#he used to live in a yurt

[lilyhellbender]

…

[lalunanymph]

GRASSLAND ROMANCE

SUMMARY the strongest tribal chieftain sets the stage to claim his most priceless reward

WARNINGS prisoner of war!reader, slave!reader, tribal chief!sylus, first time, fight-to-death-trope, concubine!reader, oral sex, breeding, mentions of lactating, size kink, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of misogyny, bartering, winning her favor trope, loosely based on the new sylus myth card, mdni, 18+

DAWN SAYS it's daddy sylus's time hehehe second one down, 2 more to go !! sylus is my ult bias and I definitely wanted to go for more of a khal drogo x daenaerys vibe when I started this out, so keep an eye out for bit of dark content discussed here... that being said, will be cross-posting this to a03 soon so stay tuned! <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ZAYNE ⊱ XAVIER ⊱ RAFAYEL

The grasslands were not kind to those unfamiliar with its ways.

As a little girl, your grandmother would tell you stories of the fearless warriors traversing these bare lands in search of resources to plunder, steal and conquer. It instilled a sense of fear in you; a knowing instinct to never step out of line less you wanted to suffer the consequences of losing everything you loved.

The day you met Sylus was the day your short life came to its meaningless end.

Taken from your homelands to his tribe, you were relegated to cleaning tasks and cooking; trying to keep your head down and eyes off of you less you wanted to suffer fatal repercussions.

Your days living in sweet bliss were over; your childhood and girlhood gone in one fell swoop.

And yet, despite your best efforts to go undetected, you wound up catching the eye of the fearsome chieftain. His calls for you to his yurt could not be ignored.

You fully expected him to take advantage of your vulnerable state, using his position to conquer what remained of your dignity and hope. 

But, Sylus proved to be a different man behind his ruthless reputation.

A fan of music and wildland games, he often asked you to keep him company for the day, and when the nights got too cold, you were ushered into his private space, allowed to warm yourself with his brazier. 

The scent of moist rose and grapevine trimmings filled the air as you lounged right in Sylus’s arms, enjoying the warmth of his presence and the fire glowing brightly while snow and sleet raged outside of his yurt.

The fearless tribal chieftain was a relaxed man tonight, savoring the presence of his favorite concubine right in his lap. His large hands stroked your hair, fingers running through your locks. The robes he dressed you in were heavy yet comfortable, providing you shelter from the cold; a stark difference from the slave rags you were forced to wear during your earlier encampment. 

“What is on your mind, beloved?”

Beloved. Despite what everyone said or thought about you, Sylus saw you in a different light. A tender and cherished one.

You turned your head to gaze at him, a softness you reserved solely for him shining from your eyes.

“I was lost in my thoughts; thinking back to the time when I first got here.”

A dark look flitted across his face, and he fixed you with a prodding look.

“I know what happened was not ideal for you, beloved. But, you are safe now. I will not let anyone in this camp harm you.”

His promise was as good as gold in this world. Sylus was not someone who would mince words or give you false hope. Despite his stature as one of the most fearsome conquerors of this land, he was a man of integrity and word.

And yet… you couldn’t help the sadness eclipsing your features. 

The ceremonial choosing of his bride was coming up soon, and from the lines of women prepared for him, you paled in comparison. These women were trained from birth to please him, cook for him, and be the bearer of his children. They were thought in the grassland ways, something you were not familiar with.

The women chosen for him did not stick out like a sore thumb, nor were they foreigners of this land.

Each of them were meticulously handpicked to appeal to his tastes and desires; where you fit in, you had no clue. 

It wasn’t as if you were his tribe’s de facto pick. You were sure you weren’t on any of the elder’s lists, your fate relegated to being his concubine for life.

As if he could read your mind, Sylus tilted your face up to look him in the eyes. 

“Beloved, you are the only one for me. There is no one else in these lands I would rather spend my days with.”

You wanted to ask him why; what could possess a man like him to love a lowly woman like you?

But, you enjoyed his caresses on your cheeks and jaw; snuggled closer to him as the wind tore through the night, safe and secure right in his arms.

The next morning, you were pulled aside by one of the village elders, Enkh, as he looked you up and down. 

“My son needs a new wife after his old one died in childbirth,” scrutinizing you from head to toe, he fixed his beady gaze on you like a dishwasher studying a piece of vermin on a brass plate. “And you will do.”

The idea of being married to Enkh’s son, known as the most ruthless and cruel man in the entire tribe, filled you with unadulterated fear. You had no say in your fate, and spent the entire day wondering how to tell Sylus—the chieftain himself—of your dilemma.

But, you didn’t have to open your mouth and divulge the truth.

Sylus already knew.

He called you out to his tent, where some men who were sparring upped and left the second you arrived. In your hands, you held a pouch, given to you by Enkh’s wife before you left their yurt.

A symbol of choice for a woman about to be married, you were given explicit instructions to hand it to his son after his sparring win tomorrow. It was tradition for the winner to receive a wife as compensation, and from the thunderous look on Sylus’s face, you could tell he was not at all pleased about this latest development.

“They claimed you, just like that? Without my agreement?”

Despite not being his official concubine, everyone in the tribe knew of your position with the chieftain. You were virtually untouchable, and only higher up families like Enkh’s, could make the play for one of his concubine’s hands. 

This displeased your lover, who took it as an affront to his rule. 

But, he didn’t react the way you expected him to, with violence and malice as the forefront of his actions. 

Sylus led you to the heart of his yurt, where thick layers of felt and wool provided insulation from the chill. Dressed in traditional Bökh gear, he was preparing for the ceremonial sparring to begin when he heard word of your impending nuptials to Enkh’s son. He dragged you down to his side, letting you rest on the rugs and pillows surrounding the area before he shared what was on his mind. 

“Do you want to marry into that family, Y/N?” 

Instinctively, you shook your head. “No, Sylus.”

He nodded, pleased at your swift rebuke. “I am going to be honest with you—the only way we can circumvent both of our fates to marry different people is for me to participate in the fights myself.”

You gasped, wide-eyed at the revelation. “But, it’s unheard of. You are the chieftain!”

Rough fingers touched your face, caressing your cheek with a softness he only showed to you.

“I know, my beloved. But, think about the alternative. I do not want to lose you.” 

A grin stole across his handsome features, and he shot back: “If I lost, I’d be stuck here forever—in this limbo of never having you… but then again, could I really lose?” 

Unperturbed by his musings, you raised the stakes by straddling his lap, glaring down at him. In this position, he had to hear you out; he had to allow logic to take hold of his wilful mind. 

“Sylus, the rules of the game means that you have to steal the gem from your other opponent and then you can stake your claim. Are you sure you want to do this? You cannot back out once the games have started.”

The Grassland Festival, or the most important festivity for Sylus’s tribe that was happening in a few hours, was in tandem with the fighting ring for men to win the hands of their future wives. 

His red eyes, which shone like a grassland sunset, appraised your form astride his lap; soft and sure.

“My love, you severely underestimate my devotion to you.”

Turning your fates around, he flipped you back onto the soft pillows and rugs, a look of fond playfulness in those jewel-toned eyes.

“All I have to do is fight, yes? And I have never lost a fight.” 

His soft touch tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “You are the prize I must win, my love. I will do everything I can to make sure we stay together.”

Filled with happiness and the surety of his tone, you put your faith in what came next. 

Long and nimble fingers snuck to your waist pockets, where he retrieved the pouch given to you by Enkh’s family. 

“Hey—!”

You tried to reach back for it, but he held it from you, a smirk playing on his defined lips. 

“Is this what you are going to give the boy?” 

Warmth splashed across your cheeks as you tried to glare him down.

“Despite what you may think, you do not own every aspect of me, Sylus. I reserve the need to keep some secrets to myself.”

He hummed, clearly not believing you. “And yet, you spoke of the sincerity of our feelings. Isn’t this me being honest, little dove?” 

You sputtered, tripping over your refutes, and he rolled his eyes.

“Alright, love. Let me make it simple—”

He lifted you closer to him, letting you fall over his lap. The sudden proximity filled your senses purely with him; igniting sparks of heat across your entire body. 

“If someone were to hand the champion a pouch, should he take it?” 

He was teasing you, and it was clear he wasn’t planning to let up anytime soon. 

You huffed, trying to swipe it again. But, he was nimbler than you, yanking the pouch away from your outstretched hand. 

Sighing, you tried to pull him up, grumbling when you barely made him move an inch.

