#head of mars by unknown: mars

[diioonysus]

roman & greek gods + art

[english-history-trip]

Ever see a depiction of St. George and the Dragon? It's pretty fair to say if you've seen one, you've seen them all: Georgie on a horse stabbing a flailing dragon creature, princess piously kneeling in the background, vague landscape alluding to the homeland of the artist's patron.

The most varied part is the dragons. No one had a real definition for the thing, it seemed. For your pleasure and entertainment, I have ranked some medieval depictions based on how impressive George's feat seems once you see the dragon.

Paolo Uccello, 1456

This is a terrifying beast. The hell is that. Uccello was one of the first experimenters with perspective, so the thing also looks surreal, like it's taking place on Mars, or a Windows 95 screensaver. I would not want to fight that, I would not want to be tied to that. (Sometimes the princess is tied to the dragon for some reason.) 10/10

Horse thoughts: Maybe if I look at the ground it will be gone when I look up

Unknown artist, c. 1505

This is a rare change of form for the dragon; it's the only one I've seen actually flying (or at least falling with style). It doesn't look particularly deterred by the spear through its throat, either. Also, George looks appropriately nervous. On the other hand, it hasn't got teeth, it seems to be fuzzy rather than having scaly armor, and George is bolstered by his army of Henry VII and his children, most of whom definitely didn't actually die in infancy. Still, wouldn't want to fight it, wouldn't want my pet sheep near it. (Sometimes the princess has a pet sheep for some reason.) 9/10

Horse thoughts: I am so glad I wore my mightiest feather helmet for this

Raphael, 1505

We are coming to Dragons With Problems. This guy looks about comparable in size to George, and does have wings, but doesn't seem to be using these things to his advantage (and has he only got one wing?) And how does he deal with the neck? He does have a comically small head, but holding it up with such a twisty neck seems complicated at best. But most egregiously, he is doing the shitty superheroine pose where he is somehow simultaneously showcasing his chest and his butt, with its unnecessarily defined butthole (more on this later) (regrettably). 8/10 bc it's Raphael

Horse thoughts: AM I THE BESTEST BOI? AM I DOING SUCH A GOOD JOB? WE R DRAGON SLAYING BUDDIEZ

The Beauchamp Hours, c. 1401

We had a spirited debate about this one at work. Again, the dragon has gotten smaller, and this one hasn't got even one wing. He's basically a crocodile. So the debate became: would you want to fight a crocodile if you had a horse and a pointy stick? Would the horse trample the animal, who can't get on its hind legs, or freak out and throw its rider? Would the pointy stick be enough to pierce the croc's thick hide? In this case, George seems to be controlling his horse and putting his pointy stick in the dragon's weak spot, so we can be impressed by his skill and strategy. However, his hat is dumb. 7/10

Horse thoughts: Dehhhh

Book of Hours, c. 1480

Here we have the same kind of croco-dragon, but George's focus on his strategy has gone out the window. He's flailing around, not even looking at his target, he's about to lose his pointy stick, he hasn't got a hand on the reins, and his sword seems to only be poking the invisible dragon over his shoulder. All he's got going for him is that his hat is slightly less dumb. 6/10

Horse thoughts: Yay, new friend! Come play with me, new fr- what is happening

Final dragons put behind this Read More for your safety:

Rogier van der Weyden, c. 1432

I'm thinking this guy is at least semi-aquatic. Webbed feet, wings that seem more like fins, bipedal but top-heavy, jaws that seem more for scooping than biting. Maybe she's crawled up here from the nearby body of water to lay her eggs, and this is all a big misunderstanding. Moreover, George's dagged sleeves seem entirely impractical for the situation. 5/10

Horse thoughts: i got my hed stuk in a jar and now it is this way forever

Unknown artist, c. 15th century

I hate this. I hate everything about it. Why has it got human eyes and teeth. Why is its nose melting. Why has it got a dick on its face and balls under its chin. The fin/wings are back but they look even more useless. Also, George is shifty as hell, schlumped over in his saddle with his bowler hat thing over his eyes. The baby dragon at the bottom eating some hapless would-be rescuer is kind of metal. 4/10 at least the thing is gonna die

Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Crack

Book of Hours, c. 1450

Remember what I said about the buttholes? First, sorry. Second, yeah, we're back to that. I'll admit this one is less about the danger from the dragon itself than the very specific choices the artist has made. They didn't need to do that. It's a lizard. They don't even have. And it's like they had an orifice budget and they skipped an exit wound for the spear to focus. Elsewhere. It's so detailed. And George had an even dumber hat. 2/10 take it away

Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Weed

Book of Hours, c. 1415

This is just bullying. There isn't even a princess. That is clearly an infant. Look at that smug look on George's face as he swings his sword that's bigger than the whole little guy. This is the equivalent of when DJT Jr. hunted those sleeping endangered sheep. 1/10

Horse thoughts: ....yikes

And this is the previous one, but now the baby dragon is cute. He's chubby. He's got toe beans. He's Puff the Magic Dragon. His eyes have already gone white, implying that George is just kicking its corpse around for funsies. What's the difference between the dragon and the lamb in the background? That the dragon is dead, like our innocence. This George is truly deserving of the dumbest hat of all. 0/10 plus one more butthole for the road

Horse thoughts: Perhaps it is we who are the buttholes.

[fiber-optic-alligator]

Hello! I’ve always been curious about the “human in a space shuttle somehow ends up on a cybertronian ship and all the bots are trying to figure out what this random metal this is while the human is terrified” plot.

It would be interesting to see it played out with any character, but for the sake of direction, I’d like to request this with the Lost Light Crew?

It could be vore if that’s what you feel like wrong at the time, but I’d also go for some good ‘ol fearplay.

I apologize if this is too vague, have a good day/night and I love your writing!

Thank you for the request Glitch! I hope this is up to your expectations! I hope you don't mind that I picked specific members of the Lost Light crew to include in this story. Feedback is always appreciated! Have a great day/night as well! :D

Doctor’s (And Scientist’s) Orders

Pairing: IDW Ratchet, IDW Perceptor, and IDW First Aid x Human Reader

Word Count: 3115

Summary: You are a teacher who is being sent from Earth to a colony on Mars. A new life as an educator for the red planet’s children is on your horizon…until you are thrown terribly off course and end up in the bowels of the Lost Light. All seems lost for you when you find yourself injured and cut off from human society, at the mercy of the three Cybertronians who end up finding you and taking you in, whether you want them to or not.

The first thing you hear when you come to is the horrid screeching of your ship's alarms.

  You groan and sit up. Smoke and flickering emergency lights greet you when you open your eyes. Electricity sparks from the stasis tank you were asleep in. Gas spurts from the ceiling, and everything is strewn about with the chaotic air of a tornado that just tore through an entire town.

“Warning,” your ship’s AI urgently alerts. “Breach detected. Damage is collateral. Warning-warning-” It sputters and fizzles out.

  You rub the back of your head and feel something warm and sticky coat your palm. When you pull your hand back to take a closer look, you see blood.

  Shit. That’s not good.

  Standing up makes you feel like you are going to puke. Your head throbs and every breath you take sends piercing pain through your chest. Dragging yourself out of the stasis pod takes longer than it should while black spots dot your vision as you stumble to the dashboard and press your hands against it. “Run ship diagnostics,” you manage to rasp. The voice that struggles to exit your mouth is one you hardly recognize. It is thin and strewn with violent coughs. A metallic taste coats your tongue. More blood.

  The AI glitches as it attempts to answer you. “Severe damage to hull. Severe damage to engines. Severe damage to thrusters. Life support online, but rapidly depleting. Escape pod offline.”

  “Shit,” you breathe. “Try contacting Earth control.”

  “Communications systems offline. Attempting self-repairs. Current status…5%.”

  “How long until repairs are complete?”

  “Estimations indicate repairs will be completed in…5 days.”

  Not good. Not good at all. You push yourself away from the dashboard and take in all that has happened. This was not how the mission was supposed to go. When you were chosen to be sent to Earth’s Mars colony as a teacher for the young children growing up on the red planet, you thought it would be a smooth seven month trip with you peacefully slumbering away in stasis. You were supposed to be woken up by fellow human beings, not a devastating crash resulting in your ship being decimated. Something must have thrown you off course. A freak asteroid strike probably. Which begs the question…where exactly are you?

  Ignoring how much pain you are in, you hobble through the remains of the vessel and head for the airlock doors. They remain tightly shut when you make it to them, hiding the knowledge of where you are from view. “Open the doors,” you call out to the ship.

  “Warning. Remaining onboard is strongly recommended. Current exterior environment is unknown.”

  “Override. Open the doors.”

  The doors whoosh apart. You know there’s oxygen outside. If there hadn’t been, the ship would have prevented you from even entering the airlock chamber in the first place. Stepping off, you expect to see the barren landscape of Mars, or the alien environment of some other planet you might have ended up on. Part of you thinks you might still be on Earth; perhaps something went wrong with the ship before you could even break the Troposphere.

  What you see surprises you. You are in some sort of…massive cargo hold.

  Gigantic metal crates surround you, most of them exuding a pinkish glow. There are lights on the ceiling far above you, but they are dim, and serve little aid in giving you an estimate of just how large this place is. Turning in a circle, you feel awe fill you. “Yeah,” you murmur to yourself. “The ship definitely didn’t crash on Mars.”

  Speaking of your ship…you take in the damage. It's an absolute mess of warped, crippled metal doomed to remain collapsed on its side until self-repairs are complete. It would take days, maybe even weeks, for damage of this caliber to be fixed beyond the communications systems. With no way to contact Earth or Mars, you truly are stuck.

  You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. Calm. You are calm. There is absolutely nothing to worry about. Yes, your ship is destroyed. Yes, you are suffering from critical wounds. Yes, you are in an unknown place with seemingly no way out. But you're alive. That’s what matters. And now you just have to survive for five more days.

  You hear thumping in the distance.

  It takes you a moment to register the pattern of heavy steps that are coming towards you. It’s something alive, you realize with dawning horror. Wherever you are, you have obviously made quite a racket, and now this planet’s local faunal residents are going to seek you out. There’s no way for you to know exactly what sorts of animals live here; any technology you might have used to your advantage is directly connected to the ship. With the ship offline, thus go the tools as well. You are completely in the dark, relying only on the little information about alien lifeforms you have to keep you safe.

  You don’t need that information to know you have to hide right now.

  You scurry back into the ship, biting back a shout of pain. God, there’s pain everywhere. How have you not passed out yet? Adrenaline does wonders for the human body, you sourly think to yourself when you have to lean against the wall to catch your breath. A hacking cough swells within your chest. When you cover your mouth with your elbow and release it, blood is splattered over your suit sleeve.

  That’s when you hear the growling.

  It’s unlike anything you have ever heard before. You’ve studied a multitude of animals. You’ve heard big cats roar, wolves howl, hyenas cackle, and birds screech. This is not a growl you can associate with any of those. It…holds similar qualities. But there’s something about it that remains blatantly off.

  It sounds strangely like the growl of a machine.

  You look outside of the airlock doors, and something huge lumbers out from behind a stack of crates. The first things your brain registers are its red and white armor platings, its bright blue eyes, and the horn-like finials extending from its forehead. It’s humanoid, yet possesses qualities that remove it from any such grouping. This thing is definitely not like you in any sort of way beyond having a face and walking on two legs.

  “It’s…a robot,” you whisper. It’s a giant fucking robot moving all on its own, and looking none too happy to be here.

  The mechanical creature snarls, lips upturning to reveal sharp canines that are probably longer than your arms. It hasn’t noticed you yet. Its focus is trained on the datapad it holds in its hands. Your mind is blown. This is obviously a member of a clearly intelligent race. Have you just discovered a new extraterrestrial species?

  The robot looks up. At first, its eyes scan the crates around you, and it doesn't seem to notice the little ship nestled between them. You remain still, prey instinct taking its course and demanding you freeze where you are. Hopefully it will just move on…

  It backtracks, and to your utter horror, it makes direct eye contact with you.

  Fucking shit, you think.

  The robot stares at you with an expression of pure shock. You stare right back with an equal amount of terror.

  It steps towards you. That’s all it takes for you to scream at the ship. “Close the airlock doors! Close them now!”

  The doors slam shut. You hear a shout from the robot, and everything shakes as it thunders forward. You stumble and fall with agony ripping through your poor body when you make contact with the floor. The cry that leaves you is riddled with pain.

  “A-Activate self-defense protocol!” you order the ship.

  “Self-defense protocols offline,” it says back.

  “Well, how long until they are online?!”

  “Estimated time equals…ten hours.”

  “That’s not enough!” you scream rawly.

  A gentle tapping echos from the other side of the doors.

  You push yourself back, heart pounding as you listen to the robot move all around you. It’s growling softly to itself, and you can hear it touching the ship, running massive mechanical fingers across the walls that act as the only barrier between you and potential doom.

  You don’t know what to do. Panic makes you frantic and you desperately try to think of how you can get yourself away from the monster outside. You have no way to defend yourself. You can’t even run. This thing wants you out, and you know it has the power to rip your ship apart in order to get to you if it wishes for it.

  Suddenly, everything rocks. Your stomach drops when the entire ship shakes and you feel it being lifted into the air. Realization of what is happening hits you: it’s picking it up. If it can’t get you, it’ll just have to take everything.

  “Nononono!” you cry out. The ship tips a little, and you slam into a wall with a grunt. “Stop!” You bang your fists against the metal. “Put it down! Put it down now!”

  The robot simply growls in reply. You don’t even know if it hears you. There’s nothing you can do to stop this. You slump back and cover your face as hot, helpless tears finally begin running down your cheeks.

  “What exactly is it?” First Aid asks as he peers down at the mangled hunk of metal sitting before them on the medibay berth.

  “It’s a ship,” Perceptor flatly replies with a silent “What else would it be?” evident in his tone.

  “This is a ship?” First Aid looks horrified. “But it's completely destroyed! How could it have gotten here?”

  “It must have crashed during our last refueling.” Perceptor lays his servos over the top of the ship, examining it closely. He huffs and straightens, looking at Ratchet. “Where did you find it?”

  “The cargo hold,” the medic replies. “I was down there searching for some extra medical supplies I know we have stored. I wouldn’t have seen it if it hadn’t been for what’s inside.”

  “There’s something alive in there?” First Aid gasps.

  “A human,” Ratchet replies. “It locked itself inside when it saw me.”

  “Impossible.” Perceptor shakes his helm. “Humans are an endangered species that only occupy a small sector of a primitive solar system. They don’t have the technology to make it this far out in space.”

  “Well, clearly they do. I know what I saw. These old optics aren’t that far gone.” Ratchet raps his knuckles gently against the ship. All three mechs have to lean in close so they can hear the soft squeak from inside.

  “How do we get it out?” First Aid asks. “It could be hurt!”

  “It is hurt,” Ratchet answers. “I saw it before it hid itself away. I don’t know how severe the injuries are, but I know it's in pain.”

  “Then what are we waiting for? We need to help it!” First Aid presses his forehelm against the ship and whispers softly. “Hello, little human? Please don’t be afraid! We aren’t going to hurt you!”

  A whimper is all he gains in reply.

  Perceptor crosses his arms. “I can force it out, but you won’t like how I do it.”

  “You can’t hurt it,” Ratchet sharply snaps. “That would be cruel.”

  “I’m not going to hurt it,” the scientist bites back. “I’m simply going to pump a nontoxic gas into the ship that will cause it to eventually lose consciousness. It will have no choice but to come out, and then we can go on from there.”

  “Are…are you sure?” First Aid wrings his servos nervously. “I don’t want it to be scared of us.”

  “Whether it’s scared of us or not doesn’t matter,” Ratchet says. “It’s injured, and if we don’t do something, it’ll succumb to those injuries. It’ll understand we don’t want to hurt it after we patch it up.” He nods to Perceptor. “Go ahead, smoke it out.”

  The scientist’s right servo transforms into a syringe. Ratchet watches with anxiousness churning in his tank as Perceptor presses his left index digit against the side of the ship and presses a small hole straight through with little resistance to stop him. A terrified shout from the human within causes First Aid to whimper.

  Perceptor sticks the upper part of the syringe into the hole, pumping gas into the ship and pulling it back out after a moment, wisps of vapor trailing from the tip. A few seconds later Ratchet hears a string of weak coughs from inside. There is a tense moment where all three of them stand there, and then the doors open and you stumble out with a cloud of gas nearly enveloping your tiny form. You wheeze into your servos, then notice the mechs staring at you and try sprinting right back into the ship. Perceptor cuts you off, slamming his servo down and pinning you under his digits before dragging you back even though you yelp and thrash. You squirm one last time in his grip before suddenly going limp.

  Perceptor gently shifts you to lie in the center of his palm. For a terrifying moment, Ratchet thinks you are offline when he sees how still you are with your optics closed. But then his sensors pick up on the rapid beating of your organic spark, and he relaxes. Not dead. Just simply unconscious.

  “Give it here.” He holds out a waiting servo. Perceptor hands you over; you are given a quick look-over as Ratchet scans your body. There is a nasty cut on the back of your helm, and your vents are gravely bruised with terrible red marks. “Internal bleeding,” he mutters. “As well as external wounds. The crash really messed it up.” He curls his digits lightly over you and brushes his thumb over your forehead. “Doesn’t have a fever though, which is good. Damage is minimal, nothing life threatening. I can have it fixed in a few hours.”

  “You know how to heal organics?” First Aid questions.

  “I’ve been around for a long time. War changes you. I’ve had my equal share of saving Decepticon-ravaged planets inhabited by organics as well as machines.” Ratchet walks over to another berth, being careful not to jostle you too much. “First Aid, go grab the restrainers. We’ll have to keep it still so it doesn’t accidentally hurt itself when it wakes up.”

  “You’ll have to keep it sedated too,” Perceptor says. “I can help with that. Just a little puff of the gas will keep it asleep.”

  “Thank you,” Ratchet says, then pauses. “Listen. Don’t tell anyone about this yet. I don’t want everyone flocking into the medibay and stressing it out. We could accidentally scare this thing to death if we aren’t careful.”

  “I won’t.” Perceptor nods. “Just…make sure it heals properly. I don’t doubt your expertise, but…” He looks down at you, and his optics soften. “It hurts my spark to see something so small in so much pain.”

