#so now this is what he looks like god bless
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daimyosprincess · 1 day ago
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AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
HOLY SHIT THIS WAS SO HOT
Joel calling himself an old man????? then you hit me with the DADDY KINK??????? AND THe FILMING AND DIRTY TALK I'M 💦💦💦💦 truly I am unwell bc this was SO HOT AND DELICIOUS!!!!!! the way I was craving a nasty Joel and this popped on my dash god bless 🙏
“Well, you’re in luck darlin’ because I don’t remember much of the details your boyfriend gave me,” he smiles when your brows furrow with confusion. “Meanin’ you have to lead me with the design.”  He swears your smile is the brightest damn thing he’s seen in a long while. 
I loved the bit about the kitchen and Joel encouraging you to do what you want with YOUR house. it shows just how kind he is under all his gruffness and how he truly has that Daddy energy of tenderness and empowerment of his partner 💖
“Look at that,” he hums, laving your neck in open-mouthed wet kisses. “Your girlfriend already going stupid with my cock. Not so bad for an old man huh?”  “Hear  that, John,” he growls, the tremble of each word reverberating into your skin. “She’s beggin’ for my cock. Ain’t that right, darlin’?”  You nod but it’s not enough for him, not enough for Joel. “Don’t be shy now, tell him. He ever got you this wet?”  “N-No,” you breathe out and maniacally shake your head. “N-Never.”  “Poor thing,” he clicks his tongue. “Poor poor thing. Don’t worry, daddy’s got you now. Doesn’t he?”  “Yes,” you slur, pushing back your hips. “Fuck me, fuck me—Fuck me, daddy, please.”  “Say it again,” his teeth sink into your skin. “One more and I’ll fuck you.” 
YOU ABSOLUTELY READ ME FILTHY GOOD FUCKING BYEEEEEEEEE
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“A throne for a princess,” he groans
I am OBSESSED with this and will be thinking about this forever bc you're so right it is my throne ✨
“Where do you want me?” he whispers into your skin. Words coming muffled and hoarse, dripping slow like molasses. You push back against him, looking into the camera with a small smile.  “Inside me, daddy, please.”  “Oh shit—” he picks up the pace, the thrust of his hips sloppy and needy. “Shit shit shit—so fuckin’ perfect, so good for allowin’ this old man to wreck her good—So good for tellin’ me to fill her up—fuck—” 
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'𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐰.
pairing: contractor!joel miller x f!reader
genre: no outbreak au, modern au, explicit smut, minors dni
word count: 3k
summary: joel is used to asshole clients, and when one of them calls him an old man and basically demands him to finish his girlfriend's kitchen in time, he expects you to be the same. But you're the opposite. when he learns how you've been treated, he comes up with a plan to get back at your boyfriend.
warnings: hints of reader being in a toxic relationship, age gap, daddy kink, piv, dirty talk , revenge sex and filming it, infidelity (reader cheating on her bf), praise kink
a/n: This was completely spontaneous, normally I was going to finish one of the haunted hoedown entries but I saw a ✨ s p i c y ✨ video and instantly got up to write this because that video was something else I tell you. Sucks that they don't credit those things on twitter so I can find more of the guy he was also older hence the age gap fgbgfbf
thank you to @johnwatsn for beta'ing this (and sorry for all the typos lmaodfbfg) and thank you to @pedrorascal for the stunning gif 💜
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“I’m not paying extra if you do overtime, old man. You said a week and you’ll finish in a week. I don’t care if your knees hurt or you have a heart attack in the middle of hammering a nail—you finish my girlfriend’s kitchen in time. Got it?”  
Joel had a lot of unpleasant customers. John was just one of many but his comment had stuck with him. And it wasn’t the rude comments or the tone that basically told Joel that John thought of him as dog shit; no, it was none of that. It was the old man that had bugged him. The hissed comment of his age slithering under his skin and agitating his body. 
Joel knew that it only bothered him because it was true. He was an old man. His daughter in her last year of college, doing her absolute best and growing while he was getting old. His skin creasing at the eyes every time he laughed and his hair more salt than pepper. 
The thoughts continuing to swirl in his head, with a sigh, he knocks on the door of John’s girlfriend, expecting a woman as equally as unpleasant and demanding. 
You’re far from what he expected. Your smile is bright, your eyes kind and lips looking soft and shiny. Joel has trouble gathering himself when you extend a hand, not a care in the world. His eyes drop to where your sweetheart neckline pushes your breasts together, slightly spilling over the fabric. His mouth goes dry, cock twitching under the denim. 
Guess some parts of him didn’t get the memo that he was an old man now. 
“Joel, right?” you ask, voice unsure and timid. Your eyes gradually take in the height of him, moving to explore the broadness of his shoulders and stopping at his eyes. “John mentioned you.” 
Joel’s stomach suddenly turns sour, it’s enough for him to snap out of the sudden lustful gaze he found himself in. He grabs your hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “That’s right. Joel Miller at your service, ma’am.” 
He might be imagining it, but he swears your breath hitches just a little when he takes your hand. 
“How chivalrous,” you smile and move to the side. “Come on in, Mr. Miller.” 
“Joel is just fine,” he grunts, reminded of the old-age comment. How young were you, he wonders. Late twenties, early thirties? He has no idea. He’s also not sure if he wants to know. 
You close the door behind him and nod, “Alright then Joel,” you step in front of him, walking towards what he assumes is the kitchen. Joel dutifully follows. “I’m sure John told you about what needs to be done, so hopefully you don’t have any questions.” 
He raises an eyebrow at that, confusion swirling in his expression. You don’t turn to look at him, entering the kitchen, you continue, “I had something else in mind originally but he told me to trust him so... I guess that’s what I’m doing now.” 
“That don’t sound right,” Joel mumbles. He gives the area a once over, he sees a lot of pink, clean, and polished furniture. The windows are large, allowing the sun to bathe everything within. He vaguely remembers John mentioning a dark, minimalist look but he wasn’t really listening at the time. “Isn’t this your kitchen?” 
Your shoulders raise at his question and you finally turn to face him, kind eyes now tainted with a hint of sadness, “It’s going to be our kitchen soon. He probably thinks it’s too girly.” 
“That’s no reason to leave you out of the design process,” Joel answers, taking a step closer. You smile helplessly with a shrug, your eyes dropping to his lips before averting them. His pulse races, something wicked forming in his head. He stops an inch away from you, a mere breeze would’ve been enough for your bodies to touch but he keeps still and so do you. You’re flustered, he can tell. “You wanna tell me what you had in mind?” 
Your eyes briefly go wide, something like shame crossing your face but the expression is quickly replaced by understanding, “Oh the design,” you murmur, voice barely a whisper. “I honestly would’ve loved some more counter room since I love to bake.” 
“Well, you’re in luck darlin’ because I don’t remember much of the details your boyfriend gave me,” he smiles when your brows furrow with confusion. “Meanin’ you have to lead me with the design.” 
He swears your smile is the brightest damn thing he’s seen in a long while. 
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It’s the last day of the constructions in your kitchen but you’re not thinking of the new kitchen counter or the new cupboard, all you’re thinking of is Joel’s proposition, and how you were soaked with just the mere thought of it. 
You and Joel had grown surprisingly close during the time he fixed up your kitchen. Surprisingly, you actually went with the design you initially wanted and not the one John had in mind. You knew it would lead to a fight and some part of you was glad—John was meant to be perfect but it was only on paper. He was a dream bot when in public and amongst friends, but alone? Not a chance. He belittled you, hated almost all your hobbies and always made unnecessary comments on what you looked liked. 
Despite yourself, you had blabbed all of that to Joel. He made you feel safe, and the fact that he was very pleasant to look at helped. He didn’t say much but you could tell that he was livid, which secretly made you pleased. It was good to see that how John treated you wasn’t actually the norm. 
You loved watching him work. The way sweat would slide all the way down to your neck and how his muscles would tense, straining the fabric of his shirt. 
He told you about how John had treated him, confessed he thought you would be the same. Your insides had boiled with anger. You apologized profusely and he just shook it off, saying it wasn’t your fault. 
Then the kiss had happened. 
It had happened on a particularly bad day. You were upset, filled with negative emotions to the brim and all you wanted was unconditional comfort. You kissed him, he didn’t stop you until your hand reached for his belt. 
“I wanna show that asshole how amazin’ you are,” he had said. “Will you let me?” 
At the time you hadn’t known what he meant by that. 
But now you do. 
“Look into the camera, sweetheart,” he murmurs, mouth pressed against your ear. You shudder, your bare body feeling good against his, like you were made for him. Your pussy throbs and drools all over his cock that slides agonizingly slow between your folds. You try to do as he says but it’s just too hard when your eyes are constantly on the brink of rolling back into your skull. He drags his lips down your neck as his large hands knead your breasts, your nipples achingly hard. “Don’t make me say it again, honey. Don’t make me be mean when you’re such a good girl.” 
“Oh, fuck—” your body shudders, lashes fluttering as you stare right into the camera with a lost expression. You see yourself, Joel right behind you. You don’t know how but he looks even taller while his body splays over yours, bending you over. He presses his palm over your forehead, forcing the arch of your back. Your inner thighs are soaked, his cock moving between your legs. You see the flash of the glistening head every time he rocks himself forward. 
He looks into the camera and your entire body clenches with want, “Look at that,” he hums, laving your neck in open-mouthed wet kisses. “Your girlfriend already going stupid with my cock. Not so bad for an old man huh?” 
Joel’s lips stretch menacingly, eyes shining  with amusement. Letting go of your forehead, he pushes both your tits closer to the camera, thumbs moving over the pebbled flesh. You moan loudly and your legs quiver. 
“Sweet thing over here tells me you don’t let her ride you—I thought you were a dumbass before but now I think you’re a downright moron. Fuckin’ hell, who wouldn’t want such an eager thing jumpin’ up and down his cock.” 
You whimper, eyes going teary. Your heart races wildly in your chest. “J—Joel, please. . .” 
“Hear  that, John,” he growls, the tremble of each word reverberating into your skin. “She’s beggin’ for my cock. Ain’t that right, darlin’?” 
You nod but it’s not enough for him, not enough for Joel. “Don’t be shy now, tell him. He ever got you this wet?” 
“N-No,” you breathe out and maniacally shake your head. “N-Never.” 
“Poor thing,” he clicks his tongue. “Poor poor thing. Don’t worry, daddy’s got you now. Doesn’t he?” 
“Yes,” you slur, pushing back your hips. “Fuck me, fuck me—Fuck me, daddy, please.” 
“Say it again,” his teeth sink into your skin. “One more and I’ll fuck you.” 
“Daddy,” you moan, eyes rolling back. “Daddy, need you, need your cock. Fuck me, please.” 
He hums in satisfaction, “Well, since you asked so darn nicely,” Joel kisses your temple and his lips move over your skin as he speaks to the camera, “Looks like she’s my girl now, my good girl.” 
When he buries himself into you, inch by inch, your jaw goes slack and your nipples go tight. You forget about the camera, about John who’ll see this. You only think of him. He stretches you to your very limit, his cock thick and hard. It takes you everything not to move your hips. You want Joel to tell you what to do. You want him to fuck you so good that your mind will go blank as you start bouncing on his cock. His one hand grips your waist firmly as the other remains underneath your breast, the sensitive flesh spilling over his hand while holding you. 
“How does it feel?” he murmurs into your ear, his cruel teasing from earlier gone. 
“Good,” you whimper, squeezing him tight. “So fucking good, the biggest I’ve ever had.” 
“Fuck, darlin’,” he kisses the skin behind your ear. “Such a filthy mouth on such an innocent lookin’ girl. You were wasted on that jackass.” 
He knocks the air from your lungs before you can answer. The drag of his cock like lightning searing your skin. He fucks you hard, almost angrily, but you know it’s not directed at you. Never at you. The smack of his balls against your ass fills the bedroom, and you’re positive the phone is recording every wet, filthy sound. It doesn’t take much for Joel to reduce you into a withering mess, every word forgotten, his hips relentless as he fucks deeper and deeper into you. 
Then suddenly you’re tilting back, his arm an anchor around your stomach as you find yourself between his thighs sitting on his lap. Your eyes move to the screen, you look perfect between his legs, the muscles tensing and flexing as he grinds his hips. Your skin pleasantly burns. 
“Come on, sweetheart, show him what he’s been missin’ out on.” 
Joel leans back, palm planted firmly on your mattress with pretty pink flowers that John hates. 
Your body takes control, your brain swimming in a fog of lust and pleasure. You grip his thick thighs, bracing yourself, you begin to move up and down his cock. He fills you beautifully. His gaze is fixed on the tiny camera, staring directly into it as you try your best to please him. Arousal coils tight in your stomach. Your breasts sway with your every move, your body coating him in shiny slick. 
“A throne for a princess,” he groans, eyes moving from the camera to your reflection on the screen. Fire burns down your spine. His gaze and presence alone choking the air from your lungs. You twist yourself to get a better look at him, catching his gaze momentarily, you moan wantonly at the sight. Him only sitting, relaxed while you’re breaking down sends jolts of electricity up and down your spine. You sit wholly, grinding down while keeping his cock buried deep inside, searching for that devastating spot inside you. 
