#notes for future fics....

[ohmeadows]

I was reading all the lore books of the Xianzhou for fic research and one volume in particular, Glimpses into the beyond, has my brain running circles, so why not share my notes

It's a manuscript written by Fu Xuan, touching on divination and Aeons

I loved this quote: "Humans walk the Paths, while stars cross the sky: Observing these situations can produce future predictions. All of this is based on the diviner's ascertainment of the present situation (or the past, because the present is constantly becoming the past)."

Implied that diviners must stay constantly in tune with the present lest they loose their footings

Mentions the founder of the Divination Commission, a master Xuan Yao, who said "Only the universe and the Aeons cannot be foretold."

Fu Xuan writes that the universe birthed the Aeons, not vice versa.

She further writes that omniscience is unattainable

While writing about the Yaoshi, she brings up the fact that any attempt to divine the Abundance's future is an unforgiveable felony onboard the Xianzhou. Any attempt to do so can be lethal for the diviner, and if they survive, they will face the full wrath of the Ten Lords Commission. (The other Aeons are kind of forbidden to divine, but the punishment is less severe and may even be suspended.)

She mentions that hubris often strikes diviners during their first 100 years on the job; likely implication being that she has been doing it for at the barest of minimums that time, and more probable way longer?

The rest of Fu Xuan's observations are musings on the nature of Aeons and relate a lot to the future of the Xianzhou:

Sorting of the Aeons into three categories, which the Xianzhou still uses:

"Arbiters: Determining mortal births and deaths, which are highly connected to the rise and fall of civilizations." Lan, Qlipoth.

"The Sacrosancts: Difficult to predict as good or evil; often unable to even know where they head for." Nous, Akivili, Aha, Idrila.

"The Authors of Calamity: The main culprit behind all disasters. Avoid, or be annihilated." Yaoshi, Nanook, Tayzzyronth.

Lan appeared in Year 3400 Star Calendar, and ever since the Divination Commission monitors and interprets what Lan's arrows mean.

Fu Xuan muses that while Qlipoth themselves strives for isolation between worlds with no contact, IPC, their foremost faction, facilitates contact and trade between worlds seemingly without drawing the ire of Qlipoth at all.

When the Xianzhou fleet set sail they witnessed Qlipoth's Echidna Skywall that seperates the worlds from the void.

Fu Xuan herself has seen Nous, the machine-like Aeon. "Contrary to standard thinking, Nous is not a god that provides solutions. On the contrary, all they offer is an infinite number of questions." Overall she speaks very highly of Nous and encourages diviners to take after them.

Akivili is shrouded in legends, but Fu Xuan mentions that both the IPC and Xianzhou fleet navigate space by the star rail ("chromatic echelons").

Deems Aha to be the Aeon closest to mortals, mentioning how Aha's followers instigated a riot that ended with a troll virus being spread in the local robot army.

While Idrila is fallen, it's implied that through gathering and using the relics left behind, they might come back.

This quote is just fascinating in the implications of Idrila: "According to ancient myth, Idrila once attributed the beauty of all the starzones to themselves, showing heroes, villains, and mortals the meaning and aesthetics contained within the cosmic landscape, and driving them to complete astonishing (but often devastating) achievements for Idrila's own pleasure. This myth may reveal the true meaning behind the Path of Beauty: The integration of consciousness, insight, and values."

There is some strange and remote connection between the Yaoshi and the Xianzhou people, apparently, one that physics cannot yet explain.

Nanook is the most recently ascended Aeon. Fu Xuan muses that the followers of Nanook are becoming an increasing problem, the fleet has lost contact with many worlds ravaged by the Antimatter Legion, and that in the near future it's likely they will have to face Nanook's forces.

Tayzzyronth, while dead, still has seeded worlds which in turn become hellscapes if not destroyed. Also their scions are still alive, and there are scholar theories that they can come back at any time.

Fu Xuan once inspected a piece of amber that was a piece from the "Imperator Insectorum's Prison Cell." The omniscia implanted in my forehead could not see the future of this item, which only serves to corroborate the scholar's claims. All I can do is pray in silence to the Reignbow that such a day will not come soon.

[oh-no-its-bird]

You are making me EMOTIONAL thinking about baby kakashi losing his teeth and not having his dad around to ask about things now, not even specifically for fang reasons either 😭😭

I think I was late and lost my first took when I was almost seven and idk exactly when Sakumo died officially but. Idk. Something something the tragedy of potentially not even having a parent around to explain what is going on when you lose a tooth for the first time

I'm so glad u sent this actually bc I was thinking ab wanting to write a post ab this premise but wasn't sure how to phrase or start it

Kid Kakashi struggling through starting to lose his baby teeth after his father dies <33

Google tells me that children start losing their baby teeth around 6, and the general age I've seen for Kakashi when Sakumo kills himself is usually around that same number, so, it works out!!

You bring up such a good and fun point actually in just. Does Kakashi know what's happening to him? Has anyone explained to him that your teeth just naturally fall out when you're little?

One day, Kakashi goes to class and sees Obito, who's a few years older than him, bragging about how he "just lost my tooth the other day"

And Kakashi quietly goes to himself, "wow this guy is so bad at fighting, he got his tooth knocked out and he's happy about it. What a weirdo."

Obito is IGNORING the judgmental stares coming from Kakashi's direction, assuming Kakashi is just jealous of his super cool milestone of growing up

Thinking maybe Obito even comes over to try to brag about it, but Kakashi just goes "??? Why are you bragging about losing your teeth ??? God, you're such a freak"

And Obito is like, "I know ur just jealous BAKASHI. Because you are still a BABY while I am on my way to being a MAN"

And inside Kakashi, still deeply confused and weirded out, is like, 'why the fuck would I be jealous' but outloud he just glares and goes, "I've never lost any of my teeth because I never lose."

To which Obito loses his mind because he's like 9 and to a 9 year old that sounded kind of sick and how DARE Kakashi try and be cool about this

(In the background, Minato is well on his way to losing his mind trying not to laugh. Rin meanwhile is squinting and doing mental math as she tries to tell if Kakashi is joking or not)

But anyways like. Kakashi later losing his own teeth and freaking the fuck out about it. Is he sick? Is he dying? Should he go to the doctor?

Oh my god wait ok but Kakashi cornering Rin after a training session and demands she help diagnose him bc he doesn't want to go to the actual doctor or ask Sensei for help. And Kakashi admitting she's a "good med nin" and Rin is kinda going omg Kakashi conpliment,,,, life goals,,

But also like Kakashi thinks he's dying and she's SUPER flattered he thinks she can help but she's like. 10. And a med nin in training.

So she's kind of sweating like "omg what are ur symptoms, why do u think ur dying?"

And Kakashi is like my "fucking teeth are falling out !!!!!!"

And Rin is like "woah that sounds super scary and seriou— Hold on a second."

Kakashi goes as far as to take off his mask to show her, which goes to show how desperate he is rn because he'd usually never do that.

And Rin is torn between being tempted to pinch his cheek and pull at it like it's Mochi and also like. She's struggling SO hard not to laugh at this point because she knows if she does Kakashi will literally never forgive her

So Rin has to break it to Kakashi as gently as she can (and without laughing or cooing at his cute kid naivety) that don't worry, you aren't dying, this is normal

Kakashi doesn't believe her at first. But when he does he's suddenly overwhelmed by embarrassment. He will never recover. Hes so fucking glad he didn't actually go to the doctor or to sensei because at least Rin he can swear to secrecy FOREVER

Kakashi has to deal with his suddenly too big for his mouth adult fangs and keeps going to Rin to help heal the cuts they keep leaving on his lips ,,,,

Somehow Obito catches wind of this, and hears "Rin + helping with Kakashi's lips (???)" And thinks they're kissing and loses his goddamn mind in spectacular fashion.