  First Aid returns with the restrainer. It’s a small mechanism that runs on magnetic power, created by the Lost Light’s resident mad scientist, Brainstorm himself. Ratchet places it directly over your lax form. With a quiet beep, it presses lightly over your midsection, and magnetic bindings weigh down your ankles and wrists. Seeing you trapped like this makes him feel guilty. This obviously isn’t going to be something you will like when you wake up. But there’s no other way for this to go. You won’t understand his good intentions until he heals you. Until then, he has to keep you still.

  He grabs a small serum of glowing blue liquid and bends over you, gently pinching your little fleshy cheeks and working your intake open. “C’mon little one, drink up,” he whispers when he carefully forces the liquid down your throat. He sees your faceplate tighten with discomfort, but your throat pulses as you subconsciously swallow. ���There you go. Good human, good human.”

  “What are you giving it?” First Aid asks.

  “Something I learned to make back in my early days,” he replies. “It heals from the inside. Works on both organics and machines.” He pats your cheeks praisingly and draws away. “There. That should help with the bleeding. It’ll be fine now. I’ll continue to monitor it over the next few days.”

  First Aid exhales a relieved sigh. Perceptor reaches out a tentative hand and brushes your hair away from your closed optics. “It’s so small…so soft…”

  “We have to be careful with it,” First Aid frets. “We don’t want it to break.”

  “Listen.” Ratchet’s tone hardens authoritatively. “I said this before, but I’ll say it again. We have to keep this between the three of us. Don’t tell anyone about a human being in here.”

  “But what about the captain?” First Aid asks. “Shouldn’t he know?”

  “The captain can’t know. If he finds out there's a human on the ship, he’ll go nuts with excitement and probably end up accidentally crushing the poor thing. Until I confirm it’s not going to drop dead at any moment, we keep it a secret. Got it?”

  Both bots nod. Ratchet nods with them. “Alright. I’m going to stay here and make sure it’s condition remains stable. You can come back tomorrow to check in on it and see how it’s doing.”

  Perceptor dips his head and leaves without another word. First Aid lingers, optics never leaving you.

  “It’ll be fine,” Ratchet reassures him. “I’ll take care of it. Go recharge.”

  It takes a lot for the other medic to step back and exit the medibay. Ratchet watches him go, then sighs and drags a servo over his faceplate. Becoming the caretaker of an injured organic lifeform was not something he had planned for today. Primus, how the hell am I going to tell Rodimus?

  A soft noise drags his attention away from the alarming thought of what might happen if the extroverted captain learns about his new “crewmate.” He looks down at you and startles a bit. Your eyes, foggy and unfocused, are staring right at him. There’s a fatigued expression of utter terror on your face that once again has his spark feeling like it's been ripped from his chassis and stomped on.

  “You’ll be okay,” he whispers to you. “I promise.”

  You close your eyes and let your helm loll to the side. Ratchet watches the soft rise and fall of your chassis for a few moments longer, then dims the medibay lights and returns to his previous work on the other side of the room.

  Never do you stray far from his mind.

[xeeroo08]

Astro Observations 《1》

Disclaimer : I am not a professional astrologer. This post is only for fun and it is solely based on my observations and experiences. So, please take it with a grain of salt.

♠️ Taurus Mars 🤝 Anger issues. It's either a disaster or unhealthy suppression. No in between.

♠️ Mars-Neptune placements have some wide imagination when it comes to steamy stuff. It be going on in their heads 24/7! Also they might get frequent wet dreams. Infact on a side note they are quite looking forward to it when they go to sleep.

♣️ Mars in 4th house went through a lot of family trauma in childhood. It could be anything like daily arguments, abusive household, domestic violence etc.

♠️ Sagittarius venus and their frequent crushes. If influenced by Scorpio could be secretive as hell.

♠️ Jupiter–Saturn negatively aspected could indicate a hard academic life in the beginning but once you work on it, you will succeed with flying colors. My friend has her jupiter squaring saturn and she was always at the bottom in her class. But once she decided to put her mind into it, she became one of the toppers in our school.

♣️ Venus at 0° has no idea where to began with love. They want it but are clueless about what they actually want.

♠️ Sagittarius people love freedom. Speaking from personal experience, you don't want to tie them down by any means. Like Sagittarius moon hates being emotionally tied down by some melodrama. Don't even think about manipulating them they will run away know right away. Sagittarius venus hates being controlled in a relationship.

♣️ Virgo sun might tease their partner now and then after their night together just to see their reaction. You better blush🔪

♣️ Someone mentioned in their post that having jupiter in 2nd house in solar return chart could indicate buying a lot of books. It's true! I had it last year in my chart and omg I bought so many books in one year! Also I never faced any shortage of money that year so later when I calculated the expense, I was surprised. It's also funny because whenever I felt like, okay I want this book, in the next few days I would have it in my hands by some means. I was obsessed with books. Let it be study material or novels. I still have many novels that I bought last year but haven't read yet. Lol no regrets tho, I love books 📚

♠️ Moon conjuct pluto 🤝 love-hate relationship with their mothers. It's like— I can't live without you. The next moment—but if I die it will be only because of you. And it goes both the ways. I have this and trust me it hurts on a subconscious level.

♣️ Asteroid Actor conjuct moon could mean that when you act, you act flawlessly. No one could tell if you are acting or not. Emotions are always on point. It comes very natural to these people. If underdeveloped, could make sly manipulators, like a wolf under sheep's skin.

♠️ Scorpio MC people always have a strict control over their public image. They are not said to be mysterious just like that. You might think you have them figured out but there is always something going on in their lives which is unknown to the public. And if they don't want you to know about it, you will never know either.

♣️ Pluto in 11th house/Sagittarius/Aquarius could mean that you might have a wide variety of friends all over the world, through online or even through mutuals. But for some of you these people just come along and go. Or maybe you are the one who gets distant for some reason. They still remain good friends though, it's just that the sudden closure is gone. Plus they don't reveal every single secret to their friends. They know later it won't matter.

♣️ Venus conjuct/ Sextile/trine Mercury gives a very pleasant voice. These people should try applying in music industry.

♠️ Asteroid Skip in natal chart could indicate what all things you missed or neglected in your life. For example, in 6th house you could have neglected your health a lot to the point later it backfired. Or in Capricorn it could indicate that you skipped working.

♣️ Jupiter–AC people are very sharp minded. Especially if it's conjuction. They know how to turn the situation in their favour. They are also very versatile in nature, which makes them very well liked by people. Basically the All rounder placement.

♠️ Asteroid Scientia positively aspecting Jupiter/Sun/moon could mean you work good in science fields. Whereas if it's negatively aspected you might face a little difficulty in dealing with science majors and need more effors to put in. I have jupiter square scientia and I know exactly what I am talking about.

♣️ Asteroid Academia in 11th house/Aquarius could indicate changing many schools, colleges throughout your life or living in a hostel.

♠️ Aries risings are the most restless beings alive. They can't sit still for two minutes to save their lives! These people are very competitive when it comes to athletics, as for academics, they are okay with being average. Two of the people that I know who have this rising sign won gold medals during their school lives in sports competitions.

♣️ Mars conjuct MC or Mars in 10th house people are very dedicated and driven when it comes to their profession. They pursue their career with full potential.

[ancientcharm]

Roman marble sculpture. About 120 – 140 AD, reused 170-175 AD. Louvre Museum, Paris.

Photos: EGISTO SANI (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0)

Sculpted during the early second century AD, it originally depicted the Emperor Hadrian and his wife Sabina. However, the group was later altered, for reasons that remain unknown. The head of the female figure was changed and replaced by another ancient portrait: the features and hairstyle, essential indicators for the dating of Roman portraits, indicate that this is a late second-century portrait, probably of Lucilla, wife of Emperor Lucius Verus (161-169 AD). If this is indeed the case, Lucilla may have reused this group to the glory of her dead husband. By substituting her own portrait for that of Sabina and making Hadrian's features more anonymous in order to turn him into a generic figure, she would have elevated Lucius Verus to the status of god. It reflects the hellenizing taste and the neoclassical style in fashion during this period. Hadrian (117-138 AD), the first Roman emperor to be portrayed as a god during his own lifetime, is depicted as Mars, god of war. The plinth may be modern.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Tease

Park Seonghwa x fem reader

a/n: yikes i went overboard- this was originally supposed to be a small drabble but the hwa brain rot is so real. i saw this photo and I STARTED THINKIN THOUGHTS I HAD TO GET THEM OUT-

You decided to tease your boyfriend, but you soon find out that what goes around always comes back around.

✫彡wordcount: 2.5k

(>ᴗ•)genre:

smut, p w/o plot, fluff sprinkles

ಠ_ಠwarnings/contents:

soft dom+teasing seonghwa, established relationship, implications of nudes, use of sex toys, edging/orgasm control, cunnilingus, begging(lots tbh), praise, dacryphilia, unprotected penetration(wrap it up yall), lots of pet names, hair pulling, light name calling, profanity, scratching, one(1) chomp, big dick hwa, belly bulge, cream pie, and forehead touches(obv) and i think that's it ... i told you i went overboard ..damn this is wild 😭

SMUT UNDER THE CUT MDNI

"You wanted my attention all day, Sweetie. Why are you crying now? You've got what you wanted..." Seonghwa looks down at you with his eyes glazed over in lust, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning down to where you sit on the floor in front of the couch. Your legs spread, face warm and wet with tears, cute pantie set pushed to the side to give him a good view of your wet hole clenching the toy. "You've got all my attention, sweet girl."

"Please-"

"Nuh-uh." He cuts you off, cupping your face with a soft smile that hardly matches his next words, "you take it. This is what you get." You adjust yourself on the floor to sit on your knees, and he watches you with a hint of amusement.

You brace yourself on his thighs, gripping the fabric of his sweats. "Please, Mars... Touch me. God- please give me more. I need to cum. I'm s- I'm sorry!" You sob, leaning your head onto his lap. You feel his hand gently pat down your undoubtedly messy hair, then you hear him chuckle.

"You're always sorry until I let you cum, huh?"

"No, I'm really sor-"

"Teasing little slut," he groans, tenderly tugging your hair by the roots to pull your head up. You've left a stain of tears just above his knee. "Tell me," he begins, "do you think I enjoyed a hard on during practice? You think I got to cum after you teased me with those pictures?"

"No," you admit, tears slowing. He notices, and reaches to his phone, abruptly turning the device from six to twelve. They return full force, your legs clench themselves together and you cling onto Seonghwa for dear life as moans rip through you. "I'm sorry, Hwa! Please, please, it's too much," you croak out.

"Too much?" He coos with a smirk. "I thought you wanted to cum, Princess?" Your eyes widen at the implication of his words, and he only smiles back down at you. "Get back down there and maybe I'll let you."

You all but fall back into the shag rug of your apartment, hiccuping as your tears free fall. "Please, I'mma be good, Baby. I promise, I pinky swear, with a fucking cherry on top!" You almost forget to spread you legs, when his foot knocks down one of you knees and reminds you. You expose yourself to him as you revel in the feeling of the intense vibrations inside you.

It's never enough to make you cum, though. And Seonghwa knows that. That's why he's looking down with a smirk.

"Can't see you, Sweetie." His voice alone makes you cry out in a moan, writhing as you try to get any friction on your clit with the lace panties you used to tease him. "Take them off." Your tears blur your vision as you blink open your eyes, staring up at the ceiling as you hook your fingers under the fabric. You follow his instruction, pulling them down as quickly as you can and leaving them discarded to an unknown corner of the room.

"There's my good girl," he all but moans as he slinks to the floor in front of you. "Where've you been all day, Angel? I've been stuck-" he runs his hand over your calve, making you twitch- he laughs heartily. "I've been stuck with an attention whore all day."

Unbeknownst to you, his smirk only grows as he comes closer and sees the fat tears that still run down the sides of your face. "I'm so-" you cry out as his hands find purchase on your hips, holding them in place. "I'm so sorry, Hwa! I'll never tease you again, I swear! I'm gonna be good! I'm your good girl, I promise!"

He hums, pushing you back so he can lay flat on his tummy. "I know you are, I know. We all have our days. Isn't that right, Princess? You were just extra needy today, huh?" His thumb ghosts over your swollen clit, and you begin mumbling incoherent pleas and apologies: gripping onto the carpet like it owes you money.

"Isn't that right?" he asks again, reaching one of his hands up to grip your hand and ground you.

"Yes," you moan, "just need you so bad."

"You've got me," he attaches his lips to your core with no warning, and both of your hands wrap up in his blond locks.

"God, fuck!" His tongue assaults your begging cunt, swiping up and down and side to side and messaging you in tight circles. "Oh my God, my God, Mars Baby, so good! You're so good! Please, don't stop," you begin to hyperventilate, and it doesn't slip his attention as he hears it in your tight voice.

He moves one of his hands away from its death grip on your hip and trails it to rest softly between your ribs, tracing the same patterns he makes with his tongue with his index finger. Similar to him, one of your hands lets up on the clutch you have on his head and traps his wrist in it, feeling the small flexes as he traces on your body.

When he begins backing his head away as you start to reach your peak, you try fruitlessly to push him back. The vibration increases ten fold. He put it all the way to twenty. Your hips buck in his hold, head thrown to the side and back arched off the floor.

"Angel, hey..." he speaks gently, leaning over you and smiling as he wipes your hot face. "You ready to cum for me?"

"Yeah," you manage to mumble, kissing his wrist before he pulls it away and wraps both his hands around your thighs. He watches as you wait patiently for a moment, bracing yourself for his tongue. "Hwa?" You prop yourself up after a long moment. "Baby, please?"

He hums, looking up as if he's deep in thought. "I don't know... Are you sure?"

"Fuck!" You pound your hands on the floor, surely pissing off the downstairs neighbor (who is the extremely unfortunate Choi San).

He laughs, thumbs digging into your hips as he gives you a kitten lick that makes tremors rack your body. "You sure?"

"Yes! Yes, please! I want to fucking cum for you, Mars! I want to fucking cum, please help me, I need it so badly," you can barely keep eye contact with him as he rolls his tongue out. "Please, stop teasing me," you whisper though your sobs, giving him your best pleading eyes.

"How can I resist that?"

He sucks roughly on your weeping cunt, rolling his tongue over your nerves as he does so. You come undone in no time at all, so wound up from his teasing that the pleasure spills over inside you and you're seeing stars in your vision. You freeze up as you're dunked into an overwhelming climax. He doesn't let up until you seem to come back into your own body, slumping to the floor and searching him out with a wandering hand.

He sits up quickly and pulls you up into his lap even quicker, wrapping his arms around you tightly- somehow finding time to turn the vibrator off in between. You lean into his warmth, moaning into his shoulder, "fuck." You're so out of it that you don't notice you're sitting over his hard cock. "Fucking love you."

"I love you," he places a chaste kiss to your temple. "My precious Angel. You did so well." His gentle fingers find your overworked cunt, and you jump at the feeling. He holds back a chuckle at the moan you let out when he finally takes the toy out with a lewd pop. He tosses it half harzardly near the wet spot left on the carpet by the mixture of his saliva and your wetness- making a mental note to break out the carpet cleaner.

"Sweet Angel," he rasps as he leaves an open mouthed kiss on your sweaty neck. "Love of my life." He tugs you away from your near-sleep with a deep kiss to your lips. It's wakes you up, his tongue quickly finding its place in your mouth. You wrap yours up in it, entangling you together as he pumps his cock in the small gap between the two of you.

"You need more time, Princess?" You shake your head, steadying yourself with a hand on his shoulder as you take him in the other.

He can barely hold himself back as he hears you begging so quietly, he nearly misses it. "Want you to fill me up."

"Fuck," he groans, "keep talking like and I'll loose my mind." He holds back a moan with his finger between his teeth as you sink down on him. You settle ontop of him, flattening your chest against his and resting your forehead against his. "Want you to fuck me full, Mars." You say proudly, "want you to cum inside me. Want it so bad."

"Too good to me, Sweetie." He rests his arms over your shoulders and glances down to where you're connected.

"Can I move now?" You ask with a quick smile and a kiss to the side of his lips. He nods, pushing his head impossibly closer to yours as his eyes screw up in pleasure.

"God," he gasps, savoring the way your walls slowly envelop him. His throat bobs as you kiss behind his ear, holding himself back to let you have your little moment of dominance. "My good girl, my Angel. Take me so good." His words appeal to the sub he knows you are, your hips stuttering.

The slapping of your skin together echoes in the room, fueling both of your insatiable hunger for one another. "So big," you whine as you work your hips. You finally lean away from him to get better leverage, rolling your hips. "Gah-" You moan as he presses on of his hands to your back, the other just above your cunt. "No, I can't take it! Don't fucking do it, Hwa."

He swipes his tongue over his top lip, looking up at you with a shockingly wholesome smile. "Don't you wanna feel me, Princess? I wanna feel..." You can't deny the way it drives you crazy when he presses down on the outline of his cock inside you. Your just afraid you might loose your mind after how he made you cum earlier. "You think you can handle it?" His hand leaves the imprint and wonders to you breast, pinching your nipple and making your hips halt as you lean into his touch. "Ah~" he moans, "my Love is so sensitive."

He takes back the dominance in a second flat (as if he ever let it slip away). He wraps his arms around your waist and begins pounding into you, relishing in the way he can see his cocks outline just above your pussy before it's hidden by your belly fat. "That's it, Sweetheart. Just like that..." Your walls flutter around him, earning a low moan.

Wordlessly, you remove one of your hands form their tight grasp on the straps of his tank top and toward your stomach.

"Can you take that? You sure, Precious?"

"Yeah," you brokenly whimper that you, "wanna feel it. Wanna feel you." You both whine as you put pressure down, and his hips falter ever so slightly. Tears are building up in your eyes for the umpteenth time tonight, and he leans off the back of the couch to kiss your cheeks as they fall, treasuring the saltiness.

You let your legs fall from the upright position, and he wraps them around him, pulling you all the closer as he fucks into you, and you feel it even more as he keeps a hand on your lower stomach. "Mars-"

"Hold it." He knows by now that you're about to cum, and he's still technically punishing you. "Don't cum yet, don't do it."

