#truly his fathers son. god bless

[lucksea]

i love ultraman .

[thedensworld]

Chill Dad | K.Mg

Pairing: Mingyu x reader

Genre: fluff, parent au

Summary: Mingyu always wanted to be the chill and cool dad for his kids, however the world don't let him.

Mingyu remembered the exact moment he fell to his knees upon hearing the news—you were pregnant. After years of waiting, his dream of becoming a father was finally coming true. Boy or girl, it didn’t matter to him. But, as if fate had a plan, he was blessed with both—a beautiful baby girl and a baby boy. God had granted him twins. The day they were born, his heart nearly burst with pride. He named them Kim Kayi and Kim Kiha, and from that moment on, they became the center of his world.

Mingyu loved nothing more than showing off his babies. When the twins were just a month old, he threw a house party, eager to introduce them to everyone he knew. In his big arms, he proudly held Kayi and Kiha, beaming with pride as he introduced his friends and family to “the cutest babies in the world.” He wasn’t just saying that because they were his blood; they truly were the cutest—at least in his eyes. He adored every inch of them, from their tiny fingers to their chubby cheeks.

But, as the years passed, those adorable babies grew into spirited four-year-olds, and with that came the inevitable challenge: rebellion. Despite their cuteness, Kayi and Kiha had quickly learned how to test their father’s patience.

“I don’t want it!” Kayi’s small voice rang out defiantly one evening, her lips firmly pressed together as she refused to eat the vegetables on her plate.

Mingyu sighed, sitting across from her at the dining table, while you, seated on his left, were busy helping Kiha with his meal. Gently, he placed a carrot on Kayi’s fork and handed it to her again, hoping for cooperation. But with a little too much force, she pushed it back onto the plate.

“Kim Kayi…” His voice rose a few decibels, a warning in his tone.

You intervened softly, your voice a balm to his frustration. “Kayi, that’s okay. Just finish your meat, and then we can have your favorite fruit for dessert,” you said, standing to clean the small mess Kayi had made. Your other hand gently rubbed Mingyu’s back, calming him.

Another day, it was Kiha’s turn to test his father’s patience. “Kiha, we’re late, come here!” Mingyu called out, clothes in hand, as his son stubbornly refused to get dressed for an event. His small body was still glued to the floor, protesting.

“I don’t want to go…” Kiha mumbled.

“Mom and Kayi are waiting, everyone’s waiting,” Mingyu said with urgency, trying to reason with his son. “You shouldn’t be like this!”

When you walked into the room and saw the scene, Mingyu sighed in exasperation. “He refuses to wear anything,” he explained, shaking his head.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you asked gently, kneeling down to Kiha’s level and pulling him into a warm embrace. The two of you shared a quiet conversation that Mingyu couldn’t quite hear. Before long, you turned to him with a smile.

“Why don’t you and Kayi go ahead to the event? Kiha and I will stay home today,” you suggested softly, rubbing Kiha’s back as he clung to your neck.

Mingyu frowned. “Why?”

You smiled and gave Kiha a reassuring squeeze. “Kiha doesn’t want to go today. That’s okay, love. We’ll wait here for you.”

Though these moments tested Mingyu’s patience, he had a very healthy relationship with his kids. He adored them, and they adored him right back. Still, parenting during this rebellious phase often left him stressed, struggling to be the cool and chill dad he had once dreamed of being.

Later that evening, after the kids were finally asleep, Mingyu climbed into bed, visibly worn out. “You really need to stop spoiling the twins, love,” he said as he lay beside you.

You raised an eyebrow, confused. “I don’t spoil them.”

Mingyu shook his head. “You let them get away with everything. That’s why they fight me on everything I ask them to do.”

You let out a soft laugh, recalling the five rounds of dance battles you’d just had with the kids before bedtime. “They’re just babies, love. They’re supposed to be spoiled.”

“They’re babies, yes, but there are still rules in this house,” he said, his tone exasperated. “I’m exhausted, and I swear they still had energy left even after I forced them to close their eyes. But eventually, they passed out.”

He sighed. “And earlier tonight, Kiha said he doesn’t want to go to daycare tomorrow. He wants to stay with you.”

You nodded. “Then I’ll take him to work with me.”

Mingyu gasped dramatically, yanking the duvet over himself. “See! This is exactly what I mean. You’re spoiling them too much! And don’t think I forgot about the ice cream yesterday—you got them ice cream without telling me!”

You giggled, guilt evident on your face. “I’m sorry… They were so cute; I couldn’t say no!”

You snuggled closer to him, kissing his neck softly. “You’re an amazing father, Love. You’re doing such a great job. Trust me.”

He turned toward you, wrapping his arm around your waist. “I know…” He smirked, leaning in for a kiss.

“Is this your way of telling me you want another kid?” Mingyu teased as he hovered over you, kissing you again.l

You grinned up at him. “Maybe…”

*

The next morning began like any other—filled with the usual whirlwind of activity as Kayi and Kiha ran around the house, their laughter echoing through the halls. You were busy getting breakfast ready, while Mingyu tried to wrangle the twins into their clothes.

“Kayi, Kiha, come on! We’re going to be late,” Mingyu called out, his tone growing sharper as the twins continued to ignore him, engrossed in their game of chase.

You glanced over, noticing the tension in his shoulders. “I’ll handle Kiha,” you offered, but before you could move, Mingyu sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“No, I’ve got it,” he muttered, though the strain in his voice was clear.

The twins, oblivious to their father’s growing frustration, continued to run around, giggling as they eluded his grasp. Mingyu managed to catch Kayi, but Kiha slipped away, squealing with laughter.

“Kiha! Get over here, now!” Mingyu snapped, his patience fraying. When Kiha only giggled in response, Mingyu slammed his hand down on the counter. “I said, now!”

The sudden loud noise made Kiha freeze, his smile fading as he stared at Mingyu with wide eyes. Kayi, still in Mingyu’s arms, shrunk back, her playful energy draining away. You watched the shift in the atmosphere, your heart sinking.

“Babe…” you began softly, but he shook his head, setting Kayi down a little too abruptly.

“I can’t do this right now,” he muttered, his voice tight with frustration. “Every day it’s a fight. I’m just trying to get them dressed, and they act like I’m the enemy!”

Kiha, still frozen in place, looked from you to Mingyu, his lower lip trembling. Kayi wrapped her arms around her father’s leg, her small voice barely audible. “Daddy… I’m sorry…”

But Mingyu didn’t hear her. He turned away, muttering something under his breath as he walked out of the room, leaving you and the kids standing there in stunned silence.

You knelt down, pulling Kiha into your arms as Kayi clung to your side. “It’s okay, babies,” you whispered, kissing their heads. “Daddy’s just upset right now. He doesn’t mean to scare you.”

They nodded, though you could see the hurt in their eyes. Your heart ached, torn between comforting your children and wanting to check on Mingyu. You knew he didn’t mean to lose his temper, but moments like this had been happening more often lately, and it was beginning to take a toll on all of you.

Later that day, Mingyu retreated to the bedroom, wrestling with his emotions. He felt a heavy weight in his chest, the guilt settling in as he replayed the morning in his head. He hadn’t meant to yell. He loved his kids more than anything, but sometimes the pressure of parenting, combined with his own fears of failure, made it hard to keep his composure.

It wasn’t until you walked into the room, your eyes soft with understanding, that Mingyu finally let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“They’re okay, Mingyu,” you said gently, sitting down beside him on the bed. “But they were a little scared. You know that, right?”

Mingyu rubbed his hands over his face, letting out a groan. “I messed up. I didn’t mean to yell, but I just… I don’t know. I’m trying so hard, and it feels like I’m failing. I just want them to listen to me.”

“They’re just kids,” you reminded him, your voice calm but firm. “They’re going to push boundaries—that’s what four-year-olds do. But you have to remember that you’re their dad. They look up to you. And when you lose your temper, it affects them more than you realize.”

Mingyu closed his eyes, the tension slowly melting away as your words sank in. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. “I’m sorry I yelled. I just… I feel like I’m failing.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “You’re not failing, Mingyu. Parenting is hard, and we’re both learning. But you’re not in this alone. We’ll figure it out together.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and self-doubt. “I need to apologize to them, don’t I?”

You nodded. “It’ll mean a lot to them.”

That evening, after dinner, Mingyu gathered the twins on the couch, pulling them close. Kayi and Kiha sat quietly, their big eyes watching him, sensing something serious was about to happen.

“Hey, guys,” Mingyu began, his voice softer than usual. “I want to talk to you for a minute.” He took a deep breath, glancing at you before turning back to the twins. “I’m sorry for yelling this morning. I was upset, but I shouldn’t have raised my voice. That wasn’t right, and I don’t want you to feel scared of me.”

Kayi crawled into his lap, wrapping her little arms around his neck. “It’s okay, Daddy,” she whispered, her face pressed against his chest. “We love you.”

Kiha, still a bit hesitant, scooted closer and leaned his head against Mingyu’s arm. “We love you, Daddy,” he echoed quietly.

Mingyu’s heart clenched as he held them close, his eyes misting over. “I love you both so much,” he whispered, kissing the tops of their heads. “I’m going to try to be better, okay? We’ll work together.”

You watched from the doorway, your heart swelling at the sight of the three of them. Mingyu wasn’t perfect, but he was trying—and in the end, that’s what mattered most. Parenting wasn’t about being flawless; it was about showing up, even in the difficult moments, and finding your way back to love.

As the night settled in and the twins eventually drifted off to sleep, Mingyu turned to you, pulling you into his arms. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For always being here. For helping me through this.”

You smiled softly, resting your head against his chest. “We’re in this together, love. Always.”

And as you held each other in the quiet of the night, you knew that, no matter the challenges that lay ahead, you would face them side by side—just as you always had.

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (1)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!targ reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is firstborn and only son of King Viserys I and late Queen Aemma, is older brother of Rhaenyra and bonded with Silverwing. For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+ (rating will go up)

- Word count: 6 000+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog

- A/N: This story is heavily rewritten my AO3 fanfic that was deleted with my account there. The jist is the same, but now it's a reader insert work.

The small council chamber is drowned with anticipation, the grand room filled with the scent of parchment and the low murmur of voices. A fire crackles in the hearth, casting silhouettes across the stone walls adorned with tapestries of dragon lore. King Viserys I Targaryen sits at the head of the table, a rare glimmer of excitement in his eyes as he speaks, the tone of his voice vibrant with pride.

"It has been far too long," Viserys begins, his hand absently stroking the armrest of his chair, carved with intricate dragons that seem to come alive under the firelight. "Three years... three years since my son rode off on Silverwing to defend our borders, and now, at last, he returns." There is a warmth to his voice, a father’s pride that softens the usual formality of the council. "He has done well, our borders are secure once more. The Dornish have been driven back, and our lands are safe. It is high time for a celebration, wouldn’t you all agree?"

Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, leans forward slightly, his shrewd eyes never missing a detail. "Indeed, Your Grace. Prince Y/N’s valor has become the talk of the realm. His presence on Silverwing alone was enough to strike fear into the hearts of our enemies. His return will surely bolster the morale of the court and the realm alike."

Viserys nods, the pride in his son clear on his face. "He is as brave as he is handsome, and wise beyond his years. The gods have truly blessed me with a son who will make a fine king one day."

At the mention of Y/N’s potential future on the throne, the room falls silent for a moment, the weight of those words hanging in the air. It is a truth that cannot be ignored, even as Rhaenyra remains the apple of Viserys’ eye. The King’s heir, the eldest son, would always hold a special place in the line of succession.

Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, clears his throat, his voice a deep rumble that commands attention. "While I share in your joy, Your Grace, we must not forget the threats that still linger beyond our shores. The Stepstones remain a festering wound, one that will continue to bleed if not dealt with. Prince Y/N’s return is a boon, but we must not grow complacent."

Viserys waves a hand dismissively, a rare gesture of impatience from the usually composed king. "The Stepstones can wait, Corlys. We have just won a great victory in the south; the Dornish have been repelled, and my son will soon return to us. Let us not dampen this moment with talk of more war. His nameday approaches, and I will not have the mood soured by concerns that can be addressed later."

Corlys’s mouth tightens into a thin line, but he says nothing further, knowing better than to press the issue when the King’s mind is set on matters of the heart. Beside him, Lord Lyonel Strong, the Master of Laws, nods in agreement with the King’s sentiment. "Your Grace is right. A celebration is in order. Prince Y/N deserves a hero’s welcome. His deeds should be sung from the highest towers of the Red Keep."

Otto Hightower shifts in his seat, his sharp mind already calculating the implications. "It will be a grand affair, Your Grace. One befitting the heir to the Iron Throne. The lords and ladies of the realm will flock to King’s Landing to pay homage to your son."

Viserys smiles, the thought clearly pleasing to him. "Yes, they will. And when they see him, when they see the man he has become, they will know that House Targaryen is strong, united. The blood of the dragon runs true in him.

The conversation shifts to the logistics of the upcoming celebrations—feasts, tourneys, and the spectacle that will greet you upon your return. But beneath the surface, other thoughts swirl, unspoken but understood by all in the room. The return of the heir will undoubtedly shift the balance of power, rekindle old rivalries, and perhaps even spark new alliances.

As the councilors discuss the details, Viserys leans back in his chair, lost in his thoughts. His mind is far from the Stepstones, from the politics and the courtly intrigues. Instead, it is on his son—the pride of his house, the dragon who has returned home. 

Though you are not yet present, your presence is felt keenly in that room, a force that commands respect, admiration, and perhaps even a hint of fear. The small council, ever the stage for power plays and whispered conspiracies, is tonight a place of celebration, anticipation, and a father's love.

The fire burns low, the shadows growing longer as the hour advances. But the warmth in Viserys' heart does not wane, nor does his excitement at the thought of seeing you again after these long, hard years. Soon, you will be home, and the realm will be reminded of the strength and glory of the Targaryens—of fire and blood, and of the dragon that you are.

The sky above King’s Landing is clear, a brilliant blue that contrasts harshly with the golden scales of Syrax as she descends towards the Dragonpit. Her powerful wings beat rhythmically, sending gusts of wind sweeping across the hillside, causing the banners of House Targaryen to flutter wildly. The Dragonpit, ancient and formidable, looms ahead—a structure built to house the great beasts of House Targaryen, and today it eagerly welcomes one of its own.

Syrax lands with a graceful thud, her massive claws digging into the earth as she lowers herself to allow her rider to dismount. Rhaenyra Targaryen, resplendent in her riding leathers of black and red, slides down effortlessly, her golden hair whipping in the wind. There’s a fire in her violet eyes, a look of exhilaration that always follows her flights with Syrax. She pats the dragon’s side affectionately before turning her attention to the awaiting figures.

Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stands ready to greet her, his white cloak flowing in the breeze, a symbol of his unwavering loyalty. His face is stern, but his eyes soften with affection as Rhaenyra approaches. "Welcome back, Princess," he says, bowing his head in respect.

"Thank you, Ser Harrold," Rhaenyra replies, her voice bright. "Syrax needed a good stretch of her wings. It’s a fine day for flying."

"It is indeed, Your Grace," Ser Harrold agrees, though his expression remains stoic. "The city is bustling with preparations for your brother’s return. The people are eager to see their prince."

Rhaenyra’s smile broadens at the mention of her brother. "As am I. It has been too long."

As they speak, a carriage pulls up near the entrance to the Dragonpit, its polished wood gleaming in the sunlight. The door swings open, revealing Alicent Hightower, her gown of pale blue perfectly complementing her auburn hair. She steps out gracefully, her green eyes lighting up as she spots her dearest friend.

"Rhaenyra!" Alicent calls, hurrying forward, her face a picture of delight.

"Alicent," Rhaenyra responds warmly, pulling Alicent into a quick embrace. "I wasn’t expecting you to come all the way to the Dragonpit."

Alicent laughs softly. "How could I not? The court is abuzz with news of your brother’s return. It seems everyone is eager to see him again." She steps back, regarding Rhaenyra with a knowing look. "And what of you, Rhaenyra? Are you excited to see him after all this time?"

Rhaenyra’s eyes soften, a fond smile tugging at her lips. "Of course I am. I’ve missed him terribly. He’s always been my closest confidant, ever since we were children. The realm may see him as a warrior, a dragonrider, but to me, he is simply my brother."

Alicent smiles, though there’s a hint of something more in her eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or something deeper. "I’ve heard the ladies at court whispering about him," she says, her voice light, almost teasing. "They say he’s become even more handsome over the years."

Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her gaze. "None of those ladies have seen him in the last three years. He was always handsome, even as a boy, but I suppose the tales of his exploits have added to the allure."

Alicent nods, her expression thoughtful. "It’s the word from the Dornish border that precedes him. They say he cut a striking figure on Silverwing, that he was a beacon of hope for our men and a terror to our enemies."

