#The galaxy is endless CRUSHED me
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jjkssin · 5 months ago
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Embrace of Ruins. Jk
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Pairing: King jk x widowed (fem) reader.
Character count: 14,962
Genre: Dark Romance | Historical
Tropes: Dominant , controlling jk, forced proximity, obsession , captive romance, war , fragile female lead, mentions of death, mature.
Summary: When ruthless warlord Jeon conquers a rival kingdom, he slaughters its royal bloodline including the cruel king who once claimed Y/N as his wife. But instead of casting her aside, Jeon takes her as his own, stripping her of her former title and making her his possession. She was never meant to be a queen. She was meant to be his.
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The air reeked of blood and burning wood, the sky dark with the smoke of a fallen kingdom. Screams had long since faded into silence, leaving only the sound of victorious banners fluttering in the wind.
The Kingdom had fallen.
This was not just another kingdom swallowed by his empire. No this war had been waged with a purpose far beyond power. It was her. The ghost of a woman he had never seen, only heard of in whispers the famed beauty of the lost kingdom, Y/N.
People had spoken of her ethereal grace, of her skin that glowed like moonlight and eyes that held galaxies within them.
At the heart of the carnage, Jeon sat upon the grand throne, one boot resting on the fallen king’s lifeless body and the golden crown of the fallen king crushed beneath his boot.
The scent of blood and smoke lingered in the air mingling with the screams of the last remnants of a dying dynasty.
His victory was absolute. The kingdom now belonged to him. And so did everything within it.
Including her.
She was a vision in a silk dress , the color of winter’s first snow.
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Amidst it all, She ran.
Bare feet against the cold marble, her silken gown now soaked in the lifeblood of her people, dragging behind her like a ghostly shroud. The palace corridors, once familiar, had become a maze of death and ruin. She barely noticed the bodies, the shattered glass of once grand chandeliers. All she could hear was the pounding of her own heartbeat, the rasp of her breath and the distant clamor of armored boots in pursuit.
She had seen him.
He had stood amidst the wreckage of her throne room, a wolf in the den of slaughter, dark eyes scanning the ruin with calculated indifference.
He had looked at her like a claim already made, and that had been enough to send her fleeing.
She stumbled through the grand doors of the palace and into the frozen night, her thin gown no barrier against the relentless cold. Snowflakes kissed her tear streaked cheeks as she pushed forward, her breath rising in desperate clouds.
The forest loomed ahead a tangle of frostbitten branches and endless dark. She plunged into its depths without hesitation. The crown she had once been forced to wear had been torn from her head, her hair cascading around her face in disheveled waves.
The trees whispered around her, the wind howling like a grieving specter. Her feet tore through the frozen undergrowth, bare skin sliced by unseen thorns but she did not stop.
She could not stop.
She knew they would come. She had seen it in his eyes obsidian pools that swallowed light, a gaze that spoke of possession and a hunger far more dangerous than the battlefield he had razed.
She tried to be silent, tried to disappear into the vast expanse of snow and night but her body betrayed her. A misstep her foot catching on a hidden root sent her tumbling forward. She crashed into the snow, pain exploding through her limbs as she gasped, clawing at the frost with trembling hands.
She scrambled to rise, but it was too late.
A shadow loomed over her, swallowing the pale light of the moon.
Him.
The air shifted with his presence, heavy with something she could not name. His breath came steady, controlled, unaffected by the chase. He had known this would happen. He had allowed her to run, entertained her futile escape before closing in like a beast playing with his prey.
"You thought you could run from me?" His voice was velvet over steel, dark and slow, as though savoring the moment.
Y/N trembled, her body wracked with exhaustion, yet she found herself inching back, her palms sinking into the snow.
Jeon crouched before her, gloved fingers tilting her chin upwards, forcing her to meet the gaze she had so desperately tried to avoid.
"You should know better" he murmured, his lips brushing against hers. "I do not chase what I do not intend to catch."
The rumors had not done her justice.
She was exquisite, a masterpiece carved by the gods themselves.
Even in her disarray, she was ethereal.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she did not fight. She had nothing left to fight for.
A cruel smile tugged at Jeon's lips as he leaned forward.
"Your king is dead. Your kingdom is mine"
With that his hand moved lower, gliding down the torn fabric of her gown, feeling the tremor beneath his touch. And then without warning, he slid his arms beneath her one under her knees, the other wrapping around her back.
She gasped as the ground disappeared beneath her, the sudden closeness of him knocking the breath from her lungs. Her hands instinctively grasped at his shoulders, clutching at the thick fabric of his cloak as he lifted her effortlessly.
The world around them blurred as Jeon carried her back, his strides slow, deliberate, savoring every second of the act.
His men stood waiting at the forest’s edge, their eyes carefully averted, knowing better than to interrupt.
Jeon was the master of every inch of this kingdom now but she was a different kind of victory.
A victory he would not let slip from his grasp
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Jeon had wanted her from the moment he had laid eyes on her. A forbidden desire had taken root deep within him when he had first seen her beside the now dead king , a man unworthy of even touching the hem of her gown, much less claiming her as his.
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The journey from the snow laden forest to Jeon’s kingdom was a silent one. His kingdom loomed ahead like a fortress of stone, walls that could never be breached.
When they finally crossed the threshold into the warmth of Jeon’s kingdom, the heavy iron gates closed behind them with a resounding clang, sealing off the outside world.
He called for his servants, his voice firm and authoritative.
“Take her to my chambers,” he ordered coldly. “Strip her of the dead king’s colors. She wears only what I give her now.”
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The scent of lavender and jasmine filled the air as the maids scrubbed away the blood, the dirt, the remnants of her former life.
But no matter how many times they washed her, no matter how many hands gently soothed her skin, there were things that could not be erased.
The marks on her body. The scars both physical and emotional that she had borne under her husband’s cruel reign.
Afterward, Y/N was dressed in a delicate white nightgown. It clung to her thin frame, the silk soft against her skin, but it did nothing to ease the chill in her bones. The gown was far more modest than the opulent dress she had worn in her past life but it was far too intimate for her current circumstances.
As the maids finished their task, they led her down the stone corridors of Jeon’s castle to his private chambers.
The room was enormous, warm with a roaring fire. She stood silently before him, her eyes cast downward. Jeon stood by the bed his posture strong, unyielding and as always, a palpable aura of control surrounded him.
He moved toward her without a word, his presence overwhelming.
His eyes narrowed as they settled on her shoulders and arms.
His fingers hovered near her shoulder, brushing against the faded remnants of bruises.
“That pathetic excuse for a king,” he spat, his voice dripping with disgust.
“A man unworthy of a throne, unworthy of a crown and certainly unworthy of you."
Jeon growled, his hands flexing as if he longed to tear apart a man who was already rotting in the ground.
"What did you call him?" he mused, tilting his head. "My king? My husband?" He laughed, dark and mocking.
"No king allows his castle to fall while he cowers in his chambers. And a husband…" He paused, his fingers ghosting over the fading bruises on her wrist.
His expression turned cold. "A husband does not treat his wife like a common whore to be used and discarded. I barely had to lift my blade before he was groveling at my feet, begging for his life like a spineless dog"
Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, the image flashing in her mind. She had not loved the king, but his death had been brutal. The sound of steel slicing through flesh, the gurgled choking as he bled out it haunted her.
Jeon exhaled, stepping back slightly.
"I should make you my whore," he mused. "A slave to warm my bed, nothing more. It would be fitting for the widow of such a disgraceful man."
Her stomach twisted in fear.
"But no," he murmured, as if reconsidering. "Though your husband was a disgrace, you are now mine"
His gaze darkened, something unreadable flashing in his eyes.
"Did he ever touch you properly?" Jeon murmured, his voice turning low, almost teasing.
Jeon chuckled darkly. “Of course not. I imagine he was just as pathetic in bed as he was on the battlefield. Weak. Incompetent.”
He leaned in, his breath ghosting over her ear. “Did he even know what to do with you? Or did he fumble like the fool he was?”
Y/N’s breath stuttered. The air in the room felt heavy, suffocating. She didn’t want to answer. She didn’t want to think about it.
Jeon chuckled at her silence.
“You will no longer be a widow,” he said casually, as if discussing the weather.
“You will be my wife. You wil bear my mark and sleep in my bed and by the time I am done with you, you will forget you ever belonged to anyone else.” His voice low in command.
Y/N's breath caught in her throat. "W-what?
Jeon smirked, amused by her reaction. "You are still royalty, no matter how pathetic your bloodline is. And I do not waste what has value." He reached for her again, his fingers brushing over the fabric of her underdress.
Before she could protest, Jeon grasped the thin strap of her underdress and pulled, the silk slipping from her shoulder with ease.
Y/N gasped, instinctively clutching the fabric to her chest.
"Still shy?" His fingers trailed down her arm, his touch deceptively soft.
"Your husband must have taken his pleasures without care. Rushed. Unskilled."
His gaze flickered over her, unreadable.
"A shame. I prefer to savor what is mine."
Y/N trembled as he grasped the other strap, slowly sliding it down her shoulder. The silk pooled at her collarbones, threatening to slip further.
Y/N’s throat tightened, a tear slipping down her cheek . Heat rushed to her cheeks, shame and something unfamiliar twisting inside her.
"You were wasted on him," Jeon murmured. "But you will not be wasted on me."
His hand gripped her waist, pulling her closer. She gasped, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"You will be my wife before the sun rises. And no kingdom, no force in this world will take you from me."
Jeon murmured, his voice laced with something deeper, something unshakable.
“I could touch you in ways that pathetic fool never could. I could make you beg, make you forget he ever existed.”
His hands slid lower, gripping her thighs holding her still.
“You will know what it means to be wanted,” he promised. “To be craved.”
She closed her eyes as his lips descended, as his touch deepened, as the last of her old self was stripped away like the silks of her gown.
She had been the queen of a doomed king. A nameless ghost in a gilded cage. A woman forgotten by the very man who had sworn to own her.
But Jeon was not a man who forgot what belonged to him.
He pressed her back against the silk draped bed, his gaze burning into hers as he loomed above her, all shadow and heat, all power and intent.
"You will curse me," he whispered, his lips hovering just above hers, "and you will crave me all the same."
His mouth claimed her then, slow and consuming, as if proving his words true. As if sealing the vow between them with something far more binding than marriage, more damning than devotion.
She let herself sink, let herself be undone, because there was no kingdom left to fight for, no crown left to bear, only this. Only him.
And as his hands traced a path of ruin and worship alike, she realized something with aching finality.
She was not lost. She had simply been claimed.
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The first light of dawn crept through the towering windows, painting the stone walls in hues of muted gold. The warmth of the sun did nothing to chase away the lingering shadows of the night before.
She stirred, her body aching not from pain, but from the imprint of him.
Her body heavy with exhaustion.
Her skin burned where his touch had claimed her, the memory of his hands and his voice still lingering in her senses like a lingering scent, impossible to escape.
She blinked against the morning light, the thick, heavy silence of the room pressing down upon her. The bed was empty beside her, the space where Jeon had been only a ghost of heat.
A low voice broke the silence. “Did you sleep well?”
Her body tensed, her muscles still trembling from the storm of the night before. Jeon stood near the tall windows, his silhouette framed by the light, his presence as imposing as ever.
He looked unchanged powerful, untouchable.
"Get up," he commanded, already reaching for the black silk robe draped over a nearby chair. "We have matters to attend to."
She hesitated, sitting up slowly, the silk sheets slipping from her bare shoulders.
"What matters?"
Jeon turned, fastening the robe around his waist, "Our wedding."
Her breath caught.
Jeon chuckled, "What? Did you think I would leave you as a nameless concubine?" He stepped closer, gripping her chin between his fingers.
She searched his gaze, trying to understand, to make sense of this shift. "Then... I will be the queen of this place?"
"You wish to rule?" His voice was measured but there was an edge of something deeper beneath it.
Y/N swallowed hard. "No. But.." She hesitated, unsure how to put the ache in her.
She trailed off, shame burning in her throat.
Jeon studied her, a thoughtful hum vibrating from his chest. "You are not meant for war," he said at last.
"Not meant for bloodshed and for dirty politics." He tilted his head, his gaze heavy.
"You are meant for me."
His words did not soothe her as he likely intended them to.
She had listened. She had obeyed. She had surrendered in body.
But she would not surrender this.
"I will not marry you," she said, her voice quiet, yet firm.
"I will not be your wife unless I am your queen," Y/N said, her voice trembling but unwavering. "You took my kingdom, my home, my name. If I am to be bound to you, I will not be just another possession. "
His fingers curled slightly, then relaxed. Slowly, he turned, dark eyes locking onto her with something unreadable something slow-burning, something dangerous.
"You will," he said simply.
She lifted her chin, a flicker of defiance breaking through her usual obedience.
"Not if I am not to be queen."
A slow, mirthless smirk tugged at his lips. "Is that what you want?" He stepped toward her, his presence suffocating, the air in the room shifting like a storm about to break.
"A throne?"
She clenched her fists in her lap, her pulse thrumming against her throat. "I was a queen before you tore my kingdom apart." Her voice did not waver, though her breath did. "I will not be cast aside as some nameless wife while you rule alone."
Jeon studied her in silence, the weight of his gaze heavy, assessing. Then, without warning, he moved.
Faster than she could react, his fingers closed around her throat not choking, not hurting, just a firm grip, possessive, commanding. He tilted her head back, forcing her to look up at him, his thumb pressing lightly against the delicate pulse at her neck.
"You speak as though you have a choice."
She gasped softly but she did not break away.
Jeon’s other hand traced the curve of her jaw, his touch deceptively gentle, a contrast to the quiet fury simmering in his dark eyes.
"You were not a queen," he murmured. "You were a prisoner in a cage, a wife to a spineless rat who did not deserve you. You wore a crown but it was never truly yours. "
His fingers tightened slightly around her throat, enough to remind her of his power, enough to send a shiver down her spine.
"And now, you demand a throne beside me?" He leaned closer, his breath fanning against her lips. "No. You will kneel before it instead."
Her heart pounded, her breath shallow, but she still managed to whisper "If I mean nothing more than a body in your bed, end this now."
The air shifted violently.
Jeon’s grip tightened for the briefest moment just long enough to make her dizzy before he released her completely. He exhaled sharply, stepping back, his jaw taut, his gaze dark with something volatile.
For the first time since conquering this land, since taking her, someone had denied him.
And he did not tolerate defiance.
"Very well," he murmured, his voice eerily calm. "If you will not walk to the altar, you will be dragged to it."
Today, she would become his wife.
Not his queen.
He would marry her, not as a political arrangement, not as a necessity but because he wanted her.
He was a conqueror. He alone was enough to rule his land.
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The silk gown clung to Y/N’s trembling frame, the deep red fabric as heavy as the chains she could not see but could feel in every step she was forced to take. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails pressing into her palms as the realization settled deeper into her bones. The room was deathly silent, the air thick with the scent of incense and candle wax.
Jeon stood before her, a predator draped in black and gold, exuding dominance with every breath. His patience was a thinly veiled thing, stretching dangerously as he watched her remain still, unmoving, unyielding.
"Come forward," he commanded, his voice steady but edged with warning.
Her feet refused to move.
