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delirioushrimp · 3 years

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Frozen Fairytale (DemonYB AU)

This is like the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever done hhhhh-

Once more, this story is here because I am a huge simp for @harbingers-appointed ‘s amazing AU !

Vee I hope you know I would die for you !

Plot changed three times during the writing process, help-

He senses their pain before he hears their scream. It’s a cry of agony, distress, begging for help and he feels it in his bones as though it was his own suffering. It travels through his being like a shot of electricity; fast, violent, and dizzying. It takes him a few seconds to recover from the pain and as soon as he does, a feeling of dread unlike anything he had experienced before fills his soul until it’s the only thing he can think about.

He rises abruptly from his desk, causing TK to flinch and look at him with a confused and fearful look. But he can’t see his tactician, can’t hear them ask if something is wrong, can’t feel the pieces of wood piercing his skin. His soul, his heart is burning a fire of horror and rage.

He almost knocks the door of its hinges as he desperately tries to reach them through the pain.

“Darling ! Darling where are you ?!”

Long agonizing seconds pass -where he imagines the worst has already happened-

pleasepleasepleaseplease-

“Sa…mael…”

Their voice is too weak, too frail and distressed for him to relax. And they only used his real name when…

“Tell me where you are !”

He doesn’t mean the harshness, the sternness in his tone, centuries of cold authority coursing through his veins and the panic rending him unable to control it. He hears a gasp before they answer once more.

“…Water…lake…blue…”

“What-“

“So…cold…”

His eyes widen furthermore at their words, his feet carrying him to the only place they could be as terror -the kind he hadn’t felt in hundreds of years- takes hold of him. He doesn’t notice the looks of bewilderments of his kind as he runs past them, quickly turning into pure fear when they feel the murderous aura of their King. Most of them have never witnessed it and to endure its overwhelming presence like this, even for a second bring them to their knees. He doesn’t notice any of them as he runs like he never has, ignoring the tremendous pain his heels bring him.

“Darling-“

“It hurts…it hurts so much. I-don’t think I can hold for much longer…”

They sound on the verge of fainting, and it feels as though he might be dying.

“Don’t ! Don’t let go ! Please ! I’m on my way !”

“…Samael…I’m so tired…”

“Please ! Please just a little longer !”

He never begged, the King of Hell doesn’t beg for anything or to anyone. He didn’t beg when God casted him aside, didn’t beg when he was stripped of his title, of his wings, or when he felt their ghostly presence for a hundred years to come. He never begged in his life, when he wants something, he simply takes it without asking, because he doesn’t need anyone’s permission. He doesn’t need the princes’ or TK, and he especially doesn’t need permission from that pathetic God.

And yet in that moment, running in the frozen parts of his kingdom, he is willing to. He’s willing to beg anyone he crosses to save his beloved; he’s willing to kneel in front of God if it means he can get back the wings which were so painfully teared apart from him, even for just a minute, anything so he can reach them sooner, faster even by a few seconds. Anything for the pain to stop. He briefly looks up at the sky.

You knew this would happen, didn’t you ?!

He doesn’t expect an answer, and he doesn’t get one but doesn’t miss how the harsh winds seem to be whispering words of mockery to his ears. But the sound of their voice brings him back to the moment.

“My King…”

He feels their mind sleeping farther away, to a place he can’t reach. The words are spoken softly and lovingly but with a hint of regret.

“I’m sorry…”

“DON’T !”

But the connection is lost, quickly followed by a loud splashing sound and his soul shatters into pieces. A scream of agony echo through the frozen lands, the wild and agonizing cry of a frenzied beast, chilling anyone who hears it to the bone.

He starts running again, this time, pleading, again and again to find them. The smell of iron hits him, and he feels madness takes over his mind.

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

As soon as your bruised and frozen fingers let go of the small rock, you feel it. The long, tortuous howl of his voice ringing in your soul reminding you of his hellish nature. It tears you apart and for the briefest moment, you wish you could have said something more. Then the water takes you.

It doesn’t hurt as much as you expected it, the pain only lasts a minute. A minute where your lungs desperately try to breath into the frigid ocean that surrounds you, burning every cell of your being. But then nothing. Only silence and the slow descent of your body towards the unknown, and you briefly wonder if there is an end to this endless ocean. It’s peaceful, quiet, and painless. A calm, soft blue surrounds you, reminding you of his eyes. It lulls and soothes you.

So beautiful…

Everything is numb and you feel your eyes growing heavy but you’re not scared. You’re not scared because you remember his words upon your arrival.

Death is something you will never have to fear my dear, for I am the only one who controls it here.

A small smile draws on your lips despite the cold.

Then it’s alright, I’ll suffer a thousand pains if it means staying with you.

He will find you; you know he will, he always does. You just have to wait a bit. You close your eyes and fall asleep into the icy blankets of water. Death will not find you, the Light Bringer will.

-------‐----------------------------------------------‐-------------

The first time you wake up, it’s to the sound of crying and pleading. Someone is begging for you to open your eyes, but the task proves to be impossible. The sorrow and the lament in their voice break your heart, despite not being able to recognize who it is. You vaguely hear the person call for your name, again and again between their sobs. You wish you could comfort whoever is uttering your name with such anguish and desperation. But instead, you fall back into the arms of Morpheus.

Who are you ?

The second time you wake up, it’s to the smell of blood. The stench invades your mind, overwhelming all your senses until it’s the only thing you can perceive. You want to gag, yet your body seems unresponsive to even your most basic instincts, as if frozen in ice. But behind that heavy and violent scent, you catch a hint of something familiar. Something ancient, powerful, and pleasant, it comforts you. Instinctively, you cling to that aroma acting as a lifesaver and slumber takes over you once more.

I know you.

The third time you wake up, it’s to the taste of something bitter running down your throat. It tastes like one of those herbal teas from back home, but far worse. It burns and stings your tongue; makes you sick to your stomach, and you panic. You trash around, try to scream but no sound leaves you. Your crisis is interrupted when you feel something soft brush against your lips, something sweet and gentle, like a candy melting in your mouth. It’s enough for you to fall back asleep.

Who am I to you ?

The fourth time you wake up, it’s to a warm touch. Something -or rather someone- is holding your arm tightly, though not enough to hurt. You still struggle to open your eyes, but you can feel the way their much bigger hand delicately holds yours, running soothing circles on your palm. Then you feel a warm breath on your fingers and a pair of lips brushing against them in such a tender and caring way it brings tears to your eyes. You doze off, feeling loved and protected.

I’ve never felt so cherished before.

The fifth time you wake up, it’s to a sight you never believed to witness. A large figure kneeling on their knees by your side, head resting on your chest, through some miracle, the long horns barely scrap your skin. Pale moonlight rays shine on them- no him, allowing you to see a pained expression and the bags under his eyes, a sight which immediately strikes you with grief. He looks absolutely miserable. And yet, you find a certain beauty to it. Is it because you know he would only kneel for you ?

My King…

As if on cue, a gasp reaches your ears before the head lying on your chest shots up, so fast it almost knocks you out. You curse out loud in fear, but the sound quickly dies in your throat the moment you notice the look in his eyes.

First you see shock, confusion, and disbelief following one another in rapid motion before relief takes over. His eyes, his smile, it’s like he just found the greatest treasure in all three worlds. It reminds you of the first time you met, except he doesn’t hold it back. The raw devotion and adoration in his gaze, it’s almost too much for your heart to handle.

You try to reach for him with your hand but a sharp pain in your shoulder forces you to withdraw your arm, you hiss at the sensation and he notices it. His expression immediately falls and is replaced by sorrow and guilt. You can see it in those endless pools of blue, you can see how he’s blaming himself for something he isn’t responsible for, you can see how terrified he is of you hating and discarding him, and most of all, you can see the suffering he endured during your short absence. You’ve never witnessed something like this before. You’d seen him irritated, disappointed, tired, or dejected even.

But this, this was something you hated seeing on him. This expression of utter defeat and grief does not suit him at all.

Carefully, you lift your other -and fortunately non-injured- arm and with as much softness as you can muster, brush your hand against his cheek. He jolts from the touch as if he expected a much harsher reaction but just as quickly, leans into your touch and closes his eyes. He’s trembling, still afraid you’re only indulging him one last time before rejecting him completely. It surprises you, how easily you can read him when you could barely decipher his true intentions not so long ago.

You push back the blankets and slowly shifts your body until your feet dangle from the bed, caging him between your legs, but his eyes are still shut.

“My King…” you whisper in a raspy voice, “open your eyes please.” The shaking grows in intensity. “For me…”

Your last words act as spell pulling him out of his misery. His gaze is solely focused on you, and even after all this time, it still takes your breath away. How could such a powerful, beautiful and infinite being look at you -a mere mortal soul- with such intensity you feel like the only person existing in all three realms ? You still don’t understand, and you don’t know if you ever will.

Does it even matter ?

He who has everything, looks like he might crumble at any moment. The embodiment of pride, crawling at your feet, begging for your love. Has he ever shown such vulnerability to anyone else before ? The selfish part of you wishes he hasn’t, the greedy and possessive part that wants all of him for you and only you. His mind, his body, his heart, and his soul, all for you, just like you belong to him.

Comfort him, cherish him, accept him, love him

“My love,” you call for him, and the distance between the two of you shortens, you feel his hands roam your body, desperately clinging to you. “My star, my light, my savior, my fated one…”

Each appellation has him growing closer and closer until his forehead touches yours, his breathing is erratic, his eyes search for any trace of resentment on your face, hands encircling your waist is a tight -but non-painful- grip.

“None of this was your fault-“

“Don’t go to them !”

You speak at the same time, but you stop at the frantic tone of his voice. You frown, confused, waiting for further explanations.

“I know I- failed to protect you !” he admits in the most pathetic tone you’ve ever heard. “But please, don’t leave me !” he begs, and your mind is sent into a spiral of worry as you try to come up with a way to calm him down. “Don’t- don’t choose them !”

Who are you even talking about ?!

“They- he will only hurt and use you !”

His words hit you like a bucket of ice- no it’s worse than that, colder than the waters you drowned in, colder than the harsh winds digging into your skin when you were clinging to that rock for dear life. You feel your blood boil and freeze at the same time, because you understand who he is talking about.

The genuine deep-rooted fear in his tone fills you with both dread and fury. It terrifies you because it means this demon, no-this entity is far worse and far more powerful than you thought, enough for the King of Hell to be afraid of it. It enrages you because it means they hurt him before, most likely tortured and let him bleed out like the sadistic creature they are. Your interactions with them had given you a hunch about their true nature but this is so much worse, much more horrible than you’d anticipated.

Theyhurtyoutheyhurtyoutheyhurtyou-

You want to scream, you want to get up from this bed, you want to find this smug bastard -it wouldn’t take long, they’re always around the corner- and strangle them. You don’t remember the last time you felt such wrath against someone. But you can’t. You can’t because you can barely move without your body hurting but most of all, because you just know they would relish in your anger and you wouldn’t be able to bear that infuriating self-satisfied and arrogant smile.

The grip around your waist suddenly tightens and when your eyes focus on him again, you realize your mistake. He noticed your anger, and thought it was directed at him. His pupils are blown wide, and he starts shaking again, mumbling the same sentence over and over again like a broken record.

“don’tleavemedon’tleavemedon’tleaveme-“

“Sweetheart-“

“This will never happen again, I promise !” he interrupts you.

“Dear-“ you try again, but to no avail.

“I’ll never leave you, never again ! “ His voice turns dark, with a hint of madness to it. “Will always stay with you, always by your side. Always, always, always, always…”

“Love please-“

“You know I would do anything for you, right ?” His eyes are blown so wide you can barely see his pupils, smile stretched to the point it might tear his face apart. The raw possessiveness and despair, they make him look completely mad. “Tell me, tell me what should I do to earn back your love. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. Just tell me.”

You stare at him in stunned silence and in that moment, you know if you asked for him to set his kingdom ablaze, he’d only ask you in how many days. He had told you so in the past, but you’d only taken it as another dramatic display to entertain you. Now you realize how serious he was and to your shock, you’re not as frightened as you should be. In fact…

His eyes twitches and a trail of cobalt blood starts to run down his chin from how hard he’s biting his lips. His voice turns to hysterics and you think you see something running down his cheeks.

“Just tell me ! There must be something ! Tell me please, tellmetellmetellmetellme-“

“Samael, enough !” you end up shouting at him.

He immediately stills, from the tone of your voice or the use of his name, you can’t tell. You didn’t mean to raise your voice, not when he was breaking down in front of you, but he wouldn’t have stopped otherwise. And hearing him so hopeless and frantic was too much for you to handle.

Ignoring the pain in your left shoulder, you reach for him again, this time with both hands and he watches you lovingly cup his face in your hands with awe. His gaze darts back and forth between your face and your hands in utter bewilderment, like a child trying to solve a puzzle. You almost laugh at the thought. Instead, you lock eyes with him and speak firmly.

“I’ll tell you what I want.” He perks up, eagerly waiting for your wish. “I want you to stop blaming yourself for something that’s not your fault.” You see him open his mouth, most likely to protest but you don’t give him the chance to. “I want you to remember I don’t hate you; I’ve never hated you and never will. “ You sense him slightly relaxes. “I want you to understand I will never leave you, not for them, and not for anyone else, never. “ You pause, watching the blue returning to his eyes.

His expression holds trust, hope and an innocence you didn’t believe possible for him to have, he looks so much younger. For a moment, you think you’re gazing at the benevolent, bright, and loyal angel he once was, the devoted hand of God. You remember the feather he gifted you on the first night you kissed his scars, a pure and immaculate white, softer than the most delicate silk existing on earth and more valuable than any jewel in the world. He had looked so happy, so earnest, when he gave it to you. And now, you can so easily picture thousands of those same feathers linked together to form majestic wings. The vision has you smiling softly. But a question, one you had avoided asking him ever since you realized his feelings for you were genuine burns at the corners of your mind once more. Laced with such pride, envy, and selfishness you never felt brave enough to ask.

