#i will try to expand my circle every now and then but i cannot do it often bc of this 😭 im not going to give up entirely though fdsjkl

[dandyshucks]

blinks tiredly. i decide "hm maybe i should try to expand my circle and step outside of it a little, lets go look at the main community tags" and im just greeted with a bunch of edgelords who think saying "fiction doesn't affect reality, don't like don't read" is peak activism and "fighting censorship". head in my hands. this is partially why i do not ever go into the community tags, my nervous system cannot handle blocking fifty weirdos every single day just so i can have a normal experience in the community tags hfdsjkl

[mischasbongwater]

farkas x reader

warning: intense sex, vaguely fem-bodied reader but only if you squint

authors note: this is most certainly not my best work, just practice if anything but im still glad i finished it (emphasis on finished) and i wanted to share it and this felt like a good place to do it

(also for context this takes place after his transformation in the crypt that first time)

You slip into Farkas’s room as quickly and quietly as you can, out of worry that one of the other Companions might get suspicious. You carefully close the door, turn around—

—And Farkas is standing at the foot of his bed, in nothing but a loincloth.

“OH!” You yelp, throwing your hands up in front of your face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

“It’s fine, open your eyes. I don’t care.”

You falter. “Wh- seriously?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

Slowly, you lower your hands and look at him. He’s sat down on his bed now, arms folded. Somehow he still looks just as big and intimidating as when he’s wearing armor. You can so clearly see his muscles rippling beneath his olive skin, but you try not to look anywhere other than his face — or arms.

You catch the inquisitive look on his face and snap yourself back to reality. “So,” you begin. “Werewolf.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “It is a gift given only to those in the Circle. Should you want to share the beastblood, you’ll have to prove your honor.”

“Right.” You cannot stop looking at him.

“Truth be told, if you want a more technical history, you should talk to Kodlak or Vilkas. I don’t usually put much thought into it beyond the gift itself. But- are you okay?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. You smell different.” He stands up.

“That- is so weird,” you respond, momentarily distracted by bewilderment. “What do I smell like?”

“Normally? Just you. But now…” He steps closer until he’s barely a foot away from you. It feels like his bare chest is looking you straight in the eyes. “It’s different. Stronger. Sweeter.”

You look up at him, eyes wide, feeling something you’ve never quite felt before. Dread and thrill both building up in your stomach, like white-hot balls of metal expanding through your abdomen. Sharp bursts of adrenaline spiking through your body.

“Are you interested in me, new blood?” His deep, gritty voice had a strange new cadence to it, like warm honey pouring into your ears.

You inhale shakily. “I- don’t know how to answer that question.”

“Can I answer it for you?”

You don’t even know if the word “yes” had left your mouth yet before you were in Farkas’s grasp. One hand is gently gripping the back of your neck, and the other is caressing the top of your head, weaving fingers through your hair. His rough, salty lips are pressed against yours, hard. You reach out and place your hands on his hips, closing the gap between you. He quivers under your touch, then melts into it, grabbing a handful of your hair and pushing his tongue into your mouth.

After a few heated moments, he pulls back, much to your disappointment.

“Do you want this?” He asks, his voice sounding much darker now.

You look at him, confused. “Wh-“

“The beast-spirit inside of me. He wants you. Bad.” He fidgets with his hands, showing the first glimpse of true uncertainty and nervousness you’ve ever seen from him. “I don’t know if I can keep being gentle like this. I don’t want to-”

“Farkas.” You take his hands. “I don’t care. I’m yours.”

A lustful spark appears in his eyes. He grabs you by your waist, picks you up with ease, and pins you to his bed, desperately grabbing at your clothes and trying to pull them off.

He seems as stocky and strong as a tree trunk, every part of him laying over you like this. He reaches down and pulls his loincloth off, then lowers himself down, almost completely immobilizing you.

His hands wander up to your face, lazily at first, then grabbing you roughly and once more pushing his lips against yours. His hips begin to thrust slowly against yours, and you feel his hardening cock sliding up and down against your stomach.

“Mmm… you smell so good.” His hands travel across your body, greedily touching every part he can reach. Your own hand begins to drift downward, but he grabs your wrist and pins it above your head.

“You had your chance to lead,” he growls. “It’s my turn now.” He pins up your other hand and buries his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and biting, forcing high, breathy moans out of your mouth. His movement slowly grows more desperate, and you feel the same.

“Farkas…” you say pleadingly. He lets out a deep purr and snaps his hips against you in approval. He raises his head above yours. You stare into his eyes, and he stares back, perfectly mirroring the burning passion you feel. His soft raven hair hangs down perfectly around his broad, rugged face. He leans down and whispers into your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin and sending tingles down your back. “I’m going to make you mine.”

Without any more warning than that, he grabs your hips so hard you think he might leave handprints, and he pushes his tip inside of you. You let out a shuddering gasp, your hands shooting up and grabbing onto his biceps for dear life.

He begins to push further into you, his thick shaft throbbing and stretching you out. The pain felt so good. A keening moan escapes from your mouth. Farkas closes his eyes, and you can see the muscles feathering along his tightly-clenched jaw as he sinks deeper and deeper into you.

“Farkas,” you breathe out. “Farkas-” you yelp as he forcefully thrusts his full length into you. “Y-you’re so big…” you manage to stammer out. “Fu-uuck. Please, Farkas.”

He opens his eyes and smirks. He smirks at you.

“Please what, darling?”

“Fuck me,” you heave desperately, your nails digging into his skin. “Fuck me, Farkas, please, I-”

You’re cut off by his strong, meaty hand pressing over your mouth, covering half your face. He gives a firm but gentle squeeze. “Sshhh, shh-shh.” He purrs. “Can’t have you waking up the others.” He starts slowly thrusting again. “Or is that what you want? Does the new blood want all of Jorrvaskr to hear them whining like a dog?”

You can do nothing but squeeze your eyes shut, your whole body pulsating with the feeling of him inside of you. That white-hot feeling is back, even more intensely now, like a sun planted in your stomach.

“That’s right,” he groans, starting to speed up. “Good.” He squeezes your face tighter, his eyes closing again and his head tilting back in pleasure. His movements grow almost animalistic, shoving himself further and further inside of you over and over. Your body tenses up, vibrating with heat and ecstasy, his cock filling you up so deep you think you might pass out. Your moans are uncontrollable and muffled by his hand, while your own are nearly drawing blood from their death grip on his arms. He keeps pounding into you, grunting and moaning huskily, holding you solidly in place. Your hips snap back up in rhythm with his, your body twitching from the pleasure and strain. If not for him muzzling you, you would be crying out, screaming his name, moaning and keening in primal euphoria.

The ball in your stomach expands like molten metal, spreading through your body until it feels as if Farkas has filled every last inch of you. It builds and builds and builds-

Until he stops, hilt-deep inside of you. You squirm and cry out, frantic with lust and just on the edge of overstimulation from his huge cock. He hums smugly at your struggle, his face inches away from yours. “Look at you. Such a desperate little thing. You like being used like this?”

You nod, aggressively and pathetically. Farkas chuckles, and the deep, raspy sound of his subtle laughter is almost enough to send you over the edge right there. He shifts, taking his other hand and grasping both sides of your face, pushing his thumbs into your mouth.

“Stay quiet,” he growls, before continuing his merciless thrusts at the same pace he left off at. Without even meaning to, you clamp down on his thumbs between your teeth, letting out a flood of sharp, cut-off moans as he fucks you with reckless abandon. You almost can’t stand the speed and girth hammering into you, sending you into a state of complete, mindless hunger.

Through your feral haze, you see his bottom lip caught under his teeth, his eyes tightly closed, and his eyebrows knitted together. Then his mouth hangs open, and a small whimper escapes into the air.

The molten ball inside of you explodes, coating his length and squirting onto his thighs and stomach. You lay completely silent, convulsing and arching beneath him, consumed with bliss. You scratch helplessly at his shoulders, wordlessly begging, and Farkas complies, thrusting more sensually yet somehow rougher into you now. He covers your mouth again, and you allow the torrent of wild moans to erupt from within you as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, every vein and ridge on his cock hitting you in all the right places.

Just when you think you might finally go unconscious, he pulls out and a thick ribbon of cum streams out onto your stomach. He looks to be reared back like a horse, holding tight onto your hips to keep from falling, head swung back as he shudders through his own orgasm.

Panting, he collapses onto you, practically forcing the air out of your lungs with his weight. You wrestle your arms out from under him and wrap them around his torso — or at least, as far around as they can reach.

“Fuck,” Farkas whispers hoarsely, enveloping you in his arms now and turning you both to your sides. You make a noise of agreement muffled by his chest.

“Are- are you gonna stay here?” He asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice. You make another noise, this one of more serene agreement. He exhales deeply and goes limp, pulling you closer to him. You were both far too hot and sweaty for his blankets, but not for your own skin against the other’s. Filled with contentment and… other stuff… you relish in his scent and the feeling of his body pressed against yours. You catch a glimpse of the moon from outside his window.

Who cares if he’s a werewolf, you think to yourself. Nothing could make me rethink this.

[wherefore-whinnies]

I have been thinking so much lately about how binaries like straight relationships vs gay relationships or cis vs trans or aspec vs allo or even white vs non-white are all just complete bullshit actually and feeding into them with your activism really does not help anybody.

like at least at this point lots of people in my circles know the men vs non-men stuff is trash and mostly just repackaged radfem rhetoric right. honestly all of these are in some way. they're just used to perpetuate new forms of exclusionism and new forms of normativity.

"ew straight relationships" and sentiments like "lol I forgot women can date men" aren't progressive or cool. it's putting down tons of queer people who are in straight relationships or relationships that appear straight. bi people, trans people, genderfluid people, aspec people, multigender people, lots more. "oh but I don't mean *those* queer people!" well people don't have to explain or prove their identities to you. it's none of your business. your activism *has* to include straight people because other people's identities are none of your business and you *cannot* know what the identities of the people involved are unless they choose to share it with you and they have no obligation to. forever expanding the scope of "cis het allo perisex etc. etc. etc." on and on and on will always be limiting.

"lol I forgot not all men have x body part associated with afab people" isn't progressive or cool. it's excluding trans people who choose to have certain kinds of gender-affirming surgery, for one. I imagine it also excludes some intersex conditions.

making jokes about strangers being eggs because they appear male-presenting and like flowery deodorant scents isn't progressive or cool. it is literally gender essentialism. it doesn't become cool to shove people into boxes just because you think they're now the "right" boxes.

I know I've done this a lot but I don't think talking about things "the allos" do in those terms is useful or helpful either. I mean even in all the posts I make about them I end up putting in footnotes like "so many aspecs do this shit too". so literally what is the point. it's really not helpful to be putting down allo experiences on the basis of people being allo when the a spectrums are so varied that every allo experience can also be an aspec experience.

and even white vs non-white is not a simple binary, as I've learned from some of my mutuals. mixed people exist. talking about whether someone is "[non-white] enough" just harms people and is just more exclusionism.

idk man subscribing to the notion that all these things are binaries seems immensely unhelpful to what we are supposed to be actually trying to accomplish which is letting people just be themselves and do whatever they want and label themselves however they want forever (I understand this is more complicated when it comes to race). so what if that also helps "the straights". focus on lifting people up and not on putting putting people down. otherwise we're just going in the same circles over and over while pretending we're doing it sooooo progressively this time.

[zeglythofficial]

SUBMITTED BY 🎉 ANON

TAROT READING ON R’s HEALING JOURNEY

🎉 Anon:

ok here’s my rachel healing journey reading

so what i got just reading it is just this feeling of exhaustion and fatigue

like she isn’t doing any work rn but still tired

she’s at home all day and even if she sees friends and her bf/family she still doesn’t feel as fulfilled going home

like a hamster on a wheel who still feels she’s still going

i can feel she probably isn’t sleeping well or eating enough or the right nutrients

a burning bowl/basically just a symbolic ending to her past full of hate, like she can chapter off this new era and acknowledge but let go of all the hate she got

deep breaths whenever she gets anxious or her panic attacks/going manic on soc med, a good massage for self care and meditating

she seems like a manifesting girlie so she probably knows this but the energy i get is she keeps delaying/procrastinating

acceptance and patience is important for her rn to make any progress in healing

acceptance - learning things she cannot change but also taking accountability on what she can change

to stop crying over spilt milk but deal with what she can change NOW

patience- in divine order, for her career, for everything she shouldn’t rush and be impatient because it’ll just make her more frustrated and possibly push good things that could be good for her (like how she nearly gave up thg a role that imo saved her career and public opinion)

expanding inner power- most powerful when creativity is given a voice, when she does something for her enjoyment not just work. like her writing songs is a good start, being creative

expressing free will- my choices determine how brightly i will shine; communication, blue is the colour for throat chakra too so using her voice not just singing but speaking and talking to a circle of friends she can trust is nice

unhooking the past- there’s nothing to regret when i learn from my past; i know her past has been painful with the hate, but it’s a good time to maximize and try not to give haters something they can use. don’t give them any ring they can use against her, to stay offline i think is a good lesson for her and her well being and also her public image

“your body is pissed at you -get the f outside. move your ass” probably hasn’t been as active with exercise as she usually is (i know she usually wears her gym fits when she works out but i haven’t seen any posts of it recently so i think that might help the funky energy from the emotional mess

“Thoughts can be sneaky, lying bastards - don’t believe every shitty thought you have” she’s an overthinker we know, but she doesn’t have to entertain every doubt she has.

“get after that shit. the world has your back - that project that person that idea is waiting” can be on a project or person she wants to work with or has thought of being with. she has some dreams and she may be doubting herself but she should take a chance and do it

“you are being shady - watch out shit could get ugly” i laughed reading this but part of her being shady and childish like this is making it worse for her and hinders her from really healing and being emotionally free. she needs to stop this behaviour and step back and realize how ridiculous she looks

amaryllis- determination and creative achievement (do something creative, for her own achievement and not always for a job or an award)

red rose- hidden secrets, keeping secrets from people around her and lying to herself and others will just bite her back

My reply:

I think everything tracks to what we’re seeing. Exhaustion and not being able to move on from the past. She entertains every negative doubt and we’re seeing the fallout from it. She’s stuck in her house with her phone and nothing to do. She needs a hobby and to be blunt, a life!

Honestly as I was reading, I know a lot of this is not going to happen any time soon.

Thank you for sharing! :)

[desmondkane-of-ao3-fame]

what do you think Skara's last name is?

You ask me a very simple question.

I spent 3 hours at work questioning my philosophy on headcannons, and what the line is between writing a fan interpretation of a character in another work and simply creating an OC.

I’ll answer this question, but let me just ramble for a bit.

Imagine a bubble. A big, red bubble that reads “SKARA” on it. This is, in fact, Skara. Or, rather, the purest version of her character, specifically from the show and any related cannon media. And surrounding it are other bubbles, each also labeled “SKARA,” but including the name of some fanfiction or fanart. These are the interpretations of Skara, the different ways people write outside of the writing staff make Skara as a character. The bubbles that are closer to the pure bubble are the ones closest to her show counterpart. The ones farthest out are the ones that stray enough that they feel almost like a completely different character.

Like, the bubbles closest to the main bubble are literally just written exactly like her in the show. No frills or fluff or extra details. What you see with Skara is what you get. And the ones furthest away are AU’s where she’s like, a werewolf queen who sustains herself on the souls of orphaned babies, sees the future in pools of blood, and hates music and sports. In other words, an OC in all but name, connected only at best by name and appearance to the original.

For me, I like to imagine I write Skara somewhere in the middle. I know the version of Skara I write for Tumblr and AO3 isn’t exactly the same as the one in the show. But what differences there are, I try to write expansions to the original character, as opposed to contradictions. I often write headcannons, for instance, that Skara is an excellent cook. There’s no evidence for this in the show, of course, but there’s no evidence against it either. So, technically, one can say that this is a form of Schrödinger’s Skara: she is, and simultaneously is not, a good cook. And until Dana herself comes out to answer if Skara can or cannot cook, or some other cannon material answers that question, I’m freely allowed to believe she is, and choose to believe it. Likewise, there’s not a lot of evidence really that Skara is a chaotic bisexual gremlin with a stupidly big crush on Willow. But again, there’s no evidence to suggest she isn’t. So I’m still able to claim I’m writing Skara, just expanding on her.

But I’ll never say anything, like, ‘Skara is a lesbian who would never ever date a man,’ because that doesn’t pass the smell test. She clearly went on a date with a guy in Grom. So at that point I’m just contradicting the original Skara in a way that feels too OOC to reasonably match with her in the show.