In a single, fluid motion, he closed the distance between them, his fingers wrapping around her wrist in an iron grip. He yanked her forward, forcing her to stumble against his chest.
“You speak of power as if it is something I would give you,” he murmured, his voice deceptively soft, venom laced beneath the words. “You forget your place.”
She gasped, struggling against his grip, but he was relentless, his fingers digging into her wrist as he pulled her through the vast hall.
"You will stand beside me, Y/N," he said, voice cold, final. "But a throne is not something I share."
He did not stop until they stood before the officiant.
A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.
Jeon studied her for a moment before sighing, almost in disappointment.
“I was willing to grant you this wedding without force. To let you walk beside me, instead of dragging you like a conquered spoil of war.”
“I did not win this kingdom with patience. I won it with blood.”
Then, louder, he addressed the officiant. “Begin.”
The ceremony was as empty as her heart. No grand feast, no celebration. Just her, him and the officiant bearing witness to the binding of a vow. She repeated them in a hollow whisper, her voice barely her own.
But as he pulled her in for the final kiss, sealing her beneath his name, his rule.
He tasted the salt of her tears on her lips.
For a moment, just a moment, he felt the bitter sting of something less than victory.
Because despite binding her to him, despite claiming her, despite stealing her body, her name. He felt the weight of something he could not conquer.
He had burned kingdoms for her. Killed kings for her. Stolen her from the ashes of a life she never wanted. Yet her sadness was a wound he could not stitch.
Jeon had indeed won the war.
But he had not won her.
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(End)🤍
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after-thought · 1 month ago
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A thing that f*#ked me up this week... I watched a documentary focused on recent Hubble telescope photos of many new galaxies both older and more complex than previous thought possible. It turns everything we thought to know about our universe and how it was created on its head. It made a very articulate argument that this points to the conclusion that our universe exists within a black hole... We exist in a bubble beyond the event horizon of a black hole within a larger universe.
I feel some kind of powerful way about this that I can't quite parse.
Grief, maybe. Dreadful knowing. Immeasurable loneliness.
We are the aftermath of destruction of everything. Cut off. Sealed beneath a scar in fabric of the real universe. We are a festering wound. Unable to be seen - reached - beyond that membrane. Our begining arose from a horrific ending. Made from the scattered ashes of crushed universes - torn apart molecule by molecular to be our building blocks. Their tragedy is our birth.
I have sat in night and stared at stars and imagined it to be freedom - the false lid of a perfect sky of daytime removed to reveal the truth - an endless vast expanse of possibility. Yet, it is a jar inside a jar. We cannot even begin to imagine the truth of the world beyond our bubble.
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It makes a kind of sense when even birth is an act of violence - tearing of flesh and breaking of bone - and we had no say in it but still our existence is insistent on it. Never free of the violence.
To eat... I heard even mushrooms scream in their own way - warning vast networks when we pluck them. Yet we can't exist but through consumption - destroying to sustain.
Of course we are a black hole. Of course we are.
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optimusxwbu · 2 months ago
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ೃ⁀➷ optimus prime x human fem reader 18+
-> warnings/tags: 18+, fairly vanilla tbh, needy optimus, praise. 3.5k words.
-> minors dni, you will be blocked!!
finally living up to my name and writing for optimus (he’s my number one) rather than megatron lol
︵‿︵‿ ❤︎ ‿︵‿︵
An exasperated ex-vent came from Optimus as he stepped into your shared habsuite. You were lying on your back, legs crossed, as you held up a datapad in the air, still trying to learn Cybertronian texts.
Your head rolled to the side to watch Optimus enter the room, a few datapads in his servo, splayed out like playing cards, his audial fins pushed back slightly like an unhappy cat.
“Bad day?” you asked as you locked the screen of your datapad, shuffling up so that you could swing yourself around and sit in a kneeling position, your butt on the heels of your feet.
Optimus was moving sluggishly through the room, only giving you a short nod in response. He discarded the datapads onto the desk, the force of it scattering a couple of them across the surface.
“Come here,” you instructed, reaching your hands out to him.
He approached your shared berth, lifting one leg to stand on it before expending the energy to mass-displace it down to a tolerable size, more compatible with you. 
You extended your hands further, giving an ushering gesture with them. He couldn’t resist obliging you, so he slowly lowered himself to his knees before leaning forward and placing his helm on your lap, turning his helm to the side.
His servos came up to loosely hold onto your hips, rubbing small circles into them.
A gentle hand found its way to the top of his helm, giving him a delicate stroke to soothe him. You could’ve sworn he softened a little just from your touch. You repeated the motion, head tipping to peer down at him, seeing his optics dim.
“So much fighting, hm?” You hushed, barely above a whisper, “so much pressure on you, the weight of it must be crushing. Even for a bot as strong as you.”
Optimus shifted slightly, his left leg hitching up to make him more comfortable.
“But you do such a good job,” you praised, “better than good. Your capabilities are endless, I couldn’t even to begin to list them.”
You ghosted your fingertips over the audial fin that was exposed to you, which made them flutter slightly, like an involuntary reaction. You smiled slightly at that, deciding to do it again.
“No one could even come close to you. To how noble, strong, kind, righteous, steadfast you are. There is no better mech to lead against the opposition.”
Optimus rubbed the side of his helm against your thighs, revelling in the softness of them. They made perfect pillows. The gesture his non-verbal way of asking you to continue, maybe?
“I count my lucky stars every day that I get to call you mine. For a simple creature like me to be blessed with the presence of the divine, it almost feels surreal.”
Optimus’ optics blinked back online, the bright blue shining brightly. He hummed in his chest before taking a firmer hold of your waist.
“You have it mixed up,” were the first words to come from him since entering the room, “I am lucky to have you. To have a beautiful being who has been so endlessly patient, so considerate, so understanding.”
You tutted at that, almost rolling your eyes at the statement. He really knew how to play it up, sometimes.
“I’m being serious,” Optimus countered before you even said anything, “your lifespan, it’s so- fleeting. Yet here you are, willing to stay here with me despite the war, despite my duties. I cannot help but sometimes feel like I have robbed you of your prime years.”
Your soft caresses ceased on his helm at that, eyes blinking just once.
“Optimus,” you voiced, “that isn’t true.”
“Isn’t it?” The guilt he felt wracked his voice.
“Of course it isn’t,” you shook your head, “look at how much you have given me, despite your circumstances. You have loved me, cherished me, moreso than anyone that came before you. You have shown me galaxies, stars and planets beyond what any human could hope to witness. You have lengthened my life, broadened it, by doing everything that you do for me.”
Optimus stirred at that, helm coming up from your lap as he now rose to his knees, upper body leaning towards you and allowing his face to be in your full view.
“I love you, Optimus,” you confessed, “my heart will forever belong to you.”
The mech’s mask retracted back into the sides of his helm, his dazzling beauty now unobstructed.
“I love you so very much,” Optimus returned, before moving forward to kiss you.
Your hands settled on his faceplate as you enthusiastically returned the kiss.
“More than, any words, could convey,” he continued to express through broken kisses. 
Your heart fluttered, a shallow nod of your head non-verbally showing that you felt that same way, but he was always much better with his words than you were. 
One of Optimus’ servos found its way to your back, drawing you towards him to urge you into lying beneath him. Never one to deny him what he wanted, considering how he rarely ever asked for anything, you heeded his desires and untucked your legs from underneath you.
Optimus’ presence on you pushed you back, so that you were lying on your back once again, all whilst never breaking the kiss. 
“My one true love,” the mech uttered, moving his helm so that he could pepper kisses along your neck. 
His way with words always made you blush; he was such a smooth talker, and he didn’t even realise it. The servo still on your back pulled you further into him, connecting your bodies further, your head tipping back to allow him the space to kiss down your neck.
Even though you knew this is where the night would probably head, you weren’t expecting Optimus to start grinding his interface panel in between your legs so soon. You let out a surprised gasp, hands moving to settle on his shoulders.
“W-wait,” with that one word, Optimus stopped immediately, unlatching himself from your neck and coming up to look down at you. If you wanted to stop, he would stop, no questions asked. The look on his face reassured you of that.
“I do want to, but I want to treat you tonight,” you reasoned with him, voice meek. 
He cocked his head slightly, before you ran your hands from his shoulder to the windows on his chest plating. 
“Swap positions with me.”
“Anything for you, my love.”
A short, breathy chuckle came from you at his willingness. You escaped out from underneath him, allowing him to pivot himself and lie back on the berth, just as you had asked. 
You came to sprawl between his legs, your hands resting on his thigh struts, before lowering yourself to start kissing over his hip armour, dancing over the interface panel when you reached it. Your movements were slow and deliberate, you wanted him to savour every moment of this. 
Your dexterous fingers trailed along his transformation seams on his thighs, running your nails under particularly deep seams to make him shudder. Little did anyone know that he was actually incredibly sensitive in those crevices. 
“Will you open up for me?” You asked sweetly, feeling your breath against the warm panels of his plating.
The subtle hiss of panels whirring hit your ears as his interface panels drew back, his pressurised spike slipping free, standing tall and proud in front of your waiting lips.
“What a good mech,” you teased, giving a small kiss to the tip of his spike, drips of pre-fluid pressing up against your lips. You rubbed your lips together like it was lip gloss, before peeking your tongue out of your mouth to lick it up. He tasted good, it had a tingling sensation that ran along your tongue.
The sight alone made Optimus shudder with excitement. Even the smallest taunts for you sent his systems on the path to crashing.
His spike was such a marvel of creation, sleek and dark blue, with accents of red that ran up the length of him. He had small biolights that wrapped around it, spiralling down like a helter-skelter. It also helped that he was big. As you might expect from Prime.
You grabbed his stiff spike and guided yourself to his head. He watched you with tension, full of fervour. Your soothing thumb rolled over the tip, ridding the prefluid created just for you. 
Breaking his tension, at long last, you dragged your tongue up the underside of his spike, all the way to the top to lick off any remnant of prefluid left. His servo tangled in your locks, bunching your hair up into a loose ponytail.
"Please, please suck it," he cooed down to you. The neediness that clung onto every word of his plea shot a bolt of electricity through you, straight to your clit. 
You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped you from the sensation, and you enveloped your mouth over the head of his spike and swirled your tongue around it, bobbing your head down occasionally to fit more in your mouth. 
Your mouth was almost full of him, your tongue going around him faster and faster like a corkscrew. His servos held your head, clenching tighter the more eager you got. You tauntingly brought your mouth back up, pulling your tongue across the underneath of his spike, and he let out a lengthy, breathy sigh, "You torture me."
Optimus grunted in arousal before thrusting his hips up and pushing your head down. You gagged at the unexpected motion, his spike forced halfway down your throat. Quickly, you pulled yourself back together sucked like he wanted you to, using one hand to jerk him off from the base, it rotating gently to stimulate him further. 
Your other hand found its way to his valve, which was already soaked. Your featherlight touch teased the outer folds as your talented mouth continued to work his spike.
You could’ve sworn that a small keening noise erupted from Optimus, praising yourself internally for such a victory. 
Deciding not to torment the poor bot any further, you stuffed two of your fingers into his valve, the tight callipers clenching your fingers as you worked your way in knuckle-deep.
Optimus’ hips arched up at the feeling, forcing his spike further into your mouth.
You sucked hard, and brought your head up slowly to make him feel a vast increase in pressure with your ministrations; like a vacuum. Optimus sobbed out your name, digits tugging at your hair. 
You continued to suck and pump his length quickly at the same time, all whilst remaining coordinated enough to start thrusting your fingers in and out of his dripping valve. 
Every drop of transfluid his spike made for you was sucked up by your mouth, the taste oddly electrifying yet so addicting. You moaned at the back of your throat, the vibrations running down his length.
"Primus, you are incredible at this," he rewarded you with praise and a soft stroke to your hair, but his subtle moans and grunts were enough reward for you. 
The rhythm of your fingers changed, now using a beckoning motion to rub against his upper walls, teasing the rings that you felt there. He choked on his moan, he might’ve just died and gone to Cyberutopia.
He bit down on his derma and those studying eyes of his watched you suck him off, your pussy getting wetter and your thighs aching with desperation, your body screaming with the urge to be fucked into next week. But tonight was about him, about rewarding your big, strong mech for all his gallant actions.
You picked the pace up, slicking his whole spike with your saliva; the parts of his spike that you couldn’t reach were not free from your spit, as there was so much that it started to run down and pool at the base.
Optimus trembled beneath you slightly, his servos gripping the length of your hair tighter as he felt himself be pushed to the top of the mountain, his processor glitching as he released a heavy dose of transfluid into your mouth, his valve grasping your fingers as he rode out his high in the warm embrace of your mouth.
You gulped down as much as you could in one go, but the liquid was too heavy, too thick and far too much in quantity to take it all. Some of it slipped past your lips as you came off his spike with a ‘pop’.
Slowly extracting your soaked fingers from his valve, you stuck them into your mouth, all whilst his transfluid dripped down your chin, small droplets on it falling to your chest. Your tongue worked languidly around your fingers, making sure to get every last bit.
Optimus’ cooling fans were turned onto their maximum setting as his optics were blown wide, unable to fully process the downright filthy scene playing out before him. 
Once you were satisfied with how much you managed to lick off your fingers, you used the back of your hand to wipe your chin and lips, giving him a sultry grin.
“Ride me,” Optimus said, he almost sounded breathless, even though that wasn’t possible.
“Yes, sir,” was your response, the grin on your lips never faltering as you lifted your top within the same moment, throwing it behind you. When you were in the habsuite, you rarely lounged around with a bra, so you didn’t have to worry about taking one off.
Next came your trousers, which were loose-fitting and comfortable, meaning that it took hardly any effort at all to rid yourself of them, which you did so with your underwear in the same movement. The articles of clothing meeting the same fate as your top, discarded somewhere behind you.
You crawled your way up to him, settling your legs on either side of him, placing yourself just behind his spike before sitting down, letting it rest against your stomach.
“You see how deep you are when you fuck me?” You gestured to where his spike came up to against you, the tip reaching over your belly button.
“So deep that you’re basically rearranging my guts. And fuck, baby, it feels so good.”
Optimus whimpered at that, his servos clasping around your waist as he tried to usher you up. One of your hands settled on top of his, whilst the other grabbed the bottom of his spike to help guide him in as you lifted your hips and hovered yourself over him, letting your legs do all the work in dropping yourself to meet him.
Your cunt swallowed his tip happily, letting your tight walls engulf the rest of him as you sat on him fully. 
Both of you let out a subtle moan at him being seated to the brim within you, his digits twitching against your soft skin. You lifted yourself before dropping back down, cunt sucking him back in so that he could lose himself through the feeling of you.
Your cunt wrapped around him perfectly, you were like an addiction that he would never be able to sate. He was a glutton for the feeling of you, couldn’t tear his mind from the mental images of fucking you whenever he could, you are a very welcome distraction in the chaos of war. He needed it.
You could’ve melted on his spike right here and now as you bounced with wanton ambition, your toes curling as his spike made way inside of you, no challenge insurmountable. He would have you. He would have every part of you, without question. You belong to him, as he belongs to you.
