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akirakirxaa · 1 year ago

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FFXIVWrite Day 5: Barbarous

Rating: M

Word Count: 1041

Warnings: Violence and torture

Summary: Emperor Solus deals with a rebel that made some...questionable choices.

Master Post

The Emperor stormed through the palace, and staff and military officials alike knew better than to call for his attention in this state. He stalked towards the dungeons, shoulders set, eyes alight with anger and snapping at anyone foolish enough to interrupt him.

But no matter how angry Solus appeared to be, beneath the skin, Emet-Selch was furious.

That rebels had been bold enough to steal into his home and steal away his wife was one thing. A really irritating thing to be sure, but a small inconvenience easily corrected and the rebel cell that had done so dealt with in the usual way, kept as prisoners of war until the territory could be brought to heel.

But one of them had dared lay hands on her. Burned her skin and broke her bones and the image of her shaking as she clung to him with her one good hand stoked the flames even higher.

It was foolish, Lahabrea was right, Valeria was not her and never would be and to grow so attached to but a shard of her was a dangerous game.

He stopped before the guard outside of the most secure cells, in the deepest part of the dungeon.

"You may go," he dismissed tersely. The guard hesitated for a moment, but upon seeing the look on the Emperor's face, gave a brisk nod and headed off to whatever his next duties were. Once he was fully out of sight, Emet-Selch slunk inside.

He found his prisoner, the massive hrothgar that had been acting as the resistance group's torturer, not only locked in a cell but also changed by his wrists to the floor, keeping him hunched on his knees. His fur was dull and matted, suggesting rougher than necessary treatment from the guards that had escorted him. The leg Emet-Selch had shot looked swollen and inflamed.

Good.

"You!" The hrothgar's lips pulled back in a snarl as he lunged forward, straining against his restraints as he began to hurl hatred and accusations at the Emperor.

"No no," Emet-Selch snapped, and though the prisoner's mouth and throat continued to work, he fell completely silent. "I'm not here to listen to you prattle on. The only sounds I'm interested in hearing are your screams." The hrothgar's eyes widened and made quiet choking noises as he tried desperately to make some kind of noise, realizing too late that this man was no mere Garlean.

"Ah yes, where are my manners," Emet-Selch's face split in a mad grin as he flashed his glyph at the prisoner. "Emet-Selch, Ascian." The hrothgar scrambled back; whether he knew what an Ascian was or not, he was realizing quite quickly that he may have picked a fight that he really shouldn't have.

"I like to think we treat our prisoners fairly. We keep them fed and whole and they'll get to return to their families once this whole messy war is over, assuming their families don't foolishly throw their lives away on a losing war," Emet-Selch wandered closer to the bars, cold fury creeping into his expression. "But you took a woman who knew nothing and tortured her only for the crime of being my wife. So I'm sure you'll understand when I say that I'll be...returning the favor, so to speak." The prisoner let out a wordless snarl, words still lost to him, and Emet-Selch gave a cold smirk.

"Where do you think I should start, Torturer? Mayhap I shall remove every finger from your body, or burn the fur from your skin, or pluck your eyes out and smash them under my boot," he delighted in the way the anger in his prisoner's eyes gave way to fear. "Maybe we start with breaking every bone in your body the way you broke her arm, hmm?"

He snapped his fingers, and the man's arms jerked with a crack into unnatural angles. The prisoner howled in agony.

The following hours brought naught but more screams until the dungeons fell silent once more.

~¤○¤~

After making sure the cell looked as if the prisoner's death was much more mundane than it was, Emet-Selch took a moment to put his persona back into place before heading to check on his wife. She had been taken directly to the medical wing from the airship to finish treating her wounds, but should have been returned to their chambers to rest by now. Sure enough, he found her dozing amongst liberal pillows and blankets, though not quite asleep. She sleepily reached for him with her right arm, the one now encased in a cast, and he had to swallow down the anger it brought to the surface.

"How are you feeling, my dear?" He settled on the edge of their bed, gingerly taking Valeria's hand in his.

"Better. They gave m'somethin for th' pain, but's making ev'rthing kinda fuzzy," her words were a bit slurred, but she was comfortable and that was what mattered, he told himself. The medicine, the cast, all things that would pass with time and she'd be back to normal. Maybe she saw the hurting in his eyes, maybe she simply wanted closeness, but either way she gave a pat to the space next to her and looked at him expectantly. He gave a small, rueful smile before settling in next to her. She turned so that they lay nose-to-nose.

"Where were you?" She asked, a little less slurred. Emet-Selch was quiet for a moment.

"That barbarous savage will never lay a finger on you again," he decided to answer. Valeria lay quiet, and he worried he'd upset her. He knew she had not the stomach for the kind of cruelty he sometimes had to be party to.

"He's dead?" She finally asked.

"Yes." More silence, and then:

"Good."

She tucked her head down into his chest, carefully settling her casted arm between them, and it wasn't long until her breathing became slow and even with sleep. Still unsettled from the last few days, Emet-Selch chose to instead look at her soul.

Damaged it may be, but it still shone the color of sunsets, of fire, all warmth and beauty in rest. He curled around her, clinging as if to a lifeline.

I miss you, Persephone.

#ffxiv #my fanfiction #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2023 #solus zos galvus #emet-selch #oc: valeria yae galvus #ship: once upon a dream #technically a follow up to an ask fill i did some time back #but all the relevant info is here you don't have to read both #pov: Emet-Selch

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bruinescence · 1 year ago

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@intothewildsea cont.

Usually, her morning walks along the shore were uneventful. No one came to that part of the beach, as it was a bit out of the way, but that suited Niamh just fine. It was easier to slip into her sealskin and swim whenever she liked when people weren't poking around, though this particular morning she hadn't brought her seal coat with her. When she spotted a figure on the beach, she hesitated for a moment. It took her a few minutes to recognize the creature - a kelpie - and she realized that it seemed to be in distress. She hurried over to it, hoping to help. She certainly hadn't expected the kelpie to shapeshift into an elf. She let out a bit of a startled noise, then realized she was being a little rude. She reached out to help him sit up. "Close enough," she said. "Are you all right?" She reached up and tugged off her shawl, moving to wrap it around his shoulders. "You'll catch cold. Here." The shawl was a bit small for him, but it was better than nothing, at least.

While it wasn't his idea to spend much of the past day or more bobbing aimless and exhausted through the waves of the Baldurian sea, that had simply been the reality of his situation after the incident aboard the submarine in its flight from an imploding Iron Throne. His party- absent now, though hopefully back in the boarding area they'd set off from with their dwarven helmsman, had risked their lives to rescue the prisoners trapped several leagues under the sea and Enver Gortash's hold. It was only once the submerged ship began to take on water at a higher altitude did the druid not only offer, but force his way out into the cold of the sea to help patch the side of the submarine damaged by the abandoned prison's blast. Summoned vines stitched the breach he found quickly, and though his stab at a kelpie was still a work in progress- he'd wild shaped into one to avoid having to re-enter the vessel and risk it taking on more seawater.

Unfortunately for kelpies, they lacked the means to hold onto a speeding submarine. It didn't help they were so far down that he had to spend most of his energy making the journey to the surface without breaking concentration on the shape as well. By the time he'd surfaced, Halsin needed to bob around for a bit and rest. He couldn't have been but a few miles off the coast, but however far out he was- the sea eventually carried him back to shore some days later.

He supposed he ought be grateful the maiden found him over a patrolling guard since a bed in the local prison was the last thing he needed at the moment. Lucky she did not scream at the sight of him in such a precarious position either and attract a guard from elsewhere. Another little shake of his head accompanied the ball of his palm as he continued in vain to flush the sand out of his eyelashes with a grind or two. It was only after he felt the softness of a shawl much too small for him draped over what bits of his shoulders it could manage that he tilted his head back and regarded her with one open eye, the other- still crusted shut with salt and the like. A sheepish smile crept upon him, and he minded the position of his free arm where he'd tucked it somewhat in front of him to offer a meager hope at modesty.

"Never better. Mayhaps I'll even take up circle of the land druidry after this ordeal for it is good to feel it beneath me again." A soft grimace followed as he pressed his palm to the ground and pushed off, a shaky attempt at rising to his feet again delayed til now but well in order. "My, you are kind to care about an old druid catching cold. But I don't suppose you are as equipped as I to grow fur." Halsin nodded, glad for the momentary softness regardless. "Are you out for a morning walk? I thought that I might encounter a maiden of Umberlee closer to shore, but you are all I've come across. Rather you are all that's come across me, I should say."

#//hey c:< sorry for the wait ~#//she's so casual about finding him like this he's just like-#//i can go bear to spare your eyes reallyyy #intothewildsea #long post

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sunlessea · 2 years ago

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in truth, he doesn't think the clarification on divinity's part even matters. it is incredibly selfish, of course, to think as much : however somber the facts of it, that is what he, isidorios, the elegiast, works so diligently to uphold. "maybe it would've been for the best i was damned. my life wasn't worth remembering." he realizes only after he says it, then, how terribly macabre that must be to hear. he closes his lips, eyes narrowing 'gainst the tears that sting them. he hadn't meant for it to sound that way. "the truth is that i just didn't want to feel alone anymore. i don't know if i was really searching for deliverance or an excuse not to go through with it." he recovers, albeit quietly, with no lack of tremble 'gainst his voice. "t'would only be fitting that, in the end, i was the one who didn't notice you. i came to you praying for kindness when i killed myself, and in doing so blinded myself each time you attempted to reach out to me. i'm a fucking idiot." they stare so very intently at his sleeve, head shifting to rest their cheek 'gainst his chest, now. they can hear his heartbeat. he smiles, solemnly. oh, but he is so very jealous of him, then.

he sighs, but knows there is no use trying to steady himself. so he doesn't. instead, he stays like this, allows his weight to fall into the god who yet steadies him, and oh, the irony of it all. he does fall silent, however, letting him speak rather than cutting in. he isn't sure what he'd expected ... mayhaps he had been waited for excuses, or lies, or further revelation. in that regard, he supposes he is to be disappointed, though he believes he finds comfort in it, the same he does the fingers that card through his hair, so messy from his run here, near untied from its ribbon. his expression softens, unsure, but attentive, and his fingers at last begin to loosen their grip 'pon the fabric of his suit. for the best is it : they'd begun to ache quite terribly. "it wasn't for the sake of my comfort that i let you lie to me, or even accused you of being malkavian. i knew you weren't. we can smell other vampyr, douce colombe ... i was protecting you. i thought—... i thought you were kine. human." it's embarrassing now, acknowledging it. but how was he supposed to know he had thought a god of the glory to be mortal man? at the time, the protection had felt warranted. now he feels stupid.

he does not veer into further discussion of it, however. the masquerade, for once, is so blissfully far from his mind. he can feel him looking at him, instinct that makes a self conscious chill rush 'long his spine. but he dutifully, stubbornly, refuses to look up at him, now boring a hole into his sleeve. he swallows, hard, but no amount of emotional preparation, joke that it is now, could have prepared him for the confession he imparts 'pon him now. fitting should it be he jolts himself up without intent to do so, eyes wide even as the elegiast's hands travel to their face. it is humiliating, the way they sputter, lips parting in blatant disbelief : already, his own voice is screaming in his mind that he must have misheard him! "i—what—what—what do you mean you've never—?! a—are you making fu—" he stops himself before he says it, the exclamation and situation far too familiar for his own taste ... but were it that his heart could thrum! so awkward are his hands in the space created between them now, not quite rested 'pon his chest any longer, but still held up in the air, and oh, they tremble. the very concept he could be anyone's first love, in that moment, it near enough to shatter him, and he is certain it shows in how emotionally he wilts.

however, he cannot bring himself to look away again. his hands are warm, even 'neath the gloves he wears, so lifeless is their own body. "i feel as if i'm hearing a confession i don't deserve," he breathes, voice cracking as it hits higher than intended, and in the end, he is meant to bite 'pon his lip to keep from sobbing. "i've not offered you anything to be gifted your heart so, i— dove, i am not a creature meant for such soft yearnings. holy or no, you are so much more than the tainted love—" i have to give you. such emotions, choked in his throat, are not new. it stands to reason, perhaps, he had always thought so, and no divine revelation had changed that. but still he looks 'pon him as he always had, even with tears in his eyes : adoringly, afraid, shy, but longing, for something he does not think he should have. and when he releases him, then, although certainly confused, he is thankful for the opportunity to look elsewhere, take a moment to catch his gentle breaths.

he does not stop him from his fretting, not sure what in the world he could be searching for. it gives him a second, however brief, to rest his hand over his dead heart once more, furrow his brows 'gainst the feelings that war within him. he wholeheartedly believes what he says : he is not enough, not good enough, for someone like this. he knows what they are, an unholy amalgamation of a monster that had not lived in centuries, had not experienced emotion aside from reflection for just as long, and yet. he swallows, presses his lips thin against the ache in his chest, and glances to him as he grows more frantic. and yet, he loves him. it is not a holy love, not an innocent one. it cannot be, when sourced from a kindred, an insane malkavian. but he does, in a way he cannot rightly remember having ever felt, in spite of their kind's afflictions.

