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pa1nrema1ns · 2 months ago

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𝐕𝐚𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐬 || 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐰𝐨𝐨 (𝟏𝟖+ 𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭)

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫! 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

"𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝." – 𝐒𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐦 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮𝐦 (𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐎𝐚𝐭𝐡)

⚔︎⛊ A/N: This piece began as a drabble but soon became more of a self-contained story. Although I wrote with the intention of creating a one-shot, I may expand upon the gladiator AU and include more hunters in future works if there's enough interest (I'm looking at you Baek Yoonho, Thomas Andre, and Liu Zhigang).

⚔︎⛊ Word count: 5.6k

⚔︎⛊ Content warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, concubine!reader, ancient Rome au, reader has a dark past (implied non-con), rescue romance, switch!Jinwoo, p in v, gratuitous praise, intimate healing (heavy focus on consent, words of affirmation, and the reader reclaiming her bodily pleasure and autonomy), abrupt ending/sequel hook.

⚔︎⛊ Dividers by: @fairytopea and @uzmacchiato

Impoverished and on the brink of starvation, Gladiator! Jinwoo willingly throws himself into the fire, volunteering his fate to the arena.

𓆩✧𓆪 Dressed in rags, hair matted to his forehead, and with nary a coin to his name, he stumbles through the streets of Rome. He is a scrap of a man, ill-suited for the rage of battle and the insurmountable odds that await him. Despite this, he is uncompromising in his decision. If there is even the slightest chance of securing a better future for his family, then he will gladly place his life on the line as many times as it takes.

𓆩✧𓆪 Jinwoo would go so far as to sacrifice his soul and his humanity for strength. No matter how high the cost may grow, he must become stronger for the sake of his mother and Jinah. He made a promise to his dying father that he would protect them, and he intended to keep his word.

𓆩✧𓆪 His desperation drives him to enter a divine covenant with a cunning magus known only as the Architect. Cloaked in mystery and with unknown origins, the sorcerer drives a deadly bargain. The binding agreement? Become a worthy vessel for the god of death, Ashborn, and he shall be blessed with overwhelming power and limitless potential. Refuse, and his life is forfeit. Desperate and with everything to lose, he does not hesitate to accept.

𓆩✧𓆪 Jinwoo rebuilds himself from the ground up. His days are filled with endless clashes against man and beast, his life an ever-present struggle for survival. Any moment may be his last, and yet, he perseveres. He flourishes in the bloodshed, weathers the pain, and as time passes, he acquires the skill and physicality of a formidable combatant. Gone are his boyish features, replaced by the sharp edges and pensive countenance of a man. Once frail and waiflike, his frame is now packed with heavily corded muscles. He cuts a fierce figure on the sands of the Colosseum.

𓆩✧𓆪 Jinwoo fights with all the fury of the gods. Concealed in a mask of anonymity with twin daggers in hand, he leaps into the fray, sparing his opponents no quarter. Anything goes on the battlefield. Yesterday, these men were his brothers in arms. Today, they are his enemies.

𓆩✧𓆪 Steel slams against steel in rapid succession, the vicious strikes reverberating loudly across the arena. A torrent of slashes rains down from Jinwoo's blades, each attack calculated and precise. He unleashes a terrifying display of efficiency, tearing his opposition asunder, dealing blow after devastating blow until none remain standing.

𓆩✧𓆪 Spectators are momentarily stunned into silence, awestruck by what they have witnessed. This pregnant pause is soon broken by a single round of applause, then another. Within seconds, the rest of the audience erupts in cheers, their excitement reaching a fever pitch at the unveiling of a new champion.

𓆩✧𓆪 Hours later, Jinwoo slips into the arena morgue under the veil of night. His newfound abilities as Ashborn's vessel have made him well-versed in the afterlife, and he can discern the chittering cries and lamentations of the dead. He hears their calls for revenge, liberation, and glory. All the fervent dreams they failed to achieve in life.

He takes a moment to honor his slain comrades, bowing his head as a sign of respect. After paying his dues, he parts his lips and issues a single command.

"Arise."

𓆩✧𓆪 Jinwoo’s feats of valor have become known far and wide. Dreaded by his fellow warriors and revered by the Roman populace, he is exalted. But the spoils of victory and hollow accolades mean little to him; as long as there is food on the table back home and his mother and younger sister are safe, then that is more than enough for him.

This changes when he encounters a reward far too tempting to resist.

Jinwoo's throat bobs when he first sees you.

You stand in near nakedness next to the overseer of the games, clad only in a sheer gown. The fine silk does nothing to preserve your modesty—it just accentuates your shapely thighs, round breasts, and the gentle curve of your hips. You're beautiful, he thinks, like a rose coming into bloom—delicate, soft, and oh-so-sweet.

He bets you taste delicious too, like nectar and ambrosia.

When you take your place up front on the podium for all to see, it finally dawns on him that the prize for emerging victorious this time isn't freedom, fame, or fortune—it's you.

For once, Jinwoo yearns for something beyond absolute power or dominance. He longs for the tenderness of a woman. Hardship and loneliness are all he's ever known throughout his young life, and now more than ever, he wants someone who can soothe his weary heart.

Shortly before the start of the gladiatorial games, an orator announces that the emperor has provided one of his finest concubines as a gesture of goodwill. Whosoever procures the most kills during today's bouts will be allowed to keep you as their whore. Excited and scandalized chatter breaks out amongst the crowd at this unexpected turn of events.

Over the commotion, your gaze meets his, and Jinwoo is instantly drawn into your eyes; they appear to tell a story, one drenched in sorrow and tears of blood. The anguish that mars your lovely face is palpable, and he feels a sudden surge of anger coursing through his veins.

A thing of beauty such as yourself would not have been spared from the cruelty of men, especially those in positions of power… You must have suffered greatly at the hands of the emperor. And now, that bastard was offering you up as a pleasure girl to a horde of violent fighters. You were a veritable rabbit in a den of wolves, exposed and completely defenseless!

His expression darkens, and he grips one of his daggers with such ferocity that its hilt shatters. He decides right then and there that he must have you.

Jinwoo refuses to idly stand by and watch as you're dealt a fate worse than death. He's noticed the way these brutes leer at you and overheard their crude remarks and lewd intentions. It infuriates him, and he vows to slaughter every last one of the competition. He'll dirty himself with crimson and gore, if need be; anything to claim you for himself.

Armed combat and melee commence posthaste, and immediately, Jinwoo sets about wreaking carnage. He slits throats, severs heads from bodies, and crushes organs, all with the cold indifference of a man scraping shit off his boots.

The usually bloodthirsty spectators gasp; even the overseer is rendered aghast by his savagery. You’re also left in a state of wide-eyed disbelief at the massacre, not quite grasping what you saw.

A single thought runs through your mind.

Could this really be the same man from earlier who gazed at me with such kind eyes?

Daylight bleeds into dusk, and at last, the dust settles. Jinwoo stands as the sole remaining contender in a sea of corpses.

He breathes deeply and exhales, and with that simple act, he seems to discard all sense of brutality. The man proceeds to nonchalantly twirl his daggers, flicking blood off the blades before sheathing them. Then, without missing a beat, he launches himself onto the podium, landing almost directly in front of you.

In an unprecedented event, an eerie quiet descends upon the Colosseum. There’s no raucous laughter, jeers, shouts, or the sound of hands clapping—only a collective feeling of apprehension.

The officials seated nearby are frozen in fear by his presence. They can merely gape in trepidation as he approaches. You inhale sharply, only to break into a sudden fit of coughing. The air around you has become saturated with dense magical energy, making it nigh impossible to breathe.

Panic-stricken, you begin to shiver. When his footfalls inevitably grow louder, you shut your lids and curl into yourself, preparing for the worst. However, what greets you is the sensation of a warm and calloused palm cupping your cheek. Your breath hitches, and you open your eyes in shock. You haven’t been touched this gently since being separated from your family. It was soothing and heart-achingly familiar.

You cast a glance at Jinwoo, and at this proximity, you can observe the subtle confidence in his cobalt blue eyes, the evenness of his features, and his long lashes. He’s startlingly handsome and younger than you expected. Your hackles lower ever so slightly.

Sensing your lingering unease, the man sends you a small, reassuring smile and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Then he speaks to you, his voice deep and melodic.

“Easy, love. I’m not going to hurt you—I’ve only come to claim my prize.” He then lowers his tone and leans forward until you can feel his breath tickling your neck. “You’ll be safe with me, I promise,” he whispers solemnly before adding, “I’ll take nothing from you that you aren’t willing to give. Your body and your heart belong to you and no one else. Remember that for me, sweet girl.”

You’re unsure how to react; the sincerity behind the man’s words contrasts drastically with his monstrous violence in the arena. It was jarring, but you found yourself desperately wanting to believe him.

Jinwoo soon steers his focus to the game’s overseer, and his docile demeanor quickly dissipates. He’s remarkably terse when addressing the feeble patrician, “I take it His Imperial Majesty is a man of his word, is he not? Then, according to the rules in place, this woman is henceforth bound to me. Unless you have any objections, that is?”

Your heart races wildly as you cling to Jinwoo’s every word. The emotions you’re experiencing right now are a mix of anticipation, amazement, and fascination. Never has a man gone so far to possess you. You were complete strangers, yet here he was, threatening the upper echelons of Roman society on your behalf. It was... oddly endearing.

“No—no! Not at all.” The overseer appeared as if he would faint at any moment. “It is just as you say, champion. To the victor go the spoils! You are free to do with her as you wish.”

“Hmph, then I’ll hold you to that.”

Jinwoo turns on his heel without wasting another breath, and a hint of a smirk tugs at his lips. He returns to your side and wraps his obsidian cape around your shoulders.

The raven-haired man chuckles at the puzzled expression you make—Gods, you were so damn cute. How could the emperor relinquish such a precious jewel? The old fool must have lost his mind to discard you so callously. Well, no matter—you were in better hands now.

“You must be cold in that flimsy dress of yours, little songbird,” he teases while coiling a robust arm around your waist. “I can feel you trembling underneath my fingertips… What say we head to the baths before retiring for the night in my quarters? A good soak and some companionship should warm you right up.”

You don’t miss the seductive glint in his eyes or the way his voice deepens as he purrs his sultry proposition. You blush and glance down at your hands, suddenly bashful despite yourself. How did this man manage to make you feel so shy with his flirtations? It was disarming and incredibly alluring, a sharp contrast to the unwelcome advances you had become so accustomed to while living at the palace.

“I—I… would very much like that,” you stutter nervously, still too embarrassed to look him in the eye. Fuck, you had a pretty voice too, like the soft chiming of a bell.

He imagines how divine you'll sound while screaming his name.

Jinwoo dispels any further reservations you might have by dipping his face into the crook of your neck. He mouths against the sensitive flesh, trailing feather-light kisses. The sensation of his lips brushing a specific spot behind your ear elicits a breathy moan from you, and you arch your back in surrender.

The gladiator smirks against your skin before slipping out his tongue and dragging it across your earlobe. He husks, “I can make it worth your while, sweet girl, but only if you agree. Say the word, and I’ll worship every inch of you with my mouth—” he emphasizes by nipping at your ear, “my hands—” he palms at one of your breasts, slowly rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, “and—” he presses his clothed cock along the swell of your ass and sneaks his hand down to cup your cunt, biting back a groan when he feels how soaked you are beneath the fabric.

A searing heat pools in your lower abdomen, and your eyes flutter shut at his ministrations. In the background, the audience is brought alive again, hollering and catcalling at you both, but the noise does nothing to stop the pressure mounting in your core; it only causes a fresh layer of slick to trickle down your thighs.

After what seems like an eternity, you finally regain some sense of clarity and beg, “Please, don’t stop! I want this; I want you! Please—”

Jinwoo gently turns your face and silences your ramblings with his lips. The kiss is initially tender and fleeting, a simple caress of his mouth against yours. However, he’s quick to pry open your lips with a smooth swipe of his tongue. He then slips inside your mouth, coaxing you to slide your tongue over his. You readily submit, grabbing the nape of his neck and deepening the kiss. The weaving of your lips soon devolves into something languid, sensual, and primal.

At the last moment, Jinwoo manages to reel in his lust and reluctantly parts from you. The gladiator's restraint hangs by a single, precarious thread, and he wants nothing more than to ravish you, but not here. Not in front of all these prying eyes.

Before you can fully register what’s happening, he grasps you firmly to his chest and rasps in your ear, “I'd say it's high time we take this somewhere more comfortable, huh, love? Hold onto me tightly; this will be a rather hasty escape."

'A hasty escape?' What could he possibly mean by—!?

"Exchange."

Darkness. The void that absorbs you is filled with nothing but darkness. Person, place, and time have no permanence in this pocket of space that exists somewhere between reality and the ether. Then, just as quickly as this inexplicable situation begins, it ends. You are present again, whole and in the flesh, as is Jinwoo. The packed Colosseum, however, is nowhere to be seen. Instead, your surroundings have been replaced by the entrance to a sprawling complex.

Upon second glance, you notice it is a bathhouse, and an opulent one at that, if its elegantly manicured gardens, marble structure, and decorative stucco are any indication.

Did he use his mana to transport us here? But how? Only an experienced mage could possess such skills. Just what manner of man is this?

You worry your lip between your teeth as you mull over your concerns, but before you can become too entranced, an abrupt squeeze at your waist breaks you from your train of thought. It was the gladiator, and he was grinning at you broadly.

“These are the imperial baths reserved strictly for victors. I hope it is to your liking…? Are you alright? You’re so pale.” He brushes his hand over your cheek and questions you in an affectionate tenor.

“Tell me, are you afraid? Were my words not enough to quell your fears, little dove?” His smile shifts into a thin line as he intently studies your face. Ashamedly, you nod your head and avoid his gaze.

“I see… Then what can I do to prove myself to you?”

The muscular arms that embrace you loosen enough for you to take a few tentative steps backward, away from him. You regard the gladiator with a twinge of suspicion, an action you could hardly be blamed for; magical prowess of this caliber could rival the elite mages of the praetorian guard. This man was undoubtedly dangerous, but he'd been nothing but amicable towards you.

Conflicted, you take a deep, steady breath before addressing him, this time by name, “Sung Jinwoo, who exactly are you?”

You raise your head as you speak to him, and there’s a gleam in his eyes: ravenous, predatory hunger.

He was trying to intimidate you, to cease your meddling. To entice you into compliance.

Yet you continue, unabated, “You slaughter others as easily as one draws breath, then you effortlessly demonstrate a type of magic that would take the most learned magi years to master.”

You walk back toward him, slowly and purposefully, stopping only when you both stand face-to-face.

