rosa.

“You guys give up on the game?” Deeks asked.

“Callen wanted to play volleyball, but Rosa and I convinced him it was too hot,” she explained, nodding hopefully at Sophia. Kensi handed her over with a good-natured smile.

“And also really difficult without a net.”

“So why’s Sam pouting?” Callen asked.

“He was trying to get the kids to say his name.” Deeks pulled a face. “Sophia keeps calling him “Dee” for some reason.”

Callen snorted, face breaking into a delighted grin. “Really?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Uh, I’ve been teaching them to call him Mr. T,” he said, barely containing his amusement.

“Dee!” Caleb shouted excitedly while Sophia pointed and waved at Sam.

“Oh no, Callen, you didn’t,” Kensi said, covering her mouth. Rosa just laughed outright.

“That is amazing,” Deeks chuckled.

“I honestly didn’t think they’d pick it up that quick.”

“Callen, that’s terrible,” Anna admonished him. “Funny, but really, really terrible.”

“Hey, this stay between us for now,” Callen said, looking between them.

“Of course,” Kensi agreed.

“Or, at least until the twins learn to pronounce ‘t’,” Deeks amended.

“And Mister,” Rosa added under her breath.

***

A/N: Yes, I’m sticking with twins and their names are officially Caleb and Sophia. Also, they’re very fresh one year olds, which is why their words still sound a more baby like.

[redforests]

Hey any and all! I made this short story thing like, a long while ago now cause I was interested in making my own lil SCP story but I moved on and it's just been sitting in my docs forever so I decided I'd post it here just for brevity's sake.

It is primarily about religion so if you dont like that feel free to click off. enjoy!!!!!

—————————————————————

His Book

The following is an excerpt from a book titled “His Book”, found within a home residing in ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇, Oregon, belonging to a man named ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇. It is unknown as to the true contents of the book and what it is referring to; the Foundation has yet to discover any further objects of interest within ▇▇▇▇▇▇’s home. Holding no author, it is possible this is referring to a new SCP. See Addendum ▇▇▇▇▇▇¹ for more information.

And so Ezekiel was met with God and His four angels at His side. Simply the sound and fleeting sight of being in The Lord’s realm brings Ezekiel to his hands and knees, looking down. He dare not look upon His visage at this moment, for Ezekiel fears it would be too beautiful. He instead glances at the four angels below Him, the only things that can be described in words being their multifaceted heads. An Unholy— no, an unapologetically and purely holy— amalgamation of the head of a ram, a human, a lion and an eagle “singing”. Though they chant holy words in a melodic tune, it is unable to be described as song. It is almost shrieking, their chants; yet Ezekiel smiles, listening. YHWH—God’s name, the Tetragrammaton, perfection to a point it is unable to be properly said, holy script writers in bygone times said to have even censored or omitted His full name so that no mere man may utter the holy phonetics—looks at Ezekiel.

He can feel the One True God’s eternal, all-seeing gaze on his back. And He says, “Look at me, Ezekiel.” And so Ezekiel obeys His word, and cranes his neck upward. His appearance is glorious. His throne— and the Thrones; floating, spinning wheels covered from tip to tip in eyes, hold up His throne made of gold. A beaming, cleansing light shining at Ezekiel, near-blinding. He fears that if he was given the unbridled look of God, his brain would melt and bubble into sanct nothingness. The visage of pure perfection would drive him mad. “Hush, my child.” He says.

Though Ezekiel had not realized it, he was attempting to chant with the angels. He was screaming, attempting to replicate their beautifully incomprehensible intonations. Ezekiel obeys His word. The chanting from the cherubs grows louder and louder. And He says; “Do not be afraid, Ezekiel. For my kingdom is coming soon.” Ezekiel looks up as the blinding light in which God himself is in; the shroud dissipates. Holiness, goodliness, and purity is revealed to Ezekiel. Sanctity in its most unbridled form. And Ezekiel screams.

¹Message from O-3: Addendum removed by order of the O-3 Council. Dr. ▇▇▇▇▇▇, do not publish any entire work resembling anything like this ever again. For the safety of Site-64, and the Foundation as a whole.

P.S: Transfer order for the book to Site-73 is underway.

—————————————————————

man it is weird reading this again lol

hope anyone who came across this blurb of a grander story i wrote likes it!

[lynnarang]

A Family Found 7

It wasn't an easy thing, tracking down a hunter who knew a witch's mannerisms. For them, avoiding a witch's careful gaze was a skill far more important than any killing technique.

So rather than any magical omniscience or name-feeding Fae network, more archaic methods were used.

Word-of-mouth, looking for tracks, finding campfires that were likely used by the target… It was insufferably inconvenient, until a breakthrough finally exposed the target.

Still, it took some time to catch up, and upon arrival the scene was anything but welcoming.

Half a dozen hunter's were strewn up with their own organs in grim bouquets. A young creature, perhaps an apprentice of one of the corpses, was frozen in shock in a puddle of its own piss. Pathetic, but a little cute.

It'd make a cute doll but there were more important matters.

With a sigh, the witch released Her spell and allowed Herself to shift back into existence.

"Run, little toy, before you get broken like one."

Her command seemed not to register in the boy-thing's head. Snapping Her fingers, the witch ordered the taller doll, ai, to attention.

"Carry this one to the nearby village and return. If it sees any other hunter's, drop him and return to me immediately."

The doll gave a quiet nod, not meeting its witch's eyes but obeying all the same.

This left the witch and Her other doll to attend to Her primary objective.

"So, what do you have to say for yourself?"

The witch asked with a raised eyebrow, approaching the beast that She had been pointedly ignoring until now. It was covered in a multitude of claws, tentacles, eyes and mouths, all drenched in blood.