You prop your head over his shoulder, wrapping your hands up in the back of his hair. The harder it gets, the harder you clench, and it only builds you up faster. "Baby, please..." You cry, tugging his hair.

"Hold it, Sweetie. You can do it. If you cum, I'm not letting you catch your breath."

"Feels too good!" Your hands rake down his back, leaving angry red lines in your wake. "I can't-"

"You can," he hisses as you mark up his back, "you can take it, Princess. My Princess can take it. I know you can."

His words give you the will to hold back the pleasure, biting gently into his shoulder to hold back your loud noises. "Good girl. You're there, right? I know you wanna cum so bad, huh?"

"Please, can I?" You sniffle, pushing back off his shoulders to face him, brain foggy and excited at the words that leave his lips. You trail your arms down his arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. "God," you start moving your hips with his the moment you see him. His own tears are welling up, face flushed, lips swollen from physically biting back his moans. "My pretty boy, you-Fuck!" He slams up into you, moaning openly as you praise him. "Mars Baby, you fuck me so good! Take such good care of me," you cradle his hot face in your shaking hands, struggling to hold your orgasm back and still function.

"I'm going to fucking fill you up, Angel." He's already more than halfway to that promise, watching as you stare down at him, keeping your hands on his face so lovingly as he pounds you mercilessly. "Want you to cum with me. Want you to cream on my cock."

You nod, managing to hold back most of your yells as he ups the force: holding you from bouncing with one hand on your hip and the other on your shoulder. "Please, Hwa... fuck me full. Wanna be full of you."

His hand slips down from your hip and to your abused clit, and you can't hold back as you cum- forcing yourself to keep your eyes on him as they threaten to roll back. He pulls your head to his and moans loudly into your lips, continuing to thrust as his warm seed fills you up.

He pulls back as darkness starts to cloud your vision, sweet praises followed by the shallow, heavy breaths of the both of you. You shiver in his hold, tears soaking the fabric of the couch that you now have your face smushed against.

"God," he whines, hands rubbing up and down your back soothingly. "My little fucking tease."

[jinwoosungs]

{ 134 }

drugstore perfume.

peter parker x fem.reader

notes: post no way home.

{ gone, today | i might just see you around | it hurts but i understand | if you can't find another reason not to stay }

there was a cute guy that often stopped by your diner, exuding a type of loneliness that kept you achingly captivated.

he orders simple meals, often opting for a lighter meal consisting of a simple sandwich with a bowl of whatever the soup of the day was. with your workplace being a diner that remained opened for 24 hours, for once, you were happy that your usual shift was the graveyard shift.

without fail, he would come in around 2 to 3am, wearing a hoodie with unexplained cuts and bruises dotting his skin. and despite the minor injuries that were kept sustained against his face, it didn't do much to mar his soft and gorgeous features.

each time you would serve him, he would give you that same, sad smile. his kind eyes always appeared grateful before digging into his meal, yet it was clear that he was keeping many parts of himself hidden from you.

you had a sense that... that there was so much more to him than meets the eye.

why was it that every time he would enter the diner, he was covered in fading bruises?

why was he always alone, never once coming into the diner with a friend or family member?

and why did you have this inexplicable urge to comfort him each time he would gaze out the diner's window, his unblinking gaze staring at the cityscape with some unknown emotion you could never quite place.

you wanted to get closer to him-

to find out all the mysteries he had to offer.

and you were finally going to do something about it.

it was like you had become so accustomed to his presence, with you getting ready for work each night whilst sporting a gentle smile on your face. once your uniform was on, you step out of your apartment and began your trek towards the diner, your strides having a bit of the bounce to them.

your walk to work was uneventful (as per usual), with you clocking right at 10pm, ready to relieve your coworker of her shift as you take her place, taking on orders for the new patrons that surrounded the diner.

you kept busy, doing your best to not look at the clock as the hours ticked by, your heart practically pounding as it neared 2am. as if responding to the late hours, the amount of customers you served began to dwindle down, leaving you alone with the cook as the diner was now empty.

with a hum, you begin wiping down the tables, eyes trailing over to the clock once more, seeing that the time read 2:05 when you hear the sounds of a door opening.

you look back to see him, flashing you a sheepish smile as his brown eyes met with your welcoming gaze. he spends a few seconds admiring you, shaking his head while fighting back a blush. a cough was heard coming from him before he looks away from you.

walking with a comfortable pace, you allow yourself to stand next to him, brushing back your hair while taking out your pad and pen.

"hey peter, your bruise looks a lot better today."

you greet him by stating his first name, shivering a bit when he lets out a hum in response. those gentle vibrations heard coming from him was enough to make your knees a little weak for him.

"uh, thanks... i told you before that i can heal pretty well."

you nod and meet his gaze, your smile kind and genuine. "what can i get for you?"

"what's the soup of the day?"

"tomato bisque."

"then i'll take a grilled cheese, with some coffee, please."

"got it, peter."

you felt yourself smiling when you turn away from peter, already replaying the interaction you just had with him within your mind. he was just so sweet, and you felt your desires to get to know him growing in response.

you linger against the cooking area, waiting by the window for the cook to finish making peter's order. paul looks at you while toasting up the bread on his grill.

"what's this about? you hardly linger close to me when i'm trying to work." paul lets out a grunt before placing the cheese on top of the slices, combining them together into the perfect grilled cheese.

"i know i know, but... this guy's special to me." you admit to the cook with a whisper, a familiar heat felt against your cheeks. "so i was wondering... could you make me a sandwich, too? just so i can talk to him a bit?"

paul lets out another grunt, "don't see why not. we ain't busy or anythin' so sure. get your boy, then."

you can feel the heat spreading across your cheeks as you waited for paul to finish. within the next 10 minutes, he places both of your orders on a tray while giving you a wink. you smile brightly at him, taking the food while making your way towards peter's table.

peter looks away from his phone, setting it off to the side as you caught a glimpse of the news article he was reading.

SPIDER-MAN STRIKES AGAIN! STOPPING AN ARMED ROBBERY AT THE FIRST AMERICA BANK!!

"here's your order pete. and oh? i didn't peg you to be a fan of spider-man."

your voice was casual as you sit across from him with your own grilled cheese and tomato bisque soup. peter's blushing face and sudden gape made it clear that your question made him feel flustered when he quickly reaches out to shut off his phone, hiding the news article from you.

"ah, y-yeah, i was just curious about him, t-that's all." his voice appeared crack, but he was all too eager to change the subject when he sees you sitting across from him with the same meal.

"oh, you're eating too?"

"yes...uhm, i just wanted to keep you company, i guess?" you admit to him with a shy smile, trying to hide your shyness when biting into your own grilled cheese sandwich.

peter's eyes were seen furrowed for a brief second before his expression changes into a sweet smile. "thanks, i think i could use your company, actually."

that was all that needed to be said when peter begins to enjoy his own meal, biting into his grilled cheese dipped into the tomato bisque. he sneaks glances at you, and you could tell that he wanted to say so much more than what he was actually letting on.

you strengthen your resolve and decide to guide the conversation first. "this may not be any of my business but... i notice that you've been coming here for a while."

"mhmm." peter looks back up at you, and you notice how his rich, brown hair falls across his forehead, making your hands itch with the urge to gently brush it back.

however, you were able to fight back such urges, keeping your hands tightly balled up against your lap in response. "s-so, what i was wondering is... why are you always alone?"

you allow your question to linger within the air, sensing that it was an uncomfortable question for peter to try and answer. his hand seemed to grip tightly at the spoon, and you watch when he seemed to bend the metal in response.

your eyes go wide when peter suddenly stands from his seat, running a hand through his hair as he grabs his phone reached into his pockets to get out his wallet.

"sorry, i have to go."

he grabs a few bills from his wallet before tossing them on the table, filling you with a guilt when you look back at his half-eaten meal. "wait, peter, i'm sorry. i didn't mean to-"

"keep the change."

that was all he said before he quickly leaves the diner, making your heart turn cold as ice was felt coursing through your veins. upon hearing the commotion, paul walks out of the kitchen right as peter left. confusion was seen in the man's gaze when he looks down at the table, seeing the completely bent spoon while letting out a whistle.

"damn, did he do that?"

yet you couldn't bring yourself to answer him, simply taking both of your half-eaten meals, being filled with a guilt for potentially overstepping your boundaries with peter.

just who are you? those were the thoughts that lingered within your heart and mind, filling you with an even deeper yearning to get a better understanding of the mysterious young man who seemed to have built a wall around his very heart...

{ ... }

your shift didn't end for another hour, yet paul could sense how distracted you had become and let you off early. he tells you that the waitstaff for the morning shift was on their way and that you could go home to cool off.

"i'll let 'em know you weren't feeling too well, so you just focus on getting some rest."

you give him a grateful smile, clocking out while grabbing your belongings together. "you're the best, paul."

he lets out a rich chuckle while stating your name, "you're damn right i am. be careful going home now, okay?"

with one last nod, you give him a wave and got out of the diner, taking in the cool, early morning air as the sky steadily began to lighten in response to the incoming sun.

"hey."

a soft voice stops you from stepping forward, and you look behind you to see peter himself waiting off to the side. he wore an apologetic expression on his face, adjusting his hoodie while coming closer to you.

"mind if i walked you home?"

you shake your head eagerly at peter, "n-no, i don't mind at all."

he smiles at you, taking a stance right next to you as he kept up with your casual pace. you look back at him and smile.

"were you... waiting for me?"

"yes." peter admits with a sigh, running a hand across his hair once more, making them appear much messier than before. "i felt like an ass for how i treated you back there."

"n-no! don't be, i...i may have gone too far with such a question. a-and, i'm sorry."

"i'm sorry, too."

admittedly, your heart felt so much lighter with your respective apologies stated clearly, no longer feeling the guilt when you continue walking back to your apartment with peter by your side.

you spent several seconds in silence when his voice was heard cutting through your thoughts. "i've lost so many people, that's why you always see me alone."

your heart clenches when you could detect the unbidden sadness in his voice. "you have, peter?"

he doesn't meet your gaze, keeping his eyes against the skyline when he nods at you. the more you looked at him, the more you could see his soft brown eyes shimmering with unshed tears from beneath the sunlight.

"yeah, i have..."

you stop walking, not liking the fact that peter was suffering so much. his loneliness truly didn't seem intentional at all. wishing to change the subject for him, you sigh and lighten up your tone.

"you know, i've been curious about the bruises i see on your face sometimes..."

peter stiffens in response to your observation, but you quickly hold up your hands in response.

"i-i mean, i don't think much of it, i just thought you were into boxing, or were an mma fighter or something."

your words succeed in making peter burst out in a laugh. "what? are you serious? an mma fighter?"

"ah, you're laughing at me?!"

you join in with him, actually feeling so relieved that he had relaxed, even just a tiny bit, while talking to you. he continues to laugh, and you allow yourself to bask within the sounds of his joy.

"sorry, that's kind of flattering, but i may not be bulky enough to be an mma fighter..." peter purposely trails off, continuing to walk with you when you see a wistful smile painting at his features.

"but that isn't to say that i can't fight."

you freeze and stop walking once more, your eyes looking up at him with intrigue. peter also stops walking again, appearing like it was taking him a herculean effort to not laugh at his very moment.

"care to elaborate, pete?"

he lets out a sigh of your name before shrugging. "nah, i don't think i will. i like keeping you on your toes."

that was all he says before walking ahead of you, making you gasp as you ran towards him, telling him how mean he was being to you while he laughs, seeming to enjoy this banter with you as he continued to walk you home.

{ ... }

your mind was constantly filled with thoughts of peter, and you couldn't seem to sit still whenever your daydreams with him would take over.

after walking with you to your apartment, you traded numbers with him and end up texting him on a near daily basis. he was charming, funny, and had to be the most attractive guy you had ever met. your happiness was so infectious that your co-workers take note of the change in your attitude, seemingly happy that things were going well for you and peter.

today was your weekend off, and you decided to spend it out in the city. you texted peter once more early in the morning, but had yet to receive a reply back from him. not thinking much of peter's sudden inactivity, you went on with your day.

you thought about your plans, and wondered if you wanted to head to a café, or your local bookstore to treat yourself to something nice. and maybe, if peter ever replied back to you, you could invite him to join you with whatever activity you wished to do.

that was all that filled your mind when you waited at the stoplight for your turn to cross the street. you stopped checking the messages on your phone and placed it back within the safety of your bag. when you saw that it was safe for you to walk did you finally cross the road-

however, the screeching sounds of tires quickly approaching you makes you freeze in response.

as if time had gone into slow motion, your eyes take in the quickly approaching car, seeing a couple arguing in the front. the driver was not paying much attention to the road, still screaming at his girlfriend as your eyes take in the close proximity of the car.

within the next seconds, the woman sees you and screams, "WATCH OUT!"

yet before the car could make its grave impact into you, you felt your body being flung away as a pair of powerful arms rescues you from the speeding car.

you were hit with an intense vertigo, filling you with a dizziness as your eyes take in the passing scenery of the city. you were so close to puking-

yet within the next second, you found yourself safely planted against a rooftop.

your steps were unsteady as the same pair of powerful arms that saved you continues to wrap around you.

"hey, hey, look at me, are you okay? you're not hurt anywhere, are you?"

your blurry eyes finally look forward, seeing the familiar mask of a vigilante, taking in the spider motif seen against his skin tight suit. you could tell that he was staring at you with concern, even with the way his mask covered the entirety of his features.

the adrenaline slowly simmers down, bringing you down to your knees as you kept on trembling within spider-man's arms.

"oh my god, i was about to- i-i nearly-"

before you could even process how you were so close to dying, you felt spider-man wrap his arms around you, bringing you closer to him as you felt a pair of soft, chapped lips pressing desperately against your own.

the way his lips perfectly slot against yours was enough to make your anxieties go away. you feel the way his hands delve into your hair, pressing one last deep kiss against your lips before pulling away from you.

"ssh, don't even think about it anymore. you're here, safe and sound in my arms. just breathe... just breathe..."

spider-man continues to distract you, holding you in his arms as he walked closer to the edge of the building. his grip on you was tight when he brushes back your hair, pulling down his mask once more while giving you a chance to calm down.

when your breathing goes back to normal, becoming even while losing its hyperventilated quality did he softly ask you, "do you want me to take you home?"

you were still recovering from the shock of his kiss and your near death experience, only managing to give him a nod in response. and despite how you couldn't see his smile, you could hear it in his voice.

"you just hang on to me as tightly as you can, okay? i won't ever drop you, and all you need to do is just trust me."

you give the masked vigilante a nod. "yes, i trust you, spidey."

wrapping your arms around him, you hid your face within his neck as he used his webs to travel quickly through the city. his webs lands with an accurate precision against the buildings, yet still remained durable enough to hold his and your weight. shutting your eyes, you bask at the sensation, feeling as though you were flying from within spider-man's arms.

in just a few minutes, he lands at the front of your fire escape, unlocking your window with his skilled hands as he climbs into your apartment with you.

your eyes go wide when a sudden wave of clarity hits you, feeling spider-man go into your room when he sits on top of your bed with you, this time, his body was trembling.

"spidey-"

he ends up holding you tight, wrapping his arms around your back while hiding his face within the curve of your neck.

"i-i thought i lost you... f-fuck, i thought you were going to be gone from my life, too."

your heart begins to pound, recognizing that broken quality of his voice when you place you hand behind spider-man's head. the hero allows you to pull his face away from you, not even stopping you when you completely lift up his mask-

revealing peter to you.

you caught a glimpse of his bloodshot eyes for a brief moment when he suddenly kisses you again, allowing you to taste the saltiness of his tears as he crushes your frame closer to his body. sobs were felt raking down his form when you gently kiss him back, all while whispering gentle words of comfort to him.

you allow him to cling to you, letting his tears fall freely when you lay back against your bed with him. as he continues to cry against your neck, allowing those warm droplets to cascade down your skin, your heart became softer for him. making sure that you were holding him tightly against you, you begin to draw invisible circles around his back, waiting for peter to catch his breath.

after several minutes, you felt him pressing a kiss against your cheek, catching your attention when he frames at your face.

"sorry, for giving me a minute to... to let it all out."

he rests his forehead against yours, and you were filled with a soft affection for him, running your fingers through his hair in response.

"did you want to talk about it."

"eventually, i will." peter manages to tell you in a breathless whisper. "eventually, but not now."

you hum in agreement, falling back against your bed while still gently running your hands against his soft hair. "take all the time that you need, peter. i'll be here... i'll always be here for you."

peter lets out a sharp inhale, now strengthening his hold on you when he slowly admits to you.

"you're the reason why i came to the diner so much."

your heart nearly bursts in response to his words, making you meet his gaze once more, seeing the love he had for you shining in them.

"really?"

"yeah...really." peter smiles while brushing the back of his hand against your cheek. "when i first came to the diner, i wasn't expecting to see such a cute waitress; one that stole my heart at first glance."

he sighs and leans forward to kiss your cheek, the action feeling quite soft and sweet to you. "at first, i just wanted to protect you; to make sure that you were safe while working. but... the more i observed you, the harder i fell for you."

peter meets your gaze once more and shakes his head, "that night, when you asked me why i was so alone all the time, i wanted to come clean to you right then and there, b-but, i had to stop myself. i knew that when i finally told you, then it would need to be the full story, with me not hiding a single thing from you-"

you cut off his words with another kiss, basking in his tiny moans of your name before pulling away from him.

"you don't have to worry about telling me, peter. i won't ever leave your side, so... you have all the time in the world."

you go back to wrapping your arms around his back, letting him rest his head against your shoulder when you reassure him once more, "i won't ever leave you, and i'll be happy to listen to your story when your ready."

basking in the way his body loosens up, you allow peter to wrap his arms tightly around you, speaking with a bit of a tremor in his voice when he asks you, "do you promise?"

"i promise." with your oath lingering in the air, you press your lips against his forehead, ready to stay by his side as you smiled to yourself, feeling happy that you managed to break down his walls- slowly becoming the absolute love of his life.

