#Drew Kohl

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

New Audio: Cold Equations Returns with The Smiths-like "Set The Boy Free"

New Audio: Cold Equations Returns with The Smiths-like "Set The Boy Free" @cold_equations @paulmoak3 @HeyGroover @romainpalmieri @DorianPerron

Drew Kohl is a Nashville-based singer/songwriter. Relocating to Nashville back in 2014, Kohl quickly immersed himself in the city’s country/Americana scene, dressing the part and writing and performing folk-styled material. He has toured with the likes of Kiely Connell and Ray LaMontagne — and he has played at The Chicago Theater, Louisville Palace and lengthy list of other venues. But after…

[tesla-rip]

remembering the first art I did for rip was rip and pokemon and I gave flick a shiny litwick

[jake-g-lockley]

Hiya :3

I’ve never done a request before so I thought it might be fun

Maybe you could write a Din Djarin short where the reader had to intervene in a fight on his behalf and Din is furious because the reader could have been killed and lashed out causing the reader to run off and he’s been looking for them ever since?

Also they haven’t admitted that they have feelings for each other yet so there’s another scoop of angst for ya hahaha

To Their Heart’s Content (Din Djarin x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Wanna be tagged?

A/N: *crack knuckles* MISS MA'AM I HAVE JUST THE THING OMG. I hope you like it <3 and thank you for the ask, I had fun writing this!!! Warnings: Angst, yelling, Din being Din. Word Count: 1.4k

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Din’s POV “Din, you do not give babies explosives unsupervised!” you squealed as you grabbed onto the explosive that Grogu had been proudly showing off to you. 

Once you had set the explosive safely aside, you giggled as you chased Grogu around the ship’s hull, laughing aloud as you tackled the child into your arms. 

The memory of your laugh pulled Din Djarin away from the focus of flying through the dizzying depths of space. Nothing had sounded closer to music to his ears. But now it was just a distant memory, a memory that he had been trying to chase. 

You had always been the chatty one, and he had always listened to you. He could spend hours listening to your talk about the most random thing, and you wouldn’t know that he also spent those hours staring into your eyes. 

Your gaze was always sharp, as if you had lined your eyes with glass instead of dark kohl. They sparkled with irresistible charm, glowing brightly whenever you star gazed while he flew the ship. Din would feel his skin grow hot wherever you would glance, not in pain or agony but as if he was being bathed by warm sunlight. You were like a cup of caf, the first taste always being bitter. But when you came around to him, your boldness and brightness took over his entire senses, kickstarting a whole new beginning for him. You had a fullness in your body and a richness in your soul that drew him towards you, almost connecting you to him.

“Don’t go too far, kar'ta!” Din yelled out before he could stop himself as he watched you and Grogu skip through the meadow. You had seen the meadow as Din flew above it and you insisted on flying down, to pick some flowers to make flower crowns. The second he touched down, you had flipped your extra long curls and a beautiful scent of nova lilies flooded all his senses, knocking him out cold. 

Kar'ta

Din doubted you understood what he called you. You’d give him a head tilt and smile at his sudden use of Mando’a. He couldn’t help himself, for you were his kar'ta, his heart. It was at that moment, when he watched as you picked his kid up and spun him around, where the doom settled at the pit of his stomach, and he knew that he couldn’t live without you. 

The scene in his mind drastically changed and blaster shots echoed in his head as the imagery of the wreaked marketplace appeared. Din had been fighting 5 to 1 and was already kneeling in pain from the poisoned cut. You lept in front of him, and Din yelled out as the enemy’s blade slashed a cut into your arm. Din heard you scream as his world plunged into darkness. 

The scene changes again and Din is knocking away a bowl of porridge that you had offered to him the second he had come to. 

“Din, I-”

“You could have gotten yourself killed!” he yelled through his helmet, barricading you with his large frame.

“I knew what I was doing!” you yelled back, pushing your hands at his armour but he didn’t budge an inch. “You could’ve been dead if I didn’t step in! Who do you think dragged you all the way back here?”

The Mandalorian went quiet, but you stared at him through his helmet, glowering at him as tears flowed from your beautiful eyes. 

“I. Don’t. Care. Next time, stay out of my way.” he huffed, turning away from you.

“There isn’t going to be a next time, Mandalorian.” 

Your words rang clear in Din’s head as time froze around him, except for the frantic movement of your body around the hull of his ship, grabbing at your belongings. You left that night and Din was hellbent in wanting to go and search for you but he couldn’t move a muscle. His pride overtook the feelings he had for you and he couldn’t go after you, not after how he treated you.

The kid’s soft whining brought Din back to the present and he unscrewed the metal ball off one of the levers and handed it to him

“Don’t worry, little one, we almost found her.” he said softly, rubbing Grogu’s head as he gazed at the planet before him

Your POV

You rubbed the pendant around the neck between your fingers as you breathed in the fresh air around you. As evening approaches, the lake mirrors the fiery colours of the sunset, transforming into a molten pool of oranges, pinks, and purples that blend seamlessly with the twilight sky. Your chickens cooed and you smiled at them before shutting your eyes and letting your memories overpower you. 

You missed your mystery Mandalorian, you dreamed of him and recently you had his voice in your head. You wanted to go back, and you wished you didn’t make such a harsh decision to leave him, to leave Grogu. You hugged yourself as the wind blew gently and you swayed, re-imagining that one day that Din had gained the courage to slow dance with you in a bar after you teased him a bunch. “Big man like you never danced with a lady before?” you chuckled as Din’s hand gripped yours a little tighter. “Never with a lady as annoying as you.” he huffed, his nerves pulling at his edges, but you smiled at him nevertheless.

You never knew what he hid under that helmet of his and you never asked because he never pried into your past either. As much as you tried to bury those memories deep down, they always clawed their way back to the surface, haunting your thoughts in the quietest moments. The ache in your chest seemed insatiable, a constant reminder of what once was and what could have been. You found yourself tracing his silhouette in the crowd, hoping against hope for a glimpse, only to recoil at the pain of realisation.

Each day felt like a battle against your own heart, struggling to resist the urge to reach out, to feel the warmth of his presence beside you. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy between you, a silent testament to the distance that had grown. You yearned to break the silence, to shatter the wall that kept you apart, yet fear gripped you tightly, whispering tales of rejection and loss.

In the solitude of sleepless nights, memories played like a relentless movie reel, tormenting you with what could have been said, what might have changed if only you had been brave enough. The ache became a part of you, a raw, tender spot that refused to heal. You masked your longing with a smile, but behind it lay a river of unshed tears, a testament to the depth of your unspoken emotions.

You wanted nothing more than to forget, to move on from the phantom of his touch and the echo of his voice in your mind. Yet, his presence lingered in every corner of your world, a ghost you couldn't exorcise. Each step forward felt like a betrayal of the memories you held dear, a struggle against the pull of a love that refused to fade.

But amidst the pain and longing, a glimmer of hope flickered—a hope that one day, the ache would soften, that you could remember without the sting, that you could find peace in letting go. Until then, you held onto the fragments of what once was, whispering silent prayers to the universe to grant you the strength to heal, to forgive, and to find solace in the sweet agony of a heart that dared to love deeply, despite the pain.

You wished you held your awkward Mandalorian a little tighter, a little longer after the music ended, but here you were standing by your cottage as the air became cool and fragrant with the scent of wildflowers that lulls the world into a peaceful slumber, all alone. “Swapped out the battle armour for chickens, kar'ta?”

