#they can turn back. they can see their own doom clear as day and yet they still choose to go forward. to tip over the edge.

[ghost--bot]

this is the dedication i want to see in my followers. and by dedication i mean madness

#🤖 #it reads like someone who's dug a little too deep and has uncovered horrifying hidden knowledge and is utterly enchanted by it #and can only keep devolving as it absorbs their entire life's purpose #they know it's destroying them and yet they only want to seek more of it #even when the end is within sight #they can turn back. they can see their own doom clear as day and yet they still choose to go forward. to tip over the edge. #that's faith. that's acceptance. that's devotion. #you're not doing this for the bit you're doing this because it means something to you and you can't stop #when i stopped getting notifications it was like seeing a heart rate monitor flatline #environmental storytelling #this was a journey #a light going out #a moth burning itself on a flame #god bless you #poetry

[rafebaby]

Frat!Rafe has his target locked in and it's shy!reader (pt. 2)

part one / part three

Writer's note: And then here it is: part two. Can you believe it? Obviously it's not the last. I would really like to hear your thoughts and ideas on this. I have some of my own, already typed out a little bit too but still struggling to choose exactly what way I really think works best. Love y'all and thank you for your support xxx rafebaby

After your "moment" with Rafe, you decided to lock yourself in your room all weekend. Hoping it would all pass by as a bad dream. But it didn’t pass by. No matter how hard you wanted to forget about it all, memories of him and you and what happened, repeated itself in your head over and over and over again. You felt ridiculous.

This was Rafe Cameron, for heaven's sake – a guy who had every girl swooning over him. You had nothing against him, but this was literally stupid. It's as if he planted a parasite in your brain, and the parasite is him and now you're kind of doomed to have these feelings that you don't really want yourself having.

So as Monday comes around, you have a hard time convincing yourself to get out of the house to go to the first class of the week. It also happens to be the only day of the week none of your friends are in your class. But Rafe is.

Normally that wouldn’t mean a whole lot to you, but today it has your anxiety peaking. You're afraid to see him, afraid of him seeing you, afraid of embarrassment and probable rumors already being spread around campus. Maybe someone took pictures, maybe they recorded it. Not that you deem yourself so incredibly interesting but stories including campus royalty like Rafe spread like wildfire. Yet missing education for a boy and as a result of a game of ‘spin the bottle’ is something you can not justify to yourself. 

You walk into the lecture hall a few minutes before the start of the class, head facing downwards, avoiding any kind of interaction. You're greeted by the professor who is already setting up her presentation. You look up at her briefly and smile before you turn to the room to find yourself a seat, but are shocked to see Rafe Cameron sitting in the back staring straight at you.

Shit. 

You immediately break eye contact and nervously sit yourself down in the first seat closest to you Front row. With nervous hands, you manage to get your laptop out of your bag and start it up. Automatic pilot takes over and helps you find the document from the previous lecture, but you can hear the beat of your heart in between your ears, knowing he's behind you. 

Maybe you should just apologize to him after class, you think. It was kind of rude to have done what you did, was it not? After all, he never did anything wrong. Only, you have no clue what is going through his head. You've heard about him getting into fights, him dealing, him threatening other people.... But you actually didn't know him at all, so, you know, maybe he would just be happy if you just cleared the air. You're sure he could be nice, you felt it in his touch, in his pace…

Your face flushes red as the memory pops into your head again. Quickly but subtly you take a careful look over your shoulder, wary of Rafe being able to read your mind. As soon as you lay your eyes on him, his head turns into your direction, his eyes following just a bit slower. 

The teacher starts her class. “Welcome class!” You snap your head to her. “Today, we’ll follow up on the chapter we started on last week, chapter 9. We left of at page 67 in the textbook…” She goes on. 

You are definitely not going to talk to him. After class, you are just gonna leave this room as fast as possible. He's too intimidating. Too scary. 

Too handsome.

No, fuck, stop. 

During the rest of the period, you find yourself dipping in and out of attention for the lecture, struggling to take notes as time drags on slowly. 

When the professor finally concludes the lecture and wishes the class a good rest of the week, everyone hastily starts packing their belongings, eager to escape the confinement of the dusty room. Yet, nobody is as eager as you. The people passing by make it difficult to leave your spot. To them you are more or less invisible. Not to Rafe though. He follows your every move as Topper walks beside him, going on and on about the troubles of his latest relationship troubles. It was always the same with him.

“I don’t know what she wants, man. Whatever I do, I always seem to do the wrong thing. One minute we’re being all lovey dovey, the next, she says she needs space.”

Rafe’s completely unbothered. Unlike himself, Topper is a total doormat. The wait-and-see type of guy. Rafe however likes to go after what he wants. And so, without any announcements, he leaves Topper behind, following you at a covert distance. “Hey dude! Where are you going?” Topper tries to catch up with him again, but Rafe strides on. “See you later, Top!” He exclaims unentertained with his head acing his target. You’re too jittery to notice, so busy to get out fast. He can tell, but he won’t have it. This time he won’t let you get away that easily. 

➤ taglist: here

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron #drew starkey #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe cameron imagine #obx x reader

[c-optimistic]

Prompt for your consideration? Lena and Kara fighting post-reveal. Lena yelling "I lost everything," referring to Kara, her brother and all her friends, Kara saying "I lost everything too," referring to Lena.

In her heart of hearts, Kara thinks perhaps she’s broken.

(This is not an uncommon thought with her. She’s had it since the day Krypton died, the day her parents sent her away, the day she awoke as a stranger on a strange planet only to discover she wasn’t even needed.

She’s had this thought nearly every day. Wondering why it’s so hard for her to be like everyone else, to be normal.)

These days, the thought feels more aggressive. More accusatory even. It isn’t just that she’s broken, it’s that she breaks all of those around her as well.

Alex gave up her whole life to watch over her. All of the Danvers did. Everyone close to her got hurt. Everyone who had the misfortune of loving her was doomed to suffer.

And now, it’s Lena’s turn.

(Lena, strong and capable and oh so brilliant. Lena, with her quick wit and surprised smiles. Lena, who quickly made a home in Kara’s heart.

Lena, who has spent every night attempting unsuccessfully to quell her sobs.)

Kara touches down on the balcony, but doesn’t enter Lena’s office, content for a moment to just watch through the glass as the exhausted CEO crumples into her chair, head in her hands, elbows propped on her desk. For once, she’s not dressed to the nines—she’s in a simple pair of pants, comfortable looking shoes, a loose fitting top.

Kara wishes she could see Lena’s face. Wishes she could take Lena by the hand and—

“Go away, Kara,” the other woman says suddenly, in nothing more than a whisper than only someone with superhearing can understand, pulling Kara out of her thoughts. She doesn’t move from where she’s sitting, and Kara wonders, stupidly, how Lena could possibly have known she was there.

Kara pushes the balcony door open, taking a step closer.

“I just want to explain—”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Lena interrupts, though she makes no move to force Kara to leave as she had the last “I just want to explain—” times Kara had shown up. “Just…go.”

“Lena, please,” Kara starts, steeling herself and stepping fully into the office. Lena turns finally, and—

Oh.

Her eyes are red rimmed from crying, puffy, make up not immaculate. She seems…devastated. As though her whole world has been torn asunder, as though…as though she has broken.

(Kara wishes she could make Lena see. She wishes she could take Lena’s hands and let her touch the damaged and broken parts of her heart, beg her to smooth it back out again, ask her to risk the pain, risk the hurt, but to stay.

Love me, Kara wants to scream. Love me, she wants to plead selfishly. Because Kara is broken, destined to go on and on breaking others, but it would be okay if only Lena would hold her again.)

“Don’t you get it?” Lena shouts as she stands, eyes taking on a fierce gleam. “I lost everything! My friends! My brother!” She chokes on the last word, tears escaping despite her best efforts to hold them back. “What could you possibly say that would change any of that?”

Nothing. She could say nothing.

(Kara is fairly sure she’s broken. Everything she touches seems to crumble away to dust. CatCo, her family, Mon-El, and on and on and on…

This has always been yet another thing she was destined to lose, destined to break because of her own cowardice.)

She has nothing to say in response that can change anything. And so, she settles for the truth. “I lost everything too. I lost you.”

Lena just stares for a moment, then she shakes her head. It’s clear she understands what Kara hasn’t said. It’s clear she can tell it’s the first purely honest thing Kara has ever uttered.

And it’s clear, utterly clear, it’s not enough.

“You can’t possibly think that changes anything,” she says, but she’s not yelling anymore. She sounds practically breathless.

(And Kara wonders, just for an idle moment, what things would be like had she confessed to Lena when there had been no lies between them, no loss, no betrayal.

She wonders, for a brief but tantalizing moment, if Lena would have accepted her jagged and cracked heart, those deft fingers quickly piecing it back together.)

“No, but I…I wanted you to know,” Kara says, swallowing hard and looking down.

Lena doesn’t speak again, but when Kara chances a look at her before she leaves the office (the same way she came in, ashamed and uninvited), her fingers twitch as though she wants to reach out.

And for now, Kara finds that that is enough.

#here’s some angst #cause I’m sad #supercorp #fanfic #asks #anon #prompts #rusty fanfic skills my apologies #also sorry for the very very long wait for me to answer your ask anon

[giorno-plays-piano]

Unsteady

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x mage!reader

Warnings: allusion to yandere, canon-typical violence, mentions of murder, exhausted and crying Aemond, hurt/comfort.

Words: 2k

Summary: Quiet, you stand together, leaning on the balcony and watching the dead sea, each left to your own thoughts. The silence between you is not strained but comforting, an indication of peace and, perhaps, some sort of unity. In the end, you are on his side.

P.S. Well, here we are! Hope you enjoy my first HOTD story!

___________

Your continous lack of sleep is slowly making you delirious. Tossing and turning in bed for hours, you can almost imagine stealing the sword of your guard and going on a rampage inside the Red Keep: this is how hopelessly tired you feel.

You take a breath. When you close your eyes, you are back home. You see the blinding light shine through the vast windows, the ancient walls made of sand and magic, and so many embroidered red and yellow pillows on the floor they nearly cover it all. Young girls and boys sing incantations that sound like music in the courtyard. If you turn your head to the east wing, you can smell barley bread baked in the kitchen along with sweet date cookies that will be served tonight as they have been for centuries.

But when you open your eyes, you see only the darkness of the room that isn't yours; a foreign castle where it's so painfully hard to breathe, to think; a gloomy, hostile world you are being held as a prisoner. Nothing here reminds you of home. You are a stranger to these lands, these people.

Nevertheless, you can't leave. Not yet. Not until the new King is crowned and your promise is fulfilled.

You stumbled upon this world by mistake, the new spell taking you in a completely different direction from where you were supposed to land. You were awaited in Turas, a place with the densest population of witches and warlocks, but you landed here, in this godforsaken little world with almost no magic left in it sans some dragons and a very few ancient priestesses who are impossible to locate. Without a great source of magic, you can't travel between dimensions, your coiffers empty from your last attempt. And although there is some great force in the dragon's fire, you need permission of its owner to have their pet shooting flames at you. Enraging Vhagar and having her blow fire at you for a minute or two doesn't work since she does it for far too short, and the spell needs more time. You tried.

But Otto Hightower will sooner stuff his mouth with glass than let you go and miss an opportunity to have you aid the Greens.

So you stay. You pretend to be the Queen's niece, a daughter of her older cousin, eager to come to court and serve the Crown. You do almost exactly that, to be precise: hunt down the spies like Talia and a few other maids, force information out of people with the help of your spells, and sometimes murder someone who's notoriously hard to kill.

Not Rhaenyra, though. Alicent forbids.

You hate it here with all your being. This realm is a cage. There are no good sides in the court - neither green nor black. Regardless of who wins, people will suffer. This place is doomed, and you ache to get as far from it as you can, back to the ancient Tower of Babylon on the crossroads of the worlds, the only place you call home. Every single day spent in Westeros, you miss it along with your people.

Finally, you realize you can't sleep. Laying on this ridiculously uncomfortable bed, albeit quite lavish, in hopes of falling asleep is silly, and you stand up, searching for your dress. Perhaps it is worth taking a stroll before returning to bed. Maybe the chilling air will clear your head and your heart.

Slipping away from your room without guards noticing is as easy as taking a candy from a child, your magic clouding their mind, lulling them in the false sense of security. You can't make people do what you want directly, or frankly, you wouldn't be here, but your spells are most helpful to obscure the mind and blur the vision, and you luckily evade a few servants and more guards on your way as you unlock the door to one of the numerous balconies, usually deserted both during the day and at night.

But you're not alone. You walk in only to stare at the sharp features of Aemond who looks like he wants to skewer an intruder on his sword, his expression both painful and enraged.

When he recognizes your face, he softens, though.

"Cousin," you smile at him anxiously, playing brave as you stroll closer, pretending you are glad to see him.

He relaxes his tightly clenched, thin lips, and you see how tired and utterly exhausted he seems, his eye bloodshot as he stands in his full day attire as if he didn't event attempt to go to bed, knowing he won't sleep. Perhaps Aemond seems malicious and fiery to others, standing tall among other Targaryen siblings, but to you, he is only a boy. A mutilated, desperate to survive youngest son with no one but his mother on his side. Otto molds his abused grandchild into the perfect dragon warrior and a vicious protector of the Greens, expecting him to be there when Aegon is made king, and it makes you sick to keep watching them.