The world around you becomes a bright white when you do. 
Your ears start ringing, and you begin to shake, legs clamp together as you shudder around the length of him. A choked sound between laughter and bewilderment tears from your throat. Your body moves of its own accord now, helplessly bouncing on his cock, the bulbous head grazing against a certain spot that just makes you want more and more and more—
“Yes yes yes yes,” you chant. Joel’s head disappears from view everytime you move up. You hear his moans, they become louder and louder, his southern drawl becoming prominent the more fucked out he gets. 
His sounds only spur you on, making you ride him harder, sweat beading at your tailbone. Your pussy swallows him hungrily, every inch of him without protest. While you’re absolutely lost on his cock, you notice him tilting his head so he’s in view again. You hold your breath. His mouth parts, the tip of his tongue touching the corner of his lips, he gives the camera a taunting look. Joel’s expression turns into a half smile and he wraps his arms around you. One going over right above your breasts and the other around your stomach. His hand cups the side of your neck. He drags his mouth down and up your cheek. 
“Come on, pretty girl,” he rasps, kissing you. You look to the camera, hips slowing but not stopping. “Yes, pretty girl, just like that,” another kiss. “Look at that pretty girl getting fucked.” 
Joel squeezes your breast as  his arm comes down, both of them now tight around your stomach. You feel him pulsing deep inside you. His voice is thick with arousal. “Look how beautiful you are on my dick. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?” 
You nod and grind against him, loving how deep he feels. He kisses your neck, tongue tracing shapes into your skin as both his hands come up to your tits and squeezes them, the plump flesh spilling from between his knuckles. His lips move down your shoulder and back up your neck, following the same path over and over again, decorating it with slow kisses. 
Joel gives the camera one last look before disappearing behind you,  fingers sprawled over your stomach and down between your legs. You feel the rough hairs between your shoulder blades first, then the softness of his lips follows through. Your eyes flutter closed and your head falls back, his mouth is so goddamn soft, the skin tingling and burning at the same time. 
His hips snap up, and with the sudden movement, a fresh wave of wetness coats his cock. You lean forward, face closer to the camera, while he lays back, watching hungirly at the way your ass moves. 
“Yeah, just like that,” he groans, smacking both your asscheeks simultaneously. 
Then before you know it he’s moving, pressing you fully over the table in front of you, the phone shaking as he begins to hammer into you. You can’t even see what you look like anymore, your head dropping, you cry out his name. If it wasn’t for his hands on your hips, you would’ve collapsed to the ground. 
“That’s it, come on my cock,” he nips at your shoulders. “Fuck, you’re so fucking wet—can you hear that? Can you hear how fuckin’ soaked your girlfriend is on an old man’s cock?” 
It takes you a second to realize he’s not talking to you, but the camera. You flutter around him, squeezing him tight enough that he moans, hips slowing. “Daddy,” you gasp. And with that, you finally let go, cunt gushing around him, coating him with slick. Joel peppers your back with soft, quick kisses, whispering praise between every kiss. 
“That’s it, sweetheart, bet you never came that hard before. Good girl—my good fuckin’ girl, wettin’ my cock so well.” 
You tighten and gush around him a second time, you swear by how hard you’re clenching your insides most likely have taken the shape of him. 
“Where do you want me?” he whispers into your skin. Words coming muffled and hoarse, dripping slow like molasses. You push back against him, looking into the camera with a small smile. 
“Inside me, daddy, please.” 
“Oh shit—” he picks up the pace, the thrust of his hips sloppy and needy. “Shit shit shit—so fuckin’ perfect, so good for allowin’ this old man to wreck her good—So good for tellin’ me to fill her up—fuck—” 
You’re blindsided by how honest he suddenly is, the rasp of his voice going straight between your legs. His hips stutter and Joel comes with a loud, thick moan, spilling into you. You moan right alongside him. He continues to rock into you with shallow thrusts, laying kisses on every patch of skin his lips can reach. 
While you’re lost in complete bliss, he reaches around you and grabs the phone, stopping the recording before collapsing back to the bed, pulling you along with him. 
“You feel so good,” he says, cock softening inside. You feel his come trickling down from between your thighs and shiver. 
“You feel good too,” you say, wrapping your arms around him and covering his lips with your own. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.” 
“Guess this old man still has some tricks up his sleeve,” he chuckles weakly and you press another kiss, this time on his cheek. “We don’t have to by the way.” 
“Don’t have to what?” 
“Send the video.” 
You stare at the phone for a second, brows furrowed as you think. Then with a quick shrug, you turn back to him. “Nah, let him see it. I could’ve forgiven how he treated me but not you.” 
He clicks his tongue with disapproval, “You shouldn’t forgive him for how he treated you either, darlin’. You deserve better.” 
“Well, I guess you’re just going to have to prove it me then,” you smile and with a sudden impulse, boop his nose. He laughs, nipping the pad of your finger. 
“I guess I will.”  
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coquettepascal · 2 days ago
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felicitas and her general
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summary: general acacius has caught your attention after being the first mortal to worship you in decades. you only face one challenge: don't get too attached.
warnings: rated g, contains spoilers for gladiator ii, follows the timeline of the movie somewhat, reader is the goddess felicitas (who is the goddess of good luck,) this fic is basically just an add on to the movie.
tags: goddess!reader x general acacius, emotional infidelity, lots of roman mythology stuff, writer is basing all her knowledge out of what she remembers from PJO and HoO, worship, complicated feelings, marcus does not cheat on lucilla physically, yearning, pining, grieving, guilt, major character death(s), stalking (kind of), a lot of obsession/dedication, angst, hurt no comfort but also hurt with comfort.
a/n: i watched gladiator ii and then was too emotionally devastated to finish this fic the way i planned. i really hope you all like this!! also, this fic is also dedicated to my dear friend @pascalssbabyy because she is my biggest cheerleader and i love her <33
wc: 7.2k (not beta read)
It was he who woke you.
A quiet sacrifice in the evening that felt like the freshest breath of air you could have, more intense than what you could have atop any mountain, near any spring. The scent of burning meat and smokey vegetables grasped at your lungs, and you almost choked on it. How long had it been since someone had offered you something so kind? Real food, not just scraps of something they didn’t wish for. 
You’d never complain about how difficult it is to be a minor Goddess, you know that you could be a mortal, but most don’t think of how Gods can fade. It’s a physical process, one where you’d notice how your fingertips passed through things like chalices and bowls, how a spoon slid through your hand once. The clatter of gold on the table was embarrassing, even though you were alone. Nothing about being forgotten, or fading, physically hurt. It was only mentally taxing, knowing that you weren’t as important as you once were, that mortals found you insignificant.
Generals used to come and offer things frequently sometime ago, but you couldn’t even begin to understand how long ago that was. When you’re immortal, or supposed to be, mortal lives seem fleeting. You had taken them for granted, and regret it now, for all you have now are the empty clouds above your temple. 
The last offering you can gather was from a young boy, who wanted to win a board game against his sister the next day. He had given you half a bun with strips of meat. Sure, it was thoughtful, but this was something rich. 
You finish inhaling the offering, and then hear the offerer's voice. But it’s muffled, and you want to see who it is anyways, so you swipe through the clouds and create a window to see. Then you can hear him clearly.
Someone who is clearly a general kneels at your altar, which is chipped and dirty. The ashes of the food are in front of him, smoking still, and you can taste the wealth in his meal. It can’t distract you from him though, he is striking.
Broad shoulders support a heavy, curly, grey, head of hair, which is bowed in honor of you. His body is widely built, sturdy for battle, and his voice is just as powerful. You’re so focused on hearing his voice you only catch the tail end of his request.
“... Allow me to come home safely, if not for Rome, then for my wife.”
Your heart squeezes, and you swear you can feel the ichor gushing through your veins. Scarcely when a General came to give you an offering all those years ago would he mention a wife, only ever wishing for luck in the upcoming battle or war. But here, now, you’ve been given a respectful request and offering. It isn’t a thought in your mind to not favor him now, your eyes closing and your mouth murmuring a blessing to him. It feels intoxicating to use some of your power again, especially on someone who asked for it. It also feels intoxicating to watch this General leave.
He looks around before he goes, seeming to note how degraded your small temple has become. The statue of you that lies ahead of your altar is yellowing, and ironically, multiple fingers have broken off. The General seems displeased by this, sighing as he exits the temple.
His gait is heavy, sandaled steps weighted as he walks down them and into the torch-lit night. You find yourself looking for him even after he’s disappeared from your sight, the warmth of gratefulness hugging around you. Part of you knows better than to play around with the thought, but still you wish to know more about him.
It worsens when he comes back. A few times a week he returns, offering rich foods. It’s been a month now, and you are coming back to life.
Fading didn’t feel like anything, but coming back feels like so much more. The first few offerings had your body feeling alight again, like the ichor in you was flowing again, but within the last two weeks you’ve gotten your fingertips back. They were tingling for a day and then the next you were able to properly grasp things again, nothing was slipping through you.
In that time you had also learned his name. A guard had come looking for him one night, and stood behind him whilst he prayed. You had found yourself smiling when he didn’t interrupt himself, instead acting aggravated once he had finished. The guard had apologized for interrupting and let him know that “Your wife wishes to speak to you, General Acacius.”
Acacius. 
You still don’t know his first name, but it is enough. You can think of it when you feel lonely, when you are bored. Something to associate with the offerings, with the blessings. The fact he has been so consistent hints at a desperation, which would usually repel you from blessing him, but he is the only one who seems to recognize you. His efforts are not going to go unseen by you, not when you have so little to do.
You can feel yourself conceding to your need to know him more, but just as you begin to fight yourself again, he shows up.
Tonight he’s dressed a little nicer. Usually he arrives in a plain tunic but this one has golden trim on it, and his hair is a little more tousled. He stumbles into your altar holding something in a cloth, but he’s walking like he’s… drunk? 
Acacius meanders to your altar, grabbing a torch along the way, and then empties the contents of the cloth. It produces a small dessert bun, a Libum, or honey cheesecake, and your mouth waters. So much of the food that is given to you is savory meats, masculine foods that are heavy on the senses, but this is sweet and delicate. You can, of course, eat whatever you’d like. You’re a Goddess, and though you aren’t major, you are still very fortunate.
But this feels thoughtful.
The General drops to his knees after lighting the bun ablaze, swaying slightly, and now you know he must be drunk.
“Goddess Felicitas,” he begins as normal, “I am sorry I am later than usual. Though I don’t know if Goddesses sleep. I was… caught up in other affairs, but I made it in time.”
He is less eloquent than usual and seems particularly focused on how it is nearly past midnight.
“I brought you this though,” he gestures to the half burnt bun. “I wanted to bring you something different than meat and… things. I thought a dessert would be fitting for that task.”
Acacius pauses now. His thoughts are probably muddled from whatever he drank, and you find yourself smiling. Foolery has never been so endearing to you.
“You have been listening to me, I suppose. My requests for luck in battle have been answered, as well as my safety being ensured. Your blessings have brought my wife peace of mind, something I could not previously afford to her.”
He looks so small in your temple tonight. Normally he is not so vulnerable, but his shoulders sag as he mentions his wife. Some sort of shame runs over him at the idea that he could not ease his wife’s worries, but it makes you feel better that you could help. 
“Goddess Felicitas, I come here tonight bearing no requests, just gratitude. Your blessings have soothed wounds I could not see, and I feel like a young soldier again. You invigor me.” 
Then, he leaves. 
You watch helplessly as he stumbles back down the steps and away from your temple, and more than ever you wish to chase him. The love he has for his wife is clear, and you hold no jealousy of that, but you wish it were you. Something in you is deeply attached to this General now. He has awoken you so much more than rekindling your power as a goddess, more than releasing you from the grief that comes with fading. Yes, Acacius has made your heart beat again, your mind curious again, and you feel seen. Being worshipped is not the same as being loved, if that were true you’d have had many children by now, 
But after so long being forgotten, this feels like what you remember being loved as.
You try not to interact with the other Gods for the most part. They tend to meddle in things they don’t need to, and are sensitive. You are not exempt from this stereotype, but that’s only more reason for the distance. 
But today, you venture to meet another deity.
Morpheus is not hard to find. He is pretty stationery where he is, usually lounging on a rock or bench near his temple, or above it in the clouds. He is a bit…dramatic, from what you remember, but wise. 
Today he is stretched out on a cloud above his temple, eyes shut. His pale skin stretches taut on his bones as his lean frame breathes deeply. But, he is not asleep. 
“Morpheus,” you speak. 
His body rolls toward your direction, eyes still shut, but a small smile on his face.
“O young goddess Felicitas, what brings you to me?” He questions.
It’s hard not to feel embarrassed. You’ve spoken to Morpheus on very rare occasions, but he’s always been somewhat helpful, though nosy. Dreams tell a lot about people, and when he’s the one giving them to people, it’s hard to hide anything at all.
You don’t want him to know of your true affection for General Acacius, just that he is… worthy of a visit. 
