#I love you all my moonbeams

[acourtofquestions]

"Live, Fenrys," said Aelin.

"Live, Manon," said Asterin.

"Live, Aelin," said Elide.

"Live."

[applebiter]

bob dylan doing some shoe shopping / 1966

[jimmys-zeppelin]

moonbeam

ch. v

table of contents

may 14, 1998

Sabrina entered Clarence’s with a food-full plastic bag in her hand. Lunch. And she was starving.

There were still a few finishing touches she had to put on the second of Jimmy’s three suits. She wouldn’t be done with the third until Sunday at the least. Luckily, she had peace of mind in knowing he would only need one of the suits for his trip. She debated giving him a call about the status of his garments…

Perhaps it would be too much.

But he said to call, her mind urged her.

“Fuck this,” Sabrina muttered to herself. Upon entering her office, the silence was serene. The tinny Lionel Richie playing inside the store was muffled behind the makeshift partition and she hummed along to All Night Long as she unpacked her Chinese takeaway. A few loud steps boomed up the creaky staircase—footsteps she knew well as Daniel’s—and soon his tall, lanky figure appeared into the office.

She muttered a ‘hello’ to him while taking her seat at her desk. Daniel did the same, waving to her with similar regard. He had propped open a book and smacked a piece of gum between his teeth. Fresh out of university, Daniel had a degree in Textiles; something Sabrina had no idea was a possible degree path.

The irony of the situation was that he was apprenticing under her. It gave Sabrina a silly boost to her ego.

She split her chopsticks and cracked open her Coke before she began to dig in. Not halfway into her first mouthful of chicken fried rice, Daniel slapped his book shut and an uncomfortable silence fell over them.

"I heard Jimmy Page was in for a fitting?" he asked.

Sabrina froze, slowly finishing her mouthful of food while the sound of her heart pounded throughout her entire body.

She gulped, "Yeah...last week."

"Fuck. Right when I catch a cold. How was he? What did he get?"

"Three suits. I've finished two of them."

"Seriously?" he exclaimed.

"Dunno why everyone's shitting themselves about this guy. He's just a normal bloke. Very nice." And kinda hot...

"Sab, I know you like the Spice Girls and that George Michael fruit but this guy was huge back in the day. I wonder why he'd even come to our store to be fitted."

"My dad and brother buzz off rock music so I know who he is, but he's a normal person. And he's a regular here, comes at least once every week or so. Guess he likes the savings," Sabrina shrugged.

Daniel's eyebrows furrowed, "How come I've never seen him?"

"Just unlucky, I guess," she teased, a grin spreading over her face. "I gave him your card, though. Mine hadn't come in yet so I put in a good word for you."

Excitement shone through his eyes, seemingly jumping for joy while stationed in his seat, "I could kiss you right now, Sab," then paused to think. "Did he leave his number?"

"Yeah, but I'd have to find the note I made with it."

A partial lie. Sabrina had written his number into her files for safekeeping, but she had left his receipt at her flat. She could practically see it laying beside her phone, the numbers begging to be dialed and given a chance.

"When you do, I wanna call to tell him the suits are ready," Daniel stood.

Sabrina guffawed, "Why would I let you call when I've done all the work?"

"Sab, what if he answers? It'd be an honor to tell him his suits are ready to be picked up."

"You sound like my brother right now," she chuckled. "He was practically on his knees asking for Jimmy's phone number after I told him."

"Please," he begged. He stepped closer to Sabrina's desk, picking one of the three fortune cookies she'd gotten with her meal.

“No,” she answered, “When you get your own famous client, then you can call them whenever you want.”

☽

The dial tone droned through the phone's receiver. Sabrina fought with herself over whether or not to press the final number to Jimmy's phone number. A sudden impulse decision made her press the number and soon the phone began to ring.

As her palms became increasingly sweatier, Sabrina could only imagine the conversation ahead. What would he say? How would he say it? What would she say? Suddenly, she felt transported back to her secondary school days when calling her crush's phone number. Then, she felt dumb.

She shook the anxiety from her mind and when the last ring was about to complete itself, the line clicked, "Hello?" his gentle voice said through the phone. Sabrina felt her heart melt just a little inside.

"Hi, this is Sabrina from Clarence's. Is this Jimmy?" Sabrina said the message as she normally would have to a normal customer. But she and Jimmy knew that he was anything but a normal customer and their interactions were anything but normal.

"Hi, Sabrina. This is Jimmy, yes. How are you?" Jimmy asked.

Sabrina smiled to herself, a step shy of giggling into the phone. "Good, thank you. And yourself?"

"Much better now," he paused to exhale amusedly. "Are you calling about the suits?"

"Yes, actually. The black and blue suits are ready for pickup, but the green one will have to wait until Sunday. I know you said you only needed one ready for today, but I tried my best to have all of them ready for you."

"That's quite alright, Sabrina. Shall I stop by this afternoon to pick them up?"

"That would be splendid, Jimmy."

Splendid?

"And will I have the honor of seeing you? I like to thank my tailors personally after I've seen their handiwork."

Sabrina felt her heart race in her chest when he spoke, "I'll be here until four as usual."

Jimmy paused for what seemed like a check of his watch. "I should get going then..." he chuckled. "I'll have someone come pick me up and I should be there soon."

"Sounds good," she paused for a beat, "People are buzzing about your appearance last week. I just spoke with Daniel over lunch and he was very upset to have missed you."

"Maybe he can alter some other piece of clothing I should buy and he can make my acquaintance. But I think I'm set on who I have altering my clothes now."

"Oh really? Who would that be, then?"

Jimmy laughed softly, "You, of course, darling."

"Oh—" Sabrina started, overcome with a short wave of shock at his response. "You haven't even seen my work yet and you're already praising it."

"You do a great job as a cashier. And you are head of alterations, aren't you?"

"That doesn't have anything to do with the work I do—"

"It has everything to do with it," Jimmy answered enthusiastically. "Listen, I'll be there in an hour. Can you wait for me?"

Daniel's footsteps came up the stairs once again. Sabrina was relieved the conversation had been coming to an end when he entered through the curtain. He furrowed his brow and signaled the phone with his fingers, silently asking who she was talking to.

"Of course I can wait, Jimmy," she said.

"Jimmy Page?” Daniel whispered loudly, nearly jumping for joy at the prospect. Sabrina nodded, turning away from him so as not to distract from her conversation.

"Beautiful...I'll see you, Sabrina."

Her heart fluttered, "Bye, Jimmy," she said. Upon placing the phone back onto the receiver, Sabrina let out a deep sigh, collapsing herself onto the desk.

“Not fair,” Daniel complained. He let out a distressed sigh before continuing, "I need your help with a customer. Are you busy?"

☽

Sabrina stood outside in the back alleyway of Clarence’s with Conner as he puffed on a cigarette. This was their usual ritual during the warmer months when she needed an additional moment away from the cash register or sewing machine. Conner didn’t mind, he enjoyed the extra bit of conversation while not being under the managerial watchful eye. She had had no qualms about the hobby itself, but the stench of the tobacco brought back nauseating memories.

Yet, despite this, she held an unlit cigarette between her fingers to further cast the illusion that she was on a “smoke break”.

"Why are you stood out here with me again?" Conner asked, not minding Sabrina as he flicked his bright green Bic.

The weather was too warm to be with a sweater, yet too cool to comfortably be without one. Sabrina rocked back and forth on her heels waiting to see if Jimmy's car would approach; an attempt at raising her body heat.

"Needed the fresh air,” she answered.

"You're second-hand smoking off me, Sab."

"Yeah, you should really kick that habit..." she said mindlessly, still stretching her neck to peer out into the quiet street. She rolled the cigarette between her fingers nervously.

"Why? So we can stand here and look like a couple of drug dealers?" Conner laughed, inhaling and blowing the air away from Sabrina's face, only for the wind to blow it back in her direction.

Sabrina rolled her eyes, "It's not good for you. Anyway, I'm headed back in; I'm starting to get cold out here."

"Is Jimmy coming back today?" Conner teased. "I heard Daniel talking shit earlier."

"About me?" Sabrina asked with a laugh. To his nod she said, "He's just jealous because he's the one who wants to be face deep in Jimmy's crotch."

"You say that like you weren't absolutely drooling all over him the other day."

"I wasn't!" Sabrina shot back. "If anything, Jimmy's the one flirting with me."

Conner hummed in disagreement, "I think you like the older ones and don't realize it, Sab. Just be careful. Men like him have whole mausoleums in their wardrobes. And those skeletons are dusty..." he said, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"How would you know?"

"You just know, Sabrina," he insisted. "What time is it?"

She checked the time on her watch, "Nearly four. Jimmy's probably here already. I'll catch you inside,” she said, passing Conner back his cigarette.

"Later," he replied, watching as Sabrina headed back out into the street to enter back into Clarence's through the front.

Sabrina was barely in the door when she heard someone call her name from the sidewalk. Jimmy, with his hands deep in his pockets, started on a light jog so as to approach her faster.

"Glad I caught you," he smiled, the corners of his eyes scrunching so all she could see were his pupils. He held the door for her as they entered back into the store; the regulated temperature bringing Sabrina some relief.

"I thought I had nearly missed you," Sabrina replied. "I was just in the back for a little bit. Taking in some outside air."

"Long day?"

"It's been alright. Nothing too bad," She began leading him back up into the fitting area. They bypassed her coworkers who seemed not to notice Jimmy—at least for the time being.

Jimmy's suits were hung in a changing booth where Sabrina had gone to retrieve them. She gave the zipped up bags a good pat before coming into the main area. "Do you want to take a look?"

He shook his head and reached out to Sabrina for the bags that nearly matched her height. They looked much smaller in his grasp. "I trust you."

"Do you?" She teased.

Jimmy took a deep breath, his exhale making it obvious he was holding back a laugh.

"Come on, Jimmy, I just want to see if you like them."

"I'm sure I will, Sabrina."

"Please," Sabrina countered. She batted her eyelids so as to draw a laugh from him. This time she broke through, once again getting the chance to see the delicate crow's feet bunch up by his eyes and to see the shake of his head as he couldn't believe she’d gotten him. It was only then that she noted his cologne again. The combination of it with the smell of the leather jacket he wore was sure to stir up any woman's interest.

He grimaced a bit at her begging, still sure (as he had said) that her work would have been to the quality that he had expected. But just to give her the satisfaction, Jimmy unzipped the bag and examined the navy colored suit coat and eyed it meticulously.

"Just as I thought. Wonderful work, Sabrina."

Sabrina nodded. "Thank you," she paused, "You can, uhm, you can call me Sab—if you want. All my friends call me Sab." she cringed as the words left her mouth, though, couldn't reverse them now.

"Sab," Jimmy replied, testing out how the name sounded on his lips. He played with the 'B' at the end for a moment, saying her name in full before fixing his gaze back onto her.

"You got it out of your system?" she smiled.

"I'm only teasing. I'll keep that in mind."

"Have you got any nicknames?" she asked.

"Just Jimmy. My full name's James."

"That rhymes," Sabrina chuckled. "Anyone call you Jim?"

"Not anyone that I like," he answered, his eyes firmly on hers the entire time, occasionally glancing away to map out the features of her face. She knew he had spotted not only the dark circles beneath her eyes, but also the smile lines that her mother nagged her about on a consistent basis. Jimmy held an amused look in his eyes, like he wanted to say something he couldn't.

Sabrina felt that she was unable to look away from him. His face seemed to have so much to offer her: dimpled cheeks further made charming by the combination of time and weight; Adam's apple bobbing as he took in steady breaths; the soft curl of his hair swiping his forehead like an older Superman trying hard to retain his image. All combined, she simply couldn't peel her eyes off him.

"Alright then," Sabrina said, "So you're happy with the suits? They'll serve you adequately for your time in America?"

"Absolutely. Thank you very much, Sab," he replied, nudging her with his elbow.

"You're very welcome. And since you've paid, you're free to go," she said, using her heels to begin rocking back and forth again.

"Alright, so I'll see you around then. I'll come get the last suit when I come back."

Sabrina nodded, "Safe travels, Jimmy."

He gave her a small smile and nodded. Jimmy's hand came out to touch her shoulder and it was as if all the cells in her body froze. Her breath hitched softly, then was a soft squeeze of his hand. Seconds later, he was gone again, and Sabrina watched as he trotted down the steps. She didn’t move a single muscle until well after she heard the jingling bells of the front door, signifying Jimmy’s exit.

☽

Later, Sabrina had come to find out that Jimmy had left her an extra hundred pounds as gratuity at the register. Much to her dismay, she pocketed it on her way out the door. A fleeting thought entered her mind that she should give him a call and reprimand him for his tip.

Then she debated if it was even worth it. She didn't want to make it seem as if she was too comfortable around him. After all, she barely knew him. That wasn’t to say she wasn't against getting to know him better.

The Northern line train rumbled along its tracks and Sabrina idly watched as people engaged in a myriad of activities. One woman sat with her nose in a book, her presumed son seated beside her, beating the living shit out of his Gameboy. Another man stoically read his Wembley Observer; the front page reading "Bid to Oust Tory Chief", something Sabrina would have to ask her father about later on.

She was nearly asleep on the train up to Brent Cross. Her mother had insisted she come for dinner as she had cooked extra and "wanted her daughter back home", if only for one night. Sabrina couldn't deny that a home cooked meal would do her some good. She could barely fry an egg without setting her flat ablaze so she was stuck with shoddy sandwiches and cheap takeout.

The train slowed to a stop at Brent Cross station, the tiled signs becoming clearer with each passing moment. Sabrina barely wasted a second following the opening of the doors before she was on the platform and weaving through the corridors she grew to know so well.

Her father's red Volkswagen flashed its lights at her upon her exiting the station. Sabrina made a quick approach to the car, entering the vehicle to see her father's outstretched arms.

Granting him the hug, Sabrina's father hummed contentedly. "Always great to receive a hug from your child. How are you Beanie?"

"No longer a child, that's for sure, Dad," Sabrina chuckled. "Where's Zach?" she asked as the car backed away from its spot.

"Home. Your mum needed help with something or other..." he trailed off, forgetting just why Zachary had stayed at home. He waved off the question. "You been alright, dear?"

Sabrina nodded, answering, "Everything's...going."

"Your mother worries about you being in that flat all alone. I tell her you'll be fine, but of course I worry about you, too, darling."

A pang of muted annoyance hit her, but she knew he had a good point. Nonetheless, she had to dispel their worries.

"I think I might get back into dating soon...maybe I'll have someone to keep me even more safe,” she lied.

"Oh, don't tell your mother," her father breathed a laugh, "She'll ask too many questions. Plus she's still holding out hope for Shaun..." he trailed off.