Still, it is not your story. Not your place to change things, however wrong they are. You will be gone soon, and you should leave these people to their fate.

"You don't have to call me that when we're alone," he mutters, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Would you prefer my Prince?" You let out a snicker in hopes to get him to smile wider, but he doesn't, turning back to face the darkness above the sea, his hands on the stone rails.

He doesn't look good. The shadow beneath his eye intensify, eyelid droopy, and his lips are cracked and dry, but it is his expression that worries you most of all. Aemond looks like he is barely holding on, slowly being buried under the pressure of Otto's expectations and Alicent's maniac fear for his life. He lives on a knife-edge, and you wouldn't want to trade places with him even under a promise to rule the whole Westeros.

Quiet, you stand together, leaning on the balcony and watching the dead sea, each left to your own thoughts. The silence between you is not strained but comforting, an indication of peace and, perhaps, some sort of unity. In the end, you are on his side. Despite how much you dislike being entangled in the intrigues of the court, you have compassion towards Alicent and her children. You wish you could take them away from this place and let them discover what a true life behind the castle walls is.

Besides, over the course of many months spent here, you grow surprisingly fond of Aemond. You are unsure if it is his spirit, perhaps, or his passion that draws you towards him, but he is fascinating, one of a kind. The only one who keeps trying over and over again; who keeps pushing forward, paving the road for his mother and siblings despite the unfair treatment. It is attractive, isn't it?

If only people stop messing with his head.

Suddenly, Aemond winces, and the spell is broken between the two of you when you stare at him, anxious again. Unsurprisingly, he turns away, but this time, you are too concerned to leave him alone.

"Aemond, what is it?" You ask, planting your hands on his shoulders to stop him from moving away from you.

Stubborn, he turns his head, nonetheless, and doesn't speak a word like he's a kid all over again, pretending everything is fine. You catch a glimpse of his swollen eye, the veins in it so red you realize he is hurt.

"Are you in pain?"

He says nothing at all until you grab his face between your hands and make him look at you, forcing him to bend over to you because he certainly has blood of the giants in his veins. Looking him straight in the eye, you feel him trembling in your hands, panic surging through you. What is it? Did he get hurt during one of his endless trainings? Is it something else? A slow poison? An old wound?

"It can't hurt in there," he whispers angrily, tears rolling down his cheek as he looks to the side, hopelessly trying to evade your eyes. "I don't even have it anymore."

It takes you a second to realize what he means. He is talking about his other eye.

Letting go of his face, you bit your lips, wishing you could do anything at all to fix it. Were you there the night he was mutilated, you could have saved the eye, make Aemond whole again, but it's far too late. You aren't capable of recreating limbs or any other body parts out of thin air.

"We call it phantom pain."

Swallowing, you raise your hand to his eyepatch, and he flinches, refusing to let you lift it. You voice softens as you take him by the hand. "I promise, I won't take it off."

Aemond looks like he'd rather have you put a red-hot poker in his mouth, but he stills, tears still streaming down his chin while you murmur incantations, your palm covering his eyepatch. Perhaps your voice soothes him, or perhaps the spell works swiftly, but he quiets down fast, unmoving as you numb his pain. It is one of a few things you can do just for him, not because you are serving the Greens, and you wish he'd tell you when he's hurt. You wish he'd seek your help.

It's been several minutes: the spell should have fully kicked in, you believe. Slowly taking your palm away from his eyepatch, you observe your prince carefully, watching for any signs of discomfort to patch him up further, if needed. As you take his face in your hands and ask him to please let you examine him, make sure he feels better, Aemond suddenly sniffs again, his shoulders shaking violently.

You pull him into your embrace without even recognizing what you are doing. It is a reflex of sorts, a simple reaction to someone's distress. Back at home, your teachers would always tease you for your relentless desire to comfort people, calling you a wannabe therapist. But that was back there, in a safe, kind place where people don't fight for the thrones, power, and money. This world and its inhabitants are painfully different.

Maybe not in everything, though. Because the next thing you know, Aemond is bending over to lean on you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, his hands around your back. He shakes like a leaf, like a child who had known no comfort, no safety. It is the first time you see him like that, so defenseless and bare, because Aemond is fearsome even in private with his family, and he made you nervous on numerous occasions with his intense stare or a strained, disturbing smile. It feels almost unreal to have him here, in your hands, crying like a human being.

But he is real, and he is human.

"You'll get better," you promise him, gently whispering words of comfort in his ear, suddenly thankful he doesn't see you tearing up yourself. "I'll make the pain go away."

Those are hollow words: you can only treat him again and again, not make the pain disappear forever, but it should suffice for now, and he will be able to sleep.

How many nights did he spend here, standing and trying to overcome pain in something that can't heal? He would never tell his mother not to antagonize her again about not protecting her child. Otto, undoubtedly, would simply say something along the "deal with it" lines, you think, feeling distressed. This must have been going on for years since Aemond was a child. You can't possibly leave him alone with his pain.

Clinging to you, he shudders silently, not a sound coming from him as if he learned how to cry noiselessly over the years on a balcony. When you try to move a little, he presses himself to you even tighter, not letting you go, but you don't plan on pushing him away. In this moment, you are ready to give him anything he asks.

You don't know the sort of emotion it awakens in him when he feels it, too.

#aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #the house of the dragon #yandere

[v3nusxsky]

Hello miss Mars, can u do this for me

Let's say lesso was turned into idk an animal by one of her students of course she gets turned back to normal but the only thing that didn't change was her strap she has ready for her professor gf reader.

(So do you know when animals F the males D gets swollen and big on the inside right)

First round was smooth(just c@mming), second round reader is riding lesso(by that readers legs are shaking, and a tear, squirting)

Third round it's alot more heated,(doggy style, reader keeps telling lesso faster) because of what happened earlier her strap had gotten swollen and big, stretching the living out of reader(which reader enjoys very much) which causes reader to c@m,squirt alot, and maybe a little pee leaving the sheet just wet. Leaving both reader and lesso breathless, shaking, and unable to speak. Lesso then pull out of her, pulling and stretching reader alittle more.

{Mommy kink and breeding kink}

(You don't have to but can we have alot of dialog, even the moaning and screaming...can this be long too?)

{Please do not rush with the stories or this one please we appreciate your work miss Mars have a nice day/night😊❤️⚘️}

Leo’s omega

*Authors note~ my first ever a/b/o omegaverse fic I'm absolutely in love with these kind of fics*

Trigger warnings~ Alpha Leo Omega r mommy kink breeding kink knot squirting rough sex heat rut praise degrading begging G!P lesso

Prompt~ see ask^^^^^

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

You loved when you got to assist in your girlfriends classses, it was always an experience. Most of the time after the lessons ended you were promptly leant over her desk and railed into a new universe. Only this time things happened more literally than normal.

Lesso had her class practicing curses, and you were intrigued with how well they'd progressed until Hort has a go. He decided to curse Leonora and yourself, so confident with his abilities that he would be able to turn you both back. Lesso threatened him with the doom room should he fail so the pressure was on. He did his curse, you and Leonora being transported into another universe, one where you felt the need to be with Leo, all the time. You noted that Leo seemed to be backing in that universe and extremely protective of you, her stance guarding you from the strangers here. Only then you were ripped back into your normal verse. Nothing went wrong to your knowledge until you felt it. That same need to be near her, and the scent was overwhelming. You felt your thighs drench with slick.

You and lesso were active but you'd never felt this before, you seemed to be triggering Leonora's senses as well, she immediately became territorial of you, the students now shaking with fear at her dominance. Hort admitted to sending you to the OmegaVerse, and before he fled the room he reminded Leonora of one think, you'd never be human again. A hybrid and it was clear to Lesso what stance you both took. The straining member in her pants replacing her strap as you stood an unmated Omega, her Alpha wanting to claim you as hers. No not want, needing to. Your scent sweet, too sweet. She needed you and that took forefront of her mind Hort could be dealt with later.

Both yourself and Leonora made your way to your room, the scent of your own items calming you slightly. But Leonora couldn't say the same, "fuck you're in heat" Leo whined seemingly knowing more about this than you, yet all you acted about was quenching this insatiable need. "Leo I need you so bad it hurts, want you to claim me make me yours need you." 

It was as if those words awoke her most carnal desires, her lips on yours instantly as she tore through your clothing. You weren't much better shredding her clothing in a instant, her scent driving you wild with need. You need her to rail you into next week and something foreign. Your thighs were absolutely covered in slick, "Leo? Why's so much?" You mumbled confused before your eyes found her erect cock and it seemed to be starting to swell at the base. "You're in heat my Omega" she growled which caused something to stir within you. Hers. But when you touched your scent gland there was no mark there. "Show me alpha."

There was no need for any foreplay with how your slick was dripping but lesso still wanted to shower your breasts with attention while she fucked you sense, her pace more brutal and fast than normal. Due to your heat, the scent of an alpha you were cumming within minutes. Once was not going to be enough for either of you. So lesso flipped on her back and guided you to straddle her cock. "Fuck mine, fuck want to breed your cunt and fill it with my pups, you will look so beautiful full of my pups" she growled her fingers gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as you bounced on her cock. Leonora wasn't going to stop until you came all over her while she tried to hold herself off wanting to pleasure you as much as she could before she let you have her knot. You came when she bit into your scent gland squirting all over her stomach, the stretch of her new appendage tearing you ever so slightly not that you cared, the state of euphoria you were in was unlike no other.

You didn't realise you were crying until you felt her tongue licking her mark clean, the little droplets of blood causing her to moan happily before she came to lick your tears. It was animalistic not that you cared, you needed more and you were in a state of being willing to do anything for it. "Leo, need  more, alpha please knot me, make me full of your pups, please alpha I need you" your whispered and whines of need caused Leonora's restraint to snap. You were quickly positioned on your hands and knees as she entered your cunt so easily, her hands massaging the oil gland on the small of your back which has a pleased whimper falling from you. Her pace ruthless as she hammered into you feeling the pressure at the base of her dick become overwhelming. “Faster alpha harder got more please Leo faster please!”

"Oh mommy! Want your knot. Give it to me alpha please make me take it" you all but screamed for her as she bit over her mark she'd previously made causing you to squirt as her knot slipped into you, bonding you both together, her spurts of white hot cum painting the walls of your fluttering cunt white. The knot to ensure some of the cum with catch with your womb and you'd be round and full of her pups. Your stomach had a slightly noticeable bulge as you both howled in delight, your inner desires met. The scent of your alpha easing you down from euphoria.

Only when her knot depleted did she remove her dick from you, your cunt gaping from such a large intrusion and the tear noticeable there, you couldn't help but whimper before burying your nose into her scent glad. The effect she had on you was addictive and all you wanted was for her to hold you surrounded by the softest blankets and pillows, the urge to create a nest for you both slightly overwhelmed you but your exhaustion won out as long as she was with you. You'd create a nest later when your heat died down until then you'd need Leonora, your alpha, to make it all better and fuck you into a euphoric bliss, you quickly realised the uncomfortable body temperature was a sign of heat but knowing she'd claimed you as hers helped. "I love you my Omega." Was the last thing you heard.

Word count~ 1337

#anon answered #v3nusxsky answers #fanfic #anon requested #lady lesso #sfgae #leonora lesso #lady lesso x reader #lesso x reader #omegaverse #lady leonora lesso x reader #alpha Leonora #lady leonora lesso #lesso x reader smut #leonora lesso x reader #lady lesso x you #lesso smutt #dean of evil #dean of evil x reader #omega reader #omega x alpha #alpha lesso

[sorcerous-caress]

Aglaya and Artemy are so smitten with each other oh my god. A doomed romance neither of them expected to blossom amidst the war and plague.

How she desperately tried to protect Artemy at each corner and turn, only wanted the best for him and put in so much effort to understand the kin in such a short notice despite her busy schedule and death knocking on her door.

HE DOESN'T EVEN HESITATE BEFORE CALLING HER HIS WIFE WHEN THE LITERAL ARMY CORNERS THEM. Fleeing together and choosing their own path! Choosing their love over the town and all the people in it! In Artemy's view, that might as well have been their wedding vows.

She's such a powerful woman who instils fear into everyone she crosses. The infamous inquisitor who broke the mind of everyone she has called into questioning so far, who had the Bachelor thinking that she'll order his execution. Who had the kains shaking in terror, crumbling down the three old powerhouses of the town in a couple of days.

Mansplain Girlboss x Himbo Malewife fr fr

I always felt like their relationship progressed a little too fast in P2, but when I played P1 I completely understood why. it's expanded upon so much more and you get to see exactly how they slowly fall in love, how much their trust in each other multiples by the day.

How everyone around them can see it clearly.

MY WIFE <3333 M Y WIFE I AM IN HEAVEN.

There are just so many golden lines between these two. There are so many adorable moments of them being silly and weird, and so so in love like:

Aglaya makes her interest in Artemy as a person very clear. She recites us peotry upon first meeting him, saying he will learn the meaning in the future.