"you..." he is forced out of his reverie, attention turning back to who, for all intents and purposes ... is his beloved. then, to the box he holds in his hands. "a ... gift?" he doesn't react at first, as he so oft tends not to, when people give him things. he's said it before ... how he dislikes receiving gifts, when he is in a position not to return a favor. but he doesn't scold him, only stares at it for a moment prior to reaching for it, when beckoned to do so. he holds it, tries to wipe his tears 'gainst the lace of his top by pressing his cheek into his shoulder. for all the good it does. he feels knots in his stomach, anxiety in his chest, but there's embarrassment throughout : he'd fall into himself, if he could. crawl away and disappear, if only because he doesn't know what to do when he's the center of his attention like this. "don't look at me like that," he comments, shyly, but rather than lament it, he simply ... opens the gift. lucky is he, in all honesty, that he does not drop it. shock catches him the moment he sees what it is.

oh.

"this—" bewildered is he, and so very thankful, in that moment, to be kindred. his legs, he thinks, would have given up 'neath the weight of the emotion that floods him, had he not been. it is so rightfully intense, it fools him, for far more than it should, into making him think that he is feeling it, in that moment. "you ... you remembered—" oh, how could he not, how oft they had lamented it, such is his job. but they tear their gaze away from the beauty of the flute that lay perfectly in that box then, stare at him now as if they are seeing him for the first time.

"this isn't fair..." their voice breaks, half sob, half laugh, but they have to grip the box tightly, scared are they that they are going to end up falling. so literally, so metaphorically. "how? how am i meant to stand against you? how am i meant to stand here and fight that i am a loveless creature, weather such gestures of blatant romanticism and pretend i have not myself dreamt of such things? i love you and it isn't fair! god, kine, kindred, is not even what ails me, do you understand?! colombe d'ivoire, i don't know anymore from where the reflection of my emotions originate! i don't know if i have ever felt this way, and i—!" they do not know what to do with it. it scares them. "you knew what i was, from the very beginning, despite omitting your own identity. how am i meant to stand here and tell you, then, that i am not meant to be yours when you had already decided? i wanted to be saved, knowing full well that whomsoever answered my prayers would be beyond what i deserved and yet—" oh, he is falling apart. looking back to the flute, he takes it into his hand then, delicately, as he so rarely does. "this is beautiful. you are beautiful and i deserve neither—and yet! and yet..." he is dreadfully close to sniffling, and it disgusts him. so pathetic, then, is the giggle that he lets out, broken. "une créature dépourvue de dieu, tombant amoureuse d'un dieu. je t'aime. je t'aime si profondément que je ne sais pas quoi faire. que voudrais-tu, colombe d'ivoire, me faire faire? savoir ce que je suis, qui je suis. tu as quand même choisi de m'avoir, peu importe, n'est-ce pas?"

he expects his solemn demeanor is likely not what is appropriate for such intimate confession, but truth, as he does expect they are both aware : is that he already knew. they were not the first to pray to him in hopes of not being forgotten, and they would also not be the first he would have spared, had they ... no, he won't think of that. " in part. " he clarifies, instead, tries in increasingly desperate earnest, to keep the sorrow that swims alongside his love from settling anywhere other than his heart. " i remember, simply. those the world does not, or rather does not wish to. both, and then more than that. i preserve their memory, their lives, so that they will never be forgotten. to my understanding, the world has taken it 'pon themselves to think it is loss, sacrifice, death that i revere. it is not— i think ... " he pulls his jaw tight, eyes narrowing as he looks 'pon them. perhaps it is a sad sort of existence, to some, but to himself ... he offers them the smallest, most sympathetic of smiles. " i think life is a terribly precious thing. and that every one person deserves to be remembered, to have their story told. to know, at the very least, someone is always looking out for them. " the way he speaks ... when he does, it feels as if it is directed far more personally. a promise of sorts, rather than a long-winded explanation of his own eternal life's work.

no part of him could have anticipated the reaction he would be met with, meanwhile : he could have scried, true, but it would not have been fair to him. to himself, as he was, and to his trust ... he had put his faith in him both man and divine, wicked would it have been to have stripped him of deciding his own fate. he'd anticipated a strong emotion, at the most, but that was hardly more than common sense; what, specifically, his disciple then could have felt ... remained a mystery. a talking point caught on birdsong, used to tease the ivory dove then over tea, but no more than rumor and intrigue, for no god had expected the dove to willfully spring from its roost, to spread its wings and discover more than what he witnessed nestled safe within his own confines. but no one was more shocked than the ivory dove, himself : both for the warmth that swelled in his heart, and the way his lover practically clings to him, weeping, wondering.

" omitted, yes, it was a necessary measure in the moment. i always intended to tell you, when the time was right. the rest ... " from cradling their chin to combing through their hair, it'd almost seem as if he were coddling were his expression not as equally tender as the tone of his voice. though the syllables scratch, ache, there is no denying the sweet lilt hanging off every word. " truthfully, the only lie i ever told was that of being kindred. and even that was not original intent, i hadn't the faintest idea what you asked, back when, but it seemed to excite you ... please understand, it has been quite some time since i've been participant in broader society, i had assumed the sense of familiarity would then comfort you, which is what i wished to do. " they may not meet his gaze, but that does not stop him from seeking it, his own kept half-lidded. his heart aches the same it does whenever he retells a tragedy, but it is not tragic to love, to admit to what little he deceived. but more than that, he thinks, he feels quite terrible sorry : their life has been filled with tragedies, both from what they had shared, and what he had seen. " i have lived and died a hundred thousand lives, mon cher. carried the memories through times where they would have otherwise been left forgotten. i do not know why i have, but i do know i was the same in each. the weight a little heavier, perhaps, more than a single quill can write in one night, but my heart has never changed. what i expressed ... what i feel, it is true. in those hundred thousand lives, never had i loved, nor thought to. and then i met you, and i was undone. "

he thinks there is a part of him fearful he is yet being too forward, touching him as if he might break—up both hands have traveled, space returned, to cradle his face in his palms, hold it where he speaks to him with an almost desperate urgency. " summer, mon amour, if there were but means to show you the inner workings of my heart, allow you witness to all it holds, i would show you just how deeply i love you, i would— " he stops himself rather abruptly, gloved hands trailing free from where he holds their head upright, a sort of slow dawning realization falling across his own features as his voice draws to whisper and then nothing at all. if i could show you ... " i can show you! ah— bear with me a moment, please, just a moment, i was saving this for—! "

the moment memory returns to him he pulls completely away from him, and instead, rustles with the inner pockets of his pristine ivory coat. he looks ... frantic, mostly, but also quite excited. whatever it was, it was something quite important indeed. he's rather lucky to not be all feathered still, for with all his ruffling the room would be filled with them flying 'round their heads. " ah, here it is! " it feels like an eternity of looking through pockets that should, by all accounts, not be able to hold the size of the box he'd just pulled out of it—there's a solid minute, at least, when he first holds out the long box with both hands, where there is a brilliant, wide grin to match the light dancing behind his eyes before he gets too shy and it softens instead, as embarrassment slowly, but surely, overcomes him. " a ... gift. please take it. "

#summer popping off w the content #thank you summer #` ✞ summer. ⁞ my soul cries for deliverance‚ return to me salvation.#` ✞ elegiast & summer. ⁞ dreams of a prince with feathers of an ivory dove fly like a spirit through these heaven’s halls.#remember when we used to shut the fuck up

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cherriready · 4 years ago

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zemo x reader where he says he loves them for the first time ? mayhaps🥺

Another life, another time

Pairing: Baron Helmut Zemo x GN!Reader

Summary: Zemo confesses his feelings for the first time.

Requests: Open!

A/N: English is not my maternal language, if this has any grammatical errors please let me know. There could be some OOC!Zemo, sorry about that. Also, I tried to make the reader as gender neutral as possible, if there is anything I should correct, please, let me know.

A/N: This story has been inspired by two songs, which are: Harry and Ginny by Alexandre Desplat and There's a place by Roo Panes. (I strongly recommend listening to the first one while reading the story!)

This story is SPOILER FREE!

Feedback is really appreciated. I really wanna know what you think about this! So please coment, reblog and like (?) 😊

It was barely midnight when the melancholic piano piece began to play in that apartment in Riga. It could be heard perfectly from the small back garden, where they were. The sweet but nostalgic song was coming from his room, on the upper floor of the apartment.

They looked up, and could see how a small light was on in that room, just as the window was open, making it possible to hear the melody perfectly. They closed momentarily their eyes and enjoyed the song, while simultaneously enjoying the scent of the flowers and the little sounds that some nocturnal animals made in that small backyard.

Then they realized that it was an invitation for them to come and see him.

It was a song from the one their favorite soundtrack, which they had on their playlist of movie soundtracks and which they also had once shown to Helmut on one of visits to the prison.

He didn't seem to think much of the song when they showed it to him that time. Not until now, at least.

He remembered the song, he even learned how to play it.

The melody repeated itself again, but now they couldn't hear it the same way they had from the outside. They tried not to make noise on their way upstairs, because the closest room to them was Sam's and they didn't want to wake him. As they made their way down the dark hallway, a light could be seeing coming through the half-closed door of the room they was headed for. Then, once in front of it, they could hear a soft sigh as the song finished playing for the second time.

They wanted to go in and talk to him, as they both used to do all those times they visited him in the prision of Berlin. But they knew that this might be the last time they would be able to enjoy his presence, alone, and without a huge pane of solid glass between them, preventing even the slightest contact. They was terrified at the thought that this was, indeed, the last time they would be able to experience such a moment with him. So in a way they didn't want to go inside either, thus preventing that dreaded last time from coming.

But he was calling them. He was looking for them through the melody.

They shook their head and sighed, before plucking up the courage and knocking softly on the door, receiving as an answer the repetition of the melody they loved so much.

It was an invitation, no doubt.

"Helmut." whispered the man's name.

He moved a little, thus making room for them both on the bench on which he was sitting. A few moments later they were sitting together in silence. They rested their head on his shoulder and sighed sadly.

They began to play the piano with him, using only one hand, as he did and knew how to do so. It seemed incredible that this was the first time they had played that majestic instrument together, because with the synchrony and affinity they had when doing it, it seemed that they had been doing it together for years.

It was a matter of hours, hopefully days, before Helmut would be arrested again and taken to prison, most likely to a higher security prison than the one in Berlin. He would probably end up on the Raft.

They would not be able to see him. Never.

Tears began to fall down their cheeks silently. The Sokovian took their hand, wordlessly, brought it to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the back of the hand, and another on the palm, afterwards. They looked up, and with theit eyes burning with tears, watched him in detail.

He was the most beautiful thing their had ever seen.

The man looked at them and smiled sadly. Then, he took their face and began to kiss the areas where the tears had previously fallen. They could not help but sob at that gentle and intimate gesture. He could also not help it, but keep doing that.

Zemo leaned his forehead against theirs. "Thank you." Was what he said before kissing their forehead, then bringing both foreheads back together. They brought their hands to either side of his face, and caressed his cheeks. "Thank you for being the one constant thing in my life these past eight years. For coming to visit me and spending time with me, even... after I broke up your family."

"Helmut..." They searched his gaze and smiled sweetly at him when they made eye contact. Tears began to form in his eyes as well, something they had never imagined they would ever see. "Helmut..." They repeated his name as if it were a prayer.

Then he began to cry. "I fell in love with you." It was all the man managed to say in a small whisper before he broke away from them slightly. "I love you." He said again to them, who had remained static as they heard him say that, but as they heard him speak again, couldn't help but wrap their arms around the Baron's neck, causing him to wrap his arms around their waist and hide his face in their neck.

"I love you too." confessed to him, as they felt both of their hearts go wild. They could also feel Zemo's wet tears on their neck. "And that's why I can't let you go. I can't lose you now... and never see you again."

The Sokovian looked up and took their face, and did something that caught them by surprise. He kissed them for the first time, and as if it were the last time too. They momentarily separated from Zemo and stood up, so that they could stand in front of him and straddle his lap. Zemo couldn't help but smile before kissing them again and wrapping his arms around them in a tight embrace. They for their part took to caressing his still wet cheeks as they kissed softly and sweetly.

"M-Maybe... maybe there's a place. For you and I, right?" they asked hopefully as they looked into Helmut's eyes and played with his now slightly tousled hair.

He was silent for a few moments as he stroked their back affectionately, looking at them with a soft gaze. "We both know the fact that I'm going to be arrested sooner or later is inevitable." He replied bringing a hand to their cheek. "I don't think there is one here." He answered in a whisper with a slight tone of pain.

He hated to think of the possibility of never being able to see them again in this lifetime, which he knew was most likely for both of them.