So you’re probably asking, what in the nine circles of Hell does any of this have to do with Skara’s last name?

Simply put, whenever I try to think of a last name for Skara, I can't imagine a new Skara bubble forming at all. Giving her a last name makes me not think of her as Skara.

Names are important to identify a character by, far more so then just if they can cook or not. So if I decided to say, like "I headcannon that Skara's last name is Smith," now I feel less like I'm talking about Skara, the character from TOH, but Skara Smith, my OC that happens to have every defining characteristic of Skara from TOH, but still isn't her at all. Even if I gave Skara a last name, and Dana herself came out to say that the last name I gave her was correct, it would feel like I had separated my Skara too much from the original for her to even have a real hint of her essence. That's why I don't really give her a last name at all in any of my writings.

And yes, I've named characters surrounding Skara: Guitar Strings names her date from Grom as Ves, and I often write that Skara's Palisman is named Daisy. But those are just things that surround Skara, barely characters outside of her. Giving HER a name though... that... that's a bit more of a tall order for me.

HAVING SAID ALL THIS!

Here are a few suggestions I can think of for potential last names Skara might have. Just know, these aren't me saying "These are what I headcannon Skara's last name as," it' me saying "These could make potentially cute last names for Skara."

Brae - If you've ever searched up Skara without specifying 'The Owl House' or 'The Greatest Character Ever,' you've probably heard of Skara Brae. You can read about it from it's Wiki entry here, but essentially it's the incredibly well preserved, neolithic remains of a Scottish village. And more importantly in this case, probably where Skara got her first name. So making her last name Brae would be fitting, though admittedly a bit of a silly and lazy answer.

Bell - A bit of a more musical name, tying in with her status as a Bard, and one I like a bit better then Brae. For one, it ties more directly into Skara's personality, and it's more simple to understand. I also like that it somewhat sounds like Belle, as in the French word for beauty, which would fit her well. Finally, I can't deny that I now want a Christmas themed Skarlow one-shot called "Skara Bells," about Skara looking for the perfect gift for Willow during the holidays (which I've written about before here).

Strist - Not actually a real word, but an intense conjoining of the term "strategist," which is how I could best think to make a name to tie into her time as the Entrails strategist.

Cendre - The easiest of these to explain: It's simply French for 'ash,' like Skara's ashen hair.

Admittedly, I'm not particularly amazed with any of these answers, which is probably another reason I don't have a last name for Skara. But still, I hope you like these suggestions, and if you ever want to use them for a story yourself, I'd love to read it.

(Also, let's be real: We all know in the end it's gonna be Park anyway.)

[konveeart]

Actually “living” something

There might be nothing of value here but just me being emotional this monday evening. And with this, here I go, wordvommiting. I ramble for a second and then I’ll go grocery shopping. 

I watched Steven Zapatas’ video this morning and then went through the comments (didn’t scroll much but they were pretty interesting to read). I don’t have anything to contribute but what describes my POV in this matter was CosmicSpectrum’s comment, and I want to expand on it with my own experience here (continuing from my twitter thread).

I’ve had a conversation with my friend about “you should play this game, you’d love it”. God I know i would. I’ve made lists of books, games, series, comics, anime I should watch, read, listen, breathe and I’d love. Or not. But those lists are everywhere, twitter bookmarks, myanimelist, in my notes, in my notebooks, post it notes, post-it-notes on my mac that are waiting to be categorised; artist recommendations, instagram profiles, music albums, all the stuff I should at some point be aware of.

I know I would. But it wasn’t a coincidence I spent 150+hrs of gameplay in DeathStranding before even finishing the main story.

Now wait, what does this anything have to do with AI art? On the matter that it’s sucking us dry to make stuff, nothing. On the new constant stream of content that both sucks us dry to produce things faster, it does. It’s all about making content, making more money (no, artists won’t be making more money, people who already have money will), getting things done faster. I am not as eloquent or knowledgable/ updated to add more than what I know to this subject, but the point I am trying to make by poorly writing this to get it off my chest is, nothing can replace our time making/ interacting with what we love.

Our time is our highest-in-value currency. I don’t play game after game, read book after book, finish drawing after drawing to reach a quota (in my defence I’ve tried it in my teens and it was cool but I don’t remember 3/4 of the anime/ games i’ve watched/played and i was depressed). I am appalled by this constant stream of content, I’ve always been and I always make circles around it because everyone moves on so fast and we can’t talk about what’s not hot if we want to be relevant before society or the algorithm punishes us for it. (Society because people move on to the next big thing and who remains to brainrot with, or sometimes even being judged for not being up-to-date with what’s hot right now, the algorithm because it’s the algorithm and if it’s not mainstream, you’re not making them companies any $$).

I want to boil in things I love. I play one game a year if I am lucky, I am living with it, it’s part of me. I’ve read and re-read one piece of fiction and I can’t stop loving it every time. My library is so tiny, it’s wonderful. Things I can carry with me every year to the next one, others remain in the past but they stayed long enough to be remembered (or not). Replaying. Remembering. Moving on or staying with what I love, I make this choice for myself and it’s such a relief, finally.

I wish I could encourage someone to do the same, if that’s up to how they’d like to live. Draw the things they love, write about them, talk about them without the fear of being irrelevant. The lifespan of media (art, music, series, comics, movies you name it) has drastically shortened online and it’s very visible and sad. Our attention to things breaks easier, chasing what’s new instead of truly learning about something interesting. But we are human, and I hope we realise that sooner. We cannot *live* anything faster. That’s just getting distracted, the same lie with “multitasking” (grind culture GTFO).

Value your time. We’ve been fed that end-results matter, but that’s because we choose to ignore and devalue the process.

But it wasn’t a coincidence I spent 150+hrs of gameplay in DeathStranding before even finishing the main story. 

So there are things I just won’t get to be aware of on a personal lvl (living them/ playing them/ reading them) and that’s fine. Those *opens hands and points at all the things I have to show you* are the things I know and make me happy. The things I remember and think of fondly. They are not necessarily what make me as a person, but they surely are things I love and made part of my life in whichever way I chose or happened to be.

--

Anyway, get informed at your own pace about AI art, get their asses and don’t let corporations do as they please. And do read/ listen/ watch/ play what you love, for you first and foremost. Fuck “consume”, fuck “content”.  Live it. For you.

[riverdamien]

From Darkness to Light!

Holy Saturday

My God, my God, why have you abandoned me? - Mark 15:34

I was raised in the Church, and I knew about Christ for as long as I can remember; I knew Jesus, and at the age of twelve felt my call to the ministry. I experienced the heavy hand of discrimination in the Church, but my relationship to Christ saved me.

The Church has done so much damage to the lives of people through the years--the Crusades, supporting war, and its war against LGBTQ+ people; I have heard many homeless youth and adults speak of the Church, even if they knew of its existence and the LGBTQ+ with so much anger, anger that will take years to overcome.

I have a young friend, who is 24 now, but have known since he was 13 ask me "What is this God thing about?" And in talking to him he had no understanding.  Religion had never been in his circle of orbit. One young man on Haight was given a pamphlet by a woman who was "evangelizing", and resulting from his previous experience of being kicked out and rejected by family and church, he tried to commit suicide.

I spend most of my time with street youth, and almost everyone feels lonely and abandoned, rejected. They feel very much alone as I do, and I can identify with them.

For me, the precious center of the Passion is our Lord’s cry from the Cross. A few moments later, His heart gives out and darkness descends upon the earth. But in His despondent cry, Christ has entered our inner darkness. He takes on one of the most fragile aspects of our condition – the sense that we are alone, abandoned, and unwanted – and redeems it from within. And my aloneness is redeemed in Christ, and I try to live out that redeeming joy giving myself away to these guys!

Fr. Henri Nouwen experienced loneliness and isolation as a result of being in the closet, and he writes about our journey:

We are on a Journey

Where are we going? After a very short visit to earth the time comes for each of us to pass from this world to the next. We have been sent into the world as God’s beloved children, and in our passages and our losses we learn to love each other as spouse, parent, brother, or sister. We support one another through the passages of life, and together we grow in love. Finally, we ourselves are called to exodus, and we leave the world for full communion with God. It is possible for us, like Jesus, to send our spirit of love to our friends when we leave them. Our spirit, the love we leave behind, is deeply in God’s Spirit. It is our greatest gift to those we love.



We, like Jesus, are on a journey, living to make our lives abundantly fruitful through our leaving. When we leave, we will say the words that Jesus said: “It is good for you that I leave, because unless I pass away, I cannot send you my spirit to help you and inspire you.”

Deo Gratias! Thanks be to God!

------

Prayer of St. Brendan!

"Help me to journey beyond the familiar

and into the unknown.

Give me the faith to leave old ways and break fresh ground with You. Christ of the mysteries I trust in You to be stronger than each storm within me.

I will trust in the darkness and know that my times, even now, are in Your hands.

Tune my spirit to the music of heaven,

and somehow, make my obedience count for You"

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

(Temenos and Fr. River seek to remain accessible to everyone. We do not endorse particular causes, political parties, or candidates, or take part in public controversies, whether religious, political or social--Our pastoral ministry is to everyone!

Day of (No) Silence 2024: Rise Up. Take Action.

History of Day of (No) Silence: Started in the mid 90’s by two college students, Day of Silence has expanded to reach hundreds of thousands of students each year. Every April, students would go through the school day without speaking, ending the day with Breaking the Silence rallies to bring attention to ways their schools and communities can become more inclusive.

2024 Day of (No) Silence: With more than 800 anti-LGBTQ+ bills introduced last year, we must Rise Up and Take Action. GLSEN’s Day of NO Silence is a nationally recognized student-led demonstration where LGBTQ+ students and allies all around the country—and the world— protest the harmful effects of harassment and discrimination of LGBTQ+ people in schools.

Fr. River Sims, D.Min., D.S.T.

415-305-2124

temenos@gmail.com

www.temenos.org

www.paypal.com

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[interdimensional-chaos]

Tell me a story

That is a slippery slope because I start stories and then they rapidly expand and next thing I know I'm rewriting the first few chapters and then get distracted by the next shiny idea.

The old stuff is still on the table and I always do circle back to it with improvements. Same with all my hobbies really. Every once in awhile I want to play the piano again, practice guitar again, work on my scarf, learn to code, work on my drawings, write.

Unfortunately the world being as it is right now I cannot afford to get a keyboard or a guitar. I don't think I ever will until the millennium.

Not much I can do about that except make sure I know how to cook and communicate.

And write, because writing is fun and I've been making up stories since I could talk.

Problem is avoiding Want. I've only recently slain that beast, so I don't get bogged down on stories anymore.

See I Want to tell you a short story. I really do. But when I try to make this into a story it gets stuck.

Inspiration for me is sporadic. Not necessarily random but more like a short burst of energy.

Then it's gone.

[delimeful]

the shapes in the silence (13)

warning: illness, mild emetophobia, arguing, panic attack, dissociation, altered mental state, guilt 

-

They had very little time to process, after Puff-- Anxiety-- their rescuer collapsed limply to the ground.

Roman and Patton each burst into their own hysterics, but Logan was utterly silent. He was frozen, mind racing and connecting a thousand little dots, like realizing a constellation had been right in front of you, you’d just somehow missed the brightest star.

The form of Anxiety was sprawled out undeniably in front of them, struck down by the attack that had been levied against Puff, because he was Puff. He’d wondered why Anxiety wasn’t prone to their shrinking dilemma, but he’d been dealing with it the longest. Anxiety’s withdrawal and Puff’s strange behavior were causation and correlation.

Anxiety lay before them, but whatever he had done to change his form, to protect them against attack, it had changed him. Small purple scales curled over his cheekbones, two curved, deer-like ears lay limp on the sides of his head, and even a tail where there had been none before.

If there had ever been any way to refute his connection to Puff, his appearance now countered it single-handedly.

In the end, it was the doubts that snapped them all out of it.

Sinuous, shifting forms that changed with every blink, they crawled up from their blind spots, appearing in the corners of their vision.

Roman snapped his sword hand back up reflexively, frowning, but Logan could easily read the confusion scrawled across his posture. He’d complained at length about the creatures, their persistent aggression and the way that they always heralded Anxiety’s appearance in this realm, like the world’s creepiest minions.

But Anxiety lay prone at their feet, in no state to control anything, and furthermore, the glittering eyes of the doubts seemed almost… locked on him, glinting with malice.

More questions, and the only one who could answer them was unconscious and quickly gaining a sickly tint to his skin. The doubts were creatures of despair, and if they reached Patton or Anxiety-- the more emotion-driven pair out of the four of them-- the results could be disastrous. They needed out, now.

Logan firmed his shoulders, moving to cut through the panicked back-and-forth his companions were doing.

“Roman,” he called, taking reference from every instructor that Thomas had ever respected to insert authority into his tone, “pick Anxiety up.”

The creative side jerked, his eyes drawn down to Anxiety for a second before flickering away. “And give up my stalwart defense? We’ll be overcome before we reach anything resembling an exit!”

“You need to pick up Anxiety,” Logan repeated, and took a deep breath, shedding all the dirt and gore that he had accumulated while trekking through the Imagination. “I’m bringing the exit to us.”

Applying his function to a space that wasn’t real tended to... destabilize it. It was a last resort, the sort of thing that they’d figured out early on should be avoided. Roman demonstrably put his heart and soul into his work, after all, and fracturing it hurt Creativity as much as the realm itself. Even something as small as Logan breaking his own immersion made Roman twitch, let alone what he was about to pull.

Roman’s eyes went wide with understanding, and then grim determination. He sheathed his sword back into nothing and knelt down at the fallen Side’s side, only hesitating for the barest moment before sliding his arms under his shoulders and knees and lifting him into the air.

The motion seemed to jar Anxiety, and he let out a pained whine that wouldn’t have sounded out of place coming from Puff. Lifted up like this, they could see the singed gouge that tore through the back of his hoodie, the smoking, rotting injury lined up on his spine in the exact same place it had hit Puff.

“It looks bad,” Patton whispered, his eyes wet and his hands half-pressed over his mouth. The doubts were closer now, circling like wolves. They couldn’t be allowed to worsen Anxiety’s condition.

“We will handle it,” Logan said, not allowing even the slightest tremor in his voice as he held his hands out. He met Roman’s eyes, one last warning, before closing his own and focusing all his attention on dismantling the environment around him.

It was all illusory, from the faint scent of ozone lingering in the air to the cold stone around them. None of it was real, not the magic or the monsters, not when one thought about them logically. The Imagination was a limitless space, shaped and crafted by Creativity, and so any distance between them and the placement of an ‘exit’ was simply imaginary.

There was no logical reason to traverse an imaginary path, and so with one yank, Logan pulled and then folded the space between them and the exit, like crumpling a piece of paper to make two ends meet.

The landscape crinkled around them, bricks shattering and environments crashing together with discordant scraping. Roman would be feeling the effects of the hole in his work for a while, but there was a doorway ahead of them and the doubts were scattered and caught in the folds and tears Logic had created.

“Move,” Logan said through gritted teeth, and Roman staggered through the exit, Patton hot on his tail. He stepped through as well, the door slamming shut on its own behind him. His presence wouldn’t be tolerated in the realm for a good long while after this.

He beckoned Roman over, shoving away the guilt he felt at the other Side’s pained grimace. If his power had just held long enough for the Imagination’s effects to be wiped from Anxiety as well--

The wound pulsed once, as though to announce its stubborn survival. It was glowing a painful violet, the injury resembling nothing more than a slowly expanding Lichtenburg figure.

Logan’s knuckles went white as he looked down at it. He hadn’t even managed to make the injury into something real, something more manageable to treat.

He reached out, grasping again for that sense of unreality, of rejection, and Roman pulled away, backing up.

“No more,” he said firmly, his voice a sharp contrast to the shaking of his arms. Logan felt that familiar guilt threaten to flood for a moment, before-- “Specs, you’re about to pass out. You used too much.”

He blinked, glancing down at his hand. It was shaking, too. He’d overtaxed himself, been too involved in the previous daydream to shut it down without any backlash.

Logic shouldn’t have been too involved in anything. He clenched his fist, abruptly furious with himself.

“Whatever that witch’s calamitous curse caused, it’s spreading slowly for now,” Roman announced, still seeming almost skittish with Anxiety in his arms. “We have yet time to uncover the truth.”

Patton pressed the back of his hand against Anxiety’s forehead, hissing sympathetically. “He’s burning up. I don’t know about curing curses, but-- we can at least help with this.”

They all had memories of Thomas’s parents coaxing him through fevers and flus, but Patton was the best at actually following that example. He directed Roman to the couch, flitted back and forth between the kitchen and the living room with all the classic illness aids.

