#Fuck me Lucian

[bitching-god-complex]

"Their (the blessed) table is spread outside the city in the Elysian Fields (...) But I desire to mention the famous men whom I saw there. There were all the demigods and the veterans of Troy except Locrian Ajax, the only one, they said, who was being punished in the place of the wicked. (...) I also saw Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus, chopping logic with Nestor and Palamedes; about him were Hyacinthus of Sparta, Narcissus of Thespiae, Hylas and other handsome lads. It seemed to me that Hyacinthus was his especial favourite, for at any rate he refuted him most. It was said that Rhadamanthus (king of the place of the blessed) was angry at Socrates and had often threatened to banish him from the island if he kept up his nonsense and would not quit his irony and be merry. Plato alone was not there: it was said that he was living in his imaginary city under the constitution and the laws that he himself wrote. The followers of Aristippus and Epicurus were in the highest favour among the heroes because they are pleasant and agreeable and jolly good fellows. Aesop the Phrygian was also there—they have him for a jester. Diogenes the Cynic had so changed his ways that he not only married Lais the courtesan, but often got up and danced and indulged in tomfoolery when he had had too much. None of the Stoics was there—they were said to be still on the way up the steep hill of virtue. (...) They said that the Academicians wanted to come but were still holding off and debating, for they could not arrive at a conclusion even on the question whether such an island existed. Then too I suppose they feared to have Rhadamanthus judge them, as they themselves had abolished standards of judgment. It was said, however, that many of them had started to follow people coming thither, but fell behind through their slowness, being constitutionally unable to arrive at anything, and so turned back half-way. (...) About love-making their attitude

is such that they bill-and-coo openly, in plain sight of everyone, without any discrimination, and think no shame of it at all. Socrates, the only exception, used to protest that he was above suspicion in his relations with young persons, but everyone held him guilty of perjury. In fact, Hyacinthus and Narcissus often said that they knew better, but he persisted in his denial. They all have their wives in common and nobody is jealous of his neighbour; in this point they out-Plato Plato. Complaisance is the universal rule.

Hardly two or three days had passed before I went up to Homer the poet when we were both at leisure, and questioned him about everything. “Above all,” said I, “where do you come from? This point in particular is being investigated even yet at home.” “I am not unaware,” said he, “that some think me a Chian, some a Smyrniote and many a Colophonian. As a matter of fact, I am a Babylonian, and among my fellow-countrymen my name was not Homer but Tigranes. Later on, when I was a hostage (homeros) among the Greeks, I changed my name.” I went on to enquire whether the bracketed lines had been written by him, and he asserted that they were all his own: consequently I held the grammarians Zenodotus and Aristarchus guilty of pedantry in the highest degree. Since he had answered satisfactorily on these points, I next asked him why he began with the wrath of Achilles; and he said that it just came into his head that way, without any study. Moreover, I wanted to know whether he wrote the Odyssey before the Iliad, as most people say: he said no. That he was not blind, as they say, I understood at once—I saw it, and so had no need to ask. Often again at other times I would do this when I saw him at leisure; I would go and make enquiries of him and he would give me a cordial answer to everything, particularly after the lawsuit that he won, for a charge of libel had been brought against him by Thersites because of the way he had ridiculed him in the poem, and the case was won by Homer, with Odysseus for his lawyer.

At about this time arrived Pythagoras of Samos who had undergone seven transformations, had lived in seven bodies and had now ended the migrations of his soul. (...) Empedocles came too, all burned and his body completely cooked, but he was not received in spite of his many entreaties.

(After a battle between the heroes and the people from the wicked place) "An account of this battle was written by Homer, and as I was leaving he gave me the book to take to the people at home, but later I lost it along with everything else. The poem began:

This time sing me, O Muse, of the shades of the heroes in battle!"

(Lucian, True Story, book 2)

[evilfloralfoolery]

Love Bites: A Tale of Indulgent Preternatural Fuckery

I was going to wait until morning to post this, but fuck it. I make my own rules. Please enjoy some poncy ass fetish fuckery between 324 year old French vampire Lucian d'Alarie and his far more modern 82 year old, tattooed werewolf lover, Marrok Rafe.

Guess which one has "the thing."

*This story already has multiple parts that I may or not post. It depends on a few factors.

_____________________________

“Lucian?? Lucian!! Where are you hiding??”

Somewhere from the other side of the ridiculous estate, his beloved is bellowing in a manner that would wake the dead.  Or, in Lucian’s case, the undead. 

- I am not hiding.  You are simply blinded by whatever rage has a hold upon you. -

He bursts through the door.  The balcony door.  From outside of it.  Marrok never did appreciate the simplicity and ease a door offered.