And so you begin to describe it to Morpheus, your need to visit Acacius. He doesn’t open his eyes at all, but he raises his eyebrows a lot and seems bemused at your situation. You’re only halfway through your rambling before he raises a gangly limb and waves at your words.
“Felicitas, you think you are the only Goddess wishing to visit her admirer? You need no explanation,” he says jovially. 
Morpheus reaches into the air and pulls 6 black berries into existence, then drops them into your open palm.
“When you know he is asleep, bite down on one of these and think of him,” he describes to you.
The berries smell like nothing, but a powdery residue is left on your skin as you roll them in your palm. It doesn’t repel you at all.
Tonight, you will visit him and express the same gratitude he did to you. 
Marcus lays next to his wife, Lucilla, with her hand in his. She fell asleep sometime ago, leaving him to lie awake by himself.
He didn’t make it to her temple tonight and the guilt is festering in his body. Marcus knows that she is a Goddess, that he probably isn’t a thought in her mind. He knows that he is just another whiney mortal, giving her food that isn’t nearly as good as whatever Gods eat. His insignificance grows as he feeds into his guilt. 
Stress has permeated his life for much of it, from his time as a young soldier up until now, as a General. Battles, politics, and his family, have created a breeding ground for him to be wracked with anxieties, but he stays strong. Thanks to his time in Felicitas temple, it’s been better.
Which is why failing to make it to her temple tonight is making him feel so bad.
He grabs at the linen sheets of his bed, stressing and trying to reassure himself until he falls asleep finally.
Being in a dream is weird. It feels much the same as it does when you disguise yourself as a mortal, the out of body experience is semi-familiar, but it’s weird because someone else is there.
You’ve been watching the General enjoy the lake in front of him for a few minutes now. He hasn’t slipped into it, but just walks along the waterline. It seems like he is looking for something. Surely his dreams usually contain more action, or perhaps are memories, so you assume it may be strangely understimulating for him.
The appearance you’ve chosen is one of modesty, but elegance. A seafoam green peplos hangs off your frame delicately, with golden clasps at the wrists and waist. You did your hair so it would be tucked out of your face. There is no guarantee that Acacius will recognize you like this, but you look much like your statue that’s within your temple.
Swallowing your nerves, you shimmer yourself into visibility. The grassy field is odd beneath your feet, and you walk toward him with uncertainty in each step. You’ve never met with a mortal before, and you haven’t stepped on anything earthy in a long while. His broad stature only becomes more daunting as you get closer, especially since he seems so focused.
You will have to speak first. You’re much too quiet in this environment, and you must act fast lest he wake before you get his attention.
“General Acacius,” you speak firmly, though your hands shake. 
This is so unfamiliar to you. You’ve barely even seen his face, as he’s usually bowed at your altar. It is the first time you’ll see him at an equal level, the first time you’ll have brought yourself to him rather than him to you. 
He turns quickly, an instinctual aggressiveness toward the unknown. You stand about 10 feet from him, eyes widening.
Acacius is striking. His nose is what you focus on first, strong in shape and line, but behind it are his eyes which look to you with wide acknowledgement. His hair curls around his head in greying ringlets, like a permanent laurel crowning him. The wide expanse of his back was once impressive, but now you can see the solid wall which he becomes when facing you. Nothing could push him over it seems, a man built to stand.
Your heart squeezes the way it did the first time he gave you a request, a tender rush tingling your whole body. No words come out of either of your mouths, and the General drops to one knee instantly. 
He recognizes you.
“Goddess Felicitas,” he rushes out in a breath. His chest is heaving as he bows his head and no, no this isn’t how you want this.
Your feet are moving before you can focus on your anxiety, bringing you so close to him that you can kneel too. Maybe a goddess should not kneel before a mortal general, but you are just on your knees rather than putting yourself below him. Your peplos billows a little as air rushes through it when you hit the grass.
He is above you like this, and you tilt your head to see his face again. His strong brow is furrowed, eyes squeezed shut like he is afraid of you. 
“Acacius,” you say softly, “I am not here for… for ill reason. Please relax yourself.”
You lean back as he relaxes, head tipping upwards as he kneels in front of you as well. Now you can meet his eyes, see the crinkles that are beside them, and really take him in.
An energy of anxiety is shared wordlessly, with him stiff from the sight of a literal goddess, and you with the fear of… something. 
The identity of your anxieties isn’t something that you can figure out. Maybe it’s too much to see such a handsome mortal, or maybe it’s that you’re going to thank him for his offerings so personally. Maybe it’s humiliation from this act. What would other Gods think of this? Is it not degrading to become so attached to a mortal? Are you no better than Zeus or Hermes, the gods who interact too intimately with mortals? 
The sound of his labored breathing alerts you, calls your attention back to the present moment. 
“I wanted to thank you,” you admit meekly, “for your offerings. You have been very generous and… devoted.”
His eyes are shifty, and you can see the terror in him still. You don’t want him to fear you, but you can understand why. Visits from Gods or other deities can mean trouble, but you aren’t significant like that.
“General Acacius you are the first mortal who has acknowledged me in a long time,” you offer a vulnerability, perhaps trying to soothe him.
It feels so backwards for you to be kneeling in front of him, speaking. He has done so in front of your altar for many weeks now, but now the spots are switched, yet you are still in power. You avert your gaze as you speak up, wanting to request something of him.
“You’ve been so generous to me, General, I was hoping to know more about you.”
And now, rather than scared, he seems suspicious. 
“To know me?” He clarifies. 
You nod.
“I only know your last name. I think I could offer more luck and splendor if we were more… personal.” 
Gods that felt awful to say. You’re no better than the whorish brutes on their thrones, offering petty glories for intimacy. Everything feels flirtatious but that’s not what you’re looking for. Acacius has a wife he clearly loves, you would never want to interrupt that. 
He seems to hesitate, but he knows he cannot refuse you. So far your blessings have brought ease to his life, he wouldn’t want to lose that.
“Then… yes, I suppose I can offer myself if it would please you.” He responds stoically. 
And it does please you, to know his name. Marcus Acacius, the one who woke you, the one who has saved you from being a fragmented memory within the temples. 
Marcus Acacius, who you are too fond of.
You visit him 3 more times. In an attempt to space out the usage of the berries Morpheus gave you, you only visit him once a week. The bleak tasting berries are sour on your tongue, a rotten sour which lingers once you wake up, but it’s worth it.
The two of you have grown closer, with Marcus opening up more. He tells you about the stresses in his life, how much anxiety is buried in him. But, he’s confident for the sake of his wife. You’ve learned that her name is Lucilla, and much more about her. Marcus talks about her a lot, in passing or retelling something she told him. In the small amount of time you’ve gotten to know him, you’ve gotten to know her as well.
It burns you with a strange warmth, a desire and envy which makes your stomach growl. You are hungry for him to admire you in the same way, to speak of you, but doesn’t he already? Shame grips your throat when you think of it. You are a Goddess who he sacrifices to, who he wishes to have blessings from. What more do you need? A mortal couldn't offer you what another deity could. 
After the fourth meeting, you found yourself lonely. Lazing back in the clouds above your temple, you woke with a deep hunger. Marcus is beautiful, an admirable man, and he loves passionately. You are already being such a glutton for even speaking with him, meeting with him repeatedly, so why must you yearn for him too? 
Worship isn’t enough, you want what you will never let yourself to have.
Nothing hints that he might feel similarly. His starry gaze which lands on you is not due to your beauty, your personality, or anything more. You have blessed him, and that is why his eyes glitter. Goddess status has never made you feel so low and isolated. Still, you are happy to help him achieve what he wishes, even as it cripples your heart.
Tonight you plan on visiting him. That fourth visit was a week and a half ago, he may be wondering where you are. He still comes to your altar each night, but the prayers are less personal. Marcus saves his stories and ramblings for when the two of you are in the field, or near the lake, when the two of you are really alone.
You bite into the berry at around midnight. Its tangy yet death-tasting juice floods your mouth, clinging to the crevices between your teeth and staining your gums. Closing your eyes, you think of Marcus, and his curls, and his eyes, and his nose, and his strong hands.
And then you are there, and he is waiting. 
It seems like his subconsciousness has picked to be at the lake today, and he’s sat in the sand at the edge of the water. You walk over to him, but notice how… down he appears to be.
“She is not happy with me,” Marcus confesses before you even sit down.
You stand a few feet back from him, looking at how his curls fall around his bowed head.
“Lucilla?” You ask softly.
He nods.
A wicked feeling begins to steep in your heart. She is upset with him, he is in need of you for something more than a blessing. 
And so you listen. 
It’s one of the longer meetings the two of you have had. Marcus doesn’t cry, but he seems truly upset. He’s been called to go off somewhere far again, to fight and kill. Reassurances that you will protect him as best you can only soothe him so much. 
He doesn't care if he dies, he cares that his beloved is distraught over this. 
The more the two of you talk, the closer you get. There are marks on the sand from where you originally sat, but now you kneel in front of him, with creased brows and worried eyes. This isn’t something you can fix, you aren’t familiar with love and its intricacies. 
His knees were tucked closer to his chest before, but they’ve loosened now and his fists rest atop them, clenching. Frustration sits on his face like a mask, one you wish to take off him.
Touching is not… something either of you partake in. Sometimes your shoulders will brush when you sit together, but nothing more has ever been initiated. 
That is why it doesn’t surprise you when he flinches as your hand reaches out to rest on top of his right clenched fist. 
“Marcus,” you say softly, wanting to offer comfort, but he cuts you off.
“Don’t,” he replies swiftly.
At first it hurts, watching as he waves off your hand from his own, but then you look at his face rather than where your hands were joined. The frustrated look on his face is gone, replaced with something worse, something guilty. His eyes aren’t glittering at you like usual, nor are they hardened with anger.
They’re soft pools of conflict that mirror your own.
It doesn’t soothe your burn, satiate your envy. You can see in his eyes that maybe you aren’t alone in these feelings of admiration, of want, but maybe this is not what you want.
Maybe you want a different universe, one where he doesn’t have to be a mortal and you, a Goddess. So you wouldn’t have to worry about him dying, and have this friendship survive off death flavored berries. Maybe you want a universe where he isn’t married, where he could be yours and you wouldn’t feel like a spectator to his heart.
Maybe you want that, but you won’t get it.
Instead the flames of jealousy die in your chest and are replaced with tumors of guilt. Your whole body feels bloated, embarrassed, and ugly. 
The pair of you stare at each other, a stupid realization between the both of you as you realize that your secrets have been spilled, even though it’s the same one.
His eyes don’t move from yours, so you move from his.
The sandy edge of the lake does not look so bright now, even though there are no clouds in Marcus’s dream. 
“When do you leave?” You ask softly. 
You will not follow him into whatever battle he’ll win. Don’t embarrass yourself, Goddess.
He tells you two weeks. You say you’ll see him before then.
Then you wake on a cloud again, with a cavity of guilt in your chest.
Marcus wakes alone. 
Lucilla had not wanted to sleep with him that night, choosing to stay elsewhere. She didn’t tell him where, she left in a quiet flurry of tears and anguish.
It’s easier for him to feel guilt over his Goddess than it is to hurt his beloved, even if it is the same.
In a moment of frustration he grasps at the sheets, turning over and biting at his pillow. The bed is so cold, and the room smells like stale air even though the window is open, the night breezy. 
He knows she is beautiful because she is a Goddess. All Goddesses are beautiful, ethereal beings that mortals cannot even comprehend at times. Marcus knows he is lucky to even perceive her, for her to have chosen to visit him.
Yet through all her blessings, he feels cursed.
A plague of emotional infidelity is crawling through his body, sticking to his bones and making him stiff. Everything he does has felt flat for so long, from pretending he is grateful to the Emperors, to now pretending nothing is wrong in his marriage. He’s scared, and exhausted.
Marcus rubs a hand over his face after rolling over and sitting up in bed, groaning into his palm. 
At first he tried to blame her for it. What would a Goddess want from a successful General other than a demigod hero son? What could truly be so special about him? He assumed she was manipulating him, using some sort of power to morph his heart, but now he knows it is not true.
If she had wanted to, she would have had him by now, and he knows this. If she had wanted to, her hand would have stayed where it was tonight, and pushed him further. It isn’t unlike the Gods to force themselves on a mortal, but she didn’t.
Instead, his hand feels hot where hers rested, and his mind is spinning. 
Marcus doesn’t fall asleep again, afraid that he’ll see her. 
You wait for a full two weeks before you visit him again. He had been coming to your temple less, and you had assumed he was busy with preparations for the coming battle. 
The stubbornness you felt that night has not left you. At first you did not leave your temple in fear that you would grow attached, now you remain there because you have grown attached. 
“Enough is enough,” you had thought to yourself. 
But it is hard not to miss him, and his soothing prayers. The way his offerings tasted of smoke and sweet, and how he’d always burn such a large portion. Marcus never gave you scraps, he seemed to refuse to. 
However, you can only distance yourself so far. 
It is quiet when you approach him. He is sitting in the field this time, the lake a distant glitter in your eyes. He does not face you, but his head isn’t bowed like before.