Rhaenyra’s pride is palpable, her chest swelling with affection for her brother. "That’s the brother I know. Always strong, always brave. I’m not surprised the tales of his deeds have spread far and wide. But I’m more eager to hear them from him, to see the man he’s become with my own eyes."

Alicent smiles gently, seeing the deep bond Rhaenyra shares with her brother. "The two of you are much alike, you know. Dragons in human form. It’s no wonder the realm speaks of you both with such reverence."

Rhaenyra looks away for a moment, her thoughts lingering on her brother, before she turns back to Alicent, her expression lightening. "Come, let’s return to the Red Keep. I’m sure there are a thousand things waiting for us there. Besides, I need to freshen up before I see him. I want to look my best for his return."

Alicent chuckles, following Rhaenyra as they make their way towards the carriage. "As if you ever need to worry about that. But I understand. Today is special, after all."

The two young women climb into the carriage, and as it begins its journey back to the heart of King’s Landing, the conversation shifts to lighter topics—gossip from court, plans for the upcoming celebrations. But beneath the surface, there is an undercurrent of anticipation, a shared excitement for the return of a beloved brother, a dragonrider, and a prince who has been away from home for far too long.

As the city comes into view, Rhaenyra’s thoughts are filled with images of her brother—of the last time she saw you, of the stories she’s heard in your absence, and of the reunion that awaits. Soon, very soon, the Targaryen family will be whole again, and the dragons will once more soar together over King’s Landing.

The morning sun had only just begun to cast its golden light across King’s Landing, illuminating the bustling preparations already well underway for the day’s grand celebrations. In the Red Keep, servants and handmaidens hurried through the halls, their arms full of silks and jewels, the atmosphere buzzing with the anticipation of the prince’s one and seventh nameday. The tourney grounds outside the city walls were already alive with the clashing of swords and the cheer of spectators, but within the princess’s chambers, a quieter preparation was taking place.

Rhaenyra Targaryen stood before a polished mirror, her golden hair cascading down her back as her handmaidens worked to braid it into an intricate style fitting for the occasion. Her gown, a deep shade of Targaryen red, had been carefully selected, the rich fabric adorned with subtle embroidery that caught the morning light. Yet despite the attention to every detail, Rhaenyra’s thoughts were elsewhere.

Suddenly, a low, resonant horn echoed across the city, its deep tone vibrating through the very stones of the Red Keep. The sound was unmistakable—the return of a dragon. The call stirred something deep within Rhaenyra, her heart leaping in her chest as she pushed away the fussing hands of her handmaidens.

"Princess, please! We haven’t finished—" one of the servants protested, but Rhaenyra was already moving, her eyes bright with excitement.

She rushed to the balcony, her breath catching in her throat as she leaned over the edge, searching the skies. For a moment, all was quiet except for the distant hum of the city below. Then, she saw it—a glint of silver against the blue, a shape growing larger as it approached. 

Silverwing.

The great she-dragon cut through the sky with powerful, sweeping strokes of her massive wings, her silver scales gleaming like molten metal in the morning light. Her wingspan cast a shadow over the city as she soared over the rooftops, the people below stopping in their tracks to look up in awe. The sun seemed to dance upon her scales, turning her into a living beacon, a symbol of House Targaryen’s might and majesty. 

As Silverwing approached the heart of the city, a roar of cheers erupted from the streets below, followed by the blare of trumpets signaling the return of the King’s heir. The sound swelled and spread, filling the air with the jubilant energy of thousands of voices raised in celebration. From her vantage point, Rhaenyra could see the figures of people flooding the streets, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the dragon and her rider.

And there, atop Silverwing, was you. Even from this distance, Rhaenyra recognized your figure, sitting tall and proud in the saddle, your pale blond hair whipping in the wind, your violet eyes sharp as they surveyed the city below. You guided Silverwing with the ease of long familiarity, a natural extension of yourself. There was a power in the way you commanded the dragon, a grace that spoke of years spent in the saddle, and a bond forged in fire.

Rhaenyra’s smile brightened, her heart swelling with pride and affection. Her brother had returned, the prince of the realm, the heir to the Iron Throne. And now, the whole city knew it. Silverwing let out a triumphant roar as she flew low over the city, a declaration of your presence that sent another wave of cheers echoing through the streets.

As you guided Silverwing toward the Dragonpit, Rhaenyra watched in breathless anticipation. The dragon angled her wings, banking smoothly toward the massive structure where the dragonkeepers awaited her. The escort wagon, finely adorned in Targaryen red and black, stood ready at the entrance, flanked by members of the Kingsguard in their gleaming white armor. The sight of it all—the dragon, the city’s response, the return of her brother—made Rhaenyra’s pulse quicken with excitement.

She turned back from the balcony, her voice ringing with urgency as she addressed her handmaidens. "Hurry! I must be ready in time to greet him."

The handmaidens, who had been momentarily frozen by the excitement of the dragon’s arrival, snapped back into action, their hands flying over the final touches of her attire. They tightened her bodice, pinned the last of her braids into place, and secured the Targaryen emblem at her shoulder with swift, practiced movements.

One of the handmaidens, a girl no older than Rhaenyra herself, smiled as she adjusted the drape of the gown. "You must be eager to see him, Princess."

Rhaenyra’s eyes sparkled as she met the girl’s gaze in the mirror. "More than you can imagine. It’s been three long years. I want to be the first to welcome him home."

Alicent entered the room just as Rhaenyra was giving herself a final once-over in the mirror. "I see the excitement has reached you too," she said with a smile, noting Rhaenyra’s flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

Rhaenyra grinned back at her, unable to contain her joy. "I’ll never grow tired of seeing him return. I need to be ready. He deserves a proper welcome, don’t you think?"

Alicent nodded, helping to smooth a stray lock of Rhaenyra’s hair into place. "He’ll be just as eager to see you, Rhaenyra. The bond you two share is special."

Rhaenyra smiled, touched by Alicent’s words, though her thoughts were already racing ahead to the moment when she would finally see you up close. "He’s been away too long. Today, we’ll be together again. I can’t wait to hear everything he’s been through, to see how he’s changed."

Alicent chuckled, gently teasing. "Just don’t keep him to yourself for too long. There’s an entire court eager to see the heir to the throne."

Rhaenyra gave her a playful look but nodded. "I suppose I can share him. But only for a little while."

The final adjustments made, Rhaenyra took one last look in the mirror, her excitement barely contained. The morning had begun with a dragon’s roar, a herald of what was to come. Soon, she would stand by your side once more, the dragon prince and the dragon princess, united in the heart of the realm.

With a deep breath, Rhaenyra turned and made her way towards the door, her handmaidens following closely behind. The day had only just begun, but it already promised to be unforgettable. As she stepped into the corridor, her heart raced with anticipation. Soon, she would be at the welcoming ceremony, ready to embrace her brother and celebrate his return to the world they both cherished.

The throne room of the Red Keep was a magnificent sight, its grand scale and ornate decorations a testament to the power and history of House Targaryen. Banners of black and red hung from the high ceilings, the three-headed dragon of the Targaryens prominently displayed. The Iron Throne itself, forged from the swords of defeated enemies, loomed at the far end of the hall, a jagged symbol of absolute authority.

King Viserys I Targaryen sat upon the throne, his posture tense with anticipation. His eyes, the same violet as his children’s, were fixed on the massive doors at the other end of the hall. Courtiers and lords stood in silence, lining the path to the throne, their eyes darting between the King and the doors. The room was filled with a barely contained excitement, the air thick with the importance of the moment.

Viserys shifted in his seat, trying to maintain his regal composure, though it was clear to those who knew him well that he was impatient. It had been three long years since he had last seen his son, and the waiting was almost unbearable. His fingers drummed lightly on the armrest of the throne, his thoughts racing with memories of the boy who had ridden off to war and the man who would return.

Just as the tension in the room reached its peak, the doors to the throne room creaked open, and a late arrival hurried through. Rhaenyra Targaryen, her cheeks flushed and slightly out of breath, slipped in as quietly as possible, her eyes immediately seeking out her father on the throne. She exhaled in relief when she saw that she had made it just in time. She quickly moved to join the courtiers, standing beside Alicent Hightower, who gave her a sympathetic smile.

The doors opened fully with a deep, echoing groan, and the room fell into a hushed silence as Ser Harrold Westerling, flanked by the Kingsguard, stepped inside. "Prince Y/N of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne," Ser Harrold announced, his voice carrying across the hall.

All eyes turned to the figure that stepped through the threshold, and the sight was nothing short of breathtaking.

You stood tall, your presence commanding the room as you entered with the easy confidence of a man who had faced both war and dragons. Your short, pale blond hair, tousled by the wind of your flight, caught the light, glinting like spun silk. Your deep violet eyes, so reminiscent of your father’s, scanned the room with a quiet intensity, taking in every detail. The armor you wore was finely crafted, a blend of polished steel and dragon motifs, but it was the Targaryen sigil emblazoned across your chest that drew the most attention—a bold reminder of the blood that coursed through your veins.

As you strode forward, your movements were smooth and measured, a dragonrider’s grace evident in every step. There was a power in your gait, a strength that spoke of the battles fought and won, of the years spent defending the realm. The courtiers and lords bowed their heads as you passed, acknowledging the prince and future king. Whispers followed in your wake, the court abuzz with murmurs of admiration and awe.

Rhaenyra, watching from a distance, felt her heart swell with pride. Her brother had always been strong, but there was something different about him now—an air of authority and purpose that had not been there before. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched you approach the throne, her eyes glistening with emotion.

Beside her, Alicent Hightower blushed deeply as you passed, her gaze dropping to the floor before sneaking another glance at you. There was a palpable tension in the air, a mix of admiration and something more, as she tried to compose herself. Rhaenyra noticed, but said nothing, a small smile playing on her lips.

Your focus, however, was solely on the man who awaited you at the end of the hall. King Viserys rose from the Iron Throne as you approached, his expression shifting from regal formality to one of barely contained joy. The distance between father and son narrowed with each step you took, and by the time you stood before him, the room seemed to hold its breath.

Viserys paused for a moment, looking you over with the eyes of a father who had missed the growth of his child into a man. His gaze was proud, but there was also a trace of sadness for the time lost. "My son," he began, his voice formal but thick with emotion, "you have returned to us a hero. The realm owes you a great debt for your service."

You bowed your head respectfully, your voice steady and warm as you replied, "Thank you, Father. It was my duty to defend our lands, but it is good to be home."

Viserys nodded, but the formality of the moment quickly gave way to something more genuine. His stoic expression broke, a broad grin spreading across his face as he stepped down from the throne. Before the courtiers could fully register the shift, Viserys crossed the remaining distance between you and embraced you with a hearty, almost crushing hug.

"My boy," he said, his voice choked with emotion as he held you close. "You’ve grown so much. It’s been too long."

You returned the embrace just as fiercely, your own voice betraying the depth of your feelings. "I’ve missed you, Father."

The hall erupted in applause, the sound echoing off the stone walls as the courtiers and lords showed their approval. It was a moment of unity, a rare and cherished sight in the often fractured world of court politics.

Viserys pulled back, his hands still on your shoulders as he looked at you with a father’s pride. "Come," he said, his voice lighter now, almost eager. "There’s so much to tell you, so much you’ve missed in these three years. The court, the realm... you must hear it all. And I want to hear every detail of your time in Dorne."

He clapped you on the back, turning to lead you away from the throne, his excitement palpable. "But first, let’s get you out of that armor. We’ll talk as you prepare for the feast. The entire court is eager to see you again, and your sister has been counting the days until your return."

As the two of you began to walk down the aisle, Rhaenyra watched with a smile, her heart full. She followed at a discreet distance, blending in with the other courtiers, but her eyes never left you. Alicent, still by her side, looked after you with a softness in her gaze, her earlier blush still lingering.

The doors to the throne room slowly closed behind you, the applause fading as the court returned to its usual murmur of conversation. The welcoming ceremony had ended, but the day was just beginning, and it was clear that it would be filled with moments to remember.

Rhaenyra, watching you disappear through the doors with your father, knew that the bond between the two of you was as strong as ever. Today, the Targaryen family was reunited, and the city of King’s Landing would celebrate in grand fashion. 

But for Rhaenyra, the true celebration was in the simple joy of having her brother home again. The dragons of House Targaryen were together once more, and nothing could dim the brightness of this day.

The echoes of the applause still lingered in the halls as King Viserys I Targaryen led you away from the throne room and into a quieter, more private part of the Red Keep. The ornate corridors, lined with tapestries depicting the history of House Targaryen, gradually gave way to more intimate surroundings—the King’s private chambers. Here, away from the prying eyes of the court, the formalities of royal life could be set aside, if only for a short while.

As the door to the King’s chambers closed behind you, the weight of the last three years seemed to melt away. Viserys gestured for you to sit at the table near the window, where a light breeze drifted in, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city’s celebrations. The table was set with wine and bread, simple fare for a king, but comforting in its familiarity.

Viserys poured two goblets of wine, handing one to you before taking a seat across from you. For a moment, he simply looked at you, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, noting the subtle changes that time and experience had etched there.

"You’ve grown, Y/N," he said, his voice soft, almost in awe. "I knew you would, of course, but seeing you now... it’s different. You’ve become a man in these last three years. I’m proud of you, more than words can say."

You took a sip of the wine, savoring the taste before replying. "Thank you, Father. It wasn’t an easy task, defending our borders, but it was necessary. The Dornish were becoming bolder by the day. They needed to be reminded of our strength."

Viserys nodded, his expression serious. "I’ve heard the reports, of course. Your presence alone was enough to turn the tide, or so they say. Silverwing must have been a sight to behold on the battlefield."

A small smile played on your lips as you recalled the days spent soaring over the arid Dornish lands, the wind whipping through your hair as Silverwing roared her defiance at the enemy below. "She was magnificent. The Dornish learned quickly that Targaryen fire is not to be trifled with. But it wasn’t just about the battles. The men needed leadership, someone to rally behind. I did what I could to be that for them."

"And you succeeded," Viserys said, his voice filled with pride. "The realm is safer because of you. The people know they have a prince who will protect them, a future king who will lead them with strength and honor."

You inclined your head, acknowledging his praise, but there was a wistfulness in your expression that Viserys did not miss. He reached across the table, placing a hand on your arm. "What troubles you, my son?"

You hesitated for a moment, then spoke, your voice tinged with a quiet sorrow. "I was just thinking of Mother. She would have been so proud to see this day, to see how the realm is at peace because of what we’ve done. I’ve missed her, every day."

Viserys’s face softened, his own grief mirrored in your words. "I miss her too," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not a day goes by that I don’t think of Aemma, of what she would say, how she would guide me. She was my heart, and I know she was yours as well."

He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he continued. "I regret that she is not here to see you thrive, to see the man you’ve become. But I believe she is watching over us, that she sees you and is as proud of you as I am. You were her joy, Y/N. She would be so very proud."

You lowered your gaze for a moment, the memories of your mother flooding your mind—her gentle smile, the warmth of her embrace, the way she had always known just what to say to ease your fears. "I’ve tried to honor her memory in everything I do," you said quietly. "Every decision I make, every battle I fight, I think of what she would want, what she would have done. She’s never far from my thoughts."

Viserys smiled sadly, his hand still resting on yours. "She lives on in you, my son. In your strength, in your kindness, in your sense of duty. Aemma’s spirit is with us, even if she is not."

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the weight of shared loss hanging between you. It was a grief that had shaped both your lives, a void that could never truly be filled. Yet, in that silence, there was also a sense of peace, a shared understanding that you both carried her memory with you, honoring her in your own ways.

Viserys broke the silence first, his voice lighter now as he sought to lift the mood. "But let us not dwell too long on sorrow. Today is a day of celebration, after all. The court is waiting, and I hear you plan to compete in the tourney yourself."

You chuckled, the sadness easing from your features as you looked up at him. "I do. It’s been too long since I’ve had the chance to test my skills. The Dornish provided plenty of real battles, but there��s something to be said for the honor and tradition of a tourney."

Viserys grinned, a spark of excitement in his eyes. "You’ll make quite the entrance, I’m sure. The court will be watching closely. It’s not every day they get to see the heir to the Iron Throne in action."

"I’ll do my best to give them a show," you replied with a grin of your own. "But it’s not just about the spectacle. It’s a chance to remind the realm of our strength, of the unity of House Targaryen. We’ve faced threats from the outside, but there are always threats from within as well. The court needs to see that we are strong, that we stand together."

Viserys nodded, understanding the deeper meaning behind your words. "You’re right. There are always those who would seek to undermine us, to sow discord. But today, let them see that House Targaryen is united, that the blood of the dragon runs true in you."