Yet she compares his mind to that of a poet later on.

Saying how much she respects him, how she incoperates a steppe term into a beautiful flirtatious line when she thinks it's time to say goodbye. When she thinks we won't return her feelings.

And yet despite her feelings burning with the intensity of a thousand suns, she never allows it to mix with her job, even telling him not to get roped into politics because he's on the path of priesthood while she acknowledges the manipulators she works for.

All to protect him, to protect you.

She is very sweet and thoughtful, calculated yet sincere in her feelings for Artemy. She never once acts like how others claim she would. She never walks anyone else's path of expectations.

All of her infatuation stems from the fact that Artemy answered her lifelong question so simply. Because he loved this town he grew up in and wanted to protect it.

Because he proved that having free-will makes very little difference in the grand nothingness of the universe. Even if other people interpret his actions or use it to benefit their schemes, Artemy will walk a path of his own making and follow his own heart to know what's right or wrong.

He showed her that she has always been free, not the puppet she thought she was. That constantly trying to spite greater forces isn't a way to live your life. Rather, actually living that life how you want is true freedom.

That finding your own happiness and looking out for the people you love is the best revenge you could deliver.

Even if everyone was a puppet and their entire reality has been nothing but a game, even then it wouldn't make a single difference to Artemy.

Because his love was real, his feelings were real enough. Puppet or not, he loved his father. He loves this town, which nursed him young. And he will deliver that love back when it's in need, when the kids he swore to protect are in danger.

And yet, I have a theory. I think it's the player she is in love with, too, rather than just Artemy.

It's because technically, only the player has free will. Only the player gets to escape the narrative.

Only the player is the full fledged human being that she fell in love with.

But I might be wrong, I need to play the Bachelor's route to confirm this, I've only done the Haruspex in P1 and P2 so far.

So far she is indifferent towards him, at least in Artemy's route, she views the Bachelor as a useful tool, a means to an end. Maybe it changes in his route and she falls for the player again? or maybe it's exclusive to Artemy because while she likes the player, she still loves Artemy himself on his own, even without the free will.

Or maybe you need a combination of both to results in Aglaya taking notice of you. The Bachelor is bound to Maria, who's trying to become Nina, and Aglaya loathes the kains and seeks revenge against them.

While Artemy walks free, he isn't bound to anyone she despies. Not to mention how fascinated she is by Steppe culture and the natural miracles, how excited she is when she finds the town is alive, how much invested she is in Artemy fullfilling his father's inheritance.

I wish there was a timelife where she lives. It seems that it doesn't matter what you do, she will always perish.

A doomed romance, she finally found something in this life worth caring about, someone worth calling her own.

And just when you think you've outsmarted the system and escaped hades, the game steals her away from you and humilates you by making you walk all the way back.

"You really thought it would be this easy?"

"You should've seen this coming"

"What did you ever expect? a happily ever after?"

"That's what you get for attempting to ruin the play, now get back inside."

So you reload an earlier savefile with a bitter taste in your mouth.

You play by their rules this time around.

Do whatever you can to appease the powers that be, keep showing up every day to deliver the best possible performance.

Willingly let yourself become a puppet and never go against the strings pulling you along.

The most painful part, however, is having to reject Aglayas' proposal to run together.

She doesn't understand. She is desperate trying to get you to see her point of view, like you effortlessly did so many times before.

She is confused, why are you suddenly rejecting her ideas, why did your trust in her vanish overnight? Did she do something wrong? Please listen to her. She loves you and wants to live with you.

Please just listen, I'm not lying i swear.

Please come with me.

I love you.

And I can't go on without you.

You have to sit there and deny her request, time after time after time, each more painful than the last. She explains herself, but you won't listen. You can't listen.

Because if you listen, she will die.

You know the future. You're trying to protect her like she has protected you so much before. She can't understand, so she gets hurt. You're whispering sorry to a screen like a fool.

...

..

.

She still dies.

You've hurt her for nothing. She loved you, and in her final moments, you broke her heart.

For nothing.

All of your work and effort, your dignity and pride reduced to mud in which you've rolled through to appease two stupid kids from taking your wife away from you.

Because she still fucking dies the next day.

To rub salt into the wound, her demise is off-screen this time. Like one of the nameless npcs in the number counter of deaths we see at the start of each day.

One of them was Aglaya. Reduced to just a number on a counter, like the thousands before her.

Doomed if you do.

Doomed if you don't.

Used and discarded like an old toy.

A mother's beloved childhood doll.

Was worthy of love afterall.

#♡otherfandoms #♡pathologic #artemy burakh #aglaya lilich #Artemy x Aglaya #Aglaya x Artemy #pathologic 2 #pathologic classic hd #pathologic #the haruspex #the inquisitor

[mikhailwrites]

Remotely possible II / Ghost x Soap

Kinktober #23 - Sex Toys

Somewhat standalone-ish continuation of this thing where Soap convinces Ghost to wear a remotely controlled sex toy for a day. This time, Ghost gets his revenge.

Read Part I

Part II:

The absolute silence of the room is disturbed when Soap yelps and nearly falls from his chair. Everyone turns to him, mostly questioningly but, in Laswell’s case, with a clear suspicion.

“Sorry, sorry, something’s bitten me,” Soap murmurs an apology. A scarlet blush of embarrassment is clearly visible on his cheeks. Ghost is the epitome of indifference, unwilling to spare Soap a single glance despite this being all his fault. Well, the little remote controller in his pocket played a part as well.

“If I may continue,” Laswell interjects, apparently not in the mood for jokes as she explains the latest AQ resurgence in Al-Mazrah, accompanied by satellite images.

The rest of the briefing went smoothly and without any interruptions, which cannot be said about the lunch. Soap’s only saving grace is the overall noise in the mess hall, so the loud clang of a fork falling onto the plate and high-pitched yelp are only noticed by his squad mates sitting around.

Gaz leans in closer, looking from Soap to Ghost and back. “You lot are out of your bloody minds! If Price knew...”

“If I knew what, Kyle?” Says a voice behind Gaz’s back.

Soap promptly excuses himself, ready to leave the table. “Where do you think you’re going, Sergeant?” Price’s heavy hand lands on Johnny’s shoulder promptly, stopping his retreat and pushing him back down before Price sits next to him. “Well, who’d like to enlighten me, then?”

“I... I have no idea what you mean, Captain,” Soap stutters and hisses because someone kicks him in the shin under the table. Ghost.

“Last week, Ghost was acting like someone put a cockroach into his trousers; today, it’s you. I’d like in on the joke,” Price smiles. The kind of smile that spells imminent doom.

It takes Soap tremendous effort to hide the panic. He needs to say something. The longer he stalls, the harder it would be the sell the lie.

“Alright, alright, we made a bet, Ghost and I,” he admits, trying hard to think of something, anything! Fortunately, Ghost rescues them both. “It’s a shocker. Taped to a thigh. We were comparing our interrogation training and couldn’t decide who was trained better.

Johnny stares for a second too long. That’s... actually... ingenious. The sort of shitty brag-bet only soldiers can think of. And it explains their weird behaviour. Ghost’s brilliant! Gaz chokes on the drink he hoped to hide his disbelieving stare with. He knows very well what’s going on.

Price sighs and massages his temple in an equivalent of “I’m too old for this shit.” Yet, in the end, he only says, “I guess I should be grateful you’re content to pull off shit like this on downtime instead of the field.” Price shakes his head and stands to leave them alone. Before he does so, however, he turns back to them. “I hope it goes without saying that you cut the crap now and act your age and rank, lads.”

Soap nods, but Ghost is going to collect the debt to the last bloody minute, especially since Soap is on a rookie training rotation in just about an hour.

Ghost is camping on the roof of the armoury with some snacks and a pair of binoculars. He’s keeping Soap in the illusion of security for the moment. The Sergeant crosses part of the obstacle course to kick someone’s ass for slacking off. Ghost waits a few seconds into the apparent monologue until he presses the button. The setting is low, but he can still clearly see Soap flinch. Can almost hear him lose track of his words.

He leaves the vibrations low, knowing full well, from his own recent experience, how maddening it starts to be after just a few minutes.

He’s right, of course. Soap starts to fidget, then he starts to pace and, finally, sits down on the low wall because that’s perhaps the best way to hide the bulge in his trousers. Should’ve worn camo today. Ghost smirks at his own joke as he flicks the intensity slider.

Blush creeps high on Johnny’s cheek as he looks around, trying to locate Ghost. No luck. Simon is feeling particularly cruel, so he increases the intensity once more. Johnny very nearly doubles over. It’s enough for one of the recruits to come over to him, presumably asking if he’s feeling alright.

Soap replies something before he nods, stands up and apparently excuses himself. Ghost is reasonably sure he’s going to lock himself on the toilet and wank, and that just wouldn’t do.

Ghost leans against the stalls. There’s only one occupied, and there’s no one else present.

“Hiding from me, Sergeant?” Ghost says in a deep purr as he knocks on the door. There’s only silence. Then the lock clicks. Ghost squeezes in. The stall is way too small for the two of them, not that Ghost cares. Especially not when he sees Johnny sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, his trousers undone and something wild shining in his eyes.

Ghost’s own cock twitches at the sight. Suddenly, there’s an idea. “Stand up,” Ghost commands, and Johnny obeys like the good soldier he is. Ghost takes his place as he sits down and pulls Johnny to sit on his lap, back pressed to Ghost’s chest. It’s a little bit of work to get the trousers and the briefs out of the way, but they manage. Johnny spreads his legs as much as the trousers allow, and Ghost looks down over Johnny’s shoulder, humming in approval as he sees his hard prick already leaking.

Simon holds Johnny up with one arm while the other sneaks between his legs and a bit further until he touches the hard base of the plug, feeling the vibrations. He presses on it, pushing it a little bit deeper. Johnny whines, or he tries to, but Simon’s hand promptly clasps over his mouth. “Be quiet, darling, unless you want someone to see you like this.”

Soap nods weakly. When Ghost grabs the plug and starts to pull it out slowly, Johnny does his best but still cannot completely stifle the whimper and the moan as he feels the stretch. Ghost doesn’t pull it out all the way. Instead, he pushes it back in and repeats it. That’s when Johnny understands.

“Simon,” he starts but is cut off by the sound of opening doors followed by footsteps. They both still, Soap putting all that training to good use as he controls his breathing. They hear the sound of a belt clasp, a zipper, and the telltale hiss of piss hitting the urinal. Ghost, against his better judgment, resumes his earlier actions. Soap stiffens with surprise and, most probably, a bit of fear. Which, of course, doesn’t really help him as he clenches around the plug all the more. He’s happy for Ghost’s hand still firmly covering his mouth.

When he proposed this whole idea to Ghost, he had no plans of taking it this far. On the other hand, he should’ve seen it coming. Both of them were always up to push the other further, consequences be damned. It’s the whole reason they started this twisted parody of a relationship. Getting fucked by a toy in the public toilets is, however, the stupidest thing they’ve ever done. No, he corrects himself; the stupidest thing they’ve done so far.

All the thoughts leave him as soon as the soldier on the other side of the door washes their hands and leaves. That’s when Ghost picks up the pace. That’s when he whispers into Johnny’s ear to touch himself. He does, gripping his hard, neglected prick and flicking the thumb over the cock head, spreading the precum to make the wank smoother and easier. The plug in him isn’t angled right to hit his prostate, but the vibrations make up for that, riling him up, forcing him to speed up, to tighten his grip as Ghost whispers filthy little things into his ear.

The danger of being discovered, the rush of this whole daring endeavour, and, of course, the fact that Ghost has been slowly edging him for the better part of the day gets to him fast. Ghost forces his wrist into Johnny’s mouth, sensing he’s close and giving him something to bite into instead of crying out.

He does. Ghost hisses quietly as Soap’s teeth sink into the skin right before he feels him seize, watching the thick ropes of cum staining his tee and hand. He stays tense for a few seconds before sagging against Ghost, who catches him from sliding onto the floor.

This was a horrible idea. But god damn it, was it worth it.

#call of duty #ghost mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap #soap mw2 #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #kinktober #kinktober 2023

[qiaipia]

All Of The Girls You Loved Before — miguel o’hara

ミ★ Miguel tries to take a break but the world doesn’t let him!  

ミCONTENT: miguel o’hara x GN! Reader. miguel’s past messy relationships. a really awkward elevator ride. let me know if i missed anything! based on that one scene in Grey’s Anatomy. No use of y/n.   [1.3k wc]

Miguel O’Hara previously worked at the office of Spider Society full-time.

25/8.

Until of course, LYLA berated him for being too obsessed with the multiverse and never having a life outside of it, so he goes home on slow days.

Villains apparently had personal life matters to take into consideration when plotting nefarious doom, such as shopping at the local hardware for atom bomb parts, gynecologist meetings, or even just plain plotting evil. Whatever it is— they usually weren’t about to destroy the world on a Tuesday or Wednesday.

So come Thursday morning, he was refreshed from sleeping on a proper bed, with a proper breakfast and had a proper bath. He had coffee in one hand, and instead of diving into work as usual from his portable screens, he approached the main elevators to take in the glass paneling installed, giving a view of Nueva York’s lush greenery.