{ and as these days go by | they can't change how long we've waited for | a love that's more ... a love that's more. }

a.n. - lmao, i am so sorry it took me a whole month to get a new peter parker story out. when i realized i had gained a few new readers with joy, i knew that i couldn't stop writing for peter with just that story alone. this is unedited, but it has become one of my favorite stories that i have written in a long time. 🥹

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[ashyyslashy]

faustian bargain - marquis vincent de gramont x f! reader (john wick: chapter 4)

synopsis: To clear your debts to The High Table, you agree to a proposal by the Marquis to live with him as his partner.

warnings: language, sexual content (p in v sex, choking), semi-toxic relationship dynamics

word count: 2.8k

a/n: the john wick lore makes my head spin!

You stared into the weathered face of the man on the portrait before you, tucked away in a private corner of the Marquis' expansive gallery. The wrinkles and creases bore the weight of years of suffering, the lines of his face hard set in permanent anguish. You often imagined them as a collection of sins etched onto his aged features. Sometimes, you found yourself likening the image to a Picture of Dorian Gray. You would wonder whether the Marquis' misdeeds had marred this painting instead of his own self, leaving his striking handsomeness intact, and he’d hidden it from view.

The portrait reminded you it was too late to regret the changes that had taken place; only to find a way to cope with them. You had become used to seeking refuge in your thoughts amidst the entrapment of your existence. You would conjure whatever you liked to make this engorged mansion seem less stifling.

You had made an off-hand comment to the Marquis once, that you felt like a cat in a cage without enough room to stretch its legs.

He had chuckled, with his own catlike eyes boring into yours. "Mon amour, you are only bound by your own pride and reluctance. Laissez-vous être libre."

In seeking freedom from The Table, you traded one form of enslavement for another. For some unknown reason, the Marquis had taken an interest in you upon your first meeting. So he offered you a choice: join the fruitless battle to kill John Wick or stay with him in his home until it was all over, in some sort of twisted romantic scenario. Whether he was driven by boredom, liquor, or pure schadenfreude, you were unsure. Regardless of his motivations, you knew there was really only one correct answer if you wanted to live.

"I'll live with you," you'd told him. "But what is it you really want from me? No bullshit."

"The companionship of a beautiful woman, is all. Is that truly so wrong?"

His full lips formed into a roguish smirk.

You should have known there'd be a catch. You didn't simply live in his mansion - you were confined to it. Even with supervision, you weren't allowed to leave the property. As a result, you desired his presence in order to fill your solitude, developing a sudden and unexpected connection to the man. It was shocking how quickly your resolve to spite him faded. He became your lifeline, your connection to the outside world. And despite your best judgement, the more time he spent away, the more you yearned for him.

You hated his brand of intoxicating hedonism, the luxury items and expensive food he lavished upon you to win your favor. But you wore the designer dresses he laid out on your bed and drank the aged wine that was served at dinner.

You felt like you were betraying what you stood for through your infatuation with him. You resented yourself for growing so dependent upon him. Every touch you shared, every pent-up moment of sexuality - and there were few and far between - sent a flood of guilt rushing throughout your body. You'd wanted to escape The Table, but had only gotten yourself in deeper by fraternizing with the enemy.

The worst part of all was that he assumed a total indifference towards you. He would only provide you with the occasional caress or kiss on the cheek and any coy allusion he made to romance or sex in conversation was carefully veiled. He was forcing you to make the first move, and you wished so strongly that you could shatter his confidence by refusing to make it.

But at the same time, your resolve was wavering - every part of you was consumed by a flaming desire for him, steadfast in its absolute power.

You knew you had to do something to extinguish it.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The clatter of silverware resounded throughout the dining room, forks scraping against fine china.

You'd been fixated on him all night. Your eyes were glued to the veins flexing in his hands as he grasped his utensils, the curve of his lips when he brought a forkful of food to his waiting mouth, the tensing of his sharp jawline as he chewed.

Every time he met your gaze, your nerves stood on end. The meal seemed to drag on, and no matter how much you ate, nothing could fill the gaping pit of anxiety in your stomach. It was just the two of you tonight, and the air felt charged with electricity.

"C'est fini," the Marquis commanded suddenly, pushing his chair back. It dragged across the polished floor with a squeal.

As you always did, you stacked the plates and carried them into the kitchen, starting to wash them until the staff refused to let you help any further. You wished they would allow you to do more- you hated not feeling of use, and you disliked others waiting upon you. Your sense of independence was unshakeable, even here.

When you left the kitchen, the Marquis had gone, likely retired to his chamber. You were counting on that. You hurriedly crossed the house, taking deep breaths for what you were preparing to do.

Standing in front of his door, you raised your right knuckle and rapped upon the wood. You heard shuffling within.

"Who is it?" he called.

"It's me," you replied sheepishly.

"D'accord. Come in."

You slowly pushed open the door and stepped into his room. His bare back was facing you, muscles rippling as he leaned over to unbutton his pants.

Your cheeks grew hot. "Um- you know, you could have told me to wait and gotten dressed first."

He turned around, stepping out of his pants and laying them next to his discarded shirt on the bed.

"I was not aware you were such a prude."

You scoffed and mumbled something under your voice about "public decency", trying to hide the anxiousness creeping into your tone. He strolled past you with an air of nonchalance, naked save for his boxers.

"So are you going to tell me why you're here?" he continued after several moments, folding his clothes with all the ease of someone who's never had to do their own laundry. He slipped a silk robe over his body before pivoting towards you, his eyes boring into yours.

You let out a breath of air. "Um... I need to ask. What's going on here? With us?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. What is it you want from this?"

He shook his head. "Déjà vu. You have already asked me this. My answer has not changed."

"Sure. My company, huh?" You replied in an insinuating tone.

"If you are implying that I expect you to do sexual favors for me, do not worry. I would have asked by now."

"What a gentleman."

"Mmm. When I say company, I mean company, chérie."

"Alright. Well..." you stepped towards him, shaking off any lingering feelings of hesitance. "I think you're a coward."

He moved closer, a dark look crossing his face. "Oh, do you?"

"Yeah. You know, I hear a lot around here. And I see how you pull the strings to ensure that everyone but you faces John Wick."

His jaw hardened. "It would be wise not to involve yourself in things that do not concern you."

"See, but you being a coward does concern me. I mean, it must be why you're just biding time until I make a move on you. Since you won't be the one to do it."

You were playing with fire, taunting him like this. You'd know him long enough to become immune to his attempts at intimidation, however.

He treaded backwards, barking out a laugh. It was strange to see him lose his perfectly-maintained composure even for a brief moment.

"You think you know everything, non?"

"I know more than you think," you countered. "You didn't deny it, after all."

"So this was the purpose of the visit? You have come to lecture me for not being man enough?"

"No. I came to ask you to be honest."

"I am not an honest man, chérie. You should know that. So what is it you want me to say?"

You were aware you were about to give away the upper hand, but fuck it.

"It'd like to know if you really do want me."

He shook his head, lips pursed together in amusement. "And did you not just boldly declare that I do?” 

"Stop toying with me."

He let out a sigh of exasperation. "I cannot understand why you ask me this. If I did not want you, why would you be here? I have given you space, and you interpret this as a sign of cowardice. I did not think boldly pursuing you would go over well. My mistake."

"That's not what I'm saying," you retorted, an indignant cry escaping your lips. "I'm alone in this house most of the time, and when you are here, you treat me as if I'm invisible. I feel like the fucking toy that the spoiled brat refuses to play with."

"You believe this is how I see you?"

"Yes, I believe it," you spat.

He laughed again, the sound not as sharp as before, humorless.

"How wrong you are."

"Then tell me your side of the story.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on either side of him.

"I decided I would not send you to the front lines of this war with John Wick. I am confident I will win, bien sûr, but not without casualties. I did not want you to be one."

"Why?"

"J'sais pas. A feeling I had that I cannot explain. I just knew I wanted to give you a way out. I..." he trailed off. "I did not do it to taunt you, as you think. And I am not indifferent towards you. I thought that much was obvious."

"How wrong you are," you imitated.

"You are one to talk, chérie. You walk around as if you hate me and everything I stand for."

"I wish I did,” you replied ruefully.

His expression was unreadable. You approached him, standing over his form on the bed. Tentatively, you reached out to untie his robe, your movements slow in the case that he'd want you to stop. He stared up at you with unblinking eyes as you slid the folds of his robe to the side, revealing his bare chest. He shrugged the rest of the garment off, allowing it to fall to the floor. You slowly ran your hand across his abs down to his happy trail. 

"Do you like what you see?" he murmured, his eyes searching you for validation that you were surprised a man of his status would be asking for.

"I saw it before when you were walking around half-naked, but yes, I do."

Ignoring your sarcastic comment, as he tended to do, he gestured towards your own clothing. "Take it off."

You were too caught up in the headiness of the moment to protest that he'd phrased it as a demand. You pulled your nightgown over your head, and it joined the clothing pile on the floor.

Gazing at you intently, he placed his hands firmly on your waist and pulled you towards him. He took one of your breasts in his mouth and then the other in turn, swirling his tongue around your nipples. You dug your hands into his brunette locks as he peppered your chest with love bites, exercising his newfound lack of restraint. 

It was hypnotizing to see his guard go down, a hungry, animalistic fervor overtaking him. He was feverish with his movements as he pulled you to straddle him, his hard cock pressing against you. You tugged down his boxers and let the member spring free, admiring it for a moment before moving your hand in front of you to pump it up and down. You adopted a slow pace to offset his sudden frenzy, determined to leave him wanting more.

He slid backwards across the bed and you followed, your hands still working around his cock. He laid his head down on the pillow, looking at you lazily with hooded eyes.

"This must be how all of your fucks go, huh? You just lay down while the other person gets you off?" you teased while suspecting there was some truth to the notion.

"I'm simply fulfilling the role you've already carved out for me, non?" he retorted, reaching out his hand to smooth your hair back.

You spit on your hand and lubed up his cock, feeling the intensity of his gaze burning your face. You pressed down on his shoulders for support as you lifted yourself up into a crouching position, lining him up with your entrance. 

He sat up slightly, helping guide you onto his cock with eagerness. He sloppily buried himself inside you, and you began to create friction, bouncing up and down with your legs wrapped around him and your nails digging into his shoulders. 

You relished in the effect that your ministrations had upon him. He was a silent lover beside the occasional soft breath or inhale, but his pleasure revealed itself through his body language; his mouth gaped slightly open, eyebrows furrowed, head arched back. You couldn’t help but admire him.

The two of you moved in harmony, soaking in your collective loss of inhibitions as your pace grew faster. You’d caught yourself imagining this a few times late at night, cursing yourself as your hand crawled down to the hem of your nightgown. 

It felt so much fucking better when it was real. 

You scratched deep marks in his skin as ecstasy washed over you, climbing closer to your high, your walls clenching against his cock. Suddenly he was trying to move you off him, and the spell was broken as you looked down at him in confusion.

"Lay down on your stomach," he instructed, and again you bent to his will.

You felt his arm snake around you from behind, his hand clamping down around your neck. You went lightheaded from the sudden loss of oxygen, and a moan escaped your mouth as you felt him enter you again.

"Is this man enough for you, chérie?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he rammed into you from behind.

He was pounding you mercilessly, and you knew that to tell him to stop was to reveal further weakness. You moved to brace yourself against the bed frame, but his hands were on your arms, pinning you down so you were entirely at his mercy.

"Tell me I'm a fucking coward now," he challenged.

"You're - not - a - coward," you managed to choke out, his thrusts continuing to increase in intensity, the sound of skin slapping against skin reverberating throughout the room.

He hummed his approval, before taking ahold of you and flipping you onto your back. His left hand moved to play with your clit as the other returned to your throat. Your back arched in anticipation, your body tingling from the combination of his cock thrusting into you and the movement of his fingers.

"I'm gonna cum," you cried out.

"Ouais, cum for me."

Your body trembled under the weight of your orgasm. As soon as you'd collapsed back down, he quickly pulled out of you, letting out a guttural groan as he shot his load over your tits and upper stomach.

He reached his index finger into the mess, drawing a heart in the sticky liquid and completing with an arrow through the center. The juvenile gesture caught you entirely off-guard until you looked up to see the amused, self-satisfied expression on his face. 

He pressed his finger against your lips, gently nudging for you to open it. You took his finger into your mouth, sucking it clean.

The Marquis laid down beside you, his eyes roving over your body. You surveyed his in return, unused to seeing the skin that he always had hidden under layers of a suit. You half-expected him to tell you to get out, maybe even toss you a twenty-dollar bill, but he said: "Do you want to sleep here tonight?"

It took you a moment to process the question. "Uh- yeah, I guess I will."

"Très bon. I will get you a cloth to clean up.”

He rolled off the bed. As you listened to him rifle through the cabinets, you were hit with the realization that you'd crossed a line you couldn't come back from. You'd fallen into his trap and given yourself over to him, just as he'd always suspected you would. 

He returned to your side, handing you a plush washcloth. You wiped off the evidence of your clandestine encounter, but as he turned off the lights and pulled you under the covers with him, you knew it stained you somewhere deeper. 

When you closed your eyes, all you could see was the haunting portrait. And all that lingered on your mind was a deal with the devil. The Table still had its claws in you.

[blueiskewl]

Ancient Ceiling Reliefs Uncovered in The Egyptian Temple of Esna

The reliefs were buried under millennia of dirt, soot, and bird droppings.

Conservation work on a 2,200-year-old temple in Egypt has uncovered 12 reliefs representing Babylonian zodiac signs, as well as depictions of stars and constellations that the ancients used to measure time.

The images were found carved into the ceiling of the Temple of Esna in Luxor, which was completed around 250 C.E. and dedicated to the Egyptian god of fertility Khnum. They were revealed by a restoration team, made up of archaeologists from the Egyptian Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities and the University of Tübingen in Germany, which cleared away millennia of dirt and bird droppings from the temple’s surfaces to unveil the 12 astrological motifs that are unusual for a site of worship in Egypt.

“Representations of the zodiac are very rare in Egyptian temples,” said Christian Leitz, a professor at the University of Tübingen, who explained that the Babylonian zodiac was probably introduced to Egypt during Ptolemaic rule between 305 and 30 B.C.E.

“The zodiac was used to decorate private tombs and sarcophagi and was of great importance in astrological texts, such as horoscopes found inscribed on pottery sherds,” added Daniel von Recklinghausen, a Tübingen researcher. “However, it is rare in temple decoration. Apart from Esna, there are only two completely preserved versions left, both from Dendera.”

Zodiac signs aside, the restoration effort further unearthed a trove of other reliefs, including illustrations of the planets Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars.

A host of deities and fantastical animals were also found, such as a snake with a ram’s head, a bird with a crocodile’s head, and yet another snake with four wings.

Additionally, researchers discovered some previously unknown inscriptions, which had been covered by soot and inadvertently preserved. Analysis is currently being carried out on these new finds.

Restoration on the Temple of Esna began in 2018, and has involved the cleaning and recoloring of the monument’s surfaces. Along the way, the team has logged finds including a colorful fresco made up of 46 depictions of Egyptian goddesses Nekhbet and Wadjet, as well as painted inscriptions that detail royal titles and caption the constellations carved into the temple’s ceiling.

[harwinsgirl]

Healing - Aemond Targaryen x Reader

After Aemond is injured during a jousting tournament, you have been selected to tend to his wounds. The prince is not prepared to awaken to a feisty, unknown woman in his chambers who claims she’s there to care for him.

(Listen, Ser Harwin still owns my heart but this devilish war criminal has been plaguing my thoughts. I must banish him with a fic. Since some of you have asked to be tagged in Harwin fics I’m not gonna tag anyone here since it’s Aemond but please feel free to let me know if that’s something you’re interested in for the future! Some slight angst and fluff, tw for some brief trauma mentioned by the reader)

Prince Aemond had just beaten his twelfth jousting opponent in his father’s nameday tourney and he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Despite his prowess, he did not have the same reputation for celebrating that his uncle was known for. It was common knowledge that the Prince felt that these events were beneath him and were a waste of his time. However, every now and again he would be persuaded to participate. The silver haired prince would defeat his challengers with speed and efficiency, earning raucous roars from the crowd each time a young knight or lord fell flat on his back.

The men that were pitted against him were of little consequence to him. All from lesser houses, just serving as entertainment to King Viserys amongst the other events and festivities. Aemond would resent being subjected to playing such a role as well, but would never say anything to confirm his feelings. Truthfully, his scowl said enough.

Over the loud cheering from the crowd, the prince could not hear his opponent stirring from his place on the dirt track. Aemond had approached the booth where his family was sitting. His father was grinning and clapping while his mother had a joyful smile of her own. Only when he acted the part of the good son did he receive such affection from his parents. Bowing politely, Aemond willed away the feeling of acid in his stomach and plastered on a smile as well.

And then he felt a sting.

The young lord has stumbled forward and drew his sword up the prince’s back, cutting at the tunic that peeked from under his armor. The sword continued its path and left a noticeable scratch on Aemond’s cheek.

The arena was stunned into silence. The king’s voice boomed and filled the air, demanding the boy drop his sword and back away from the prince. Aemond turned swiftly on his heel and clicked his tongue in disapproval, watching as the heir to House Jhorr lost his nerve, his posture folding as he cowered in fear. Whatever anger that had driven the poor soul to attack him had subsided.

“Pick up your sword boy.” Aemond demanded.

“Please, your grace! Forgive my actions.” Lowering his voice, the sandy haired boy trusted the prince with more knowledge. “My betrothed sits amongst the spectators today. I was embarrassed that I lost. I treated you like a brother and not my lord prince. I am dreadfully sorry.”

Aemond couldn’t help but glance over at the area where the boy’s eyes were hovering. A beautiful blonde lady was clutching her chest, panic marring her graceful features.

Too many people thought the prince was a monster already, with his jagged scar peeking from under his eyepatch. Too many men whispered about him in the corridors, too many ladies cast their eyes down when he walked by, too many children gasped and hid their faces in their mothers dresses.

He was not about to prove their suspicions right.

A handful of the kingsguard interrupted his conversation, scooping the boy up by his arms and holding him in place.

“Please.” The boy whimpered.

Aemond closed his eyes and shook his head, mainly at himself. It would be completely justified if he slashed the young lad’s throat in front of his father’s guests. It would be more than appropriate to have him dragged to the dungeons for further interrogation, never to see the light of day again. But he would see that woman’s face in his dreams every night, her bright eyes spilling with tears.