“This is a spell-based sickness. There’s no reason to believe that this illness will function similarly to Thomas’s past experiences,” Logan started, and then was promptly cut off by Anxiety jerking halfway up off the couch, twisting, and vomiting into the small trash can Patton had just brought out. “... I stand corrected.”

His voice seemed to drag Anxiety’s attention from his retching, his head bobbing up to look around.

He stared out at them with bleary eyes for a heartbeat, all of them quiet and frozen and waiting, and then he slumped back down into both the couch cushions and unconsciousness. A mutual breath of relief went around the room.

“So, are we… going to talk about it?” Patton asked, as though half-dreading the answer.

“Talk about what?” Roman snapped sarcastically, crossing his arms. “The fact that apparently our dear draconic companion has been none other than Anxiety, the scourge on our home, the blight on our fields, the bane of Thomas’s existence, this entire time?”

“We don’t own any fields,” Logan interjected.

“Well, if we did, the guy would probably blight them! He’s a-- a blighter!” Roman replied, increasingly higher in pitch. “This is probably some kind of trick, a foul villainous plot for some greater purpose we don’t understand yet. Anxiety can’t possibly be— have been—!”

“Talking shit?” A familiar drawl rang out, a dark figure appearing on the stairs between one blink and the next and making them all jump. “I thought I heard someone say-- Anxiety?”

There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone looked between the two identical figures in the room.

“Well,” the Anxiety that was clearly actually Deceit said, glancing over the three of them, “I don’t suppose I could convince you that he’s the fake one? … No? What a shame.”

He lifted his shoulders from Virgil’s perpetual slouch easily, shedding his disguise in favor of his usual attire. Several more puzzle pieces clicked into place.

“You were the one who appeared when we introduced Puff to Thomas,” Logan said, cutting off the startled exclamations from the others. “And just now-- you returned from appearing to Thomas, didn’t you? As Anxiety, not yourself.”

Deceit rolled his eyes, adjusting his cufflinks absently. “Yes, well, someone had to do his job while he was… preoccupied. Or were you all so remiss as to not notice the decline that comes with a complete absence of Anxiety?”

They all bristled in unison. “All we’ve been doing as of late is trying to figure out why Thomas has been struggling recently,” Logan replied stiffly. “We cannot jump to conclusions based on the seemingly random reticence of one Side.”

“Oh, but now you know it’s not random at all, don’t you?” Deceit purred, stepping down the stairs one by one. “After all, Occam’s Razor has never proved to be true before.”

“You’re the one who’s slithering around impersonating other Sides!” Roman cut in with a sharp accusation. “How do we know you’re not the reason dear Thomas has been acting off?”

Deceit’s lip curled, displaying a curved fang. “I haven’t been the only reason Thomas hasn’t fallen apart entirely! But if you’d really like to cast blame, I’m happy to inform all three of you that this is your fault.”

“Our fault?” Roman and Patton’s voices overlapped, one outraged and the other alarmed. Logan frowned, smoothing down his tie absently.

“Are you speaking under false pretenses again? Only moments ago, you were claiming that Anxiety’s… disappearance was the source of Thomas’s recent struggle.”

Deceit’s gloves crinkled with the force of his grip on the banister. “You three are the ones who drove Anxiety to believe that he was superfluous, to the point that he decided somehow trapping himself in the form of a— a pet was better than spending another moment as himself in your presence,” he spat, each word furious and bitter.

There was a tense pause, and Deceit visibly reeled in his anger with a deep breath. “I refuse to spend any longer debating sins with you. If you’ll hand over Anxiety—,”

“No!” Logan startled himself with the sharp response, but Roman and Patton alike had echoed it. They exchanged looks, all of them struggling for a moment to put it to words.

Finally, Patton turned to where Deceit was staring at them with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t know why Anxiety chose to— chose this, but I do know that he got hurt trying to protect us. And if it really is our fault-- ...Well, it wouldn’t be right either way, making you or him deal with this alone.”

“And that’s assuming you even have the tools to deal with it,” Logan added, earning himself an irritated glare from the Dark Side. “That was not a slight against you. To elaborate on my meaning, Roman’s experience with the realm and the perpetrator behind the injury could be invaluable in treating it. It would be remiss for us to not offer aid.”

There was a beat, and Roman looked up belatedly from Anxiety, his face pale and eyes distant. “Right,” he said, and then stronger, “Right. We’ll help Anxiety overcome this curse, and then speak with him ourselves on the matter of blame.”

Deceit looked between the three of them assessingly, gaze occasionally flickering down to where Anxiety lay. “I could handle this perfectly well,” he snapped, “but fine. However. If you worsen his condition and force me to continue this ridiculous charade… you will all certainly enjoy the consequences.”

He let the threat sit in the air ominously. Logan thought his forced disdain was a rather strange way to express protectiveness over Anxiety’s well-being, but to be frank, Deceit’s motives could be difficult for him to parse on a good day.

“Deceit,” Patton called before the other Side could sink out. “You’re welcome to come check on Anxiety whenever you’d like. I… I just wanted you to know.”

Deceit cast a glance back at Anxiety, unreadable, and sank out without another word.

—-

Half an hour after Deceit’s revelations, Anxiety woke up.

They hadn’t noticed at first. Patton had been in the kitchen, making enough soup to feed a small army, and Logan and Roman had been preoccupied with bickering, trying to piece together a timeline.

“—can’t be certain that any of the appearances prior to Puff’s introduction to Thomas were Deceit. Anxiety did not withdraw entirely until after that event,” Logan was saying, sharpening his tone to keep Roman from interrupting for the sixth time.

“But the things he said, it has to have been Deceit,” Roman retorted again. “Perhaps this has been going on for months, all part of a plot to replace Anxiety!”

“And do what? Thomas actively ignores Anxiety as often as possible,” Logan stated, the fact making something in his stomach twist oddly. “It would be pointless for Deceit to replace someone with little to no influence.”

“Who knows how the minds of Dark Sides work?” Roman scoffed, and then glanced over Logan’s shoulder and stood. Logan turned to watch him adjust the blankets that had shuffled part ways off of Anxiety.

Roman paused, and then leaned in slightly. “The curse mark—,” he started, and then was cut off by two and a half blankets being tossed directly at his face.

Anxiety scrambled off of the couch with surprising speed for someone who clearly could barely feel any of their limbs. His eyes were wide with unmistakable terror, pupils slit, and Logan lifted his hands non-aggressively.

“Anxiety, calm down,” he started, and Anxiety shot off towards the stairs with frantic and unsteady steps. From this angle, Logan could see the way the wound left from the curse was pulsing and expanding, and felt his own jolt of fear.

Patton rushed out of the kitchen just in time to see Anxiety overshoot and slam into the wall beside the stairs, bouncing off without a sound and struggling to regain his momentum like an animal mindlessly fleeing for its life.

“Patton, grab him before he hurts himself even further!” Logan called, and Patton hurriedly half-tackled the Side, pinning his arms and lifting him up.

Anxiety keened, voice warping into that double tone, and then kicked out against the wall, nearly toppling the both of them. By now, Roman had freed himself, and he jumped to Patton’s side to lend a steadying arm.

Logan hurried forward, careful to stay out of range of Anxiety’s still-kicking legs.

“Anxiety. Anxiety, can you hear me? You need to breathe deeply now, please follow this pattern,” he tried to count steadily, even as Anxiety stared right through him and made awful, gut-wrenching whimpers. His eyeshadow was streaked down the sides of his face like inky tear tracks. “3, 4, 5– Please, Anxiety, we’re not trying to hurt you.”

“It feels like it’s growing,” Patton whispered, Anxiety’s back still pressed to him. Roman pushed the neckline of the other Side’s hoodie aside, and swore at the dark, angular tendrils that were creeping up to his shoulder blades.

“We need him to calm down,” Logan said, but there wasn’t a single soothing method that would work if the person was too far gone to even sense him. “I don’t—,”

“Okay. Okay, I’m— I’m going to calm him down,” Patton said firmly, and then stepped back from the other two and maneuvered Anxiety so he was facing Patton. Logan recognized what Patton was attempting only a moment before Anxiety was pulled into a firm, encircling hug.

Patton’s ability to share positive emotions through physical contact— once jokingly dubbed a ‘drug hug’ by Roman— hadn’t been used frequently since they were all significantly younger. Nowadays, with Logic clearly not needing emotions and Creativity too prideful to ask for one, Patton mostly only used the ability accidentally— slipping up when he was hugging someone while too excited or happy.

Since switching over to this half of the Mindscape, Anxiety had never been exposed to this particular ability. The other Side twitched in Patton’s grasp for a moment, tail thrashing, holding out far longer than Logan expected before slowly melting into the embrace. When Patton finally pulled away, Anxiety was blinking dazedly but seemed considerably more aware of his surroundings.

“His back,” Logan started, and then stopped short.

The wound’s unnatural spread had stopped, the previous panicked pulsing of it reduced to a slow, muted metronome.

“His— Is it based on his heart rate?” Logan asked, bewildered and hating it. “It can’t be consciousness, he’s conscious now and the growth has stopped entirely, but it hadn’t receded at all earlier—,”

“Fear,” Roman said, his mouth set grimly. “A curse for Anxiety that feeds on fear. That’s exactly the kind of cruel irony that the Dragonwitch loves.”

Patton tightened his grip on Anxiety’s hand, his face wrinkled with worry. After a moment, Anxiety squeezed his hand back, still seeming a little distant from the actual conversation.

Logan knew from experience that getting one of those hugs at full power could feel like the emotional equivalent of being dropped into cold water unexpectedly-- it was a shock to the system, one that took a while to adjust to. He wouldn’t be surprised if Anxiety’s nonverbal state lingered for a while longer.

“Then… how do we fix it?” Patton asked. “Do we need him to… stop being afraid for real? Can we do that?”

Logan was quiet, thinking about how fearful Anxiety had looked for the brief moments he was fully aware around them. Roman looked away, and then shook his head.

“I need to return to the Imagination to check on something,” he announced, gaze distant. “I should… probably begin restructuring it, as well.”

Logan hid a wince. “I apologize for being so rough on the realm,” he said, remembering the way Roman had shaken with strain.

Roman waved it off. “You did what you had to, to get us all out. More useful than… well, consider yourself magnanimously forgiven.”

With a smile that seemed a pale facsimile of his normal one, he departed.

Logan turned to Patton, who looked a little wobbly at the knees. “We will be able to help him eventually, we just need more time to investigate,” he said as gently as he could, leading them both back to the couch. “Until then, we can take shifts to look after him.”

Patton curled his free hand around Logan’s, searching his gaze as though seeking some kind of solution. “We’ll figure this out together, right?”

“Right.”

[twistedtranslations]

Cater Diamond - Full of Lies

You can unlock this story by getting Cater’s SSR Scary dress

Big thanks to Rym and Apollo for proofreading!

Translation under the cut

Chapter 1

Main street

/Notification

Cater: Oh? A message on MagiCam? Who would've thought it was that girl! How nostalgic~ The picture those ghosts took at Ramshackle dorm made our college's Halloween event trend -> Jumping onto the bandwagon and posting a lot -> Huge success for Cay's follower-catching strat! So far it's been going well but… Mixed within the comments and DMs of my new followers are a lot of old aquaintances. Even some classmates from middle and elementary school are here.

Cater: "Hey! It's been a while! Oh, would you like to come to our college? Cay welcomes every single one of you! You can always come over to hang at NRC's Halloween event!"

Cater: And now some emoji full of feelings!  (^○^)♪ (ゝω・)☆　d(’ｖ｀*)b

Cater: Everyone is really so casual and easygoing~ Well, it's easier on me, so I'm not complaining.

???: HEY!

Cater: Where did that loud and rowdy voice come from? I've got a bad feeling about this…

Front Gate

Sebek: Humans, don't crowd around the young master! Get out! Leave!

Boy A: Hey, what are you doing, sweptback bro! Don't interfere with our Draconia Challenge.

Boy B: We're putting our lives on the line to show our bravery by uploading a picture of us touching The Malleus!

Boy A: Huh, since when did Malleus disappear?! It's that sweptback bro's fault.

Boy B: Don't be so angry. After all the effort of having a sweptback, let's show the world a huge smile on that face!

Sebek: For humans of your social standing to use the name of the Lord of the esteemed Valley of Thorns in vain…Besides, my hair is swept back like this so I have an unobstructed view to find those like you who behave rudely towards my young master! You shall receive punishment for insulting the Draconia… no, for insulting the young master. My thunder shall shock you all to bits! HAAAAA...

Cater: Okay, stop! I'm part of the Halloween Committee. It's forbidden to fight. Why don't you try talking to this lad if something's up?

Sebek: Don't interrupt me, you frolicking human! I will shock you to bits as well!

Cater: Won't you create a scandal for the Draconia family if you were to harm an ordinary human with magic?

Sebek: W-Well… You're right. Besides, didn't you just say you were part of the Halloween committee? Both the young master and master Lilia are both performing the same duties… They ordered me to listen to the orders of the other committee members. Ok, I shall talk this out.

Cater: Even though you are crossing your arms and puffing your chest out, you are being apologetic right? Anyway, these are our college's precious guests. They have no intention to harm Malleus.

Sebek: These magic-less weaklings were making a spectacle bothering Young Master with a toy. I cannot forgive that!

Cater: Malleus is like super famous, and he's an admirable being, right? So just for this festival, it should be fine to interact with our guests as a little fanservice right?

Sebek: Stop messing around. The young master is a dreadful being who makes everyone kneel and bow down to him. AND THAT'S WHY I WILL NEVER LEAVE HIS SIDE AND PROTECT HIM ALL MY LIFE!

Cater: You're just obsessed!

Boy A: Hey, interfering our Draconia Challenge aside, what are you two squabbling about?

Sebek: Hm? You humans are still here? I told you to leave.

Boy B: Huh? You've got some nerve, talking rudely to us like that!

Cater: Come on guys. Why don't we take some pictures together since it's finally Halloween! We, Heartslabyul are those who rise from the soil in the darkness, the underlings of the night~

Boy A: Wow! Now that you mention it, you do look real good for the camera!

Cater: Cheer up everyone and gather! Let's decide on a pose~~~ Happy Halloween~

¨*shutter noise*

Cater: (Ugh… This is exhausting)

Chapter 2

Classroom

Kalim/Cater/Lilia: *Sigh*… I'm tired….

Cater: This year's Halloween was exhausting. Mainly due to our guests being rowdy..

Kalim: It was fun entertaining the guests, but I was really troubled because Jamil got in a foul mood.

Lilia: Even we, three most gentle boys, have been worn down. The other students must be at the limits of their patience.

Everyone: *Sigh*…

Cater: Now that you say it, by chance all the members of the light music club are also part of the Halloween Committee. Let's have our usual relaxing tea time while also discussing some countermeasures.

Kalim/Lilia: Agreed~

Cater: I got this! Trey's home-made pumpkin pie! It's moderately sweet, so it's my favorite!

Kalim: I have kunafa. It's a cheesecake from the Scalding Sands. It's delicious when it's hot!

Lilia: Oho, these are all sweets befitting of Halloween. As the last one, I have prepared this. Licorice!

Cater: You're always bringing the same thing! You know me and Kalim don't like that.

Kalim: The smell makes my nose shrivel up~

Cater: But you know, since it's black, it does feel like Halloween. Oh, right, let's take a picture together. It's super charming to be in costume and have themed food.

*shutter noise*

Cater: #TheBestHalloween #SelfmadeCostume #HomemadeTreat #LightMusicClub #NRCHalloween

Kalim: The best? Didn't you say you were exhausted earlier, Cater?

Cater: I never said it wasn't exciting and for things like SNS, isn't it better to exaggerate a bit?

Lilia: As expected of you. We live in a period where everyone is connected all around the world. It is most wonderful to spread happiness instead of complaints.

Cater: Oh. The picture I just uploaded got an amazing response! 

*notification*

Cater: Another message from that girl. Was she the kind to keep track of people's activities?

*ringing noise*

Cater: This time it's a call. (How persistent…)

Kalim: Cater, is it from one of your friends? You can pick up if you want.

Cater: Hm~… More like an acquaintance from the past? But it's alright? We're at a very important meeting, after all.

Lilia: We are only eating sweets, taking pictures and uploading them to MagiCam though…

Cater: It's the age of social media where everyone can keep in contact at their own pace, you don't have to go through the pains of having to response in real time to a phone call.