It was quiet. But he expected Spider-people and top scientists to start pouring in soon: for now, Miguel O’Hara steps into the elevator alone.

He even humors himself and doesn’t click the close button on the shaft immediately, taking Lyla’s advice— taking it easy.

That was until the fwip! of a distinct Spider-individual, yelling ‘HOLD IT OPEN PLEASE!’ came trodding in.

The webbing came first, and then a ‘you’ that propelled themselves forward into the shaft. He awkwardly shifts around as you catch your breath, squatting low.

Office hours started a little bit later, but you wanted to get an early start on all the paperwork you left behind.

You look up from your heaving position and make eye contact with the red eyes your boss-slash-fling-slash-the guy you didn’t text back because you weren’t quite sure you were over your ex (a Peter Parker) quite yet, but you wish you really didn’t ghost him because Miguel was such a nice person who you wanted but you just weren’t sure how committed you could be right now.

His gaze struck you, and you immediately stand up straight at the back of the elevator shaft as the door closes, avoiding his gaze.

Miguel was a bit surprised to see you at Spider-Society after a few weeks of no talk  between you two. Not even a meme from you. He thought you had returned to your own universe.

A few beats pass and the door closes. He lets a few more beats pass before turning to you slightly.

“Your watch?”

You nearly jump at his gruff voice cutting through the soft hum of the elevator. “Huh?”

“Your watch— where is it?”

You looked at your expiring day pass, that you probably had to get a new one soon, lest you start glitching. “Oh, it’s in repair. Margo said it’ll be done in a week.” You mumble. You weren’t sure where you now stand with Miguel O’Hara.

The man stands up straighter. So you went to another person first to fix the watch he built and designed? He felt something thorny and green spike in his chest.

“Give me the watch. I’ll fix it within the day.” He says, facing forward, trying to hide his softening frame. He didn’t give you room to argue.

He didn’t play favorites, but he wanted you both to start talking again. More importantly: You’ve been staying in Nueva York and you’ve never come to visit him once?

But before he can try more small talk to clear the awkward air, the elevator stops at one of the human scientists’ floor levels.

In comes Xina Kwan. Head data engineer-slash- freelance programmer and computer scientist- slash- Miguel’s childhood best friend AND ex he cheated on, but was now working in the facility after Miguel called in a favor to crunch some numbers regarding multiverse probabilities.

Xina’s eyebrows raise at the sight of her ex, her black hair shaking as she tilts her head avoiding his gaze as well. Did things end well between them? Debatable.

It was too early for this shit.

She ducks her head as she reaches for her own floor. If Miguel could look closely at her shoulder, a version of LYLA in a Marilyn Monroe get up, hovered around her, giving Miguel the stink eye Xina couldn’t.

Miguel had to give it to the AI, he probably deserves the dirty look.

The ride is quiet and was now much more awkward for Miguel.

He tries to glance at Xina for a brief second, just to see how she was doing—but perhaps they were more alike than they thought, growing up together and whatnot. Xina too was attempting to steal a glance at him.

Their eyes meet awkwardly and they both look away, necks nearly snapping at the whiplash.

This of course was news to you, behind them, your brows furrowed in confusion at the pair.

The air was tense. You were eyeing Xina’s frameup and down, and LYLA Monroe was making detailed calculations and searches on you.

Miguel wished the elevators ran faster.

A few floors further up, the elevator dings open once more, and fate must be fucking with him because Dana D’Angelo waits outside.

She holds a stack of file folders with neatly coordinated labels, all well dressed, not a hair out of place so early in the morning.

She was likely on the way to the resident’s spider-therapists office, whom Miguel assigned to after the need for a competent clerk was needed in their department.

Of course, what he failed to detail was that Dana D’Angelo was his brother’s ex-girlfriend and his ex-fiancé- slash- the person he cheated on Xina with- slash- she cheated on him, with his biological father.

But that messy debacle was ages ago.

Still, he cringed internally, at the thought of her entering the elevator, but they made room for her anyways, her high purple heels clacking against the marble floor.

He had nothing to say about Dana, they closed their chapter amicably, along with a hefty divorce fee, but they were friends enough that Miguel helped her land a job at the society when the Daily Bugle office she front-desked for closed.

Miguel wanted to SCREAM. But he settles on running his fingers through his hair.

Side-eyes between Xina and Dana were given. You sensed how Dana subconsciously stepped and tilted her body towards Miguel. You all probably didn’t know you all worked in the same building as the facility was so big.

But of all days, why today?

The elevator ride up was painstaking. The uncomfortable air made it so that despite Miguel having no spider-senses whatsoever, he felt harsh tingles at the back of his neck.

His own version of LYLA in a fur coat popped on the corner of his eye, visible only to Miguel.

She took a good sweep at the group he was with and arranged her heart-shaped glasses with a low whistle shit-eating grin.

“I betcha’ wished you took the stairs right now.” She remarks teasingly.

He feels a migraine coming, and he wholeheartedly wishes he could shrink down and cease to exist.

“Cállate.” He hisses under his breath, with gritted teeth.

Apparently, even that wasn’t small enough as his voice cuts through the silence of the elevator, and the three turn their heads at him.

Confusion, concern, and chagrin.

Miguel really felt like he should’ve just got off at a random floor and taken the 50 or so flights up, rather than endure this torture, but a few floors before his supposed relief: his stop, the doors open once more, this one taking the cake.

The annoying visitor of the week: his brother, Gabriel O’Hara, stood on the other side of the doors, looking up from his phone as the lift opens.

He takes one good look at the passengers who stare back at him, and then at his brother with his own shit-eating grin and a waggle of his brows.

Fuck it. Miguel promises never to leave his office and never take it easy ever again. 

I wrote this at 5am. I forgot abt it when I went to sleep, so I was very surprised to find a fic made in my notes. First fic abt the dorito man.  Interactions are appreciated and feed the soul ig.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fluff #atsv #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099: atsv #spiderman 2099 #+MYWORK+ #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderverse x reader #miguel o'hara x gender neutral reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o hara #spiderverse x y/n

[a-gal-with-taste]

Thing of Dreams (Oneshot)

Birthday-gift for the amazing talented, wonderfully gifted, beautiful master of the art of words, @ink-and-dagger ♡

Warnings: SFW. Only-one-bed!troupe, tension, boss-employee relationship, borderline flirtation, Freshly-showered!Silco (you're welcome ♡), humor, open-ending, potential for future-parts, maybe

The exact, perfectly-structured set up for tragedy lies before you, and you can do nothing but stare in complete horror. Terror, too - Gods know you won’t live after this, not after your companion sees what lies before you.

You ponder if there’s time to run. To duck back through the doors and sprint down the halls, or better yet, duck into the nearby closet in order to hide from fate itself, or Silco’s entirely predictable ire.

The only problem is, you have no idea if the closet is big enough to hide in. 

Another problem arises when the door opens behind you, and Silco steps into the hotel room before you can even attempt to run or hide. Stepping inside, you don’t dare to turn and catch his expression, the reaction to what outrage he’s viewing with his own, two-coloured eyes.

You have a pretty good guess as to what the reaction he has, when you hear him growl, low and darkly, at the sight of a single queen-size bed in the room, “What?”

“I… they said-” Helpless, you chance a glance over your shoulder, and are struck. By his dark expression, yes, but also how long his dark, gray-streaked locks are when wet. “Oh. You took a shower?”

“I don’t fancy going to bed while covered in the day's grime and blood, thank you very much,” He said, still low, and tone sharp as his eyes snapped towards you. “I spent too many nights like that, and I don’t plan to spend another… nor do I plan to spend it with you.”

You turn, panic bleeding into outrage. “I didn’t plan this!”

“And yet there’s two of us, one bed, and I certainly didn’t request either-”

“This was the only room available!” Your voice borders on a wail, embarrassment and terror clear in your high-pitched tone as your hands come up, running through your hair in an anxious-tick. “I thought there would be two beds in one room, I obviously didn’t think there would only be one for couples!” 

Though, that explained the front-desk’s raised brow, and knowing smirk twitching on painted lips as she handed over the keys. Thinking she was giving the keys to a fun night, and not literally handing the keys to your own doom.

Melodramatic? A bit, but Silco was too, so it fit… the man is pacing, for Gods’ sake, and you imagine there could be an additional bill for damages by tomorrow morning, if he continues to burn a hole in the floor like that.

“Ridiculous,” He manages, glaring at the bed as if it personally offended him. And when Silco raises his gaze, he fixes you with the same look. “What did you say to them?”

“What do you-?”

“Did you tell them we were a couple?” His thin lips downturn into a displeased scowl, in time with a rivet of water cascading down his face from his hairline. Apparently, he feels nothing on the scarred-side of his face, as the man doesn’t so much as twitch as the small stream crosses over the cracked-skin. “What… Did you hope to get a discount?”

“No, I-” Cutting yourself off, you pause, thinking. And after thinking for a couple heartbeats, you suddenly feel angry. “It was an accident, Silco. I had no control over this - and I clearly didn't do this on purpose!”

Sleeping with your boss… even in its most innocent format, such a sentence would be cause for years, decades of torment from your fellow thugs within the main-gang, and Janna knows there was already some raised brows and shared sideways-glances at the news that you, and only you, would accompany Silco on an out-of-town meeting.

If Silco let you live through the night, the taunts and teasing from your fellow gang members were certain to be the death of you, if they ever found out.

“Regardless of intentions and plots, this is unacceptable,” He said flatly as you bristled, the back-handed accusation clear in his tone. “Thankfully, there’s rugs.”

You blink, a bit confused. “Rugs…?”

“Rugs. Floor-covers, mats, carpets,” You were surprised his throat hadn’t closed up, considering Silco had been nothing but dry since returning from a shower. “A decently soft surface for you to sleep on. I’ll even allow you a pillow.”

I’ll even allow you a pillow…?

Expectant. Silco looks at you, cool, and waiting - it’s much like the look he gives when you’re hesitating at the doorway of the office, papers or collections clenched tight in your hands as he awaits for you to step into the snake’s den. You’ve never thought of yourself as being at-risk of being bit by the man, but it could not be understated on the aura of danger, and the air of deadly confidence that surrounded the man.

A confidence that, despite your own good and life-longevity, drew you towards him. It was… intoxicating, an overwhelming presence of control, pure power radiating from him that was too impossible to simply ignore. 

Like now - you can’t ignore that piercing look, one that stabs straight through you and sends thoughts to scatter about your own mind, as he looks to you and waits for his orders to be followed.

But - he hasn’t given an order.

“I… I don’t follow…?”

Silco doesn’t look away from you, and the sigh he gives is, oddly, patient, despite the blaze flickering faintly in his eye of swirling blood and shadows. “It makes no sense to send you away now, and you need as much rest as myself. Thankfully, there’s an abundance of pillows, and a ground soft enough to sleep on-”

“The ground?!”

“Yes.” The new sigh isn’t so patient due to your rude shriek of an interruption; again, an expectant glint in his gaze. “I’m sure you’ve slept on worse.”

Gawking, that outrage born from a day’s travel, and exhaustion of keeping on-guard around this dangerous Chem-Baron, once more flares inside you as you mull over his absolute gall. “You want me to take the floor?! I told you, I didn’t plan for there to be only one bed-!”

“And believe it or not, this isn’t a punishment for your oversight,” He says, a voice now a sharp hiss that, any other time, would strike you still and silent. “It’s unreasonable that this is what we are left with, but while options are limited, they are not scarce or nonexistent entirely.” Gesturing with a hand still damp, faint steam rolling from his skin from a hot shower, he speaks as if discussing battleplans, and not the sleeping-arrangements.

“Obviously, it’s unacceptable to split up, and should this be the only room available in the hotel at the present moment, sharing is a temporary-exception I can make for an evening. You take the floor, and i’ll settle in the bed-”

“Or you take the floor, and i’ll take the bed.”

The short growl you make causes Silco to look at you with wide eyes, as if you just suggested he should do a backflip off the Bridge of Progress.

Then they narrow, and the cerulean and crimson-laced eyes become dangerous.

“Insubordination is not wise at this time,” He says, tone soft in a way that makes every follicle on your body rise in a goosebumps. “It’s been a long day. A long, tiring day, and I imagine that streak is bound to continue…”

Silco takes one step towards you, and the radiating aura of power doesn’t just reach you - it consumes you, and overwhelms your senses enough that all you’re aware of, is his duo-colored gaze fixated on you, and the soft, deep baritone of his voice.

“So I advise you not to be difficult. It’s hardly a trait that suits you… normally so pliable, so obedient,” There’s the beginning of a purr in his voice, but you know that behind it, there’s plenty of cutting-claws. “Let’s make this simple, yes? Get on the floor.”

“No.”

“No?” The singular-brow Silco still possesses, is raised. Not just from your quick reply, but the choked, quiet firmness that lies in the near-mute voice you now own. 

A deep, deep inhale, and you try not to choke on the smell of fresh soap, and the lingering remains of spiced-smoke. Both from him.