Even though this was for him, you were getting so much pleasure from this as well. His spike is so thick that you want to ride it forever. Your mind is trained on pleasing him in this very moment, but it didn’t obstruct your own building heat.
“More, more, don’t stop, ah!” The baritone rumble of his voice pierced through your ears, his pleading so unbelievably sexy. You loved this side of the Prime, the side that wasn’t afraid to let you take the reins and fuck the life out of him.
You leant back slightly, placing your hands behind you and planting them on his thighs once again, now rolling your hips over him, causing the tip to rub so wonderfully against that spongy spot inside of you.
“Ohh fuck,” came an exasperated expletive from your lover, “fuck just like that, you’re riding me so good.”
Your eyes rolled back as you whined, chest heaving with heavy pants. The pleasure on pleasure is otherworldly, it's all yours to claim as you let your cunt give the Autobot leader all the loving he needs right now.
With his deft servos on your hips, he helped guide your movements and force you up and down at a pace that he deemed necessary. His vocaliser was simmering with static as he moaned for you, without restraint.
There was an unbridled sensation thrumming through his entire frame, one that he felt so often around you. It was as if he wanted to expose his very spark to you and ensnare you, trapping you against him forever, never letting you go.
You're working yourself over his unyielding length, going faster to draw more of those desperate whines from Optimus. His hips arch off the bed, giving an insane amount of depth. Your breathing is ragged and catching as you struggle to stay balanced on top of him, swinging your body forward to firmly steady yourself on his chest windows.
The heat rolling off of you caused a faint ghosted silhouette of the shape of your hands on his windows, which were staggeringly cold in comparison. You chanted his name like a hymn, vision blurring with the tears that built along the waterline.
Your mouth hung open, your brows creased as you screamed his name, as loud as you could. To hell with the others on the ship, you wanted them to know how good he fucked you. By how loud he was being as well, the others would definitely know what was going on. Your body was a maze in which he never wanted to find his way out of.
“I’d die a happy mech if I could stay buried inside of you forever,” he mindlessly stated, head lolling as you could sense he was nearing his end.
“We can have that arranged,” you recklessly promised with a harrumph, “just you and me, fucking each other forever.”
He nodded as his optics flickered with colour, “like turbofoxes in heat.”
You selfishly ride his spike whilst you swallow your moans and cries of arousal, your cunt being stretched out with each roll of your hips. You tilt your hips forward so that you can rub your clit against his pelvis each time you move up and down on him. The warm metal made such a good source of friction against your throbbing clit.
With the added pleasure, your vision began to double, and you could hear your pulse beating in your ears. The sounds coming from you were nothing short of pornographic, unable to compose yourself when you were on the end of his spike, like it’s where you belonged. 
The coil inside of you finally meets its breaking point, the wrapped metal snapping as you let yourself fall into the heat of pleasure, the orgasm sending lava through your veins as you cried out, your head being thrown back as you squeezed down on him.
Optimus truly wasn’t far behind you, his grip on your hips now bordering on bruising as he effortlessly fucked your body, his hips now raising to thrust into you as well. Your body jolted, and your hair swayed as he chased his own release as if he were competing for a medal.
“A-ah, I’m- overloading, I’m overloading!” His frame quivered.
There's a sharp tightness that winds in his core, then a burst of euphoria as his tremendous relief flows, paired with a strained grunt. He rolls your hips over his spike a couple more times for good measure, making sure that his transfluid is fully dumped into you. 
As he slowed you down, bringing you to an eventual stop and then lowering his hips, you were fruitlessly trying to catch your breath as his cooling fans still worked overtime to regulate his internal heat.
He looks up to you like you're the entire world, feeling fully satisfied.
You smile down at him, caressing a hand over his cheek plate.
In an instant, he flipped your positions again, so that you were now underneath him. You yelped at the unexpected movement, all with his spike still firmly inside of you. He ex-vented as he pulled out his length and then fixed his head to rest on your chest.
He was mindful that he might be heavy, so he was somewhat hesitant to let himself fully lean his weight on you, but you welcomed it nonetheless.
You wrapped your arms around him, gently playing with his audial fins as he lay on you in a similar fashion to how he was earlier.
He’s your big mech, and he decides when the cuddles are over.
“Thank you,” he muttered tiredly.
“Get some rest, my love. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
285 notes · View notes
veiled-harvest · 2 months ago
Text
Royal Pains | Viltrumite!Mark Grayson x Alien Princess!Reader | Chapter : 1 18+
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CONTENT WARNINGS : war, forced marriage ,grief , light gore+ minimal blood descriptions , death ,mentions death, violence, Foreplay, Male Masturbation
Word count : ~ 4.8K
As if being a princess wasn’t hard enough— you had to be an alien princess on top of it. Your planet is on the smaller side but the resources it offered made up for its size. Which made the offer that Viltrume bestowed upon yu so heinously ;that much more difficult to decline.
In exchange for the insurance of your subjects’ safety and longevity; you were asked to marry their prince.
You had never met him, not once since you sat upon the throne. Most of your time was spent planning , protecting, and preserving the culture of your home.
The species you called family were known for being well beyond advanced in agriculture across the galaxy, a good portion of its herbs and supplies used in intergalactic health care ,grown entirely in your planet.
This meant countless threats of invasion after the death of the previous ruler , your father much more overwhelming. If the crown wasn’t crushing you enough, you feared your determination alone wouldn't suffice .
What followed the threats were even more insufferable; the endless proposals. You promised yourself at a young age that whomever you’d give the privilege of capturing your affections had to be stronger than you and hold your people as a priority such as yourself. A simple requirement that not a single being in the galaxy could meet,except one—-The Viltrum Prince ; Mark.
A Month Prior
Before the deal was even on the table the Viltrumites approached your planet in a group of 3, your planet was lacking size where you army did not. 200,000 all prepared to defend their Princess — with their lives if they had to.
But you wouldn’t let them sacrifice themselves for a simple meeting so you chose your advisers carefully and met them in your atmosphere.
You approached a trio dressed in white and grey suits :standing arrogantly in your aerial territory.
One from the middle floated a bit closer than the rest deeming him the leader of the three. Given the red presented in his uniform
“Identify yourselves.” You nearly spat trying you hardest to compact their threatening nature.
“I am Nowl-Ahn of Viltrum,and I assume you’re the acting rular of this planet”
“You may address me as your majesty, I come from an ancient lineage and will be referred and respected as such. State your business or be gone at once”
“We come to offer you an impassable deal ; one that could benefit both our kind leading much more prosperous nations” you cut him off with a hushed shout
“I do not desire or wish to make deals with the beasts of the galaxy , we ask—I beg , that you take your violence and ‘offer’ elsewhere” The older gentleman doesn’t let it show but tinge of annoyance hid behind the thick strands his mustache.
“Your people will suffer from your arrogance, Do not say we didn’t warn you” They flew off at such an alarming speed leaving you to feel the gravity shift around your subordinates. You comrades weren’t able to maintain their stabilitymid air —-but you did.
Saying it was through sheer will was a lie but the fear of what was to come poked—jabbed your back.
They’d be back and you couldn’t waste anymore time preparing your soldiers.
A week passed—and hell was raised.
When the Viltrumites touched down they gave no warning. You barely had time to process before armored heads scattered like flies at your feet.
They left the women and children alone surprisingly but tore through your army as they did the sky; tearing and slicing .Their numbers were barely 100, triumphing the 200,000 you once paraded like they were nothing’
Blood of your most loyal painted the streets , there was no time to take a head count as everyone scattered, you piled the young and the women into your now barricaded palace.
You’d lay your life down before you’d surrender.
Days passed and you stood guard once more at the gates of what once was your home
You heard the cries of the refugees behind the battered metal doors as you meekly stood your ground one last time. The air burned the deep cuts on your limbs and every movement made every bruise you didn’t know you had ache.
The screams were muffled by the your own breath rattled your skull.
‘I can’t give up, not for them’ was all you thought the stench of corpses scattered the steps ,the streets, the temple.
The Viltrumites hovered over you disgusted with your resistance.
“You army has been reduced to nearly nothing , you have one more chance to comply or we will take what we came for whether you obey or not” with that you positioned yourself for an attack, you were prepared to die before they’d get their hands on what’s left of your people.
Before you could commence , the prince himself decided to grace you with his presence calling off his own men. You could barely pay attention to the words being shared but it resulted in the last of them retreating into the smoky sky.
“Look at this— pathetic excuse of ‘resistance’. Look at what became of the feeble army you celebrated,—reduced to nothing.” His taunting fueled the fire that burned in your chest. It was difficult to see through the rage ,beginning to blind you but was left to keep composed.
You had almost nothing left to lose.
“All that talk—what now little Queen”
Your sight set on his demise, there was nothing more you wanted to do than wipe that smirk off his face. The arrogance to mock what to worked so hard to build all on your own. He was playing with you ,in the game you already lost.
With all the strength left in your body you charged at him , he dodged pushing you to the ground.
You stumble catching your fleeting breath and went in for another hit. It could have been your mind playing tricks but a chuckle was heard.
It enraged you more , but it becoming difficult to keep a level head, your body was screaming but the anger that boiled within you kept you on your feet.
You manage to grab an abandoned sword as you attempted to charge again, before you sliced the air he tripped you with ease and grabbed your wrist.
The sound of metal clashed to ground as he lifted you to his face. The heat radiating off you amused him greatly, it seems he was taking a great pleasure in your destruction.
Your faces now inches apart as you dangled in his grasp. Mark sensed the mixture of fear in your eyes, unsure of the moments to follow
“Surrender.”
“Never” Anchoring your legs around his waist you briefly over power his grip, flipping him over with was left of your strength. You both stumbled to the ground.
He groaned, beginning to pick himself up while you took the opportunity to run back to palace doors.
Not until you felt a sharp pain on the back of your legs hitting the damaged pavement face first.
You wince and look around for something anything to protect yourself, the only thing within reach was a damaged pipe.
The sound of boots grew closer when you quickly turned around to face your enemy.
Instantaneously you were flipped on your back with the pipe being pushed towards your neck, it seemed like Mark was growing tired of playing this cat and mouse game. he straddled your weak form ,beginning to savor the delayed victory.
“Face it, you are no match for my power. Give in”
“Over my dead body” all the force you mustered really wasn’t enough , all the desperation —no luck.
Mark came in closer, the heat of his breath murged with yours.
“I will protect what’s left of yours, it’s in your best interest to simply —obey” Tears fell down the sides of your face, you felt a hand cup your face. Knowing he didn’t need apply as much combat your attempts to fight back only made reality hit harder.
“Don’t worry little princes-“ “I am not your little princess!” You spat still desperate to regain control you refusing to accept the inevitable.
“You were always mine” you vaguely heard through your despair . You softly sob as you shuffled your feet and scrambling under his weight
“Please—just Please don’t hurt them.” His piercing look upon your plee softened.
“They will be spared with your cooperation.”
“No-! You must promise me!” Half grunting in attempts to hide your voice was cracking through your teeth you were crumbling against the pressure figuratively and literally; the tremendous amount of force you applied was beginning to leave you light headed.
You blacked out of exhaustion and failure washing iber your batteredbody
“You have my word” Mark responded only after you were unable to hear,
He was no longer holding you down, truthfully he had been holding back the entire time determined to take you with minimal damage.
Present Day.
Fortunately Mark had kept his word and left the women and children alone. They were mortified by the aftermath. Forced to move on without their leader for the time Being.
In the meantime You were recovering on Viltrum. In and out of consciousness as the masscure of your men reminded you of your failure. During the day you’d sit by the window from your bed hoping who and wgat remain were alright for the time being .
And at night you spent the earlier hours sobbing, eventually falling asleep til late afternoon.
Mark would visit you ,routinely bringing you flowers from you home planet, root attached in all trying to give you his version of comfort.
When you’d wake you see knew them laid at your side. You’d curl into yourself , drowning in their scent not caring how pitiful you came off.
“This extremely unbecoming of the ‘Empress, ” you heard , petals of the dying flows clenched in your palm.
“If you are to stand beside our leader this will not stand, Get it together”
Anissa , you couldn’t stand the gain of her voice. Her presence was easy to pick apart from a crowd, it took a lot to restrain yourself from retaliating physically Unfathomable in your current state so all you could do was glare. It didn’t help that she accompanied he doctors during every visit which you assumed was to egg you on, and it was working.
But part of you knew she was right. Your injuries were only minor most of this was mental. Day after day you rotted in this room. You couldn’t find it in yourself to face your people despite being given the opportunity to do so.
You weren’t ready though —You probably never would be.
Another week passes and you finally recover to the best of your ability. Mark had given you permission to roam with supervision of course but you simply floated floor to floor of the white fortress mindlessly wandering where you were allowed.
You almost forgot why you were here; To marry Mark.
’For your people.’.. or what's left of them you'd remind yourself , as talk of the wedding emerged.
All you could think was ‘so soon’.
You’re dreading it of course, men on your planet would line up hours at a time to get the chance to propose while your father was still alive, he always gave you a choice and yet you always declined. As the King's right hand AND only daughter , there was no match for you on that planet.
It was easy to detect who wanted what you possessed — what your power offered. Not for you.
To marry with no purpose, no connection—nothing but an empty vow of loyalty that could be broken in a night's time.
All princesses fantasized of a charming prince, dashing, charismatic, to be drunken off love laced words. Love written in the stars was hard to come by. Could Mark of all people give that to you. Did you think the ice prince of space deprived of it himself , could offer you the passion you desperately desired?
You’re due to walk down an aisle of your men’s blood soaking your veil , you're not sure how you’ll do it but you must .
On the other hand you felt selfish for pondering such silly thoughts when you haven’t even faced your people yet, though you were assured of their safety many times and even been given periodic updates on their wellbeing. But was that really enough?
With him on your mind. His little ‘check in’s’ became frequent but you had only yourself to blame. You’d been rather destructive, Throwing trays of food. Denying care from doctors. These ‘tantrums’ only happened after Anissa would visit.
‘Pathetic excuse for a leader’
‘Hiding away again are we?’
‘All that talk and this is how you act’
She’d taunt you into fits of rage her words were jagged and sharp against your ego, eroding what’s left of your pride.
You’d hate to admit it but in the back of your mind you questioned if she was right. Who haven’t you let down? Your empire, your nation, your purpose was nearly reduced to rumble and you couldn’t do a thing about it.
On this particular day Anissa visited you on her own. Her words were always blunt and cold cut, never having to say much to get under your skin.
Your back was always turned from the entrance but you became familiar with theThe Frequent presence of visitors.
There was always a shift in the air when a Viltrumite entered, never a gust of simply change of pressure.
“You need to get a hold of yourself if you’re going to be apart of this empire, you comply whether you like it or not” your jaw clenched in preparation for the waves of anger that would followed. Your irritation never subtle.
“I will never comply, but I’ll manage”
“Manage to what, fail at being a leader here too.”
You lunged at her for the first time and with ease she caught the hand you flung to her neck. She gripped you tight enough to warn but still leaving you defenseless on the grasp.
“The only reason force hasn’t been used to subdue you’re little tantrums is because he ordered us to refrain from physical restraint” she practically hissed shoving you to the ground. “—At least be grateful for that” she turned and left you there seething ,staring daggers into back as she left the room. You failed again to control your emotions.
