#SURGE MAN FROM THE TEMPLE OF THE GOLDEN HAND

[coconut530]

CRACKED EGG 💙⁉️🏃🥺❤️

[holidayinhell]

CWs: threats of noncon, gunplay

“Put your hands up, you piece of shit.”

“Now Whumpee--”

“Quiet.” Whumpee snapped. “I’m not fucking around.” 

Whumper took a step back, breaking his usual pattern of intimidation. He raised a brow inquisitively, his lips twitching to form an amused grin.

“Put your fucking hands up.” Whumpee repeated forcefully.

“Riiight…”

“Do it.” His grip tightened around the handle of the gun. “I'm not afraid to shoot you.”

“Really. You’re gonna kill me, Whumpee-boy?” The tall man half-chuckled. “That’ll be the day.”

The metallic click of the revolver’s hammer echoed in response.

Point taken.

“Ugh. You’re no fun.” Reluctantly, Whumper heeded Whumpee’s warning, sighing as he removed his hands from his oversized hoodie pocket, slowly lifting them above his head. For the first time during Whumpee’s captivity, his cruel smirk faltered.

“Give a coward a gun and suddenly they think they’re invincible.” The tall man grumbled under his breath. There was no way Whumpee would actually shoot him. He didn’t have the balls.

“Just shut up.”

“Ooh, scary.” Whumper taunted. He reeled his head back and spat in Whumpee’s direction, the wet splat landing only inches from the other's bare feet. 

Whumpee’s eyes flicked up to meet Whumper’s, blazing furiously.

He inched closer to Whumper with careful, measured steps, keeping the barrel of the gun leveled steadily at the monster's chest. 

“Woah woah woah. Easy tiger.” Whumper said playfully. He maintained the intense eye contact as he slowly lowered his hands back to his sides, palms facing out in a mock display of submission. 

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” He chuckled, tucking his hands back into the oversized hoodie pocket.

“This isn’t a joke.” Whumpee warned. “Put your fucking hands up, or I’ll make you.” 

“Naw.” The tall man said, drinking in Whumpee’s increasing agitation. His sadistic eyes glinted with challenge. “Guess you’ll have to make me.”

“I’ll end you right now. I mean it. Nothing would make me happier than watching you bleed out.” Whumpee clenched his jaw. “Killing you would be the easy route, though. Death is too good for you. It's not even a fraction of what you deserve. So for the last goddamn time, fucking listen to me.”

“Fucking listen to me,” Whumper repeated sarcastically, voice dripping with contempt. “You really know how to demand respect, Whumpee. I’m confused, are you gonna shoot me, or are ya gonna torture me? 'Cuz you’ve got me absolutely shitting my pants over here.”

Whumpee felt a surge of adrenaline, the weight of the confrontation pressing down on him as he struggled to maintain his composure.

“How ‘bout this, you trigger-happy little cunt,” Whumper said wickedly. “Give me the gun now, and I won’t fuck you with it later.”

The threat made Whumpee’s blood boil. 

That’s it. Time for Whumper to die. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Whumpee took a step forward and planted the muzzle of the gun against Whumper’s temple. He squeezed the trigger. 

The hammer flicked forward, eliciting an empty click.

The gun didn’t fire.

Time froze. 

The dull sound echoed in the silence. 

Whumpee couldn’t hear anything other than his heart thundering in his chest. 

His wide eyes darted down to the revolver, disbelief written across his face. Panic flooded in.

A wide grin spread across Whumper’s chin as he removed a hand from his pocket. Six golden bullets rolled in the palm of his hand, glinting in the light. Whumper pinched one between his fingers, turning it over as he marveled at it.

“Surprised?”

With a flick of his wrist, he released the remaining five bullets from his palm. They cascaded to the concrete floor with five distinct clangs.

“If you’re gonna shoot someone, you might want to make sure the fucking gun is loaded.”

Whumpee froze in disbelief.

How could he have been so stupid?

He didn’t react when Whumper lunged at him, twisting the gun from his sweaty hands. He didn’t fight back when the cold metal smacked against his temple, heavy and sharp, sending him hurtling into the concrete, cracking his skull into the ground.

Everything went black. A trickle of blood flowed down his cheek.

Whumper towered over him, a victorious grin plastered across his face.

"I enjoyed your game, Whumpee. Let's play another."

He loaded the single bullet into the revolver, clicking the cylinder closed.

“You ever play Russian Roulette?”

((more Whump oneshots))

[cordyce]

"i don’t like the way they keep staring at you." w/ peeta 'if it weren't for the baby' mellark? :3

truthfully, your hands are beginning to grow a little shaky from doing this for so long. the minor tremble is smudging your paint strokes, causing a few swipes to stray from the imaginary lines you have mapped out in your head. but no one can fault you for that; not rightfully. you're not the skilled painter here.

and as if on cue the man who's art you adore so much is sliding up next to you. painfully close–abnormally close, more like. you are not a stranger to his affection but something about how a calloused hand finds the divot in the small of your back so swiftly has you tipping your head to address him. in such a public venue, no less.

"yes?" you adhere as you turn to peeta with a smile. but a smile is not what you're greeted with in return. no, this upturn of lips is a little too slanted for that, a little too suave.

"nothing, just came to admire the expert at work." it's all he says, all he gives, and you know it cannot be all there is because he has that glint in his eye he only gets when he is being smarmy.

"right, well, we both know i'm not the expert here, so," you blow through a chuckle as you drop your paintbrush into a murky cup of water. "what is it you really came over here for, mr. mellark?"

you turn to face him properly and expect this to be where he drops his hands, looses his hold on you. but he does exactly the opposite. instead of feigning, his fingers simply shift–down to your belt loops. there's a single tug; harsh and surging enough you can now feel the heat of his thighs radiating against yours.

"i don't like the way they keep staring at you." and it's jolting; how he says it with such a sickeningly sweet tongue and cherry pressed lips, as if his eyes aren't glinting like the blades of daggers in moonlight.

you lick your lips, force a laugh as you pat at his chest to stave off the turn of your stomach. "please, they're probably just admiring my expert painting skills. this is a dog and pony show, you know."

it's meant to be a jab, a taunt. throwing peeta's own words back in his face to throw him off and maybe turn his grin a little more genuine and a little less guileful. yet all it does is seem to cause his lips to twitch ever deeper, carve their way up to the dimple in his cheek.

"i know what they're admiring, and it isn't your canvas."

he side steps you, picks your brush back up and in one swift motion tosses it behind him in such a way it looks like a mere accidental dropping. an accident, that seems to have splattered the red stain directly on that of a capital patron who is positioned a little closer than you thought they were allowed to be to the.. entertainment.

eyes slightly widened, there is no denying the skip of your heart now as peeta's lip brush against the shell of your ear. "you belong in a gallery all of my own. a stunning, private collection," he whispers.

then with no more than an innocent kiss to your temple and a squeeze to your hip, he's gone. rushing to retrieve your brush and usher out apologies through his golden boy personage, his charm winning as it always does in favor of the capitol. and you are left dazed, wanting nothing more than to shrink into your skin. not because of the peering and prying eyes of the entire nation; but because of the yearning and burning eyes of your lover.

[softmangoes]

true terror | ivory wraith x pc

18+ only

the sun dips below the horizon, tinging the waters of the lake with the day's final golden rays.

you take a deep breath, filling your lungs with the scent of pine and the cold crisp of autumn. the wait is over: there will be a blood moon tonight.

before, you would await for that familiar pull to tug on your soul and reel you into the depths of the lake. those first few nights had felt like something out of a dream: a face made of moonlight, hands that brushed your skin as if to make sure you were real, eyes like shards of the night.

but at this point, you have made marking your calendar to count down the days a science. you have stowed away a bag of spare clothes in the forest. the waves lap at your ankles, beckoning you closer. you are so tired, so sore, and all you want to do is be engulfed by something that shouldn't even be possible.

once you wade until the waters have reached your chest, you take another breath and dive.

"beloved," a familiar voice hums once you surface. you don't quite hear his voice so much as feel it. the specter's joy feels bright, like the gleam of moonlight illuminating the crevices of your soul.

with a grunt, you climb onto the stones, gripping the length of rope you anchored into the ruin during your last visit. the inside of the old temple is lit with a soft glow. he is here. the abomination. the monster. the ghost that haunts you and your heart.

you expect to see his gentle smile to celebrate your arrival. but at the sight of you, the wraith falls silent.

he sees the bruises darkening your throat, listens to your ragged breaths, watches as the tears swell and stream from your eyes.

"i missed you," you say, trying to manage an assuring smile. oh, he's so beautiful. you don't want to ruin your time together with your pain. "i didn't want to keep you waiting."

like a wave, the specter surges in front of you. his hands are balled into fists.

"who made you weep?" he says slowly, reeling in his rage as a riptide pulls a current back to the depths of the ocean.

"i'm fine," you begin to say, but before you can continue, the wraith extends a cold hand to your face and wipes a tear from your cheek. he brings his finger to his mouth, tastes the wet bead of your sorrow.

in that moment, the wraith sees the memory of a vile figure of a man with dark hair and an even darker heart. his hands are around your throat, telling you that you are worthless. that you better pay up or else.

when the specter's eyes open, they are nothing but endless wells of blue. his expression is placid. glassy. the calm before the storm.

"i will rend their flesh from their bones." ghostly tentacles manifest around him, writhing and roiling in the air as if itching to capture and constrict their prey. "they will bear witness to true terror."

"hey," you say softly, taking one of their hands in yours. you two only ever have so much time. already, the moon begins to wane. "i'm okay, alright? i promise."

the wraith softens. his tentacles calm. you are just how you have always been. how he has always loved you: gentle, optimistic, hopeful.

and in all the lives you have lived, you have always been a bad liar.

"the world is unkind." he gathers you into his arms and presses his lips against your temple. "but here, you will always be safe."

you sigh, the tension of the last few days leaving your body. it is only in the arms of an aberration that you can finally find solace. after a few moments, you fall asleep to his fingers running through your hair and the hum of a song that sets your soul at ease.

but soon the night ends as it always does. the wraith places your sleeping form back onto your bed.

his eyes are as red as the moon.

you are safe, as he promised. the hunt begins. you do not hear the screams that pierce through the night.

when you wake up the next morning, bailey's office is empty. you do not see him the day after. or the next.

[nidhi-writes]

CHAPTER - III | HIS NIYATI

MASTERLIST

one | two | three | four

The morning sun cast a golden glow over Mahishmati, and as I stepped onto the balcony, I couldn't help but marvel at the day's warmth. Devasena and Baahubali had left early with Kattappa to visit the temple, leaving a note explaining they hadn't wanted to wake me. Smiling at Devasena's thoughtfulness, I gazed at the sunlit kingdom stretched before me, the grandeur and beauty somehow more vivid than even the films I'd watched back in my world. How could this be fictional when I was living it?

Also, my heart string tugged at the images of the last few days; Bhallaldeva has been crowned as a King, and to witness such a grand scene in front of me made me feel out of the world; this time, I am not viewing it outside of the screen, but I sat next to Devasena and watched the whole ordeal, the way people wanted Baahibali but yet the Crown passed to Bhalla who has his arrogant smirk on his face all the way the end but yet whenever his eyes met mine it held something else which I am not able to put the finger on.

I shook my head, returned to the present, and gathered myself to meet them at the temple or perhaps ready myself for their return; something caught my eye—a pond just across the grounds. It sparkled invitingly, and before I knew it, Quickly, I slipped into a simple white cloth that hugged my form modestly, and without hesitation, I slipped into the cool water. The feeling was pure bliss. The water enveloped me, washing away any lingering doubts and fears, leaving me refreshed and weightless. My mind felt as clear as the sky above, my worries sinking below the surface. Here, in this hidden pond, life didn't feel complicated. Just simple, beautiful, and strangely... peaceful.

But reality has its way of reminding us of its presence.

As I began to leave the pond, I stepped onto a mossy stone and felt my foot slip. My arms flailed, bracing for the cold plunge back into the water when a hand grabbed me firmly. I collided with a broad chest, the strength of the arms holding me steady, their warmth sinking into me even as my heart raced. I gasped, regaining my balance, and looked up to thank my saviour.

"Thank you—"

My words trailed off as my gaze met the steely eyes of Bhallaladeva himself, his face barely an inch from mine. The notorious Bhalla, the very man whose gaze alone could command armies, now held me close, his eyes locked onto mine with a piercing intensity that froze me.

It was more than I had expected, more intense than anything I'd prepared for, standing here in the embrace of Mahishmati's most dangerous man. And yet, as Bhallaladeva looked down at me, his gaze softened. I'd only seen his eyes filled with something harsh and calculating, like a storm brewing beneath the surface. But now, in the quiet of this early morning, his expression held a warmth, a flicker of something... else. It was enough to make my heart quicken, even as I tried to keep my composure.

I could feel the cool morning air pricking at my damp skin, sending a shiver down my spine. My soaked form clung to me, and droplets fell from my hair like small streams trailing along my cheeks. I swallowed, trying to steady myself as his eyes trailed over my face, lingering, almost as if he were memorising each detail.

Without a word, his hand moved to tuck a few stray strands behind my ear, his fingers grazing my skin with the lightest touch. I knew I should step back and pull away before anyone caught us, but I felt rooted in place, almost as if his presence had drawn me in like a magnet. Every time I considered retreating, his hand anchored me, his steady gaze holding me captive.

With a surge of unfamiliar anticipation, I realised I didn't want to leave.