You took a deep breath and felt your own heart quicken, the voice reverberating around you too sound for it to be coming from your head. A tear slipped from your eyes as you closed them, your heart finally joining with its lost one as the sound of heavy boots on dirt met your ears. 

Translation: Kar'ta: Mando’a for heart

Kohl: Ancient eye cosmetic

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~ Tagging: @fandxmslxt69 @joygirlmelii @wolfbook87 @randomnessfangirl @minigirl87 @alexxavicry @euphoricosmo @violet-19999 @kierramofficial @ryebreadsworld @your-voice-is-mellifluous @absolutelybloodyhopeless @mintpurplemnm  @britishscum @bubblezuku @cookielovesbook-akie @mandoloriancookie @anonymously35 @milly-louise @marylovesdilfs @pigeonmama

[my-castles-crumbling]

eyeliner - @jegulus-microfic - word count: 440 - NSFW but not explicit (stripper!Regulus, anyone?)

James wasn't sure how he'd ended up here. Somehow, Marlene's entire bachelorette party had migrated to the strip club, where scantily-clad dancers moved suggestively, and Peter had already taken three shots of tequila.

James stared around, eyes a bit glazed from the alcohol, not looking for anything in particular, contemplating challenging Pete to take another shot when he saw him-

An angel.

He moved across the room like he was floating, dark hair falling in loose waves over his kohl-covered eyes, matching black satin lingerie covering perfectly slim milky-white skin scrawled with tattoos.

James reached out to slap his hand against whoever was sitting next to him, hardly daring to look away.

"Ow! James, what?" Dorcas's voice yelped.

"Something to write with. Quick," James muttered, voice rough, eyes still glued.

"Erm...I only have-"

"Whatever you have," James nodded, still craning his neck to stare.

Not bothering to look at the pencil in his hand, he began to move as soon as he closed it in his fingers, chasing the man he set his sights on.

And with absolutely no finesse, he tapped him on the shoulder, nearly choking on his own spit when he realized that he had the most beautiful grey eyes on the planet.

After an awkward moment of silence, during which the piercing eyes looked him up and down, the man asked in a low, bored voice, "Want to dance? It'll cost you."

"No-no. Just a date," James forced out, still begging his brain to catch up.

The man scoffed. "What kind of person do you think I-"

Realizing how it sounded, James corrected himself. "A real date. Dinner. A movie. You- you're lovely."

Thin fingers pushed a strand of black hair away from eyes that stared at him suspiciously. "Yeah?"

"Yes. Please," James nodded. "Can I have your number?" He held up the pencil as he asked.

But the man smirked. "Eyeliner?"

Doing a double-take, he looked at the pencil only to realize it was eyeliner. "Fuck. Sorry, I-"

"No problem," the man replied softly, snatching the pencil from him and holding his hand firmly.

How was it so sensual? Suddenly, the man was carefully, slowly writing on his arm with the dark pencil, the sensation of it drawing goosebumps and fire from James's skin. He almost drooled, watching the way the man bit his lip in concentration as he drew letters and numbers across his skin.

"Call me," the man whispered after a moment, handing the pencil back. He turned before James could say a word, giving him a wonderful view of the g-string he wore.

"Fuck," James murmured, looking down at his skin.

Edit: Marlene and Dorcas are having a joint Bachelorette party, guys. Sorry for the confusion!

[cuculine-nelipot]

One way in which OFMD exceeded expectations this season is the emphasis they placed on the need for personal growth, especially in the pursuit of relationships - all relationships, not just romantic . Buttons laid it all out for Ed, and then turned into a bird just to prove that it is possible if you believe enough. They repeatedly drew attention to Ed's and Stede's flaws, and why they need to work on them in order to become better people not only for each other, but for everyone around them

Lucius told Stede that he was selfish and self-centred, that despite his self-proclaimed love, respect, and kindness, his actions made him anything but. He and the other crew members told him that he was wilfully ignoring reality so that he could believe in the fantasy of Ed/Blackbeard that he had constructed for himself. These are all things that prevent him from being both the captain and the romantic partner he wants to be. The main thing he needs to do to change is listen actively. This has been true since season 1, when we saw him refusing to engage in an honest dialogue with Mary, and several times when he ignored his crew. However, throughout season 2 he is given ample opportunities to listen, to grow as a person, to become a better leader and partner, but he doesn't. At all. He tells Lucius that he can talk to him about his bad experiences, only to quickly tell him that it's too much, talk to Pete instead. He lets the crew vote as to whether Ed should be allowed to stay, only to invite him back shortly after they decide against. After much arguing, he begrudgingly accepts that the crew believes his red suit is cursed, but he does not get rid of the shirt. He agrees when Ed tells him that he needs their relationship to progress slowly, only to initiate sex with him soon after. When Ed expresses his anger about that, he does not understand, and he does not take responsibility. He murders Ned Low even though he knows how desperate Ed is to leave violence behind. In the final episode when everyone tells him that his plan is terrible, he does not listen and insists that they do it anyway, and Izzy dies because of it. He does not take responsibility for that either. In fact, throughout the season he happily comments on the fact that despite his staggering incompetence, things always seem to work out for him specifically, not acknowledging that the same is not true for anyone else. He has remained just as self-centred and self-serving as he was in the very beginning.

Ed too experiences a similar state of arrested development. His core motivation is still to be a different person, and like in the first season he swings from one persona to the next, never reconciling the disparate parts of himself. The closet he gets to reckoning with himself is when he admits that he does not think he is worthy or capable of being loved, but that he wishes he was. However after being "reborn" every attempt he makes to that end is at best superficial and half-hearted. When he addresses the crew he does not say he's sorry, and the only thing he does that could be framed as an attempt at reparations is when he gives them money to throw themselves a party. At that same party he (at Stede's encouragement) congratulates himself for dispelling the poison, disregarding the fact that it was the crew's idea, and the crew who put all the effort into it.

Like in season 1, each of his personas comes with a costume change. There's the kohl smeared face of the Kraken, the cleaner crisper Blackbeard, and the neutrals of Ed - a blank canvas. He does not know who Ed is yet, and he is prevented from finding out by his unwillingness to accept that he is the Kraken and Blackbeard, to sit alone with himself. Fang points this out to him, but instead of anything meaningful coming from it, we get two separate scenes of Ed thinking about being quiet, about being present. Just for a laugh. Because, like with Stede, it's funnier (apparently) for him to stay exactly the way he is.

So he does not grow, because despite the writers putting him in positions to do so, their idea of comedy is for him not to. His brief stint as a fisherman is shockingly reminiscent of the end of season 1, where he's so focused on being zen and chill and being a totally new person that he neglects the basic functions of his job. Unlike then, he does not have the excuse of being burnt out. There is no commentary on toxic masculinity here. It was just 'funnier' to show him being incompetent, and apparently the only way the writers could think to get him back to the main narrative. By which, of course, I mean Stede. Because despite it's ensemble cast and the seamlessly integrated character-driven storylines on season 1, this is the Stede Bonnet show, right?

In spite of his very real, and understandable frustration with Stede a) initiating sex despite his explicitly saying he wasn't ready and b) killing Ned Low right when he was trying to leave violence behind, he makes a beeline for him. He rows back to the Republic of Pirates, sees it on fire, and immediately thinks of Stede. Not the crew (because despite Izzy's quite frankly insane last words he has not done anything to build a relationship with them) and not either of the two men he's sailed with for years. Only Stede. For Stede all of his development (as little as it was) is undone. He kills some naval officers despite his previously established desire to avoid violence. he dives to retrieve his Blackbeard outfit, simultaneously completely undermining the significance of him tossing them in the first place, and of his swimming upward towards a new life.