“Get out of my head.”  Marrok’s voice is a flat growl, a rumble far too low to be human.  

Because he is not.  

“And how else would you hear me, hmm?  With all of your grandiose nonsense.  Mon dieu, Marrok.  I realize that we have no neighbors, but–” 

“What. Happened.”  Again, not a question.  A demand of sorts.  

Lucian does not grant him an answer at his impatient behest.  Instead, he takes a moment to appreciate the feral being before him.  Lean and well-muscled with shoulders even broader than his own, skin bronzed from the sun, and adorned with a myriad of tattoos, Marrok looks every bit the part of the apex predator that he truly is. The topmost portion of his rather absurd length of jagged jet black hair is pulled tight by some manner of elastic, revealing the tips of his pointed ears and the shaved sides of his head beneath.

There was a time when Lucian found such a thing appalling.  But it suited Marrok on many levels.

“I am not certain.”  Lucian sinks down into one of the wingback chairs near the now flung-open balcony doors, just beyond the reach of the sun’s rays.  “I feel . . . strange.  Like a mortal does when nursing the beginnings of an illness.”

Marrok folds his arms with a disgruntled frown, the permanent artwork that resides there flexing with the movement.  “That doesn’t happen to your kind or mine.”

“Not necessarily.  We do not know everything, you and I.  Perhaps–”

“No.” Marrok cuts him off.  “It’s not fucking possible.” 

Lucian pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers with a wince.  Not only is his head pounding like a drum, but an incessant prickle also resides there.  The nuisance saw fit to surge to a burn at times, causing a far greater inconvenience, one that he rarely dealt with, unless too much sunlight were involved.

Which was not currently the issue at the moment.  However, that knowledge did little to placate the persistent tingling itch.  After several attempts at fending it off, Lucian resigns himself to his fate, tugging a handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers and making good use of it.

“HhhehISSSSHHIIU!” 

“ExcusehhhISSCH! ISSCHHuh!---hhhuuh . . . !  Hhhh . . .!”

Ungodly, wretched misery of a—

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and exhales a slow, steadying breath.  “Très désolée.  I . . . have not the control to manage this.” 

“This is bullshit!”  Marrok looks as if he would rather cast himself in the confines of the fountain from the third story balcony than exist in this current shared space. “You can't be–” he gestures with an exasperated flurry of fingers “--that!”

Lucian arches an eyebrow. “Unwell?”

“Don’t.” Marrok tears away the band holding the layers of his thick hair with a snap of elastic.

Sprigs of haphazard darkness jut from his scalp in an almost comical defiance and Lucian morphs a laugh into a cough on purpose. 

“This isn't funny, Lucian.” The words are more of a growl, rumbling and full of an intent to intimidate. 

If anything actually served to intimidate Lucian. 

“And yet, here we are.” 

“No, there you are. We are not doing this.”

“You speak as if I had some choice in the matter.” 

Marrok is two centimeters from his person in half as many seconds. “You did this to yourself. I don't know how you did it, but you did.” 

Lucian rises to his feet with an almost bored aire. “Accusational hysteria does not suit you, mon cher.” 

Clawed fingers snatch at the lapels of his shirt. “Don't patronize me, you French fuck.” 

“Is that what you desire, then?” Lucian slides his hands to cup the snarling visage between his palms. “Some French fuck?”

He casts the other “man” a smirk that  promises seduction, but not without a staggering dosage of smug upper handedness.  And clearly, Marrok isn't entertaining anything of the sort. 

“Get off me.” He gives Lucian a rough, but far lighter shove than anticipated. 

The werewolf stalks over to the ornate bookcase, scans several titles, and swears when he realizes whatever he desires is near the topmost part of it.  Not that this hinders him in any way.  Marrok simply jumps, snatches his preferred literature from its resting place, and rebounds off of the wall to land effortlessly back onto his feet.

“Whatever are you doing?”

“Research,” Marrok grunts.  

He flops down into the chair formerly occupied by Lucian and begins leafing through the text while Lucian has a seat upon the bed.

“Marrok.” Lucian gestures with one hand. “Come to me.” 

The werewolf doesn't look up from his reading. “No.” 

“S’il vous plaît, mon cher.  I am so very cold.”

Marrok turns a page. “You're dead. Comes with the territory.” 

“Do you not think that I am incapable of feeling a draft simply because I am no longer mortal?” 

“That’s right,” Marrok says.  “And you know that shit.” 