Toddler drama....

Idk where Im really going with this, it ended up taking a life of its own

Uhhh anyways. Moving this conversation entirely:

You can copy pasted this exact concept onto Naruto for a really funny (and kind of awful) au where Naruto loses his first tooth and becomes convinced he's dying

He does actually try to go to the hospital but they try to turn him away, but when he blurts out that he's scared he's dying a particularly mean spirited doctor pretends to examine him then goes "oh no. You really are dying and have a week to live. Boohoo."

Naruto loses his fucking mind and makes a "things I want to do before I die" bucket list and then spends the next week desperatley trying to complete it bc hes convinced he's gonna die on the final day

This list includes but is not limited to:

- become Hokage

- start a family

- eat every single different kind of ramen on Ichiraku's menu

Idk how to make the first and third especially funny but like.

"Starting a family" ending up somehow leading to Naruto very aggressively trying to get literally anyone to hold his hand in a similar fashion to "Uchiha Sasuke's 10 step plan to get revenge" where Sasuke tries to get Shikamaru to marry him in his quest to "live a good life" to get revenge on Itachi, while Naruto hears Sasuke is looking for a husband and very loudly tries to get him to pick him instead

Which is actually a really fucking funny one on its own and now I'm just thinking about that instead, so I'll leave this post here

I got a little distracted, but. Thank you for ur ask !!!

[quinn-pop]

i like to think the master crown messed magolor up pretty bad. dark matter possession is very rough on the body, and wearing something that cursed…yea. that’ll do it

[goldenchocobo]

Since I'm in this fic/AU for the long haul, I thought I'd share what I'm doing for it. The top image was my first draft/drawing for this that I've already posted, but I wanted to put it here too, for context. Originally, I was going to do one chapter per year to get to what I was excited to write, but- four chapters in and I'm still on 'Year 1'. So- long haul/slow burn kinda deal. I'm still going to need to edit these chapters, but I'll probably do what most fanfic writers do and publish these chapters as they're completed; whereas the last few fics I've written, I've completed them then posted over a time span. To ease myself, I'll probably make sure I have a few buffer chapters. Or I could leave long gaps in between them. I'm not sure what to do. As for this AU; It's a kind of role-swap between Ventus and Vanitas. Xehanort thought it'd be a great idea to leave the darkness he needed in the care of someone who hated darkness, but didn't have the heart to rid himself of it. As for Ventus? I'll keep that a secret.

[halfbaked00q]

niches that I love and think could always do with more cakes in: James Bond × disability exploration.

like, the man has been through a LOT of shit and absolutely used his body hard. doesn't even have to be major major (although Vita Mortis, flotsam, jetsam you will always be famous to me). stuff like chronic pain, for example - he's got that fucked up shoulder after all [guess I went ahead and jumped the gun again]; traumatic brain injury [five years isn't so long]; some of the more, like, cognitive consequences of the ol' drill-in-brain [In good times and bad times -- love this one a LOT]; face blindness, even, like they teased in Spectre [somehow, I think there are actually more fics where *Q* has prosopagnosia than Bond lmao, despite Bond being the one to get ye old drill-to-brain supposedly to give him prosopagnosia. but we do have a tidbit of it in A Vein of Gold, and I always keep remembering Upon Remembering as a prosopagnosia fic but I guess it's not? But I feel like it's plausible for it to be- like, yes supposedly Blofeld tried to induce prosopagnosia w drill-in-brain but I still hold that brains don't just WORK like that, and also brains are amazing things with amazing abilities to adapt and compensate. maybe during the initial phases of injury and healing he does have issues with faces. but with recovery I do think it's plausible the brain could find ways to compensate and he'd regain the ability to recognize faces etc]

I also appreciate the fics that aren't specifically about this but do touch on JB × the constant struggle with bodily entropy [off the top of my head, The MI6 Tourist Guide to Vauxhall whomst I love muchly for many things but relevantly here has a part where Bond's shoulder gives him trouble and it leads to them going to a sauna lol; and of course the warmth of your doorways with its famous massage scene...]

not to say I don't enjoy the more acute/ contained injury or illness recovery fics, those are nice too. but like... the exploration of the chronic stuff is like, ooooough oh we are adding a layer of complexity to the soup now 👀

[birrdies]

dead; by birrdie 14.9k, 1 chapter (complete*)

[bacchuschucklefuck]

Riz has counted four casseroles this week alone. Five, if one goes by the method of cooking, but Yelen's scary when she's crossed, and calling her burek by its proper name is important to her, so Riz does her the courtesy and doesn't include it in his mental tally.

He holds the tupperware over his head to keep it out if the way as he takes careful steps over the piles of notes in his path. The dockman case just closed, relevant documentations handed over to relevant personnels, evidences dealt with as needed; all he has lying around now is just record of the process and traces of himself thinking through it. Unsurprisingly they still haven't invented a surface more convenient for people under five feet who like to pace to put pieces of paper on than the ground.

Actual records go into the case folder with the other documents. Anything else with at least one side still blank is going to the school kids in the block - they chew through an astounding amount of paper just learning arithmetic. The rest is for the recycling basket.

Later. It's his mandated lunch break right now.

Riz sits down in front of the corner file cabinet. In an office often overrun with papers and strings and sometimes even thumbtacks, he's never really managed to clutter up this exact square of surface like every other ones. Ever since the bottom drawer rattled for no discernible reason a day long past, his eyes have always just kinda decided to slide across the space without acknowledging it.

It's years out, now. Riz doesn't know why he thought it such a big deal anymore, back then. He wasn't scared, he doesn't think. Not anymore. Maybe just uncomfortable with the idea that certain things persist despite all efforts to change.

He opens the tupperware. Dame Carabelle's experiment greets him with enough spice in the aroma alone to knock out a small mammal. When he chopped the vegetables for this casserole he couldn't really imagine the eventual heft of it, evident even through just these few ladles' worth, maybe weighing heavier for being still warm. His folk eat more through the smell and the textures and the aftertastes than the taste itself. His folk's meal is really the cooking rather than the eating. The eating is the meal's end.

"Hey," he tells the file cabinet's bottom drawer. "Um."

It's the anniversary. Riz doesn't know the exact date of his dad's death; nobody currently alive does. He and Mom both use the date of the funeral, though as he moved out to Bastion and then got more directly involved with Interplanar he hasn't really been going to Dad's grave as much. Doesn't seem like very efficient use of his time, catching a train or borrowing a car or spending a whole spell slot on going somewhere he knows Dad isn't at. They're sorta coworkers now. They talk on and off every other week between missions. When he goes now, it's just to clean up the place, keeping the landmark tidy and respectable.

Without that work to mark the date he doesn't really know what it serves anymore. But he still remembers it. Still takes note, absently or not, when it comes around.

There's not really a good way to tell the drawer that. Riz looks for another way to start the... conversation, hopefully. The question at play, he'd guess, is why he's doing this. He's been pretty content ignoring all the rattlings and the knocks from inside and the times it sits slightly ajar without him ever opening it himself; hell, he still uses the three drawers on top of it. Space is fucking precious in Bastion.