Sabrina scoffed. “What for?”

“Oh, come on, Beanie. You were together so long. Don’t tell me he’s dead to you already.”

That and more. “Shaun’s a prick,” she said, unable to hold back.

There was a tsk of his tongue, "Don't say that."

It was much quieter following the stunted conversation point about Shaun. Sabrina knew that what he had done didn't deserve her forgiveness; not for a very long time. There was no way her parents would understand his actions, either. This all left her in even more of a dilemma with her "beloved" ex-boyfriend.

"Heard any good music lately?" Sabrina tried. They were nearly home free, the familiar turns of the streets she had spent her childhood and teenage years on started to flood her mind with memories.

"Just my old eight-tracks. Stones, Clapton, this, that, the other. You?"

"I don't know," Sabrina trailed off, "Not much besides the radio playing at work. CD's, the like." She shrugged.

"Oh, I have a CD you may like. Remind me to get it for you before you leave," his fingers tapped at the steering wheel in time to the bass of the song playing quietly on the radio. They pulled into the driveway.

"Yeah? Who?"

"George Michael. I picked it up 'cause it looked interesting and it was quite good. Think you'll like it."

“What’s it called?” she asked, hoping the disc wouldn’t be one she already had in her collection.

“Something like Star Girl or what have you…it’s only got a few songs on it. But it has that song you like on it, Everything She Wants. An acoustic version of it.”

Excitement filled Sabrina’s chest. She had been putting off buying the Star People ‘97 single mostly because of her inability to justify the purchase. But she had also been unable to buy it because she could never find it in any shops near her. It was a wonder how her father had managed to encounter it in the tiny shops of Brent Cross. She would interrogate further once she had the disc in her hands.

As the two entered Sabrina's childhood home, the look and feel of the place always gave her an indescribable blast from the past. The wallpapered walls were the same as the ones that littered the backgrounds of hers and Zachary's childhood photos.

The shag carpet had been freshly hoovered—meaning shoes were forbidden until the carpet was trampled over again—the colors remained the very same, if not a bit faded from time. Sabrina gripped at the long carpet with her socks just as she had many-a-time in her teenage years when being lectured at dinner.

She could already tell this visit home wasn’t going to be the relaxing break from reality she was hoping. There was something in the air. And Sabrina didn’t like it one bit.

Everyone managed pleasantries as usual, but once around the table, the atmosphere made Sabrina more uneasy.

The clinking of silverware on ceramic put Sabrina’s nerves on edge and the usual delicious smell of Yorkshire pudding was rancid in her nostrils.

"David, did you get the radishes at the market like I asked you to?" Her mother, Georgia, asked.

The adult children very well knew the answer to the question. The two merely exchanged glances, hoping to god they would be spared from a passive aggressive discussion between their parents.

David looked up from his plate. He pretended a pondering look before looking regrettably at his wife, "Sorry George, I forgot," he swallowed, "Was so excited to see our Beanie that it slipped my mind."

Sabrina's mother fixed her gaze to her instead, "Sabrina, you'll never guess who I spoke to this week."

She broke off a piece of Yorkshire pudding and thought through all the people she could have possibly spoken to. She came up empty. "Hm?"

Zachary's foot nudged Sabrina's beneath the table. The knowing look he gave her made her heart sink into the pit of her stomach. Her expression turned in an instant.

"Shaun called this week," Georgia quipped excitedly, "Don't make that face! He said he wishes you both left off on a better note."

"Mum—" Sabrina started.

"Plus, he was so keen on proposing! And you went and clipped his wings, darling. He was so upset, the poor thing."

Finding that she couldn't possibly muster a response, Sabrina stared idly back at her mother.

"Say something, dear, don't just stare at me all bug-eyed."

"I haven't quite come to terms with him myself, Mum. I still need to do some personal reflection," Sabrina answered as calmly as she could manage.

"What does that even mean?" she threw her hands up. "I invited him for dinner on Sunday. I'd better hope you'll be in attendance."

Sabrina took another beat. "I'll have to politely decline. I'm busy this Sunday."

"Oh—" Georgia said. "You'll be missed, then."

"Sab, can you pass the mash, please?" Zachary mumbled. Without a word, she obliged, transferring the heavy bowl to her brother's hands.

The buzzing in her pocket diverted Sabrina's attention. She furrowed her brow, angling herself in her seat to better retrieve her phone from her jeans. "Sorry," she said.

Jimmy Page — mobile flashed on the screen back at her. Sabrina blinked once, then twice. The name didn't budge. Eventually she stared long enough that the call dropped. It was only then that she heard her heart pounding in her ears and felt the heat rising to her cheeks.

She wondered what Jimmy could have possibly wanted from her at this hour...

“Everything okay?” her father asked.

Sabrina couldn’t help a stammer. "Sorry, it was—uhm—a colleague."

"You're red as a tomato…quite some colleague," Zachary chuckled. Sabrina kicked him beneath the table and quickly put her cell phone back into her pocket. She reached for her glass of water, downing the rest of the liquid as the rest of the table sat in silence.

The feeling of her cell phone in her pocket was now an unwelcome intrusion. Conversation carried on between Sabrina’s family as she idly sat there. Stewing.

The assumption of Sabrina’s mother that she would be enthusiastic about dinner with Shaun followed by the unsolicited call from Jimmy was the one-two punch she didn’t know would be coming her way that evening. Perhaps this was the horrible sick-to-her-stomach feeling that had welcomed her into her parent’s home just half an hour earlier.

“Excuse me,” Sabrina said suddenly. Her feet carried her up the stairs, muscle memory guiding her back to her lilac and white striped bedroom. She swung the door closed, not quite slamming it, but pushing it hard enough that the door easily clicked into place.

“God,” she exhaled, letting her breath go as if she had been holding it in for much too long. Her face was hot and she pushed her thick, dark hair out away from her eyes. Her vision clouded over and she let herself go for long enough that her cheeks became streaked with tears. She wiped them away quickly, not fully allowing herself to have the moment she so desperately needed in light of her mother’s insensitivity.

Sabrina looked around her childhood bedroom, turning so she could reach for the sticker-laden light switch. The wallpaper that had been cut around it had been peeling for fifteen years, the yellowing beginning only recently. The warm glow of the yellow light placed Sabrina back into the mid-80s. The Raggedy Ann doll on her bed, the gargantuan Wham! poster on the wall above her headboard, and finally, her vanity. Looking at it now, she kind of wanted to take it back to her flat with her. The vanity that once held dozens of perfume bottles and all sorts of makeup products was now so empty it looked out of place in her old bedroom.

She sat on the pink suede-cushioned stool, crossing one leg over the other and holding her face in her hands. Her breath was the only sound she focused on for a long while. The steadiness brought her back to a better sense of calm. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket; an attempt to better examine what had just happened.

MISSED CALL

Jimmy Page — mobile

CALL BACK | EXIT

“Why the fuck…?” Sabrina whispered to herself. Her fingers ghosted between the arrow keys of “Call Back” and “EXIT” and considered calling him back before nervousness got the better of her and she clicked away from the pop-up.

Footsteps became louder as they squeaked up the staircase, nearer and nearer to her bedroom. Silence. Then, “Sab?” Zachary’s muffled voice came through the door. “You alright?”

In a rush, Sabrina stood and shoved her phone back into her pocket. “Yeah!” she exclaimed all too loud, “I’m—I just needed a minute.”

The door opened without so much as a knock, “I told her not to say anything about Shaun, that you wouldn’t—”

“It’s okay, Zach. It’s my fault I haven’t told her what happened yet.”

“Well, yeah, but you shouldn't have to. It’s over, she shouldn’t keep pestering you about him.”

Sabrina sighed, “I know. I know…”

There was a lull, Zachary staring at the floor, not wanting to ask, but desperately wanting to know…

“So, who called you?” he asked, a smile growing on either side of his lips.

--

masterlist | playlist | ao3

taglist: @keepcalmandcarryfire @witchesdust @jonesyjonesyjonesy @paginate54 @hejustsatisfiess @salixfragilis @modernloverss @reincarnated70sbaby @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @kyunisixx @blackberryblossom @jimmypages @foreverandadaydarling @lzep @n0quart3r @verrbena-in-the-air if you want to be added to the list let me know!

[danidoesathing]

am i the only one who feels like alex(the world ender guy) was kind of a missed oportunity in vide noir? like, he was set up by johnnie to be a badass gang leader just for him to never even appear in the end, we just got a close up to his face scar

i feel like buck's encounter with the psychic would've been way more powerful if it was alex instead. its implied that johnnie and moonbeam had a relationship ig, but its barely even hinted at, and he never even mentions her. but with johnnie and alex, johnnie actually mentions him and speaks highly of his brother, and says alex will help buck if he sees the red cloth that belonged to johnnie

the fact that all that build up led to buck not even TALKING to alex kinda irks me. imagine how much better the payoff would be if alex had received the cloth instead of moonbeam? if we had seen his reaction to johnnie's death? if he would've helped buck like johnnie said he would? if we saw what johnnie implied alex would do to the guys who black brained his brother? idk man i think we were robbed

im new to the fanbase, so im gonna be very embarassed if this is a topic that already came up here LOLL but i still wanted to get it off my chest💀sry if this ask is messy, i suck at writing down my thoughts lmao

No I gotta agree on that. Like I LOVED seeing Moonbeam and getting know her as her and having all this new information about her (her being part of the World Enders is still wild to me and I love it) and it’s a good scene and all, but I’m still confused as to why they built up Alex so much, especially since this is the first time we’re hearing about him, and he never even got the chance to speak. If it were Dale I’d be a bit more understanding as we know him already (tho not by much cause I would have loved to see more of Dale). But it’s Alex, whose not only the leader of the World Enders but also Johnnie’s (and Dale’s) brother. I would’ve have loved to, you know, actually meet the guy. Especially with how much build up he got. And I GET IT Lord Huron’s lore is meant to be weird and vague and hard to pin down but like. Didn’t need to tease me like that come on

The only reason I could think of was maybe they needed to get Buck on his own again? Like having this the beginning of a war between the World Enders and Z’Oieasu shown or having Buck work with them consistently might have thrown off the tone. It is supposed to be Buck’s story and his own descent into madness. The whole album has this isolated vibe to me, like being alone in a city of people Hard to get that when there’s other people around, especially a group as lively as the world enders. Or maybe they just wanted to include Moonbeam back into the story again lol

GOD I would have loved to see Moonbeam’s scene with Buck done with Alex. I can only imagine how that scene would’ve played out and his reaction to Johnnie’s death. Contrasting Buck’s scene with Johnnie with Alex’s own personality, the possible dynamics, the anger and grief that could arise…..ough

[pretentiouswreckingball]

🍓 IMSO SCARED HELLOP

I CAN'T BELIEVE U DID IT!!!! <333

But as sweet and trusting as u are (and just like the one before u), you fell prey to my charms and now you are here for a ride of insanely sweet words! or compliments, if you will. So, my dear Moonbeam, buckle up!!!

Where do i begin... okay. I guess you can tell a lot about someone by their first interaction with u and i remember how lovely u were, so earnest and genuine that it took me out! and then, I understood why. U are for real, the sweetest person I've ever met, not only by the way u interacted with me but by all the things i see ur friends say about you. The way u talked and interact with them, u give as much (and probably more) as u get. You match the energy of anyone perfectly and u say the most amazing things! and i'm not even talking about your writing because that's a whole other brand of compliments in itself.

You don't care we are in different fandoms even if most of the time we don't know what the other is talking about but we like it regardless. U make me feel seen and i can always count on u to see/interact with whatever stupid shit i reblog or say. I love that about us and u deserve a lot more compliments on a daily basis if u ask me. Thank u for being you, Moon<3

[briliantlymad]

on fics and commenting

I love rambling in the author's comments. if you're writing on tumblr i'll be in your notes, if you're writing on twitter im in your quotes, and if you're writing on AO3 you best believe im rolling around in your comments section.

I just love fics so much. I love reading all the different universes an author can write our favourite blorbos in.

I'm usually the kind that writes huge comments that pick up dialogues and a lot of capslock screaming. and sometimes i'm like. going feral cus i can't actually get my brain to work enough for that and all i end up writing is "mmm delcious" with lots of screaming on the side

some of the best fictional work i've ever read has come from an author writing fanfiction. some of the best smut i've read has also come from there

Writer friends y'all are absolutely amazing.

[nyao-mi]

NOT MY ASTARION BRAIN ROT CONTINUING CUS LIKE i just got the scene where he literally says he misses seeing his face and that like he wishes he knew what he looked like and i??? WANTED SO BADLY FOR IT TO BE AN OPTION TO DRAW HIM

LIKE IMAGINE STARING AT HIM ACROSS THE BONFIRE, watching the way the light dances across his pale skin. youve been through hard times and one of the things you've learned to get through it was to draw

at first, you loathed the fact that you had to paint rich people for mere couple pieces of gold when you knew your art was worth more than that. you loathed even more that they'd upturn their posh noses at you and scoff when, truly, they knew what a treasure your art was.

now, seeing astarion, the way his white hair seemed to almost form a halo around his head, reflecting the moonbeams that graced his body, watching as he crossed his legs and meditated; you knew that you didn't regret a single second of the trials and tribulations that led you to this point.

you could finally put this agonizing skill to use. you could draw him.

and so you scrounged up some paper, an ink well, a quill; all things you'd pocketed during your adventures with the rather willful vampire.

you sat there, nib of the quill scratching against the parchment.

your art was nothing compared to the paintings you'd done before; these were mere lines and ink blots. you wished you could truly show him how beautiful he was through water color or pastels. instead, trapped in a land you barely knew, all you could do for him was this.

he had his eyes closed, of course, so you drew them from memory. strikingly red, like rubies, like blood. you didn't forget his crow's feet; you loved the way they wrinkled when he laughed. you shaped his lips, soft but rough from years of bite and chew, and formed it into his infamous mischievous grin.

his hair always seemed unruly but, drawing it now, it felt like drawing gorgeous chaos; there was an order to it, the way the bangs fell across his forehead, the way the sides feathered in front of his ears and curled behind them.

when you stopped, you realised you'd drawn him over and over, across several pieces of parchment.

the way he frowned and his fangs would glance across his lips. the way he'd look confused and his eyebrows would furrow. the way he'd look longingly at the stars, mind distant and eyes almost empty, like he'd made so many wishes that were never granted by the cosmos.

you never liked tooting your own horn but you felt like you truly captured him.

so, you took your pieces of paper, all drawings of him, dozens of them, small and sketchy; you took it all and you sat beside him and spread them out in front of you.

it took him a second to realise you were there. he'd been letting his guard down recently, especially when you were on watch duty, and it took you laying your head across his shoulder for his eyes to flutter open.

he opened his mouth, like there had almost been a retort slipping off his tongue, but the sight of your drawings stopped him.

he let out a ragged breath, eyes flickering across all of them. his clawed hands hovered in the air, trembling, as if taking a hold of the drawings would make them crumble under his touch.

and perhaps, in his head, he really believed they would.