"h҉u҉p҉p҉ ҉a҉x҉a҉l҉o҉ ҉u҉g҉ ҉w҉h҉o

The beast shrieked its words in a incomprehensible mess, a thousand different tongues chanting from each of its mouths. A lesser witch wouldn't have been able to discern meaning from the words.

She was not a lesser witch.

"You know why I'm here. I'm taking you back."

"P҉u҉m҉ ҉c҉a҉x҉a҉n҉i҉z҉ ҉k҉e҉ ҉f҉a҉x҉a҉n҉g҉,҉ ҉P҉u҉m҉'҉v҉ ҉p҉i҉t҉ ҉v҉e҉n҉c҉h҉o҉l҉,҉ ҉P҉u҉m҉'҉r҉r҉ ҉w҉h҉u҉l҉t҉ ҉u҉g҉"

"Oh please darling, if I was scared of a few tentacles and my flesh being ripped in half I'd hardly be a very good witch, would I?"

She rolled her eyes again.

"You WILL return home with me, regardless."

Authority dripped from Her every word.

"We'll find a way to put that new form of yours to use, or perhaps shove you into a vessel more appealing to your tastes. But first, you must return home, and I would prefer you do so willingly.

The beast rocked on its many hind legs, shuffling backwards. Afraid… Afraid of what? Its countless eyes dug into the witch, hungrily, lustfully, anxiously.

"Um, Miss Good Hunter?"

The remaining doll spoke up, its presence having been ignored.

"It is Miss Good Hunter, right?"

"P҉u҉m҉'҉v҉ ҉j҉e҉t҉h҉i҉c҉k҉ ҉a҉x҉a҉n҉y҉m҉e҉l҉o҉"

"This one was really scared when you disappeared… But Miss was even more scared."

"Know your place, doll. I was not scared, just disappointed in her foolishness."

"Mmm, if Miss says so."

"…I should have sent it with ai."

The doll stepped closer tentatively, fearful eyes not matching the quivering smile it gave the beast, a familiar expression to the person who visited so often. No, the beast was no longer that person, it was no longer a person at all.

The beast stepped back, the doll pursued.

"Miss was just going to let you go, She made a bunch of excuses.."

"yuu, if it doesn't shut its mouth right now it's going straight into the dollhole when we get home.

"But She looked so sad, always leaving Her room with puffy eyes, staring out the windows for hours at a time."

Ignoring the witch's threats and the beast's monstrous form, the doll stepped close enough to rest its tiny porcelain fingers on one of the beast's claws. At any moment it could be chewed up and spit out just like the corpses that surrounded it. But that was okay too.

"This one may be a mere toy-servant, but it wishes for nothing more than its Witch's happiness. It knows you're afraid of hurting its witch, itself and ai, but…"

The doll beamed up brightly at one of the beast's many faces.

"Your presence brings us far greater joy than pain."

The beast's many voices lay silent, its many eyes blinked and misted.

"You make me sound like a maiden going through her first breakup."

The witch scoffed as She joined Her doll, resting a hand on its trembling back. Catching Her breath, the witch met the beast's many gazes.

"Please, love, come home with us. We'll find a way to make things work."

"P҉u҉m҉.҉.҉.҉ ҉P҉u҉m҉ ҉w҉a҉x҉a҉n҉k҉ ҉t҉e҉ ҉f҉u҉t҉.҉.҉.҉"

"No buts. I promise I will make sure you don't hurt any of us in a way that can't be fixed, and I trust you regardless."

A silence lingered.

The beast spoke up tentatively, voices sounding… shameful?

"F҉u҉t҉ ҉P҉u҉m҉'҉v҉ ҉w҉h҉i҉d҉o҉e҉u҉s҉ ҉p҉i҉-҉"

The witch interrupted the cacophony of language with Her laughter.

"Oh darling, what are you talking about? You're beautiful like this."

The beast flinched.

"What? You honestly grew all those mouths and tentacles and didn't think it was the hottest thing ever?"

It was stunned into silence now, especially when it saw the familiar lust in its former… current(?) lover's eyes.

"You look like you could tear me apart in your sleep~"

Bewildered and mildly horny, the beast croaked out in a single one of its voices.

"W-Why are.. Y-You like this..?"

The witch leaned in and kissed a mouth still covered in gore.

"Because I love you, idiot. Now come on, who knows how long it will be before more hunters arrive."

Defeated, confused, hungry, and painfully relieved, the hunter-turned-beast allowed its witch to lead it from the clearing by one of its tentacles.

"You'll need a body for walking around the house, unfortunately, but you'll have plenty of space to run around in the yard~"

A red tint matched the blood on the beast's faces.

"D-Don't.. T-Treat us like a pet…"

The doll giggled at the exchange, happy to have its family back. A short time later the other doll returned from its errand and the family embarked on the journey home… together.

[thepalelfe]

* @betraal ! less cringey nsfw prompts ( accepting ! ) ; [ TRAIL ]:  sender leaves a trail of kisses down receivers stomach + [ ORAL ]: sender goes down on receiver.

his eyes are heavy, drowsiness weaving through every curled strand as moonlight streams through an open window, curtains jostled by the evening breeze as he stirs to consciousness.

astarion is nude to no one's surprise, especially the previously slumbering form next to him, body covered by sheets and a thick duvet which hides them both from the world, for a moment. daemos is characteristically sweltering, and astarion pushes back the blankets with a huff, kicking the remainder with a foot. " darling, you're burning up. " he grumbles against the pillows, face hidden in their feathered comfort, and attempting to wiggle his way out of the sorcerer's grasp. daemos's response to his words is to pull him closer in his sleepy state and the elf groans, turning so they're chest to chest. fully awake now, he scrunches his nose and leans forward, delivering a barrage of gentle kisses to daemos's face until the other wakes, languid and yawning. " finally, i was going to melt. " astarion complains and daemos sends a demure quirk of his lips.