Kalim: Do you have that many people who want to get in touch with you? You're so well connected Cater~

Cater: Well, if you look the amount of aquaintances I have, that might be true? My dad's a banker. The bank he works at has branches all over the world. Therefore, whenever he transferred to a different branch, our entire family would move with him. We moved once every two years, so I kind of feel like a pro at quickly packing things?

Lilia: Commonly said, you are a family who moved a lot for the sake of the breadwinner.

Kalim: So the reason why you have so many friends is because you have travelled around the world since young.

Cater: Yeah, the girl just now said we are friends as well. Having to change schools frequently, I got to meet more people compared to someone staying at one place. From the best to the worst… a lot of people. However, they all had something in common.

Kalim/Lilia: …?

Cater: If I left there, they remained there. That's why I'd rather have a casual and happy time with everyone than to deepen a friendship. It’s like a circus troupe, you know, having fun hanging with people all over the world and then leaving. That's why MagiCam is the best! People from my school from three years ago contacted me out of the blue. My social circle is expanding as well. Cay is getting popular!

Kalim: Even if they're far away, you don't have to hold back you know? I got it! I'll lend you my magic carpet, so you can visit your friends whenever you want.

Cater:… I expected no less of you, Kalim. I'll take you up on that offer next time.

Lilia: I feel like I understand you.

Cater: Hm?

Lilia: The relations between humans are eternal. They are things that cannot be severed. In a new place with no trace of your existence, new relations will continue to be forged. That in itself is nature. However, I think the more precious a relation is, the more lonely it becomes. Why does it feel that way? I have lived a long life but the reason is still unknown to me. But just as Cater said, there may be a perfectly logical explanation for not getting too attached to one person in particular.

Cater: Lilia, what got into you suddenly? What I wanted to say was-

*ringing noise*

Lilia: Hello, this is Lilia speaking? What business do you have?

Cater: He just casually picked up the phone during our conversation.

Lilia: Oh, Sebek. What is it? You are so loud. Right now, I am in a meeting with Cater and Kalim. WHAT?! MALLEUS?!

Kalim/Cater: ?!

Chapter 3

Hall of Mirrors

Silver: Stop pushing. It's forbidden to enter the Hall of Mirrors.

Man A: Huh, really! I came all the way to the Isle of Sages to see Malleus Draconia.

Man B: We are doing the Draconia challenge now! Why can't we enter~

Girl C: He’s inside right! An actual Draconia, the Actual Malleus!

Everyone: MALLEUS! MALLEUS! MALLEUS!

*Lightning and thunder*

Silver: It's a rare event that Master Malleus is participating in. He also agreed to interact with the guests... For it to come to this... Everyone, it’s better if you leave. You have angered master Malleus.

Man A: I paid a lot of travel expenses, did you know that? This is the price of fame.

Everyone: MALLEUS! MALLEUS! MALLEUS!

Exterior Hallway

Cater: Did the visitors who wanted that  MagiCam glory end up angering even Malleus himself?

Sebek: Yes. At first he was gentle and calmed me down when I got angry… but a fool grabbed Malleus by the horns and made fun of him by saying "Look! It's a bicycle from the olden days!"

Lilia/Cater: Gh!

Cater: I don't know if they're brave or just reckless. Were the dark clouds and thunder rampaging in the sky above the Hall of Mirrors due to Malleus' anger? You don't think he overblotted, right…?!

Lilia: Do not worry. Using that amount of magic power shall not make him overblot. He is simply irritated. Back when he was young, mountains would be destroyed by his lightning whenever he threw a tantrum.

Cater: Hahaha… that's on a totally different level. I guess it was a good idea to have Kalim fetch the professors.

Sebek: Upperclassman Vil noticed something was up and isolated the young master. He also casted a defensive spell so the tourists wouldn't be harmed. And it seemed that Upperclassman Jade is persuading the angry young master with some unique methods... Even so, those humans who can't seem to understand the gravity of the situation keep stirring up the young master, they're uncontrollable.

Lilia: This means we must use our last resort. We must put in effort to suppress the onlookers and avoid the worst situation.

Cater: Wait a second, Lilia. I thought of something. It's not like people there dislike Malleus or anything. Despite that, it doesn't mean that they like Malleus as well... They're just interested in trends. Just like my old acquaintances.

Lilia: ?

Cater: First, I'll take a picture of Lilia, who's wearing the same clothes as Malleus!

*shutter noise*

Cater: Next we use something catered to influencers. We'll elongate Lilia's picture with a photo editing app!

*swiping on phone*

Cater: Now we just add some text to finish it up. And then upload a cropped version to MagiCam!!

*Phone SFX*

Cater: #AWildMalleusAppeared #DraconiaChallenge #UnexpectedlyAtSportsGround #NRCHalloween

*Phone SFX*

Hall of Mirrors

Man A: H-Hey. Look at the Draconia challenge tag.

Man B: It seems he's at the Sports Ground now. As expected of Malleus. He's much faster than we are!

Girl C: Okay. Everyone, let's move!

Everyone: YEAH!

Silver: What happened? Master Malleus should still be in the Hall of Mirrors.

Cater: Fu. With this, I hope the storm has passed…?

Vil: Good grief. Accidents are an unavoidable part of stage plays. Letting yourself get influenced by the guests is so amateurish. My work here is done. I will return to the dorm to straighten up my appearance.

Jade: My, that was a close call. Malleus is extremely powerful. I persuaded him to the best of my abilites, trying to get him to understand. But there was no one to turn to if it had failed. Well then, I will also return to my station. I wish everyone a wonderful Halloween.

Malleus: I caused many disturbances between different racial groups during a mere school event. I should restrain myself more…

Sebek: The young master has done nothing wrong! It was the fault of those inferior humans!

Silver: The young master told us to avoid hostility between fae and humans. Why are you getting more hostile?

Sebek: WHAT DID YOU SAY SILVER!

Lilia: Malleus. Did you forget our promise from long ago? Call for us when the tranquility in your mind is disturbed.  Even if we are not related by blood, we are still a family. Got it?

Malleus: Lilia… My apologies. To everyone.

Everyone: …

Cater: ….Family…huh.

Flashback

Lilia: But just as Cater said, there may be a perfectly logical explanation for not getting too attached to one person in particular.

Flashback ends

Cater: (That was full of lies. For a guy who grew up and lived in the same place, he never had to deal with rebuilding relations over and over…He would never understand my worthless and meaningless feelings.)

*ringing*

Cater: Hello, Trey. What's up? Huh? Are we doing our rehearsal for our night show at the stamp rally now? And Deuce, who is also part of the Halloween Committee, was at his wit's end due to the lack of manpower. So Ace is helping him out? Darn, Ace is definitely going to extort me for a favor later!

Cater: Argh! And is Riddle on the verge of a rampage? I'll be back soon, Trey. Please calm him down! I am currently at the site of the biggest crisis yet of this Halloween Week! No, for real! I'm not lying. That's why you don't have to be so cold to me, 'kay? URGH, TREY, YOU'RE SO CRUEL!

Cater: Now that Diasomnia's turmoil has settled, let's change the mood and continue on with work. In any case, we’ll still separate after the fourth year… It would be different if I repeated a year though. Anyway, I should just enjoy the moment to my heart's content! I'll surprise everyone with this charming skeleton costume! I'll show them what I'm capable of!

Cater: Happy Halloween!

[laequiem]

Cheek to Cheek in Hell - Chapter 6

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Pairing: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar

Rating: explicit

Word count: 2,658

fanfiction masterlist • ao3

Chapter 5 • next chapter • Cheek to Cheek masterpost

“Unless…” My lips are on her neck and her pulse flutters wildly under my lips. I nip at the soft skin and she gasps. “U-unless?” she repeats. I wrap my hand around her wrist, pulling it away from her sex. “Unless you want me to help.”

Chapter 6. feel together

Cardan POV

I fall asleep long after Jude, with her curves cradling me and her hair tickling my face.

I sleep surprisingly well, given the circumstances. Jude tosses and turns the whole night, as if she cannot prevent herself from fighting even in sleep.

When I wake up, the sky has barely started to lighten. The time at which I would normally go to sleep, back in Elfhame. I blink a few times, my eyelids heavy. My body begs me to go back to sleep and ignore the bite of cold air against my neck.

I debate it for a few seconds until I feel Jude’s arm move. Before I think it through, I rub her cold flesh, smoothing the goosebumps on her arm.

It’s only when she goes completely still that I notice she was also writhing against me. No, not just me. My morning glory.

Only when her breath stops abruptly do I notice how quick it was before. It was not really noticeable—she could have been having a nightmare. There is no mistaking the smell of arousal, however, thick even through the smell of iron and pollution attacking my nose with every breath.

Jude starts breathing again, shakily, as if she is trying to control her breathing but has trouble doing so. Then, I hear her swallow.

I wait for her to say something.

She doesn’t.

I rub my hand up her arm again, then move her hair away from my face.

“Should I pretend to be asleep so you can finish?” I whisper in her ear. When she does not answer, I let my hand roam down her arm, under the waistband of her—my—skirt. “Unless…”

My lips are on her neck and her pulse flutters wildly under my lips. I nip at the soft skin and she gasps.

“U-unless?” she repeats.

I wrap my hand around her wrist, pulling it away from her sex.

“Unless you want me to help,” I finish, my hand settling at the base of her stomach. “I’ll make you come harder than you can on your own.”

She does not answer right away, so I wait. I let my fingers tickle down the downy hair on her stomach until I reach soft curls on her abdomen. My cock aches, trapped awkwardly under my own waistband, the head peeking out slightly above it.

“Make yourself useful,” she says sharply.

I chuckle against her neck, “Yes, my naughty villain.”

My fingers dip lower, over the soft expand of her mons to the swollen lips further down. The first touch of my fingers to her clitoris has her jerking back against me, grinding that delicious ass of hers on my throbbing cock.

If this is what my life is now, I will welcome it. I will gladly serve her with my body.

I kiss and nibble at her neck, wanting to taste more, to taste all of her. My index dips lower as my thumb takes its place rubbing tight circles on her clit. My index teases at her entrance and—

“Cardan, wait—”, she says and I lift my hand away from her. “I’m… on my period.”

Oh.

“So?” I ask, eager to go back to my work.

“So,” she says, “you’ll have blood on your fingers.”

I snort and lower my hand to her again, dipping the pad of my finger ever so slightly in her.

“Is that all? I don’t mind.”

She gasps as my index finger enters her to the first knuckle and my teeth find her neck in a light bite.

“You’re repulsive”

“Mmh,” my middle finger joins the index, stretching her slowly, “I suppose you’re right.”

My other hand reaches under her shirt to toy at a nipple. It pebbles at the first touch. I can’t help it—I grind my pelvis against her ass once. I groan at the curve of it, just so perfectly molded to my cock. I twist her nipple as I drive my fingers all the way into her and she cries out, in pain and pleasure both.

She is already so close, I can feel it. She grinds against my hand as I rub tight circles around her nub, my fingers angling to reach the spot that made her squirm the other day.

My other hand toys with her nipple and I wish I could see it, lick it, bite it, mark it. I wish I could show her what I can do without even touching her under her navel.

Still, I do with what I am offered. This is enough.

“Don’t stop,” she moans, her pleading voice even more beautiful than I imagined it, “don’t stop, don’t stop.”

I don’t think I could stop if I wanted to. I lick up her throat and kiss the soft skin under her ear. Her strange, mortal ear. I trace the tip of my nose up the roundness of it.

Her tight sex contracts around my fingers and I give her everything I have. I increase the pressure of my thumb, keep my fingers in a steady rhythm and latch my mouth against her throat, sucking hard on the skin. In the throes of her pleasure, she bucks her hips. I lower my other hand to steady her, pinning her hips against mine.

I stroke her as she cries and curses, as her whole body convulses with the force of her orgasm.

Cursed stars, I wish I could see her face as she comes, but I’ll take whatever she gives me. Even if she only ever wants to fuck in the dark or from behind to avoid seeing who she is mingling with. It’s enough. It has to be.

I keep stroking her through her orgasm, slowing down until my thumb all but flutters over her sensitive bud.

For a moment, there is nothing but our panting and the distant sounds of the city. Then, Jude presses her ass against me and I hiss.

“What about you?” she asks.

I trace small circles on her stomach with my clean hand.

“What about me?” I ask back.

She sighs. “Well, you made me come. Surely you want something in return.”

The words I do not die in my throat. That would be a lie.

“I do not expect you to reciprocate,” I tell her instead.

Jude shifts in my arms, turning to face me.

“Your kind does not give freely.” Her eyes narrow as she looks at me. “You want something.”

“Oh, Jude,” I say, grinning. “I got to make you come. You owe me no debt.”

——

Our apartment visits were a total waste of time.

Out of the five we visit, one of them turns us down for not having whatever a ‘credit score’ is, three of them refuse to rent by the month, and the fifth was taken by the couple visiting before us.

Between two visits, Jude enters something she calls a pharmacy to buy ‘hygiene products’ and painkillers.

After a day of walking and carrying our large backpack around, I’m exhausted. So when Jude suggests we settle in a park for the night, I happily accept.

Mortals have this strange obsession with grass, I realize as we walk the hiking paths in search of a quiet place to hide and sleep. Short strands of the same type of grass cover every surface except what is paved, no weeds or flowers except where they are purposefully planted. It could not look any less like Elfhame.

After a few minutes of walking, Jude leads us away from the path. We trample through the short, even grass for a a dozen meters until we find a hexagonal structure overlooking a frozen lake. It looks like a hut, except it has no walls—only white wooden pillars and a shingled roof.

“We’ll sleep under the gazebo,” she says, entering the structure—the gazebo.

Jude sits on the only furniture inside, a simple bench facing out towards the lake. She is hunched forwards, her elbows resting on the fence. I join her on the bench, dropping our bag next to it.

I follow her gaze. She is staring at the sky like we’re at one of our astrology lessons.

“We can’t see the stars with all the city lights,” I say to break the silence.

Jude lets out a small hum. “Maybe it’s better that way.”

“How so?” I ask her.

“We don’t have to worry about looking at the stars alone,” she replies softly, longing dripping off every word.

There is nobody else I would rather look at the stars with, but I don’t tell her that.

She would laugh at me.

“Alone?” I turn to her, faking offense, “I’m right here.”

But Jude doesn’t laugh, doesn’t roll her eyes. She simply sighs.

“Humans think stargazing is romantic,” she says distantly. As if she isn’t one of them. “Don’t you wish you could share this with Nicasia?”

I snort. “No.”

“What about the girl you were with when I… interrupted?”

My blood rushes south at the reminder of that night, of what I ended up doing—not with Lilywood, but with Jude.

“A distraction,” I reply carefully.

“From what?”

I don’t answer.

I can’t answer. Not without telling the truth, and there’s no way I’m doing that. I look back at the sky.

“I guess I see the appeal,” I say instead. “Too bad you killed your lover.”

Her head snaps towards me, confusion written all over those big brown eyes.

“I… what?” Jude looks appalled I would even suggest such a thing.

She is a better actress than I thought.

I try to look casual. I lean on my elbow, pillowing my head against a closed fist.

“Locke. You killed him, didn’t you?” I ask nonchalantly. “It makes sense, since the body is in your room.”

“What are you—” Jude starts, but I raise a hand to silence her.

“I’m not upset,” I tell her quickly. Because I’m not. I have come to terms with the fact that I am following a murderer around. “I knew it would get bad. When you realized what he was doing, I mean. I didn’t think you would kill him, but I suppose I should have expected it.”

Jude sits straight up, crossing her legs on the bench.

“I didn’t—” she stops herself to shake her head, as if to clear her thoughts.“ What do you mean, ‘what he was doing’?”

I lean back, propping my feet up on the fence. She didn’t know any of this. Why did she kill him, then? Did he… actually try something on her? I take a deep breath, trying to weather the storm brewing inside me.

“Using you,” I tell her. I try to sound distanced, but it sounds cold more than bored.

“Using me?” It’s her turn to snort. “Did you ask him to charm me, Cardan?”

“No.”

“Let me guess, then,” she spits, “I’m so disgusting, there is no way one of you could genuinely like me?”

I frown at the stars, as if it would help me see through the city glow to the stars beyond. Perhaps if I squint hard enough, I could see them and they would tell me what to say. Spell the truth for her to see without having to lay my heart out for her to crush.

I do not know for sure what Locke’s intentions with her were. I know he was seeing both twins at the same time and that he did it in part to hurt Nicasia—and to hurt me. Like somehow it would reflect badly on me if he stole Nicasia from me and almost immediately threw her away for two mortal playthings.

That Locke had not paraded Jude in front of me like some trophy tells me that he did not know the whole truth.

He did not know how completely obsessed with her I am.