'darling,' he'd call you, his voice wet with unshed tears 'what's all of this?'

of course he'd still joke. it was how he coped with things. he joked to hide how he truly felt and, of course, you were always there to understand.

'it's you,' you answered a matter-of-factly, as if you hadn't just turned this vampires world upside down 'its you the way i see you.'

and that's what makes him crack. because maybe, since you were the one that drew all of it, you hadn't noticed. but he noticed.

he noticed all the love and devotion you spilled across the page. every single detail, every single stroke, it was all from love.

and as someone who had never been on the receiving end of it, astarion cracked and he hid his face into your neck and he cried.

they were soft sobs, almost unnoticeable. but he cried nonetheless.

he cried for his past that he'd lost under his sadistic master, he cried for his difficult present that seemed impossible to escape, and he cried for this hopeful future you seemed to lay out in front of him.

he cried because he didn't realise that he had this much hope left inside of him. because he didn't know what else to do in the face of your devotion.

you just sat there, humming and rubbing his back, ignoring the way his arm wrapped around your waist, claws digging into your skin as if you'd disappear in front of him if he didn't hold on to you as tightly as possible.

[comfortless]

Pygmalion!König and Galatea!Reader………. 😖 What do you think?

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, light angst. self harm, implied animal death (not done by König or reader), fluff, König is horrible and by that i mean yes— he fucks the statue, outercourse, unprotected piv, implied mutual loss of virginity.

notes: lovely Salome did something similar to this already! 💖 however. yes. i am thinking about it and well…. take this out of my hands.

König has never had anything that could properly be called his own.

He walks the city entirely alone, no wife at his side to paw at his chest and bless him with adoring glances. His only steadfast companions are the grit slipping into his sandals as he walks, head held high even as the shadow of a boy begging on his knees for any semblance of love eternally tethers itself to him.

A glance lingering too long at the appeal of a soft face, the brush of his calloused fingertips against a pornai’s bare stomach before deciding that no, he didn’t want something so simple.

He merely slips a few apologetic drachma into her waiting palm and sets her free of him.

A warm body would never be enough, it was the heart that he starved for. To bed some poor creature that would never properly love him would be worse than the greatest of tortures in his mind.

It wasn’t a simple affair to find a lady to marry, either. Foreign soldier that he was, he had no right to some politician’s pretty daughter, court her properly and sweep her away to a bed that’s only ever been a harbor for lonely, twisted bitterness and blood.

Most turned away the moment he passed by: frightened glances that rightfully accused him of immense violence, shushed whispers of “barbarian” passed from soft lips before the sand beneath their fretful feet shifted and their shapes had disappeared from view entirely.

The ceaseless loneliness carves a burning ache somewhere within the expanse of his chest, something he knew he would never truly be free of, not until it rotted it’s way out of him in full.

It only seemed to quiet in moments he shed blood for this foreign country; burying his sword in some poor man’s gut was the closest he could get to sheathing a part of himself inside another, to touching a heart, seeing lips part in a gasp as their world becomes entirely consumed by him.

Just as the many days prior to this one, he grips the hilt of his blade, letting the metal dig into his palm, his knuckles bone white, as he makes his way back to the empty shack deemed a home.

Streets quiet and crowds disperse with each of his silent footfalls— not one of these smaller men or fearful women dares to look him in the eye. The only thing that does, the only eyes that ever lock to his, are those peering out from the harbor.

The figurehead guarding her expertly crafted ship has always called to him.

Her beauty was remarkable, from the curl of her hair to the patient look in her eyes. Her hands clasped before her breasts in silent prayer as she looms over the darkened depths of the sea beyond the soil, calling him to board, to venture away from this place that his left him in such an acute state of misery.

He swears he hears it then, a mere whisper on the wind, urging him in featherlight comfort to lie down his sword and take up the chisel and hammer.

It’s only when he pauses to look the gentle face of the figurehead over once more that he finds himself resolute in what he must do.

— — —

When he took to crafting her it was born of this desperation; hazy moonbeams cutting through the shade of his shack for hours before he would reluctantly pull away from a beautifully carved hand or the soft but stiff curve of a neck to retire to the straw-stuffed mattress at the corner of the room.

She was beautiful, a representation of all of the sweet, effeminate softness he would marvel at from afar. The swell of plush breasts, curved hips and silken thighs, eternally parted by her stance, the sweet face that could make any man feel entirely weak…

His hands tremble when they rest upon her form, unsure of just how such splendor could have come from his own coarse palms.

Weeks of scarce sleep only seemed to further his devoted madness. Though the warring dulled the ache and sated his blade, the longing seemed to only grow far more prevalent.

He yearned when they were apart, dreamt of coming home to her less lifeless and only demure smiles and hurried kisses the moment he would return to her. He would always come back.

Upon her completion, he took to courting her proper. Though she could not in any way reciprocate or reject his advances, he believed wholeheartedly that the cushiony love that had blossomed within his aching, neglected heart must be mutual.

Gifts were strewn at her cold feet, some gilded and shimmery, some soft with an abundance of colorful petals: offerings for a silent goddess that kept a part of his soul hidden away deep inside the pristine marble that she was carved from.

When he wraps her neck in a necklace with a sparkling beryl amulet attached, his hand does drift to the swell of her breast beneath the woolen chiton.

It’s hard and cold, but his groping becomes as incessant as the kisses he presses to her jaw, to her cold lips, tongue leaving a warm path down to her neck before he finds himself committed to having her.

He’s careful when he disrobes her, slowly revealing the mounds and curves and softness of her imitation of human flesh.

Dropping to his knees, his tongue laps at the ivory depiction of smooth lower lips, spearing between each silken ridge until he imagines her eyes squeezing shut as she cries out for him, rolling her perfectly sculpted hips to coat his tongue in waves of vulgar honey.

He moans into her cunt, drools and sucks at the mimicry for as long as it takes to find her thighs drenched in his saliva and his cock aching horribly between his thighs.

He rises to slot himself between her legs, pushing forward with a keening whine that dissipates into a relieved gasp. The feel of her pressed against him; the smooth ridges of her makeshift flesh running over his stiff, leaking cock is akin to finding divinity.

His hands rove over her breasts, thumbs pressed against her eternally pebbled nipples as he kisses her, each sloppy and filled with years of need.

It is pure bliss, almost as though he is burying himself to his hilt inside of her pulsing cunt.

He would fuck her better than any man— not a single other could match the strength of his affections nor his hapless willingness to please.

If he could have carved a proper hole between her legs, not a drop of his seed would be wasted on thin sheets or spilled into his palm, she would be filled, womb brimming until some loving god or goddess blessed her with child.

His pace quickens to the point of frantic, feverish hands drifting to her hips as he mouths at her breasts instead, hissing out praises for how good she feels against him, how his heart bleeds to feel her nearer.

There is so much heat between her thighs now he could swear it burns like the cold mist of the Underworld itself; the fuzzy heat pools from his navel and further as his muscles begin to tense and leave his thoughts a haze and his lips parted in a silent, worshipping cry.

It’s only when he envisions her tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, back arching as she drags her nails over his shoulders and whines through her own damnation that his cock throbs in repetition as his eyes roll back. His heavy sack arrives at her mound as his seed spills from him, cascading down to paint the thighs of his silent lover, smeared pearly and glistening over her labia as he rubs his cockhead against her with an agonized groan.

His forehead finds her shoulder, warm breath replacing the coldness of her skin as he wraps his arms around her perpetually beckoning form, lovingly trailing kisses from her clavicle to her ear where he whispers a breathless, “I love you.”

It’s only after he’s finished wiping away the evidence of depravity from her that he feels the first wave of shame, sharp and feathering from his chest that leaves his jaw set and throat tight.

What lowly man envies the warmth others experience with far less gratitude? König has never seen himself as pathetic, no matter how commonly he’s been sent off and kicked like a stray.

She’s the only thing that’s brought him any sort solace in a world that’s left him starved, but also a cruel mirror casting a reflection of his own nature.

Pulling the thin blanket from his mattress, the statue is soon swallowed up in her entirety, all guilt and pity-drawing attestation neatly hidden away behind rippling sable fabric; her form silent and waiting as it would remain eternally.

None of this is enough.

———

König has never found himself fond of prayer, never felt the need to partake in the festivals and ceremonies. His luck in battle was only a mere measure of skill, of a body so brutal and immense that most trembled before him, not born of any benevolent gift. There was no need to kneel, to bestow offerings upon the altars. If the people turned away from him, then surely any god or goddess would be even more inclined to do so.

Only… his mindless wandering has led him here, to Aphrodite’s altar whilst the festival of Aphrodisia plays on everywhere around him. The people invoke and dance, abundant offerings brought forth as the scent of timber burning and bold floral incense floods his senses. Blood and flowers already riddle the stone, a stark vibrancy of color that lures him closer, commands him to kneel.

He doesn’t have a thing to offer to the goddess, not so much as a petal, but if the pull were not just the first signs of a withering mind…

The glimpse of hope he’s offered is not taken for granted.

Thick fingers curl over his sharpened blade, dragging his palm against the steel until it stings almost sweetly. If she could accept the blood of a goat then surely, his could be no more polluted. Beads of crimson revel and dance along his forearm before dropping down onto the stone.

And he does pray.

It is not a vulnerable prayer, one that bares him in full, but only a wish— a longing for warmth, to have her share his breath, to admonish his shame and live free with the one thing that has never given him anything but safe harbor.

He unveils her when he returns, knowing that this is the closest he will ever come to love.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes against her cheek, leaves a kiss there before dragging himself away to disrobe and pull himself back into bed.

When the weariness takes him, his sleep in dreamless and calm. If any blessing were bestowed upon him at all, the surely that would have been more than enough. A night without turning, without visions of a darkened grave devoid of anything to haunt him.

He only begins to stir when the mattress dips at his side, a soft palm pressed to his chest, stroking along the loose curls of auburn there.

“König..,” a voice calls out, more gentle than any he’s ever heard.

He wakes to find her, leaning over him with the sweetest glimmer in her eyes, wide and fascinated. Her touches only trail further up to his face as he tries to silence the rapid beating of his heart, the stinging born of adoration in his own pale blue eyes.

“I missed you,” she whispers, moving to curl at his side, her hands cradling either side of his jaw.

König is utterly stifled and so terribly smitten, the most he can manage is a quiet huff of breath as he rolls onto his side to take this sweet, unreal woman into his arms. Dreaming or waking, it mattered not, if he were given only the night or a lifetime with this beautiful little creature it’s still more than he has ever had.

His head dips to press a chaste kiss to her soft lips, only finding a warmth there that had never been the many times he had kissed her prior. His palm runs along her side, feeling ever perfect dip and curve, all heated and so very alive.

She only falls apart beneath his touch, already quivering and softly gasping even from such a gentle kiss. The thought that this little dove has been longing for him just as much makes his heart bleed. He whispers his apologies against her temple, for his frustrations, for his doubt in their love, for all of the temptations and hatred that plagued his mind before she came to be.

She only answers with eager touches, grasping at him as she murmurs her own perceived shortcomings. If only she knew that she could never do wrong, that she was what’s saved him and that nothing could shatter that.

When her tongue slips past his lips and his breath grows heavy, there’s little else he can concentrate on than the throbbing pillar between his legs, the scent of her around him, under him when he guides her onto her back.

Thanking the goddess could wait, he’s far too focused on the one that’s willingly climbed into his bed.

One hand splays at her side forcing him upright as the other trails over her breasts, a satisfied groan leaves him as he feels her softness, fighting back to urge to squeeze and pinch until she cries in pleasure, howling out like those at the altar he had encountered only earlier.

A nipple is snared between his thumb and index, twisted gently beneath each pad, her back arches…The wetness of the dew slicked flower between her legs brushes against him and he whines like a starved dog finally presented with the aroma of a meal.

His hand falls from her breast to her hip, encouraging her to buck the source of her own need against him— take anything she needed. If she were to pull a blade and carve a hole in his own chest he would only let her, the taste of this heated bliss and the look that she gives him, enchanted and curious, is more than he has ever deserved.

Only does he pause when he parts her thighs, and her stare becomes more curious, searching him for any reason as to why he would even stop.

“We have done this before. Are you afraid now?”

No, he wants to tell her, that before was not the full extent of it. Instead he only laughs, peeling away just enough to fit his head between her legs, mouth only a small measure from her weeping cunt.

“I want to taste you.”

With a whispered plea from her lips, he raises her hips, mouthing and suckling at her until she shivers and sings against the cushions. He groans against her when she does come, her hips stuttering in his grasp as she drives further against him.

He hisses in his mother tongue when he pushes the backs of her thighs up, grinds his leaking tip against her until he swears he really will fall into madness if he doesn’t fuck into her immediately.

The ache in his chest that his been so prevalent for so long is finally smothered out the very moment she tugs him down by his shoulders and pulls him into a frenzied kiss. She encourages him in each lapse, murmurs how long that she’s waited, how starved she’s been for him while hidden away.

He nearly sobs when his tip snags against her entrance, so divinely wet, pulsing and begging just as he is. When he penetrates her, the breath is punched from his lungs, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of her within reach as she wraps around his shaft as though her cunt was made for him.

His little dove only covers him in kisses in turn as he mumbles obscenities into her flesh, revelling in her tightness, in the way her body fits so perfectly against his, mutually carved by the gods to fulfill one another. His professions of love come in abundance as she fits her legs over his narrow hips, crying out from his sudden depth as his cock jumps against a spot that leaves her writhing.

Though it’s almost painful to keep himself restrained, he tries his best not to rut into her like a mindless animal, even when he feels her constrict around him as another orgasm leaves her cunt drooling and pulsing. He doesn’t give her time to recover, however… forced to lie in wait for so long, it’s nearly taken out on her as he spears into her as she moans and babbles her praises against his chest.

He’s lost to the empyrean as his muscles finally pull taut, crying as he buries his head into her shoulder and pumps his come into her, shaking as he wraps her up in his arms and clutches her close as he melts against her.

Spent and sated, König holds her tightly against him as they pant and share sweet words, secrets and giggles from her that make every moment of dolor before this night seem insignificant.