As his fingers moved, his thumb traced a delicate path along my jawline, lingering there as his hand settled firmly on my waist. I was acutely aware of how close we were, how his chest was pressed against mine, firm. I could even feel his abs through the thin material, a steady reminder of the power he carried. My heart raced in a way I couldn't control.

"K-King Bhallaladeva..." I managed, though my voice barely sounded like my own.

He only chuckled softly, sounding equal parts amusement and something deeper. His lips turned into a slow, almost indulgent smile as his eyes settled on me again. "You don't need to address me so formally," he murmured, his voice like a warm breeze, his gaze not breaking away.

I felt a strange thrill race through me, my heart hammering as his thumb brushed my skin again as if lingering to prolong the moment. And for now, I couldn't look away.

Unable to say another word, I watched as he finally stepped back, a strange expression in his eyes. But before leaving, he gave me a look that lingered longer than I expected, a look that left a warmth in my chest and a tangle of emotions I wasn't ready to name.

After that unexpected morning encounter with the King, I managed to keep my distance, though some seemed to ache for his warmth. I kept reminding myself that this infatuation had no future. Maybe it was just because Bhallaladeva, or rather Rana, the actor who portrayed him, was undeniably handsome. But then, if it were just about looks, shouldn't I have felt the same around Baahubali? Yet, it was different with him—Baahubali felt like a brother, a friend, someone I could admire but not romantically.

The day passed, and Devasena returned from the temple, glowing with a joy I hadn't seen in her before. It was odd to see her so giggly and blushing—she, who was usually so composed and strong, now seemed wrapped up in the happiness Baahubali brought to her. I suppose that's the power of a man who truly knows his strength. The wedding was set to occur the day after tomorrow, and Devasena wanted me close by her side through it all. I felt honoured and threw myself into making sure every detail was perfect for what felt like a real-life fairytale wedding.

I also made sure to avoid any further encounters with the King. For my peace of mind, I couldn't afford to feel that inexplicable draw to him again. With each passing hour, I busied myself with wedding preparations, arranging flowers, planning decorations, and helping Devasena choose her jewels—anything to keep my mind from wandering back to Bhalla.

Then, the wedding morning arrived. The air was alive with blissful energy, the entire kingdom adorned in celebratory colours, flowers, and lights that cast a warm glow over Mahishmati. I felt surprisingly emotional as I watched Devasena, radiant and fierce, join Baahubali at the altar. When they tied the knot, I saw a love so deep and natural between them that it made me believe in destiny, even for a moment.

For Devasena and Baahubali, this day marked the start of a powerful bond, a partnership as fierce and loyal as they both were. And even as I celebrated with them, my heart tucked away its quiet fluttering, locking away the memory of a morning gaze that I was determined not to revisit.

***

It had been a few days since I'd last managed to escape from Bhallaladeva's presence successfully. All the men, including Baahubali and the King, attended an important council meeting. I decided it was an excellent time to explore the palace grounds while avoiding any run-ins with Mahishmati's so-called "noblemen." Baahubali aside, I wasn't exactly thrilled by the company of most of them. These powerful men carried their authority as an excuse to intimidate and dominate. Sethupathi, Bhallaladeva's obnoxious friend, was the worst of them, with a gaze that made my skin crawl.

Caught up in my thoughts, I stared out over Mahishmati's breathtaking view when a prickling sense of dread crept up my spine. I turned slowly, only to see Sethupathi standing there, smirking, his eyes lingering where they shouldn't.

"What's a flower of Kuntala doing here all alone?" he said, stepping closer. I forced a smile that probably looked as thin as paper. The last thing I wanted was to encourage him, but it was better than showing my genuine disgust.

"Oh, I was just admiring the view. Devasena asked me to meet her, so I should be on my way," I said, attempting to slip past him.

But he sidestepped, blocking my path. "What's the rush? Doesn't the princess's friend know how to be polite?" He grinned with a leering look that made my stomach turn. If not for Baahubali and Devasena, I'd have scratched that smirk off his face by now.

I managed a tight smile. "Oh, I know how to be polite, but I choose not to waste it where it isn't deserved. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

Ignoring my hint, he edged even closer. "Why hurry away? We could spend a little time together." The suggestion sent a wave of nausea over me.

"I can't," I replied quickly, stepping back again. But he stayed in my way, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

"Could you move out of my way?" I asked, keeping my voice steady, though I could feel the irritation in my bones. Perhaps I should've been more assertive, but Sethupathi wasn't the type to take 'no' for an answer.

He leaned in, closer than I could bear. "And what if I don't want to?"

Just then, a voice broke through, booming and unmistakable. "Maybe you should leave the lady alone, Sethupathi."

I saw Bhallaladeva standing at a distance, his eyes blazing red like rubies.

Just like that, the repulsive Sethupathi transformed into a model of politeness under Bhallaladeva's sharp gaze. "We were just having a conversation, my King," he stammered, his meek tone making me want to roll my eyes. Baahubali would take care of him in the future anyway, so I let it go.

"Really?" Bhallaladeva's voice was laced with barely concealed menace. "Well, I'd rather you start on the task I assigned you." Sethupathi's face drained of colour as he nodded and scurried off, leaving me with a wave of relief and a small smile of triumph. But just as quickly, I remembered my predicament—alone now with the intense gaze of Mahishmati's powerful, enigmatic King.

His eyes seemed to pierce into my soul, carrying a depth I hadn't anticipated, something more than just authority. I tried to meet his gaze, but a warmth that was comforting and unsettling crept over me. His footsteps drew closer, and I focused intently on the ground, swallowing as my pulse quickened. If I dared to look up, I would be face-to-face with him, close enough to feel his breath. Unlike Sethupathi's repulsive proximity, being near Bhallaladeva stirred something different, a longing I didn't want to admit. My mind flashed to our brief but unforgettable encounter at the pond just days before.

"Won't you look at me?" His low voice sent a tremor through me, and I gasped softly, lips parting as I finally lifted my gaze. His dark brown eyes held mine, softer and more vulnerable than I'd ever seen, spilling over with an inexplicable warmth.

"Th-thank you, King," I whispered, struggling to keep my composure as his eyes drank me in, unwavering.

"It's my pleasure, Nandhini," he replied, my name slipping from his lips like a caress. Heat flooded my cheeks, and his gaze sparkled, noticing the flush on my face. As I stepped back, I felt the wall against my back, effectively trapping me. His hand reached up, fingertips tracing my cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was soft, almost reverent, leaving me breathless.

"My King..." I tried to speak, but my voice was barely audible.

"Look at me." This time, his tone held undeniable authority. "Call me Bhalla. Please."

A small smile tugged at my lips. This softer side of him was unlike anything I had expected, making me see him in an entirely different light. "But you're a king..." I stammered, trying to reason.

He shook his head gently, his thumb grazing my cheekbone, and my stomach twisted at his touch. I was overwhelmed by an inexplicable desire to feel his hands over every inch of me. What was happening to me?

"Okay... if that's what you wish, I'll call you Bhalla." His smile grew, but his gaze held a depth, a longing I couldn't quite place. Something was hidden in his expression, just out of my reach.

"Do you... remember me?" he asked, his voice dropping to an almost pleading tone.

I frowned slightly, trying to understand. "Remember you? What do you mean?"

But before he could answer, a voice echoed down the hallway. Devasena's voice broke the moment, shattering the intimacy that had enveloped us. Panicking, I gently pushed away from Bhalla, stepping aside quickly as I composed myself, not wanting to be seen alone with him.

Still, even as I hurried to meet Devasena, I could feel his gaze on me, lingering, intense, and filled with something I still couldn't name.

***

It had been almost eight months since I'd left Mahishmati and returned to Kuntala. Staying in one place too long felt stifling, especially when a certain someone was there, stirring up emotions I wasn't ready to face. Distance seemed like the best cure—one that would erase any fluttering feelings that had started to surface. Now, though, I was headed back for Devasena's baby shower, travelling with her brother and sister-in-law, trying to convince myself that both Bhalla and I would have forgotten each other by now.

As we arrived, Devasena practically jumped from her seat, a wide grin lighting up her face as she rushed over to embrace me. Over these months, we had exchanged countless letters, staying close despite the distance. Baahubali stood nearby, his warm smile a welcome sight, while Devasena pulled her family members into joyful hugs. 

The following day, the palace buzzed with life as everyone gathered to bless the soon-to-be parents, Devasena and Baahubali. Just as the ceremony began, an announcement echoed through the hall, signalling the entrance of Queen Mother Sivagami, King Bhallaladeva, and his father. I had never grown used to the sight of Sivagami Devi, once known to adore Baahubali beyond reason, now carrying herself like a distant stranger. She blessed Devasena but looked at her with barely any warmth, saying, "Be careful, Devasena. You are carrying the kingdom's heir."

I felt a surge of indignation, my stomach twisting at her words. Not Devasena, just the heir. She didn't care about Devasena's well-being; she only cared about the child. I shook off my frustration, not wanting to cause a scene, but the anger only grew as I caught sight of Bhalla, his eyes already fixed on me with a mischievous gleam. His lips curled into a smirk as he took in my form, and I quickly averted my gaze, trying to refocus.

After the blessing, Bhallaladeva congratulated Baahubali with a generous smile. "Brother, take some time to rest. Stay with Devasena until the baby is born. After all, the court can manage without you for a while. I'll make sure everything is taken care of," he said, voice silky, though I could sense the layers of implication beneath his offer.

Baahubali gave a slight nod, and just then, Sethupathi spoke up from his place beside Bhalla. "I'd be honoured to support you in your absence, Baahubali. I know Mahishmati needs its best hands."

My fists clenched, but I kept quiet. My hand rested on Devasena's shoulder as I felt her body tense beside me. Her jaw was set, and her eyes glared daggers at Bhallaladeva and Sethupathi.

"How dare he?" Devasena muttered under her breath as they exited the room. She turned to Baahubali, her voice shaking with anger. "You promised me, Baahu. You promised you'd do anything I asked. Well, now I'm asking you to stand up for yourself, for us. I want you to be King, Baahu!"

Baahubali looked torn, glancing between his wife and brother's retreating figure as if the world's weight rested on his shoulders. "Deva..." he began, his tone gentle, but the words failed him.

"Baahubali," she said firmly, hurt flashing across her face, "I need you to stop bending to others' will. Don't you see what Bhallaladeva is doing? He wants you out of the way so he can take your place!"

Baahubali's head dropped slightly, his silence only making her more agitated. Finally, I placed a hand on her arm, gently squeezing her.

"Come on, Deva," I whispered. "Let's go back to your room for now."

As I led her out, she looked back at Baahubali, disappointment evident in her gaze.

The urge to step in and change everything weighed heavily on me. I knew what would happen next, but I also knew how deeply Baahubali trusted his brother and loved his mother and kingdom. Even if I tried to warn him, would he believe me? His loyalty to his family would blind him to others' true nature.

The next day, Devasena asked me to accompany her to the temple. Memories of this day rushed back—this was the day Sethupathi would overstep his bounds and face Devasena's wrath. Determined to prevent the fallout that would lead to her and Baahubali being cast out, I quickly positioned myself to Devasena's right, leaving her on the left side, away from Sethupathi. If I could keep Sethupathi from trying anything inappropriate, maybe the future could still be salvaged.

As we approached the temple, Sethupathi gestured us out of the unique entrance reserved exclusively for the King. Devasena's eyes narrowed, sensing my frustration, and she nodded,  choosing the entrance meant for commoners instead. I walked alongside her, keeping a close eye on Sethupathi. His gaze wandered over other women, and I noticed the casual way he brushed his hand across one woman's back, making my stomach churn with disgust. My lips tightened, but I kept silent, hoping that enduring this would protect Devasena and Baahubali.

I was so focused on controlling my reaction that I didn't notice Devasena's eyes growing dark with anger. She had been watching the entire scene unfold—seeing me tense up and noticing Sethupathi's leering actions toward the women before us. Just as he reached a handout dangerously close to me, Devasena's patience snapped.

In one swift motion, she pushed me behind her, yanking a knife from Sethupathi's belt before I could even react. In a fluid motion, she slashed downward, cutting his fingers clean off. Blood splattered onto the temple steps, and Sethupathi's scream filled the air.

"Deva, stop!" I shouted, but my voice was swallowed by the shock that rippled through the gathering crowd.

"Don't you dare lay a hand on her," Devasena spat, her voice ice-cold, fury blazing in her eyes as she stood protectively before me.

Sethupathi clutched his bleeding hand, stumbling back in shock and pain. "You—how dare you! I am the King's trusted general!" he shouted, but his voice wavered with fear.

Devasena's voice cut through his protests like a blade. "Trust does not give you the right to disrespect any woman," she retorted. "Especially not under the guise of loyalty. Touch her again, and you'll lose more than a few fingers."

A part of me wanted to scream at her for her impulsiveness, but I also felt an overwhelming sense of pride and gratitude. She had risked everything to protect me without hesitation.

The court was tense, with Devasena shackled and surrounded by judgmental gazes. I stood nearby, fighting back tears as I watched her be treated like a criminal. Every whisper and every dismissive glance made me feel more helpless. My frustration boiled over as I shouted, "Is this how you treat your kingdom's daughter-in-law and the one carrying its heir?"

A hush fell over the court, and all eyes shifted to me. Queen Mother Sivagami's glare burned into me while King Bhallaldeva smirked from his throne, his gaze laced with something unnerving yet familiar. Just then, Sethupathi, still nursing his injured hand, sneered through gritted teeth, "Watch your tongue! You are speaking to the Queen Mother!"