“Do the gods favor you above all else, or are you born from divinity? Are you…are you human?”

A pang of guilt twists at Jinwoo’s conscience. He always knew that he would have to reveal his identity at some point, but not under these circumstances.

He sighs and provides you with a half-truth as an answer. He knows it won’t suffice, but at the very least, it might assuage some of your worries.

“I am human, but only just. That is the best explanation I can give for the time being. Please, do not ask or demand any further from me. Those are my only rules for you, love.” He leads his fingers down your spine as he implores you.

Your expression softens, and you splay your hands on his bare chest, above his beating heart. The rich texture of his skin, his earthy musk, and the pulse of vitality beneath your palms are all indicative of humanity.

In little more than a murmur, you speak to him, “Jinwoo, you command me not to be frightened, yet part of me is, and I resent myself for it. But how can I be at peace while alone with a man who wields power beyond all understanding? You could effortlessly break me if you so desire, yet you'd have me believe otherwise?"

You suddenly burst into a fit of tinkling, derisive laughter, making the gladiator swallow thickly. Even in scorn, you sounded beautiful. If only you were laughing for a different reason —a joyous one.

"Do not mistake me for some naïve, tenderhearted maiden, Jinwoo." You continue in a subdued tone, "I’ve witnessed evil and corruption by men much weaker than you. I know better than to let my guard down completely.”

Nonetheless, your touches become bolder and more sinful. Your hands drift lower, smoothing over the rippling planes of his torso; he exhales shakily through his nose, and you can’t help but admire the delicious flex of his muscles as he does so. You decide to see how far you can push him, tracing the veins along his V-line with your fingertips while sucking at his neck and collarbones.

He lets out a strangled noise when you bite down hard enough to break the skin. “And wh-what about the other part of you, hmm?” He manages to grit through his teeth, “For someone who claims to be so scared and jaded, you sure are handsy—oh shit!”

Rather than responding to his jest, you unlatch his belt with deft fingers and slip your hand into his loincloth. Just from the feel of him, his cock was painfully hard and leaking. Your mouth waters at the thought, driving you to free him from the confines of his undergarments. Jinwoo releases a hiss as his dick springs up and slaps against his toned stomach.

You drink in the sight of him, admiring how pretty and thick his flushed cock is. The shaft emerged from a soft thatch of curls, and it was a dark shade of pink that tapered into vibrant red at the tip. Creamy pearls of precum dribbled endlessly at his slit. Intrigued, you skim your fingers around the sensitive glans, coating them in his essence. Then, without breaking eye contact with him, you raise your hand to your mouth and lap up the salty fluid.

The gladiator groans appreciatively, and the sound shoots straight to your throbbing cunt. You press your thighs together to alleviate the ache, an action that does not go unnoticed by the perceptive, raven-haired man.

“Feisty little minx, aren’t you?” He croons sweetly, “And here I was, foolishly thinking you were so shy. No, no, wait—don’t pull away from me! I crave more of you! I need more of you! Unveil to me the smoldering temptress hiding within you, and I swear to tell the truth of my origins. I swear it.”

Jinwoo’s feverishness sends a thrum of pleasure throughout your body. It incites a dormant fire, a desire to take the reins. The roles between the two of you have been reversed; now, he is the one pleading for your touch, whilst you were in control. No longer were you a caged bird or a helpless little girl. You were a minx, a playful and vivacious woman, full of life.

At least, that's how you feel in the moment.

You smile and press a pacifying kiss to the gladiator’s lips, gliding your tongue in his mouth to savor his vulnerability. He moans and melts into you when you begin stroking his cock in tandem, alternating between fast, twisting motions near his head and long, languid pumps from base to tip. You breathe him in, sighing wistfully.

“We’ve only met, gladiator, yet you pine for me so fiercely… but why? I’ve done nothing to earn your devotion or reverence. I am not your goddess, your Domina, or even your lover; I am merely an outlet for sexual release.”

You’re interrupted mid-sentence by an arresting grip on your wrist. In an instant, Jinwoo had dispelled his lustful haze, swiftly reminding you that he was a deadly warrior, a far cry from the ham-fisted nobles who sought you only for their sexual gratification. Your body draws taut, like a viper preparing to strike, and you ready yourself for what’s to come, awaiting punishment for acting out of line—

But you're greeted by kindness and comforting reassurance from Jinwoo instead.

“Enough, darling; say not another word of this nonsense. I will not tolerate any blemish on your character. You are not an object, a tool, or a treasure to hoard. You are as human as anyone else, and you are worthy of being cherished.”

You falter under his intensity, unprepared for such an impassioned response. Sex has… always been mechanical for you, a perfunctory duty expected of a concubine. You lost the right to personhood the day the emperor vanquished your homeland. Spared solely for your beauty, you were stripped of all autonomy, reduced to being the unwilling bedmate of the very man who tore your life apart. The emperor stole your innocence, your family, your hope—everything.

You were sullied, made unclean, and defiled.

A calloused thumb swipes away tears you aren’t even aware you’re spilling.

“Shhh,” Jinwoo hushes you as he strokes your cheeks. “Oh, love, please don’t cry. These tears are not the type of wetness you deserve.”

You sniffle softly and try to avert your gaze, but he maintains a steady hold on your face. The gladiator locks eyes with you, piercing cobalt seamlessly transforming into an icy blue. There’s anger in Jinwoo’s expression; instinctively, you know it isn’t directed toward you.

“Did Antares feed you such lies about yourself?” He spits out the emperor’s true name, pure venom lacing his voice.

Your silence is answer enough.

The gladiator’s lip curls, and he internally fumes, That fucking bastard! How dare he torment you like this? I’ll kill him—I’ll kill him if it’s the last thing I do!

“Jin…woo?”

His rage recedes when you call out to him, his eyes regaining their original color.

Jinwoo exhales sharply and composes himself; he’ll have his vengeance in due time. Currently, you are what matters most to him.

“The emperor’s hold on your heart runs deeper than I thought,” he surmises. “I’ll have to cleanse you of his influence. Only then can you be free of him.”

You stare at him inquisitively, not quite understanding what he meant. Before you can ponder it for too long, you’re hoisted into a sudden princess carry by Jinwoo.

“It’s okay, sweet girl, I’ve got you, and I’m not going anywhere,” he coos, rubbing soothing circles at the bend of your knee. It grounds you, makes you feel safe.

“We can’t undo the past or deny that which has already happened. We can only move forward, forging a path of our own. So come, let us wash away your troubles together. I promised you warmth and companionship, and I am a man of my word.”

Jinwoo peers down at you expectantly.

You nod and nuzzle your face into his chest, basking in his body heat.

The corners of his mouth lift.

“Right, let’s get ourselves cleaned up then.”

“Ahhn—ah! There! Right there, Jin—augh!”

Your needy whimpering dissolves into a loud, wanton keen that bounces off the marbled walls of the bathhouse. Around you, scattered pieces of armor, leather, and the shredded remains of your garments lay strewn in a haphazard pile, a testament to the gladiator’s brute strength and utter lack of self-control when it came to you.

Plumes of steam waft from the heated water, turning the air dense with condensation. It has a dizzying effect, further intensifying the delirium brought on by yet another mind-shattering orgasm. You babble incoherently—a slurred mixture of Jinwoo’s name and pleas for more—as you come for the fourth time that evening. Despite this, you can feel the gladiator’s cock swelling inside you, virile and throbbing with need.

Gods, he was insatiable.

You adore this side of him.

It had been roughly an hour since you set foot in the large facility, and throughout this time, Jinwoo couldn’t keep his hands or lips off you. He’d all but mounted you the second you began to disrobe, pushing you up against the nearest pillar and impatiently tearing at the fabric concealing your body. He was a man starved, eager to devour, relentless in his pursuit of sustenance.

And his tenacity had at last borne fruit.

“Oh, fuck!” He raggedly breathed at your bare and unencumbered form, eyes blown out and wild. You were perfect like this—incomparable in all manners.

“Beautiful—you’re so damned beautiful… Venus has not half your loveliness, nor a cunt nearly as sweet.”

The gladiator then drops both his hands by your hips and pulls you flush against his twitching cock. He maneuvers your body like a puppet, parting your pussy lips with his shaft and guiding you to glide your heat over the outline of his member.

A tremor runs down your spine when your clit grazes a particularly thick vein on his cock. You grind down on him, desperate to satiate the scalding need throbbing in your pussy.

“Jinwoo, please—mmph!”

He steals your voice by slotting his mouth against yours, earning a moan from you. Without pausing, he shoves a hand between the apex of your thighs, seeking out your slit. His dexterous digits are quick to roam over your glistening folds. He slides his index and middle fingers along the hood of your clit and toys with the sensitive bundle of nerves, lightly swirling at it before applying more pressure and friction. This earns a long, drawn-out moan from you, and you buck your hips into his hand, seeking further stimulation.

Just before you can lose yourself to him fully, Jinwoo pulls back from your lips, choosing that exact moment to delve both fingers into your tight, wet pussy. You choke and whine at the feeling of fullness, drawing a dark growl from the gladiator.

“Good girl, keep making those pretty sounds for me. Hell, you can scream if you want to. We have this entire place to ourselves; we can be as loud as we fucking want!”

He punctuates this with a rough curl of his fingers along the roof of your walls, effortlessly pinpointing your sweet spot. The effect it has on you is cataclysmic. Bliss, raw and in its most potent form, courses through your veins. A spring coiled tightly within you finally snaps, careening you over the edge of madness. You unleash a wail that unfurls into a high-pitched scream as Jinwoo ruthlessly fucks you through your climax with his fingers; the stimulation verges on being unbearable, blurring the line between pleasure and pain.

A sheen of sweat coats your writhing figure as you frantically scrabble for purchase, one hand scratching fruitlessly at the cold, polished surface of the wall as the other rakes its nails over the broad swath of the gladiator’s back. He relishes the sting, urging you to sink deeper by hiking one of your legs around his lithe waist.

Through the blood pounding in your ears, you hear his husky voice faintly in the background.

“That’s it! Come undone for me, love. Keep clenching around my fingers, moan my name—yes! Just like that! Gods, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. Take whatever you need from me, sweetheart; I’m yours.”

He rewards you for your obedience with hot, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulders, the column of your throat, and the soft slopes of your breasts. The gladiator sucks harshly at the smooth expanse of skin, leaving splotches of purple in his wake.

As you descend from the exquisite ecstasy of your high, Jinwoo slowly pulls his hand from your sopping pussy, gossamer strands of slick clinging to his fingertips like honey. He brings his fingers to his mouth and laps at them, deliberately replicating your actions from earlier. A lascivious moan escapes him; your flavor is intoxicating, all-consuming.

He wants to drown in your arousal.

You startle when Jinwoo hoists your other leg around his waist, hooking his elbows under your knees to support your weight. He then prods his engorged tip along your entrance, smearing himself with your juices. You instinctively begin to buck your hips, and a small, involuntary whimper passes your lips. Although you were still sensitive in the aftermath of your climax, the absence of the gladiator’s fingers had you aching to be filled again.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Jinwoo murmurs, “I’m going to give you exactly what you need.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he began easing his cock into you, panting and grunting in your ear with his jaw clenched tight. The stretch burns, but only momentarily, and it isn’t long before you’re mewling and moaning his name. Once he bottoms out, Jinwoo drops his head to your shoulder and presses his hips against yours. He holds himself still, allowing you time to adjust to his size.

After a pause, the gladiator kisses your shoulder and pulls back his head, looking you straight in the eyes.

“I won’t be holding anything back from here on, darling. If it reaches a point where it becomes too much for you, I want you to say the word ‘dagger,’ and I’ll end this. Understood?”

You nod and press your forehead to his, casting the die.

With your assent, Jinwoo ruts into you with unmatched vigor. He fucks just as he fights, hard and unrelenting, as if his very life hangs in the balance. Yet even in his brutality, he worships you with each drag of cock along your fluttering walls. Your tits bounce under the force of his thrusts, enticing Jinwoo to take one of your nipples in his mouth. He suckles at the tender little nub until it stiffens into a peak before biting down on it, sending sparks of pleasure tingling throughout your entire body.

Your breath catches in your throat, and your legs tense up around the gladiator’s waist, drawing him deeper into you. The ridges of his cock shape you, creating a delectable friction that builds and builds with every push and pull of his length. Jinwoo’s grip on your ass turns bruising, the rhythmic movement of his hips faltering into staccato bursts as he reaches his zenith. An obscene groan sounds at the back of his throat when your cunt spasms and squeezes impossibly tight around him, careening the gladiator over the edge.

He completely immerses himself in your pussy, painting your walls with thick spurts of cum. You follow in his stead, wailing loudly as your own orgasm overtakes you. For several minutes, the room is enveloped in silence save for the catching of breath and the wet sounds of kissing. Once he feels your walls relax around him, Jinwoo slides out of you. You wince as his seed spills down your inner thighs, and you struggle to stand on your own two feet as you’re lowered to the ground.

Ever the gentleman, the gladiator holds you steady, one large palm lingering on the bruises that litter your lower back while the other sinks its fingers into the globe of your ass. He chuckles when you bat at his arm half-heartedly.

“Are you alright? I wasn’t too rough on you, was I?”

You shake your head tiredly, a fond smile gracing your lips. Unbelievable, this man.

“Jinwoo, you were incredible.”

His eyes widen in a rare show of vulnerability.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” you continue, “You’ve been so good to me, so attentive… I loved it.”

Jinwoo pecks your forehead. He was so proud of you, his strong, brave girl.

“Good, because I’m nowhere near finished with you, love. Now, be a good girl and spread those pretty legs for me so I can devour that dripping little cunt.”

⋆༺𓆩⚔️𓆪༻⋆ Tag list: @heyimkana @xxeclipze @princeizuku @kweenkatsuki-main @cocomanga @mydearestbeloved @minh907 @forbidden-sunlight @brillantradiance @crxscnt @katie5000

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redacted-coiner · 1 year ago

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Chalice & Dagger

[PT: Chalice & Dagger]

Chalice, a queer person who’s presentation is inherently holy/divine in nature.

Dagger, a queer person who’s presentation is inherently unholy/sacrilege in nature.

[Chalice ID: in Alt text]

[Dagger ID: in Alt text]

[Tag] @radiomogai, @liom-archive, @imoga-pride, @presentationflag-archive + @rabidbatboy

DNI is listed within my pinned post. Please go read it before interacting with any part of my content. Ask to tag!

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pilotingdreammsss · 28 days ago

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┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈

Mystic Flour Cookie x Loyal servant reader.

Warnings: Depictions of violence, jam (blood) mention, murder mention, angst, post corruption Mystic Flour Cookie, Angst.