“No. I won’t take the floor - with all due respect, but we’re in the same situation. We both need to rest, and rest well, and I somehow I doubt I'll be able to do either on all the comforts of a floor,” You open your eyes, unaware you had ever closed them, and fix your gaze to Silco. For once, not twitching, not avoiding, and meeting his gaze squarely with a raised, steady chin.

“So, no. I’m not going to sleep on the floor, and if you’re gonna be an ass about it, you can find yourself another room.”

Your voice is steady - everything else is trembling, ever so slightly, and Silco’s gaze drops briefly from yours to observe the shaky-nature of your body. Trailing slowly, eyes observant but otherwise unreadable in his study of your form, you try not to flinch back as you watch the Eye trace along every curve, every dip, contour and shape of your body…

It’s like he’s looking at you. Not for the first time, but the first time he is indulging at taking in every single detail your body has to offer his sight - and you, the fool, are unable to do anything but offer freely, simply by standing there and staring at him.

Truly, like an idiot.

An idiot, and a coward. 

A flinch races through your nerves and muscles when his eyes snap towards yours, and you twitch again when you realize you can see nothing but blue and dark, bloody red - there’s only colors, not a single speck of emotion within that infamous gaze.

It would put anyone on edge, and quietly fearing for their life after delivering such sharp words to a man who owns several knives that are far, far sharper.

That’s why you’re certain that, when he takes one step forward, it’s instrict and self-preservation that urges you to take two-steps back -

The back of your knees hit the end of the bed, and the limbs buckle under the sudden, surprise stop behind you. Squawking in surprise, you go down with wide eyes and a mouth dropping wide in a single, punching exhale as you land back-first onto the bed, bouncing once, twice, before settling and growing still.

Stiffer than a corpse, staring up at the ceiling, and absolutely mortified in the long silence that follows from your obvious actions, and the embarrassing way it showed directly in front of Silco himself.

You await a growl. A sigh of disappointment, aggravated by your pathetic and ridiculous display - as it continues, you half expect the silence to soon be filled with the sounds of your frantic apologies and shrieks as Silco drags you from the room.

What you don’t expect is for him to simply say, “Fine.”

And without another, Silco returns with ease into the quiet that unnerves you, moving around the room as you continue to stare up at the ceiling. Bewildered, and still bracing for… another form of reaction from your curt disrespect, and show of cowardly behavior in the very-face of the most powerful man in the Undercity.

But Silco gives you no such respite. Moving in silence, save for the occasional rustles and the sparse shuffling around the room as Silco prepares for bed. Otherwise, there’s only the quiet symphony of his even, slow breaths aligning with your own breathing, to offer any form of evidence that he didn’t just storm out of the room.

You think he would. You don’t dare to raise your head to see, but a part of you - stupidly optimistic - likes to think that he would take his chances in finding new accommodations for the evening, and leave you to spend the evening alone, and alone to contemplate on how to explain away all of… this, to him in the morning.

The world of Runeterra, of course, is never that merciful.

“Move over, there’s more than enough space,” Silco’s order comes in a clear, firm tone from the corner of your sight, and it’s one that you’re so used to hearing, that you go to follow without question, before you pause.

Confused, you inquire, “I… do you want me to take the floor-?”

“No. You’ve made your feelings on that quite clear, and I have no energy to battle with you further on such juvenile matters,” He says flatly, and you wince again at your previous conduct. Before you can even attempt to apologize, his hand reaches down, long fingers curling just-enough to grip your shoulder with enough strength to command your attention - as if he doesn’t already have it. “We’ll act as adults for once, and learn to share without throwing a fit. Now, move over.”

… Is he…?

There’s the faintest, but pointed push on your shoulder and your stunned body is so lifeless that you turn with the movement onto your side, now facing the empty half of the bed…

The bed that, you realize with a jolt, that Silco means to share.

This is worse.

This is so, so much worse. Not only because death-by-embarrassment would be all but assured should anyone from the gang find out about not only sharing a room, but now a bed with the Eye of Zaun himself, but now there’s a very real chance that you could die by Silco’s hand.

You wouldn’t put it past him not to strangle you in your sleep, for the absolutely abhorrent way you chose to dismiss his idea of sleeping on the floor - an option that looks far, far more comfortable to your nerves, but it’s too late to backtrack now.

Numbly, you shuffle over, still looking towards the ceiling with wide, disbelieving eyes at the situation you found yourself in. In twenty-four hours, you went from a drinking contest with Dustin and Ran to nurse away the stings of a successful, but rough transportation job, to being the road-trip buddy of an Undercity crime lord.

A crime lord who tucks himself under the covers with all the ease of a man in his own element, his own room, and like you didn’t even exist.

Which… could be a positive thing. If he forgot your existence, at least for one night, then maybe he would pretend your previous behavior didn’t exist as well - yet another benefit for you.

Again, the universe is not that merciful.

“You’re typically loyal,” Silco comments, mildly. If he feels the bed twitch at the sound of his sudden voice, he makes no note of it. “Not simply to a fault - wholly so. Entirely dedicated, never once questioning… certainly never back-talking.”

Another flinch, and this one triggers a sigh from him, “I’m sorry, sir-”

“Apologize again, and I'll gag you.” Eyes wide, you turn your head with your cheek on the pillow beneath you, gapping at a man whose expression is as flat as your voice. “I’ll lash you to the bed for good measure. You’re right on one account… It's been a long day. I would prefer to simply sleep, and neither of us will get much of it, if all we focus on is apologies.”

“R-right, sor-”

Silco turns, mirroring your own form, side of head resting on the pillow as he glowers at you, a deep frown on his face and eyes… still not quite readable. “I mean it. Stop apologizing.”

Wisely, brilliantly, you decided to keep your mouth shut.

Silco gave you a moment’s peace - from his voice, but not his eyes. Those remained latched onto yours, almost searching, from what you could decipher, and you found yourself frozen, prevented from even attempting to look away from his piercing gaze.

“... I didn’t realize there was a bark behind the bite,” He says, and his tone is as oddly unreadable as the look in his eyes. In fact, it’s almost as if he’s forgotten you were here entirely - impossible, as he looks directly at you - but his musements continue as if you’ve ceased to exist right in front of him. “You’ve been an acceptable employee to date. Fiery, with a decent punch if the numbers add up correctly, but I didn’t realize that would extend to myself…”

“Sor-”

His skin tastes of water.

Fresh-water, straight from a shower - even his palm is devoid of that consistent stench of cigars, and as Silco grips your lower chin with his fingers, palm flat and firm over your lips, all you can process is the taste of water on Silco’s skin.

“Last. Chance.” Silco says, softly in a way that once again, reminds you of the sharp claws and teeth that the cleverest of predators hide from their prey. “You can follow one order, can you not? You’ve followed so many in the past… don’t disappoint me now.”

The thought makes your stomach do flips… but for the first time, not in fear. 

Maybe you’ve experienced too much of it, and that the effect has faded somewhat because of the abundance of it, with sharing such close-quarters with him.

Or maybe it’s the thumb stroking faintly at a patch of skin along your jaw.

Maybe that has something to do with it.

But regardless, you nod. And Silco doesn’t quite smile, but there’s a glint in his eyes that doesn’t directly remind you of the tip of a blade, that saps at the tension in your body, enough that you don’t even try to speak as his palm pulls away from your lips, that are now incredibly dry.

His fingers remain, though. Twitching along your jaw-length in time with his head tilting slightly, once more resting on the pillow as his gaze travels over you, again, taking in details he had never bothered to make a note-of before. 

Any attempts to do the same, or even do anything, fade immediately as he commends you for your self-control over silence, by simply saying, almost matter-of-factly, “Good girl.”

He pauses, almost mutely daring as he gazes into your eyes, and you do nothing but stare back into his.

If Silco is disappointed at the lack of a reaction from your short-circuited brain, or feeling thwarted that you didn’t dare respond with a confused sorry, he doesn’t show it. And simply continues, once more pointed and yet aloof as well, “I like that fire. You don’t show it often, and I didn’t think you had the guts to show it to me… but I've heard tales of it. It’s impressive, the thought that you’d swallow back your nerves to backtalk a man you seem petrified of-”

“Not petrified,” You comment, and his fingers stiffen at the feel of the thick swallow, gliding down your throat before you attempt speech again. “But… you… you know you’re pretty imposing, right?”

“Of course. Even with only one complete eye, doesn’t directly make me blind. Yet years of being in my employment hasn’t softened your trepidation around me? Not one bit?” The hand, not holding your face hostage, braces on the bed beneath him. This time, there’s not even a creak as Silco pushes himself up to gaze down at you from over the sharp, severe curve of his nose - taking you in fully, and fully curious about you. 

“Years with me,” He murmurs, more soft than anything you had ever heard in your life, and a million times as deadly. “And yet you still fear?”

Again, he feels you swallow thickly. And maybe Silco can feel the words gathering beneath the skin of your throat before you even speak them, because there’s already a shifting-light in his gaze when you finally, hoarsely, make out your reply.

“Fear what you don’t know. Think that’s a pretty typical mindset, sir?”

“Would you like to?”

You blink, and Silco just became more deadly than any apex predator on the face of the planet. You didn’t think it was possible, but a single look at that small, unpracticed smile on his face, would be enough to send anyone else running.

It’s almost warm, and you find that to be just as dangerous as when Silco is acting coldly.

“Would you like to know me? I’m finding myself suddenly incredibly curious in regards to you… perhaps we can learn to know one another?”

“Sounds… dangerous.”

“Ah. But it would not be unknown… or rather, I would no-longer be.”

“And,” Another swallow, and his fingers drift further down. The cool, calloused pads of his fingers, barely brushing at the soft skin at the hollow of your throat don’t press any further at the skin, and yet, you feel as though you are choking. Not at his hands, but his gaze. “You… you would do that? For me?”

“Again,” He leans close, and you’re frozen. And not even his soft, warm breath that brushes along your skin as the distance goes from inches, to less than an inch, can warm you. “I’m curious to know you as well.”

A single inhale, and you taste smoke on his breath. Direct contrast from the water on his skin.

Then, he releases you. Turning his head away before he removes his hand, the Eye of Zaun shuffles elegantly to place his bare back - he’s not wearing a shirt - to you, fingers brushing as they pull away slowly from their place along your skin. Then, once he’s comfortable settled, Silco says, “But another time. It’s late. Get some rest.”

You blink.

Then you sit up, fighting away the urge to breathe heavier as you brace your hands against the bed to loom and stare down at Silco, but also to get some oxygen to your brain so that things can start making sense.

“I… you… what?”

“Goodnight,” He says your name, tacking it onto the firm, not-command to his obvious command without even bothering to look at you, while all you can do is stare at him, stunned to silence over… whatever…that was.

What… What was that?

Were it any other human on the planet, you wouldn’t hesitate to reach out, snatching shoulders and turning him to straddle him, fist braced overhead until some good, old-fashioned answers poured out of his mouth. 

But as is, you’re stunned into silence, and into stillness, as you simply gaze down at the slightly-askew waves of damp, dark, and gray-streaked hair. It takes all the strength you have to manage to move your eyes inside your very skull, and even then, they seem to move without permission - trailing along long, lean body full of pale skin, marred and splotched in places where wounds, injuries and mistakes of an old life lie along his skin…

Silco has a scar, curved perfectly like a large fish-hook, coiling over his shoulder. 

You’re not so stunned still - your fingers twitch at the idea to trace over the pale-pink skin-

“One typically grows restful after closing their eyes for an extended period of time. I would highly suggest it, and go to sleep.”

Your face flops onto the pillow beneath you, almost violently, and you can’t tell what burns your face more - that Silco didn’t even have to face you, or open his damn eye to know you were staring, or that the bed shakes slightly beneath you in your hasty retreat for pure mortification at being caught.

But not terror.

No… it seems you’ve been stunned into silence, largely-stillness, and fearlessness, in a sense.

There’s still something, churning and cold, deep in the pit of your stomach from whatever just transpired between you and Silco, but something warmer seems to encompass it. Pressing, tight and deep inside you… and you don’t have a word for it, the intensity that’s suddenly sparked from within.

Eyes wide, staring into the dark of the room - entirely unaware as to when exactly the lights turned off, you’re in the middle of trying to decipher the exact word for what you are feeling inside, as Silco says in a low, smooth voice of a predator on a hunt, “Sweet dreams.”

And you, like prey, fall into the trap of his words so easily.

You instantly slam your eyes shut - choking out something vaguely humanoid and something resembling a reply - to try and will yourself into sleep, and those so-called dreams Silco hopes for you.

If you find them, you don’t remember. 

Or perhaps that’s the point - that the greatest of your dreams is empty, dark and without any form of pleasures or torments to fill your dreamscape. A dreamless sleep… possibly the sweetest of all, because Gods know after today, you just might need it.

But there’s one dream, that you ebb in and out of in the dead of the night, when the line of consciousness is so blurred, that you don’t even know if you’re crossing-it in truth, or just dream that you do…

The feel of arms around your middle, soft breath warming and waving the hairs at the back of your skull rhythmically. Heart beating faintly in a chest pressed against your back, and, for a moment, before darkness remakes you once-more into sleep, you drowsy realize you are more comfortably secure than you had ever felt previously in your life…

Surely, the thing of dreams?