Ignoring the tightening knot in my stomach, I met his gaze and let a faint smile play on my lips. "Maybe you should watch where you're inserting yourself, Sethupathi. Who knows, it might be more than just your finger that gets cut next time."

Sivagami's voice thundered through the hall, silencing every murmur. "Who gave you the right to speak in our court? A girl with no position should know her limits!"

Her scorn caused Devasena, silent until now, to spring to my defence. "Is this how you treat your people?" she demanded, her voice unyielding. "You arrested me without a fair trial, and now you're treating the girl who is like my sister with such disdain. Don't people in Mahishmati know how to show respect?"

Gasps echoed around us. Just then, Baahubali strode in, his presence commanding silence. His gaze darkened as he took in Devasena's shackled form, his fists clenching at her mistreatment.

"What happened, Devasena?" he asked, his voice deadly calm though his eyes were already burning with fury.

Devasena didn't hesitate, recounting Sethupathi's attempts to touch me inappropriately and the way he mistreated other women as well. I could feel the moment's weight, and as I glanced at Bhalla, his reaction caught me by surprise. His jaw was tight, his eyes locked on me with a mixture of rage and something else—a silent question, a need to know if this was true. Despite the situation, I found myself nodding, a tear escaping down my cheek. His subtle, acknowledging nod shook me, and I quickly refocused on the scene unfolding.

Sethupathi began stammering out a denial, but before he could finish, Baahubali advanced toward him in a swift, lethal motion. "In Mahishmati," he announced coldly, "a man who dares to dishonour women deserves no less than death." In one stroke, he drew his sword and, without hesitation, severed Sethupathi's head, the declaration echoing in the court.

Gasps filled the hall as Sethupathi's lifeless body collapsed to the floor.

***

As Baahubali and Devasena left the palace grounds, stripped of their titles and finery, I could only watch, my heart heavy. I had tried to follow their example, removing my jewellery in solidarity, but Devasena stopped me with a gentle, insistent look. "These jewels are from Kuntala," she said softly. "You don't need to part with them."

I pouted, wanting to share their fate, but she touched my shoulder. "When we leave, I want you to return to Kuntala. Be there, wait for us," she whispered firmly. I opened my mouth to protest, but her determined gaze silenced me. She wrapped me in a warm hug, kissed my cheek, and left, her figure retreating alongside Baahubali into the welcoming crowd. I watched them go, their people surrounding them with open arms, Kattappa by my side, his eyes brimming with tears as he bade them farewell. He gently patted my head, his comforting touch a silent reassurance.

As he led me back to my chamber to pack, a sense of anxiety gnawed at me. The palace that had once felt secure now seemed foreign, its stone walls cold and unwelcoming. I quickly gathered my things, eager to leave. As I was about to slip into the quiet night, footsteps echoed through the halls. Startled, I darted behind a pillar, my heart pounding as I held my breath.

The footsteps grew closer, steady and unhurried, and my pulse quickened. I dared a glance from behind the stone, and there he stood—Bhalla. His eyes locked on the pillar where I was hiding, and an unsettling smile curved his lips. "Well, well," he drawled, his voice like ice laced with fire. "The flower of Kuntala is shy now?"

I inched along the other side of the pillar, praying he would leave. But as I attempted to move toward the garden doors, a pair of strong arms looped around my waist, trapping me. He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear, and whispered in a chilling tone, "Gotcha."

A shiver ran through me as a single tear escaped, trailing down my cheek. Helplessly, I wondered what lay ahead—what plans he had for me now and whether I'd ever see the ones I cared about again.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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[frauschneidersfrau]

So, could you write a richard smut with Lots of fluff... maybe on a hot summer day, like that. Thankss :)

yay! thank you for this request! hope you enjoy!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 〣 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐤𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐞

the following story is indeed smutty, but the lovely kind. the warnings are as follows; it’s just sex.

-

THE SUN BLAZED HIGH IN THE SKY, casting a golden hue over the quiet countryside. A soft breeze teased the long grass, carrying the scent of wildflowers and the distant echo of cicadas. The heat was almost oppressive, pressing down like a heavy blanket, making the air shimmer and wave. In the middle of this sun-soaked paradise, you found yourself lying under the shade of a large oak tree, enjoying the brief respite from the relentless summer sun.

Next to you, stretched out lazily on the soft blanket, was Richard. His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing the glistening sheen of sweat on his chest, a few stray drops trailing down his toned abs. His dark hair was damp and tousled, falling carelessly over his intense eyes as he looked at you, a lazy smile playing on his lips. Despite the heat, or maybe because of it, everything felt slow and languid, the world seeming to narrow down to just the two of you in this secluded spot.

“Too hot for you?” Richard asked, his deep voice rough but teasing. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. The warmth of his touch sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“It’s perfect,” you replied, your voice soft, almost a whisper. “Just like this.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, resonating through the stillness. “You always know how to make a man feel good,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. His lips were warm, a contrast to the cool shade, and the simple touch made your heart flutter.

The two of you had escaped to this hidden spot, far from the chaos of his life on the road. Here, there were no cameras, no fans, and no distractions—just the hum of nature and the steady thrum of your heartbeats, in sync with each other.

You shifted closer to him, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. Richard wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your back. It was moments like these that you cherished the most—when the world fell away and it was just you and him, wrapped up in the simplicity of your love.

“You know,” he began, his voice a soft rumble, “I could stay like this forever. Just us, away from everything else.”

You smiled, closing your eyes as you savoured the feel of his heartbeat against your cheek. “Me too,” you murmured, your fingers trailing over his chest, feeling the rise and fall of each breath. “It’s perfect.”

The heat of the day wrapped around you both, a cocoon of warmth and comfort. Richard’s hand slid up to tangle in your hair, his fingers gentle, but firm as he tilted your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark.

“Come here,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, passionate kiss that seemed to melt the world around you. The warmth of his mouth, the taste of him, was intoxicating, making you lose yourself in the softness of his touch. His kiss was unhurried, savouring every second as if time had stopped, leaving only the two of you in this perfect, sun-drenched moment.

Without a word, you crawled over to him, straddling his hips. His hands immediately found your waist, fingers gripping tightly as he pulled you closer, his touch hot against your skin. You could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you, even through the layers of clothing, and it sent a surge of desire straight to your core.

“Richard…” you breathed, your voice thick with need. You leaned down, capturing his lips in a fierce, demanding kiss. He responded instantly, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that matched your own. His hands roamed your body, sliding under your shirt, his touch sending sparks of electricity across your skin.

“God, I want you,” he growled against your lips, his voice rough and raw. He pulled back just enough to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it aside carelessly before diving back in, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

You gasped, arching into him as his teeth grazed your sensitive skin. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, desperate for more. His hands slid down to your shorts, deftly undoing the button and pushing them down your hips. You lifted yourself just enough to help him, and in a matter of seconds, you were left bare before him.

Richard’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, his gaze smouldering with desire. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. He reached out, running his hands over your body, tracing every curve, every dip as if committing it all to memory.

The intensity of his touch, the heat of his gaze, sent a rush of arousal pooling between your thighs. You needed him—now. You leaned down, capturing his lips in another searing kiss, grinding your hips against him, feeling the hard length of his cock pressing against you. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, only stoking the fire that burned within.

“Patience,” he murmured, though his voice was strained as if he was barely holding onto control. His hands gripped your hips, stilling your movements as he rolled you onto your back, his body pressing down on top of yours. The weight of him, the feel of his skin against yours, was intoxicating.

But patience was the last thing on your mind. You reached down between you, unbuttoning his pants with trembling fingers, eager to feel him, to take him inside you. Richard hissed in pleasure as you freed his cock, the thick, rigid length pulsing with need. He kicked off his pants, leaving you both bare to each other, the heat of the day matched only by the fire in your veins.

For a moment, he paused, his eyes locked on yours, filled with an emotion that went deeper than just desire. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice rough with passion.

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice breathless, full of want.

And then, there was no more holding back. Richard claimed your mouth in a bruising kiss as he lined himself up with your entrance, pushing in slowly, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt inside you. The stretch, the fullness, was overwhelming, but it was everything you needed.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on. “Please, Richard,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back. “Don’t hold back.”

With a low growl, he began to move, each thrust deep and powerful, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The pace was slow at first, teasing, but it quickly grew more intense, more urgent. His hips snapped against yours, driving into you with a ferocity that stole your breath, his mouth leaving a trail of heated kisses along your collarbone, your neck, your lips.

Every movement, every touch, was filled with passion, with need. The world around you dissolved, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in each other, lost in the pleasure that built and built until it was almost too much to bear. You could feel the tension coiling in your belly, tight and hot, ready to snap.

“Come for me,” Richard growled, his voice rough, desperate. “Let go.”

His words were your undoing. With a cry, you shattered around him, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. Your body clenched around him, pulling him deeper, and with a few more powerful thrusts, he followed you over the edge, spilling into you with a low, guttural moan.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the summer evening. Slowly, Richard collapsed beside you, pulling you close, his arms wrapping around you as you both came down from the high.

He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice soft, full of awe.

You smiled, your heart still racing, but now with a deep, contented warmth. “So are you,” you murmured, snuggling closer into his embrace.

As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, the heat of the day gave way to the coolness of the night, but the warmth between you and Richard remained, burning brightly, as intense and passionate as ever.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the sultry air. “I love you,” he whispered, the words hanging between you like a promise.

You smiled, your heart swelling with an overwhelming sense of happiness and peace. “I love you too, Richard.”

With the sun sinking lower in the sky, the two of you lay together, content in each other’s arms, letting the warmth of the day fade into the coolness of the evening. There was no rush, no need to do anything but be together. As the stars began to peek through the twilight, you knew that this moment, this perfect, quiet love, was something you would carry with you always.

[dabilove27]

Chapter 5

Chapter 4 | Next Chapter

Paring: Shuji Hanma x Fem!Reader, Draken (Ken Ryuguji) x Fem! Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.1 K

Warnings: Pet name “Kitten" A spicy moment, weird guy who doesn't respect boundaries, language, and manipulative Hanma. Let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: Hello! If anyone is still waiting for this I'm so sorry it took so long! I opened a business and that took so much of my time but I never forgot about this piece. If you are still here thank you for being around!

Hanma’s POV

Hanma despised these meetings with a burning intensity. The sterile, gray conference room felt suffocating, devoid of life. A cacophony of voices, like a discordant symphony, filled the air. The acrid scent of stale coffee lingered, a constant reminder of the hours wasted in this soulless space.

As Hanma sat there, his mind wandered to the thought of being at home with you. He longed for the comfort of your presence, the soft touch of your hand in his. The mere mention of your name ignited a fire within him that refused to be extinguished. No matter how hard he tried, you were a constant presence, a vivid image that danced behind his closed eyelids.

Even after a year together, you continued to haunt his every thought. Your essence seeped into his very being, a sweet torment that he couldn’t escape. The weight of your absence pressed against his chest, a relentless reminder that he yearned to have you by his side.  

The vice captain’s voice droned on, a monotonous sound that seemed to blend with the dimly lit room. As he spoke, the faint scent of stale coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the musty odor of worn-out furniture. Though the speaker’s words attempted to capture his attention, his mind was elsewhere, replaying the memory of your lips, soft and warm, caressing him intimately. An almost tangible weight of anticipation hung in the air as he struggled to maintain focus. The speaker’s frustration grew clear, their voice snapping sharply, piercing through the haze of his thoughts. The sudden outburst jolted him back to reality, causing a surge of unease to ripple through his body. 

“Hanma!” the deep voice rumbled, its vibrations reverberating through the air, demanding his attention. Startled, Hanma’s senses snapped back to reality, leaving behind the tantalizing thoughts of you that had consumed his mind. His golden eyes locked with the intense gaze of the person before him, their black eyes brimming with frustration, emitting a palpable aura of annoyance.       

Hanma let out an exasperated sigh, the sound echoing through the room, drawing the attention of the man at the front. The glare he received from the man made Hanma’s skin prickle with discomfort. Leaning back in his chair, he nonchalantly shifted his weight, the creaking of the chair filling the air. With a flick of his tattooed hand, he motioned for the man to carry on, the intricate designs on his skin catching the light. 

Draken gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw tight as he continued updating everyone in the room about the status of the current projects, the air thick with tension. A palpable tension, thick as a summer fog, always hung in the air between them. Ever since Kisaki and Hanma joined Toman, their clashes were constant, a cacophony of insults and near-fights echoing through the halls. Little did they know that the mounting pressure, a growing tension like a tightening knot in their stomachs, would reach a breaking point as December approached. 

Once the meeting finally adjourned, Hanma, relieved, tried to slip out unnoticed, but a commanding voice stopped him. 

Fuck. Hanma rolled his eyes, the whites gleaming, a vein throbbing in his temple, before plastering a fake grin and turning towards the Vice Captain, his jaw tight. He really didn’t want to listen to the droning lecture, the monotonous voice washing over him, but he had no choice.

Draken, tall and imposing, stood at the front of the room, watching as the other members slowly filed out, their whispers echoing. 

Hanma sauntered up, sizing Draken. “What’s up, Ken–” 

However, Draken interrupted Hanma before he could reveal the captain's nickname for Draken. “Don’t call me that. You are grating on my last fucking nerve, Hanma. You’re fucking lucky you do your job so well, or you’d be out,” Draken’s voice was tense, and his words clipped.