He raised his goblet in a toast, his eyes filled with pride and determination. "To your nameday, my son. To the future of our house, and to the memory of those who came before us."

You clinked your goblet against his, the sound ringing softly in the quiet room. "To our future," you echoed, your voice steady and sure.

As you both drank, the atmosphere lightened, the bond between father and son reaffirmed. The burdens of the past were still there, but for now, they were set aside, replaced by the promise of the day ahead.

Viserys set his goblet down, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Now, tell me—are you planning to win this tourney? Or should I place my bets elsewhere?"

You laughed, a genuine, hearty sound that filled the room. "I plan to give it my all, Father. But I suppose you’ll have to wait and see if that’s enough to claim victory."

Viserys leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Very well, I’ll keep my bets close to my chest. But I’ll be watching with great interest."

The two of you continued to talk, the conversation flowing easily as you recounted the events of the last three years, the battles fought, the alliances forged. Viserys listened intently, asking questions, offering advice, and occasionally regaling you with the goings-on in King’s Landing during your absence. The weight of rulership was ever-present, but in this moment, it was simply a father catching up with his son.

Finally, as the sun climbed higher in the sky, Viserys glanced out the window, noting the time. "The feast will begin soon, and the tourney will follow. We should make our way back to the court."

You nodded, standing as he did, your heart lighter than it had been in a long time. "I’m ready, Father. Let’s go and give them a day to remember."

Viserys clapped you on the back as you walked to the door together, his smile full of pride and affection. "That we shall, my son. That we shall."

And with that, the two of you stepped out of the King’s private chambers and back into the grand corridors of the Red Keep, ready to face the celebrations that awaited. Today was your day, a day to honor the past, celebrate the present, and look forward to the future. The dragons of House Targaryen were united once more, and nothing could dim the brightness of the day that lay ahead.

The grand corridors of the Red Keep were filled with the rustle of fine fabrics and the murmur of anticipation as courtiers made their way towards the tourney grounds. The air vibrated with excitement, the prospect of watching the finest knights in the realm compete thrilling everyone. The ladies of the court walked in groups, their laughter and whispers echoing off the stone walls as they discussed the events of the day—and the prince who had returned after three long years.

Rhaenyra Targaryen and Alicent Hightower moved among them, their own excitement tempered by a more personal interest in the proceedings. They had just witnessed your return to King’s Landing, and the image of you standing tall and proud before the Iron Throne was still fresh in their minds. As they walked, Rhaenyra’s mind buzzed with thoughts of you, while Alicent seemed quieter than usual, her expression contemplative.

"You haven’t said much since we left the throne room," Rhaenyra noted, glancing at her friend as they walked. "What are you thinking, Alicent?"

Alicent blinked, as if pulled from her thoughts, and offered Rhaenyra a soft smile. "I was just thinking about your brother. It’s incredible how much he’s changed. I almost didn’t recognize him when he walked in."

Rhaenyra nodded, her lips curving into a fond smile. "He has changed, hasn’t he? When he left, he was still young, still learning how to lead. Now... now he seems so sure of himself, so strong." There was pride in her voice, but also a hint of something else—an undercurrent of longing for the time when the two of you were younger and life was simpler.

Alicent’s eyes flickered with understanding. "You’re proud of him, Rhaenyra. Anyone can see that. But I imagine it must be strange too, seeing how he’s grown in your absence."

"It is," Rhaenyra admitted, her voice quiet. "I’ve missed him so much. We used to spend all our time together. Now, it feels like he’s returned a different person, someone who belongs more to the realm than to me."

Alicent gave her a sympathetic look. "That’s only natural. He’s the heir to the throne, after all. But that doesn’t mean he’s changed in how he feels about you. You’re still his sister, Rhaenyra. That bond doesn’t just disappear."

Rhaenyra nodded, though her heart still felt heavy. She knew Alicent was right, but the feeling of being left behind, of losing the closeness you once shared, gnawed at her. "I know," she said, forcing a smile. "But sometimes I wish we could go back to the way things were, when it was just the two of us."

Alicent was about to respond when the soft murmur of the ladies walking nearby caught their attention. The two of them slowed their pace slightly, enough to overhear the conversation unfolding around them.

"Did you see him? He’s even more handsome than the rumors said," one lady whispered excitedly.

"And did you notice how he carries himself? So regal, so commanding," another added, her voice tinged with admiration.

"I heard he’s competing in the tourney today. Can you imagine how thrilling it would be to watch him fight? I’ll wager every lady here will be hoping for his favor."

The ladies giggled, their words filled with admiration and excitement. Rhaenyra’s chest tightened as she listened, her earlier feelings of pride mingling with a sharp pang of jealousy. She had always known you were admired, but hearing these women fawn over you, imagining themselves catching your attention, stirred something possessive within her.

Alicent, noticing the change in Rhaenyra’s expression, touched her arm gently. "Rhaenyra... you know they’re just infatuated with the idea of him. They don’t know him like you do."

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened slightly as she nodded. "I know, but it still bothers me. It’s like they’re trying to take something that belongs to me." Her voice was low, almost bitter, the jealousy she felt hard to suppress.

Alicent gave her a thoughtful look, choosing her words carefully. "It’s understandable, Rhaenyra. You’ve shared something special with him, something no one else can claim. But he’s the heir, and as much as it pains you, others will be drawn to him. They see the prince, the dragonrider, but they don’t see the brother you know."

Rhaenyra sighed, her shoulders relaxing a little as she processed Alicent’s words. "You’re right," she said, her voice softer now. "It’s just... it’s hard to watch. I miss the days when it was just the two of us, when I didn’t have to share him with the rest of the realm."

Alicent squeezed her arm reassuringly. "I’m sure he feels the same way about you, Rhaenyra. He’s always been devoted to you. Don’t let the chatter of the court make you doubt that."

Rhaenyra managed a small smile, her earlier jealousy easing, though not entirely disappearing. "Thank you, Alicent. I just need to remind myself of that."

As they emerged from the shadowed corridors and into the open air, the roar of the crowds from the tourney grounds greeted them, the excitement palpable. The stands were already filled with lords, ladies, and smallfolk alike, all eager to witness the spectacle. Banners fluttered in the breeze, the sigils of noble houses displayed proudly, while the smell of roasted meats and the sound of trumpets filled the air.

Rhaenyra and Alicent were escorted to their seats in the royal box, a prime position that offered a perfect view of the lists. As they settled in, Rhaenyra’s eyes scanned the grounds, her thoughts still partly on you, wondering what you might be thinking as you prepared for the tourney.

The ladies around them continued to chatter excitedly, their conversations now shifting to the knights who would compete, but Rhaenyra’s thoughts remained on you. She couldn’t help but wonder how you would perform in the tourney, whether you would acknowledge her in some way, and what it would mean to see you in your element once more.

Alicent, ever observant, leaned closer to Rhaenyra. "You’ll see him again soon, you know. And when you do, you’ll have his attention. The bond you share is something these other ladies can only dream of."

Rhaenyra nodded, a determined look settling on her face. "You’re right, Alicent. I’ve spent enough time longing for the past. Today, I’ll celebrate the present—and the fact that my brother is finally home."

Alicent smiled warmly at her, proud of her friend’s resolve. "That’s the spirit, Rhaenyra. Now, let’s enjoy the tourney. I have a feeling it’s going to be one for the ages."

As the trumpets blared once more, signaling the start of the day’s events, Rhaenyra allowed herself to relax, focusing on the excitement of the moment. The tourney grounds were alive with color and sound, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a sense of contentment. You were home, and that was what mattered most.

The day was young, and there was much to celebrate. Rhaenyra settled into her seat, ready to watch the tourney unfold, knowing that no matter what, her brother would always be her closest confidant, the one person who truly understood her. Today, the dragons of House Targaryen were united, and nothing would take that away from her.

[satoshy12]

Isekai into a Novel

At a Gala

Nightwing looked at all the ones who are with him there: "So are we all here until we get the true ending of the story?"

Artemis: "Yes."

Nightwing: "Okay, who here has read the story?"

Kid Flash: "I have! It's a fantasy adventure story. The main villain, the Cold Archduke of the North, is like the worst villains we and the Justice League has ever fought. A truly evil, future cold-blooded tyrant who rules with an iron fist and blood. He never smiles and is an emotionally constipated, bloodthirsty god of war."

Zatanna: "We would see him right at this Gala and should be called next I think."

Speaker of the Room: "We call Archduke Daniel Fenthorne of Specterville and his daughter, Princess Dawn Fenthorne!"

Dick looked at his teammates: "Dawn?"

Kid Flash: "There was no one called Dawn in the novel."

The door opened and Danny walked in with little Ellie/Dawn holding his hand as he knelt before the Emperor.

Emperor: "My boy! You have a daughter!"

The Archduke smiled warmly and lovingly in the room. "Yes, that was the favour I came to ask."

Emperor: (jumping up) "Of course, I will legitimise her! Now let me see the young girl!" +

Kid Flash to the others: "This is also new. In the original story, the Emperor didn't like him very much. This looks like a father/grandfather and son seeing their granddaughter for the first time."

Aqualad: "So we have no idea of the original story. Except that this man later became the Greatest of all Evil."

Dick looked around and noticed his missing sister: "Where's Cass?"

Zatanna looked at the note and laughed, showing it to Dick: "I Can Fix HIM."

Cass made her way to Lord Daniel as he looked at Dawn talking to the Emperor.

+++ Because of Vlad, the Fenton family had been isekai'd into the novel.

Since they arrived here, Danny had enjoyed spending time with his family. He liked this place, and Dawn was adorable as a tiny toddler. His mum, dad and Jazz loved playing with her too. Coming here because of Vlad was a blessing in disguise.

[orcasoul]

Marcus Acacius Imagine #1

Warnings: Fluff, age gap, smut (under 18's DNI!)

Word Count: 665

Older husband Marcus Acacius who never expected to marry again almost two decades after his wife ran away with a servant. Who had long ago given up on the notion of love and poured all of his energy into serving Rome. Who, at a large celebration in honour of his retirement felt the whole world slip away as your father introduced you to him. Who became instantly besotted with your delicate smile, your gentle mien, and the shyness you exhibited around him. Who spent the whole evening in deep conversation with you, drawing you out of your shell and learning as much as he could. Who the very next day arranged your marriage to himself with your father.

Older husband Marcus Acacius who felt the gods had truly blessed him as you walked towards him in your bridal attire, looking like Venus herself. Who felt your smaller hand shake as you took his and instantly became overwhelmed with the urge to ease your nerves and to protect and shield you from every bad thing this world had to offer. Who knows that your youth and naivety has not prepared you for the real world and as long as you have him to care for and safeguard you, you'll be fine. Who will spend the rest of his life ensuring you will want for nothing from this moment on. Who's not foolish enough to believe that you love him as he does you - by the few interactions you've both had it's clear you do care for him, but love can take time for some people - and he will make it his mission to gain your love.

Older husband Marcus Acacius who, being an experienced lover knows just how to both sooth your wedding night anxiety and excite you at the same time. Who trailed his lips over your shoulder as he released the clasps of your dress, the fabric flowing to the floor around you. Who stared in reverence at your naked flesh, your subtle curves and the swell of your breasts, professing that you are the most ethereal creature he has laid eyes on. Who tilted your chin up to meet his eyes and saw both lust and apprehension staring back at him. Who allowed you to take your time undressing him, getting lost in the feel of your soft fingers as they trailed over his many scars. Who's heart almost burst with joy as you tiptoed up to press your lips to his.

Older husband Marcus Acacius who laid you on the bed, smoothing his hands down your body, from your neck, over your breasts, past your navel and finally settling over your sex, cupping it gently. Who began to rub circles over your clit with the heel of his hand while pushing a finger inside your aching core, soon followed by a second. Who grinned in triumph as you came apart beneath him, your flushed face looking both awed and fascinated at what just happened. Who, only once you had become pliant enough entered you slowly, pushing in all the way to the hilt. Who watched your eyes roll back as he increased the intensity of his thrusts inside your warm, wet walls, drawing moans and gasps of his name from your pretty lips. Who made sure you came one last time before spilling his seed inside you.

Older husband Marcus Acacius who held you in his arms as you slept, studying all the fine lines, beauty spots and freckles on your face and shoulders, smoothing the silky skin of your back and relaxing in the warmth of your body pressed to his. Who has never felt more at home than his is right now, embracing the woman he adores and has waited his whole life for. Who hopes that his seed has already taken hold and will soon have you swelling beautifully with his son. Who will love, worship and protect you and any children you give him until his dying breath.

[dyeher]

WHAT DADDY DESERVES| NSFW

Includes: toji fushiguor x fem! reader

Warnings: age gap, shibari, smut, knife play, fear play, light humiliation, degradation, female identifying reader, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, impact play [pussy and ass spanking], choking, face fucking, cum eating, edging, dacryphilia, cucking [sort of], creampie, overstimulation.

Summary: toji’s never been given a gift like this before. bless megumi’s little heart for knowing his daddy so well.

“What the hell is this?”

Truthfully, Toji couldn't say for certain what he expected when Megumi had announced after dinner that there was a surprise waiting for him in his home office. Maybe an expensive bottle of liquor, a new handgun, a cologne, a card, or nothing at all. Though the latter was more a self-deprecating expectation than anything else. Further, he didn’t think his son was capable of surprising him. Toji, up until this exact moment, had convinced himself that he had seen enough in his lifetime to ensure nothing would ever truly surprise him.

And yet, the sight of you- gagged and artfully tied in golden ribbons- kneeling next to his desk has left him stupefied.

“Megumi- What the fuck?” he gestures to your trembling body. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

“I see the way you look at her old man,” he can feel Megumi’s eyes on his back. “You can take what I’ve so graciously offered or you can look a gift horse in the mouth. Either way, she’s yours for the rest of the night.”

If Toji’s cock wasn’t one wrong move away from bursting the seams of his slacks he might have denied Megumi’s observation until he was blue in the goddamn face. You were too young, too beautiful, too innocent, too much of his son’s fucking girlfirend to be sitting next to his desk with nothing but literal scraps of fabric covering your...important parts. As it stood his cock was embarrassing him, and it wasn’t helping that he hadn’t looked anywhere but at you since he spotted you.

God but you were beautiful. Admittedly whether you were wrapped up like a christmas present or fully clothed Toji knows he’d still be staring at you, granted in the latter instances it would be easier to tear his gaze away from the wealth of exposed flesh, because there would be no exposed flesh.

“Be gentle with her, don’t get her pregnant, no anal,” Megumi says, and maybe Toji makes a sound of agreement because his son leaves after that, a mumbled ‘Happy Father’s day’ his parting words.

The slamming of his office door makes you jump, and the delicious jiggling of your breasts as a result leaves Toji reeling. You’re staring up at him with such open abandon that Toji slumps into the closest chair. Evidently, Megumi hadn’t forced you into these shibari knots, you’d gone willingly. Toji supposes there’s something to be said about the fact that his son knows his tastes well. From where Toji sits on the single arm chair in the room, he can spot one particularly aggravating knot that he loves. Nestled next to your clit, he imagines the knot is likely soaked from your constant shifting.

There’s something morally wrong with wanting to stuff your son’s girlfriend full of cock. Unless, your son gives you the green light and said girlfriend is looking at you like you’re her salvation. Then it’s a matter of self defense, because obviously the two have conspired to ruin his already crumbling mental factions and thus, as he stands and approaches you he convinces himself that he’s fucking you for the sake of defending those mental factions.

The gag is drenched and Toji doesn’t care that they’ll get saliva on the paperwork laid out on his desk, he has half a mind to rub the sopping material along the length of his cock before your mouth opens on an adorable ‘ah’ that makes his cock twitch in anticipation. First, he needs to get you out of these ties because he needs to feel all of you. He needs to feel every inch of glorious skin and he needs it like he needs his next fucking breath.

So he cuts you free of the looping material, doesn’t even bother to listen to your little huffs of protests as your hands spring free and then your legs, and then your breasts relax when the ribbon at the bottom and the top come undone. He pulls you to your feet and drags you to the chair he’d previously occupied. You follow after him, standing between his thighs as he cuts you the rest of the way free.

The knife grazes the inside of your thigh teasingly, Toji doesn’t need to cut that part- the part pressed achingly close to your clit- free he only needs to tug on the knot, but when your hands fly to his shoulders coupled with an adorable whimper and he looks up to find your lips parted, eyes glazed over he brings the knife higher.

Your breath hitches and Toji can’t swallow his surprised chuckle fast enough.

“You like playing with knives, angel face?”

Your response is a jerky nod that Toji’s sure you had no conscious control of. He flips the knife so the dull back of it drags along the inside of your thigh, when it reaches the soft, puffy lip of your pussy he has to wrap an arm around your waist to stop you from collapsing. He pulls it away and helps you onto his lap, pressing your back against the chair’s arm and draping your legs across his thighs and over the other arm.