“Have you been training more?” You grumbled, eyeing his broad shoulders; the muscles stretching across his tanned skin. 

“Perhaps. Although as much as I have been honing my skills, I do still need someone to look out for me.” 

His smirk threatened to affect your entire composure, and you darted your eyes away, flushed and embarrassed at how easily he could get to you. 

The faith you had in him to win was astounding; there was a reason why he was known as one of the best warriors in the grasslands. 

“You’re the champion,” you grumbled under your breath. “Do you need me to watch your back?”

In response, Sylus’s smile softened around the edges, his red eyes taking on a tender quality. 

“Let me paint you a scene, love: I win the challenge, and then I get to be yours. How does that sound?” 

Tugging a stray lock of hair which fell loose from your braid, Sylus waited for your answer patiently. 

It was useless to try and dispute him. Whatever the strongest wanted, he would get—and he clearly wanted you. 

“Alright,” you responded softly, conceding with a smile. “If you win tomorrow, I will hand you my pouch. There is nothing you cannot do.”

Responding to your confidence, he chuckled softly, teasing you more by dragging you closer to him, enjoying your weight pressing onto his body.

“Or, we could do it together.”

He hummed, touching the hollow of your throat with his cool lips. Your eyes fluttered shut, trying to staunch your reckless sounds.

“The second I get that gem, you run up to me, crowning me as your chosen one and I respond back.”

Struggling to control your raging thoughts, you murmured: “Will it work—such boldness?” 

To answer your question, he smirked, finding your flustered expression and slight doubt adorable. 

“My, my, love. Are you doubting me?” 

The world flipped around, and suddenly you were thrown over his shoulder. You gasped, confusion mingling with surprised delight as Sylus manhandled you with practiced ease. He stepped past the plush pillows and rugs, opening the flap of his yurt to bring you out into the mellow morning. 

“Wh-what are you doing?” Your sharp inhale spurred on his laugh, his low and rich chuckle making you flush warmly. 

“Didn’t you tell me this before, love? Actions speak louder than words.” To your mortification, he was heading right to the middle of the courtyard, where spectators were already gathering to witness the fight. 

“Sylus—!”

You smacked his broad shoulders, but he wouldn’t let you down. Sylus already had a plan in mind and you were helpless to stop him. 

“Oh, love, relax,” he teased, taking long, purposeful strides towards the other villagers. “I need to show them I already have a lover. And since she won’t let me take her away…” you could plainly picture his cocky smirk. “... I’ll just have to take her myself.” 

The rest of the villagers stopped in their tracks when they noticed their chieftain walking towards them, a smaller woman in his arms. Elders dropped what they were doing to whisper under their breaths, their judgemental eyes trained on Sylus’s smug face and the look of mortification on yours.

“Sylus—”

He set you down in the front stand, tossing you a wink for good measure.

Whispers rushed around the arena like wildfire, catching aflame from the look of pure devotion in his eyes; a look reserved just for you. 

Enkh’s son, a hulking brute by the name of Altan, shot him a glare—insulted by Sylus’s blatant claim on you.

Motivated by his wrath, the tribal chief turned to the other man, raising a brow. 

“Altan, son of Enkh!” 

His voice boomed across the field, shocking you out of your mortified stupor. 

“You dare claim one of my concubines as your wife? Do you know what that entails?”

The atmosphere in the arena tilted towards a frenzy, the people inadvertently roped in to witness the showdown of the year.

Since ceremonial rites were read and sacrifices were made, the last agenda for today would be the warrior fights. Sylus took his spot in the ring, unafraid. The head monk, a calm man by the name of Bataar, whispered something to Enkh, who glared at you as if this entire ordeal was your fault.

You shrank back in your seat, attempting to hide your scorching cheeks behind your palms.

The fight began, and it was clear from the onset that it would be an unfair one. Sylus, whose expertise and years on the field, easily overpowered Altan, pinning him to the ground. A horn blared, and the winner was declared.

A stirring eagerness and relief moved you from your seat, and you didn’t care for customs or etiquette when you ran across the ring, jumping right into his open arms. Sylus lifted you off your feet with ease, spinning you around, his laughter mingling with yours. 

In his palm, he held the priceless gem he stole from Altan’s belt— a symbol of his opponent’s virility. Its capture meant that he had won the other man’s intended bride fair and square. He handed it to you, and right in front of his entire people, you proudly proclaimed your acceptance of his proposal—slipping the jewel right inside of your pouch and handing it to him. 

Triumphant, Sylus took your offered gift, tucking it in the lapels of his leather harness with a contented grin. 

The tribe elders were helpless to stop their strongest from claiming you, as was the custom of these rituals. 

Sylus had no hesitation when he slung you over his shoulder again, a conqueror who had rightfully won his beloved. 

He didn’t care if whispers of your status or his incredible defiance towards the elders would reach his ears; all Sylus could think about now was savoring this priceless reward he fought hard to obtain.

Bringing you back to his yurt, Sylus let the flap fall close behind him, a clear signal to the rest of the tribe that he intended to enjoy his winnings in peace.

Your back met the soft pillows and rugs, his broad build blocking out the rafters letting in warm morning sunlight; lost in the depths of his jewel-tone eyes.

They shone like precious rubies, far more valuable to you than any material item in this world. 

The feel of your palm stroking his cheek, your fingers playing in his hair, suddenly made his stomach twist into hard knots. They were impossible to unravel, a bowline loop which went on for eternity.

His breathing turned ragged, gaze going soft as he looked at you—really took you in.

The sight of his beloved—his bride—right here in his home, about to be taken and claimed by him, set his nerves ablaze more than any war cry ever could. 

Sylus moaned unabashedly when you tangled your fingers in his hair, bold enough away from the prying eyes of others to fall prey to the undeniable attraction you’ve felt for him since the first time you saw each other.

He lets you bring him in for a kiss, your lips sweeter than wildberry dew.

“Sylus…”

The possessive need to claim you flared in him when you called out his name.

Smoldering attraction turned into a wild, untameable blaze, threatening to consume him whole. 

Due to his rugged nature, he never had a woman this close to him, her touch a balm to his rough edges.

In your arms, Sylus was more than the fearsome tribal chieftain whose name could strike fear in any man’s heart. 

He was wont to your desires, an instrument of your love.

“Please,” you licked your lips, and his eyes followed the gesture with a blatant look of desire. “Kiss me.”

You didn’t have to ask him twice. Sylus captured your lips in a deep and passionate kiss, swallowing your moans whole.

Your tinier fingers in his hair tightened, bringing his body closer onto yours. He fought back a shiver from the force of his desires as his body covered yours completely, trapping you beneath him under his weight.

“My love, you are playing a dangerous game,” he growled, adoring how fragile and small you felt under his hulking mass.

Dragging your hands down the slope of his shoulders, you felt his muscles rippling under your touch; his broad frame and the layers of sinew forming his brawny build leaving you lightheaded.

“Oh, my love. The sight of you underneath me, looking so vulnerable and lovely,” his voice dipped lower, a hoarse edge taking over it. “... it’s driving me wild.”

Shying away from such a bold declaration, you bit your lower lip. “Sylus, will it hurt?”

Sensing you were speaking about the act of copulating, he took your hand, rubbing circles on your palm. 

“A little, but it is nothing you cannot handle. Besides, I will be with you through it all—I will not hurt you, my love.”

The idea of a ruthless tribal leader like him, promising some young slave girl that he would be gentle with her, was so far-fetched from your idea of what a conqueror was that you began to relax in his presence.

You trusted Sylus because he has proven time and time again how your comfort and safety were his priorities.

Especially when he was this close to claiming you.

Steady yet hasty hands slowly unraveled the lapels of your thick coat, his breaths tumbling out in silent huffs. Sylus’s large palms were warm—far too warm on your chilly body.

The great chieftain was a silent, nervous wreck when he glanced down at his beloved, watching her with soft eyes and reaching out to her with an even softer touch. 

“Sylus… please.” 

The cadence of his name on your tongue will never not be the sweetest thing he's heard in his life. 

You returned the gesture, removing his leather gauntlets, slowly stripping him off his warrior bravado to reveal the sweet and gentle man underneath.

“Please, what?” He whispered against your throat. Outside, the cool breeze rattled the rafters, but inside his yurt and in his arms, you were warmer than a butterfly in spring. 

You seized, back arching when he kissed a tender path from your neck to your bare chest. 