In season 1 he left Blackbeard for Stede and in season 2 he reclaims him for the same reason. But that's not growth. That's not character development. In both instances he is simply being reinvented in the context someone else. He pursues Stede simply because Stede enables him to imagine that he is a different person, he becomes the version of himself that exists in Stede's mind. If this were real life, it would be an extremely unhealthy way to live. In terms of fictional media, it's just lazy writing. Putting him next to Stede is the easiest, least meaningful way for Ed to change. Despite insights into his interiority, he is not being written as a character with agency.

This becomes especially obvious when we look at Izzy's dying words, and at David Jenkins own thoughts about their relationship. Jenkins says that Izzy fed Edward poison and ended up eating it too. Izzy says that he fed Edward darkness because he needed Blackbeard. There is exactly one instance where this is true. That one instance does not in anyway serve as evidence that Izzy was responsible for every violent thing Ed had ever done. Izzy was not responsible for Ed killing his dad, Izzy was not responsible for the joy Ed admitted he took in maiming people, and it certainly does not in anyway justify the violence Ed enacted on him. That one instance also does not change the fact that Ed very clearly had all the power in his and Izzy's relationship. He ignores Izzy continuously. His reaction to Izzy's anger is violence - he chokes him, he maims him. Izzy has no power. Ed chose violence - for a myriad of complex reasons, yes, but it was his choice. But the writers are framing it so that Ed is simply a puppet - he can either be filled with "Izzy's" poison, or Stede's "goodness." He has no agency, because it's too hard. It's too complicated. It would be too much for Ed to be a complex, morally flawed character who grows and changes for the better, and it would be so hard to write him having his happy rom-com story. So it's better to just simplify all that complexity, right? Forget the trauma Ed endured, forget the trauma he inflicted, forget his depression and his mania. Izzy fed him poison. Izzy made him Blackbeard. Let's just leave it at that. Except that's not the story they wrote, is it. If Izzy made him Blackbeard, fed Blackbeard, wanted Blackbeard, needed Blackbeard, then why does he almost never call him Blackbeard? Consistently, since episode 2, it's a constant stream of "Edward", "Ed" and "Eddie" and we're supposed to believe it was Blackbeard he was after? Speaking of Izzy, his arc is the cruelest of all. And no, I'm not salty that he died. I am beyond disappointed that he died in the arms of his abuser, that his last act was to not only absolve his abuser of all responsibility, but to take it on as his own, and that David Jenkins seems to think that this is a good end to his story.

At this juncture it's important to say that Izzy Hands is very clearly a victim of abuse - physical and emotional. It has however become abundantly clear David Jenkins and many fans of the show do not see it that way. Why? Is it because he's a man? Because he does not act like some preconceived notion of an abuse victim acts? Because it's possible that he "brought him on himself"? Is it really possible for anyone to bring that level of violence on themselves? He experiences the most growth of this season, yes, but as we've established the bar is very low, and he was not given the chance to flourish like it first seems. He does not remove himself from the abusive situation. He is confronted about it, he lashes out in panic, and he is consoled, but he still cannot admit to it. That one moment of care allows him to distance himself from Edward - just a little bit. It allows him to stop enabling Ed, and to stand up for the crew. Not himself, the crew. He is just as selfless and as blind to his own needs as ever.

When Edward shoots him in the leg he screams for death. When Edward confronts him again, he surrenders to the fact that he is not loved, or wanted, and he tries to kill himself. He does not survive for himself, or of his own volition. He survives because the crew makes him survive - they try to hide him, they cut off his festering leg, they make him a wooden one, they allow him to lean on them (physically and implicitly emotionally) for support. He begins to heal, but he does not fully get there. He still loves Edward. We see it in his desperation to know what Ed told Stede about him. We see it in the way he approaches Ed, hoping for a moment of his time. He never reckons with the fact of his own abuse. He tells himself a shark took his leg. His dying act is to apologise to his abuser, to blame himself. He lets Edward go not for his own sake, but Edwards'. He lets go of Edward, and he says he wants to die, just like he did when Edward shot him, just like he did when Edward talked to him after that. He hasn't healed. While Ed's and Stede's fatal flaw is their selfishness, Izzy's has always been his selflessness, and that is still true. He still loves the man who hurt him beyond comprehension, he still gives his life - takes away his guilt and gives him the family he earned for himself - so that man can be happy without him. He literally dies for Edward's sins. He is denied the opportunity to ever live for himself. He was given the beginnings of healing, a home and, a family; one party and a swan song.

[delirious-donna]

The Longest Wait [Ichigo Kurosaki]

Oct. 10 - Ichigo Kurosaki x female reader

Ten years have passed since you started dating Ichigo, and every year he tries to convince you to perch yourself upon his handsome face. A decade is long enough to make a man wait, so tonight is his lucky night!

warnings: facesitting, flirting, manhandling, teasing chat, pussy eating and a pussy drunk Ichigo

Masterlist

The restaurant was softly lit, ambient music drifted atop the voices of your fellow patrons, and you took your time drinking in the sight of your man as he returned from the restrooms.

Handsome was an understatement; tall and slender with messy auburn hair that never failed to turn heads. Ichigo might look the athletic type, that he would be more about endurance than strength, but you’d be wrong. Beneath the crisp white dress shirt and dark navy pants lay vast inches of defined muscle that hid the true power he owned.

Even after a decade together, he still made your heartbeat faster, forced your pulse to race and your mouth to run dry. His hazel eyes sparkled with mirth as he returned to his seat and flashed a quick smile at the likely absurd expression on your face.

“I’m the one that should be staring… I know you picked this dress 'cause I can’t control myself when you wear it,” he teased. A finger drew a delicate pattern on the back of your hand before he gently linked his fingers through yours.

“So, sue me for wanting to look like a badass babe on our anniversary. It’s not often I feel attractive these days,” you scoffed, trailing your free hand over the pale pink skirts of your dress. It was the dress you had worn way back on your very first proper date with Ichigo, and you were simply over the moon that it still fit.

“You’re insane, darling, you always look irresistible to me.”

You offered a saccharine smile that widened his eyes before they narrowed on you, clearly sensing that you were up to something, and he wasn’t wrong.

Tonight, you were going to bow to a suggestion that your sweet man had asked you time and again over the years, but you had never had the confidence to agree to – until now.

“What are you scheming in that pretty head of yours?” he drawled, leaning back in his chair to study your face.

His teeth tucked his lower lip beneath, chewing the flesh whilst a slight tic worked in his sharp jawline. Ichigo loathed surprises, you knew that it made him uneasy not knowing what was going on but there was no way he wouldn’t enjoy this revelation.

Swirling the almost empty wine glass in your hand, fingers caressing the stem in a provocative manner, you fluttered your kohl-swept lashes and took the final plunge.

“You know that… thing you always ask if we can try,” Ichigo’s brow furrowed in contemplation, “you know, the thing that I always refuse.”

He sat up straight with a snap, fingers wrapping around your delicate wrist and a look of carnal lust swirling in those chocolate-hued irises. Ichigo looked so serious for a moment, his throat working furiously, and you couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips.

He whispered heatedly across the table, his head coming as close to yours as he could manage without fully hauling you over the crisp white linen and causing a scene. “You’re really gonna do it, not gonna chicken out this time, right?”