“Marcus,” you greet, your voice muted.
He raises his head, turning over his shoulder and nodding, as if to direct you to come closer, and so you do.
Tonight’s visit isn’t vulnerable, or even pleasant. Marcus seems so distant as he dryly tells you about how he’s preparing, and his wishes to return safely. His eyes barely meet your own as he talks, and he continuously twists the ring on his finger.
It grows tiring, watching him ramble about politics you could care less about, listening to him say things that have nothing to do with him. He’s so far from the friend you thought you had made. When the air between you goes quiet, you don’t fill it for a while. You listen to the sound of the wind in the grass as his eyes still will not meet yours. It’s breaking you apart.
This is the last night you’re able to visit him, unless you visit Morpheus again. You will not waste it like this.
“What is ailing you, General?” You ask, deciding to prod more than you usually do.
To your surprise, he scoffs in light laughter.
“You,” he responds quietly.
His words don’t hurt, at least not yet. You have the option to walk away now, wake yourself and leave him with his final blessings, but of course you don’t.
“Me?” You ask, “what have I done?”
Marcus rolls his shoulders back, lifting his head to look into the everblue sky above the both of you.
“You have made my life difficult, Goddess.”
Difficult? You have made his life difficult?
You have half a mind to tear him to pieces, curse him with something awful like snakes for toes, or spoons for teeth. After all that you’ve done for him, all the safety you’ve provided, he is telling you that you make things difficult? How dare he? Be outraged, Goddess, for he disrespects the holy luck which you bestowed to him.
That’s what you should think, that’s how most of you should feel.
But instead you feel small, and hurt. Yes, he is disrespecting all that you’ve given, but also you feel like a failure. Your physical existence is because of him, because he did not let you fade. All you wanted to do was make his life easier, help him to have an eased mind and a safer life.
But instead, he’s telling you you’re difficult.
It feels like your body is shrinking in the white peplos you’ve worn, the sheer fabrics swallowing you. Shame is flooding in the form of tears behind your eyes, wetting your orbs with an unexpected outburst of emotion.
“I am sorry,” you manage weakly.
Marcus does not look at you while you cry, and you want to believe it is because he cares too much to watch, but you cannot verify that.
The wind picks up again, but it does nothing to hide the soft cries you can’t hold back. Once you were a fading Goddess, now you are just a failing one.
There is no luck involved with love.
Eventually he speaks again, with his head turned away from you.
“I am sorry too,” he says. There’s a finality in his tone that makes you ache.
So much is said in such little words. He is sorry to you, for you, and with you. A sorrow is shared between the two of you, knowing that your hearts ache for one another as they are worlds apart yet on earth together. 
This last berry was only supposed to mark the end of your visits, not the end of everything. It feels like this is all there is for the two of you, since it’s too complicated to continue on like this.
That’s why he doesn’t move away when you move closer and rest your head on his shoulder as tears leak down your cheeks, or at least that’s what you’ll believe. 
Time moves weirdly when you’re immortal, but it all happens so quickly.
Marcus stopped coming to offer things for you, and so you were blessing him less. Admittedly you had kept an eye on him, but not a keen one. It didn’t feel right, not when you and him weren’t… friends anymore.
But this feels too soon, too fast, too unfamiliar. Has your sadness caused you to be blind?
You watch as a man kneels in front of Marcus, panting and bloody with a sword beside him on the ground.
The only reason you are here was because you had felt the roar of a crowd all the way at your own temple, a wide distance away. It had drawn you in, and instead you had found this.
That roaring which you had heard crescendos to a new height around you as you shimmer into existence, cloaking yourself to the mortal eyes in the stands of the coliseum, but existing enough to touch him.
Arrows stick out of his front, more crushed beneath his back, as he is slumped on the white, gravel, ground. His hair is curled with tacky blood streaking through it, and he is so, so, still.
You drag your hand across his forehead, feeling the remaining heat, and in the echo of the crowd you begin to sob. 
Everything around you is moving, changing, fighting, and screaming, but you sit invisible in the center of the coliseum, running your hands over the now dead General Acacius. There is nothing you can do to bring him back, to ease Lucilla, to save him and apologize. He is dead beneath your fingers, with arrows lodged deep in his irreparable, mortal, flesh. 
You were supposed to keep him safe.
Hot tears run down your cheeks as you keep grasping at his armor, unable to move him or yourself. The last visit felt official, but this feels final. There is nothing more for you here, no friendship in a corpse.
Thoughts are running through your mind at the rate that your breath is puffing from your chest. The question of where he will end up in the afterlife is overwhelming you, and the chance for him to go to Elysium feels reasonable. It’s where he should be, where he deserves to go, especially after all he had done for Rome. You don’t even care why he’s here, or why he seems to have been brutally killed, but after the time you spent with him, Elysium seems right for him.
It’s where he should be. Elysium is where he should be.
And it’s where you find him.
His place there is somewhat similar to his and Lucilla’s home back in the mortal world, with lush greenery and airy drapes that flutter in various colours. It seems like he has left space for Lucilla here too, with space left in the chests for her things, and a permanently made half of the bed.
Elysium offers a true celebration of life for heroes, demigodly or not, and you’re sure Marcus has been enjoying that. Anything that he had been shackled to in his mortal life was gone now, and it seems that all he would have to miss is his wife. 
Most of your time is spent there, in his afterlife home. You peer from behind curtains when he comes back, hidden in drapes and keeping yourself small. 
He is already dead, but after the last time you abandoned him, you cannot bear to leave him alone again.
The vision of him, bloodied and murdered on the coliseum floor, flickers into your mind every time you see him lying in his bed. It’s an obsession to be near him, to be looking after him. Pluto might not even know you’re down here anymore, but what does it matter?
Marcus Acacius was the last living mortal to worship you. In the underworld, you are beginning to fade. Your fingers are slipping from you again, which is making it easier to lurk near him, but it is a painful process.
You want to speak to him. No longer do you yearn for his love, not after being in his home and seeing how dedicated his heart truly is to Lucilla, but you yearn to speak to him again. A panicked emotion runs through you at the thought of fading alone, of being entirely forgotten. 
It didn’t matter before he died, fading was just something bound to happen, but now it’s more. Is he forgetting you?
You’ve lost most of your arms by the time you work up the courage to speak up. Lucilla arrived sometime ago, joining Marcus in the afterlife. Watching them together brought some warmth to you, some kind of happiness that you couldn’t have for yourself, but seeing it for him was enough.
You sit on the terrace of their home, invisible to their eyes, and somewhat to your own. From the tips of your fingers to just below your elbows, you are a specter. Grey shadow fills where your limbs used to be, and they pass through all objects. You couldn’t tap his shoulder if you tried.
Oftentimes you sit, hidden, and ponder by yourself about more than Marcus. There were so many things you were adamant about when he was alive, and you regret it all now. Your determination to avoid your feelings, or at least not show them, and your need to not become attached… it bites at you now, a stinging, grieving, venom, that won’t leave. Your status as a Goddess blinded you to how tender that friendship could have been, and now you sit as a ghost spectator to his afterlife, obsessed with a mortal as a fading immortal. 
The tips of your fingers pass through the glass you try to grab as you think of this on the terrace. You’re glad that you’re such a minor deity, so at least you do not have to feel so humiliated about fading. A smile has just graced your face as you feel blessed for being so unimportant you can essentially stalk this mortal, when suddenly his voice cuts through the humid air of the space.
“Felicitas?” Marcus’ voice asks.
It’s so hesitant that you think you’re imagining it. You thought you had their home to yourself right now, thinking they had gone to do… whatever souls do in Elysium, but when you turn your face, he is there.
Marcus has not worn fancy clothing in a long while now, and right now is no different. He stands before you in a plain looking tunic, which just graces his knees. To see him at ease has been so nice, but he looks distressed at your sudden appearance.
You cannot find your voice as you awkwardly stand up, trying to think quickly. There is no good way to explain what you’re doing here, hidden away in him and his wife’s home. You could just vanish into thin air, but that feels wrong. He has seen you already, any attempts at pretending you aren’t here would be ridiculous.
His eyes scroll from your face down to your arms, and the smoking shadows that used to be there. Concern pinches onto his face with knitted brows and pressed together lips.
Something in you wants him to turn away, so you don’t have to think about why he is worried for you, even after all the trouble you caused, but he doesn’t.
His sandaled steps are heavy as he comes to you, reaching for your hands but finding the gesture fruitless as his own slip right through yours.
“Dulcissima,” he speaks weakly, shock woven in his words.
You had told him about fading a little while ago, when the two of you were in that field. Now it seems the severity of it has hit him.
What is hitting you is the name. Dulcissima, or sweetest. How long had it been since you had been referred to so fondly? All at once you are being remembered, recognized, and shown some affection. It feels like too much and tears are falling out of your control.
“I’m sorry,” you manage, “I was supposed to– to keep you safe.”
Marcus is shaking his head already, refusing your apology.
“No, no. You did keep me safe, you did. I pushed you away, I couldn’t control myself and I caused this,” he argues. 
It does not comfort you that you both blame yourselves. You wish to reach out to him and touch his face like you should have when he was warm and alive. You want to know if he is cold now, and it’s as if he hears you.
Marcus places a hand on your cheek, a softness in his eyes and hold that says that he missed you.
“I saw you,” he claims, “when I was on the ground. You were the last thing I saw.”
Somewhere between life and death for mortals, there are moments of godly clarity. Some see the light, others see their families and memories, but in that tiny glimpse of time, some see Gods. 
He was able to see you as you knelt over him, sobbing as you were cloaked to any mortal's naked eye.  You were the last thing he saw, and the last thing he truly regretted. 
All you can do is stiltedly nod at him, feeling like you were in trouble even though it seems he’s not upset.
For a moment, his eyes flick away, contemplative, but then he meets your gaze again.
“I told Lucilla of you, before I died. Not– not of my feelings which I struggled with, but that you were a close friend, a blessing in many ways.”
A blessing in many ways.
Another choked sob is wracked from your chest, your bottom lip curling out embarrassingly as your face contorts. He almost coos at you, the thumb on your cheek rubbing away your tears.
“Goddess, I have missed you,” he admits. 
Stupid nods are all you can offer, your voice imprisoned in your ever tightening throat which cries. When he was alive he was never this tender, too confused and insecure to ever touch you, but it seems he has been regretting things too.
“Felicitas,” he says quietly, “do you come here for ill reason?”
You shake your head this time, rather than nodding. You have no reason to be here, other than the fact that guilt has taken over your mind and heart since he died.
“Then relax, dulcissima. I have an offering for you.”
Marcus relaxes his stature, eyes still gazing over you. He looks at your fading palms and you watch him swallow nervously.
“I will worship you again, lending you offerings here, and all I ask in return is for our friendship again.”
It’s the opposite of how you met, almost completely, but it’s everything you need. You will not fade, he will not struggle in marriage, and you will have one another again. 
Again, you are nodding stupidly, but soon you’re embraced by him and nodding into his chest. His hands grasp at your back as he tells you how much he missed you in his final weeks, how he regrets losing you entirely, how he requires you as a friend. 
You are satiated in his arms as he comforts you, awakening you again there on the terrace. Unbeknownst to you, Marcus has let tears slip down too as he holds you close. 
“You will keep me safe here?” he asks jokingly.
It makes you smile, the idea of offering luck to a man who already died.
“Yes, General. I will keep you safe here, from all the horrifying glory and splendor,” you assure.
The two of you laugh, breaking the embrace but staying close. A passionate connection is still between the two of you, but in a different way now. Maybe when he was alive it was romantic because it is all you could think of, but through his death the two of you have come to understand it more. 
You require one another in a unique way, and leaning on one another does not have to be intimate the way he is with his wife. Marcus does need you, just as you need him, and now that you are both immortal in a way, you will never be separated again.
please leave a comment, like, reblog, askbox, or ANYTHING. i'd love to hear thoughts on this <33
tags (people who seemed excited for this) (sorry if these dont work)
@pascalssbabyy , @moonshapedflan , @gossipgirl-03 , @kyloispunk , @frannyzooey , @coocoolahh , @bug-boy32 , @honeymarvel , @magicalmorg , @1deakybass , @tuquoquebrute , @harryshousewhore , @teeagain, @chewie-bars , @vampyyweek , @queenslandlover-93 , @amijenn , @aquanatalie
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harunayuuka2060 · 18 hours ago
Text
MC: What is it you wish to confess, my child?
A toddler: Um... Fadder... I was hungry... and I saw a cake in your room... and I eated it...
MC: ...
MC: Krk— *breathes in* Do you feel sorry for eating the cake?
A toddler: *nods* Fadder, will God be upset 'cause I eated the cake?
MC: I don't believe so, my child, but you mustn’t do that again. If you're hungry, you can always ask one of the sisters to prepare something for you.
A toddler: That's okay?
MC: *light-hearted chuckle* Yes.
A toddler: Okay!
MC: Now, my child, are you ready to pray?
A toddler: Hm!
Raphael: This is the church, isn't it...?