Do you love me more than you used to love God ?

Two warm, large hands covering yours bring you back to reality and the innocence vanishes, allowing for the madness to reappear once more. But his voice is steady, confident and lacks the fragility it held mere moments ago.

“God took everything from me, from the very beginning, only took and took.” You are not shocked to hear the way he spat those words, but from the fact he seems to have read your mind. “But you…” he draws out, bringing your left hand to his lips and giving a chaste kiss where your pulse lies, teeth grazing at the flesh. You feel him slowly exhale against your skin. “You keep on giving and giving. Your presence, you smile, your touch, your voice…” You feel his tail slowly making its way around your left leg as he speaks. “But I still keep wanting more of you each passing day…” His voice becomes strained with yearning and desire. “I can’t get enough; I’ll never get enough of you.”

He closes his eyes, inhales and exhales slowly, as if trying to contain his hunger and fervor for you. His breaths are the only sounds in the large room and you find some sort of peace to it. It eases your nerves, reminds that this moment is not a dreamy hallucination from your comatose state, this is real. You don’t know how long it lasts -a few seconds, a minute or an hour- until he opens his eyes again and your heartbeat becomes uncontrollable.

His pupils have turned into hearts, and although it’s not the first time, you still find yourself mesmerized by the sight. Who knew the Devil could be capable of such thing ? The vibrancy, the intensity, and the sincerity his gaze holds have you melt into him and you instinctively close your thighs tighter around him. He relishes in your actions if the soft purring you hear is anything to go by.

“My Dear…” he fondly says before calling for your name, and you smile, loving the way it rolls on his tongue. “The dull candlelight of devotion I once felt for the one who cast me aside cannot possibly compare to the eternal flame of adoration I hold for you.”

You feel every fiber of your body burns at his confession, pure delight taking over your mind and utter bliss over your heart. How are you supposed to respond to that ? Nothing you could say would be enough to match this. So you decide to answer in the only way you can think of. You lean in and finally close whatever distance was left between the two of you.

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou

You hope he can hear it, how much you love him, you hope he feels how your soul calls for his in desperate craving. You hope he realizes you will never stop loving him as you taste the blood and the tears on his lips. You hope he understands you would do anything for him as you feel his hands shift to grip your thighs. How could such a corrupted being taste so divine ?

You want him, you want him to touch and hold you, because you feel the most alive when he does. Hastily, you blindly reach for his long horns and smirk into the kiss when you finally grab them and without a warning, pulls him towards you. And oh, the way he moans into your mouth, it sounds heavenly. It makes you lose your mind.

Moremoremoremoremore-

You do it a second time, which causes him to growl and you revel at the feeling of his nails digging into your tender skin. It feels so good, so good to have him touch you like this. But then he breaks the kiss and you whine when he removes his hands from your legs, instead placing them on each side of your body to steady himself.

His eyes are hooded with raw desire and lust, causing a shot of electricity to travel to your core. Knowing that you’re the only one who’ll get to see him like this, the only one able to create such reactions from him fills you with unwavering pride and satisfaction.

“Darling…” he whispers in a husky, barely controlled voice. “I can’t- you’re still hurt, I-“ He hisses when you tenderly rub the base of his horns. “Ah…don’t- torture me like this.” His labored breath and the pleading in his tone only urge you to do it again. “You need to rest more before-“ You shush him with a finger against his lips.

“You’re the only one who can make the pain go away…” you trail off, noticing how close he is to give in from how tightly he’s holding the bedsheets. “My King…” you beg, fingers brushing against his cheek. “Please, I need you” you admit.

You can almost see the resolution shatters in his eyes and it’s beautiful. You feel absolutely drunk on triumph, love and euphoria, a deadly combination that drives you to feel much bolder, impudent, and confident than you should be in your condition.

He lifts you up in one, swift -although careful- movement before settling himself on the bed with you straddling his lap and hmmm you can feel how much he wants you now. In a moment of reckless bravery, you grind against him and smile smugly at the chocking sound coming from his throat. But your victory is short-lived when you feel a hot breath at the junction of your neck and your shoulder, inhaling your scent. You inhale sharply and a whimper leaves your lips when you feel his teeth -his very sharp teeth- nibble at your skin. A dark, guttural chuckle echo in the room, one filled with sinful promises of pleasure, making your body growing hotter by the second.

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it you, Darling,” he purrs in your ear, sounding very much like the embodiment of temptation and immorality most sacred texts describe him as. It drives you insane.

He never did this before, it was -almost- always him that would come to you with need and want, and of course, you never refused him. But now…

“I need-“ now look who’s struggling to form coherent sentences. You can feel him smile against your flesh like the devil he is. “I need you to touch me,” you shudder when his hands grip your thighs once more, except his hold is much more possessive than the previous one. “Hold me, fill me, mark me…” your voice becoming more strained and tense as one of his hands starts to make its way to your heated core. “I want you to fuck me until I forget the pain, and my own name…” The animalistic sound that leaves him sends goosebumps along your skin. You sigh deliriously. “I want you to worship me.”

He leaves your neck to look at you one more time before he completely loses it. You know he wants to check if you’re really sure about this, he’s done it before, and although you’ve never told him to, you know if you asked him to stop now, he would. As much as it would pain him, you know he’d never betray you like this, not only because he loves and respects you too much, but also because your Devil has standards.

When he notices no hesitation or refusal from you, a ravenous and demented smile draws on his lips as he tilts your chin with his free hand to look at you directly in the eyes. You see excitement, lust, and exhilaration in his frenzied gaze and behind it, his undying adoration.

“As you wish, dearest.”

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You see them not too long after, when you’ve recovered enough to walk on your own, although you sustained no injury on your legs. Though you’re sure some people can tell why you couldn’t use them. The wound on your shoulder is bigger than you thought, starting from your shoulder blade, and almost reaching your hips but the pain is already manageable and you’ve been told no major organ was harmed, so there’s that. You can’t do much about the red angry scar expect apply some ointment every now and then but it’s fine, to demons, scars are not seen as ugly but rather a source of pride and a sign of survival. Not surprising, considering their King was the first to deal with the most painful ones imaginable. Very little got to see them but everyone knew the Fall had taken a lot from him.

Just like he promised, he keeps you near him at all times to the point you quickly forget the notion of personal space but you don’t complain much, considering what happened. Besides, listening to the meetings with the princes and other important figures -on his lap of course- gives you a better insight on how things operate in hell and who you need to be careful of, TK could only spend so much time explaining the basics to you with how busy they were.

All thanks to a certain “housekeeper”…

Ah, thinking about them always lead to a terrible headache, which for some reason you believe them to be aware of. Your last interaction with them goes back to a day or two before the “incident”, they’d been cordial and enthusiastic as usual but something about that smile always kept you on edge. Now you know your cautiousness was not uncalled for. You still want to strangle them but you’d rather drown into that lake again than admit it to their face. You can’t forget the genuine fear in Samael’s voice or the way he trembled against you when he asked you to not go to them.

What exactly did they do to you ?

“Darling ?” A deep voice brings you back to reality and you realize everyone in the room is staring at you -some with more annoyance and hostility than others- and you turn to see the concerned azure gaze of your lover. “Are you alright ?”

You don’ want to lie to him but now is really not the time to mention your doubts and questions. Instead, you smile softly and speak as casually as you can despite the headache growing in intensity.

“I just need some fresh air, don’t worry.”

You can tell he is not fully convinced with how deep his frown is and it gets worse when you try to leave your “seat”. He tenses up and to avoid making a scene you take one of his hands into your own and try to appease his paranoia.

“The balcony is not far, I’ll come back in a few minutes.” You lick your lips. “I promise. Nothing’s gonna happen,” you raise your voice to make sure everyone hears you, “nobody would be stupid enough to try something when you’re here, right ?”

You think you hear a few people chuckle and you don’t need to turn around to guess their derisive smiles. A few moments of silence pass where you stare at the King of Hell with the best puppy eyes you can muster. You know you’ve won when you hear him sigh and nod reluctantly. Slowly, you slip from his lap but before you can make a step, a hand grabs you by the arm causing you to turn around in confusion.

“Five minutes,” is all he says to you, irritation and stress already slipping into his voice. You mentally send an apology to everyone else in the room, knowing what they’ll have to deal with for this short amount of time.

“Of course, I understand.”

You beam at him but right as you’re about to leave, find yourself hit with a very bold and striking idea. You smile deviously under the eyes of a confused King. Dramatically, you kneel before him much like a knight in a fairytale would and take the hand which was holding your arm a few seconds ago into your own and bring it to your lips, not once breaking eye contact with him. He looks at you in stunned silence and wide eyes, his face covered in a delicious shade of blue. As a final move, you drop a chaste kiss on his hand and smile when you hear him inhale sharply.

“I’ll be back soon,” you beath the words fervently against his skin, “My King.”

You stroll out of the room without looking back once and head to the balcony, feeling quite proud -and maybe a bit embarrassed- of your little display despite the dull pain in your skull. You’re fortunate enough to not cross anyone on your way, and exhale slowly once you feel the cold air against your face.

You attempt to distract yourself from your gloomy thoughts with the view and feels the wind to caress your skin in a gentle breeze, it’s calm and peaceful. Until a voice you’re all too familiar with jumps in from behind, and it takes everything in you to refrain yourself from jumping in fright.

“I’m glad you’ve recovered well enough to put little stunts like this !”

You cringe at the friendly, upbeat tone they use and refuse to turn around to gaze at that pretentious smile. Of course, he knows what you did, he always seemed to know where you went and what you did.

“And I’m glad you have enough time on your hands to come and see me,” you retort as casually as possible.

Don’t show your anger, even if he knows, don’t show it.

“Of course, I’ll always free myself for you sweetheart,” he says, voice slightly huskier. “You know I’ll always be there whenever you feel bored.”

There it is, that same charming and bewitching tone he used the first time you met, the one that almost convinced you to follow him to the storage room. And his hair looked so soft, though you’d never touch it, mostly out of fear of what would happen to your fingers if you did. His eyes -well the one visible at least- were so pretty. He was attractive and persuasive for sure, but you always thought he was more than that, and you were right. What would have happened, if you’d followed them that day ?

Ah, I’d rather not think about it…

“Are you giving me the cold shoulder ?” he asks with hurt in his voice, you’re almost convinced it’s genuine. This time, you can’t help but flinch from his wording, and he notices it. “Oops, I shouldn’t have worded it like that, my bad.”

You only sigh at his “apology” and do your best to ignore the footsteps, coming closer and closer to you, slowly, like a snake chasing its unaware prey.

“Come on now, you weren’t so stiff last time we talked.”

You still don’t answer and hear them hum in amusement at your silence. It’s not very hard to imagine the expression he’s wearing right now, narrowed eyes and a knowing smile. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them truly irritated or angry, and while his smile always unnerved you, you’d rather not discover what he looked like when he got mad.

“You’re acting like I’m the one who stabbed you in the back.”

He’s so close, too close to you for comfort, you feel your body tense as soon as the edge of his tail brushes your leg. Oh, he must be relishing in your agitation.

Fucking bastard…

“It must have been so painful, “ he whispers as one of his nails starts to move along your back. “The feeling of a sharp blade piercing your soft skin, “ he says while his finger starts to trail down the exact line of your scar through your clothes. “and the freezing winds nabbing at the wound while you desperately tried to stay afloat.” His voice drips with sadistic glee, you’re almost sure he’s getting turned on. “And then helplessly drowning with none coming to get you, oh you must have felt truly hopeless, didn’t you, sweetheart ?”

The urge to just throw him over the edge eats you away as a warm breath tickles your neck. But you do your best to sound and act as unbothered by the situation, instead opting for a white lie.

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t remember most of it.”

Bad move, you sense him chuckles against your ear at your admission, as if you’d just confided the most important secret in the world. What kind of sick power did you just allow him to have over you now ?

“Really ?” he muses. “That’s too bad…” he snickers. “Maybe I could help you regain some memories ?”

Fuck, I walked right into that one.

“You know I could make it feel good, don’t you ?”

You wonder if this is how Eve felt when she was tricked by the snake, in fact you wouldn’t be surprised to learn Flauros turned out to be the one who tempted her at this point. It’s like he was made for the sole purpose of spreading chaos whenever he went.

“I’ll have to decline the offer,” you answer firmly and to your surprise, notice him take a step back. You feel like you can breathe again.

“You’re so boring,” he exclaims, sounding very much like a spoiled kid. “But I knew it’d be like that, this story isn’t centered around me after all.”

You open your mouth to ask for more explanations when a deep, concerned voice reverberates in your head.

“Darling ? Are you on your way back ?”

You answer quickly, knowing very well what will happen if you don’t.

“Sorry, kinda lost track of time, I’m coming !”

“Hurry…please.”

“Give me a minute, I’ll be there soon.”

You’re glad he doesn’t ask more questions; else you’d have had to tell him about the spider standing right behind you and he’s already stressed enough as it is.

“I’m guessing his Highness is calling for you ?” he asks in an ever-knowing voice, still filled with that same fucking arrogance. “Better not make him wait !” he shouts in a disgustingly sweet sing-song voice.

Gross, this really didn’t suit him at all, being a coy little bastard really fits him better. As much as it bothers you, he’s playing the part of the bad guy pretty well, too well you think. As if he’d done this a hundred times over already.

You want to tell him to leave, to take care of all the tasks poor TK is forced to manage on their own, you want to yell at him, bleed him dry, snap his neck. Anything so you don’t have to walk past him and get a glimpse of that cheeky smile, anything for you to forget the image of a dying Samael from your mind. But then it would mean surrendering, admit that you’re terrified of whatever entity they’re supposed to be.