“Ichi,” you whined, pouting dramatically, and letting a deep huff press through your nose.

A long arm gestured for your server, and you admired the strength that those arms held. Reminded of the numerous times they had lifted you like you weighed nothing more than a bag of feathers.

The way Ichigo could switch between gentle care and rough manhandling in the blink of an eye. Patience was not his virtue, but it only amused you. A reminder of one of the many qualities you had come to adore in him.

The journey home had been swift, and perhaps a few speeding violations had been committed in Ichigo’s desire to return to the safety of your shared apartment. You had shrieked at the red light he had narrowly passed through, only to have him tut from the driver’s side and have the gall to look affronted at your critique of his driving ability.

You were a little dazed when the car finally came to a complete stop in the drive, blinking slowly until the door to your side was ripped open and auburn spikes were obscuring your vision as Ichigo leaned over you to unbuckle your seatbelt and lifted you into his arms.

Assuming he would carry you in a dignified manner, you squealed like a piglet when you were hefted onto his strong shoulder and felt your centre of gravity shift. Your gaze was greeted with the upside-down sight of his tight butt as he marched towards the door and slid out of his shoes.

“I can walk on my own, you brute!”

There was no heat behind your words, in truth, you found it incredibly endearing and hot as fuck that your man still felt this impulsive when it came to being intimate with you. He chuckled darkly, a palm trailing from the roundness of your butt, down the curve of your thighs and under the skirts to feel at your plush skin.

He sat on the comforter on your bed, slowly letting you sink down until you were straddling his hips and his nose nudged at you expectantly. Lips seeking out the warmth of your mouth, sharing the swelling desire and moaning unabashedly which Ichigo hungrily devoured.

“This damn dress,” he groaned out after releasing your lip which he had tugged on with his teeth, “reminds of that very first time. You remember, right? How you blushed like a proper little good girl as you came on my fingers?”

You shoved him back, pressing his spine to the mattress as you hovered over his gleeful face. “Says the man that whimpered like a little pup when I sucked him off for the first time…”

You swallowed down his indignation, the dark tendrils clouding his hazel eyes as you thrust your tongue into his mouth to silence his attempts at retorting. Feeling along the sharp peaks of his incisors and licking against the roof of his mouth.

His hands grasped your waist, bunching your dress that puddled over his lower half and forcing a palm between your tightly joined bodies. You jolted as his finger teased against the growing damp spot on your panties, pushing the fabric into your cunt until it was moulded to the intimate folds.

“You gonna do it then? Need these to come off but I’d like the dress to stay on… please.”

The buzz from the expensive wine you had enjoyed at dinner served in quashing the fear and uncertainty that had halted all previous attempts in this endeavour, and most intimate of acts. Standing from the bed you wiggled out of your sodden silky panties and threw them at Ichigo who watched from the bed with his arms behind his head.

“Stop looking so damn smug Kurosaki,” you teased with eyes narrowed as you crawled back towards him until you were seated over the crisp white dress shirt. The buttons snagged against your clitoral hood, sending a frisson of delight to your tummy.

“Well, can you blame me? It’s only been ten years since I first asked you to sit on my face. You’d be just as fucking smug if you were in my position and speaking of position… c’mere.”

Again, he was manhandling you and damn if you didn’t love it. You took your weight onto your knees which were planted above each of his shoulders, a shiver passing up your spine as you held the skirts of your dress aloft to see the most decadently expressive eyes you had ever beheld of Ichigo. Simply put, he looked ready to devour you whole.

Both arms wrapped around each thigh, palms splayed on the insides of your thighs and the fingertips pressing into your slight pudge and eliciting a growl of need. You lowered slowly, a mixture of his hands tugging you down and your own weight settling on his mouth.

Feverishly molten lips kiss the crease of your thighs, dancing and pressing down with sweeping intensity as you felt Ichigo inhale heavily.

The first quirk of his warm, wet tongue skimming over your flesh ripped a slutty moan from your lips and his fingers tightened in response.

Your hips rocked forward, the tip of Ichigo’s nose digging against the small bundle of nerves that was steadily swelling and filling with blood. His cheeks shook from side to side, forcing your clit to bump over him repeatedly.

“Why do you taste even better like this?” he sighed against your pussy lips, sucking the skin between his lips, and drawing it out until you whimpered and whined.

“Be gentle – oh fuck – Ichi… please!”

Ichigo lapped at your slick as it rushed from your entrance, gathering it on his tongue until his mouth was half full before swallowing it down in a loud gulp. You felt how his throat worked from below you, and could only watch in fascination as deep lines formed along his brow and his eyelids fluttered close.

He shifted between long, wide licks along your length. The flat of his tongue spreads you open allowing his sharp teeth to tug against your clit. It made you jump every single time, forced your cunt to clench around nothing and lust to soak his cheeks and chin.

Soon, you were rutting like an animal deep in heat. Grinding incessantly atop his face, thighs squeezing at his poor head, you let one hand fall into the depths of his vivid hair.

Tugging on the strands exactly how he tugged on your intimate area, growling vibrations bounced within the walls of his strong chest and you knew that this particular dress shirt would likely have to be thrown away with how it had been treated.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Move for me. Fall apart on me,” he enthused, sounding perfectly drunk on your arousal.

A part of you could sense that he was fucking his hips upwards behind you, that he was as close to release as you were without even being touched and it made you feel all the more powerful for it. His powerful tongue dug into your tight hole, massaging the walls, and slurping noisily as Ichigo made out with your pussy.

Every touch tracked you further up the lift hill to your orgasm, thighs trembling as your muscles contracted from the pressure within your body. It wasn’t until his lips rolled your puffy clit into his mouth and sucked – one hard suck that buckled your knees and sent you careening forward only to manage to catch yourself on your wrists at the last second – did you explode like a New Year’s firework.

You rolled to the side, panting, and shaking violently as aftershocks ripped through every nerve ending enough to suck the oxygen from your lungs and the build of lactic acid burned at your muscles.

It wasn’t until you were floating back down to earth, managing to wriggle to your side to see Ichigo lying exactly as you had left him. His chest heaved as if he had just run a marathon or finished a sparring matching with Renji, his face was shiny with your slick, and he was absently licking around his lips with arms thrown wide on the mattress.

Your palm smacked his cheek playfully, the wet skin on skin sounded rude but it only made you giggle. Brown eyes, drunk and hazy swung to your face and the pink hue coating the tips of his ears and cheeks was an adorable sight.

“Happy ten-year anniversary baby.”

He grunted, grabbing for your hand and placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles.

“I’m not waiting another ten years for that… better get used to it, sweetheart.”

[sp00kygoddessxx]

 🖤Dangerous Intentions🖤

The pirate camp was a cacophony of noise and debauchery, as Vaas and his men celebrated another successful raid. Drunken laughter and the clinking of bottles filled the air, creating an atmosphere of unrestrained chaos. You had found yourself at the heart of the revelry, sitting near Vaas himself, the man who had become both your captor and your fascination.

Vaas's wild, kohl-rimmed eyes bore into yours, a mixture of amusement and intensity flickering within them. His lips curled into a sinister grin as he leaned closer, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Cariño'," he purred, "you lookin' for a little fun tonight?"

You couldn't help but feel a shiver of anticipation as you met his gaze. Vaas had a reputation for unpredictability and cruelty, but you couldn't deny the strange allure he held over you.

"Maybe," you replied, your voice laced with a hint of flirtation. "But the question is, can you keep up with me?"