"Then... in another life, another time... there could be a place for you and I? For us?"

"There could be a place." Helmut said as he drew them back to him in an embrace. "I know. Definitely, there could be a place."

And so the two of them stood in silence, embracing and imagining what that place could be like.

How their place would be like.

Feedback is so appreciated, please let me know what you think. If you have any request send them my way! ❤️

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fatedevour · 2 years ago

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♢ — @bogachs asked: 🎶 → listening to music, catching their expression or movement

encounter my muse in a scenrio 🎶 → listening to music, catching their expression or movement

Dottore doesn’t expect to hear the once-familiar sounds of the chang ring out in the streets beneath the murmuring of the crowd and shuffling of people and manage to float in through the restuarant’s window. To most, despite the CHANG’S unique sound from lack of further vibrations when plucked, it would likely not even be acknowledged. If it was, it probably barely register to their ears. But to one who was ONCE very familiar with the sound, he cannot help but immediately lock onto it, especially when it is so far from its home in the desert. How ODD.

Red eyes flick towards Pantalone, but is unsurprising to see that he’s still droning on with some investors about some INSIPID plan of his for economic gains. In other words, nothing but discussions so boring he’d rather deal with trying to pluck teeth from a particularly vicious spinocrocodile than continue listening to these discussions of investments and economic fluctuations. Why had HE even been dragged to this? This was hardly his place among the demands of higher etiquette and fine dining that was ABSURDLY priced for what was often MEDIOCRE food at best, and in such small quantities. Perhaps it was fine for those who enjoyed those multiple courses, but he’d rather prefer one big meal.

He watches as multiple servers arrive to deliver who knows what course, although since it was some rice dish by the looks of it, it was probably the fourth. And the fourth Dottore would not eat. Rather than sit around getting bored out of his mind and potentially jabbed under the table for ‘SCARING’ people as he got more visibly irritated with boredom, Dottore slips away in the flurry and sounds of drinks being refilled. It doesn’t take long for him to head outside the establishment and to follow the sounds of the chang’s unique song a short distance away to the streets.

There’s a moment of smug delight when he sees the familiar instruments, the traditional drums and wind instruments paired with it, and the group that performs. THEY may have left the desert, but the desert never left THEM. It showed in how they moved, the quick reflexes from being ready to recover if sand should suddenly cave underfoot or rocks shatter apart, or to avoid a scorpion’s ambush. Much to Dottore’s delight, he notices the food cart with plenty of MEAT to sink his teeth into. He was here, might as well indulge without Pantalone’s disdainful stare or commentary. Food and music. It was an effective combination based on the crowd. Dottore thinks nothing in spending a few more to sink his teeth into much more tasty and filling food as he stands to the side at a distance, mask cast aside while he listens to the music and eats in peace.

“ I take it your little SYMPOSIUM went well? “ Dottore isn’t QUITE sure how long he’s stood leaning in the shade, red eyes fixated on the musicians still playing. The crowds had changed several times already. Fifteen, twenty minutes then? Mayhaps more. But he had felt when Pantalone’s gaze had turned in his direction and spotted him, watched the second listen to the performance with more attention than he typically allotted to performers other than some especially talented or flashy performers. What Pantalone sees though, Dottore doesn’t have a clue. It’s an easy excuse. he hasn’t heard the sound in a long time with the number of CHANG players dwindling. It will be longer still till he hears it again, IF he ever gets to hear it again.

Finally Dottore turns away from the musician to look at Pantalone who still seems to be WATCHING. Was he surprised to see Dottore not causing chaos or somewhere he shouldn’t be? ...Probably. Last time he had gone somewhere unauthorized when Pantalone hadn’t been paying attention. Dottore clicks his tongue. “ Are you done then? Can we go? Your POINTLESS insistence on me coming along wasted time I COULD have used for my research you know. “ He says, disregarding the fact he’d stayed right here the whole time as if it was nothing.

#bogachs #it wouldnt be dottore if he didnt complain abt being forced to high class #scary dog decided to go out himself #at least he was behaving pantalone #♢ — ❛ he whom ushers in your darkest hour ❜ ( ic )#♢ — ❛ science is the only thing worth my time ❜ ( main verse )#♢ — ❛ lips stained in the violence of love ❜ ( bogachs | pantalone )

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fapangel · 3 years ago

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D+26 Update Part 2 @ 11:30 EST

google docs

Sitrep: Materiel/Logistics

A report that Ukrainians are using Uzhorod airbase to fly in western aid, and Russia cannot risk striking this airport because it literally touches the border of Slovakia, a NATO member.

I have not mentioned it, but there is a regular stream of evidence of both Russian and Ukrainian aircraft losses. Both sides are continuing to operate aircraft and take losses – obviously, Russia is launching more sorties and taking more losses.

Russia has had their most modern, sophisticated and powerful ground-based electronic warfare system fall into Ukrainian hands around Kyiv, likely due to the ongoing Ukrainian counteroffensives in the area.

Unverifiable scuttlebutt says that this system is already in Germany, it was only publicized well after Russia had no chance to deliver a missile strike against the system and deny the West an intact example of one of their crown jewels to study.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Commentary from the ~anonymous defense officials~ as regards a higher-than-usual failure rate for Russian long-range PGMs.

Note this is not necessarily unusual. Even American weapons like the Tomahawk have a failure rate of 5% or so. These are complex weapons, and occasionally things go wrong. I have also been told by Engineers that a higher failure rate for nations that are not the United States is not unusual. The Tomahawk was built in the 80s and has undergone many upgrades and refinements over the decades to render it the advanced, state of the art weapon it is today, and has also been fired many times, and there’s 4,500 in inventory right now, not counting thousands fired in previous wars. Russia has not done these things, (as have most anyone who is not America,) so this is not a surprise.

This also makes it curious that people who would know these things are still commenting on it. Mayhaps their failure rates exceed what would be expected even with these concerns. Bigthink.png

A recent sighting of knocked-out Ukrainian T-72s at a roadblock near Chernihiv. **This may indicate commitment of Urkaine’s reserve tank brigades, as they are the only ones who operate T-72s. The 3rd and 5th reserve tank brigades operate T-72s exclusively.

These may have been thrown in as replacements (which is considered part of the point of the reserves) but it may also indicate a greater commitment. The 1st Tank brigade was deployed to the Kyiv/Chereniv region; committing the 3rd or 5th could free them up for offensive operations.

More anti-ship missiles fired against land targets fired right from the pier. Lol. LMAO.

I have been drinking

Russia has deployed the SA-17 “Grizzly” to Ukraine. This is the “M3” iteration of the Buk system. Given that prior incarnations of this system were given the NATO reporting names “SA-6” and “SA-11” it should give you some indication of how much more modern and advanced this missile system is. The SA-17 is honestly an impressive system; it’s modernized with an AESA radar and, like the SA-11 before it, has at least one TELAR per battery – a combination radar and missile launcher vehicle. It also has significantly longer range than its predecessor SA-11. The fact that it is only being publicly deployed to Ukraine now probably suggests they are available in very limited numbers, like a lot of more modernized Russian weapons. Russia released a propaganda video informing the world of its deployment to Ukraine.

AND THE UKIES HAVE ALREADY BLOWN ONE UP AHAHAHAHAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA BITCHES

Defenders of Mariupol demonstrated why ATGMs make littoral operations hard.

Another fucking T-72A. How many museums are they robbing holy shit

Having seen gory video of this same unit posted by the Azov battalion (warning!) I can confirm this ORBAT analysis is likely correct.

Sitrep: Operational

There has been a (possible?) shift of Russian tactics to targeting logistical line-of-communication hubs, some deep in Ukrainian territory. Specifically, rail yards. See this strike on Savyansk (geolocated,) Kharkiv (geolocated), and Pavlohrad. Note Pavlohrad is a key junction deep in Ukrainian territory on the way to the Donbas front, (requiring a cruise or ballistic missile to reach) and Slovyansk is jus tnorth of Kramatorsk; i.e. near the area between the Severodonetsk front and Izyum. I’ve seen Russian shelling of the railhead at Chereniv before but attention to rear-area rail junctions I have not noted before.

Given the importance of rail to Russian logistics and the general “blyatkrieg” attitude that characterized their early efforts before they were clearly stymied, this might (if the trend is real and not an artifact of sampling bias) indicate acceptance of a shift to a much more methodical and costly advance. Targeting forward area railheads makes sense; it doesn’t require precious long-range munitions and can easily hit unloading areas, destroying materiel without necessarily blocking rails by destroying rolling stock to the point it cannot, well, roll, (requiring more intensive clearing efforts involving heavy equipment.) To really jam up a line, you want to do that. Hitting rear areas implies Russia knows they’re not going to be blyatkrieg’ing up those rails deep into enemy territory anytime soon.=

Drone-captured footage of Russian troops looting civilian homes (geolocated to 50.562110, 30.271274, southeast Hostomel) serves as third-party confirmation of the reports in the Wall Street Journal story on the battle of Voznesnsk of similar behavior (not just stealing food, but valuables from locals.) An army that thieves and loots is highly unprofessional. I have lost track of how many battles in antiquity and even into the gunpowder age turned on a dime because victorious troops found a stash of booze during their sack of a city and got falling-down drunk, only to be unable to resist devoted counterattacks later on.

This may be overstating the operational impact, but do not overlook the emotional and morale one – the Russians are fucking animals, and the citizens of Ukraine are going to hate and loathe them accordingly.

Besides reminding everyone that the American M110 was a beautiful thing and should have never been divested from inventory, this video of Ukrainian 203mm SP guns going to work shows that they are operating in the standard Russian three-gun battery (if it matters.)

This video of an alleged Javelin missile engagement neatly illustrates the ranges at which a lot of combat seems to be taking place; i.e. easily within NLAW range. Note the BTR-82A using buildings to cover its flanks; good tactics.

I am seeing many videos involving drone-observed Ukrainian artillery fire on Russian rear echelon assets (not just counterbattery, but supply trucks.) Despite increasing use of natural cover, they keep taking losses even so. I cannot say if Russia is not applying lessons learned or if co-ordination issues are keeping them from moving supply dumps further back and making more frequent forward supply runs, or if the fuel supply situation precludes this, or if they have and it simply hasn’t helped.

Note the frequency with which these strikes are observed by quadcopters may indicate this forward observation is being done by SOF teams carrying drones into the field, but Ukraine’s prewar gamut of drones; including volunteer kitbashed ones that later entered serial production, could well include some larger and longer-ranged quad (or sexto, or octo) rotor designs. Nonetheless aggressive SOF recon elements/w backpack drones would be an extremely difficult combination to defeat.

Territorial Defense Forces are still actively operating. [1] [2] Note the last one is from Sumy. Whatever the Russians are doing to deal with the threat there, the locals are still making active sorties into the countryside to take the fight to the enemy.

A rare look at Ukrainian T-64s in battle, this time defending a wide boulevard in the north-northwest. So far, aside from the glimpse of a T-64 company deploying along a road in the SE near Kherson/Crimea in the opening day of the invasion, I have only ever seen Ukrainian tanks operating singly or in two’s. I am informed that Ukraine’s tank brigades had already switched to a Western style of organization by the time the war broke out (two-tank elements, four-tank platoons, three platoons to a company + a two-tank command element,) and the tank complement of mechanized brigades was still Soviet-style organization (three three-tank platoons and a single command tank.) The Ukrainian national guard is apparently independent of army organization, so we are possibly seeing a tank element of the 12th National Guard Brigade’s tank battalion fucking shit up. (Thanks to Butch R. Mann on the-sietch.com for this information.)

Russian strike efforts against Ukrainian airbases continue. Note that there are three impacts. This continues the trend of very small salvos involved in Russian attacks. Do not discount the cumulative impact of these strikes; Russia has done damage to Ukraine’s military infrastructure. But it has been very much spread out between a lot of targets. Remember, it can easily take 50+ weapons on a single airbase to properly put it out of action. Also, we know that the Russians have expended at least some of these weapons against 1. airframes that have been out of service for decades decorating a ramp and 2. tactical targets that should have been serviced by artillery. In short, Russia is doing too little damage across too many targets, and allowing Ukrainian forces too much time to repair or otherwise deal with the damage inflicted to their infrastructure.

Are these motherfuckers for real.

Both UMoD statements and actual video evidence show that Russian landing ships are now arriving at the port of Berdyansk. See also this statement from the Kyiv independent about Russian tugboats clearing the piers at Berdyansk. It would seem that, with a breakthrough over the Southern Bug river now impossible, Russia has conclusively given up on their breakthrough efforts, transferred their embarked Naval Infantry ashore as replacements (UMoD indicates mostly around Izyum) and are now using their amphibious ships to make supply ferry runs across the sea of Azov, as I predicted.

Just, you know, like two weeks later than anyone with a realistic view of their chances of reaching Odessa would have.