The sight of your hardened nipples and smooth curves whipped through him like a frenzy, and Sylus grew impossibly hard at the image of your sweet body, swollen with child.

His child.

The fantasies of your breasts filling up with milk, the slope of your belly gently curving with the promise of his heir… 

 His thin patience was hanging by a thread.

Sylus shrugged off his sheepskin pants, tossing it to the side of the yurt as he quickly worked on the lapels and hooks of your clothing. 

Once your smooth body was bare to him, Sylus’s gaze softened, his tone almost reverent when he said:

“You look beautiful, my beloved.”

You had not imagined your wedding night (or, in this case, morning) to be a tender affair.

Where every brutish belief you once held towards his people melted away with every tender touch of this gentle chieftain.

Sylus propped a pillow under your hips, careful to lean his full weight onto you. Your eyes fluttered shut, a moan seeping past your swollen lips when you felt his tongue glide across your breasts, taking his time to play with and suck on your nipples.

His mouth moved down your body, teasing you with whispery kisses.

Parting your thighs wide, you realized a second too late what he was doing until he slotted himself in between; mouth pressed to your pelvis.

“Sy—”

The protests fizzled out the second you felt his tongue parting through your folds, tasting the effect he had on you.

Low whimpers slipped past your mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair.

Sylus… mhmm… s-stop—

But, he didn't relent. He glanced up at your flushed face, shaking his head. 

You can take it, beloved. Can't you? For me?

It wasn't the reluctance that set you back but the shame of such an intimate experience.

You had never experienced a man this close to your sensitive parts; the idea of him in this position itself was too much to bear. You should be worshiping him, not the other way around.

But, Sylus refused to listen to your pleas and moans—hellbent on pleasuring you.

His tongue traced patterns on your clit, drawing out more of your high-pitched whines. There was little doubt whoever passed by the yurts could hear your pleasured sighs. 

Sylus couldn't care less.

He wanted the whole tribe to know you were his;  that he had chosen you and you had chosen him.

His tongue delved deeper into your core, tasting your excitement. Some of it stained onto his face, his chin drenched with your juices.

Your hips rocked to the rhythm his tongue set, your moans reaching fever pitch.

Good girl. That's it. Show me how much you want it.

Sylus murmured, working you through your cresting pleasure.

It came like a rising high within you, soaring higher than any eagle could as you crashed to the ground, screaming his name.

Sylus tightened his grip on your thighs, doubling down on his efforts. Your mess stained his cheeks, his chin, driving his desire to a burning point.

He worked his way up your body, leaving kisses on every inch of skin his mouth could reach.

Finally reaching your lips, Sylus poured every bit of his devotion for you into this heated kiss, swallowing your moans and letting you taste him on his tongue. Strings of saliva connected your lower lip to his, hanging by a tenuous thread.

The heat of your cheeks would have burned you alive, the tension between your bodies rising to a feverish pitch.

Tenderly, he nudged your thighs to wrap around his defined waist, opening you to be taken by him.

The first stretch was accompanied by his lips on yours, coaxing you to relax and open up to him.

That is it… good girl… taking me so well…

The deeper he sank in, the more loud he was with his praise.

I adore you… you sinful, sweet girl… take me… take me good… 

Sylus!

Your cries reverberated across the sheepskin walls. It felt like drowning, your body sinking deeper into the plush woolen pillows.

Oh, oh… oh, right there…

He licked into the heat of your mouth, tracing the ridges of your teeth. 

There? Does it hurt? Do I make you ache?

Yes, you responded deliriously. Yes, yes and yes.

It was the kind of pain you could never forget, yet you desired it all the same. A masochistic plea of your body to be devoured and conquered.

Sylus raised himself up on his forearms, the bulging, rock hard muscles rippling with every exertion; his thrusts almost knocking you backwards if it weren't for his tight grip on your hips.

Every collision of his cock against a spot deep inside of you made your toes curl; leading you closer towards your desperate end.

Sylus—can't… close… 

It felt like a ball of tension growing bigger and tighter, growing uncontrollably hotter with every thrust, every heated whisper of his praise against your ear.

Sylus nipped your jaw, tracing his tongue against the curve of your lower lip.

His gentle insistence, coupled with his brutal thrusts made your body run hot and cold.

Goosebumps erupted across your skin. You were growing dizzier and hotter.

You gasp—fuck, fuck, this is too much—and he tells you just take it, darling.

Take it for me.

He nipped Your earlobe, pushing deeper against your body. 

Does it feel good? Are you close? 

Squeezing your eyes closed, you nodded.

Yes, Sylus… almost… 

Good, he traced his tongue across the heated Seam of your mouth.

Give it to me, darling. Let go for me.

One request. You gave into him.

“Yes, yes,” you shuddered, digging your heels into his lower back. 

Sylus groaned, expressions contorting into painful bliss when your walls contracted around him.

He worked you through them, letting you stab your nails into his broad back.

That's it, darling. Give it to me. Come undone for your husband. 

Husband. 

Husband. 

The word sent an unrestrained quake straight through your soul.

Yet, the reality was far sweeter.

Sylus slumped on top of you, spent after releasing ropes of warmth deep inside your quivering cunt.

Languidly, he rolled you onto his chest, skin pressed to warm skin. You were spent, soaked and still wrapped around him.

The act of consummation was over. You finally belonged to him.

And for the test of his days, Sylus would make sure to show you how much you mean to him; going above and beyond to declare his love. 

“I love you,” he slurred into the heat of your throat. “Always have. And from the very beginning.” 

You nestled closer into his side, feeling safe in the warmth of his arms, finally allowing yourself to embrace the reality of this powerful man’s infatuation with you. 

Amidst the vast and intimidating grasslands, you had ensured your survival as the feared chieftain's wife, with Sylus unwaveringly by your side.

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost on other websites and claim as your own. do not feed my content to AI.

[moriche]

Inktober Day 10 - Nomadic

Careful not to be a bother, he explored the camp when the sun was out: an entire city, but with yurts rather than houses, tiny bantam guar penned in-between. Near the centre, some moulted silt strider shells formed semi-permanent shelters, used as storage whenever the Zainab lived here for a while. Their former owners towered in the distance, accompanied by a herd of their smaller silt hopper cousins. Fear in a Handful of Dust

India ink and watercolour on paper, 14,8 x 21 cm Pencil on paper, 14,8 x 21 cm

[soli-nepenthe]

A Hallowed Secret

A Wander in Wonder/Alternate

genre: romance/fluff

characters: Sylus & fem!MC

warnings: fluff/terms of endearment/hint of central asian steppe

word count: ~ 1800

When the warriors from the Kael tribe returned, they were dyed with the rich vermillion hues of the setting sun at their backs, looking like heroes blessed by the sun god Yaşk. They descended the last of the dusky green hills with rousing hollers as their sturdy steppe horses swiftly carried them towards camp.

Because the tribe had settled on the outskirts of the khanate capital, Tala, it was a relatively easy distance for a horse to cover. Many other grassland tribes did the same, for no matter how grand the walled city might be, it could hardly contain the multitudes that came to partake of the celebrations. It was a matter of tradition that participants would enjoy a respite at their leisure on the eve before a tournament. 

From your higher vantage point near a small grove of trees, your narrowed eyes searched among the stream of stout men for a familiar shock of silver hair. Your fingers forgot about the basket at your feet, absently fretting with one of the braids that Sylus had re-plaited for you that morning.

Oh! He’s back!

You felt your heart soar with relief upon spotting him. He rode nearer to the front, accompanied by the formidable warrior he had bested the day before in the races, a man named Tumur.

Tarna, who had observed your ever-changing reactions with quiet amusement, set down her basket of leaves, twigs, and berries for wreath-making, and nudged at your shoulder playfully.

“Ah, so, I wasn’t mistaken then. Your eyes show favor to Sylus.”

You turned to face her, trying to feign nonchalance.

“Well, it’s just that he was gone for a long while. He’s the kind to attract trouble wherever he goes.”

“Oh? Is he a troublesome one?”

Tarna kindly handed you your basket, already taking her first steps to head down to the celebrations that had begun in earnest. The gentle breeze already brought with it the tempting smell of roasted meats and fried bread and the aroma of sweet fruits from the yurts below. Even the gentle hum of voices, bells, and drums were setting the promise for a jubilant evening.

“Come on, then! You don’t want to fight off other girls who may want to throw their yoke over him.”