She slots her fingers between his own, compliments his damaged face and the worships his body with brushes of her lips and tongue just as he does her. He does not leave her empty, warms her heart with words he’s kept trapped in his throat for months, guides her gently as she perches over him to descend back onto his cock, his thumb stroking her stomach as he tells her over and again just how much he loves her, compared his feelings to that of Orpheus, how he would suffer anything all for her.

A pleading “Stay” is uttered as she falls limp against him, stroking along her back as they come down for the second time that night.

The last thing that leaves her lips before sleep takes her is the most saccharine she’s said that night, a simple, “I love you.”

It’s the only thing that he’s ever truly longed for.

———

They marry after the voyage back to his homeland, his head clouded during the entire trip of seeing her swell with his child in time, a home built with her in mind for the two of them, of lying flowers at her feet just as he had before.

His blade lies neglected in the little glade they had chosen, taking up only a hammer and his own hands as he works tirelessly to provide for his wife, the dove that looks at him as though he were not a dog but a king.

When their home is built after many weeks of tedious work during day and bedding her beneath the stars each night, König only then thinks to pray his thanks to the foreign goddess who gifted his salvation to him with little more than a scrape from his palm. All the while his true goddess leans over him to tickle his cheek with flowers he had plucked for her only moments prior, covering him in a fragrance so sweet it only seemed befitting of herself.

She giggles and sighs when he pulls her down into the grass to roll over her, blanket her in kisses and gentle bites to her throat.

The beryl amulet around her neck catches the glimmer of the sun above as she sifts her fingers through his hair and tells him that the gods already knew he was grateful, that his worship of her was already telling enough.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

omg i really really love your blog<3 you are such a sweet person and so kind to all your followers and others on here and your writing is absolutely amazing!

i saw ur requests were open and i was wondering if you could write something for poe dameron? a hurt comfort because in your rules you said you wouldn't accept full angst which honestly is so real of you and i completely agree :D its just, ive read so many fics where poe's best friend or squadron member is either in love with him or fwb with him and he starts dating someone and they look rlly in love but then he leaves the person for the best friend and i cant help but always wonder how the person he left is feeling! and i was wondering if you could write something along the lines of this but he doesnt leave the reader and hes not really in love with his best friend or anything im so sorry this became really long but you can totally ignore this or say you cant do it its absolutely alright!<33

thank you sm though and i hope you have a good day!

Anon, thank you so much for such lovely and kind words! You are AMAZING! (Seriously, they have absolutely made my day/week/year!)

This ask has killed me (positive), my subconsciousness had a lot to say, it seems.

Tangerine, Tangerine

Poe Dameron x GN!Reader Rating: M Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: angst (but with a happy ending), thoughts that a partner is cheating, blood, x-wing fight, swearing (not star wars swearing, because even though Kriff is great, I need to say fuck), Moonbeam as a nickname, typos, rail road sentences, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!

Word Count: 4494

_______________________________________

It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. 

You’d misunderstood, you’d read the situation wrong, you’d seen incorrectly. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. 

Your radio crackled, “Green Leader, checking in. We’re manoeuvring in 5. Call out.”

“Green Two check.”

“Green Three check.” 

 It was just a kiss. 

“Green Four check.” 

 It was just a-

“Green Five check.” 

Just a-

“Green Six check.” 

Just-

“Green Seven,” you swallow. “Check.” 

It wasn’t just a kiss. 

You patted your helmet twice and rolled your neck, breathing deeply as you settled in. On your left, you could see some of Blue Squadron. 

This mission was straightforward - on a holopad. 

Two teams to escort The Harbringer, the resistance supply ship. It had been damaged by a rogue blast from a tie fighter just as it jumped to hyperspace and had had to make an emergency landing on one of Tre’Ral’s desert moons. 

The crew on board had managed to fix all they could. But without proper materials, there was little chance of the ship making it out of the moon’s thick atmosphere and entering hyperspace. So Blue and Green Squadrons had been dispatched. Blue 1-4 had already made contact, jump-starting The Harbringer enough to get it airborne. 

Due to Tre’Ral’s sun and planet density, the gravity on the moons was a little stronger than most world’s atmospheric pressure. 

Green Leader, Sena, had repeated through briefing at how this would affect flying. How to be ready for it. And she hadn’t been wrong, it was different flying here. Tougher. And you loved it.

You’d grown up on Para, a planet with a high gravity density. You’d learnt to fly there well before you’d flown in space. Being here on this desolate moon almost felt like home. Your movements seemed smoother, precise. No longer needing to overcorrect for your naturally ingrained harsh movements. No longer spinning out and fighting low gravity, finally working with the tide. 

The manoeuvre would see the ships escort The Harbringer out of the moon’s atmosphere and then the rest of Blue squadron would form a sort of 3D star formation around the cargo ship. All jumping to hyperspace at the same time to carry it along with them. 

Simple. 

In theory. 

Everyone had spoken about how practically textbook it was, how easy. 

But then, of course, why was Green Squadron going? 

No one at the briefing had asked, why would they when the answer was so obvious. This part of the quadrant was teething with First Order. With a slow, busted supply ship you were all practically screaming for them to come and play target practice. 

You swallow. 

You should be focusing on that, on the mission. Instead of the utter nonsense that was ricocheting around your head and piercing your heart. 

I hadn’t just been a kiss. 

You and Poe had gotten together clumsily, three months ago, your normal awkwardness drowned out by so much Polanis Red that you almost couldn’t see straight. It had been after the battle of Hurthwen, a nasty dogfight that had everyone hyped up on adrenaline. 

He had been drunk when he kissed you, you remembered that. 

Maybe he had thought… maybe he had believed he was kissing her instead. 

It made a lot more sense. 

Sena was the Green Leader, she was a great pilot. One to be reckoned with. She was kind, she was fun, she was beautiful. She and Poe had joined the resistance together, risen the ranks together. Basically inseparable. Always laughing and joking. She had been in the same squad as Poe, under his command before she was promoted to leading one of her own. 

They had always been close. Always. Best friends. 

Sickness bubbled in your throat. 

You remembered Frizz and Hank talking offhandedly, well before you and Poe were a thing. Both of them sure that Sana and Poe were dating or ‘knocking boots’ as Frizz had so elegantly put it. 

“Two people can just be friends, you know.” You’d said, trying to hide your little crush on the commander. 

“Yeah,” Frizz laughed, “But not them. You seen them together?” 

Hank chortled. 

Nonsense. You’d brushed it off then. Allowed it to creep into your thoughts when it was dark and the base was quiet. When Poe’s breathing was soft and light behind you, his arm around your waist. 

Him and Sana just made a lot more sense than him and you. 

“Yeah, but not them. You seen them together?” 

Yeah. Now you had. 

The Harbringer came into view over the horizon. The seemingly endless stretch of desert was cut through in the distance by a fearsome outcrop of crocks, leading up into a field of formidable mountains. 

Blue 1-4 were already hooked up to the cargo ship, all five hoovering moving together as they flew towards you to meet. 

You wouldn’t have said things were difficult with you and Poe. Well, you wouldn’t have said that before. It was complicated for everyone on the base, most staff were on different call schedules, off-world or on a mission at all times. Having a relationship wasn’t straightforward. There were stretches where you wouldn’t even be on the same planet for days, but…

But you had thought it was…

It didn’t matter. 

You’d gone back to the briefing room, just before take off. You’d wanted to tap the main holoscreen twice, for luck. A little ritual you’d adopted early on. Most pilots were a superstitious bunch. 

That’s when you’d seen them. Sana and Poe. Locked in a tight embrace, their lips pressed together in a deep kiss. 

Your heartbeat had thundered so loud you’d been surprised they hadn’t heard it. But they’d been too preoccupied to notice your presence. 

It was cliche but time had almost slowed, calmed and stretched like the moment you take aim, the second before you fired your ship's canons. 

A flash of the control panel had flickered into your mind when you saw them, your fingers twitching as if you had the trigger in your hands. 

You’d turned and left without a sound. Without a word. Without letting them know you saw. Leaving them to… whatever they did next. 

Was it their first kiss? One of many? Had this been going on well before Poe had taken your hand and led you outside so he could clumsily name all the constellations, making up new ones and backstories to make you smile?

“That one here, you see it?” 

“Yeah?” 

“That one’s the best one, best in the sky. It’s orange and it’s right next to that other orange one, like they’re holding hands.”

You’d laughed. 

“That’s me and you Moonbeam.” 

Moonbeam. That stupid nickname. 

You’d gone to your room quickly, the one that you and Poe shared, and taken off the necklace he’d given you. 

“I want you to wear it for luck, Moonbeam.” 

That stupid smile he’d given you as he’d slipped it from his own neck and onto yours. That stupid kiss he’d given you after. You’d thought that expression was cute when you’d seen it, pure. Now it just seemed like he’d been laughing at you, playing some sick joke. ‘How long can I string someone along?’, ‘how far can I go before they realise it’s all pretend?’ 

You’d left the necklace with the ring slipped through on the small set of shelves in the corner, the one Poe normally kept his holopad on. 

It was idiotic, but your neck felt… empty without it. Cold. Every now and then you touched at where the chain normally lay.A subconscious action only brought to the forefront of your mind by the sensation of your own skin instead of metal. 

Something caught your eye in the distance, a flash of sunlight glinting off the horizon. Dread twisted in your stomach as realisation dawned a second earlier than your scanners. The extra gravitational pressure and high quantity of magnetic metals in the sand affected everyone’s ship computers, causing a brief information delay. 

Your alarm sounded out inside your ship, the radar blinking into life as tie fighters approached from the rock outcrop. They’d used the high mineral concentration to hide their energy signatures. 

“Fuck.” 

The radio screamed into life, orders out pouring over orders. Blue squadron rushed into position while Green scrambled. 

“Blue in place now!”

“It’s gonna be rushed, but we haven’t got a choice!”

“No time!” “Incoming!” “Green half split! Evens left, odds right, let’s keep those fighter’s off The Harbringer and Blue squadron! Gamma pattern!” 

“How far away is the Delta?” 

“Calling in attack pattern!” 

You swing to the right, falling in with Hank and Petal and bank hard, it takes less than a second for you to notice that your squad's movements aren’t as precise and well-timed as usual. The stronger gravity throwing everyone, except you, off their game. 

That didn’t bode well. 

You climb for a second, punching hard on the acceleration to get some height and a clear view of the oncoming and flick on your targeting system. The image glitches, doesn’t hold steady even as you focus. Off by half a fraction. 

Shots fire out from both sides, most missing.

“Targeting not working!”

“It’s out!”

“I can’t get a clear shot!” “The read is malfunctioning!”

“Half a click 4/8!” You shout, as you take your shot, hitting two tie fighters head-on. 

“Good shot Green 7!” You can hear the joy and relief in Sana’s voice. “Half a click 4/8, you’ll all have to manually adjust!” 

You dive, swirling around two fighters before skimming close to the ground, trying to draw their attention away from the cargo ship. You spin, slamming your control harder than you would need to in any other situation as you turn and spike past another fighter, taking out one in the process. 

“Wooooo!” Hank yells over the intercom.

You laugh. “Bet you never thought you wished you grew up on Para right?” 

“Every day new things surprise me.” He banks left, you right, Petal dives down. 

It’s too much of a rush, everything all at once, patterns and shots flying, your ship’s systems screaming as you push the engines a little too hard. 

The tie fighters aren’t moving as fast as they normally do, bogged down even more than the x wings by the gravity. They can’t make their normal quick turns and it’s affecting their strike patterns. 

Good. 

But there’s so, so many of them. 

Explosions fly debris out, and you climb higher. Needing a clear view and unable to rely on your targeting systems. 

More shots fly out, The Harbringer is taking a battering but so far its shielding is holding the hull together. 

The radio keeps screaming, overlapping voices that blur into background noise. You’re trained to only hear your call signal, direct messages. You vear off, narrowingly missing a blast to your wing. 

“-On my tail.” Frizz’s voice cuts through the noise, a sharp stab of dread slicing you open as you turn, automatically looking to the reader, it’s still not clear. 

You climb, twist, fall, see a Green ship, followed tightly by two fighters. Accelsorate, bank. You fire. You’re aiming in a panic now, not adjusting right, not breathing through. 

The shot hits one, before you have to swerve to avoid being struck head-on. 

“Thanks 7!” Cril yells over the speaker, managing to shake the other fighter. 

There’s a scream, a crackle of sound over the system. A sound you know too well. You see the ship crash into the desert, exploding before it even hits the ground as the a tie fighter’s shots hit home. 

Frizz.

“No…” 

“Check!” Sana yells, unable to tell who went down with the system glitching. “Green Leader!”

You swerve around another fighter, everything moving so fast, too fast.

“Green Two check!” Cril.

“Green Three check!” Petal. 

Nothing. 

“Green Four!” Sana yells. No call replies. Balna. Not Frizz. 

The momentary rush of relief at Frizz being alive is cut horribly short by the image of Balna’s kind face that bursts behind your eyes. 

You bank left, right, swerve, take aim, twist. 

There’s a chance, a good chance that you’ll win. All of Blue is in place, The Harbringer is moving up with them. The tie fighters are taking more hits than the resistance, their less aerodynamic design hampering them more than usual with this gravity. 

All you need is…

Another alarm. 

“Oh… fuck.” You slam on your intercom. “Z-Fighter!” 

A chorus of yells answer you. 

A Z-fighter, a quick moving ship a fraction bigger than The Harbringer, with two powerful front guns. A few shots would take the cargo ship out completely. 

And with how slow the supply ship was moving, that wouldn’t be hard. 

The Z-fighter storms in, moving fast but not firing, they were obviously having problems with their targeting too, needing a close clear shot. 

“Take out the main cannons!” Sana yells, the panic in her voice cutting through the chaos. You turn, aim, take out a tie fighter but have to veer up at the last second. Twist. 

Someone comes in after you, aiming for the cannons, a fighter clips their side and they can’t correct quick enough. They spiral off, their ship crashing into the Z-fighter. Obliterated on impact. The Z-fighter seemingly unaffected. 

You loop back, adrenaline blinding you to everything, anything that’s not the goal. Take out the canons. Take out the canons. People are counting on you. Take out the canons. 

You fire, a clear shot before you bank to the side to avoid a direct hit to your hull. 

It’s not enough.

You need to pass again, and again. Other x wings flying in, taking shots, the gravity making them slow, imprecise. Only one blast hits and it’s not full on.You’re the only one hitting directly and it’s not enough. 

It’s not enough. It’s not enough. It’s not enough.

There’s shouting and screaming, the zipping of the fighters as they cut through the sky. Someone yells your name and you don’t hear it. 

Another hit lands. One canon out. Only one left. You can do this. The Harbringer is nearly in the upper atmosphere, they can jump from there. Just a few more seconds. You can do this.