“He was also with Taryn,” I finally tell her. “I thought… you might have found out.”

When Jude does not answer, I turn to her again. She is staring straight ahead past the lake, her face emotionless. It’s so unlike her, this nothingness. Before I even realize what I am doing, I reach out and trace the soft curve of her ear with one finger.

She flinches and I immediately pull away.

Just because she lets you get her off does not mean she wants you to touch her, I remind myself.

Jude rubs the heels of her palms against her eyes and the Jude I am used to is back, all furious ambition and stubborn defiance.

“I should have known. I should have known,” she says angrily, “he’s your friend, after all. I almost thought…”

She does not finish her thought, but I grasp the meaning nonetheless. I’m awful. Valerian is horrible. Nicasia is haughty. Locke, however, excels at hiding his games. He sticks out from our group, but he is no less wicked. She thought he was the exception.

“I didn’t kill him,” she admits. “I… It was Valerian I killed.”

Oh.

I should not trust her so easily, she is a liar, after all. Yet, it makes sense. I warned Valerian. I told him to stop harassing her, but he simply laughed at my face. I would never celebrate a death, even his—but it’s the natural conclusion to his sadism.

“He had it coming,” I say.

Jude says nothing. She brings her legs on the bench, laying on her side and pillowing her head against her folded arms. Her legs are folded in an effort to keep her feet away from me.

I take the blanket out of the bag and prop the bag behind my head to use as a pillow.

“Make some space,” I demand.

I have half a thought to bargain the blanket against some space, but I am not convinced she wouldn’t let herself freeze to death just to spite me.

She moves enough for me to stretch out my legs, though the bench is too short and my knees stay bent.

As I try to figure out how to put the blanket to cover us both, Jude shifts, laying herself atop me with her head on my chest.

After a few minutes of my heart beating loud enough to wake hibernating wildlife, Jude whispers, “Cardan?”

Surely, she hears the way my heart stops when I hear my name coming from her mouth. Surely, she will mock me.

“Of all the times to tell me, why now?” she asks instead, “Why are you helping me?”

Why now?

Why her?

I have spent many a night asking myself those same questions.

Jude hates me. She hates me so much that she fights back. That alone is more than I can say about anyone else. My parents and siblings ignore me, my friends barely tolerate me, but Jude sees me as something worth fighting against.

She sees me. Even when she is focused on something, I know she notices.

“Who would I bother if you weren’t there?” I tease, twisting a lock of her hair around my finger and pulling on it.

“You never had any trouble finding someone to torture,” she responds.

And while she might be right, nobody else matters. I can do whatever I want to all Gentry. Taryn does not fight back. I can tumble with anyone I want. I can push someone in toad dung and take them to bed the same day.

But Jude has never forgotten anything I have done to her. I doubt she ever will.

“You’re the most stubborn of them all,” I tell her with a smirk, “it would be a shame for the world to lose you.”

I don’t want to lose you, I don’t say.

Jude already has too much power over me, I refuse to give her more.

So I lay the blanket over us, making sure it covers her shoulders, and whisper, “Good night, my mulish murderer.”

---

tag list @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thefolkofthefic @figonas @kingandfireheart @godgavemelou @lizziebxnnet @hazelsheartsworn @jurdannet

[spices-and-cherries]

Don’t make me wait (James Bond x Reader)

This was a request by the lovely @iamcavainna​! I’m so sorry it took so long, but life was being a bit rough. I also wanted to at least try and make this good, so I thought that it would be better if I took some time with it... There is a fluffy ending!

I did not reference race, gender, sexuality, or physical appearance. If I missed something, please let me know so I can change it! 

Warnings: drinking wine, a gun, angst, anxiety, mentions of potential accidents that could happen in a snowy mountain

It’s not uncommon for your partner, James Bond, to be traveling abroad for weeks on end. While it can get lonely, he does try to call regularly from whichever hotel he’s staying in. After a while, you became used to it. Why? Late or not, he always kept his promise: 

I’ll be back.

The last time he had called, he had said that he wouldn’t be able to contact you for a week at most due to a strenuous business conference at a ski resort in the Alps. Seeing as this was normal routine for him, you thought nothing of it and just reminded him not to accidentally hurt himself (yet again). 

But today, you’re worried. In fact, you’ve been worried for five days straight. It’s been over a week - eleven days to be exact - and now you feel as though something is off. 

Had he flown off the side of a cliff? Did he get lost? Was he trapped under an avalanche of snow?

James had given you an address to go to in case of emergency, but would this be the right time to use it? How can you be sure that you’re just not being paranoid? And if you did go, what would you say? James has never taken you to his place of work and barely talks about his colleagues, so who would you even be speaking to?

Hundreds of panicked questions circle your mind as you pace around your living space, phone in one hand and address in the other. You had barely slept the night before and hadn’t eaten all day. 

You missed James. He’s been gone for almost a month now and no number of phone calls could replace the feeling of his warmth on his side of the bed. His laugh, his miserable cooking, his rough hands...  You needed all of that and more back at home next to you. So you had to go. 

You check the time. It’s just before four o’clock. If you hurry, you just might catch someone on their way out.

---

Without a second thought, you slip on your coat and hurry to the closest bus stop. The trip there was a bit of a haze, between the times you were navigating and transferring. The haze dissipates pretty quickly as you walk up to what was supposed to be some office building and not a glamourous apartment complex with a Rolls Royce being unloaded in front of the main entrance. 

You have to double and triple check the address written down and your GPS on your phone. It seemed to be the right place...

Tentatively, you walk into the lobby, feeling very out of place and small. The floor looks like it all marble and there’s a little fountain in the middle of the space.

Anxious, you manage to sign yourself in at the front desk. There were some complications due to your ID, but after a quick phone call, it was sorted out and you were free to go up. You speed-walk to the elevators, feeling like someone was watching you. Looking around, you didn’t see anyone but the uptight attendant you had just spoken to making another call. The elevator doors open and you walk in. 

As you get closer and closer to your destination, you feel more anxious and your palms start to sweat. You furiously try and dry them as the doors open into what looked to be someone’s home. 

And that someone was straight in front of you.

“Who are you?” She was an older woman with short, salt-and-pepper hair and a fitted pantsuit.

“Uh...” You hear the elevator doors close behind you. There’s no escaping now.

“Well? I don’t have all day, you know.”

“My name is (Y/) (L/N)... I think my husband works for you.” One of her eyebrows raised. “Uh, he said that in case of emergency that I come here...” You pull out the piece of paper and she takes it. “I don’t really have anything urgent, but he’s unusually late in checking in and I-”

“Good lord.” She muttered furiously after scanning the note and crushes it.

“Pardon?” You ask, somewhat alarmed by the unexpected response. 

“Please, have a seat.” She waves to a chair and you comply. 

“Do you know-”

“Your husband? Yes. He’s one of my men.”

“Men?”

“...Well I can see that that fool did follow my order for once, not that it makes much difference...”

“I’m not sure I understand...”

“Normally, you wouldn’t have to.” She sits down across from you. “What is it that Bond told you about his job?”

“...Well, he’s one of those people who are the intermediaries between large company deals...?”

“Close. In reality, he’s the exact opposite.”

“I don’t-”

“Bond is an agent trained in the art of infiltration in order to stop certain kinds of ...businesses from expanding more than they already have. In short, your... husband... is an international spy.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“But that is not the issue here.” She stares at you with eagle eyes. “The issue is this address. Did Bond give it to you?”

“Yes!” You squeak - to say you’re terrified would be an understatement. “He said to come here in case of an emergency while he wasn’t home.”

“And the emergency is?”

“It’s been over a week since he last called. He promised that he would contact me once the week ended. He’s five days late. He’s never late for that long!”

“Right.” She rests her head in the palm of her hand as if she were dealing with some trivial issue. “Has anyone seen this address or followed you here?”

“No one has seen it and I don’t think so?”

“You don’t think so or you don’t know?” She snaps, but her face softens after seeing the look on your face. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Do you - do you know where James is?”

"...We know just as much as yourself. It seems the only thing that man is good for is causing me trouble.” She was standing up again and pacing.

“Is there anything I can do to help? I have this awful feeling that something happened!”

“I am afraid not. We are already doing all we can.” She sighs. “...Did he tell you anything last time he contacted you?”

“He said he was going to a ski resort with a client in the Alps...”

“Nothing else?”

“Not that I can remember.” She takes a good look at you, then turns away. 

“We were told the same. Any longer and we’ll may have to consider him MIA.” 

“MIA?” You feel slightly faint. “Is - is he in danger?”

“If he wasn’t he wouldn’t be doing his job.” You slump back into your seat, unsure of how to take all this information in. Not only has your husband lied to you about his profession, but that profession is putting him in danger!

“Is there anything you can tell me?” You start fiddling with your hands. “I don’t think I caught your name...”

“That would be because I didn’t tell it to you. You may call me M.” 

“Right.” You nod awkwardly. “Seeing as all this is top secret and I’m-”

“A civilian.”

“...What’s going to happen to me?”

“That would be for upper management to decide. Though it shouldn’t be anything too harmful. Bond was the one who brought you into this, after all.”

“Will he be fired?” Alarm rushes through you at the thought. 

“Oh no,” M looks at you with surprise. “James has done much worse than this. They’ll just give him a light spanking and send him off. He’s too good to be let go of.” She looks at you with a penetrating gaze. “Too damn good.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” You smile awkwardly. “In all honesty, this whole situation is a bit much for me.”

“I can imagine.”

“Does this happen with James often?”

“Missing a check-in or finding out about secret marriages?”

“Missing check-ins?”

“Yes, yes it does. Although it seems as though he contacts you more than us. It’s been two weeks since he last called in. It does seem like he’s taking longer than usual...” 

---

Out of supposed security concerns, M told you to stay with her until James comes back. As a compromise, she sent some people to keep surveillance in your neighborhood and on your flat. Of course, this meant a couple of days (or more) living with this mysterious woman. M never talked unless necessary and most certainly did not bring her work home. While she trusts you enough in her home, she cannot afford anything leaking out, no matter how harmless.

That being said, she did try to update you on any word (or lack thereof) from your husband. The more time past, the more anxious you became. You could no longer sleep and M would find you in your room just staring at the ceiling. You had confided in her just once about how much you were missing him when you had one too many glasses of wine. Despite your loneliness, you really did try and keep strong. If the two of you were eating together, you’d ask her questions about your husband’s job. M couldn’t answer more than half of them, but did try to help shed some light on this new side of James. 

She couldn’t go into a lot of details, both due to how classified it all was, but because she thought that James should be the one to explain everything.

On the third day, M had informed you that James had sent a message. It was short and didn’t disclose his whereabouts, but you were so relieved that your knees just about gave out from underneath you. 

He was safe.

He was safe and that was all that mattered to you. Several more days would pass before you’d be reunited. 

---

It was the dead of night and, like usual, you couldn’t sleep. M wasn’t home - she said that she would be late - so you had eaten by yourself. While her suite is beautiful, you can’t help but wish that you were home in your little flat. You used to be annoyed about how much the building settled or your neighbors snoring during the night. Now, the lack of noise unsettles you. However, every noise you do happen to hear makes the hairs on your arms stick up.

Especially when you hear the elevator open awfully early in the night.

Somehow, you knew that it wasn’t M. Maybe it was because you didn’t hear her toss her handbag on one of the chairs or that her usual heels didn’t sound like they should. Either way, you had to make sure that everything was okay. You quietly get out of the bed and grab an empty wine bottle. 

Carefully, you slowly twist the doorknob to ease the door open by just a crack. You can just make out a figure that was much bigger than M shuffling around her desk. Unsure of what to do and not wanting to blow your cover immediately, you stay right where you are. He - for it was most definitely a man - straightened himself out and proceeded to make himself comfortable in one her chairs with his back towards you. 

Why would a burglar make himself at home?

As he begins to pour himself a glass, you gently open the door wide enough that you could slip through it. You bless your lucky starts that it doesn’t squeak. 

One, two, three, four steps forward when suddenly two unexpected things happen at the same time.

The man had gotten up, spun around and pointed a gun at your head. 

The elevator doors open to reveal M.

“Good heavens! What is happening?” You watch M hurry in, throwing her bag on a chair. “Bond! Put the gun down!” Your head snaps back around. The look of surprise and alarm was reflected in your husband’s bright blue eyes. You drop the bottle and it shatters. His gun was swiftly tossed aside. 

“James.” You choke back a sob as you run into his arms. He hugs back just as fiercely. 

“(Y/N).” He softly tucks your head into his shoulder and seems to relax in your arms. 

“I missed you.”

“I know.” 

“While this is awfully touching, you have a lot of explaining to do, Bond.” James lifts his head when he hears M say his name. 

“Ah. Yes. I forgot you were here.” You didn’t need to see M’s face to know the look of annoyance she was most likely sporting. 

“Just sit down.” M snaps, but you can tell that it’s half-hearted. James lets go of you, but grabs your hand as he sinks down into the couch. You curl up on his side, his hand still in yours.

You would never know what it was that the two talked about after that because you had fallen asleep as soon as your head settled on his shoulder. 

When you woke up, it was bright out and you were on the couch. Your pillow shifts, making you do a double take. Your pillow was in fact an arm. You shift to your other side and find yourself face to face with your husband’s sleeping face. Gently, you caress his face then plant a kiss on his cheek. 

“That’s hardly what I would call a good afternoon kiss.” James smirks, suddenly wide awake.

“Afternoon?”

“It’s just after one.” He gently pulls you closer to him. “Now, don’t make me wait more than I already have...” 

“That makes two of us, doesn’t it-” You kiss him squarely on the mouth then pull back - much to his obvious displeasure. “-Mr. Secret Agent?”

Needless to say, the two of you would take the time to talk things out and bring everything (that’s not classified information) into the light.

I tried really hard with this one, so I hope you all enjoyed it! I kinda feel like the start and the end were rushed... I plan on doing some Jake Lonergan headcanons this week, so that will be fun. Please feel free to send me ideas or requests! It might take a while for me to finish it, but I’ll try my best!

- Simpy

[dearest-kibble]

i rlly rlly rlly love ur writing sm, especially ur zuko writings🥺🥺 is it possible to see what zuko would do if his darling was hurt by someone else?? whether on purpose or accident

Oh boy oh boy oh boy~ I am,,, so ready for Zuko to just get hella angry,,, of course that’s only if you’re wounded on purpose. (Im so sorry this took so long ive been a little swamped with life stuff atm) This also,,, took on its own little like,,, life and stuff so,,, (Haikyuu stuff is getting done,, fist yakuza thing will hopefully be done soon and i have so many ideas for other yakuza!shots.)

So let’s say you’re just minding your own business when someone (They’re an ambassador from the Earth Kingdom)  “accidentally” trips you.

Zuko who’s by your side always by your side Kneels down to check over you so quick you’d think he’d get whiplash. He makes sure to check every single part of you.

It doesn’t even matter where you are - in a corridor - the great hall - in a war meeting - Zuko stops the entire thing if he thinks you might even have a Headache. 

So of course, when you are tripped on purpose by an Earth Kingdom ambassador... Zuko doesn’t take it well at all. 

He coos over you for the normal five minutes, no one daring to twitch a finger. He has servants bring you a pillow and something to eat to put your mind off of it he kisses any bruise you might’ve received and stands back up.

You’re sure the whole of the Caldera can feel the blazing heat emitting off of Zuko as he walks slowly over (his rage is barely contained and you’ve only seen him like this after you tried to run oh spirits are those flames jutting from the bottom of his fists?) and snarls to the Ambassador.

“Do you have an explanation Ambassador” Spirits, you’ve only heard that tone when he was talking to Zhao years ago - back when the most prominent emotion he felt was rage. The mouthful of fruit tart turns too ash as you chew, silk pillow beneath you looses the stuffing inside.

“They were seen with you before you were instated as Fire Lord. Do they support Ozai?” The man speaks with a oily voice. All the easier for Zuko to set aflame

 You’ve learned not to listen when Zuko gets angry. It’ll only upset you. And that’s no good for anyone. You try to focus on anything but the scene before you.

Still - you can’t help but stay at attention when nothing else happens. Your body feels slow with ringing in your ears and heartbeat so loud. 

It feels almost like you're at the theater that Zuko loves so much as you watch the ambassador get backed into a wall in what looks like a rehearsed movement has Zuko done this before?

“Forgive me Fire Lord!” And the man who tripped you begs against a wooden pillar as Zuko stares him down.

Still you cannot move, the ash in your mouth coating your throat.

The mass of red robes starts to move slowly closer to green and brown, small flame in hand. 