“All is forgiven.” Aemond said firmly. “Release him.”

The prince’s act of grace elicited gasps and murmurs from the crowd. But Aemond was having a hard time focusing, his vision growing grey and hazy with each passing moment. He saw the boy’s lips move quickly, his expression relieved and his arms animated with movement, but he could not respond.

Prince Aemond had collapsed.

~

Your quiet shop at the edge of King’s Landing had been invaded early in the afternoon by several members of the kingsguard, who were requesting your presence and expertise for an unnamed patient within the Red Keep. You packed several ointments and herbs with you amongst other tools that could be helpful in treating an injury or illness, for they had not told you what was afflicting this person you had been tasked with treating. You were hastily helped into a carriage that took off down the cobblestone roads as soon as the door behind you had shut.

You were a healer that operated a small business in Kings Landing. Unable to study at the Citadel and earn the title of maester due to being born a woman, you did what you could, turning an abandoned home into a place where people could seek treatment if they were unwell. Things had been relatively stable in the capital and you were very cautious with who you let through your doors. You had fled twice from other settlements when talk of witchcraft began brewing (heaven forbid a woman be knowledgeable in subjects like science and medicine). But armed guards firmly escorting you out of the premises and taking you to the royal palace was a sure sign that your activities were not as discreet as you’d hoped they had been.

Just as quickly as you’d been thrust into the carriage, silver gloves reached for you and pulled you out swiftly, placing you on the ground. You were jostled forward and forced to keep up with the fast pace of the guards who were leading you up the steps into the Keep. Without even looking at you, one of them began detailing your assignment as you marched onwards, your glass bottles rattling as they clinked together in your wicker basket.

“You are treating Prince Aemond. He suffered from several injuries that he sustained during today’s tourney. You are responsible for his care during this time.” The guard finally turned to look at you, stopping you in your tracks. “If his condition worsens, you will be at fault. Any mistreatment will be seen as treason.”

“Why are the maesters not attending to the prince?” You asked, a hint of annoyance in your voice. You couldn’t help but find it very ironic that you had been sought out to administer aid to the prince, and yet somehow weren’t fully trusted to do so.

“There is an illness that is plaguing our maesters. We cannot risk exposing the prince. And that is all you need to know on that subject.” He said gruffly.

Several flights of stairs later, you were just outside of Prince Aemond’s bedroom chamber. The guards posted outside of his doors nodded at you as they had been expecting your arrival. The door creaked open and you slipped inside.

The room was ginormous. Soft, velvet furniture adorned a sitting area that was set up around a grand fireplace. The walls were filled with overflowing bookshelves. Aemond had two desks that were scattered with papers, writing implements, and scientific tools. That area was an organized chaos, where the layout of such materials made sense only to him. The corners of your mouth twitched upwards into a smile. Your own room looked very similar in that regard.

The windows were huge, but the drapes were shut in nearly all of them, depriving the room of good lighting. You were too busy looking around and taking note of things that you almost failed to hear a pained groan come from the large bed in the middle of the room. Wisps of pale hair were peeking out from under satin sheets.

“M…m-ma…maester…M-maester Ry…Ry…” Aemond mumbled dryly.

“Do you need some water, your grace?” You asked, making your way over to his side table.

The body underneath the covers stilled. He did not recognize your voice. And your voice was that of a woman’s. The prince sat up sharply, wincing in pain immediately after he had done so.

“Who the hell are you?” He demanded, squinting at you. You paused and gave a slight curtesy before flashing a smile at him.

“I’m not here to kill you if that’s your worry,” you joked, “in fact, I’ve been contracted to do the opposite.”

“You’re a woman.” He stated plainly.

You looked at him wide-eyed, fake shock washing over your face. You slipped a finger under your gown and peeked down at your own chest.

“Good heavens, so I am.” You said in response.

Aemond had to bite his lip to suppress a smile. Who the hell were you?

“You can’t possibly be a maester.” He said, trying to keep his voice as flat as possible.

“I never claimed to be, your grace. But as luck would have it, all of your maesters are currently indisposed, fighting off some illness. So here I am, a world renowned healer in your very own chambers.” You took your eyes off him for a moment to start rummaging through your toolkit, but stopped as soon as you heard him clear his throat.

“I can’t have you tending to me, my lady.” Prince Aemond said.

“I managed to make out some details of your ordeal on my way here.” You said, ignoring his statement entirely. “Your subjects are whispering about it, your grace. Apparently you fainted after you were struck with a sword by one of your opponents?”

“I did not faint,” Aemond said bitterly, “I merely grew tired.”

“An interesting place to choose to catch up on your sleep, your grace.” You quipped.

Aemond rolled his eyes. “Despite what you may have heard, it was not as terrible as it sounds. I will rest here until one of my maesters is available and I’m sure my recovery will be quick. I’m sorry that my family troubled you. I’ll make sure you’re compensated.”

You couldn’t help but notice how hoarse his voice sounded. The idiot never took you up on your offer for water. You strode over to him and poured two glasses of water from the pitcher on his night table. You handed him one glass and downed the other, reassuring him that you had not managed to poison it in the short time you had been in his chambers.

“Let me get this straight,” you said, staring hard at the wiry prince that was still mostly covered by his bedsheets, “you’d rather die than be treated by a woman?”

“Who said anything about dying?” Aemond asked, raising his eyebrow at you.

“Any type of laceration is dangerous. You never know what sickness is waiting to take root in your blood. By dismissing me, you’re courting death.” You set the glass down on the table and sighed, shaking your head at him. “That’s too bad then. You were so young. I’ll be sure to send my condolences to the King and Queen. What color roses would you like at your funeral, your grace?”

Aemond looked at you incredulously. It was as if you had no fear. Here you were, freely discussing his death without any regard for the consequences. You could have your tongue cut out for speaking such unkind things about him. And yet, he had a feeling you would simply resort to hand gestures instead if that were the case.

“Fine,” he said, shaking his head at you. “You have ten minutes.”

“Thank you so much, your grace.” You said with an abundance of sarcasm.

With deft fingers, you went to work cleaning the scratch on his cheek and the gash that was still seeping from his back. You murmured soft words to him and rubbed his skin every time he winced or made a sound of displeasure. Despite immediately vexing you upon your arrival, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for the state the prince was in. He was undoubtably in pain. You also failed to disclose to him that what most of the gossip that you had heard on your way to his chambers was about his uncharacteristic generosity in sparing the young boy’s life. Any other man would’ve cut him down and made an example out of him.

“That lord shouldn’t have acted with such recklessness, your grace.” You said softly as you bent over the bed, hovering over him as you dabbed at his cheek. “You’re lucky the wounds are not that serious.”

“Not that serious?” Aemond said, taking the rag from your hand as he peered into your eyes. “A moment ago you said I was at death’s door.”

You swallowed nervously. It was easy to act aloof and jest with him when you were farther apart. From this angle you couldn’t help but take in his chiseled features, the scent of evergreen that seemed to blanket his skin, and the way his chest rose and fell with each gentle breath.

“Dear, sweet healer?” Aemond pressed. He definitely noticed your eyes wandering.

“I…suppose that’s just because you have access to such wonderful care.” You said, trying your hardest to lighten the mood again and cut the growing tension.

It wasn’t working.

It’s as if Aemond was studying you now. Watching your every movement and enjoying the way you stumbled or stuttered when you caught a glimpse of his piercing gaze. You almost wondered if it would have better if he had been successful in getting rid of you.

You had nearly finished your treatment. The wounds were cleaned and properly dressed. You were in the process of giving him a once-over, checking to see if there were any marks or bruises when you noticed a red line peeking from underneath his eye patch.

“Your grace, if you would be so kind to remove your eye patch, I believe when you fell you must’ve received another injury.” You said gently.

Aemond’s mouth formed a tight line. All the playfulness that had been your doing and the thick energy that had been growing between you two seemed to vanish in an instant.

“I will not.” He said angrily.

“Your grace, I insist. It may require my attention.” You pleaded, moving to place a hand on his cheek. Aemond’s hand moved swiftly to catch your wrist before you had the chance.

“I said I will not.” He repeated, his tone still quite harsh.

You furrowed your brows in annoyance. “I am your healer. I need access to all of you. If I don’t perform proper treatment, I could be punished.”

“I am refusing this treatment.” He said lowly as he dropped your hand.

“Why?” You questioned, your hands on your hips as you stared down at him. He was no longer looking at you. You waited for a response, but Aemond continued to avoid eye contact with you.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and then looked at you again. “You may go now.”

“I will not!” You fumed, pointing your finger at him. “I need to take care of you!”

“Can you take care of this?” He bellowed, ripping the eyepatch from his face.

A dark blue sapphire rested in his eye socket. He glared at you, his chest heaving from his fury. For a moment neither of you spoke, your expression unreadable as you stared at him, the gemstone twinkling ever so slightly when sunlight hit it from a crack in the drapes.

Aemond didn’t know what to expect. You merely stood there, taking him in. Most women would’ve gasped or even screamed. Disgust would’ve been evident on their faces. And yet, you hardly had a reaction. He didn’t know if that was a comfort or not. He was about to command you to speak, but you finally addressed his outburst.

“You think the world doesn’t know about your scar?” You said quietly, your eyes never leaving his. “Prince Aemond One-Eye. You must despise that name. And yet, you hardly know how beloved you are. How people talk of your skill as a swordsman. How men lament that they will never look as handsome as you do, and will never be as well versed in histories or sciences. There are still women that would be lined up to take you as a husband if given the chance. I’ve heard children beg to be you as they play in the streets, for Prince Aemond rides the largest dragon in the world.”

Your fingers moved to the strings of your dress. Your eyes grew heavy from the tears threatening to spill from them. Slowly, you pulled at the fasteners of your garment until your dress fell from your body, revealing a large scar that ran from your hip all the way up between your breasts.

“There is no love for a peasant woman that looks like this. Every man who catches a glimpse of this ugly red mark beneath my gown turns their head in disgust. Every jagged corner of my skin reminds me of how unloved I am. Remember that, my prince, the next time you decide to wallow in self-pity.” Your voice wavering slightly, you tilted your chin up again and glared back at him. “I am very sorry you lost your eye, but you will always be a prince. You will always be loved. Others are not so fortunate.”

Aemond rose from the bed and made his way over to you. You had bent down to recover your gown but Aemond’s hands found yours. He interlocked your fingers with his, squeezing them gently in a silent plea to get you to look at him again.

“When you first came into my chambers, I wanted you to leave immediately. I did not want the burden of looking at me and tending to me to fall onto a woman. Especially one such as beautiful as you,” he murmured, tracing small circles on your palm with his thumb. “And when you asked to see under my eyepatch, I resisted. I have never met a woman who can stand the sight of it. I hide it for good reason. The ladies that you speak of who would marry me surely only would in their desire to reach a higher status. The men who admire me still would not trade their lives to live a day as me. There is a difference in being beloved and being loved as who you are. Scars have such a terrible way of alienating you from the world.”

He dropped one of your hands to place a hand gingerly on your hip, tracing the beginning of your scar lightly. “May I ask who did this to you, my lady?”

You nodded your head, blinking away stray tears. “A suitor of mine who I had rejected countless times cornered me in the gardens of his father’s estate. I told him I’d never marry a wretch like him. He told me he’d allow me to go, but that he’d bestow upon me a parting gift,” you sniffled. “So that he’d always be with me. And that no man would ever take me as his wife. I’d always be his.”

Prince Aemond was a man prone to anger. He had a low threshold for certain types of people, such as arrogant lords, fussy ladies, and the terrible excuse for a brother that Aegon was. But he especially hated abusers of women. Whoever this man was, Aemond closed his eyes and imagined horrible things happening to him. A faceless, nameless man who deserved to be roasted alive by Vhagar, flayed by menacing criminals from fleabottom, cut down limb from limb by the prince himself. He deserved a thousand deaths for ever hurting you.

“One more question, if I may,” the prince asked softly, trying to rid his head of such images. “Why did you choose this profession? Does it not cause you anguish when you think back to this event?”

“No one was there to tend my wounds. I remember the loneliness of that feeling. I never wanted anyone else to feel that way.” You admitted, looking down at the pink lines that ran across your belly. “I never wanted anyone to feel lesser for something they did not ask for, something out of their control. I’ve lived with this a long time, and I’ve loved myself fully. But sometimes it still knocks me down like a wave. It’s hard each time but I’d never choose to do anything else with my life.”

“Lay down, my lady.” Aemond commanded softly before you could speak any more.

“What?”

“If you do not wish for my affections, you may tell me so. But if you’d allow me, I’d like the chance to take care of you. You’ve already taken such good care of me.” Aemond whispered, nuzzling his face against yours. He was drawn to you, mesmerized by you. The smart, fiery woman with a heart that still needed mending. He felt the pangs of jealously stab at him when he imagined anyone else but him stepping up to that task.

“It was my job.” You said sincerely, smiling at the prince. You leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Aemond’s eyes fluttered closed at the contact.

“You should be fully healed within a day or two. I’ve left some ointment with instructions for your servants on your study desk. I shouldn’t take up more of your precious time, your grace. Thank you for being so kind to me.”

Again, you reached for your discarded gown but Aemond reacted too quickly, scooping you in his arms and gently resting you on his bed.

“You shouldn’t be lifting anything!” You said, slightly frustrated.

“And you should allow me to compensate you in my own way.” Aemond responded, joining you on the bed.

Before you could protest, Aemond reached for the covers and pulled them up to cover the two of you. He snaked one arm underneath you and rested the other on your abdomen, gently tracing the outline of your scar.

“I will not force you into anything you wouldn’t want. And even if you had the same desires as me, I know my healer would advise me against any strenuous activity today,” Aemond said with a grin. “Allow me just to hold you, my lady.”

You gave him a perplexed look as the prince settled next to you. “I do not understand what is happening.”

“What is happening is that I am enjoying the company of a very smart woman. Who is gifted in the fields of science and medicine. Who has hair that smells of lilies and eyes that shine like the sun’s reflection on the emerald seas. A woman that entered my chambers and immediately disarmed me with her wit and personality. Who tended to my wounds with genuine care and love. A woman who is not afraid of my trauma and felt comfortable enough to share hers with me. I want you to stay. You are a fascinating creature who seems to be hellbent on capturing what is left of my heart.”

Your heart leapt at the prince’s words. Carefully, you moved to rest your head on his chest. The two of you laid still for a moment, simply resting together and enjoying the quietness of it. Absentmindedly, Aemond began playing with your hair as his eyes struggled to remain open.

“Didn’t I annoy you when I first entered?” You asked, leaning into his touch.

Aemond opened his eyes and gazed down at you. “Was that your attempt at distancing yourself from me?”

“Not at all. You were being an idiot and I responded naturally to your behavior.” You said matter of factly.

Aemond moved to hover over you, his arms planted on either side of your shoulders. “How is it that you have a penchant for saying things that if spoken by any other would have me seething with rage?”

“You’ll learn to love it.” You said cheekily.

“I’m afraid I already have,” Aemond said, placing a kiss on your forehead.

[thepenultimateword]

Skin Crawl

CW: Bugs, Bug horror, bullying

Hero scrubbed uselessly at the permanent marker, but even with the rubbing alcohol stinging their nose and their shoulders sore from vigor, an outline of obscenities stubbornly marred the top corner of the desk.

Hero sighed, leaning back on their heels. How did they even get roped into this? They’d only pointed out the spattering of language to their teacher so that they could punish those responsible. They hadn’t been volunteering to clean up the mess themselves. But the teacher had seemed so pleased with their willingness to help…how could they have refused?

They glanced to the back of the classroom where their dark haired classmate leaned way back in their seat, feet kicked up on their desk, book held open directly overhead.

“Are you…going to help?”

“Sure,” they waved without looking away from their page. “You can go if you want. I’ll do the rest.”

Hero straightened their aching back. “Will you?”

It came out a little snarkier than they’d intended, but Villain wasn’t exactly known for their work ethic. They were always coming to school late, staring off, or ignoring assignments. Unlike Hero, they hadn’t volunteered for classroom cleanup.

Villain cocked their head to the side, raising one dark brow. “How many times have you cleaned this classroom?”

“Well, just this once—“

“How many times have I cleaned this classroom?”

“How am I supposed to know? I don’t count all the times you mess around—“

“Oh yes, you do. You have that cute little book with all the tallies.”

Hero’s face burned.

But for some reason, Villain didn’t sound angry, just…making a point.

"Go on, open up to my page. Tell me how much experience I have staying after school."

Hero shouldered their backpack with a huff. "Ok, I get it. Just...make sure you drop the classroom key at the office when you're done. I don't want to lose the staff's trust because of you."

"Yes, master," Villain said and went back to their book.

Hero hesitated. Part of them still didn't trust their classmate to continue where they'd left off. Could this be a ruse to get them in trouble? Or maybe they just wanted Hero out of their hair and didn't care about the consequences.

Or maybe you need more faith in people.

Ugh. That was hard when everyone in this school had proven untrustworthy. Even the friends they'd made from the 'good crowd' hadn't lasted past the first month of the school year. None of them had what it took to stand up against immorality. They'd rather turn a blind eye and cut ties with anyone who might stir up the hornet's nest.

Whatever.

They grabbed their notebook off their desk and whisked out of the room. Now, what misdeeds had they borne witness to today? They flipped open to the middle of the boo; they might as well report these to the office before heading home.

11:45am--Caleb stuck gum on the inside of his desk sticking together the pages of the math textbook

11:50--Kayla texted in class for half an hour straight and did not complete any of her schoolwork.

12:30--An unknown underclassman with red hair shoved a smaller boy at lunch and took his place in line (please identify).

12:45--Taylor C. was making out with her boyfriend in front of the east stairs between classes, blocking off the way for anyone needing to use them. She also used some choice language against a well-meaning student who asked her to refrain until they left the grounds.

12:48--Victor verbally harassed an underclassman girl in the hallway despite her repeated refusals for acquaintanceship; he did not respond well to outside interven--

Hero's notebook hit the floor with a loud smack.

For a moment all they could do was stare at their empty hands in shock, then they lifted their gaze to the sneering, chiseled face in front of them.