*A nun approaches him.*
A nun: Hello, sir, is there something I can assist you with?
Raphael: ... I'm here for the priest.
A nun: Oh, that's unfortunate... The priest is quite busy today.
Raphael: Busy? Why—
MC: *running, pulling a cart full of children who are giggling cheerfully*
The children: Father! Hurry! We're going to miss the bus!
MC: *pants* I shouldn't have taught you about the rickshaw!
Raphael: ...
A nun: Father doesn't wish to be disturbed while he's spending time with the children. If you'd like, I can arrange an appointment for you instead.
Raphael: No, it's fine.
A nun: I see. If that’s all, I shall be on my way. *bows her head slightly then left*
Raphael: ...
Raphael: *looks again at MC's direction*
MC: *the other children are climbing on him as if he were a tree*
MC: *looks exhausted but he doesn't complain*
Raphael: ...
Raphael: *smiles*
Diavolo: Look, Barbatos! He's good with children!
Barbatos: Yes, young master. However, may I ask why you brought that up just now?
Diavolo: *chuckles* I'm just thinking... he'll make a great father if he's blessed with his own children.
Barbatos: ...
Barbatos: Young master, please don't tell me—
Diavolo: Oh no! That was only a thought of mine! *smiles* Please don't take it seriously.
Barbatos: ...
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sungbeam · 20 hours ago
Text
𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥
nonidol!yoon jeonghan x gn!reader
2.3k words, fluff, comfort, reader is sick, technically a college au, light swearing, mentions of food, mentions of cold medication, tbh i know i advocate for platonic fics but i am also just a girl. so he does pine a little lol, slice-of-life-ish, barely proofread
a/n: there is like no plot, i just am feeling ooey-gooey about svt rn heh :') been watching so much gose recently and it's healing my soul
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Yoon Jeonghan was many things, but oblivious was not one of them. “Oh my god, you're sick,” were his first words to you when you opened your apartment door. His voice was droning, perfectly unimpressed, but it masked the concern attempting to skirt its way to the surface. 
“It's not that” —your sorry attempt at denial crumbled like a house of cards as you turned away to cough into your elbow. The taste of metal lingered in the back of your throat and you winced, reaching into your bag to grab your water bottle. After swallowing down a generous helping, you said to him without looking him in the eye, “I'm fine.”
Jeonghan blinked. “That's really cute,” he replied with a thin smile. “Back inside.”
“But Jeonghan—”
“No.” He grabbed you firmly by your shoulders and steered you back into your apartment, his body waddling in behind you because of your balking in the doorway. He kicked the front door shut, shucking his shoes off with uncanny accuracy into an empty space on the shoe rack. “Shoes off, Yn-ah. Don't start an argument you won't win.”
You grumbled under your breath, but did as you were told. All the while, Jeonghan smoothed a hand over his jaw, performing mental gymnastics. How did you get sick? How much time did he have before he needed to get to campus? Could he reasonably make you soup before he needed to leave for his exam?
The first question was easy to answer. He internally smacked himself—last night: your runny nose, the vitamin C powder you added to your water, your shivers on the walk home from the library. Oh, fuck. He should have driven. Why did he make you both walk in that cold?
Guilt coursed through him as he directed you back into your bedroom. 
It was a quarter to 8, meaning he didn't have time to make you ramen and make it to his exam before the doors closed. 
“I have so much shit to do today” —another horrid cough rattled through you, and Jeonghan frowned to himself as he snatched the extra blanket out of your closet— “I can't… Hannie, there's so much I need to—”
“I know, Yn-ah,” he said softly, eyes sad and tender as he bundled you up in three layers until you were likely unable to unwrap yourself. He perched by your side, his palm grazing over your forehead to take your temperature. Hot. Not good. “But if you don't take care of yourself now, it'll only get worse.”
He glanced at his phone. Five to 8—he still had fifteen minutes. It was a blessing that you lived closer to campus than he did. 
“I hate when you're right,” you muttered. The lower half of your face was tucked beneath the edges of your blankets, so all he saw were your tired, glaring eyes. 
He smirked to himself, a fuzziness warming his chest. So petulant. “You always do,” he mused. “What did you have to do today? I'll try and help out as best I can.”
Your glare softened at the corners and your eyes flitted away from him. “It's okay. I'll deal with it all when I wake up. I—wait.” Your eyes shot wide open. “You have that exam today! You have to leave—what time is it?”
“Yah, I'll make it,” he laughed. “Worry about yourself.”
“You literally said last night that you were worried about failing—”
“And now I'm worried about you,” he countered. Satisfaction brought an impish twinkle to his eyes as you scowled at him again. “But fine, I'll leave if you insist.”
He rose from the edge of the bed, picking his backpack up to sling over his shoulder. 
“Thank you.”
With his back toward you, he could allow himself to grin. “What was that?” he called back innocently. 
“Don't fail.”
He huffed out another laugh as he reached the threshold of your bedroom doorway. Jeonghan wondered briefly if he should coax that thank you out of your mouth again, but he really did need to leave. It was awful. Everything in him was ready to throw away this exam to stay here with you. “Go to sleep, honey. I'll see you when you wake up.”
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Three hours later, Jeonghan shouldered his way into your apartment, his backpack on his shoulders, his mind far away from that disgusting exam he finished, and his hands occupied with a grocery bag of items he picked up on his way here. When he left earlier, he had swiped your keys on the way out so he could let himself back in without waking you up. He dumped those very keys onto the table by the door, the gazillion key chains attached to the one carabiner clattering inelegantly loud. 
He glanced over at your closed door, hoping he didn't just wake you up. 
With a little less noise, he abandoned his backpack by the couch and made his way over to the kitchen. While he had made it in time to his exam, it had taken more willpower to center his attention on the exam itself rather than letting his mind wander to all the things he wanted to do after he was done. The to-do list spanned about five items: buy cold medicine and orange juice, decide on what food to make you, buy the ingredients for that food, persuade your TA to let him pick up your graded essay (that one, he saw on a sticky note by your desk), and come back to take care of you. 
(If the TA grading his exam took note of the small list he'd jotted down in the top corner of page five, no they didn't.)
There had been several ideas of what he could make you once he was free. He had stared at the row of vegetables in the produce department for a good ten minutes before he decided on something less usual. He could make instant ramen, but that didn't seem like the healthiest option for him to feed you. There was also seaweed soup—did he have the time to go to another store to find what he needed? No. 
His next great idea was something simple, but delicious: chicken noodle soup. 
Jeonghan rummaged around your cabinets, locating the things he needed—cutting board, knife—he opened a door and sighed to himself. So you did have pasta already. Great. 
He examined the box of dried elbow macaroni and compared it to the bowtie pasta he'd picked out. “Mine’s better,” he muttered, shelving your macaroni and bumping the cabinet closed. 
In the largest pot he could find, he brewed up a hearty chicken soup, using the bones from the rotisserie chicken he bought to add more richness to the broth's flavoring. Every carrot, onion, and celery stalk he sliced, and every piece of chicken he shredded, was done deftly and with great care. This was for you, after all, and if this soup could help you get better, then he would make it the best damn thing you'd ever tasted. 
There were plenty of things Jeonghan didn't want to do or weaseled his way out of, but he could be running on one hour of sleep, and he would still haul his ass up to make kimchi from scratch if you asked him to. 
He was stationed behind the stove, tasting the soup for adjustments, when he heard your bedroom door open. 
Jeonghan peered over his shoulder and smiled at the bundle of blankets waddling your way out into the main room, your hair sticking up in odd places, and your eyes still at half mast. “Good morning, sleepy head. How're you feeling?”
“Meh,” you said hoarsely, clearing your throat. You squinted at the sunlight streaming in through the open curtains. “What're you making? It smells nice.”
“Hm? Oh, I made you some soup. Go take the medicine on the counter and sit down; I'll bring you a bowl.”
As he reached over to grab another pinch of salt, he heard you tearing open the box of cold medicine behind him. 
A moment passed by of quiet, but his heart leapt straight into his throat as he felt a soft weight rest against his back. “Thank you, Hannie,” you murmured, forehead pressed between his shoulders. 
There were about a dozen things running through his mind at the moment—things he could say, things he could do. He was an ounce of willpower away from melting on the spot, but the heat rising from the soup pot kept him upright. “Aish… thank me by getting better, okay?”
You hummed in acknowledgment and lifted yourself off his back. When you hobbled away to sit down at the table, Jeonghan couldn't brush away the feeling that the spot your head had rested was now cold. 
“How was the” —cough— “the exam?” 
Jeonghan glanced over at you as he carefully ladled soup into two bowls. He hummed, “Could've been better, but can't really do anything about it now.”
“I'm sure you did good,” you replied, holding out your hands like a kid waiting for their turn to get candy from a jar as Jeonghan made his way over to you with the soup. “You always say you did bad when you actually scored in the top ten percent.”
“Careful, honey, it's hot.” Jeonghan continued to hold the bowl even as you cupped it in your hands, until it safely reached the table. Only then did he seat himself down adjacent to you. “Yeah, well, you always said I should be more humble,” he joked.
You picked up your spoon and gestured at him with it. “Humility and lying are different things,” you said pointedly. “Anyways, thank you. This looks really yummy.”
“I don't lie,” he drawled with a twinkle in his eye. He leaned his cheek against his fist and watched as you took a spoonful and gently blew on the hot liquid. The delight that lit up your face was enough to make him happy for a century. He inclined his chin. “Good?”
“Very good. Sometimes I forget that you're good at cooking, too.”
“Not like Mingyu though,” he chuckled and brought a spoonful up to his lips. 
You shot him a look. “You don't always have to compare yourself, Hannie-ah. I'm not talking about Mingyu right now.”
Maybe I just want to make sure, he thought, then brushed it under that large, metaphorical rug in his mind. Jeonghan gave a half-hearted shrug. 
Your mouth flattened into a displeased line. His grin widened. 
When the both of you finished as many helpings as you had the appetite for, Jeonghan graciously offered to wash the dishes. He practically anchored you to the couch by wrapping you in yet another blanket—it was a double-edged sword; you were quite cute like that and he had half the mind to ditch the dishes. Once done with his task, he plucked out a dose of cold medication to take for himself, as well. 
You eyed him from the couch as he swallowed the pills with a glass of orange juice. “Did I get you sick already?” you asked, your voice having become more nasally from your stuffy nose. 
“Not yet,” he said, “it's just preventative measures since I'm gonna be hanging around you.”
“You're not leaving?” 
Your words were one thing, but the way you peered over the back of the couch at him and the upward intonation in your voice told him something else. He smiled to himself as he walked over to the couch with his juice. “No, I was going to help you finish your work for the day, but if you want me to leave, I—”
“Only if you're not afraid of getting sick,” you said quickly. 
He sighed with an air of melodrama. “I suppose I can stay after all.” He brought out his laptop and the essay he finagled from your TA, vaguely mentioning something about his careful white lies in order to accomplish his mission. It was truly something only Jeonghan could pull off and get away with. 
The first item on your to-do list was to send out a couple emails. 
Jeonghan felt the weight of your head fall onto his shoulder, and he glanced down at you in amusement. “You're not falling asleep on me, are you?” he teased, his fingers paused from the email he was typing out while you dictated the wording. 
You shifted your head. “No, I'm still awake. Do you think this sounds too bubbly?”
“It’s not too bubbly,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “But the thing is you're not this agreeable in real life—aish! Haha, hey! Don't hit me!”
He could imagine your cute, little scowl. “I am incredibly agreeable.”
“Yes, yes.” Jeonghan lightly pat your head. “You're very lovely, Yn-ah.”
You chose to ignore the impish tone in his voice. It was what he wanted you to do anyway—believe that he thought you were lovely.  
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It was difficult to parse out how much time passed, but at some point, the TV was turned on to a random channel playing some 90s sitcom, and his laptop was ditched on the coffee table. Jeonghan's legs ended up sprawled across the length of the couch while your layers of blankets covered both of you. Your head rested comfortably on his chest as he continued to watch TV in silent contentment.
Jeonghan was a lot of things, but he certainly wasn't oblivious to the fact that you took the wrong cold medicine. The box he bought had both daytime and nighttime meds, the latter of which contained melatonin to aid with uninterrupted sleep. He didn't say anything earlier when he realized, but it wasn't like he could say anything now. 
He glanced down at your face, his hand cupping the back of your head with too much tenderness for friendship. You were asleep; there was nothing he could do, no jokes to make or fun to poke. 
Him, his thoughts, and you. 
But this was fine. He was happy and warm like the perfect bowl of soup filling an empty stomach, and he had no intention of leaving until he knew that you were better. As his eyes slowly drooped closed, he sank further into the blankets and your hold, soul nourished.
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a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if you enjoyed <3
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selfloverrrrrr · 1 day ago
Note
Witch!Reader x Demon!Satoru. He promises to fulfill her wish in exchange for something. She wants to be seen as a human being instead of a monster, the only thing she really wants is to be loved, and unfortunately he knows that. He fulfills her wish, but in return he imprisons her in his castle and promises to give her all the love and care she deserves (but in a very dark way).