Precious enough to finally fix this damn drawer so he gets his turn to use it? Riz asks himself. Is that what we're getting to? Then he dismisses the thought - he didn't manage to fix it the times he actually tried, let alone-- now. When he doesn't really care that much to.

That's probably a good place to start. "'s fine if you keep being in there, turns out," Riz says.

The lunch hours are quiet in the block, sleepy and bright with the brief window of sunlight that manages to break through roof overhangs and extended balconies and laundry lines and climbing vines. Riz's work isn't loud here (the loud parts happen away from his office, if everything goes right), but the fragment of early summer heat reflected in the steady warmth his meal still carries compels him to lower his voice even more. It makes the words feel intimate, in a way he's never been familiar with - if he says something he just says it. He doesn't whisper. If he gives his friends something, he gives it open-palm. He's found out, along the way, that people usually don't think of rituals and courtesies the way he does.

Small voice for a diminished monster. "You know why I think so?" Riz asks. "Because almost two decades ago you kidnapped me and almost killed me, and now you rattle a drawer in my office."

It doesn't sound as much like a taunt as Riz wanted it to; the drawer has made a lot of noises again this morning when he checked the calendar, and he was definitely annoyed at it. Now, though, facing it like this after cooking the whole morning with more grandparents and peers from the block than he can count on both hands to cater for a tenant union meeting, he thinks the annoyance has morphed. Changed shape.

It has the shades of something like pity. Riz is not prone to pity, and especially not at these kinda matters. It's slightly maddening that he coheres perfectly outside of this one spot. That he commands his spaces, except for a drawer.

He puts the tupperware onto the floor between himself and the cabinet. "I know we're aware it's the anniversary," he says at the drawer. "You do this every year. You make a ruckus every time I decide to go do my job instead of mooching off my friends' aircon, and every time I get an invitation to some stupid social thing I want to turn down, and every time one of the old people tries to introduce me to a child or a nibling, because being a bachelor over thirty is weird," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I have three fucking jobs. I love doing my fucking jobs. I'm forcing funds into infrastructures. You're never leaving, are you."

The drawer vibrates lightly. It's a very, very mild acknowledgement, considering the history of reactions Riz has gotten from this thing. Riz thinks it's emanating joyous agreement, or satisfaction.

It only sharpens the pity. Riz doesn't like that, but it's how it is. That's, ultimately, the lesson he's been taught over and over and over again, just by existing as himself, turned every which way by space after space that don't see him eye-to-eye: it's not like he'd quit living over any of it. It's not like any of it can sand off these fundamental pieces of him.

He's outgrown a lot of things, he's found out. Again, and again, and again. A childhood home, a yearly trip, a monster.

"'s probably scary for you, huh?" He asks. "Because I left."

He thinks he hears joints creak that sound like you did. Probably the way a scorned lover would say it, in a movie or a yellowback. He has no more connection to the idea than he did as a kid. Less, because it doesn't even scare him.

"That's what it is, right? That it's the anniversary, and I'll never be like Dad." He raises a knee from the floor, pulls it back closer to him. Slings an arm over it. "You love to remind me. The thing is, Dad also left. He loved Mom and he loved me, and none of us wanted it to happen, but it still did. Because love does fuckall to make anyone stay on its own."

He's long past being bitter about it. It's just the facts. Once upon a time he looked into the future and the specter of his friends' happily-ever-after casted lightless, fathomless shadow over him. Love, marriage, that kind of devotion, to a fifteen-year-old with more solved cases than friends seemed so eternal. Final.

But you can only watch your friends build up apps' worth of jilted lovers for so long before getting over it.

"You know what I learned?" Riz tells the drawer. "Love doesn't make anyone stay. Project management does."

He stands up, and picks up the tupperware of Dame Carabelle's casserole, that he helped make, that he helped share with a block's worth of neighbors and members of a community he's at home with, and goes sit at his desk to eat. "Last chance to get any," he drops an offer over his shoulder as he walks away.

He doesn't eat all of his share in one go. What he's spared he leaves on the desk when going outside for a smoke break. Baron looks the exact same as when he saw them last, when he catches a glimpse; they haven't grown at all. They aren't there when he comes back inside, but the leftover has gone days-old cold, like someone's sucked the future out of it.

[youruinedmylifebynotbeingreal]

looooong sorvus hc:

when soren decides to propose to corvus, he goes around to every. single. person that he can to ask for corvus’ hand in marriage.

he goes to corvus’ parents, opeli, terry, gren, amaya and janai, callum, rayla and ezran. he’d have summoned the pentarchy to ask them for permission to ask the most incredible person in the world to be his husband if ezran and opeli didn’t forbid him

soren keeps insisting that they test him too. he won’t leave them alone until they come up with a challenge/task that he can do to earn their favor

amaya and janai have him fight them both at the same time (he loses but the effort was enough to ‘earn’ their support)

gren has soren bake corvus’ favorite cookies (they’re passable and a good engagement gift)

terry has soren build a rare and beautiful xadian bouquet of flowers (also for the proposal)

opeli orders soren to memorize a religious poem about love and devotion (he’s stuttering but it makes opeli cry when she hears him)

corvus’ parents have him race their family dog to the edge of their property and back (he wins! but only because he gave the dog some treats)

callum and rayla get soren to do some manual labor for renovations in their wing of the castle (which he was doing anyway so they didn’t feel too bad about the “trial”

ezran challenges soren to request a week off from guard duty (it’s the hardest trial of them all)

in return for his effort, everyone organises a surprise engagement party for the two of them after corvus says yes

.

[littlecrow4]

Sometimes I’m convinced Alex has read BillFord fics cause there are certain things that ALOT of 2016 BillFord fics have that also appeared in The Book of Bill

He was waiting for the right moment

[blu3haw4]

Hi! Hello, you guys remember I said I had an extended shot for Clexmas free day that was basically done? That I told you to forget about when I posted the little oneshots? That I thought I would be able to write before the year was over? 😅 Well it's here! After days and days of neglecting it and then hours of writing and editing and writing some more and then... much more than I originally planned.

A continuation of my Clextober contribution The Halloween Party

For Clexmas 2024, Day 7: Free day (already on AO3)

and a little bonus only for tumblr

The Christmas Party(es)

“Gala? Define gala?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll pick your dress”

“You will absolutely not pick my dress, Clarke!” Lexa all but stumped on her feet, standing in Clarke’s living room as the blonde lay on her couch.

“Why not? Aren’t there more important things you should worry about?”

And she might have a point, these past two months have been full of gathering information on the hunters and possible enemy creatures -they’ve also been full of making out, but they don’t talk about that- and tonight it might all come together. They have a few leads on the hunters’ plan and tonight might be the chance to crack exactly how much they know about the wolves and if they’re getting help from the creatures they suspect.

“Look there’s a lot of names and faces you should at least know of. Did you read the subjects these people like to talk about that I sent you?” Clarke pressed, still very casually laying on her couch.

Because that was the key point of this particular party, it wasn’t just about the hunters, it was about the people who founded them, knowingly or not. The people that are throwing this Christmas gala aren’t all hunters, and they were the people Clarke thought they should worry about the most.