Hanma only considered this a challenge, narrowing his golden eyes and smiling. Then he slipped and asked, “When was your last lay, man? You’re wound tighter than a clock.”

An exasperated sigh escapes the vice-captain. There’s no reasoning sometimes with Hanma. “Could you just focus on meetings? I know you’re so in love or whatever, but this is important shit.” His voice is abrupt, hoping that Hanma will leave and not push back.

But Draken’s wish wasn’t met that easily, “Aw, come on, what’s wrong? Is Emma not fulfilling your needs?” Hanma knew he was playing with fire, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the danger.  

“We’re not even–you know what, whatever, it’s not essential. Just try to focus on work when you’re at work.”   

Hanma broke into a mischievous grin. “Whatever you say, sir,” he chuckled as he approached the exit door. “But just wait until you see her at the Christmas party. Then you’ll understand why I can’t focus.”

The vice-captain stood silently, the slam of the door echoing in the quiet hallway, as Hanma slipped out, knowing his words wouldn’t change a thing. A burning rage coursed through the vice-captain as he imagined Shuji Hanma’s smug face, the bitter taste heavy on his tongue. 

As the time passed, your relationship with Hanma grew increasingly serious, marked by stolen glances, lingering touches, and whispered promises. You hardly ever go back to your cramped apartment anymore, as Hanma’s lavish penthouse, with its stunning city views and constant party atmosphere, always beckons. However, despite knowing you should focus on school, his magnetic charm and persuasive words made it nearly impossible to refuse him. 

 The idea of leaving your cramped apartment for his spacious penthouse had crossed your mind, a thrilling yet terrifying prospect. Although your new school was far away, requiring a longer commute, its benefits were undeniable. One significant advantage was the increased safety at Hanma’s apartment; it felt significantly less threatening than your place. The unsettling catcalls from unsavory individuals in your apartment complex, echoing through the hallways, bring back unsettling memories of past events, causing increased concern for your safety.

However, despite spending nearly all your time at Hanma’s, you didn’t want to presume he’d agree to your request to move in; the air hung heavy with unspoken anxieties. The fear of rejection kept you from trying. 

As always, you tried to have a plan, a meticulously crafted strategy, even if fate had to throw a wrench into the gears.

As the afternoon wore on, the sounds of chattering students and the rhythmic thud of thousands of feet filled the air as you walked to your next class, weaving through the crowded campus. Today, an uncharacteristic quiet hung over the campus; an almost eerie stillness replaced the usual midday bustle, as many students celebrated the end of midterms. However, despite your unease, everything appeared normal; the birds sang, the sun shone, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves. An atmosphere of quiet mystery shrouds your class’s secluded hallway.

The peculiar, dead-end hallways and oddly placed staircases on college campuses always struck you as strangely unsettling, like a labyrinth designed to disorient you. As usual, you walked down the dimly lit hallway, the only sound your shoes were on the worn carpet, until you saw a stranger lingered in the shadows. By this point in your college career, you knew nearly everyone in your classes; the familiar faces and the shared exhaustion of final coursework created a sense of camaraderie.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a frantic drumbeat echoing the rising tension as you approach the aged wooden door. He only notices you when the soft thud of your footsteps breaks the silence.

As you look up, his kind eyes crinkle at the corners as he offers a gentle smile. Without speaking, a strained smile stretched across your face. You’re overwhelmed, and the thought of talking to anyone feels exhausting. Your heart hammers a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you reach for the door handle, the cold metal a stark contrast to your clammy palm.

As you walked, a sharp voice pierced the quiet, calling your name and making you pause. A primal instinct screams at you to ignore them, a chilling whisper urging you to flee for your own safety. You pause, inhaling deeply the crisp morning air, and deliberate your options, the weight of the decision heavy on your chest. Fearful of being followed, you hesitate at the classroom door, the sounds of hushed whispers and rustling papers adding to your unease. A knot formed in your stomach, making it hard to speak to them.

You prioritize making others happy, carefully avoiding any actions that might cause them inconvenience or distress. As a result, a puzzled frown creasing your brow, you approach the stranger and hesitantly ask, “Do we know each other?” You observe his unremarkable appearance—dark brown eyes that blend into the shadows—and realize you’d likely not recognize him in a dark hallway, especially when compared to the striking features of Hanma and Kisaki.      

He nervously wrings his hands, his knuckles white, and a sheen of sweat on his palms. Despite being strangers, he invited you to go to lunch.

Your face twists with confusion, brows furrowed, eyes darting around. This stranger wants to ask you out, but you don’t know him. What’s going on?

With a hesitant tone and arms crossed tightly across your chest, you explain that you’re already in a relationship; the words catching in your throat.

The man in front of you blushed crimson, his eyes darting away in embarrassment, avoiding your gaze. You know it’s wrong, a knot of guilt tightening in your chest, but you can’t help feeling sorry for him. Despite his oddness, rejecting someone doesn’t feel good.

That was until his hand shot out, fingers like claws, grabbing your own and prying it away from your body before slipping a torn, flimsy paper into it. You’re about to tear him apart. His grip is like a vise, then he’s gone, a blur down the hallway.

Following the shocking event, a disorienting fog clouded your mind, and you slowly lowered your gaze to the crumpled paper. Uncertain what to expect, the stark black ink of a phone number was an unsurprising discovery.

You enter the classroom, the echoing silence punctuated only by the rhythmic ticking of the clock, heightening the unease you feel about his actions. Did he really think that scribbling his number on a scrap of paper was a romantic way to ask you out? You try to brush it off, but a knot of unease tightens in your stomach all day, making you crumple and toss the paper with his number in the trash.

As you wait in Hanma’s penthouse that evening, the city lights twinkle below, a soft hum of distant traffic filling the otherwise silent apartment. Your bare feet make no sound as you leave the steam-filled bathroom, the warmth clinging to your skin. A million twinkling city lights greeted you as you gazed out the large windows, their soft glow reflected in the glass. Sitting on Hanma’s bed, you wrap a damp towel around your shoulders, the cool cotton a stark contrast to the lingering heat on your skin, still pondering the day’s events.

Lost in thought, the quiet whir of the front door’s electronic lock completely escaped you, making Hanma’s sudden embrace all the more startling. Hanma moved like a silent cat, paws barely disturbing the ground, yet his eyes held the fierce courage of a lion.

“Shit, Shuji! You scared me!” you yelp, your heart pounding like a drum against your ribs, struggling to regain control of your breathing.  

A deep chuckle rumbled from the man behind you as his large, tattooed hands, calloused and warm, slowly traced the terry cloth belt of your bathrobe. “I’m so sorry, kitten. Seeing you, I was overcome with an irresistible urge to touch you.”

Shuji leans in close, resting his chin on your shoulder, his hands exploring your stomach as he takes a deep breath. “You smell amazing,” he whispered, his voice filled with desire. He knows all your weaknesses, exploiting them to his advantage. 

His fingers slowly traced the opening of your robe before slipping inside to caress your breasts. Letting out a little gasp, you lean back into his embrace, the warmth of his body a welcome comfort, a silent invitation for him to continue. Hanma’s firm grip on both of your mounds shows his unwavering confidence. His chilly hands sent a shiver down your spine, causing an immediate reaction to your nipples. 

“I-uh, I had a really strange thing happen to me today; I’m still kind of shaken up about it.” It’s hard to focus, but you feel you should let him know.     

As Hanma’s hands traced the curve of your body, a storm of conflicting emotions—excitement, trepidation, and a hint of forbidden desire—raged within you. The mixture of discomfort and arousal sent waves of electric pleasure tingling through your body, making it nearly impossible to focus. His skilled fingers playing with your nipples sent shivers of pleasure down your spine, making you gasp and your body tingle with anticipation.

Trying to regain your composure, you focused on the details of the unsettling encounter, remembering the chilling wind and the way the shadows seemed to writhe. Hanma’s touch was electric, making it nearly impossible to form a coherent thought. With each hypnotic movement of his hands, your mind clouded with confusion, and your words stumbled out in a jumbled, incoherent mess, like a broken record.

As you shared your discomfort, Hanma’s silent attentiveness contrasted with the continuous, almost imperceptible motion of his hands. His humming vibrations against your neck, a low thrumming that resonated deep within your bones, added an extra layer of stimulation, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything but the intense pleasure that flooded your veins. Despite the clamor of the intimate moment, you conveyed your unease with a strained voice, hoping for some understanding and support in Hanma.

“I mean, I can’t blame the poor guy, really, for at least trying, even if it was misguided. You’re fucking stunning. I’m sorry it scared you though, Kitten.” Finally, Hanma’s cool voice pierced through the haze of sensations, his words resonating with a mix of empathy and possessiveness. He acknowledged the audacity of the situation, recognizing the captivating allure you possessed—a magnetism that could entice even the boldest of hearts, a siren song in his ears. While his compliment made your heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wings, his apology, though slightly clumsy, offered a sense of reassurance, calming the rapid beat of your heart.

Though his hands continued their dance, their movements now carried a newfound tenderness, each touch feather-light and slow. Hanma’s touch, once burning with desire, now held a gentle protectiveness, as if his hands warded off any further pain or worry. Amidst the whirlwind of sensations and emotions, his presence offered solace; he cherished and protected while they delved into the depths of pleasure.

However, you missed the devilish gleam in his eyes as he playfully toyed with you, a cruel amusement in their depths, his cunning scheme a simmering fire in his gaze. In fact, his touch, warm and insistent, consumed you so completely that you almost disregarded his words. “Perhaps you should quit school, my dear Kitten.” the words hung in the air, sharp and cold, like the winter wind outside. “I will make sure you are safe and well cared for.”

“I’m so close to being done though,” you moan quietly, your voice strained with exhaustion. A single lamp cast a warm, inviting glow on the intimate scene in the dimly lit room, highlighting the soft textures of the furniture. His lips released a gentle sigh, the sound barely audible above your quiet moan, a blend of contentment and shared intimacy. A heavy, humid air hangs thick with anticipation, carrying the scent of jasmine and sweat, a potent mix of desire and passion. As his fingertips trace a path down your stomach, sending shivers through your body, the air crackles with unspoken intensity.

“Just think about it, m’kay?” His words were silky, lulling you into thinking about a life where you didn’t have to worry studying for tests or being squished in between cohorts in lecture halls. It was a nice thought, a comforting notion, but a nagging uncertainty pricked at the edges of your mind. While the incident with the stranger was strange, it wasn’t compelling enough to justify dropping out of school.

As you pondered his words, a heavy silence descended, the air thick with unspoken meaning. Your mind felt conflicted, a battlefield of carefree dreams and the weighty responsibility of education; the siren song of freedom battling the stern voice of duty. A heavy weight of uncertainty pressed down on your chest, an icy dread chilling you as you questioned if there was more to that unsettling encounter than you first realized, the lingering scent of ozone in the air only adding to your unease.

The following week, your classes continue without incident, the usual murmur of students and the scrape of chairs a constant background hum. This soothes your frayed nerves, quieting the incessant rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs that once sent shivers down your spine. However, Hanma persists in suggesting he quit school, his voice a low drone against the background noise. He vaguely suggests it would be a good idea, because you wouldn’t have to deal with unsavory characters without really explaining why.

But whenever he brings it up, you try to shake it off, a nervous flutter in your chest betraying your nonchalance. Finishing your degree, a goal you’d long strived for, felt like a monumental achievement. The ache of heartbreak, a raw wound left by Draken’s betrayal, fueled your resolve to never again rely so completely on another.

Their unexpected resilience, a force you hadn’t expected, surprised you. Your last evening class ended just as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and purple. As you made your way to the parking lot, the deserted university campus was eerily silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves. Most cars had already left the parking lot, leaving only a few scattered vehicles in random spots, their paint gleaming under the sunlight.

At last, you arrived at your car, hearing the familiar click of the fob as you pressed the button to unlock it. A cheerful chirp from your car, like a tiny bird singing, signaled your entry. With a decisive toss, your bag landed in the passenger seat; you slammed the door shut and double-checked the lock. Being cautious at night was paramount; the darkness held unseen dangers, and every rustle of leaves sent a shiver down her spine.

Absentmindedly, you glance at your rearview mirror, noticing the blurry reflection of the setting sun. But instead of empty headrests, you’re met with the terrifying sight of a pale face, eyes wide with a silent scream, staring back at you from the backseat. A sudden movement in the shadows sends a shriek of pure terror escaping your lips, your heart pounding in your chest.

“What the fuck!?” you exclaim, your voice echoing in the dimly lit room. The flickering overhead light illuminates the face of the man who had given you his number just a week ago. The sight of him sends a jolt of adrenaline through your veins; his eyes burn into you, and your heart hammers against your ribs like a frantic drum. Your mind races, a frantic hamster wheel of thoughts, desperately searching for a defense mechanism as icy tendrils of fear constrict your chest and steal your breath.

But before you can say anything, his hand, calloused and strong, closes around your wrist, halting your movement. Thankfully, Hanma had spent weeks training you in various self-defense techniques. Drawing upon your training, you swiftly react, your hand shooting down to the seat lever, yanking it upward with a rough jerk. With a surge of adrenaline, you slam into the new intruder—the impact sending a jolt through your body and effectively incapacitating him with a resounding thud.

As the intruder clutches his face, his pained groan echoes, and you quickly snatch your jingling keys and phone from the car. Heart pounding, you sprint towards your university building, fumbling with your phone as you try to dial campus security, the icy touch screen slick with sweat under your trembling fingers.