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The Ritual~
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Warnings : smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, Kidnapping, physical and emotional abuse, biting, size difference, Yandere Gojo, demon Gojo, witch reader, jealous, obsessive, manipulative....
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( All characters are aged up/18+)
Minors Do Not Interact
Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report
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Y/n's POV
I was born in a witch family. My mother was a witch too. So were my ancestors. I'm also a witch. I didn't know what was it when I was a kid. Is being a witch a good thing or a bad thing? I always used to ask myself. But all I knew was my mom always used to hide the fact from everyone that we all are witches.
So many years passed. I grew up. I'm an adult now. And I still don't have the answer that if being a witch is good or bad. But for me it became a curse. A curse for which my whole family got killed. The king hired to kill all the witches in his kingdom. He's such a powerful king. And that's why my family isn't with me now.
We all were unaware that they were attacking us. It was the middle of the night. I saw them kill everyone in front of my eyes. I ran away from there. But they saw me. I ran all I could. And for god's blessings they couldn't find me. Now I made a small hut in the forest.
All time fear attacks me that they will find me and kill me too. I can't live like this. I need to find a way where I can live like normal people. So I started learning witches techniques. Maybe any of them will help me? I started reading the books of my ancestors.
I started learning many magics. But none of them are for what I was trying to find. I never did witch activities before. I started searching in all those books. Maybe, just maybe something that will make me like the other normal people and I can live a normal life just like them?
I searched all I could. But nothing was related this. But then I found something. A book which is sealed. I looked at it. It was the last hope. I opened the seal. It was too old. Am I even gonna find anything from here? I opened the book anyways. After some time of reading what I found can actually help me. The things written in the book are:
"He got sealed. After all those trying, we all witches are successful. We sealed him. He, the strongest demon. He got birthed and from that day it was all the witch's job to end him. Though its not possible to kill him. He's too powerful. We all were also shocked that we got him sealed. He was birthed to destroy the world. He wants to rule it. He has destroyed too many places. He has killed too many people. And after doing rituals we managed to seal him. That demon, that monster's name is:
Gojo Satoru"
I kept turning the pages and the last page got my attention.......
Process to unseal Gojo Satoru
He'll fulfill your wish
My heart started beating wildly. Should I do it? It is mentioned that he is too dangerous. But he'll fulfill my wish. I don't have anything in my life. Does it even matter if I risk it? If I don't do it people are gonna try to kill me all the time. Then I should take a risk. I have to go to the place mentioned in the book.
The place mentioned in the book is the old burnt castle at the end of the forest. I've seen that castle from the young age. Everyone told me to stay away from there. But they never told me the story behind it. Today I got to know about the real story behind it.
The ritual needs to be done at night. So I collected all the things that were needed in the ritual that day. And I went there the next night. I wore a hooded dress so that no one could recognise me. And I was lucky that there weren't any people there. I quickly made my way inside the old castle with a candle in my hand.
I entered the castle. It was huge. There's dust everywhere. And the castle is burnt also. It made me curious about what happened here? I kept walking. The huge stairs from the middle. I have to go to the top room of this castle. As in the book there's a throne room which is the ritual room. I went up there.
I pushed the door open and my mouth was wide open by the beauty of the throne room. I wondered what it looked like when it wasn't burnt. I went towards the throne. I don't have enough time to do the ritual. I quickly set up what was written in the book. Then lit up all the candles. Then started doing the ritual. My heart was thumping against my chest.
As I completed the spell. The wind started flowing heavily. Suddenly all the candles were extinguished together. Then the wind stopped flowing. And all of a sudden all the candles lit up together again. Then I saw a tall human figure sitting on the throne.
He has a huge masculine body. He's tall, has handsome sharp features, white hair, white eyelashes and those gorgeous blue eyes. He looks exactly the same said in the book. He's wearing all black royal clothes. He turned his head on both sides and the cracking sound echoed through the room. Then he looked at me.
Can that beautiful person be that dangerous? I asked myself. "So you're the one who unsealed me?" He spoke. I have to respect him. "Yes, my lord" I replied looking at the ground. "Hmmmmm.....well, this place is still burnt and dusty everywhere.... and I don't like my castle to lose its beauty" he said and threw a hand beside him.
A blue ray came out of his hand. And all of a sudden the castle turned all new. Not burnt anymore neither dust anywhere. I was already gorgeous and now it has become more gorgeous. A huge black gorgeous castle. "Hmm.....so what's the reason you unsealed me?" He asked.
"my lord, I'm a witch.... people of the king are killing all the witches. They killed my family too. I don't wanna live like this. I was to live like normal people. I want everyone to think of me like normal people. I want to be loved." I replied. And then there was silence. I could feel him staring at me.
"So you don't wanna be a witch any more and want to be loved right?"he asked. "... yes. My lord" I replied. He smirked. "Okay....done" he said swiping his finger in the air. My eyes widened in hope that now I can live like normal people. I looked at my hand and the witch sign was gone.
That means..... that means I'm not a witch anymore? I was so happy. "T-thank you... thank you, my lord" I said with a smile on my face. I stood up. I said "I should go now-" he didn't let me finish "No" he said. It almost seemed like an order. I dared to look at him. And there was a sinister smirk on his face.
"I didn't give you permission to leave" he said and went up from the throne. And within a blink I was standing in front of me. I got frightened and took a step back with a gasp. "You scared?" He asked with a smirk. I didn't reply. "Are you?" He asked again tilting his head. ".... N-No" I replied.
"okay.... then come with me... let me show you something" I said with a grin offering a hand to me. I have to accept his hand and so I did. And within a blink we both were standing in front of the window. How fast is he? "Look at the kingdom. I own this. I'm gonna burn this place" he said. Now he was definitely terrifying me.
He placed a hand on my waist and pulled me against him. Now this is getting too uncomfortable. "And you'll be watching them die with me from here. And I'll kill them first who killed your family" he said. What does that mean?! "M-my lord I should go now" I said. "And I already said no" he said looking at me.
"you want to be loved, right?..... you'll be living here in my castle with me.... and I'll give you all the love you need" he whispered in my ear. My eyes widened. Oh no no no. This is not what I want. He wants to kidnap me in his castle?! Shit I don't have my powers anymore either. What should I do now?!
"what happened?" He asked and nuzzled his face on my neck. I took a deep breath and pushed him. Then ran all I could. I was running through the corridor and bumped into someone. Of course it's none other than Gojo Satoru. I don't have any ways now. I automatically started crying.
He smirked. "Didn't thought someone has the bravery to disobey me" he said and started walking towards me and I started walking backwards. "P-Please let me go I don't want that life" I cried. "Oh darling you don't know how much I love to see people crying. And for your life I'm the one have the power to decide how you'll live" he said.
Then he clapped his hand and we both were standing in a.... BEDROOM?! He grabbed my hand and pulled me against him. "Now tell me what you were saying?" He asked. "P-Please....let go... P-Please" I said. "Let you go? But didn't you wish to be loved? I'm giving you the love you deserve" he said while grabbing my ass and squeezing it.
I yelped at that. "P-Please I don't want to stay her-" before I could even complete my sentence he threw me on the bed and claimed on me. I screamed so loudly out of fear when threw me on the bed. "Didn't you say you're not scared? That seems like a lie now" he said and took off a strand of hair out of my face.
"it's been years since I was sealed. Never thought I'll get this gorgeous gift as soon as I get unsealed " he said with a smirk and pressed his lips on mine. I tried to push his chest but he grabbed my hands and held them beside my head while kissing me aggressively. He pushed his tongue inside my mouth.
I was shaking my head in protest but he didn't stop. When he stopped he immediately grabbed the top of my dress and tore it off. How strong is he??? He tore off a dress with Corset with his hands?! I almost screamed when he did. I covered myself and tried to crawl up.
He grabbed my hair and made me look at him. "Did I say to cover yourself???" He asked. His eyes shined. Tears falling down from my eyes. He smirked and licked my neck with his long tongue. I was shaking from fear. "You know seeing you scared makes me more turned on" he whispered.
I couldn't breathe. He grabbed the hem of my dress and pulled it over my head. My boobs bounced out. He looked at those with lust in his eyes. His eyes shined in the dim light. He didn't waste any time, crashed his mouth on my breast licking, sucking and teasing the nipple and squeezing the other one with his hand. I moaned in the sensation. I grabbed his hair and tried to stop him by pulling it but it didn't even affect him. "M-my lord stopppp" I screamed but he didn't stop. "It's Satoru, darling.... I won't kill you if you call me Satoru"
Then he took off my pantie. He looked at my pussy. He rubbed his finger on my clit and whispered " so wet. You naughty little slut, getting wet for me huh?". Then he licked my pussy. I couldn't help but moan loudly. He smirked at my reaction and undo his pants.
His dick sprang out. It was too big and too thick. "Look... this is what you have done to me..." he said while stroking his dick. Fear grabbed me by my neck. " S-Satoru no no no... P-please no... s-stop" I begged and called him Satoru as he said so maybe he listens to me? but didn't even listen to me and slammed his whole dick inside me in one slide. I screamed. He didn't even give me time to adjust his size and started thrusting in and out roughly. I was through my legs with pain and begging him to stop. And he liked it so much. His thrust became harder and harder.
I clenched around him tightly and he moaned loudly " you know.... you're the first witch I love....I always hated all the witches.... never seen such a gorgeous witch like you.... f-fuck what great present I got as soon as I got unsealed" he started rubbing my clit with his thumb and I bite his shoulder scratched his back to control myself. With a few more thrusts I came. He was still thrusting roughly. I felt his cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength." Ughh...no no no no...ahhhhhh... I don't want this ..." I moaned. "Do you still think you can make me stop?" He said with a smirk. I dig my nails more deeper into his back as he Marked me. He continued thrusting. Within a minute he came inside me I could feel his seed inside me. He pulled out. He fell beside me on the bed.
"You need to be loved? I'll give you all the love you deserve..... now spread your legs again.... I'm not done yet.... I was sealed for over 500 years.... you don't expect me to stop right now, do you?" He said and chuckled demonicly.
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mystra-midnight · 2 days ago
Text
Rock You Like A Hurricane
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summary: he was the one who held the reins to your pleasure, who could send you shattering into ecstasy with little more than a look, a touch, a whispered command.
warnings: 18+ only. oral: (male receiving). deep throating. face fucking. choking/gagging. slight praise kink. king steve is its own warning.
words: 1.2k.
notes: there is a line in the song 'rock you like a hurricane' by the scorpions that inspired this. so you can thank them. fyi, the line is 'The bitch is hungry; she needs to tell. so give her inches and feed her well'. i'm not sorry is any capacity and to my steve girlies, you're welcome. <3
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Steven Joseph Harrington had a reputation — a loud, larger-than-life reputation that followed him wherever he went. And good god, did he live up to it. Every day, you’d hear the whispers, the rumours swirling through the halls and parties, painting him in hues of royalty.
King Steve, they called him, a title that seemed as much about his demeanour as it was about his wealth. You’d always assumed it was because he was filthy rich, not just comfortable but downright dripping with privilege. But that wasn’t why women flocked to him.
He was blessed in other ways, and it wasn’t until you found yourself alone with him at some party in the middle of nowhere that you fully understood. Steve had been gifted with the prettiest cock you’d ever seen, and he knew exactly what to do with it.
“You gonna take it all tonight?” he groaned from above, his voice rough and dripping with arrogance. He didn’t need an answer — he already knew it. At that moment, Steve wasn’t just a king; he was a god among mortals, and you couldn’t help but worship him.
He had you splayed on the bed instead of at his feet, where you often kneeled, a supplicant who worshipped at the altar of his body. Now, with your head tipped back over the edge, he had complete control, free to take what he wanted. His cock stretched your lips wide as he moved lazily, savouring the wet heat of your mouth. Each thrust was deliberate, demanding more from you — spit dribbling from your swollen lips, trailing down your chin in messy streaks.
Steve’s fingers twisted into your hair, his grip firm, holding you in place. His thumb brushed against your cheek, the touch soft, almost reverent, contradicting how he filled your throat. His pace remained slow, letting you feel every inch of him, the weight of him pressing down your throat, the way he stole your breath in a way that left you deliciously dizzy.
"Look at you," he said, smirking. "Taking me so well." His eyes, dark and hungry, watched yours, admiring the way they fluttered as you fought to keep up with his quickening pace. He groaned as your throat tightened around him, the soft, wet sounds fueling his desire with every deep thrust. The praise sent a shiver through you, warmth pooling low in your stomach, tightening with each roll of his hips.
You swallowed around him, sucking in a breath of air while you could, the movement drawing a low groan from his throat, deepening his own pleasure. His fingers tightened in your hair, and you could feel his tension, the way he was still holding back. At the same time, he savoured the sight of you under him, vulnerable yet utterly willing.
Steve pulled out, and your chest heaved as you gasped for air, lips swollen, makeup smeared in a way that left you feeling like some masterpiece in his eyes. He leaned down to brush his thumb across your plump lower lip before bringing it to his own, tasting the wetness left on you. “You're perfect like this.”