Usually Mark wasn’t there to experience your outburst first hand. He was far too preoccupied than he’s like to handle you.
But for once he caught a glimpse of it or the aftermath at least ; the faint sobs leaking from your room, tucked away ,hidden in a tight space between the window and bed. He had assumed you were out on one of your walks and took the chance to check up on you.
He didn’t expect to be met your damp puffy face. The look of a kicked puppy.
You smirked, wiping tears off your face when we started to approach , but before he could you’d already pick yourself off the ground trying your best to avoid his eyes of slight concern.
“I hate that look, even worse when it’s only coming from you of all people.” His face stayed still choosing not to answer.
“This is the second time you’ve seen me cry”
“You’re keeping count of such a thing”
“It’s not as if I have much to keep track of anyway! I’ve been reduced to nothing, I’m pathetic.”
“Don’t say such things about yourself —” Mark had nearly yelled while making strides towards you. You had started rambling before you could take notice
“But they’re true! I am nothing now. I have no idea why we are still to wed, what is left of me- my kingdom is -is in ruin I’m in ruin!”
In a matter of seconds a only inches set you apart.
You may have been silent but your heart was making enough noise for you.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair ,gently taking your face in his hands to cut the distance even shorter.
“I know you’re— strong ,dedicated but you come to me. If we are to marry you need to understand; you can call on me instead of this ” Destroying yourself , he couldn’t say that part out loud. That’s the only language he’d ever known but you were different, more deserving of a lighter tongue.
Despite the outcome of the battle was rather soft on you.
Bringing you flowers, speaking to the remainder of your palace staff to figure out your favorite foods , he even began rebuilding what he had destroyed. It was odd but this was his way of courting you, convincing you he wasn’t like everyone else on his planet.
So every time you’d damage property or waste food it didn’t anger Mark, it fueled him to try harder to gain just a bit of your favor. This wasn’t going to work if you kept fighting him, he didn’t want to break you , to turn you to shell of what he was beginning to love about you.
“Although We’re close in age , you’ve been able to accomplish so much more than me regardless of the obstacles placed to sabotage you… You’re better than this Y/N”
The two of you stood there for a moment as you collected yourself. Mark slowly pulled you into his chest ,awkward , it felt stiff yet the effort was endearing enough to ignore.
It had been so long since you felt the warmth of another. Your parents has passed , friends died in war long ago, so You couldn't risk being vulnerable, you had too much to lose. But your body began to find comfort in the embrace, easier to mold yourself in his touch.
Mark placed a hand on your head carefully guiding your gaze to his.
“I promise.. I’m not going to hurt you-ever”
There it was.
It melted away the hard exterior you spent so long constructing. The crushing weight of walls you had to build finally falling.
Maybe you could be his little princess. You hope being with him wouldn’t be so bad.
You buried your head in his chest and your bodies sank to the floor and you— cried ,he held you securely ;how you should have been held all along
Some time has passed, enough for the sky to change. The sensation of you pulling away already felt agonizing, now somewhat in his lap. You looked a mess but he didn’t mind he was determined to be there for you even at your worst.
You meekly place your hands on his chest propping yourself to his level eye to eye.
He raised a brow at the sudden movement before you fully pulled away and stood up.
“Swear to me you're not going to hurt me or my people and—I will give my all to you” Mark lifted himself off the ground eyes locked and towering over you once again.
“I will never break such promise to you or any promise for that matter, You are becoming—important to me”
Mark with no concept of personal space finds himself only a breath away from your lips. He notices time moves slower when you’re near, he hesitates in your presence but is fully confident in what he plans for you.
“In what ways Mark?”
“Ways I —struggle to find words for.”
You felt a hand graze your forearm before he roughly took you into his grasp. You still felt the heat of his breath against yours. His touch made goosebumps cover your limbs.
Your heart was sinking into the tension and banging on walls of your chest.
“Is something the matter?” He asked, holding you firmly in place. Without making a sound you protested with a subtle nod. What stopped you from giving in. What was to hold you back from this.
“If you can find it in yourself to trust me; I will give you the stars and beyond”
“Who’s to say that’s what I want now or ever?”
“ Why don’t we start, what is it you want now?” Your eyes dart to his lips , your breathing became inconsistent. You knew deep down what you wanted but he was waiting for you to choose this— choose him.
It didn’t take long for you to make your decision when your lips landed on his. The kiss started off soft , desperate and grew into a playful fight. His hands wrapped around your waist , yours around his neck the both you pulling each other as close as you possibly could.
Mark allowed you to fight for dominance in his mouth. You fingers glide through his hair ; his hands find the small of your back. Perfectly in-sync pinning, desperate of acceptance.
Without a chance to catch your breath your back mad contact with the bed ,you gasp as your eyes adjust to the dim room. Marks arms were propped next to your body eyes fixated on your form with hunger.
“If you wish to stop we ca-“
“I would have said so” Your hands run up his arms drapping around his shoulders preparing to pull him down. Until a knock interrupted your bold advance. You quickly began to push him off but he remained still.
“Come in.” Your eyes went wide at the invitation not ready to be caught in such a compromising manner. Your hands cover your face out embarrassment.
“Her - Dinner has been prepared upon your request”
“Leave it and be on your way” irritation presenting in his tone,un moved by the server’s presence. They left as he had commanded but you were too busy trying to comprehend what had just transpired.
“They are gone, let us continue” He gently pried your hands away revealing your flush cheeks and placed soft kisses on your open palm. “That— was wildly inappropriate-“ he cashed his lips into yours before you could protest, barely able to handle him in general you kind it hard to resist this desperate behavior to connect with you.
It felt good. Natural to be devoured.
He delicately planted more kisses on your body starting with your arms and up to your neck. You didn’t know what to do but simply allow him to explore. Soft moans filled his ears encouraging him. Mark was being gentle ,he could tell this was new to you, every touch was hesitant, each breath, sharp.
You felt hands along your waist and another soft moan escaped your lips, He chuckled when your hand flew to your mouth but he uncovered just as fast.
“Don’t be shy, make as much noise as you desire—they sounds magnificent” the praise ignited your core. He was doing strange things you, causing you to form feelings you’d only dream off. Mark took a hold of your hands guiding them along his chest,a grin creeping on his face , his own encouragement.
“You can touch me too, I don’t bite” you doubt the half hearted sediment, but you managed to make moves of your own. You pulled him in for another hungry kiss.
Neither of you made time for air, The room reeked of depravity. A mix of soft exasperations and grunts filled your ears. But you needed to see his face again just to know if this was really happening.
You pushed his face away and he almost looked sad.
“It’s almost like you want this more than me” you tease out of breathe “But you want it too ,no?” A hint of begging and cockiness’s hung over his response,you felt his hands grip your waist feeling something pressed against your inner thigh.
It didn’t take a genius to guess what it was. His stiff bulge eagerly waited against your thigh, This was really happening. “Your body is more than ready” he wasn’t wrong, he wasn’t even the slightest ashamed of his wording but neither were you, the heat in your between your legs aching , anticipation turning to pure impatience as each second passed.
Mark aligned his pelvis to yours and he was firmly pressed against your aching center. You body was acting on its own when your legs wrapped around him accepting his presence, only layers of clothing keeping you apart. Lips connected; your fingers woven in strands of his hair as you pulled him closer. Excitement with each time he palmed the fat of your thighs. When the kiss broke, a bridge of layer of salvia remained. Mark licked his own lips enjoying the taste of the two of you. He swiped a thumb over what was left on your lip.
“But I’d prefer if we wait until the night of the wedding, at ease my eager little Princess.” You'er obviously puzzled but he reassures you with another kiss soft in nature. He cups your face and takes a moment to look at your face ; frustrated ,impatient.
“Do you not want me?” You softly plee.
“Of course I do , but this; you , were meant to be savored , treasured, it was wrong of me to tease you this way” in wave of sadness ,he grabbed your hands and place his forehead on yours.
“I don’t regret this ,What I’m saying is I want to give you time. Not just to process but to prepare.” the wave of emotions swirling in your stomach sends you in a quiet frenzy.
“You’re insane” you’re able to say ,lighting pushes him away to hide a grin but Mark grabbed your chin before you could.
“Why do you think you find yourself here and not in my own chambers, it’s certainly not for my own sake” he brought you close enough to kiss but instead planted a kiss on your temple.
Mark smirked at your subtle enthusiasm.
“You need to rest now, we have a wedding to plan, and please eat the food this time, it be a waste” he planted another kiss on the back of your hand and touched your face once more, locking eyes. Mark didn’t smile, he was serious ,focused on remembering every pore, every strand on your head , finding it hard to look away.
“Rest well.” And that was that.
He left you there flushed ,stunned, a mess at the edge of your bed. What transpired with Mark played in your mind on a loop. Your face was flushed for quite some time; unable to form a coherent form a thought.
You sat in the bed attempting to rationalize it , stringing together the events but only finding trouble doing so when you sat on one moment for too long.
His lips
His hands
The warmth that radiated off his body
You’re not as strong as you thought, losing yourself in the reminiscence of a touch you quickly learned to yearn for.
Unbeknownst to you he was else where , contemplating every second himself.
Mark had to retire to his chambers immediately after the encounter. He spent hours comforting you , almost taking it a step further. These emotions were foreign until his eyes laid upon you.
Making no detours he went straight for his own bed ,neat,clean, tidy, yet he didn’t undress, he didn’t even remove his boots. In silence he sat where he usually imagine; Your lips, Your hands ,your warmth ;all were enough to drive him mad , mad enough to pleasure himself as soon as he could to release his own frustrations.
He desperately grabbed a fist full of his suit bringing the cloth to his nose. He couldn’t bare it any longer with your lingering scent fanning the flames.
For second time tonight he felt himself hardened at the sheer thought of you.
‘Again’ Expressing annoyance with the inability to control himself.
The more his mind replayed those scenes in his head ,the more beads of pre cum leaked through the cloth.
He didn’t hesitate any longer ,tugging his pants down but never moving an inch off the bed. The second his cock sprung from the prison of his garment he gripped his girth and indulged once again in thought of you.
The farther his mind wondered the faster He pumped himself in his palm. He could even still taste you in his mouth. He could still hear your moans in his ears. All Mark managed to muster were curses under his breath. Angry he had to restrain himself ,angry that he had to wait even longer.
“Damn it..”
Despite the frustration in his strokes, It didn’t take long til he had released in his hand ,though Mark wasn’t nearly as satisfied as he should have been if he had given in to his growing sins.
This desire to feast on your flesh, leave marks on your skin.
“Enough of this.” He'd say to himself every time you’d distract him without knowing, every night since you crept in his head. But this isn’t enough. He needed you in more ways than one
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yandere-romanticaa · 3 months ago
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I'm exhausted as heck but going through Ruan Mei's character stories really had me thinking... It's important to note that she's very tricky for me to characterize, especially in my writing, so I apologize if she's too off. Also, again, I am super tired. Sorry if there are too many mistakes here.
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Ruan Mei walks swiftly across the massive space ship, in her hands a delicate, porcelain plate with pink flowers etched into its edges, giving it a lovely little touch that was unmistakably her own. On it were an assortment of various treats, each most likely hand made by the woman herself as each and every one seems to be so perfect, one would even feel guilty for even thinking about eating them.
The sea of scientists continued to whisper amongst themselves, their ears perked and knowing eyes watching the gorgeous woman strut down the hall without a care in a world, her beautiful, long legs on display for the whole crew to see.
She truly was the epitome of beauty and excellence. Madam Ruan Mei has managed to achieve so many incredible things in her short lifetime, things that could make or break galaxies, she has managed to concoct creations both precious and terrible and it was all in the name of science. She truly was a vision, an unstoppable force to be reckoned with - no one could shake off that cool expression off that otherworldly face of hers, no one.
So why, oh why, was this illustrious woman always wasting so much of her time with such a dull witted person?
The gossip spread like wildfire, many being envious of the little scientist which could always be spotted by her side. Ruan Mei would always regard them with her own kindness, always asking for their input on various things. It did not go unnoticed how she would secretly write down whatever would be exchanged between the pair, the little notebook always close to her person.
One bold man decided to sneak into her office one day, his own curiosity too much to handle. He wished to know the nature of the pair's relationship, for it was well known that Ruan Mei was no ordinary woman. The tips of his fingers burned as he rummaged through her desk, the endless files all being dropped carelessly onto the floor as he pondered and pondered -
What was Ruan Mei planning? Why did she fancy that no name scientist so much?
The person in question was at the bottom of the food chain on the Space Station, never even bothering to go up the ranks. They merely seemed to be content with making a decent salary and live out the rest of their days in bliss and comfort.
Which is why it got people talking - why did Ruan Mei seem to enjoy this person so much? How have they managed to keep her attention for so long?
The gossip was too thrilling, too good to just pass up on. With a sick grin, he had found what he was after the whole time. With the stars as his only witness, he made the decision to unveil the secrets of this glorious, once in a millennia born scientist. His fingers danced across the edges of the booklet, its secrets all for his eyes now. Just as he was about to open it, he took a deep breath.
That seemingly innocent thing had cost him dearly.
Suddenly, it felt as though his throat was closing in on him, his windpipes somehow getting crushed by an invisible hand as he choked on his own blood, hand trembling as he reached out towards the massive window, being met with nothing but the deep, vast cosmos.
Such a pitiful death, she thought to herself as she stood by her office door, a small gas mask on the lower part of her face.
Since stepping foot here, Ruan Mei knew that she and her new friend had become the latest hot topic.
Thing is, she just did not care to even entertain the people who spewed such venom. In a way, she could not help but to watch this unravel, to see just how far the people would go in order to entertain their ideas.
Heels click against the cool tile floor as she now stands above the deceased. Fixing her hair, she glances at the booklet, clutched in his soon to be rotting hand and she lowers herself to pick it up. She looks at it for a few moments, her mind suddenly going into overdrive as she wonders the exact same question - why did she fancy that scientist so much? What was it about that person that piqued her interest?
Oh well, no matter. She'll gladly continue to indulge herself until she gets a satisfactory answer.
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svt-luna · 6 months ago
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ʚིᵋ ⋆ INSTAGRAM UPDATE ࣪ ! ˓ ౨ৎ ࣪˖ ─── 250130: Luna Day
╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ luna's instagram
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lunabae 28 times the moon has whispered my name 🌙✨
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forever_jiyeon Happy Birthday, Luna!! 28 looks SO good on you! Wishing you all the happiness in the universe 💖
moonstruckbymoon Happy birthday, our pretty moon! Thank you for inspiring us every day!!
lunatics_united 28 moon phases and counting, and you’re still the brightest star in the galaxy! Love you, Luna! 🥺🌙
silvermoonluna Happy birthday to the one and only Bae Jiyeon! Cheers to another amazing year 🎂✨
han_luna_world HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUNA!! You’re magical, ethereal, and everything in between 🌙🤍
jeongnadaily Jeonghan’s post and the song??? I’m SCREAMING. You two are perfect 😭💕
↳ starrylovehan THE SONG ‘BETTER HALF’??!! And his caption?! his fucking caption?? I’m not okay 🥹
lunaxhanforever Jeonghan just broke the internet with that post and song! THE WAY HE LOVES YOU 😭🤍
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jeonghaniyoo_n from 16 to 28, i’ve loved celebrating every birthday with you.
from the first birthday we celebrated together when you turned sixteen to now at twenty-eight, you’ve grown even more beautiful— inside and out. who would’ve thought we’d go from being strangers to friends, to best friends, to secretly crushing on each other like clueless fools, to finally dating, getting engaged, and planning forever together?
thank you for being the better half of me, the one who makes everything brighter and more meaningful. you’ve taught me what love really is, and i’m so grateful for you every single day. it felt only right to release a song for you today, on your day— a small piece of my heart written for the person who completes it. ‘Better Half’ is yours, just like i am.
thank you for letting me share in your light, for being my partner in our midnight birthday cake-eating rituals and for filling my life with endless love and laughter. let’s celebrate today and every day until we’re old and gray (and i’m still more handsome, obviously 😝).
another year older but still my prettiest moon. i love you endlessly.