“Black Leader!” Poe’s call sign cuts over the dim, followed by the call signs of half of the Red Squadron.

They must have scrambled after first contact. 

The canon’s powering up, a quick glance to your panel tells you that The Harbringer’s shield is barely functioning. They won’t survive a direct hit. With how close they are and the Blue Squadron ships that are attached there’s no way they wouldn’t be pulled down too if The Harbringer fell. 

The canon needs more than one hit to take it down, more than five. No way you can shoot five times before they fire. 

You twist, full force. Pumping the acceleration. Fire. Fire. Fire. Three hit. You don’t slow down. Fire. Fire. Fire. They hit. The canon is still operational. 

Sana is screaming orders, so many shots fire at the canon, none of them hit right, hit full on. 

Two chances left. 

One to fire. If it takes out the canon you just have enough time to serve up, to avoid getting smashed to bits. 

Poe shouts for you over the intercom. 

You don’t answer.

One to fire. If it doesn’t take out the canon then… then you crashing into it head on will. 

Poe yells again, this time cutting over everyone else, sending you a direct call. 

You don’t answer.

You fire. Hit. 

Poe screams for you, his voice painful and panicked. He’s already worked out your plan before you had even thought of it. 

The canon doesn’t go down. 

You cut the call to him. Blocking out his signal. You don’t want Poe to think you did this for him. 

You don’t want him to think you did this because of him.

“Green Seven!” Sana yells, seemingly knowing what you’re going to do. 

Hank screams your name over the radio. It hurts. You think it’s the worst sound you’ve ever heard. 

“Moonbeam!” Poe’s voice is ripped raw from yells, Sana has patched him through over her signal. You were wrong. That was the worst sound you’ve ever heard. 

You dip at the last second, not hitting the canon straight on but smashing your right wing into it. The force surprises you, even though you braced for it. The impact sending you spiralling. You try to regain control, try to turn into the spin. Training taking over even though you're a wing and half a ship down. 

Shouts over the radio, you barely make out- 

“-cannon’s down-”

“-Jump!-”

A spark hits, your console explodes into flame, shards hit your side and you yell. Sky and sand tumbling over each other over and over, and you manage to hit the eject button.

The force rips you upwards, free briefly from your burning ship. But you’re too close to the floor, not enough time to slow down your velocity. There’s-

.

The impact of the ground hurts. Pain explodes along every nerve despite the ejection seat dampening. You scream. 

Agony is everywhere, everything. You can’t feel anything else, can’t comprehend anything except floods of pain. 

You hit your belt, falling out and to the desert floor. Looking up just enough to gauge where you are, where your ship fell. It’s an exploded, fireball mess far off. At least it’s not an immediate threat. You crawl to the side and sob. 

There’s blood falling into the sand from your head, the right side of your face. You can’t see properly out of your eye and your left leg is definitely broken. Shattered. Still, you drag yourself forward, digging your hands in and pulling as something ribs and tears in your side, warm liquid soaking into your fight suit. 

The resistance will jump to hyperspace, they’ll get out. They’ll make it. 

You just needed to get away from your ejection seat, when the First Order doubles back they’ll see it, they’ll see you. You just needed to get to an outcrop. Hide. 

Make it look like you had a weapon. 

Make them shoot you first instead of taking you for questioning. 

Can’t let them take you alive. 

There's the faint sound of a ship somewhere above, landing gear coming down. 

For a second you freeze, panic gripping your heart, you dig into the sand hard, pull, pull, pull  yourself closer towards the outcrop of rocks. The air seems to be leaving your lungs, your breathing ragged and hot. 

You cough, red hitting the dirt, iron hitting your tongue. 

You crawl, pull. The pain is making you light-headed. You gasp, trying to get in a full lung full of air. It's not enough. It's not enough. It's not enou…

.

When you open your eyes your first thoughts are simple. Clear. 

I'm dead.

You were either shot in the head in the sand or simply succumbed to your wounds. 

But then things begin to feel… fuzzy. Not painful, but not right either.

And that's when you smell the Bacta. And then the light starts to change to distorted shapes, and finally, you recognise Hank sitting next to you.

“You better not be dead too,” you whisper your voice dry from lack of use. 

Hank jumps up, goes to grab your hand and then stops himself. There are tears in his eyes. He softly places his fingers on yours and you squeeze back. 

“You're a fucking idiot you know that?” He grins and you laugh. Which hurts a little, but feels good. 

“One sec,” he moves away just to speak to someone outside before he comes back. “I'm the one that picked you up, you know?” 

“Now who's the fucking idiot?” You smile but your chest aches, heavy with the weight of his words. “You shouldn't have done that.” You whisper. 

“What?”

“You were under fire, you should have just jumped-” 

“I saw you eject. Saw you moving. You think I was just gonna leave you there?” He sits. “Besides, I was closest. The commander would have blown up the whole planet to get to you.” 

You swallow, turning away slightly. Going cold at the mention of Poe. 

Hank mistakes the look for guilt, and squeezes your hand again. “Hey, look,” he smiles, “you took out the canons, you're a fucking idiot but you know how to fly in heavy gravity.” 

You snort. 

He smiles. 

“Who did we lose?” 

Hank sighs, “three…”

You nod, closing your eyes for a moment. 

“There-”

There was shouting from outside, a crash and then Poe stormed into the room, med staff close behind him.

You swallow, sickness building in your throat.

He looked awful, drawn out and worn thin like he hadn't slept or eaten in days. His eyes red. 

He rushes forward, Hank moves out of the way, so Poe can take your hand in his. He leans forward and kisses you softly, carefully stroking your cheek, being gentle with your bandages. 

“Moonbeam…” he mutters and you flinch back from him. He looks at you with sad, confused eyes. 

“Look, I can only allow one visitor in here.” The med staff member says.

Hank stands, and speaks when you frown. “I'll see you later, Poe’s the one that hasn't left your side. The only reason he wasn't here when you woke was because I made him go take a shower.” Hank smiled, “you can thank me for that later.” 

Both you and Poe are quiet as the others leave. Poe searching your face for something, while you look away. 

“Moonbeam,” he says again softly, but there's an edge to his words that you're not used to. “What the fuck happened on that mission? What the fuck is this?” He holds up his hand, his necklace and ring wrapped around his palm. His eyes are shiny as he speaks. “Were you trying to kill yourself? What the fu-”

“Poe,” you breathe. Best to get it over quickly. “I saw.”

He frowns. “Saw? Saw what?” 

“You and Sana, in the briefing room… before take off.” 

The small frown on his forehead relaxes slightly for a moment as his eyebrows raise. “You… saw?” 

You nod. 

“You, but, I didn’t see you when I pushed her away?” His voice cracks at the end, a splinter running into the muscle of your heart. 

“You pushed her away?” 

“You didn’t see that?” He frowns again, blinking hard, “you just, just saw and walked away and what? Took this off?” He holds up the necklace again. A tear falls from his eye and he rubs it away furiously as if it had scorched his skin. “Just, just left it and… and…” 

“I didn’t know you didn’t want it…” You say quietly, emotion is making your chest tight and constricted. “I didn’t know you didn’t want her…”

“What?” He breathes, moving closer and squeezing your hand. There’s disbelief in his voice, confusion. Anger, it’s deep down and controlled but it’s there. “No, look, she kissed me. I pushed her away, I, I even logged a report, I’ll pull up the god damned camera feed to show you.” 

He’s not lying. His gaze is unwavering and he’s got that painfully earnest look in his eyes. 

“You thought…” he shakes his head slightly, his voice pained, “you thought I’d-”

“You both make sense together.” You blurt out. “She’s… and you’re…” you shrug and sigh, on the verge of tears yourself. “You’re both the best of us.”

“No,” he shakes his head fiercely, “Moonbeam, no.” He wipes roughly at his eyes again, glancing down for a moment and you lightly touch his head. 

He looks up instantly as you stroke his curls, still lightly damp. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

Poe shakes his head again, grabbing your hand and kissing your wrist. “I’m sorry.” He kicks off his shoes and clambers into bed next to you a little awkwardly. He’s trying to be careful, trying not to hurt you but needing closeness so badly it’s suffocating. 

You scooch to the side as quickly as you can in your current state and lean into him as he wraps his body around you softly and kisses you sweetly. 

“Love you, love you, love you,” he repeats after every kiss, pressing his lips to every part of your skin that he can reach.

“Why are you sorry?” You mutter as he holds you, “I’m the one that messed up.”

He shakes his head, “I’m sorry that I don’t make you realise how special you are, how perfect.” He kisses your cheek, “you’re the best of us Moonbeam.” 

You tut but his grip tightens and he holds you tight. 

“And one hell of a pilot.” He grins. 

You scoff. 

“You are.” He kisses you again. 

You nuzzle against him, settling into his touch. Knots have formed in your chest, pain that’s loosening. His warmth is comforting. Home. 

“Sana said she didn’t know I was in a relationship,” he says softly, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I don’t know if that’s true, but… I do believe her.” 

You nod. “She’s a good person.”

He moves so he can look you in the eyes. “Please, Moonbeam, I… don’t,” he bites his tongue, closing his eyes for a long second. “I want to tell you, I want to say, don’t ever do something like that again… don’t… don’t put yourself at risk.” 

You touch his cheek lightly. 

“But it’s not fair is it?” He smiles sadly. “We both do that every day… You know you were gonna be in my squadron at first?” 

You shake your head in surprise and he nods.

“You were, but… well,” he blushes ever so slightly. “I was so embarrassingly head over heels in love with you,” he laughs lightly. “For months I could hardly talk to you, you know I had to down five Polanis Red’s in a row after Hurthwen just so I could ask you out? I knew I wouldn’t be able to function right if you were in my squad. I knew that I’d put everyone else at risk because if it came down to it… if there was a choice between everyone in the squad dying, everyone on the base, or you… I’d let the resistance burn instead of lose you. Every single time.” 

You close your eyes, fighting the emotion that needs to break through and squeeze his hand like a lifeline. “I love you.” You whisper. 

Your fingertips brush against the necklace, the ring hooking around the first knuckle of your index finger by chance. 

Poe slowly moves his hand from yours and unwinds the necklace from his palm before carefully placing it over your head, giving you plenty of time to move away if you wanted. 

“I love you Moonbeam,” he mutters, his voice low, reverent. Then leans in to kiss you. You kiss him back with all your heart. 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[cruel-hiraeth]

꒰ DUTY-BOUND ꒱ AKAGAMI NO SHANKS X READER

warnings ⟢ minors do not interact—i will block you! very suggestive. alcohol use. period talk. foot worship. scent kink. female reader. reader and shanks are married, and shanks uses a few pet names—some silly, some serious—including: “lady love” / ���ma’am” / “my love” / “my wife.” please note that shanks only has his right arm.

word count ⟢ 1115

notes ⟢ this is part of @ficsforgaza’s kinktober event! my prompt was shanks + period sex. this is my first time writing shanks, and truthfully, it reignited my lust for him... i hope i did him justice. please enjoy!

“What’s running through that pretty head of yours?”

It’s late; you lost track of time when the sky was still an azure ocean, the sun floating peerless in its splendor. An expensive—now empty—bottle of spiced rum lies at your feet, its warmth eddying through your veins, limbs steeped in honey. Swathed in night’s royal velvet, your hotel room is illuminated only by shivering candlelight and stray moonbeams. You left the balcony door ajar. Outside, the balmy breeze stirs palm leaves, and the sea’s siren song plays, ebbing and flowing with the tide.

For the first time in months, you’re on a real bed. Swapping your trusty hammock for a down-filled mattress feels like a luxury—one you refuse to take for granted. While your earlier beachside dinner left you satiated and wooed, your date led you to a nearby bar for drinks and dancing. Laughter rang in your ears as you draped your wrists over his broad shoulders, a thick arm anchored low across your hips, chin kissing the top of your head. The merriment concluded with what he insisted would be a “borrowed” bottle of rum.

(“Cap’s favorite,” he whispers conspiratorially against your temple, cradling the stolen cargo inside the billowing fabric of his cape.)

But as you lounge in bed together, your mind wanders. Shanks rests on his side, head propped up with his right arm. You’re curled against his bare chest, the vitality of his battle-worn flesh and the ardent beat of his heart setting your nerves alight. His hooked nose is buried in your hair, lips pressed to your crown.

“Nothing much,” you belatedly reply.

“Hmm…” He pulls back to study your expression, playful gaze narrowing, mapping the contours of your profile as though he’s navigating an uncharted island. After a few beats of silence, he finally announces: “I think you’re hiding something from me.”

“Oh, is that so?”

He hums. “You always have something to complain about.”

(That earns him a swift smack to the shoulder.)

“Ouch!” he gasps, face contorting in mock anguish. “My lady love wounds me.”

“If you must know,” you huff, ignoring his antics to instead twirl a delicate finger through his chest hair, “it’s my time of the month. So I’m not exactly feeling my best and brightest.”

“I see…Is that it?”

You indulge the petulant urge to roll your eyes. “If only I could ball up my pain and force it upon you, Mr. Can’t-Leave-His-Hammock-All-Day-When-He-Has-A-Mild-Cough.”

“No—you misunderstand me,” he sighs.

Slipping his arm beneath your waist, he shifts to hover above you, the ring hanging from the golden chain around his neck gleaming with reflected moonlight. His frame is almost comically large; almost. The way he so effortlessly maneuvers you, his body eclipsing yours, trapping you in place—forcing you to stare up at him: your captain, your lover, your husband—has heat blooming in your belly.

“What I mean is that there are ways to deal with this sort of pain.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, craning your neck to brush your lips against the ring; his jaw flexes. “Enlighten me, then,” you challenge.

You’ve fallen right into his trap and you know it. His grin is devastatingly radiant. Vast and blinding as the horizon on a cloudless day, it holds a sly promise. He leans down, lips grazing yours, breath so sweet your teeth ache. “Yes ma’am.”

Shanks considers himself lucky that you’re mostly undressed: your frame drowns in one of his old, sun-bleached shirts, the excess fabric pooling at your thighs. Underneath it, a simple pair of cotton panties is all that separates him from what he desires most.

Sliding down the length of your form, his excitement is apparent as it strains against his breeches. He nudges the hem of your makeshift nightgown with his nose, teasing it upward, careful to scrape the stubble on his cheeks and chin across your tender flesh. Continuing until the garment reaches the apex of your thighs, he then bites down on the soft linen, dragging it up to your hips with his teeth.

When you raise an eyebrow—Leaving your work half-finished, Akagami? he can hear you goad—he rasps, “I quite enjoy this view. As long as my love doesn’t mind, that is.”

(If the quickening of your pulse is anything to go by, you don’t mind in the slightest.)