A bitterness settled in your gut at that friendly reminder, not that you didn’t appreciate her good intentions. Your hand reached for the embroidered pouch that you managed to finish in time. You studied the silky black threads with an unforgiving eye. The crow truly looked clumsy and amateurish.

Was there a point in offering this token to him? And would he accept it?

To these young women, it didn’t matter if Sylus was an exotic outsider. They surely appreciated his athleticism, horsemanship, and general boldness of spirit that were the makings of a warrior par excellence here. And even if this place was an illusion, everything about the people and their customs, to how they lived and loved, felt all too real. 

Thrusting the pouch back under your thick belt, you hastened your stride to match Tarna’s.

“Let’s go! I’m also kind of…. hungry.”

Tarna laughed.

“All is well. Let us get our fill tonight!”

The moon goddess’ hand mirror shone brightly like a lamp, casting the valley in a romantic silver glow by the time Sylus had come to seek you out. He had a rather unusual talent for singling you out of a crowd of thousands, whether it was in the dizzying tumult of a metropolitan plaza or in this pastoral tableau of people making merry.

“You’ve been hiding from me, my shepherdess.”

His towering shadow fell over you like a smoky veil.

After you had supped with Tarna and her friends, you did not have the heart to throw yourself into the festivities, given that your fate would be decided forever tomorrow. There were too many variables. Not quite understanding the reason behind your suddenly low spirits, Tarna did not push the matter further and left you to your solitude as you wished.

“Have I?” You finally raised your eyes to meet his keen-sighted ruby ones. 

Like the night before, he had tarried with the elders and men of the tribe, but this time he eschewed his role as poet-musician. He came to you with neither wine nor music to dull your anxious mind. You wished he had.

“Oh, yes, I believe so. You and Tarna appear to be as thick as thieves now. In passing, she admitted to me that she finds you pleasant company but… a strange one.”

You perked up in your seat. “Me? How so?”

“She says she knows of no other girl who, and I quote: ‘Makes love with fiery eyes to her beloved and runs away like a timid lamb the next’. Were you too shy to welcome me back?”

You could feel your face flush with embarrassment at her direct phrasing. 

“H-Hardly. Also, my eyes were not “making love” with your face. Or any other part of your body for that matter, just to be clear.”

“Of course not.” 

The familiar vexing smugness in his expression returned, a sight that would’ve had you seething any other day. But tonight, under the mystic light of the moon, you found that your heart was undergoing a different kind of turmoil. 

You had half a mind to flee to the sanctuary of your yurt.

Before you could implement such a hasty plan, a raucous and upbeat melody soon replaced the sentimental strains of the morin khuur. Young and old alike began to dance in a wide circle now, clapping and cheering, their faces tinged with the amber glow of the bonfire. 

It was clear how abundantly happy they were.

“Dance with me.”

The deep and pure tones of his voice were like a lifeline that tugged you back. 

He leaned forward as he offered you his hand. 

“I have two left feet! Besides, I wouldn’t want to cause offence by attempting a traditional grassland dance.”

“It doesn’t matter. No one will be watching us, I promise you that.”

You stared openly at each other for a long while, the rest of the world falling away as your gazes tangled together. It was a peculiar habit of late. Was it the effect of the thrumming music or was it the depths of his wine red eyes that made you feel almost drunk?

Taking his chance, he seized your hand that was absently adrift in the air, pulling you to your feet in one deft movement until you were chest to chest, snug in his hold. 

He pressed a reverential kiss against it.  

“Come with me, Şavanika.”

If you were guilty of only one thing tonight, it was for not always matching the beat. And yet, there were no tongues wagging in censure as you danced together in wanton revelry. Under his guiding touch, every hard line and edge of your body was smoothed away to airy lightness. The pair of you continued to laugh and smile, no matter how many occasions you stumbled into the safety of his burly arms. He caught you, unfailingly, every single time.

Slightly winded, with his chest heaving in a similar manner to yours, he looked upon you as if you were his whole world. Intrepid fingers pushed away unruly tendrils that had fallen over your eyes. 

“There’s…there’s something I want to show you.”

You took several breaths, trying to steady your own galloping heartbeat. 

“Lead the way.”

Even as he bore you away to a special place, you felt as though you could still hear the plucked strings of a zither, a divine and otherworldly tune, haunting your path. You gripped his waist tighter as his horse flew over wide blue plains and past silvery rills of water, looking like the fallen diadem of some earth goddess. But nothing was ever so magical as the sight of a cascade of water that sprang from seemingly barren heights into the gleaming opal-like waters of a lake strewn with stars.

It was a place of perfect untouched beauty.

“Tell me, beloved, is this humble gift to your liking?”

He helped you dismount with ease, one hand tethered loosely about your waist as he waited for you to speak. Venturing forward carefully, you drank in the sublimity of the scene, your eyes sparkling with a newly kindled light.

“It's…beautiful.”

It was impossible to remain profoundly unaffected by the splendour he lay at your feet.

“This place…is sacred and holy to all the tribes. And so, I vow to you, we will return home, whatever it takes. The beauty of this transient dream will always be with us, just as my feelings for you will never waver.” 

He paused to catch a lone tear that strayed down the curve of your cheek.

“Trust in me. In us.”

He stepped closer to you, reaching for your trembling hands. He was so warm.

In this numinous place, you felt as though each and every one of your senses had been ignited to a degree of poignant clarity. The man pouring his heart before you now was neither the enigmatic, devilish Onychinus head nor a brother warrior of the Kael tribe. He was just Sylus. And you were not merely an elite Hunter with a terrible weight on your shoulders. There was nothing here for you to prove. There was nothing here to fight.

You loved him. 

It was that simple. 

You were a woman in love.

Even if you couldn’t put a voice to those feelings just yet.

With countless emotions bearing down on you all at once, you edged closer, bracing yourself against the grounding solidity of his body. As the stars wheeled high above your heads, you held each other, locked in tender silence. After a moment, he bent forward, touching his forehead to yours. You could tell he was holding back, his eyes elated by the love he could see in your dazzling eyes. But for you, this tantalizing distance was no longer enough. Like the brushing of petals, you claimed his lips for the first time in delicate dreamy yearning.

“I trust you. Wholeheartedly.”

He breathed in your hushed words with a gasp of emotion, letting your lips linger softly against his, smiling, before you braved to close the space once more. As the kiss deepened, he held you achingly close, sweeping you into his arms in the way you had always wanted to be held by him — like a true lover. 

Whether this secret vow was blessed by the gods or not, you did not know. You believed in him and you had each other, and that was enough, whatever Fate willed.

On this star-studded night, standing together amidst this pristine wilderness, tomorrow felt too far away.

END.

Final Notes:

Thank you so very much for reading! This is my first foray into LADS fanfic territory, especially here on tumblr. I hope I was able to stay true to the feel of the characters as shown in the Grasslands Romance story, in view of their developing relationship. For me, I think we get a taste of who Sylus really is underneath the intimidating and luxe outer shell. He brought a lot of reassurance to an understandably worried but tries to play it off like nothing MC. I think Grasslands will go down as one of my favourite Sylus cards next to Nightplumes.

Please feel free to like and reblog or comment! But please do not copy/steal/feed this written work into AI.

Further notes:

The god Yask was inspired by a sun god in Turkic myth called Koyash. Although the original story had a more Mongolian feel, I thought it would be nice to kind of expand it to more of a Central Asian Steppe influence (so, I hope no one minds too much ^^;)

I was also partly inspired by John Keats's from Endymion introduction.

Anyway, adieu, gentle readers!

And special thanks to @strangergraphics for their beautiful dividers.

[zephyrrhiesfyrian]

Question: would buff Ingo (normal, regular real life buff, not that shit where every muscles is chisled but where despite the layer of fat there is still noticable musscle) be as cursed as mustache Emmet?

I'm asking this because almost everytime I think of it it sends shivers done my spine in a 'that doesn't look like a deer" way. Like, my man may have some muscles but he's depressed and malnourished, his bones will show underneath the lean muscles hes gained way. A healthy Ingo, I may be fine with being buff but regular Ingo? Must be a plywood plank that I think I can snap in half yet for some reason is used to construct houses.

Of course Emmet is not that type of buff either, more like a oh that lanky frame actually has some strength to it way.