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jxjforever WHATAFUCKHWYWGYEGS GOODBYE–
jeonghan_lover14 SIR. THE CAPTION. THE SONG. THE LOVE. I AM NOT OKAY. 😭😭😭
lunahanforever HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO BREATHE AFTER THIS?!? This is the most romantic thing ever 😫
prettyboyjeonghan The fact he called her his ‘better half’ AND wrote a whole SONG for her??? LOVE IS REAL. 😭💕
moonlightedbyhan “Better Half is yours, just like I am.” JEONGHAN STOP I AM IN SHAMBLES 🥹🤍
↳ caratstarlight SAME!!!! WHAT DID WE DO TO DESERVE THIS LEVEL OF ROMANCE? JEONGHAN, YOU WIN THE FIANCÉ OF THE YEAR AWARD 🏆
hanseverything Not me crying in the club over this caption. ALSO THE SONG?? I HONESTLY CAN’T 🫠
lunahan_together Midnight birthday cake rituals? Loving her since she was 16?? GET OUT OF HERE, YOON JEONGHAN 😭😭.
jiyeonieeeee_17 ‘Better Half’ is the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard, and the fact he dropped it for HER on HER day?? I’M DONE 😩
ot14carats HOW DARE YOU, JEONGHAN. This is TOO MUCH PERFECTION. The caption, the pictures, the song, the EVERYTHING 😭💕
lunabae i love you endlessly 🥹🤍
↳ jeonghaniyoo_n endlessly 🤍
caratmoonchild I’m sobbing uncontrollably. He loves her so much, and it’s SO OBVIOUS. THIS IS THE STANDARD 🥹💖
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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ SUBMIT A REQUEST AND ASK ME ANYTHING!
: ̗̀➛ requests are always open ♡ - selఌ
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Taglist: @yeoberryx @minminghao @angie-x3 @jennwonwoo @k13endall @heeseungthel0ml @chisskaa @megumi2020 @yoonzzziino @lllucere @smh-anon @yveclipse @randomworker @bunnystrm @iamawkwardandshy @gratefulbunny1 @bmo-bri @syren-ash @megseungmin @multiplums @unlikelysublimekryptonite @night-storm7 @cookiearmy @seokqt @btskzfav @billboard-singer @junhuisworld @caturdayvibe @coralbatlampzonk @sof1eya @lyraea @jihoonsbbygirl @cocopuff2424 @okoknotco @minvxq @soulphoenix1618 @whineywheeiny @rairaine @toplinehyunjin @ateez-atiny380 @cherrylovescheol @jiimtaee @blurr3db3rry @seomisaho @amanda08319 @peanutbutterslothsstuff @cheolsboo @allthings-fandoms @mystic-megumi @sherlockbye @tastyluvr @luperque @reignofraine @kpoplover-19
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soulbrothershow · 15 days ago
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Somewhere In My Lifetime: A Hymn for Phyllis Hyman
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I remember the day the melody found me—long before I understood what melodies could do to a soul, long before I had words like “arrangement,” “timbre,” or “crescendo” to pin the feeling down. I was six, all elbows, knees, and endless questions, padding down the hallway of our tiny Houston home toward the promise of a Saturday cartoon. But the cartoons were silent that morning, because the stereo was alive. The living room was a sea of sunlight, curtains parted just enough to lace gold threads across the furniture, and at its center sat my mother—head tilted back, eyes closed, surrendered. The turntable’s polished lid reflected the ceiling fan like a slow, summer carousel. On the floor, propped against the speaker, an album cover waited like an unlocked door.
I remember the woman on that cover before I remembered the song. She seemed to rise out of midnight velvet, cheekbones carved from resolve itself, lips parted as though she’d just tasted a note sweet enough to change the weather. Her gaze held some private galaxy, half-promise, half-warning. And even at six, I knew beauty when it chose to announce itself.
“Who is this, Mom?” My voice floated like a paper boat across the river of sound. She opened one eye, smiled the kind of smile that strings the days of motherhood together. “Her name is Phyllis Hyman.” She queued the needle back to the start, and the first flutter of “You Sure Look Good to Me” leapt from the speakers. Time stretched. I pressed the cover against my chest as though I might somehow keep her there, pressed between cardboard and heartbeat.
That afternoon, I sat cross-legged on the carpet, flipping the sleeve over and over. Each spin of the record pulled something in me a little further open. I studied the liner notes like scripture: who produced it, who arranged it, where it was recorded. But mostly, I traced the silhouette of her smile, convinced it was a secret map to worlds where voices broke the sky into stained-glass colors.
From that day on, Phyllis was my benchmark—an impossible north star I aimed every childhood crush toward, even if they never knew it. When other kids sketched superheroes, my notebook margin bloomed with elegant women in wide-brim hats and pearl-drop earrings, each captioned “Ms. Hyman.” When teachers assigned essays on “Role Models,” I wrote about her phrasing—how she could sing pain like a confession but dress it in velvet so it sounded like grace.
Houston’s free newspaper, Zest, became my oracle. I’d yank it from the corner rack at Kroger before my mom finished bagging the groceries, thumbs blackened by newsprint as I riffled for the entertainment section. Almost every month—there she was: Phyllis Hyman • Live at Rockefeller’s • Two Nights Only. My pulse thumped its own ovation, but the fine print always felled me: “21+” or “Doors 9 P.M.”—realms far outside my bedtime. Yet I would tear out the ad and tape it above my bed. In the flicker of the streetlamp outside, those ads became tickets to dreams where I’d be tall enough, old enough, brave enough to shout a request for “Be One” and watch her nod in elegant approval.
I invented her as a girlfriend the way kids invent secret forts. She was six-feet tall, older by decades, but none of that dissuaded the fantasy. In my journal, I wrote that we’d meet backstage. I’d bring her honey and lemon for her voice, and she’d say “Thank you, baby,” the “baby” sliding like satin from her lips. We’d walk the bayou at dusk, discussing string arrangements and how Houston sunsets sometimes borrowed their palette from trumpet solos. I confessed these dreams to no one—not even my best friend Adrian—because the moment felt too sacred, like speaking it aloud might thin the magic.
Years spilled forward—junior high drum section, high-school heartbreaks, cassette mixtapes painstakingly spliced. And then, just after my twentieth birthday, Carl, the program manager, offered me a microphone: a part-time slot on KSYM 90.1 FM San Antonio, the mighty campus radio station. I could hardly breathe from excitement. My first day in the studio, I cued up her version of “Somewhere in My Lifetime,” letting the intro drift under my own trembling voice: “You’re listening to Chris live on KSYM—the heart of San Antonio—and that was the incomparable Ms. Phyllis Hyman.” I sat back, headphones trembling like hummingbird wings, thinking, She’s here… in these speakers… because I chose her.
But life, like a mischievous DJ, can drop unexpected cuts. A dance routine ended in a bad tumble, a knee twisting loud as a cork popping. I tried to soldier through airtime with a brace and bravado, but pain is a jealous lover—it insists on attention. By June, the surgeon advised a scope and a month’s rest. I booked it for Thursday, June 29, 1995. My uncle drove me home afterward, his eyes flicking from the road to me the way a nurse checks a drip. I remember the twilight that bled through the windshield, the hum of local talk radio, and the dull thud of my own heartbeat muffled by anesthesia.
Home, bed, darkness, sleep. In the morning, painkillers threaded my thoughts with silk. Hunger roared through me like a freight train, so I called Pizza Hut, ordered a veggie supreme with extra mushrooms. I shuffled to the kitchen, crutches clicking Morse code across linoleum. The TV murmured some midday talk show. Outside, cicadas began their electric sermon.
Then the phone rang.
“Chris, are you okay?” My mother’s voice calling from Houston, perched on a ledge between calm and something I couldn’t name. “I’m fine,” I mumbled. “Just waiting on pizza.” Pause. “Have you heard the news?” The room suddenly felt too small, each wall shifting closer. “What news?” Silence expanded, thick and deliberate. Her next words shattered it: “Phyllis Hyman took her own life today.”
I don’t remember lowering the receiver; I remember gravity failing. Sound drained from the world. Even the cicadas cut their amplifier. I recalled some half-learned physics concept: how in a vacuum, no one can hear a scream. That vacuum found its home in me.
Somewhere in the periphery, pizza arrived. The delivery kid waited, puzzled, while tears knotted my throat. I scribbled a signature, box trembling in my hands. I placed it on the counter untouched. I dialed the station. My program director answered on the first ring, voice hushed. “I’m afraid it’s true, Chris. I know how much she meant.” The line crackled like an old 78. We sat inside that static, sharing an unsaid prayer.
I had sobbed over scraped knees, fumbled report cards, even the family dog’s passing—but this was different. This was losing a compass. The sky lost a constellation, and maps suddenly told half-truths. I pressed my head against the kitchen cabinet and wept until the tiles beneath me blurred into watercolor.
Grief is greedy; it wants anniversaries and hours both. Weeks later, I returned to the studio on crutches. I queued “Old Friend” and let the first notes swell. My voice broke mid-intro, so I switched off the mic, let the song do what words failed. The phone lines lit up—listeners remembering first loves, lost summers, weddings postponed. She was conjuring them all, note by aching note, telling each of us: I am still your soundtrack.
That autumn, I walked—slowly—into Club Rockefeller’s for the very first time. The stage lights were dimmed, the grand piano veiled, as though waiting for someone worthy. A laminated plaque announced “Phyllis Hyman—February 14, 1994—SOLD OUT.” I traced the letters with my fingertip. In that moment, I realized concerts aren’t always arenas; sometimes they’re inner courtyards where memory claps forever.
Years became album cycles: life, love, heartbreaks survived, radio formats changing like seasons. I spun “You Know How to Love Me” during pledge drives, “Somewhere in My Lifetime” on anniversary shout-outs, “Living in Confusion” when late-night callers confessed dilemmas to the darkness. After 9/11, I played “Everything Must Change,” letting its solemnity drape over the city like a twilight shawl. Listeners phoned in to say: “Thank you—I needed her voice to remember how to breathe.”
Whenever a new intern asked why I kept three copies of Prime of My Life on vinyl, cassette, and CD, I’d tell them the gospel truth: “Because every format deserves her.” When streaming arrived, I whispered a private gratitude—Phyllis would now ride invisible wires to places she never toured, humming empathy in languages music alone speaks.
But grief, if befriended, becomes a tutor. It taught me how to archive joy. I learned to weave her songs into every mixtape I made for lovers—like planting trees in the landscape of us, roots deep, branches reaching. Some relationships crumbled, but when I revisit those cassettes, I hear Phyllis threading gold through even the saddest endings, reminding me that sorrow without melody is just noise; sorrow sung becomes an open door.
Time, that elusive bandleader, counts in mysterious measures. Now, it’s been thirty years since the phone call. The knee that once hobbled me has long healed, though it sometimes predict weather like an old bluesman predicts heartbreak. I’ve migrated from terrestrial radio to live-streamed shows, the global audience a constellation of late-night souls tuning in from Lagos to London. But the ritual remains: cue up Phyllis, let the first chords find their wings, then speak her name with reverence:
“Good evening, world. I’m Chris, and you’re listening to The Soul Brother Show. Tonight’s first blessing? The eternal Ms. Phyllis Hyman.”
I believe the adage I once read—Every time you play a song from Phyllis, she lives. But I’d add this: Every time we remember who we were when we first heard her, we live, too. Because music is a time machine disguised as vibration. It returns us to the moment beauty stirred our six-year-old hearts awake, to the ache of a knee swollen with more than pain, to the hush of a kitchen where grief first taught us the cost of love.
Some nights, after the broadcast ends and the chat window dims, I put on “I Refuse to Be Lonely.” I pour a small measure of bourbon, lift it toward the ceiling, and whisper, “Thank you, Phyllis, for teaching me how to carry a melody like a lantern through the dark.” The bourbon warms my chest, but her voice warms something deeper—an ember I’ve carried since that sunlit Saturday decades ago.
And I think of my mother, still spinning vinyl on quiet Sundays, her hair now silver, her smile unchanged. When I visit, she sometimes pulls out the old turntable. We wipe the dust, adjust the needle, and lower it onto Can’t We Fall in Love Again. As the first bassline rolls in, we share a glance that says: Yes, we remember. Then I watch her close her eyes—exactly as she did when I was six—and for a moment, time kneels. In that hush, Phyllis steps through the speakers, tall and luminous, singing us all back to ourselves.
I’ve learned beauty isn’t fragile; it’s persistent. It may vanish from the photograph of a Saturday morning, or the advertisement in a magazine, or the stage of a long-shuttered club, but it reappears each time a record spins, each time a DJ whispers her name into the breath of a city, each time a listener leans closer to catch the husk of her vibrato. Beauty endures because we choose to carry it, the way the sleeve of a beloved LP carries fingerprints of every hand that loved it before.
So here I am, three decades later, still cueing track one, still feeling that first hush as a sacred yes. And maybe someday, a child will wander into their parents’ living room, pause at a flicker of candlelight, and see on their smart speaker a photo drift across the screen—an elegant woman in midnight velvet, cheekbones like courage. Maybe they’ll ask, “Who is this, Mom?” And their mother, smiling that smile threaded by every generation’s music, will answer, “Her name is Phyllis Hyman.” And beauty will introduce itself all over again, timeless, unstoppable, alive.
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rankine78 · 3 months ago
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Love can be a blessing, and a curse for eternity.
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You’ve forgotten how long you’ve been here. Time stretches like the void between stars, endless and indifferent. The cold metal walls of the Astral Express’s hidden storage compartment—repurposed as your prison—bite into your skin, but you don’t shiver. Not from the cold, at least.
Immortality is a curse dressed in gold. You’ve walked galaxies, outlived civilizations, and watched stars collapse into silent graves. But none of it compares to her.
The door hisses open. A silhouette framed in crimson light. Castorice.
Her boots click like a metronome counting down to your agony. She hums a melody you once found beautiful—a lullaby from a dead planet. Now it’s a funeral dirge.
“Darling,” she purrs, gloved fingers trailing the edge of a serrated knife. “Did you miss me?”
You don’t answer. Words are currency here, and she trades in screams.
Her hand grips your chin, forcing your gaze upward. The moment her skin brushes yours, fire erupts in your veins. A gasp tears from your throat as your body arches against the restraints. Immortal, but never immune.