So, with all the strength and courage you still have left, you turn around and sure enough, he’s looking at you the exact way you predicted it. You walk past him, not too fast -less you betray your fear- but not too slow either -less you have to gaze for too long at that sharp, hypnotizing purple eye- . But the words he utters as you stand a few inches from him, cause you to stop dead in your tracks.

“You shouldn’t worry too much about me cutie, I’m only here to act as a small distraction to your little fairytale.” He chuckles. “You should be more concerned about the God who created this world in the first place and the minion who wishes to gain their attention through this story.”

You start to walk again, not fulling grasping his words but still finding some sort of unknown understanding through them. But you still hear him talk, speaking of beings beyond your reality. His voice becoming darker and louder as you get farther away.

“The King may be the current favorite, but who knows when I’ll steal his crown?”

Walk away, don’t turn back

“Up until you grow bored of your prince charming, I’ll be there.”

………….

“Maybe next time, I’ll get to be your Antagonist (: “

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#Flauros stop fucking with brain challenge

Sorry for any world builing inaccuracies, I did give myself some liberties concerning a few details, feel free to correct me about it Vee.

#your boyfriend #demon au #your boyfriend au #Flauros is so difficult to write- help #your boyfriend x reader #angst/comfort #because I am weak #plot kept changing each day #PAIN #shouldn't have too many typos #i hope *cries*

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snyoonsu · 2 years

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happy opening day! i’m jin (s/h, 21+), the writer behind nam ‘elias’ yoonsu (aka ‘the comeback kid’). modern day prince charming living life on cruise mode, decked out with cheat codes, but currently going into overdrive, rogue mode. and i’m super excited to meet all of you and your muses!

you can find more about yoonsu in these links (bio, profile) and below the cut as well. last but not least, hit this with a ♡ if you’d be interested in plotting! sadly i did not have my shit together enough to list out premade plot ideas, but swear i am much better at brainstorming one-on-one! i’m around on here and discord (if the tumblr im sounds also terrify you) and always down to chat. now without further ado...

background

heir to the nam family’s immense generational wealth and raised in nyc like a classic upper east side trust-fund kid (à la ‘succession’ & ‘gossip girl’). but ~global~. the nam family has roots and connections all over the globe, so he grows up traveling all over to become more ‘worldly’ and ‘cultured.’ plot twist, five-star hotels are nice in every country.

very much a leo (if ur into astrology!). really big personality, thrives under the spotlight, natural showman, and good looking to boot. that kid in school who somehow had an in with every social group, from the snobby elites to the scene kids to the nerds. just very, very good with people. could probably smooth talk a wall for hours if need be.

currently a part-time venture capitalist (b/c sprinkling money at people’s dreams and life endeavors = fun. only being partially sarcastic here) and part-time socialite (b/c flying around looking pretty and partying also = fun). tbh he’s very good at both things.

so yeah, life is honestly pretty easy for eli. too bad he gets shipped off to the fucking middle of nowhere (ahem, daegu... which in his worldview might as well be nebraska) and is basically on probation / on the verge of being demoted as heir. and he is surrounded by his distant relatives (whom he finds insufferable) and is just drowning in cultural vertigo and having an existential crisis :)

woah woah woah, okay taking a step back on how he ends up there. tldr; he gets his gf pregnant, his parents freak the fuck out (which is an understatement... plus who are they to talk? having gotten married for purely power purposes), and there’s a very messy abortion + break-up with his gf and then his parents. psst, don’t ask if he truly loved her or wanted the baby. at this point it’s a convoluted mess b/t him actually being quite the lover-boy, being afraid of commitment, and also just hating being told what to do by anyone. like wtf???

anyways, he’s rotting away on the countryside when this pretty little invitation from choi yong comes bouncing along. he views it as a soft reset, the start of his redemption arc, a chance to prove his actual worth and capabilities (b/c everything in life is just handed to him on a golden platter, no?). oh, and a big ‘fuck you’ to his parents. so yeah, despite the charming smile and smooth manners, he’s not fucking around for once.

personality / traits

at the end of the day, he has a big heart. his warmth and sincerity attracts a lot of people and can draw all sorts of people out of their shells. he actually can feel drawn to those who are relatively more shy, reserved, or guarded than him too (possible plot dynamic?). he’s also very much ruled by his heart, ambitions, instincts, and what is ‘right’ (by his own standards... which are mostly good?).

as you might expect, he has a lot of friends. well ‘friends’ with asterisks attached. turns out once you get to a certain level of wealth, it’s hard to find actual friends who aren’t just hanging around b/c they want something from you. again, he’s very good with people and can pick up on even the subtlest shifts in another person’s mood or expression. all this makes him often overanalyze his relationships and actually quite lonely inside.

loves to be the center of attention, but is also secretly self-loathing. he wants to feel deserving and entitled to whatever praise and attention he gets; and like all people, he does have his own demons (which the world just trivializes). because to his critics’ point... umm he really did just waltz right into much of it. like talk about living life on easy mode... so a lot of his debonair charm serves dual purposes as a defense mechanism, carefully constructed to compensate for his innate insecurities.

while he is very much a ‘good guy’ nine times out of ten, push him to the edge and he’ll default to anger and cutthroat tactics as a protective wall to hide his vulnerabilities. again, overall nice and outgoing but has scary flashes of being more cold-hearted and calculating, especially when provoked — the type that makes you questions whether if it’s even the same dude you’re dealing with. can’t run from the parents’ dna, i guess.

hates being bossed around. very much wants to be in charge of his own destiny, which is kinda at odds with what he’s born into. also hates being told what to do, but if you can get him to listen, he can actually usually be persuaded.

#(⤨ ooc)#sn intro #(excited to be here!!)

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zombieheroine · 3 years

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TFP: the backstory of the war and some points

This is more about my pet peeves than anything else, but still I think some of my points might be of interest.

Basically, there are popular takes and headcanons and interpretations in fandom about the backstory Ratchet tells Jack, Miko and Raf during the finale of the first season, and sometimes I have different ones I really haven’t seen much elsewhere.

I think it’s really interesting to note that the flashback is told through an unreliable narrator, Ratchet, who has multiple reasons to let’s say adapt the truth: He wants it to be short, so he simplifies, he is telling it to the children, so he includes things he thinks they need to know and excludes things he doesn’t want to mention, he is summing up not only the politics but also Megatron and Optimus’ past, some of which he wasn’t there for and only knows what Optimus has told him, and finally his own personal feelings about the events and the people involved in them.

There’s also the visuals of the story, how the medium changes the animation style into 2D-like, almost still frames and includes emotionally charged visuals like characters just posing, changing colours, and a ball of fire consuming the picture. These elements aren’t meant to be taken literally.

So, pet peeves:

Megatron started out good and later lost his path.

I don’t buy this. There’s nothing tragic or confused about Megatron’s character. He was aiming for an authoritarian state led by him from the start, he simply lacked the means at first. I’m not saying that he didn’t have any central ideology, he clearly did as he is clearly driven by it and he has followers loyal to the cause (Skyquake, Dreadwing, Soundwave), but I think to say he must have been a great and noble philosopher greatly overestimates how much it takes to rally suffering and oppressed masses into revolution.

Also, he sure had an organized and functional military force behind him, fully armed and ready to fight. That kind of a force isn’t built, trained or armed overnight. He was prepared.

The Council saw Orion Pax as worthy and noble

This is my theory about it, because yeah, no they didn’t. This is just Ratchet simplifying or even buying into the story.

Something like this would be plausible in a fantasy story or a fairy tale, and even though TF: Prime is aimed for children, its overall tone and how seriously it takes its story and themes doesn’t fit the trope. It’s not an adaptation of “here are Decepticons, they are evil because they are evil”. Instead of fun or wacky adventure, it takes time to talk about war as a devastating conflict with political motives as well as horrible concequences like death and destruction of civilization and infrastructure. Instead of simple “evil” and “darkness”, there are politics, ideas and ambitions.

So, the Council, what are they all about? Trying to pacify restless and protesting people and prevent violence and their own power grumbling. I don’t think it’s so much Orion’s “worthiness” as much as his “let’s change stuff and not kill anyone”-ness. Megatron was too dangerous, too radical and too powerhungry, and obviously prepared for violence.

Naming a Prime was the Council’s last effort for settlement, to let the people on the verge of open revolution to have a Prime of their own and take their grievances up with him. They knew they would have to give up something and change, and they didn’t want a revolution or violence. They were simply too late: The crisis was too ripe, things gone too far, too much anger and too many guns in the game, and so war was inevitable.

(Not that Orion wasn’t worthy, since Primus approved of him, but that had nothing to do with the Council.)

Megatron used to have blue optics

This is a small pet peeve compared to the ones above, but it still bothers me and goes together with the first point.

Megatron is showed with blue optics when he’s friends with Orion and preaching his ideology, then comes the point in the story where he “reveals his true nature”, leaves the Council without Primacy and decided on open war, and his optics turn red.

That is not literal. He doesn’t change the optics, they flash into red at a dramatic point in the story, and the story element works because of the audience’s associations with the colours.

Then again, the colour of the optics is those elements that are clearly design choices to make the bad guys looks scary and the good guys look friendly, and obviously it also ends up being a feature in-universe. We could talk about the optics and what they mean, but I’m just concerned with Megatron here. The only indication that he had blue optics is that one story-telling element.

(Not that I have anything against artists drawing him with blue optics, mind you.)

Ratchet speaks the truth.

I’d just like to point out that the backstory is told to us by Ratchet all of. It’s interesting how Ratchet is simultanously the best and the worst source of information: It’s implied that he’s the only one of Team Prime who’s known Optimus before he became Prime, but as such he’s also one with most emotional investment, and that’s not even mentioning his personal beliefs that he demonstrates across the series.

Ratchet was there, yes, and has a close perspective, but Optimus and Megatron have a lot of private history, and much of it is so sensitive Optimus probably hasn’t shared it. We know Optimus has many mixed feelings about Megatron, like how he hesitates to kill him, mourns him alone, and doesn’t join in speaking about his character or deeds in emotional moments. So Ratchet doesn’t know the whole story.

Then again, I’d argue he sanitizes it for the children. We know Ratchet hates Megatron perhaps the most of them all (he’s the only one who strongly opposes to allying with him against Unicron, for example), but still the story about his origins is fairly clean. Multiple times through the series a history of horrific violence is implied, but there’s very little of it in the backstory. Even though the theme of bloodless but oppressed peace versus destructive and bloody freedom in war is an interesting one, I think it’s more likely that Ratchet leaves things out, for better or worse.

So in conclusion, I think it’s a really interesting scene and I love that the origins of the conflict are so murky. I also really like how the series pulls ambitious things like this, such as an unreliable narrator, and the style and how the truth is multifaced and unclear.

So many things in Prime are worth a deeper look.

#maccadam #tfp #transformers prime #Optimus Prime #Megatron #Ratchet #tf meta #kapteenin raapustus

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litwitlady · 4 years

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Love Out Loud

Okay, so I was trying to write the S3 wish fic, but got really frustrated and deleted 1000 words. I wrote this instead. Inspired by Tyler’s scruffy little selfie yesterday and my ferocious need for Michael to be overwhelmed by his desire for the beauty that is Alex Manes. Very slight sexual situations ahead. Set in the near S3 future.

Michael Guerin is distracted. He’s supposed to be working on a new piece of alien tech to keep Mr. Jones restrained outside of the turquoise mines. But Alex is sitting no less than a foot to his left and it’s all Michael can do not to make those twelve inches disappear.

Alex is on vacation. A leave of absence after his father’s death. Bereavement. He hasn’t taken a single day off since joining the Air Force unless you count the time his leg got blown off or that other time his father and his brother abducted him.

Holiday Alex is a wonder to behold. He’s gone several days without shaving. Michael wonders what the overgrown scuff would feel like against his skin. The thought is overwhelming and makes him squirm in his seat. Alex is completely fucking oblivious.

The Project Shepard base had been permanently shut down after Jesse died. So, Alex has moved everything into Michael’s bunker. Which had seemed like the obvious solution at the time, but now Michael realizes new and unexpected problems have arisen. Like the way Alex smells.

Also, his hands. They are beautiful. Even just flicking back and forth through the Caulfield documents and old newspapers trying to find mention of a Mr. Jones. Sometimes, Alex reaches out and touches Michael’s arm, wanting him to read something he’s found. Michael stops breathing every time.

Currently, things are in crisis. Alex is leaning forward on his stool and his t-shirt has ridden up in the back. The merest slice of olive skin is on full display and Michael’s heart is racing. He worries he might actually start drooling. Drawing his eyes away, he pinches the tender skin on the underside of his forearm and tries to refocus on his work.

Because the thing is, Alex is seeing Forrest. Casually – that’s the word Alex had used and the word Michael recites daily like a prayer. Casually means not serious. Casually means off and on. Casually means not forever. It implies a lack of feeling, a lack of investment. But it also implies sex. Sex with someone who is not him. The thought haunts Michael.

Don’t worry; he knows he’s a hypocrite.

For a time, he manages to focus pretty well. There’s a brief moment of panic when Alex has to bend over and retrieve his pencil. Michael recovers quickly. Until the unthinkable happens and Alex slides his stool as close to Michael as possible. ‘Hey, take a look at this. I think Mr. Jones might have gotten captured for a time.’

Michael hears Alex’s voice distantly in some far-off land, but the blood rushing through his body is entirely preoccupied with how Alex’s entire jean-clad thigh is pressed against his own. He swallows and stares at where their bodies meet, burning from hip to knee. He cannot for the life of him recall what Alex asked only two seconds ago. Lord help him.

Something must be wrong with him. He’s spent the past year barely thinking about Alex. Sure, there’s been the occasional dream. And there’s been a few times he’s picked up the phone to call him. Once he drove to his house and even knocked on the door. A time or two he’s jerked off to the thought of Alex’s mouth wrapped around his cock, but that’s perfectly normal. Right?