Sitting back on his heels, he skims his fingers along the sinuous outline of your leg, supple hip to the arch of your foot. He splays his palm across your ankle, rough thumb stroking the bone. Gingerly, he raises your foot to his mouth, blotting a kiss against the sole before lifting his lips to your toes, slick pink peeking out, messily dragging his tongue across each digit. His eyes never leave yours, stormy with lust—fresh ichor seeping onto the salt-damp deck of a pirate ship: sublime.

Even in the throes of worship, crimson strands marring his vision, he looks every bit the Emperor he is.

Soon, he works his way back between your legs, wasting little time as he shoves his face into the seam of your underwear, inhaling deeply with a groan. You want to harass him for acting like an ill-trained mutt, but the knowledge that he’s getting off on your scent—that after a day of exploring and sweating and bleeding he still yearns for you—makes your head fuzzy.

You clear your throat. “Shanks. You don’t have to…you know.”

He doesn’t move even a hair’s breadth, eyelids heavy, the low rumble of his voice resounding in your core as he drawls, “I’m a big boy; a bit of blood isn’t gonna hurt me.”

His hand creeps downward, slowly—purposefully—until it rests atop your final layer. His fore and middle fingers sneak past the waistband and tangle in your pubic hair. Meanwhile, he stretches his thumb out to stroke your aching clit, featherlight, still not touching you directly.

“Besides,” he adds, no mirth in his manner for the first time all evening, “it’s my duty to help my wife.”

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 51

He didn't care, didn't marvel that he was soon to be airborne on one of those incredible beasts. Didn't care that tomorrow, they would all take on the dark army gathered beyond.

He'd fought in more battles, more wars, than he cared to remember. Tomorrow would be little different, save for the demons they'd slay, rather than men or Fae.

Demons like his former queen, apparently.

He had offered himself to her, had wanted her, or believed he did. And she had laughed at him. He didn't know what it meant. About her, about himself.

He'd thought his darkness, Hellas's gifts, had been drawn to her, that they'd been matched.

Perhaps the dark god had wanted him not to swear fealty to Maeve, but to kill her. To get close enough to do so.

Lorcan didn't adjust his cape against the gust of frigid air off the distant lake. Rather, he leaned into the cold, into the ice on the wind. As if it might rip away the truth.

There was no fear or pity on her face, her black hair gilded by the torches and campfires. Of all of them, she'd mastered the news with little difficulty, stepping up to the desk as if she'd been born on a battlefield.

"I didn't know," he said, voice strained.

Elide knew what he meant. "We have bigger things to worry about anyway."

He took a step toward her. "I didn't know," he said again.

She tipped her head back to study his face and pursed her mouth, a muscle ticking in her jaw. "Do you want me to give you some sort of absolution for it?"

"I served her for nearly five hundred years. Five hundred years, and I just thought her to be immortal and cold."

"That sounds like the definition of a Valg to me."

He bared his teeth. "You live for eons and see what it does to you, Lady."

"I don't see why you're so shocked. Even with her being immortal and cold, you loved her. You must have accepted those traits. What difference does it make what we call her, then?"

"I didn't love her."

"You certainly acted like you did."

Lorcan snarled, "Why is that the point you keep returning to, Elide? Why is it the one thing you cannot let go of?"

"Because I'm trying to understand. How you could come to love a monster."

"Why?" He pushed into her space. She didn't balk one step.

Indeed, her eyes were blazing as she hissed, "Because it will help me understand how I did the same."

Her voice snagged on the last words, and Lorcan stilled as they settled into them. He'd never ... he'd never had anyone who-

"Is it a sickness?" she demanded. "Is it something broken within you?"

"Elide." Her name was a rasp on his lips. Lorcan dared reach a hand for her. But she pulled out of reach. "If you think that because you swore the blood oath to Aelin, it means anything for you and me, you're sorely mistaken. You're immortal-I'm human. Let us not forget that little fact, either."

Lorcan nearly recoiled at the words, their horrible truth. He was five hundred years old He should walk away—he shouldn't be so damned bothered by any of this. And yet Lorcan snarled, "You're jealous. That's what truly eats away at you."

Elide barked a laugh that he'd never heard before, cruel and sharp. "Jealous? Jealous of what? That demon you served?" She squared her shoulders, a wave cresting before it smashed into the shore. "The only thing that I am jealous of, Lorcan, is that she is rid of you."

Lorcan hated that the words landed like a blow. That he had no defenses left where she was concerned. "I'm sorry," he said. "For all of it, Elide." There, he'd said it, and laid it out before her. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

But Elide's face did not warm. "I don't care," she said, turning on her heel. "And I don't care if you walk off that battlefield tomorrow.

"I have never heard Lorcan apologize for anything. Even when Maeve whipped him for a mistake, he did not apologize to her."

"And that means he earns my forgiveness?"

"No. But you have to realize that he swore the blood oath to Aelin for you. For no one else. So he could remain near you. Even knowing well enough that you will have a mortal lifespan."

The birds shifted on their feet, rustling their wings in anticipation of flight. She knew. Had known it the moment he'd knelt before Aelin. Weeks later, Elide hadn't known what to do with it, the knowledge that Lorcan had done this for her. The longing to talk to him, to work with him as they had. She'd hated herself for it. For not trying to hold on to her anger longer.

It was why she'd gone after him tonight.

Not to punish him, but herself. To remind herself of who he'd sold their queen to, how profoundly mistaken she had been.

And her parting line to him ... it was a lie.

A disgusting, hateful lie.

Elide turned to Gavriel again. "I don't—" The Lion was gone. And for the cold flight over the army, then over the sea of darkness spread between it and the ancient city, even that wise voice who had whispered for the entirety of her life had gone quiet.

[andy-wm]

Look at this man

"Oh you think that was cute? Hold my beer," he grins.

Jimin just out-Jiminned himself

Aaaarrrrgggg!!!!!!

I am helplessly besotted.

Hes so adorable and beautiful and cute and lovely (and sexy, but its not about that today)

I can barely stand it.

My face hurts from smiling at him

The feel good vibes he radiates are throwing my carefully manicured moodiness into disarray

Maybe a blocked drain or a bowl of burned soup will help restore some balance to my life.

But this is not about me,

It's about Park Jimin

At least it was about Park Jimin ... until i noticed Loco practically writhing with glee on his sofa as he watches Jimin outdo every newborn animal or gurgling baby in the cuteness stakes.

Yes, Loco, we see you...

He is after all, right in the firing line of Jimin's radiance. He is defenceless against this barrage of cutey-sexy-loveliness.

Loco is trying SO HARD to look at least somewhat impartial but it seems he is just as tickled by jimin as everyone else is.

Like everyone else, the man cannot stop smiling.

Well he can, but only if he bites down on his lips to stop them from cracking into a wide grin.

I agree Loco, probably easier to just not look at him ...

I wonder how many takes they did, and how many times he had to endure this outrageous display of charm.

Maybe Loco also needs a blocked drain or burned soup because his cheeks must be aching haha.

Seriously though, you know what this tells me?

It tells me that

Jimin is just as delightful and gorgeous and sweet as we suppose him to be.

It tells me we see the real Jimin.

This is him.

He really IS the glittering star that brightens our ordinary lives.

He's the first dancing snowflake of winter.

He's a ray of warm sunshine in spring.

He's the moonbeam that lights up the darkest of your nights.

He's a flicker of hope in your heart when everything else seems lost.

He's the pot of gold AND the rainbow.

It's a brave thing he's doing. Let's not forget that, despite the buoyant mood, he's taking a huge risk.

If i had a god I'd pray that they keep Jimin safe from hurt and harm, but i don't. I just have to have faith in the universe, that this beautiful and charming and funny young man will have the happiness he deserves.

#thank you universe for the gift that is park jimin

(Here's the whole clip in case you want to smile till your cheeks hurt)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Other ways for your character to say I love you?

“And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea – What are all these kissings worth if thou kiss not me?” —Percy Bysshe Shelley, Love’s Philosophy

Be soft on someone - to love someone or like someone very much

“Be with me, darling, early and late.” —John Frederick Nims, Love Poem

Besotted - to be completely in love with someone and always thinking of them

Carry a torch for [someone] - to be in love with someone

“Clasp me close in your warm young arms, while the pale stars shine above, and we’ll live our whole young lives away in the joys of a living love.” —Ella Wheeler Wilcox, I Love You

“Come live with me, and be my love, and we will some new pleasures prove.” —John Donne, The Bait

Dote on someone - to love someone completely and believe they are perfect

“Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I’ll not look for wine.” —Ben Jonson, Song: To Celia

"For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love [you]." —John Donne 1572–1631 English poet and divine: Songs and Sonnets ‘The Canonization’

Head over heels (in love) - completely in love

“I became fascinated by your goodness. I was drawn in by it. I didn’t understand what was happening to me. And it was only when I began to feel actual, physical pain every time you left the room that it finally dawned on me: I was in love, for the first time in my life. I knew it was hopeless, but that didn’t matter to me. And it’s not that I want to have you. All I want is to deserve you. Tell me what to do. Show me how to behave. I’ll do anything you say.” —Choderlos de Laclos, Dangerous Liaisons

“I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.” —A.S. Byatt, Possession

“I dreamed you bewitched me into bed and sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.” —Sylvia Plath, Mad Girl’s Love Song

“I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.” —W.B. Yeats, Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

“I have to tell you, there are times when the sun strikes me like a gong, and I remember everything, even your ears.” —Dorothea Grossman, I Have to Tell You

“I have waited for this opportunity for more than half a century, to repeat to you once again my vow of eternal fidelity and everlasting love.” —Gabriel García Márquez, Love In The Time Of Cholera

“I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.” —Elizabeth Barrett Browning, How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways…

“I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.” ―Margaret Atwood, Variation on the Word Sleep

“I'll help you hide the body, always.” ―Me (L. V.)

“I’ve never had a moment’s doubt. I love you. I believe in you completely. You are my dearest one. My reason for life.” ―Ian McEwan, Atonement

“If certain, when this life was out, That yours and mine should be, I’d toss it yonder like a rind, And taste eternity.” ―Emily Dickinson, If You Were Coming in the Fall

"If I love you, what does that matter to you!" —Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 1749–1832 German poet, novelist, and dramatist: Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre (1795–6) bk. 4, ch. 9

"Immature love says: ‘I love you because I need you.’ Mature love says: ‘I need you because I love you.’" —Erich Fromm 1900–80 American philosopher and psychologist: The Art of Loving (1956)

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” —Jane Austen, Pride And Prejudice

Infatuated with someone - having a very strong but not usually lasting feeling of love or attraction for someone

“It well may be that in a difficult hour, Pinned down by pain and moaning for release, Or nagged by want past resolution’s power, I might be driven to sell your love for peace, Or trade the memory of this night for food. It well may be. I do not think I would.” —Edna St. Vincent Millay, Love Is Not All

Live for someone - to have someone as the most important thing in your life

Lose your heart to someone - to fall in love with someone

Love me, love my dog - said to warn someone that if they want to be in a relationship with you, they must be willing to accept everything about you

Love someone to the moon and back - to love someone very much, usually used to tell someone how much you love them

“Oh plunge me deep in love – put out my senses, leave me deaf and blind, swept by the tempest of your love, a taper in a rushing wind.” —Sara Teasdale, I Am Not Yours

Steal someone's heart - if someone steals your heart, you start to love or like them very much

Sweep someone off their feet - to make someone become suddenly and completely in love with you

The apple of someone's eye - the person who someone loves most and is very proud of

The light of your life - the person you love most

“This poem is endless, the odds against us are endless, our chances of being alive together statistically nonexistent; still we have made it.” —Lisel Mueller, Alive Together

“Trees and seas have flown away, I call it loving you.” —Reginald Shepherd, You, Therefore

Worship the ground someone walks on - to love and admire someone very much

“You are my heart, my life, my one and only thought.” —Arthur Conan Doyle, The White Company

“You are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing.” —E.E. Cummings, I Carry Your Heart With Me

Sources: 1 2 3

[lorelaiblair]

Gomez Addams wants to adopt Enid Sinclair

It made sense, she fit right in with his little family. She was strong and so full of love, she was a little strange, but oh how Addamses loved all things strange. Gomez had never seen Wednesday so taken with someone- it was obvious they cared about each other very much.

They had done it before too, they had adopted Rocky nearly a decade ago, and Parker nearly five years ago. They were Addamses, their family was so capable of expanding.

So it made absolutely no sense to him why Morticia had told him it was a bad idea. It truly stumped him when Wednesday told him in no uncertain terms, that if he gained Enid as a child he would lose Wednesday as one.

It became a matter of great discourse in the Addams household.

Of course Gomez would listen to his daughter’s wishes, of course he would listen to his wife, but he just didn’t understand why!

They all adored the Sinclair girl, her relationship with the family she was born to was unacceptable, she barely ever saw them. She had been staying with the Addamses for a year now, so why was his family so against making it official?

Morticia shook her head in disbelief, Pugsley and Parker laughed at him. When he asked Rocky the boy said “Open your eyes, pops” and well, Gomez had thought his eyes were open. Maybe Rocky meant the ones kept in the playroom? But Gomez couldn’t be sure, they didn’t see all that much.

It was weeks of trying to understand, leading to many arguments with his daughter, until one day she said

“I plan on making her a part of the family in my own way, i plan on marrying her one day, and your ideas would deem that quite impossible!”

He sat stumped, what did that-

Morticia was laughing, Wednesday’s face was turning red, and Enid had the biggest grin on her face.

It clicked.

It really- oh lord, he had really overlooked some things. He hadn’t even wondered why Enid never used her own room, or why Wednesday was so lenient with allowing the other girls touch.

“Dulce satanás” Gomez laughed before looking up again at his girls, to Enid “My daughter-in-law”

“In due time” Enid amended “We are just dating, for now”

“Why did you not tell me” He asked his family

“It was funnier this way” Rocky told him

“We technically didn’t tell anybody” Enid said “We are taking things slow, and well apparently it is hard to keep secrets in this house”

“Oh- i’ve got binders full of wedding plans” Gomez grinned as he rushed toward his office, his family trailing behind him.

The two girls held back.

“Are you okay with this?” Enid asked

“I would follow you the the ends of the earth, my moonbeam” Wednesday said softly, kissing Enid’s hand and then forehead, before pulling her to inform her father, again, that they wouldn’t be getting married until after highschool.

[itsabouttimex2]

Eclipse Kings

Part Four: Sweet Little Star

(Part One: Mountain Monkeys) (Part Two: Barbed Dusk) (Part Three: Wild Dawn) (Part Four: You Are Here)

(Extra One) (Art! Thank you to @lemon-ti)

(The “servants” around this lovely ecliptic pagoda are well-tailored to the needs of their lords, no matter the scenario- including hot meals and tension breakers.