"How many times did it make it into Book Golden Rule now?"

"Only once today, Victor," Hero said, bending for the book. Victor snatched it just before their fingers could brush the spine. At about the same moment, someone kicked them behind their right knee. Hard.

Hero gasped, collapsing onto the sneaker-smudged tile.

Victor flicked casually through the pages, stopping at his own tally sheet near the front. "Wow, my infraction rap is growing. You must be obsessed with me or something. Kinda gross but I guess you can't help it."

A chorus of laughter sounded over Hero's shoulder, and suddenly they were surrounded on all sides. They defiantly looked into the perpetrator's faces, memorizing identities: Caleb, Rick, Renna.

"Just give it back," Hero said dryly. "You're only making this worse on yourself."

Victor laughed now. "Really now? Your self-righteous ego is so big you still think you've got the upper hand here?"

"Not physically obviously, but anything you do to me, I'm just going to add it to my report."

Victor stared Hero dead in the eyes and slowly tore the notebook in half.

"I'm going to beat you so soundly, you won't even look at me without peeing yourself. You're going to look away from everything I do because all you'll remember is the pain of this moment.

"I'd never turn a blind eye for my own personal--"

The words scattered as Victor's fist met their mouth. Before they could recover he hit them again. And again. And again. A cleated food hit them from behind, sending a stab of electric agony up their spine. Dangerous. This wasn't just a scuffle. They wanted to seriously hurt them!

The next punch threw Hero on their back. They'd never been one for envy, but suddenly they wished they had one of those combat powers, super strength, invincible skin, knife fingers, anything actually useful for defeating evil!

Army boots smashed over their fingers.

Hero screamed.

"Shut them up!" Victor snarled.

Caleb's shaved head bent over them, and something knit and strongly scented of sweat was forced between their teeth and far enough in to make them gag. They spasmed but movement only made Caleb lean in harder. They couldn't breathe!

Where was the principal? Where were the teachers? Someone had to be hearing this? Someone here had to care?

The boots hit their ribs and tears gathered in their eyes.

"Aww, the wittle baby is cwying," Renna said. She balanced one foot on the center of Hero's chest and slowly leaned in her weight. "How does it feel when someone steps on you?"

Hero wanted to say that exposing someone for cheating wasn't crushing anything deserved, but there was too much sweater down their windpipe.

"Hey."

The group jolted and some of the wight lifted. Hero's vision was blurred, but between Victor and Rick's shoulders, they made out unkempt midnight hair and lanky limbs. Villain.

"If it isn't Psycho," Victor practically purred. "You want to get a few blows in too? Go nuts."

Hero's screaming insides twisted. They cared more about facts than rumors but they'd also never been this helpless in front of their dark classmate, as alone and outcast as they were but for totally different reasons. Villain supposedly had a penchant for macabre experimentation. Students said they had a devil in them. That they ate the raw innards of animals to feed it and placed curses on anyone who messed with them. There was even a rumor that they dissected a kid who made fun of them in class. Hero always found that one ridiculous, the student probably just moved away. But now, pinned and gagged and Villain getting closer they were having doubts.

Villain stopped directly in front of them. "Let the angel go."

Victor gaped for a moment. "Are you kidding? They write you up almost as much as me. You think all those after-school detentions come from thin air?"

Villain only slow blinked. "I'm giving you 5 seconds to get out of here before I do go psycho. Unlike angel, my problem-solving is more physical."

"Get out of here," Victor said waving Villlain away before back toward Hero, though the rest of his crew looked a little more nervous.

Villain shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Their mouth opened wide, cavernous. The inside might have actually been black for all Hero could see. Though something almost seemed...to move.

The first centipede dropped on Renna's boot.

"What the..." She kicked it off, lip curled in disgust. "Did you just throw--" As she turned back, she let out a splitting scream. Everyone whirled. Caleb lost his grip on the sweater gag, and Hero finally managed to roll to the side, coughing and spitting. When they raised their head again a mass of black centipedes scurried across the floor, swarming the group's shoes and wriggling up their legs. The great arthropods dropped in heavy droves from Villain's lips, some crawling down the sides of his face and neck in rapid desperation to get to the floor. Through it all Villain was still and unflinching though their eyes danced with dark amusement.

"You freak!" Victor shrieked slapping off bugs--all four perpetrators were already littered with angry bites. "You're possessed! You're--"

He cut off as a low buzz gathered in the back of Villain's throat, this time the bugs emerged as a cloud, a swarm of wasps, as black and large as the centipedes.

"Forget this!" Rick cried, taking off at top speed Renna and Caleb were close behind. Victor looked like he wanted to curse them out but all he managed was a rude hand gesture before taking off after his posse.

The centipedes followed in a dark wave, cutting a path on either side of Hero. Villain let them go, though a deep inhale sucked the wasp swarm, and a few stragglers on their shirt, back down.

Hero stared. Villain stared back. Hard black eyes evaluating. Hero's breath caught in their chest, which was probably for the best. It hurt to breathe right now.

“You know it’s being an insufferable goody two shoes that keeps getting you in trouble," Villain finally said.

Hero rose achily to their feet, brusquely wiping their face with a stifled sniffle. "Yeah, well...no one asked you." Tears threatened to spill full force over their lashes, so they began quickly gathering up the pages of their shredded notebook. "I'm going to have to add a tally for physical violence in school. I can't be biased."

Villain barked an incredulous laugh. "You're really something else, you know that?"

"And you have centipedes living in your stomach."

"Not sure if they actually live there, more like they materialize there when I want them."

"And how'd you figure that out?"

Villain smiled. "You mean you don't commonly dream of centipedes?"

Not really an answer but Hero snorted, catching themself with a wince on the wall as they did.

Slender fingers gripped their shoulders. "You should sit down."

Hero obeyed without argument. They probably looked completely pathetic right now. Tear stained, bruised, shaking. They'd always sworn it didn't matter how many people disliked them as long as they had their dignity. So much for that.

Hero ducked their head between their knees.

"Why'd you help me? Victor's right. I get you in trouble almost daily."

Villain slid down on the floor next to them. "Yeah. But being a massive pain in the butt doesn't mean you deserve to get beaten up. Besides, some of the things they do need to be exposed. And...it's impressive that you're not scared to do it."

Hero didn't fully know how to respond. That someone needed to care? That obviously when five students screaming at the top of their lungs didn't even crack a door there was a problem? Yes, they'd realized early on that putting things on paper was the best way to get results, but it wasn't like they were completely without ulterior motives either. Did choosing to confront the bad for self-serving motives make them any better than those who turned away? Villain had called them angel. But they were far from it.

"Is it a power?" Hero said, shoving away the thoughts and pointing at their mouth instead.

Villain nodded.

“Cool.” They couldn’t help the note of awe.

“Really?”

Hero looked them head on. “Yeah. I guess it’s unconventional, but you took on four people and won without moving an inch. That’s a real power.”

"You don't think it's disgusting?” For the first time Villain looked something close to vulnerable. Like Hero’s reply had thrown them off so much they’d forgotten their nonchalance. “It doesn’t make your skin crawl?"

"Not really." Hero looked up and down the vacant hallway. They wet their lips, took a deep breath, and shed their skin. They’d done it in the mirror enough times to know it was disturbing. It wasn’t the sort of shapeshifting that happened in glamorized movies. It was messy. Sometimes bloody if they went too fast. They looked at Villain with a mirror of their face. “That make your skin crawl?"

Villain grinned. "Not really."

A beat.

“So that’s how you get the dirt on so many people.”

Hero flushed and shed back into their own skin.“Most of the time yeah. They usually cover things up if they see me.”

Villain’s eyes roved them up down, hard and cutting and dark, like black diamonds. “Amazing.”

Hero shrugged, trying to pretend that gaze was not cutting them to the core. “It’s not a useful power. I connive against evil. I don’t beat it. After graduation I want to try for Allegiance Academy but…well you saw. What hero team would want someone who can’t even fight? Even with combat classes I’d never compare to the big powerhouses.”

Villain didn’t respond.

Great. Hero opened up to much. They’d gotten whiny with a practical stranger. They’d gotten Hero out is tight spot, not asked for their life’s dreams and woes

“Don’t hero teams need reconnaisance?” Villain said

Hero blinked. “I guess so.”

They’d never really thought about it before. That wasn’t the sort of role that showed up on the news. It wasn’t the thing that got peace prizes or admirers. But…maybe that was fine. They’d always craved power for the sake of being accepted into the academy and eventually chosen for a team, not for the sake of attention. Besides they were used to being alone; they were fine with it.

"Well, I better finish that cleaning," Villain said, pushing to their feet. "I wouldn't dare risk another infraction."

"Villain," Hero said before they got too far.

"Hm?"

"Thank you. For the help. You're...good."

Villain crooked a smile. "Never been called that before. Probably won't again. But I appreciate it."

With that, they were gone.

Perhaps Hero didn't need to be alone after all.

8 years later…

Hero straightened their silk tie in the rearview mirror, a silvery ribboned thing they normally wouldn't have gone for but couldn't say they disliked. Though maybe that was because it suited this face. Round, prim, pink-lipped, nothing like their own drab, haggard countenance. They swore each time they returned to their true skin it looked worse.

They quickly double-checked their current contours with the photo in their glove box. "So, this is our target's lover?"

"Remy Navarro," their earpiece crackled. "They've been together six months, and they are very involved in this villain's inside plans. We're thinking 24 hours tops before you come across something big."

Hero stepped out of the car and began weaving their way through the menagerie of fine-dressed gala members. "Ok, well you rushed me into this, anything else I should know before I find this criminal overlord?"

Their teammate hesitated at the other end of the line. "Just don't act surprised about the legs."

"Legs?" Hero said. "As in, they look weird?"

"As in. there are extras."

"Excuse me? I'm really beginning to think I didn't get a proper debrief."

"It was an unexpected opening. We had to take it. Anyways you're good at improvising."

Hero dodged around a cocktail tray. "I appreciate your faith in me, but I'm better at improvising when I've had a week to carefully study my subject's personality and mannerisms. I mean what is my personality? Are they an affectionate couple?"

Silence and then finally, "You'll be fine."

"Are you kidding me? Other Hero! Other Hero?"

They'd dropped the line, hadn't they? Hero sighed, stuffing the earpiece into their pocket. Sure, they'd do better without distractions, but this was verging on insanity. Other Hero had better gather more info on their new identity before tomorrow.

They stopped in front of an intricately carved set of double doors at the tops of the stairs. The private quarters of the newest villainous boss their team had begun tracking. The assignment was a rush job so all they had was a blueprint layout and the supposition that tonight's gala was prepared as a cover for something big.

They rapped quietly on the wood before immediately easing the door open. Lovers would be comfortable enough to do that, right?

A tall figure turned as they entered. Long midnight hair fell over dark-clad shoulders. Dark, hard eyes stared out of an even harder face. And yes, there were extra legs, though not the kind Hero had been expecting: they were black, rigid, clawed things sticking out from their sides, almost like those of an insect. Meanwhile, a pair of pitch-colored moth wings folded on their back, the tails gliding on the floor like drapery.

"Took you long enough," the villain said. A black centipede crawled down their cheek and settled like a parrot on the villain's shoulder.

Hero froze on the threshold, desperately trying to connect their dropped jaw back to their brain so they could snap it shut.

It had been years since they'd seen this dark figure; their jaw seemed even sharper, their lankiness had turned to elegant slenderness, and the bug parts were new, but Hero recognized them immediately.

Villain.

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees-deactivated @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia @bouncyartist @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany @distractedlydistracted @saspas-corner @echoednonny @perilous-dreamer @blood-enthusiast @randomfixation @alexkolax @pksnowie @blessupblessup @wolfeyedwitch @thedeepvoidinmyheart @cornflower-cowboy @bestblob @a-chaotic-gremlin @espresso-depresso-system @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @paleassprince @takingawildbreath @yindo @psychiclibrariesquotestoad @harpycartoons @pickleking8 @urmyhopeeee @goldenflame2516 @tobeornottobeateacher @talesofurbania1 @sweetsigyn

[marigoldenblooms]

Unica Semper Avis - Chapter 2

Pairing: Cleric!Wanda x Fem!AvianShifter!Reader x MonsterHunter!Natasha

Prompt: Ever since you’ve come of age, you’ve never been able to stop yourself from transforming into a monster. Whenever the sky would dim with a New Moon, you’d ravage the world with a fury unknown by many. Such is the bane existence of your species. This time, however - something was different. Now, you need help. On the feeble doorstep of the so-called ‘Spirit Healer,’ you found yourself both at the mercy of a cleric, and of a monster hunter’s blade. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

MINORS DNI - 18+

TW/General Tags: No mention of Y/N, slow burn, stranger to lovers (Wanda), enemies to lovers (Natasha), eventual smut (lord have mercy), Swearing, Fantasy violence, occasional descriptions of light body horror during transformation, slight self harm, slight restraint, angst, fluff, will add tags as they appear!

Chapter Warnings: Non-consensual touching (arms/shoulders), slight transformation description, threatening, mentions of pain (burning), intimidation tactics, arguments, manipulation, angst, canon-level violence, mentions of scarring/burnt skin, restraint, we're finally leaving Belmoor y'all

A/N: Holy crap y'all, thanks for the incredible responses on everything once again! We finally get some trio dialogue going in this chapter ^^ Natasha’s interrogation is based within Latin, while R’s occasional text is built primarily within greek. Russian is also here, as expected. I had nothing for Smut Saturday, so I hope lore will suffice ^^' We will see if the writing block ceases, lol

Equally, we’ve got a Unica tag list coming along! Let me know if you’d like to be added to it! 

Word count: 3.9k - Read Length: 14 minutes, 29 seconds. ~~~

You’d never dreamt awake before. 

You could feel your mind faintly, cognition ghostly as you’d blink within your own head. Your transformation’s destruction was never something you were aware of until you rose out of it, covered in viscera from your form’s hunt. Was it really your body, after that? As you’d drift hazily in a river of your own thoughts, you couldn’t separate feathers from skin. You and your monster were one in the same.

You’d try to shut your eyes again, fall back into the painless slumber your molt offered. A part of you knew the horror you’d awake to- perhaps your succession had slaughtered them all, friend and foe alike. You would grieve her as you had the others, the fiery healer with her crimson magic. The knight would become a cliff note to your psyche, a tack onto an endless tally-board. You were used to being hunted. 

It’d be minutes before you realized you weren’t alone. 

Gaze snapping upwards, you’d bare your teeth towards the intruder which marred your thoughts, only to find a translucent figure. You could feel her chill from here, Her feathered speckling like a shawl over her shoulders, the wings behind her blanketing into a beautiful frame. She reached a hand towards you, although her smile was too thin to be kind. She didn’t look much different than she’d appeared days prior within your dreams yet again. The Aegyptius creation deity. Why was she here?

You didn’t shy from her gaze, looking at her with both respect and provocation. She was in your mind, fragmented as it was while your body rampaged elsewhere. If there was anywhere you were dominion of, it was this. “I know who you are now, Matron,” you’d assure, your voice echoing in the dim expanse, rippling along the water of your thoughts. She seemed to catch your words, and her grin grew wider, eyes narrowing. She’d tut, and in a second you could feel her cold, mist-like hands on your shoulders, “I expect something more reverent from my martyr..but you will learn.” 

“Martyr?” Your expression grew sour as she wouldn’t elaborate, toying with your frustration as she’d run her palms down your arms. An uncomfortable shiver would brace through your body, and you could feel your form stretch beneath as if her touch spurred your transformation all over again. She was cruel, a pained sigh leaving you as your teeth would clench. 

Her grasp on you would tighten, feeling the brittleness of pin feathers beneath flesh, “Your mind may not remember, fledgeling…but all my creations know my whims. And yet you wish to rid yourself of me?” Her laugh would be musical, but the bite in her tone was awash with rage, thinly veiled as the Matron stalked circles around you. 

The frustration that had flowed through you prior to your molt was flimsy now, embers against a cold snap. You felt your gut sink, fear bubbling thickly in your throat. You’d stopped looking at her by now, your gaze piercing down into nothingness. All you could manage was a pitiful nod, and you couldn’t tell if her snicker was anger from your lackluster response or joy from how compliant she’d rendered you. They were one in the same with your kind, you supposed. 

“You cannot..although I’m certain you’ve already understood that.” She’d pause in front of your face, ghostly touch icy as she’d claw your chin to meet your gaze with hers. Her phrase would come quickly, as if she was excited to utter it, “And for penance…you must kill that witch.”

“What?” They weren’t dead already? Your molt would’ve torn her to shreds by now. What was happening in the waking world? Even within a dream, the thought of murdering another with your conscious mind churned your stomach, especially one that brought you food. Mercy. “Command my body to do it, then-”  

“No. You must do this as human,” Her smile was dagger-thin now, and you swear sparks flashed from her maw when she spoke. “Not as bird. Your hunger will be your guide.” Her hands would cradle your face now, the chill of her spectral palms almost forgotten as your mind would rush and lurch. You could feel the knaw of famine in your gut, a terrible feeling, all too real. 

“I reject this- she has been kind, I-” The Matron would’ve disappeared immediately, the thawing of your flesh the only reminder.  Your plea would be met with silence, hyperventilation coaxing your heart into overdrive. Thudding in your skull, you could almost feel the weight of bone in your jaws, your throat suddenly parched. You’d rasp, drawing your hands close to cradle yourself as the world grew fuzzy and vague, “I don’t want to be a monster..”

“Oh, my martyr..” She’d murmur, her voice suddenly swirling along the shell of your ear, freezing your hunch in place. 

“That’s what I made you for.”

Your mind would swim, lucidity and unconsciousness blending into tar which filled your brain. You’d blink, heavier than before..and just before you’d wake, you’d feel her touch on your shoulder again. 

“Survivε, mυ μάρτυρας..” 

------------------------------------------

You’d regain your mind halfway through it all. Your body ached and tore within you, the subtle itch of plumage molting from your skin a feeling you couldn’t soothe. You were in the barn. 