Wrong.

Everything he’s told himself concerning Alex for the past year is just so many lies. Alex is always the most attractive person Michael’s ever met and sex is always on the table even when it’s not. Maybe even especially when it’s not. Like right now with his criminal fucking thigh.

A memory surfaces. Of Alex home from leave after his second tour. Michael swears he won’t go to him. Will sit in the airstream all by himself no matter how long it takes for Alex to be gone again. But then. A knock at the door. Those sparkling hazel eyes. The freckles scattered across his cheeks. That sweet fucking mouth. Clothes thrown everywhere. Alex spreading Michael’s legs with that same villainous thigh.

Jesus fuck. Michael is in trouble.

Alex is calling his name, shaking his shoulder, concern evident in his voice. Michael tears his eyes away from where their thighs touch and looks up at him. He knows he must look slightly unhinged – eyes heavy-lidded, chest heaving, mouth parted wantonly. But Alex doesn’t seem to notice the sex of it all. ‘What’s wrong?’

Michael swallows several times and clears his throat. ‘Um, nothing. What’s up?’

It’s the best his brain can manage.

Alex is not buying what he’s selling. And before he can stop him, Alex’s hand is on Michael’s thigh, his thumb rubbing back and forth in soothing circles doing the absolute most but not soothing a goddamn thing. ‘You’re sweating. What’s wrong? Should I call Kyle?’

Michael is on the verge of doing something ruinous. He is teetering on the very dangerous ledge of want, need, desire. And love. In utter desperation, he stumbles backwards off his stool and ends up on his ass. When Alex kneels beside him in a panic, Michael scoots as far away from him as possible. ‘Stop, Alex. Please.’

They sit there for several long moments. Alex in total confusion. Michael willing his cock to go back to sleep. This cannot go on. Eventually, Michael stands up and moves his stool to another table. Alex watches as he gathers all his various tools and moves them to the other table. He plops back down on his seat, his back turned to Alex’s innocently filthy presence, and resumes his work like nothing happened.

He hears Alex shuffle around. Hears him head to the ladder. ‘I’ll work at home. Didn’t know I was bothering you.’ His voice filled with hurt.

Michael sighs and turns to him. ‘No, Alex, please don’t go.’ Alex pauses but doesn’t turn around, hand still clasping the ladder. ‘You aren’t bothering me. I swear.’ This time Alex does turn back to him. Michael hates the way his eyebrows furrow at him accusingly. When was the last time he’d made Alex smile? He can’t remember. It’s a damning realization.

Taking a deep breath, he gets up and approaches Alex slowly. He wants to buy some time – work out what to say in his brain. Unfortunately, the bunker is not that big and not 30 seconds go by before he’s as close to Alex as he dares. Michael wants to open his mouth and say ‘I love you’. He wants to say ‘stay with me, forever’. But what he does say is ‘I’m sorry’. It’s barely a whisper.

‘Sorry?’

‘Yeah. Sorry that you believe you could ever bother me. That I’ve somehow made you believe that.’ Michael grabs the strap of Alex’s cross-body bag and pulls it back over his head. ‘Stay. I’ll go grab us some lunch. We can talk. I want to talk.’ A distant memory echoes between them. He steps back, clutching Alex’s bag to his chest, and waits for his answer.

‘I’d like that.’ Alex returns to his seat and Michael releases his breath. He smiles to himself and thinks about what a relief it will be to finally love Alex out loud.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #where is all this michael pov stuff coming from?

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mysterioh · 4 years

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ticket to my heart || b.b.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Cop!Reader

Summary: Bucky tries to flirt his way out of a speeding ticket. Unfortunately for you, it’s working.

W/C: ~2500 words

A/N: Written for the lovely @honeyvbarnes writing challenge. I know I’m a bit early but I just couldn’t wait! Hope you like it and Happy Super Early Birthday!

Warnings: Mild Language, Sad attempt at trying to be flirty.

Masterlist

“Why did you have to pick the bushes?” Sam whined, “I hate the bushes.”

You take off your helmet, shaking your head gently to free the strands sticking to your face. You look over to your partner-in-justice and can’t help but crack a smile. His thick, muscly arms were crossed against his chest, lips contorted into a disappointed pout that was too cute for words with chocolate brown eyes shooting sharp daggers in your direction.

“C’mon, Sammy, it isn’t so bad,” you give him a lopsided smile. “You look like a pretty fairy princess.”

“I’m a cop,” he bites, you hold back the urge to laugh but end up snorting instead. He rolls his eyes. The dense foliage you were hidden behind rustles in the rushing wind that comes with the cars zipping by the highway.

“Why is it always the bushes?” he asks exasperated, letting his hands fall to his sides, “I hate bugs.”

“Because,” you reached back and started to feel around in the compartment of the bike, “this is the only spot on the highway where we’re invisible,” you reminded, lips curling into a smile while pulling out your radar. “I hate it when they slow down when they see us.”

Sam clicks his tongue then chuckles, “you’re brutal.”

“I’m doing my job,” you pointed the radar at an SUV driving by. You scoffed, grudgingly at the driver’s adherence to the speed limit.

“Holy crap!” Sam yells, jumping back in his motorbike, “it’s a spider!”

You turn to him. “Where?” you asked, looking around.

“Are you blind?” he hissed, pointing at the handle of his bike. “It’s right there!” he shouted, obnoxiously loud. “Kill it!”

There’s nothing there!”

“Yes it is!” he insisted, “Oh my God, it’s moving!” he cried, squirming away from the front of his bike.

You lean over to get a better look and spot a tiny —minuscule, baby, small, microscopic— spider sitting on the handle minding its own business.

You glare at him judgingly, but he doesn’t notice by how freaked out he is. You flick it away with a finger as if it was nothing and return to your work. Sam lets out a deep sigh of relief.

You roll your eyes while checking another car. 63 mph. So damn close. “You’re such a coward,” you grunted.

“Am not,” he retorted sharply.

“Are too,” you bit back.

“That thing was huge!” he defended.

You aim the gun at another car when he starts to ramble about how much he hates the bushes.

You whip your head back to him. “Dude it was this big,” you measured with your fingers, “Stop being so—” you cut yourself off when a flash of white flashes in the corner of your eye.

“Whoa,” Sam gaped.

“Officer,” you called, pointing the radar at the speeding car. Sam can hear the wicked grin in your voice.

“Yes, officer?” he replies, all teeth and gums.

“What’s the speed limit on this stretch of the highway?” you asked.

“Sixty-five miles per hour,” he informed.

“Now correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t seventy-nine bigger than sixty-five?” you asked, showing him the radar.

Sam looks at you with the most despicable look plastered on his face. He takes his helmet and slips it on. The engine of your motorcycle whirls and you flip on the emergency lights.

“This is gonna be fun.”

“I can’t believe you overslept!” Steve screamed into Bucky’s ear. Bucky moves the phone away from his ear. You could’ve heard Steve’s voice from a mile away. “Today’s the biggest deal of our lives and you’re not even here! Tony’s flipping out and I’m hiding under my desk because he’s throwing shit around.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Five minutes my ass!” Steve hisses, “Where even are you?”

His grip on the wheel grows tighter, mentally preparing himself for the blond’s impending and inevitable outrage. “On I-95, around exit forty,” Bucky replies cautiously. His ears started to ring at the sound of Steve’s ear-piercing screams and a distant siren coming closer as the seconds pass by.

God no. Please, anything but that.

He begins to slow down and turns to see who it is. He knows who it is. He’s had a run-in with the police more than once and he’s got a stack of speeding tickets to prove it.

Sam’s motorcycle comes up to his right and tells him to pull over. Bucky has a strong urge to just ignore him and speed past them. The possibility of losing his job was making him sway in his morals.

He could do it and might even make a getaway. Hmm….

Yeah, he’d do it, if he wasn’t such a damn coward.

“Steve, I’m gonna put you on hold for a second,” He pulls over to the side.

“NO, don’t put me on hol—” his voice cuts off when Bucky taps it anyway. He smirks at the screen of his phone.

A tap comes at the window and he turns to come eye to eye with an officer. Not the guy, but a girl.

Holy shit, she’s pretty.

You tap the window again this time a bit harder and he breaks out of his trance, scrambling to push the button for the window.

“Hi there,” you greeted with a smirk, prim but cocky.

Scratch that, she’s hot.

“H-hello, Officer,” he stutters.

“Nice car you got here,” you lean back a bit to get a better look at the car.

“M-Mercedes, miss,” he replies.

You revert your gaze back to him and it sends sweet shivers down his spine.

“Yeah?” you asked. He nods with a gulp, You let out a breathy chuckle, finding his timid behavior oddly cute. “Well Mr. Mercedes,” you sassed, “this ain’t the Autobahn, it’s a shitty highway to New York.”

“Really? I didn’t notice,” he retorted with a grin. Your lips twist into a scowl and Bucky gets the feeling you are not amused. He panics on the inside.

“You know the speed limit around here?” you questioned.

“Uh—well, um,” he stammers for a few moments. “Seventy?”

You roll your eyes at him, shifting your stance onto one leg with one hand hugging the curve of your hip. “It’s sixty-five and you were running at seventy-nine. This ain’t the Daytona 500, kiddo.”

“Yes, but you see,” he replies, “I’m actually late—”

“The law is the law,” you stated, “and everyone follows it. Now I’d like to see your registration, license, and insurance,” you extend your hand towards him.

He quickly turns and opens the glove compartment of his car and pulls out all of his papers and hands it to you.

“I’ll be right back,” you grunt as you walk back to Sam and your motorbike.

Bucky hits his head against his steering wheel and lets out a distressed exhale.

This is it. He’s definitely fired now. You’re definitely going to give him a ticket. Steve and Tony are going to hate him. He’s gonna be dirt poor because he lost his job and nobody wants to hire a guy who can’t even wake up on time. He won’t be able to pay that ticket and then he’ll have to go to court. And the pretty cop is gonna be there, smiling at him all sweet as they drag him off to jail.

Bucky’s head snaps up when he hears his phone ringing beside him on the seat. He picks up the phone call from Steve.

It’s Tony.

“BARNES WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!?!” he shouted.

“I’m-uh-,” he scratches his head. “On the way.”

“On the way to where?” he hurls at him, “Mars?”

“No, to Stark Industries,” Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Listen, I got into a bit of a bind, the cops pulled me over for speeding.”

“You’ve gotta be joking me,” Tony replies, sounding like he’s on the verge of crying. “I’m ruined. I’ve got a meeting with Pym Tech in ten minutes and my numbers guy is nowhere to be seen. Do you realize how much you’ve hurt me right now? You broke my fucking heart.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Do something and get the hell out of there,” Tony ordered.

“I can’t leave until they let me.”

“No one said you couldn’t.”

“No! Don’t do that!” Steve butts in.

Bucky looks out the window and sees you checking his information. He pays close attention to the way your hair shines under the sun and how your rather modest uniform makes you look exceptionally hot.

“But y’know,” he talks into the speaker. “She’s one cute officer.”

Tony snorts, “Yeah? How cute?” He was never one to not discuss women, even in the middle of a crisis.

“Real cute, but hot at the same time,” Bucky replies.

Steve snatches the phone from Tony, “Buck, don’t do anything stupid,” he ordered, knowing the way Bucky did things when it came to the ladies.

“Too late,” Bucky smirked, hanging up on Steve. He throws his phone back onto the seat watching the way you strut towards him. Confident but elegant.

“Everything’s good here,” you handed him his papers and he smirks. “You’ve got quite a history, Mr. Barnes.”

“I’m bad with time,” Bucky said, “Always running late. Never late to a date though.”

“That’s nice,” you reply in passing, filling out the ticket paper.

“So…” he draws your attention towards him. His arm rests along the length of the window, making it hard for you to not notice the way his lean muscles stretch his shirt. “I don’t suppose there’s a way I can bribe my way out of this?” he asks innocuously, tracing his finger along the metal symbol on the steering wheel.

You snort, returning to the notepad in hand, “For all the money you could bribe me with, you could just pay for the ticket.”

“I wasn’t talking about money, Officer,” he smirks when you look over at him.

“And what do you have in mind?” you jest just to see where this will take you.

“I’m thinking, me, you, and a really nice cafe on the fancier side of New York.”

You pause your writing and look over at him and raise a brow. His crystal blues eyes glimmer under the sun, pooling with harmless playfulness. Taking a closer look at him, you have to admit he’s kinda hot.

You shake your head, lips curling into a lazy smile, fingers returning to writing. “Nice try, but I’ll pass.”

Bucky slumps over his car and frowns.

“What? You thought you were the first person to ever flirt with an officer?” you cackled, “it happens more often than you think.”

“Thought I’d try anyway,” he says and shrugs.

“I admire your honesty,” you compliment him.

A soft smile spreads along his face.

Get a hold of yourself, officer.

“So how about a date and a ticket?” he bargains.

“You want a date with the chick that gave you a ticket?” you elaborated, a chuckle coloring your words.

Bucky notices the soft pink dusting your cheeks and it’s immensely satisfying. “I mean if it’s someone as pretty as you, I’d be stupid not to take the chance.”

You stop writing to clear your throat, the blush on your cheeks reaching your ears. “And what makes you think I’ll say yes?” you countered as coolly as possible.

He shrugged, “I don’t think. I just hope?” he says sweetly.

You smile at him for a second then shake your head. “Sorry to bring your hopes up but I’m not allowed to affiliate with others during work hours. So that’s a no from me,” you replied sternly, a bit harder than you wanted it to sound.

“Damn,” he frowns slightly, “bad day for me I guess. I’m late for a meeting, possibly going to get fired because of it, and got two no’s from the pretty officer,” he lists on his fingers.