See also this reference to a now-deleted image (from a good source) of their landing ships loading vehicles in Novorossiysk, on the Russian side of the Azov sea. If anyone finds a mirror of these images, please let me know.

#ukraine #russo ukrainian crisis #russo ukrainian war

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posallys · 3 years ago

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i saw a post about percy and poseidon and i figured i'd drop this stupid little headcanon i have here (i also take stuff from this analysis, so go read that mayhaps)

Ya know how we’ve established i think that Percy’s fatal flaw should be control and not loyalty? And how I talked about the whole “Percy and Poseidon are quick to anger” thing in my analysis of them? And how it’s literally in their nature to want to be in control of everything around them?

okay, well, for whatever reason, percy is on olympus (maybe a solstice? maybe annabeth is talking about stuff for her rebuild? idk)

and a god somebody says something and it he gets pissed, and since his emotions are so closely linked with his powers, he accidentally triggers an earthquake

except, poseidon could obviously tell that there was going to be an earthquake bc he could feel it, so he just kind of pops in front of percy and grabs his wrists/hands and is like "that's an awfully big earthquake you almost caused, ya know."

And Percy’s kind of shaking because he could feel the way the anger took over and how he couldn’t stop the earthquake himself. He was trying so hard to restrain it, to hold it back, but he couldn’t.

He doesn’t really say anything to Poseidon, because he’s clenching his jaw to the point that it’s painful, but he looks up at Poseidon, and his eyes kind of give it away.

(and it may not have been obvious to anybody else, but it was obvious to poseidon because he can't even begin to count the amount of times that look has been on his own face)

So Poseidon takes a deep breath and closes his eyes and nods a little (meanwhile the rest of the gods are just like 👀 👀 because percy almost fucked a lot of shit up and poseidon is being very calm and also being a dad and trying to help his kid)

So he lets go of percy's wrists and is like "come with me"

And Percy kind of hesitates for a moment, but then Poseidon is like “It wasn’t a question” because he knows it’s probably the only thing that’ll help, so it’s Not A Question.

(and poseidon knows that he should have done it after the titan war. He should have helped Percy sooner, but he didn’t, so he has to do it now, and he’s going to do it, because he's not going to let percy keep walking blindly through the mess that is their powers)

Poseidon does some god shit and flashes them out to like. The middle of fucking nowhere. like just creates a little slab of land in the middle of the ocean. nothing around for hundreds of miles except open water

Percy just looks at him like wtf? "Dad, why are we in the middle of the ocean??"

And Poseidon just kind of chuckles and is like “yeah, actually, we are in the middle of the ocean. This is the point that’s as far from any land that you can get.”

“Uh? Why?”

“Because it gives me enough time to stop any damage before it happens.”

Percy’s like “???? what damage?? Pls explain”

“I should have done this after the titan war, Percy. I should have—well it doesn’t matter what I should have done. You have to learn how to let go, and I’m going to help you.”

And Percy doesn’t like the idea of that. He doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t trust himself not to hurt someone or cause destruction (after all, his name means to destroy).

He must be making a face because Poseidon looks at him sympathetically.

“I know it’s hard, Percy. Believe me, I know better than anyone.”

Poseidon pauses for a moment and then continues… “How do you survive a riptide?” he asks.

Percy answers immediately. “You have to let it pull you out. Eventually, it’ll let you go out the side or the back. You don’t want to fight it, though, because you’ll probably drown trying.”

Poseidon purses his lips and nods, and Percy’s looking at him confused for a moment, trying to figure out why his dad asked about a riptide (because Poseidon obviously knows how they work).

And then he Gets It. “You mean...I have to stop fighting…”

“You have to let go. You have to let yourself be carried out sometimes. The longer you fight, the more tired you get, and the worse it becomes. The sea doesn’t like to be restrained, Percy.”

“But I—” Percy’s voice cracks

“I know you don’t want to, but I promise you, it helps.”

Percy nods and lets Poseidon tell him what to do.

Poseidon tells him to scream. To really let everything out. “I know, I know, you’ll probably feel stupid doing it, but do it anyway. No restraints, no worries. let it flow out of you.”

And so he does. He screams the way he’s wanted to for what’s felt like forever at this point. And the ocean responds to him. It responds to his frustration and his anger and his pain. And the waves are rough and choppy and the sky is turning a shade of grey, and the ground is trembling, and then the waves are getting higher and higher and they’re building, building, building, and then they’re crashing onto the ground around him.

And it feels good, really. To let go. to not have to restrain himself

And Poseidon is there watching him (and he’d stop anything Percy may cause before it got to a place where it could cause harm (there’s a reason they’re in the middle of the ocean, after all)).

And Percy’s scream dies out, and he sits down and he breaths and he feels like the world has been lifted off of his shoulders again.

But he’s not done yet because Poseidon is coaching him through things, making Percy create earthquakes and hurricanes and tsunamis, helping him find the balance between controlling them and letting them control him.

And then poseidon teaches him how to release his anger. He walks Percy through the steps. Start with your hands; unclench your fists. Relax your arms, your shoulders. Roll them out, hold yourself up straight. Unclench your jaw, stretch your neck out. Don’t hold the anger back, but don’t let it consume you. You have to change it, you have to feel it. Let it move through you like water flowing down a river. Feel it in your arms and your fingers and your legs, but then push it out. Not aggressively—calm. It has to be calm. You have to let it carry you to a certain point, but you can’t struggle. It’s a riptide, Percy. Once you surrender to it, you can escape it. Once you surrender to it, you really have control.

And it works. Percy goes through the steps, slowly relaxing himself, letting it move through him until it’s no longer anger and he no longer feels like he’s being crushed.

“I caused a lot of destruction when I was a younger god, Percy. I didn’t have a good grip over my anger. It took me a long time to figure out that, while I may control the ocean, the ocean also controls me. Do you know why? Because I am the ocean, and so are you. The ocean is inside of you, and you must find the balance between controlling and being controlled.”

“How often do you do this?”

“Every few months. It’s easy to get caught in the cycle of control again. It’s in our nature to want to be in control, so conceding isn’t easy for us. So when I feel myself on edge, when I start angering quicker, I come here and I let go.”

So they make a habit out of it. They come out to the middle of the ocean every other month, or about as often as either of them needs it, and they let go, and Percy slowly gets better at becoming one with the ocean, better at finding the balance.

(and then they go to this diner in Montauk that Poseidon has a weird obsession with….)

And when Estelle is older, the three of them take the trip out to the middle of the ocean together, and they teach Estelle how to find balance. And she’s younger than Percy was, so her anger hasn’t had time to peak.

Unlike Percy, whose anger is silent, sneaky, creeping up out of nowhere (the way he’s smiling one moment and lashing out the next) Estelle’s anger was a storm you could see coming a hundred miles away. Her anger brews on the horizon, building and building, slowly getting bigger until there's nothing left but for it to shatter. Which makes it easier, really. She’s better at letting go than Percy is—she has time to let it dissipate before it reaches her.

#yes estelle is a demigod no i don't make the rules sorry #i feel like this is really hard to read so i apologize #but i have Thoughts #and this is just one of them #taylor's thoughts

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milfbenkenobi · 3 years ago

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Star Wars Fic Rec List Part 1

I’ve been looking for fic recs for Star Wars for so long, and I’ve finally folded and made my own!! All of these works will be complete, but I may rec a few that are part of an incomplete series.

Dust Ribbons by Deniigiq

First part of a 7 work complete series. Word count: 6876 Chapter count: 1

“So you’re not stealing my ship?” Mando said.

“What do I want with your ship?” Luke demanded.

“I don’t know. I don’t usually ask,” Mando said.

(Luke tries to help his student stay focused on his studies by helping his student's father. It's harder than it looks.)

Luke and Din get into Darksaber shenanigans post Mandolorian season 2. Both an amazing fic and series, and the author has a separate series based in the same universe for those like me who want even more.

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black runs the space between the stars by EssayOfThoughts

Word count: 1463 Chapter count: 1

It welcomes her when she twists her hand at her side as though to caress the great invisible shadow that follows her footsteps. She welcomes it as it nips at her ankles and guides her down this path and that until she finds new people to meet and new places to hide.

It sings in her head, too, strange songs no ear can hear, and the maids of the court think her strange as she tilts her head to follow the strange slow song that rings her round.

The Force is an eldrich power that sticks with Leia through her life.

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Second Hope by bornofstars

First work in a 2 work incomplete series Word count: 3812 Chapter count: 1

In his eagerness, the Padawan almost falls over himself, bursting into their chambers. Anakin and Obi-Wan share a look of confusion at the child’s sudden appearance.

“Apologies, Masters,” He says, panting for breath. “But I thought you should know - There’s a Sith in the Room of A Thousand Fountains.”

“I beg your pardon, Padawan?”

Sith Leia! Time travel! What more could you want?!!

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the dark of death, the light of life by EssayOfThoughts

Word count: 1679 Chapter count: 1

Padmé thinks she is not entirely Padmé any more. Her hands are light and shadow, her feet trail to nothingness. Her hair is long and dark as the stretch between stars, and is as speckled with them. When she swims by a sun, her hair fades off into wispy void, like wind or like ribbons of silk gone tattered at the ends.

She does not think she is a Force Ghost: the Force had never touched her in life, and she had felt it seep away from her with her life. Whatever she is now, recreated from the body left behind, the wound of her death, the purpose she had to save the Republic, to save her children, is something much else.

Padmé turns into a Force…. something and says hello to her children

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Soft Wars by Project0506

Series with 165 works, word count: 293338

This is a softer universe than the one you know.

In this space shall be gen, romance, hu

mor, family, all sorts of soft things. Mayhap in a time or two there will be a sprinkling of hurt or angst, but it shall only ever be a dusting to make the comfort all the sweeter.

You are safe here, my child, I swear it. No one wounds, no one dies.

Dear god. This series is so good. It’s the Clone Wars without any angst. There’s a happy ending and further. Don’t let the word count put you off, it’s all interconnected oneshots that can be read in any order. Super recommend for any clone wars fan

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Cold, Hard House of Gold by LovesFrogs

Word count: 9998 Chapter count: 3

Ahsoka didn't mean to activate her and Anakin's unfinished project early, but it just kind of happened. It shoots her off to... the Jedi Council? And is that Anakin sitting in one of those chairs?

Inspired by the aforementioned Soft Wars series. A dimension travel fic where Soft Wars Ashoka travels to the canon Clone Wars dimension, is horrified by how sad everyone is, fixes everything, and then goes home. Queen shit.

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Capacitance by Jessepinwheel

Word count: 8581 Chapter count: 1

"Oh, Cody," General Kenobi says softly, in a tone of voice that makes Cody cold with dread. "Since this war started, I have never not been in pain."

Or: The story where Obi-Wan takes on other people's pain because he's that kind of a person.

Exactly what it says in the summary

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How to Scrap Battledroids by meridianpony

Word count: 2758 Chapter count: 1

...basically Anakin and The Boys make a skillshare about how to scrap battledroids but about halfway through Tup makes a hair routine class, then other troopers post their hobbies and basically thats how they win the public over to support the clones.

Social media war as all the companies try to prove that their Jedi is the best Jedi ever while engaging in minor (ha) property damage

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Once I Called You Brother by redacted_thescribbler

Word count: 20060 Chapter count: 5/5

Rex can't leave his brothers alone to serve the Empire after Order 66, so he goes with them and pretends to be under the control of the chip so he can help them escape. Dealing with what's left of his brothers and his General turns out to be the hardest part.

Ooooooooh boy this one’s sad gang. Rex goes back and infiltrates the Empire to save as many clones as he can and may or may not bump into Darth Vader along the way

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These Things Happen by writehandman

Word count: 38369 Chapter count: 14

Obi-wan Kenobi keeps promoting Cody. The promotion gets out of hand, and suddenly the balance of the universe shifts into the palm of a very competent, caffeinated man.

Tfw you accidentally promote your bestie into a position higher than the High Chancellor and he accidentally ends the war.

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PART TWO

Please reblog if you liked any of the fics on the list!!

#Star Wars #Star Wars fic recs #Star Wars fic rec #fic rec #mads recs #mads posts #I am on a road trip to Florida and so far I’ve made one rec list #I’m about to start another #TWO collections with my favorite dc and Star Wars fics in them respectively #and read like. so much fanfic #I have a problem methinks #update on the fic recs #I’m working on part six #METHINKS I HAVE A PROBLEM #(im posting them weekly)

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twentytarot · 4 years ago

Photo

hi everyone! let’s find out what is getting in the way of you and your next love story. pick the image that sets your thoughts off and scroll down to your respective pile for your reading! 💘

PILE ONE: BAKER

patience and your expectations are what’s getting in your way. it’s... not that you’re particularly impatient of a person, but you lead very heavily with emotions and first impressions, so you don’t always have the patience to see a person through until they can show you their best side. you might be a pisces or have pisces-like tendencies when it comes to love— you’re looking for a fairytale person, someone you can idolise, someone you can fall headfirst into and never hit the ground. you want someone where you take one look at that person and you just know. love at first sight, basically.

the thing is, if anything less than a disney prince character is not good enough for you, then, well, no one is going to be good enough for you. so maybe your one true love will not be drop dead gorgeous. and maybe they live in a room that doesn’t even have an ensuite bathroom, much less a castle. and maybe you’re trying your best not to be superficial but you’re just a tad disappointed to hear that. that’s okay, but do remember that the one that’s meant for you is not the person that will love you at first sight, but at last sight. the person that will never intentionally hurt you, and will build a home with you. don’t jump in with a someone that won’t love you just to miss the timing for someone truly good for you to enter your life. i hope this person will be able to make you happy with just a little time!