“I- didn’t, I mean yeah, I looked them over-”

“You need to know what they’ll be talking about; we’re not going to get anywhere near the information you want if they clock the fact that you’re not one of them. This is a fancy, glamorous Christmas themed party. An excuse to look hot and show off their money, really” Clarke rolled her eyes dramatically “If we don’t look and act the part, they’ll kick us out in not time”

Lexa sighed, Clarke had a point- “So… you worry about the character details, and I will worry about us dressing the part”

“Clarke-”

“Our outfits will match, and they’ll be bulletproof!” Clarke grinned, sitting up with excitement.

“Bulletproof?” Lexa yelped “We’re planning for that type of night?” she asked -ignoring the matching thing- concerned… only to have Clarke’s mood immediately change.

“No” she huffed “but we didn’t think Halloween was going to be one of those night either and yet…” Clarke looked up with raised eyebrows and pursed lips, still bitter about outcome of that night.

And okay, that was fair.

That night hadn’t ended in any of the ways Lexa had expected.

After telling Clarke not to follow -mostly so she wouldn’t have to face the consequences of their make out. Too drunk and too shaken to even consider what to say and how processes the argument between her head and her heart… and her pussy, a little, if she was honest- she ran to the warning howls of her people.

It hadn’t been an emergency, but she had decided to go anyways because Indra’s team had been ambushed by hunters. They had had encounters with them before, but mostly because they had been purposely sniffing around their business. This time, the hunters had been the ones to track them down.

When Lexa arrived, both Anya and Indra’s teams were fighting a big group of hunters in between alleys, and she joined in even though she knew they had it under control. The ringing of their silenced shotguns had stopped for a few minutes while most hunters were forced into hand-to-hand combat.

Then, one singular shot rang out followed by a loud curse.

“What. The Fuck?!"

Lexa had turned to look just in time to see Clarke grabbing the wrist of the hunter who shot her as a second shot ran out, said bullet hitting the wall beside them. There was a bullet hole in the back of her dress with a stain of blood dripping from the closed wound where the bullet had clearly made it out.

“You just ruined my fucking dress!” was the anticlimactic sentence that left Clarke’s mouth before she lashed out cracking a few of the hunter’s bones and throwing him away.

She launched herself to the other hunters and got shot in the stomach before she could take the remaining three out.

“Fucking… Fuckers!” She shouted, breathing a little heavy and clearly -at least to Lexa- drunk “I loved this dress, you bitch!” she scowled kicking a dead hunter to the other side of the alley.

Whit a look, Lexa sent both teams away and didn’t care that Anya and Indra both remained when she approached Clarke. With a million things in her head, there was really nothing she could do when the words out of her mouth were “I told you not to follow”

The huff Clarke let out felt like a slap in the face, she turned sharply to look at her with a deep frown “I wasn’t. I was literally on my way home, when I got fucking shot!” She exasperated, and didn’t bother to avoid her shoulder when she walked past her “You’re welcome, by the way” she huffed before jumping all the way up to her building’s roof top.

Because of course the fight happened right beside her place.

So okay, it was cool that their dresses were bulletproof. What was probably not okay was Clarke picking the type of dress Lexa would wear.

“Tik-tak, Heda”

“Okay fine! I’ll read about these people, you pick my dress, but Clarke-” She warned her, pointing at her with a look stopping the vampire’s excitement “Have them ready two days before”

“What?  Why?”

“So I can make sure you picked something appropriate or find something else” Lexa huffed as she started to walk out the door.

“Of course it’s going to be appropriate! What makes you think I would pick something inappropriate?” Clarke asked with a smirk.

Lexa turned around and they shared a look, one that ran out all the memories they’ve shared these past two months, one that showed how easy it would be to stop pretending like none of it happened and let loose.

After Halloween they didn’t contact each other for a week, Lexa making herself busy gathering and connecting the information they had, and Clarke… well, living her life as far as Lexa could tell. Anya kept her updated without Lexa asking, she didn’t follow her, but Clarke kept showing up when Anya and her team were on their vigilante’s adventures as she had been since before Halloween.

When they finally saw each other again they just jumped straight to business mode, with Lexa filling Clarke in on the theories she had, and Clarke helping her plan meetings with specific creatures she thought could or would help.

They went out five times in two weeks.

At the end of the first night, they cleared the air with a few jokes about the fight; it had clearly been a coincidence. Jokes about the fight, though, turned to jokes about the night, which turned into flirting and easily, naturally, turned into them kissing.

It was intoxicating, addictive. Lexa kept trying to avoid it, or so she told herself as each night she continued to proposedly, actively push for it to happen.

And throughout-fully enjoy it.

They never talked about it, but just as each night they got bolder and bolder, each next time Clarke looked more and more sure that they should mention it. If only to make sure it keeps happening…

Or maybe Lexa was projecting, but it was easier to pretend like she was just giving in to what Clarke wanted than to admit to herself how much she craved it.

So once again, she shut it down.

“Two days earlier Clarke!” she called before closing the door.

“Ugh. Fine”

-

The dress was fine, with a little more cleavage than Lexa would’ve liked -she would reconsider later-, but perfectly appropriate. The silky cloth bunching around her hips made her feel good and the way the open back teased the end off her tattoo was just about everything she wanted Clarke to focus on. The color also, matched perfectly to Clarke’s jumpsuit, which was… way more appropriate that Lexa anticipated.

Somehow that made it so much worse for her.

Because she prepared for long milky legs, for too short skirt and a teas of her ass, she prepared for cleavage and a perfectly shaped necklace falling in between, she didn’t prepare for Clarke’s arms to be the most skin showed, for the power she extruded with her hands on her pokes and the sexy show of her clavicles on top of the flat line of her jumpsuit’s collar that fell, perfectly covering the actual size of her boobs. She prepared to resist the urge to stare at Clarke’s body, not her face.

Because, damn it, her face.

Clarke absolutely noticed, all too content to stare at Lexa’s cleavage to ‘make it even’ and make a show of speaking oh so close to her face to ‘cover the staring’  -“you can know, but they can’t” she said with a smirk and a wink- it was ridiculous and way too distracting but somehow… it was working to their favor.

Each conversation they took part on moved them closer to the people they needed, and it all felt effortless, they laughed at the most classist comments and Lexa had to cover her reaction each time Clarke threw one of her own like second nature with that light drop of sarcasm underneath. They stared at each other way too much and hushed little jokes about how full of themselves these people were. They flirted a lot too; it was a little ridiculous how little of their sentences lacked flirt honestly, but it was fun, and it was working and Lexa felt good.

Until she didn’t.

Moving closer to the people they needed meant she started to recognize the faces she had studied. And then some. There were a bunch of hunters she spied on from afar on their missions, and many she easily remembers from the warehouse, all mingling with the wealthy people who founded them. Eyes were always on her since they walked in, and now she started questioning if it was because they recognized her more than because of how hot they both looked.

Her heartbeat picked up and her breath heaved as she tried her best to discretely check her surroundings. Lexa mindlessly started walking into a more secluded area of the gallery they were at, not caring or noticing if Clarke followed.

Her vision started clouding and her hearing got randomly specific, picking up on sentences and then jumping to another person, another heartbeat, another click of heels. Her smell wasn't helping either, only making her overwhelmed- and where the fuck was the exit!

Unable to recognize or care where she was going in her haste to get out, she failed to realize she was walking into the corridors of the gallery instead of outside. Her ears and nose picking up the scent of a guard far too late, and her feet not listening, never stopping, but somehow, she did.