You huff, feeling unwanted compassion for the brunette. Usually, you weren’t this soft, but this guy had a charm to him that others didn’t. Damn bastard. This better not come to bite you in the ass later.

“Alright, I’ll let you slide,” you give in, unwillingly. “Just this once.”

Bucky grins from ear to ear making one creep onto your own.

“But if I ever see you speeding again, I won’t be so nice and neither will anyone else,” you warned playfully. “So mind the speed limit please.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Have a nice day, Mr. Barnes,” you walk away but he calls you back.

“Don’t you think I deserve a reminder of some sort?” he asks, faux innocence lacing his tone. “So I don’t speed anymore?”

You turn back and smirk, feeling like you know what he’s talking about. “Like what?”

“Your number maybe?” he wonders, practically hanging out of his car.

“My number?” you asked in mock confusion and a chuckle. “Now how would that help? I’m not allowed to do that.”

“A little rebellion never hurt anyone,” Bucky tempted with a sultry smile.

“I won’t tell a soul, I promise,” he smiles. You’re unsure. “Cross my heart and hope to die,” he pledges with an action.

You return to him with a chuckle and pull out the notepad. “I guess I can do that,” you nodded. Bucky quietly cheers to himself as you scribble something down. You rip out the piece of paper and hand it to him with a smile. Your fingers brush against his, firing goosebumps against his arm. His eyes look up to meet yours, sparkly under the sun.

“Have a good day, Mr. Barnes,” you say, walking backwards to your motorcycle, almost bashfully.

You get on your motorcycle and ride away with Sam. Both giving the brunette a wave before leaving. A few miles down, Sam finally asks: “You didn’t actually give him your number, did you?”

You laughed, loud and bright. He doesn’t understand what’s so funny.

Bucky exits the conference room. The meeting was a success and Pym Tech agreed to the deal for the new set of tablets Tony designed. Tony slams a hand on his shoulder.

“Great work in there,” he cheers, beaming from ear to ear.

“Thanks,” Bucky smiles.

“So how’d it go with the officer?” he asks.

Bucky laughs heartily and shakes his head, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. “I-uh- got her number,” he told him.

“That’s great man!” Tony congratulated before being pulled to the side by one of the others.

Bucky walks on towards his office digging his hand into his pocket. A pink scrap of paper twists through his fingers and he roars in laughter, startling those around him. He pulls it out just to admire your pretty handwriting.

911

p.s. ask for the police.

Guess that’s three no’s from the pretty officer.

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @dancingunicorn113 @marshyrebelcloud @chuckennuggets1213 @miraclesoflove

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aurorafreerose · 4 years

Text

Don’t Be Late- Ch 2

Summary- Bakugo and Uraraka go on a walk, but not before Ochaco gets flustered.

Notes- Baku is so clueless while this cinnamon roll over here is an becoming an idiot in love aaaahhh also mild inappropriate-ness(?) but not real smut

Writer’s note- I wrote this while listening to Do I Wanna Know by the Arctic Monkeys, Daddy Issues by the Neighborhood, and I Can’t Handle Change by R.O.A.R. Feel free to join in!

Read on a03!

Ochaco, upon examining herself, found herself wearing a large blue gingham skirt with two layers of fluffy material, ruffles along the edges, a tightly drawn patterned corset, a blue bonnet tied to her head with a silk ribbon, and heavy white stockings leading to a pair of blue high-heeled, lace-up boots. She was holding a large white cane which had a small bell affixed to it, and it rang whenever she wasn't idle.

She was standing in a shockingly green field, and the sun's rays bounced off of her cheeks as she spotted something in the distance.

It was a herd of sheep, except they all had a pair of familiar slanted red eyes and wore rowdy blonde fur instead of their trademark white coats. The cluster reminded her of something- no, someone, but she just couldn't put her finger on it. They all growled at her when they saw her approaching, but gradually let down their guard, and soon, she was able to mingle about them with ease. Before she knew it, Uraraka was tending to a flock of slowly-growing-content Baku-sheep, and actually enjoying herself in the task.

Unfortunately, a soft beeping noise began to disrupt the comfortable routine she'd settled into. She looked around the field for the source of the noise ruining her satisfaction, but it only grew louder and louder, before-

Ochaco's eyes burst open. She was no longer in a field, but laying horizontally across her bed. The sight of a still-beeping alarm clock, the source of the annoying noise that haunted her dreams, greeted her dreary eyes. Her right hand, almost as if it was on cue, slammed the button off. Adjusting to the jarring morning daylight that was peeking through the shutters, Ochaco rubbed her eyelids and leaned forward to check the time.

No way.

10:30??

Oh, no. Oh no, no, no...

Starting to panic, she slipped off the edge, landing uncomfortably in the small gap between her bed and her drawer. Ochaco violently grabbed the alarm clock to examine its contents, hoping what she read was merely an extension of the absurdity clouding her dreams. She grasped the clock, drawing it closer to her eyes in order to confirm what she really hoped, for her own sake, wasn't true.

The universe had no such luck for her in store. The clock still read half-past-ten, and Ochaco was now filled with dread. Realizing her brain had tuned out the clock's irritating beeping noises in her jumbled hurry, she pressed one finger to the button and subsequently jumped out of her bed, imagining obscenities she wouldn't be caught dead saying out loud.

She hurried over to her bathroom and brushed her teeth hurriedly while simultaneously splashing water on her face. Then, Ochaco pulled on an outfit not too dissimilar from the one her new sparring partner had worn yesterday; with cerulean athletic shorts that were slightly too tight and a cropped black tank top made out of a light, breathable fabric, you could almost say they were coordinated. In the rush to conserve time, Ochaco didn't realize this in the moment, but she would regret the choice her subconscious had made on her behalf soon enough.

Grabbing a small black duffel bag that she thankfully had the foresight to pack the previous night, the frantic girl stuffed her feet into a pair of old, worn-out sneakers and threw on a cozy gray sweatshirt. She rushed out of her room, slamming the door with a loud shut behind her. Running as fast as she could down the halls of the girls' dorm, she glanced at her watch.

It was already 10:42?

After what seemed like an eternity, she threw herself down the stairs, stopped halfway to catch her breath, and finally entered the common room.

She didn't particularly want to examine her surroundings, but her eyes seemed to make the trip upwards on their own.

They landed upon a boy with unkempt fluffy blonde hair, about 6'2, leaning with one arm resting on a quartz pillar. He, too, was wearing a tank top, and it was accenting his tantalizing body nicely. Her eyes darted to his abs, which were not concealed at all but instead closely hugging the extremely thin, yet tight, fabric of his top. She could see his rock-hard, roughly carved muscle, the product of lots of intense work. His well-defined arm muscles were plainly visible; his biceps were all but perfectly sculpted, but what really caught her eye were the sharp, angular veins that bulged prominently down his arms. She followed their trail all the way down to his hands, where his veins were most noticeable; they accented his hands nicely, complimenting his long, slender fingers, all of which were about 4.5 inches (she guessed). They were scarred all over, no doubt due to previous fights. His right hand's ring finger and forefinger both sported bare silver bands, while his left's middle finger wore a plain gold one.

It was just a few seconds, but she realized her eyes were greedily drinking in his appearance only when a rough, loud voice snapped her out of her hypnotic trance.

"Oi, what the fuck are you just standing there for?"

Bakugo was staring back at her with a look of disgust, which she assumed was in response to the fact that she had stood at the bottom of the stairs, just looking at him, for a good number of seconds. Heat rushed to her face, and her body turned slightly inwards as she stared at her shoes, too embarrassed to make eye contact with him.

"Anyways," he continued angrily, not appearing to grasp the implications of what had just happened. "You're late. What the fuck did I tell you yesterday? And don't think you can get away with this easily, Angel Face. I woke up on time just to meet you here, and you pull this shit?"

Ochaco's face remained heavily flushed. She still couldn't bring herself to speak to him, mainly because her brain was in overload trying to decipher the events of thirty seconds ago.

"Yes," she wanted to yell back at him, "why was I just standing there? I'm not that kind of person! I'm not like... like Mineta or anything!" she thought, going from bashful to downright indignant. "

Wait, he didn't notice that, so who am I arguing with? I know that I'm not! And it's not like there's anything really special about you, Bakugo, anyway," she thought resentfully.

"I only asked you because you were the one who suggested it in the first place! Bakugo's rude, cocky, disrespectful, inconsiderate, not to mention always angry for no good reason, always! He was kind of like...an angry little Pomeranian."

The tiniest of smiles harbored Ochaco's lips as she raised her face to meet Bakugo's irritated gaze. The thought of him as a tiny puppy who was rapidly barking at everyone had momentarily distracted her from her sentiments. This wasn't lost on him, however.

"Fuck are you smiling at, cheeks?"

"Oh, nothing." She realized that Bakugo wasn't actually angry with her; he was just mildly annoyed. He was just expressing any emotion that verged on the edge of anger with a lot of yelling. Their height difference was even more apparent as Bakugo happened to lay eyes upon a pair of large, doe-like eyes that were now looking up at him. His expression softened momentarily, his eyebrows raising upwards and his mouth dropping slightly open. He drew his face back into its usual trappings of anger, but for some strange reason, he seemed like his temper was evening out.

When he spoke to her, his voice was softer than it was only a few minutes previously. It had taken on an oddly calmer quality, which it suited the brash tones of his voice nicely; he still sounded angry, but just in a different font.

"It doesn't matter anyways," he said in a mollified kind of way, avoiding looking at her as he turned his head to glance in the opposite direction. He looked down at his steel-colored watch. "Damn it, 10:50 already? Let's go, Uraraka."

She nodded silently, not knowing why she didn't feel nearly as angry anymore.

They walked alongside each other on the stone path to the training rooms. For the first few minutes, they were silent. Bakugo firmly kept his hands in his pockets, his fingers jutting out at the sides from the awkward angle he'd inserted them in. He stared straight ahead, a weird mixture of concentration and grit on his face. Ochaco, on the other hand, had noticed his habit of sticking his fingers in his pockets. Then, she blushed, remembering how shamelessly she had admired the very same fingers earlier, and gotten both angry with and ashamed of her own mind. Soon, she was too subdued by her own confused head to even bother with initiating a conversation.

Bakugo, without taking his eyes off of the ground, asked Ochaco: "You figured out I wrote to you, didn't you?"

Ochaco, for the second time that day, snapped out of her self-imposed crisis. "W-what?"she replied, bemused.

"Don't fuck around, cheeks," he said, irritation creeping into his tone. "You figured out that I was the one who assigned to write to you in class?"

"Well," she responded, a smile beginning to appear on her face, her eyes crinkled and one hand touching her neck. "You're the only person I know who calls me Angel Face..."

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a2000yearjourney · 3 years

Text

Rome 49BC: Order from Chaos

Two thousand years ago, at the dawn of the first century, the world was ruled from Rome. Rome was in turmoil. Civil war had engulfed the empire’s capital city. Dictators seized power, and the Roman future seemed bleak. But from the chaos, the Roman Empire would rise stronger and more dazzling than ever before. Within a few short years, it would stretch from Britain, across Europe, to southern Egypt, from North Africa around the Mediterranean, to the Middle East. It would embrace hundreds of languages and religions and would till those diverse cultures into a rich soil, from which western civilizations would grow. Rome would become the world’s first and most enduring super power, spanning continents. The glory days of Rome were studded with names that reach out to us across two millennia: Ovid and Nero, Seneca and Caligula. But the story of Rome is more than the story of famous men. Millions of less familiar figures struck different chords in the symphony of empire. People such as the wealthy benefactor, Umachia. The rebel queen, Boudicca, and countless uncelebrated soldiers and slaves, senators and peasants.

Above them all, is this man, Caesar Augustus. This was the emperor who set the tone for the astonishing renaissance of Rome.

Part one of my history tells the story of Augustus, (the great-grandfather of my 51st great granduncle) and his people, the men and women who wrested order from chaos. They shaped the greatest empire the world has ever seen and launched the Roman Empire in the first century.

Two thousand years after Egypt’s pharaoh’s reigned supreme, four hundred years after the flowering of Greek culture, three hundred years after Alexander the great - a boy named Octavian was born in a small Italian town. The child would one day be called Augustus, and his birth, one ancient historian tells us, would be gilded by legend. His father, leading an army through distant lands, went to a sacred grove, seeking prophecy on the boy’s future. When wine was poured on the altar, flames shot up to heaven. The signs were heard only once before, by Alexander the Great. The priest declared that Augustus would be ruler of the world.

Suetonius tells the story. Writing at the turn of the first century, he based his biography on eyewitness accounts, on common gossip and on research conducted as imperial librarian. In truth, he writes that the prospects of young Augustus were far from grand. The boy was sickly, with few connections. His family were country people. His father was the first in their line to join the Senate. But worse - Augustus was born into dangerous times. Civil war had flared for decades. Feuding nobles fought to gain power for themselves. And Rome’s traditions of open government were often trampled underfoot. So too, were innocent bystanders. When Augustus was just four years old, his father suddenly died. Without a male mentor, the boy’s future looked bleak. But in 49 BC, when he was thirteen, Augustus’ fortunes took a dramatic turn. For in that year, his great uncle, Julius Caesar, gained the upper hand on the battlefield. Leading an army across the Rubicon River, Caesar declared himself master of Rome and ruler of an empire still aspiring to greatness. At the time of Julius Caesar, the Roman Empire was a bit like a boy who has reached six feet tall, yet he’s only fourteen or fifteen years old. He’s not yet a man. The externals of empire were there - the armies were there. The Romans governed most of the coast of the Mediterranean, with the exception of Egypt. However, they had not yet learned to bring that into a functioning organism. The past decades of internal fighting had weakened the empire. Northern tribes harried the borders. Enemies were confronting Rome in the east. And the province of Spain threatened to break free. Julius Caesar moved quickly to bolster the frontiers, and his own legacy. Caesar had no heir, so when Augustus completed a dangerous mission, Caesar adopted the teenager in his will. Karl Galinsky, Professor of Classics, University of Texas, Austin:

“Augustus realized this was a tremendous opportunity. Mind you, he had no military training, but he was the heir of the greatest political figure that was under the Roman sky at that time - and he cashed in on it.”