PILE TWO: DANCER

trust and insecurity are getting between you and love. i believe there was a close call of sorts that scared you into retreating from romance. maybe you just decided the vibes with this person were off and never went completely official with them, just to find out later on that they were “seeing” your friends as well this whole time. you deemed that encounter enough excitement for the next year and didn’t bother trying to go out on dates anymore. this close call might even have blown up to a point where you had to cut off a whole lot of people.

darling, i used to think that the right community will always find you so long as you keep living your life and being your best, authentic self. but, especially with covid, this isn’t the case at all. you can be all alone for so, so long, with absolutely no remorse from your higher power. so, if you want love to come in, you can’t keep your head down and your sword in your hand the whole time. you need to believe in others, believe that whatever happened is not the norm but an exception and believe in yourself, believe that if you put yourself out there people will look and listen. so let your guard down, if only for a second, and see what the world has to offer. once you take off the barbed wiring, you’ll realise that there has always been people willing to come in, but love will not jump across your fence if it will get hurt along the way.

PILE THREE: GUITARIST

hello my fellow pile three-ians, let’s start with the bad news. what you are lacking right now is maturity in the way you love. now, let me preface what i will say next that for most of you, this is not your fault. love was simply not a priority or issue until it was, and even when it was, i doubt there were many positive teaching examples around for you to learn from anyway. you think about love mostly in terms of attention and affection, you will never understand why people tell white lies. you’ll argue with someone in a bad mood if the topic comes up and it has to be done. you’re not sure how your love in return will help the other person, but you imagine it’ll just work itself out since it seems to for everyone. you either take yourself too seriously, or you ‘mayhaps’ your way through life, or you seesaw between both depending on your mood. love will not come in until you have fully mastered the idea of love, not just the romantic parts, but the parts where you make changes to yourself and your life without hesitation or grudges so that your love will help your lover bloom, just like theirs will for you.

alright, i’m done unloading the bad news. the good news is that you will grow and transform into someone with so much more purpose in the way you love. it’s going to take a while: 6 months to 2 years, and you’re going to feel like you’re losing out while you’re still working on yourself and everyone else is already in relationships, but it’s going to be so worth it. there is one thing that sets you apart from everyone else, and that is your intentions. your intentions are pure as snow, and it will show when you find a love so bright that angels would stop to listen, so beautiful that your love story will be a beacon of hope that soulmates really do exist, and so strong that it will feel against the forces of nature to get between the two of you.

PILE FOUR: BARTENDER

i don’t think this is news to you, but what is getting between you and love is simply time. you are a lot of things right now: you’re the leader, the conceptualist, the mediator, and people depend on you to call the shots whether this is at home, work, or school. either your life has always been full speed ahead of your peers, or you’ve been preparing for this for forever; either way, you’re forging ahead in and challenging everything that once was to build something new instead. you have zero time for a lover right now.

this is your calling, but... it is lonely up there for a multitude of reasons. they say if you want to go far, go together, but that’s only true if everyone was as fast as each other in the first place. without that, there will be jealousy, and there will be betrayals. so, it looks to me that right now, you alone can go fast and far and you just don’t want to deal with other people now, having spent a lot of time either trying to get across to other people or watch your back for those who want your spot. i guess i should warn you that there will be a point in time where you will have to take a break and learn to let some things be, but that point doesn’t seem to be in your immediate future. it stands to reason, then, that your next love is not coming in (as a love connection at least) anytime soon. for now, focus and become the star that you were meant to be. the story my cards tell me cut off right before you actually begin this love story, so all i can do is wish you the very best! take care and don’t overwork yourself <3

#pick a card #pick a pile #pick a card reading #tarot reading #free tarot reading

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elriell · 4 years ago

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The Seer of Shadows

Chapter One— A Fateful Return

It came once more, cold and forceful as it so often did, ripping open her thoughts and bleeding through her unconscious mind. It surged like a powerful river, the running rapids numbed her hearing completely, the soft dreamworld fading to a dark loveless expanse. The terror would only continue to grow inside her, though asleep her whole body seizing with dread, spilling over into reality and it would end how it inevitably always did.

Feyre had thought to comfort her throughout many months, speaking of how the nightmares would get easier and with time the dark clouds that settled over her during sleep would slowly grow weaker and would eventually go away all together. However what she had not told her sister, nor anyone for that matter was that the opposite was true. For her nightmares where only growing stronger, and her sleep shorter each day.

Elain’s scream clawed itself out her throat violently, weaved its way through the night settling in the air, chilling her own blood.

As she attempted to calm her racing heart which could be heard pounding in her ear like war drums, she knew she could not go on like this for much longer the short bursts of sleep scarcely got her through the day and she grew paler and frailer by the day. It was infinitely frustrating feeling powerless, the backpeddling of her recovery since that terrifying day at the Cauldron, but try as she might she was wilting away like one of her favorite flowers during the winter season.

Disturbing her from her musings a sharp crisp knock sounded at the door. It was during these moments she became most afraid, because the truth was, she never quite knew whether she was dreaming whilst asleep or drifting whilst awake, her visions felt so real, so true, it confused even her own mind. As dread heighten once again, she tugged at the sheets, submerging herself beneath them willing the horrible images that flickered in front of her eyes though her lids remained closed.

Gentle but firm, the voice called out, “Elain?” At first it was dulled by the ringing in her ears until it came again, louder, clearer, finally breaching her murky thoughts.

At that her heart felt like it came to a stop momentarily, though it made her feel better to hear his comforting voice, the male on the other side of the door did little to slow the rhythm of her heart.

Taking a deep breath, once then twice more, she vocalized her internal thoughts. “Azriel, what are you doing awake so late?” Or early she supposed, depending on how you looked at it. She hadn’t been aware he had returned after so many weeks away; the shadow-singer had been gone on an important task with the Illyrians, alongside her sister and Cassian. Rhysand had casually informed her over dinner one night after she couldn’t bear to wonder any longer and perked up the nerve to ask, she had not realized quite how accustomed she had become to his quiet strength and companionship. Ordinarily she might not have noticed his absence quite so much, however with Nesta ‘s departure to the mountains as well it had left quite the notable hole in her life.

“I was returning from the mountains when I thought I heard a scream from the other end of the house, I thought I would seek out the source of the sound. Are you alright?” Azriel paused, he seemed apprehensious to continue but his voice picked back up again, just as clear as before. “May I come in if it is not an imposition.”

Casting a glance down herself she was relieved to see she appeared relatively decent, though sweat lined her temple and her hair was a tangled mess from thrashing about, she supposed he had seen her in far worse states throughout the years. Smoothing her hand through the tendrils in a half-hearted attempt to separate the sweat plastered hair lining her face, and righting the nightwear from off her shoulder.

“Of course.” She replied with a confidence she did not truly feel though the quiver in her voice almost certainly betrayed her.

The door released gently and as it unlocked the candlelight from the hall trickled in slowly, the glow framed his shape casting the rest of him in shadows but there was no doubt who the tall figure with broad wings belonged too, sapphire syphons glimmering across his torso, they seemed to thump steadily almost in unison with her own heart.

There was a stillness in him that set her on edge, though it had only been a few weeks it seemed like a lifetime ago as he stood quietly in the doorframe, whatever calm understanding had grown between them over months prior seemed to be absent. Tonight, he was tenser than usual she could read it in the creases of his forehead, in the tension of his torso, his whole being was screaming out for release. Not to mention his shadows rippled around him, very unusual for him to allow them such free range around her.

"I apologize for disturbing you, I did not realize I was quite so loud.”

He remained far from her by the now shut door, keeping his eyes downcast probably in some chivalrous attempt to allow her to maintain some modicum of privacy. He was always like that Azriel, gentlemanly to the core.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” His siphons glowing vividly in the dim room.

She knew he was only being kind to her as he always was, nonetheless she appreciated the gesture, did not have the energy to sustain any sort of façade she had been prolonging for Feyre. She had so much to worry over already, what with being pregnant. It certainly wasn't the time for her to fret about her again, so she kept her rising demons to yourself.

“How often has this been happening?” He queried gently, it was so low she had barely heard him, almost as if he had been speaking to himself.

“Not frequently.” Only constantly.

He searched her face for any trace of a lie and she knew with his experience, and intelligence he was likely to see the lie for what it was, if he did, he made no comment on the deception, allowing her this secret. And for that she was infinitely grateful.

He did not speak for a while the silence between them louder than the usual tranquility she was accustomed to when it came to the shadow-singer. Tonight, was different. Perhaps whatever happened in Illyria had put him on edge, at the verge of his control, because the silence between them was anything but serene.

“There are many who don't wish to sleep for fear of nightmares. Sadly, there are many who don't wish to wake for the same fear. I suppose we should count ourselves lucky ours are the former.”

“You get night-terrors too?” She guessed.

No hesitation. “Of course.”

It was hard to imagine such a strong and stoic man being capable of being rendered powerless by a mere dream, more likely he was trying to make her feel better about her weaknesses, for the fragility of her mind some days. She wondered if going mad might be easier, if she simply let it pull her under, perhaps she could finally get some much needed rest.

Elain implored genuinely, “And how do you cope with them?” He took his time to ponder her words, carefully picking the ones he would use.

“I want to keep my dreams, even bad ones, because without them, I might have nothing all night long.”

“That seems inordinately sad.”

A soft chuckle, and then, “Never.” Pause. “Have you spoken to Feyre about your nightmares? From the look of your eyes, I am guessing she knows...”

“No, no... I do not wish to worry her, what with everything going on and all, it would be unfair. Anyway, it is all under control so there will be no need to lose sleep over it.” The god of Irony was looking down upon her she was sure. However, it was her best bet at making sure he did not seek Feyre out and tell her, so she would reason with him, certain he was aware of her sister's delicate condition.

"Mhm.” He fiddled with his rings. “Would you like me to do anything? I could bring you a sweat tea...” Azriel was looking around the room as if it would divulge all the answers to him, or mayhap to avoid looking at her. As the thought manifested, she considered how improper this was, how intimate this room was to her and even further still as she lay in short silk underthings with only a thin sheet covering her lean form.

“I can wait for you to fall asleep before leaving, if you'd like?” Damn— She had not realized how long her musings had gone on for, taking her silence as a refusal he had persevered on.

“Oh no, that's quite alright. I am sure I have a tonic around here Madja gifted me.” She refused to tell anyone she had ran out quite some weeks ago, believing she could regain control of her nightmares, perhaps that was ill-advised on her part. Continuing on, “Truly, I was not expecting such a rough sleep or I would have had some before laying to rest.”

A lie, regrettably. Elain felt a heap of shame envelop her but it was no more than she would feel at the look of pity she was sure to receive if anyone knew the truth of it.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Azriel was anything but at ease tonight himself, so at odds with his usually calm steady demeanor. He appeared to be contemplating his next words carefully but settled—

“Well should you need me at any point I'm in the West Wing. Day or Night.”

She offered him a appreciate smile, again it was out of kindness he offered, but it was no matter why as she knew with absolute certainty that she would never take him up on that offer. She watched him take his leave and some part of her rebelled and she murmured, “Oh, Azriel... I am glad you are back home.” A blush rose to the surface quick and hot.

He paused abruptly; his hand was paused wrapped around the doorknob and stayed so as if glued to it, though frustratingly, she could not make out his face with his back towards her, the air within the room seemed to vibrate over her skin, raising goosebumps along the length of her arms. The tension that he had been holding in since he arrived seemed to reach its crescendo, his shadows growing and rising higher up his body swiftly covering him as if safely tucking away whatever was eating away at him.

She could not be certain as the shadows pooled around them and pulled the room deeper in to darkness but she caught the slight movement as he ducked his head in a nod, a poor attempt to acknowledge that he heard her.

Elain wasn't even sure if that was just her imagination playing tricks because as quickly as she could think it, he regained himself and pulled the door open wide and fast, causing a rush of air to flow over her cheeks, Azriel was through the doorway and a mere shadow before she could even blink.

All that remained was the fading light from the halls as her door gradually closed on its own accord.