The close proximity of flame to the man’s body is what makes you try to move.

You want to move your arms, but they are glued to your body. You want to stand but your legs feel like they’re on fire. You want to shout but ash fills your mouth. 

All there is left to do is shake because you cannot move. 

Zuko looks at you with uneasy eyes and frowning face, the flame is snuffed and his hands drop to his sides. 

“Are you alright my Love?” He drops to his knees by your side, and puts a hand on your shoulder. 

“It’s alright, it’’s okay - breath with me.” He places a stiff hand on his chest and his diaphragm expands with air as he takes and deep breath. “Close your eyes and listen to me breath okay?” It’s such a soft and gentle rasp - voice only meant for you. “I’ll get to this tomorrow,” Zuko speaks much louder, for the rest of his entourage. “I’ll see you later Ambassador” It’s not a cleverly concealed threat but neither of you think to appease him. 

All but a few servants trickle from the hall.

“We’ll stay here unless you’d like to go somewhere else okay?” It’s barely a whisper.

“Okay Zuko.” It barely comes from your throat. 

Zuko pulls you from the unstuffed pillow and onto his lap, his chest rising and falling against your back now and his hand rests on yours.

“Let your stomach fill my Love, pretend you're pregnant” Both of you immediately pause. Zuko’s strong breaths into his stomach become much more shallow and come much quicker as he realizes what he’s said.

“W-wait- no,” He flounders over words for a second, sputtering little pieces of words before deciding on, “Only if you want to?” His breathing steadies very quickly as he rubs circles on the fabric covering your belly. “Because I do.” 

You want to say something very very bold. 

“It’s alright if you don’t want to - it’s just,” But you know it isn’t alright. “I want to make sure everyone knows I love you.” 

The grey taste of ash still lingers on your tongue. Before you speak you swallow twice. Even that doesn’t get rid of the weight that keeps your lips from parting.

“Only if you..” He buries his face into the back of your hair and his nose hits your scalp. “If you stop getting so angry at anyone who accidentally hurts me.”

“That man did it on purpose. He admitted to it!” Zuko’s growl reverberates through your skin and you stiffen quickly at the display of anger. 

“It was justified Zuko-” Something snatches your voice and pulls it into the back of your throat. You turn on his lap slowly to face him and push your face into his collarbone. “They’re worried about you. What if I was an assassin?”

“You wouldn’t kill me.” He pets your hair with one hand. “You love me and I love you.” 

You just wish it wasn't so one sided.

[thegeneralguy]

The Champion of Olympus - Poseidon´s Passion

Out of all the three realms connected to the earth, the sea was by far the most extensive one. An entire underwater universe lurked beneath the surface, with more diversity in its inhabitants than both heaven and earth. Poseidon was the ruler of that realm, with the responsibility of maintaining the planet itself in balance. Oceanic currents and tectonic movement were crucial for the mortals´ survival. The god of the sea had inherited the realm after the Titanomachy, given to him by the true embodiment of the sea, Oceanus. He and his titan spouse had given birth to many of the phenomena Poseidon had to keep in check.

But the normally boisterous god was unusually quiet, sitting down in his chariot heading back to the cold depths of his kingdom. The words of his brothers resonated within him. Could it really be possible for Typhon to escape? And more importantly, would he be able to protect all the creatures under his rule? Keeping balance was Poseidon´s primary priority, which made the whole situation even more alarming for him. He took the reins tying the hippocampi pulling his chariot and pressured them to move faster. He had to reach the Oceanic Retreat, also known as the sunken city of Atlantis, to consult with the court about his next course of action.

The palace was located in the center of the underwater capital, adorned with bright gems and bright colorful coral. The city was so deep under the sea, it was unreachable by Apollo´s power. But despite the lack of sunlight, luminescent beings shone brightly to light the streets and buildings. Poseidon´s chariot floated over the gates of the palace and parked on one of the numerous sea gardens, which were filled with creatures and coral normally found on superficial reefs. Triton, Poseidon´s heir, and most trusted advisor greeted him from the gates of the palace.

"That bad huh?"

He asked as soon as he caught a glimpse of the god´s grim visage. The muscular deity approached his son carrying his massive trident with ease, the muscles in his arm pulsing with supernatural strength. The strength to make the earth shake and the ocean rise. Both gods rushed inside the palace to his throne room, while Poseidon put Triton up to date. The young deity was eager to learn the ways of Olympus, for when it was his turn to rise to the throne, so he listened carefully every time his father complained about their extended family.

"How fitting of uncle Zeus to find a way to try to compete with all of you. But if what he and Hades said is right, then we have no time to waste."

"It won´t be so easy son. Our job is to keep balance, and granting divinity to a mortal can very much upset the natural equilibrium of the planet. Just remember where we´re standing right now."

The city of Atlantis, once a thriving metropolis of the ancient world, had fallen victim to the whims of a fallen hero´s delirium and a heavenly dispute. After being defeated by the patron city of Poseidon´s niece, the Atlanteans fell into despair. They managed to get the favor of the god of the sea, who granted power beyond belief to their heroic leader. But this human wasn´t meant to rise as a new god, so the rest of Olympus rejected him, and punished the city by sinking it to the depths of the ocean.

While Triton pondered on his father´s worries, they reached the throne room. A glowing golden throne adorned with all kinds of underwater flora and fauna was in the center of the room, surrounded by a half-circle of different chairs more modest, but still ornamental to symbolize the sea´s royalty. Poseidon stood in front of his throne and slammed the enormous trident on the ground, producing an explosive sound that resonated within the entire ocean.

After a couple of seconds, the god of the sea´s call was answered by the most prominent figures in the oceanic realm. A representative for both the Oceanids, sea nymphs and the Potamoi, the rivers of the world, were the first to appear. Poseidon´s spouse Amphitrite also arrived fast and took her place right next to her husband. Polyphemus came next, the representative for the cyclops who were all devoted to the god of the sea. The old man of the sea, Nereus himself, showed up next. His relationship with Poseidon was more like a truce than a hierarchy, but Nereus´ connection to the ocean realm´s mortal creatures, including his daughters, was a good reason to keep him as an ally. The last one to show up was Styx, the embodiment of the river of the same name coursing through Hades´ realm.

As the court of the sea assembled, Triton took his seat on the right of his father and watched as the gigantic god paraded his muscular physique floating across the room.

"As some of you may know, I was summoned by Zeus for an emergency meeting. It seems the original monster is trying to break free from Tartarus. Is that true Styx?"

Automatically all eyes turned to the river´s seat expectantly. After Hades and the chthonic gods, the underworld river was supposed to know all the happenings of the realm.

"I have heard some rumors, but Lord Hades hasn´t told me anything. Things feel pretty normal in the underworld though. I haven´t sensed any fluctuations within my currents, which are pretty sensitive for any changes in the realm."

"That's very strange, but the fates wouldn´t lie. There is no way they would fall victims of a simple rumor."

Answered Poseidon meditating on the river´s answer. Styx was known to be direct and efficient, seeking to form a bridge between the realms so mortal souls reached their resting space safely. It wouldn´t bother to try and deceive the rest of the deities, especially on such a delicate matter. But then, who was lying? Triton raised from his seat and continued talking, trying to explain the situation his father was telling him about a couple of minutes ago.

"It seems the king of the gods has called for a new Champion to be chosen."

"Is that true Poseidon?"

Asked Amphitrite looking at her husband with worry in her eyes. Poseidon´s days of violence ended eons ago, and she was worried a heavenly competition like the trial of the Champion was going to get the worst out of her husband again.

"Zeus commanded each of the twelve Olympians to choose a champion. As you can imagine, I´m very reluctant to do so again."

Answered Poseidon with a serious tone. The last thing he wanted was to put his subjects through another catastrophe, but something smelled fishy in the whole situation. He wasn´t keen on trusting his family, but the odds were too high. He had to assume the worst in order to prepare. Nereus rose from his seat, his long white beard filled with barnacles floating around him, and talked in a raspy voice that sounded like a shipwreck crashing in the bottom of the sea.

"You have to make a choice Poseidon. We cannot risk Typhon getting out, it would mean extinction for our kind. Your newfound love for balance will have to wait until this situation is resolved."

"How dare you tell me how I should act old man. Remember I am the god of the sea, one of the twelve Olympians, and your ruler. I know what is best for my kingdom."

Growled Poseidon angrily, as his trident caused the floor to shake with fury. Nereus smirked slightly, knowing he reached the god´s weakest spot: his authoritarian nature. No matter how he tried to hide it, Poseidon was infatuated by battle and carnage. And he was going to demonstrate to all the sea that the king still had the will of expanding the realm. A Champion of the sea on earth would create the perfect opportunity to take over the terrestrial plane.

"Leave the sentimentalism aside Poseidon. You have to make a choice. Will you risk the present´s balance to secure the future?"

Everyone looked at the silent god of the sea. Poseidon hated Nereus, but he was right. Balance is not worth it if the future is put in doubt. He had made his choice. As hard as it was, he had to gift a mortal again with divinity. Triton stared worriedly at his father. The advisor knew what his king was capable of, and it scared him. But in the end, the risk had to be worth the benefits. He reached to touch his father´s giant shoulder.

"Father…"

Poseidon then raised his trident, as a powerful twisting current propelled him upwards, going through the open roof and heading for the surface. If his brothers wanted a Champion, they were going to have one. For the sake of the ocean, and the balance of the future.

  It was a peculiarly cold day on top of the St. Helena frigate. Ltjg. Gabo Ramirez was making his usual rounds on the top deck, making sure everyone was doing their respective tasks. The young man had joined the navy in hopes of finding some stability in his chaotic life. He had always felt attracted to the sea, its vast expanse offering the peace of mind that a problematic orphaned child needed. Growing up on the coast let him escape very often to meet his secret lover. He got infatuated when he was very young, and his mother was still alive. She took him to the beach every day to collect different treasures like seashells or pieces of broken coral in order to make jewelry out of them. Young Gabo felt proud he was helping support his widowed mother.

His father was a fisherman, but he barely had any memory of him, because he died when Gabo was barely a toddler. His mother told him his fishing ship sank during one of the common hurricanes predating on the beautiful Caribbean coast. But even though the sea had taken one of his progenitors away, Gabo couldn´t help but fall deeper in love with it. As he grew up, money grew tight. His mother tried desperately to provide for her son, so he could go to school and do something with his life. Life pushed her to more desperate means, selling herself so her son could have a future. In the end, things turned out grim for the poor boy.

He still remembered the stormy night when someone knocked on the door of their little apartment. A tall police officer told him the bad news. They found her on a bench close to the harbor. His mother died trying to protect her son. His childhood ended on that instant, and he was thrown down an administrative rabbit hole that turned his life into a living nightmare. He jumped from orphanages to foster homes over and over again. He felt like the world had betrayed him, taking his greatest love away from him. The sweet child turned into a sour teenager, who caused trouble and mischief wherever he went. His only refuge was still the sea. After all that had happened, it was the only place where Gabo felt grounded and alive. After his mother passed away it became his greatest love.

After he miraculously made his way through school, he decided to leave Puerto Rico and enlist in the U.S. navy. He was conscious his life needed to take a turn for the better, so he was mentally prepared for whichever challenge the tough military system was going to throw at him. The problem was, he was not physically ready for them, struggling through the first years of training. A life of chaos had left him with a scrawny underfed body, which was agile enough to get him swiftly out of trouble, but not strong enough to face it.

He remained adamant on his decision, and he endured the painful years of training, swallowing his deep survival instinct of fleeing before he was entirely committed. Gabo was used to swiftly getting out of trouble, thanks to his more cowardly nature. But he studied hard, put his life on track, and was rewarded for it. Now he got to spend a life together with his love, the sea, watching its waves flow into the horizon. A blue paradise extended before him.

Ltjg. Ramirez diverted his gaze from the ocean and went back to realizing his tasks to their full extent. The frigate was on standby close to the arctic sea, between Greenland and Europe, so there wasn´t a lot to do. The wind outside was pretty cold, nothing but dark water and a few small icebergs in the surroundings. He went back into the ship to finish his active shift and get something to eat in the cafeteria.

"Hey, Ramirez! Come here, we´re playing poker. This asshole has been running his mouth about beating you all afternoon!"

Said Lt. March calling him to one of the tables, where some of his crewmates were gathered. The person running his mouth was Lt. Krass. He and March were Ramirez´s superiors, but they had grown to like the mousy kid. His skills in gambling were known on the whole ship and made his crewmates and some of his superiors very interested in testing his skills. Life on the streets had taught him everything he needed to know to be a good gambler, and he had a good poker face to finish his killer combination.

"I can gladly take all your money off of you sir."

Said Ramirez laughing as he sat on the table to play with the cards. Sailors had to enjoy every second of interaction, or else they started suffering some mental issues that came with the constant isolation and lack of new stimuli.

"I´m telling you kid if you didn´t look like a toothpick I would´ve beaten your ass for taking a week´s worth of salary."

Said the much bigger Lt. March in an intimidating way, but just with the right amount of joyfulness to let Gabo know he was joking. He could probably pick the small junior lieutenant and throw him overboard if he felt like it.

"Give him a break March. It´s not his fault you´re a dumb player. Besides, I´ll get that money and will take you to a nice bar with it when we touch land again."

Laughed the equally big Krass punching his mate on the shoulder. In fact, Ramirez was probably the smallest man on board. The 24-year-old barely made the height cut on the recruiting process, and although he had gained some muscle mass from the rigorous training, it wasn´t enough to get close to his crewmate´s giant sizes. But his appearance was what caused his crewmates and superiors to gain a certain fondness for the young recruit. He was the runt of the litter.

After a while of laughing at Krass´s dumbfound expression as Ramirez managed to beat him and take all his money as well, the boys called off the night and everyone was in their chambers by curfew. Ramirez laid on his bed feeling the soft movement of the waves rocking his bed, enjoying the sensation. He thought about his mother and the beach in his childhood, as his memories carried him to deep sleep, completely ignorant of the approaching menace on the cold waters of the ocean.

 All sailors woke up at five in the morning, swiftly getting out of bed and lining up to clean themselves. Gabo woke up agitated. He had a strange feeling, but he couldn´t exactly distinguish what was going on. He also had strange dreams that night, about a giant black whale stalking the tumbling frigate, whilst he watched powerlessly from the deck of the ship.

"Not a very good night kid? It must be that guilty conscience for stealing from your favorite superior."

Said Lt. March, who was directly in line in front of him. Ramirez managed to get a nervous laugh out.

"It´s nothing, sir. Just a bad dream."

March looked at him with concern. He really cared for the well being of his subordinates, and he was worried being on the sea for so long was starting to take its toll on the novice sailor. He knew the young junior lieutenant was very passionate about his work, but he was still inexperienced to recognize the effects of long-term isolation.

"Listen Ramirez. I´m your superior, but we´re a team. There´s not a lot to do today, so why don't you take it easy just for a day."

The young recruit smiled broadly at the big man in front of him.

"Thanks, sir, but I can handle work. I know what I signed up for."

Lt. March smiled back, impressed at the discipline of his subordinate. This kid was going to go far he thought, as both made their way into the small shower cabin. While they were undressing, Krass approached March and whispered something to him quietly. Ramirez couldn´t hear a word, but judging by March´s expression it wasn´t good news. Krass then left the bathroom, and March turned around to face Ramirez. His big chest was inches away from Gabo´s face, and his lower part was tightly covered by a small towel.

It wasn´t a secret Ramirez was into both men and women. All his crewmates respected his orientation and felt comfortable around him. So much they didn´t mind parading themselves naked from time to time, testing the young recruit´s self-control. It was harder in the beginning, but now Gabo was used to it, casually having conversations with his fellow naked sailors. He still enjoyed the show, only silently and respectfully. He has had few sexual experiences in the past, but nothing to boast about. Still, his crew was untouchable for him, the comradery far outweighing the lust.

March was another story though. The man sported an impressive physique build through years and years of discipline and hard training. His chest was very prominent, followed by a big muscular gut that was still a couple of inches behind. Powerful arms capable of pulling even the heaviest anchor hung to his side, and tree trunk legs supported the almost 300 pounds man. He was also a good head taller than Ramirez, making the younger sailor a dwarf in comparison. Even though Ramirez tried his best, he couldn´t help but feel a certain level of attraction for the muscular man. After gawking at his superior´s body for enough time, Gabo looked up to hear what he was about to say.

"It seems there is a storm heading our way. It´s gonna be a full day of work after all Ramirez. You´ll get your chance to shine."