#silco #arcane #arcane silco #silco x reader #arcane fanfic

[callmegaith]

Hey! I'm just wondering where you got the idea to start shipping Dale and David? (Cool art btw!) As far as I know they've met thru Birthday but are they related in any other way?

Oh boy. Okay. This is gonna be all over the place.

So birthday, you get the letter from David saying he's sorry and all that. Yeah. Dale and David are connected, we just don't know how yet. Something important to David was for whatever reason in Dale's home.

But really the appeal just comes from what if scenarios. Both Dale and David are victims of their circumstances. David made Dale the person he is. He set him on the path of the lake, doom pretty much. And seeing he was remorseful for that in his letter, I like to imagine a world where David is doing his best to undo the damage he's done....

And so Down the Rabbit Hole is born. (If you haven't read it, I feel like it explores my idea for their dynamic better than my rambly post can. It's a comic series I'm working on exploring Dale and David's relationship during David's own paradox journey)

To me they are like two people chasing each other for opposite reasons. David just wants forgiveness so he can let go of the guilt of what he has done to Dale, and Dale wants peace of mind and an end to the trauma that the events of that day caused him... Or revenge even.

The potential of those two just... Meeting again, talking, and David finally having the chance to clear everything up to Dale can make for something so beautifully tragic. There's a story to be told here, not necessarily romantic. But a good tragic story about healing and moving on which is what I want for both of them more than anything. David has turned his back on the Lake. He has betrayed his gods and ran away unlike the rest of the souls at the bottom of the lake, and Jakob wanted to hunt him down and kill him for that. He's been up to something we don't know since then and that eventually led him to Dale. And I just imagine a world where the two of them become the characters that break the cycle of the Lake.

It's the star crossed trope really. With all the jumping around and changing pasts and futures in this game, the idea of them being doomed in every loop, every universe, every recreation. It's appealing to me. Just two people who are broken, running circles around one another but never being able to reach out to finally break the loop. And so they're stuck, never being able to move on while desperately wanting to. And there's just something so MWAH, chef kiss, about the tragedy of them.

So TLDR??? Makebelieve and doomed yaoi :)

It's really hard to explain and I do it better with art than words. I'm not very good with explaining things so I'm sorry if this made 0 sense. But hope it answered your question well enough or that at least Down the Rabbit Hole gave you a better idea than this xD (tho Down the Rabbit Hole is not a ship comic, it just shows the dynamic and idea I have for them)

Generally, the ideas I have for them aren't specifically romantic. I just like dudes kissing :)

(which I never even drew them doing except for a meme)

So yeah, gay, not gay, I just want the two of them to meet again and reconcile.

#asks! #thanks for writing! #ship: jackalope #comic: DTRH #actual TLDR: #its the appeal of the tragedy of them #RL: lore and theories

[tortoisesshells]

top five doomed mariners go

in order not of significance, but of encounter:

(1) William Bush - the original Doomed Mariner, my copy of Lord Hornblower is still held together with duct tape from chucking the book across the room when I realized Forester was not going to pull a "if there's no body he's not dead" - rather, "if there's no body, it's because he was too close to the ignition point." A character whose defining trait is his devotion is actually something that can be so personal.

(2) James Norrington - the man, the myth, the legend. clearly takes up too much brain space for a [checking notes for comedic effect] antagonist secondary character from a twenty-year-old theme park ride movie. Hard to say at which point it became clear he'd never survive, but there's definitely a point at which he clearly thinks he's survived too long for anyone's good, least of all his own.

(3) Mr. Starbuck

“On this level, Ahab’s hammock swings within; his head this way. A touch, and Starbuck may survive to hug his wife and child again.—Oh Mary! Mary!—boy! boy! boy!—But if I wake thee not to death, old man, who can tell to what unsounded deeps Starbuck’s body this day week may sink, with all the crew! Great God, where art Thou? Shall I? shall I?—The wind has gone down and shifted, sir; the fore and main topsails are reefed and set; she heads her course.” “Stern all! Oh Moby Dick, I clutch thy heart at last!” Such were the sounds that now came hurtling from out the old man’s tormented sleep, as if Starbuck’s voice had caused the long dumb dream to speak. The yet levelled musket shook like a drunkard’s arm against the panel; Starbuck seemed wrestling with an angel; but turning from the door, he placed the death-tube in its rack, and left the place. (123: The Musket)

(4) Eyk Larsen - doomed by Netflix more than his own foibles, though that's not for lack of trying on his foibles' part. Even the men on his crew that like him are waiting for him to snap under the strain of his bereavement, alcoholism, and the demands of the new shipping company's changes (and the sudden appearance/disappearance of a ghost ship. and inexplicable deaths. and seeing things. and and and). Doesn't make it three whole scenes before staring moodily into the deeps of the Atlantic, musing on the impossibility of knowing what lives on the floor thousands of feet below. Kind of deserved that mutiny. Didn't exactly die in 1899, but. Well. Like his relationship with Maura, it was complicated.

(5) Bill Malloy - He never learned how to swim, he put together The Big Secret about the manslaughter trial quicker than any other uninvolved character, he's been in love with and trailing a respectful step behind Liz Collins Stoddard for 20+ years to no avail (but, hey, Carolyn says he's as good as her father, which?), and he's not the most helpful ghost but he is having a little too much fun getting revenge for his murder - did we ever hear him laugh when he was alive? I suppose we have to subtract some points for him never spending any time on a boat within the scope of the narrative, but then, he IS trying to go back to his job on the boats - and no one else on this list sings "What Do You Do With A Drunken Sailor?". I'm pretty sure the narrative is through with him now, alas. He'll always be famous to me.

#i feel like a heel picking five. #honorary mention to daniel gregg. who's not so much doomed as. hmm. doomed implies a downward trajectory. he's already dead. #then again. things can get worse. even for ghosts. #also. Quint. god. he can't knock anyone off this list atm but this is a Sign to go watch the Indianapolis monologue RIGHT NOW. do it. #ask meme #polkaknox talks #thank you for the ask kind friend!

[magnus-the-maqnificent]

Stars Around My Scars

Chapter 8 - Sleep In Half The Day (Read on Ao3)

TW// Mentions of torture (some very dark humour basically), and some mild sexual references.

Breakfast time saw Magnus and Alec in bed, a tray balanced between their laps, and balanced on the tray was an assortment of breakfast items - pancakes and scrambled eggs and toast with honey. Alec’s ankle was hooked on top of Magnus, though neither of them made note of them as they ate in between random conversation.

“So, how did you get banned from Peru?” Alec asked in between tiny bites of bacon.

Magnus shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Alec frowned. “Then why did you make me sit through that long ass tale?”

Magnus pouted. “I’m a lonely immortal. I have stories to tell.”

Alec looked unimpressed. It shouldn’t have worked, not with Magnus’s pink robe still around him, but somehow it did.

“And I like to have people actually listen, sometimes,” Magnus finished with a click of his tongue. He stabbed his fork into a pile of pancakes. “Now, what else would you like to hear? The time I rescued the Queen of France from certain doom? My wild encounters with mermaids? Diamond heists I did during my time in colonial Shanghai?”

“How about you shut up?” Alec mumbled.

“Rude,” Magnus said.

“You could tell me a story about a time you were tortured to death,” Alec grumbled under his death. “I think that would make me quite happy.”

“Oh, I do have a story like that!” Magnus perked up. “I was at the wrong place at the wrong time, really. Portals hadn’t been invented yet, so I had to break out the old fashioned way. Took me thirteen days. Whew.” Magnus shook his head. “Have you ever been stabbed with a corkscrew? Dreadful. Wouldn’t recommend it.”

Magnus realised he might have said a little too much when he turned to Alec, whose face was white with abject horror.

“What is wrong with you?” Alec murmured.

“Is this about the corkscrew?” Magnus asked. “I promise I won’t bring it up again.”

Alec opened his mouth, shut it again, and then turned back to his food.

Awkward.

Magnus cringed at himself internally.

Then again, he reminded himself, it wasn’t the first time someone had been horrified by his past, and it wouldn't be the last.

Besides, this was Alec. He’d be out of Magnus’s lair this time next year, and Magnus would never have to see him again.

Magnus cleared his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking - what would you like to do today?”

Alec looked at him, in the middle of chewing some random morsel. “What?”

“I mean,” Magnus shrugged. “I cleared out my schedule for the week, so we won’t be bothered by clients. We could use this time to get you acquainted with the mundane world. I was thinking, today, we could go out and about, see some sights.”

Alec pursed his lips. “I don’t really want to-“

“Alec,” Magnus said gently. “You can’t lie in bed all day, everyday. Eventually you’ll have to go out and live on your own. The sooner you’re prepared for it, the better.”

Alec stared at Magnus, and then slowly, still making eye contact with Magnus, he leaned in and rested his chin on Magnus’s shoulder.

“And here I thought I’d get to mooch off of you for the rest of my life,” Alec mumbled.

Looking at Alec wasn’t really a good option right now. Looking at Alec meant their noses were touching and Magnus could feel his breath against his skin. But he was doing it anyway.

“I’m generous,” Magnus admitted in a low whisper. “But I’m not that generous.”

“I’m sure you can be convinced.” Alec smiled mysteriously.

Magnus frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Alec’s smile widened. “It means I know your weakness.”

My weakness? Magnus thought. He didn’t have a weakness, as far as he knew, unless Alec had misunderstood something he had said. But what…

“Are you going to convince me with a corkscrew?” he asked.

Alec immediately jerked away, frowning as if something wet and soppy had landed on him. “Will you shut up about that corkscrew?”

“Too sensitive to hear about corkscrew torture?” Magnus raised an eyebrow. “No wonder you got deruned.”

“Oh shut up,” Alec grumbled. “I don’t care that you got tortured by a corkscrew or whatever, but, God, you don’t have to be so jovial about it!”

Magnus blinked. “You- what?”

“You talk about it like- like it’s some joke. Another funny story,” Alec wrinkled his nose. “It’s weird.”

“So, just to be clear,” Magnus went on. “You don’t care that I got tortured for thirteen days straight?”

“No,” Alec said, and then visibly reconsidered. “I mean, yes? Maybe? I’m sorry you got tortured. I don’t know.”

Magnus couldn’t help but fight back a tiny smile. “So you don’t pity me?”

“I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I did,” Alec shrugged.

“Good,” Magnus said, and he stopped fighting his smile. “Does this mean I can annoy you with more sob stories from my past?”

Alec scrunched up his face. “No thanks.”

Magnus laughed at that, leaning back into the pillows. “Well, maybe just about that one time when-“

Alec covered his ears. “No.”

“But-“ Magnus stifled his laughter unsuccessfully.

“No,” Alec said, but his lips were twitching upwards a little, and Magnus realized that this was the first time he was seeing Alec smile.

Alec actually looked kind of cute when he smiled.

Magnus cleared his throat and looked away. “Well, if you’re done eating-“

“Uh, not yet,” Alec said, taking a stab at another piece of bacon.

“How long are you going to take?” Magnus asked, but the only response he got was Alec holding up his empty glass, which had lychee juice in it not all that long ago.

“I need a refill,” Alec said.

Magnus sighed.

He ended up sitting there for about an hour more until Alec had finally wiped his plates clean and declared he was done with a dramatic drop of his fork.

“Perfect,” Magnus said. “Now, you go take a bath.”

Alec made a face. “Now?”

“Yes, now.”

Alec pouted and slumped back into the pillows. “Can’t it wait until later?”

“Nope,” Magnus said. “Up. Now.”

Alec raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re still in bed.”

Magnus sighed, and banished the now empty breakfast tray with a flick of his hand. He got out of bed and stood, arms crossed, and stared down at Alec. “Up.”

“No.”

“You’re violating Cardinal Rule number-“

Alec threw open the robe he was wearing, pulling idly at the skirt as he met Magnus’s eyes. “Doesn’t matter. This isn’t getting any shorter.”

Magnus exerted great self control and managed not to throw any expletives at Alec.

“Will you go take a bath, or-“

“Or what?” Alec leaned further back into the pillows, meeting Magnus’s gaze squarely. “What, are you going to throw me in the bathroom if I don’t get up now?”

The bathroom door flew open with a bang, blue magic sparking up as the door thudded against the wall. Magnus walked in, a dark cloud hanging over his head as he carried a smug-looking Alec into the bathroom.

Why am I doing this again? Magnus wondered. Sure, he got his way and Alec would be maintaining his hygiene. But he was still, in a way, coddling Alec.

Magnus eyed the large bathtub at the end of the bathroom for a moment, and with a flick of a finger it disappeared. In its place was now a spacious shower separated from the bathroom by a wall and door of frosty glass. Magnus pushed the door open with a foot and stepped in, lowering Alec onto his feet. 

He tried not to mourn the loss of contact as Alec stepped away from him. He succeeded. Mostly.

In his defense, he’d just spent the better part of two hours cuddled up with Alec.

Magnus cleared his throat to get Alec’s attention, and then pointed to the knobs controlling the shower output.