In two blinks her back was against the wall and the only thing all her senses could notice was Clarke. All over her, body pressed fully into hers, a hand interwinding with hers and the other in her hair, her lips on hers, nose pressing to her cheek, Clarke’s hip in her hand.

It was grounding, and all the same earth-shattering. Her breath caught and she caught Clarke’s tongue with her lips, her body molded to her instinctively, one hand squeezed Clarke’s and the other pulled at her hips to keep her close.

It didn’t feel like a loss when Clarke’s lips left hers. It took Lexa a second to blink back into reality and realized Clarke had pulled her face away, looking to the side and talking-

“Yes, sir, we’ll be right out” The vampire smiled apologetically at the guard and used her hold on Lexa to pull her away from the wall and down the corridor back to the main room.

Some of the panic came back but was soothed by the soft caressing of Clarke’s hands on the back of hers and the comforting press of the other over the small of her back. In no time they were out on a huge balcony with stairs down into the giant flower yard and Lexa came back to her senses enough to let go of Clarke’s hand, step away from her and lean over the railing.

Lexa could tell Clarke was giving her time to breathe it out, to calm her heart and mind.

“Am I… the only one who knows?” Clarke asks eventually, and Lexa doesn’t answer right away.

She looks at her, trying to play dumb, but Clarke just tilts her head and gives Lexa a soft look, gives her time to accept it.

So, Lexa nods. Small and tired and she looks down and away.

Clarke gets closer to her “We should go”

“We can’t” Lexa immediately raises her eyes “The intel-“

“We can get it another time. You shouldn’t be here”

“I’ll be fine. I- I just needed a minute-“

“Lexa. You can’t be here” Clarke says grabbing her chin softly, Lexa thinks it might be pity. But under deeper examination there’s nothing but understanding in those eyes.

Lexa’s ready to argue still, but Clarke starts talking again “What you went through was traumatizing, okay? I bet you’re telling yourself you’re a big bad wolf and that you’ve been hurt thousands of times before and that you can handle it. But you freaking out like this? Instinctively running away and losing control of your senses? You have PTSD. And you shouldn’t have to face the people who caused it before you’re ready. I won’t let you; you deserve time to heal from it… Okay?”

Lexa blinks once, twice, she can’t be sure, but the millisecond Clarke’s eyes change tell her that her own might’ve gotten a little sparkle right before her hands tangled in Clarke’s hair to kiss her, hard and deep, and so good. Clarke loses her balance for a second before recovering and holding onto Lexa for dear life.

It’s only one kiss, it lasts a full minute but it’s only one. Lexa parts with a sigh and Clarke licks her lips, smiling dopily.

“Are we really gonna continue not talking about this?” she whispers, and Lexa can’t believe how easily Clarke gets silly.

“I think I’ve made it clear that it is not about the job. What else do you want to talk about?” She replies after a beat. And Clarke stares at her like she wants to say something, like she would like to talk about it more, instead she rejoins their lips softly.

She moves smoothly and presses Lexa against the railing in the balcony as they continue to make out. Lexa noticed the high -highest- heels Clarke picked for herself, realized she had hopes of getting to be taller, or at least the same height as Lexa tonight, but she should’ve known the she-wolf would go all out as well.

They hear people making their way over the balcony, and they maybe push their luck a little when they only separate right as the people are turning the corner. They smile at each other and bite down on their lips to suppress the urge to kiss. They walk away as casually as they can while practically glued to each other.

-

A couple of days later Clarke texts Lexa telling her there’s a corporate party that weekend, she tells her it’s way more casual than the gala and they talk all about their outfits. Lexa arrives at Clarke’s that Saturday in her dark green slick blouse and a black flannel skirt to find Clarke in a mouthwatering dark green long sleeve velvet dress much shorter than Clarke had mentioned, and with much more cleavage.

“Hey! You look great! We should go, I might’ve misread the invite, and we might be a little late”

“What? What about the plan, you didn’t tell me what we have to do, who will be there, what’s the-“

“Oh right, yeah. Uhm, no plan. Just… be you… well, human you”

“But the… intel?”

“It’s… well-” Clarke sighs and Lexa frowns at her, she’s going to ask again when Clarke pulls her into her apartment “You see that folder over there?” She points at her kitchen counter “That’s all and more information than we would’ve gotten last weekend…”

Lexa blinks a few times, not sure what to make of the information and how to feel about it, at her silence Clarke continues “I-Uhm, got it this week and it will be there when we get back… tonight is my studio’s corporate party, and it’s just… for fun” She shrugs, and Lexa can’t tell if she’s nervous or just not used to been honest and serious at the same time.

Lexa doesn’t move, looking between the folder on the kitchen counter and a very sexy looking Clarke. Since she said casual but classy, Lexa opted for knee high boots to compliment her outfit, while Clarke wore the same high heels from the formal gala meaning Lexa was eye level with… a wonderful view.

“You …? You” Lexa sighs a laugh in disbelief, all Clarke does is smile at her and fo willingly when Lexa leans up and pulls her down for a kiss.

They melt into it for the short time it last and Lexa looks at Clarke yearningly when they part, not knowing what to say or how to thank her. Clarke seems to get it though, or wants to dismiss it, because she pecks her lips one more time and slide her hands into hers.

“Ready to go? I wasn’t lying when I said we might be late” she says with a wink.

She’s so fucked.

-

The party was so much fun. Clarke gave Lexa a bottle of the same elixir they drank at the Halloween party so they could get drunk and they drank too much wine and champagne and ate every little appetizer offered to them. Lexa met Clarke’s work friends -though she refused to refer to them as anything but colleagues- Bellamy and Wells, as well as Clarke’s boss Abigail; a woman that reminds Lexa of Indra in many ways, including the warm look in her eyes under the stoic façade.

Lexa gets to learn a lot about Clarke’s life here, she learns that Clarke Griffin is a 27 going on 28 years old graphic designer who works from home and only shows up at the office for important meetings or specific deadlines. She’s nice to everyone but almost never goes out, she’s still known for holding her booze and killing it at darts. She’s closer to Bellamy and Wells because they are the only people beside their boss that spend most of their time away from the office, they are down to earth, and Clarke swears they’ve hooked up but she can’t prove it.

They spend most of the time just talking quietly to each other. It’s easy to smile more and lean into Clarke. To touch her hand and caress her arms, to soak in the warmth of Clarke’s hands on her hips and back.

To comfortably slide her glace sideways and be met with Clarke’s cleavage.

A much better view than the one from the top of the five stories building. That wasn’t anything spectacular, but the ambiance given to the rooftop with little fairy lights and a few benches around the edge made it look cozy despite the breeze. Made it even easier to get handsy with Clarke while they make out in one of the benches after Clarke guided Lexa up the emergency stairs, a few hours into the party declaring they were done mingling.

They part their lips eventually because even though Clarke doesn’t need to breath Lexa does. She heaves a breath and tries not to be embarrassed about it as they share a look, she’s not very classy straddling Clarke as she lays on her back. Her skirt is up too high as she leans on her elbows on either side of Clarke’s head. Her breathing shouldn’t be an issue, honestly. Their mouths are inches apart, but Lexa doesn’t let Clarke lean up as she looks at her eyes with a tilt of her head.

“What’s so interesting?”