“Tell me something,” he urges, the knife in one hand held away from your body and the other gripping the back of your neck to keep your face angled to his. “Do you want this?”

“Yes- yes sir,” you lick your lips nervously and Toji nods.

“And did Megumi force you to do this?”

You glance away. Toji’s entire body goes taught. If Megumi forced you to have sex with him, if he’s blackmailing yo-

“It was my idea,” you admit.

Toji blinks, unsure he’d heard correctly. “Say that again?”

“It was- it was my idea, Mr. Fushiguro.”

Toji takes a long look at the way you’re spread out for him, your skin dented where the knots were pressed against your flesh, covered in a thin layer of sweat that leaves you glowing under the harsh lights of his office. Your breaths come in quick harsh pants, your legs twitch with each breath and Toji’s certain the dampness of his slacks has nothing to do with the fact that his cock is leaking into his boxers.

Toji wonders for one insane second what he could have possibly done to deserve this kind of gift. As far as he was concerned he was a mediocre parent at best. Love could really only provide so much emotional cushioning before it wasn’t enough. Not to mention his constant absence from his kid’s life because of work. It didn’t make sense that Megumi would give him something as precious as you. If he were a better man he would turn you down nicely, reassure you that it wasn’t that he didn't want you but it was just messed up. Thank the stars in the sky that he wasn’t a better man.

He glances down at you squirming in his lap and shuts off the part of his brain screaming at him to stop. He grasps a handful of your tits and squeezes gently, rolling the puckered nipple in between his fingers until your back arches off the chair arm. He drops the knife onto the end table next to him and uses that hand to drag down the center of your body as he sucks the nipple into his mouth.

“Oh,” you gasp.

His hand settles at the top of your pussy and he chuckles at your desperate whimper. He keeps it there as he switches to your other nipple. Toji takes his time, he operates on the belief that this is the only chance he’ll ever get to explore your body, to touch you however he likes without worrying about repercussions. So, as he sucks languidly at your nipples he rubs slow circles at the top of your pussy, right above your clit. A taste of what he could do. When you’re squirming so bad he’s forced to tighten his grip on you he finally pulls away from your chest he peppers kisses up your sternum, and along your throat until he reaches your lips.

“Are you sure you want this, angel face?” he asks.

“Yes- yes please,” you answer shakily.

“Good, you know what the stoplight system is?” Toji hides his excitement at your nod. “We’re gonna use that system, angel face. Remind me what it is?”

“Red means I want you to stop whatever you’re doing, yellow means slow down because what we’re doing is making me feel a little uncomfortable, green means I’m okay with whatever you’re doing and I think you should continue.”

Toji smiles, “Just about. What’s your colour right now?”

“Green,” you pant, wiggling so your ass settles between his legs on the chair. Toji is momentarily distracted when you brace the soles of your feet on the chair arm and your legs butterfly open. He catches a glimpse of slicked pussy lips as they part, strings of your arousal connecting them to each other.

“Good,” he answers absently and then he’s dipping his fingers into your messy little cunt. “So fucking wet,” he glances up to find your eyes glued to where his fingers have disappeared between the lips of your pussy.

He drags two fingers along your slit, collecting and spreading your cum up to your clit where he rubs light circles around it. Your responding whimper goes straight to his cock. He pulls his fingers away and with his eyes trained on yours he sucks your cum off his fingers. Your eyes widen adorably and Toji ducks to kiss you.

It dawns on him, when your lips part immediately under his, warm and soft and compliant that his son has probably fucked you under this roof. He uses the kiss as a distraction as he reaches for his knife. He flips it so the blade is facing him and gingerly runs the handle along the inside of your thigh.

Your body jerks.

“Easy,” he murmurs against your lips. “I’m not going to hurt you. Okay?”

Toji watches you struggle to regulate your breathing, but you’re shaking so bad it’s a little concerning. When you manage to squeak out your affirmative he leaves a chaste kiss to your mouth and turns his attention to his knife and your pretty pussy.

“I have to ask,” he starts conversationally, as the handle continues to climb the sensitive skin. “Why this and not something uh...normal?”

“What?” you ask dumbly.

He chuckles. “Well, Megumi could’ve gotten me a blank card and I’d have been grateful-” he stops just before he reaches your pussy lips again and flips the knife around so the blade is pressed flat against the inside of your thigh, “-but you suggested this-” he drags his eyes along your exposed body, “-so I’m asking you why this?”

You gulp when the blade bumps into your labia. “I- I don’t-”

Toji presses the blade flat against your cunt, covering one labia entirely.You inhale sharply, your limbs locking as you struggle not to close your legs around the knife. The cool press of the blade against the heated flesh causes goosebumps to erupt along your skin. He waits as you exhale slowly. He doesn’t move, just stares at you expectantly.

“Well? You still haven’t answered, angel face.”

“I don’t- I don’t know,” you stutter, your body trembles with the effort it takes not to move less the knife cuts you.

“I think you do,” Toji tuts. “You must, because I’m sure you’d have to convince Megumi somehow and you couldn’t have convinced him if you didn’t know.” He pulls the knife away and slaps at your cunt with it before pressing it back to your labia. “Try again. Why this?”

Tears gather at the corner of your eyes and Toji can just make out the way your pulse is pounding at the base of your throat. “I- I wanted to- I wanted to fuck you,” you answer. “Meg- Megumi- Megumi can’t say no to me.”

Toji freezes. “Who else?”

“Mr. Fushi-”

“Call me Toji. Now answer the question.”

The knife presses harder against you and your body twitches, the tears spill over and a half sob breaks free as you scramble to grab onto his arm.

“Who else has my son let you fuck, angel face?”

“Satoru-”

Toji pulls the knife away from your pussy and presses it to your throat. “You’re a little whore aren’t you?”

--

You gulp, your breaths stuttering out of you. You can only stare wide eyed up at Toji, the reality of your situation sinks into your gut like lead. This man kills people for a living and now you’re naked and spread eagle on his lap with a knife pressed to your throat all because you’re a horny little shit. You should’ve listened to Megumi. This was a bad idea. And yet, even as the knife presses deeper against your throat, your legs trembling and your heart racing, you don’t know where the arousal ends and the fear begins. Your body, that traitorous bitch has your nipples pebbling and your pussy leaking.

“You think I’d fuck your little pussy now? Knowing you’ve been giving it to anyone who makes your panties damp?”

You find yourself frowning deeply, your bottom lip wobbling at his words. “I- I’m not-”

The knife vanishes and fingers appear at your cunt, dragging through the mess you’ve made. Toji grins wolfishly. “Your cunt says otherwise, angel face. You’re wet and messy. Your pussy is sloppy and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

“Please- I’m sor-”

Toji laughs. “You’re not sorry yet, but you will be. Can’t believe my son’s dating a little slut like you. Can’t believe he’s letting you take advantage of him.”

You hiccup, your eyes blurring with tears as he sinks two fingers into you abruptly, his pace is harsh and unrelenting and when you try to grab onto his wrist he pins your arms to your stomach with his free hand. The lewd sucking sound your pussy makes as he moves his fingers in and out coupled with the way his fingers twist inside you, searching for something are enough to have your eyes rolling into your head. You’re almost to the edge when he pulls away.

“No!” you cry out, hips jerking up in search of his fingers. “To- toji please.”

“What’s your colour, angel face?”

It takes you a moment to understand what he’s asking. “Green, so green, please- please touch me-”

The knife returns and you’re so stunned you don’t react as he uses the dull back of the blade to drag along your cunt, you watch liquid pool on the blade before Toji brings it up to your lips.

“Taste yourself, but be careful, wouldn’t want you to hurt that pretty mouth before I use it.”

You latch onto his wrist, holding him steady as you run your tongue along the blade, licking up your cum.

“Fuck,” Toji grunts. “Such a good little slut.”

You keen and he drags the tip of the knife from the space between your breasts to your clit. Goosebumps follow the cool metal until the hairs on your body are standing on end. You tense when the tip brushes against your clit.

“Toji?” you lick your lips when he circles the sensitive nub. “What- what are-”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he coos. “I’m not gonna hurt you, remember?”

You nod dazedly, “Okay.”

“I’m a little upset though,” Toji sighs. “And disappointed. Here I was thinking you were a good girl. You really had me fooled.” The knife makes another circle around your clit and you whine. “Megumi’s too blind to see what you really need,” the knife disappears again, “a little punishment.”

You’re not prepared for the harsh slap that lands on your cunt. Toji’s hand is heavy and the stinging spreads from your clit all the way up your torso, your body bows. Another two echo in the room coupled with your helpless cries, you have no doubt Megumi can hear them.

“What do you think, angel face? Ten on your slutty cunt? And then another ten on your ass?”

You can barely form a coherent sentence as you attempt to disagree, but Toji ignores you, and another harsh smack has you breaking out in a full body shudder.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry,” you slur. By the seventh slap you’re sobbing outright, but your cunt is soaked, the final three slaps are lewd and the tacky sound of Toji’s palm against the wet lips of your pussy would have been embarrassing if you had the presence of mind to feel embarrassed.

“Good little slut,” he chuckles, releasing you to flip you onto your stomach across his thighs. “Colour, angel face?”

“Green, ‘m green,” you hiccup. “‘M sorry, ‘m sorry, I’ll be good, I’ll be go-”

You’re babbling as Toji caresses your ass. He massages into the flesh gently, until your babbling dies to a low whimper, and then the first slap makes you jump. Toji groans, “If you take your punishment like a good girl, maybe I’ll make you cum.”

You shut up instantly, muffling your cries by chewing on your lips. Each slap seems to get harsher, harder. He’s on the fifth slap when the babbling starts anew, Toji ignores you as he continues his spanking. You lose count at some point and only realize he’s stopped when he dips two fingers into your pussy from behind. You inhale sharply, a sob of relief bubbling out of you as he curls his fingers into your walls, he adds a third finger and your body hums happily. You’re so close you’re drooling, your lips parted as you pant out thank yous. Just as you’re about to cum he stops and you scream in frustration.

“Oh, angel face,” Toji mocks. “Did you really think your punishment was over?” He maneuvers you onto your knees in front of him. “You haven’t even sucked my dick yet.” He frees his cock from his slacks and your body lurches forward as soon as it bobs free. Thick and long, and wet with precum, your mouth waters at the sight of him. Briefly, you note that Megumi’s cock is eerily familiar. “Open up,” he instructs, slapping the thick length of it along your cheeks, and smearing his precum along your lips.

The weight of him as he slides onto your tongue and bumps into the back of your throat is so satisfying that your eyes roll. He’s nothing like Megumi. Where your boyfriend would give you a moment to adjust, to take the reins and suck him off however you like his father is not so patient. He cups your face with one big hand, his fingers splayed out on your neck and his thumb pressing your lips open and fucks your throat harshly. Spit layers on his cock from each thrust into your throat, it fills your mouth until there’s nowhere to go but out and onto your chin and chest. Strands of saliva decorate your lips and his cock each time he pulls out far enough for you to breathe.

“God, yes, just like that,” he grunts, as though you’re doing anything other than struggling to keep your throat relaxed and oxygen in your lungs. “Open your eyes.” You do, though you can’t say when exactly they slipped shut. Watching Toji as he grappled to keep his self-control was one thing but watching as that self-control snapped was awe inspiring.

He yanks you off his cock and pulls you to his desk, “Colour?”

“Green,” you croak, throat raw and pulsing from its use.

“Thank fuck,” Toji mand handles you onto his desk easily, he pushes you down and spreads your thighs wide enough for him to fit his wide shoulders. He pauses to take you in, sprawled on his desk, bare as the day you were born. His grip on the back of your knees tightens as he pushes them open and back. “Here’s how the rest of this is gonna go, angel face,” he licks his lips, eyes trained on your cunt. The attention makes you squirm, your hole clenching around nothing as he continues. “I’m gonna shove my face in this pretty pussy and eat until you’re begging and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t remember your own name. How do you feel about that?”

You gulp, “I think- I think that sounds good.”

He glances up the length of your body as he lowers his mouth to your pussy. You watch, transfixed as he flattens his tongue to your slit and drags it from your hole all the way up to your clit where he leaves a soft kiss. His eyes close as though he’s savoring the taste and then he ducks to your pussy and spreads your thighs wider.

Toji eats you out ravenously, like he’s never had anything more exquisite in his life and he doesn’t know if he ever will so he’s eating his fill now. He eats you like a man starved, like a man who was fasting for a long, long time who has finally been given reprieve. He sucks each labia tenderly, laps at each puffy lip with his tongue, kisses and caresses each one. Drags his tongue along your slit teasingly at first and then hurriedly when your moans grow louder. He brushes soft kisses onto your clit and then licks teasing circles around the sensitive nub before suckling on it until you’re twitching in his hold.

When your body begins to tremble violently he pulls back to bury his nose between your folds and inhales deeply. And then he starts the process all over again, helping you up the slope of your orgasm and just when you’re about to crest he pulls back, leaving you to stumble back down. He doesn’t use his fingers and by the time he’s satisfied with how drenched you are, half of his face is damp and sticky with your cum.

When he presses a kiss to your ankle you feel the stickiness of your arousal and when he leans forward to kiss at your knee and then your stomach and sternum and suck each nipple into his mouth you feel the residual dampness of it on your body. When he kisses your mouth, teasing your tongue with his own, licking and biting at your lips you taste yourself on him and it heats your blood, has you reaching up to slide your fingers into his hair and hold him steady as you lick the remnants of your pussy from his face until your mouth latches onto his once more and he releases your knees to wrap your thighs around his waist.

He kisses you as he sinks the fat head of his cock at your entrance. Shoves his tongue into the back of your throat to drown out your surprised cry as he bottoms out in one rough thrust. He pulls you to the edge of the desk and cups your ass with one hand as he spreads his thighs and begins to fuck you. Short, quick thrusts that stir his cock along the softest part of your walls. You think for a brief moment as he’s fucking you with his tongue and his cock you hear the voice of some divinity telling you this is what heaven may feel like if you’re good throughout your life. But then he’s rearranging you to prop your legs on his shoulders and bracing himself against the desk to fuck you in slow deep thrusts and then you’re not sure of anything. Not if you’re breathing, or if he’s kissing you, or if you can feel your legs, because his cock is dragging along parts of you, you didn’t even know existed. Parts of you that have you drooling pathetically, the muscles in your body going soft and pliant under him.

He switches positions again, you think, because your orgasm slams into you with the force of a tsunami, and by the time you recover from screaming Toji’s name your back is pressed to his bare chest and a hand is wrapped around your throat while the other rubs at your clit. You barely recover from the first orgasm before Toji is demanding more from your body. His grip on your throat holds you steady and his other hand moves to squeeze roughly at your breasts and run up the length of your body. He tugs on your throat and your back bows until your head is tilted back and you can see that sweat has matted his hair to his forehead, his eyes are closed in concentration but you’re sure he can your harsh breathing and the loud slapping of damp skin on skin as his thighs smack against yours, his hips cradling your ass with each thrust.

You may have been about to say something about how good he looks like this. Head bent forward, expression fierce as he focuses on pummeling your insides but Toji reaches for something on the desk and suddenly his hand is replaced by the cool metal of the blade of his knife.

“Fucking cum,” he growls in warning. “Cum right now.”

You cum so hard your knees give out, and with a delirious sound like a garbled mix between a laugh and a scream. You forget our name. You forget where you are, how you got here, whose cock is inside you, as the orgasm washes through you, the pleasure drowning your senses and reducing you to a mass of nothing but sensation. Your eyes roll so far back you feel a moment of pain as the organs are stopped by the muscles. Your mouth parts on a silent scream, all the oxygen leaving your body in a single exhale.

“Fuck,” Toji groans. “Oh fuck, yes, good girl, oh- fuck-” Your insides flood with warmth and somehow Toji filling you with his cum sets of another orgasm in the middle of your orgasm. Your mind shuts down entirely.

--

Toji stares at Megumi, standing on the other side of his bedroom door, a scowl on his face as he tries to peep over his father’s shoulder. Sometimes it unnerves him how much of himself he sees in his son.

“You looking for someone?” Toji asks, propping himself against the door frame and crossing his arms across his chest.

“Where is she?” Megumi asks.

“She’s asleep,” Toji shrugs. “And she’ll stay asleep until I think she’s rested.”

Megumi finally looks at Toji, his scowl melting into a frown. “Why can’t she sleep in my room?”

“Did you fuck her to sleep Megumi?” Toji squints mockingly.

Megumi purses his lips, eyes narrowing on his father. He steps back and Toji straightens away from the door frame.