a kiss follows, planted on his cheek before landing on his mouth. the rogue reciprocates the peck, which turns into something deeper as they lay languorous against the bedding which begins to fade in warmth the longer the wind blows. " good evening to you too. " astarion comments breathlessly in between kisses, skin flushing as daemos begins to travel his lips down his chest. " ravenous are we? " he teases, stomach tightening as his beloved sinks lower, lips trailing where a pre existing array of fading hickeys remain.

daemos responds with something astarion doesn't catch, feather light touch nearly incomprehensible till he feels daemos's thick fingers wrap around his still hardening cock. astarion echoes a gasp into their quiet bedroom, propping himself up onto his elbows so he can watch daemos with lidded eyes. " dae. " he calls quietly, which causes the other to peer up at him, blinking and halting their movements. " i want to look at you. " astarion requests as politely as he's able, chest rising and falling with bated breaths.

there's a silent agreement between them, two pairs of eyes remaining locked on each other. daemos is set on driving him to delirium with his onslaught of open mouthed kisses to his hips, tongue trailing after each individual peck, a delightful squeeze of his dick causing astarion to exhale a significant amount of air out of his nose. " you're teasing love. " he remarks as he watches daemos dribble a significant amount of saliva onto his reddening tip.

the vampire was pretty content that he could stay like this forever, maybe even cum untouched if he stared long enough, but daemos seems to have other plans, that expert forked tongue of theirs peeking from behind his pretty lips to take the place of their hand. " gods. " astarion bleats pathetically, legs spreading wider as a welcomed invitation, one which daemos takes easily enough, palm grasping his inner thigh and kneading the skin beneath his fingers. " i think you were just made to have my cock in your mouth love. " the elf chokes out clearly in jest, cheeks dusting a rosey shade of pink when daemos fully takes him down to the hilt, unable to keep his eyes open any longer as colorful dots explode behind his lids. " shit. "

hips stir - craving more, and daemos, ever patient, allows this for some time until it's clear by the irregularity in astarion's movements that he's close, if the quiet chanting befalling his lips wasn't an indicator. " pleaseplea- " the white hot fire shoots up his spine and abdomen, licking every inch of available skin until he whimpers and stops moving altogether. it's silent, save for his rapid breaths and the sound of daemos unsheathing him from their mouth. he and the sheets are both soaked, growing chilly the longer he remains in this position, and as though noticing this, the draconian draws near once more, encircling astarion in a flurry of limbs and heat. the vampire sighs sweetly, shifting back into their embrace, slanted grin placed against his shoulder.

" you've ruined me, my love. i'm going to dream of your talented mouth until the day i turn to ashes. " there's a deep snicker from above him and astarion can't help the silly grin that stays plastered on his lips until he falls back into another dreamless (thankfully) rest.

[sigomaru]

i incoherently ramble about how working on this was like on my art blog:

i left this out to dry for a few days, so now that it has indeed been a few days here are gifs of shots i liked in the final thing

shots i like didn't mean i actually liked working on them though (at the time the shot of old men running from the dog felt like a cop out to me). production is a wild thing. still, keeping the words of Miku of Hatsune true to heart, 'learn to complete things', i still had fun working on this overall!

when i was working on this, i had...less than a month to finish this. i thought that was fine, i had worked on music videos for school in much tighter schedules (the video with the song about kisaragi station was done in under a week)

did i mention that i'm god-awful at predicting how long it takes me to finish things?

the entire time i was really worried that my lack of proper planning beforehand would make the video incomprehensible to anyone but myself. would people question the dog? are people gonna notice the scenes i scrimped on? is valjean too passive in here, and so on and forth. but one thing i learned from other things i've made is that most of the time, i'm the only one who cares about stuff like that. as long as the story in the video is cohesive, it's probably ok, and people generally fill in the blanks themselves.

genuinely, i was blown away by the positive responses i got on the video, and especially people picking up on deliberate choices i made with the imagery! if people are able to get the symbolism i used in the video, then it will all have been worth it in the end. that being said i won't talk too much about what this and that means because i like seeing what people make of this

but past me didn't realise that people would receive this video that well, so the entire time, i had to ignore that corner of my brain worrying about the final output, internally chanting 'learn to complete things' over and over in my head.

again, my lack of proper planning scared me a little, because. well. the thing was barely storyboarded at all, save for a few scenes. and what i did storyboard had a lot of complex motions that i had to sacrifice to get it out by the end of the week.

(my pre-production stuff looks better than this i swear i just slack off if i alone am my own production crew) for example, that scene where they were eating was supposed to have this bit where the soup flashes back at an angry prisoner valjean. i was going to try to keep the Soup but at that point i was establishing a routine in the video, and i tried to rationalise dropping the shot with 'the second time they're eating, we don't get a soup shot, so it'd be weird to get a soup shot here if i'm trying to show a mundane daily life'.

on the note of barely storyboarded, the visuals for the first chorus were a nightmare to work on. in fact, they were the last part of the video to be completed! other scenes weren't fully boarded either (latter half of the second verse, bridge, first half of the final chorus) but i at least had some idea of what to do for them--the second verse is flashback zone and the final chorus was always going to have valjean running towards a falling javert with a shot that would connect directly from the bridge. and any grand idea i had in my head was easy to distill into something workable in a short amount of time.

but the first chorus? oh christ. absolutely head empty no thoughts. had a great starting shot with valjean nearly getting chomped but trying to transition into any other shot just felt so awkward. one earlier iteration was going to have valjean taming the wolf, but it would never come into play again in any of the later scenes. another iteration was going to have valjean attack the wolf for javert, but that made javert too much of a damsel. at some point i ended up coming up with that final shot for that scene where they hide in an alleyway, and then the trouble came with connecting the first and the last shots in a way that looked cool. like i said, working on it i felt like the way i handled it was a cop-out, but honestly, i think the editing portion saved it in the end. sometimes i forget just how much editing can add to shots that look limp when first drawn.

honestly, me talking about the first chorus just felt like

speaking of limp drawings, here are what the dog chomps used to look like before i added all those effects.

it's not so much a 'crunch' more than it is a 'nom'.

so to end this off--this sent my soul in the next dimension to finish. but i had fun and after a cooldown period i will do something like this again (i have two ideas in the backburner)

...