HISUI ERA INGO LOOKS FUCKING INSANE UNDER THOSE CLOTHES, THIS MAN IS THE DEFINITION OF WIRY

Gaeric is constantly trying to get Ingo to find more healthy workouts and Ingo is just ◉_◉

part of the problem is that Ingo can and will forget to eat unless someone (Lady Sneasler) reminds him or he has guests at his yurt (half the time he's living in Lady Sneasler's den, helping with the kits, and he can't accurately tell what time of day it is)

Ingo is arguably only alive because Arceus feels guilty for getting him stuck here and because Lady Sneasler adopted him

Once Ingo gets back to Unova though, he continues to "work out" (he climbs on shit instinctively and it makes Emmet hysterical every time) while also having an actually decent and reliable schedule and food source, so Ingo will end up looking significantly less cursed XD

[letsgoletsgetit08]

It's A Trip! Ch. 1

summary: It started off as a joke, the proposition to road trip from the east coast to the west coast for Hongjoong and Seonghwa's wedding, but then Mingi said yes. And Jongho wasn't about to pass up that opportunity.

warnings/tags: mdni!, mxm, smut, recreational drug use, tropes, fluff, light angst, wooyoung is a little shit, jongho is whipped, au non-famous, siri play maknae on top by stray kids

pairing: top!jongho x bottom!mingi

author's note: I couldn't resist the idea of a little stoner road trip situation with unspoken feelings and Wooyoung trying to play matchmaker behind the scenes. Loosely based on the song of the same title by Joywave that got stuck in my head recently and fits the vibes, I think. Anyway. Enjoy!

word count: 21k (around 3.5k per chapter, 6 chapters total)

ao3 link: It's A Trip!

It's A Trip!

Day One

Hongjoong and Seonghwa were getting married. A destination wedding in the middle of Joshua Tree National Park, where they had rented out luxury yurts for their friend group to stay in. Everyone else had chosen to fly, considering none of them lived close by. But Jongho had a different idea: why didn't some of them take a road trip instead? 

He was half joking when he originally suggested it, but then Mingi was immediately game - something he hadn't exactly been expecting - and Wooyoung and San agreed as well. The latter part was not as important to Jongho (no offense to them). But he missed Mingi dearly, though he would probably never admit that. They lived a few hours apart now and going from college roommates to just regular adult roommates, seeing each other daily to maybe seeing each other a few times a year was quite the adjustment. It was weird not having him around. Empty. Jongho himself was the one who was technically gone, if you wanted to split hairs. He had taken a job as a voice professor at Brown after he had finished his masters degree at Juilliard, leaving Mingi alone in New York, where he worked as a music producer. Jongho hadn't realized how attached he had grown to the man until he was gone.

By attached he meant… well. He didn't really know what he meant. He had never thought of it as attraction, per se, when they lived together. But when Mingi moved out and they both started dating around, Jongho found himself unable to really care about, concentrate on, or be interested in anyone he had tried to date. He found himself comparing every single one of them to Mingi, subconsciously at first, but then when he became cognizant of it, it was very obvious and almost became a compulsive habit.

He found himself trying to explain his breakups to his friends, but the real reasonings were always left unspoken:

“Hyunjin is nice but he is always cold.” Mingi was always warm. 

“Taehyun is great except he doesn't respond to my jokes the right way,” the way Mingi would get them. 

“Chaeryeong is so sweet but she doesn't like to be taken care of,” Mingi liked to be treated like a princess.

He had no clue how Mingi felt about him in return. They had always just been friends. Although, to be fair, he was significantly closer to Mingi than he was to the rest of the friend group. Mingi had the uncanny ability to see through whatever facade he was putting on and would dig deeper without even really trying. Just studied him in a way others didn't, seeing past the surface. 

He was doing it now, in fact, from the passenger seat. 

It was 7am and he had just picked Mingi up from his place in Brooklyn in the rental car, a spacious and brand new Toyota 4-Runner. Mingi's idea. 

“We'll kill each other if we're stuck in a tiny Camry together for six days.” He had reasoned. 

He was right. Plus, the 4-Runner was really cool, he couldn't lie. 

His 4am departure from Providence wasn't wearing on him quite yet, but he felt tired just looking at how bouncy and full of energy Mingi was. The man always had a hard time concealing his excitement. His heart had done backflips at the sight of him bounding down the front steps of his brownstone, duffel bag flung over his shoulder, suit bag in the other hand, sunglasses on, black and ivory headphones around his neck. He looked better than Jongho had remembered, but as he entered the car with an enthusiastic, “What's up!” Jongho noted that he still smelled the same.

He had missed him so much. 

Jongho didn't say that though, naturally. Instead, he said, “You're too enthusiastic for 7am, Mingi.” 

Mingi barked a laugh, “I'm just excited to see you, man!” 

Jongho probably blushed, but turned his head to look out the window, hoping Mingi had missed it. 

“I'm glad to see you, too.” He mumbled quietly, only loud enough for Mingi to barely make out.

It wasn't too long of a trip to Philadelphia from New York, and Jongho couldn't help but mourn the only time he had with Mingi alone in the car as it passed too fast for his liking. 

He tried to make the most of it, making Mingi keel over with laughter as he sang every part to Bohemian Rhapsody, listened to him talk about the new artist he was working with, how excited he was for the album he was producing to drop, and to Jongho's surprise (and well-contained joy), the story about Mingi's somewhat recent breakup. It hadn't been super serious, but he seemed similarly dissatisfied as Jongho had often found himself when it came to his ever passing relationships. 

He felt even more chuffed as Mingi remarked, “It's not that I didn't like her, dude, it's just like,” he thought about it for a second, “No one is as easy to be around as you, Jongho. It's kind of annoying.”

“I know what you mean.” Jongho admitted. 

“Well if we're both still single at 40, let's just say screw it.” Mingi joked. 

Of course he was joking. Jongho knew there was no way Mingi saw him as anything but a friend, likely closer to a brother. Yet he still stuck out his hand for Mingi to shake to seal the deal, “Deal.” And he was so serious. 

He figured a platonic marriage of convenience would still be better than one with someone else whom he didn't even like half as much as he liked Mingi. 

It was over before he knew it, the drive feeling closer to twenty minutes than it had two hours. 

Soon, they were pulling up in front of Wooyoung and San's townhouse. The two of them emerged glued together as they always were, Wooyoung empty handed aside from his pillow, San insistent upon carrying their luggage for them, a gentleman as always. 

They were a little nauseating. 

Maybe Jongho was just jealous. 

Wooyoung met Jongho's eye from the backseat via the rear view mirror, giving him a deviously knowing look. He was the only person on the planet who had an inkling about Jongho's feelings for Mingi. Jongho was sure that meant San knew, too, but he was much more inclined to stay out of it than was his fiance. 

Jongho rolled his eyes at Wooyoung, earning a wicked smile in return. 

Of the eight of them, he and Wooyoung acted the most like siblings. The fact that they were the closest in age probably contributed to that. Jongho hadn't even intentionally told Wooyoung about his feelings for Mingi - the man was just an annoying pest and happened to notice how much Jongho talked about him after he moved out. When Wooyoung had pointed it out, acting as if he had just stumbled upon Jongho's deepest darkest secret (which honestly, he basically had), Jongho hadn't even been able to think of any believable way to deny it and Wooyoung had taken that for what it was, an endorsement of the truth.

Wooyoung had insisted on being in charge of planning the road trip and had calculated that they could make it in plenty of time, an entire two days to spare (one for the bachelor party, the other for the rehearsal), with only three nights spent on the road, meaning each day entailed on average around ten hours of drive time. With four people to rotate through, it really wasn't that bad. Their destination that night was Knoxville, Tennessee, with the idea of stopping in Nashville and Memphis the next day before ultimately arriving in Fayetteville, Arkansas for their second night. Fayetteville was slightly off the path, but it was a college town and Wooyoung had found, “the cutest little Inn!” right on the street downtown where all the college kids partied. They themselves were all only five or so, give or take, years out of undergrad. The last night would be spent in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Also a little off the path, but “It’s Santa Fe, you guys. Come on. It's Santa Fe.” The sentiment meant nothing to the three of them but they trusted Wooyoung. Because he insisted upon them doing so. It would be fun. Trust Wooyoung! That could easily have been the theme of the road trip. Just trust Wooyoung, everything will be great. And really, he did. They all did. Wooyoung had almost a sixth sense for things like this. Everything he touched, planned, organized, whatever have you, turned to gold. It's a big reason Jongho felt comfortable with his friend knowing his secret. Part of him thought maybe, just maybe, if Wooyoung was involved somehow, that things with Mingi would just magically work out. 