“I feel you should know that...the next time you let her fuck someone that isn’t you-” he points at Megumi’s chest, “-or me, I’ll be forced to do something reckless,” Toji says.

Megumi looks stricken for a moment. “I don’t let her do anythin-”

“Do you want to walk around with the weight of a man’s life on your conscience Megumi?”

Megumi gulps.

“Exactly, keep her away from other men or them away from her, I don’t care. Do what needs to be done to keep them alive and me happy kid, and if she ever gives you any trouble you know where to find me.”

The door slams in Megumi’s face and not for the first time that day does he stop and ask himself, “Did he really deserve it?”

@s4no @kenuis @audrinui

[the-sun-always-comes-back]

"He's a Son of Poseidon!" "She's a Daughter of Apollo" "They are a child of Artemis and blessed by all the gods" "He's a child of Hades"

Yeah, yeah, we get it. But do you know what I want?

A child of Dionysus! Why you ask?

Well first of all, it would be fucking hilarious. Imagine hearing all those amazing stories about getting claimed by a magical sign in the sky and being all excited just for the grumpy camp director to show up and be like "yeah, don't worry and don't make a fuss, that's one of mine" and just leaves again.

Second, he doesn't seem like a complete asshat of a father? I mean, he's a god so he is a shitty parent but, he's the only god (except maybe post hoo Apollo) who actually cares about his children to the extend that he mourn for them. Remember when his son died in the fourth book of PJO? That wasn't pretend as far as I'm concerned. Or when he asks Percy to look after his son in The last Olympian because he (even though he doesn't say it out loud) can't stand the thought of loosing another child.

So yeah, maybe he doesn't get the "Father-of-the-year" Award, but he's definetly not the worst parent.

[Also, as far as I remeber he truly loves his wife, so your parents really must be something special and therefore you too]

And lastly: Amazing powers

Dionysus is the god of wine, theater and joy as well as fertility so you probably are really good at drinks and stuff. Probably have a green thumb. His children are quite popular due their theatrical tendencies that light up the conversations or mood. But this can be quite useful too.

Turning enemies into grapes, tie them up with vines and being very convincing due to their natural acting talents.

However Dionysus is also the god of madness, ecstasy and intoxication.

Sure, children of the big three are bloody powerful and I surely don't want to make enemies out of an Ares or Athena child but Dionysus?

Imagine having an opponent that can drive you into madness (literally) with just the snap of their fingers. Imagine fighting alongside someone who can turn your team into ecstasy and therefore increasing their motivation while at the same time intoxicating the enemies to a point where they loose their mind and can't stand straight.

Sure, breaking somebody's body good and well, but breaking somebody's mind and bending it to your will ? That is true power.

A/N: Since some people mentioned it, I know, that Castor and Pollux exist. I even mentioned them in this post. This is mainly about fanfiction. However I wouldn't mind having a canon story with a dionysus child as protagonist, but I really don't care if Riordan uses Pollux or invents a new one.

[orthopunkfox]

Being queer and a Christian is often very difficult. I experience alienation from both sides. Often these two parts of myself feel impossible to reconcile. But, I want to share something beautiful that my priest does that nearly makes me weep every time. The Orthodox Church is not known for its inclusivity or progressiveness. It is ancient and its gears turn slowly. During Holy Communion, those who are not confirmed members of the Church may come forward for a blessing. The blessing is done by gender.

"The servant of God [Name] is blessed..." for men,

"The handmaid of God [Name] is blessed..." for women.

The first time I went up for a blessing, I was hesitant. My gender is no secret and I do not try to hide my queerness. Which blessing would I receive? With sadness, I concluded the priest would do what was simplest and default to my assigned gender.

I stood before him and bowed my head, arms crossed over my (noticeably growing) chest. He raised the golden chalice over my head and lovingly said:

"The beloved of God Quinn is blessed, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen "

He has done this ever since and with this simple action, preaches one of the main, if oft forgotten pillars of Orthodoxy: It does not matter who you are, what pronouns you use, what colour your hair is, what clothes you wear, what mistakes you've made, what trials you have overcome, where you came from or where you are. You are beloved of God just as you are. You are created in the Image of God and are a sacred vessel of beauty, and there is a place for you here.

This is true inclusivity. Not the white liberal veneer placed on so many churches where the cishet, boomer congregation pats themselves on the back for the rainbow flag outside while actively misgendering the trans person sitting in the pew. My priest has not given any big speeches talking about how everyone is loved here. He doesn't have to. His genuine kindness and that of my fellow parishioners are the only sermon marginalised people need to hear. In these moments, the two parts of myself become one and I truly believe that the God I love delights in me.

[ghostlywhiskey]

Simon Riley (Priest AU) - Forgive me, Father.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,203

Warnings: MDNI 18+ ☆ Sacrilege, priest, mentions of prayer and common language used in confessionals - overall religious content that may upset some. Abuse of power. Mentions of being used and somnophilia. Cussing. Masturbation (Simon & reader).

Summary: After having improper thoughts weighing guilt on your mind, you decide to resort to confession. Simon has methods of how you can be forgiven.

Notes: Um, well, yeah. I’m not sure what to say. Writing this whole thing was a 'damn, Catholicism ingrained in me fr' moment from how I literally closed my eyes to remember how I would walk into church & what would be said in confession. Ha. Anyway. Minimal proofreading, I felt too dirty to re-read.

find my masterlist here

You weren't a frequent churchgoer. After years of Catholic school, it all became tiring and felt almost forced at this rate, but you went for the holidays like Easter & Christmas - at your grandparents request to be fair.

But, old habits die hard and one day you find yourself pulling into the parking lot of the church. Maybe it was the Catholic guilt ingrained in you that drew you to go today. 

The large wood doors creaked as you opened them and walked into the church. Every Catholic church looked the same to you - the stained glass, the architecture, the same old wooden pews either their original wood or coated in layers of white paint refreshed over the years. And every church you had ever been to was always so cold - why?

Every single move was like muscle memory. Your fingers dipped into the font that contained the holy water, quietly whispering as you did the sign of the cross and genuflected. 

Your eyes scanned the church, noting the layout as you located the confessional. Once you entered and sat down, you rang the tiny bell to indicate your presence. Heavy footsteps outside getting closer as you heard the priest enter the other side of the confessional, the divider sliding open so you can only make out the figure through the tiny holes.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." The words are spoken in unison. His voice is clearer to you now as he only speaks now, "May God who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in His mercy." In response, you quietly whisper 'amen' in return.

Clearing your throat and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you prepare to speak. "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was 5 years ago. These are my sins.." The list of sins are far more minimal in nature such as disrespecting your parents, gossiping, lying and so forth.

Then, you finally get to what has been weighing on your mind like a ton of bricks. "And impure thoughts.." Your words trailing off, the sound of the priest shifting on the other side noticeable from the close proximity despite the divider separating you both. "In order to truly know the severity, what do these impure thoughts include, my child?" He asks, your body tensing as the question catches you off guard. "Ah, regarding premarital sex acts, Father."  You respond, fingers fidgeting with the rings on your hands. "Explain." This is all he says before the silence lingers in the small space before you speak again. "This is only to help your absolution." His voice urges you to continue, the words trying to ease you to come clean. “Well," Swallowing the lump in your throat, your cheeks burning from embarrassment despite your identity being unknown to him. "The thoughts consist of being used at will by a man. To be degraded and fucked until I'm begging for him to stop, but my whines only encourage him to continue. I don't want him to stop.” Your voice is strained, as if you're scared to admit it out loud. And truthfully, this was the first time you had admitted the thoughts out loud.  Your thighs squeeze together as your brain digs deeper into the thoughts you’ve been suppressing for a few months now. 

The sound of the priest clearing his throat pulls your attention back. “Surely that isn’t all, my child.” He says, and you shake your head in response even if he can’t see. “N-No. That isn’t all.” Rings spinning around your fingers as you continue to fidget from nerves. “Please remember, I need to know everything to offer you absolution.” Nodding, you swish spit in your mouth to coat the dryness to some extent and swallow. 

“I-I think about being woken up in the night, the man already buried deep in me. My body  doesn’t resist the feeling and clenching around him as my consciousness regains from sleep.” The heat between your thighs grows as you now shift in the seat, one leg moves to cross over the other in an effort to control the sensation.

The sound of a zipper coming undone is undeniable as your ears pick up on it, your lips parting slightly from shock as you process what’s happening on the other side of the confessional. “Father?” Your voice barely whispers, wondering if you acknowledge it, then he would stop. “Are these thoughts about anyone specific?” He mutters, his hand palming himself through his boxers. “No, just general desires, Father.” 

He inhales a breath and exhales before he speaks. “Have you acted on these thoughts?” No, but you fucking wish. “No, Father.” And maybe it was your own thoughts warping, but you could have sworn you heard him mumble the words, ‘Forgive me, Father’. 

On the other side of the confessional, unbeknown to you, the priest had now pulled his cock free from the constraints of his briefs. Biting back a groan, his hand comes up to his mouth as he quietly spits into his palm before he wraps it around himself. “For your penance, you must do exactly as I say, understood?” He speaks, his voice sounds low, demanding in a way. 

“Understood, Father.” You reply, your chest rising and falling slowly as you anticipate what he is going to say next. “We must rid you of these thoughts. You need to release them.” He murmurs, his hand slowly pumping up and then down. “Be a good girl and spread your legs.” 

Oh my God. Like actually, oh my God. Your brain rings in your head, doing as you're told and spreading your legs. Hearing the movement, he continues to speak. “My child, what are you wearing?” The question is simple, your hand already sliding down to the exposed panties your dress reveals once your legs are spread. “Knee length sundress.” You respond, your head leaning back against the wood of the confessional as your fingers rub the fabric covering your already wet cunt. “Hmm, and I suppose that length is useless as your legs are spread. Exposing yourself like a good girl, but such a slut.” The word slut drips from his mouth like venom, the tone of his voice sending excitement through your body. “Slide the panties off.” He orders, and you obey as you reach for the waistband and slide them down to your ankles, shaking them off to the floor of the confessional. “They’re off, Father.” You whisper, glancing at the divider. Never in your life did you want to be seen more than in this moment. “Father Simon.” He corrects. “Call me Father Simon.” 

“Father Simon.” You repeat the name he asked you to call him. A quiet groan travels to your side of the confessional and you can’t help but move your fingers to rub between your folds. The fact he was groaning to you just saying his title was causing your stomach to tie into knots. “What do I need to do, Father Simon?” You beg, wanting him to continue directing you. “Such an eager girl to be forgiven. You wouldn’t need forgiveness if you weren’t such a slut.” He hissed. “But you come into this confessional and speak of how you wish to be used. To be degraded. Do you think you can be forgiven?” 

“I-I want to be forgiven.” Your fingers build up your excitement, teasing your folds as your fingers move to give your clit some attention as you rub it gently. “I’m sorry, Father Simon. I’m sorry.” You choke out, almost forgetting to breathe amidst the pleasure. “Just because you’re sorry does not guarantee forgiveness.” Simon’s own hand continues to pump his cock, his thumb brushes over the head as some pre-cum oozes out. “You sound stupid saying sorry. Saying sorry while I can hear your hand moving as you touch yourself. Take those fingers and fuck yourself with three of them.” The order coming out of his mouth leaves you breathing shakily.

“F-Father, three?” You ask in order to clarify his demand. “R-Right away?” You needed time to adjust, even with your own slender fingers it took time before you could even have two. “You heard me.” He responds, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Don’t disappoint me, sweetheart.” Simon’s hand starts to pump his cock faster, his free hand moves to massage his balls. 

While you’re already wet, just to be sure you take your index, middle and ring finger to your lips. Your mouth wrapping around the fingers, sucking and swirling your tongue to coat them in saliva. Pulling them away, you carefully position them, teasing your entrance before you push into yourself. Your free hand covers your mouth as you feel them stretching you slightly. A moan muffled by your hand is the additional sound mixed with your fingers starting to pump in and out of you, the wet stickiness filling the confessional. “Oh, sweetheart. You must look so beautiful spread out fucking yourself with your fingers.” Simon coos through the divider, his breaths shallow. “I wish I could bury my cock into that wet, tight cunt. Let me hear you pray to God for that.” 

Closing your eyes as he speaks, you imagine the priest grabbing your hips and forcing himself into you, despite having no idea of his appearance. Your head against the wood of the confessional again as you try to hold your moans in even with your hand over your mouth, scared if anyone else were to enter the church they would hear you both behind these curtains. “I don’t hear you.” Simon growls, glancing at the divider to barely see the movements of your hand as your body moves in response. “G-God, please. I want Father Simon’s cock.” He hears you whimper quietly, a grin forming on his face. “Oh..such a good, good girl.” Simon’s voice acknowledging your compliance. Your fingers curl inside as he praises you, allowing yourself the small reward. “Father Simon, I-I’m so wet.” 

“Mmph..those pretty little fingers must be slick with your juices.” Simon’s own head leaning against the wood of the confessional now, eyes closed as he pumps his cock faster and pushes down hard. The image of his cock disappearing in between your folds making his thoughts spin. “Keep pumping those fingers. We need to make you cum. Release the thoughts that are rotting your brain.” Simon’s teeth grit together, a soft hissing sound coming out as his pump down puts pressure on him.

Not trusting yourself, your hand is back on your mouth. The sound of your wet cunt getting pumped with your fingers fills both your ears and Simon’s, the squishing sounds push him closer to his own release. And for you, the thought of his cock instead of your fingers pulling you closer to the edge before you jump off and release. Whimpering into your palm, you clench around your fingers and pump a few more times before releasing around them. Your thighs immediately squeezing shut as you try to control your shaking. “S-Simon.” You cry softly, lips parted as you pant softly. “F-Fuck.” He groans, the hand not pumping his now cum covered cock fists and hits the confessional wall. The release that had been building up in him for months now. 

“In addition, you leave your panties behind. Along with that, I expect you to recite twenty Hail Mary’s and twenty Our Father’s after your release. Make an act of contrition.” His voice strained from his recent climax. Dazed from your own climax as well, the words come out of your mouth without hesitation, “My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good…” Pausing for a brief moment, you swallow a lump in your throat. “I have sinned against You, whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with Your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Savior, Jesus Christ, suffered and died for us. In His Name, my God, have mercy. Amen.” After the words leave your lips, you catch your breath again.

The sound of Simon readjusting and zipping himself up is the only sound you hear in response. “F-Father?” You say softly, awaiting for him to absolve you. “My child…” Simon’s voice sounds like it did when you first sat in the confessional. “God cannot give you pardon and peace as of today. Therefore, I cannot absolve you of your sins. Come back in five days after I’ve had some time to rest and ask God for a final answer.” 

And with that, the sound of footsteps fill the church once more, followed by the door to the sacristy opening and closing indicating he would not be seen by you when you left. The response leaves you stunned for a few moments, before your legs get the strength to stand up and exit the confessional. The hand you didn’t use to finger yourself gently dips into the font as you leave, the sign of the cross spoken softly as you walk out.

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

In collaboration with @malehypnofantasy

"As I said before, son. There's no better blessing other than being enlightened. Your strength came from Him. Your good look came from Him. Your wealth came from Him. Spreading His word is only right as a way for you to thank Him for his blessing. So, if I ask your purpose in life, it is--"

"To serve all His needs,"

"And, my words are--"

"Your words are the extension of His will and desires, so it's only right for me to obey you too as His communicator to the masses,"

"Perfect. Your reformation is a true showcase of His work. Bless Him,"

"Bless Him,"

"Okay, now you are discharged, son. Make me proud,"

---

Looking a bit too proud with himself, but why shouldn't he? He's finally the perfect son his father always wished for, and he's more than happy to oblige to his father's needs and demand. He spent way too much time defying the old man orders throughout his juvenile years until his latest semester in college, it's good to finally conform to his father's traditional patriarchal value rooted in Evangelical Christianity. After all, that's the kind of value needed in the community among its youth if the family-run megachurch wanted to remain flourishing for years to come.

Now, he needed to ensure that the app his father installed to his phone ended in every townies phone, including the upcoming students getting back for summer break so his father can be even more prouder to him for making sure that the community outreach worked well. Maybe he should start with the bartender, he's 21 now after all so he can definitely just slide into the bar with no problems. Make him another followers to the cause and then proceed to use his help as they are working on dual operation to convert everyone to join the megachurch through the app's subtle yet effective impact. The townies love to get wasted with their drinks, must be easy to install the app into their phone when they are not even sober. When it's on their phone, it's going to do its job and they just need to sit back, relax and wait for the stream of proud, strong and devout masses beelining their way into the service every Sunday

----

"I don't know how you did it, but your words really reverberated with me. Truly a blessing to be your converted puppet, you know?"