He stroked your cheek again, his thumb gently wiping away a smudge of mascara, and you couldn't help but lean into his touch, the warmth inside you blooming, an unmistakable ache. But he wasn't ready to soothe you, not yet. With a sudden, rough snap of his hips, he drove himself deep, pulling a strangled gag from your throat as his cock pierced through your lips, stretching you open and claiming you again.
Steve delighted in your surrender to him, your willingness to take everything he had to give — even if it pushed you to your limits. He slowed just enough to let you catch your breath, his gaze heavy-lidded and dark with possession. “You look so pretty like this,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp, almost reverent. “Messy, all mine. You know that, don’t you? That you’re mine?”
It was another rhetorical question he didn’t need answered. His grip on your hair loosened, and he caressed his fingers along your scalp, soothing the sting left in his wake, a comforting gesture that contrasted with the possessiveness in his voice. It was a claim he’d never voiced until now, but it lingered in his every touch and look, and word he’d whisper into your skin when you were laid bare for him.
You managed a small nod, his cock resting heavy against your tongue, the tang of pre-cum coating your palate. His hands cradled your face, guiding you as his pace quickened. He thrust deep, savouring every sensation, every sound you made. Your lips were swollen and glistening with spit and arousal — a vision of loveliness.
His hips snapped forward; each thrust deeper than the last as if he was testing you, pushing your limit bit by bit. It wasn’t hurried or careless — no, every movement was deliberate, a silent dare for you to hold on, to prove just how much of him you could take.
You felt the stretch of him, the pressure building until, finally, he buried himself fully within your throat. The head of his cock pressed deep, his girth filling you completely, and you could feel the warm, heavy weight of his balls resting against your face.
His breath hitched, and a low, guttural sound escaped his throat. Though Steve didn't speak, you could feel the unmistakable pride radiating from him. You were proud of yourself, too. His hands tightened on either side of your head as though he needed to be grounded against the surge of pleasure that coursed through him.
The room was now filled with the soft, obscene sounds of your shared pleasure — your muffled gasps, the wet glide of your tongue against his shaft, and his low groans as he held himself still, relishing the sensation of your throat stretched tight around him. He lingered there, basking in the feeling, letting you adjust.
Your body arched instinctively, the ache deep inside you flaring hotter, and he noticed; of course, he did. Steve trailed his hand gently along your shoulder, his touch lingering as he cupped the curve of your breast. His fingers teased, rolling your nipple between them with a firm, deliberate pinch.
It was a reminder of his control and how he could push you right to the edge and pull you back with one touch. He was the one who held the reins to your pleasure, who could send you shattering into ecstasy with little more than a look, a touch, a whispered command.
He withdrew briefly, leaving only the tip of his cock between your plump lips, before driving forward again, hard and unrelenting, admiring the choked sounds you made and the way your throat clenched around him. Your nails bit into his thighs as you steadied yourself. Steve used you with an almost primal instinct, taking his pleasure without restraint, your face slick with spit that clung to your lashes and dampened your hair. 
“Just like that,” he murmured, voice husky, thick with pleasure. “Just keep taking me. That’s my good girl.” And you knew in that moment why they called him King — because he made you feel like royalty, too, even as he undid you.
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blueberrypancakesworld · 2 days ago
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Hiii! I was wondering if I could have a Emperor Caracalla x reader where because of his disease he doesn't recognise her for a moment when they're about to make love and she has to calm him down
I am here and no one else
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Emperor Caracalla x wife!reader
warning : hurt/comfort, kissing, choking and using knife, cuddling, crying
Summary : They had been together many times, they saw and felt each other. It reassured her that he was aware of her, that Caracalla was not lost in madness, but on the night of the full moon when they were in bed together, madness crept into his mind and next to him was no longer the woman he loved and had married.
info : Thank you very much for the request dear anon it is a pleasure to get another request for Caracalla, enjoy reading :)
masterlist
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His blue eyes had been so clear a few years ago, when the sun was above them and the people had cheered them both and his smile was sincere and honest.
The wedding of the emperor Caracalla and his wife the sun roms was cheered and no shadow had settled over the imperial family, it was a dream, a beautiful dream that seemed so far away when she looked at her beloved husband now.
His eyes clouded with madness, bloodied when he saw the battles in the colloseum and his temper erratic, she loved him, loved him through it all but with each passing day she feared for him, for his brother and herself. Because if madness prevailed, Caracalla himself would not stop at her and Geta, they were sure of that.
The whole day, however, he seemed like a miracle, but clear from breakfast he remembered what appointments were coming up today, ,,The ring is especially flattering to my sun” he had wooed her at noon on the way to the Senate.
Even in that he not only supported his brother but also ignored the lies of the senators, he seemed to clearly recognize what Geta was pursuing and stood up for his values. It was moments that brought tears to her eyes as she seemed to wander back into the past dream.
A ring he had bought her, it was small things, but it was these small moments that gave her and Geta hope that things would get better, even in the coliseum Caracalla remained relatively calm.
,,The credit goes to the victor!” he extended a rare moment of grace when even Geta would have decided otherwise and she saw in the older man's gaze that he was proud of his brother.
The day had been blessed by the gods it seemed from the moment the sun rose until now but such protection can be deceiving.
After dinner the three of them planned to keep to themselves, but keeping to themselves ended in togetherness for Caracala and her.
Kisses exchanged in the hallway, hands holding each other and clothes removed, ,,Such beauty,” he said, searching her lips a second time as they both changed from their tunics into those for the night.
Naked skin disappeared under silken fabric, gazes resting on each other, bright eyes looking at their bodies and seeing only pure beauty, ,,You are so beautiful,” he heard a giggle as she turned in her clothes and came towards him in another kiss that led them to the bed.
Soft fur and pillows caught her and she ran them through blonde curls, she loved him, loved his art, his laugh and giggle, his pretty eyes and golden curls, ,,You're more beautiful” she murmured and tapped the tip of his nose as they both let go of each other for a moment.
Reaching to the side table next to the table wine had been provided and grapes he held the goblet out to her and she placed the grape to his lips, it was a quiet moment, a moment between adults, a moment that was not possible in his madness, ,,Your flattery is both amusing and sweetening” he said eating the grape and savoring the sweetness on his tongue.
She put the goblet aside after a sip and ran her hands over his pale torso, the small scars and inconsistencies of his illness were not ugly to her.
She smiled at his words, circling his skin as he leaned over her, his lips searching her face, but in the darkened room where the torches provided light, his eyes saw the wine on her lips.
Dark...dark red...blood red.
A color that made him pause kisses that he continued to return but his fingers that touched her, from her neck where he heard her pulse to her soft breast became more and more strange.
Stranger and stranger with each blink her appearance became more distant, with each kiss she smelled and tasted less like his wife and he caught the scent of her blood.
Blood like at a birth, blood that no longer threatened to flow through him and blood of a madness that he had to stop in her, ,,You-you're not her!” he cried out, interrupting the kiss and his fingers wrapped around her neck, fingernails clawing into her skin and her eyes opened in shock.
Air that was drastically and quickly no longer inflicted on her his name came broken from her lips, her hands clutching at his wrist trying to gently reassure him at first.
,,It's me...it's your wife” she rattled fluttering eyes trying to find his gaze, to find her husband. Instead, he only squeezed harder, seeming neither to hear nor recognize her...and in that moment she realized that her nightmare that his madness would kill her had come true.
Her legs kicked, trying to throw him off her, but there was a power in him that she didn't know he had, a power that made her slowly see black spots.
Fear and adrenaline flowed through her body, ,,Cara-Caracalla” she gasped trying unsuccessfully to calm him, she looked around the flash of the knife caught her eye, tears ran down her eyes as he pushed her harder into the pillows the giggles were replaced by screams as she cut his arm with the knife.
Her fingers just managed to grab it, she would never have wanted to hurt him but if blood was what made him run away, maybe it was blood that brought him back.
His scream continued to echo through the chamber as he held his arm away from her as if he had been burned and she took a deep coughing breath, tears streaming from her eyes.
Caracalla rolled off the bed screaming and crying as he hit the floor and pressed himself against the wall as his gaze lifted and he began to scream again, ,,I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm sorry...what have I done!” he said over and over again as the sticky blood ran down his arm, staining it and he realized when he saw the desaturated state she was in.
Coughing and struggling to get air back into her lungs, she slowly got up from the bed, swaying, her voice failing as she tried to speak and coughing a gesture that only made him cry more.
She came slowly towards him, he pushed himself further away from her, ,,Stupid, a monster...a delusional one" he reproached himself as his face settled in his hands and she hugged him, holding him trembling as she slowly began to breathe regularly again, stroking his head.
She shook her head and took a piece of her robe to wipe the blood off his arm, ,,Not-it's not your fault. I'm alive you see I'm alive my king” she replied and clasped his hands, forcing him to look at her as she kissed his hands and looked at his reddish neck and saw his face, his hideous work.
Before he could cry again, she pressed him to her, kissed his forehead and his fingers clutched at her body, ,,You're still alive?” he asked the question so obviously that she laughed and nodded, ,,Yes! Yes, it's me here,” she said, putting his hand on her chest, his hand feeling her heartbeat, and he breathed shakily.
His smile just as pleased as hers as he engaged her in a kiss, holding onto her and the other way around as the two of them sat there on the floor bloody kissing, reassuring each other that they were still alive.
As he held her hand he told her, ,,Never again...I will never lose control like this again” he promised her, tapping the tip of her nose as she had gestured as the imperial couple remained sitting there holding and loving each other.
That despite the strangulation marks on her body and the blood on his, they loved each other no less than before and no madness would change such love and care.
They were bound by blood and love and they would be until the end of madness if they loved each other forever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@potatoesenpaii , @cottoncandiescupcakes , @k-yurieee , @sigiismunda , @somepallings , @naysha140 , @abundance-of-fic-reblogs
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laswells-ashtray · 2 days ago
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It's me yet again. I need me some slightly tipsy Kate and John in a lighthearted sparring match while her wife and Nik stand off to the side and gossip about their respective partners. (Again, take your time. Don't burn yourself out )
Now, because I can't describe movement for shit. I'm an internal dialogue like the Green Goblin voice or a banter typa muppet this interaction will mostly be between Nik and Laswell's wife. and I'm using my interpretation of her whom I have called Sarah if only because typing out Laswell's wife so many times makes the words stop looking real
"I cannot see this going well in the long run." Sarah Laswell, very proud wife of a certain Kate Laswell. It's not often she sees Kate get tipsy in front of anyone who isn't her, she'll indulge in a drink or two but never to the extent of this. However, it'd be dumb to assume that combining Kate, John and alcohol that Nikolai, bless that man, was paying for would lead them anywhere else.
"And yet you make no move to stop it." Nikolai doesn't bother pretending that he isn't amused, it's deeply humorous to watch two of the most fierce people he knows spar each other.
"Neither do you, don't think I can't see you staring at his ass."
"You haven't stopped looking at your wife's chest since she took off her jacket."
Okay, they're both deviants.
John is in what are probably his nicest jeans, not very suitable to a lot of movement given that they must've been painted onto his arse.
Kate is wearing a dark blue tank top that Sarah bought her absentmindedly last week and for the briefest moment, she considers just dragging Kate to the nearest closet and hoping it's soundproof.
The two move in such fluid ways that it's clear they've sparred together before. Even with a few drinks in both of them, it's the most gracious violence she's ever seen.
When John narrowly avoids Kate's elbow to the face Nikolai does little more than chuckle, he clearly isn't worried about his partner and he enjoys the smug grin on the other man's face.
"Tempted to video this." Sarah mutters, watching them both in awe. Even if her main reason for watching was to shamelessly admire her wife in all her glory, she can't deny how impressive Kate is. She throws a hit with enough force that Sarah almost pities John and she takes an equal hit with such little care. God, if there was to be a walking advertisement for lesbianism it would be Kate Laswell.
"That would involve taking your eyes off of them."
"Nevermind."
Nikolai understands, he truly does. His three favourite Johns are fucked senseless John, John when he's asleep and purring against Nik's chest like a cat and John when he's fighting just for the fun of it. Watching his biceps flex, testing the tight stitching around the sleeve of his t-shirt is a damn near biblical fucking experience.
Maybe the greatest bit of their little sparring match is how happy the two look to be there, throwing hits at each other while simultaneously muttering their banter in a way that neither Nikolai nor Sarah can hear. Carefree for once in their lives, it's no secret that their jobs weigh down on the both of them and to see them in a position so laid back, it's endearing.
"Those the socks Kate bought him for his birthday last year?"
"Да."
"Thought so, I picked them out."
"I assumed so."
"What gave it away?"
"The word cock printed on the soles." Sue her, she thought it was funny and given the expression on Nikolai's face so did he.
She watches John swipe out Kate's legs from under her and feels pride settle in her chest when the other woman immediately pulls the Englishman down with her.
She spares Nikolai a knowing glance, it would appear the both of them are going to be enjoying their nights when they head home.
Kate moves so quickly that Sarah can't help but think of one of their cats back home as she pins John to the mat, their sparring might be lighthearted but she wouldn't make the mistake of thinking Kate would let herself move.