“Your eyes... are shifting” Lexa realizes “Black and blue”

“Must be that I’m thirsty” Clarke winks with an overly confident smirk.

“They were red at the gala” Lexa deflects “After we made out” she smirks and Clarke full on grins with another wink.

“Again. Thirst”

“What's the difference?”

Clarke huffs with a pout after trying to lean up for a kiss again and getting a question instead “I hope you know I was having much more fun when we were kissing”

“Well miss, you ask a lot of questions about werewolf and answer none about vampires, so indulge me for once”

With another huff and a slight eye roll Clarke starts taking “you know the black is hunger. Red is... similar, is hunger while there's blood in my system”

“So, you haven't fed?”

“Not... that recently”

“Shouldn't you?”

“I’m fine. If they shift when I kiss you what do you think that means?”

Lexa smirks, but deflects again “so you feel it? When they shift?”

“Can you?” Clarke deflects as well, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yeah” Lexa answers right away, shifting her eyes to red, her signature alpha color “just like I can feel my fangs and... every other part of shifting”

Clarke hums and frows slightly “I can't... mostly. I know they go black when I get my fangs out and I can... feel? Like they might be black when I'm too thirsty. And I can will them to red. I do feel that one... it's almost like they are actually filling with blood.”

“Whoa... that's… insane”

“You know what's insane?” And she leans up to kiss her. Lexa sighs a giggle into her mouth and feels Clarke smirk into the kiss as well.

“We should get you something to eat” Lexa hushes between kisses.

“I’m fine right here”

“We could go and come back. Kill a bad guy and be back”

“Kill? In these outfits?!” Clarke yelps pulling back from the kiss “Are you insane? I ain't spilling on this dress”

Lexa huffs a little laugh and tries again “Well drink from some-...” only to stop, not wanting to finish that sentence, to suggest Clarke go out to make out with someone else.

“I shouldn't. I could accidentally kill 'em” Clarke shrugs and Lexa tilts her head once again, confused… Only to have Clarke chuckle.

“I need to tell you how much of a puppy you look when you do that”

It’s an instant reaction at the name, to fang out, shift her eyes and growl out “don't call me that”

Clarke doesn’t flinch, because of course she doesn’t. With Lexa still lowly growling Clarke pecks her lips “Sorry” and kisses her again “I won’t-” but this time Lexa sits up when Clarke leans a third time.

She huffs and gets comfortable on Clarke’s pelvis “What did you mean?” She asks, because she won’t let Clarke get away with it after she -unknowingly- insulted her. Now matter how outstandingly beautiful she looked laying under her “Accidentally, how?”

“You just don't let thing go do ya?”

“You just can't give a straight answer, can you?”

“Can't do much straight” Clarke grins with a way-over-the-top wink.

Lexa resist, tries her best at containing a smile, cover her giggle with a huff and an eye roll. She knows Clarke can see right through but nevertheless, it works. Clarke sighs and rolls her eyes as hard as she can.

“I told you the black eyes are hunger but... I like to think of it more as instinct. And blue eyes are... consciousness. Instinct and consciousness fight all the time. Hunger triggers instinct, instinct takes over consciousness. Just from hunger my eyes turn black, they do when I scent blood. Imagine how it goes when I taste it” Clarke shrugs casually, and Lexa can’t help but like it “told you I can't really feel when they're shifting, but I can tell instinct is trying to take over”

Lexa hums, ignoring the relief of knowing Clarke won't be kissing other people... tonight at least “so it is trying to take over now” she says, trying to quiet her mind.

Clarke sighs again, roll her eyes pointedly at her and Lexa notices they’re blue “yeah” she leans up on her elbows “but it's manageable, no one's bleeding out” She raises her eyebrows with a tilt of her as she gets closer to her face “Also I have bags of blood at home” she winks with a little smirk.

“Oh so we still have time” Lexa smirks too not giving into the kiss yet.

“Preferably to continue the kissing” Clarke groans, pulls at her by the hips and connects their lips. Lexa nods giggling into the kiss, and interweaving her hands in Clarke's hair to deepen the kiss.

*

Bonus. Clarke's PoV (not on ao3)

The kiss is full of tongue and teeth, deep and dirty, Clarke’s hands grabs at Lexa to pull her close, nuzzle her nose with her when Lexa pulls back to take a breath and dives right back into it when Lexa captures her lips again. It’s a well know dance they do, have been doing for the past two months, Lexa no longer hiss when her tongue graces Clarke’s fangs, and she lets Clarke nib on her lower lip, even pouting it out for her.

Is totally accidental when on a particular hard kiss, Clarke nibs a little too hard tearing Lexa’s skin and making her bleed a little. Lexa hisses and pulls away quickly, licks her lip and the wound is already closed. Clarke zeros in on Lexa’s mouth, her own mouth still parted until Lexa kisses her again, clearly having moved on.

Clarke answers the kiss on instinct, grabbing at Lexa more firmly and pulling her close, even closer, impossibly closer. Because she got a taste, a taste of the blood she scented however many months ago and ruined her for worse; made her unable to follow a patter of feeding and unable to satiate from any blood that wasn’t Lexa’s.

She knew it couldn’t be just that she was a wolf, she knew it couldn’t be about her been an alpha, but hell desperation drove her places and she tried both, mind controlling both wolfs to forget about it after and ending up equally as unsatisfied as with any human.

Lexa parts with a heavy breath, holding Clarke’s head and keeping her from chasing. But doesn’t she try, angles for her jaw and only blinks back to reality when Lexa pulls at her hair -and so what if that turned her on?-

‘I need to feed’ she thinks, still staring at Lexa’s lips, processing the addictiveness of Lexa’s blood, just a drop and it was intoxicating. She blinks again, realizing Lexa isn’t diving back like before. She licks her lips and looks up to see Lexa watching her.

Is it possible to smirk only with your eyes?

“Do you need to go home?” She asks, sweetly because of course she thinks she knows what she’s doing.

Lexa never seemed to think Clarke could be a danger to her. Lexa trusted her from before she got proof that she was right, and then settled for one singular proof without any more information. Even if Clarke literally yelled at her that she was wrong.

How terrible it was that she is just as addictive as her blood.

“Clarke?”

And she’s been staring, not even at her mouth, just her eyes, her deep red eyes- “Why red?”

“Because yours are black” Lexa doesn't miss a beat.

And okay, there has been many, many times through her -long, long, long, long ass- life where Clarke has been thankful for been a vampire. Tonight, she's thankful that she can't blush, nor lose her breath or have her heart miss a beat. Because all of those would be dead give aways she does not need Lexa knowing about.

“I told you I can’t help it” She tries with a frown, needing Lexa to shift her eyes back to green, because red… red is new, red is blood, red is not something she’s prepared for, red is something she can't have, red should be forbidden. Green? Green is known, green is good, is fun drunk nights, and long talks and smiles. Green is innocent making out -with wandering hands but still- green is smirks and blushed cheeks. And green- is back.

“Better?” Clarke only nods “Yours are still black so I’m going to guess you do need to go home”

“That would be a good idea. Yep.” She nods again, standing up with Lexa still in her lap and enjoying the missed beat of Lexa’s heart before she puts her down.

They walk back down hand in hand ‘to make sure you won’t run away’ Lexa says and Clarke is too content to call out her lie.

Lexa walks her home and kisses her goodbye at the entrance of her building. She’s still thinking about it when she enters her apartment and heads straight for the fridge. She’s happily surprised to realize she’s only thinking about Lexa and her kisses and not her blood, nevertheless, she dries out all five of the bags she has in storage.