Your arms were held back as you’d kneel on the floor, a searing heat plaguing your wrists as you’d fight against its hold- your chains. They’d manage to cage you. If you hadn’t been in so much pain, you would’ve wheezed relief at that. Your tongue was dry, the taste of blood and bone absent on your lips. You hadn’t eaten anyone during your transformation, and yet your body twinged with agony all the more for it. You had no fuel to offer you shifting body, and so it ate you from the inside to power your return to being humanoid. Panting a low whine, spasms would twitch your form as your bones would grow heavier within your flesh, solid all the way through. Even through your strain, a quiet shuffle would draw your eyes immediately- your heightened instincts were always the last things to go. In the recluses of the barn stood your prior attacker, although her attention was focused elsewhere, ghosting over something in the palm of her gloved hand. Thank fuck.

It was only now you could get a good look at her. Her hair was auburn, braided sharply in cascading strands which met the nape of her neck. It had been chilled near its ends, pale and almost wispy, as though something had leached the color from it. Sorcery? Stress? You couldn’t tell at first glance, but the perpetual scoff that seemed to mold into her face signaled the latter. 

Blueish gray irises stared into what she held, and it was only when you growled a restrained snarl at the sight did her eyes lock to yours. She was holding one of your shorn feathers, the visage making your hackles raise. You wouldn’t shy from her gaze as you had with Wanda, even raising your chin higher so you looked down at her with pinprick pupils- you were an adversary. A challenger. You didn’t fear her. Your head throbbed, the heavy burn of your engraved chains a constant reminder. 

She’d approach you with malice- unsurprising given your circumstances, but the prick of a metal blade against your neck was a little more shocking. This early? Damn. You’d grit your teeth but remain steadfast, even as she’d glower over you. 

“Ossifraga, dic omnia quae scis.” She’d spit, her words foreign yet familiar in your ears. ‘omia’ was a word you gleamed in an instant - ‘everything’, yet the rest was butchered in her mouth. You’d bare your teeth at her, grin sickeningly raw even as she’d press her knife’s edge to your nape. “Dic mihi omnia Fraga, ne te interficiam sicut columbam-“ 

Her anger would shatter at the creaking barn door, flinching just as you did. At least one similarity between the two of you. A familiar soothing tone would echo to you, honeyed and thick, albeit strangled from…anger. Anger? 

“I leave you for one second, you глупый козел-“ Wanda muttered harshly, her stomping footfalls sharply rattling in your skull. She’d pluck the knight’s hand away from you, grip harsh as she’d try to wrestle away their weapon- futile, as their shock to Wanda’s insult only lasted so long. From your attacker’s reaction, it seemed they shared a language. Interesting. “And here you are, nicking my patient-“ 

You’d struggle at Wanda’s words, trying to show her your discomfort. Your wrists continued to burn, and you swear their imprint would be branded on your skin if they weren’t taken off soon. And yet, it may be safer if you remain chained. The Matron’s words still throbbed in your ears, a blinding sight locking your gaze onto Wanda before you bit it back down. You’d breathe, ragged, before gasping a sound which seemed to catch her attention. Her nimble fingers would move to start unshackling you, before being caught by Natasha’s rough grip, pulling her immediately back, “What are you doing-!? It’ll kill you-“

“I won’t harm…her..-“ You’d hiss, finding your bearings as your larynx would thrum with your voice again. You’d glare at the hunter, voice steadfast even through your pain, “You’re- a different story, knight..let me go, and maybe I’ll consider.”

You saw her jaw flex at your tone, malice seeping from every beat of her heart. She’d release Wanda with a tight-lipped grumble, your wrists losing their binds seconds later. You’d rub at the tender flesh for a split second, gasping and hiding away as it’d still bubble with scorching heat. You were too late, and soon your wrists would scar over. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as bad next time, perhaps.

You’d sit up, movements sluggish as you’d sync again with a heavier frame. Your glance would be wary, looking to Wanda as if the knight wasn’t there. You saw annoyance flash across the hunter’s expression, and satisfaction bloomed in yours. Let her be upset. “What happened..? You shackled me, I am thankful for it.”

“And yet your wrists don’t look happy..” Wanda would respond with muffled concern, although you’d retreat from her scarlet magic’s attempt to heal- scars proved you had lived, this one above all. This one showed you could trust the healer to protect you when you couldn’t protect her. The slow rumble of starvation proved you wouldn’t be able to protect her for a long time. She’d sigh, but wouldn’t press further. “You’ve been in the barn for three days, we put you here on the evening of the first-“ 

Your expression faltering would quiet her words, a shaky inhale slicing into the room’s air. Three days. “I’ve never been..” you’d grip your hair as you spoke, bending to pull more of you closer. You’d stare at your shorn feathers, brilliant white where they lay unheated, almost ghostly in the thin light of Wanda’s shed. 

“I’ve never been transformed for that long.”

“And why should we believe you? You could feather again as we speak- kill us all.” The knight would glare at you, though there was a chance she never stopped, boring a hole into your skull which you gladly challenged. You’d bark a laugh, the sound uncomfortable in your raw chest and yet you reveled in how she flinched away. The air grew thick and still, “If you hunt my kind with that attitude, you obviously know nothing of the Aegyptius.”

“Then enlighten me, Fraga-”” She said that like an insult to you, and yet it didn’t register. 

  “And why the hell should I-?”

 “Because we have a common goal, you dolts-“ 

At Wanda’s interjection, your voice would sliver and slip away, her face red and scrunched with frustration. It was almost adorable how her nostrils flared with her words, yet the rage in her eyes was something that stirred sorrow inside you. Something clicked in the back of your mind, memories from your brood when you were young, and yet nothing registered in the fog of retorting anger. There was curiosity on the hunter’s face, shoulders squared back at Wanda’s tone, and yet your mind still held what the knight had said before.

“What did you call me?” Your words stumbled as you’d shift to stand, legs frail under the weight of yourself. You wouldn’t see the knight’s bewildered expression until much later, too busy keeping your feet underneath you, “Fraga…do you not even know what you are?” “Enlighten me,” you’d taunt, clipped thin between your barred teeth. Wanda would scoff, shaking her head in your peripheral.

“You are Ossifraga. Bone-breaker, the unclean bird..” Your eyes would narrow, but not in the way the hunter wanted, it seems. These names meant nothing to you. “A mistake upon your feathered kind. A blight-'' Her words would build in strength, low as she’d stalk dangerous steps towards you. You looked towards Wanda, her hands slowly raising as scarlet magic grew to weave around her fingers.

“Others of your kind can be minstrels, songbirds or doves- even raptors can experience valor as warriors…but you, Fraga, are the mutated husk of your false god.” She spit her tone with vitriol, acidic. The receding down on the back of your neck rose as your blood ran cold- Your heartbeat thudded in your ears, a lump swelling in your throat, but it wasn’t all fear. There was something else, a chill unfamiliar to your waking form, coaxing your mouth open. You resisted, even your back reached the worn wood of the barn’s walls and the knight’s voice swarmed back into focus. 

 “A dangerous monster, consuming the bones of innocents and leaving plague in your wake,” A gleaming metal shone near her wrist, and your stomach dropped all too late. The knife was probably sacred, intricately carved with markings you could hardly make out in the blur of motion, her gloved hand grasping your shoulder while the other swung to pierce your stomach. 

“You’re the infection I must quell-” 

Your maw opened before you could think.  

“Αμολάω-!” You’d shriek, your voice hissing with the inflection of many. You heard the clatter of metal on the ground as your tone echoed forth. The knight would barrel backwards, clutching her head as Wanda flinched behind her, the shockwave of your words hitting her fainter the further it went from your mouth. 

You kicked away the knight’s dropped blade, another command echoing from you, your tone no longer your own, cold and bitter on your tongue, “Γονατίστε, παράσιτα- Θα σε καταβροχθίσω χωρίς δεύτερη σκέψη..”

The hunter sunk to her knees before your sentence had finished. You’d gasp a second later,  your lungs filled with air as though they’d never have before. Blinking, you’d feel a tenseness in your body, arms trailing with thin plumage which quickly sunk beneath your skin. You’d watch it leave with a cold numbing shock, jaw slung open with a heavy breath. Your thoughts translated your foreign words after a few moments, ‘Let go. Kneel, vermin. I will devour you without a second thought.’

Your feathers had never grown beyond your molt, confined to the hellish day a month where you were no longer yourself. Your hands tremored, ghosting over the goosebumps that had been left behind. It’s like the feathers had never been there- and yet you could feel your body creak and crunch, as though impatient.  

The hunter stood a few seconds later, gait slow as she’d physically wrench herself from your command’s thrall. She’d brush at her scuffed armor, plagued with the barn’s dirt which clung to the metal, “I know what you’re saying. Your pronunciation is weaker, and yet it is still-” 

“The language of my kind,” You’d mutter without sympathy, scoffing as the knight seemed to take offense to your interruption. “You’ve stripped it of its history..it's what you spoke before.” You’d never learned your own tongue, and yet half your thoughts spoke in it now. A shiver rolled down your spine, a cascading chill that felt like an awaiting grasp. 

“Ah, so it can listen..” She’d sneer, glance harsh as she’d eye her forlorn blade again. Wanda’s interjection would be seen before it was heard, scarlet magic weaving around the hilt before daintily grasping it, pawing it over to her awaiting palm. “And so must you, Romanova..” The way she curved the words had a sense of familiarity, drawing a frustrated huff from the other woman. You’d narrow your eyes, but it wasn’t your turn to speak anymore, “You both listen, or you leave my barn with nothing but a death wish. Am I clear?”

You’d nod slowly, and by Wanda’s sigh, you assumed the knight did the same. “Alright. Let’s go somewhere cozier, shall we?”

------------------------------------------

Wanda’s home would’ve been just as comfortable as it had been the prior evening, albeit more cramped. Between three people in the living room, a thin glow of red magic seeping through the slats of wood that boarded the kitchen up, and the deadly eye contact you and the knight shot at each other every second, the air was never thicker.

“And you tore through the kitchen wall,” Wanda’s words were analytical, the gnawing feeling of guilt settling heavy in your gut. You kept your distance from her, a pang of hunger grinding into your thoughts the second you grew closer to the witch. You chewed at the inside of your lip as her palm waved towards the construction her sorcery partook in. Her shrug was too easy, “Not afraid of remodeling, after Romanova mistook my window for a door-” 

She’d almost bite towards the hunter, a simmering scoff laced between her accented tone. “Is that your name? ‘Romanova’?” The knight would leer at your question, slinging her arm against the heavy metal of her armor. From Wanda’s scoff, it seems she’d gotten the same reaction while you were out. “You butcher my family title, Fraga-” 

“Give me your name and I won’t have to.” You’d raise a brow as her eyes locked to yours, your breath thin and still. You felt the cold in your throat again, creeping like a retch up your windpipe- yet you swallowed it with huskier words, “Since we’re all in the sharing mood. Aren’t we?”

Her sigh was almost palpable, hissing in a low breath, “I am Natasha Alianovna Romanova. Templar of Latrodectus, it’s esteemed widow.” That title meant nothing to you, although your unfitting reaction seemed to knock her down a few pegs. Her reply was less angry than curious, “Did you ever earn a name, Fraga?”

“Earn?” Your snort brought an angry heat to Natasha’s face, perplexed laughter ricocheting through your solid skeleton, “You really do know nothing of my kind. We do not remember names. Unimportant.”

You wouldn’t see Wanda’s furrowed look until she exhaled sharply, looking away from you with crossed arms. Your mind sunk and crackled whenever you looked in her direction, suddenly parched. The flutter in your stomach remained, bringing an uncomfortable nausea rather than burst of curiosity. You kept your eyes on Natasha, expression hollowed, “Why do either of you stay? This..is your house, Wanda, I know-” 

“Because we want to help you-” “She does- mhph-” Wanda’s hand would outstretch towards Natasha, blocking her mouth with a wispy scarlet sheen. You looked at Wanda’s shadow, feeling her sigh as your gaze never met hers. Her voice was calmer yet thin, strained between forces, “Do you want to rid yourself of your feathers?”

“Yes,” Your quick response earned an unseen smile from the witch, although your skin grew clammy at the thought. Natasha shuffled, and when you met her eyes you saw hers were raised, almost in shock, her mouth still clasped closed. “Then we have a common interest. This one can find a method beyond violence- and if your transformation is progressing faster, then it is my role to bring you back to normalcy.” 

You’d meet her glance now, her smile radiating a warmth into you that culled away some of the chill, satiated you. Your palms felt your own, awkwardly poised as you offered your hold to the witch, her touch filling you with an unfamiliar satisfaction. You shook her hand against yours, ignoring Natasha’s silent indignation burning into your skull. Perhaps you could control yourself- you could protect each other, “Thank you, Wanda.” 

“Ah, none of that- you are a medicinal marvel..” She’d tease, your thanks rolling right off of her. You met her grin with your own, her words shushing as she’d lean to you, “Think of what it will do for my prices, to heal an Ossifraga-” 

Your laugh was a startling welcome, filling you with mirth as it was returned. “I will pay you then. How many feathers-?” Her hand patted yours before receding, wiping her palm along her clothed side. “...I’ll keep a running tab for you, Птичка.”

------------------------------------------

The sun had risen into midday, and you basked in its sunlight. Your shoulders felt tense as you hauled supplies towards the wagon Wanda and Natasha had acquired an hour ago from Belmoor proper. You’d hung back, admiring the hazy scarlet tendrils which packed Wanda’s belongings. The two had found you handing random objects to the sorcerous helpers when they returned, although Natasha was pulled away by the witch before she could crow about the non-essentiality of bringing Wanda’s butter churn. 

The mule that was attached to the wagon- Daisy, Doris, something like that- had been chewing on the turf as you’d settled another crate of rations along the wagon’s bed, pushing it into place with a heavy shove. It was a ten days road travel to Arkridge, the capital of this province, as you’d been told. Its libraries held what could be the first of many secrets. The forest never spoke of it, yet its grandeur was palpable even through Natasha’s gruff words. She hadn’t tried to stab you again, although her glare was seething whenever you met it. 

You passed each other by as you’d return towards the house, huffing an unimpressed groan as her haul was much smaller than yours. She’d abandoned her armor for now, and you watched as the musculature of her back shifted as she’d set her barrel down. You could take her if you had to, even without your strength- though the scabbard along her back gave you pause, the longsword’s hilt gleaming in the light. It had been engraved, similar to the leather sheath that bound it, and you’d guess it was the same inscription. Runic and familiar, it brought your thought to your chains, their markings similar yet worn. Perhaps you’d find a way to ask about it, if you could have a conversation without insulting each other.

Your side met Wanda’s as you leaned in her vicinity, your gaze locked onto the knight a dozen meters away. The witch’s voice was smoothed and sweet, honey-like as she’d offer her palm to yours again, inspecting the scarring along your skin as you’d accept. “Your name isn’t Margo, is it?” 

You shook your head, still in her embrace, “No. I just needed something to give to you. Satisfy..”

Your words petered out into silence, her squeeze of your hand gentle, shying away from the raw flesh of your wrists. “You don’t have to do that, Ласточка. I have countless things to call you that you won’t forget.” Her wink made your face flush, shying away from her gaze as her tone wrapped around your thoughts. Her giggle wasn’t lost on you, a fondness in her expression you couldn’t decipher. “Will you tell me what that means?”

She’d shake her head, just before you heard Natasha’s heavy footfalls towards you. The forested grove retreated behind as you three would set forth a few minutes later, silence thick. Bellmoor would be forgotten, in favor of new memories. Perhaps your first night at camp would be more riveting. 

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Tag List: @mousetheorist

[reminiscingtonight]

Closure

Leah Williamson x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Something soft I wrote last night. Posting early because we gotta celebrate that Arsenal win somehow, right?

[WOSO Masterlist]

She looks beautiful. Despite everything that’s happened, she still looks beautiful.

You’re sitting at the same table, no doubt because Keira wants her two best friends by her side on such a special day, but still, you can’t help but wish she sat you anywhere else but here. All night Leah’s been looking your way, not hiding the sadness and longing whenever your eyes meet. You try to distract yourself with Georgia’s random musings, but even she can’t compete with the magnetic call of Leah’s gaze.

“You should talk to her.”

You’re quick to shake your head. You took it as a win that the blonde hadn’t followed the two of you to the open bar. “She doesn’t want to talk to me, trust me.”

Georgia sighs, picking at the napkin in front of her. “The two of you are obviously still torn up about the whole break up. Just go talk to each other and make up.”

“I’m pretty sure Kei and Luce would rather we not. They don’t need us causing a scene on their special day.”

It was a long time coming, Keira and Lucy’s wedding. You had months to prepare yourself for the inevitable run in you were going to have with Leah, but it still didn’t help when you finally laid eyes upon the blonde.

The two of you had been together for what seemed like forever. You met for the first time during a youth camp eons ago, relationship building as the years passed by. By the time you signed your first senior contract with Arsenal, Leah had already asked and taken you out on a couple dates.

Leah bled red and white, a gooner through and through, it was almost fitting that you were the exact same. The two of you stayed together through all the ups and downs of both your club and national careers. When you won the Euros, you were sure nothing could beat that feeling. 

And then Barcelona reached out.

You were elated. Leah… not so much.

Looking back at it now, the month between winning the Euros and the start of the new season was marred with countless arguments and fights.

Leah didn’t want you to leave. “We have a life here together. You can’t just throw it away.”

“I’m not throwing anything away, Leah. It’s Barcelona. It’s… it’s a dream. One that I want to take with you by my side.”

Breaking up was the last thing you wanted.

Somewhere it gets lost in translation. 

“If you go, that’s it.” The words are spoken in the quiet of your bedroom, Leah staring at the ceiling, biting back her tears.

You have to fight the urge to hold her. To tell her what you know she wants to hear. “I love you. I will always love you. Please don’t make me choose between my career and you.”

In the end she makes the decision for you.

The night you fly out, you press a shaky kiss against the side of her head. “I love you. I’ll call you when I land.”

Leah doesn’t pick up.

A day later she deletes all traces of you from her social media accounts.

The box full of your things arrives midway through the next week.

It’s an abrupt end to a story you never thought you’d have to close.

You try calling the first couple weeks. Each time your calls go straight to voicemail, but you tell her about your time in the city, the girls you play with, how much you miss her. 