By the time they reached middle-of-nowhere, Virginia, Jongho and Mingi had both had their turns driving and were switching off to the back seat so that San could take over, Wooyoung joining him up front. 

Wooyoung had cornered Jongho in the bathroom in the gas station at which they were refueling the car and themselves, “You need to tell him how you feel.” He said in a rush, quietly, just in case.

“Hell fucking no.” Jongho replied, “I will not be saying anything unless I have cold, hard, proof right in front of me that he has any sort of feelings towards me outside of friendship.”

Wooyoung shoved his arm, “That’s stupid! I can see how he looks at you!”

Jongho huffed, “Wooyoung, you think everyone wants to fuck each other all the time.”

“Everyone does want to fuck each other all the time! Look at Hongjoong and Seonghwa! I called that before literally anyone.” Wooyoung argued. 

It was true. Jongho couldn’t deny it. Well, he shouldn’t deny it, but he sure was going to, “I’m not convinced Seonghwa hadn’t tipped you off to that at some point before. You really can’t take credit for predicting that.”

Wooyoung sighed, “Believe me or don’t but I did call it. And I’m calling this, too. You and Mingi will have confessed by the end of the trip. And I would put money on Mingi not being the one to do something about it first. Actually, I have put money on it. I owe San $200 if Mingi confesses first.” He looked stupidly proud of himself.

“God, I knew you would tell San! You two might as well share a brain.” Jongho pushed past Wooyoung, ignoring his empty taunts and threats as he walked back out to the car. 

Back on the road, Mingi was trying to work some on his laptop, but had to put it away, saying he was going to get car sick if he kept at it. Jongho was getting sleepy, but was too jittery and nervous being in the back seat with Mingi only a foot or so away. 

Mingi’s head tipped back, leaning on the head rest of the seat, his eyes closed, a somewhat pained expression on his face. 

Jongho couldn’t resist it, he reached up and moved a strand of hair off of Mingi’s face where it looked like it would be uncomfortably tickling his nose had he left it. 

“You alright?” Jongho asked him softly. 

Mingi nodded but didn’t open his eyes, “Yeah. Just getting sleepy.”

“Work isn't too stressful?” Jongho inquired, a little worried about him. Mingi was a perfectionist and had a hard time not letting little things get to him. Jongho had been there for more than one panic attack due to stress from a project but mostly from pressure put upon himself. 

“It is stressful. But it's okay. I've got better coping mechanisms now. Had to, without you around to look after me.” Mingi smiled, though his eyes stayed closed. 

“Okay. Well good. Get some sleep then, yeah?” Jongho insisted.

“Mmh yeah good call.” Mingi said thickly, already half asleep.

San had been pretending not to listen, but suddenly they were listening to a very dry podcast on European history rather than the music that had been playing. Wooyoung protested for a second - he had been putting on an unsolicited concert for the whole car, but San insisted, “Driver gets aux!” and shot a quick glance to the backseat, then back to Wooyoung, trying to communicate with just his eyes. Wooyoung seemed to understand and just said, “Okay, fine.” 

San found Jongho’s eyes in the rearview mirror this time, giving him his tiniest, proudest little smile, dimples barely visible. Jongho stuck his tongue out in reply.

Mingi’s head kept tipping forward and waking him up. Jongho noticed this and reached over to put his hand on Mingi’s knee, shaking it lightly to get the man to wake up. When he did, Jongho simply looked at him and patted his lap. Mingi understood and leaned over sideways until his head was in Jongho’s lap, fingers carding softly through his long, pink hair, falling asleep immediately. 

Eastern Tennessee was surprisingly pretty, Jongho had to admit. A big reason Wooyoung had agreed to this trip was because it was late October and the fall foliage was stunning. Perfect for someone who had recently taken up photography and had a natural talent for it. It would be interesting to see how it all changed from east to west as they traveled. Wooyoung had made several frantic stops on their drive so far, asking to pull over to marked overlooks, snapping a few quick pictures, then moving on. 

At least he was fast about it. 

After far too long in the car together, the four of them nearly stumbled on their exit after pulling into the hotel parking lot. Legs stiff, glad to no longer be sharing the same oxygen, at least briefly. Wooyoung had thankfully (begrudgingly) booked two separate rooms, after quite the protest, arguing that it would be like old times! A sleepover! The only thing that convinced him was San pointing out that they wouldn't be able to have sex if all four of them shared a room. That changed his mind real quick.

You could technically call it a hotel, but the three of them who weren't Wooyoung were a little dumbfounded at what they had just pulled up to. 

“You booked us Hobbit huts?!” Was the question making its way in some form out of their mouths. 

They had been asleep when Wooyoung pulled the car up, missing the sign reading “Ancient Lore Village” on their way in. 

“I think what you meant to say was ‘Wooyoung, this is so cool, we're so happy you booked us the Hobbit huts, how will we ever thank you enough?��” Wooyoung said smugly. 

Jongho hid his excitement, never wanting to give Wooyoung the satisfaction. 

Mingi looked at him and smiled, reading straight through him as always, but didn't give it away. 

“So when you agreed to book separate rooms, you-” Mingi started. 

“Booked the two bedroom Hobbit hut, yeah!” Wooyoung finished for him. 

Upon entering, (Mingi having to duck through the entrance), the hut was pretty fucking cool. Not an exact replica to the franchise, likely for copyright reasons, but the ambience was effective. 

Mingi told Jongho he could shower first, which he was grateful for. He tried to let the hot water relax his muscles, but all he could think about was the fact that he would be sharing a bed with Mingi that night. Imagination running wild, he had to calm himself down and push away the images his brain was feeding him of Mingi in bed with him, cuddling, or kissing, or better yet- no. No. He had to stop or he'd end up needing to take care of himself in the shower and that felt a little too lewd. He cranked the shower handle over to cold in a valiant attempt to snap the fuck out of it. It worked well enough.

He stepped out of the shower and into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist at the exact time Mingi walked into the room. 

Jongho would gaslight himself about this moment later, but he swore Mingi checked him out as he announced, “Pizza is here!” 

Jongho was frozen to the spot, “Okay, thanks, I'll be there soon.”

Mingi tucked his bottom lip under his front teeth, a habit of his that didn't necessarily indicate attraction like it might on most people, but Jongho could see it on his face. He was definitely checking him out. 

“You been working out?” Mingi asked, voice low. 

Jongho couldn’t help himself, flexing a little as he walked over to his suitcase, “Yeah, actually, I have been.”

He heard Mingi swallow, “Nice. Um. Yeah. You're looking good, dude.” 

Jongho pulled a shirt on, facing away from Mingi, “Thanks, it's good to know the hard work wasn't really for naught.” 

“Definitely not.” Mingi was digging through his own bag across the room now, pulling some baggies out that Jongho had a hunch on what they were. 

Jongho finished getting dressed after Mingi left and headed into the living room where Wooyoung and San were sitting practically on top of each other on a loveseat, leaving room beside Mingi for Jongho to sit next to him on the couch. 

San remembered he had packed a cooler full of beer and seltzers and got up to heft it inside, asking if anyone wanted anything. 

They did, of course, and Mingi used the opportunity of San passing out their drinks of choice to survey the room on his offerings, “I have gummies!” He pulled out the two bags, “This one is a blend, but this one is all indica. I use it to sleep but anyone is welcome if you're not a sativa fan.” 

“I thought you were more of a flower guy?” Jongho observed.

Mingi shrugged, not meeting his eyes, “You don't smoke though. For your voice. Right?”

Huh. He hadn't expected Mingi to remember that. Or be so thoughtful. “Oh. Yeah. You're right. Thanks!” 

Mingi pulled one of the hybrid gummies out of its bag, looking at Jongho questioningly. Jongho nodded, reaching for it with his hand. Mingi pulled his hand back, “Magic words?” 

Jongho couldn’t help but chuckle, “Please get me high, Mingi.”

Mingi smiled, opening his mouth to demonstrate what he wanted from Jongho. 

Jongho obeyed. The trip Mingi's hand took from mid-air to Jongho's mouth seemed to last forever, the look in Mingi's eyes dark as he placed the gummy on Jongho's tongue, finger applying pressure to hinge his jaw shut and encourage chewing. 

Jongho felt heat building low in his gut. It was hot. Mingi was hot. Did he have any clue what he was doing to him? Jongho turned away, uncomfortable from being under the spotlight, turning towards the pizza in front of them instead. 