Your Master had fallen to apathy long ago.

Her servants had fallen away, dead leaves in the wind, but you'd painfully remained. Though she no longer answered to you with the same love.

Her tone was too flat, too devoid of emotion. You wished to hear warmth from her once again, though you knew it was a distant placid fantasy. The warmth was long gone. Though you diligently remained by her side, with that little Haetae...

"You continue into the Ivory Pagoda, my master's territory."

You had, boldly, placed yourself between the pagoda's entrance and the outdoors. Murmurs spread through the crowd of brave adventurers. Too brave. No-one would find your master's coocoon. Never again would she be treated the way she was in the bygone past.

If that meant you were to fight, so be it. Your hands linger over your dagger, branded with Mystic Flour Cookie's sigil. It's a meager dagger; it's not so capable of doing much damage. Though your will would will it to do so.

The head adventurer, a loud, boisterous man, unseaths a sword. It's a gleaming, pointed object, heavy. Certainly not light, however nonetheless, deadly. His hold holds all his intent. He, too, would cut through you to gain access to your master. It's a painful cycle of irony, almost laughable if it was not blaringly harmful.

His will was obvious, so you move first, pushing yourself forward. You catch the adventurer's cheek with your dagger - crumbs fall from his head, and jam splatters onto your dagger. It's desperately violent and catches him off guard, so much so that he forgets his sword, pulling his hands in front of his face, fear painting his features.

Anger. So much anger, your grip on the dagger is unbearably tight even for your hand. Never again! The foolish selfishness of cookies had taken your true love away. They will not be allowed to even gaze upon her.

Even if that means slaughter, even if that means you leave with jam stained hands.

Your attack is enough for the group to scatter, to flee with tails between their legs. Never had they thought that you, a peaceful guardian and loyal servant, could prove to be so crude! You had come to expect nothing less or more from them. You no longer felt guilty using brutish force to repel unwelcome visitors.

You turn on your heel, hands soaked in jam, to gaze upon the Pagoda. It's a long way up, though the trek was something you'd acclimated to long ago. It's lengthy, too, but it's nothing you're incapable of doing. Winding... long... you fill the silence with thoughts of her past benevolence. How she'd dearly granted your wish - if you knew how things would turn, you would've never proclaimed your wish in the first place.

Her lackluster love in the present was not enough to fill the void.

┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈

"Y/N cookie."

You kneel - you cannot fathom what she feels from voice alone.

"My lord - I have cast away them."

She approaches, hands finding your face. Even now, you flinch and cinch your eyes shut.

"They will find that it is futile to return here."

You barely nod. Her hands hold some warmth, though you fear you're simply projecting your desires. Ones she'd insited you exile, as desire kept you bound to Earthbread. Alas, you were not as strong as her.

Your hands hover over hers, gently grabbing onto them.

"I may have given nothing for your loyalty..."

Something compels you to meet her eyes, despite your weakness. Why do you weaken under her gaze?

"Earthly rewards are fleeting. But you, too, are fleeting. I give you no rewards for keeping this Ivory Pagoda untouched by selfish hands."

You nod, for it is true. She sparsely gave you even a compliment.

"My lord, that was my wish. To ensure you, and this place, was kept pristine, divine."

A smile tinges at the end of her lips. Though maybe you are imagining things. You find her to only come closer - unusual. She was usually not one for close proximity.

Then, a feather-light peck on your forehead. Pulling away any hair that may have been in her way - her lips meet your forehead.

It is almost divine.

"... You are my loyal servant. Your servitude to the world of white is not meaningless. I, too, wish you find peace within it."

#crk #cookie run kingdom x reader #crk x reader #reader insert #crk x you #cookie run kingdom fic #crk reader insert #my writing #crk fic #mystic flour cookie #mystic flour cookie x reader #romantic oneshot #Mystic flour cookie crk

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thehighladywrites · 1 year ago

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ACOTAR men x reader, meeting your parents

𐙚 summary: the acotar men meet ur parents for the first time, how will it go?

𐙚 warnings: crack, fluff

𐙚 amara’s note: thank u sm for the req anon!!💗 i need cassian so bad i’m not joking 🙁 | based on this req

Rhysand

okay so in my mind there are two ways this could go

either ur parents are scared shitless bc of him or they absolutely adore him

They’re real scared if your parents live in the Hewn City and have only seen Rhysand’s bad side, you know, when he was with Amarantha and just seemed like a real jerk overall

The part where they adore him would come into play if your parents lived in Velaris and witnessed Rhysand's true self, not the facade he presents to his court, but the genuine person behind the mask

I think he would act very nonchalant and act like its a casual thing meeting your parents but he is shitting himself behind the facades

He's just really eager for your parents to like him, so he ends up accidentally over-complimenting your mom, which might make your dad a bit irked.

“Mrs. L/N, your beauty is as radiant as the stars. And your cooking is absolutely divine,” he has a hand on his heart, his famous smirk playing on his lips

“Aw, thank you so very much Rhysand, how very kind of you. I’m glad you like it!” your mom beams at him sweetly

“Alright, Rhysand, let's not get carried away,” your dad mutters, staring daggers at rhys as he gets drags your moms chair closer to him

After a while they grow to love him and your father’s distaste for him lessens

Azriel

it’s kind like rhysand’s situation, your parents score is based on how much they know about him

okay, so if ur parents know he’s the scary night court torturer and spymaster who does dangerous things for his work, he might not be very well liked. not only that but they would be genuinely worried and very scared

but if they only know he works for the high lord, i believe the chance of liking him is big

I think azriel’s calm aura when he’s with you makes him very likeable and trustworthy

Your parents see how much he cares for you, the little things he does for you and they approve

they see the small things he does, like this vid right here

Azriel is actually so fucking nervous, he stalks your parents before meeting them. He knows what your dad likes and he knows what your mom likes. Azriel brings their interests up casually in conversations and see how their faces light up

of course you know about all of this but you let him think he’s slick

Eris

Just like rhys and az, it depends on how much they know ab him.

If this is pre berons death eris, they will probably not like him bc of the way he presents himself

I still think Eris is charming and will win over your parents

He’s an expert on charming people and he uses it when he meets ur parents

he is very respectful, tho not very talkative. He speaks when spoken to basically

He gets very nervous when he is asked questions about your relationship bc if there’s one thing he loves it’s privacy

Eris is super vague, i’m talking one word answer for everything

“So how did you meet?”

“at a meeting.”

“Okay! so whats the story?”

“we fell in love.”

Absolutely melts when ur parents decide to like him bc he has never had any parental figure like him that much except for his mom and he is very happy on the inside when ur parents love him

literally thinks of ur parents as his after a while

Lucien

He is extremely well liked, like right off the bat, they love him

We all now he is prythian’s most charming male

is the type to say “wow i see where my girl gets her beauty from” to your mom and “you raised her well, she is very smart” to your dad

I swear he will flirt with anyone. your brother, your sister, your mom, your dad

he brings gift baskets whenever u visit them and it’s always personalized gifts too

your younger siblings always greet him before you bc they think he’s wayyyyy cooler than u

he just basks in the attention bc slowly ur family basically adopts him and he becomes part of the family very quickly they all love him

Goes on walks with your parents, bakes with them, talks to them, literally becomes their fav in a heartbeat making u a lil jelly

This is SO him and ur mom LINK

Cassian

awww😭 bless his heart he is so awkward

he is so adamant about being liked, he goes all out

i’m talking gets a suit, shaves and gels his hair back even though you say it’s really not that deep

sweating bullets, wings drooping a tiiiiiny amount. not noticeable to anyone but himself

anyway

cassian knocks on the door w flowers for ur mom and his hands are literally sweating

absolutely doesn’t let you touch him in a romantic way. he literally swats of your hand on his bicep, “bae, we can’t do that right here, are you crazy??” he says in ur mind, looking around to see of anyone saw that super scandalous touch

at the dinner table he almost knocks over a glass and drops a fork on the floor

his tie is too tight and he carefully tugs on it for air until you decide it’s too much and take him to your childhood bedroom

“Cas, are you okay? They love you so much, there is really no need to be this nervous.”

“Are you sure they like me? Be honest.”

“Baby, I promise you, if they didn’t, you would know. Now get rid of this tie, pop a button and relax, let me get you a drink.”

After you kiss him and get him a drink, he calms down and goes back to his normal non nervous, lovely self

🏷️: @amara-moonlight @rowaelinsdaughter @redbleedingrose @artists-ally @thelov3lybookworm @clairebear08 @riddlesb1tch @cupidojenphrodite @readychilledwine @berryzxx @fell-in-luvs

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thisblogisaboutabook · 1 year ago

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Rainy Season - Part 7

Final Chapter and Epilogue

Everybody’s Got Somebody but Me

Azriel Eris x Reader

Azriel pleads his case to his mate before the Inner Circle, an unexpected interruption sheds additional light on the situation, Y/N makes a decision.

Part 5 Part 6

Warnings: Language

The room thrummed with erratic energy as everyone awaited the arrival of the Shadowsinger. Eris watched intently as Y/N kept a collected facade before the present group, but behind her eyes a tumultuous storm raged. She hadn’t seen her mate since she’d left - since he’d betrayed her - and maybe she was a coward for facing him before an audience of his loved ones but she was done tip-toeing the line, done praying that the words falling from her mate’s lips were truth when he’d done nothing but spin ugly lies from that beautiful mouth. She wanted the real story, the whole story, and Truth Teller itself couldn’t extract it better than the audience before them.

Her gut-wrenched with his nearing presence, the doors would open any moment as guards would bring him in, before her, before his family, before Eris and her sister.

The only missing parties in the space were Amren who had stayed behind in Velaris to keep a presence in place and Nesta who had other matters to attend to. Mor’s attendance was welcome but not required, given the obvious histories between she and Eris - her mate.

Eris kept an amused facade beneath his own surface, though he was anything but. Y/N looked resplendent seated at the lone chair at the head of his table. Seated to her right, he kept a respectful distance, fighting the overwhelming urge to reach out and warm her shaking hand under the table.

And Eris couldn’t be certain by the flat expression on his face, but he could have sworn the slightest gleam of amusement glimmered in Lucien’s eye as the mechanical one focused in on a clearly unimpressed Camila who was unabashedly taking stock of the middle Archeron sister at his side.

The door unlatched, all traces of civility falling from Rhys’ face as Azriel stepped into the now darkened room.

Azriel looked terrible, the purple bruises and dark circles under his eyes draining the remaining life from his sallowed skin, eyes red and puffy.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, burying down the instinct doing its damndest to get her to run to her dejected mate.

Azriel looked straight past every single person at the table, not even sparing a glance to the seething High Lord staring daggers in his direction. His hazel eyes blew wide as they honed in on his mate. His perfect fucking mate. He truly had drained so much from her, hadn’t he? Never once stopping to notice the signs.

Now, before him was a divine female - full in all the places he’d once gripped so fervently, her complexion radiant, hair lustrous, lips so delectable he wanted to bite them. There was no broken female here, this was a female who has been living a life of love and joy. The only thing missing was her bright smile, now absent in his presence.

Another thing he’d taken from her.

“Y/N”, Azriel mouthed, no sound coming out as the guards kept the cuffed hands he tried to outstretch in her direction restrained.

Her pointed silence and the clunk of the guards boots filled the room as Azriel was lead toward his space between Cassian and Rhys at the table. Y/N now noting the correlation between the bruises on Azriel’s face and a few scattered on Cassian’s.

Rhys’ voice entered her mind. “Azriel started a fight with Cassian that led to us finding out about he and Elain. When Cassian realized, he went feral on him. It’s been centuries since I’ve seen those two fight like that. By the time Cassian was done with him, I couldn’t in good conscience lay a hand on him.”

“They shouldn’t have fought over this. But I bet you not laying a hand on him though he knew you wanted to hurt his ego more than any punches would have.”

Feyre joined in the mental conversation, adding “He’s just lucky Nesta wasn’t there when they found out.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, assuming that Nesta would have remained neutral in the ordeal. Not out of cruelty, but given her love and protective tendencies toward Elain as well as her friendship with Azriel and their Valkyrie training.

Azriel looked to his mate, once again wordlessly mouthing. “Y/N, please.” Finally taking in the crowd before him, he paled further.

“Cat got your tongue, Shadowsinger?” Eris mused. Fury lined Azriel’s features at the smug tone. Rhys only let out a bitter chuckle though he found nothing funny about the predicament they’d found themselves in, his violet gaze narrowed in on his brother. “You found a work around with our bargain by finding your mate outside of the Summer Court, but couldn’t find a work around on the matter of being barred from communicating with her? Just how did you expect this whole plan to work out?” He didn’t wait for a response to the question as he waved to the bargain tattoo. “I rescind the bargain tattoo, you may speak to her for as long as she’ll allow it.”

Azriel paid no mind to Rhys, his chest heaved as he frantically spouted out, “Can we speak in private, my love? Just you and me.”

Eris bristled internally at the pet name but Y/N didn’t falter as she replied “You lost the right to call me that the moment you took another female to bed.”

Elain fidgeted in her seat, eyes downcast. Camila bouncing her murderous gaze back and forth between she and Azriel.

To his credit, Azriel took the blow. This was a bed of his own making and he knew it, they all knew it. There was no sense in trying to deny it.

His mate’s head remained held high as she continued, “By the grace of the High Lord of the Autumn Court, the consequences of your attempted infiltration of this keep have been resigned to your own High Lord.“

Shame flooded Azriel’s face but he let her continue.

“As for me? All I ever wanted was your love and commitment. I gave so many chances and when it finally seemed like you might get it - you’d squandered that opportunity as well. I am before you right now because I want to know why. And because you have not given me a reason to trust you, I have brought this council of individuals who have somehow found themselves so intertwined with our relationship when it should have only been you and me.”

Azriel spat the bitter words before he could stop them from leaving his mouth. “If Eris is not issuing consequence, there is no need for him to be here.”

Despite his exceptional ability to bait, Eris remained silent. A show of respect to the female at the head of his table.

“I was a guest in his keep when you decided to make our separation everybody’s problem and breached the wards.”

Azriel, damn him, couldn’t stop the next hateful words either. “I hardly call emissary business the equivalent of being a guest.”

Eris forwent anger over the blatant disrespect already rolling off of Azriel’s tongue when she didn’t owe him a second of her time, he knew this force of a female by his side well enough by now - biting the inside of his lip to hold back the involuntary smirk creeping its way up to the corners of his mouth as he sensed the words before she spoke them.