...as for the vocaloid cover, uh, there's not really much to say other than the fact that i was debating between two versions? between the masculine and the realistic one, the masculine one won as you can hear in the video.

normally this is the part where i make some kind of caption that's funny or related to the video, but honestly i'm just so glad i got this done in time

anyway happy valvert week part 2. the song is 命の食べ方 by eve

@valvertweek

[silverslipstream]

wrote another little snippet about Tony and Ben

fuck I hate you guys. get out of my head. shut up and fuck off (they won't). anyway yeah just a complete spur of the moment scene that randomly came into my head just now and I wrote in like fifteen minutes (ily tony you idiot. you just watch footy so you can ogle the boys don't you /hj)

Tony's not one for football. Honestly, he can't stand it. The chanting, the nonsensical rules, the weird tribalism that it pushes people into. Sure, there's something to be said for the rumpled hair and pumping calves, but at the end of the day he'd rather spend Saturday morning drinking coffee in the garden or cooking omelettes. He'd never be spotted within a mile's radius of the footy pitch if it wasn't for Ben. He's at the front of the pitch, looking over his shoulder and shouting some incomprehensible order. There's something alive in his face, something that jumps behind his eyes and darts in the creases of his cheeks. Tony knows he can never talk about it. Maybe that's okay. Maybe it's nice to keep some observations to himself. A burly, curly-haired player wearing the same maroon-and-turquoise kit as Ben boots the ball up the field, and Ben's body instinctively pivots and curves to receive it. It thuds against the inside of his boot, and he seems to flow around the ball immediately, as if the ball is a barycentre and he's just orbiting it. Seconds later, he's running up the field. The ball moves in short, staccato bursts in front of his feet. He whips past Tony, eyes down and laser-focused, and Tony can feel the air between them ripple like a train passing between platforms. There's a collective gasp as Ben spins past one of the opposing players. The other guy's decked out in white-and-black striped shirt and shorts, a cartoon prisoner standing stock-still. He turns dumbly in delayed shock as Ben deftly curves the ball across the pitch, just shy of the goal. At first, Tony thinks he's missed: then one of Ben's teammates appears from nowhere on the other side of the pitch, punting the ball forward with an almighty kick. It flies forward, shedding mud and grass like the world's dirtiest comet. There's an almost eerie silence as the ball barrels past the goalkeeper's outstretched hands and into the back of the net. Suddenly, as if playing from an un-paused tape, the crowd on Tony's side of the pitch erupts into whoops and hollers of excitement. Tony sweeps his hands into the air and cheers, involuntarily caught up in that strange frenzy of communal human excitement. The maroon-and-turquoise-striped scarf loosens around his neck.

(you didn't HAVE to buy that scarf in the football team's colours for your secret gay lover, did you Tony? no. no you didn't. but maybe you wanted to. maybe you wanted a bit of connection that you didn't have to hide.)

[cosmiclove-heavenstruck]

Your Imagination | Harry James Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter x fem!reader

Warnings: none i think, just making out with harry :)

Summary: Harry gets distracted by you during a Quidditch pratice. Later, you meet him alone in the changing rooms.

a/n: Set in Harry's sixth year. He's Quidditch captain and he and reader already have an established relationship. English is not my native language, so there might be spelling/grammar mistakes.

“Watch it, Potter – okay, great.”

Katie’s disappointed voice echoed over the pitch right after the dull ‘Plonk’ of the Bludger meeting Harry’s head.

“That’s the second Bludger that’s hit you today, so will you please stop watching Y/N and concentrate on the Snitch?”

I glanced up from my Transfiguration homework with a grin and watched how Ginny stopped beside Katie.

“But he’s in lo-ove,” Ginny chanted, balancing the Quaffle in her hands.

“Okay, as much as I adore your concerns for my head,” Harry said sarcastically, “will you please concentrate on scoring goals instead of observing what I do?”

“Maybe we should stick a photograph of Y/N on the Snitch,” Ginny snickered, ignoring his request. “Hey, Y/N, what do you think?”

I held up both thumbs.

“Yes, very funny, now will you –”

“I think what this team needs is a complete restructure,” McLaggen said loudly and left his position at the goalposts to fly closer to his teammates. “You know, maybe Potter should be a Beater if the Bludgers come to him that often.”

“That’s not how Bludgers work…,” Demelza interfered with an annoyed undertone.

“But they come to him more often than they come to Peakes and –”

“Still not how they work.”

“But if Potter plays as Beater and Peakes as Chaser and Weasley as Seeker then –”

“Okay, that’s it,” Harry shouted over McLaggen. “We’re gonna take a break. Two minutes.”

“But –”

“McLaggen, with all due respect, shut up or I’ll have you write Potter is the Gryffindor Quidditch captain a hundred times and let McGonagall play Keeper.”

McLaggen grunted something incomprehensible before flying after the others to land on the pitch, disappearing in the changing rooms beneath the stands. Instead of following them, Harry turned his broom around and flew up to me.

I put my homework aside and watched how he plopped down beside me, rubbing the back of his head.

“You know, maybe I shouldn’t come to the match if I distract you so much,” I said, smiling smugly. “I don’t want you to lose against Hufflepuff.”

Harry smiled, his cheeks flushing, and he buried his face in his hands. “It’s just because you’re the only one watching right now.”

“I can also wait in the changing room; I’m freezing my ass off here.”

“No, that would be worse… then I had to imagine what you’re doing and that’s much more distracting.”

I grinned and nudged my face against his neck, placing kisses underneath his ear.