Adrenaline surged through your veins, a frantic rhythm against your ribs, but you dared not risk a glance over your shoulder to see if he was still chasing you. The pounding of your heart threatened to drown out any other sound. Finally, you arrive at the dimly lit entrance, the feeble glow barely illuminating your path, revealing a heavy, ornate door; you forcefully wrench it open, thrusting yourself into the echoing lobby.

Your lungs burn, a fiery ache with each ragged breath as you sprint, stealing a quick glance back at the empty parking lot. The hazy evening lights obscure your vision, the air thick with the smell of wood smoke, but no figures materialize in the distance. All you discern is your car door ajar, casting a faint, orange glow from the interior dome light. Your trembling fingers, slick with sweat, fumble with the campus security number, each press a desperate plea for help.

As you retreat from the icy glass doors, the muted ringing from your phone pierces the quiet silence. A raspy voice, heavy with exhaustion and laced with a hint of static, answered on the other end of the line. Shaken, you recount the terrifying ordeal, and the security guard’s reassuring words about imminent help offer a slight comfort amidst the lingering fear. They suggested the echoing emptiness of a nearby vacant lecture hall as a refuge.

You sprint down the dimly lit hallway, your pounding footsteps echoing eerily off the cold, slick tiled walls, a chill rising from the stone beneath your feet. A wave of stale air, thick with the scent of old paper and dust, hits you, overlaid by a faint chemical tang from recent cleaning. With a surge of adrenaline, you burst into the nearest room, the old door groaning on its hinges as you threw it open.

With bated breath, you retrieve your phone, the cool metal a stark contrast to the frantic beating of your heart against your ribs. Your fingers, trembling with urgency, swiftly navigate your call list, desperately searching for Hanma’s name.

You press the call button, a surge of adrenaline making your heart pound and your breath catch in your throat as your heightened senses amplify the physical effects of your emotions. Adrenaline floods your system, a jolt of electricity that makes your heart pound in your chest and your blood rush. The thumping in your chest becomes almost deafening, a constant, frantic reminder of your anticipation and nervousness. Each beat a drum against your ribs.

Your breath hitches, shallow and uneven gasps catching in your throat as your chest heaves, a frantic drum against your ribs. Each strained inhale feels like your lungs are desperate, gasping for air to feed the adrenaline coursing through you, a burning sensation in your chest.

As your fingers tremble, the phone screen blurs, momentarily losing focus in a haze of anxiety, the cool glass a stark contrast to the sweat on your palms. Your body mirrors the inner turmoil, a physical manifestation in the visible trembling of your hands; a tremor that feels like a frantic hummingbird trapped beneath your skin.

The anticipation builds, a tightening knot of excitement and nerves clenching in your stomach. The knot tightens and twists in your stomach, a fluttering, nauseating sensation spreading through your core. It’s a physical manifestation of the emotional weight you carry; a palpable tension on your shoulders, a tightness in your chest, a constant tremor in your hands.

With each passing second, the waiting feels like an eternity, each tick of the clock echoing in the heavy silence. Time seems to stretch, and the ticking of the clock becomes a mocking reminder of your impatience, each second dragging on endlessly. The combined effect of all these physical sensations creates a heightened state of alertness, making you hyper-aware of every infinitesimal movement and the subtle rustle of leaves around you.

As the call connects, a rush of relief washes over you, but a knot of anxiety tightens in your stomach, accompanied by a thrilling surge of excitement. Your heart pounds, breath catches, muscles tense, a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins as your body struggles to cope with the overwhelming intensity. Your heart may briefly pound in your chest, causing a noticeable spike in your heart rate, your breath may catch in your throat, and your already trembling fingers might shake even more violently.

“Hey, are you on your way home?” Hanma’s groggy voice, thick with sleep, breaks the silence, filling your ears.

A tiny sob escapes your lips, a choked sound barely audible above the pounding of your heart, as you try to explain everything to Hanma.

“Who did this to you?” He growls, a low, guttural sound that vibrates in your chest and makes your teeth ache.

“That weird guy I was telling you about, can you please just come get me?” You plead, desperate for the night to end.

“Oh, him.” Hanma says darkly, “Just wait there. I’m on my way.”

The wait for Hanma felt interminable; you nearly leaped out of your skin when your phone vibrated, displaying his name on the screen, the sudden relief a sharp contrast to the tension.

Your heart races, a frantic drumbeat against your ribs, each thump a desperate attempt to escape. A jolt of adrenaline shot through you, your heart pounded in your chest, and your hands shook with a mixture of excitement and fear. Your breath hitches in your throat, a shallow, rapid gasp as an icy wave of anxiety washes over you, making your chest tight. A jolt of electricity surged through your body, starting in your fingertips and spreading to your toes, making your skin tingle and hum.

As you reach for your phone, your fingers fumble, struggling to steady themselves against the tremor in your hands; your heart pounds in your chest. The anticipation heightens, causing a rush of heat to wash over your face, making your skin flush and your heart pound in your chest. Your skin is hypersensitive; the slightest touch sends icy shivers dancing down your spine, each contact a jolt of unexpected sensation.

With trembling hands, you finally answer the call, and the sound of Hanma’s voice sends a jolt of joy through your entire being. Your muscles relax, releasing the tension that had coiled tight within, and a wave of soothing relief washes over you, like warm water melting away the knots. A smile spreads across your face, chasing away the shadows, and a lightness washes over your body as if a heavy burden has been lifted.

Stepping from the lecture hall’s bright lights into the dimly lit hallway, the quiet hum of fluorescent lights and the faint scent of old paper filled the air. A thick, cloying scent of old paper and lemon polish hangs heavy in the air. Your heart pounds in your chest, a frantic drumbeat echoing the adrenaline surging through your veins as you race for the exit.

Outside, the night air was cool and crisp, a gentle breeze carrying the distant hum of traffic. The hazy yellow glow of the streetlights cast long, distorted shadows that stretched and danced on the wet pavement. You scan the surroundings, your heart pounding in your chest, the anticipation a tight knot in your stomach, hoping to remain unseen amongst the shadows.

As you approach his car, the sharp, metallic scent of gasoline, mixed with the faint smell of oil, hangs heavy in the air. The car’s engine rumbled low, a deep vibration humming through your fingertips as you opened the door, feeling the heat radiating from the engine block. You slide into the worn leather seat, the familiar scent of aged hide filling your nostrils as a wave of relief washes over you.

In the darkness, the city throbbed with the distant wail of sirens and the insistent blare of car horns, a symphony of urban noise. The streetlights blurred into streaks of yellow and orange, casting fleeting glimpses of rain-slicked streets and blurry buildings. You clench your fists, knuckles white, the tension slowly easing from your muscles as you pray for a peaceful end to this long, tense night.

Finally, the tension of the evening settles upon you like a heavy blanket, its weight pressing down on your chest and shoulders. You clench your fists, knuckles turning white, fingernails digging into your palms. “Thank you for coming. I just want this night to be over.”

Hanma’s tattooed hand, cool and gentle, rests on your thigh, offering a silent comfort amidst your distress. The slight pressure is calming. “Just hang in there,” he assures you, his voice a comforting balm against your anxieties, promising that the situation will improve soon.

The drive home is eerily quiet, the only sounds the faint hum of the engine and the occasional swoosh of passing cars, broken only by the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the tires on the highway. As you sit beside Hanma, the barely contained rage vibrates off of him in palpable waves, his rigid posture and clenched fists a testament to his simmering fury. The cloying scent of his frustration, like stale sweat and burnt coffee, hung heavy in the air. Thoughts of confronting your attacker, a terrifying image of their sneering face and the metallic tang of blood, swirl in your mind, but the weight of exhaustion, a leaden blanket pressing down on every muscle, makes it impossible to even entertain the idea. All you yearn for is the solace of home, where you can collapse onto your soft bed, breathe in the familiar scent of home, and escape from the day’s relentless noise and demands.

Unbeknownst to you, this was the culmination of his meticulous plan, the air thick with anticipation as the evening unfolded.

tag list: @mor-pheus @lady-lunaaa @gixxie @kenryug @galactict3a (if you would like to be added or taken off send me an ask!)

[blackjackkent]

The battle to free Halsin went quite well! We intercepted the goblins who were trying to escape the area, which would have lit up the whole temple against us, and no one took a ton of damage.

My favorite part was when Halsin slipped and completely ate shit on the ice left by Gale's Ray of Frost and Gale kind of stood there and stared at him:

Everyone's making super tired noises, so the plan is to get Halsin out as quickly and quietly as possible and then make camp on the road.

Time to have a chat with Mr. Bear.

As Hector approaches him, the bear's form shifts and twists, resolving itself slowly into the most massive elf Hector has ever seen.

Halsin stands at least a head over Hector's six feet, a broad-shouldered and thick-muscled stone wall of a man. His face is scarred, bearing the record of a thousand fights, but he looks down at the group of his rescuers with an air of benevolence, and his voice is kind as he dusts himself off.

"Pardon the viscera. One should cherish all of nature's bounty...but goblin guts are quite far down on the list." He grins crookedly at Hector. "You aided a bear without knowing if it would savage you? A true friend of nature - or perhaps a lunatic." He inclines his head slowly. "Either way, I owe thanks. I am the druid Halsin."

Hector squints at him. "You're Halsin - the Master Halsin of the Emerald Grove?"

Halsin smiles. "Yes, but just Halsin will suffice. Unbecoming to demand honorifics from the one who saved my hide."

"I've been to the Emerald Grove. It's in danger." The words spill out of Hector perhaps a little too quickly. He desperately wants to be gone from this place, to impress upon Halsin the urgency of leaving as soon as possible.

His words elicit a frown from Halsin, but no surprise. "I am aware," he says sadly. "I foolishly left it vulnerable to this rabble. There's work to be done." He hesitates, then looks more closely at Hector and the others. His frown deepens sharply. "Hrm. That look in your eyes. I've seen it before. Are you feeling all right?"

Without waiting for an answer, he lifts a hand and sends a burst of golden energy surging over Hector, closing his eyes as if listening for something only he can hear.

When he lets his hand fall and the light fade, he looks grim.

"Oak Father preserve you, child... You're infected, aren't you? The mind flayers' spawn..."

It has been, at the very least, twenty years since anyone referred to Hector as 'child' - but it reminds him of the elders at the monastery, the affection and concern of those who were not his parents and yet were his family. Hector feels something loosen in his chest with relief, and he nods wearily.

Halsin is still watching him thoughtfully. "But...something's different. You're aware of the monster inside you. You don't bow to the Absolute, like the True Souls do. How is this possible...?"

He begins to circle the group slowly, examining them from all sides.

"I escaped from an illithid ship after being infected," Hector says. "Maybe the process was interrupted."

Halsin grunts pensively. "Perhaps. But I wouldn't want to place all my faith in blind luck. It's no coincidence that you found me here, I'll wager? You're after a cure for the parasite."

Again a silent nod from Hector, and this time he can't hide the plea for assistance in his eyes. Halsin sighs. "I've been studying these parasites for a while now. Ever since I discovered these so-called True Souls are infected with them. Someone is using very powerful magic to modify these tadpoles. They are using them to exert control over the infected." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry to say, I can't undo that magic, which means I can't cure you." He sees Hector's gaze sink, and adds gently, "But that doesn't mean I can't help."

He looks around at the battered bodies of the dead goblins. "I didn't find what I came here for - a way to remove the tadpoles - but I found the next best thing. I found out where they come from. That must be where these enchantments are placed on them, and it's where you'll find your cure."

Hector straightens a little, hope flaring in him again. So far, Halsin seems to know the most of anyone they've talked to about exactly what they're up against. "Tell me what you've learned about the tadpoles' origins."

"I overheard that the cultists are sending all of their captives to Moonrise Towers. Innocents go in, True Souls come out. Given that all of these True Souls are infected, it has to be the source of this magic." Halsin snuffs out a breath in a manner reminiscent of the bear he just was, and looks at Hector intently. "If you want to find a cure, you must head there and discover how the tadpoles are being manipulated."

Hector nods slowly. This tracks with what he heard from the Zhent trader outside, and it's a plan, the clearest they've had so far. "You seem to know a lot about this," he says hopefully. "Will you come with me to Moonrise?"

Halsin shakes his head. "I wish I could, but there's still work I"ve yet to finish." His eyes harden, a flicker of the beast behind the placid exterior. "Blood I've yet to spill." He hesitates, then goes on, looking between his four rescuers. "I've no right to ask more of you, but if you could help me...I'd be free to join your journey to Moonrise. I cannot allow these butchers to threaten my grove. The natural order must be preserved."

Hector seizes on this eagerly. He wanted to help the grove anyway and wasn't really interested in leaving until that situation was dealt with - and Halsin is seeming like a more useful traveling companion all the time. "All right," he says. "How do I help?"

Halsin seems to relax, and a smile flicks across his face. "My thanks. If you prevail, I'll owe you the debt of a lifetime." He glances towards the door leading to the upper floors. "Rare is the beast that survives decapitation. Help me eliminate the drow Minthara, the hobgoblin Dror Ragzlin, and that perversion of a priestess, Gut. They are the ones holding these parasites together. Remove them and nature will cure itself."

Hector grimaces thoughtfully. He has seen all three of these people, but none of them are alone in a scenario where killing them individually seems likely. For all their caution earlier, it feels like open battle may be the only option, if destroying those three is the goal. "Having a shapeshifting bear-druid at my side might make things easier."