Well. One had ways of changing that type of attitude, especially with the omnipresent twinge dwelling deep within his sinuses. The simple act of breathing would be enough. Not that one such as Lucian needed the trappings of this rather human inconvenience, but even the undead still functioned in a similar fashion, needed or not. 

He allows his breathing to slow, for his breath to hitch, and makes a show of fumbling for his handkerchief as his expression dissolves into abject helplessness.

“Hhh-hiiih. . .! HiihhISSSSHU–ISSSCH! . . . HhIKGSSCH-UUH!”

He buries his nose in the crumpled fabric, shoulders shuddering, unbound hair curtaining his face.

The book snaps closed. Footsteps that are more of a marching stomp approach. 

“You did that on purpose.” 

Judging by how much of that sentence is coated in the most inhuman of growls, Marrok is more than merely ruffled. He is infuriated beyond measure. 

“I assure you that I did n–”

Marrok is atop him, pinning him to the mattress. 

“You did.”  The werewolf snarls against his mouth and fangs graze his lips. “But I'm fresh out of fucks.” 

“Mmm, are you?” Lucian reaches between his legs with a most uncouth clenching of fingers around Marrok’s most sensitive attributes. “What a shame that would be.” He snatches handfuls of the thin, black cotton shirt Marrok is so fond of and jerks him against his chest hard enough to elicit a grunt from his lover. “Je veux te baiser.” 

“Hope you don't like these pants.” Marrok's nails slash the well-stitched fabric to indecent ribbons before Lucian can answer.

“Such violence in you.” Lucian flashes him a hint of his own fangs, different from that of a werewolf, but equally as lethal. “It is a quality I find most captivating.” 

The dark yellow of Marrok’s eyes is near amber. “Stop talking.”

__________________________________________________________

(TBC or no?)

[vonlipvig]

i still really love how lucian will only tell you a bit about his past if you lose against him in chess, whereas if you beat him he offers absolutely nothing. aside from being a neat little bit of gameplay (and you're probably gonna lose your first time anyway, what would the odds be of actually beating him first try? he is really good after all!), it's just a really good way of showing us his character, and even foreshadowing possible events.

he's a prideful guy! he keeps his emotions in check and is obviously a graceful winner, but he's really fucking pleased with his victory! he knows he's damn good, and having anton see that and acknowledge that must be pretty exciting for him, enough to lift his spirits and offer up pieces of his mysterious life to him. not only does he get anton's respect and admiration--something, to me, that is reciprocated, at least for now--, but he sees how important he is to anton, to the administration. his spot is secured.

but if he loses...well, he's kind of a petty bitch! again, he respects anton, of course, but...losing? him? suddenly he's not in a generous mood to offer any information anymore. it doesn't matter, obviously, but the fact that it bothers him just a biiiiit more than it should is so telling, and very subtly shows that the potential for betrayal is there, even now that he's completely on anton's side still.

i don't know, i love his petty, opportunistic ass so much.

[andorerso]

ok NOT sw because i'm trying to think of a ship Idk the answer for 🤔

selene/david from underworld

I'll be real with you, neither he nor the movies he were in left a lasting impression on me so... I'm just gonna say it makes sense but doesn't compel me 😭

send me a ship and I'll classify it

[rainbowangel110]

THEORY TIME!!! SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 23!!

I have a feeling they might be related.

That hair color is very similar to Liko secondary hair color, and has a similar bang and hair end shape (the part where it curls inwards ya know???)

Also the fact that she got the pendant from her grandmother, who said it was a good luck charm for her, the fact that her father remarked she had an adventurer spirit like her grandmother... who else in the series we know has had a pendant with an adventurous spirit?? Lucian the Adventurer.

Also the way these Pokémon from the Ancient Pokéballs are just... trusting her. Olivia went with Liko after she and the Rising Volt-Tacklers healed the forest. Galarian Moltress only went with her after Terapagos came out of the pendant, before it was just mad af. Both are Lucian's Pokémon. Do they see her as their old trainers descendant???

[funnyscienceman]

Reason no. 174846383 why the sentinel team comp actually works, the writing was just super shit: Graves and Senna can relate to each other about the whole. yknow. being imprisoned and tortured in a terrible place for way too fucking long.

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

trying to write a pair of twins that are 1 girl and 1 boy and realizing it's just rin and len 2.0:

[archersgoon]

the band au is sososo stupid unfortunately the vision (phaedra sobbing on a milk crate while quintana does her quit your job/join my emo band bit) came to me in a dream and i have not been able to shake it

[sundial-girl]

🍃 put this thing in someones blog to give them moss. Literally any blog. I dont care if its 1 or 100 blogs put it in someones blog. Let them eat moss. Hell simply having this in your inbox will give so many people moss. Youre doing a great job on distributing moss to the world, im so proud of you

let them eat moss you say...