“What am I doing in your imagination?” I whispered, and he chuckled. “Or you just show me later.”

“But I rented the pitch for another hour,” He said, and finally met my eyes.

“Well, I still have some homework and you still have to knock your team into shape, because quite frankly you’re all really shit right now.”

“Thanks, really encouraging.”

Harry was about to lean into a kiss, as Katie yelled, “Potter, get your love-struck ass up here!”

He groaned and tried again, but this time I backed away.

“Save that for later.” I stroked over the wrinkles in his scarlet-red jersey. He sighed and reached for his Firebolt. “And don’t get hit by another Bludger, I don’t wanna carry you to the hospital wing.”

“I’ll try,” He said and flew back up to the rest of his Quidditch team. With a grin on my lips, I turned back to my Transfiguration essay, only occasionally glancing up at Harry.

After an hour and with a finished essay on Human Transfiguration in my bag, I strolled down the stands and lingered at the entrance to the floor leading up to the changing rooms, acting like I was waiting for Harry to come out.

Ginny sent me a knowing look as she walked past me, arms locked with Demelza. The last to leave was, of course, McLaggen, without so much as looking at me.

I rolled my eyes at his back and slipped through the door, leaving my schoolbag in the floor before opening the door to the boys changing room.

Harry stood next to his stuff, folding his sweaty jersey, but not yet dressed in a shirt. I leaned against the doorframe, grinning.

“Hello,” I said, and Harry startled and swayed around, though his muscles relaxed as he saw me, a broad smile spreading over his lips.

“Are you just gonna stand there or…?” He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, throwing the Snitch he’d just caught upwards and effortlessly catching it again with the same hand.

“You tell me,” I said, taking off my coat and walking up to him. “It’s your imagination.”

Harry smiled, tossing the Snitch onto his pile of clothing, and leaning down to kiss me. Instead of meeting my mouth, he traced wet kisses over my jawline up to my ear while his right hand wandered down my back.

“Take off your jumper,” He whispered.

I did not hesitate and pulled the knitted jumper over my head, revealing my red bra. The corners of his mouth jumped up as his eyes glanced down.

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry said as he caught my gaze again.

I smiled and cupped his face to kiss him hard on the lips. His hands found a place on my naked waist, stroking over the naked skin, and slowly, I let go off his face, my fingers gracing his strong arms.

“You too,” I mumbled as I detached my lips from his, catching my breath.

Harry wasted no time and quickly closed the gap between us, his warm tongue teasingly gracing over my bottom lip. One of his hands wandered from my waist up into my hair, and he pushed me backwards until my back hit the wall, his body pressed up against mine.

Out of surprise at the sudden closeness, I parted my lips, and he slipped his tongue inside my mouth, kissing me more intensely, his breath warm and sweet. A tingling feelings unfurled in my stomach area, leaving me dizzy.

I stroked over his naked shoulders, pulling him even closer, and felt his heart beating against my chest. When my lungs could no longer endure the lack of oxygen, I broke away, and we were both breathing heavily.

He bent down again, and just like before, he traced kisses over my jawline and neck, alongside the golden necklace he had given me on Christmas Eve.

I tilted my head further away, pressing my face against his neck and breathing in his scent – honey, salt, and sandalwood – while my hands found their way back into his hair. Harry groaned against my skin as I lightly pulled at his messy hair and sucked harder on the skin above my collarbone.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” I whispered, and I heard him chuckling.

“That’s what I’m going for,” He answered and attached his lips with my skin again.

I sighed and dropped my hands over his chest and down to his waist, carefully stroking over the skin above the hem of his trousers.

Harry moaned and shifted but reacted quickly by grabbing my hands and pressing them against the wall above my head. With his right hand around my wrists, he kissed me on the mouth, and I captured his bottom lip in between my lips, softly biting down.

This time, he was the one to pull way for air, his eyes gliding over my face and his hand letting go off my arms.

“The Hufflepuff team booked the pitch after us,” Harry said upon my questioning look. “I don’t want them to see us making out.”

I grinned. “Really? Because you made it very obvious that we made out,” I said, stroking over the hickey on my neck.

“Well, they can know, but they don’t need to watch.” He cupped my face and kissed me much gentler than before, and I smiled against his lips, sinking into the kiss.

[crying---mess]

Ok, I think I'm able to form words now. Thoughts on The Ithaca Saga let's go!!

The Challenge

I love how after two acts, eight sagas of Odysseus going on and on about his love for Penelope the very first thing they do once she actually shows up is to establish that 1) she's as smart and as cunning as Odysseus, and 2) she is 100% as loyal and devoted as Ody is.

I also like that we can see quite a bit of her personality. Like. I don't know how else to describe her, but Penelope reads kind of prideful to me? Like 'they don't know / that every night / I unthread all the work I've done / cause I'd rather lie / than allow them to think they've won' really reminded me of Odysseus gloating to the sirens on how he figured out their whole schtick (like, some kind of satisfaction at being able to trick them for so long if that makes sense), and 'cause I'd rather die than grow old without the best of you' is very obviously an I deserve the best (which is Odysseus, but the suitors don't know that). And I like that! Let Penelope feel superior to the assholes hogging her palace! She is better than them!

My favorite part of this song: just about everything from 'oh, could it be some kind of sign / that my world is all about to change?' onwards.

Also, I'm sure it's been said before, but I love how Penelope talks about Odysseus during the description of the challenge. It's My husband's old bow, not the old king's bow (like it'll be in Hold Them Down). And also the phrasing of 'rule with me as his queen' is pretty detached from whoever the 'winner' would be, I think; like, she's not even thinking of herself as the winner's wife, just the queen. Odysseus is her husband and no one else and is not even worth to think otherwise. They make me insane.

Hold Them Down

I don't have a lot to say about Hold Them Down other that it's a damn good song, man. Fucking chills when they started to talk about what they were going to do to Penelope.