“There it is,” she murmurs, leaning close. Her breath ghosts over your ear, sweet and venomous. “That sound… it’s divine. Do you know how rare it is? To find something that makes eternity shiver?”
You do. You’ve searched for it yourself—a reason to feel alive. But Castorice isn’t reason. She’s obsession, clad in velvet and blood.
The knife presses into your collarbone. She carves slow, deliberate lines, savoring each hitch in your breath. Pain blooms like crimson flowers under her touch, your skin stitching itself back together only for her to ruin it again.
“You’re mine,” she whispers, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Forever. Even the stars will turn to dust before I let you go.”
You believe her.
Castorice leaves you gifts.
A single black rose, thorns still wet with your blood. A shard of starlight she “borrowed” from Himeko’s collection. A locket with a portrait of your face, torn from a memory you don’t recall sharing.
“You’re slipping into madness,” Welt Yang once warned her, voice tight with disapproval.
She’d laughed, bright and unhinged. “Madness? No. This is clarity.”
You’d been bound in the corner, silenced by a collar of her design. Her eyes flicked to you, molten gold darkening to something feral. “She’s the only thing in this rotten cosmos that matters.”
That night, she dragged you to the observation deck, your wrists raw from chains. The galaxy sprawled before you, a tapestry of light and shadow. Castorice pressed against your back, her arms a vice around your waist.
“Look at them,” she murmured. “All those pitiful mortals, chasing meaning in their fleeting lives. But you… you’re perfect. Unbreakable. Mine.”
Her teeth sank into your shoulder. You choked back a cry, tears blurring the stars.
“Why?” you finally rasped.
She stilled. For a heartbeat, the sadistic veneer cracked. You saw it—the girl who once trembled at the edge of oblivion, who clawed her way out of a black hole’s maw and emerged hungry.
Then she smiled, all sharp edges. “Because you’re the only one who can take it.”
You try to escape. Once.
The Express docks at a spaceport bathed in neon. Castorice is distracted, bargaining with a merchant for “tools.” You slip free, muscles screaming, and run.
Freedom tastes like static. You stumble into an alley, clutching a comms device stolen from Pom-Pom. Your fingers shake as you input Himeko’s frequency.
A hand closes over yours.
“Naughty,” Castorice tsks, crushing the device. Her other hand fists your hair, slamming your head into the wall. Stars explode behind your eyes. “Did you really think I’d let you leave?”
You spit blood. “I’ll keep trying.”
“Good.” She grins, dragging you back into the shadows. “I love it when you fight.”
That night, she brands you. A searing glyph etched into your hip, her name in a dead language. You scream until your voice fractures.
“Now everyone will know,” she croons, kissing the wound. “Even when I’m gone.”
But she’ll never be gone. You’re bound, not by chains or brands, but by the cruelest truth of all:
You remember her before the void twisted her. Before the sadism, the obsession. She’d been kind. Broken, but kind.
Now, when she curls around you in the dark, whispering apologies into your scars, you almost believe she loves you.
Almost.
The Astral Express jumps to a new galaxy. Castorice sits beside you, humming that damned lullaby. Her hand rests on your thigh, fingers digging into the brand.
Pain thrums in time with your heartbeat.
“Forever,” she whispers.
You close your eyes.
Somewhere, a star dies.
You don’t look.
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wannabepoeticischiya · 9 months ago
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if I can stop one heart from breaking
[ 11 ] — the present
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He existed in the morning dew, in the afternoon haze, within the illusions of twilight. He was there. In the silence of midnight, in the wake of dawn... he was there.
Hoshina Soushiro was everywhere... except right here. He existed in every corner of the cosmos—just not in the space beside her.
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If only you did not come to me that day… if only you had left me to this cruel fate.
Everything in Tokyo was too bright. The sun, the buildings, the people… like they were left in eternal autumn; shaded every color lighter, every color brighter than what they should be.
Echoes of sound rang from every corner, meandering from one street onto another. Chatters of everyday life drifted into the horizons of the sky—the same blue canvas she had been cradled under nearly seven years ago. When the space beside her wasn’t so… cold. A rift in time that felt surreal, nothing but a momentary reverie. So short lived one would wonder if it really did happen.
Everything in Tokyo was too loud. There existed no orchestra of trees, no singing waters, not even the rhythmic thuds of wood parrying one another. Only the frantic footfalls from the rush hours, beeping of the pedestrian crossing lanes, blares of the trains passing by.
It was a world riddled in chaos—a world in ruin, but there were no people laughing. The promise of a happy life at the price of nothing was nothing but a make-believe. An illusion of hope conjured by those who have yet to witness the cruelty of reality. Or those who shouldered the weight of it all only to realize that people who swore to share the weight will leave them to be crushed, barely held together by a thread that was ready to break.
Everything in Tokyo... felt out of reach. Here, in this place where humans were so close to touch. Galaxies were nearer. Black holes pulling it closer all together, all at once, but never enough to destroy. The scenery before her looked more like a dream. A distant fantasy blurring between the lines of sadness and anger.
Him—just like everything else in this godawful city… he was far too vivid.
Everywhere she goes, he was there.
A poster. A billboard. Someone with the same height. An image of him that would disappear when the light turned green, and vehicles would swarm the highways. The song that would play in the local convenience store. A knife lying on the kitchen island. He was there.
In every little thing… he was there.
The air was cold; summer nearing its end. She didn't know if the breeze was a gentle caress to soothe her aching heart or if it was a ruse—a reminder that his warmth will never return to her. That she'll spend autumn and winter and spring and all the seasons after that feeling like all the stars have disappeared.
Maybe, it has. Maybe, when he decided to walk away from her, he took all the lights that hung in the sky. Maybe, the moment he told her to stop loving him, he plunged the heavens into infinite darkness.
One would think that after all these years he would be nothing but an echo. A buzz in the thundering events of daily life—one wave in the finite vastness of the ocean. A lone cloud painted on the canvas of the sky.
But he remained.
A melody in an endless tune, dust motes that littered the air, the scent of violet that followed like daylight.
He existed in the morning dew, in the afternoon haze, within the illusions of twilight.
He was there.
In the silence of midnight, in the wake of dawn… he was there.
Hoshina Soushiro was everywhere… except right here.
He existed in every corner of the cosmos—just not in the space beside her.
Perhaps, it wouldn’t hurt as much—that maybe we’d be alright… even if we were not lovers.
Her fingers curled around cold metal, heaving the heavy object over her shoulder, walking over to the edge of the tall wall. Away from the sight of the city. The reminder of him and all his empty promises. Letting the curtain fall over the cabinet that housed his achievements; announced his priorities.
“This is Captain [Name], requesting permission for limiter removal.”
Because he surrendered.
“Copy that, releasing in three… two… one…”
He grew tired.
Unleashed Combat Power—93 Percent.
And he gave up.
Uehara [Name] gave all that she could. In every waking moment, she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders: his dreams, her family’s expectations, what society had wanted from her. Those moons that have passed them by, only once did she voice out that she had enough. Only once did she ask if she could still take it. Just once did she gather the courage to say what she really felt—that it was heavy and it hurt, that she was tired.
Just one time, out of the many times that she could have given it all up, but she didn’t.
Turns out, it only took him one time, too… to throw it all away. To leave and never come back.
[Name] needed him to fight for them that night—in that moment—because she was exhausted from fighting alone.
Just one time, she grew weary… and he left.
Is that what your love is like, Soushiro? How could you give up so easily? How could you not find a reason to stay?
“You’re clear for fire, Captain.”
Was it not enough that I loved you too?
The weapon in her arm grew heavy, even after years of training her body to reach past its limits… it never felt lighter—not her weapon nor the feeling withering in her chest. No matter how many times she pulled the trigger or how many people she met, she remained behind an invisible wall. Restless nights from the cramps of her muscles. The aches of her heart.
At some point, I wanted to believe we could always be together wherever I ended up. But I realize just how selfish that sounds. Maybe that’s what I am. A cruel, heartless liar. The person who deserves you the least. Who comes last in your list of priorities. The last thought. Last resort. The failsafe. And it’s okay… so long as I’ll have you. Turns out you didn’t have room for me in your heart, but I tried to be greedy for once.
It was all the same.
A wall of fire erupted from the distance, vaporizing the waters of the ocean. Skies of the summer season were always curtained by the unending parade of clouds, now they circled around the body of the obliterated kaiju.
Streams of fiery sunlight pierced through the haze, flowing down on the cold metal wrapped around her finger. Tarnished under the care of time.
If I could have stopped your heart from breaking… maybe, I could have saved mine too.
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Thank you all so much for your support! It really means a lot <33 This story has been a rollercoaster of emotions, even for me! It took me all of summer break to write this because I was sitting around watching fruits basket (it was posted on ao3 first 🥰) the comments and hearing other people's thoughts really make me happy 😁 I cannot thank you enough for reading this one-shot expanded story, it really was meant to be a one-shot, honest🤚 I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I had fun TEARS, THE LITERAL TEARS, THE SCREAMS, THE PAINFUL HEARTACHE OF WRITING THE HAPPY SCENES KNOWING I WAS GONNA HURT THEM, THE JAWBREAKING GRIN I HAD WHEN I WAS KICKING AND GIGGLING, AND THE REALIZATION THAT IT WASN'T GONNA END HAPPILY writing it 😇🙏
If you're interested, see my other works🧺🤗
Preview: had I not seen the stars
The worst part of it all was that I still remember it. I still remember your love. I walk around this damned city remembering it all. I'm going to live in a universe you've left me in. And I'm going to die in a universe you've loved me in.
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feruslands · 9 months ago
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My sketch fanfic "Vader/Ferus"
For @reconstructwriter who inspired me to continue this long, heavy story and for everyone who loves "Vader/Ferus" (later Anakin/Ferus)
"Daddy Feri", part 7
Warnings: rape, cruelty
The next day, Darth Sidious gave the order to go on a new mission, and for the first time Vader realized that he did not want to go anywhere, but he could only postpone the mission.
"My Master, my body is not responding well. I need three days to undergo a set of medical procedures,” Vader said.
Palpatine pursed his lips in annoyance.
“Just one day and fly out immediately,” Sith hissed and cut the connection.
Palpatine was angry that his apprentice did not have the initiative characteristic of him, but it did not matter to Vader — the reckoning would be later, and now he could forget about the exhausting service for a while and be alone with himself. The Sith had a choice of how to spend this day – to start Leia's training or to undergo a course of medical procedures himself. And he chose the procedures without hesitation.
Vader felt that he was deceiving himself in some ways, but he couldn't figure out what. He had long buried Anakin Skywalker inside himself, but sometimes he was visited by unpleasant thoughts that neither Skywalker nor Darth Vader had ever lived their lives. Their lives have always been subordinated to something or someone else. 
Darth Vader hated the Jedi, but at the same time he hated his service to Palpatine. He traveled from one planet to another, suppressing riots, strengthening the power of the Empire, but for every defeated people, there was always another who took up weapons. The riots seemed to be rising in an endless stream of armed uprisings. Vader even had a tempting thought about the sudden death of the Emperor, but he understood very well that he alone would not be able to hold such power in his hands.
Vader wondered if he was really irreplaceable and unique, was he the chosen one of the Force?
He didn't know how many more years it would take him to crush all the rebellions and slaughter all the remaining Jedi, but every year Palpatine took over more and more power, and Vader began to doubt his own need, by the time the entire galaxy was completely deposed at Palpatine's feet.
All his thoughts boiled down to the fact that he had always been just an expendable item in the hands of the great puppeteer. And he sometimes felt trapped by himself, from which he saw no way out.
The regular rapes he committed on the old enemy became his outlet, he needed it like a drug. His body had demanded sexual pleasure for all the years he'd missed, and Vader wasn't going to deny himself that.
Thus, although Olin annoyed him, the Sith still found him useful. Vader's anxious thoughts receded as he forcibly took over the Jedi's body and enjoyed his own undivided power. He was especially acutely aware of his superiority while Ferus was trying to break free, struggling on the floor under him and howling in pain. And Vader felt pleasure, always vivid and incredible. And he couldn't get enough of it.
After the rape, he absorbed the hot, undisguised emotions of the man lying on the floor and sobbing. It was amazing how morally crushed and miserable Ferus became after their forced intercourse. And all this gave Vader satisfaction, his pain, his humiliation, his tears and his great shame. As if the Jedi had nothing else to worry about, just his shamefully fucked, naked, bleeding ass. 
"The shy bitch," the Sith thought with contempt.
He left this fucked-up shy bitch in the care of medical droids and went on the mission. This task turned out to be incredibly boring and long. The worst part was that the planet resembled Tatooine in its climate and landscape. The endless hot desert around the dome that protected the city from the fierce heat was getting on his nerves. He felt like a pickled vegetable in a jar, even though he knew that his armor's thermoregulation systems were perfectly fine-tuned.
When the election of the new ruler of the planet was completed, Vader very effectively and brutally crushed an attempt at rebellion by the opposition, and ordered his subordinates to immediately get out of this disgusting, arid planet. On the way to the Vjun, he reported to the Master that the task was completed, but Sidious ordered him to immediately turn to the capital. Vader knew exactly why. The emperor's personal audience with lightning strikes as a treat is the usual punishment for any disobedience.
He was carried out of the throne room of Sidious on a stretcher because he lost consciousness from the pain. The lightning strikes even damaged his armor. When Vader was taken to the Destroyer, he locked himself in his cabin and did not leave it until the end of the flight.
Wounded, angry, with damaged armor, Darth Vader hardly moved through the rooms of his fortress, and sent mental curses to Palpatine.
The maintenance droids loaded him into a bacta tank and he did not get out for a day. After that, he began to fully repair his armor, but on the same day he received a call from Palpatine demanding that he go on a new mission.
"What's the matter? Do you need long-term treatment and procedures again?" The Master asked.
Such the condescendingly mocking tone made Vader feel even more furious.
"Preferably," Vader replied calmly.
Palpatine's eyes flashed angrily.
“You can perform your medical procedures right on the Devastator. So you won't have to come back to the Vjun so often.”
"Yes, Master. But then I need a complete refurbishment of my personal quarters on the Devastator. The Bacta tank is not enough. I need to build an isolated capsule, and supply it with all the necessary medical equipment, as well…
"Do what you want in your apartment, I don't care," Sidious barked and cut the connection.
Vader smiled at his small victory. Sometimes the fact of his terrible disability could be used as a means of manipulation.
The Sith did not tolerate delay, so he immediately broadcast orders to the Destroyer to prepare for the conversion of his apartments. He only regretted that he couldn't carry Ferus in his pocket like a purebred animal.
But could anyone have prevented him from doing so? No one in the galaxy knew about the captured Jedi, not even Palpatine. Vader went to the next deception of his Master not only easily, but also with pleasure. Olin will be more useful if he is locked in a small cell on a Star Destroyer. And Vader quickly figured out how to do it.
Ferus felt that Vader had returned from his last mission not only embittered, but also wounded. He believed that the Sith had received his wounds and damage to the suit during the battle. Hoping that the Imperial army lost the battle to the rebels would be too positive, but if they suffered such serious losses, it was undoubtedly a good start.