Vaas's grin widened, a sinister and seductive sight. He leaned in closer, his lips dangerously close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "Oh, Cariño'," he whispered, "I can keep up with the best of 'em."

You felt a surge of attraction to this enigmatic man, a reckless magnetism that drew you further into his dangerous web.

With a swift and unexpected motion, Vaas's hand reached out and settled on your thigh, his touch electric. His fingers traced a slow, teasing path along your skin, igniting a fire within you. It was a bold move, but you weren't one to back down from a challenge.

Leaning closer, your lips brushed against Vaas's ear, your voice a sultry purr. "Prove it, Montenegro."

Vaas's laughter filled the air, a wild and maniacal sound that sent shivers down your spine. His hand slid higher along your thigh, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on your skin. The chemistry between you and Vaas was undeniable, a magnetic pull that defied reason.

"Careful, Cariño'," Vaas said, his voice low and smoky. "You might just awaken a beast you can't handle."

You couldn't deny the dangerous allure of the man before you, and the world around you seemed to blur as you engaged in this intimate and dangerous dance of flirtation. The line between right and wrong had never been so blurry, and you were willing to play this dangerous game.

As the night continued, you and Vaas found yourselves at the heart of the chaos, flirting and teasing one another with increasing intensity. The tension between you was palpable, an intoxicating mix of desire and danger.

With each stolen glance and whispered innuendo, you felt the magnetic pull of Vaas Montenegro drawing you further into his enigmatic world. It was a world where the rules were undefined, and power and control were the ultimate currency.

But as the night wore on, Vaas's demeanor shifted, his playful and seductive demeanor turning more intense. His dark eyes bore into yours, filled with a smoldering fire that left you breathless.

"Cariño'," he said, his voice low and intimate, "you might just be the most dangerous thing I've come across in a long time."

You couldn't deny the surge of attraction that coursed through you, a reckless desire that left you craving more. The world around you had become a blur, and in this moment, there was nothing else but the magnetic pull of Vaas Montenegro.

With a final, heated glance, Vaas leaned in, his lips claiming yours in a passionate and demanding kiss. It was a kiss that defied reason, a reckless surrender to the allure of danger and desire.

When the kiss finally broke, you were left breathless and disoriented, your heart pounding in your chest. Vaas's dark eyes were locked onto yours, a mixture of desire and intensity in his gaze.

"Amor'," he said, his voice low and husky, "you've got a fire in you that I can't resist."

You could only respond with a sultry smile, your own desire mirrored in your eyes.

As the night wore on, you and Vaas continued to dance on the edge of danger, your attraction and chemistry reaching new heights. In this unpredictable and perilous world, you had been drawn into a dangerous game of desire and temptation, a game where the line between right and wrong blurred, and where power and control were the ultimate currency.

[elodiah]

WIP Wednesday

A brand new WIP, and this is the very first thing written… like, right now. 🤣🤷‍♀️

Thanks for the tag @lokimobius and @kcscribbler !

“Loki, are you ready yet? Time’s a ticking…” Mobius reminded her unnecessarily, getting impatient.

“You can’t rush perfection!” Loki called from behind the dressing room door, voice now sweeter and higher, but with the same gentle quality, “Anyway, I’m just finishing up.”

“We’re on a mission, Loki, there’s no need for perfection- GOD you look amazing!” He blurted unthinkingly, as Loki pushed the door open and stepped through. Mobius bit his lips together, then confessed, “I didn’t mean to say that out loud, sorry.”

Loki had the audacity to giggle prettily as she glided towards him on black stiletto heels. Her hair was swept into an elegant up-do, a few artfully arranged curled tendrils hanging loose. Perfectly sculpted hips swayed seductively in the form-fitting emerald green gown as she drew close.

She HAD to be doing that on purpose, he thought.

“Loki,” he whined, not even sure what he was complaining about.

“What?” She said, blinking at him innocently with smokey, kohl-lined eyes, “I’m merely getting into character. You should do the same.”

Show us your stuff! 🙂

[yvraine]

Look Me in the Eye

Hey I couldn't sleep last night and got to thinking about one of the Scrying Eye Interactions in Act 1 on my Dark Urge Run--

The nautiloid's crash piqued the interest of all three of the Chosen for their own reasons. They needed the Prism, of course, but it was the first true test of those that answered the Absolute first. The nautiloid also housed the pod where Bhaal's former chosen had been discarded. Orin's favored agent had not reported finding the further mutilated corpse of the bhaalspawn known by the name of Samara. She could have been totally destroyed in the crash itself, however, so the failure to find a body did not trouble the usurper at the time. It had been several days since that report.

The goblin camp in the abandoned Selunite Temple housed the first of their scouting parties in search of the Prism, and it offered the first opportunity for answers. Fewer members of those scouting parties returned each day, so changes had to be made quickly. Operating a single scrying eye within it on such short notice had been a feat of its own. Their incorporation into the same network as the Steel Watchers made it much easier to maintain surveillance once active.

Enver Gortash did not expect that scrying eye to be a brief conduit between himself and a potential intruder. He detested any interruption to his work, and with a grumble of annoyance, he turned the focus of the machines beneath Moonrise Towers at the sudden outreach. The image of this potential intruder through the scrying eye materialized before him. He blinked in confusion several times as the ripple of magic stabilized.

There she was. Samara. Someone had subjected her to a terrible undershave in order to clear away the damage from Orin's assault, but at least her white hair was clean again. Her grimy surroundings only served to make her presence more apparent and bright. Somewhere in that wilderness she found the kohl to line her eyes, and her blue eyes stood out sharply in that darkness. She looked back in confusion as well in the brief moment they felt one another through the scrying eye.

Gortash pulled away. The sudden severance of the more personal connection was apparent to her, and the crease in her brow deepened as she tilted her head hard to the right.

I thought we agreed we were going to leave that thing alone, Samara. An unfamiliar voice echoed out of the one-way mechanism of the Scrying Eye. He did not see the source.

She pointed directly at the eye, refusing to move away for the moment. Did you see how it fuckin’ looked at me, Gale? Are Scrying Eyes supposed to work like that– did you see?

Well, no. Not typically– the orbs associated with traditional scrying do not last quite so long…

Another familiar face entered into view behind Samara. Gortash did not expect to ever see Karlach again, much less in Faerun. The behemoth of a tiefling woman leaned over top the smaller half-elf and squinted directly into the eye. Some brown haired wizard entered into view from the left. Then another pale, white haired elf at the right.

So, What? Did it recognize you or something? The tiefling asked.

Fuck if I know. Samara looked away, over her shoulder in the direction of Minthara’s continued plotting with the goblin members of the party charged with returning with the Prism. Whatever remained of the woman he knew for a decade showed itself as she pulled a hand crossbow from her waist and began to load it with an enchanted bolt.

It’s very possible. Most scrying spells require a knowledge of the target, even something as basic as a name. But you were not targeted. It’s been floating about since we got here. The brown haired fellow rambled on while Samara prepared. Apprehension was evident on his face as he watched her slot in an acidic bolt to her weapon.

Yeah, but I prodded it, Gale. So I know whatever it's connected to, if it works like your books? Samara glanced up from her weapon and rested it against her shoulder.

The one she called Gale drew his lips into a thin line as he pressed both palms flat to one another and lifted his fingers to his chin. He spoke past his hands. I really don’t think we should be having this conversation in front of it. You’re being rather… loose with the definition of stealth.