The next day, Clarke wakes up from a magic induced sleep to a dead body in her kitchen. Lexa isn't there, neither is the folder from the night before, just an open window and a note.

Thanks for last night

♡.

[berriesandcherry]

HC about Maegor and his relationship with his wives

Ceryse

Maegor respected Ceryse’s intelligence but didn’t care for her as a person, and he definitely didn’t love her. I don’t think she loved him either, but she went back to him out of pride rather than real affection or ambition. It was about keeping her dignity, which is something I would like to explore.

After Maegor’s head injury, I think he directed much of his anger and violence toward Ceryse. She became a target because she reminded him of the marriage he was forced into by his brother and father. To Maegor, she symbolized everything he hated about being controlled.

Alys

Before his injury, Alys was probably the only person Maegor truly loved. He admired her bravery and her determination to escape Harrenhal, and I think he cared about her feelings. After the injury, though, I think she noticed the change in him more than anyone else.

His violence was aimed at others, like Ceryse, but not at Alys at first. Even so, I imagine she put some distance between them and leaned on Tyanna for support. Tyanna likely took advantage of this, working slowly to push Alys and Maegor apart. Eventually, in his paranoia and madness, Maegor allowed Alys to be tortured. By then, he had stopped loving her. He confused possession and obsession with love, which led to the death of the only person who ever truly cared for him.

As for Alys, I think she held onto the belief that somewhere inside, Maegor was still the gallant prince she had fallen for. That makes her fate even more tragic as she liver and died as an idealistic woman.

Tyanna

Tyanna and Maegor were never in love. He let her get close because Alys liked her at first, and later because he trusted her magical skills and saw them as useful. Tyanna, however, only cared about gaining power. She was a true villain, loyal only to herself, much like Maegor.

Tyanna likely worked hard to become Maegor’s closest advisor, manipulating him into trusting her. She probably betrayed Alys to get closer to him, only to be killed and discarded when she was no longer useful. Tyanna’s story is tied to Alys’s, as Alys was the one who saw potential in her and gave her a chance. I would argue u can talk about Alys/Tyanna more than with her with Maegor.

Part 2

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

What if Solas only woke up cause of the Eluvian in Origins shattering? What if this weakened the prison he put the gods in which led to him awakening when he sensed it?

This like means Mahariel is canon. And like they made it their canon! Mahariel causes the break of the Eluvian which leads to the veil wearing which leads to Solas awakening. While he wakes he travels to try and see the world. During this time DA2 begins.

While DA2 leads to Inquisiton, Solas decides he wants to put the world back which leads to Coryphus causing the Breach.

Then it leads to Veilguard.

That broken mirror is what caused all the games.

[spiderin-space]

Yeehaw‼️

[castlebyersafterdark]

mike staying at will's, which is always easier than will staying at mike's these days, less parental judgement. will has a shower and comes back in a long t shirt and socks, mike pulling his t shirt up accidentally when wrapping his arms around him to find nothing underneath for the very first time, and getting heart palpitations. trying to sneak a finger down between his cheeks in drooling awe but will stopping him with a cheeky wag of the finger. 'wash your hands first'. fresh-out-the-shower-will is a stickler and something of a cleanliness snob! mike dives to the bathroom embarrassingly quickly, he hasn't even dried his hands properly when he comes back and will giggles.

then the time mike decides to try the same thing, feeling shyer as he often does about his bare long legs, and the t shirt doesn't really come down far enough for it to work so he just wears a tight pair of briefs instead (considers wearing a pair of will's and blushes too hard at the thought), and steps into the bedroom, and will is already tucked up looking so cosy but when he sees mike sort of standing there looking bashful, he peels back the covers and trails over to him in a trance and just jumps on him.

😵‍💫❤️😵‍💫❤️😵‍💫❤️

[kiyomitakada]

Maybe, Mello considers, this was a bad idea.

Not the leaving — obviously he had to leave Wammy's house someday — but. Hm. Maybe he ought to have packed more. Maybe he should have stolen a larger backpack. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

It's not like he can go back, though. That would be admitting defeat. Mello can't admit defeat. He's not sure it's normal, the way he feels when he loses at things. It doesn't bother the other kids the way it does him; it's like water off a duck's back for Matt, he knows that much. When Mello loses it hurts worse than being stabbed.

Which is good. It's a gift, honestly. Everyone knows you need drive to win, right?

He stares up at the ceiling. Mold, mildew. Wammy kids are taught first of all to question their assumptions. They catch enough murderers that they know most of 'em don't hang around in abandoned buildings. Still, "vacant hotel parking lot" is not the most glamorous place Mello has ever lived.

He glances at his watch.

Damn it. Five seconds past midnight. He didn't catch the moment the night turned over.

"Happy fucking birthday to me," he mutters to himself. He's fifteen as of… he checks again… almost a minute ago, and he's a runaway, which means he can swear now. That's one thing he's got Near beat in.

The thought makes him smile a little. He sits up and shouts, "Happy FUCKING birthday to me!"

His voice echoes back to him, faint and lost and more childlike than he wants it to be.

Mello waits. No one comes. He lies back down.

It's good that he left. He's proud of himself. He's practically an adult and he can make his own choices. He doesn't have any regrets. From his completely objective point of view, this is the best birthday Mello has ever had.

He closes his eyes, and dreams of nothing at all.

[girlsn0t]

sunlight in the temple of aphrodite- h/ades + e/pic snz, a/pollo and a/phrodite

@stargazersnz and i have become deranged about a/pollo. please enjoy this absurdly flowery fic about a/phrodite, snzfucker and messfucker extraordinaire, looking after an ailing a/pollo. not actually this much snz in this one but don't worry, there Will Be More.

sunlight in the temple of aphrodite- aphrodite takes care of an ailing apollo and muses upon how undeniably beautiful he is while sick.

contains: mess, nonsexual nudity but definitely implied sexual thoughts from aphrodite, inducing someone while they sleep (consent established off-screen and pre-fic; further elaboration in tags).

Aphrodite’s palace upon Olympus is beautiful even by the standards of the heavens themselves. Of course, it could not be anything but beautiful, for Love herself resides within it. The palace is not too unlike her temples in Corinth and Kythira; the building is composed of carved white marble and gold, offset by seastone and burnished bronze. All manner of ever-blooming flora surround it, and birds of all varieties pay pilgrimage to her gardens. Doors and windows are covered only by sheets of sheer, gauzy fabric, further adorned by windchimes of seashells and uncut gemstones. 

The interior, of course, is full of that which Aphrodite treasures. Trinkets from her lovers, busts in her likeness, little perches for doves. Everything inside is bright, as if doused in perpetual sunlight, and it always smells of crocus and hyacinth. There is no place Aphrodite would rather resides with that which she adores.

Perhaps most adored of all, right now, is the fellow god resting upon her bosom. 

Her dearest songbird, Apollo, lies beside her with his head resting upon her chest and one muscular arm resting limp across her midsection. His knee just barely presses against the soft curve of her inner thigh. Sheets of fine silk and warm downy feathers has been strewn to either side of the bed, and its two occupants are entirely nude. The warm weather, along with Apollo’s fever, have made bedding unnecessary for now.