Also I think it's pretty obvious that the suitors see Penelope more as a trophy than as a person. They want to posses her, and the status she'd bring them.

My favorite part of the song: 'here and now, there's a chance for action / here and now, we can take control / here and now, burn it down to ashes/ channel the fire inside your soul and / hold 'em down'

Also also, I WAS NOT EXPECTING ANTINOUS TO DIE IN THIS SONG. I THOUGHT HE'D DIE DURING THE NEXT ONE. I FUCKING SCREAMED WHEN I HEARD THAT ARROW.

Odysseus

My honest to god reaction during this whole song was incomprehensible screaching. From start to finish.

Eurymachus calling Odysseus old king even as he begs for mercy is so disrespectful omg. Even as you're asking for forgiveness and to be spared you think he's replaceable, you think there'll be a new king. And then you said to have open arms?? bitch that's why you got shot lmao

*hears piano* Me: ATHENA??!?!?!?! Me: Oh it's Telemachus Me: TELEMACHUS?!!??!?!!

Having Telemachus willing to show mercy and to spare his foes right after (and before!!) Odysseus refuses is actually so important to me. Similarly to how Telemachus describes monster fighting in Legendary, it really shows how different experiences the two of them have had so far; Odysseus is jaded and has accepted ruthlessness, while Telemachus hasn't had a reason not to greet the world with open arms. I think it also somewhat shows how Athena (or at least her teachings) has changed; from Ody refusing to finish the cyclops in Remember Them, to Telemachus offering to spare the suitors.

I think my favorite part was the whole 'Mercy? Mercy?! / My mercy has long since drowned' because it made me scream.

Also, obligatory "Odysseus's name being chanted like other monsters names in the background" mention. Good shit.

I Can't Help but Wonder

ARE WE READY FOR THE SONGS THAT MADE ME CRY????

10/10 Father-son reunion, no notes. can't think too much about it or I'll cry again

I knew Athena would be back but I still gasped. Odysseus and Athena's journeys are so interesting to me because they basically went opposite directions. Odysseus became a monster and learned ruthlessness, but Athena became more human and learned to greet the world with open arms. I even think that 'I can't help but wonder / what this world could be / if we all held each other with a bit more empathy' somewhat reflects 'what good would killing do / when mercy is a skill more of this world could learn to use'. And it makes sense that they don't reconcile here, they're too different right now and everything is still too fresh but I HAD HOPE. Fuck it, I still have hope. 5 years post-canon they become friends again.

My favorite part of the song is Telemachus and Odysseus whole deal, man. Just reading the lyrics makes me tear up.

Would You Fall in Love with Me Again

This. Song. Fucked. Me. Up.

The lyrics the instrumentals the vocals???

This is my favorite song in the whole saga. Like. I've never wanted to make an animatic for a song more in my life. I don't even know how to draw?? I'm this close to learning how to draw just so I can make an animatic of this song.

I adore how they both get mad at the end when the other seems to be questioning their love. Especially Penelope. I love how she goes yes of course I will always love you no matter what, what kind of question is that. She has so little time on-screen and yet she makes herself so clear during her songs.

And omg the instrumental of Just a Man???? It sounded so Epic omggggg

And the last words of the musical are I love you I'm-

Anyways I love this song I love this saga I love this musical that is all thank you for reading

I think The Ithaca Saga made me forget how to speak, man

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

All 6 of the Knights know about Merlin's magic, but all think they're the only one to know:

So the Knights (Arthur, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, Leon, Lancelot) + Merlin are like,,,, investigating something

Ya know, the norm

They're out in the woods tracking down some really mean dude, and whadya know? They get attacked by bandits, as per

So, as per, Merlin hides behind a tree, keeping a careful eye on the fighting

(The knights are drastically outnumbered, BUT they're far more skilled than the bandits so it basically evens out.)

Only planning to step in, to make their own luck, when he needs to, he waits

Everything is going fine, and Merlin need only sit and watch...

UNTIL!

One more person creeps out from the shadows, and begins chanting, the knights notice this of course, and are, all of a sudden, made painfully aware that the bandit attack had just been a distraction to keep them busy, so the sorcerer could step in and do some evil shit

But distraction or not, they still need to actually subdue these arseholes with swords before they can do anything about the sorcerer

BUT that is taking far too long and as the chanting grows louder, Lancelot throws a glance Merlins way, and nods, before giving a shout in an effort to draw attention to himself, and away from Merlin

Merlin follows his cue to step out from his hiding place, but before he can drop a tree branch or something similar onto the head of the sorcerer, he's spotted

The sorcerer looks his way as he stops chanting, let's out a shout-

"Emrys!! You filthy traitor!"

- and throws his arm out towards Merlin, who instinctively, before he even realises what he's doing, extends his own arm in retaliation

Both pairs of eyes glow brighter and brighter, and streams of colour extend from each of their arms, meeting in the middle with an explosion of light that seems far brighter on the sorcerer's (or the...not-Merlin) side

Merlin had clearly overpowered the other sorcerer, but everyone is thrown to the floor with a bang

Merlin conks his head, not dangerously hard, not enough to bleed, but hard enough to leave him properly dazed for a few seconds, and confuse his thoughts

Those few seconds are enough to leave the bandits scampering off into the night in fear, and for the sorcerer to spit at the floor before quickly following them, obviously unimpressed with the fact that he was beaten

Those few seconds are ALSO long enough, for Merlin to look up, and see that the knights have rushed to stand in a circle around him

For a moment, Merlin fears that they mean to tie him down, or even kill him on the spot....