Fuck stealth. If I know ‘em, I want ‘em to know what I’m doing. Samara answered him firmly as she turned to squeeze between her three companions. ‘Scuse me, Karlach…

Samara– we also agreed not to– shit. The brown haired wizard turned to chase after the woman, and then the connection was severed entirely. 

She lived. She carried herself on her own two feet. These revelations were a relief. What provided no relief, however, was the realization that she now stood opposite of him.

[darthvashtique93]

A Cosmos In The Sand

Chapter 2

Raven sat at her vanity, dressed and surrounded in luxury, but feeling as depressed as ever. Her top was made from gold and iolite, spun by Slaede's personal magic weavers. It was tight and covered only her breasts. Her skirt was made from the same material. It barely covered her undergarment as there were slits on both sides. A 2-row coin anklet made from gold decorated one foot, while a thin, iolite thigh-ring adorned the opposite leg. A tiny iolite stone decorated her belly button. A finger-to-wrist hand bracelet with five rings weighed down her left hand. An iolite armband with gold chains wrapped around her right arm. The large hoop earrings were surprisingly, thankfully, very light. Raven always forgot she was wearing them until after she moved her head. Her eyes were lined with a dark kohl, bringing out the natural, violet hues. Finally, her hair – black as night but shone violet when either sunlight or moonlight hit it just right – fell straight down her back. She looked every bit the prized jewel Slaede made her to be. She hated it. The soldiers referred to her as Slaede's treasure, and Slaede dressed her as such.

Her traveling tent was just as decorated as her room back at the palace. The most comfortable throws, the softest pillows, and iolite incense burned her lungs. She was even allowed to ride Slaede's favorite horse, something she only did when she felt compelled to do so. And while she enjoyed the finest foods and wines, her family – her sisters – suffered in dungeons. Raven's service to Slaede was the only thing keeping them alive and safe from Slaede's most perverted guards.

Raven closed her eyes and prayed for respite from her burning lungs. Tears gathered behind her closed eyelids. She didn't know how much longer she could continue this…this façade. She loved her family, but she was beginning to wonder if they were worth the pain and agony. The innocent lives lost because of you, her subconscious reminded her. Raven tried not to think of the screams of those dying at the hands of Slaede's army, but they flooded her dreams. She honestly couldn't remember the last good night's sleep she had.

A sob broke through Raven's painted lips. She was so tired – tired of being afraid, tired of feeling worried, tired of being tired.

Opening her eyes, Raven spoke, "I know you're there." She was greeted by silence. Turning on her stool, Raven faced her seemingly empty tent and spoke again, "Don't I deserve to see the face of my would-be assassin?" Scanning the tent, Raven's eyes came to rest on a dark corner, where a shadow seemed to emerge from a shadow. The warrior stepped into the light. He was tall – at least a head taller than Slaede. He was muscular, darkly tanned, and his eyes were a strange mix of green gold. The hatred that burned in his eyes seared her skin "You've been betrayed, Ibn al Xu'ffasch," Raven continued.

The warrior froze, a question marred his handsome face. "You know my name," the warrior stated in disgust.

"And I know why you're here, Damyan," Raven replied. She opened her mouth to say more when she felt a burst of energy in her soul. Colors of every kind swirled in her eyes. Multiple visions of the same event played in her mind. Suddenly, she saw her salvation – multiple ways to freedom that began and ended with him. She needed him. He needed to survive this night. "You-you've been betrayed," Raven repeated while her mind fought to come up with a plan to ensure her assassin's safety. "You-you've…" she paused as she willed her brain to think faster. Confusion swept crossed the face of Ibn al Xu-ffasch. It was quickly replaced by hate. He drew his weapon, but before he could take a single step, soldiers flooded Raven's tent, surrounding him. Shock and anger quickly replaced the hate on his face. But it was too late for him. His momentary lapse in focus allowed 10 of Slaede's finest soldiers the opportunity to rush him. Before Raven could think, Damyan was bound to a beam supporting Raven's tent.

"Well, well, well," Slaede was heard before he was seen. His soldiers parted, making room for Slaede to stride up to Damyan at a leisurely pace. "You look so surprised," Slaede smirked up at the young man. Damyan looked past Slaede. "You!" he spat at the short figure standing behind Slaede. "You betrayed us!"

"I did," the figure, Mara, smiled brightly. "Grandfather really should have listened to you. Alas, the old man was surprised when I slit his throat. I could tell…by the look on his face," she held up the decapitated head of Ra's al Ghul. Raven was surprised to see sorrow fill Damyan's face. He must have really loved the old man. "Here," Mara tossed the head at Slaede's feet. "By my grandfather's head, I pledge my allegiance," she bowed her head.

"I welcome you with open arms," Slaede said.

"Father!" another voice called out. Raven scowled at the sound of the voice. "Look who I found!" Graent dragged a squirming female behind him. Raven had no idea who the female was, but judging by his aesthetics, she was Damyan's mother.

"Ama!" Damyan gasped as the woman was forced to the ground.

"Hello, Talia," Slaede walked to the woman and smirked down at her. "You know, Damyan, in another life, I would have been your birth father. Who knows? Maybe the King of Go-tham would still be alive had Ra's given me your mother as promised," he angrily grabbed Talia's face. "Maybe I'll have her anyway," he smirked evilly.

"I'd rather die," Talia sneered.

"That will be arranged," Slaede marched over to a bound Damyan and searched him. Behind Slaede's back, Raven looked to see Talia staring up at her. Please save my son, Raven heard Talia's voice in her head. Raven looked at her in shock. Save him, Talia spoke again, and he will save you. Raven gave a minute nod.

"Here it is," Slaede pulled a knife from Damyan's ankle. "I'll give you another chance, Talia. Swear allegiance to me."

"Damn you."

"Fine." Grabbing Talia by the hair, he plunged the knife directly into her throat.

"Ama!" Damyan yelled out, and the sound tore at Raven's heartstrings. Talia fell to the ground as a gurgling sound came from her throat as she choked on her own blood. Raven looked away from the macabre sight, but instantly regretted it when she met Damyan's hateful gaze. "I'm going to kill you, sorceress," he growled, and Raven had to step back at the wave of hate she sensed coming from him. Yes, Raven thought, I can use this.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14253019/1/A-Cosmos-In-The-Sand

[wes-walker]

Baltimore, Maryland.

Damon, Wes and a two others from The Eye were held up in an abandonded, rusted-out warehouse along the Patapsco River. The target, or in this case, targets, were an emerging cartel trying to take over the cocaine and heroin trade in the city. After operating quietly for a few years, they'd finally drew too much attention to themselves. They had become sloppy, and their unsavory extracurriculars were something even the FBI couldn't stand anymore. Now, a contract had their name on it.

Wes, clad in all-black, was on the roof of the building - staring down the scope of his sniper rifle into the building across from them. "How many?" He heard Damon's voice over the little bug in his ear that held the line of communication. "Twelve." Wes replied, then added. "One looks about 5'4" so should we count him as half?" There was a pause. Wes couldn't help but grin. "No," was all Damon said, then it sounded like he sighed.

It was twelve targets vs. four from The Eye.

"Move," Wes heard Damon.

Wes' trained eye remained staring down the scope. Exhale... Inhale... Exhale... Inhale...

"Eagle, go."

That was his cue.

The next few moments, in reality, were quick ones, but they unfolded slowly for Wes. As the targets reached for their guns to ward off their assailants, Wes' finger flexed on the trigger. Wes helped pick them off, along with Damon and the two others from The Eye. Wes noticed Damon was now wielding a crow-bar. He must've grown bored.