Halsin smiles ruefully. "Be warned. My presence could make things much more difficult. I can only restrain my bear form so much. I won't be able to help but attack goblins." He shakes his head. "If I join you, we'll likely have to slaughter this entire place. You may want to use discretion when approaching the goblin leaders."

That gives Hector some pause. He doesn't relish the idea of fighting the whole place, and maybe there is a chance of tricking all three leaders individually. On the other hand...he has neither skill nor inclination for deception (particularly trickery with the parasite, which seems the most effective option, but his skin is still crawling from the last attempt with Ragzlin), and it's just as likely to lead to a straight fight anyway if he fails - and Halsin would be a strong asset to have in that case.

And...this is a temple of Selune. A place so like his home. These blasphemous things should be driven out of it.

He draws a slow breath and lets it out. "Come with me," he says firmly.

Halsin inclines his head, moments before the bear transformation begins to take hold of him again.

"So be it. May Silvanus lend us nature's fury."

[thyladyofathousand-n-onehobbies]

Old Gods

@flashfictionfridayofficial for the prompt

I may or may not have had little miss perfect lyrics running through my mind while writing this. Shokingly, this has no ties to the songs lyrics.

Anyway, enjoy!

-

It doesn’t make any sense. 

Or, she mused, putting down her glass of water, staring at the tacked and red stringed map, it did, but she couldn’t find it. 

But Akilah was nothing if not persistent, and she would figure where the random bursts of elemental magic came from, even if it killed her. So, as all good scientists would do, she removed the red string connecting the thumb tacks, and started from scratch. 

Best to start with the facts. 

There were 20 total occurrences all within the same day 

These events only involved elemental magic, which hadn’t been seen in over 1000 years 

They didn’t match any man-made pattern 

Gods above, she knew she was close, she could feel it. She was on the edge of discovery. 

She picked up the glass of water again. 

She was almost certain the key was the pattern. But she couldn’t find one that fit. No checkerboard, no significant locations, no golden rule. No man-made pattern she knew of- 

Wait. 

No man-made pattern 

No man-made 

Man-made 

Man. Made. 

She slammed down her glass. 

What if it wasn’t man-made? What if it followed the patterns of nature? A-a wave pattern, or succulent leaf pattern, or- 

She peered into the water of her glass, before looking to the map. 

If she looked hard enough, looked at it just right, it looked almost like a- 

“Ripple pattern,” Akilah whispered. 

She got up close with her red string, to check. She wouldn’t get her hopes up for a dud.  

But it worked. 

It worked. 

One point rippled into seven, rippled into twelve. 

Which would mean, she had a point of origin. 

- 

Said ‘point of origin’ ended up being in the old city park, near an old stone bench. 

As Akilah got closer, that ‘near an old stone bench’ got nearer and nearer, until it was ‘right on top the thing’. 

Now, if Akilah was a lucky person, she would immediately figure out what had caused the elemental surges, but that was not the case. No, it was just a decently nice clearing with a very detailed stone bench, cleaved by a large crack, but intact. 

Gods of old, it was too late for new mysteries. 

She sat on the bench with a sigh, running her hands over the carvings in the weathered stone. She also ran a finger along the crack. 

It has to be recent, since it has no moss or dirt in it. 

Unfortunately, her thoughts took a more negative turn. 

Why did she do this to herself? Why did she think she had the ability to solve these types of things? It only ever led to- 

Her fingers bumped over a carved name. A list of names, in fact. 

Names she recognized. 

Names of gods. Old ones. 

But what would holy names be doing on a park bench? 

Unless. 

Unless it wasn’t a bench. 

Unless it was something important, something holy, something that could be taken from a temple, something that could be mistaken for a bench. 

Something like an altar. 

Oh gods.  

Something that should be kept in pristine condition to show respect. 

Something that, when broken, could incite godly wrath. 

Something that could bring about bouts of elemental magic. 

Something that could bring back sleeping gods. 

-

Words written: 548

[fortifice]

Even if his insomnia hadn’t kept him from properly resting that night, Aventurine would have recognized the symptoms of nocturnal turmoil in the deepest of sleeps. He can hear the way the captain’s breathing changes, not as though he were about to wake up, but as though he were afraid. Sweat beads at his temple & he sees fingers curl & uncurl against the bedsheets, searching for a weapon to defend himself from the demons in his head, perhaps. His phone is unceremoniously tossed aside when he hears the faint, almost inaudible whimper in the back of Gepard’s throat, the sound tugging at something in his chest so harshly it physically aches.

“Captain,” he reaches out to cup the face of the other blond. He can’t count how many nights the other man had fallen asleep in his hotel room instead of leaving once their activities had concluded. At some point, the gambler stopped having to ask him to stay, because he did so on his own as part of their former routine. Unable to rouse the soldier by calling his name softly, Aventurine wraps his arms around the larger frame & pulls him against his chest. He sees bright blue eyes jolt open at the unknown touch, lashes wet with tears, & a strong hand grabs his arm, painfully tight, his face white as a ghost.

“Shh, it’s just me. There’s no monsters here, you’re safe. Everyone is safe.” He cradles the man’s jaw until his eyes come back into awareness of his surroundings. “It’s okay, my star, it’s alright.” He guides Gepard’s hand to the stoneheart’s chest, so he can feel Aventurine’s heart against his palm, the steady thumping rhythm. “With me, darling. In, out, in, out. Just like me. I’ve got you.” As soon as his breathing is under control, he can see the excuse on his lips, ready to dismiss his nightmare.

Something tells Vasha he was used to dismissing his pain that way. “Don’t.” He shakes his head &, leaving no room for argument, guides the captain’s head to lay against his chest, one arm secured protectively around his back, his free hand begins combing through pale golden hair. “It’s okay… I’m here now. You don’t have to pretend with me, moy cherhaj vilo. Put down the shield, let me see you.” He kisses his forehead & holds him as tightly as he can.

Respite should be a place for soldiers to lay down their armaments, leaving the front line for a moment of rest, however, when the years have engraved the echoes of countless battles and innumerable deaths upon someone it became inextricable to them. Gepard Landau even stripped of his regal uniform and without his unconquerable shield was still the same man who weathered adversity and fought with all he had to shield the innocent. Nighttime was a cruel place to ask someone to find peace, so that their aching muscles might find relief and that their bones may not conserve within them the chill of the ice plains. There was no true alleviation to be found in it, whether he stood out amongst the undulating white of snow or within a warm haven of a room the anguish of that world still walked in tandem with him.

He does not like to think himself vulnerable, for if he accepts that he also permits in the torment of never being strong enough to save every person. The responsibility bestowed upon the noble Landau heritage was to deploy them as an impregnable defense, but they could be hurt, they could die, the preservation did not prevent them from being human when it came down to it. That was why he is besieged by it, for perhaps if he were an inanimate shield he could be unbothered by the death rattles of comrades, of their eyes as they grew distant and then sightless, he has not slept in true peace for the last decade. 

So when he awakens, wrested from the ravening maw of death, he does so with a start, his eyes wide and stricken with terror, his pupils withered to pinpricks. His fingers bore into the other’s arm with terrible strength, as if it were his anchor, towing him up and above the surging dark water. It takes a long moment, the duration drawn out, brimming with tension, before he can breathe again, sharp, ragged inhales which make him feel as if he had been suffocating. Aventurine’s soothing cadence comes to him slowly, lulling him away from that trench of dread and back into lucidity, they were in the hotel, nothing here wanted to kill him. Instinctively he spreads his fingers, feeling the warmth as it chases the vestiges of cold from him, the steady thump, thump, thump mooring him more here than in the dark apertures of that dream.

 “ I scared you, didn’t I. I’m so -” he shakes his head, it’s such a small gesture, yet it is not dismissive, it doesn’t make him feel the corroding bite of guilt for being so undeniably weak. Gepard was accustomed to being strong, it was imperative to his position, to his duty but no one ever told him when it was enough, if it ever would be enough. In resting against the other’s chest does he find a sliver of solace, like that warmth that belonged to another might ease the dull ache of remembering from him, if only for a moment. “ I didn’t intend for you to see me like that..” he says softly, like it was a confession, it may well have been. The gentle carding of fingers through his hair is palliative and has him almost entirely drawn from that harrowing nightmare. In appreciation he brings the other’s hand to his mouth slowly kissing each finger, casting his gaze upon the other less reticent than before, in those moments of waking he is truly far more mortal than the indomitable mantle of belobog’s citizens. 

[coconut530]

now that the first half of the season’s over…

SOLID STATE S1 PT. 1 DETAIL POST

(I’m quite obsessed still, strap in it's gonna be a long one. I'll put it under a Keep Reading for your dashes)

(each episode is one image, more or less, sometimes that’ll change but it’ll be listed. Also will have observations from my last post in it)

🩷CHAPTER 1: TAKEOVER💚

Takeover 1

Newspapers from Perth detailing another 50 degree summer in 2037, civil unrest, something with the world's newest trillion ?, and a newspaper from 2052

Concordia(n) Minerals sign

Dian's billboard to join WNDR

Shot of Egan, Recurring Background Character guy, and The Reporter

Recurring Union officials at a rally with a large mob facing the blonde police person

The Student walking in the Lower City

Prakash mentioning his meeting with the Temple of the Golden Hand that morning

Takeover 2

The implication of crime syndicates in the Lower City

One gang called The Vipers, headed by someone named Bishop

Eijiro being from a part of the Lower City called the Red Gate District (I’m assuming red gates that reference the ones in Japan that spirits can’t cross through, and Eiji’s more Japanese-leaning name, which translates to “reflective second son”(Google), which makes sense since he’s the second guy Prakash picked up out of the takeover gang 🤯)

Castel standing on a Tanser Tech truck

Takeover 3

Prakash telling Enzo to do as he's told, with a special highlight in his eye alluding to their past

Sign over the road saying "Remember your cooperation is required by law" which is...yikes

Takeover 4

The flying jav that Castel and Eiji use to get out of there in Takeover 8 being their wedding gift

The poisoned champagne being from Rook Tanser himself

The first shots of Tanser, Ecker, Aurun, Ramsay, and Iolanthe

"You know what they say... Prakash Malik knows how to invest!"

Prakash viewing both Enzo and Asha as "investments" which is... yikes. Eiji too I guess 😬

Takeover 5

"This is between me and him." Prakash is the one who had Enzo's eyes replaced, hence the focus on it (see Inheritance)

"Finally got the guts to make a move, eh?" Enzo tried to make a move in the past, and it didn't work (see Inheritance)

I think I deciphered Prakash's blurred dialogue

"I thought I taught you better than appealing to sentiment." (see Inheritance: “Enzo’s use may yet run out, and I will not hesitate over sentimentality.”)

Takeover 6

"You should be packing!" For Mars (see Inheritance)

Asha questioning Enzo’s eyes

Panel implying Enzo maybe disappointed Prakash in the past, resulting in his new eyes (they’re specially highlighted so maybe)

Enzo cutting Eiji off at the mention of Bruno, implying there's some special chemistry with them

Takeover 7

Castel wanting a panic room, mentioning they started to be built after some uprising

Meselon dealing with public health in Concordia

Asha's cybernetic contracts with Tanser Tech ( O_O ) (see Two of a Kind)

Ecker Byse owning the police force

Tanser Tech bribing every politician in the city

Takeover 8

Ramsay Hanan, of Hanan Heavy Industries

Ecker Byse, of Aegis Solutions International

Iolanthe Lieberthal III, Admiral-in-Exile of Heliodyne (Martian???)

Aurun Kastor-Valko, of Meselon

Rook Tanser, of Tanser Technology Augments

These are the people we're up against hahahhhaha

💛CHAPTER 2: SURGE🖤

Surge 1

Prakash about to go to Asha's wedding (Takeover 1)

The news headline above the upper city entrance saying "Police investigate union link" about Prakash's death

Subway Panel 1: Anti-union advertising, Recurring Union Leader, Jules (see Two of a Kind 4)

Subway Panel 2: Jules, Malik Industries advertisement "More than a company, we're family", Get Ahead Gigs

Subway Panel 3: VR thing, Rent-A-Friend

The subway slowly emptying, leaving Dian alone in the third panel, because majority of people don't live in the Upper City

Surge 2

Shadowy figure near Dian

Recurring Background Guy

Thommo and Beaux (see Two of a Kind 4)

Weird Priest Man implying someone or something purchases the failed uploading experiments (and someone in the comments validated by Veldenmire for wondering who could profit off that many dead people... Asha) (see Two of a Kind and Inheritance)

Surge 3

Jamilah and Dian arguing in front of a WNDR Prakash mourning event billboard

It shows how WNDR has put a wedge between them, as well as how far Prakash's death reaches

Recurring journalist outside Dian's house

The Reporter there as well

Surge 4

WNDR was expensive for people to use when it was first made, so they made their own technology, sedative pills and headsets

A screenshot from the Solid State short story published in the 2020 Brain Anthology of the protagonist Anya using this technology, as well as the old headset

Dian using the old headset and having a rough time

Surge 7 & 8

Egan being interviewed by that reporter (see Two of a Kind 1)

Foreshadowing of the events of Two of a Kind, how the robots are malfunctioning

Enzo's fancy new boots (Veldenmire said he was “going through it” :( )

💙CHAPTER 3: TWO OF A KIND❤️

Two of a Kind 1

The Surge happening in Malik Tower

Egg being flown over a Hanan Heavy Industries building

Egg being flown by the spot where Castel crashed the jav

Enzo’s MEMORIES, specifically the shot of Prakash, Enzo holding a lighter to someone (Bruno?????), and Enzo moments before he got his eye surgery

Enzo’s TATTOOS, Veldenmire saying he has one from each of the Takeover crew, Aoife was here, Butch woz here, Eiji’s possibly being the knife through the heart one, and I can’t pinpoint what Bruno and Giannis could’ve given him

Making you the best you can be (the best at what man?????? being a lackey????????)