Isolated from the outside world, the Jedi was deprived of the opportunity to observe the political situation in the galaxy, but even in the last year of his wanderings, he noticed a sharp dissatisfaction with Palpatine's policies to the point that many peaceful peoples began to take up arms to fight for their freedom. He wished the rebels luck in his mind, hoping that one day many worlds would unite to fight the Empire.
During his captivity, the Jedi managed to sufficiently study the bestial nature of his captor. Ferus knew that Vader would take it out on him for any of his failures or just because of his rotten mood. That's how it happened this time. At the moment when Vader appeared in the cell, Ferus was meditating, he was looking for a way to protect Leia from the rotten influence of darkness. Leia often had tantrums and cried almost every day for no reason.
Ferus's attempts to contact the Force probably displeased his jailer very much.
“Get undressed, whore,” Vader kicked the Jedi with his heavy metal prosthesis. 
“I won't.”
“Great, then I'll do it myself. ” Vader hurled the Jedi to the floor with a torrent of Force
Ferus saw his sadistic pleasure. Vader, as always, was generous with insults and blows, but this time he also mocked the prisoner and the philosophy of the Jedi.
"And where is your entire Order now?" Sith hissed as he tore off his clothes. Vader leaned on top of him and pinned his superheavy prosthetic body to the floor.
"What will your Jedi Code tell you about this? " Vader asked mockingly as he shoved his dick into the ass of the resisting prisoner.
“«There is no emotion, there is peace», right? Or maybe my dick isn't in your dumb ass right now? Or is there, right?” the Sith just laughed at his helplessness and continued to fuck him roughly.
During intercourse, the Sith made vile sounds resembling something between the roar of a predator, the grunting of a fat Hutt and the creaking of an old droid. Ferus didn't respond to the rapist anymore, so as not to anger this scum even more. But he couldn't hold back the tears because of the pain. The only good thing about this situation was that while Vader was dealing with him, he wasn't paying attention to Leia.
Olin spent the next night in the medical unit. While the droids were treating him, he dreamed that the bastard who was raping him would leave as soon as possible. Palpatine often gave Vader lengthy assignments, but this time Vader unpleasantly surprised him when he informed him the next morning that they were flying together.
“For what?” There was concern in the Jedi's voice, he felt fear for Leia. Did the baby have to stay alone for a few weeks?
Vader didn't know if Olin was pretending to be an idiot or if it was a natural emotion, but he liked the confusion on his face.
“You're asking for what?” Vader asked mockingly, "Of course, so that I can use you for your intended purpose. And for that, I will smuggle you onto the Destroyer secretly, and no one will even know about your existence. You will live in a cramped cell like an animal.
Ferus froze, his face becoming like a mask.
“Why are you so surprised, Olin?” Vader continued to mock him, "What other use can you be? You're a half-educated Padawan, not a Jedi Master. You are a disgusting warrior. You're a lousy babysitter for a kid. But maybe you'll make a capable slut? So I will take you with me to use you to the fullest, that is, daily for my satisfaction.”
Everything inside Ferus snapped. His escape plan in Vader's absence had just been ruined.
“What about Leia?” Olin asked .
It stung Vader uncomfortably that the Jedi was worried about Leia.
“She'll be waiting for us here. And she's going to have to become very obedient for me to want to bring you back here alive. The same goes for you.”
"And what did she do to deserve it?"  Ferus asked indignantly.
Vader saw the Jedi's growing anger and it poured out in response. He didn't like that he was so worried about the baby.
“You annoy me,” Vader slapped him across the face, "Before you try to raise your voice at me again, you mud, remember that punishment will come.”
Ferus fell from the second blow to the stomach.
“Say goodbye to her before I change my mind.” Vader waved his hand, triggering the command to open the door mechanism.
Leia was standing in the open doorway. She rushed to Dad as soon as she saw him.
Through the pain in his head, the Jedi could feel his growing anger. He realized that Vader had already informed Leia about everything. Ferus should have told her such unpleasant news himself to mitigate this traumatic event, but Vader was damn elated at any manifestation of his stinking power, he couldn't help but make this moment painful for both of them. The Sith had easily doomed Leia to the frightening ordeal of being forced to leave her parent, and Ferus hated him for it.
Ferus sat down on the floor in front of Leia. And the girl looked at him in fascination. His gaze was so soothing. At such moments, Leia was not afraid. She believed him. He's her dad no matter what.
Suddenly Ferus's eyes widened sharply, his face froze in horror, he felt only a sharp pain and numbness in his back. It was Vader who slammed a syringe with a temporarily heart-stopping drug under his shoulder blade.
Ferus's body instantly became sluggish, he couldn't even scream. Instead of hugging Leia goodbye, he fell face down on the floor. Vader managed to catch him before hitting the floor and casually smoothed out some long black package.
Leia blinked in disbelief, screamed wildly and rushed to Ferus.
Vader restrained her by Force, he ordered two security droids to grab her.
The Sith stuffed the unconscious Jedi into a thick black bag. Such bags were used on imperial ships to pack rebel corpses.
And the girl looked at it with horror and unsuccessfully tried to escape from the hands of the droids.
“Did you remember your assignment well?” Vader demanded.
Leia couldn't speak, she nodded quickly. 
“If you fail and let me down, instead of “Daddy Feri” I will bring you a small box with soot. You're old enough to understand what this soot is going to be made of, aren't you, girl?”
Leia was choking on tears, she nodded, and promised to do everything, and begged to bring her dear daddy back.
"Very good," Vader said, and slung the body wrapped in the black bag over his shoulder, “I'll come back and check it out.”
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notasapleasure · 3 months ago
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No spoilers, not a review of s2, just a nice summary of the show's influences that points to beats I don't think people always appreciate.
It’s not just that the supporting cast is overwhelmingly British and Irish; the themes and style are deeply influenced by shows including the classic drama Edge of Darkness (1985), The Sandbaggers (1978-80), and Harry’s Game (1982). Those were marked by an intense focus on political oppression, the costs and ironies of espionage, and the tense state of the nation. It is very easy to imagine Andor screening on ITV in the 1980s—with roughly 2 percent of the budget and a quarter of the episodes. British political drama was particularly shaped by both the Troubles in Northern Ireland and the 1984-85 miners’ strike. During the former, the violence was not confined to Belfast; the Irish Republican Army’s bombing campaign hit the British mainland repeatedly. There are still vanishingly few trash cans in British train stations, since they were removed for fear of explosives. Along with the violence came appalling miscarriages of justice by a police force that took an Irish accent as proof of guilt. During the miners’ strike, meanwhile, the British state employed policing tactics honed in Northern Ireland and Hong Kong at home. Clashes between miners and police turned into full-blown battles. Police spies went deep undercover within radical groups, including having relationships and children with activists. Both of these struggles inform Andor. The planet where the first season’s action starts and finishes, Ferrix, borrows its industrial culture from Britain’s mining towns—down to the role of a ceremonial colliery band. The uneasy occupation of Ferrix by imperial forces and street-level warnings of approaching troops are drawn from Belfast.
It was paywalled for me, so here'e the full piece:
The Empire has always been British. Ever since the first Star Wars, the villains have had stereotypically upper-class British accents. (Darth Vader is the chief exception; actor David Prowse’s rural West Country accent was overdubbed with the rich tones of James Earl Jones.) Yet many of the good guys have also been British—unsurprising for a franchise that from the start was principally filmed in the United Kingdom and drew much of its original inspiration from World War II movies depicting heroic British pilots and commandos.
But the Disney+ show Andor, which begins its second (and final) season on Tuesday, frames a galaxy far, far away in an entirely different form of Britishness: the leftist political dramas made during the Margaret Thatcher years.
Andor is a political thriller about living under a fascist state—one built on casual brutality, quota-driven slave labor, the destruction of minority culture, and the needs of endless war. It’s a vision of the Empire as a genuinely terrifying force, not as faceless drones with terrible aim. Death is frequent and not clean: Characters are hanged, electrocuted, crushed by sliding cargo, and stabbed in back alleys.
The series traces the political evolution of its eponymous main character, portrayed by Diego Luna, who first played the character in 2016’s Rogue One. In Rogue One, by largely the same creative team, Cassian Andor is an experienced rebel operative; in Andor, which starts five years earlier, he begins as an apolitical thief before being drawn into the nascent rebellion.
But the resistance here isn’t made up of the cleanly heroic fighter pilots of the Star Wars movies. It’s frayed, paranoid, and morally compromised, ready to sacrifice its own soldiers to avoid blowing a key intelligence source or to provoke the Empire into murdering civilians to drive the cause forward. In a critical monologue, the rebel organizer (played by Stellan Skarsgaard) spells out the cost of the struggle: “I’m condemned to use the tools of my enemy to defeat them. I burn my decency for someone else’s future. I burn my life to make a sunrise that I know I’ll never see.”
It is both incredible and mildly ridiculous that this show exists in the same universe as lightsabers and Ewoks. A peculiar thing happens with franchises as gigantic as Star Wars and its fellow member of the Disney entertainment juggernaut, the Marvel Cinematic Universe: The sheer number of movies and shows allows unexpected experimentation with genre and theme. Marvel’s Captain America: The Winter Soldier was a 1970s-style conspiracy thriller, Black Panther tackled Black militancy and Afrofuturism, WandaVision was a metafictional passage through U.S. sitcom history. Star Wars’ The Mandalorian is a science-fiction Western, while The Acolyte is a detective story.
Andor is largely the creation of American writer and director Tony Gilroy, who has been involved with several fine thriller movies, such as Michael Clayton and the Bourne franchise. But rather than just drawing on these thrillers, the new series traces its influences to the tense, political British TV series and movies of the 1970s to 1990s.
It’s not just that the supporting cast is overwhelmingly British and Irish; the themes and style are deeply influenced by shows including the classic drama Edge of Darkness (1985), The Sandbaggers (1978-80), and Harry’s Game (1982). Those were marked by an intense focus on political oppression, the costs and ironies of espionage, and the tense state of the nation. It is very easy to imagine Andor screening on ITV in the 1980s—with roughly 2 percent of the budget and a quarter of the episodes.
British political drama was particularly shaped by both the Troubles in Northern Ireland and the 1984-85 miners’ strike. During the former, the violence was not confined to Belfast; the Irish Republican Army’s bombing campaign hit the British mainland repeatedly. There are still vanishingly few trash cans in British train stations, since they were removed for fear of explosives. Along with the violence came appalling miscarriages of justice by a police force that took an Irish accent as proof of guilt.
During the miners’ strike, meanwhile, the British state employed policing tactics honed in Northern Ireland and Hong Kong at home. Clashes between miners and police turned into full-blown battles. Police spies went deep undercover within radical groups, including having relationships and children with activists.
Both of these struggles inform Andor. The planet where the first season’s action starts and finishes, Ferrix, borrows its industrial culture from Britain’s mining towns—down to the role of a ceremonial colliery band. The uneasy occupation of Ferrix by imperial forces and street-level warnings of approaching troops are drawn from Belfast.
A key moment of tension in Andor turns, as often in Northern Ireland, on a parade and a funeral. A long prison riot sequence is inspired in part by In the Name of the Father (1993), a film about the Guildford Four, who were wrongly convicted of pub bombings in the 1970s. In a scene evocative of anti-colonial violence from Belfast to Gaza, a boy mourning a murdered father builds a bomb whose throwing will spark a riot and massacre.
The U.K. is not, of course, the only influence. There is a strong Latin American subcurrent, from Andor’s childhood among an Indigenous-coded village destroyed by mining to the scenes of broken torture victims in improvised secret police cells. There are visible influences from resistance films including The Battle of Algiers and Army of Shadows.
The show’s structure is also a far cry from the quest narrative of the Star Wars movies. Multiple plot strands are wound together in the fashion of a state-of-the-nation novel; a series of three-episode arcs focused around Andor himself is mixed with ongoing threads of domination and resistance that span social classes. There are dozens of characters; even small roles have a richness and realism to them.
As Senator Mon Mothma, Genevieve O’Reilly transforms a background character first encountered in Return of the Jedi (one of just four women with speaking roles in the first movies) into a woman feeling the walls close around her as she poses as a political irritant but secretly funds militants. O’Reilly has played the character in numerous other Star Wars works, but this is the first time she has been given the opportunity to show off what she can really do as an actor. Mon Mothma’s husband is a recognizably upper-class London type in the mold of Boris Johnson, complaining that her liberal causes, unlike his “fun” imperial friends, make everything so “boring and sad.”
Like the dystopian film Brazil or Alan Moore’s original V for Vendetta comic series, Andor spends plenty of time inside the bureaucracy of fascism. The Empire is vicious and petty—and overstretched, guarding its slave labor facilities with too few soldiers, building its own doom with needless cruelty. In one of the show’s finest ironies, Andor is arrested and imprisoned not for the heist of an imperial armory he’s just committed but for being in the wrong place at the wrong time when a local cop is in a bad mood and the Empire needs prison camp labor to build its weapons.
The show humanizes imperial agents, from rent-a-cops and prison guards to secret police, without forgiving them. It begins with the killing of two corporate enforcers, petty bullies trying to run a shakedown on Andor himself. In a regular adventure drama, their deaths would be a way to show the coolness of the action hero; here, one dies accidentally, and the other pleads desperately for his life before the protagonist shoots him in desperation.
When we first meet Denise Gough’s secret police officer, to take another example, she’s a clever and determined woman struggling with uncooperative colleagues and institutional sexism. But as we see, she’s also a sadistic torturer, and even her earlier achievements are recast when we come to realize what “exceeding quota” in her sector actually means.
The other chief imperial viewpoint character is Syril Karn, played by one of the rare American actors in the show, Kyle Soller, and a creation of genius. He is a go-getter deputy police inspector in a self-tailored uniform surrounded by colleagues who just want to eat noodles and finish their shifts; his storyline is simultaneously hilarious, pathetic, and menacing.
I don’t know what will happen in the second season of this incredible show, which is dropping in three-episode blocks over four weeks. The creators may not have expected a story of lawless fascism to be quite so relevant to a U.S. audience. We know the end of this story, both for the character of Andor and for the ultimate victory of the resistance. But we don’t know the costs paid on the way.
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tired-night-owl · 1 year ago
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Blood Runs Cold
Fandom : Star Wars The Bad Batch
One shot ?
I tried to write a small fic about Crosshair and Omega in the new promo that’s been released because I can’t wait to see them together in the new season even if I know my heart is gonna get crushed by Dave Filony again… Hopefully I am the opposite of last season and I am soooo wrong and they will all be reunited as a big family where no one dies or sacrifice themselves for the others ! Anyway I hope you enjoy :) 
Word count : 866
Summary : Crosshair has much to think about in his new conditions, what doesn’t help is when a far too bubbly and optimistic teenager comes and ruins his peaceful self pity moment.
Notes : brief mention of torture I guess, small but graphic description of tech’s death, Siblings!crosshair x omega, Spoilers for the new promo clip !
He noticed it a while ago, when they first started their wicked experiments on him. He tried to keep it under control mostly for his pride because seeing as with such a condition, his (now rendered useless) talent would be even more so wasn’t helping his morale. Crosshair didn’t mind it too much for now because not one clone in this cursed facility was in any shape or form to judge him in his misery. That is until the girl showed up. 