It was a heady opportunity for Augustus, but also a perilous challenge. For in 44 BC, foreigners were not the only threat to stability. There were enemies within Caesar’s small circle of advisors. They murdered Caesar at a meeting of the Senate. For the second time in his life, Augustus lost a father. Now, on the verge of manhood, he thrust himself into the maelstrom of Roman politics. Keith Bradley, Professor of Greek and Roman Studies, University of Victoria:

“The death of Julius Caesar was not just a turning point in Augustus’ life, it was a turning point in world history. Augustus was extremely young at this time, only in his nineteenth year. Yet when he knew that he had been made Caesar’s heir, he immediately took up the political legacy of Caesar. He entered the mainstream of Roman politics. He didn’t hesitate to try to avenge his father. That meant, of course, stepping onto the stage of politics, raising an army and immersing himself in a contest for supreme political power in Rome.”

He displayed brutality against enemy prisoners. Once, when a father and son were begging for their lives, he ordered that they should draw lots to determine which one should be executed. The father offered himself and was killed. Because of this, the son committed suicide. Augustus watched them both die. Suetonius describes the crisis as “trial by fire” and Augustus didn’t flinch from the task. He formed a strategic alliance with Marc Antony, a powerful general, who also wanted supremacy. Together they massacred their enemies in the capital. Then they pursued their rivals to the shores of Greece, where they fought and won two of the bloodiest battles in Roman history. When the carnage ended, the empire was theirs. Augustus and Antony divided the spoils of war. Augustus remained in Rome. But Antony took control of Egypt, a land not formally joined to Rome, but firmly under the empire’s command. There, he joined forces with Egypt’s queen. Ancient historians, like Cassius Dio, believed that was a fateful move. When Antony fell deeply in love with his new ally, many feared the ambitious queen was scheming to rule Rome herself. Her name was Cleopatra. Cleopatra’s brazen desire for passion and wealth was insatiable. By love, she had made herself queen of Egypt. But she failed in her goal to become queen of the Romans. Judith P. Hallett, Professor of Classics, University of Maryland, College Park:

“Cleopatra did not enjoy a good press in Rome. What really irritated people about Cleopatra was that she was a powerful woman from the east, and from a very wealthy country with a monarchic system of government. She therefore symbolized lack of moderation, lack of control, frenzied fury, everything that Rome tried not to be. Cleopatra and Antony were cast as leaders of the evil empire.” Antony’s alliance with Augustus withered. But Augustus struck first. The poet, Virgil, later cast the battle as an epic struggle of east against west. “Standing high on the stern, Augustus leads the Italians into battle. Carrying with him the bite of the Senate and the people. Opposing him, with barbarian wealth, is Antony, suited for battle. He carries with him the powers of the orient. And to the scandal of all, his Egyptian wife, their monstrous divinities raised weapons against our noble, Roman gods.” Three quarters of the Egyptian fleet was destroyed. Anthony and Cleopatra committed suicide - and the land of the pharaohs was formally annexed to the Roman Empire. Judith Hallet:

“The annexation of Egypt for Augustus was immensely important. It was the equivalent of Hitler’s troops marching through the streets of Paris. Here was a wealthy country that was going to be providing food, that was going to be providing land. But above all, it was a country of great cultural prestige, and once Rome had Egypt as part of its empire, they had truly arrived.”

A Voice:

“There is nothing that man can wish from the gods, nothing the gods can do for men which Augustus, when he returned to the city, did not do for the public, the Roman people, and the entire world. Civil wars were finished - foreign wars ended and everywhere the fury of arms was put to rest.” Upon Augustus’ return to a war torn Rome in 29 BC, the city went wild with enthusiasm. The triumphant general vowed to restore peace and security. It was a promise he would keep. The victory of Augustus launched a period of stunning cultural vitality, of religious renewal and of economic well being that spread throughout the empire. It would be called the ‘Pax Romana’ - the peace of Rome. To many, it marked the return of Rome’s mythic and glorious past. But Augustus himself would never return to the past. He was now a hardened thirty-two-year-old man - the sole ruler of the Greco-Roman world, Rome’s first emperor. Victory had been costly, but the greatest challenge still lay ahead, for to avoid the fate of Julius Caesar, Augustus must disarm the Senate and charm the masses. He must do better than win the war. He must win the peace. That challenge would occupy the rest of his life. A Voice:

“Let me step forward, clear my throat, and announce that I am a native of Soula, a few days’ journey eastward from Rome.” While Augustus fought his way to the pinnacle of power, a boy named Ovid was coming of age under less demanding circumstances. Ovid Speaks:

“I was the second son, a year to the day younger than my brother. We always had two cakes on the birthday we shared, and were close in other ways as well. We studied together, and then went up to Rome to seek our fortunes. I used to waste my time trying to write verses. My father called it waste. He disapproved of any pursuit where you could not turn a decent living, and always used to say, ‘Homer died poor.’” Ovid came from the same stock as Augustus. They were both landed gentries, and like Augustus, the young man found his identity and his ambitions moulded by his demanding family.

Ovid:

“I tried to give up poetry, to stick to prose on serious subjects, but frivolous minds like mine attract frivolous inspirations, some too good not to fool with. I kept returning to my bad habits, secretive and ashamed. I couldn’t help it, I felt like an impostor in serious matters, but I owed it to my father and my brother to try to do my duty.” By Roman law, a father wielded absolute control over his children. Those who displeased him could be disowned, sold into slavery or even killed. The young Ovid tried to meet his father’s expectations. He married, studied law - but the strain proved unendurable. Miserable, Ovid and a friend set out on a journey of self-discovery. Ovid:

“We toured the magnificent cities of Asia. We watched the flames of Mount Etna light up the heavens. We ploughed the waves in a painted ship, and also travelled by wagon. Often the roads seemed short, as we were lost in conversation. When we walked, our words outnumbered our steps - and we had too much to say, even for the long evenings of supper.” Eighteen months later, Ovid settled in Rome, older and more self-confident than before. He resolved to become a poet. He cultivated new friends in Roman literary circles, and soon, Ovid made a name for himself as Rome’s reigning poet - of stolen kisses. Ovid:

“So your husband is coming to this dinner party? I hope he gags on his food. Listen - and learn what you must do. When he settles on his couch to eat, go to him with a straight face. Look modest and lie back beside him. But secretly touch me with your foot. Don’t let him drape his arms around your neck, don’t rest your gentle head against his chest - don’t welcome his fingers to your lap or to your eager nipples. Most of all, no kissing. When dinner is done, your husband will close the bedroom door. But whatever the night shall bring, tell me tomorrow - you refused.”

Keith Bradley:

“It’s a mistake to think that Ovid’s poetry can be read very literally in purely autobiographical terms. That wouldn’t be true, I think, of any poetry from antiquity. But at the same time, Ovid is writing of subjects of which he has some sort of experience and he certainly, through the love poetry, opens up a world that is very different in tone and quality from the official atmosphere.”

While Ovid bloomed as a man of words, the new emperor thrived as a man of action. He rebuilt Rome - and his own family. Divorcing his wife, Augustus married his heavily pregnant mistress - Livia. The move raised eyebrows and hackles, as love was not the only motive. Although Augustus shunned the trappings of absolute power, many suspected he was building a dynasty - a line of heirs to rule Rome for generations to come. Augustus knew it was a dangerous move. He knew that Julius Caesar had been murdered for appearing as a king. Augustus would not make the same mistake. He relinquished high office and struck a delicate balance between fact and fiction.

Augustus writes:

“Having, by universal consent, acquired control of all affairs, I transferred government to the Senate and the people of Rome.” Judith Hallet:

“Augustus was a very cagey political leader because he pretended to be restoring all of these republican political traditions. In fact, what he was running was a full-fledged dynastic monarchy.” A Voice:

“Augustus conquered Cantabria, Aquitania, Pannonia, Dalmatia and all of Illyricum, as well as Raetia.” Augustus not only changed the empire, he expanded it. Egypt had been added early in his career. Soon, Northern Spain was joined. Augustus drove across Europe, into Germany, and he united east and west by adding modern Hungary, Austria, the Balkans and central Turkey. These victories employed Roman soldiers and senators and offered welcome distractions to the city’s poor. When Augustus wasn’t staging chariot races or gladiator shows, he displayed exotic animals, the quarry of Rome’s far-flung empire. A rhinoceros appeared in the arena, Asian tigers in the theatre and a giant serpent in the forum.

Karl Galinsky:

“One key constituency for Augustus was the plebeian population of Rome, and that is basically the city mob. You have several hundred thousand folks here who have no jobs, and to put it very simply, who need to be kept off the streets, and kept from making trouble, because it’s a very volatile, combustible mixture.” The volatile mix that made up Rome stayed quiet for the first four years of Augustus’ rule. Then, in 23 BC, events took a critical turn. Cassius Dio writes that a series of disasters convinced the people that Augustus needed not less power, but more. “The city was flooded by the over flowing river and many things were struck by lightning. Then a plague passed through Italy and no one could work the land. The Romans thought these misfortunes were caused because Augustus had relinquished his office. They wished to appoint him dictator. A mob barricaded the Senate inside its building and threatening to burn them alive, forced the Senate to vote Augustus absolute ruler.” The demands threatened to unsettle the emperor’s precarious political balance. Augustus fell to his knees before the riders. He tore his toga and beat his chest. He promised the mob that he would personally take control of the grain supply. But Augustus refused to be called a dictator. The crowd disbanded, but the lesson was clear. Augustus was riding a tiger. To keep order on the frontiers, the streets and the Senate was a super human task. Super human skills were needed. Luckily for Rome, Augustus had them. Karl Galinsky:

“Then something very fortuitous happens: Halley’s Comet shows up and the word is given out by Augustus that this is the soul of Julius Caesar ascending into heaven. So from this point on he is called Julius Caesar the divine. Politically it became very potent, because what does Augustus do at this point? On all his coinage on all his writings, on all his symbols, whatever, he puts on the words “DF”, meaning Son of the Divine. And it’s really quite an asset in politics to be the Son of the Divine. There are modern politicians I think would be very jealous of being able to do that.”

Augustus enhanced his pious new identity with stories of his lean habits. It was said that he slept in a modest house, and slept on a low bed, that he ate common foods, coarse bread, common cheese, and sometimes, even less.

Augustus:

“My dear Tiberius, not even a Jew observes a fast as diligently on the Sabbath as I have today. I ate nothing until the early hours of evening when I nibbled two bites before my rub down.”

Moral change, Augustus began to argue, was the enemy of Rome. He believed that its future ran through its past, through the restoration of the values he thought had first made Rome great. Augustus:

“I renewed many traditions which were fading in our age. I restored eighty-two temples of the gods, neglecting none that required repair at the time.” In public, Augustus led by example. He sacrificed animals in traditional rituals and he re-established traditional social rules. New laws assigned theatre seats by social rank. Women were confined to the back rows. Adultery was outlawed; marriage and children were encouraged. To many, Roman society had recovered its true course. The son of a god was building an empire for the ages. Augustus:

“Who can find words to adequately describe the advancements of these years? Authority has been returned to the government, majesty to the Senate, and influence to the courts. Protests in the theatre have been stopped, integrity is honored, depravity is punished.” But amid the applause, there were also cries of protest. The emperor’s new traditional values rankled friends and enemies alike. It even rankled his own daughter, Julia. Long a pawn of family politics, Julia assumed that she was exempt from her father’s stringent views. She was wrong. And in the coming years, Augustus, son of a god, would have to confront Augustus the father.

“If there is anyone here who is a novice in the art of love, let him read my book. With study, he will love like a professional.” As the emperor, Augustus firmly charted a course of moral rigor. The poet Ovid staked out different ground. He was now Rome’s most famous living poet, and his boldness grew in step with his reputation. Having all but exhausted the conventions of love poetry, he decided to stretch them. He began composing a manual of practical tips on adultery.

Ovid writes:

“Step one - stroll under a shady colonnade. Don’t miss the shrine of Adonis, but the theatre is your best hunting ground. There you will find women to satisfy any desire, just as ants come and go, so the cultured ladies swarm to the games. They come for the show - and to make a show of themselves. There are so many I often reel from the choice.” Many Romans yearned to follow their emperor back to the good old days of stern Roman virtue. But others reveled in the promises of Rome’s newfound peace. Ovid was one of them. To the youthful poet, old limits seemed meaningless. “Do not doubt you can have any girl you wish. Some give in, others resist but all love to be propositioned. And even if you fail, rejection doesn’t hurt. Why should you fail? Women always welcome pleasure and find novelty exciting.” Indeed, the earlier civil wars had unleashed enormous social change. Some women had gained political clout, new rights, and new freedoms. Tradition holds that one such woman was Julia, the emperor’s only child.

“Julia had a love of letters and was well educated - a given in that family. She also had a gentle nature and no cruel intentions. Together these brought her great esteem as a woman.”

Julia didn’t reject traditional values wholesale. She had long endured her father’s overbearing control. She dutifully married three times to further his dynastic ambitions, and she bore five children. Her two boys, Guyus and Luccius were cherished by Augustus as probable heirs. But like Ovid, Julia expected more from the peace. She was clever and vivacious, and she had an irreverent tongue that cut across the grain of Roman convention. Her legendary wit was passed through the centuries by a late Roman writer called Macrobius.