"I mean, talk about perfect takeover. Like, you, a fat pathetic nerd taking over my mind and make me do your bidding? Blasphemous!"

"But well, I'm just your mic now, but you clearly doing a better job than I do. Only because of you my son can be brought back to the right way like that, all my efforts were futile all these years but with you in control, poof, he's becoming someone that I can proudly call son. Really crazy how effective you are in making me your puppet and delivering all your demand as if it's God's commandment. It really is a perfect revenge for this fucked up townies. Serves them right. I really am pleased to be used by you to achieve your goals,"

[mx-monster]

I have a lot of Horny Thoughts about the incubus. It’s such a cliche and so overdone but it’s just so hot. MM, corruption/virginity kink, a leetle dubcon, nsfw maybe one day it’ll become a full story but for now just enjoy my horny rambling

The son of a fire and brimstone preacher has been homeschooled all his life, with little interaction with anyone outside the church his father preaches at.

The church he’ll one day preach at.

He has a girlfriend but they’re waiting until marriage to kiss. He doesn’t understand why his peers are having such a hard time abstaining from the sins of the flesh. It’s easy for him. He’s never even watched porn. And aside from night time expulsions, he’s never had a proper orgasm.

He’s exactly everything he’s supposed to be. Free from sin. Free from failure.

Until the dreams start.

He feels weight on his chest. Something was laying on top of him. He blinked his eyes open only to have his breath stolen by a pair of brilliant gold eyes. The strangeness of the eyes didn’t stop with the color of the iris. Where the whites of the eyes were supposed to be, there was inky black. And instead of roundness the pupils were thin, vertical slits.

The eyes of a snake.

Of a demon.

He was in his bed with a demon sprawled out on top of him.

It had to be a demon. The creature had blue skin and a pair of horns that sprouted from its long, inky black hair. And yet, despite its alieness, he could not look away from the sharp angles and planes of the creatures face. So enraptured by the creature, he didn’t notice it begin to grind its sex into his own clothed cock until a wicked heat sparked deep in his belly.

“I see you’ve noticed my gift, sweet one,” the demon purred. And God that voice, “I’ve been blessed with two cocks. Do they feel good?”

Yes, they did, he loathed to admit. Bolts of electric pleasure sparked underneath his skin with every roll of the demons hips.

It was just a dream he could have this in his dreams

The sound of his own wrecked whimper broke him out of his lust induced haze.

“Get off me,” he snarled, scrambling out from underneath the demon. As the demon sat back on its haunches, the covers fell away revealing the demon in all its naked glory. Blue skin that stretched over lean muscle. Elaborate gold tattoos adorned the demons arms, torso, and legs. He traced the intricate patterns with his eyes until his gaze fell to the two thick cocks that stood at attention between its muscular thighs.

The demon gave him a pacifying, nearly condescending, smile.

“Don’t worry, sweet one. I have no plans on forcing myself on you. That defeats the purpose. I plan on taking my time with you. To truly savor you. A meal like you is rare nowadays,” the demon reached out a clawed hand, tracing the preachers sons jaw with a long, black talon, “I’ll take you in my mouth first. And then you’ll take mine into yours. I’ll press your face into the pillow while rut into that virginal hole of yours and then I’ll turn you over and lavish myself on your cock until I’ve had my fill. I’ll have you in front of God and you’ll cry tears of ecstasy. But not until you want it. Until you’re crying for it.”

“I’ll never want it.” The preachers son growled through clenched teeth. Heart beating wildly with rage and perverse desire.

The demon’s golden gaze flitted down to the tent in his sweat pants. A grin bloomed on it’s face, revealing a mouth full of pointed teeth, “we’ll see about that.”

[apomaro-mellow]

Matchmaking Harringtons 1

After a nice, hearty breakfast the Harrington family packed into the car and drove off to the mall for some shopping. They didn't have any set summer plans yet but that could always change. In fact, Steve's parents were formulating some schemes while he busied himself looking through a rack of shorts.

"He could always meet people on a cruise", Diane suggested.

"True, but Steve would need his own suite", Jonas said.

"Well we would've given him one anyway."

"What about a trip to Paris? The most romantic city in the world."

"And get his heart broken by one of those flighty Europeans? I think not", Diane vetoed.

Jonas shrugged. "It's a summer romance."

"There's a difference between a summer romance and a summer fling."

"....There is?"

"And besides, didn't we say we wanted him to get serious with someone?"

"True. A nice fella to settle down with", Jonas said, almost with a dreamy sigh as he thought about his son NOT being in the rumor mill for once.

"I didn't mean that serious", Diane said.

"Well all of this means nothing if we can't find anyone."

"Are you guys still talking about my love life? Which I remind you is none of your business?", Steve asked, chosen shorts in hand.

"Actually, we were talking about our love life", Jonas said before pulling his wife close and kissing her cheek.

It got the desired reaction from their son, a groan as he averted his eyes. After getting a couple of things to spruce up their wardrobe, Steve thought he could break free, but they truly planned to make a day of the trip.

His mom wanted some new sunglasses and his dad spent an inhuman amount of time searching for a new wallet. When he was younger, his parents rewarded his patience with an ice cream cone or something to that effect.

Now that he was older, he preferred other things. But his folks still knew his tells well, so it only took him glancing at the music store before Diane was leading them towards it.

"If we take a road trip, we need something to listen to. Pick something good."

She said this to both her husband and son, but Steve was the one moving, slowly towards a standee in the store.

"Holy...I can't believe it!"

"You like this guy?", Diane asked. The standee was of a man, with what must be their latest music in cassette form.

Steve looked at her like she was living under a rock. "Mom, you don't just 'like' Bon Jovi you...This", he picked up one of the cassette tapes, "Is something to be treasured."

"So you really like him."

"Not just him!", Steve said quickly, his face getting a little pink. "It's a whole band not just one guy."

While Steve was talking to his mother about what was apparently a well-liked music group, Jonas was having a moment of enlightenment. Because he saw the standee and then he saw the cashier. It was like the two of them were cut from the same cloth. Like they had the same mold.

Jonas wasn't crazy about the long hair and ripped jeans, but at least the t-shirt with the store's logo was clean. And he was wearing a nametag too. That showed some level of professionalism. He spent probably a little too long looking at him because the guy looked up as if he could feel eyes on him.

Jonas tried to meet his wife's gaze and bless her, she met his eyes right away. He sort of gave a nod towards the cashier and she looked, her lips widening into a smile as she regarded both the flesh and blood man and the one made out of cardboard. They were both thinking the same thing.

He's perfect.

Moving in sync, Diane kept Steve busy looking at other musical selections while Jonas stepped up to the counter.

"Sooo", Jonas started.

"Sooo, you ready to check out?", the cashier, Eddie said.

"I'm not actually purchasing just yet. But speaking of checking out...", Jonas turned slightly and to turn the attention to his son. "What do you think of him?"

"Umm..."

"He's a handsome fella, right?"

"Iiiis this entrapment?"

"Oh! Oh god no, don't worry, I'm his father."

"That doesn't make this any less awkward", Eddie said.

"Let me explain. My son...We want him to find someone special. And my wife and I think you might be a favorable suitor."

Eddie looked to Steve again, checking him out just a little. "And he's uh, you know, open to being courted? By someone like me?"

"Pretty open", Jonas nodded, keeping his voice low so their conversation remained as private as it could be in such a public place.

Eddie's hands were braced against the counter as he tilted his head and looked at Steve once again and Jonas could tell when someone was interested, even if they played for the other team.

"What the hell, I'll go for it."

"Perfect." Jonas beamed and moved away from the register.

After pretending to peruse for a bit more, Jonas sent Steve with some cash to buy the music they'd all picked out. He put an arm around his wife as they watched him approach Eddie.

"Well? Do I know how to pick 'em or what?"

"You got lucky", Diane said, annoyed but fond. "So, what's he like?"

"....I don't know."

"Jonas!", Diane hissed in a whisper and smacked his shoulder. "You sent our son to go flirt with a stranger and you don't even know what kind of man he is?"

"He looks like Steve's type. And he seemed nice. Has a stable job-"

"You're not a fan of the hair, are you?", Diane clocked her husband.

"It's a little lengthy. Not quite marriage material. But maybe he'll cut it before proposing."

"Who's talking about marriage?"

Jonas gave her a look. "He's a man now. And we said he needs to get serious."

"You'd let your son marry a bad boy?"

"You did", Jonas grinned.

Diane kissed his cheek. "You were barely a miscreant. And you mellowed out in your old age."

Jonas was about to say something back when Steve returned to them, music bought and bagged up.

"So uh, that cashier was somethin' huh?", Jonas said.

"What? Yeah, I guess."

While Steve was walking out of the store, Diane and Jonas shared a worried look. It had looked like he was having a fine talk with Eddie but maybe they had been mistaken. But even if they had miscalculated, they could still course correct.

Part 3

Tag Team

@tartarusknight

[songofapollon]

Homeric Hymn III. TO APOLLO

Translated by H. G. Evelyn-White

TO DELIAN APOLLO

[1] I will remember and not be unmindful of Apollo who shoots afar. As he goes through the house of Zeus, the gods tremble before him and all spring up from their seats when he draws near, as he bends his bright bow. But Leto alone stays by the side of Zeus who delights in thunder; and then she unstrings his bow, and closes his quiver, and takes his archery from his strong shoulders in her hands and hangs them on a golden peg against a pillar of his father's house. Then she leads him to a seat and makes him sit: and the Father gives him nectar in a golden cup welcoming his dear son, while the other gods make him sit down there, and queenly Leto rejoices because she bare a mighty son and an archer. Rejoice, blessed Leto, for you bare glorious children, the lord Apollo and Artemis who delights in arrows; her in Ortygia, and him in rocky Delos, as you rested against the great mass of the Cynthian hill hard by a palm-tree by the streams of Inopus.

[19] How, then, shall I sing of you who in all ways are a worthy theme of song? For everywhere, O Phoebus, the whole range of song is fallen to you, both over the mainland that rears heifers and over the isles. All mountain-peaks and high headlands of lofty hills and rivers flowing out to the deep and beaches sloping seawards and havens of the sea are your delight. Shall I sing how at the first Leto bare you to be the joy of men, as she rested against Mount Cynthus in that rocky isle, in sea-girt Delos -- while on either hand a dark wave rolled on landwards driven by shrill winds -- whence arising you rule over all mortal men?

[30] Among those who are in Crete, and in the township of Athens, and in the isle of Aegina and Euboea, famous for ships, in Aegae and Eiresiae and Peparethus near the sea, in Thracian Athos and Pelion's towering heights and Thracian Samos and the shady hills of Ida, in Scyros and Phocaea and the high hill of Autocane and fair-lying Imbros and smouldering Lemnos and rich Lesbos, home of Macar, the son of Aeolus, and Chios, brightest of all the isles that lie in the sea, and craggy Mimas and the heights of Corycus and gleaming Claros and the sheer hill of Aesagea and watered Samos and the steep heights of Mycale, in Miletus and Cos, the city of Meropian men, and steep Cnidos and windy Carpathos, in Naxos and Paros and rocky Rhenaea -- so far roamed Leto in travail with the god who shoots afar, to see if any land would be willing to make a dwelling for her son. But they greatly trembled and feared, and none, not even the richest of them, dared receive Phoebus, until queenly Leto set foot on Delos and uttered winged words and asked her:

[51] "Delos, if you would be willing to be the abode of my son "Phoebus Apollo and make him a rich temple --; for no other will touch you, as you will find: and I think you will never be rich in oxen and sheep, nor bear vintage nor yet produce plants abundantly. But if you have the temple of far-shooting Apollo, all men will bring you hecatombs and gather here, and incessant savour of rich sacrifice will always arise, and you will feed those who dwell in you from the hand of strangers; for truly your own soil is not rich."

[62] So spake Leto. And Delos rejoiced and answered and said: "Leto, most glorious daughter of great Coeus, joyfully would I receive your child the far-shooting lord; for it is all too true that I am ill-spoken of among men, whereas thus I should become very greatly honoured. But this saying I fear, and I will not hide it from you, Leto. They say that Apollo will be one that is very haughty and will greatly lord it among gods and men all over the fruitful earth. Therefore, I greatly fear in heart and spirit that as soon as he sets the light of the sun, he will scorn this island -- for truly I have but a hard, rocky soil -- and overturn me and thrust me down with his feet in the depths of the sea; then will the great ocean wash deep above my head for ever, and he will go to another land such as will please him, there to make his temple and wooded groves. So, many-footed creatures of the sea will make their lairs in me and black seals their dwellings undisturbed, because I lack people. Yet if you will but dare to sware a great oath, goddess, that here first he will build a glorious temple to be an oracle for men, then let him afterwards make temples and wooded groves amongst all men; for surely he will be greatly renowned."

[83] So said Delos. And Leto sware the great oath of the gods: "Now hear this, Earth and wide Heaven above, and dropping water of Styx (this is the strongest and most awful oath for the blessed gods), surely Phoebus shall have here his fragrant altar and precinct, and you he shall honour above all."

[89] Now when Leto had sworn and ended her oath, Delos was very glad at the birth of the far-shooting lord. But Leto was racked nine days and nine nights with pangs beyond wont. And there were with her all the chiefest of the goddesses, Dione and Rhea and Ichnaea and Themis and loud-moaning Amphitrite and the other deathless goddesses save white-armed Hera, who sat in the halls of cloud-gathering Zeus. Only Eilithyia, goddess of sore travail, had not heard of Leto's trouble, for she sat on the top of Olympus beneath golden clouds by white-armed Hera's contriving, who kept her close through envy, because Leto with the lovely tresses was soon to bear a son faultless and strong.

[102] But the goddesses sent out Iris from the well-set isle to bring Eilithyia, promising her a great necklace strung with golden threads, nine cubits long. And they bade Iris call her aside from white-armed Hera, lest she might afterwards turn her from coming with her words. When swift Iris, fleet of foot as the wind, had heard all this, she set to run; and quickly finishing all the distance she came to the home of the gods, sheer Olympus, and forthwith called Eilithyia out from the hall to the door and spoke winged words to her, telling her all as the goddesses who dwell on Olympus had bidden her. So she moved the heart of Eilithyia in her dear breast; and they went their way, like shy wild-doves in their going.

[115] And as soon as Eilithyia the goddess of sore travail set foot on Delos, the pains of birth seized Leto, and she longed to bring forth; so she cast her arms about a palm tree and kneeled on the soft meadow while the earth laughed for joy beneath. Then the child leaped forth to the light, and all the goddesses washed you purely and cleanly with sweet water, and swathed you in a white garment of fine texture, new-woven, and fastened a golden band about you.

[123] Now Leto did not give Apollo, bearer of the golden blade, her breast; but Themis duly poured nectar and ambrosia with her divine hands: and Leto was glad because she had borne a strong son and an archer. But as soon as you had tasted that divine heavenly food, O Phoebus, you could no longer then be held by golden cords nor confined with bands, but all their ends were undone. Forthwith Phoebus Apollo spoke out among the deathless goddesses: "The lyre and the curved bow shall ever be dear to me, and I will declare to men the unfailing will of Zeus."

[133] So said Phoebus, the long-haired god who shoots afar and began to walk upon the wide-pathed earth; and all goddesses were amazed at him. Then with gold all Delos was laden, beholding the child of Zeus and Leto, for joy because the god chose her above the islands and shore to make his dwelling in her: and she loved him yet more in her heart, and blossomed as does a mountain-top with woodland flowers.

[140] And you, O lord Apollo, god of the silver bow, shooting afar, now walked on craggy Cynthus, and now kept wandering about the island and the people in them. Many are your temples and wooded groves, and all peaks and towering bluffs of lofty mountains and rivers flowing to the sea are dear to you, Phoebus, yet in Delos do you most delight your heart; for there the long robed Ionians gather in your honour with their children and shy wives: mindful, they delight you with boxing and dancing and song, so often as they hold their gathering. A man would say that they were deathless and unageing if he should then come upon the Ionians so met together. For he would see the graces of them all, and would be pleased in heart gazing at the men and well-girded women with their swift ships and great wealth. And there is this great wonder besides -- and its renown shall never perish -- the girls of Delos, hand-maidens of the Far-shooter; for when they have praised Apollo first, and also Leto and Artemis who delights in arrows, they sing a strain-telling of men and women of past days, and charm the tribes of men. Also they can imitate the tongues of all men and their clattering speech: each would say that he himself were singing, so close to truth is their sweet song.

[165] And now may Apollo be favourable and Artemis; and farewell all you maidens. Remember me in after time whenever any one of men on earth, a stranger who has seen and suffered much, comes here and asks of you: "Whom think ye, girls, is the sweetest singer that comes here, and in whom do you most delight?" Then answer, each and all, with one voice: "He is a blind man, and dwells in rocky Chios: his lays are evermore supreme." As for me, I will carry your renown as far as I roam over the earth to the well-placed this thing is true. And I will never cease to praise far-shooting Apollo, god of the silver bow, whom rich-haired Leto bare.