She would lay there for many hours to come, eventually falling back in to dreamland, though this time when she returned her thoughts were filled less of a frigid baren land and replaced by visions of dark mountains scattered with wild-flowers, gentle wind chimes sounding through the trees and a small but beautiful cabin lay ahead.

Although the inky sky should have filled her with fear there was no such unease here, the shadows seemed blanket her, appeared to comfort her in this foreign land, welcoming her home, even though she was certain she had never visited such a place before.

Elain was not able to identify anything familiar but its presence loomed over her in a intimate embrace and the soft smell of roses soothed her soul and coxed her in to a deep sleep.

The respite would not remain so for long, as the cold abyss would return on her next sleep as the sun set beyond the hills, summoning her to the icy void where reality was far from her reach.

As usual if you wish to be added or removed just let me know 🖤

@theshadowsinger-and-thefawn @verifiefangirl @stars-falling @abraxos-is-toothless @tswaney17 @elrielllll @empress-ofbloodshed @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @julemmaes @thefangirlofhp

#Elriel #Azriel #Elain Archeron #Elain x Azriel #ACOTAR #ACOFS #ACOMAF #ACOWAR #a court of thorns and roses #elriel fanfic #elriel fic #myelriel #myelrielfic #the seer of shadows

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breitzbachbea · 3 years ago

Note

#11 and #41 for turgre!

Thank you for sending the prompt in!

Fanfic Trope Mash Up

#11 Neighbour AU + #41 Big Damn Kiss =

Herakles & Sadık are both recent university graduates from Athens & İstanbul, but find themselves lacking opportunities to work in their homecountries. So they go abroad to try their luck elsewhere.

Both end up in Germany. Herakles' is living with the Simonides old family friends who've either migrated decades ago or are living as expats in Germany. Natasa and Ibrahim welcome Herakles with open arms. He immediately makes friends with their twins, only a few years younger than him. Omar and Timothea, as they're called, are still living with their parents while they're attending the local university. They're not living in luxury, but they're happy.

Sadık manages to get in contact with Havva Be Yauno via some university acquaintances. They migrated to Germany a while ago, after being kicked out working in local administration. Sadık gets to share a small flat in the building Havva manages for the landlord, together with a Kurdish Woman called Dilan Taş. After some initial hiccups, the two become close friends.

The hiccups with their neighbours next door are less initial. No, that's a lie - The Simonides don't mind their new neighbours, even invite them for coffee and tea. Omar pretty quickly evolves a crush on Dilan.

It's just Herakles and Sadık who keep butting heads.

They argue about petty semantics that only people who studied 'breadless art' would care about. Herakles complains that they're too loud at night. Sadık says Herakles is dragging stray cats into the house by leaving out food & now the whole staircase stinks. There's always something.

As time goes on, they get over themselves a little. Too busy with their own life. Sadık feeds the cats with scraps he gets from the Turkish butcher. Herakles comes over after it's been eerily quiet for weeks and finds out that Sadık's latest odd job makes him work at night. He actually finds him slumped over on the kitchen table when Dilan lets him in before she leaves for work. He goes back and leaves him a package of expensive coffee beans that he had imported from Greece.

One night, they end up together on the university campus. Sitting on the steps surrounding a piece of green near a small river. The city's barely still awake, there's only music, TV and chatter from the dorms. The occassional student crossing after they stayed late at the library.

"What did you actually study?" Sadık asked and put the lighter back into his pocket. It was a cheap one with a wheel. Pain in the ass to get working at this point. His last money had been spent on the cigarettes themselves.

Herakles took a deep breath through his nose. He stared at the water, flowing invisibly except for a few dancing white and orange specks. "Philosophy," he said.

Sadık chuckled and the chuckle quickly became a laugh. "Oh, what a surprise that you couldn't find a job with such a prestigious degree." He grinned and exhaled some smoke.

"And history. Archaeology, Politics, Linguistics, Architecture, Maths... I dipped my toes into physics, too, for a little bit, but couldn't really make it."

Sadık's grin had long faltered. Herakles looked to the river. A smile replaced the initial surprise on Sadık's face. "Oho, a real Renaissance man, aren't you?"

"I like to learn. But all I could do with the few fields I actually managed to acquire a degree in was teach in school. And I'm just not... very good at that." He sighed. Long. "But my dad had stopped paying once I had gotten a job, not that he had ever really paid me enough, mind you, so... I had nowhere to go if I had quit."

"Except here." Sadık wished Herakles would have looked at him. To even catch a glimpse of him, a little bit of that beautiful face illuminated by the pale moon or the orange streetlights.

"Except here." Sadık finally had his wish granted. "What did you study?"

Sadık took a deep breath through his nose. His cigarette was almost finished. "Architecture, too. Tried to get into engineering, but couldn't quite make it. Would have loved to do Literature, frankly. I dunno, get a teaching position at an university, but Anne* always had higher plans for me. Career woman and all that, only wanted the best for me, too, so studying something almost as useless as philosophy wasn't really up for debate."

Now he was the one to stare into the river while he took another drag. He looked at his feet. His shoes could need a good cleaning.

"A smoking literature professor, how cliché," Herakles said and the deep shadows on his face hid how much it reflected the amusement in his voice. He leant in closer to Sadık and put a hand on his thigh. His inner thigh. "All the women would have gone wild over this."

"You think so?" Sadık asked, an expectant but cautious smirk on his face. Rest of his cigarette between his fingers. Herakles' weight on his thigh. He enjoyed his touch. The nights were so cold here in Germany. He leant in for a kiss.

Herakles' hand disappeared. "But I don't kiss smokers." The next moment, Sadık was engulfed in darkness as Herakles stood and blocked the streetlight. He turned and adjusted his jacket. "I have a job interview tomorrow, so see you around, I guess." He turned to just the right angle that Sadık could catch his grin.

He only had a dumbfounded stare as goodbye while Herakles climbed the stairs back to street level.

Some time after this incident, Herakles gets a job as research assisstant at the local university. It's initially only for a project of the history facculty, but he's happy nonetheless.

Now that he knows Sadık enjoys literature, he tells the Simonides one time the topic crops up & they know of a regional literature club, who's holding public reading nights. Any author can show up and read their pieces for 10 Minutes to an audience. Omar tells Dilan, who knows that Sadık writes poetry. She thinks he should go and so after she bullied him into it, they do.

Sadık becomes a regular guest there and ends up meeting other literature enthusiasts, like the Beilschmidts. (He and Gilbert bicker a lot about what the other writes, both trying to take the other down a peg). Sadık never tells Herakles any of this.

So imagine his surprise when he spots him one night in the audience. Afterwards, he's torn between sneaking out and going straight up to him, but Herakles makes the decision for him.

"I didn't know you wrote poetry," Herakles finally broke the awkward stare-off.

"Well, now you do." Sadık closed his book and shoved it under his arm. With a grin, he asked: "You think it's good?"

Despite what followed, Herakles couldn't wipe the smile off his face: "I enjoyed it more than the other guy's crime story, at least."

Sadık gave a short bark of laughter. "Oh, you don't know half of it, Gilbert's been trying to make it work since forever. You got time for a coffee?"

So life's good. They're hanging out, they're working, they're pursueing their passions. One time, the heater in Sadık and Dilan's flat breaks and despite Havva trying their best to get it repaired and them a temporary replacement, they're freezing their asses off. So they go and visit their neighbours, who offer them to sleep over. Sadık is supposed to sleep on the couch. Dilan is supposed to sleep on a mattress in the Simonides' room. Both somehow end up sleeping in a Greek's bed instead. (Herakles has a really small room - his desk is even in the twins' room cuz it wouldn't fit in his own. Sadık asks if he wants coffee and they end up drinking coffee in his bed together and talk until they fall asleep.)

Life could be rosy. That is until one day, the Simonides get into real trouble with the landlord. You see, Natasa and Havva always had a tense relationship, because Natasa doesn't believe in playing by the rules too much, while Havva is a very organized person. However, now some things - like mayhaps Herakles living with them - have gotten directly to the landlord of the building and they're not amused. They threaten to evict them, unless Herakles is going - and want a hefty fine from the Simonides either way.

Getting a new home would mean severe financial strain, not to mention the fine. Omar and Thea may would have to pause or drop their studies. Herakles would have to go back to Greece and start from scratch.

Which he's willing to do, seeing how much trouble he caused the family, even if it breaks his heart. Natasa is having none of it - "I'm not sending you back to your son of a bitch, deadbeat dad, Iraklis" - and insists he stays.

Dilan and Sadık get wind of all of this and they're just as devasted as the family itself. They don't want to lose their neighbours. They don't want this to ruin Omar's and Thea's future. They don't want Herakles to leave. Sadık doesn't want Herakles to leave.

So he pleads with Havva to do something, anything, he'll help them do whatever it takes. Natasa is far too proud to do so. Maybe she even suspects that Havva had something to do with it. (They don't).

And through a lot of negotiation, bribery and running errands, the Simonides get to stay. Omar and Thea can continue pursueing their degrees in peace. Herakles gets to stay and keep working in Germany.

"You... You've spent your past weeks on this?" Herakles' stare pierced Sadık as much as it seemed to look right through him. His mouth hung open, jaw slack. "This was all your doing?"

Sadık took a deep breath, but had to settle for a rather unintelligent "Well, yeah." Herakles' stare unsettled him. He had never seen him at a loss for words before. He was even afraid the other might faint.

A heartbeat later, Sadık was afraid he might faint. Herakles had taken a step towards him, grabbed his face and pressed his lips onto Sadık's. It knocked the breath out of him.

His lips were soft. They were so soft and hot and melded with his own effortlessly.

He kissed back, hands on Herakles' face, fingers buried in the messy hairy. The pressure between them was right, felt right, made them one for a brief eternity.

It ended as abruptly as it had begun. They both took a deep breath through their nose and Herakles panted loudly as he exhaled through the mouthm He swallowed.

"Herakles, I don't think that that's an appropriate enough Thank you", Ibrahim said, but neither of the two barely even registered it. Natasa laughed. Loudly.

"Oh, no, I think it's more than enough," Sadık replied as he stared at the wall next to Herakles' head. His hands were still on his face. "Although..." Ibrahim and Natasa were talking in Greek when he faced Herakles again. She still chuckled while a grin stole itself onto his face. "I think I could go for a little bit more gratitude, after all we've done."

"Don't push it," Herakles warned him. Yet, his cockyness was rewarded with another kiss.

Sadık's tongue slipped between his lips effortlessly. As if it belonged there.

Like Herakles belonged here.

So... yeah! I hope you liked it!

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pumpkinmagekupo · 3 years ago

Text

AuRaAugust Day13: Friendship

At first Mizuki was unsure how to react to Sadu Dotharl, the Khatun of the Dotharl. Everything about her was different. Mizuki had ran from the fate foisted upon her at birth, but Sadu accepted her fate with great pride. The Dotharl believed they were reincarnations of their ancestors, a belief Gosetsu could not understand at all.

“Speak!” Sadu snapped at her when she noticed Mizuki’s curious stare. Mizuki tensed as Sadu marched toward her, glowering. Sadu did not suffer fools gladly.

“Forgive me, I just..I was just thinking how astounding it is that you accepted your fate so...readily and with such conviction...have you never thought that perhaps you were meant to be someone else?” she asked, carefully choosing her words.

Sadu wasted no time in replying. “Never. It is an honour to carry on the soul of our fallen warriors.”

Mizuki studied Sadu in awe. She's so straightforward. “I truly admire your spirit, it’s like an arrow, straight and true,” she smiled. Sadu looked taken back by her words. “Would that I had such conviction back then, mayhap I would never have left,” she continued, trying to laugh at her own uncertainty.

“What tribe do you hail from? We must be of similar age and yet I have not heard of such a warrior,” Sadu asked.

Mizuki tensed and hid under her hat. Shouldn’t have opened my mouth. What a coward she’ll think me. “I no longer belong to a tribe..” she replied slowly, peering out from her hat to gauge Sadu’s expression. “Even should I wish to return they would not receive me well.”

Sadu looked bewildered, patting her shoulder roughly with a loud laugh. “Any tribe would welcome the Khagan with open arms!” she bolstered, “and yet you still have not answered from what tribe did you hail?”

“Arulaq,” Mizuki responded reluctantly.

“Ah..that tribe..” Sadu hummed, folding her arms in thought. “I recall they triumphed in the Naadam some years past. Rumours of that day still linger but few remember it vividly enough to speak of it in detail.”

Mizuki nodded “I know it well-” Sadu’s eyes lit up and she seized her hand, an expectant gleam in her eyes “-- I was..there. ‘Twas my first Naadam and my...and my first victory on the Steppe.”

Sadu’s grip tightened but not in violence.

“We must battle at once!” she announced, her voice holding such mirth and excitement. “To do battle with a warrior crowned Khagan twice?! I must! My soul requires it!”

Mizuki blinked and laughed quietly. We are more alike than I thought.