The one time your call goes through, Leah interrupts you before you have a chance to say anything. “I wish you never loved me. And that I never loved you.”

She hangs up before you can answer.

It feels like a dagger to the heart when you catch a story of Leah at a party, wrapped around another woman. Tabloids run wild the next couple days, pictures of Leah locking lips with the mysterious girl splashed all throughout the internet.

Injuries prevent you from attending the next couple of camps. The only time you end up putting on the England jersey is the one time Leah’s out with one of her own. 

It almost seems as if karma’s mocking you for leaving your home for the unknown. 

It’s Georgia’s soft nudge that has you breaking out of your thoughts. You realize with a start that Leah’s making her way towards the two of you.

“Hi.” She sounds breathless. A little nervous. Your heart still flutters at the sound of her voice.

“I’m just gonna…” Georgia makes a jerking motion with her hand, quickly departing before you can stop her.

You’re left staring after your friend, silently cursing her out in your head.

Neither of you say anything as Leah gingerly takes a seat next to you. You can feel her staring at the side of your head, but you keep your eyes down, focused on the drink in your hand.

“I think it’s stupid, but I can’t stop thinking that it should be us out there right now.”

All at once your muscles feel stiff. There’s unshed tears pricking your eyes, because truth is, you can’t help but think the same. 

The two of you had been together for close to a decade. Your friends always joked that the two of you would be the first to get married, but you and Leah were happy where you were, still feeling a bit too young to tie the knot. The two of you had talked about it, agreeing to wait until later, until you had a firmer grip on life, on your football careers.

But here you are now, a little past your mid-twenties, alone, wishing more than anything you could go back to those early days. Those days when you still had Leah and could call her yours.

You chance a look up, but Leah’s looking off into the distance, staring wistfully at Keira and Lucy who are in the middle of their first dance.

“Our best friends are getting married, and I should be happy for them, but all I can think about is how that should’ve been us. That should’ve been us standing up there, saying our vows. That should’ve been us slipping on those rings, following through on forever.”

When she finally looks back at you, you can see the watery sheen in her eyes. 

“Leah,” you whisper, hand darting forward to wipe at a tear before it can make its way down her cheek. Leah all but leans into your hand, eyes slipping closed at the familiar feeling.

“Do you regret this? Us?”

It breaks your heart a bit to hear the vulnerability in her voice. Leah’s quiet, expression a bit pained, as if you hold all the power in fixing or shattering her heart.

Your hand slips from her cheek, and Leah’s face turns panicked for a moment. At least until it drops to her collar. You avoid her eyes as you fix up the crookedness of her jacket.

“I’ve done a lot of things that I regret. But loving you,” you pause, finally lifting your eyes to meet Leah’s. “Loving you is something I’ll never regret doing.”

And it’s the truth. All the fights, all the arguments, you’ll never regret a single moment you’ve ever had with her. Because through all the bad, you still had the good. You still had the memories of Leah chasing you around the house, tackling you onto the bed with a giggle. You still had the memories of Leah cuddled up next to you, pointing out all the trashy things about the rom-com you’re watching, though she stays because she knows they’re your favorite type of film. You still had the memories of nervously padding up and down the halls, of Leah screaming and jumping into your arms when the two of you get your first senior call ups, when Leah gets asked to be captain, when the two of you make the Euros roster.

You have the firsts and lasts, though you didn’t know the lasts would be the lasts when they happened, but every moment you’ve had with Leah is special in their own ways. You would never regret a single moment of calling her yours.

“I hear Barcelona’s nice this time of year.”

The question is there. Silent and hidden, but there.

You nod, not able to stop the soft smile on your face. Leah’s looking a little bashful right now, hand brushing against yours, not quite daring to hold them quite yet.

When you walk back to your table, a new drink in tow, you do so with your arms brushing each other’s, pinkies gently hooked in the space between. Nothing can be fixed with just a couple words, but for the first time since you left home, your heart feels full, knowing that there’s still a chance. The book hasn’t fully closed yet, and you’d do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

[noirflms]

WASHING HAIR + nanami kento

— - main m.list !

“ can i wash your hair? ”

the question is one of pure innocence and nothing more , it holds no malice or ill intent and it throws nanami off. The male is caught off guard , there is something swirling within his chest , a lump forming in his throat but then his eyes meet yours , they are looking into his — so bright and innocent , they hold a sparkle in them and your head is slightly tilted to the side like a puppy and his heart is sent into overdrive.

nanami doesn’t speak , he only briefly nods , a stiff nod , his back faces you as you sit on the edge of the tub while he sits on the stool , his bare back faces you and you could make out all the scars that marred his skin , from small to bigger ones , from just mere scratches to huge bruises and wounds , cuts and scars litter his skin and you feel him shiver when your nimble fingers move to trace those intricate lines — they looked like lightning strikes upon his skin.

there is an unknown silence that stays but it certainly isn’t eerie or disturbing , but it is tranquil , providing you two with nothing more than sanctuary and solace in the presence of each other and then nanami suddenly feels your fingers brushing through his scalp , massaging his head , he knows of the lather that forms in his hair , for the soapy liquid slides down the side of his head , and he indulges in the feeling of peace your nimble fingers that massage his scalp provide.

there have been many times where nanami has been intimate but there is something about this simple act of washing hair.

and as your fingers brush and rub through his scalp , he finds his eyes closing , his heart drumming heavily against his rib cage , he feels a lump form in his throat , it is too heavy to swallow , so , it stays in his throat , tightening when he feels your soft touch bring him nothing but serenity.

all nanami has ever felt is war , he has faced death and so has he faced destruction but finding himself sitting in the bounds of his home within the arms of his lover , it makes him want to cry , it makes him want to scream to the heavens up above to not take this feeling you give him , the peace of mind your provide , the love and care you give , to not take it away , to let it be with him , to let all the love of yours to be his.

the lump is swallowed down , and he lets the tears slip down , a wobbly smile on his face as he finds himself dwelling in the comfort you provide , the feeling of being loved that you give to him , eyes shut closed as tears cascade down his cheeks , your fingers brushing and scrubbing his scalp, nimble fingers lathering his hair and then you hear the man sniff.

“ kento , are you okay? ” your voice is honied , and gentle , warmth laced within your words as well as worry , thinking you had scrubbed or massaged to hard for nothing could get this man crying , but here sat nanami kento sniffling , and your eyes widen you catch the glimpse of tears running down his face.

“ i’m alright. ” his words are choked as he sniffles once again , hands moving to wipe away the tears and you are reminded that this man is as human as anyone is , he may be cold , broody and tired looking at times , but he was a man , a young boy who had certainly lost his childhood , somewhere in there and now that he found your fingers running through his blond tresses , he finds a childhood he never had , come rushing back.

your eyes soften as the thought dawns upon you , a warm smile twitches upon your lips , and with gentle hands you are washing the lather away , his tears mix with the water , washing them away , your nimble fingers rubbing away any left over shampoo in his tresses , water cascades down his figure cleansing all the lather away , the lukewarm water relaxes each part of him , bringing his nothing but peace and joy , filling his chest with the emotion of solace.

and nanami kento wishes to have moments like these with you , where he could feel himself again , and remember all those reasons of why he fell in love with you and he would scream to all of heaven above and all of earth below for you to only be his and for him to be solely yours , in present and future , in life and death , all he asks is for your love to be his , all he asks is to feel like a human again.

inspired by that one loid and yor art based on a Reddit post , that i can’t find anymore.

NOIRFLMS 2023 ! all rights reserved. plagiarism is a crime , ask before translating. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!!

[dewitty1]

Fic Recs Wrap Up December 2023 ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚･*:.｡.♡⑅୨୧̩̩̩̥✼• .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

All Things Go by iota @sorrybutblog

Draco’s back at Hogwarts by court order. Harry’s back for no particular reason at all. Some things change, some stay the same. Neither expects to spend eighth-year living in close quarters, playing rugby (poorly), staying up late, sneaking around, and finally figuring it all out. Rec Post

The Inconvenient Death(s) of Harry Potter by nv-md (ANW815) @nv-md

Harry and Draco have spent the decade since the War avoiding each other, even as they’re forced to work together at the Ministry and their friend groups begin to alarmingly overlap. But what happens when Harry meets a tragic end (in a manner of speaking) and Draco’s the only one who can save him? Or Harry won’t stop dying, Draco’s had too much coffee, and there’s more than enough time for them to make a mess of each other’s lives. Rec Post

Constellations on your skin by shushu_yaoi_lj @orange-peony

“I’m going to get my scars removed,” Draco announces on a rainy Wednesday afternoon. “Who are you seeing?” Blaise asks. “The best Healer out there,” Draco replies with a little shrug. “Harry Potter.” Rec Post

and the world is tumbling down by thewakeless @thewakeless

Draco is thirty-five and content. He’s a writer, a painter, and has built a life for himself totally separate from the one he envisioned as a sullen, fearful boy at Hogwarts. Everything is calm—until his house begins trying to kill him. Rec Post

The Cursed Manor by AhaMarimbas @mars-bar81

Ophelia’s been a paranormal investigator for almost ten years, and she’s starting to run out of haunted and cursed sites to explore. When her eclectic roommate and assistant reveals that he owns a large, cursed Manor, Ophelia finds a lot more than just a new career opportunity. Rec Post

The Unknown Door by waterwings @amywaterwings

There is something wrong with the Bellcrest. The heart of the place beats rotten. Everyone says so. Where Draco is a magical property manager, Harry is a recluse, and they’re definitely not hiding from their problems in the run-down flats of the Bellcrest. Not at all. Not one bit. Rec Post

Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm by flightinflame @flightinflame

Eighth-year offers Draco a brief respite before he returns to Azkaban. With a restricted wand, and memories of a girl who shouldn’t exist, he has very little hope for the future. But when Harry brings Teddy into the school, and proves to be utterly clueless, things change beyond anything he could imagine. Rec Post

Historians by oknowkiss @oknowkiss

It’s the Dumbledore’s Army Reunion Holiday, and Harry’s found himself in hot water with his friends once again, after telling them he has a boyfriend he definitely does not have. In an attempt to fix things, he’s made it his colleague on Level Nine, Draco Malfoy’s problem too. Featuring a ski chalet in Switzerland, a pair of bunk beds, and an agreement that should’ve been simple, were it not for all the bloody feelings getting in the way. Rec Post

Here are a few more fics I've read recently that y'all might like to check out as well!(ノﾟ∀ﾟ)ノ━☆ﾟ･*:.｡. .｡.:*･.*･｡ﾟ*:・ﾟ✧

Draco's First Holiday by Meowfoy @resilientkitteh

Draco catches Blaise cheating, breaks up with him and decides to leave his French Villa behind to swap houses with a woman named Hermione and her husband Ron. His relaxing vacation becomes far more interesting when a handsome stranger (Harry) knocks at his door in the middle of the night. They meet and get to know each other, and suddenly Draco feels much better about his decision to leave France behind for Britain.

Englishman Extraordinaire by BlueSundayCake @bluesundaycake

When Draco's life goes to shit, he gets scammed. Maybe it's for the best. Who doesn't love new beginnings?

Letters by CoffeeDragon87 @coffeedragon87

When Harry Potter turned eleven he received a letter that changed his life forever. When Harry Potter, now a dashingly handsome bachelor, Head of the Auror Department and loving godfather, is thirty-five history repeats itself.

With and Without You by Shewhxmustnxtbenamed @shewhomustnotbenamed

Harry and Draco realize that they’ve been living in the same building for the past five years, hiding from the Wizarding world in Muggle London for a variety of reasons. They grow unexpectedly close and Harry realizes that Draco’s relationship with his boyfriend is abusive, spiraling as he tries and fails to figure out how to help. In Harry’s rejection of the Wizarding world in general, he has fallen out of touch with his friends and his magical abilities, but has to reconnect with both in order to find himself again.

( •ॢ◡-ॢ)-♡ I hope you enjoy these fics as much as I have! Happy reading, y’all & I hope 2024 is good to you! Happy New Year! xoxo Carey  (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

[ariadne-mouse]

the long wind down

Shadowgast, rated G, 1276 words. An ode to burnout.

-

"Of course I am not fine." 

Caleb's tone was waspish, and only their growing familiarity with each other told Essek that the sharpness was not meant for him, though he had catalyzed it.  Strudel the tawny longhair cat had no such wisdom, and leapt down from Caleb’s lap, offended. 

"We are in the final waiting period of the old man's sentencing, Beauregard has unearthed new dirt on the Martinet that we cannot pursue yet because of political bullshit, and Soltryce has changed the composition of their teaching offer four times.  I am not fine, Essek.  I am going insane."  Caleb clenched his hands in the air as though he could seize reality itself and shake it, then sagged back in his armchair, strings cut.  He rubbed his forehead.  "I am tired and wired at the same time, in equal and contradicting parts.  It has been nonstop for months."

"Caleb Widogast." Up close, the lines creasing Caleb's face were even more evident in the flickering candlelight.  Essek sat on the arm of the chair and rested his palm against Caleb's scruffy beard. "What can I do?"  His thumb soothed the cheekbone beneath it.

"Nothing," Caleb sighed, turning his face into the touch.

"I can distract you, if you wish." 

The offer earned him a faint flash of a grin. "I do enjoy your skills at distraction, Herr Thelyss."  But he did not move, his posture still slumped, the weight of him and the world on his shoulders pressing down into the chair, and so the question and its answer passed between them unspoken in that tender space of knowing.

Essek frowned. "And you cannot rest?"

"Nein," Caleb looked up at him wearily. "My mind wants something to chew.  It is hungry.  But as soon as I try, and pick up this or that, I get lost in the details or else make stupid mistakes like a schoolboy trying his hand at advanced magic.  I have been going for so long, I can't stop, but I have hit a point where I can’t string two coherent thoughts together either." His eyes drifted shut, but his continued unease was betrayed by the way he plucked at his sleeve in his lap, a precursor to his bad habit of scratching.

Essek’s mind was not fully refreshed either, such was his life of evasion these days, but his retreat from his Dynasty connections was also a retreat from the obligations and noise that came with them.  It was rather the reverse of Caleb’s plight — while his friend sought to put down roots in his home country and make change, Essek was pulling up his roots and casting himself into the wind.  But he remembered the years he’d spent climbing through the Dynasty, and with that recollection, he found he had a solution.  

He tilted his head.  "I have just the thing.  Perhaps."

"Do you?" Caleb straightened up fractionally, focusing on Essek once more.

“Perhaps.”  Essek drew away, but only to free his hands for casting.  “It is a trivial invention of mine from my early days at court, when I first achieved the rank of Shadowhand.  There was always a great deal to be done, many things happening at once, but each with their own restrictions and tediums and frustrations.  Politics.  At times waiting, able to do nothing while some goal became more and more urgent.  Interlacing plans, advancing at different paces.  I found it hard to rest, then, too.  The mind is reluctant to let go, once put to such… hm. Overclocking?”

He traced some symbols in the air, leaving a softly glowing indigo afterimage.  These symbols unspooled themselves and rearranged into a new display: a blank rectangular grid with notation at each row and column. “The numerals are in Undercommon, but I never envisioned an application for this outside of my own personal use.”  He then touched a square in the grid with a spark of magic, and it filled with a soothing blue-purple color.  “It is a simple logic puzzle.  There is an underlying pattern — I took pains for the spell to generate it at random, unknown to the caster — and can be solved by marking the squares to match it.  I will tell you no more of the rules.  Try it.”

Caleb leaned up, the light reflected in his eyes.  He tapped a square, and it lit up like Essek’s had.  Another: this one flashed red and then faded dull and grey.

“An incorrect choice?”

“Yes.”

His eyes flitting over the puzzle, Caleb tested a number of other squares in rapid succession, noting whether they glowed a successful blue or a failed grey.  And he did fail a number of times, his brow wrinkling, but he had about him that drive of experimentation they shared when inventing spellwork: failure was not failure, only information to be utilized in the pursuit of understanding.

“Hm. I think I have it.”

Essek inclined his head.  “Show me.”  He waved his hand and dispelled the game board, replacing it with a new one of larger dimensions.

Caleb indicated a row. “Here there are 10 squares, and it is marked with a 1, 3, and 2.   This means there are groupings of tiles in that composition, in that order, that are neighbors but do not touch.  You must cross-reference with other rows and columns to surmise where they can occur to be in harmony with the patterns of other rows and columns.  And you cannot always do it all at once.”  He tapped a few successful tiles.  Then, quickly engrossed, he continued on.

It was unsurprising that Caleb had quickly deduced the Undercommon numerals by their context, and that he had figured out the simple rules, but there was always pleasure in observing his mind work.  Essek watched Caleb’s face instead of the puzzle.

In the work of a few minutes, he was tapping the last tile of the pattern. The whole grid pulsed with faint light, and dissolved into stardust.

“Oh, pretty.” Caleb tilted his head back to smile at Essek. “You invented this?  It is a remarkable bit of spellwork.”

Essek preened. “It is useless except for this, of course.  A pastime, nothing more.  But when the need arises… I have always found it soothing.”

“May I copy it down?”  Caleb rubbed at his eyes and cast around for pen and ink from the nearby table where their research papers were cast about like autumn leaves.

“Tomorrow.” Essek stayed Caleb in his chair with a hand on his shoulder. “It will take an hour or two, and we have just established that you are in need of rest.  Please, allow me.  I will cast them until you wish to stop.  They require minimal arcane power.”

Caleb’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and drew Essek’s hand from his shoulder and kissed the palm of it.  “If you insist, dear.”

Essek smiled.  “I do.”

Nine and half puzzles later, Caleb was leaned on his elbow, dozing.  

With a flick of his wrist, Essek dispelled the half-finished puzzle and eased himself off the arm of the chair, found a throw blanket, and draped it over Caleb’s lap.  The sleek tabby cat Bartolomew was quick to follow, and Strudel — the earlier insult forgotten — joined soon after, but Caleb did not stir at the added weight, used to his cats making themselves comfortable anywhere at any hour. 

Essek’s feet made no sound as he floated to the kitchen and puttered about making tea.  He would have to leave in the morning, but for now, in the quiet broken only by the clank of the teapot and Caleb’s snoring, this was home.

-

This ficlet is based off of nonogram puzzles. If you'd like to try one online, I recommend this site!