TO PYTHIAN APOLLO

[179] O Lord, Lycia is yours and lovely Maeonia and Miletus, charming city by the sea, but over wave-girt Delos you greatly reign your own self.

[182] Leto's all-glorious son goes to rocky Pytho, playing upon his hollow lyre, clad in divine, perfumed garments; and at the touch of the golden key his lyre sings sweet. Thence, swift as thought, he speeds from earth to Olympus, to the house of Zeus, to join the gathering of the other gods: then straightway the undying gods think only of the lyre and song, and all the Muses together, voice sweetly answering voice, hymn the unending gifts the gods enjoy and the sufferings of men, all that they endure at the hands of the deathless gods, and how they live witless and helpless and cannot find healing for death or defence against old age. Meanwhile the rich-tressed Graces and cheerful Seasons dance with Harmonia and Hebe and Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus, holding each other by the wrist. And among them sings one, not mean nor puny, but tall to look upon and enviable in mien, Artemis who delights in arrows, sister of Apollo. Among them sport Ares and the keen-eyed Slayer of Argus, while Apollo plays his lyre stepping high and featly and a radiance shines around him, the gleaming of his feet and close-woven vest. And they, even gold-tressed Leto and wise Zeus, rejoice in their great hearts as they watch their dear son playing among the undying gods.

[207] How then shall I sing of you -- though in all ways you are a worthy theme for song? Shall I sing of you as wooer and in the fields of love, how you went wooing the daughter of Azan along with god-like Ischys the son of well-horsed Elatius, or with Phorbas sprung from Triops, or with Ereutheus, or with Leucippus and the wife of Leucippus ((lacuna)) . . . you on foot, he with his chariot, yet he fell not short of Triops. Or shall I sing how at the first you went about the earth seeking a place of oracle for men, O far-shooting Apollo? To Pieria first you went down from Olympus and passed by sandy Lectus and Enienae and through the land of the Perrhaebi. Soon you came to Iolcus and set foot on Cenaeum in Euboea, famed for ships: you stood in the Lelantine plain, but it pleased not your heart to make a temple there and wooded groves. From there you crossed the Euripus, far-shooting Apollo, and went up the green, holy hills, going on to Mycalessus and grassy-bedded Teumessus, and so came to the wood-clad abode of Thebe; for as yet no man lived in holy Thebe, nor were there tracks or ways about Thebe's wheat-bearing plain as yet.

[229] And further still you went, O far-shooting Apollo, and came to Onchestus, Poseidon's bright grove: there the new-broken cold distressed with drawing the trim chariot gets spirit again, and the skilled driver springs from his car and goes on his way. Then the horses for a while rattle the empty car, being rid of guidance; and if they break the chariot in the woody grove, men look after the horses, but tilt the chariot and leave it there; for this was the rite from the very first. And the drivers pray to the lord of the shrine; but the chariot falls to the lot of the god.

[239] Further yet you went, O far-shooting Apollo, and reached next Cephissus' sweet stream which pours forth its sweet- flowing water from Lilaea, and crossing over it, O worker from afar, you passed many-towered Ocalea and reached grassy Haliartus.

[244] Then you went towards Telphusa: and there the pleasant place seemed fit for making a temple and wooded grove. You came very near and spoke to her: "Telphusa, here I am minded to make a glorious temple, an oracle for men, and hither they will always bring perfect hecatombs, both those who live in rich Peloponnesus and those of Europe and all the wave-washed isles, coming to seek oracles. And I will deliver to them all counsel that cannot fail, giving answer in my rich temple."

[254] So said Phoebus Apollo, and laid out all the foundations throughout, wide and very long. But when Telphusa saw this, she was angry in heart and spoke, saying: "Lord Phoebus, worker from afar, I will speak a word of counsel to your heart, since you are minded to make here a glorious temple to be an oracle for men who will always bring hither perfect hecatombs for you; yet I will speak out, and do you lay up my words in your heart. The trampling of swift horses and the sound of mules watering at my sacred springs will always irk you, and men will like better to gaze at the well-made chariots and stamping, swift-footed horses than at your great temple and the many treasures that are within. But if you will be moved by me -- for you, lord, are stronger and mightier than I, and your strength is very great -- build at Crisa below the glades of Parnassus: there no bright chariot will clash, and there will be no noise of swift-footed horses near your well-built altar. But so the glorious tribes of men will bring gifts to you as Iepaeon (`Hail-Healer'), and you will receive with delight rich sacrifices from the people dwelling round about." So said Telphusa, that she alone, and not the Far-Shooter, should have renown there; and she persuaded the Far-Shooter.

[277] Further yet you went, far-shooting Apollo, until you came to the town of the presumptuous Phlegyae who dwell on this earth in a lovely glade near the Cephisian lake, caring not for Zeus. And thence you went speeding swiftly to the mountain ridge, and came to Crisa beneath snowy Parnassus, a foothill turned towards the west: a cliff hangs over if from above, and a hollow, rugged glade runs under. There the lord Phoebus Apollo resolved to make his lovely temple, and thus he said: "In this place I am minded to build a glorious temple to be an oracle for men, and here they will always bring perfect hecatombs, both they who dwell in rich Peloponnesus and the men of Europe and from all the wave-washed isles, coming to question me. And I will deliver to them all counsel that cannot fail, answering them in my rich temple."

[294] When he had said this, Phoebus Apollo laid out all the foundations throughout, wide and very long; and upon these the sons of Erginus, Trophonius and Agamedes, dear to the deathless gods, laid a footing of stone. And the countless tribes of men built the whole temple of wrought stones, to be sung of for ever.

[300] But near by was a sweet flowing spring, and there with his strong bow the lord, the son of Zeus, killed the bloated, great she-dragon, a fierce monster wont to do great mischief to men upon earth, to men themselves and to their thin- shanked sheep; for she was a very bloody plague. She it was who once received from gold-throned Hera and brought up fell, cruel Typhaon to be a plague to men. Once on a time Hera bare him because she was angry with father Zeus, when the Son of Cronos bare all-glorious Athena in his head. Thereupon queenly Hera was angry and spoke thus among the assembled gods:

[311] "Hear from me, all gods and goddesses, how cloud-gathering Zeus begins to dishonour me wantonly, when he has made me his true-hearted wife. See now, apart from me he has given birth to bright-eyed Athena who is foremost among all the blessed gods. But my son Hephaestus whom I bare was weakly among all the blessed gods and shrivelled of foot, a shame and disgrace to me in heaven, whom I myself took in my hands and cast out so that he fell in the great sea. But silver-shod Thetis the daughter of Nereus took and cared for him with her sisters: would that she had done other service to the blessed gods! O wicked one and crafty! What else will you now devise? How dared you by yourself give birth to bright-eyed Athena? Would not I have borne you a child -- I, who was at least called your wife among the undying gods who hold wide heaven. Beware now lest I devise some evil thing for you hereafter: yes, now I will contrive that a son be born me to be foremost among the undying gods -- and that without casting shame on the holy bond of wedlock between you and me. And I will not come to your bed, but will consort with the blessed gods far off from you."

[331] When she had so spoken, she went apart from the gods, being very angry. Then straightway large-eyed queenly Hera prayed, striking the ground flatwise with her hand, and speaking thus: "Hear now, I pray, Earth and wide Heaven above, and you Titan gods who dwell beneath the earth about great Tartarus, and from whom are sprung both gods and men! Harken you now to me, one and all, and grant that I may bear a child apart from Zeus, no wit lesser than him in strength -- nay, let him be as much stronger than Zeus as all-seeing Zeus than Cronos."

[340] Thus she cried and lashed the earth with her strong hand. Then the life-giving earth was moved: and when Hera saw it she was glad in heart, for she thought her prayer would be fulfilled. And thereafter she never came to the bed of wise Zeus for a full year, not to sit in her carved chair as aforetime to plan wise counsel for him, but stayed in her temples where many pray, and delighted in her offerings, large-eyed queenly Hera. But when the months and days were fulfilled and the seasons duly came on as the earth moved round, she bare one neither like the gods nor mortal men, fell, cruel Typhaon, to be a plague to men. Straightway large-eyed queenly Hera took him and bringing one evil thing to another such, gave him to the dragoness; and she received him. And this Typhaon used to work great mischief among the famous tribes of men. Whosoever met the dragoness, the day of doom would sweep him away, until the lord Apollo, who deals death from afar, shot a strong arrow at her. Then she, rent with bitter pangs, lay drawing great gasps for breath and rolling about that place. An awful noise swelled up unspeakable as she writhed continually this way and that amid the wood: and so she left her life, breathing it forth in blood.

[362] Then Phoebus Apollo boasted over her: "Now rot here upon the soil that feeds man! You at least shall live no more to be a fell bane to men who eat the fruit of the all-nourishing earth, and who will bring hither perfect hecatombs. Against cruel death neither Typhoeus shall avail you nor ill-famed Chimera, but here shall the Earth and shining Hyperion make you rot."

[370] Thus said Phoebus, exulting over her: and darkness covered her eyes. And the holy strength of Helios made her rot away there; wherefore the place is now called Pytho, and men call the lord Apollo by another name, Pythian; because on that spot the power of piercing Helios made the monster rot away.

[375] Then Phoebus Apollo saw that the sweet-flowing spring had beguiled him, and he started out in anger against Telphusa; and soon coming to her, he stood close by and spoke to her: "Telphusa, you were not, after all, to keep to yourself this lovely place by deceiving my mind, and pour forth your clear flowing water: here my renown shall also be and not yours alone?"

[382] Thus spoke the lord, far-working Apollo, and pushed over upon her a crag with a shower of rocks, hiding her streams: and he made himself an altar in a wooded grove very near the clear-flowing stream. In that place all men pray to the great one by the name Telphusian, because he humbled the stream of holy Telphusa.

[388] Then Phoebus Apollo pondered in his heart what men he should bring in to be his ministers in sacrifice and to serve him in rocky Pytho. And while he considered this, he became aware of a swift ship upon the wine-like sea in which were many men and goodly, Cretans from Cnossos,10 the city of Minos, they who do sacrifice to the prince and announce his decrees, whatsoever Phoebus Apollo, bearer of the golden blade, speaks in answer from his laurel tree below the dells of Parnassus. These men were sailing in their black ship for traffic and for profit to sandy Pylos and to the men of Pylos. But Phoebus Apollo met them: in the open sea he sprang upon their swift ship, like a dolphin in shape, and lay there, a great and awesome monster, and none of them gave heed so as to understand11; but they sought to cast the dolphin overboard. But he kept shaking the black ship every way and make the timbers quiver. So they sat silent in their craft for fear, and did not loose the sheets throughout the black, hollow ship, nor lowered the sail of their dark-prowed vessel, but as they had set it first of all with oxhide ropes, so they kept sailing on; for a rushing south wind hurried on the swift ship from behind. First they passed by Malea, and then along the Laconian coast they came to Taenarum, sea-garlanded town and country of Helios who gladdens men, where the thick- fleeced sheep of the lord Helios feed continually and occupy a glad-some country. There they wished to put their ship to shore, and land and comprehend the great marvel and see with their eyes whether the monster would remain upon the deck of the hollow ship, or spring back into the briny deep where fishes shoal. But the well-built ship would not obey the helm, but went on its way all along Peloponnesus: and the lord, far-working Apollo, guided it easily with the breath of the breeze. So the ship ran on its course and came to Arena and lovely Argyphea and Thryon, the ford of Alpheus, and well-placed Aepy and sandy Pylos and the men of Pylos; past Cruni it went and Chalcis and past Dyme and fair Elis, where the Epei rule. And at the time when she was making for Pherae, exulting in the breeze from Zeus, there appeared to them below the clouds the steep mountain of Ithaca, and Dulichium and Same and wooded Zacynthus. But when they were passed by all the coast of Peloponnesus, then, towards Crisa, that vast gulf began to heave in sight which through all its length cuts off the rich isle of Pelops. There came on them a strong, clear west-wind by ordinance of Zeus and blew from heaven vehemently, that with all speed the ship might finish coursing over the briny water of the sea. So they began again to voyage back towards the dawn and the sun: and the lord Apollo, son of Zeus, led them on until they reached far-seen Crisa, land of vines, and into haven: there the sea-coursing ship grounded on the sands.

[440] Then, like a star at noonday, the lord, far-working Apollo, leaped from the ship: flashes of fire flew from him thick and their brightness reached to heaven. He entered into his shrine between priceless tripods, and there made a flame to flare up bright, showing forth the splendour of his shafts, so that their radiance filled all Crisa, and the wives and well-girded daughters of the Crisaeans raised a cry at that outburst of Phoebus; for he cast great fear upon them all. From his shrine he sprang forth again, swift as a thought, to speed again to the ship, bearing the form of a man, brisk and sturdy, in the prime of his youth, while his broad shoulders were covered with his hair: and he spoke to the Cretans, uttering winged words:

[452] "Strangers, who are you? Whence come you sailing along the paths of the sea? Are you for traffic, or do you wander at random over the sea as pirates do who put their own lives to hazard and bring mischief to men of foreign parts as they roam? Why rest you so and are afraid, and do not go ashore nor stow the gear of your black ship? For that is the custom of men who live by bread, whenever they come to land in their dark ships from the main, spent with toil; at once desire for sweet food catches them about the heart."

[462] So speaking, he put courage in their hearts, and the master of the Cretans answered him and said: "Stranger -- though you are nothing like mortal men in shape or stature, but are as the deathless gods -- hail and all happiness to you, and may the gods give you good. Now tell me truly that I may surely know it: what country is this, and what land, and what men live herein? As for us, with thoughts set otherwards, we were sailing over the great sea to Pylos from Crete (for from there we declare that we are sprung), but now are come on shipboard to this place by no means willingly -- another way and other paths -- and gladly would we return. But one of the deathless gods brought us here against our will."

[474] Then far-working Apollo answered then and said: "Strangers who once dwelt about wooded Cnossos but now shall return no more each to his loved city and fair house and dear wife; here shall you keep my rich temple that is honoured by many men. I am the son of Zeus; Apollo is my name: but you I brought here over the wide gulf of the sea, meaning you no hurt; nay, here you shall keep my rich temple that is greatly honoured among men, and you shall know the plans of the deathless gods, and by their will you shall be honoured continually for all time. And now come, make haste and do as I say. First loose the sheets and lower the sail, and then draw the swift ship up upon the land. Take out your goods and the gear of the straight ship, and make an altar upon the beach of the sea: light fire upon it and make an offering of white meal. Next, stand side by side around the altar and pray: and in as much as at the first on the hazy sea I sprang upon the swift ship in the form of a dolphin, pray to me as Apollo Delphinius; also the altar itself shall be called Delphinius and overlooking12 for ever. Afterwards, sup beside your dark ship and pour an offering to the blessed gods who dwell on Olympus. But when you have put away craving for sweet food, come with me singing the hymn Ie Paean (Hail, Healer!), until you come to the place where you shall keep my rich temple."

[502] So said Apollo. And they readily harkened to him and obeyed him. First they unfastened the sheets and let down the sail and lowered the mast by the forestays upon the mast-rest. Then, landing upon the beach of the sea, they hauled up the ship from the water to dry land and fixed long stays under it. Also they made an altar upon the beach of the sea, and when they had lit a fire, made an offering of white meal, and prayed standing around the altar as Apollo had bidden them. Then they took their meal by the swift, black ship, and poured an offering to the blessed gods who dwell on Olympus. And when they had put away craving for drink and food, they started out with the lord Apollo, the son of Zeus, to lead them, holding a lyre in his hands, and playing sweetly as he stepped high and featly. So the Cretans followed him to Pytho, marching in time as they chanted the Ie Paean after the manner of the Cretan paean-singers and of those in whose hearts the heavenly Muse has put sweet-voiced song. With tireless feet they approached the ridge and straightway came to Parnassus and the lovely place where they were to dwell honoured by many men. There Apollo brought them and showed them his most holy sanctuary and rich temple.

[524] But their spirit was stirred in their dear breasts, and the master of the Cretans asked him, saying: "Lord, since you have brought us here far from our dear ones and our fatherland, -- for so it seemed good to your heart, -- tell us now how we shall live. That we would know of you. This land is not to be desired either for vineyards or for pastures so that we can live well thereon and also minister to men."