Once they were suitably far from the tribe they began their match. Spell after spell, they negated one another’s attack with great finesse and skill. “You hold back on me!” Sadu shouted over the sounds of another fiery blast. “I wish to witness the spell you used that day!”

Mizuki blocked the attack and stepped back.

“I haven’t cast that spell since then. Long have I forgotten how.” She moved to thwart the onoming blast into a different location. “But -- let me show you what I have learnt.” She held her staff before her and a large purple sigil twirled out from under her feet; tapping the ground with the base of the winged staff further illuminated the sigil before she twirled her staff with one hand holding it up to the sky to conjure forth darkened clouds. Fire bubbled from within the clouds and several large fireballs burst forth from them.

Sadu conjured forth her two stone totems and met the blast head on as she did all her battles. The collision created a massive shockwave that rumbled through the valley, kicking up vast amounts of smoke and dust. Mizuki braced herself against it until the smoke began to settle “Did I over do it?” She looked around but couldn’t see Sadu amidst the smoke and dust. “Sadu?!” she called in panic, running over to where the Khatun had been standing “Sadu?!”

As she got closer, she saw the shattered remains of the totems. “Oh no -- I think I killed the leader of a tribe..” Mizuki felt physically sick. “Sadu!!” She started to shift the large stone slabs, praying to the high heavens she lived.

The stone rumbled and one was blasted clean past her head, making Mizuki jolt in alarm. Sadu coughed and sat up from the dust. “Sadu!” Mizuki was close to tears, thankful to see her alive. “By the twelve, I thought I had killed you!”

Sadu looked up at her, her face and hair covered in soot and dust and laughed loudly.

“It would take far greater to kill me! Though had it been anyone else you might have ended them,” she said, her laugh still clinging to her words. “Well fought, Khagan. The victory is yours. And what a battle! My soul burns bright!”

Mizuki’s shoulders slumped in relief but they shuddered with her own laughter. She held out a hand for Sadu to take. “It was my honour to fight you,” she grinned back, “it was- it was fun.” Mizuki nodded. Sadu joyfully grabbed Mizuki’s hand accepting her help off the ground. Sadu didn’t release her hand straight away, using her other hand to slide one of the blue feather wrist cuffs from her own wrist over to Mizuki’s. “Sadu-” Mizuki looked up into Sadu’s eyes confused,

“A sign that you are always welcome within the Dotharl and as nothing less than a friend.” Mizuki bit her lip to stop herself smiling stupidly, it was rare to be accepted within the Dotharl but as a friend, there was no higher honour.

Mizuki repaid the gesture with her own wrist cuff.

“I would be proud to know you as my dear friend.” Mizuki tilted her head as she smiled. “I never thought I would find such a friend on the Azim Steppe.” Mizuki took notice of the burns that now decorated Sadu’s dark grey skin. “I have some ointments with me that will help with the burns..”

Sadu patted Mizuki’s shoulder roughly. “Come, Khagan, we must celebrate over our glorious battle.”

“And let me tend to your wounds.” Mizuki repeated, giving chase to Sadu who was already marching proudly back towards her tribe.

#pumpkin writes #auraugust #auraugust prompt 2021 #oc: mizuki #Au Ra #xaela #sadu dotharl #friendship

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duskyskz · 4 years ago

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Blueberry Claws - H.H.J

Warnings - Halloween Au, mentioned assault, choking, Hyunjin!Dom mild tones, slight violence

Word Count - 4.7K

A/N - ahaha this .. turned out way longer than I meant to ohno I'm sorry Hyunjin had my heart in a vice grip lately

Part of @nightshade-minho and @mini-meanhoe 's Halloween collab!

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Elbow deep in ruddy earth, you kneel among the undergrowth of your garden, plucking away stray roots and weeds. It’s not your favourite part of the day, but you pride yourself in the exquisite berries your growth produces, and adequate sunlight is a must in bringing the sweetest fruits. Autumnal chills creep down your spine, warning you of setting sun and cooler nights looming over the forest horizon. It is a quaint little house, settled carefully between the curve of the river and the forest border, a hat’s toss away from the village settlement, and you enjoy it that way - far away enough for privacy and undisturbed peace, yet not isolated enough to be unreachable and dreary.

People weren't the only viable company, anyway. Your neighbors came in the form of passing badgers rummaging through your compost, squirrels and mice poking their noses through cracks in your windowsill while you bake, the sweet smell of sugar and jams luring in a furry audience you felt obliged to entertain, tossing crumbs and peels into the open yard.

“Croak!”

You raise your head away from the mud at the screech, glancing upward.

“Hello.” You greet your most recent visitor. The magpie quickly climbed upon your friendlist, introducing itself with a persistent knock of its beak against your poor kitchen windowpane. It came back the next evening, and the one after that, never missing more than a day in it’s routine to rob you of your pie crusts.

“Are you hungry?”

“Croak!” You suppose that’s a yes, considering the intensity with which the bird stares down at your precious blueberries.

“Come on, then. Lunch wouldn’t hurt me, either.”

***

“Can you believe that - that witch!” You stomp along the pavement to your front door, slamming it open. “The audacity to even imply my pies are anything but organic!”

Positively fuming, you don't entertain the absurdity of venting your frustrations to a corvid. At times, you think to yourself the little blackbird almost understands you - head tilting in accordance with your words, nodding when appropriate and watching your dutifully as if awaiting continuation.

Then it’s attention switches from your wild gesticulations to the fresh batch of muffins cooling on your counter, and your suspicions of a higher intelligence disappears, leaving you to sweep cake crumbs off it’s feathers. No, plunging neck-deep into hot cake is not wise, you’d point out later.

***

Maybe the loneliness does get to you after all. It’s a little embarrassing to admit how reliant you become on the magpie’s company. Its’ shrill croaks and glassy eyes became a comfort to you, a presence your day no longer felt complete without. Brushing your fingertips over the delicate feathers on its back, you rest your chin on your other palm.

“It’s a dreary winter coming, birdie.” You muse, humming at the overcast sky. Masses of grey and washed out blues tumblr over the hills, warning you of approaching snows and rains. “I should fix the roof hatching tomorrow morning - be a shame to freeze my toes off before the solstice, wouldn’t it?”

The magpie doesn’t reply, and you don’t expect it to, but the slow blinks as you speak convince you your words don’t fall on deaf ears.

“As long as I don’t have someone warming my bed, I better do all the warming myself.” Springin to your feet, you set to work on tidying the front yard.

“Would you care to join me to fetch new hay for the roof tomorrow?”

Your unconventional companion opens his beak, groaning. Then it snaps down into the ground, impaling one of your finest strawberries.

Ah, well.

You can only guess what a magpie must tend to in a day - you weren’t about to keep it from important bird tasks.

***

Your window panes quiver with the force of the hurricane, creaking sadly in their wooden frames. You have no idea what time it could possibly be, but judging by the time already passed since sundown, it’s way into the late night. Dismorphed figures haunt the outside, shadows passing over your bedroom like a predator, and you burrow deeper under your covers. Of course, approaching winter was harsh. In the hillside, mountain winds rolled down rocky foundations to crash into your humble home with rapid force. Turning onto your side, you press your head against the pillow to mute the whistle of the wind through your thin walls. You’d patched the roof last week - but you had yet to insulate the walls fresh, and chills made themselves known through cracks and gaps in last year’s worn overlay.

With a soul-crushing snap, your window is thrown open as the lock gives way to hurricane, two fragile glass planes whipping open into the dead of night as you curse your luck and scramble out of bed to grasp the handles before they’re torn off entirely.

Yet something past the glass grabs your gaze before you can pull them shut, petrifying you in place. You don’t know if it’s the rain freezing your feet to the ground, or the unfiltered terror, but you can’t even scream as your eyes meet the vividly yellow ones across your garden.

Hunched above your blueberry bush, in a cloak of pitch black, stands a creature you’ve only seen in manic sketches in the village hall prior to tonight. Its’ spine seems bent, somehow, too long and too skewerd to fit precisely in its body, leaving two lumps protruding from its back. In a pale face, boxed in by wisps of black, you can only focus on two luminous eyes, zeroing in on your figure with far too much attention for your liking.

In its knifed claws it grips a branch of your favourite plant, mangled and weeping blueberry juice onto the dirt. Maroon splatters blot the beast’s face, but you don’t gaze long enough to separate fruit from the blood of some poor soul.

Maybe your blood will be next on its beak.

Yanking the window shut, you tumble into your bed, curling as tight as you can into the duvet, shielding your head. Maybe it’ll go away if you don’t make noise, holding your hands to your ears.

Maybe it’ll just go away.

***

It’s been three days since the storm, and coincidentally, three day since you’ve last seen your closest friend. Really, mayhaps this was a sign your friendship should extend elsewhere, and not the local corvid populace. Shovelling pastries into your hamper, you venture out into the open air for the first time since that night.

You’re still unable to clean the wreckage in your front yard. Somehow, the thought of laying your hands on the same branches that unknown horror touched fills you with dread, and you can’t bring yourself to rid the leftover mess. You had enough jams and preserves stockpiled to last you the whole winter if need be - if you weren’t financially obliged to sell most of them, anyway.

Fitting yourself with a scarf to guard from temperamental weather, you wrap the wool tightly up to your nose as the first leaves fall from the oaks beside you.

You love your town, you really do.

The whimsy of nearby streams rolling over lustrous green fields is a wonder to wake up to every morning, and the walk into town is always a pleasant meander under centuries-old oaks and pine trees, spying on the conversations of woodpeckers and crows.

Yet, among all the commotion, you find yourself missing one particular croak. Never quite the same elegant cry as the other birds, but particular and endearing in its own right.

And entirely missing from your life for half a week.

Passing the stone gates, you keep to the right of the road to make space for idle carts and horses wandering the streets. Carefully, you unload all your stock onto the market table - this stand has your name carved into the wooden leg, and you pride yourself on being a regular enough attendant to warrant a reserved place.

The day flurries by you in a mess of clinking jam jars and passing coins. Afternoon had already set in a while ago, traversing into the evening by the time you begin wrapping up your last sale. Bidding goodbye to the market staff, you hoist your (significantly lighter) basket over your forearm, leaving the town square. It’s not dark yet, bare wisps of the night inking over your head as the sun lowers over the woods, letting you lose your train of thought in the scenery.

You feel the last pricks of stress leave you as your thoughts drift to the hallowing creature from nights ago. Perhaps your mind, in its hazy and exhausted stade, played up the vivid shadows and reflections in the moonlight? Yes, surely. There’s no way an animal this size and fright roamed your woods unacknowledged - The only terror you knew was the fabled warlock, but nobody has seen his face in decades. You weren’t even sure what he looked like. All tales of warlocks the library gave you marked them as haunted men, selling their soul for mastery of dark arts, giving up their limbs for a hint of inhuman power. Some had horns, you’d read. Some, a devilish tail winding between their legs, while some gave up their own eyes and replaced them with animal counterparts for better senses.

It scared you more than you’d like to admit, the more you entertained the possibility of a being so twisted hiding in the depths of your woods - but was Hwang Hyunjin even real, or a figment of townsfolk imagination?

Entangled in your own head, you fail to notice the arm lashing out to grab your elbow and yank you violently sideways, slamming your back into the brick wall between two buildings.

“Ouch!” You rasp out, catching your breath, but your scream is broken by the hand quickly winding around your throat.

Great, after a shitty week you were going to get robbed, too!

“Don't you try open your mouth again, you little bitch.” A coarse voice hissed against your cheek. You tried to reel away from the terrible stench of his breath, but with your back against the wallside, it was impossible to weasel out. “Made quite a pretty penny at the market today, didn’t ya?”

A large, cold hand snuck down your waist, over the ribbons tying your corset shut, and you were sure you’d retch when clammy fingers started tugging at the knot.

“Where are you hiding it, then? Down your vest?” One sharp pull leaves your corset flying open, exposing your skin to freezing night air, shielded only by a thin undershirt. You try to shake your head, but the hold on your neck makes it impossible to even curse. “That’s a bit thin, isn’t it? Not much to hide under such flimsy fabric -”

“Shit!”

You heave in a breath as the tightness around your throat suddenly wanes, disappearing, and all weight lifts from you. Eyes watering from the lack of oxygen, you blink rapidly to clear your vision, stumbling back as you find focus.

Shrill cries tear from your assailant, angry red oozing from the gash above his left eye, arms flailing maniacally to chase away the blur of feathers thrashing around his head. Slinking down to catch your breath, you pull your knees to your chest to steady your breathing, though the scene before you grows more gruesome every time you blink.

You can’t tear your eyes away, even as the bird dives down again, embedding its razor claws in the man’s eye socket. The screams are terrifying, but you don’t have the thought to wonder how no one else came to check the commotion.

Maybe nobody wanted to.

In muted horror, you watch as the man finally lands a hit, thrashing the tiny bird into the wall opposite with a numbing crack, spinning on his heel to face you once more, though his one eye struggles to find your face. He stumbles forward, lurching in your direction, drops of fresh blood flying at your feet.