“You’re right, Azriel. But I am not here on emissary business, I am here as a personal guest of Eris, who has found himself intertwined in this relationship.” She then looked to her sister “Along with Camila, as they BOTH found themselves putting in considerable time and effort helping piece back together the parts of me that I couldn’t quite place myself. Do you have further question on the members in attendance today that you’d like for me to elaborate on?”

Camila, seated to the other side of Y/N, gave her sister a reassuring squeeze of the hand under the table. Silence once again filling the room, Azriel’s shadows in conjunction with Rhys’ raging darkness rendered him barely visible.

Perhaps her words to her mate were harsh but they were far kinder than the venomous “I’m here on the business of fucking the brains out of the Autumn Court High Lord who, by the way, is just as well endowed and far more bendy than you.” that she wanted to spit back at him.

As if Eris read her thoughts, he loosened the reign on that wicked smirk he’d held back.

“Now that the matter of why we’re all here is settled,” Y/N continued, “I will hear you out, Azriel. If at any point I do not wish to continue this discussion, you will leave immediately. Do you understand?”

Her stoic mate, the revered Spymaster, simpered at the words, giving a slight nod. “Yes.” Eris thought to himself in that moment, heart filled with pride, “She would make a fine High Lady.”

“Great. We have a bargain.” Her fist clenching as the tattoo formed on the back of her neck. “Please proceed.”

Azriel stood, looking to his mate. Crestfallen he began. He held himself in submission to his mate but with enough confidence for her to see that he was sincere in whatever he was about to say.

“Y/N. I love you. I have loved you since before the bond ever snapped. You are - You’re everything. Fuck, I know that what I did was terrible but, it’s not what it seems. You were so good, too good, I didn’t deserve you. I never have. You are everything good and I do nothing but bring pain and hurt to others, and now I’ve done the same to you. Words can never express how sorry I am but… I can at least share what happened.”

He looked to her, praying she’d speak, give any encouragement. Her bright eyes only stared through him, straight into the tattered soul he’d tried so hard to conceal from her.

The table remained silent. Camila biting back a scoff and Elain fidgeting with her dress.

Realizing she wouldn’t speak until he’d told her everything he continued.

He began speaking of how insignificant he’d felt in comparison to her. How he’d buried himself in work, in training with the Valkyries, helping Elain recover. He then pleaded to her, giving recollection of how he’d stopped feeling her through the bond. Giving account for everything leading up to the night he’d slept with Elain.

He recounted how he’d just wanted to get through the night, how he’d chosen to go to dinner instead of staying in, drowning himself in alcohol in an effort to get through the night, how he’d planned to tell Elain that he could no longer spend so much time with her.

It was then that he turned a violent glare to Cassian. “Tell her. Tell her, Cassian.”

Cassian let out a sigh. “Y/N, I am so sorry for the mistake I made. Nes and I, we’d stopped into a new apothecary along the Sidra and found a unique new aphrodisiac. We’d done a parting shot with Azriel and Elain after everyone else had gone out and I -“ his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, “I accidentally gave the shots we’d mixed the powder into to Elain and Azriel instead of Nes and I. I had no clue until yesterday, we just assumed it was a faulty batch.”

Azriel’s shadows swirled with rage as he picked up where he’d left off. “I went to find Elain afterward, to break things off but the aphrodisiac hit so hard, so fast, and I was so terribly intoxicated. One moment I was trying to speak, the next she was kissing me.” He shook, choking on the next words. “The next morning, I knew I could either tell you, inflicting more pain upon you, or I could carry the pain myself and make sure it never happened again.”

Lucien gritted his teeth at the admission. He’d known they slept together, she’d come straight to him afterward. Choosing to make his best effort to do right by his mate, telling himself that what had happened evened out the playing field between them. Of course it hurt, and hell, he was livid. He found himself fond of the Shadowsinger’s mate, forming a comfortable acquaintanceship with her the few times they’d attended the same events with the Inner Circle. She deserved so much more than a mate that cheated on her.

But Elain was his mate, he needed to at least try with her now that she’d finally shown up. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and had spent the past six months spending what time she deigned to give him with her. He’d hoped at the very least it would keep Azriel away from Elain and with his own mate. He’d felt awful when he heard she’d left.

He was drawn from his thoughts by Azriel’s next words and the corresponding pained gasp from Elain, and the thrumming power of Feyre as she seethed from both embarrassment of the ordeal and the careless words about her sister. “Y/N, Elain means nothing to me. She was a mistake. I don’t care about her beyond the fact that she’s my High Lady’s sister, I don’t love her - I only love you. I only want you. She is nothing.”

Elain clutched her chest, eyes welling with tears as she let out a whisper that may as well have been a damning scream. “But - you’re my mate.”

Time stood still as everyone turned to her in shock. Everyone, except for Rhys whose raging power dimmed momentarily, heads turned from Elain toward him as he let out an incredulous laugh. “You idiot.” Feyre turned toward him. He’d pay for that comment later, though only mildly as she was inclined to think the same of her sister. “That aphrodisiac that you were given, it is designed to imitate the mating frenzy. He’s not your mate, you were just horny.”

Elain turned ghostly, sinking in her chair at the revelation. Y/N felt sympathy for Lucien as she noted his gritted teeth. Apparently whatever she’d told Lucien, she’d left out the important detail that she thought she had another mate.

Camila’s body shook, fighting back laughter, and failing. Her laughter filled the space. “Oh my gods!” She wiped a tear from her eye. “I don’t mean to… but this, this is too good.” Her laughter only increased. “How humiliating!”

Even Y/N bit back a smile. Camila never was good at hiding her emotions, laughing in the most unstable of circumstances. And she couldn’t stop. Finally she placed her palms on the table pushing herself up. “I’m so sorry. I’ll excuse myself.” Lucien was next to stand, Elain tightly grasping his wrist. “Lucien” she whispered.

It was Lucien’s turn to let out a small laugh. “I suddenly find that I am not at all intertwined with this mess. Enjoy your mate!” He mused, a saccharine smile forming on his face as he pulled his arm away, catching up to Camila. His footsteps and the distant sound of “My lady” as he extended an arm to her, which she gladly accepted.

Elain stood eyes darting between Azriel and the door. Taking far too long to come to the decision to chase after her actual mate. Her foot moved out, pivoting her toward the doors when Rhysand commanded, “Oh no, you will stay here and finish this discussion.” She gasped looking to Feyre who only gave a solemn nod of solidarity with her mate.

Elain fell back into her seat, crossing her arms across her chest, glaring daggers at Azriel.

As the room once again settled, aside from the roaring heartbeats at the table, Y/N spoke impassively, “If there’s anything else you wish to say, now would be the time, Azriel.”

He stared wide eyed, clearly still blown away by the bullshit with Elain.

“Y/N, I am so sorry. I know that what I did was wrong. I never meant for any of this to happen. I never would have slept with her had it not been for the aphrodisiac. I never meant to hurt you. I have so much darkness within me to reckon with, so much that I’m terrified to bring up, so much I never wanted you to see. I need you to understand that. You were never the problem. It was me. It was always me. I can tell you how sorry I am, I can tell you how much I love you, but it won’t matter unless I can show you. Please give me that opportunity. I won’t let you down.”

Y/N sat still. Processing all of the details Azriel had given her. She felt his desperation barreling through the bond. Her hands again began shaking under the table without her sister there to steady them. Discreetly, Eris reached his hand to Y/N, the quivering receding at his warm touch.

Azriel’s shadows rose to whisper in his ear, his eyes instantly honing in on where their hands were joined, as if he could see right through the table.

And Y/N didn’t know if it was by a stroke of luck or the absolute lack of it but at that moment, the doors flung open and Nesta. Fucking. Archeron. stormed in.

“You.” She pointed to Azriel. One word. One action. So much damnation behind it.

Rhys’ darkness flared in the presence of his wild card sister-in-law. Cassian merely raised an eyebrow, the slightest upward curve tilting his lips as he took in his mate who could command a room full of power.

She looked over both High Lord’s at the table with an unimpressed sneer before turning that deadly, piercing gaze toward Azriel.

Azriel’s eyes widened in surprise at the Valkyrie striding toward him. “What. The. Fuck. Is. This?”

His brows knit and she opened her fist, grasping a chain with two of her fingers to display a dangling necklace.

Azriel’s face paled.

“You know, the strangest thing happened this afternoon. I was talking to my friend, Gwyn. We got to talking about flowers and Elain’s garden. Gwyn began speaking of how she loves roses, clutching at a lovely little pendant around her neck.”

“And I thought to myself, something about this necklace seems so familiar.”

“And then I recalled a solstice not too long ago where my sister came crying to me over a male who had given her a lovely necklace of the same description. How they’d pined for each other, never going further than a brush of the hands. Until the night they almost kissed, the scent of his arousal heavy in the air between them, then pulling back from her and stating ‘this is a mistake’ and leaving.

At the point Rhysand turned to his brother. “You’re fucking joking, Azriel.”

Y/N looked to them beginning to anticipate where this was going.

“When asked who gifted it to her, she stated that Clotho told her it was left for her from an anonymous admirer. So, I went to my friend Clotho, who keeps to her word very well. She’d sworn to the source she wouldn’t tell. But you know, the House of Wind is a sentient entity. Persistently tugging me toward Rhys’ belongings that remain scattered around the house.”

Nesta turned her glare from Azriel to Rhysand. “So, Rhysand, something tells me you know about this.”

Rhys lowered his head with shame hesitating as he searched for the right words.

“Y/N…. I’m so sorry. A couple of years ago, on Solstice, I caught Azriel placing a necklace on Elain.” He looked to Elain and then back at Azriel again. “I monitored the situation, hoping I was wrong, but as their lips were moments away from touching, I used my daemati abilities and summoned Azriel to my study. I truly thought whatever happened was over between them as the tension between the two seemingly faded in my presence. Until yesterday, when we found out about he and Elain sleeping together.”

Cassian glared to his brother with rage, “You gave a necklace meant for Elain to Gwyn?”

“She wasn’t supposed to know.”

Before he could dig the hole further, Elain whispered, those doe eyes peering at Azriel through her lashes, “So, you didn’t really think it was a mistake?”

Feyre broke her silence letting out an audible groan of exasperation. And Azriel broke his own silence,

“It WAS a mistake, Elain. All of it. Rhys tried to stop it. I should have listened. You were a mistake.”

Elain gasped, tears lining her eyes. And if looks could have killed, the glare Nesta gave Azriel would have ended him on the spot. But it was Elain who made the mistake of reading her sister’s rage toward Azriel as sympathy toward herself, leaning into her sister, turning her head into her side to catch her dramatized tears.

“No, Elain. I am so disappointed in you. You were completely wrecked when Graysen left you and you were only engaged. Imagine the pain Y/N felt losing her MATE.”

Eris who had been taking in the cluster fuck surrounding them mused, looking toward the door Lucien had earlier exited, “Oh, I don’t think she’ll have to imagine much.” Earning a laugh disguised as a cough from Cassian, another sigh from Feyre, and a scowl from Nesta as she chose to ignore the barb - looking again to Azriel, “You have a lot of amends to make.”

She looked to Elain, “You do too.”

With that she grabbed Elain by the arm and drug her out of the room. With a wave over her arm and a shout of, “You deserve so much better than what you’ve been through, Y/N!”

Y/N took a breath as the room regained its composure, the tension again thickening. “Is there anything else, or are you done making excuses, Azriel?”

“They’re not excuses. Y/N. I love you. I was wrong. It’s always been you.”

“I’m tired.” She spoke softly. And it was the truth.

“I spent so much time waiting for you. Praying that one day it would all become ‘right’ again. I dreamed that you’d come walking through the door, and remind me what it was like to feel your love. My Azriel, my mate, all I wanted was you.

But, this, Azriel. You are not the male I fell in love with. And I think… I think the most heartbreaking part of that is that what I loved most was those dark depths of your soul that you tried so hard to hide. You were never a monster, you were always worth loving. You wouldn’t have broken me. Shutting me out is what broke me. And I told you that, so many times, in so many ways. But you never listened.

And the reason you couldn’t feel me through the bond? The further you pulled away, the more I closed it off from my end. I hoped that it would give you time to work through whatever it was you were facing and refused to share despite my pleas. Until I eventually grew so numb that I just shut it down completely. A courtesy you never once extended to me during my time away. Do you know how hard it was to recover after I left? I felt your guilt and rage barreling through me at all hours.

And you fucking Elain? Nobody but you and Elain are responsible for your actions. Cassian is not your excuse. You chose to go that night, you chose to drink all evening, you chose to wait until that night to tell her you wouldn’t be spending time with her like you had been. You had the entire week away and chose to wait until the last minute.

The affair started long before then. I think we can agree that despite your cold treatment of her before me today, that you two were engaged in an emotional affair long before you ever went to bed with her.”

She reached into her pocket pulling out a piece of parchment.

“And then, you attempted to court Gwyn in my absence - which, fair, because I’m the one who left. She really is a lovely female. Although, I hear it didn’t quite work in your favor.”

Azriel’s eyes grew wide in panic. “The necklace didn’t-“

She laughed. “I’ll save you time and effort of your excuses, Azriel. Gwyn may not have known the necklace was from you but she did extend the courtesy of writing to me and I was rather surprised by the details of the demise of our relationship that didn’t quite line up - specifically the cheating aspect.”

She placed her hands on the table, looking her mate directly in the eyes. “I made my decision long before your attempt to break into this Keep, before the truths were unveiled today. I appreciate everyone for coming but I have heard enough. I ask that you leave now, Azriel.”

Tears filled his eyes. “Wait! Please, Y/N.” His brothers began to pull him away but Azriel fell to his knees.

“Please, baby.” He begged. “Just come home.”

She stared at the pleading male before her. A pang of sympathy for her broken mate ran through her. She wasn’t cruel and sympathy was not a weakness. This was her choice to make and nobody would blame her if she went back to her mate.

“Come home, please.”

Holding her head high, she stepped around her chair.

Eris sat expressionless, carefully avoiding any inclination of the devastation he’d feel if she chose to leave. He would support her either way.

Azriel remained focused on her every movement, his erratic breathing the only sound cutting through the tension of the room.

She took a step, and one more, before halting. Gently taking the hand of the red-headed male beside her whose eyes lined with silver as he looked up to her.

“I am home.”

EPILOGUE

The time he showed up:

Lucien suffered when his bond with Elain was severed. She did not agree to breaking the bond which left slim to no opportunity to move forward with the breaking of it. After months of intense research, Helion was able to find a tricky workaround that did not require both parties to be present. It was incredibly painful due to the negative effects being concentrated to one individual instead of split between two but fortunately not lethal.