Macrobius writes:

“Several times her father ordered her in a manner both doting and scolding to moderate her lavish clothes and keep less mischievous company. Once he saw her in a revealing dress. He disapproved but held his tongue. The next day, in a different dress, she embraced her father with modesty. He could not contain his joy and said, ‘Now isn’t this dress more suited to the daughter of Augustus?’ Julia retorted, ‘Today I am dressed for my father’s eyes. Yesterday I dressed for my husband.’

But apparently Julia’s charms were not reserved for her husband alone. The emperor’s daughter took many lovers.

Judith Hallet:

“Her dalliances were so well known that people were actually surprised when her children resembled her second husband, who was the father of her five children. She wittily replied, “Well that’s because I never take on a passenger unless I already have a full cargo.” The meaning here is that she waited until she was already pregnant before undertaking these dalliances, so concerned was she to protect the bloodlines of these offspring.“

Julia, like Ovid, was a testament to her times. But neither of them were average Romans. The life they represented shocked traditional society to the core. And as Julia entered her thirty-eighth year, crisis loom

"In that year, a scandal broke out in the emperor’s own home. It was shameful to discuss, horrible to remember

One Roman soldier voiced deep revulsion at Julia’s extraordinary self-indulgence. "Julia, ignoring her father Augustus, did everything which is shameful for a woman to do, whether through extravagance or lust. She counted her sins as though counting her blessings, and asserted her freedom to ignore the laws of decency.” Julia’s behavior erupted into a full-blown political crisis, which was marked by over-blown claims. The emperor’s daughter was rumored to hold nightly revels in Rome’s public square. She was said to barter sexual favors from the podium where her father addressed the people. When the gossip reached Augustus, the emperor flew into a violent rage. He refused to see visitors. Upon emerging, Suetonius reports, he publicly denounced his only child. “He wrote a letter, advising the Senate of her misbehavior, but was absent when it was read. He secluded himself out of shame, and even considered a death sentence for his daughter. He grew more obstinate, when the Roman people came to him several times, begging for her sake. He cursed the crowd that they should have such daughters and such wives.” As a father, Augustus could not abide Julia’s behavior. As an emperor, he could not tolerate the embarrassment. Augustus banished Julia for the rest of her life. “I was going to pass over the ways a clever girl might elude a husband or a watchful guard. But since you need help - here is my advice.” Soon after Julia’s exile, Ovid released his salacious poem. It couldn’t have been more poorly timed. “Of course a guard stands in your way, but you can still write. Compose love letters while alone in the bathroom and send them out with an accomplice. She can hide them next to her warm flesh, under her breasts or bound beneath her foot. Should your guard get wind of these schemes, she can offer her skin for paper and carry out notes written on her body.” Ovid’s poetry extolled behavior for which the emperor’s daughter was banished. Her fate loomed large as a warning. For the present, the emperor remained mute towards Rome’s most gifted rebel. Ovid turned his hand to less provocative forms of poetry. He remarried, and he embraced a new appreciation for discretion.

“Enjoy forbidden pleasures in their place. But when you dress, don’t forget your mask of decorum. An innocent face hides more than a lying tongue.” Ovid was on notice. The order of Augustus had firm bounds of propriety and Ovid had tested them to the fullest. “Now consider the dangers of night. Tiles fall from the rooftop and crack you on the head. And the drunken hooligan, spoiling for a fight, cannot rest without a brawl. What can you do when a raving madman confronts you? Or tenants throw their broken pots out the window? You’re courting disaster if you go to dinner before writing your will.” At the turn of the first century, the poet Juvenal, was writing verses, which exposed much of Rome to scorn. He was acerbic and had a keen eye for the gritty realities of urban life. Juvenal writes:

“Our apartment block is a tottering ruin. The building manager props it up with slender poles and plasters over the gaping cracks. Then he bids us sleep safe and sound in his wretched death trap.” Ronald Mellor, Professor of History, UCLA:

I don’t think our notion of Rome bears much relation to the Rome of every day life. Because what is left today are the big public buildings, not the squalid hovels without plumbing and sanitary conditions that ordinary people lived in. That’s precisely the reason members of the elite preferred to withdraw up into the hills, and to have their villas up on the hills, a little bit away from the noise and away from the stench and away from that incredible hoard of people pressing close together. Juvenal writes:

“I would love to live where there are no fears, in the dark of night. Even now, I smell fire and hear a neighbor cry out for water as he struggles to save his measly belongings. Smoke pours out from the third story as flames move upwards, but the poor wretch who lives at the top with the leaking roof and roosting birds, is oblivious to the danger, and sure to burn.” In the year 4, in the imperial palace, the emperor, Augustus also lost sleep, but not from fear of fire. Now an old man of sixty-six, Augustus has lost much of his youthful vigor. “His vision had faded in his left eye, his teeth were few, widely spaced and worn down, his hair wispy and yellowed. His skin was irritated by scratching and vehement scraping, so that he had chronic rough spots, resembling ring worm.” As the emperor neared death, plots to succeed him sprouted. His grandsons and intended heirs had both died, unexpectedly. And the emperor himself lived under constant threat of assassination. Speaking for Augustus, one ancient historian voiced his dilemma: “Whereas solitude is dreadful,” he wrote, “company is also dreadful - the very men who protect us are most terrifying.” Andrew Wallace-Hadrill, Director, British School, Rome:

“In many ways, Augustus looked so solid, and what he created looked so solid you forget the fragility. I think contemporaries were very aware of that fragility. And surely Augustus was, he was - over anxious, in a sense, to provide a secure system after he’d gone.”

At this time, there were unusually strong earthquakes. The Tiber pulled down the bridge and flooded the city for seven days. There was a partial eclipse of the sun, and famine developed. Ancient historians report that natural disasters predicted political ones. In the year 6, soldiers, the backbone of the empire, refused to re-enlist without a pay rise. New funds had to be found. Then, fire swept parts of the capital. A reluctant Augustus turned to taxation. It was a dangerous tactic, and the emperor knew it. Fearing a coup, Augustus dispersed potential enemies. He recessed the courts and disbanded the Senate. He even dismissed his own retinue - Rome remained on edge.

“The mob, distressed by the famine of the taxes after the fire… openly discussed rebellion. When night fell, they hung seditious posters.” The crisis passed. But soon a new and even greater disaster battered the aging Augustus. It began in Germany, a land of fiercely independent tribes, and to the Roman eye, rugged barbarism. The region had been recently conquered, and Roman customs were taking root - or so they thought. “The barbarians had not forgotten their ancient traditions, their free way of life or the power of arms. But, as long as they were assimilated slowly, they did not realize they were changing, and did not resist Roman influence.” That peaceful evolution stopped, however, in the year 9. The year an arrogant young General named Quinctilius Varus became commander of the Rhine army, and brought an iron fist to the province. “He forced more drastic change on the barbarians, and exacted money as if they were his subjects.” Varus disastrously miscalculated the extent of Roman control, and misjudged German compliance. A trusted German chieftain organized a full-scale revolt, and lured Varus’ troops into a trap, deep in unfamiliar terrain. “The mountains were rocky and covered with ravines. The trees were dense and tall so that the Romans were struggling to make progress. Rain began to fall in sheets. The heavy wind scattered their numbers. The ground became slippery around the tree trunks and leaves. While the Romans were dealing with these troubles, the barbarians surrounded them, suddenly coming from everywhere. First, they came from afar. Then, since no one was fighting back and many were wounded, the barbarians came ever closer, and the Romans were unable to retaliate. They kept crashing into each other…They could not grip their arrows or javelins. The rain forced their weapons from their hands. Even their sodden shields were useless. And so every man and every horse was slaughtered.” Three legions were massacred - a tenth of Rome’s army. Augustus, his biographer reports, was traumatized. “They say he was so disturbed, that for several months, he let his hair and beard grow, and would sometimes bash his head on doors and cry out 'Quntillius Varus, give me back my legions.’” The disaster in Germany underscored a stark reality. The empire was born of violence, and to violence, it ever threatened to return. The emperor was in no mood for leniency. “Believe me, love’s climax of pleasure should not be rushed, but savored. But when you reach those places a woman loves to have touched, don’t let shame get in the way, don’t back off. You’ll see her eyes shine with a trembling light, as when the sun glitters on rippling water. She’ll moan and murmur sweet words just right for the game. But don’t outpace your mistress, or let her leave you in the dust. Rush to the finish line in unison. When man and woman collapse together, they both win. That’s the greatest prize.” Ovid’s sizzling words gripped Rome when they were first published. But a decade later, they would return to haunt him. For the patience of the emperor Augustus has reached its lowest point. Beleaguered, he saw plots in every corner, anarchy in every act of disobedience. Blaming the subversive book, Augustus banished Ovid from Rome. “Hello. Are you there? If so, indulge these verses of mine. They don’t come from my garden, or from that old couch I used to sprawl on. Whoever you are and in whatever parlor or bedroom or study, I have been writing on decks, propped up against bulkheads.” The poet was sent to an untamed backwater on the edges of the empire, on the shores of the black sea. For Ovid, the ultimate urban sophisticate, no punishment could have been harsher. His roguish aplomb crumbled to anguish. “When night falls here, I think of that other night when I was cast out into the endless gloom. We managed to laugh, once or twice, when my wife found, in some old trunk, odd pieces of clothing. This might be the thing this season, the new Romanian mode. And just as abruptly, our peal of laughter would catch, and tear into tears. And we

held each other. My wife sobbed at the hearth. What could I say? I took the first step with which all journeys begin, but could not take the second. I was barely able to breathe. I set forth again. Behind me, she fell, rolling, onto the floor, her hair swept onto the hearth, stirring up the dust and ashes. I heard her call my name. I thought I had survived the worst - what could be worst? But my wife arose, pursued me, held on to me weeping. Servants pulled her away. Whatever worth there was in me died there.”

Ovid was sure his talents would bring him home. He wrote constantly. And as he waited, he sought refuge in a remote frontier town. When the temperatures dropped, Ovid wrote, the wine froze in its vessels, the river in its banks. Across the ice thundered hostile horsemen, plundering and killing. It was a brutal life. Ovid wrote home from exile, a side of the empire that few Romans ever saw. “Beyond these rickety walls there’s no safety. And inside it’s hardly better. Barbarians live in most of the houses - even if you’re not afraid of them you’ll despise their long hair and clothes made of animal skins. They all do business in their common language. I have to communicate with gestures. I am understood by no one, and the stupid peasants insult my Latin words. They heckle me to my face, and mock my exile.” Writing for this audience, Ovid complained, was like “dancing in the dark.” As the years passed, Ovid shrivelled into a bony old man. He fell ill. Contrition replaced his former bravado. “Oh, I repent I repent. If anyone as wretched as I can be believed, I do repent. I am tortured by my deed.” Ovid, however, never got an answer to his pleas. And would never get a reprieve. As he approached death, he became sadly resigned to his fate. “Look at me. I yearn for my country, my home, and for you. I have lost everything that I once had. But I still have my talent. Emperors have no jurisdiction over that. My fame will survive, even after I am gone. And as long as Rome dominates the world, I will be read.” Nine years into his exile, Ovid died. He outlived Augustus, but he had bent to the emperor’s will. At the start of the emperor’s public life, Augustus had won the wars engulfing Rome. By the end, he had won the peace, and men like Ovid paid the price. In the years ahead, when lesser men would rule Rome, that price would rise higher still. “Oh Jupiter and Mars and all gods that raise the Roman Empire to ruler of the world, I invoke you and I pray - guard this prosperity, this peace, now and into the future.” In the year 14, prayers such as these were heard around the vast dominion ruled by Rome. For in that year, the empire stood at a precipice. The emperor Augustus had died. Augustus had been a towering figure. He had extinguished a century of civil war. He presided over forty years of internal peace and prosperity. He forged the vision and power that cemented the empire together. But the peace of Augustus came at a price. By the end of his life, Augustus had eclipsed the Senate, ruled as a monarch, and founded a dynasty that was fraught with troubles. His heirs, Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius - these men would lead Rome through years of political terror, imperial madness, assassination - and through the distant founding of a new religion that would one day engulf the empire itself. The years to come would be years of trial - testing the endurance of subjects and citizens, soldiers, and slaves. The men and women of the Roman Empire in the first century.

#order from chaos

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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allaboutjoongi · 4 years

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FLOWER OF EVIL

Characters

Baek Heesung (39)

| Metal Craft Artist

“I lied.. Just a little bit..”

He would do anything and go to any length to hold on to what he has ‘now’.

A devoted husband, loving and caring father, and ordinary man. But the man who has a secret that he does not want anyone to find out. Just like a sailboat caught in a storm against its will, his life has always been on the verge of capsizing.

But he endured. He endured and met a woman. Meeting this woman brought ‘calm’ back to his life. That woman is his current wife, Jiwon. But Jiwon knows nothing: that Heesung changed his identity to hide his past. And what kind of person he really is.

Heesung will keep Jiwon in the dark until the very last moment. He has no guilty conscience. Because if the man loses the “now,” his life will end up in burning hell anyway.

Gong Mija (64)

| Pharmacist

Heesung’s mother who runs a pharmacy. She loses her patience and gets hysterical when she feels something gets out of her control, whether it’s about a person or some situation.

She is often overbearing, but deep inside, feels strangely possessive towards Heesung because of her excessive attachment to him.

So when Heesung coldly draws the line, she feels a pang of disappointment. And the disappointment turns into words that put pressure on Heesung. “You think your life is your own?”

Baek Manwoo (67)

| CEO of University Hospital

Heesung’s father. Surgical specialist and emergency medicine specialist. As CEO of a university hospital, he is revered and admired by everyone. Gentle, warm, and competent, he often sets a great example for his colleagues and junior doctors. He lives the kind of life everyone wishes they had.

But just like the dark side of the moon, no one has ever seen the other side of Manwoo. The family’s secret that no one has ever imagined. 15 years ago, Manwoo found himself in the biggest crisis of his life. It was an accident.