....that is until he realises that none of them are even looking at him, and are instead gesturing their swords wildly at each other, and shouting incomprehensibly, leaving Merlin very confused (not helped by the obvious concussion)

As his vision clears, he takes note of everyones position

Lancelot stands the closest to him, his sword pointed at Arthur (who is opposite him in the circle), shouting something about loyalty and fear and bravery

Arthur in return is pointing his sword at Leon (though is yelling at everyone in the circle), Leon has his sword pointed back at Arthur

Elyan has a sword pointed at Lancelot

Percival and Gwaine have somehow managed to gain second swords, with Percival pointing one at Elyan, and one at Gwaine,

Gwaine is pointing one at Percival, and the other at Arthur

(To help, it's looking like this, the colour of the arrow references who the sword is pointing at)

Merlins head hurts, and he's very confused at why everyone is yelling at each other and not him

Well he understands Lancelot shouting in his defense but....what was going on??

Despite the noise, Lancelot notices Merlin look up, and immediately calls:

"Merlin! Get behind me, quick!"

Merlin tilts his head but goes to move towards Lancelot. He doesn't really understand what's going on but,,,, he remembers doing magic, and not the subtle kind he normally goes for

but his head hurts and he's tired, and Lancelot is the only one who knows his secret, so doing what he says right now is probably the safest option for him to take at the moment

But before he can take more than one stumbled step:

"NO, Merlin I won't let anyone hurt you, come here, my friend." from Leon, (loud and forceful, but gentle as well) stops him in his tracks

At this, Gwaine let's out a growl, and both him and Lancelot move the swords previously pointed at Arthur, to Leon's direction

Merlin is even more confused at this point, and Arthur yelling-

"Absolutely Not! Get your scrawny arse over hear Merlin you idiot, I'm the King, I wont let ANY harm come to you, I swear."

- does NOT help matters

At this, Merlin reckons it's best to just stand still. His head hurts and his magic has been outed and everyone was shouting at him. Probably best to just,,,, wait it out and see what happens. His head hurts

In all honestly, he's not quite sure any of this is real, I mean he wasn't really sure what the sorcerer was chanting before the big explosion thingy, could've been anything. His head hurts, he thinks again

Maybe he hit it harder than he thought

Everyone has stopped shouting at this point, though the swords stay raised, every one of them obviously prepared to jump into battle ("with each other?? " Merlin thinks) at a moments notice

Elyan, quietly "Are you alright Merlin? You hit your head pretty hard. Everything's going to be ok just.... step behind me, I'll protect you."

When he first starts speaking, the others growl, and go to yell over him,,,, by the end of his demand, they all quiet down, and furrow their brows, though they all keep their swords high

It's Percival who speaks next:

"Wait.... are we all trying to protect Merlin?"

Gwaine shouts at this:

"I won't let any of you hurt him! He may have magic but he just saved us, and I'll run the King himself through if I have to in order to keep him safe!"

(if Arthur wasn't preoccupied with....well everything that's happening, he would be offended at the notion that his Knight is far more loyal to his manservant than him)

It's Leon again next:

"Shut up, Gwaine, did all of you...wait. Who knew about Merlins...magic, before now?"

All of them look nervously at each other, but Lancelot is the first to nod, with a:

"I won't let him be punished for bravery."

Despite threatening to kill each other for Merlin, none of them are looking him during this conversation, he however is following whoever is speaking with his eyes, becoming more and more confused... do all of them...know??

Percival and Elyan nod at the same time, and Gwaine (who is looking more serious than any of them have ever seen him) clench his jaw before letting out a low:

"I knew."

Leon looks at Arthur next, whose brow is deeply furrowed, his mouth open slightly, as he give a slow nod

It's Leon, who slowly lowers his sword first, closely followed by Elyan, Pervival. Gwaine follows them, and then Arthur, but Lancelot keeps his sword aimed at the King

"Lower your sword Lancelot, it would appear, that all of us are attempting to protect Merlin from... each other." From Arthur finally has Lancelot relaxing slightly

"...uuh, Lancelot?" From Merlin draws everyones attention back to him, and his very confused (and slightly fearful) face

Lancelot goes to rush towards him, but before his first step even lands, everyone has at least one sword pointed in his direction, quick as lightening,

He huffs as he drops his own sword to the floor:

"Look, we all know about Merlin's magic, and we're all trying to protect him alright? Come off it guys, we need to check his head."

Everyone fully relaxes at that, but it's Leon who reaches Merlin first (he had always been freakishly fast, the bastard) and as he gently tilts Merlin's head forward so he can take a look at the back of it, Arthur puts one hand on Merlin's shoulder, the other still gripping his sword tightly

Merlin is looking very surprised at all this, but his head still hurts and no one seems to be trying to build a pyre or bring out the cuffs, and Lancelot seems relaxed so...that's a good thing right?

He allows Leon to examine his head with no resistance at all,

"He's almost certainly concussed, so we'll need to keep an eye on him for a day or two, but he'll be fine, he's not bleeding and his skull isn't cracked."

Leon steps back from the dark haired manservant, and Merlin looks over his shoulder to give him a dopey smile.

Arthur, with his hand still tightly on Merlin's shoulder, starts giving orders, Percival and Gwaine were to see if they can track down the horses, who had been spooked in the attack, but were trained well to stay close by (and also had all their packs still on them)

Gwaine starts with a "Look princess, if you think I'm leaving Merlin with Uther's so-"

But is interrupted by Percival telling him to shut up, and dragging him in the direction of where the horses were last stood.

Elyan is to starting to build a fire, and Leon and Lancelot are to double check the perimeter, and collect anything left by the bandits in their hasty retreat

Lancelot looks to Merlin for confirmation, a silent "you ok with me going?" hangs in the air, and Arthur looks as though he's going to start yelling again, but Merlin's head hurts and he really doesnt want that, so he gives Lancelot a slight nod, and smile.