“Right one for hot water, left one for cold. Soap and shampoo are over there-“ he pointed to a corner shelf laden with a bunch of bath products. “-use as much as you’d like. After you shower, brush your teeth and come out into the living room. I’ll think of something we can do.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

Magnus snapped his fingers. “Bathrobe’s hanging on a rack next to the sink. Anything else you need?”

Alec gestured to the pink sparkly ensemble he still had on under the robe. “How am I going to shower with this on?”

“I could magic it off,” Magnus shrugged. 

Alec raised an eyebrow at that.

“I won’t look,” Magnus promised, raising both his hands in a calming gesture.

Alec nodded, and a slow salacious smile spread across his face. “You didn’t answer my question, by the way.”

Magnus blinked. “What question?” 

Alec’s smile widened. “Am I, or am I not-“ he paused to push the robe off of his shoulders. The silk of the robe did the rest of the work for him, sliding down into a perfect pool at his feet. “Allowed to have sex with you?”

The falling robe had caught Magnus’s attention, and next the feet that took one, two, steps closer until they were almost toe to toe. Magnus’s eyes had to traverse all the way up along Alec’s nearly bare legs before they finally came to rest on Alec’s face.

It was kind of unfair, Magnus thought, that Magnus’s least favourite species in this world just had to be the most attractive. And it was especially unfair that the currently most annoying of the lot also had to be the most attractive of the lot.

“No,” Magnus said as soon as he caught himself, taking a step back.

Alec pursed his lips. Magnus caught the way his eyes flicked downwards for a split second - reminding Magnus that he was still, in fact, shirtless - before he immediately tore his gaze away, cheeks blazing.

It was strange, such an innocent response from someone whose words were so brazen.

“I’ll, uh-“ Magnus summoned the fallen robe to his hand, backing out of the shower. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Alec simply nodded, eyes not meeting Magnus’s. 

Magnus pulled the door close and turned his back to it. “Okay, now I’m-“

He hesitated, fingers poised to snap in front of him. I’m going to take your clothes off sounded wrong, as did I’m going to strip you naked. 

“I’m going to… snap my fingers and…” Magnus gave up. “Oh, fuck it.”

He snapped his fingers, and caught the clothes that appeared mid-air. Alec only let out a stifled gasp in response.

Oh, fuck, Alec is naked and he’s only a wall away from-

“Goodbye!” Magnus squawked over his shoulder as he practically ran out of the bathroom, banishing the robe and clothes to the laundry hamper without even taking a look at them. He immediately ran to his own bedroom, launching himself face-first into the bed and groaning out loud.

“Stupid!” he muttered to himself, bashing his head into a pillow. “Stupid, stupid, stupid, what are you-“

He groaned again, burying his face into the pillow.

Taking a deep breath, Magnus slowly climbed out of bed. A shower, he decided, was what he needed, too.

What he also needed was to not think of Alec, which, he realized quickly, was going to be very hard to do.

Stupid short skirts and stupid long legs.

Still cursing to himself, Magnus went into the attached bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

***

Because of your choice last chapter,

Alec has had a relaxing breakfast

Magnus and Alec had a bit of a heart to heart. Kind of.

#sams #fic 100 #malec #malec fic recs

[incorrectcats]

So, as I promised, here is my overly obsessive, too enthusiastic, and probably poorly written and structured mess of an analysis of the song Kaisarion. Because I love it wholeheartedly and I need to share all this love with the world.

But, first things first: sorry in advance if this turns up to be way too long. It may happen. I just can’t shut up about this. And of course, this is just my opinion and interpretation, and in no way, shape or form is this any kind of irrevocable truth and, at the end of the day, every song is just partially what the author meant and partially what us, listeners, understood of it and how we translated it to our own experiences and feelings.

Lastly, as always: English is not my first language, I’ll try to be as clear as possible hehe.

Okay, LET’S GO.

To me, Kaisarion —as many other Ghost songs— is about embracing the very cause of your downfall. It’s about turning your back to what you’ve been told is good and sacred and righteous, and finding your own way to happiness. It’s a song telling you “it’s okay if you’ve been cast out, because we’re here, waiting for you down here”. And, taking this into consideration, the lyrics are very interesting.

But first, a bit of history!

In Kaisarion, we’re being told two different stories: one that is linked to the lyrics and their literal interpretation and the other one, more emotionally-based and metaphorical. Impera is an album about empires and, more precisely, about the fall of those empires, and the word “kaisarion” refers to the Caesareum of Alexandria, an ancient temple in Egypt where Hypatia, the Greek philosopher and mathematician, was murdered (we’ll come back to this later). “Kaisarion” is also very close to the word “kaiser”, which was the name given to the German emperors and, at the same time, which is a word derived from Latin, like any other “caesar”-related word (including, for instance, the Russian “tsar”). 

So, just with the title, we already have a very powerful imagery right before us, but the true meaning lies beyond the title, because here’s where things get wild and where our dear and terribly mistreated Hypatia comes into play. Because Hypatia sought shelter in the Caesareum when she was being persecuted by a Christian mob and, sadly, didn’t find what she was looking for. The mob found her in the temple, and well… We know the ending of the story.

Which is kind of ironic, because the Caesareum was a temple conceived by an Egyptian queen in memory of her Roman lover (allegedly) and later finished by yet another Roman dude (Augustus, you may know him-). And all of them were pagans, one of the reasons why Hypatia met such a tragic end. 

And, amongst many other things, that’s what Kaisarion is about: is about injustice, about a society that preaches one thing and acts the opposite, about false appearances, about prideful ignorance, about the violent repression of any kind of diversity or difference. We can see it reflected in the lyrics of the song:

“Our brotherhood of good faith sealed an apostate witch's doom”

Here, the apostate witch would be Hypatia, and her murder, as the ellimination of many other pagan people and temples, would be the seal that strengthen the foundations of Christianity which, despite being a religion with a relatively pacifist dogma, had caused the uprise of pretty violent mobs in its first centuries. (NOTE: with this I don’t mean to say that this violent reaction is an exclusive Chistian thing. Not at all. It’s very similar to many other historical processes where a social group goes from being under a heavy oppression/opposition to gaining a lot of power in a relatively short amount of time. But that’s another story for another time.)

Another of the lines that shows this glorified violence is in the first pre-chorus: 

“It's the smell of the burning temples swept away by rhymes”

The “burning temples” could refer to the library of Alexandria or to the pagan temples, and the “rhymes” could be related to Christian canticles, which is something that, I think, is very linked to the collective imaginary of Christianity (see, for instance, Gregorian chant, choirs, etc.).

This idea of evil-disguised-as-good can also be found  in the second verse:

“Kaisarion, a matter of love

When Mother Earth is calling for a father up above

Kaisarion, put on the smiles

And throw your holy rocks right at her for her satanic wiles”

And I could keep commenting on this, because it’s such an interesting topic, BUT, we need to move forward, because in the second pre-chorus there are some of my personal favourite lines:

“It's the truth of candor shone through the prism of deceit

It's the continence of bishops with their choirboys en-suite

It's the tongue selling adulation that licks to no avail

It's the noise of the righteous dogma that hides the handmaid's tail”

Here, we find again this idea of hypocrisy and fake virtue used as a rug behind which all the dark and evil stuff can be found. But with that last line, I just- *screams into the void* Sorry, I need to express how clever it is, how TF plays with words and creates whole narratives out of single sentences.

“It's the noise of the righteous dogma that hides the handmaid's tail”

The “noise” of a “righteous dogma” already tells us what we’re dealing with: it’s not a whisper, it’s not a sound; it’s a *noise*. It’s loud, and probably obnoxious, and it pretends to convey a message of justice and goodness when, in reality, it “hides the handmaid’s tail”. And please, note that, apparently, the lyrics say “tail” and not “tale”, AS I THOUGHT IT SAID UNTIL LITERALLY A MINUTE AGO WHEN I READ THIS:

“The emphasis of ‘tail’ rather than tale if this is indeed the correct lyric could be clever word play to bring about a more animalistic nature in these hidden ideals within the perpetuation of any ‘dogma’, presenting it almost as a wolf in sheep’s clothing, hidden behind the bright innocent exterior that most groups interested in persuading others to their cause, whatever their purpose, try to perpetuate.”

It’s… It’s just fucking brilliant. For real. I’m absolutely speechless, staring at my laptop with a dumbfounded smile.

And, finally, there’s the chorus:

“Far away from the stench of the heavens

Long ago, yet too close to forever

When a paradise is lost, go straight to…”

These are the phrases that are sung side by side with the name of Hypatia.

And, this is the thing: although this is a song about the building of an empire on the foundations of the destruction of what preceded it, about blinding pride and fanaticism, violence and intolerance… This is also a song about deception. 

About pretending to be what one is not.

And that’s why, despite being a song apparently sung from the perspective of the mobs that murdered Hypatia, the true singer of this song is our dearly beloved Papa, and this unholy smartass is not praising what these mobs, moved by fanaticism and hatred, did and enforced. He’s laughing at it. He’s exposing it. He’s forcing us to look at it, and then he points in the opposite direction.

Because, when paradise is lost you go straight to…

Yeah, to the Antipope.

(I don’t know if he still does this, but I’ve seen performances where, after “go straight to”, he yells “HELL” and- I mean, the drums go on a descending scale at the end of the song, which yeah… Something something, using sounds as metaphors for words, something something…)

Replicating what Lucifer and all the fallen angels did in John Milton’s Paradise Lost, Papa tells us that, maybe, there’s another place to be. A different way to go. And that, if we’re rejected by this society for whatever reason, if we’re deemed unworthy of respect, maybe we should turn our backs to it and go. Because there’s many others like us, the dispossessed and the disinherited, and we don’t need all this fake ass righteousness. 

We shall find a place of our own “far away from the stench of the heavens”.

As a queer woman, there are many Ghost songs that make me feel this very particular kind of pride for being who I am and, above all, living my life unapologetically. It’s a message of self-love, but also a message of companionship, of community and finding strength in other stray kids like you. It’s very heartwarming, and very personal, often feeling like a helping hand whenever you’re lonely and helpless, navigating difficult times. I think it’s one of the many reasons why so many people feel attached to this band and its songs. 

In conclusion, Kaisarion is a wonderful album-opener (well, besides Imperium) and TF does something amazing, with words and with music, but also with ideas and with thoughts. This song is a masterpiece in its own and, although I can’t quite analise it from a musical perspective (because I don’t know shit about music lol), I’m glad I could ramble about my love for its lyrics and history.

Now give this Antipope another Grammy-

#the band ghost #ghost the band #ghost bc #kaisarion #impera #ghost impera #papa emeritus iv #popia #classic references #historian shit #lis.txt #tobias forge #ghost lyrics #lyric analysis #imperatour #oof it's really long yay #i spend my afternoon doing this and i still feel like i could talk for hours #never ask a historian about anything #we're insufferable

[black-is-iconic]

Midnight Lover

They only came in the dead of night, when the moon is full and the village is quiet save for the few quiet snores spilling from those who could still sleep peacefully despite the heinous sacrifices they'd so eagerly preformed to save their own worthless skins. You just happen to be one of those sacrifices, tied to a post like an animal for the slaughter. left to the mercy of night crawlers, a silent plea to the gods fell from your lips to make your death a swift one. The air is thick with dread and a sense of foreboding your own stomach curled itself into knots as the first woman alongside you vanishes from her binds in a blur of movement too quick to even see, her ear piercing screams are short lived followed by a wet splat and a laugh that can only be described as a cackle of pure glee and madness, a sound that chilled you to the bone and brought forth a fresh wave of tears as a second girl vanishes in the same manner.

Panic surges through your veins like a fever taking over every nerve ending in your body as you try desperately try pull from your binds but with each movement the ropes almost feels like a coiling snake digging it's fangs into your wrists, leaving angry, red welts in its wake as you fight to get free but you fail miserably.

The sound of thunder rumbled in your ears, and it took well over a minute to realize it was the beating of your own heart and the sound of your own blood rushing through your eardrums in tandem with the sounds of chaos around you as one after the other several girls disappear in the blink of an eye and a short shrill scream, you tried to control your breathing. You tried hard not to hyperventilate, but your body fails you drawing in breath and making a strangled noise that sounded like a sob as everything becomes a blur and you feel yourself growing dizzy and nauseous, black dots dancing along the edge of your vision, you closed your eyes allowing your fate to be sealed but through the chaos of your rambling mind came a tranquil calm.

A gentle voice, a mothers voice whispering in the depths of your mind, 'remember that trick you used to show me?' Your eyes flew open open and your mind filled with determination, casting a glance over your shoulder only two lone girls stood in between you and the cold clutches of death so you took a deep breath and dislocated your thumbs with a muffled scream as you chewed your bottom lip freeing your self from the ropes that bound your wrist.

Quickly fixing your thumbs with a shuddering breath you shook the pain from them and set on work untying the other ropes, it didn't take long before all the remaining ropes lay discarded on the ground and your body soon followed. Your body lay stunned on the ground taking in breath like a fish out of water and your heart continued to hammer erratically in your chest, your hands shaking as you slowly rose to your feet. All the blood rushed back to your head and made you dizzy as you tried to stand straight, your knees wobbled but you were able to remain on your feet, you heard shouts coming from nearby which prompted you to run, as fast as you could into the gaping maul of the dark forest a lousy decision yes but better than turning to the very cretins who'd doomed you to this fate.