Her muscles are taut as she holds the struggling Englishman in place, her back arched and a downright gleeful smirk on her face. Strands of hair fall into her line of vision, fallen loose from her typical bun and they frame her face in a way that can only be described as angelic. If angels were the single most fuckable woman that Sarah has ever interacted with in her entire fucking life, Jesus Christ.
As much as John is losing, he does so proudly. Who better to lose to than Kate of all people. And Nikolai isn't complaining, John's t-shirt is riding up and he's offered the perfect view of the happy trail he has every intention of running his face over later.
Their little sparring match comes to an end, with both participants walking over to their respective partners before heading to grab their shoes and the jackets that had been dumped carelessly on the floor.
It's only when Nikolai catches the two sharing a look that he realises they've been played. Kate and John are both too smart to start a friendly spar for no reason. And it isn't a coincidence that both Sarah and he are desperate to drag their partners away for the night.
They were putting on a show. Sly bastards.
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hyog-blog · 20 hours ago
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Fangs of Fortune (ep.03 - ep.05)
Oh god, where do I start? Everyone has become less stabby now, but mildly insulting each other seems to be the new form of flirting (between, like, everyone?). Okay, between the Zhuo Yichen - Zhu Yan - Wen Xiao trio for sure. I'm seeing you, guys, you don't have to be so obvious about it XD
That flirtatious contract-signing procedure with Wen Xiao, and Zhu Yan calling Yichen 'better than a dog', and Wen Xiao calling demons 'pets', and then Zhu Yan offering her to become one. I mean come on XD
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"Here's some free demonic energy, so you can easily kill me later." Is this romantic or what? XD The kind of demonic romance this show seems to be excelling at. Manly healing handholding - check ✔
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Also, Li Lun appears out of the darkness with the broodiness of an ex who was left behind by Zhu Yan after giving birth to the Wilderness after doing some powerful wibbly wobbly timey wimey demonic magic stuff (supposedly, he was ditched for a woman, now dead, who was supposedly killed by Li Lun, now imprisoned). And now the poor guy has to compete with yet another pretty woman and an even prettier young man.
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I mean, Li Lun, brother, I get it, Zhu Yan is a babe, but killing off your ex's friends and lovers won't make him like you more, that's just not how things work. And judging by the fact that Li Lun got all chained up in some cave, he probably messed up badly. Killed the previous Bai Ze Goddess? Or did something equally un-cool.
Our gorgeous Zhu Yan is a walking and talking Red Flag, although, the kind you want to wrap around yourself and never let go. I mean, how do they manage to withstand his demonic charm? I seriously have no idea)))
Hou Minghao had a serious demonic glow-up. I loved him as a dragon in Back from the Brink (where he was equal parts cute and beautiful), but this regal demonic deity he's channeling here is just wow. Where did all that come from? And once again, it's paired with a decent amount of creepy-ish cuteness (like, it's slightly weird to call a many-thousand-year-old powerful demon lord cute, but he's also not not cute, you know what I mean? XD)
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And god bless all the sponsors who made all these pretty fantasy fights possible (the post-production team, I'm looking at you). Also the quality of the picture is incredibly good - everything is so movie-like, I can't even imagine the budget that went into this. But I'm glad they had it!
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The vibe of the show is so, ah XD I can't even say it's queer, but it kind of is? With a possibility of multiple polycules wherever you look (or maybe it's just me and my mind playing tricks, but I'm enjoying this to the fullest).
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And the way Yichen sneezes every time someone (Zhu Yan especially) is talking about him XD So cute. Bai Jiu is hilarious - screaming like the girliest girl at every prospect of danger and fainting at the sight of dead bodies. The most believable 13-year-old in the history of cdrama)))
I'm loving all the characters so far and patiently waiting for the tragedy of the death of the previous Bai Ze goddess to fully unfold (Wen Xiao's memories hint at more upcoming drama with Zhu Yan).
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spearxwind · 2 years ago
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Snake freak compilation....
Been drawing snakes all day. Specifically rattlers/adders/vipers, those are the ones that remind me of him the most and they're also my fave kinds of snakes :]
I honestly just wanted to get the snake shapes right for this bastard. I've got a lot of practicing to do and probably will tweak this a lil more as per usual as I get more comfortable with it but so far I enjoy it immensely. Its really fun to draw
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hinamie · 3 months ago
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to moving forward
#my art#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk fanart#jujutsu kaisen fanart#jjk art#yuji itadori#gojo satoru#fushiguro megumi#nobara kugisaki#itadori yuuji#megumi fushiguro#jjk spoilers#satoru gojo#jjk manga spoilers#hina.comic#before any1 says anything i KNOw his birthday is in december ik ik ik this is just 2 show some post-battle bonding after the trauma#its winter in canon n megumi's birthday has passed and he spent it being piloted like a mech so they need to celebrate Now!!#also this was technically a request lmao anon wanted megumi birthday angst hehehehhe i hope u like it <3 bc it KILLED ME DEAD#im going to collapse remember when i said this wasnt harder than the hydrangeas im having second thoughts#page 8 made me want to bash my head in#could have stuck with one flashback image could have left them monochrome could have done literally anything 2 ease the workload#but noooo the chronic overachiever in me would not allow it#rule of threes i had to include all of them and they Had to be in colour it wouldn't have hit the same if i had kept it monochrome#i needed it to look how childhood memories look i needed it to look oversaturated and hazy and fond but unmistakably Gone#it may have killed me but im so proud of this rn like from an art style perspective these megumis and yuujis r top tier by my standards#personal favourites r the first and last panel of crying megumi like not 2 pat myself on th back but expression?????? hello??????#enjoy your cake megumi you've earned it <333 sorry fr hurting ur feelings it will happen again#oh my god i can sleep tonight bless <333 and i met my 3 day deadline NICE im so good at what i do
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cerealbishh · 6 months ago
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"You're pretty new at this whole relationship thing, huh?"
"... Yeah."
#outer range s2#outer range s2 spoilers#outer range 02x01#maria olivares#rhett abbott#isabel arraiza#lewis pullman#rhett x maria#um... idk i love them#but why would they do this to me? it's gonna sting so much when they break up#her teasing him is my favorite thing#but also her calling him ''wonderful''? my god the squeal i let out...#the smallest little smile and the way he looked at her before he said ''good'' after she said she likes how she feels when she's with him?!#now i'm rhett going ''don't do this'' but instead of with his truck it's with the show#my biggest gripe is that she doesn't help him that much with his broken arm... except maybe to help him shower? /hj#i get why he was the one to get the snacks... it was for the impact of the scene but still#it's great to see them laughing and smiling so much! love that!#i think she smiled at least once while her poor boyfriend was getting freaked out by cats#he could not keep a straight face for that long after saying ''what does that leave me?''#i wonder what he was gonna say before she said she liked how she feels when she's with him... was he giving her an out?#he has NOTHING pleasant to say about her not even a ''thank you'' after being called wonderful smh /j#tw: food?#my girl didn't even say ''bless you'' when he starting sneezing :(#i switched the last picture because i like the way they were smiling at each other when he got onto the bed#after maria laughs in the car after the buffalo run past them i think i can hear the lowest ''so are we-'' or ''sorry''?#and i think that may be because lew thought isa broke character?? but i'm not too sure... maybe it's rhett apologizing#but idk? maybe it's just rhett saying sorry because he felt self-conscious about maybe sounding stupid... or maybe i'm just hearing things#i think the way he even said ''okay'' after she took all the snacks was similar to the way she said it before she grabbed the snacks#look i understand not getting a shower scene but they truly robbed me of seeing rhett and maria with wet hair...#just another little nitpick but i think the ''i like who i am when i'm with you'' would hit harder if we saw maria in scenes without rhett
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3point14a · 3 months ago
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kissing picrew because I like it a lot U_U
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bitchapalooza · 1 year ago
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You’re telling me that THIS is the little guy that follows Hutt River around? I’m so jealous holy shit…
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medicinemane · 5 months ago
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Mike johnson has so god damn much blood on his hands, obviously Ukrainian blood, but also plenty of American blood
Refusing to renew something that helps vets exposed to atomic blast and Americans who were downwind of the fall out... it's just sick. I can't fucking stand mike johnson, he's one of the worst scum to ever be in congress, and that's fucking saying something
"Johnson refused to allow House members to vote on bipartisan legislation to renew and improve the program"
Fucking quivering little pimple seems to have a real MO for just wringing his hands while insisting it's not his fault, he just can't do the one fucking part of his job of putting shit up to a vote... oh boo hoo, so sad, he'll just have to unilaterally let funding expire on things instead of literally just putting it up to our elected representatives to see if they want to vote yay or nay
Single handedly make the choices but it's not his fault when they work out how they do
Murderer
#I'm sorry; I both genuinely hate the man and will never forgive him; so seeing this just adds more fuel to that fire#and I'm also genuinely pissed to hear that we aren't gonna be bothering to fucking help out people we fucked over#it's fucking sick#listen; I try not to talk politics too much and I try not to tell people how to vote cause it's not really my business#and cause I don't like arguing with people on tumblr; waste of my time#but for all the dems many many many many many fucking flaws; it's shit like this that makes me hate the gop#every last line about sticking up for rural or poor people or whatever is such a fucking lie#god bless our troops... unless it would cost money to compensate them for making them stand near atomic detonations#at every turn I see fucking simple easy decent bipartisan policy shot down but fuckers like johnson; who is the gop at this point#fuck em; can't stand em#go fucking vote if you can in whatever country you're in; try and get a mail in ballot for your sake#I'm still not gonna tell you how to vote but uh... maybe keep in mind when someone's hands are fucking caked in blood#and keep in mind what kind of company people keep in their political party#fucking murder#cause inaction is murder as sure as if he stood their and kept them from getting treatment directly#removing the funding to let these people get cancers and stuff operated on#it's the same as murder#and again; that's not even going back to him personally; like literally it was just him and him alone#holding up aid to Ukraine for months because he refused to put it to the floor#where... oh look... once it was put to the floor it passed just fine (with a fucking tiktok ban added)#(hate that site but I hate government overreach with this kinda shit more)#one of the few people in this world I think I actually truly hate#I'm never gonna fucking stomach the 'he was so brave for holding a vote' shit lie#bullshit; if he had a spine or a soul he would have brought Ukraine aid to the floor before funding ran out#just like if he had a spine or a soul he'd have brought this radiation victim funding to the floor before it ran out#almost like there's a fucking pattern here of him squirming like a pus filled pimple simpering about how he just can't do his job#can't do the one fucking thing he's supposed to do and bring shit to the floor for a vote#I have more opinions on him; but if I said how I really feel right now I think it would get me put on a list#and... sadly just cause of who I am; if I were in a room alone with him I think I'd just lay into him instead of beating his ass#but he's a fucking monster and reading this story just now... I'm almost seeing red with how much it's pissing me off
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hauntingblue · 8 months ago
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NAMI HAS TAKEN ACTION!!! LETSGOOOOO
#when is uta gonna physically fight luffy..... it's just a matter of time#shanks planning on coming back?? its been 84 years.... that probably was only said to makino bc he is trying to sway her.... girl run...#'that's our local sea beast' so he just hangs out??? well fuck me#luffy was just fucking around about the making a new era and look what happened.... apollo blessed him....#the sun god omg.... nika..... ahdahsaj i ws fucking around with that too HAJSHAJA#oh no shit he does actually come back.... i thought this was the same time... omg... THAT'S EVEN SKETCHIER!!!#thinking luffy wss just here alone depressed in foosha and ace was there alone depressed on the forest too...... 🥺🥺🥺#ohhhh little luffy....... like i know she is not dead but something happened..... what....#oh it might seem like she died... elegia destroyed bc of shanks??? what is that and tot music (sounds like catalan meaning all music to me)#beckman has haki too? like zoro........#SHE HAS BEEF WITH SHANKS?? SEE HOW HE IS SKETCHY!! WHATS WITH THAT FACE???#i need to make my evil shanks cosnpiracy board but that whill be implied on my other bigger conspiracy board i am sure#talking tag#watching one piece#episode 1030#zeus got free... its namis turn...#usopp and nami being strong and brave for tama..... exactly.....#and so they meet again..... oh new break with momo.......#otama tamed big mom too omg ajdhajshaja prometheus saying she enters mom mode with kids under 10 AHDHAJSHAJ#no way big mom is turning on kaido for this.... SHE KNOWS RYUO TOO??? SHE IS NOT TOUCHING HIM OMG#goodbye page one... jesus.... now his sister..... damn#damn. wasnt expecting all that. now nami can take zeus either way hehe#episode 1031#when are we gonna get ad breaks for the rest of the crew.... we get it zoro and luffy are important.... okay....#sanji carrying zoro.... here we go....#PEROSPERO????? DIEEEE!!!! WHERE IS CARROT???#komachiyo..... TAMAA!!!!! usopp tells nami to take her and run.... NAH!!!! FUCK HER SHIT UP!!!!!!#nami finally fighting omg i have been waiting for this moment#episode 1032
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