Two of a Kind 2 & 3

ICOMA being on Ico's chest, what does it stand for?

Cyborg technology being illegal for decades, started in the 2050s

Cannot control them like robots, but much stronger than humans

Doctor from the Temple of the Golden Hand working in this dump on the cyborgs

Two of a Kind 4

The WNDR billboard being cracked and smashed

Get Ahead Gigs dog

Jules

Thommo and Beaux

The architecture of the Upper/Middle City pressing down on the Lower (Veldenmire said in the comments somewhere that some buildings run all the way up and down, but the Upper is always seemingly above (oppressing) the lower)

Two of a Kind 5 & 6

The slogan on the top of the elevator for Malik Industries: "...Malik, we're more than a company, we're a family!" which just makes the whole situation with the Takeover squad a little sadder bc Prakash preached that to them and then used it as his company slogan

The workers wishing they joined the Union

Enzo’s full name: Vincenzo Della Vecchia (he’s Italian, I wonder what Prakash was doing in Italy to find him)

The billboards Egan’s passing with: The person Dian yelled at in Surge 2, another recurring newscaster, and the Recurring Union Leaders

Union standoff enters 6th month

💖MIDSEASON FINALE: INHERITANCE💖

Eiji’s sword originally being Asha’s

Prakash implying the existence of Mars colonies in the 2100s (Veldenmire saying in the comments: "OF COURSE colonies on Mars are a feature in this timeline! We've done plenty of fun world building up there, and perhaps... maybe we've already met some Martians" ) (WHO'S A MARTIAN?????????)

Prakash using Asha to get what he wants (she learned from him how to use others)

ALSO SORRY IT’S NOT PICTURED BUT Asha blaming The Temple of the Golden Hand and the Lower City Union for killing Prakash

Enzo tried to make an attempt on Prakash’s life, and failed

Then as punishment Prakash replaced his eyes

Again he thought of him as an investment (see Takeover 4)

He’s been in pain ever since (poor guy… 🥺)

Jamilah and Dave asking people if Dian saved them during the Surge

Butcher…

The Reporter on a call, suspecting the turn of events for the Malik case

Anti-Union advertising on the subway (Concordia Business Council?)

Aofie…

Castel!!!! Not wearing only white!! They look good in pink!!

*deep sigh, trying not to scream* Asha’s Elite Units being the cyborgs of Butcher, Aofie, Giannis, and Bruno (she’s using Bruno specifically to break Enzo, implying again a special relationship between them)

WHAT COMES NEXT?

Chapters 4, 5, and 6 will focus on these three here, who I’ve dubbed The Student, The Reporter, and The Brawler. We saw The Student in Takeover 1, and they’re in this other art by Veldenmire here. I assume they’ll cross paths with Eiji and Castel since they’re taking shelter in the lower city right now, and they’ll be caught in the middle while they’re both trying to outrun Giannis. Perhaps they’ll give us a small insight into the education system here in Concordia. The Reporter will obviously be showing us the journalistic world of Concordia. They painted a target on their back by pressing Asha with all those questions, so naturally one of the Elites is coming after them. Perhaps they’ll cross paths with Jamilah and Dave, covering their story, and then they’ll both have to dodge Butcher and Aofie (*sniff* this is not how they should be reunited waaaaaa). The Brawler I know nothing about, haha. I give them this name because they look like they’ve seen some action with their eyebrow scars (or could just be design who knowwwwws), and their expression looks joyfully poised for a fight. I wonder what the paint on their eyes is for. Maybe they’ll cross paths with Enzo and Bruno, and we’ll learn more about them. But I mean as much as I want out new protags to meet up with other storylines and previous protags, I know they still need to have their own stories, so I won’t put too much stock into that. Overall I’m quite excited they let us see them; letting me form these theories by just looking at their eyes is kinda cool.

Aaaaaand you’ve rEACHED THE END! THANK YOU FOR READING MY VERY LONG POST ABOUT VERY NICHE WEBTOON! SOMEONE’S GOTTA GIVE IT SOME LOVE, WITH HOW BEAUTIFULLY CRAFTED IT IS, AND IF THAT PERSON HAS TO BE ME, IT WILL BE. THE HUGEST THANKS TO 🩷💖VELDENMIRE💚💖 AND 💛💙PANELPERDAY❤️🖤 FOR ALL THEIR HARD WORK ON THIS WEBTOON, MAKING IT LIKE THE BEST SCI-FI COMIC ON THE PLATFORM, HANDS-DOWN!! I LOOK FORWARD TO EVERYTHING ELSE THIS GORGEOUS STORY HAS TO OFFER NEXT!!

[casspurrjoybell-27]

In a Heartbeat - Chapter 55 - Part 2

*Warning - Adult Content*

Vince

A few of the betas stood beside Michael as he sneered.

I snarled, the moments of him with Simon playing over in my head, the way he laid his hands on him, that awful smirk on his face fueling my anger.

Letting it guide me I rushed forward, shoving at his shoulders.

"What? Now you show up? After the Betas deal with the attack, fail to do as I ask and you want to challenge me?" he snarled, a smug look staining his face.

A crowd of about twenty higher-ranking people, including some of the members who lived around here, were forming.

He raised his voice so the others could hear...

"You have some nerve to threaten your Alpha. Couldn't even handle signing a peace treaty."

"You..."

I shoved at his chest before lowering my voice into a growl.

"You sent me there for nothing."

He smirked, knowing damn well that the business trip was a scam.

"Nothing? It's not my fault you couldn't convince them to establish a pack relation with them."

I snarled, rushing forward to grip the collar of his shirt.

A few of the older Betas step forward but Michael waved them away.

The infamous smirk of his plastered on his face made both me and my wolf growl.

"You know damn well they would've never agreed to a peace treaty anyway."

"Some Alpha you claim to be, can't even properly make friends with our neighbors," he scoffed, flashing his golden eyes in a form of challenge.

"All you had to do was sign a paper."

My wolf snarled, coming to the surface as I pushed back, the image of Michael doing that to Simon.

"I would've gotten it done if someone had kept their hands to themselves."

He humphed, before leaning forward muttering softly...

"Too bad someone interrupted me, I coulda had my way with him. Goddess knows he would've loved the attention."

I could feel my wolf pulling forward, pushing my own conscious back at the remark but it wasn't just him that saw red.

Especially with the visions fresh in the back of my mind, the things he had said to Simon, made my blood boil.

He smirked and that was all it took for me to swing, all sense of reason leaving the window.

My ill-aimed punch hadn't gone far as he caught it in his palm.

He huffed before pulling out the chain from under his shirt, flashing the piece of jewelry on the silver chain so only I could see before saying...

"Then I would've murdered him just like I did father."

"You..." I blinked, staring at my father's ring in front of me.

That was the one but I had put it back in his chest.

"But it was inside..."

"Although it was fun watching you descend into despair."

He rolled his eyes before placing it back under his shirt.

"I couldn't let you have all the credit. Besides, who would even believe a pathetic coward like yourself could actually pull that off?"

All sense of reason and self-control left my train of thought, the burning desire to hit him, to wipe that goddess-awful smirk from his face permanently growing, my wolf itching to be fully released.

It took every last ounce of strength to reel him in as I gritted out to him...

"You? Why? Why on earth would you do that?"

He shoved me back this time.

"Why? Seriously? He deserved it. A fucking asshole. He had it coming."

"He was our father," I spat, shoving at him again.

"You..."

"He was hardly a father," he sneered.

"Fathers don't scream or threaten you. That man was a hypocrite and he deserved far worse than what I gave him. Death was a blessing."

I had never felt such a strong surge of rage, as I swung my clenched fist at him, catching him right below the temple.

He stepped backward from the impact before motioning the approaching Betas away again, spitting at the ground before looking at me smugly.

"You never learn, do you? Your rage is just like fathers."

I surged forward, gripping his shirt collar, and thrashed him around.

"I'm nothing like him."

"Really?"

He gripped my collar back, extending his claws dangerously close to my neck before saying...

"The similarities are uncanny."

My wolf snarled, as I swung my fist at his ear, taking the opportunity to jab my other fist into his stomach.

He doubled over, clenching his stomach as I shoved him to the ground.

I sent a succession of ill-aimed punches at his face, some at his chest as he pathetically tried to block them.

It was like a switch had hit, the rage totally blinding me from everything else, my wolf and possibly adrenaline fueling me to unleash all the hurt I was feeling.

From today, from yesterday, from back then sixteen years ago, everything and thinking about it, if Michael really killed father, then wasn't it him after all?

The one who started all this shit.

The whole reason for finding his murderer, to finding out that Simon's dad was the closest culprit we had?

I punched him again, gripping his neck in my other hand as I continued pummeling his face.

I felt so numb, so disembodied that I wasn't even sure how many punches I had thrown.

Twenty? Thirty?

"Why?" I demanded, throwing another one weakly at his chest.

Was that even enough, given what this had meant?

The reason I had ended up kicking Simon out in the first place?

The reason I had hurt his family like that, portrayed them as this awful family?

I wasn't even aware if my wolf had taken over.

Had he?

It felt like an out of body experience, punching him over and over, the anger consuming every fiber of my being.

Then there were the threats of murdering Simon, weaseling his way into the pack as Alpha.

Making all these changes, making me do all this stupid paperwork and then the ring?

"Why?"

I was breathing heavily now but I was still going, sending a couple more punches to his temple, one catching the corner of his mouth.

It was all him, he had been the reason behind it all.

The reason mother was dying, the reason Xavier had no mate.

The reason why I had hurt my mate time and time again.

It had all stemmed from 'him'.

"Why?" I said meekly, out of breath.

I delivered one last weak punch, catching the other temple.

I was heaving, struggling to catch my breath as my vision started to come back to focus.

My ears were ringing but as I stared down at the mess I made, I could hear Michael's pathetic laugh, pained from the punches and bloody mess.

Had it not been for that infamous smirk of his still mocking me even as he remained on the brink of consciousness, I couldn't even recognize him.

It was just like our father, the wounds and damage on his face, the probable bruising and trauma I had caused to his ribs, even the faintest tint of bruising around his neck.

It was like a veil being lifted, a sudden drop into ice-cold water as things become clearer.

The ringing in my ears dying down, my vision coming back and the initial rage I felt slowly stilling.

My breaths were still laboured, heavy from the physical assault I had just committed but it wasn't just the sight of Michael like this that shocked me.

It was the noise, the audible gasps, and murmurs coming from around us, the sounds of anguish and fear but one stood out amongst the cacophony of noises.

"Vince?"

[xasha777]

In the distant future, Earth had evolved into a series of city-states, each ruled by a sovereign imbued with extraordinary powers derived from ancient artifacts. One of the most magnificent of these city-states was New St. Louis, a city reimagined in a blend of cutting-edge technology and ancient grandeur. At its heart stood the Temple of Light, an awe-inspiring edifice carved from shimmering gold and cobalt blue stone, where the Cosmic Sovereign ruled.

The Cosmic Sovereign, an enigmatic figure known as Lysander, stood tall and regal within the sacred halls of the temple. His piercing blue eyes mirrored the orb he held—a relic of unimaginable power that connected him to the stars and beyond. The orb, known as the Celestial Sphere, had granted Lysander the ability to manipulate cosmic energies and maintain peace within his dominion.

Lysander's lineage traced back to the legendary King Louis IX of France, known in history as St. Louis. The tales of St. Louis had been passed down through the generations, transforming into myth and legend. Lysander revered his ancestor, whose wisdom and dedication to justice inspired his rule. The connection to St. Louis was not merely historical; Lysander often sought counsel from the spectral presence of the saint, who appeared to him through the Celestial Sphere.

New St. Louis thrived under Lysander's reign. The city's infrastructure was a marvel, with energy sourced from renewable cosmic forces, and its citizens lived in harmony with advanced artificial intelligence systems. However, the city was not without its challenges. The balance of power attracted the attention of interstellar factions who coveted the Celestial Sphere's power.

One such faction, the Technocracy of Orion, believed they could harness the sphere's energy to fuel their war machines and expand their dominion. Their leader, Archon Zephyrus, a man driven by ambition and greed, orchestrated an elaborate plan to seize New St. Louis and its powerful artifact.

Under the cover of darkness, Zephyrus' elite strike force infiltrated the city's defenses. Alarms blared through the night as Lysander stood on the temple's grand balcony, the Celestial Sphere glowing with an intense azure light. He could feel the disruption in the cosmic balance and knew that a confrontation was inevitable.

With a determined gaze, Lysander invoked the spirit of St. Louis, seeking guidance. The saint's spectral form materialized, his voice echoing through the temple. "You are the guardian of this realm, Lysander. Your strength lies not just in the orb but in the unity of your people. Stand firm, and let justice prevail."

Inspired by his ancestor's words, Lysander rallied the city's defenders. Warriors in golden armor, enhanced with advanced technology, took their positions, ready to defend their home. Lysander descended from the temple, the Celestial Sphere floating above his hand, casting a protective shield over the city.