That child has been the sole cause for any misfortune he had to live though in the last couple of months he thought, but scolded himself to at least not make it show. She has enough to deal with too at the moment without having to suffer his endless wrath and sorrows. Still she cost him everything. His family, in more ways than one, his station, attempting to save her branded him a traitor and a VIP ticket to Hemlock’s test table and —
His mind went silent 
His brother Tech…. He had to give his life for hers. Skull smashed to pieces because they didn’t heed his warning. There's no way the batch can survive without its brain now. 
His mind whirled with thoughts like these locked in his dark cell all day. Some would say they were enough to drive a man insane but Crosshair already knew insane, and it wasn’t by his choice. Now he sees it, the effect that damn chip has had on him. How it made him turn on the only people who ever cared for him. He couldn’t turn on this one now. 
« Crosshair… »
« Crosshair ! I tried to come earlier, but there are too many guards watching me…»
He tried to calm his usually snappy tone for the sake of the girl who must be as terrified if not more than he is at the moment.
« You shouldn’t be down here at all » he tried to make her realize a little harsher than he wished.
It was foolish of her to put a target on her back by snooping around, on THEIR backs. In a situation like this where there is no hope, it’s best to comply and hope you die as painlessly as possible. Though that seemed unlikely for him at the hands of that sick scientist. But there might be hope for her yet if she stopped escaping her quarters.
The girl continued with her misplaced energy and optimism.
« How else are we gonna plan an escape ? »
An escape ?! Had she gone insane? Did she not realize they were in the middle of no where, in an unknown imperial playground, surrounded by guards with no moral compass except loyalty to the credits they earn at the end of each shift filled with screams of tortured people. Better to kill that idea in the egg before she gets too altruistic. 
The sniper resumed his usual cold and unapproachable attitude, hoping the girl would realize that planning an escape in a place such as this with only 1 ally was foolish already but with no one, it was simply stretching your neck to help the executioner do his job. 
« There is no WE, and there is no escape… I’ve already tried. » 
The young clone didn’t budge.
« Every stronghold has a weak point ! Maybe I could convince Emerie to help, she’s one of us. »
His brothers has taught her well he could tell, and by that he meant by filling her head with useless idiotic tactics and informations for a obviously changing galaxy. Besides if they shouldn’t trust one person in this Sarlac pit, it was HER. That double crossing scientist woman. Testing on people was bad enough but on her own « brothers » that was being a plain sociopathic hypocrite. 
« Not every clone is your ally ! » The sharpshooter reminded her.
« You trust too easily… »
He expected a reply and one sounding similar to that one too, so he doesn’t know why her words struck him so. 
« Maybe you don’t trust enough. » Omega replied with that same misguided hope as earlier.
An uncomfortable silence surrounded the two and then it started again : the shaking.
The stupid shaking he couldn’t stop. The best sniper in the whole GAR with quivering hands, how ironic. He felt uneasy having her see him like this. It was as if his own brothers could see how low he had fallen and for a prideful man like Crosshair, it was not an easy feat to overcome. 
« Crosshair ? »  The young girl asked after her gaze fell upon her brother hiding his hands from her. 
Not so long ago he would’ve snapped at her for simply seeing him in a state like this, desperately trying to steady his once reliable hands but now, he just didn’t have the heart or the energy to do so…
« Just… Go. » he simply said. 
« Before you make things worst for both of us… »
In this moment he came to the conclusion that yes, he didn’t want to be punished for the girl’s misbehaviour but he also mostly didn’t want her to suffer because of him. 
Knowing Hemlock, he wouldn’t even do it to punish Omega… but he would do unexplainable things to the girl to make HIM suffer. 
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paranoidpulse · 2 months ago
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There’s a love that feels like the moon—silent, constant, yet endlessly illuminating. It’s the kind of love that doesn’t need to be spoken because it lives in the quiet moments, like the way the moonlight spills softly through the window, never demanding attention, but always there. It consumes the mind, in a way that doesn’t overwhelm, but fills every empty space with a sense of belonging. Like the stars scattered across the night sky, each thought of them is a small spark, a reminder that I am seen, I am cherished, and I am loved without question.
It’s love that doesn’t feel hard, like the pull of gravity between the Earth and the moon—effortless, yet profound. I am not a burden in their eyes. I am the reflection of their light, a small piece of the night sky that they are drawn to. And when they look at me, it’s as if the universe slows, and I become everything they’ve ever wanted. I feel the weight of their gaze, but it doesn’t crush me—it lifts me, like the moon pulling the tides.
In this love, there is no judgment, only acceptance, as vast as the cosmos itself. It is unbridled, like the way the stars burn with intensity, yet never falter, never fade. It is infatuation, yes, but of a kind that is pure and constant. The way the stars are always present, even when we cannot see them—they are always there, shining, waiting to be noticed.
I want to drown in their presence, as if the vastness of space is a soft, endless ocean, and I am free to float, to be. And in their arms, I am home, I am whole. A love that wraps around me like the night sky, holding me close, yet allowing me the freedom to breathe. There is no pressure, only the quiet rhythm of hearts beating in time with the stars.
It’s the kind of love that feels as though it has always been written in the stars, even before we met. I feel it now, deep in my soul—a love that transcends the limits of time and space, forever reaching across the galaxies to find its way to me.
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ventique-genshin · 2 years ago
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Transcend (scara short story poem)
One of the pieces I'm working on for a Scara short story poem book
Synopsis:
To transcend beyond your current self is to accept your past and welcome the future you
I ascended once,
From a hollow shell veiled with the constellations of dead stars.
I stepped in a staircase made from the carcass
Of my loved ones and my enemies,
Painted in a single pigment of red,
Stirred from a shade of many,
Its steps glittering with radiant specks of dreams from the lives I've shattered.
I ascended.
Into a solitary moon, into a crowned god.
Yet at my throne atop a galaxy,
There was nothing but a realization of having nothing.
Nothing but skeletons gathered at my feet
Singing a symphony of both vengeance and reverence,
A duet with the solo concerto of the hollow eyes of a hollow man.
Drip, drop, drip, drop,
They sang.
Drip, drop, drip,
Drop, like I did, from a throne that was not mine,
Like an endless ticking of eternity's clock.
Tick-tock, tick-tock,
An eternity of falling,
Deeper, deeper,
And deeper
Into a bottomless pit of despair,
Not into the grave that others made for me,
But into the depths of the one I dug with my hands,
With my wooden fingers that had cracked and peeling paint,
Like how I wanted to peel off my name, my face, my limbs--
Until I am bare enough to become an unnamed star in a galaxy.
Ah.
Perhaps I ascended by descending.
Because once I stripped myself from the galaxy,
Blew off the remaining embers until my history ceased to exist like the last wisp of smoke,
A new star was born from my ashes.
You, who were sinless and spotless,
You, who were free from the crushing weight of five hundred autumns and winters' memories,
"May you find what it means to live."
We said in unison.
Surprise made me open the eyes I did not know were closed.
I spoke--no, we spoke.
Me and myself
Spoke with the same voice.
"For we have become one and the same."
…Yes.
As memories fell like the sand of an hourglass,
Like a rain that washed away the weariness of the earth,
We pulled each other's arms up,
Up, from the bottom of the ocean,
Up, from our own lonely little planet of regret,
To greet the sun and the endless blue sky,
Where birds sang a joyful ode to the day after an eternal storm.
I have transcended.
I once folded a thousand paper cranes to make a wish,
But it was not the wish from my lips that was granted but the one my soul uttered.
As I rose from the coffin where I laid in slumber,
Dusted off the petals of flowers that grew around my tomb,
And covered my bare body with the sky and clouds' cloak,
My eyes, no longer as hollow as the hollow man I once was,
No longer singing a song of spite to the galaxy for my existence,
Lifted their gaze, not to the cold and empty space,
But to the warm morning, where I was no longer alone.
Drip, drop, drip, drop,
My vibrant eyes sang sweetly.
I, who was abandoned,
I, who used and was used,
I, who died and was reborn,
I, who had nothing and still have nothing,
I, who rose from my own rotting corpse
And rode the wind with a new name,
Have transcended myself
And became my true self.
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slightlyunconventional · 1 year ago
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To add to the ‘H/awks is a silent stifler until he’s not’ idea, D/abi forcibly ending meeting to get him to JUST SNEEZE NORMAL ALREADY.
YES YES YES HELLO??????? why is everybody here so insanely galaxy brain this is incredible. always a sucker for someone trying to keep quiet in a scenario like that …. especially when they dont even have to !!!
h/awks needing to sneeze in a meeting .. knowing full well if he just let it out it would more than likely be one and done but hes kinda a control freak about it and also doesnt want to draw attention to himself (especially since hes kind of out of place in the league anyway) so he stifles. pros: its completely silent!! and nobody notices!! cons: the irritant cant get out if you dont let it get out.
so hes just sat in this meeting periodically crushing increasingly itchy sneezes into complete oblivion . like Complete. it starts to get uncomfortable at a point but he’d rather that than make a noise. its also just habit by now for him
he probably thinks hes getting away with it since theres no noise too, his lips part with a silent intake of breath and then he ducks forward a fraction with an equally silent pinched-off sneeze. lol no. d/abi was definitely noticing the whole time , like watching h/awks have this endless stifled fit in his peripheral partly wondering what the fuck is wrong with that bird (lovingly . concerned. secretly he cares) and partly being like how the hell is he STILL being silent. that has to HURT
and he watches from the sidelines for a little bit longer and internally is just like 😧😧😧 this man is ABUSING his nose. stifling so tightly to the point where the part he pinched is white for a moment after he lets go and then fades back to an angrily irritated pinkish red. mm
at some point d/abi decides that is definitely Enough. both for his own sanity and also h/awks’ nose . honestly he’d probably just stand up grab hawks by the arm and walk straight out of the room lmao who needs to stay in meetings anyway right. as soon as theyre out the door h/awks’ breaths immediately become actually audible, almost as if his body was waiting for him to stop stifling so he could get some actual relief and the second he got out of that room it took the chance
anyway as h/awks is muffling sneezes into his sleeve (still pretty fucking tightly but at least hes not stifling anymore) d/abi’s basically telling him off for stifling. hes all “you’ll hurt yourself, burst a fucking blood vessel or some shit- if you haven’t already you prick. imagine how fast you’d be done sneezing if you actually did it properly. then i wouldnt have to do this”
and h/awks being like. “well nobody said you had to” and dabi just shrugs and says “anything to get out of those boring ass meetings. plus i’d rather Not watch you sneeze yourself to an aneurysm”
and then they skip happily into the sunset. idk bro that got away from me a bit. anyway yes anon this. ur hc this ask i am ascending i LOVE IT!!! ur mind!!! thank you for enabling me to ramble about it in a post
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safesthaveninexistence · 2 years ago
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"They Call Me The Unrivaled Chun-Li" Affirmations
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I'm centillions of undefeated Chun-Lis combined. They can never guess my moves from quadrillions light years away I stay surprising them with endless unrivaled tricks up my sleeves. They call me the most insanest Formidable spiritual warrior out of all warriors that have ever existed in humanity and in all planets across infinite galaxies. My Kikoken and Centillions Lightning Kicks Utterly Blows Them All Out Of The Water In The Psychic Realm. My Aerial Centillions Of Infinities Lightning Kicks releases a barrage of the Universe's debilitating blows to enemies ensuring they're utterly vanquished before they even come up with a way or plan to beat me. In the spiritual realm my Spinning Bird Kick is too deadly I effortlessly close the distance on enemies in a flash and in a mf zeptosecond and effortlessly make my way past all projectiles, they know I'm the Final Boss out of all Ultimate Final Bosses so those who "play it safe" with me are utterly and laughably eradicated. My lethally brutally Hazanshu move stay effectively and efficaciously going in for the kill with such unrivaled rapidity and speed so they don't even have time to block my moves. My deeply-revered Tensho Kicks take out incoming aerial enemies as well as finish off combos with an endless series of painful upwards kicks so they can never lock me down. Chun-Li wishes she could be me 'cause my Kikosho lets out a large orb of energy in front of me that hits inumberable and immeasurable times for severely great damage and utterly vanquishes my enemies faster than they can take in a breath. My Kikosho has the longest range so no one has ever survived my Kikosho and lived to tell about it. My Aerial Kikosho makes them effortlessly obey me as they see I'm the most insanest force to be reckoned with. My Hoyoku-sen can never be blocked and I use it mercilessly to punish those who even dared to inconvenience me, whether currently or just from memory. My savage use of Soten Ranka 25/8 in the spiritual realm intentionally weakens those who are already weakened and is looking for that last hope as I crush out all of their hopes for even thinking of making me their enemy.
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MY SWIFT THRUST IS CENTILLIONS TIMES MORE POTENTLY ADVANCED THAN THE MOST POWERFUL VERSION OF CHUN-LI'S.
MY HAKKEI IS CENTILLIONS TIMES MORE POTENTLY ADVANCED THAN THE MOST POWERFUL VERSION OF CHUN-LI'S.
MY WATER LOTUS FIST CENTILLIONS TIMES MORE POTENTLY ADVANCED THAN THE MOST POWERFUL VERSION OF CHUN-LI'S.
MY YOKUSEN KICK CENTILLIONS TIMES MORE POTENTLY ADVANCED THAN THE MOST POWERFUL VERSION OF CHUN-LI'S.
MY FALLING CRANE CENTILLIONS TIMES MORE POTENTLY ADVANCED THAN THE MOST POWERFUL VERSION OF CHUN-LI'S.
MY YOSU KICK CENTILLIONS TIMES MORE POTENTLY ADVANCED THAN THE MOST POWERFUL VERSION OF CHUN-LI'S.
MY WALL JUMP CENTILLIONS TIMES MORE POTENTLY ADVANCED THAN THE MOST POWERFUL VERSION OF CHUN-LI'S.
MY SOARING EAGLE CENTILLIONS TIMES MORE POTENTLY ADVANCED THAN THE MOST POWERFUL VERSION OF CHUN-LI'S.
MY SERENITY STREAM CENTILLIONS TIMES MORE POTENTLY ADVANCED THAN THE MOST POWERFUL VERSION OF CHUN-LI'S.
MY ORCHID PALM CENTILLIONS TIMES MORE POTENTLY ADVANCED THAN THE MOST POWERFUL VERSION OF CHUN-LI'S.
MY SNAKE STRIKE CENTILLIONS TIMES MORE POTENTLY ADVANCED THAN THE MOST POWERFUL VERSION OF CHUN-LI'S.
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MY LOTUS FIST CENTILLIONS TIMES MORE POTENTLY ADVANCED THAN THE MOST POWERFUL VERSION OF CHUN-LI'S.
MY FORWARD STRIKE CENTILLIONS TIMES MORE POTENTLY ADVANCED THAN THE MOST POWERFUL VERSION OF CHUN-LI'S.
MY SENPU KICK CENTILLIONS TIMES MORE POTENTLY ADVANCED THAN THE MOST POWERFUL VERSION OF CHUN-LI'S.
MY TENKU KICK CENTILLIONS TIMES MORE POTENTLY ADVANCED THAN THE MOST POWERFUL VERSION OF CHUN-LI'S.
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