The room was weirdly silent for a second. Wooyoung and San looking at each other, trying to ignore what they had just witnessed. 

Mingi was either oblivious or didn't care, and passed the bag over to the others before also digging into his pizza. 

None of them made it further than halfway into The Fellowship of the Rings (when in Rome, right?) before they were drifting off to sleep. The first quarter of the movie was spent with them raucously high, quoting the movie they had seen a thousand times, making fun of the parts that were fun to laugh at. But then the weed, the beer, the full stomachs and the long day seemed to hit all at once and Mingi was once again nodding off beside Jongho. Wooyoung was snoring softly, tucked into San's chest. 

Jongho shook Mingi awake, “Come on, let's go to bed. You've gotta at least brush your teeth.”

Mingi groaned, not moving. Jongho sighed and grabbed his arm, heavy with sleep, draped it around his shoulder and worked his other hand around Mingi's waist, helping him stand up. “Guys, go to bed!” He called to Wooyoung and San. They stirred sleepily as Jongho reached down to turn off the TV. San ended up bridal carrying Wooyoung into their bedroom since the man was refusing to walk on his own, whining and grumbling, bratty as ever. 

Jongho limped Mingi into their room, propped him against the bathroom counter, and dug through his bathroom bag in search of his toothpaste. He found them under a small bottle of lube and some condoms. Huh. Interesting. He probably just carried that bag with him when he was hooking up with someone. He shook his head to rid his brain of the dirty thoughts that were creeping in and helped Mingi brush his teeth. 

He was awake enough after that and went to flop clumsily straight onto the middle of the bed after stripping down to his boxers. Jongho swallowed. So Mingi still slept like that. Surely Wooyoung had booked separate beds for the rest of their trip. Jongho didn't think he could bear being in such proximity to a nearly naked Mingi the whole trip. It would probably kill him. 

He finished up in the bathroom then joined Mingi in the bed, not meaning to wake him up, but it was hard not to seeing as he had to roll him over in order to have room to climb in. 

Mingi made a dissatisfied noise, then when he realized Jongho was in the bed with him, mumbled, “Jong. Cuddle me.”

Jongho wasn't sure he'd heard him right, “What's that?”

Mingi reached back and grabbed Jongho's arm, tossing it over his waist, saying more clearly this time, “Hold me. Please?” 

And who was Jongho to say no? 

He slept in a t-shirt, unlike his friend, but still, the feeling of Mingi’s skin through the thin fabric of his shirt was doing something to his brain. He pulled Mingi close, jumping on the opportunity that was being presented to him. They fit together remarkably well, he noted as Mingi melted into the embrace, sighing a raspy, “G'night.” 

Jongho smiled into his bare shoulder blade, and whispered, “Goodnight, Mingi,” his mind spinning happily as he drifted off.

continue reading, chapter two here

[radioactive-metal]

Each squad Member as a Joke political Ideology

I feel like I should post cause I haven’t done that in a while. Casino fic is so close to being done it’s like 1 more chapter.

Cat: Liftocracy: the leader is whoever can bench press the most. Very simple. My girl hits the gym and can and would bench press Tyler if he would let her. It’s a natural choice.

Kal: libertarianism with Mongolian characteristics: You can do whatever you want so long as it involves riding a horse, living on the steppes of Eurasia, or drinking fermented horse milk. You also must live in a yurt. He raises horses with aurora and ferments his own horse milk. Very based and mongol pilled

Scarlett: chocolate coin Capitalism: it’s like normal capitalism but you are required to convince everyone you do trade with to accept chocolate coin as a valid form of payment. My girl becomes giga rich as she uses syldrathi empath powers and the equally powerful power of boobs to make ludicrous chocolate coin exchange rates.

Zila: Enlightened centrism: we biologically engineer everyone to be incapable of having a political ideology. How do we do it? Triple the CDC budget and lace the air with crack.

Finian: Fully automated luxury space bisexual cowboy techncracy: we all live in space waited on by robots and free to be creative and required to wear cowboy hats while also being bisexual and devoting all the GDP to science.

Tyler: Pentagonism: Triple the Defense Aurora Legion budget. Black projects my beloved

Aurora: Fantastical democracy: it’s normal democracy but you are legally required to pretend all technology is magic and that you live in fantasy land. I don’t know why. I think she likes wizard of oz too much. Pay no attention to the eshvaren behind the curtain.

Saedii: The young adult novel dystopia recreation movement: she read hunger games once and went “HEY LETS DO THAT! I LOVE BLOODSPORTS!”

bonus: Magellan: Súper happy fun time robot subjecationism: what if we replaced you weird meatbag politicians with robots? We could be inefficient and corrupt 500% faster!

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Top 5 things you know about succession

Greg got taken over by a parasite colony last season and his family still hasn't noticed even though he's like 75% bugs at this point. Connor explained that he's one of several husbands to a cannibalistic witch queen who lives in a yurt and Logan called him faggy. Roman is the only one who can see Gerri; he thinks she's a ghost but the audience knows she's actually a symptom of his progressing brain tumors. Matthew Macfadyen accidentally killed an extra on camera and they left it in the show because the entire cast reacted in character and it was actually pretty funny. Shiv can use force lightning.

[sibirsibir]

Yurts have been a distinctive feature of life in Central Asia for at least two and a half thousand years. The first written description of a yurt used as a dwelling was recorded by the ancient Greek historian Herodotus. He described yurt-like tents as the dwelling place of the Scythians, a horse riding-nomadic nation who lived in the Great Steppe - northern Black Sea and Central Asian region from around 600 BC to AD 300

[gallavich-gunk]

List of time fiona cries in Shameless(US):

Season 1 episode 8 "its time to kill the turtle" fiona is forced to work at a sports bar where she is objectified

Season 1 episode 9 "but at last came a knock" fiona is confronted with the first return of Monica and makes the point she was left to mother her children when she needed a mother herself

Season 2 episode 4 "a beautiful mess" goes to toilet after Craig heissener and wife come to the Gallaghers, not fully clear why she cries maybe as she's sad she let Debbie down with her party or she feels bad about sleeping with a married man

Season 2 episode 10 "a great cause"

She was relying on Monica to help with the family while she got her GED and started doing things for herself but realising after Monica crashed a car and stole the squirrel fund this wasn't going to work

Season 2 episode 12 "fiona interrupted" the fallout of Monica trying to kill herself

Season 3 episode 5 "the sins of my caretaker" Jimmy and fiona got into a fight because Jimmy got so upset his dad was gay and kept complaining while fiona had to dig up a body and then Jimmy left

Season 3 episode 6 "cascading failures"

The kids have been taken by dcfs

Season 3 episode 12 "survival of the fittest" Steve has left her and she just had to tell Frank he was dying because of alcohol and needs to keep himself alive for his kids

Season 4 episode 5 "there's the rub"

Fiona was just arrested after Liam got into her coke

Season 4 episode 6 "iron city"

Fiona is checked in at prison and again when on phone to lip about how Liam was harmed in the overdose

Season 4 episode 8 "hope springs paternal" everyone has left fiona alone in the house as she pissed everyone off especially lip who blames her for what happened to liam

Season 4 episode 9 "legend of bonnie and carl" fiona struggles to get a job and after being rejected by the cuppers goes and blames that dickhead brother guy

Season 4 episode 10 "Liver I hardly know her" fiona got stuck in sheboiagain and feels bad for fucking things up

Season 5 episode 6 "crazy love" had a long run of no tears but then Jimmy Steve returns and she cheats on husband gus with him

Season 6 episode 3 "the F word" fiona cries several times due to hormones but also dealing with a lot of family drama, dealing with the fallout of her marriage and navigating shawn having come off the wagon

Season 6 episode 9 "a yurt of ones own" after Shawn's son finds Carl's gun and he potentially loses custody he blames it on fiona and they temporarily break up

Season 6 episode 12 "familia supra gallegorious omnia!" Frank reveals shawn is still using heroine at fiona and Shawn's wedding and then shawn walks out on her

Season 7 episode 8 "you sold me the laundromat, remember?" Fiona has a hysterical breakdown whilst trying to fix the laundromat and everything going wrong at once

Season 7 episode 11 "happily ever after" fiona has to put etta in assisted living (honestly RIP Etta so was such a great character)

Season 7 episode 12 "requiem for a slut" She tears up a bit at Monica's funeral

Season 8 episode 6/7 "face it youre gorgeous"/"going down like the titanic" probably one of fionas biggest breakdowns of the whole series, she doesn't have lunch money, basically ford's a dickhead she looses all her money, her car and her apartment building and misses Ian going into prison

Then she leaves in the next few episodes and probably cries then too? If she does I missed it lol

Also please appreciate this data I gathered for no reason other than I wanted to✨️

[aladaylessecondblog]

Severed Destiny, Pt. 12

Morvani, after a good many more instructions, gestured to the ashes below, at a particular bone and a bit of leather beneath it. "I want you to take one of my bones, and the silver sandals I was wearing when they burned me."