The poor thing has been resting for some time, albeit a bit fitfully. Artemis had practically dumped him at Aphrodite’s door, claiming she could no longer stand his whining and dramatics. And of course, Aphrodite had jumped on the opportunity to care for her ailing songbird. 

It had been no struggle at all to coax Apollo into bed for a much-needed nap, leaving Aphrodite free to admire his beauty. Golden afternoon light emphasizes the rich bronze tone of his skin. Well-trained muscles adorn his arms and back. Soft locks of hair the same color as sunlight spill over his shoulders and through Aphrodite’s fingers as she gently runs her fingernails over his scalp, again and again, soothing the poor thing whenever he shivers in his sleep. His entire body radiates sickly heat, and a deep flush colors his cheeks and nose. Oh, his poor, beautiful nose…

Aphrodite could admire Apollo’s nose all day. It is perfectly suited for his face, straight and elegant. A perfect balance of soft, androgynous beauty and sharp, knowing angles. Presently that lovely nose is red and raw at the nostrils, warmer than the rest of him where it presses, just barely, against Aphrodite’s clavicle. 

A dreadful cold has taken up residence inside that perfect nose. Apollo had been sniffling from the moment he arrived, and congestion altered the harmony of his voice when he spoke. He would frequently wipe at the appendage with a silk handkerchief. And, of course, he was sneezing. Quite frequently.

It is a melody that Aphrodite will simply never tire of hearing! Watching the swell of his defined chest and the sudden hazy, needy expression that would overtake his handsome face- it was a performance unmatched by anything the Muses or poets could create. Apollo’s sneezes always had the soft yet pronounced quality of a hymn, melodic and lovely and desperate in ways that made Aphrodite’s heart flutter. This is emphasized further by how shy the poor songbird is about being ill. It is unbecoming, he says, for a god of plagues to be brought low by his own element; for the sun to not shine as brightly, for notes to fall flat. 

Utter foolishness, Aphrodite thinks. There is nothing so beautiful and perfect as when Apollo gives in. 

“Nhhh…”

Aphrodite is torn from her musings by a soft, congested whimper from Apollo. He’s still asleep, but a crease has formed between his brows, and his nostrils flare and twitch. 

“Poor thing,” Aphrodite hums as she runs her fingers through his hair again, voice low and tender. “You must be so itchy.”

As if to agree, Apollo twists a bit in his sleep, instinctively rubbing the tip of his nose against Aphrodite’s bare collarbone. Sudden warmth races up and down her body, yet she remains perfectly still, save for the hand playing with Apollo’s sunny locks. 

“ihhh….hh!” A note of desperation accompanies the next whine. Apollo shifts again, and Aphrodite admires every new angle she witnesses. The faintest glimmer of wetness shines at the base of his nostrils, which crease and twitch once more. His lips, full and fever-warm, part just slightly as his breath hitches. 

Apollo’s whole face becomes a stage for unresolved nasal torment, and it is a beautiful performance.

Aphrodite knows she ought to leave Apollo be, but how can she, with such neediness and desperation literally laying atop her? The idea of letting this tickle crescendo naturally is indeed pleasant, but Aphrodite has never been one for patience. Apollo needs relief from that awful itch, and he certainly won’t find it without some help. 

She takes a piece of her own hair between her fingers and guides the end of it to Apollo’s beautiful, cold-ridden nose. Delicately, Aphrodite brushes her hair under Apollo’s nostrils. His nose immediately scrunches in response from even that faint brush, and Aphrodite has to hold back a fond chuckle. Apollo is typically the very picture of poise and elegance, and there is something quite wonderful about watching him come undone like this.

Aphrodite can see a drowsy trickle of snot beginning to leak from one reddened nostril. Her poor songbird must be so terribly congested and itchy…all the better to sneeze all that mess out, then. 

Again Aphrodite sweeps her hair beneath Apollo’s nostrils, this time with more speed and pressure. The god’s breath hitches, brow creasing and expression becoming hazy. The tickle is undoubtedly mounting even as he slumbers, but it will take more than just a tickle to draw it out completely. With traces of his snot making the ends of her hair clumped and stiff, Aphrodite gently traces the outline of one flaring nostril before slipping the strand in.

The reaction is instantaneous. Gorgeous, melodic hitches pour from Apollo with increased intensity as Aphrodite tickles the sensitive, inflamed lining of his nose. 

Normally he isn’t so easy to induce while ill, but his body is desperate to expel this irritant. Apollo’s shoulders quiver and his expression becomes almost pleading as Aphrodite tickles his nose. She swirls the strand of hair about until one particular pass makes his whines pitch upwards, and she focuses her attention there until Apollo finally erupts with a set of sneezes.

“Ihh’HHTSHhh’uue!” That perfect nose finally achieves relief. Startled into wakefulness, Apollo’s entire body moves with the sneeze, pressing against Aphrodite, head bowing forward gracefully. A generous amount of mess splatters across her breasts, and a heavy, gleaming cord of snot connects his nose with the strand of hair she had used to induce him. “-hhhah! Ahh-hhAH— HHIH-!”Another symphonic swell of hitching. Now conscious and fully surrendered to the sensation, Apollo’s head tips back a bit as he builds up, giving her a front-seat ticket to the performance. His gorgeous face crumples once more, every muscle and bit of breath giving into this undeniable urge. “IHHH’TSHH’hiew! hhh-hh’HIH’PSH’hue!”

More snot sprays across Aphrodite’s bare skin. Apollo coughs a bit, dazed and breathless in the aftermath of that dazzling display. Aphrodite herself feels a bit lightheaded, heart dancing in her chest and warmth stirring within her.

“Bless you, little songbird. My, what a lovely gift to wake up to, those gorgeous sneezes of yours,” Aphrodite praises, voice flush with genuine affection. She brings a single delicate finger to Apollo’s nose and wipes it beneath his leaking nostrils.

“Nhh…lovely for you, perhaps,” Apollo rasps, melodic voice thick with congestion. He winces a bit at the mess he’s made over Aphrodite, and moves to sit up- but she keeps an arm around his shoulders to dissuade him. 

“Here, let me…”

Aphrodite plucks a silk handkerchief from thin air and tenderly begins cleaning Apollo, starting with his sculpted chin and moving up over his lips until she finally starts wiping mess from his nose. He flushes red as if embarrassed, but they both know he secretly adores the attention and doting care. “How are you feeling, love?”

“Uh…uhh’TSHh’iew!” Apollo sneezes again in response, muffled into the folds of the handkerchief. He sniffles thickly on instinct, but it accomplishes nothing. “Unwell.”

Apollo must be feeling truly awful, if he’s settling on such low-syllable, non-evocative adjectives. Aphrodite coos in sympathy and folds the handkerchief over. “Poor thing…blow for me.”

There’s a beat of hesitation, but Apollo complies, blowing as gently as he can. It still creates a snotty gurgle that makes Aphrodite shiver, and she hums in appreciation as she wipes his nose in the aftermath of it. “Good, so good for me…” Apollo shivers in her arms, and Aphrodite knows it has nothing to do with his fever. “My dear, how does a hot bath sound? It will ease your congestion and soothe your muscles.”

Apollo looks up at Aphrodite, pupils dilated and cheeks flushed darkly. Despite his ailment, a small smile begins forming on his face. “A bath sounds lovely.” 

No further discussion is had before Aphrodite leads him to her bathing chambers- and though she forgets a robe, she is sure to grab a fresh handkerchief on the way.