You are the only sanctuary that MK has ever known. Through blistering summers spent as the shores of a rippling blue lake, through winters spent huddled together under a stack of blankets, hidden in a hole of straw-lined mud to try and avoid withering chills.

You are all the “home” that MK knows.

But the two demons who call him are certainly trying their damnedest to make up for lost time… to very little avail.

“Since we found you so late yesterday, we never got a chance to celebrate your birthday, Xiaotian... we can-

“Yesterday wasn’t my birthday,” the boy huffs, fingers deeply kneading the thick cotton trim of his new cape. “That’s not until winter.”

“…Xiaotian,” Macaque says, almost astonished at how confidently incorrect his son was, “you were born in the middle of autumn - who told you that it was winter?”

“Y/N.”

“…ah. No, that- okay,” he huffs, pinching the growing knot on his scarifying forehead- without the crown, his usual gouges were quickly healing - as he quickly pieced things together. “They didn’t know your birthday, so… so they just made that up. You were too little to remember the day, so Y/N lied-“

“Nuh uh! They wouldn’t lie to me !”

“…my bad, kid. Of course not. No, you were too little to remember, so Y/N just… pretended to know so you could celebrate. But your real birthday is in the middle of fall- it was yesterday.”

“No, cause it’s in the winter!”

Wukong laughs as his sable mate sits beside him, nestling into the plush cushions and groaning.

“Easy, moonbeam. Don’t push yourself- he’s still a toddler. We’ll get through to him.”

“I’d rather him just remember us and everything we did together,” Macaque snaps back throwing his head into Wukong’s lap- who, for his part, begins to smooth out the inky tresses of fur laid out before him. They stay there for a minute, quietly enjoying each other’s company, and then-

All of Macaque’s ears stiffen, six sharp points flaring up under his fur, which Wukong fluffs to hide them from sight. As much as he loves them, his mate’s feelings are very dissimilar.

He looks over with both hands over Macaque’s ears, looking to the marble doorway-

And it’s just you , wearing “your” lovely sky-blue hanfu, sash shoddily tied and silk pouch held close.

The umbrakinetic demon stands up without a noise, slowly walking over to you for a closer examination- he had heard about your little fit, and didn’t want a repeat for himself.

“It suits you,” Macaque says, giving an approving look to your new outfit- he reaches for the sash, maybe to correct or tighten it, but pulls away when you flinch, simply saying: “You can keep it. If you want.”

Be polite. You want this outfit. And you want the pouch. Be polite.

“…thank you. And.. were you… talking about his birthday?”

The king rolls his shoulders to stretch them, causing the thick spikes of fur on his head to swish and temporarily dip over his many, many forehead scars- they’re a lot more obvious now that he’s smashed the barbed circlet and scrubbed the dried blood from his forehead. “We were. Xiaotian didn’t know that it was in the middle of autumn. I hear the two of you celebrated it in winter.”

“Well, most of the time- it was just whenever snow fell for the first time in the year- I… I really didn’t have… I didn’t have too much to work with. So it was… usually in winter, or really late fall, one time we got really unlucky and it was mid-spring.”

“…what do you mean, ‘unlucky’?” Asks the Monkey King, standing up from his lavish recliner to replace all his accessories, each string of citrine beads and looping gold chains clinking against each other as he threaded them back into place. “I don’t remember ever hearing the mortals talk about a bad snow during spring- not anytime this century, at least.”

“It wasn’t bad- not for anyone else. We- MK and I,” you start, trying to ignore their little twitches at you using his nickname, “we lived in a little sunken hut. It was always falling apart in place, and- and I had to patch it up all the time- so snow was always really hard, cause it would make the mud I used all wet, and it’d drip from the holes-“

“You were using mud to keep your house together?”

Both of them share the same look, worriedly gazing upon little MK with a sort of regretful hindsight, thinking on how hard it must’ve been for him to reside in that squalid, rotted hovel- though Wukong is the one who speaks up. “So you- you and Xiaotian were living in a little muddy wreck?”

Macaque- you can’t read his expression, not quite, stares on with a deeply set frown- if you had to wager a guess, he seems to be some form of vaguely disappointed . Maybe that’s standard for kings when they hear about things like this. You don’t really care what he thinks- not when MK was fed, warm, and happy.

That was enough for you.

If they wanted to pull back and say it wasn’t enough for them, then- oh well.

But that’s not what happens. There is no remand or reproach, nor any discouraging words as to your care of their darling boy.

They just frown, thinking of what you- and more importantly, MK - might have gone through.

And you frown too, caught in a tense silence louder than any storm, more charged than a bolt of lightning forming in graying skies.

It’s simply… too much. There’s been too much everything across too little a timeline to accommodate for proper adjustment, so now everything has wound to a point of near shattering, fractures displayed so prominently across the terse “bond” shared that they were nearly visible to the naked eye.

And it isn’t for a solitary second that the quiet stretches on, heavy and suffocating- it’s pervasive, leaving you all standing there quietly.

You can feel their eyes on you, assessing, judging—not just your words but the years you spent with MK, the choices you made when you had nothing to work with but scraps and hope. They’ve swooped in now, claiming- reclaiming, as the nagging voice in your head reminds - him as theirs, and though you know he’s safer here, better provided for, the thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

He had been fine without them.

He had been fine with you.

Why couldn’t it have just kept being you and- not your “temporary charge” Qi Xiaotian, Golden Star of Flower Fruit Mountain- but your little brother, MK?

Life had been miserably hard. It had been cold and drudging and dreary, and more than once you had come to one of the many peering peaks across the mountain, and sat on the idea of a quick end to the struggling.

And you had met your little “Monkie Kid”, just as cold and alone as you had been.

He had not just been your little brother-

He had been your entire reason for living.

And what did you have to live for now, with two people who could grant him ever luxury and possession a child could desire?

What did you have to live for?

Was there anything you-

“Excuse me,” calls a curt voice from behind, slicing the tension with practiced, professional ease. “We’ve prepared dinner for you, my lords.”

Like a metal door long unopened, there’s a hesitant, straining moment before the inevitable give , and then you all turn to look- at a very lovely woman. Her hair has been trimmed chin-short and styled into thick black waves, pulled to each side of her face to prominently display a golden ferronnière.

“My husband and I have finished cooking, and we wished to call you in before the meal grew cold,” she says, utterly unabated by the gone-cold atmosphere. “So we insist that you come and eat soon- preferably, right now. ”

There is no rolling of heads or smashing of bones arisen from the terse almost-command, and instead the Monkey King nods along with a chuckle and a laugh half-forced. “Of course, of course. Sorry for forgetting-“

“If you were truly sorry, you’d be in the kitchen eating all of our hard work.”

“Ahahaha! Fair enough! Moonbeam, let’s go have dinner. We can talk about celebrations tonight, together- when it’s quieter.”

Without you around to interject, of course.

Because why would anyone care about how long you spent in a crumbling shack held half-together with scraps of scrounged fabric and dried mud when you offered inconvenient things like “makeshift birthdays” and “learned attachments”?

Before your thoughts get too seething, the woman lightly claps her hands, snapping you and MK to attention.

“Since the two of you have… “lived a life of little substance”, let’s say, we’ve prepared a list of softer meals to help you both adjust to proper eating as quickly as possible- in about the course of a week. Sudden indulgence to richer foods could sicken you both- especially Lord Xiaotian. Today we’ve made a honeyed rice porridge with ripe tropical fruit, but I imagine you’ll also see fortified broth with bouillon powder, and… well, we’d be here all day if I laid them all out.

As the woman sends you and your brother down a hall together, before turning back to her eployers.

“And,” she whispers to the two kings, voice nearly low enough for you miss it, “ we’ve set aside some fruit purée and steamed milk with honey, if nothing else will work.”

“You are such a gem,” Macaque breathes, expressly pleased with her loyal diligence. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-“

“Your children are waiting,” she confirms, nudging him along. “Hurry and eat with them-“

And though he starts to correct her, to clarify that you are in fact not his child- the woman is gone in a swish of her long green dress.

You keep your head down, one hand gripping all of MK’s tiny fingers during your unflinching trek down the ornate hall. There’s hand-drawn pictures of many different demons, all portrayed with respect and pride. In one a purple minotaur holds an axe over his shoulder, horns and blade polished to a shine, in the next he’s standing beside a red-robed woman, tears brimming through his amber eyes as they focus on a small bundle in her arms. In another there’s a pachyderm demon, portrayed with thick glasses and a gargantuan stack of books- including one he must’ve been working on when the picture was drawn. The next is a bird with golden wings held aloft, spear dug into a training dummy made of stone. Then a lion, holding as many mortals possible aloft while trudging in waist-deep waters. One after another, demon after demon- though only those same four, aside from the woman.

Whoever they are, the kings clearly cherish them.

And said demons walk in unison just backwind of you, though their steps lack the carefree rhythm of easygoing camaraderie. They are just in steady lockstep, too close behind for comfort. You can hear the faint clinking of Wukong’s gold chains and the occasional rustle of Macaque’s red and black robe as they exchange glances, silent communication passing between them.

And then MK squeezes your fingers at tightly as his little fingers allow- a familiar gesture you’ve known through harsh nights and sluggish days, through famine and sickness and chill.

An anchor of reassurance in the overwhelming storm of unfamiliarity.

The shift you underwent was violent and painful. You had woken up half-paralyzed and nude, being scrubbed down by the two beings you feared most, incapable of speaking or moving- it had left a not-insignificant mark.

But MK?

MK had made a choice. He had chosen to come back, you were sure of it, sure that he had made a deal for your safety and retrieval alongside his own- of course he was going to adjust better than you.

But he was still a little boy.

A little boy who had spent his life in the hollow embrace of mud walls and patchwork blankets, in the firm grip of your scarred arms. This was a kingdom of excess, a world so vast and strange that it overwhelmed just as much as it comforted. He looks up to you, his tiny thumb fiddling with your knuckles, and you know what is being asked.

Are you staying?

You squeeze his hand back.

Always.

Neither of you is exactly cozy , but the air between you feels warmer for that little exchange, the newfound fuzziness lasting until the tall and gilded arc of a lavish dining room stands before the two of you, beckoning in.

Inside, the dining room gleams with you might bitterly call opulence . The long table stretches nearly half the length of the room, carved from a dark wood polished to a mirror’s finish. Gold filigree edges the surface, intertwining in swirling patterns that catch the warm glow of the lanterns overhead. The chairs are high-backed and cushioned, draped in fine fabrics with purple and gold-threaded embroidery. The centerpiece is a grand arrangement of flowers- peach blossoms and chrysanthemums interspersed with glowing lotuses.

The sheer decadence is suffocating .

MK gasps loudly at the sight, his wide eyes reflecting the glittering splendor. You squeeze his hand again, grounding him, grounding yourself. The boy looks up at you, half in wonder, half in unease. You feel it too- the crushing weight of not belonging. This isn’t your world. Not really. Not ever.

Not yet.

A man; dressed as elegantly as the woman that you presume to be his wife, is stocking the table with loaded plates. Not a drop spills onto his gold-lined white tangzhuang, no matter how much he moves.

“It’s an honor to be serving you again, Lord Xiaotian. And an honor to serve his savior, dear child.

He pushes up the bridge of his circular glasses, causing a sharp gleam to roll over them before coming over to usher you both in.

“Now, please- take your seats.”

There’s two chairs set aside specifically, both piled with stiff cushions to help someone of the height-disadvantaged reach the table- MK’s is especially egregious, containing no less than four.

Speaking of the boy, he tugs at your hand again, his curious eyes shifting between you and the chair meant for him. “Can we really sit here?” he whispers, voice laced with awe and a hint of anxiety.

Before you can answer, Macaque’s low voice cuts through the air as he and Wukong stride into the room after you, affably clapping their servant on his shoulders. “Of course you can,” he says, his tone soft but firm as both golden eyes land on you both. “This is your home now, Xiaotian. You can be wherever you want.”

Home. The word burns.

Maybe it sears even worse than the branding iron that haunts your dreams.

You take the seat beside his, allowing the cushion to sink as best it can under your meager weight, providing a nice abatement to your sore legs- though the cream Macaque had used to clear out grime and dirt had stopped burning not long after it was used, there was a dull ache left from both the concoction and, well… everything , really.

The man with glasses places bowls of warm, sweet-smelling rice porridge before you and MK, forcing your eyes to the bowl. The simple meal is an obvious concession to your past, but the presentation is impeccable, garnished with thin slices of banana and a drizzle of honey. It’s almost too beautiful to eat. Almost .

MK digs in immediately , tiny hands clutching the spoon with the clumsy enthusiasm only a child could muster. His muffled hum of delight sounds out at the first bite, drawing adoring coos from the two kings, and a faint, weary smile from you.

He deserves this, you think. He deserves a hundred lifetimes of warm meals, safe beds, and more love than his little heart could stand to hold.

You, however, hesitate. The porridge is still steaming, the honey forming golden rivulets over the creamy surface, but you can’t bring yourself to taste it just yet. It feels foreign, indulgent in a way that grates against the life you’ve lived- against the life that has shaped you into a scrapes-by survivor accustomed to spare bits of fuel.

You manage to lift the spoon and take a small bite.

The honeyed porridge is warm and sweet, slices of ripe banana on top to add a buttery texture that melts effortlessly on your tongue, imbuing a whisper of richness to each bite.

It’s good. Too good. It makes your chest ache.

Hunger is the world you have known, sprinkled through every aspects of your life in pieces. In the cold of winter on your stick-thin ribs, never enough meat to keep warm. In the gnawing ache that follows you to sleep. In the morning, curling like smoke in your chest as you wake, already weary. Hunger walks beside you, a shadow that stretches long.

A word heartbreakingly uttered from the lips of your darling little brother, spurring you to further and further extremes to keep him fed.

But today you are both full and warm, dressed and clean.

The thought pricks your eyes with tears, and the spoon seizes as a lump grows in your throat.

You could have never given this to MK.

The movement of your unwieldy hand grows faster and faster, shoveling more and more of the sweet porridge into your mouth, smearing it over your lips as tears begin to fall. Your spare hand drifts downwards to cusp the mildly growing curve of your stomach, feeling the meal compound through you. You drop the intricate spoon, and it clatters uselessly to the ground. In favor of scooping the meal bite by bite into your mouth, you do the simplest- and more importantly, fastest- thing possible.

You upend the contents directly into your mouth, the honeyed porridge spilling past your lips and onto your chin and cheeks. You drain it to the last drop and lick the remnants like a starving dog, and then set down the exquisite piece of china to reveal the tears dribbling over the sticky mess across your face.