Eris never pushed me to sever my bond with Azriel but as time went on it felt important to put that part of my life behind me. I’d extended the courtesy of writing to Azriel regarding my intention to sever it, informing him that I would be going through with the incantation that Helion had conjured. He did not reply but I knew he received the letter based on the muted feelings of grief that seeped through crevices of the walls I had placed against his end of the bond for several days afterward.

Eris traveled to the Day Court with me, having decided nobody could aid in my recovery better than he. To my shock, upon arriving, Azriel was there. Demurely, he stated that it was only right for him to share the weight of this burden. I was inclined to agree but only thanked him for showing up. He bristled at the sight of Eris but the males said nothing to eachother and we went our separate ways until Helion was ready for us. With Azriel’s presence and the pain being shared, the physical recovery on both of our ends was expedited and manageable for both of us.

We were both held in separate suites to recover until Helion gave the all-clear to leave. When the pain became less debilitating, I decided to take a stroll through an exterior walkway, soaking in the sun while Eris bathed. Apparently Azriel had the same idea as I turned a corner to find him sunning his wings, head hung low.

Right as I made to pivot, his head whipped in my direction, eyes locking with mine. Even without the bond I could easily read the pain in his eyes, the grief that surrounded him. His shadows fought to come to me but he kept a tight reign on them. His breathing was rapid, his eyes fighting to turn away but his gaze lingered.

He opened his mouth to speak, a weak sound escaping his lips before he clamped his mouth shut, jaw tensing.

I kept my gaze soft, maintaining eye contact for another moment but he didn’t try to speak again. With that, I walked away and we did not encounter eachother again during the stay.

It was later I realized that he likely wanted to say something, anything, but there was nothing left to speak between us.

The sister-in-law:

After recovering fully from the severance of his bond, Lucien cryptically invited Eris and I to a lakeside home in the Day Court.

“Dress for merriment.” His only details.

Upon arriving, we found a couple of beloved faces from my life, along with Feyre, Helion, The former lady of Autumn (now the lady of Day), Jurian, Vassa, and even Tamlin at the home. We were all escorted to the grounds where an absolutely beaming Lucien stood at an altar beside the most radiant female I’d ever seen.

That was the day my sister became also my sister-in-law. It’s a very strange thing to say aloud but makes sense if you think about it.

The first heir:

Eris cried the day our son was born. Not from the relief of having an heir, not from any upset due to the child being male, certainly not from any disappointment of being a father.

The birth was as smooth as one can be, he held my hand throughout, praising me, and whispering words of love. He didn’t even mind the curses I threw his way as I pushed. He only let go of my hand once the babe was carefully handed to me by the midwife, allowing me those first precious moments to cradle our little flame to my chest and relish in the life our love had created.

Eris cried when that tiny babe was finally passed into his arms and the little red-haired beauty grasped his finger. That touch immediately tethering a connection straight from the child in his arms delicate soul to Eris’ heart, the heart that once beat beneath layers of armor now laid bare before his son.

Never would this child know pain at his fathers hand. Never would he limit the love he could show for fear of being seen as weak. And never, ever would he question his fathers love for him.

The coronation

Azriel

Sitting here lonely at a table for two, watching lovers being lovers

Azriel sat shrouded in shadow in a quiet corner of the decorated throne room. Happy chatter rang throughout the room as attendees anxiously awaited the crowning of the High Lady of the Autumn Court.

Feyre and Rhys; Cassian and Nesta; Helion and the former Lady of Autumn; Emerie and Mor; Tamlin and his new wife, Briar; Lucien and Camila; and even Gwyn and Tarquin sat cozied up in pairs throughout the crowded throne room. Nyx had seated himself next to his best friend Alex, Camila and Lucien’s son.

From what Azriel had heard Lucien treated Alex as his own from the moment he met him, adopting the boy immediately after he and Camila married. He seemed to be a fine young man and a positive influence on Nyx, who kept Rhys and Feyre on their toes these days. Perhaps karmic justice for the hell Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian put Rhys’ mother through in their youth.

Three little girls ran through the room, two with vibrant red-hair, tan skin and freckled golden cheeks; one with dark hair, fair skin, and her mothers eyes; their giggling rang out above the chatter filling the room as an older child, a boy of eleven years old - Azriel still remembered the day the announcement arrived to the Night Court of the birth of the first Autumn Court heir - walked in a straight backed, lordly posturing behind them, a crease forming between his brows as he focused intently on his little sisters.

The boys long strides kept up with his little sisters as he reminded them to mind their paces. Lost in their merriment, the girls ignored his warnings until the boy finally let out an exasperated sigh. Stopping for a moment with his arms crossed, he raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he shook his head, murmuring gods knows what frustrated curses. Knowing his mother, it was not the typical frustrated language of a child.

Azriel gave a small, sad smile at the memories elicited.

When the boy looked up, the girls had disappeared from his sight. He grew frantic for a moment until his Uncle Lucien walked up to him, pointing to his wife and the three girls pressing kisses and talking animatedly to her round, very pregnant belly. The boy gave his uncle a smile, shoulders sagging in relief. Lucien bowed down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. The boy took his hand and walked back toward Camila and the sisters.

Azriel placed a hand to his chest at the wave of grief that rang through him. The mating bond may have been severed but he never could get over the love that he squandered. The family that could have been his.

“You don’t have to be here, brother.” Rhysand’s voice invaded his mind.

Azriel swallowed, willing his thoughts to a tone of neutrality. “She’s the High Lady of the Autumn Court, we’re immortal, we will have to be comfortable in spaces together. It comes with the territory.”

I miss you. Without you I just don’t fit in.

He didn’t have to say what his brother already knew. That yes, he was broken when she left. Broken further when she confirmed he was no longer her home. He’d hated himself for what he’d done, for what he put her through. For a long time, he’d been a shell of the shell of himself that he’d already become. Eventually, he’d taken to seeing one of the counselors in the House of Wind’s library. He was too far gone at that point to consider such an option but Rhys had coordinated with the priestesses and mandated it. Either he got help or lost his position in the Night Court.

Even after the countless hours of counseling sessions he’d attended over the years, that “savior complex” of his remained. Seeing Y/N thriving with someone else was fucking hard but not as hard as living in a world where he never looked upon her face again. As she assumed the title of High Lady, a target would lay on her back, just as one was on any other High Lord or High Lady’s back. He’d never forgive himself if his stubborn pride kept him from attending any court events she attended and something happened to his own High Lord or Lady… or if something happened to her.

I don’t know if I’ll ever find another you.

So here he was, alone at a table, in a now quiet throne room, watching the love of his life step out onto the dais in all of her resplendent glory, kneeling down before the male she loved. Eris’ eyes lined with silver as her own lifted to meet his gaze, her chin held high as she awaited his next move. Carefully, he lifted the emerald and ruby crested crown, with one large diamond centered between two golden leaves, off of the plush pillow it sat upon. Eris’ previous words rang true through Azriel’s head “Diamonds don’t crush under pressure.” The people of this court were truly fortunate to be under the rule of such a resilient and kind ruler. The shining diamond of Autumn. She would love them deeply and do right by them in a way so few leaders were capable of.

Azriel couldn’t contain the pride that welled up in his chest, tears threatening to spill over his thick lashes as the crown was placed upon her head. And yet it was Eris who looked at her like she was the very air that he breathed, as if nothing existed in that moment but the female at his fingertips, like the only reason he himself was brought into existence was to find and cherish her for eternity. And despite his disdain for Eris Vanserra, Azriel finally understood that this was where she belonged.

Everybody’s got somebody but me.

————————————-

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read this series! I loved writing it and I hope you are pleased with the ending. Some may ask, “What about Elain?” and to that I say, “What about her?” I find great satisfaction in the fact that she didn’t get either male, was embarrassed in front of the IC, and became so irrelevant that she was barely mentioned in the epilogue (aside from Lucien breaking the bond). Clearly, she’s still bitter considering she refused to sever the bond with him but he still found a way out (albeit painfully) and got his dream girl! Stay mad, Elain.

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@angiedsv

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@going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @lisanna2000 @fxckmiup @sheblogs @emryb @one-big-fangirl @historygeekqueen @isa1b2h3 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @theravenphoenix26 @sidthedollface2 @i-am-infinite @caraaaaugh @evergreenlark @darkbloodsly @piceous21 @anxious-study @chessebookgirl @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @crazylokonugget @mysticalfuncollectorus @starsinyourseyes @b0xerdancer-writes @inloveallthetime @thegirlinshadows101 @viistrength @grunchwench @starryhiraeth @macimads @feiwelinchen @acourtofbatboydreams @nebarious @haechansleafblower @melsunshine @thegirlintheshadows101 @plsfckmern @existingthroughwords @mybestfriendmademe @strangersunghoon

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blueberrypancakesworld · 11 months ago

Text

Snake dance for emperors

Emperor Geta/Caracalla x fem!reader

warning : dysfunctional family, tried comfort (as much as this is possible with these two), kissing, use of dagger, smutish, some touching, written before the movie comes out characters may be different at the end

summary : With the Colosseum, other types of entertainment come to the Empire of Rome. Not only acrobats and actors but also animal tamers and especially the agile snake dancer with cobras slithering along her body caught the attention of the two most powerful men in the world. So what happens when you're in a room with poisonous animals, pressure to perform and two emperors?

info : I just love them can't wait to see how they are in the movie. I'm not fully satisfied, it was supposed to be something else (more smut) but now it is what it is I hope you like it anyway:)

masterlist

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Rome, the empire of history past versus present and future. A place of aspiration, arts and philosophers who passed on their knowledge to interested minds.

Violence and entertainment by gladiators in the Coloseum and the home of two young men who could have taken over the world with laurel wreaths on their heads.

The money practically clung to their bodies no matter where they went it was the finest fabrics and colors of dye that surrounded them both, the white face makeup and the dark, mineral-infused coat around their eyes darker protruding, light hair divine as the sun, making the two emperor brothers recognizable everywhere.

With the triumph and amusement in the Colosseum, the rich and influential men also met at parties organized by the elite. Politicians, philosophers, merchants and scalpers as well as military generals could all be found there... but besides the elite there was also the untrhlatung in the form of fire-breathers, exotic animals and songs.

Showmen with magnificent costumes or the snake woman surrounded by flowers while on her light clad body the dark snakes curled along, beautiful but dangerous animals taken from the straw woven baskets on her hand along her arms skillful fingers and soft sounds of her voice with inviting and engaging vibrations of her body.

The small beads and stones on her tiny outfit covered her most necessary parts as the silk clung to her body and the animals moved across it. ,,I wonder what will happen if they all bite her," the elder mumbled to his brother, who shook his head in amusement at the comment, a hum of laughter leaving his lips, and took another sip of wine.

Geta hardly liked the party at first, but the younger knew that it was much more important to be well received not only by the senate but also by the other pillars of the empire.

They might be at the top, but without merchants, influential philosophers or even the slave traders, Rome would lack important things. ,,It would be amusing for a moment...but hardly any different than in the Colosseum," he replied briefly, not giving his advisor a glance but seeing that Caracalla's smile did not fade.

Despite the fact that he was older by a year, he seemed to have little interest in all of this, only the prospect of perhaps a little mischief or amusement had brought him out next to his brother.

So they found themselves sitting here for a few minutes, a little apart from the large tables and round corners in the rooms with the exotic pretty things from displays of dead things and old weapons to her.

A young woman arrived in Rome with one of the many circus wagons that presented themselves in different cities and entertained the people with talent for special normal amusement and no murder and killing.

She had known that the normal shows were as beautiful as they were and she always smiled when children were fascinated watching the animals and she could teach them something, so she knew how serious it was when it came to such parties, ,,The Imperial Brothers, the elite will be there...one mistake and we are next" were the words of her boss who knew that they could use any coins and let her go.

So here she was, dancing around at first, talking about the artifacts, but as soon as the torches announced the night and cast old shadows, she resumed her role as a sanke dancer and took her place.

At first, some stopped to look at her body and clothes until they were fascinated by the snake, paying attention to the connection between her and the animals, sometimes throwing flowers and coins to her for the extra money it was worth to buy new fabric.

Some even talked to her about her interest in the animals, though most of the questions were about ulterior motives for other services she no longer offered, and perhaps she kept the snakes a little too far away from her to keep the men at a distance.

She would only be here for a few more hours until she was picked up, until she saw the gold, until she saw the two wreaths, until she saw the golden hair, until she heard the curtains being drawn and she was alone with the two emperors.

She heard them talking, and in between the full words she saw their gazes, pairs of eyes looking at her as if she were long dead or undressed, or perhaps both. ,,As sorry as I am, my time here is almost at an end my Emperors" she dared to raise her voice interrupting the quiet conversation and words to the animals and relaxed slightly hoping they had drank enough to just leave, she felt her own exhaustion her feet aching from standing so much.

The moon was high in the sky, providing light in the great city alongside the fires of torches and lanterns of oil but her hopes were dashed when she saw the playfully indignant look on Caracalla's face as he tilted his head, ,,But we are still here and not satisfied," he protested, his fingers closing tightly around the goblet in which the wine floated.

Even Geta, who didn't like the party, apparently wanted relief and a reward for having to do this to, only made an almost inviting gesture, ,,I want to see her," he said and she didn't know if he meant her first or her snakes.

Stifling a sigh, she got off her little stage and approached them slowly and carefully. She had always had her snakes under control but now one mistake and they would all hang.

Geta's eyes looked into hers for a moment, not dismissively but rather challengingly, he let his gaze wander over her body for a moment, lingering on her chest, which was recognizable despite the light fabric, before he held out his hand and she offered him a middle part of the snake to stroke.

The three of them knew very well that she could not do anything except follow orders. Geta could take her here and now he could just as well have left her to his brother who could probably still put on an amusing show. But this narrow game between emperors, a powerless victim and deadly nature was much more amusing.

Almost imperceptibly, his lips curled into a smile, ,,Pretty animals, dangerous and deadly like their owner, aren't they brother?" he asked, turning his gaze to Caracalla, who was watching the whole thing with a broad smile, but his fingers were playing with his dagger, the blade moving slowly towards her.

He seemed to be only heartbeats away from carving her skin with the tip, his desire to see the blood as in the arena never seemed satisfied, ,,If the emperors allow it, will you hold her?" she asked quickly when Caracalla could finally cut her and she knelt down in front of the two of them, seeing the brief imperceptible twitching of the fingers that would not only have liked to lie on the snakes, if the knife had gone a little further up her skin, the fabric of her scanty top would have been torn apart.

Fingers that had already caressed his middle, his gasping giggles and the slight moans that came from her dancing movements, the fantasy of the gods and her being.