[531] Then Apollo, the son of Zeus, smiled upon them and said: "Foolish mortals and poor drudges are you, that you seek cares and hard toils and straits! Easily will I tell you a word and set it in your hearts. Though each one of you with knife in hand should slaughter sheep continually, yet would you always have abundant store, even all that the glorious tribes of men bring here for me. But guard you my temple and receive the tribes of men that gather to this place, and especially show mortal men my will, and do you keep righteousness in your heart. But if any shall be disobedient and pay no heed to my warning, of if there shall be any idle word or deed and outrage as is common among mortal men, then other men shall be your masters and with a strong hand shall make you subject for ever. All has been told you: do you keep it in your heart."

[545] And so, farewell, son of Zeus and Leto; but I will remember you and another hymn also.

[world-of-aus]

Warnings: None.

Author's Note: Chapter one of A Second Chance At Life, it's been a hot minute since I've worked on a series so hopefully I haven't lost it! Thank you all for reading and I truly hope you enjoy this piece. Happy Readings!

Bucky’s on the iron gate, Steve, Sam, and Natasha all by his side as they watch you in the gated arena with Grant. His boy has the brightest smile Bucky thinks he’s ever seen grace his son’s lips; it almost mirrors the one he gets when he sees Natasha waiting for him on the porch with his uncle Steve.  

Grant had been excited this morning to show his uncles and aunt his rope work and had been even more thrilled to show his skills when he discovered there was a guest joining them. A guest Bucky hadn’t been aware was coming till Steve dumped the news on him ten minutes before your arrival with the redhead Steve called his wife. He had been livid with his best pal when he discovered the reason for you joining them this morning. 

‘I don’t need your help with this Steve I told you last night I was going to get on it, and I will get on it.’ 

‘Buck you have a lot on your plate, Natasha just wanted to help, let us help you with this.’ 

Bucky had struggled to bite back the ‘but he’s my son’ that laid on his tongue, his face becoming stoic, cold as he glared down his friend. He hadn’t budged a bit, not even when Natasha brought you through the house to introduce you to the brooding brunette, the scowl on his features unmoving despite the warm smile on yours. His son Grant, god bless his soul had made up for his father's bad mood, bounding up to you with a smile as warm as yours and an all too cheerful greeting. 

He should have dropped his mood then, watching the way you got down to grants level to take his hand in yours exchanging a greeting that rivaled the one he had with his Aunt Tasha. You had taken a few minutes to get to know the boy before you, displaying just as much enthusiasm as his son did while he told you all about the arena they had out back. 

They had all been surprised when Grant all but pulled you along through the house, not even waiting for his dad or his uncles as he bolted with you out the back door to the gated arena.  

“She’s good with our boy Barnes, look at him he’s absolutely smitten.” Sam chuckled watching you help Grant get the rope over his head like Bucky had shown him just yesterday. Bucky grunted under his breath but continued to watch, hearing your quiet words of encouragement to the boy. The five of you watched the boy twirl the rope a few more times before he attempted the throw, Grants shoulders falling when the rope didn’t quite reach where he had hoped.  

The broad-shouldered brunette is all but ready to jump over the fence and get to his boy, but Steve’s hands clap his shoulder keeping him in place. He turns to glare at his best friend but Steve is redirecting his attention back to the arena. You’ve got both of Grant's hands in yours dipping your head even lower to meet his downtrodden gaze, he can’t quite make out what you’re saying but you’re surprising all of them when you get the rope in your hands. Grant seems to chirp up and this time Bucky can hear you holding his so to a promise not to laugh. 

The way you get the rope over your head says you’ve done this before, but he can see the way you hold back. Grants cheering you on like you did him, and when he shouts for you to throw, well Bucky’s never seen a more half-ass throw than the one you produced. He watches with amusement in his eyes as his son freezes mid jump small hands smacking over his mouth as he stifles his giggles. You put on quite the act for his boy Bucky will give you that Grant absolutely taken with you as he comforts you like you did to him. 

“Looks like I’ve got some more work to do to get on your level bud.” 

“My daddy can teach you! My daddy’s great at helping me, he’s got me to where I am now right dad?” 

All eyes having seemingly fallen on him, “come on dad come show y/n! Please!” Bucky really wishes he could’ve learned how to say no to his sons requests at times but he knows that’s not the case when he finds himself begrudgingly climbing the fence stomping his feet over to where the two of you stand. 

Grant can hardly contain his excitement, “you’ll get it this time y/n, dads the best there is!” 

 Bucky pulls his sour mood out of his ass for his son, though you’ve done nothing wrong for him to be so stoic with you his walls are just much to high for anyone to get in. You take it in stride allowing him to guide you, engaging with Grant when he jumps in to add something his father has taught him. 

Bucky knows this isn’t your first time holding a rope he can feel it, can see it in your movements. Though you continue to act like you haven’t, asking questions here and there not only to him but his son as well. When’s he’s got you swinging the rope he points out to the exact same spot he did to Grant yesterday, the same one he tried to aim for today.  

It's quiet except for the whoosh of the rope above your head, Bucky sees the moment you start to falter the rope, but when his sons hopeful voice flits up into the air he feels you lock it in, your aim precise as the rope goes flying. When it hits the marker Bucky knows this isn’t your first time, but he doesn’t mention it, instead watches Grant run at your legs his cheers filling your ears, and though you’ve just met his son you get your arms around him the best that you can. 

“Did it for both of us bud, say you wanna give it another try now that your dad’s here?” 

“You’ll watch me?” Grant asks, and Bucky watches you drop to his level, “Of course, I'll be right here.” You inch over to let Bucky level himself with his son, Natasha, Sam and Steve having entered the arena to join them, Natasha is at your side, Steve and Sam rallying around Grant as they help Bucky with his boy. 

The five of you watch the boy swing the rope eyes on the prize as determination sets in. Time slows when Grant releases the rope, all eyes on the twine sailing in the wind, it thuds, picking up dirt around it. Grants aim? Spot on. The small, gated arena explodes in cheers as the five of you get to your feet cheering Grant on. 

“Did you see it! Did you see it! I did it! I did it!” 

There’s a chorus of agreement all around as you continue to cheer the boy on, his excitement contagious as Bucky hoists him high. “Think that deserves some riding time.” Bucky exclaims. The light in his boy’s eyes is worth it all, “can y/n ride with us?” All eyes fall to her, even Bucky’s, his features soften, his son had warmed up to you instantly, and his son was a great judge of character so maybe he could too. “Would you like to join us?” he finds himself asking. 

“Of course, if it’s no trouble to you.” 

Bucky nod’s, “you ever ride before y/n?” Sam questions from next to Steve. “I’ve ridden a few times, wouldn’t say I’m as professional as Roger’s but I’m fairly decent.” 

“Can I ride with y/n?” Grant questions wiggling in his fathers hold 

Bucky meets your gaze for a brief second before your finding his son’s gaze again, “Only if it’s okay with your dad.” 

He knows everyone's looking at him now, “you hold tight to those reigns, and no horseplaying Grant.” He says setting his son down. 

“Yes sir I promise!” Bucky watches his son grab your hand again all but pulling you out of the arena and towards the barn. 

Steve, Sam, and Natasha gather around their friend as they look after the two of you, “so what do you think Barnes,” the redhead questions with a grin, “how’s she doing so far, you think she’s qualified enough to care for our Grant?” 

He grunts under his breath, “she’s alright, don’t know about qualified just yet, it's only been an hour.” 

“Good thing we have some time.” she responds with a laugh moving forward to make her way towards the barn. 

“She’s a really great person buck, Natasha wouldn’t have brought her along otherwise” Steve adds. 

“Yeah man,” Sam agrees, “and she’s great with kids too Cass and Aj love her, always asking Sarah and I about her.” 

Bucky hums in thought as the three of them walk into the barn, Natasha on one horse, you and Grant on another, the boy secure in your hold as you maneuver the horse forward. 

“Y/n and I are gonna go get a head start with Lil man, try not to be a couple of rotten eggs.” Natasha grins, Grant giggling at his aunts words. 

“I’ll make sure to be very careful with him Bucky,” you say meeting his eyes. 

And you were, Grant was your focus as you rode along open land of the farm, your arms tucked protectively around the boy careful with him like you had promised. Bucky had never seen his boy so happy, well that was a lie, he had seen that glee before, had seen it with Natasha, Steve, Sam, had seen it every day that he got to spend with his boy.  

“You feeling alright Barnes?” 

Bucky looks over his shoulder watching Natasha saddle up to him with chestnut, he reaches out to run his fingers along the horses. 

“Just thinkin is all.” he replies looking back out to the vast field where you follow after Steve, Grant’s laughter filling the air as you give his uncle chase. 

“She’s good with him,” Natasha notes watching the same scene with him, “she is,” he agrees. “But -” 

Bucky sighs, “I’m scared I'm doing wrong by him Nat, this is the first year that he won’t be out there on the road with me, what if something happens and I’m not there, what if needs me and I’m not there.” 

Natasha reaches out squeezing his shoulder, “Bucky you and I both know you could never do wrong by that sweet boy out there, you’ve given him everything you could give and more. You’re that whole boy’s world, he loves you. I know you’re scared to be away from him for so long, but I know y/n would make sure that it wasn’t like you were away at all.” 

He looks over at his friend, “how can you know that?” Natasha’s looking over at you, you’re smiling the brightest she thinks she’s ever seen you smile since you returned home, hearing your laugh ring in the air for the first time in years and knowing its genuine. “Because she’s going to love that boy as if he was her own.” 

Bucky’s looking back out to the field, “If she’s willing to start a week before we leave, the job’s hers, if she wants it.” 

Natasha is grinning bringing herself and chestnut closer, “you won’t regret this Barnes.” 

He hopes he wouldn’t. 

[evilminji]

Guess what color the Metorite Vandal Savage cuddled with, was?

Did you guess Ectoplasm Green?

Because it waaaaaaaas~ And! Thanks to a Certain Episode That Shall Not Be Named, we know that meteors and other space rocks CAN be Ecto-ranium!

Which!! Suggests OTHER Ecto-Elements may be floating about in space! Not in large amounts, but! Absurdly rare does NOT mean they never land on earth! Consider the various kryptonites! Rare! Still land on earth. Not all are immediately harmful to Kryptonians.

So? What other Ecto-Elements could land on earth? Perhaps one that... unlike Ecto-Ranium... that hurts Ghosts and Limnals? CREATES them?

Imagine if you with? You are Savage. Tired. Sore. Cold. The glowing rock... is WARM.

FEELS warm... deeper even then your skin. Like... like a blessing. Like the Sky Gods have sent you warmth and safety. Chosen you. You are so tired. The rock calls to you. The night is cold. Your body heavy. The light... so... so soft and pretty...

You wake up... Different.

Stronger. Smarter. More AWARE.

As though power has been poured into your veins. You no longer age. Are the ONLY of your kind. Wouldn't it be easy to make assumptions? For Obsession to twist your mind and time to alienate you from humanity? They are infants compared to you.

Isolation HAS been PROVEN to drive humans insane. And in so many ways? He is Isolated. Trapped without access to the Zone, the Realms Infinite. He is the only Man in a sea of violent, gibbering, ever repeating zygote. Thoughtless repetition of history's mistakes, played out before him, like Humanity itself is smashing it's head against a wall again and again and AGAIN.

Nothing new under the sun. Alone, decade after decade after century after millenia. Hungry for the presence of other people, their EMOTIONS and LIFE, but equally unable to bear them. Starving slowly.

Every war, each battle, a feast of SOMETHING that fills his stomach for years. The extreme emotions and sudden ends of Death releasing SOMETHING into the air he can not explain. Can not name. It fills him.

He is Chosen.

He is insane. An inherently social creature driven mad by social isolation. A ghost trapped in flesh, slowly warped by the filters of human perception and prolonged starvation. But... not alone... not forever...

A little town.

In that country built on mass Graves, that thinks so very highly of itself. Founded by witches. A town of CHILDREN. Stumbling and new. Like HIM.

Some stronger then others, as tends to be the case, some clever and sure footed. So many will not stand the tests of Time. They are too weak. But... BUT! Oh~ LOOK At Them! A Tribe of Children.

They will live FOREVER.

They must be protected. As he walks amongst them, he can see them struggle to understand themselves. To hide their greatness from the reactionary masses. Already the children have drawn the attention of some governmental branch of this or that. Were too inexperienced and without leadership.

No Father to guide them. No patriarch.

The best they have is a floating child. "Phantom". Children guiding children, truly it is madness.

As he stands on the steps of the halls of their little town's government hall. Do you think Vandal Savage smiles? Pats the head of a passing child, after he catches her, to keep her from stumbling? Is he the very picture of a pleasant, gregarious man?

How trustworthy.

Vladimir Masters must look up from his work, at his overly ornate desk, and meet the eyes of something far, FAR worse then himself. Know in that instant, as like recognizes like, that a monster has stepped foot into his office. What choice does he make, I wonder?

When his instincts scream this... this is likely it. You have no escape. This thing will go through you, continue on, consume and control until it has it's fill. You are an obstacle it seeks to... Remove.

What does he do then?

In that moment... does he think of the Family his Obsession cradles so dear? The woman he loves, unknowing of this danger? The children, the SON, no doubt first to be targeted after he falls?

I imagine he does.

He cares little for Jack Fenton. But Vladimir Masters, in his own twisted way, does love Jack's family dearly. He sits at his desk, brought from home, bought with stolen wealth, and smiles a businessman's polite smile. Let's his hand brush the decorative bobblehead of to the side. Slips his finger, intangible, just beneath the surface of the plastic...

..to the emergency switch below.

Flick.

Messages Sent.

Three phones light up, dispite having blocked his number. The screen fills with simple messages, repeated and bold.

RUN. GO NOW. I'M ALREADY DEAD.

RUN. RUN. RUN.

PLEASE.

RUN.

@stealingyourbones @hdgnj @ailithnight

[llondonfog]

God there's something that drives me crazy about it how Lilia and Malleus have been putting Silver to sleep for years using Meleanor's lullaby. You might have talked about it before but ugghhhhhhh as wild as she was, she obviously wanted to be an amazing mother for her kid, and now her caretaking is even reaching the baby of the man who killed her. They're everything they drive me nuts!!!!!

I actually don't think I've talked about the lullaby before!! I've written one little ficlet about Meleanor surviving and Lilia adopting Silver as one big happy family (which I should revisit honestly . . . I live for Auntie Mel who will melt the faces off anyone human or fae or Lilia who causes her precious godchild to cry <3) but I've not talked about the lullaby!!

In regards to Lilia, the usage of the lullaby speaks such volumes to me of how he's already accepted Silver as his son and how he's refused to let the past/Silver's heritage taint his view of this truly innocent child. Silver's father was the one to battle against Meleanor and strike that final blow that destroyed her— the knight would be rightfully responsible for not only potentially decimating a kingdom and leaving it leaderless, but for killing a mother before she ever got to see her son, killing a wife still searching for her husband, and directly killing one of (at the time) Lilia's only two loves in his life. It would not be absurd for Lilia to withhold the lullaby from Silver out of respect for Meleanor, knowing her disdain for the human race and the ties that Silver unfortunately shares to her demise.

But instead, he does not see (as much as he may struggle to accept this change in his heart) a prince of an enemy nation or the son of a murderer— he cradles the warm, heavy bundle in his arms close, breathes in the sweet scent of the spring, and feels that tiny heartbeat as it tries to sync up with his own breathing. That baby— that's his Silver. His child that he's blessed and named, his own son for all the cognitive dissonance he exhibits when he struggles to come to terms with how much he cares for, loves the boy. And what does a parent do to soothe a fretful child in need of comfort? They sing a lullaby.

(He thinks Meleanor would understand. Perhaps he even feels her singing through him to the child. And when Silver drowsily blinks his dawn-swept eyes up at his papa, Lilia can only poke his cheek with a smile, wondering if this little human would have been the one to tame the mighty dragon, just as he's softened this old bat's heart.)

For Malleus and Silver, ugh their relationship is so complex and special to me. We have two princes who would have been raised on opposite sides of the battlefield, and frankly, Silver would most likely have died before Malleus could even learn to speak the common tongue. Just like Lilia and Silver, these two should never have met, and yet here we have Mal, strolling around this dinky little cottage with a human babe cradled in his arms, trying his best to soothe its forlorn cries for its father with a distant memory. A prince caring for another little prince, unknowingly welcoming the son of the man who killed his mother into his heart with so much fierce devotion that he would stop the world to keep Silver's tears from falling (I fully believe Lilia would have walked unscathed out of NRC and none of this overblot would have happened the moment that it did regardless of Mal's stewing emotions— but when he saw Silver weeping, he was not going to allow this charade to continue any longer).

But this lullaby surviving for centuries past Meleanor, and how it will continue to survive when Malleus passes it on to his own children, and Silver to his, it gives Lilia a glimpse of the hope he wishes for the future. Between his beautiful child and his noble prince, perhaps they can accomplish what their fathers and mothers could not.