The forest had never seemed more sinister to you, the shadows cast by the trees and the slither of moonlight resembled gnarled claws reaching out for your flesh, the silence was overwhelming. It felt like the night had swallowed up any form of life except for yourself, your heard them clear as day. The rustling of leaves and the snap of branches underfoot filled your ears, you're pursuers chose a languid pace. Both you and they knew they could catch you in half a second running was futile you were already dead and yet, you couldn't bring yourself to stop moving.

In fear and confusion, your legs carried you forward the sounds of the forest falling to the way side as your own breath echoed in your ears. You kept running. Your feet pounded against the ground without rhythm, your lungs burned as you sucked in breaths and held them, your heart raced as the adrenaline coursed through your bloodstream and your palms grew clammy with sweat, there seemed to be no end to the sea of wood and brush, your eyesight grew hazy but still you persisted, you couldn't go back down now. The woods gave way, opening up to a clearing, a small house, nothing much but it was better than nothing so channeling the rest of your strength you slammed the entirety of your body into the small rickety wooden door forcing it open with a loud creak.

Scrambling to your trembling legs you closed the door pulling the old dusty couch in front of the door and propping it up so it barricaded your entrance completely while you panted heavily on the floor trying to recover rolling over to your side in a weak attempt to return to your feet, unbeknownst to the two azure blue eyes watching you from the shadows. A loud thud echo's off the rood and a cloud of dust rains down on your senses pulling a sneeze from your throat followed by a dry cough. An eerie silence falls over the small cottage, a cold chill runs down your spine causing goosebumps to rise on your skin as the hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end.

As you slowly backed away from the bucking door, the couch seemed a good barrier as of now but that wouldn't last this you understood was certain. You slowly backed up until you found yourself firmly pressed against something…warm and firm, slowly dragging your fingers along the surface you felt silken robes give way to warm flesh. Fingertips grazing along sculpted abdominal muscles, warm breath tickled your nape drawing your gaze upward where a beautiful soft faced male looked down at you.

His skin smooth, dark, and rich as honey, illuminated by his shimmering pools of sapphire eyes. A kanji reading four branded into his irises, his luscious ebony curls spilled down his neck, back and shoulders tickling your nose as you exhaled a breath of air in a sigh, he was breathtaking in his beauty and grace. His warm clawed hands slide up your thighs, resting on your hips and pulling you tighter against him, but you made no efforts to flee either too tired or enthralled to resist this….man before you. It's painstakingly obvious he's inhumane. The Ivory cracked horns were a dead giveaway, but despite that fact you felt….oddly at ease in his presence.

Maybe this was a trick, a ploy to lower your defenses and leave you vulnerable but…there was no escape for you…you were trapped by exhaustion and his intoxicating scent like fresh mint and jasmine, a pleasant mix of herbs that lingered in the air after a rainfall, the scent was oddly comforting, it reminded you of home…of something familiar suddenly the sound of the couch crashing to the floor breaking you from the hypnotic like trance you'd been lulled into by the demon male still holding your waist.

Only now a little tighter, through the caved in door came three more males, each of them resembling the one holding you just slightly different the first male a harpy like being with golden talons sharp as daggers and wings of brown and cream a deep purr rumbled within his chest as he stalked forward with a predatory glint in his eyes that burned gold marked with the same kanji his tongue flickered between his teeth and you caught a glimpse of the kanji joy etched onto his tongue "such a pretty human…" He spoke seductively trailing his talons under your chin, "You smell sweeter than the rest" He cooed gingerly stroking your cheek with his talon covered fingers tracing the curve of your jaw. "You should've eaten her already we deliberately chased her hear for you to finish off what's with the delay." "She certainly is a beauty would be a shame to let such gorgeous specimen go to waste", another male purred emerald green eyes looking you up in down "can I keep her Sekido?" The male clutching your hip asked in such a soft, sweet voice you'd almost forgot he was a demon, the one know as Sekido with the deep scarlet eyes and permeant scowl crossed his muscular arms over his clothed chest.

"No" he hissed with an air of finality "If I let you keep a pet then I have to let Urogi, and Karaku and Urami get one and that would be a pain so either eat her or I will", the male clutched you tighter pulling you away from the other three males "Sekido..I don't ask for much, please….you ley Urogi keep a pet and he killed them in one week"

the known as Urogi chuckled and it was the same chilling laughter that you'd heard earlier "hey, to be fair" he cooed feathers ruffling in delight "I was a bit carless but I'll be gentle with this one she's too pretty to break don't see many exotics out here hehe" "No, you already had one she is mine" the male clutching your hip said in a rather possessive manner as he pulled you closer into his warmth "If your going to keep it then you have to share, that's final" the stern voice of Sekido cut through the air chilling you to the bone as he pinned you down with his piercing crimson orbs.

"That's not fair-" he started holding you tightly between his arms in a protective manner from the two who we're eyeing you like a tasty treat but Sekido cut him off "Aizetsu this isn't up for debate be thankful I'm even considering letting you keep it" he seethed stamping his golden staff on the ground, suddenly the air felt charged as Aizetsu let out a deep sigh tickling your neck "fine, I'll share" "hehe good I call dibs on playing with her first" Karaku sang reaching for you with groping hands but Aizetsu scooped you up gently and delivered a powerful blow to Karaku's chest sending him flying into a wall.

"Since she was intended for me, she's more my pet than yours which means I get to spend time with her first", he says cradling you bridal style his arms so strong and yet he held you as if you were made of glass or porcelain, you swallow nervously at the prospect of being the play thing of not one but four demons somehow sensing your nervousness Aizetsu leaned his head to yours gingerly nuzzling it "Don't worry little one" he whispered in an charismatic tender manner "we'll be very careful with you" his lips brushing against your ear sending chills through your spine "I'll protect you"

#aizetsu x reader #karaku x reader #sekido x reader #urogi x reader #demon slayer #african american

[graha-stan-account]

Clear: Day 14

Clear: n. free of any obstruction or unwanted objects. 

Make-up post! 

Present. Self-restraint is not G'raha's strong suit. Still, somehow he's holding himself back from the thing he desperately wants to do. Thankfully, he has an enabler. Post-6.0. 

FFXIVWrite 2023 Masterlist

--- 

If bringing Etheirys back from certain doom seemed like an insurmountable task, G'raha Tia couldn't recall. The events of the past months felt a blur, a flurry of running two and fro, a breathless dream, even. On the other hand, these stacks of paperwork were very, very real. It had only been a few weeks since the Students of Baldesion began to accept new requests, but the speed with which they flooded in stirred dread which not long ago might have overtaken him. 

Part of the problem was the requests which had arrived before the End of Days had been averted hadn't been sorted out. As he and Krile sifted through the missives, it became evident a good amount of them were no longer relevant, given the circumstances. 

But they could not simply be tossed away wholesale. No, they needed to be examined by hand, each and every one. For all the magic he could wield, G'raha lamented he had not studied the art of conjury nearly enough to call up a familiar to help with even these menial tasks. 

He eyed the piles before him, each indistinguishable from the last. One of these stacks had been sorted, though. He was unsure which. 

He picked up a sheaf of paper and skimmed the page. It was not expired, as they'd taken to calling obsolete requests, but was it a priority? No, however... could it be taken care of quickly? Well... 

"Leave already. Go!" G'raha started at the sound of Krile's voice, the sheaf he'd been examining becoming a crumpled bouquet in his hand. He turned to face her a moment later, Krile standing with hands on her hips, staring with wide-eyed scrutiny at G'raha. 

"I-I'm working as fast as I can, Krile." He turned back to his work, wiping the newly-formed sweat from his brow. "Before we can begin to delegate these requests, we must prioritize them f--" 

"You're useless, Raha!" she shouted, her voice resonating up into the rafters. His posture stiffened and she dropped her pretense of anger, smiling knowingly. "Ever since J'napha stopped by you sigh and sigh and reshuffle the same pile. You know which request you ought to prioritize." 

G'raha blinked vacantly at her, tilting his head in lack of comprehension despite the burning in his face. 

"Go and see her!" She shoved at his thigh. "It wasn't an idle invitation. Have you lost your sense?" She paused a moment, and began again softer this time: "Go and see her." Her smile warmed all the way up to her eyes. 

"I..." He cleared his throat. "There is much yet to be done. I cannot bring myself to leave you on your own." 

Krile tapped her chest. "Raha, I haven't been alone. Besides, Ojika agreed to help me." 

"When did he agree to that?" 

"While you were sighing and fretting over that discard pile just there!" She covered the stack of paper with a slap of her hand. "Raha, I know you have simply been out of your head since everyone scattered to the four winds. Do you not think this is difficult for her, too? If she's calling on you, I see no reason to stand her pretending you're not ready to jump out of your skin for want of catching that next airship. Go. See her." She studied him a moment longer in silence, his expression still murky. "I'll file a request myself if it'll get you out of here faster." 

"Your point is made, Krile." G'raha chuckled, struggling to tidy the piles before him with trembling fingers. 

"Bah! All the wild things you do and yet this is what gives you pause." 

"If something comes up, do not hesitate to reach me via linkpearl. I won't be gone long." 

"Consider your schedule cleared!" She pushed him toward the big double doors of the main hall. "Besides, I'll do better with a helper who's not as lovesick by half!" 

"Krile!" 

"Give your lovely Warrior of Light my regards!" 

#ffxivwrite2023 #g'raha tia #krile baldesion #when in doubt give him more shrimping rights #make up day

[swanmaids]

for the prompt list i found: ‘it was an expensive mistake’ sooo compelling!! 😁

thank you so much!

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

When did I realise my error? It is a question that I have thought on much. In a way, I suppose I always knew. My uncle's Oath- it was folly, of course it was. I shan't give myself too much credit for seeing that from the start, since frankly an idiot could have realised that such a vow was only going to end in tears- so I'm not sure what it says about his sons, that they didn't.

Of course, my next actions say nothing good about me, either.

Why did I come to Middle Earth? That question too has kept me awake many nights. When my wife and I decided to leave Aman, we were thinking of our daughter. I don't deny that it sounds ludicrous, considering what I know now, but it's the truth. When the Spider killed the Trees and the Dark Enemy killed my grandfather, the Blessed Realm became a dark and frightening place, and Elenwë and I were caught in a great fear for our daughter. I suppose with all the Noldor swept in a rush to go, to go now, we came to think that Middle Earth would be a better place for Idril, too.

Perhaps we were both a little mad, back then.

Or perhaps I would simply like to think that I was mad, for how else can I explain what I did next? Surely I could not have been sane, when I followed my brother to Alqualondë, when I raised my newly-forged sword in that haven with all the grace of a toddler brandishing a stick, when I murdered my kinsman for - what? Because I followed my brother, who followed his cousin, who followed his father, and none of us stopped to question or to think? It is a poor excuse to take a man’s life.

After that, there was no turning back for me- the Doomsman was more than clear. But I could still have saved my wife and child, and I say to you this, I did try. I told my wife to take Idril and turn back with my uncle- we had thought that Middle Earth would be safer for her, but the deaths and the Doom made it clear that was folly. But Elenwë was stubborn, and said she would not be parted from me, and so together we pressed onwards.

We had never seen the Ice before. We did not know the nature of the beast that we faced.

Perhaps it was on the Ice that I knew the true nature of my error. Certainly here in Mandos, the Weaver shows me the same scenes often. Here is my wife, falling in terror, drowning and lost. Here is my father, his longsword raised to cut away the blackened stumps of my daughter's legs. As if I could ever forget!

The histories say that I hated Fëanor and his sons for the burning of the ships and the condemnation of my father's Host to the Ice, and they are true, I hated them then and I hate them still. I hate myself yet more. It is I who should have drowned then- what had my wife and child done but follow me, believing I would lead them to a better life? Yes, when Elenwë was lost to me, it was as though all that was joyful and loved the world within me drained away, and I lived each day as though through a black mist.

By the time Idril and I reached Beleriand, I knew what a mistake I had made to try to come to Middle Earth at all, but life had not yet finished reminding me. First my younger brother, butchered by orcs. My sister, held captive in darkness, then slain by the one who should have cherished her. My father killed by the enemy himself, his corpse left outside my city gates. Finrod, my friend and more than friend, betrayed by our cousins to die in darkness and despair. And finally my elder brother, cleaved almost in two by the foul balrog's axe in front of my own eyes.

My city remained- my city was safe. Gondolin had allowed Idril to reach adulthood in peace and beauty, the last of the great Elven cities in Beleriand. Even when Ulmo’s blessed messenger warned me, I still could not believe that it would truly fail her - just one last mistake, as it turned out.

So there is the sum total of my exile- myself a murderer of kin, my wife dead, my family and my dearest friend dead, my city destroyed and my people slaughtered and scattered, my daughter and my grandson left to face Morgoth’s wastelands alone. How many ways can a man fail? As a husband, a father, and a king, I failed them all. So many people paid for my failures, and the cost was high indeed.

I do not think I shall ever leave these Halls. Each of the Weaver’s tapestries of my life is one more reason why I deserve no such mercy.

#turgon #my fic #my post #the silm