Sometimes more, sometimes less obvious, but he saw that she saw it. It amused him. Both brothers seemed to be turned on by the power of being able to take whatever they wanted…but they were merciful for the moment.

Before even Geta smiled at the gesture, crediting her for her courage in the face of two men who could mean her end at any time, she gave the first snake to Geta and took his hands in hers, ,,Calmly and slowly it will not bite you as long as you respect its power, my Emperor," she said, feeling his gaze on her as she slid one of the animals onto his arm and he looked at it for a moment.

,,You'll always kneel before us at your next performance," he murmured casually as if it were a thought that had just come to him, kneeling and crawling naked like a whore instead of leaving her the last dignity was the appropriate thing to do in his eyes.

,,And amuse us," Caracalla added and she found the cool point of the dagger sharp under her chin again, the older one forcing her to give him attention like a child who didn't get sweet honey from his mother, disgustingly foolish but dangerous, but Geta made no move to help her. Why, in the end, she was just a dancer, a woman a nobody compared to two emperors.

Slowly guiding the snake that had wrapped itself around her chest onto her hand, she carefully took his free hand in hers, ,,They would smell blood and devotion it would be unwise" she said not warning but rather reminding them that the black cobras were not toys, they were nature, animals that could not and would never be tamed.

The moment like a tension on the battlefield the cobra seemed to wrap itself quickly around Caracalla's neck not tight but the more it tightened despite not being a constrictor it could be dangerous.

The protection of the bond to her only went so far as the snake would obey orders on its own and Caracalla was in danger of becoming another victim. ,,Attention is wrapped around pretty things," she heard Geta say, his own fingers stroking her cheek, leaving her still paused, the cool blade of the dagger still against her neck, the younger emperor moving closer to her.

Once again a difference in power, he could have accepted the death of his brother for her, for her body, for his lust that her lips would probably wrap around his middle.

While it would probably still excite him as his suffocating brother took her cunt, this was just another thought in a moment that had an uncertain end.

Her snake seemingly not bothering him as he caressed her cheek, she smelled the makeup, the wine and the metallic gold and yet she returned the heartfelt kiss as he grabbed her harshly by the neck and pulled her close, she still vaguely heard Caracalla's gasp, which must have reached its amused ecstasy as death robbed her of its air.

She felt the dagger slip only slightly from her neck but that was all she needed to pull away from Geta with a jerk, hearing his annoyed snarl, she let her lips trail over the dagger, seeing the fascination of the two men at what she had done before she put her fingers to the blade.

,,Relax," she murmured before engaging the blond elder in a kiss, hearing the smirk that was stifled, the shake of his head and the laying down of the dagger as the clasp came off his neck after a few moments and she took the cobra back.

The moment between them was the fact of possible death, the lie obviously driven by the challenge, her uncertain determination and the deadly metal.

Taking the snakes back, she felt the burning gaze on her back just as the two emperors seemed to be waiting for a moment, the slight dull closing of the crobe the last bit of composure the two men could muster before they rose from their chairs and she felt their hands on her.

Another night in Rome for the emperors whose night was hardly different from any other, a night she had hoped she would never have to do again....but under the touch of human gods and her fast beating heart, it seemed she would never be able to tame the human snakes and their stifled sounds of pleasure and pain would be heard long into the night through their poison.

She was the first to hear Caracalla's giggle, but when she felt the cool fingers of Getas on her arm, the metal of the rings moving harshly over her skin, he turned her into his arms to engage her in another kiss while his other hand finally came to rest on her breast. He simply tore the fabric off for something else better.

His older brother, however, claimed her other half, his lips, once painted with make-up, had long lost their red and she now felt him press against her, almost obsessively taking her breath before she gasped out, her painful moan drowned in the kiss as Caracallae cut her with the dagger to get the blood.

Caracalla's fangs dug into her skin, his bites hard and sharp as he feasted on every drop of blood, a grotesque contrast to his white make-up. With every thrust, with every lustful sound, with every attempt to resist, Geta seemed to take on her strength, wrapping himself around her, depriving her of all sight, his serpentine body never letting go of her that night. Both had found the perfect prey and would leave nothing of her, for once ensnared, snakes never let go of their prey.

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#gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #gladiator #joseph quinn #fred hechinger #emperor geta #emperor caracalla #emperor geta x reader #emperor caracalla x reader #geta x reader #caracalla x reader #reader is female

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isatling-husbandry-guide · 8 months ago

Note

Hello my i request the life cycle and expectancy of a loop

I am not sure i would be able to have one with my circumstances but i like learning about them

I can enjoy them from a distance right?

This is a much harder question to answer than you may expect?

Loops are odd varieties to obtain. They stem off from Siffrins in a few different ways. Some are found in Siffrin clutches- though it should be noted that they were not there when the clutch was first obtained. They sort of just?? Appear in clutches??

The other way is that, when a Siffrin is experiencing immense isolation and distress, they will on occasion just turn into one? These are rare occurrences, as more often than not a Siffrin in the condition to become a Loop is a state of (typically life-threatening) mental distress. It’s more-so observed in strays, but does still occur for caretakers- particularly for Siffrins without tankmates who are left isolated for too long.

The method to this isn’t fully understood at the moment, but from what we know it’s theorized that an underlying gene exists which presents itself in these stressful situations, and sets off a type of sudden body Craft for protection? Some researchers theorize about “old styles of craft” or “divine interventions”, but little work has been published surrounding these ideas. I’m sure there’s a Planeterium worker out there who knows much more than me.

A sign your Loop egg is going to hatch is increased light emitting from within the egg. Loops will explode the egg open from the inside, resulting in a blinding light as they exit. This also sends shell fragments flying around the nearby area, so make sure to keep a nearly-hatching Loop egg away from anything puncturable, especially other eggs.

Upon hatching, a Loop will appear as a smaller version of an adult Loop. A Loop that hatches in a clutch will have no cloak, hat, or dagger. Its head will have a softer feel & texture than that of an adult, but will be burning hot to the touch (handle with caution & gloves!)

pictured: newly hatched loop. click for better quality

A loop will get gradually taller (should exceed the hight of a Siffrin) as it ages. Its head will grow colder & will appear more pointed, and by adulthood should be warm like a sunbeam. A tail may grow steadily from the base of the spine around where the coccyx would lie. Loops can have a variety of different tails. Typically, they occur as thin cartilage with a bright appendage at the end.

pictured: common tail shapes

From here their growth is linear and ametabolic.

#tumbler ate the already spotty image quality… ouuhggg…#Loops are (at least here in Poteria) used for shows and admired for their striking appearance!!#if you have a loop: make sure they know they are admired!! they like the attention!!!#isat husbandry #isat #isathusbandry #loop isat #may edit this later bc I!!!! haven’t proofread :3

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xoxo-ares · 3 months ago

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writing prompt: ares the himbo

Aphrodite is talking to Ares. "Y'know, Persephone gives Hades flowers everyday. I wish you'd do that." The next day, Ares goes to the Underworld and gives Hades flowers. "Yeah, I'm not really sure why Aphrodite wanted me to do this, but here you go."

The Hellish realm fell quiet as the sound of a sword being dragged across the floor echoed throughout.

Hades sighed. His nephew always instinctively made his presence known. As the darkened figure reached close, Hades cocked his brow at a familiar scent reaching his nose. ...Persephone?

That's when his face was shoved with flowers, big and beautiful of all kinds. Ares had brought him flowers of every species from all over the world.

The scent had brought in the sensitive spring Goddess as well, who perked her head out the large window above Hades' throne.

"Ares, explain yourself at once." Hades' voice boomed. Perhaps the only creatures that didn't tremble at this very moment in all of his kingdoms were his beautiful wife and moronic nephew. Persephone giggled.

"This is for you, uncle. I present you with flowers that wish to match your wife's beauty. Please accept my gift." He bowed.

"How sweet of you, Ares.' Persephone was certainly enjoying herself. 'My dear, won't you accept his declaration of love?"

"I refuse to take flowers from anyone but the queen of the Underworld. If you wish, gift them to your aunt."

"But- my love asked me to do this! I shall not return till you accept this, uncle." Ares was an adamant knucklehead, so his family knew to inquire further.

"Well, Persephone gives you flowers every day, she wished I'd do the same." The laughter that echoed throughout the darkened world almost made it seem like the divinity of the heavens. Persephone's giggles soothed the ears of the suffering and terrified them after the thunderous laughter of the King of the Underworld followed.

"Why must you laugh at a lover's plight? I am doing what she asks for, is that wrong?" He asked Kore, as she wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes.

"Oh my boy, you have much to learn! Hera would be in tears to hear about this!" Persephone wiped a tear and rushed to find his mother.

"Well lad, let me teach you the art of wooing the fairer sex..." Hades started, after taking away the flowers from his hand and placing them on his lap, finally accepting the innocent gift. “Lesson one, Ares: know which goddess you're trying to impress before raiding the gardens of the Earth.”

Ares sat beneath, sitting on one knee, and listened carefully as somewhere above the Goddess of Love sat expectantly, with cheeks flushed; clutching a beautiful sharp dagger that had been gifted to her by her beloved the day before.

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en8y · 7 months ago

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[IMAGE ID: two rectangular flags with seven evenly-sized horizontal stripes each. each of them have these top three stripes: olive green, light brown, and light warm green. the first flag has these bottom four stripes: cream, mint green, yellow-brown, and dark warm green. the second flag has these bottom four stripes: pink, medium red, dull red, and dark red. END ID.]

dividaggerhorspestilence: a gender related to being a divine/holy dagger, and the horseman of pestilence; being a pestilence divine/holy dagger.

dividaggerhorswar: a gender related to being a divine/holy dagger, and the horseman of war; being a war divine/holy dagger.

@radiomogai @liom-archive @obscurian @redacted-coiner @daybreakthing

#dividaggerhorspestilence #dividaggerhorswar #dagger presentation #holy dagger presentation #divine dagger presentation #four horsemen of the apocalypse #horseman of pestilence #horseman of war #mogai coining #mogai gender #gender coining #tech.png #cw christianity

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percheduphere · 2 years ago

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LET’S TALK ABOUT EXPLORING LOKI & MOBIUS THROUGH THE LENS OF QUEER EXPERIENCE

Thank you for this request, @nabananab

Before I dig into this juicy ask, I think it’s important to note (however obvious the fact maybe) that an individual’s unique engagement with art is an inherent and integral part of art. The intention of the artist and the sociopolitical influence of culture, while important in our interpretation of a work, are not the sole source of drawing the work’s meaning. We are all artists in one form or another. I consider myself one of the pen, and nothing is more important to me than art giving someone a sense of emotional connection. I should hope other artists would agree, and for this reason I am an ardent believer in art taking on a life of its own once it has been created. The creator’s word, while it matters to some degree, does not supersede an individual’s relationship with the creation. Our histories, our desires, our fears, our likes, our dislikes, indeed our infiniteness as fragile human beings, allow us to create an elevated, spiritual interpretation beyond the confines of original intent. With art, there is no such thing as “reaching” or “reading too deeply”.

I leave this message with all of you as we look at these beloved characters through the lens of queer experience.

LOKI

Culture influences what we see and hear, which in turn influences artistic portrayal. Setting aside Norse myth, Marvel’s Loki is a classic example of a queer-coded villain (later canonized as a queer antihero). Deception, daggers, sexual temptation, transformation, and magic are all culturally tied to the “immoral” facets of femininity. Just as a strong, independent woman untethered to the control of man is deemed a “wicked woman”, a man demonstrating gender ambiguity and like qualities is similarly judged. Only masculinity is viewed as pure and good, and this no doubt was—and continues to be—a key force in white, western colonization’s destructiveness. It all but crushed our rich global history of divine femininity, gender diversity, and romantic and sexual expression.

Asgard, as Marvel portrays it, is without a doubt a masculine-dominant warrior society. Only two women feature prominently: Queen Frigga and Lady Sif. Whereas Sif embraces her masculine qualities and fits in easily with Thor and the Warriors Three, Queen Frigga embraces her feminine powers, though her authority is submissive to the All-Father, Odin. Her influence is most heavily seen in her adopted son, Loki, with whom she shared and taught magic in hopes that Loki might “feel some sun on himself” despite the “long shadows [Thor] and [Odin]” cast. The magic that Frigga gifts Loki, however, attracts scorn. The subtext here is that Loki’s specialness, his individuality, comes from feminine powers despite presenting as a man, and a gender ambiguous one at that. Unlike Thor and Odin, he is not masculine. While strong, he does not exhibit Thor’s brute strength. He is cautious, thoughtful, another feminine quality, whereas Thor’s courageousness often veers toward foolhardy and brash.

Thus, if Loki cannot be loved and accepted as he is (a queer person of another race), he will force love and acceptance through the power of the throne. Kings oft inspire fear, coercing subjects to love them whether they wish to or not. But we know Loki never truly wanted the throne. The throne is a mere distraction from, perhaps even a poor replacement for, what he truly wants: genuine love and acceptance that cannot be bought. Unfortunately, Loki believes he will never get these things, which is why, when Mobius questions him, Loki’s desire for control (Loki, King of the Midgard; Loki, King of the Nine Realms; Loki, King of Space) can never be satiated. Mobius challenges Loki for the exact purpose of revealing this to him. What do you really want? At this point, Loki does not have the words to form an answer. In S2E5, Syvlie raises the question Mobius originally asked in S1E1. It is then, after experiencing Mobius’s friendship and the other relationships that come to being as a result (including Sylvie’s), that Loki can articulate his answer.

Loki’s othering, even before the discovery of his true identity as a Jotun (an allegory for a villainized foreign race), creates a lonely environment in which Loki’s potential for goodness is quashed by centuries of resentment, bitterness, and jealousy. His attempts at masculinity take the form of violence, all of which are, as Loki admits in S1E1, “part of the illusion; the cruel elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear.”

Loneliness and the desire for love and acceptance are a universal human experience, but they are felt far more acutely within our intersectional queer communities.

MOBIUS

His fascination with Loki is compelling because there are many things we can infer about its reasons. The first, most obvious explanation is Mobius’s “soft spot for broken things”, which is in some ways tied to his qualities as a compassionate, forgiving, and supportive father. A secondary explanation is a wish for partnership. We know from S1 that Mobius’s friendship with Ravonna spanned eons. We later learn in S2E6 that he and Ravonna started out as peers, hunters. They were partners on the field, but where Mobius “failed” because of his humanity, Ravonna “advanced” because of her ruthlessness. This change in relational dynamics left him partner-less. Finally, a third, less obvious reason is Mobius’s desire to express himself in ways Loki does so effortlessly. That desire may come from the suppression and repression of his own softspoken queerness in order to survive the fascist culture of the TVA.