The battle was fierce, with energy weapons clashing against the cosmic forces wielded by Lysander. The Technocracy's machines were formidable, but Lysander's connection to the celestial energies gave him an edge. His warriors fought valiantly, their spirits bolstered by the presence of their sovereign.

In the heart of the conflict, Lysander faced Zephyrus in a climactic duel. The Archon's advanced exosuit powered by stolen cosmic energy gave him strength, but he underestimated Lysander's resolve and the power of the Celestial Sphere. With a final surge of energy, Lysander overwhelmed Zephyrus, shattering his exosuit and rendering him powerless.

The invaders retreated, and New St. Louis stood victorious. The city's citizens celebrated their sovereign, who had once again proven his dedication to their safety and prosperity. Lysander returned to the temple, the Celestial Sphere dimming to a soft glow, its power replenished.

As he stood before the altar, the spectral form of St. Louis appeared once more. "You have done well, Lysander. Remember, the true strength of a leader lies in the love and unity of their people."

With gratitude and determination, Lysander bowed to his ancestor. "I will uphold your legacy, St. Louis, and ensure that New St. Louis remains a beacon of hope and justice in the cosmos."

And so, under the watchful eyes of their cosmic sovereign, the city of New St. Louis flourished, a testament to the enduring spirit of its legendary namesake and the boundless potential of humanity united under a just and wise ruler.

[dapurinthos]

me: i am going to make problems for maul on purpose by attempting to speed-run his emancipation from sidious post-yinchorri invasion of the jedi temple but pre-naboo.

My eyes flick up, and then back down. “Sorry,” I say automatically, course-correcting to a path where I won’t bump into anyone else on the way to the ‘fresher. “I didn’t see you there.” I go to step around him and freeze, my brain catching up to what I actually saw in that millisecond. The man in the hallway wears black, enough to be shrouded like a corpse in it. His hands are encased in black gloves, and the hood sits on his head in a way that reveals the hidden vestigial horns beneath. Black tattoos paint his face in sharp shapes and lines, following the natural variations in his skin pigmentation. Zabrak, a voice in my mind says helpfully. Dathomiri Zabrak. A very specific Dathomiri Zabrak. My breath freezes in my throat as I look up and up and up. It’s not that Currently-Still-Darth Maul is especially tall—he’s about the same height as Kenobi—but he has a tall presence. A tall, dark presence. The air practically roils around him, seething with the heat and edge of his hate. The thickness of it should have been palpable from kilometres off. Why no one else has sensed it, I don’t know. I glance back over my shoulder at the main part of House of Leaves but I can’t feel anyone coming to investigate what could be causing this sudden surge of darkness. Maul stares down at me with a suppressed rage that puts the hair on the back of my neck up, eyes more golden than the sickly yellow of the Sith. There are red rings around his irises bleeding into the yellow and the white sclerae. For one of the very few of times in my life, I manage to hold eye contact, mesmerized by how his eyes glow beneath his hood. Even though the glow panels buzz and whine overhead with their cold and sharp light, everything is shadows. “Oh, motherkriffer,” I squeak, after I remember to breathe. This is how I’m going to die: Darth Maul, in the Monument Plaza boba tea shop, probably using some sort of twisted Sith weaponry that will make my death look like an accident so it doesn’t call down the attention a lightsaber wound would. Can’t have shit on Coruscant.

[peppered-imps]

the obianidala discord went wild with medieval obidala au chat so here's this

He is not supposed to be there yet he stands, sunlit and golden, in the doorway of her chambers, holding her stunned gaze with troubled eyes. 

“I am not a selfish man,” he says suddenly, without preamble. She feels the first unwise step of her feet towards him, compulsive, instinctive.

But she remembers herself, remembers what’s at risk, and halts. Pulls herself back. Turns away and toys with the wedding jewels laid out for her at her dressing table, feigning preoccupation. 

She does not know how or why he’s come, and does not let herself hope.

“Indeed you’re not, good sir,” she agrees in a polite, detached tone; it’s all she can give him. All she can afford to offer now. And it is no lie; he is kind and noble, selfless. “Your heart is unmatched.” 

His footfall is slightly uneven on the wooden floor behind her — the lingering symptom of an old injury from the war — and she is acutely aware of it. Feels his ever-known presence growing closer with each step. Feels the reflexive lean of herself into it. “Then why, Your Grace, do I find myself struck by these… thoughts… that are so unlike me? That I cannot rid myself of?”

“Thoughts?” She cannot hide the lilt in her voice, the upward cadence of it as her curiosity piques, as her heart surges painfully beneath her ribs. She clears her throat, idly fingering a strung pearl necklace in front of her. “Such as?”

“Selfish thoughts…” She can feel him just behind her, and stills.

“Of what, dear sir?” She whispers, eyes fluttering shut as she relishes in his cherished presence, denied to her in these final days of her engagement. His breath is light, warm like a summer breeze, against her skin, stirring the hair at the nape of her neck. 

“You,” he hums, his nose grazing the soft curtain of her hair, tracing the shell of her ear. “And how I do not wish to share you with another…”

His confession, long awaited, leaves her breathless, has her leaning back into the sturdy wall of his chest. He sucks in a deep breath, flat palms sliding around the silk bodice of her gown to pull her flush against him.

“How I want you for myself.”

Her breath hitches, falls from her lips in a tremulous sigh, the sound recalling long spent nights twisted together in bedsheets and their own heady need.

“It is both a great pleasure and a relentless torment,” he continues, “To want you this much. To know I will never be able to release you.”

She shakes her head. It’s a farce of a protest. Weak. Passive. Without any real conviction behind it. “I’m to be married tomorrow. And Lord Skywalker is—is—” 

She cannot finish her sentence, does not know exactly what she means to say. Skywalker is a good man, a worthy man. Powerful, and indeed his good name would do well for her kingdom. But for all that he is, for all the good he could do, he is not… 

“Padme,” he says her name like a prayer and it nearly undoes every fragile strand of her resolve. She turns her head, inclines it to look upon him. Lets her breath mingle with his, lets his lips brush across her cheek, her jaw, the plush bow of her lower lip. “My lady… my love…”

“Obi-Wan…” She slips her hands over his, still pressed tight against her ribs, their heat radiant through her corset, straight to her skin, flushed and aching for him as it always has. She nudges his nose with hers, almost meets his mouth. Her whisper is pained, filled with regret she cannot even attempt to conceal. “I—I have a duty to my people.”

His forehead presses to her temple and she feels him nod. Feels his hands flex under hers, feels them slipping from her grasp, retreating. She holds tight to them, unwilling to let them go. 

“As do I, to my Queen…” he mutters into her skin, voice thick with longing, with grief. “And I will not defy your word. I will not compromise your kingdom… So tell me, Your Highness. Please. Tell me to leave you now and I will.”

She knows he will. Knows that his selfless heart still rules even his selfish desires. Knows he will do almost anything she asks of him. Knows he long ago pledged himself to her, not only in service but in heart.

And she knows the ache that lives inside him, the ever-raging conflict of duty and desire. His torment is her own.

And so she turns, blinks away the sting behind her eyes and faces him with steady resolve, with the reflection of his woe, his longing, his love. She raises her hand to his face, touches her fingers to the rough of his beard, whispering a confession of her own.

“I can’t.”

[marvelmymarvel]

Fever

Orochimaru x Reader

Synopsis: Orochimaru was careful with many things. His experiments, his plans, you... But a baby?? How in the world was he supposed to be careful with a baby?

Tags: @brithedemonspawn​

As a child, you never thought that this would be your future. Orochimaru was known for his evil wrongdoings, that much you knew as a young ninja for the leaf, but now he was trying to turn himself around. The village turned their backs on him, shunning him and treating him like the monster that he himself claimed he was.

But not you.

Now, after years of helping him adjust back into being a ‘model’ citizen (or as close to one as possible), you were here. Tired, covered in vomit, and trying to rock a sick baby back to sleep. It wasn’t the plan you had when you first met him when you first got lost in his golden-colored eyes. All you wanted to do was treat him like a normal person, but nothing ever goes as planned in the real world.

“Please honey, please calm down” you whimpered out, your own tears welling up as the smell of his vomit rose to your nose, making your stomach turn in disgust. Many assured you that a boy would be easier to raise, but that didn’t matter when it came to the baby's bodily functions. Your mind began to race as you pressed a hand to his cheek, biting your lip at the fever on his clammy flesh. Maybe Tsunade could help? Sakura??

Another wail flew from the child, and you too returned your own cry as you shifted him in your arms. Pleading to the gods to help you. “Don’t cry my darling” a husky voice whispered in your ear as Orochimaru’s arm wrapped around you to caress the child's head with the back of his finger. Gentle, barely a touch. He had been having a difficult time with being careful, still not understanding that a baby of this age was a fragile being. One wrong move and he could be killed, something that frightened Orochimaru to the point where he refused to touch his own son.

“Please, please Oro do something. He’s burning up a-and he can’t keep anything down. I’m so scared” your own cry seemed to mask the sick child's uncomfortable wails, shattering the man's heart as you turned in his arms. Your e/c eyes were wide and pleading for him to help, hoping that he could at least lower the child’s fever until the morning where you could get help from a medic.

Orochimaru froze in his spot, he knew before you said anything that his child was not feeling well because of how hot he felt against his finger. His thoughts began to race, worry and concern about harming the fragile child plaguing his mind with anxiety. “Please. Orochimaru. Please help our son”

The fog in his brain cleared at your words, the panic in your tone snapping him out of his own worries. He had to help, he didn’t have time to worry. “Okay, bring him over here” Orochimaru whispered out, turning to walk towards the rocking chair in the corner of the room. He settled down into the wood as his heart raced faster and faster the closer you got to him, neither you nor the baby had stopped crying and all he wanted to do now was help.

“Okay... Put him in my arm”

He didn’t know if that was the proper way to hold a fragile little human, but he hoped that you would adjust the baby in a way where he wouldn’t have to move. You nodded before quickly moving his arm into a cradle shape. “You have to make sure h-his head is supported” you stuttered out instructions out of habit as you lowered the baby onto the arm, adjusting his head so it was propped up against the junction between Orochimaru’s forearm and bicep.

If you had superhearing, you would surely be hearing how fast his heart was pounding right now, but he didn’t have time to think about how terrified he was. He leaned back, adjusting slightly so the wailing baby was still supported securely against his arm. Confidence grew within him, realizing that it wasn’t as hard as he thought. You dropped down beside the rocker, sniffling loudly as you raked your fingers through the baby's thin hair, black just like his father's. “I need you to calm down for me darling” Orochimaru whispered out as he lifted his free hand towards his son's head, it wasn’t that you were being overdramatic for he was also in that state of mind.

But he hated seeing you like this, especially when he could help fix such a problem.

You nodded and realized that he was right, he wasn’t the best at medical ninjutsu but he may be good enough to help. Orochimaru’s shaking hand clasped softly over his son's temple, fingers slightly touching your trembling ones that were now helping to support the squirming child. Taking a deep breath, Orochimaru closed his eyes and focused all of his chakra into his hand, sighing slightly as he heard your gasp of relief as a result.

Slowly the screaming child calmed down and you felt his fever go down with it before he passed out peacefully in his father's arms. Orochimaru opened his eyes and drug his fingers softly along the chubby cheeks of the child, smiling softly at the view before him. Your head rested softly on the armrest of the rocking chair, eyes tired and full of happy tears as you continued to rake your fingers through the little one's hair. “Thank you” you choked out as you stood up from the ground, hands reaching down to scoop the baby from his arms. But something peculiar happened, Orochimaru pulled back.

Your eyebrows shot up in shock but you were far from upset as your husband shot a protective glare your way, “I-I wanna hold him a little longer... Why don't you go to bed my darling. You look exhausted.” Orochimaru sounded nervous as if you would ruin the precious exchange below. You leaned down with a smile as you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, heart surging with love and happiness for the two most important people in your life. He kissed back but pulled away when your baby moved in his arms, bothered by how you leaned over him to get to your husband. 

“Careful” Orochimaru hissed out. Had he hissed at you like such in a different scenario, you would have put him back in his place. But... “Okay. Come to bed soon though” you whispered out before walking towards the door, set on taking a shower and passing out as soon as possible. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off of your chest now that Orochimaru seemed to be on board with helping out, you knew he wanted to but he was so scared of harming the child that you never pushed it. 

You expected him to be in bed by the time you got out of the shower, but the bed was empty. “Baby should be asleep” you whispered to yourself as you headed back down the hall to the nursery, footsteps light and strategic to avoid any loud creaking of the floorboards below. Cracking the door open you found an empty chair and no sign of your son nor Orochimaru. Your eyebrows crinkled together in confusion but you found them soon after as you stepped into the room. A smile formed on your lips as you tiptoed towards the crib, heart hammering as you got closer and closer. On the mattress too tiny for a full-grown man laid Orochimaru, passed out with your son sleeping soundly on his chest.

“You’ll do anything for love... I should have known” you whispered out loud as you reached up and turned off the lamp beside them, making the room pitch black except for a nightlight below the crib. Heading back towards the door, you spared one last look at the two, knowing full well that your husband would be complaining about a sore back the next day. God, you were so thankful you welcomed him with open arms. This wasn’t the future you planned for. “Goodnight boys” you whisper as you close the door behind you.

But you wouldn’t change a thing.