“What are you, a witch? I should burn you alive -”

Smack!

You’re sure you’re hallucinating as he topples to the pavement, struck by a surprise force. Hunched over him, in a flurry of black feather, sits a mass you know you’ve seen before. For a moment you think, another bird? A whole flock? But then the feathered cape shifts, raises, and you realise it’s one pair of heavy-set wings protruding from a broad back, arms poised to strike over and over at a target long void of defense. You feel sick - everything that unravelled in the last few moments makes your stomach churn, and you vomit onto the floor between your feet. You can’t watch the blood any longer, listen to the crunching sound of tendons snapping and bone breaking, rolling over as you feel your legs give way to jelly.

***

You can feel yourself swaying, gently. You don’t feel the ground, but you know you’re moving, head balanced on something pillowy and warm, but still solid - what a weird combination.

There’s something holding you up by your legs, and another clutching onto your back. You have half the mind to open your eyes when you’re coherent enough to, knowing you should be alarmed given the situation you just vaguely avoided. But this is nice. Your lift your eyelids barely enough to take in your position, head propped carefully on a shoulder. You can’t see much beyond the collarbone your nose is tucked into without outing yourself as awake, so you settle for breathing in deep, lulling your nerves with the scent of ash and fern. It's safe, comforting somehow, in a way you’ve never felt comforted in. Your forehead grazes his cheek, tips of his dark hair tickling your skin as you heave out a sigh and press your face deeper against the warmth.

“I’m sorry I left you, Birdie.”

His voice is gentle, too. You let it ring in your head, soft whispers and words you can't quite decipher but appreciate nonetheless lulling you back into shallow sleep. You recognise your surroundings by the shift of light, stepping out from the tree canopy into wide hillside, catching last rays of sunlight.

You think he’s going to wake you and ask for a key, but your front door grants him access with just a single flick of his wrist under your knee. You’ll have to ask him about that later.

Nudging his way inside, ducking to fit past the low doorframe, your saviour swiftly marches to your bedroom, confirming your suspicions. The layout of your house was entirely too familiar to him for it to be the first time he’s visited the premises. Or the second, if you count the night visit three days back. When he lowers you onto the mattress, it's with such care your heart skips in your chest, and you pray he doesn’t hear it stop entirely when you feel his fingertips brush over your shoulder to pull the blankets over you, strong arms straining under his shirt as he moves your head from his shoulder and you immediately miss the heat. There’s a cup of water by your bedside that wasn’t there before, and when satisfied with your placement, he steps away. Your eyes blink open fully when you feel his presence leave your side.

“Are you leaving?” Your voice sounds small even to you.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me around.” He answers after a hesitant pause, kneeling by your bed. “You - You looked really scared that night. I never want you to be scared of me.”

You sit up, reaching for the glass of water which he swiftly passes to you to soothe your throat and wash out remaining bile. Your skin still burns in the places that asshole touched you, and you hiss when your fingers rub the sore spots on your neck, before a larger hand wraps around your palm, bringing it down to glare at the bruise.

“I won’t apologize for what happened to him, though.” The venom in his voice makes you still. “That filth got what he deserved - I should have taken his other eye, too.”

“...Is he dead?” You’re not sure you should ask.

“No. I left him breathing, but I can’t guarantee someone will find him in time.”

“You left him blind, that’s enough Hyunjin.” His head snaps up at the name, as if he didn’t expect the confrontation. “You’re the magpie that’s been visiting my garden this summer, aren’t you? You’re the fabled terror in our woods.”

You say the last part with a smile, but the warlock lowers his head still, glancing down at the blanket curving over your hips.

“....Yeah.” He mumbles, observing the many silver rings at his knuckles. “Is that too much for you?”

“What do you mean?” You scrunch your nose, confused, when he doesn’t elaborate.

“At first I just came to visit because of the garden, but every time you saw me you’d talk to me like I was a person - Like I could understand. And I know you talk to the others too, like that ugly goose -” You want to scold him for calling Truffles ugly, but he carries on without pause. “But in my head it was just, nice. Even if I couldn’t reply, whenever you speak, there’s no darkness in me. Nothing but you.”

Hyunjin frowns, not wanting to meet your eyes yet. His hand grips the edge of your duvet, straining the fabric as his wings twitch.

“I was so fucking mad at myself when you saw me. You looked so small, so petrified - and of me. And as much as I wanted to take you into my arms and reassure you I couldn’t.”

You can’t deny it, you were scared then. But knowing the man before you now, the events of today and the large part thunder and your own exhaustion played into your fear that night, you felt none of the apprehension now, resting your hand atop his shaking ones.

“Maybe you wouldn’t want to see me again, if you’d guessed what I was after that. So I let you be, watching from a distance, because I couldn’t bring myself to let go completely. And today, fuck -” He runs a clawed hand through his locks, pushing hair out of his face to finally look at you, golden eyes rooting you to your spot. “I should have snapped both his legs for even thinking to touch you.”

“But maybe that’s my own vice.” You watch soft pink lips form words you’re not sure are real. They could have been your own imagination, for how quietly he speaks. “Maybe my love would be too much for you.”

The silence that follows his confession is crushing to both of you, for entirely different reasons.

You barely wrap your head around the idea of being loved by him before he pulls his hand away from yours, accepting rejection he knew was coming. It’s not until he stands that you breathe in, catching the edge of his jacket before he can leave you again.

“It’s not.” You state. “It’s not too much.”

You hope he doesn’t mistake the quiver in your voice for doubt, because you’ve never been so sure of something in your life.

“Do you mean that?” The hopeful lilt to his voice sparks your heart alight, he’s at your side in seconds, long feathers sweeping the floor below his feet as he moves. “Are you sure you want me the same way I want you?”

“I do.”

You nod to reassure him, sliding further down the bed to make space for his larger frame. Hyunjin slinks in next to you, crawling over to hover above you, taking in the way you look finally beneath him. His feathers block out most light, sun long set. You can barely see, but before you can complain about missing his ethereal beauty, a candle flickers alight by your window, and another on your bedside table. Another, and yet one more afterward, until your bedroom filters in a warming glow from a dozen shy fires.

Ah, warlock things.

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin hesitates still, lips stopping millimeters away from yours as the last strings of hesitation cling to his thoughts until you urge him to move. “You can touch me.”

His lips are warmer than anything you’ve ever felt, moving over your mouth like fine malt wine. There’s a quiver in his hands when he brings a palm down to cradle your cheek, running his thumb over the smooth skin as his tongue runs over your teeth.

You don’t notice your legs spreading open to allow him between your thighs until his knee bumps against your core, bundling your skirts in his fist to pull them down and off.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited to have you under me like that, birdie.” Hyunjin whispers. “All for me, at my mercy - you look so good like that.”

The irony of him using your own nickname for him on you is lost in the moment you arch your back into his touch, pressing your still corseted chest against his palm. Every place he touches has you needing more of him, every part you can reach.

“Undress me, please.”

“Gladly.” Nimble fingers pluck the bow of your shirt open, lifting it over your head. In the cocoon of his wings and candle light, you feel a love you’ve never known before. Discarding his own shirt next, you hardly have a moment to take in the exquisite expanse of his chest before your field of vision is taken up with glimmering navy feathers, Hyunjin’s head dipping to swirl his tongue over your nipple. Your grip in his hair makes him keen against your chest, groaning over the sensitive flesh between his teeth.

“Are you - You’re a virgin?” The idea of him being the first to make you feel so open, the only person to see you react to such intimate touch gets him harder than Hyunjin thought possible.

“Ah, yeah…” You nod. Were your reactions so telling? You suddenly felt even smaller, caged between his arms and the pillows, watching his tamarind eyes flicker.

“I’ll love you well, birdie. Don’t worry.” He blows cool air onto your damp bud and you feel like crying. One hand leaves the space by your head, pinching your other peak. At first gently, testing how far he could push your limits to get you melting at his touch, then harder when you moan at the slight burn.

Your hips rise to rub against his thigh, unknowingly seeking out friction to aid the dampness gathering in your underwear. His hand meets you there, slipping a finger under the band of your panties to snap it against your skin for your impatience, and you still immediately, recognising his dominance even without prior warning.

“Be good and wait. If I own you, I’m taking my time with you.” There’s a hard edge in his voice, something about the empty threat makes you want to push his buttons until he snaps.

You don’t need to wait much longer.

Ridding you of the last scrap of clothing you had left, Hyunjin has you bare and displayed, every part on show and within his reach. Slower than you can take, he drags his thumb on the inside of your thigh, kissing and nibbling the delicate skin just inches away from your dripping cunt. When his thumb finally, finally rubs a circle against your clit you whine his name so loud he nearly bites down hard. Still, he holds his pace, pressing his thumb in patient patterns against your nub as his teeth mark up your thighs.

“Jinnie, go harder, please.”

You know you fucked up when he glances up at you, brows quirking in amusement.

“I said I’ll take care of you, y/n. If you want to cum, lay there and take it.”

You’re thankful he has a shred of mercy for your sanity, because your pleas seem to have a marginal effect on his movement.

You eat your words when Hyunjin forces two fingers inside your already wet slit, scissoring you open with harsh flicks of his wrist. His lips remain stuck to your clit, and the sudden assault on your senses has tears rushing down your cheeks.

“W-Wait! Hyun, wait, I don’t want to cum yet!” You don’t really believe he’ll listen.

“Don’t you? But I thought you wanted me to hurry, birdie?” The mockery in his voice makes you clench, and you’d flush if you weren’t so close to orgasm. “For someone not ruined before, you beg for a dick so well.”

“No...Not yet, I wanna cum on you, please.”

Hyunjin can resist many things - spells, curses. Killing a man on multiple occasions.

Your whimpering voice as you beg for him to take your virginity in your own bed, wrapped around his fingers and blushing from his tongue is not one of those things.

“Fuck, okay.”

Pulling his fingers out, your lips part at the emptiness, but your nerves prickle with knowledge of what awaits you next. Hyunjin is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, sweat dampening his forehead and eyes peering right into your heart whenever your gazes meet. You’re hypnotised by the way muscles in his back tense when he kneels between your thighs, urging you to open up for his fit. You only catch the briefest sight of his length, but it’s enough to make you gasp in anticipation at the size and thickness of his base.

“You’re sure you want me?” Your legs wrap around his waist as he asks, not yet penetrating you, only resting his length on your slick core.

“I want you more than anything I’ve ever dreamed of, Hyunjin.” You channel all your love and trust into your words, daring yourself to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.

Feeling the stretch of him is euphoric, inch by inch, more than any discomfort could hope to reach. Your focus on the flex of his forearm propping him up beside your head, the tantalizing way his mouth curls in a moan of your name when he bottoms out, placing his seal on you completely.

“Tell me when I can move, alright?”

“N-Now, you can move. Please move.” You’re gonna go insane if he doesn’t ravage you right now, digging your nails into his bicep. Hyunjin starts off slowly, gentle languid strokes brushing over your walls. With every move, he feels you relax, the tension in your legs loosening into desperate longing as you pull him deeper into you, trapping him against your body.

You open your eyes only to grab his hand, wrapping it around your throat. His hips stutter, before he grips you fully, squeezing the sides of your neck until your moans turn to broken cries of his name.

“You’re such a cute little whore, love. What a dirty pussy you’ve been holding out on me.”

The smirk he looks down on you with is downright filthy, degrading every shred of dignity you had left, but you don’t take in anything but him, his hips slamming you into the mattress and the hot breath against your ear. “Are you gonna cum from that? My good girl, just like that...Let go and cum under me.”

He pulls his hand away from your neck, allowing you to heave in a breath and scream his name. Hyunjin holds you down by your wrists above your head, thrusting relentlessly as you cum around him, shaking and sobbing from the overstimulation at your centre. He allows himself to release then, as your whimpers quieten and he rides out your highs with you, filling you to the brim.

You stay entwined for a moment as you catch your shaky breath, coming out of the headspace Hyunjin fucked you into. When he pulls out, you fight the urge to clamp your legs shut as he holds your thighs apart, admiring the way his cum spills out of your rawed hole.

“Let me clean you first, birdie.”

You nearly drift off in the blissed-out feeling that envelops you as he wipes your legs clean with a warm, damp cloth, stroking over tingling bruises with adoration.

When he’s finally satisfied with your state, Jinnie allows you to tug him back into bed with you, arms immediately coiling around your middle to press you into his chest, nose nuzzling against the crown of your head to breathe in your scent.

“I meant every word I said.” He mentions, speaking against your forehead. His lips tickle you with every word and you’re so tempted to kiss him again just because you can. “ I really do love you.”

“I know, Jinnie. I love you too.”

****

Tag list - @defsbxessi @godlyaj @palet-innie

#skz smut #stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin #lee minho #stray kids imagines #hyunjin #Halloween au #Hyunjin au

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