Mobius is captivating for many reasons. Whereas Loki is a textbook example of culture viewing “queerness as evil”, “queerness as flamboyance”, “queerness as stylishness”, “queerness as loudness”, “queerness as sexual promiscuity and deviance”, “queerness as chaos”, Mobius very much aligns with the image of a straight-passing, repressed queer individual. This is an identity that does not get as much attention or presence in artistic media as it deserves, for there are many who need this representation to reflect them. He is not stereotypically queer by any means: he is not colorful. He is not stylish, flamboyant, or loud. His sex appeal primarily derives from the viewers’ attraction to his personality, though it certainly helps that Owen Wilson is quite handsome.

Combine these three reasons, and it becomes easy to see how a character (or person!) like Mobius might fall in love with a character (or person!) like Loki.

There is a certain amount of beautiful irony in how Loki and Mobius affect one another and consequently their identities. Mobius, feeling compassion toward an individual who has been brutally othered and oppressed, seeks to free Loki from the confines of his narrative, as determined by the “Time Keepers”. The only feasible way to do this is to bring a variant of Loki out of the timeline and into the TVA. Mobius then provides Loki with the opportunity to change by: acknowledging Loki’s strengths, giving Loki the chance to use his strengths in productive ways, praising Loki when he does well, listening to Loki, believing in Loki, calling out Loki, and accepting Loki as he is, with all his history, without judgement. Mobius does not try to force change like Thor or Odin. Rather, he creates an environment in which change could happen naturally. This kindness and, indeed, what becomes unconditional love by the end of S1E4, allows Loki to embrace his authentic queerness with self-love and use his feminine powers for altruism rather than masking them with self-hatred and masculine rage.

FREEING LOKI

In S1E1, Mobius is enthralled with Loki’s hijinks as the handsome, charming, devil-may-care, D.B. Cooper. This minor escapade in Loki’s life, which was likely only intended for laughs by the writer, reveals something interesting about Mobius: Loki’s mischievousness, his magic, his cunning, are all quite endearing to him when no real harm is being inflicted. That is, Loki, when not under duress, is someone to be admired when he’s being himself. We admire in people what we wish we had in ourselves, and this, at times, may lead to powerful attraction.

Loki, for his part, does much the same for Mobius. The environment (the TVA) which allowed Loki to thrive is also the same environment that has abused and constrained Mobius.

The heat that Ravonna presses upon Mobius, however, changes his tone with Loki himself. When Loki asks Mobius why he “[sticks] his neck out for [him]”, Mobius provides Loki with two options to choose from: “A. He sees a scared little boy shivering in the cold, or B. He will say whatever he needs to say to get the job done”. Option A, while insulting, has compassion layered beneath the barb. Loki, an expert at cloaking truth with meanness, sees through this and indirectly chooses what he believes to be true in the cafeteria scene: that Mobius feels sympathy for Loki’s painful childhood. The subtext of this acknowledgement is that the true means to the end is reversed: Mobius doesn’t need Loki to catch the Variant on the timelines. Mobius needs the Variant to free Loki from the timelines. The Variant is an excuse and another agent of poetic irony: when Sylvie unleashes the multiverse, she literally frees Loki of his predetermined narrative.

The conceit of S1E1 is that Mobius intends to use Loki for the “good” of the Sacred Timeline. It is important to remember that characters, while not real, are meant to mirror human complexity. Multiple, seemingly conflicting things may be true concurrently. In S1E2, we see in Mobius’s conversations with Ravonna that he deeply believes in Loki’a capacity to be a wonderful person and wants him to have the opportunity to change. His enthusiasm for these things outshines his desire to catch Sylvie.

And, because the Variant is Loki, because Sylvie is Loki, because, as she says, “[they] are the same”, Mobius’s own freeing of Loki, his unconditional love for him, cascades from Loki to Sylvie. Sylvie would not be free to live as she pleases if not for Mobius’s compassion for Loki in the first place.

In S1E4, Loki reveals the TVA’s sham. Mobius’s sense of self becomes fragile alongside his sense of partnership with Loki. But because of our sociopolitical culture’s influence on capitalism, the creative voices of the Loki series self-censures what could be (what is) a queer romance. This self-censureship makes itself known in Mobius’s own self-censureship. His jealousy and heartbreak cannot be spoken directly. It must be spoken through the words of a woman, someone who presents as the opposite sex. Through a looping memory of a scornful Sif telling Loki, “You are alone and always will be”, Mobius makes known the nature of his feelings for him.

BUT WHO WILL FREE MOBIUS?

In the same cafeteria scene in S1E2, Loki asks Mobius if he’s ever ridden a jet ski. Mobius’s response is demure, saying him riding one would “cause a branch for sure”. The jet ski gives the audience another clue as to what Mobius seeks in life: something fun, thrilling, and reckless. Yet Mobius sets aside his desires for what he believes is for the good of the TVA, and thus humanity. This suppression and repression of authentic selfhood mirrors the queer experience of living within a heteronormative culture, especially one with religious doctrines that equate pleasure with sinfulness.

Because Mobius extended his heart, his partnership, his love (symbolized by twin daggers hidden in his locker [a closet]; notably a male phallic symbol of which there are a pair [partners]) and was soundly rejected, Mobius retaliates with the loneliness he himself feels. This loneliness may be interpreted as an allegory for the loneliness of being closeted as opposed to the loneliness of being out but othered.

Ultimately, Mobius’s love for Loki shifts from selfish desire to unconditional love when he chooses to help Loki save Sylvie. In S1E5, it is conspicuous that after delivering Sylvie safely to Loki’s side, Mobius’s partings words are, “Guess you got away again”, to which Loki replies, “I always do”, which echos the lover’s trope of “the one that got away”.

[It drives me absolutely bananas that I can't find the specific gif I need when I literally saw it multiple times earlier this week but didn't need it THEN]

Owen’s acting choice is interesting here. He laughs, smiles, then looks down before looking up again, his eyes shifting from fondness to what feels like longing. Mobius extends his hand, a sensible choice for someone who believes his love is unrequited and is unsure of how Loki defines their relationship. Loki, appreciating what Mobius has done for him, closes the distance with an embrace and thanks Mobius for his friendship.

In S2E1, upon Loki’s time-slipping into the war room, whatever apprehensions Mobius had about physical contact was wiped away by the collapse of the TVA and the memory of Loki’s hug. In this scene, it becomes clear to Mobius that Loki is panicking. He makes the executive decision to use his physical contact as a grounding force, relocates Loki to a quiet environment, asks after Sylvie with no bitterness in his voice, then prioritizes Loki’s physical well-being. Perhaps, in Mobius’s view, his love is unrequited, but there is nothing in place to stop him from expressing that love more freely while honoring Loki’s feelings for Sylvie. This regard, which may be construed as platonic, may also be viewed romantic, courtly love.

The fight between Loki and Sylvie in S1E6 sets the stage for Mobius to receive Loki and become a refuge for heartbreak.

S2E2 and S2E3 has Loki’s and Mobius’s temperaments when it comes to investigating flipped. In S1, Mobius was focused on the mission and often had to reign in Loki. In S2, Mobius is more casual, more willing to take his time and enjoy the sleuthing as it unfolds, while Loki administers pressure to stay focused. The question is why?

In S2E2, Brad attacks Mobius’s sense of self. He points out how weird it is that Mobius is not at all curious about looking at his timeline and stresses that the TVA, and everything in it, isn’t real. Brad calls into question Mobius’s reason for staying. Knowing that the answer is Loki, we can surmise through the queer lens that Brad also corners Mobius into potentially outing himself in front of the object of his affections, someone he believes does not return his feelings, and whose knowledge of those feelings may threaten their friendship. This is a traumatic experience for queer people in the real world, and this extra layer of emotional conflict adds depth to Mobius’s violent response.

Mobius influenced Loki in a myriad of ways. One that has not been discussed yet is an appreciation for focus and order. Loki, in turn, has cracked the door open for Mobius to explore pleasure. We can speculate that, in his own way, Mobius is testing what happiness could look like living a life between the TVA and the timelines. For him, this means cocktails at the theater, cracker jacks, and exploring the World’s Fair, all of which are pleasurable on their own but are even more so with Loki’s company. His queerness, once again, is quiet, mundane, but playful in its own right, and finally brave enough to explore. These scenes suggest that Mobius is indeed happy at the TVA and, as we see in the finale, this happiness is solely rooted in his relationship with Loki and the emotional intimacy they share together.

Loki expresses concern for Mobius, noting that he has “never seen him like that before.” Mobius, interestingly, deflects every concern by absurdly blaming Loki: “He got under your skin”, “I was following you!” The psychological undercurrent here is that Loki is the reason why Brad got under Mobius skin. Loki is the person that Mobius will follow.

Loki takes Mobius’s distress in stride, responding in a way the Mobius normally would. However, Brad’s question piques his interest, and his own care for Mobius prompts him to gently challenge Mobius’s lack of interest in his own timeline. Mobius’s reason for avoidance is, “What if it’s something good?”

In S2E5, it’s interesting that “good” in this narrative is defined as a heteronormative fantasy of a house, two kids, and (possibly) a puppy and a snake. The “good” in Mobius’s original timeline, however, is imperfect. There is a partner that is missing (partners being a recurring theme in the series, particularly in S2E3), pronounced gone not once but twice. The entire scene between Don and Loki has been discussed at length by many, so there’s no need to reiterate it here. However, let’s bring our attention to Mobius’s avoidance of this “good” because this avoidance resonates with another queer experience.

The TVA, for Mobius, is the place where he studied, saved, and developed a close relationship with Loki. The fear of the “something good” is the fear of being confronted with something Mobius “should” want more than the TVA, and therefore “should” want more Loki. The fear is wanting something (or feeling pressured to want something) other than a queer relationship with no children. The question of “choice” is impacted by what is considered the “norm”.

S2E5 very pointedly focuses on the concern of choice, especially Mobius’s choice, in the bar scene between Loki and Sylvie. “Mobius should get a choice now, no?” At this point, Loki’s regard for Mobius has finally caught up with the romantic nature of Mobius’s feelings for him. And Loki, living his own queer experience, is also afraid of his true desires like Mobius. In being part of the intersectional queer community, the psychological need to guard against disappointment is high and commonplace. Desires are easily disappointed by the expectations of oppressive social mores. This survival tactic manifests itself with our hope and heartbreak with mainstream media, Loki the series being among them.

But Sylvie, the harbinger of true and absolute freedom, takes on the role of supportive ex and challenges Loki to answer Mobius’s question in S1E1: “What do you want?”

In this, Mobius and Loki’s individual relationships with the TVA are identical. It was never about where (the TVA), when (time works differently at the TVA), or why (the timelines). It was about who. It was about each other. The TVA represents a liminal space which became home by virtue of the people who brought love into it. The TVA is code for Loki and Mobius when each speaks of it.

Again, the artists behind the media must self-censure. In this, Loki also self-censures while giving the truth. “I don’t want to be alone. I want my friends back.” It cannot be denied that Mobius is Loki’s first truest and closest friend. “I don’t want to be alone. I want Mobius back.” Sylvie appreciates and validates this desire, but also points out that showing the TVA is something that cannot be unseen. The implication of this response suggests that Sylvie believes that Loki’s friends will feel compelled to join the TVA out of moral pressure. She reiterates the true lives that are being lived, and Loki, loving his friends, loving Mobius, elects to not take that away from them. “You are just fine without the TVA.”

Yet, Loki must choose an act of profound selfless love to save everyone. In doing so, he saves and frees Mobius in the way Mobius saved and freed him. The tragedy and, once again, poetic irony is that they both would have chosen each other. In giving everyone freedom, the true freedom of Loki and Mobius is sacrificed. This double-standard reflects in our reality between those who identify as cis and heterosexual and those who do not.

When Mobius looks at his timeline in S2E6, he does so for one reason: that timeline survived because of Loki’s sacrifice. He must honor that sacrifice and see what Loki protected. Mobius appreciates what he finds, but he doesn’t belong there. It is not what he ultimately longs for. And there must be worry, shame, in recognizing he would prefer to give up the house and two children if a life with Loki were a viable choice.

We all experience loss in our lives. Loss without a goodbye is also commonplace but is another pain that is more acute within the intersectional queer community. I speak of missed opportunities for happiness due to external forces. I speak of loss of self. I speak of loss of friends and family and home. I speak of death, losing a loved one without a goodbye, because same-sex lovers are not considered next of kin, an impossibility without marriage. Marriage echoes back to Don, who has no spouse, and Mobius, who has no partner.

#asks #loki #mobius #lokius #loki season 2 #loki series #loki meta #my meta #loki analysis #my analysis #queer community #queer #queer representation #queer relationships #lgbt representation #lgbtq community #lgbtqia

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resbangmod · 5 months ago

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Resbang 2024 Promo #3

Heaven on Hold

Presented by Author: @chickycherrycola [AO3]

With Artist: @worldismyne Artist: @thiefofblood and Artist: @moriohpissky

Pairings: Soul / Maka, Tsubaki / Liz Rating: E Warnings: explicit language, blood and violence, religious themes, sexual content

Summary:

"Banished from Heaven and severed from the only home she's ever known, fallen angel Maka spends her days in exile alone, haunted by her mistakes and hunting the sinful streets of Las Vegas, hellbent on exterminating enough demons to earn back her wings. When she meets Soul, an unsuspecting demon who takes a liking to her in a nightclub, she thinks she's hit the jackpot - her ninety-ninth demon soul, her golden ticket back to divinity, her key to leaving the mortal realm behind for good and restoring her place among the angels once and for all. However, when her attempt on his life goes awry and she accidentally binds his soul to hers, instead of a one-way trip back to Heaven, she finds herself stuck on Earth indefinitely with a demonic roommate and his equally demonic cat. And, worst of all, she has no idea how to undo the binding spell, since she doesn't even understand how she cast it in the first place."

Please enjoy the story and art previews below the cut!

"There's a demon in this nightclub.

She knows that soul signature anywhere—has been hunting it relentlessly for months on end. Infernal, malevolent, chaotic. Pure evil.

Except—

Except something feels different about this one. She can’t quite put her finger on it, but it's definitely not like the other demons she's encountered thus far.

“Maka? You alright?” Tsubaki's voice interrupts Maka's racing thoughts, brings them to a screeching halt. She tilts her head curiously to the side and fixes her dark eyes upon Maka’s face. “You seem tense. What’s up?”