Lancelot glances at Arthur once more, face drawn and serious, before walking towards Leon, waiting at the edge of the clearing

Arthur watches them go, before finally settling his gaze in Merlin, and tilting his head slightly in question

Merlins response-

"My head hurts :( "

-causes Arthur to huff out a small laugh before attempting to get Merlin settled against a log, close ish to where Elyan is getting the fire lit

After half an hour or so, everyone is back at camp, the horses have successfully been returned to camp, and are grazing off to the side. The fire is roaring, and Elyan is cooking what had been caught for dinner earlier in the day

Merlin is sat in the same place as he was before, though he seems to now be squidged between a very protective Lancelot, and a very protective Arthur

Gwaine is sat on the opposite side of the fire, and has had a glare leveled at Arthur since he first sat (with Percival sat next to him. No one would say it, but everyone knows it was so Percival could grab Gwaine if he decided to keep to his word and attempt to run the King through with is sword.)

Other than Elyan, Leon seems to be the only completely relaxed one. He knows Arthur the best, and he is aware of the Kings inability to lie on the spot, or keep control of his anger,

If Arthur was intending to hurt Merlin, he would certainly have made it obvious by now

The whole camp is painfully silent all through the meal, it's only after Leon comes back with clean bowls (being one of only two people who were willing to leave the camp (Elyan had already cooked, it wouldn't be fair to make him clean as well)) that Merlin breaks the silence,

His eyes are looking a bit clearer now, but he still has a headache, and he feels like he would probably end up passing out if he tried to stand up:

"So.... I knew about Lancelot but, how long?" The question is obviously aimed at everyone, but all take in a sharp breathe, with Arthur and Gwaine narrowing their eyes, at "I knew about Lancelot"

Percival looks from Merlin to Lancelot and raises an eyebrow in question:

"I realised it wasn't possible for me to have killed that Griffin on my own, but Merlin was the only other one with me. I figured that he had enchanted by lance,"

Everyones brows lower at that

"That was years ago? You've known all this time??" From Leon

Lancelot gives a shrug, "He wasnt exactly subtle. The lance was glowing so brightly I almost fell off my horse, and the only things I could hear were my horses hooves, and Merlin crouched at the side of the road muttering to himself....or to the lance I suppose."

Everyone but Arthur huffs out a laugh at that

I guess he doesn't like to be reminded that Merlin had been closer to Lancelot this whole time

And I can't be arsed to write it out, but all of them explain when, and how, they found out about Merlin's magic. It had been Leon first (which is unsurprising, he's the only one of them who's known him the same length of time as Arthur), a year or two after Lancelot first left.

He was conflicted at first, but after witnessing all the passed up opportunities that would've been perfect for Merlin to strike, like any self respecting evil sorcerer would, he couldn't convince himself that Merlin was evil.

He of course, kept an eye on him, but stopped worrying about him as a danger after only a couple months. He laughingly admits to losing sleep all these years, worrying about Merlin being an idiot and outing himself accidentally.

Though Arthur was the last of the group to speak, he realised Merlin had magic next, shortly after Balinors death.

After some questioning (at the time) Merlin had admitted that he met his father briefly "almost recently" (which was as specific as Merlin was prepared to get at the time) but he'd died shortly after

Arthur could tell Merlin had been upset about it, and made the connection between the timings of Balinors escape from Camelot, Merlins age, and how upset Merlin had been over the death of a near stranger

He explains that he wasn't sure at first, told himself he was seeing connections that weren't there, but he paid more attention to Merlin when Merlin thought no one was looking, and learned the truth soon enough

Gwaine figured it out next, within a week of meeting Merlin, repeating Lancelot's sentiment that he wasnt that subtle with it.

Theres no cool story here, Gwaine is just a lot smarter than people give him credit for

(all those years of trying to tell if another drunkard was about to start a fight, or walk off, made Gwaine very observant)

Like Gwaine, Percival noticed Merlin's magic within a couple weeks of arriving in Camelot

He grew up in kingdom where, as much as it wasn't common, it wasnt illegal. He saw the occasional bits of magic, and knew enough to recognise it

One too many instances of luck, in the midst of a battle, had been what clued him in

Elyan was reluctant to admit it, but he'd only realised a few months ago

(probably, Merlin thinks, probably why he'd been acting so weird recently)

Though he had realised in the same manner as Percival, one too many fallen branches, one too many instances of Merlin seemingly knowing they were about to be attacked, or follow the wrong path

After all their confessions they quietly wait, mostly focused on Merlin

Who at this point

Is still concussed

Though he is greatly appreciative of the fact that none of his friends (and also Arthur, the love of his life but like,,,, he's concussed. If he starts thinking about that too much he'll start talking about it and there is a time and place. Which isn't here and now) are trying to kill him:

"Huh. Gaius is gonna have a field day with this. But he'll probably also yell soooooo... please don't leave when I tell him and also maybe stand in front of me?"

he says with a chuckle. Someone goes to reply with a "Gaius kno-?? Of course he does." But before they can speak, they're interrupted by Merlin mumbling that-

"my head hurts :( "

Everyone else lets out a chuckle at this, but it's Leon who tells Arthur that it's been long enough now,

"Get some rest Merlin, we'll head back to Camelot in the morning, and we'll protect you from Gaius' famous wrath when we get there :) " from Arthur, has Merlin going:

"Oh thank the gods." Before promptly passing out on Arthur's shoulder, much to the amusement of everyone else.

~

THE END!

There is of course a merthur love confession at some point. And also Gaius expectedly yelling at Merlin when they get back (for being stupid and unsubtle all these years, for revealing his magic in such a dramatic fashion the previous day, for essentially concussing himself). The lot of them giggle at that, despite Merlin glaring at them the whole time

Arthur also reveals to the whole gang, the draft on the Magic Ban Repeal he'd been secretly working on. He always wanted Merlin to trust him enough to tell him the truth, but started work on the repeal when he came to the realisation that trust and respect goes both ways.

SO like always gang, I'm shitty at writing in full so like,,,,, if someone wants to wrote this go for it, credit and tag me✌