Chuckling quietly, Wes pulled back from the scope. Time to pack up and leave.

That's when a shot was heard, and a searing pain ripped through Wes' body, originating from his shoulder. Faltering from the shock and pain, Wes was unable to steady himself on the sloped roof. He slid backwards and down till he met the gutter - which almost knocked him out entirely, but somehow Wes had grasped onto the jagged, rusted metal. Wes hung there for a moment, grateful to have stopped the speed of his fall, before his grip slipped, and his body met the concrete below.

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

"He's waking up."

It was Bianca Kohl's voice - usually emotionless, but there was a small hint of concern there this time. Or maybe it was the drugs Wes had coursing through him. Probably the drugs, he thought.

Wes woke up at The Eye's headquarters in their infirmary, where they had private nurses and surgeons on staff. Damon and Bianca were the only two in the room.

Damon sat in the corner, his expression unreadable.

"You were shot by a sniper," Damon told Wes, and it sounded as if he knew who had taken the shot. "Someone clearly trained."

Wes tried to sit up normally, and was greeted by a sharp pain. "Fuck," Wes muttered under his breath.

"Slowly," Bianca instructed him. "You broke a couple of ribs."

"This is my fault," Damon said, abuptly standing.

"Damon," Bianca started, but Damon had already walked out of the room.

Bianca let out a defeated sigh, then walked to the door to follow Damon. Before leaving, the tall blonde turned to Wes and forced a smile, though the drugs told Wes it was genuine.

"I'll deal with him,” Bianca told him, then walked out, leaving Wes alone.

Wes was able to reach his phone, where he saw texts from a few of his friends and from Sadie.

It was 11 a.m. in Los Angeles. Sadie would be with her preschool class. Wes smiled at the thought, but then it slowly disappeared as he wondered what he'd tell her about his latest injuries.

Wes typed out, "Miss you," then suddenly felt the push of drugs pump through his veins.

His eyes closed, and Wes slept.

[ancientcivilizationnonsense]

OCkiss24 day three: sunrise

Anipe rolled over in the soft white linens of the imperial bed. It had been months since she slept in a real bed and last night’s rest had been very welcome. She raised her arm above her head and stretched. Slowly cracking an eye open, she saw Felix already sitting up, her back to her. Her long blond hair curled down her back but the thick cords of muscles and the crisscrossing web of scars peeked out. Felix didn’t seem to notice she was awake but that was fine, Anipe could enjoy the view for a few more minutes.

Felix was looking out the window, the pinks and golds of the sunrise washing over her freckled cheeks. Her brows were furrowed, deep in through.

“Mm, good morning,” Anipe finally croaked out.

Felix turned and split into a smile at her partner’s still half asleep face. “Good morning. Did I wake you up?”

“No, it’s time to get up anyway.”

She sat up and Felix leaned in for a kiss. They both tasted like sleep.

Anipe grinned, still holding Felix close. “Are you ready for today?”

Felix looked away anxiously. “I think so. I hope so.”

“We literally survived the end of the world, you can face going out to greet your people.”

“But what if they don’t think I’m fit to be emperor? What if they don’t want me?” Felix looked down, her hair falling in front of her eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Anipe said, gently tipping her chin up. “They will. How could they not? You’re a great leader. Not to mention anyone would be a step up from your asshole brother. I’m sure they’ll be ecstatic.”

Felix snorted at her insult. “Yeah, he sucked.”

“My love, ‘sucked’ is the understatement of the century.”

Felix’s smile turned soft. “Cmon, let’s get ready.”

She pulled her partner out of bed and opened the doors for the servants to come in. They quickly set to work dressing them; Felix in the heavy purple drapery of the imperial toga, embroidered with shimmering gold and Anipe in a kalasiris dress that had gauzy sleeves that flowed down her shoulders.

“You look very handsome,” Anipe said coyly as a heavy collar necklace of gold and emerald was placed on her collarbone.

Felix flushed, looking up from the servant tying her soft red leather boots. “Thank you. You look stunning as well.”

The servants filed out leaving them alone again.

“Are you ready?” Anipe whispered as she delicately pinned the fresh laurel wreath into Felix’s hair.

“Look up for me,” Felix breathed.

She dipped a brush into a shallow bowl of kohl and lightly traced it under Anipe’s eyes.

“Let’s go,” Felix said.

They walked down the marble hall towards the balcony the crowd would be gathered beneath. Felix stopped short and stared at the thick white curtain leading outside. The sounds of the crowd filtered in.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Anipe said. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

Felix looked at her, still unsure.

Anipe took the front of her toga and pulled her in for a kiss. This one was slower, reassuring. She poured all of her love and confidence in Felix into it. Felix melted into it with a sigh and wrapped her arms around Anipe’s hips.

“Better?” Anipe asked, her breath still tickling her partner’s lips.

“Yeah,” Felix breathed. She slowly stepped back and looked towards the curtain. “Ok, let’s do this.”

Taking Anipe’s hand, she drew the curtain back and was met with thunderous applause

[aotearoa20]

So it ended up a little different but definitely inspired by this art by @lidoshka

“What are you doing here, Findekáno?”

The voice came from no where and everywhere, like he was speaking direct into his fëa. He knocked his bow a little awkwardly in the darkness. His efforts drew a painfully familiar chuckle from the air.

For a moment he thought he saw to prickles of treelight gleaming in the far corner but it was gone before he could even step toward it.

“Have you come to put an end to me?”

He had all but given up his search, his hope of finding Maitimo before the days end lessening with the light of Sun. Foul creatures hiding in the shadows were beginning to call to him and he had sung to drown out their voices.

But even as his voice died away another picked up the tune. His heart had leapt within his chest he knew that voice. Tears sprung up in his eyes and he scrubbed them away furiously if only to see the rocky path below him. 

He followed the sound the sound blindly, hesitating only once at the mouth of a dark crevice. Gritting his teeth he plunged into the shadows and now could not even find the edge of a wall to orient himself.

“I’m afraid, I can’t let that happen. Not yet.”

“What?” he gasped, still glancing around wildly with no one to address, “No, I have come to bring you home.”

“No.”

The voice muttered just beside his ear. He cried out as he turned catching the hem of a robe but the damned thing slipped through his fingers before he could get a grip.

“No. You hate me. You said so. Until the worlds end, you said - “

An anger he had nursed all across the Ice, that had cooled at the sight of Maglor’s drawn despairing face flared up again. He glared into the shadows and shouted, “Did I not stand with you on the beaches, Maitimo? Was I not cursed with you? Don’t you dare try to use my words against me when it was you - “

“I left you.”

Fingon hates how he sobs. He hates how his own tears try to cut off his own voice.

“You abandoned me and all our people.”

“Our people“ He spoke like the words were foreign to him. Like he’d not been the one to insist on them.

Our people, he had said. Let us not separate them when we are all kin. Findekáno had laughed with a nervous kind of courage. Back when standing just slightly to the left of their fathers’ was the greatest sort of rebellion.

By Manwe himself, he will strangle him the moment he can get his hands on him.

“Show yourself!” he nearly hissed.

Two sliver-grey eyes opened not half a breath from his face. He could feel him whisper words in a harsh tongue. Lamps hung high on the wall burst into flame, sending out waves of heat that brush against his copper hair. It is unbound down his back, family braids in undone and wild.

He stands before him robed in red and black. Pale as death with eyes and lips lined with kohl. An iron coronet hung heavy on his head, three white gems fixed upon it in mockery.