Ltjg. Ramirez never faced an open sea storm on his few months on board, so he didn´t know what to expect. A feeling in his gut was telling him to pretend he was sick to stay under the deck, but Gabo was no coward. He was going to do his work and prove why he was there among those big burly men. He finished showering and looked at himself in the mirror.

His dark brown hair was neatly cut in a conscription cut, perfectly square and short. His young face had a scar on his chin product of a street brawl a couple of years ago, but his features still retained the innocent look that came with youth. His beautiful light brown skin was free of any blemishes. His smooth body had slight muscle definition, but more because of little body fat than actual lean mass. He quickly glanced inside the towel to look at his manhood. He couldn´t be disappointed because there were smaller dicks around, but he was nowhere near to someone endowed. He was more like on the average to the low part of the scale. He was feeling good and confident about himself today. Gabo quickly put on his uniform and rushed outside to start his tasks for the day.

He headed up the deck to quickly brush the floors, check the analog temperature measurements and check that the lifeboats were in a good state. People quickly mobilized after news of the storm spread around. The captain made a formal announcement during lunch, telling the crew they should brace for the storm in the early hours of the night. No one seemed to be too scared about it, making their usual jokes and talking loudly lie every day. Still, the feeling in the pit of his stomach was starting to bother Ramirez. He had a bad feeling about today. And as a kid from the street, Gabo knew trusting his feelings was crucial for survival. The nerves were causing him to barely touch his food.

Lt. March noticed the kid staring quietly at his tray. It was unusual for the lively Latin kid to go dead silent, so he approached and sat down next to him.

"Don´t worry kid, it´s just a storm. Occupational hazards. It will be gone sooner than you think."

Even though Ramirez loved the sea, storms were always a cause of anxiety for him. He was reminded that a storm killed his father. And worse of all, a storm was raging the night he found out about his mother. Storms were a bad omen for him. He turned around to face the rugged, but the concerned face of his superior.

"I trust you, sir. It´s just I have a bad history with storms."

"I assure you kid, it´s gonna be a better night than one with you taking all my money."

The light-hearted joke made both men laugh, as the tense aura around Gabo dissipated. He trusted his lieutenant. He saw in him the father figure he never had. They finished eating their meal and dispersed around the ship to finish the preparations for the bad forecast. When the sun started setting down is when the dark clouds started gathering over the frigate. Strong winds pushed everything exposed to the surface, and increasingly agitated waves crashed against the ship, making the most remote corners of the shell creak under the water´s pressure. Ramirez finished his tasks on deck and looked to the horizon for the last time of the day. An ominous dark mass was approaching the ship. Little droplets started falling from the sky. They were the last preface of what was about to come. The junior lieutenant went back under deck quickly as the slow rain turned into a tempestuous downpour.

He found his crewmates in the cafeteria as usual, but there were no games this time. Everyone was eating quietly, expectant of the first order barked through the loudspeakers. March wasn´t there, nor Krass. Ramirez assumed that command was having a meeting about the current situation. He sat down on a corner with his tray, unable to take a bite. All his instincts were telling him to run, to get out of there swiftly, so he could survive. Ramirez was fighting his innate fleeing nature. He kept reassuring himself why he got enlisted, why he was doing everything he was told to. He wanted stability, he craved it. But a part of him didn´t want to leave his past self behind. It was what kept him alive for so long after all. But he couldn´t go back to fleeing from his problem. And most important of all he couldn´t let his crew know he was so scared. Bravery in the face of adversity was a virtue after all. This little sacrifice was for his future self, and no one else.

The sailors left the cafeteria quietly. One by one they retired to their chambers. Ramirez followed his crewmates and was able to go to bed early as he didn´t have any guard shift that night. He zoned out for a while, unable to reach deep sleep. After a few hours, around midnight, the alarm made him jump out of bed and get dressed. He got out of his chambers to see all his crewmates heading for the upper doors. The hallway was lit red, and a reverberating sound echoed through the passages of the frigate. Ramirez tried his best not to fall due to what he assumed was disorientation until the entire crew including him were thrown to the side. He wasn´t dizzy, it was the waves crashing against the ship that caused it to rock back and forth intensively.

When he made it to the upper deck, his fellow sailors were all running to their stations. Many went to prepare the lifeboats, while others reinforced the previously tied up materials so the storm couldn´t blow them again. Ramirez went to his emergency station next to the edge to secure the supplies he was supposed to. The sky was completely painted black, like the furious sea bellow him. Rain poured down intensively, and an icy wind blew with all force against the ship and its crew. Ramirez was freezing, his frail body more exposed thanks to its lack of body mass, and the tempestuous currents kept throwing him around like a little leaf during an autumn breeze.

A big wave crashed against the frigate, making the vessel lean completely to the opposite side. One of the crates on the opposite side of Ramirez got untied and came sliding fast towards the terrified recruit, who was holding on to the rails on the edge for his life. He turned around just on time to see the giant box charging against him, and closed his eyes preparing for the inevitable. He immediately heard his name echo in the distance and felt a powerful pair of hands push him from the back out of the crate´s trajectory. Ramirez looked back just in time to see his protector Lt. March flies off the board into the raging waters below.

"Lt. March!"

Screamed the tearful junior lieutenant. His fear was completely erased in an instant, triggering his quick reaction speed. He grabbed a safety rope next to him and without thinking he threw himself into the mouth of the beast. The black waters of the sea swallowed him whole. The only thing he felt was a bone-chilling sensation taking over his entire body, as he swam in the direction of his superior.

"Kid what are you doing here?! You crazy son of a bitch!"

Said March in a mixture of awe, anger, and gratefulness.

"It´s my duty to protect my crew lieutenant! Quick, grab the rope!"

He handed over the rope to the more experienced March, who started tying a strong knot so the crew could pull them out. Their brief moment of relief ended in an instant, as another giant wave stroke from their side this time, separating the young Ramirez from his lieutenant. The crew started pulling the rope, just to get only March back on board. The big man immediately perched on the edge and frantically searched with his eyes for the young subordinate.

"Ramirez! Ramirez!"

But only darkness remained, with no sight of the young recruit. Meanwhile, Ramirez struggled to swim against a powerful current. He considered himself a good swimmer, having grown close to the water. But no matter how hard he kicked and flailed, the underwater stream kept pulling him downwards. The cold was starting to numb his senses, as he let out a last bubble of breath and his unconscious body was dragged into the infinite abyss.

 Ramirez then woke up surrounded by complete darkness. He was laying on a rocky wet floor, dripping wet and feeling breathless. He coughed a couple of times, expelling a good amount of water out of his lungs. He stood up, but couldn't see anything around him. There was no breeze, no sound, absolutely nothing. He was about to take a step when a strong voice made him freeze in his tracks.

"Lt. Ramirez. I´ve been looking for someone like you."

"Who are you? Where am I?"

"Those questions don´t matter anymore child. You´re under my protection, that´s all that matters."

He then heard a resounding metallic sound against the rocky floor and was completely shocked by what he saw. The trident of the god of the sea emitted a powerful glow, which then seeped into the cracks on the bedrock bellow to illuminate Ramirez´s surroundings. He was inside a big air compartment under what it seemed to be the ocean, and in front of him was an extremely muscular man holding a giant trident. Poseidon then approached the young lieutenant, holding up his chin with his strong hand.

"You will do just fine. Your potential is unmeasurable, and you know the meaning of suffering and the price of balance. A noble soul like you will be of great use to me and my realm."

"I have to get back to my ship sir. Please help me, my crew is in danger."

Said Ramirez nervously while he scanned the god in front of him with his eyes. The prominent chest was probably as wide as Ramirez holding both of his arms to his sides, with strong protruding abdominal muscles supporting it. He had the biggest arms he had ever seen, even among the famous bodybuilders he always liked to watch on the internet. His lower body was even more powerful. He was only wearing the lower part of a short white robe, with gold accessories adorning his wrists and belt. Two penetrating blue eyes glowed like the deepest of oceans, set as the highlight of a rugged but beautiful face. The cherry on top was a luscious chestnut-colored beard falling right on top of his upper chest. Poseidon noticed the way this kid was looking at him and smiled broadly. He liked his ego stroked like all the gods.

"The ship was spared. But that passion is what I´m looking for. A loving protector, who is strong enough to crush anything on his way."

He pointed his trident towards the young lieutenant and smiled.

"Meet me on the base of Mount Olympus in Greece by the next full moon. I will grant you the true love of my kingdom, in exchange for your loyalty and strength. I´m counting on you."

A blue light came out of the trident, completely enveloping Ramirez. The cold sensation was gone, together with the exhaustion he felt before regaining consciousness. When the light faded, Poseidon was gone. The air bubble around him started popping, letting water in again. Ramirez was quickly swallowed by the ocean, having only time to briefly hold his breath. Once he could not hold it any longer, he coughed only to find out he was able to breathe normally underwater. He also thought about how he practically was immune to the pressure of the sea above him, not feeling any strain on his body.

He took off his uniform so he could swim better, leaving him only wearing the pair of black boxer shorts he had on, and started exploring his surroundings. The light the trident had infused on the ground remained there and formed a path leading the young sailor forward into the darkness. After swimming for a while, he found the strangest creature he had ever seen. A beautiful horse with the tail of a fish was waiting at the end of the illuminated road. The animal looked at Ramirez, and he immediately knew what he had to do. He floated towards the hippocampus, and rode on its back, grabbing its neck as the animal swiftly swam towards the surface.

He must have been pretty deep thought Ramirez because it took a long time until he saw the weak rays of sunlight replace the absolute darkness he was in before. He could feel the water caressing his body, but it opposed little resistance to the fast creature and the young sailor on top. It also wasn´t cold like before, but getting warmer the more the sea horse carried him through the vastness of the ocean. He was fascinated by its massive expanse and could feel its sheer power pulsating through the water.

They passed all kinds of sea creatures like schools of fishes, dolphins and even a few whales. Ramirez´s connection with the sea grew stronger, together with his love for it. He was so enthralled by the fascinating view in front of him that he missed the sensation the stronger current was causing on his body. The swirling water quickly surrounded him, tying him to the back of the hippocampus and constraining his limbs. Ramirez felt a dull pain product of the waters slowly pulling his limbs and spine further away from each other, rapidly adding inches to his height until the formerly short sailor reached a towering 7 feet height. The pulling didn´t stop there though, as each bone grew to form the canvas for the muscle that was coming in next.

The warm water caressed and massaged each individual muscle, transferring the titanic strength of the ocean to them. The legs holding on to the hippocampus started growing first. It looked like water was being pumped directly into his skin. Quadriceps strong enough to crush rocks between them formed on his upper legs, with edges carving themselves out of the gigantic muscles. His calves were pulled apart and rearranged by the current until two diamond-shaped calves replaced the former toothpick lower legs. His feet grew even bigger for a man his size, necessary for the swift propulsion underwater. The growth moved to his butt cheeks, the sensation finally making Ramirez aware of what was happening to him. He felt a strong cramp in his ass, as both glutei raised further and further from the back of the sea horse. His underwear strained to the maximum under the pressure of the new watermelon-sized ass cheeks.

Ramirez watched his lower body turn into the one of a card-carrying professional bodybuilder. The sensations invading his body were too intense for him to remain calm. He felt incredible awe for the creatures that were crossing through his sight. He felt the warm and pleasurable caress of the water on his body. He felt the strong rocking of the hippocampus´ swimming. And he felt a crushing pain as the pressure in the water reformed his body. He let go of the creature to grab his stomach in pain. He felt like the water was suctioning each individual brick in his abdomen out, and he was quickly left with a powerful eight pack cut into his midsection. His Adonis belt protruded out of his sides, and his serratus muscles carved themselves so deep it looked like the man had developed gills.

Ramirez then felt the current push him from the back of the sea horse, and the sailor fell to the back watching the creature swim away from him. He immediately began swimming trying to reach it, but his newly developed lower body still moved clumsily lacking the coordination needed to move such a heavy mass. Ramirez focused all of his strength on reaching the hippocampus when suddenly a strong water current propelled him forward and he was able to reach the creature. He then realized he was practically flying underwater, enjoying the freedom of moving like a torpedo through the ocean. He swam graciously together with the hippocampus, both dancing synchronized to the rhythm of the waters.

Small whirlpools formed around his brown nipples, sending waves of pleasure through the man and increasing their size to fit into the new gigantic chest that was about to come. His pectoral muscles squared on the lower end, and then pushed further out inflating like two water mattresses. The water was putting so much pressure on his upper body the sailor felt his bones were going to get crushed. Ramirez was left with a herculean chest powerful enough to fight the roaring waves of a tsunami. His shoulders were next, as each deltoid inflated bigger than cannonballs with enough strength to lift an anchor above his head.

He then felt the current pull his arms so hard he thought they were going to be ripped apart. The pressure in his muscles made him wince in pain, while his triceps dripped and grew like marlin´s dorsal fin, pushing the former noodles to the sides of his body, and his biceps inflated like water balloons about to pop due to their sheer size. Massive sinews formed on his upper arms, and his hands grew massively muscular, wide enough to push large amounts of water on a single stroke.

He examined both of his new arms when a cramp in his back made him bend forward and scream in pain. He felt the water vibrating on his spine, spreading the sensation to every muscle like a flare. The upper back started extending and rounding up like a turtle shell, and the lats on each side protruded so far, he looked more like a giant T instead of a V. His back was by far the strongest muscle on his body, designed to propel the new man through the chaotic waters with ease.

The current then swirled around his neck, starting to choke him. The traps raised to connect to his ears and complete the growth of the monstrous back. He could hear his grumble grow lower as his neck expanded with muscle, leaving his head looking like a tiny pin on a godly body. The pain was overwhelming the young sailor. He opened his mouth to let out a painful scream when suddenly water flowed into his body with intensity. Veins started popping out of his limbs, improving the oxygen saturation, and therefore endurance for the giant.

Large veins popped on his lower abdomen, and then he felt an excruciating pressure pushing behind his manhood. His penis then started inflating, far surpassing the limits of the already strained underpants, which were ripped off by the strong currents. His newly improved appendage kept growing and pulsing so much, Ramirez thought it was going to explode. It stopped growing at almost a foot in length, and a jaw-breaking girth. It looked like a glass bottle that was hanging from his legs. His balls were next, inflating to an equine size and falling heavy between his monstrous legs.

Male hormones combined with divine power started flowing through his body, boosted by the invading water current inside of him. He felt a cracking pressure on his head, which grew proportional to the new body size. His angular face grew more masculine, his jaw broadening into a thick square, and his brow pushing further over his eyes giving him a menacing look. His nose then cracked and widened, while his lips plumped a bit more. His already short dark brown hair retreated into his scalp, leaving him with a short buzz cut. The amount of testosterone in his body was so high, his hairline receded a little bit. His face was then invaded by a permanent shadow with the potential of growing a thick beard. The rest of his body sucked in his body hair, leaving his smooth. His beautiful brown skin darkened a bit more. His pores then started producing a small amount of oil, that gave him a shiny look and helped him oppose little resistance to the forces of the sea, making underwater travel far easier.

The current then stopped forcing its way into his body and released his limbs from their invisible shackles. Ramirez started touching his body incredulously, incapable of dimensioning the change he just went through. He felt the raw power of the sea pulse within him. He touched his face and felt his young skin under his fingers. His scar was gone too. The sight of the new man might have been bizarre, due to him still looking young despite his overwhelming masculinity. Ramirez was so distracted by his new body, that he missed the waters getting slowly more superficial and the hippocampus turning around and leaving back into the abyss.

The sailor propelled himself further into the shallowing waters when he was suddenly greeted by the figure of a beautiful young man sitting on an underwater rock. He couldn´t be older than the junior lieutenant, although his presence and demeanor felt older than civilization itself. His long hair flowed along with the current, glistening with silver light. He had the carved body of an Olympic swimmer, with defined and strong limbs made to love underwater and a very wide back developed from physical activity in the sea. He was also completely smooth, the only hair on his body remaining on his head, eyebrows, and long eyelashes. He beamed a white smile as radiant as the sun at the stranger.

Ramirez approached the young Adonis with a dumbfounded expression on his face. Even though his sexual experience was limited, he was very familiar with the feelings of lust invading his body. Only this time, they were overwhelmingly strong, almost clouding his entire conscience. The man got up from the rock and touched Gabo´s muscular chest.

"Father was right, you turned out better than expected."

He had a melodious hypnotic voice almost too beautiful to be coming out of a hunk like him. Ramirez looked down at the man caressing his body. His knees shook nervously, while he let himself be seduced by the apparition before him. But something in his mind suddenly snapped. He felt the pressure from before again, only this time inside his thoughts as if the water was rinsing the old cowardly nature of the sailor. For some reason, the situation didn´t feel right. He was the one supposed to be doing the seduction, not the other way around.