[lostximagination]

This seemed kinda fun so, Issac masterpost for @smallartistocbracket?

Details, as like, bullet points. idk.

His name is Issac Joan Riley; he's trans, and never got around to changing his middle name too. He ended up keeping it because it was also his mother's middle name and he wanted to honor her with it. He even usually includes his middle initial when signing his name.

He's biromantic and demisexual

He lives in Seattle

His Birthday is September 2nd, 1998

He's 5'6"

a college student, studying psychology with the intention of becoming a psychiatrist. Because he thinks more people like him (queer, autistic, and mentally ill) should be in the field; he's beyond grateful for his doctor but like... he wanted someone who really knew what it was like. so he's, you know, trying to be the change he wants to see in the world. Despite still finding talking to people a terrifying prospect.

His favorite color is blue, if you can't tell.

He's a Taylor Swift Stan. This is completely irrelevant, I just find it fun.

Magic. He's a mage, having grown up knowing about a secret magic society, though he was distanced from it due to his parents wanting him and his siblings to have normal childhoods.

He has two younger siblings, Ethan and Lexi. Ethan is four years younger than him, and Lexi six years younger

His dad was a professor at the local magic school, and homeschooled him and his siblings in how to control their innate magic.

His parents are dead (under suspicious circumstances) and he's the legal guardian to his siblings, starting when he was just barely 18

he's like... the Avatar but of mages, called the Master. There's a bunch on different mage specialties and mages are best at their own innate specialty and can only get so far with not-their-specialty. Issac doesn't have that limitation, so like, everyone expects him to protect the whole world. this is a lot of stress for one autistic, anxious, and depressed young adult. he did not ask for this.

like... he wants to help people; it's been his driving motivator LONG before he knew he was the Master but also it is way way too much to ask of him and he needs to be wrapped in his weighted blanket and given a cup of hot tea

being the Master comes with a fancy magic staff

Shortly (like, a couple days) after finding out he was the Master, he was attacked by a witch hunter and left permanently injured. Poor balance, prone to dizziness, chronic pain. He turned the fancy magic staff into a cane to help him walk following that. an unoptimal cane at that. it should have a wider base to help more with the balance issues. he's not an expert and he's not good at actually listening to his doctor about what would work better

He's polyamorous! Dated one guy (Evan), broke up because of Issues following his parent's death. Two years later started dating a girl (Anna). Hasn't actually gotten over Evan, and likewise from Evan. Anna, who's been in a polycule before, makes a suggestion, and Issac has two hands. <3

uh what else. he plays D&d. Usually paladins. He also plays piano and guitar. violin when he was in high school. he was a theatre kid.

[evilfloralfoolery]

Okay, wow. I'm kind of overwhelmed by all of the messages and comments on "Love Bites," so FINE! I shall continue it and post more of it. I already wrote most of the next part, as well as several random scenes of fuckery. Y'all are seriously the best!!!

[vonlipvig]

Hello, it's me again anonymous here back with an AU idea for Suzerain characters. Now here think about this. What if we make Anton Rayne and Petr Vectern as queerplatonic couple? They both are not straight but not gay either. This could send Lileas Graf and the defence minister and General Valken into cardiac arrest. Meanwhile the PFJP are confused along with USP, while the NFP are furious and independents release a statement "No, comment." Could you imagine the only woman reporter of Sordish Broadcast Corporation attempting to capitalize on this and interviewing Monica Rayne and asking her if she know about the love affair between the his husband and it's best friend? and monica just stared at them and then burst out laughing. And she told oh she know the closeness of his husband and it's best friend. Ever since the university years. Meanwhile Livia Suno, Walter Tusk and Marcel Koronti and Lucian Galade attempt to use this as a blackmail against President Rayne. Thoughts on this AU i made?

why is that when people are happy it's always lileas and the military boys wanting to ruin it for everyone. they need to loosen up fr. not the nfp tho they need to explode.

but back to the point, well personally i see both anton and petr as straight (DURING PRIDE MONTH!? SORRY djfhjs), but they ARE best friends, and sometimes that's gayer than being gay, y'know what i mean? like the loves of anton's life are monica AND petr, that's just how it goes (it's like that one song, "it's me and you, and you and me, just us, AND YOUR FRIEND PETR", but not maliciously ofc lmao. three tickets to challengers yadda yadda).

do people sometimes think they're a little bit gay? yeah of course, didn't you guys see estela toras during vina's wedding going "they're exactly how i imagined them"? confusing people about the nature of your relationship, THAT'S best friend goals, that's when you know you're soulmates.

oh, and lucian is so fucking jealous. he looks at himself in the mirror every night, grabbing the sink until it hurts, and mumbles "i'm mr. rayne's right hand arm...man. i'm mr. rayne's everything. his confidant. his best friend. his silly rabbit." and then he stabs a knife through a photo of petr he keeps pinned to the wall.