All this would terrifying to behold but he is transfixed by his cousin’s cracked irises. His pupils are blown wide and leak into dark webs upon his eyes. For half a moment they pulse with light too bright to be contained by them but the next they are dark and dead. He reaches a hand up to cup the side of his face.

For a moment, Maitimo’s watchful expression froze. It seemed as though nothing happened. But Findekano knew. How his eyes widened impossibly. How the edge of his breath hitched. How he leant imperceptibly into his touch.

With every small gesture, his heart broke all the more. Maitimo’s lips part just slightly, unspoken words tainted with wretched hope.

You came for me?

“What have they done to you?” he whispered.

The spell is broken. Nelyafinwë blinks and sighs. When he looks upon him he seems a mirror of his father, regarding all about him insufficient and irrelevant. A smile graces his face, cruel and sharp.

“Oh Findekáno,” he almost sings. A hand cold as steel wraps around his own, “My old friend, you are far too late.”

[scribbledquillz]

For the micro story, #1 (and if I can request another, #16)

Thank you so much for the prompts, Jin! I will absolutely do #16 as well because hell yes you can, but wanted to get this one shared now. I have a few more of these squirreled away that I'll be working on as I have time - thank you so much to everyone who's sent one in! If anyone else would like to shoot one in be my guest. :)

Micro Story Prompts #1 - Don't Leave

The plan had not sat right with him from the start. Zevran's trust in his instinct had been a hard and costly lesson learned, and in that moment it had snared itself about his spine and buried its thorns deep. Ferelden nobility, for all their proud reproach of Orlais and its labyrinthine games of politics, was no less guilty of the same schemes and double speak, and Eamon’s claims of gratitude for his life would undoubtedly be worth the coppers in a beggar’s pocket should he be offered the right ends to justify his means.

He had told Revka as much in the hours before, his voice a strained hush as he’d held her arm far too tightly, making an anchor of his hand as though that alone would stay the inevitable.

“Allow me to come,” he had said, not quite managing to hide the note of wariness which colored his words. “Or perhaps Alistair in my stead. I would not see you face the wolf’s den alone, Mia Cara.”

But no. No, she had told him with the same stubborn gentleness that had worn away the mortar in his walls, because Eamon had need of Alistair by his side. “And you’ve already put yourself through plenty,” she had said as she raised a cupped hand to his cheek, a caress of her thumb brushing over the angry red rise of Taliesen’s parting gift. Maldito tonto que era, he had agreed and let her go, cut her loose to face the maw of Howe’s treachery alone.

Time passed, minutes lasting hours and hours leaping past in the blink of an eye. Eventually the door to Eamon’s chambers flew open in a thunderous crash, the rut he had been pacing in a fine Nevarran rug forgotten as his eyes snapped to the returning group, heart a stone plummeting to the Waking’s depths to see their number one too few. Leliana was the only one brave enough to meet his gaze, mouth a hard line and the kohl she wore at her eyes now drawn in damp streaks across the tops of her cheeks, telling him all he need know.

He did not stay to hear the Queen’s excuses, did not trust himself to keep his blades free from her throat. There were others as equally deserving, and far more threat to his Warden now than her. Without a word he slipped away through the door, leaving the group to their panic and hurried plans. His instinct told him what he need do, and this time, he thought as he drew up his hood and broke loose the lock of the nearest window, he would not make the mistake of ignoring it.

[thomasmartinnutt]

Chance Encounters #006

https://www.mixcloud.com/thomasmartinnutt/chance-encounters-006/

Sarah Rahman, Robert Creeley, Cosmos, Alva Noto & Bryce Dessner, Jana Winderen, Alessandro Bosetti & Annette Krebs, Mathew Herbert and London Contemporary Orchestra feat. Jali Bakary Koneth, Langham Research Centre, David Tudor, Linda Buckley, Laria Ó Lionáird & Crash Ensemble, Benedict Drew, Yara Asmar feat. Majd Chidiac, Lia Kohl, Civilistjävel! feat. Cucina Povera, Flora Yin-Wong, Daniel Bachman, Ernst Karel, Chantal Michelle, Janet Cardiff, Ljerke, Michael Snow, Li Yilei, Gentle Fire, More Eaze, Vladimir Ussachevsky

[sp00kygoddessxx]

✯Possessive Protector✯

The Rook Islands were a realm of chaos and danger, where every corner held the potential for peril. You had found yourself ensnared in the web of Vaas Montenegro, the notorious pirate lord who ruled these treacherous waters. Every moment in his presence was a perilous dance on the edge of danger, and yet, there was an undeniable allure that drew you closer.

The pirate camp was alive with the raucous laughter and debauchery of Vaas's henchmen, celebrating another successful raid. Drunken revelry and the clinking of bottles filled the air, creating an atmosphere of unrestrained chaos. You had found yourself at the heart of the revelry, surrounded by the unpredictable and ruthless men who followed Vaas.

As you sat amidst the chaos, one of Vaas's men, a burly and unruly figure, approached you with a leering grin. His intentions were clear, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of discomfort as his advances grew more intrusive.

"Hey there, sweet thing," he slurred, his breath reeking of alcohol. "You and me, we could have some fun tonight."

You forced a polite smile and tried to defuse the situation. "I'm not interested, thank you."

But the man persisted, his persistence bordering on harassment. His advances grew more invasive, and you were beginning to feel trapped in an uncomfortable situation.

Just as things were about to escalate, a dark presence loomed over the scene. Vaas Montenegro, with his wild eyes rimmed with kohl, had arrived, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the pirate.

"What the fuck is goin' on here, huh?" Vaas's voice was a dangerous growl as he glared at his unruly subordinate.

The man who had been bothering you took a step back, his bravado melting away in the face of Vaas's fury. "Nothin', boss. Just havin' a friendly chat."

Vaas's eyes bore into the man, a warning that needed no words. "Is that so? Well, darlin', why don't you come with me?"

You didn't hesitate, relieved to escape the uncomfortable situation. You followed Vaas as he led you away from the crowd and into a more secluded area of the camp.

Once you were out of earshot, Vaas turned to you, his expression a mixture of concern and annoyance. "You okay, darlin'? That son of a bitch was gettin' on my last nerve."

You nodded, feeling a rush of gratitude for Vaas's intervention. "Thank you for stepping in. I didn't know how to get out of that situation."

Vaas's eyes softened, his touch surprisingly gentle as he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. "I can't stand it when someone messes with what's mine, darlin'."

His possessive words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't deny the strange mix of attraction and fear that Vaas Montenegro held over you.

As the night wore on, you and Vaas found yourselves in a more secluded area of the camp, away from the prying eyes of the pirate crew. The chaos and revelry continued around you, but in this stolen moment of intimacy, the world seemed to fade away.

Vaas's touch was electric as he pulled you close, his lips meeting yours in a passionate and demanding kiss. It was a kiss that defied reason, a reckless surrender to the allure of danger and desire.

When the kiss finally broke, you were left breathless and disoriented, your heart pounding in your chest. Vaas's eyes were locked onto yours, a mixture of possessiveness and desire in his gaze.

"Darlin', don't you ever fucking forget," he said, his voice low and smoky, "you're mine, and I won't let anyone else lay a finger on you."

You could only respond with a sultry smile, your own desire mirrored in your eyes. In the midst of the chaos and the dangerous world you inhabited, you had found yourself drawn into the web of Vaas Montenegro, a man whose complexities and contradictions both intrigued and terrified you.