“Tense? Me?” Maka tries for a laugh, but it comes out forced—too high-pitched to be natural, too flat to be convincing. “N-No, I’m fine, I— I just—”

If only Tsubaki knew that demons were real. If only Maka could tell her she’s been slaughtering them for months, that it’s been the sole purpose of her existence during her miserable time on Earth. The words are practically bursting off the tip of her tongue, begging to be set free, and all of a sudden, standing here in this nightclub with the closest thing she has to an actual friend, Maka all but aches to tell Tsubaki everything. That not only are all the stories true—about yokai, demons, whatever name mortals have bestowed upon them over the centuries—but also that she’s certain there’s one in this very building with them.

But she can’t.

She can’t tell Tsubaki the truth, and it’s a crushing reminder of her loneliness. She’s on her own in this—she’ll have to locate the demon without giving herself away, will have to make an excuse to separate from the group and stalk through the club without detection. She’ll have to—

“Maka?”

The smell of sulfur is overwhelming now, so potent it's burning the insides of her nostrils and making her eyes water, and that heavy feeling in the air is so thick, so palpable as it presses against Maka’s psyche it’s hard to focus on anything else. That sensation of claws on the back of her neck and dread in the very marrow of her bones; the itch in her fingers to reach under the hem of her dress for her daggers, and, ugh, this demon must be right behind her, if only she could—

“Hey, Tsubaki. Sorry I’m a little late.”

A voice, then, cuts through the haze of Maka’s panicked thoughts and clouded senses—masculine, maddeningly casual. Deep, with a rich, velvety timber, but a bit ragged around the edges.

Unfamiliar.

“Oh, Soul!" Tsubaki says. “You made it!”

Maka turns her head, then, and—

And the demon is standing right beside her.

Maka doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream with sheer, unbridled joy at her luck—at the universe just dropping a demon into her lap, practically gift-wrapped. She hadn’t gone out tonight with the expectation of finding her very last demon soul, yet here she is. Here he is, walking right into the clutches of the hands that will deliver his untimely demise.

He doesn’t look like a demon—or at least, he doesn’t look like any of the demons she's used to killing. He looks unnervingly human, not a trace of demonic heritage to be found in his appearance—a glamour, Maka realizes, and a damn good one too. Pale, shaggy blond hair and chocolatey-brown eyes, an easy, crooked smile and a slight slouch in his posture. Perfectly rounded ears, blunt fingernails—no points or claws or sharp edges to speak of.

A human disguise convincing enough, it probably would have even fooled her, if she couldn’t see right through to his soul.

His soul, glowing crimson beneath the facade, beneath the dark v-neck t-shirt and leather jacket adding to the mortal disguise. There are chains on his belt and too many metal studs in his ears to count, and he's also clutching a small gift bag between his fingers, all the while the infernal signature of Hell pulses steadily within him, hidden to Tsubaki and Liz and all the rest of the patrons in the nightclub except her.

Here stands before her her ninety-ninth demon soul. Thank the Archangel she'd had the good sense to bless her daggers—she could be seeing the gates of Heaven by sunrise if she succeeds."

#resbang #resbang 2024 #resbang promos #soul eater #heaven on hold

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countdykulaa · 9 months ago

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﹟ ⠀ ⠀ 𝟎𝟎𝟏 ⠀ . ⠀ ⠀SANCTIFY ME⠀ ⠀ ﹕ ⠀ ⠀ ❪ ⠀ hyperreligious!abby x rebel! reader ⠀ ❫

summary: Abby finds solace and comfort in the familiar embrace of the temple, a sacred space that offers her a sense of purpose and belonging. However, her peaceful reverie is interrupted by an unexpected presence, introducing tension into her sanctuary and forcing her to confront an unsettling shift in the atmosphere.

contains: religious aspects and trauma described in detail, dark!abby, internalized homophobia, childhood friends to enemies to ...something

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the quiet streets as Abby made her way towards the temple. She could hear her friends’ laughter floating beside her, the sound wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. Their voices faded in and out, a melodic backdrop to her thoughts as she clutched her trusty leather Bible, its worn edges a testament to the countless hours spent pouring over its pages.

Each step brought her closer to the grand entrance, where towering columns rose like sentinels, welcoming her into a sacred space that had always felt like home. The heavy wooden doors creaked open, revealing the cool, dimly lit interior. As she crossed the threshold, a sense of calm washed over her, enveloping her in a tranquil embrace. This was her sanctuary, a refuge from the chaos of the outside world.

Inside, the air was thick with the familiar scent of polished wood and the faint trace of incense, mingling to create an atmosphere rich with history and spirituality. The flickering candles cast dancing shadows on the walls, illuminating the intricate carvings that whispered stories of faith and devotion. Abby closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to bask in the peaceful ambiance, feeling the weight of her worries lift, if only for a brief respite.

"Can you believe the pastor's message today?" one of her friends chimed in, pulling her back into the present. They began discussing the sermon, their voices echoing softly within the hallowed halls, but Abby's mind wandered elsewhere. She felt like a lost traveler desperate for shelter, the temple opening its arms to feed, clothe, and bless her with the word. There was no other place where she felt most needed, most cherished, most gracious...and why were you here?

you. the one with no name in her righteous mind for its mere utterance is a sin . you're the festering thorn in her flesh, a curse birthed from Eden's shadow, growing more crimson with each passing second, like a plague sent to test her. you , who roams around the streets of the small town you both have been imprisoned in , with your too high heels and too short skirt and studded belt wrapped around your waist with diamonds that flicker and blind the whole population into your treacherous ways . sacrificial blood is painted on your lips . The devils red as they call it . you , who can not be bothered to go to church every sunday for you're too busy dedicating your life to satans crusade. you, who reeks of cigarettes and booze and perfume much too light to belong to you. you, who abby prays for eternal damnation to come sooner .

Every night, her knees hit the ground—scraped raw, a blood-soaked cherry—praying to the heavens for deliverance from you. She whispers to God, begging for release, for you to be cast out like a demon, to spill your sin-stained filth on some other forsaken soul. She loathes you as one loathes the serpent, fears you as one fears divine wrath, despises you as the fallen despise the light. But deep beneath her trembling prayers, there’s envy—a festering, unholy desire, twisting her heart like a knife. Whenever you appear, it is as though her heart is torn from her chest, a bloody offering staining the earth at your feet.

her eyes glare daggers into your form. you, seemingly unphased by the hole burning into your skin , rest your head on the nave , eyes shieled by those retched sunglasses you always wear. this is unlike you. unlike any devil . resting comfortably in the only place that could send your incurable soul back to the fiery pits of hell. the sound of her friends is drowned out by the scent of you. even from afar she can feel the musky perfume that permeates your whiskey brown skin .

" - owen's for bible study right abby?"

her friends words rip her out her trance.

"huh?"

"I was telling mel about the bible study session we have soon. that's still on right?"

she nods her head in agreeance. eyes refocusing back to the woman before them.

"why don't you guys go ahead. i still have to meet up with bishop Michael about the bible camp thing."

They exchange glances but nod, understanding her need for space. As they walk away, their chatter fades, and the atmosphere shifts. Abby feels the weight of silence settle around her, amplifying the tension in the air.

Now alone with you, the temptress, Abby’s heart races. The comforting hum of the temple feels distant as she steals a glance at your relaxed figure, your presence a stark contrast to the sanctity of the space. She swallows hard, knowing that the sanctuary, once a refuge, has become a stage for an unsettling confrontation.

her feet move before her mind can react. she finds herself before you. a vengeance running sharply through her form. Abby stands at the nave , the worn wooden surface cool beneath her fingers as she grips the edge , grounding herself against the rising tide of emotion. The sanctity of the temple feels shattered by your presence , the air thick with tension.

"what are you doing here?" she spits out , the venom running down her words trailing onto your smug smile. you sit there … legs crossed and propped on the nave without a care in the world as you hold the match stick of carnal desire in hand ready to burn down her temple of belief. faith. constraint.

"to get saved and sanctified of course." your words take on a mocking tone as you quote the pastors words. "why else would i be here?"

to reek havoc on me. on god. on all that can be saved.

"Proverbs chapter nineteen verse nine. A false witness shall not be unpunished, and he that speaketh lies shall perish." abby mutters out through gritted teeth.

your tongue flicks against the roof of your mouth as your lips widen into a smile. "still showing everyone how much of a good little church girl you are. just like when we were kids."

"you mean before you lost your ways?"

"I mean before I realized how crazy you all are."

abby shakes her head , grip on the bible tightening with each word spoken. "the only crazy person here is you. you're the one everyone avoids. the one everyone speaks about once you leave the room. the queer. the outcast. the serpent climbing into the garden of eden to tempt eve. not adam. eve. your nourishment for the female sex is an infestation and i will not let you taint this church." her voice drops to a whisper as she leans closer. "you weren't possessed by the devil. you are him."

"and you're what? adam? god? the garden? or eve in this equation?" you bite back, hands grabbing the nave in front of you as you stand. When you rise from your seat , it’s as if the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you in the dim light . You stand mere breaths apart , the heat radiating off you wrapping around her like a siren’s call . Her heart pounds in her chest , each thud echoing the unspoken challenge in your gaze .

The closeness is electrifying , an intoxicating mix of defiance and desire, as she fights to maintain her composure in the face of the temptation you embody. "you and your little posse can judge me all you want. throw your stupid verses in my face like i haven't read it all front to back but you know more than i do that when you look in the mirror my face is all you see."

she breathes in , words stuttering in shock. how dare you accuse her of such an egregious offence. in her home. while god is forced to bear witness. "i am nothing like you. you're nothing more than a sinner."

"First John, chapter one verse eight." you drawl out, that smirk everso present on your features. "If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us."

your quotes are less of a shock. being the pastors daughter of course you'd know more than most. it was what made you so powerful.

"you are nothing but an evil charlatan. delilah slinking down to reach back and cut off samsons hair in an act of seductive betrayal. i will not let you steal my strength. i will not let you rob me of my devotion."

"so walk away. forget i exist."

forget you exist. you say the words with such ease. as if it were that simple. as if your entire being was not seared into her skull like a brand. like a starving man could forget the concept of hunger. like a rabid dog could forget the foam in his mouth as he viciously attacked any unsuspecting prey. forget you. just as easily as you must've forgotten her.

her hands reach out and wrap around your throat in a move so fast you have no time to react. It’s a primal reaction, fueled by an overwhelming need to claim this moment , to anchor herself in the whirlwind of sin and desire swirling between us. her fingers wrap around her skin, firm yet hesitant, the warmth of her pulse thrumming beneath her touch.

she places pressure on them, delighting in your gasp of surprise. The contrast between her cool palm and your warm skin ignites something deep within her, awakening a hunger she had tried to pray away. abby can feel the rise and fall of your chest, the warmth of her breath mingling with the faint scent of incense that clings to the air, creating an intoxicating haze that makes her head spin

"First Timothy, chapter five verse twenty-two." you rush out, hands trying desperately to yank from her grip. your stiletto shaped nails pierce her skin as you try to claw your way to freedom. "Do not be hasty in the laying on of hands, and do not share in the sins of others. Keep yourself pure."

"You? Satan? Preach the word of God to me?" Abby's voice rings out, sharp and venomous. Her lips curl into a sneer as she stares down at you, her fingers tightening their grip around your throat. The muscle in her jaw ticks, rage battling with something darker in her eyes. Her breath comes in hot, uneven bursts, fanning against your cheek, but it's her fury that burns the most. " What do you know of the Word?" She hisses through clenched teeth. "Of purity? Of light? Air? Devotion?"

Her hand clenches harder, your pulse pounding beneath her fingers, as though she could throttle the sin from your very veins. Abby’s gaze drifts over you, taking in the smooth arch of your neck, the swell of your lips as you struggle for breath. Her teeth graze her lower lip in thought, and for a moment, her eyes darken, pupils dilating like she’s glimpsing something she doesn't dare name. There's a dangerous hunger in the way she watches you, a predator teetering on the precipice of restraint.

But she doesn't pull back. Abby leans closer instead, her breath ghosting across your skin as she hovers just inches away. The scent of incense and desperation clings to her like a second skin, filling the small space between your bodies. It’s suffocating, intoxicating, and your skin prickles beneath the weight of her scrutiny.

She whispers, so close now that her lips nearly brush against your ear. "I will show you purity." Her voice is low, almost reverent, and yet there’s an edge of cruelty that sends a shiver down your spine. The hand around your throat remains firm, but her thumb strokes along the column of your neck, slow and deliberate, as if testing the boundaries of her control. "I will purify you myself."

Her words are a promise, but there is nothing holy in her touch. Abby's other hand skims your collarbone, tracing the line of your shoulder with an unnerving softness, the pad of her thumb pressing down with a gentleness that belies the strength of her grip. Her fingers trail lower, ghosting over your chest, as though she’s searching for something beneath your skin, something she needs to pull out, something to cleanse.

The tension coils tighter between you, thick and suffocating. Every inch of you is on fire beneath her touch, but it’s her eyes—those hard, judging eyes—that trap you most. She looks at you like you're both a challenge and a salvation as if breaking you down would mean breaking herself free. Her breathing quickens, matching the frantic rise and fall of your chest, and for a fleeting moment, her gaze flickers to your lips. Something fragile and desperate breaks loose inside her, but she doesn't let it show. She can't. Not when purity is what she craves, what she needs.

Her grip tightens, her thumb pressing down on your pulse, and the world tilts just slightly. Her lips quiver as if she’s biting back words—prayers, curses, you can't tell. Maybe both. The air between you is thick, and for all her self-righteousness, for all her preaching about light and devotion, Abby is here, in the darkness with you, teetering on the edge of something she cannot name.

It’s in the stillness, in the charged silence where your breaths mingle, that the line between salvation and damnation blurs. Abby’s eyes glint, her lips parting just barely as if she’s about to say something, but nothing comes. Instead, her grip loosens, just a fraction, a tremble running through her hand as if she can no longer trust herself to hold on. Yet she doesn’t let go—not fully. She can't. Not when you're her tether, the embodiment of everything she’s tried so hard to fight.

Her lips brush against your ear once more, softer this time, her voice barely a whisper, trembling with something she can no longer contain. "I will make you pure."

PLUTOS WORLD: okay! so this has been my longest fic yet but i had fun! will most defiantly be a part two if requested

TAGLIST: @r3starttt @cyb3rdino @abyssgf @savethegoddamturtles

#abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby the last of us #abby x reader #the last of us #abby anderson #* ⠀ / ⠀ 𝙁𝙄𝙇𝙀𝘿 𝙐𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍 ⠀ ﹕ ⠀ ❪ ⠀ mine ⠀ ❫ ⠀ * ⠀ abby #─── ⠀ 🌺 ⠀ * ⠀ plutos works ⠀ !

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