“I want more,” you beg, voice plain and will broken. “Please, I-“

“ I don’t want to be hungry anymore.”

“…get them another bowl,” says Macaque, looking at you more closely than ever before. “As many as they need.”

”Until they’re full.”

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

Heatwave

Hiromi Higuruma x Reader SMUT, 18+ only, MDNI ao3

The power is out in your apartment, a record heatwave has been raging for three days. You're hot, you're exhausted, you're miserable. Your husband has the perfect plan to help you sleep.

This was inspired by the other night when my power went out and I was miserable sweating in bed and wasn’t the nicest to my partner, sorry baby, I love you. Thanks for understanding. <3 enjoy y’all.

It was hot. Too fucking hot. Skin meltingly hot. Brain boiling-ly hot. The heatwave had been going on for two days already, and previously it had been a nuisance that you could escape from in the chill of your air conditioned apartment. But this evening the power went out, plunging the small two bedroom into not only darkness, but slowly rising heat that was now becoming unbearable.

It was past midnight, the window in your and Hiromi’s bedroom was open, allowing some air to circulate, but did next to nothing to mitigate the heat. You couldn’t sleep if you wanted to, you had kicked off the covers, leaving your body exposed, you had forgone pajamas and desperately craved the icy blow of your bedroom fan, sitting impotently at your bedside. Your husband, Hiromi, was asleep next to you, or you assumed he was asleep. He hadn’t been moving, he was turned on his side, facing away from you. He too, had opted to sleep naked, the heat bothering him just as much. You were so envious of him right now, all you wanted to do was sleep. You had to work in a few hours, and you knew the longer you were up sweating, the more irritable you would be tomorrow. You huffed in frustration, feeling angry tears stinging your eyes. You just wanted to sleep.

“Still awake?” Hiromi’s sleep-thickened voice erased the silence of the bedroom.

“Yes.” You hissed miserably, turning your head to face him as he rolled over to lay on his other side toward you.

The covers were bunched around his legs, one of his long legs above the comforter, one tucked underneath. He was sweating too, his tan skin glistening in the faint moonbeams that streaked through the bedroom window. He looked like he was shimmering, small droplets of sweat peppering every inch of him. You looked at his sleepy eyes, focused closely on you in the dark. His heart ached seeing your brows furrowed and your frowning lips. His large, wiry hand touched your cheek lightly, his fingertips cool against your skin. For once his poor circulation was coming in handy.

“My love…” his tone was apologetic, as though he had turned off the power himself, and imposed this misery upon you.

Hiromi’s cold fingers felt so nice against your flushed cheek, a moan slipped through your lips, coaxing a smile from him. He trailed his fingertips down your cheek bone and across your lips, the feverish heat of your body soon robbing his fingers of their chill. You once again were too hot and too sweaty, altogether too uncomfortable to sleep.

You sat up frustrated, burying your head in your hands, finishing your hair wet with sweat. Hiromi sat up scooted closer to you, he wanted desperately to hold you, cuddle you back to sleep and help you rest. But he knew touching you would only make you both hotter so he opted to rest against one of his arms and watch you closely.

“Maybe I should just get in the shower, it’ll cool me off for a little while.” You mumbled into your knees, already dreading the idea of showing in the pitch dark of your bathroom.

You had no window in the bathroom so even the moonlight couldn’t penetrate that darkness. You weren’t afraid of the dark, no one liked the dark. Especially not being naked and vulnerable in the dark. This sparked an idea in Higuruma’s mind. He slipped out of bed, standing to his full height, and sliding on his discarded boxer shorts from the previous day. He crossed around the bed and kissed your forehead.

“One second.” His voice was giddy with excitement as he padded through the dark into the kitchen.

You could hear the opening and shutting of the refrigerator, some cupboards, followed by the sound of Hiromi giggling to himself. How he could manage to be so happy while you were so miserable, you had no idea, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be upset with him. He was usually so serious, so sullen and focused all the time from overwork and his own battle with depression. Whatever he was up to was clearly bringing out the smiley and excitable man you had fallen in love with.

“Close your eyes,” his voice came from the otherside of the bedroom door, you obliged.

You felt him approach you, feeling the energy of his body closing in on yours. You couldn’t fight the smile on your lips as he stopped in front of you, you wanted to reach out and hold onto his hips in anticipation. But before you could move, you felt something against your mouth, gloriously cold, so perfectly, soothingly numbing that you gasped. Your eyes snapped open to see Higuruma kneeling before you, a bowl of ice resting next to him. He was sliding one ice cube against your bottom lip, cool water dripping down your chin as it melted.

“Oh Hiro…” you mewled out, grateful tears picking at your eyes, full and wet looking at him with so much love.

“Let me help you cool down, love. Lay back,” he leaned over you, standing again, encouraging you to lie on your back.

You let your back hit the sheets, already feeling some relief from the ice cube he slid down your neck. Goosebumps appeared in their wake, he was hypnotized by watching you change. Watching the ice melt so quickly against your burning skin, watching you release the tension that had been building since the heatwave began. Once the cube in his hand had melted completely, he splayed his icy, wet fingers on your stomach, opting to get the next cube with his mouth, using you for support to lean down. Grabbing the ice between his teeth he started lower this time, dragging it up your shin, water dripping down your calf muscle as he did. Contented moans slipped from your lips as you watched him. Your hands found his hair, expressing your gratitude with your nails against his scalp.

“Hiromi,” you cooed down to him, “ thank you, thank you.”

He was feeling pretty pleased with himself, pulling such beautiful praises from you with his little improvisation. The ice in his mouth was near melting and he sucked it in quickly, cooling his mouth, and kissed the juncture of your hip and your leg. Your hips twitched up barely at the chilled contact, but he noticed.

Higuruma wished he could say this was an entirely selfless pursuit, but the heat wasn’t the only thing keeping him awake tonight, he had roused himself near an hour ago now sporting a massive erection that hadn’t left him since. It had been too hot to fuck the last two nights and he was desperate for you. You were too, but tonight’s frustration had driven you mad before you had time to consider sex.

This time he held one cube in his mouth, and another in between his fingers. His hand held the cube to your lips, which you quickly began sucking at, suddenly noticing your dehydration. Proud of how well you could read his mind, he chuckled to himself, ice still in his mouth and leaned over you. He was kneeling between your legs, body caging you into the bed, as he dipped his head down to your collarbone, sliding the ice against the bone, and up your neck. Your satisfied sounds grew shaky, feeling a whole new form of stimuli. His fingers pushed the ice between your lips, then followed closely into the cavern of your mouth. You wrapped your lips around his middle and index fingers, sliding your tongue along where surface tension held the melted line of water.

He trailed the ice cube in his mouth down, between your breasts, marveling at how quickly your nipples erected themselves. His free hand wrapped around your right breast and he brought the ice across to circle the mound itself. You whimpered around his fingers. Hiromi smiled like a cat. He was so painfully hard, but not even his own pleasure could tempt him away from you right now. You sounded so beautiful under his touch, gasping as he added new ice, tongue slurping around his fingers, your back arching off the mattress as he circled your nipples.

“They’re melting right off of you, faster than I can replace.” He noted, catching your eye from his place between your breasts, “are you feeling cooler?”

You nodded helplessly, he looked so delicious to you like this. Mouth dripping, eyes blown out, his strong nose, his sharp features, his inky hair messy from your tugging.

He couldn’t help himself, he slithered back up to your face, kissing you desperately. Higuruma had always been an excellent kisser, but there were times like tonight where his passion was overwhelming. He kissed you like he was trying to spill all the love trapped in his chest directly into your open mouth. His tongue was like a creature of its own, exploring every texture of your mouth like he was studying you. The ice had cooled his mouth, yours too, so the kiss was creating its own hurricane. Chilled saliva mixing with hot, panting breaths.

You reached down, trying to reach the waistband of his boxers and slide them away, but his torso was so long you were coming up short. You grasped fruitlessly between your bodies, whimpering against his kisses.

“Off, baby, off, please. I need you.” You crooned against his lips, arching your chest into his own, your hands grabbing at his back.

You needed him so bad. He had already helped you so much, but he had fogged your mind completely. You weren’t sure how long you two had been playing his little ice game, but you were sure that it was enough time to have your pussy pulsating in desire. Hiromi chuckled at your pained pleas.

“You need some help, baby?” He slid his tongue against yours again so you couldn’t answer, “you need me to take care of you, is that it?”

You hated (loved) when he got cocky like this. Clearly so happy with himself for finding the solution to your ailments, you were sure that if the lights were on you could see him beaming with pride. You nodded again, hoping he wouldn’t do exactly what he did next.

“Say it.”

“Hiiiiiro…please it’s too hot…please.”

“Not until you say it.” He continued his kisses against your chin and neck, your body starting to heat itself again.

“Hiromi please, I need it so bad. I need you so bad. Please help me, Hiro.” You folded.

You rarely asked for help, in your marriage, in your personal life, at work. The phrase help me existed very rarely in your life, and you liked it that way. You were a capable woman, you didn’t like having to rely on anyone else. Even Higuruma, especially Higuruma. You loved him, and you did need him, but you hated admitting it. You hated the idea that one day the help you required from him would be too much, and he would resent you. But he loved it. He needed you to lean on him, he craved being needed by you. Times where you had fallen sick, and he had been able to wait on you hand and foot were some of his favorites. Obviously he hated when you were uncomfortable, but you so rarely asked anything of him. He wanted so badly to be there to help you. And here it was, a perfect opportunity for him to do just that, and he had. And he had heard you ask him, really ask him, for help. He nearly came untouched right then.

Hiromi quickly shed his underpants and kissed you again, deep and hard, his teeth clinking yours as he could no longer restrain himself. Your hands flew to his neck, pulling him closer to you. You hooked your legs up over his hips and released him for a moment so he could align himself at your core. His dark eyes met yours and you thought his pupils had turned to little hearts as he sheathed himself inside of you.

Everything about Hiromi Higuruma was long. His hands, his fingers, his legs, his nose, his body, and his cock was no exception. It seemed to go on forever as he penetrated you, pushing against your cervix and angling upwards to kiss the spot inside of you that sent stars into your vision. He let out a low howl, his eyes rolling back in his head, hands bruising your hips as he bottomed out.

“Fuck…” he cursed against the skin of your neck.

You whined, turning your head to the side and allowing him more access to your neck, you loved the feeling of his mouth kissing and biting you. The skin of your neck so sensitive, his teeth just barely scraping against the thin, taught skin. He pulled your thigh higher up on his hip, holding it back and allowing him to thrust deeper into you. The sounds of his balls slapping against your ass blended so perfectly with his low, throaty groans, and your choppy whimpers. His body shuddered as your walls clenched around him.

“Baby I’ll cum if you do that, stop.” His voice broke as he moved himself up into his hands, hips jerking into you uncontrollably.

“I want you to cum,” you moved your hands up his torso and chest, then up to his neck, you mewled against him once more, arching off the bed again, “cum inside me, Hiro. Please baby. You feel so good.”

He did, he filled you so completely, he always had, he knew exactly what you needed. He moved one of his hands to yours, bringing it to his mouth and kissing your fingers, regaining control over his thrusts and his breath. His other hand moved over your knee on his hip and down your thigh, bringing his thumb to your throbbing clitoris. You let out a shaky squeal, your jaw dropping in surprise.

“Then you’ll cum too.” He circled your clit perfectly, knowing your body maybe even better than you did.

Hiromi was an excellent, generous lover. He wanted to make you cum again and again before he did. In usual circumstances he would have pulled your orgasm from you with his fingers, then again with his tongue, then once more alongside him as he fucked you. But this was not a usual circumstance, his sweat dripped down his nose, your velvet walls felt so perfect around him, as though you were crafted just for him. Maybe you were? Maybe you and he were created just for one another, to please and love one another forever.

Your eyes fluttered closed as his efforts had your orgasm quickly approaching. Your hands gripped at his back and shoulders, loving the feeling of his lean muscle under your trembling fingers. The only thing leaving your lips was his name chanted over and over again. He could stop his hips from punishing your cervix more and more, his own voice croaking and moaning intelligibly.

“Baby please…I…oh fuck.” Hiromi was teetering on the edge of climax.

“I know. Me too. I love you.” You brought your hand to his face guiding it down to press your foreheads together.

His thrust became slower and more direct toward your g spot, his thumb continuing to rub your clit, your orgasm bubbling up inside of you.

“Kiss me.” Your voice was barely audible, but Hiromi connected your lips instantly.

That was the perfect, final push you both needed to climax together. He pumped twice more, deep inside of you, you could feel the stream of cum painting your insides. He could feel you fluttering around him. You kept your lips connected, panting into each other’s mouths. He stayed inside of you, making sure to keep his cum as deep as he could. The intimacy of being engulfed by you, and you being filled to the brim with him, bodies as close as two people can be, sweat and spit and cum combining together, it had you delirious.

“I love you.” You both breathed out, giggling afterwards at your moment of synchronization.

You clenched up around him once again as he pulled out.

“You tease” he shook his head before moving to lay next to you, catching his breath.

You lay side by side panting together, the endorphins flooding both of your bodies, slowly fading, and the heat returning to your bedroom. You reached over to hold his hand, turning to face him. He looked up at the ceiling, eyes closed, his hooked nose angled up, mouth open. He was playing the evening back in his mind, luxuriating in the warmth of your love and the celebration of that love that you two shared. He intertwined his fingers with yours and turned to face you, his eyes softening as soon as they locked with yours. He took in a breath to profess his love to you once more, but cutting him off the lights suddenly came back on. The whirring of your air conditioner started again, and your bedroom fan began humming. You both smiled in awe. Already feeling the change in the air of your bedroom, you sighed happily, snuggling into Hiromi’s side. He quickly wrapped his arms around you and pulled the comforter over the pair of you.

“One of us has to get up and turn the lights off, you realize.” He kissed your forehead.

You groaned before peeling yourself from his side and starting to migrate to the wall switch. He pulled you back down by your arm making you bounce against the mattress.

“Oh stop, you know you’re not doing it.” He rolled his eyes and stood, his long legs needing only a few strides before he could flip the switch and darken the room again.

You were completely spoiled by him. You were so lucky to be with him, to be loved by him. He had gone so far out of his way tonight to help you feel comfortable. Hiromi slipped back into bed next to you, pulling you back into his embrace, burying his face in your neck.

“I love you, Hiromi.” You kissed his temple. “Thank you.”

“I love you too.” He kissed your cheek, you felt your eyes start to droop as cool air finally curl over your body.

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Tag request!

@buttercupbitches I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for being my first person to ask for a tag request!!