[tyrannuspitch]

blorboism level critical i've started looking at like fratricidal birds in nature documentaries and thinking it's Just Like Them For Real

[brain-empty]

if imma b real its been a muddled mess of me, Knifeclone, Sammi & Tatum for the past while and it's annoying

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

Motherfucker he's a vocaloid he has no canon /lhj to be fair to him it's probably easier to cry in a shower than in the rain unless you know your alone so cdcbbcfv ripping your own heart out is not generally something you do in a public space -🌟 (Your OCS are really pretty!!!)

AHKJDSNGNA

I KNOW i was referring more to. uh??? the story scenario whatever bs thing i put him in (that explains the bad luck in relationships) but akjhjkhkjsdgkjahg

ripping your heart out is NOT proper manners 😤

(AND SOBS THANKS???)

[xesiarah]

𓏵 Yan!Loser x Reader (Drabble)

My favorite animal is Lucian when reader tries to leave him 🤫🧏

His intro fic >.<

—

—

"A-am I not enough..?" Lucian's voice was whiney, meek, yet with a hint of menace seething through his words. There's something... something uncanny.. seemingly just right beneath the facade of innocence, the beads of tears rolling down his cheeks swiftly, and the glisten of the tip of the knife pressed firmly against his neck under the illuminating light.

"Why, why, why, why.." he mutters under his breath, repeating manically as if trying to think of a reason plausible enough for him, for his delusional, overthinking, — overbearingly possessive brain cells.

"I-i-i.. just love you so much... you can't do this to me... I just can't fucking breathe—" he trails off, his tears blurring his vision as he swore he could feel his legs weaken, like a victorian child seeing that Snapchat dog filter for the first time. — As if the idea of you being able to just walk out the door and leave him to go fend for himself, continuing on with your life without him being able to breath down your neck every second of everyday, just weakens his overall ability to function.

His breathing growis erratic, it's pattern going inconsistent. "I'll die... I'll die without you." The desperation is evident in the flickers of his eyes, a threatening madness, as if daring you. Daring you to walk out that door and leave his sorry ass.

"Okay, dude. What the fuck." You raise both hands in a defensive manner, your sweaty palms facing him. like yk what people do in movies when they get confronted by the FBI. "I was just fucking asking if you wanted chipotle.."

Maybe that 'i can fix him' mentality didn't work, after all. You think you sort of made him worse. "I just didn't want to drag you along, cus' I'll only be out briefly." You explained, your eyebrows knitted together as you took a step closer, it's as if concern, anxiety, was etched onto your face alltogether.. Just how mentally unwell is this motherfucker?

"I wanted to come a-a-along, and you didn't let me... W-what if you were secretly meeting someone else!? What if you—" his complaints, or more like blabber fall upon deaf ears. He didn't acknowledge the fact you were taking baby steps closer, immersed in his will to voice his worries.

Slowly, you managed to take hold of the knife, separating the dangerous weapon from the very dangerous person, regaining a sense of control of the situation as you coo empty praises in an attempt to soothe his shivered timbers, cupping both sides of his cheek and even wiping a few tears away with your thumb. You don't want to fucking die yet, after all.

He doesn't let you tear your gaze away from him as you gently, fucking finally, place the knife down on a nearby coffee table, your attention solely on him. As it should. According to him, I guess. — as soon as you do, he immediately jumps on you, clinging onto you like a lifeline as the suddenly impact causes the both of you to fall to the floor in a loud thud.

"Lucian..?" You question, raising an eyebrow.

He answers with nothing, scarily just doesn't say anything. Anything at all. The silence deafening. The only sound being his ragged breathing, and your own, mingling together. "Don't go." He mumbles after moments of silence, his breath hot against your skin.

He buries himself further into the crook of your neck, inhaling in your scent deeply. "Stay." He spoke once again, his voice now raspy from allat crying.

He snuggles onto you, as if trying to merge into one, single being. Whilst you on the other hand, lay in defeat. He's heavy. Like a damned boulder. What makes it worse is that you're sweating like a bitch and your head is throbbing from the sudden hit to the ground. — fucking hell. Guess you owe him cuddles now.

And, the price of wanting chipotle... 😞