But he made a deal to keep this embarrassing part of his life buried. At the time, he thought it was the best he could do.

http://program.tving.com/tvn/evilflower/3/Contents/Html?h_seq=2

Cha Jiwon (37)

| Homicide Detective

“You… Who really are you?”

A woman who has passionately loved Heesung, but also a homicide detective who pushes him to the edge of a cliff.

When she’s at work on a crime scene, she is a competent detective who solves the case with her sharp instinct and investigative skills. At home, in front of her husband, she lets her guard down completely. She’s helplessly in love with her husband.

But as she becomes suspicious of her husband’s past, she starts to dig into the layers of secrets he has hidden. What if the past and the identity of my husband as I have known – are all a lie? What if her husband is the link that connects all these mysterious and terrible crimes?

And she has to answer the most brutal question that she asks herself: What if she still loves him…?

Moon Youngok (61)

| Convenience Store Owner

Jiwon’s mother. She’s run this convenience store since Jiwon was a child.

She lives near Jiwon’s and often takes care of her granddaughter Eunha. She also loves and cares for Heesung, her son-in-law as if he was her real son.

Baek Eunha (6)

She feels a strong attachment to her dad Heesung because she spends more time with him than with her mother Jiwon, who works outside.

She is happiness and peace personified, who makes Jiwon and Heesung smile and even make Mija and Manwoo let their guards down.

Do Haesoo (37)

| Special Effects Makeup Artist

“Everything has changed… We cannot go back where we used to be.”

Daughter of a serial killer who has borne the brunt of her family’s terrible past.

Older sister of Do Hyunsoo. She has such a delicate, fragile appearance, but also has this unapproachable, serious aura around her. Her mother was killed by her father, and her brother is a fugitive. No wonder her family’s tragic story has attracted nationwide attention.

Wherever she went, the cameras and reporters made sure to find her, and they plague Haesoo with questions about her past. Why her father did that, how that murder made him feel, how he chose his victims, and what kind of person he was. Haesoo knows nothing about them. Because father and Hyunsoo were so close she couldn’t come between them.

18 years ago, on that brutal night, no one knows what really happened. “Sister, you live an ordinary life.” Hyunsoo left her just like that. Since then, she has never seen him. Then, Haesoo’s first love Moojin and the past come back to haunt her. The serial killings her father committed 18 years ago – the case is not closed yet.

Do Minseok (Deceased)

| Serial Killer

Father of Do Haesoo and Do Hyunsoo. Culprit in the ‘Yeonju Serial Killings’ that sent shockwaves through the entire country 18 years ago.

The number of victims that have been discovered so far totals seven. There may well be other victims yet to be found. But he killed himself before he got caught by the police. So there is no way to find out now.

Do Hyunsoo (36)

| Accomplice in Serial Killings?

Younger brother of Do Haesoo. Father Do Minseok killed himself and rumors started to circulate throughout town. That there is an accomplice of serial killer Do Minseok.

That the accomplice is his son, who looks just like his father. When the chief of the town was murdered, Hyunsoo was 18. And he vanished into thin air.

http://program.tving.com/tvn/evilflower/3/Contents/Html?h_seq=4

Kim Moojin (36)

| Reporter for [Hanjugan Weekly]

“How come I always end up finding out dangerous secrets I should not know?”

Reporter who wind up breaking exclusive news as things happen by a twist of fate.

Free-spirited, egocentric, and cunning. He has an extraordinary adaptability wherever he goes.

In his first year in journalism, his work ethic just disappeared along with his passion as a reporter. Moojin just lurks and hunts for scoops and clickbait news stories.

Let’s see… Psychopathic father who tried to kill his obese child? The case totally sounds like Moojin’s cup of tea. Moojin is greatly interested in psychopaths. Why? Because they are sensational. Today, as usual, he lingers around a crime scene and bothers detective Cha Jiwon, who he met when he used to work with the police to report news. Hearing that her husband is a skilled metal craft artist, his eyes flash with recognition.

Metal craft artist. It sounds so familiar to Moojin. The culprit in the serial killings 18 years ago back in his hometown was also a metal craft artist. His daughter happened to be Moojin’s first love. Do Haesoo… My first love… Is she still harboring resentment towards me? Has she changed a lot? Does she often think about me?

Gang Pilyoung (51)

| [Hanjugan] Team Leader

Moojin’s immediate supervisor who doesn’t hesitate to offer Moojin advice.

She recognizes Moojin’s journalistic skills at getting exclusive news items, and even enables his obsession with scoops.

But at the back of her mind, she cares for Moojin as a person, like her little brother.

Investigation Team

http://program.tving.com/tvn/evilflower/3/Contents/Html?h_seq=5

Lee Woochul (43)

| Leader of Homicide Investigation Team 3

Leader of Homicide Investigation Team 3 where Jiwon belongs. Very rational and patient.

Maybe he appears too rational, so some might think he is too cold. He always bickers with Jaesup. But he is a thoughtful leader who puts the safety of his team members first.

Choi Jaesup (43)

| Veteran Detective

Veteran detective and immediate supervisor of Jiwon. He’s unrivaled when it comes to ‘connections.’ ‘Old-school’ detective who often ignores the law and proceeds with investigations using his instinct.

Typical old guy who says whatever that comes to his mind, but he also speaks up when the other team members stay respectful.

Lim Hojoon (29)

| Youngest Team Member

Youngest member of the investigation team and Jiwon’s partner detective. Whenever he wants to quit because of the heavy workload, it’s Jiwon who has always encouraged him not to quit. Hojoon finds himself becoming a better person when he is with Jiwon. He respects and admires Jiwon.

Yoon Sangpil (51)

| Section Chief

Chief of the homicide investigation section.

He often just relies on routine procedures when handling cases, but when it’s really important, he provides as much support as Investigation Team 3 needs. Short-tempered, he is often seen yelling at the detectives who get into trouble.

#lee joon gi #lee jun ki #이준기 #李準基 #kdrama #tvn #moon chae won #문채원 #lee joongi #악의 꽃 #악의꽃 #flower of evil

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delicioussshame · 4 years

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So I had this idea and I decided to write it. Set in the poly universe, but not actually part of the main fic, and thus won’t make it to AO3. Explicit and huh... you’ll see. Darker than usual for this AU.

“Binghe, ah, you’re home�� early.”

His husband’s eyes burn trails of fire on his skin as he stares at him, before he slides a hand behind his head and pulls him into a kiss like he wants to eat him whole.

Not exactly an unusual reaction from Luo Binghe when he returns.

Mobei-Jun doesn’t bother to stop touching him. Why would he? Luo Binghe won’t ask him to.

“Shizun.”

Shen Qingqiu swaps at him. “Husband.”

Luo Binghe nods, enthralled. “Husband.”

“Better.” How can something so simple be so hard to understand? Shen Qingqiu will never stop being grateful that Luo Binghe was never exposed to sexy professor/naughty student porn, or his sex life would be even harder to manage than it already is.

“I see Husband hasn’t been lonely during my absence.”

Shen Qingqiu still finds it in himself to blush, somehow. “And whose fault is that?” If Luo Binghe has a jealousy crisis now of all times...

But no. Luo Binghe stays silent, preferring to latch his mouth to Shen Qingqiu's neck and suck until Shen Qingqiu is holding him there with trembling fingers, while Mobei-Jun is pressing against his back and spreading his hands all over him. His thighs open of their own accord to make space for his husband to nestle closer.

Instead, Mobei-Jun takes advantage, hands sliding down to tease the sensitive inside of his thighs and occasionally brushing against his hard cock in a way he knows isn’t accidental. Shen Qingqiu cannot stop pleas for more from escaping his mouth.

It's Luo Binghe’s fingers that find their way inside him first, pushing inside and stroking exploratoringly until Shen Qingqiu starts squirming and cursing the bad things he did in his past life that earned him not one but two lovers eager to tease and slow to actually act. It’s not like they’re not into it too. When they’re that close, he can exactly how affected they are. Meanly, he rolls his hips, taking his turn at teasing. Both of them growl, the deep vibrations travelling through Shen Qingqiu. See what messing with demons get you? This is what they should teach at the sect. Don’t underestimate demons, before you know it they'll have seduced you and then won’t deliver until you've gone crazy.

“Husband is so beautiful like this, this disciple cannot hope to resist him.” His fingers move deeper while Mobei-Jun’s trails his along his length, his own erection rubbing wet and dirty against his lower back. “But he would hate to force Husband into something he doesn’t desire. Will Shen Qingqiu tell this disciple what he wants? This Luo Binghe would never forgive himself if he did something wrong.”

Shen Qingqiu could... No, forget about could, Shen Qingqiu bites his husband hard enough to draw blood.

Luo Binghe bites right back, which has Shen Qingqiu flinch away from him. “Binghe!” He knows better! Their ideas of rough play are different and he’s very aware of it!

Luo Binghe looks repentant not at all. In fact, he licks the blood off his lips like he relishes the taste.

He also adds another finger and shoves it deep, relentless until Shen Qingqiu’s throat is sore from screaming. “Well, did Shizun make up his mind? Does he want more from this disciple, or does he prefer to remain like this?”

Shen Qingqiu has half a mind to just ignore his husband and pick his other, more respectful lover, who isn’t going to make him talk. No one ever complained that Mobei-Jun was too loquacious.

It would be a callous thing to do. Mobei-Jun still is Luo Binghe’s underling after all. It wouldn’t do to put him in a position where he has to oppose his lord. And while Luo Binghe is often, too often if you asked Shen Qingqiu, content to watch, the way he keeps fingering him and making sure Shen Qingqiu couldn’t give himself relief made obvious he would favor more proactive means tonight.

Shen Qingqiu sighs, or he would if he could. What’s the point of trying to resist Luo Binghe? That’s a fight he’s not going to win, nor would he want to. “This master is willing to let his husband have whatever he fancies, as long as he stops being a terrible tease and do somethi- AH!”

Mobei-Jun’s arms snake around him to hold him up as Luo Binghe grips his hips and pulls him toward him, fucking him hard, just on the verge of too much. Shen Qingqiu closes his eyes to free himself from the terrible glint in his husband’s eyes. Unsurprisingly, his hands are trapped in Mobei-Jun’s hold, unwilling to let him come at his own pace. His mouth lingers on the back of his neck, the touch barely felt when compared to Luo Binghe pushing into him deep.

When Luo Binghe finally comes, Shen Qingqiu barely has time to think before he’s being repositioned and sat on Mobei-Jun’s cock, his limp body offering no resistance as he’s being used for both their pleasure, Luo Binghe drinking in the sight. The still coherent part of Shen Qingqiu’s brain just knows he’ll be ready again before Mobei-Jun is done.

Shen Qingqiu is doomed.

“Shizun takes it so well, maybe he could accommodate us both?”

That wakes him right up. It’s not something they haven’t done, but not without extensive preparation before the event. Luo Binghe doesn’t just expect him to take both of their ridiculously large cocks in like it’s easy, does he? “I… Ah… Not tonight. It’d, it’d be too much…”

“Are you sure? You look capable to me.”

Shen Qingqiu shivers against Mobei-Jun. Maybe he… No. Not a good idea. Luo Binghe just came back, he’ll have stamina to spare, while this would destroy his. Also, “It’s Husband! Ah! And I… said no. “

Binghe frowns, visibly vexed by his opposition. “Husband would deny me?”

“It wouldn’t be safe.”

Mobei-Jun’s voice is almost startling. For a moment, Shen Qingqiu is worried this will degenerate. Mobei-Jun rarely dares to oppose Luo Binghe, especially in matters relation to his husband.

Luo Binghe’s qi flares threateningly, but it settles down without issue. “The last thing I want is to hurt Husband. If both he and my subordinate believe it wouldn’t be a good idea, I will defer to their good judgement.” His hand wraps almost painfully around Shen Qingqiu, scrambling his thoughts completely. “As long as he is still disposed to serving me after.”

Shen Qingqiu hardly hears those words, too dazed by his rising orgasm to care.

___________________

Luo Binghe had not known what to expect when he would return, but it had not been this.

“Binghe, ah, you’re home… early.” Said with a healthy dose of embarrassment but not a hint of guilt. Likewise, Mobei-Jun had stood still, at attention but without fear. Obviously, neither of them had believed they were doing something wrong.

It looked like his counterpart’s life had become more exciting since the last time Luo Binghe stopped by.

From their lack of modesty as Luo Binghe devoured the delightful image their naked bodies made, his presence might even be welcome.

It’s not like he had been unfamiliar with this concept. Some of his wives enjoyed each other’s company. He didn’t begrudge them their pleasure. As much as he would have liked to, he just couldn’t attend to all of them properly himself. He had taken two or more of them to bed together more than once. This hadn’t been very different. And if he’d never considered bedding Mobei-Jun before, it was clearly a lack of imagination on his part. While it would not compare to getting Shizun to submit to him, which he definitely would this time, it would still be quite a thrill to get him to moan under him. Were they married here? Could this be allowed?

The situation had been too touchy to try his luck. If both Shen Qingqiu and Mobei-Jun figured him out, he would have to face quite a fight. But the reward would certainly be worth the risk.

Luo Binghe had approached the bed Shen Qingqiu and Mobei-Jun occupied, and had pulled his shizun in a kiss he gladly opened up for. He hadn’t even needed most of the drugs and artifices he’d prepared to make sure Shen Qingqiu would be willing. The only one he would use, he decided as he looked at the scourge of his life getting fucked out of his mind and loving every moment of it, was the pill that would cloud their mind, erasing the memory of his visit. It would work flawlessly, better than he thought it would. Since both of them would wake up together, they would explain away any lingering mark easily. That way, they wouldn’t tell his counterpart of his visit and would have no reason for caution.

It would make subsequent visits much easier.

#The Scum Villain Self Serving System #Scum Villain #BingQiuMo #The MoShen Thing

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