He took the young man from his legs and pulled him close to his body raising him to his same height. He then proceeded to passionately make out with the stud, both their tongues dancing in each other's mouth. Ramirez felt like sea spume was filling his head, making it harder and harder to focus. He started losing his grip on reality. Like waves carving and molding the strong rocks underneath, the magical power carved out a new man out of the young sailor. More and more dominance asserted itself into his persona, replacing the old more submissive nature. His body language was a dead giveaway of what was happening in his mind.

The sea hunk noticed how his lover´s kiss started to grow more aggressive, invading his mouth with a strong tongue. His big hands started squeezing the young man´s ass, ways of pleasuring a person during sex being engraved in his memory. Years of experience pushed their way into the new man, his face growing more rugged with lines of age and his body gaining more thickness that comes with years of labor. His giant manhood was already grown at full mast, stroking the cheeks of his prey like a sea serpent just before attacking and spreading his self-produced oil on his skin. The young man then guided the hard rod to the entrance of his body, pushing down ever so slightly to get the head in.

The hunk had been with many lovers before, but this was still considered to be a very big phallus. He carefully slid down in order to accommodate the muscular man´s size inside of him. Ramirez kept fighting the tide inside his head. He was scared of changing, of letting go of who he was. A part of him still wanted to flee and pretend none of this had happened. But remembering his hometown beach stopped his train of thought. He remembered the beautiful waters shining in the sunlight, of all the creatures dependent on them, from little crabs on the beach to the big metropolis of the world. The ocean´s ecosystem was the most important one in the world, and it had to be protected. The love he felt for the sea turned into a massive tidal wave inside of him that finally broke down all his mental barriers and completely dragged his old personality out of existence. He didn´t have to flee anymore, he possessed the strength to break the earth and part the ocean. He could destroy anything that got in his way of protecting what he loved.

Ltjg. Gabo Ramirez was reborn in the form of Gabriel, the name his mother had originally given him, and the new protector of the sea. The last bits of his personality evaporating like the sea breeze under the scorching sun. His young lover watched in awe as the eyes of the titan started to glow, and a deep blue color washed his former brown irises away. Once his manhood had entered the hunk completely, he started thrusting back and forth with the strength to shake the earth. He was a god among men, and he had the right to be pleased. Still, he liked to share the pleasure with his lovers, and care for them. He liked feeling like the strong protector he was born to be. The young sea hunk smiled broadly knowing the transformation was complete, and let himself be completely dominated and pleased by the titan inside of him.

 The sun was already setting when Gabriel came out of the warm waters. He wasn´t in the frosty northern sea anymore but the warm coasts of southern Greece. He was only wearing the bikini strap the young hunk had given him once they parted ways, along with a kiss and the promise of meeting him again. Gabriel looked at the vast sea before him and smiled. He was going to do whatever it took to protect his new home. He was going to honor his Lord´s will by conquering and crushing anything in his way. He still had a couple of days before the full moon, which should be enough to get to Mount Olympus. He then thought about all the life and all the pleasure he could have on his way. He was going to bless a lot of mortals with his sexual prowess. He took one last deep breath before heading inland, his nostrils filling with the salty smell of the sea breeze along with his own radiating masculine scent, his skin shimmering under the setting sun. The giant then disappeared into the prairie, ready for whatever challenge the world may throw at him.

In the distance sitting next to a cliff was Nereus, watching the newly chosen one walk towards his destiny. He found the Olympians obnoxious, but he had to admit they did a pretty fine handiwork. The new man looked like he jumped out of a perverted fever dream, with enough power to shatter the earth with each step.

"He really does feel like he looks, father."

A joyful voice said on the back. Nereus turned around to see his own son Nerites staring playfully at him. The young god loved to play around but was filled with respect for his father. The beautiful merman smiled broadly at the old man, who gave him an approving nod.

"Well done son. I knew Poseidon needed a little push. I´m glad to see his opus got your sign of approval."

"It´s going to be an interesting time after all. Life is just fun."

Said Nerites enthusiastically as both gods stared into the distance wondering about the Olympian´s intricate rivalries and plots in the sky.

[lovehotelreservation]

Mea Culpa

Summary: To apologize, to beg--simple actions that Emet-Selch simply could not bring himself to do.

But as he emerged in your room after things have soured between you both, he is willing to make amends.

In his own way at least.

Connected to “Late Night Visit”

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: DFAB!Reader/Emet-Selch

ME WORKING ON THIS COMMISSION WHILE FINISHING UP WITH 5.0 🙂🥺😭💔 GDI WHY AM I NOW A GOTHIC GILF F*CKER !!!!

THAT SAID MANY THANKS TO MY SWEET AND LOVELY COMMISSIONER FOR THE CHANCE TO EXPAND ON MY PREVIOUS PIECE!!! --------------

No matter how acclaimed and revered by countless souls across the realm, the Warrior of Light was just that.

A single warrior.

A single individual whose power, strength, and tenacity served to protect the weak and reprimand the wicked.

But from your eyes, you couldn’t have accomplished so much without the help of your friends: The Scions, House Fortemps, and countless others. The time you spent with them, whether during the heat of a dire battle or a merry night of feast and camaraderie, was something you held so dearly to your heart.

Still, as much as you enjoyed the company of your friends, it was the still calm of your empty room after a busy day that soothed your weary soul like nothing else.

And as the weariness from journeying back from Yx'Maja to your suite in The Pendants, more than ever were you relieved to be alone.

Especially for reasons that you were much too annoyed to begin recounting.

Sighing, you were in the midst of undoing your armor, but the fatigue from today made even attempting to undo the binding components an even bigger drain.

“Need some help?”

You froze.

And then your teeth grit from irritation as your eyes shifted away from the mirror of your suite’s vanity upon turning around.

The reason for your weariness was standing right in front of you.

Arms folded behind his back, lips curled into a smirk, eyes glinted with amusement, Emet-Selch made his presence known as he emerged out from the shadowy portal that was conjured into your room.

There were plenty of reasons as to why this mere action immediately drew your ire.

From the past week alone, it was already a journey through hell as you traversed through Yx'Maja and fended off sin eaters while providing assistance to the Viis of Fanow with your fellow Scions. However, with the unwelcomingly present Emet-Selch insisting on commenting on every move you made and every word you said with the most smug grin on his face pushed you far beyond your patience.

On the other end, Emet-Selch had just emerged into your room.

As he had done all those many nights before that resulted in the two of you being tangled together upon your bed.

He was your enemy.

And yet you allowed him to linger between your thighs nonetheless.

It was something that you were far from ready to reveal in the slightest to the rest of your companions. Any hint of the ongoing tryst you had with him was to be kept absolutely hushed, which he was well aware of.

But Emet-Selch treaded that boundary all throughout your time at Yx’Maja in front of the rest of the Scions. By your honed reflexes from all the time spent training under Widargelt, you were glad to stop his wandering hand from squeezing your behind while you awaited for Urianger and Y’shtola to finish decrypting some text chiseled on a temple wall, your fingers immediately seizing hold of his wrist while your eyes shot his pouting face an icy glare.

From that moment on, you chose to outright ignore him. Any quip was met with indifferent silence, your expression blank whenever he attempted to draw your attention.

And you were in no mood to change that now of all times as you promptly faced your vanity once again, your focus returning to removing your armor.

“Now, now, is that how you treat a guest who just arrived?” He hummed with the click of his tongue.

You did not respond, only focusing on trying to work on a stubborn tie with your armguards. Though, without needing to look back, you knew his expression had fallen to something of a pout.

“Mmm--onwards with the silent treatment then, I see.”

There was no desire for you to be the bigger person on your end. If cold you must be, then icy you would become.

At least, until you felt the unfortunately familiar warmth of Emet-Selch’s body press against you from behind.

“Pardon.”

The heat of his breath fell by your ear, the sudden sensation eliciting a shiver from your body as you felt his nimble fingers reach for the tie of your armguards, undoing it with absolute ease. As the sound of your armor fell to the floor with a clank, he continued with an amused hum, “The sight of a celebrated hero struggling with a mere strap irritates me to no end.”

Your instinct had your body moving to flip around to face him, but the arm that immediately slunk around your waist kept you in place.

At last, your silence was broken.

“If you think sliding up to me like this is gonna get you off the hook, you’ve got another thing coming!” You hissed as you craned your neck to glare at him while your fists balled at your sides.

“‘Off the hook?’ But whatever did I do wrong?” He hummed innocently, only to then sigh with feigned exasperation. “Do you think us Ascians to be so committed to the role of villain that you think we cannot tease and please at the same time? I don’t ever remember you being this callous, sweet hero.”

Your eyes rolled. “Again with your remembering?”

“Again with your forgetfulness?” He shot back, his tone taking on a surprisingly biting edge as his gaze narrowed ever slightly.

However, noticing your astonished expression, his features calmed, shifting from tension to teasing as he reached for your chin, his thumb stroking over your skin as he inspected your face. “Goodness, you really must be tired from your endeavors, huh, hero?” His head moved closer to yours as he hummed, “All that tension has you so fussy~ Let’s ease those shoulders, huh?”

Without another word, his lips planted right onto yours, kissing you fully while his other arm circled around you, his hold around your body complete.

Your instincts made you want to push back at him, to not allow yourself to concede so easily.

Yet, the expert probe of his tongue into your mouth combined with his roaming hands as he groped you freely to his heart’s content now that the two of you were alone was just so damn hard to resist. 

While the two of you had been plenty intimate up until this point, you barely knew much about him.

And yet, he knew your body like no one else.

When your mouths parted, the tension on your face had eased, your skin hot and flushed, your lips parted in a pant, all as your body continued to quiver from his hands fondling you all over.

Looking as pleased as could be, Emet-Selch chuckled wickedly as he admired your current state, “There we go--such a precious look on your face. Recollection can wait for another time--come hero, show me more of those lovely expressions of yours…!”

That cold expression you had earlier, that damned armor you were so focused on.

He saw to it that neither were in his way as he brought you over to your bed.

With your clothes soon joining his on the floor, your exposed body was for him to enjoy whole-heartedly. His lips dragged along your skin, circling over your nipples with soft suckles, kissing along your battle-toned torso, lavishing your clit with focused attention as his tongue lapped against your center.

The look on your face was far from icy at this point, now melted with pleasure as he continued his ministrations, furthered all the more once he was sheathing the full length of his cock inside of you.

Moments before, he claimed to help you relax, but the pace by which he was pounding away into your core was far from delicate, his hips pummeling you right into the mattress while his hands squeezed your breasts.

Mainly because he knew that an acclaimed warrior like you could take it.

Along with the fact that he had to make up for a week’s worth of lost intimate time between you both.

For as quiet as you had been around him, he dared not to kiss your lips, wanting your moans to leak out freely as he simply minded himself with marking up your neck as much as possible with kisses and bites--whatever would be hardest for you to try to hide or explain around your companions.

He would not have you silent around him.

Not when he still had yet to hear you refer to him by his true name.

Not as the Warrior of Light.

But as his beloved Azem.

[everlarkficexchange]

Other Human Hungers

Author: @rosegardeninwinter

Prompt 129: AU Inspired by the Greek and Roman mythologies, where the Games take place in an amphitheater/arena turned into a labyrinth. How often do the games occur? Are there mythological beasts/mutts? How do Katniss and Peeta survive? Or do they not? What happens after they leave the arena? [submitted by @katnissdoesnotfollowback]

Rated: T (for now)

A/N: Not sure this fully constitutes as a fic so much as a playful little teaser. I must admit, writer’s block/burnout has got me in its grip right now, so while I have every intention of expanding this story, this little morsel is what you get right now. Hope that’s alright! Rest of the meal forthcoming, because I love this prompt and want to do it justice — anyway, enjoy! 😉

Sunlight and blood drip down from the iron grate that lets us look up into the arena, and the group of us below scream and cheer as a trumpet blares to signal that Clove has won her fight and her freedom. Cato, standing in the midst of the knot of us that huddle under the grate to catch a glimpse of her against the hot blue sky, raises his hands to catch the gold dust motes that fall onto the dirt floor, as though he’s standing in a cataract of water.

“Fortune be with you!” he shouts as loud as he can, though his voice will be drowned under the roar of the crowds.

“Fortune be with you!” all of us echo, knowing Clove can hear us in her heart if not her ears, wishing her luck.

We do not hear her call back “Fortune be with you all!” But we are certain she will, before she is taken away to be washed and dressed and released into the city streets of Rome as a free woman, and a monster slayer at that. At least, we assume that is what happens. We cannot be certain. That is only what they tell us. And even if it is a lie, it is a pretty one.

Cato lowers his hands. He is triumphant in his friend’s victory, as we all are, but I know he will feel the loss of her tonight. My hand finds Peeta’s and grasps it tightly, grateful that in eight years my love from Germania hasn’t been chosen for the Games. Some people are desperate to fight, come what may, death or liberation. Not me. Strange as it seems, I am almost content with the safety of our bondage.

But we are sixteen now. Any day Seneca could come down to tell me I’ve been chosen. Or Peeta. Cato. Glimmer. Thresh. Rue. Any of our friends still living.

Today the odds were in Clove’s favor. May they be in ours tomorrow. Whatever that means.

~

“Mel,” comes Peeta’s voice, low and gentle. His pet name for me. “Honeysweet,” he says. “It’s time to get up. The chariots are readying.”

Has it really been a week since Clove’s fight? Time passes strangely here, like an island Ulysses might have found on his journey home. But his time was many decades ago. Fewer and fewer monsters dare to run wild. Peeta believes they’re smart enough to realize what might happen to them if they come too close to the city. They don’t offer freedom to a victorious beast. Only fight after fight until there is nothing left but to die. I feel pity for them.

I get to my feet, and brush the dust from my knees. I twist my long, dark hair up into a braid. Peeta’s hands frame my slender hips, thumbs circling gently at my hips, my belly. In other circumstances, they might carry his child. We talked about that, once, on a moonless night when secrets seemed more likely to keep, curled up nose to nose on our bedroll. We spoke of farming land well away from the streets of Rome. Having a family.

“Do I pass your inspection?” I say softly. The sunlight catches at his hair. If it were not blasphemy to say so, I should tell him he looks like Apollo himself, gilt with gold.

Peeta takes my hands and turns me around, my homespun dress of faded red, now a drab orange color, clinging tightly to a body, that, though small, is too big for it now. But his eyes are dark with admiration and even desire. “Beautiful, as always, my honey love.”

I stand on my tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips, lips that gave me my first ever kiss, that worshiped my body with whispered promises, and still cover me in the sweetest touches of love and lust.

“You’re beautiful too,” I say.

“We’re all beautiful,” comes Thresh’s sardonic voice. He smiles a wry smile, close mouthed. “Let’s go.”

“You might have woken me sooner,” I say, as Peeta puts an arm around me and leads me to join the small procession of tributes that files up the dirt tunnel and out into the courtyard where the chariots wait, painted and gleaming in the bright sun.

“You looked so peaceful,” he says, helping me step up into the open back of the chariot. A guard comes to bind our wrists and hands to a set of hooks at the front of the chariot. We don’t resist. This is routine. Peeta and I continue talking as we are bound side by side. “I didn’t want to disturb you before I had to.”

I nod, grateful that my heart belongs to such a generous man. When we first met, we could not speak each other’s languages, and each thought the other looked so strange. But I remember, young as I was, barely eight, huddling with the boy my size as fights raged overhead, his strength becoming my strength, and mine his.

Now, my fingers flex and stretch and find his through the mass of black cords trussing us to the chariots so we don’t try to escape as we are paraded around the city. It’s a veritable weekly holiday, the choosing of the tribute. The crowds will get a look at us, old tributes and new, and decide who they want to be Rome’s champion—or sacrifice—for the week.

Peeta and I have often wondered why we have never been chosen. For a while it was our youth that made us unappealing, but now? Is it pity that stays their choice? You could not see the way we are together and not conclude that we are lovers. Our fellow tributes knew before we did that we loved each other. Fox, a girl brought from Peeta’s homeland, used to tease us about that, before she ...

As the chariots jerk and clatter, starting their journey down into the throngs, I feel the vial of nightlock poison, kept hidden on a cord around my waist, bounce against my skin. Fox taught us how to make the poison from berries, snuck in from the outside by helpful allies. There is enough for one of us, me or Peeta, whichever one might have need.

We do not know why neither of us have been chosen. We do not know if we ought to count it a curse or blessing. But we do know that if there is any life for us at the end of this Roman road, it must be together — or not at all.