"I thought that was--wasn't allowed," Haj-deek said, "To take things from family tombs."

"It's perfectly fine if you belong to the family and are being told to do it, both of which I am doing now," she said, "The bone will allow you to better ask for the protection of your family, should you need it, and the sandals...well..."

Here a rather devilish grin crossed Morvani's face.

"My sons will recognize them, if they have forgotten everything else of their mortal lives."

Haj-deek couldn't help but laugh at that, but then thought of something that quickly took it back. She made certain to speak only when she had knelt to take the bone (a knuckle, she thought) and ash-covered sandals. "I was told to close the entrance I fell into. What--what should I do? What would you have me do?"

"Do as you were asked. I do not want our tomb pillaged and plundered by bandits and thieves. Mark it somehow, so later you might be able to return...but do as you were asked. But before you leave - follow me."

"Follow you?" she questioned, as Morvani's spectral form left the ashen pile. "Where?"

"Someone must make the introductions, and as your father is unable, it must be me. It is time for you to meet your family."

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

As it turned out, one of her ancestors was formerly employed in ensuring a long-buried mine stayed intact, and was thus able to show her how to collapse the doorway. "Who would have thought that I could help a member of my house so long after my death? With simple knowledge from a lifetime in the mines?"

And despite her impending departure there was a small horde of Dagoths, of all ages, who would wait and watch her as she closed what had been their only link to the outside world in two eras.

It warmed her heart to see them so happy to see her and help her. Once more she felt the glow of no longer being alone...but it was neutered of its fullness when she watched the rocks collapse over the spot.

I will come back, she thought to herself, I WILL.

She could not think how to mark the spot, until she looked at her map. And making a rough guess - it was between two others nearby - she marked it, waiting carefully for the ink to dry before setting off for the Erabenimsun camp again.

Han-Ammu was one thing. He greeted her kindly enough, and after Haj-deek explained what she'd done, said, "I now name you Erabenimsun Nerevarine, Champion of the Erabenimsun, and Protector of the People. By collapsing the entrance of the tomb of House Dagoth, you have saved us all a great deal of trouble."

He directed her then to Manirai's yurt. The others of the tribe she'd met so far had been relatively friendly, but the wise woman's face clouded on sight of her.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"The shadow of evil is over you, child, that is what is wrong, and you must fight it."

"There's no evil over me. At least...no more than anyone else on Vvardenfell...I'm here to be declared Nerevarine. Not that I need it, really, because I already have the ring, but...I've guessed I should do this properly."

Haj-deek removed her glove and lifted her hand to show the ring. (Vivec had warned her to avoid this, but he'd also told her to come straight back from Tel Fyr, and she hadn't done that either...)

"Most unusual, and I will declare you Nerevarine - but please, take heed. Pray to Azura, show your faithfulness. Before it is too late."

It's already too late.

"Has--has she told you so?"

"I do not need to be told to know. I see the signs, more than I ever have before. The omens do not favor you, child, is what I mean to say."

"You--tell fortunes, then? I didn't know you wise women could see the future."

"We must be able to divine it to some degree, or we would not be wise women. Often our predictions come of spotting patterns that repeat over the years, of studying the personalities of those around us. And this you call fortune-telling! But no - sometimes visions we are granted, which we are always quick to write down."

"But you know nothing of me." Haj-deek looked to her feet. She'd changed into Morvani's silver sandals, liking instantly the high-quality yet worn-in way they felt, and the slight sheen on them was a good distraction. "Do you?"

"I have seen--" Manirai said, "I have seen you, dressed in the armor of House Indoril, skewered before Lady Azura. And for this reason I warn you - do not fight your destiny. Fill the shoes Azura has fashioned for you, walk the path she sets before you, and do not anger her needlessly, for I can only assume that is what would prompt such a thing."

Haj-deek merely nodded, refusing to lie to the woman's face. The lack of an answer concerned the wise woman, but nothing more was said on the matter. She was declared Nerevarine, and that was that.

But skewered? SKEWERED? That ugly word repeated in her head. The Indoril Armor, too...well, she'd just have to make sure never to wear the damn stuff. The ordinators didn't like it when people wore that stuff anyway, so it wasn't as if it would be hard to avoid. There were better armors to wear that wouldn't give trouble.

It was a good thing the woman didn't seem to know who her family was, or that would have made things even more difficult...might have even made her refuse to name her Nerevarine at all.

She decided to spend the night there, at the Erabenimsun camp, as they happened to have a (tiny) empty yurt, and were more than happy to show her how to set the thing up. She had a few herbs and an ash yam, and contributed a sea shanty when someone at dinner called for a song.

Despite the jovial atmosphere, the pall Manirai's warning had put over things persisted, and she went to sleep fitfully.

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

When Haj-deek opened her eyes again, she was...not sure where she was, other than inside of a cave that glowed at one end with a fire pit. Attempts to change the setting as she usually did in dreams didn't yield any results. The smallest details refused to yield to her.

So she waited.

And she heard him, before she saw him.

Who are you?

She started to say the name she had borne for fifteen years, but if he was who she thought--she answered a moment later, "My name is Sunnar."

The sound of footsteps. Haj-deek looked about, glancing first one way and then another, and saw nothing. But she blinked - and then he was there. She stumbled back, seeing for the first time the man in his entirety, the same as her mother had.

A tall dunmer, dark of hair, whose minimal clothing was all red and black - the loincloth marked with a Sixth House symbol. But it was the mask that stood out to her most - golden, impassive, completely unreadable.

She stepped back, reaching for a weapon subconsciously - and found she had none.

You do not need them here.

There was silence for a moment, and then his hands raised to her face.

So what I saw was correct, and not merely a trick of their blighted eyes. You are your mother's child.

"Y-your child," she stammered. If this was not merely a dream, perhaps he was speaking to her at a safe distance, afraid...of what, she did not know.

I fear--nothing, came the swift reply, in a tone that shook nonetheless. On my own behalf, at least. You have never been in greater danger than you are right now. You must--you must come to me.

"But the prophecies--?"

They have been dashed to bits on the rocks before, this time shall be no different. Know this - you are unsafe anywhere I or my faithful are not. The Tribunal seek your end, whatever the false god Vivec may have told you, he lies. He lies, he will do nothing but lie, and I will not lose you to his machinations.

Another pause, and a sudden stab of pain in her arm.

No... Dagoth Ur's voice choked, in a way she could never have anticipated, I will send my faithful after you. I will have you brought here, I will not let this happen AGAIN--

But from that dim-lit embrace she was dragged, from the world of dreams and into the world of the living.

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

Haj-deek gasped as she jolted awake. In the darkness of the small yurt she saw nothing at first--but then there was the glint of a lens. She felt the blade going into her shoulder, and with a shove the owner of it was forced back, without their weapon.

It was pulled out, and she cast a healing spell as she rushed forward to attack her would-be attacker, a movement which roused Sunchaser beside her.

Only once the attacker was dead and she sat tired and breathing hard, did she get the chance to check their pockets unimpeded.

There were no notes with words, but there was a symbol she could easily understand. The black hand.

Her attacker was one of the Dark Brotherhood.

[alrightbuckaroo]

Carlos: You're a miracle, TK Strand. My miracle and the greatest adventure of my life. And no matter where the journey takes us, I vow to be there be by your side

TK, who has yet to tell Carlos he wants to spend a year in Bali living in yurt with just him and Lou II: No matter where, you say?

[kayssweetdreams]

A "Perfect" Vacation Ch 23

Meanwhile, With Dolly, Roland and Misère...

Dolly didn't feel safe sleeping in the hotel. Maybe it was the fact that it reminded her a bit too much about her time back at PPP, or Ka Lā's attitude, or Maybe it was the fact that they were invited by a woman they have never even HEARD of before. But either way, she just didn't feel safe.

Even with her dad and Misère around, she couldn't help but get the same uneasy vibes that she had around Madame Prim, whenever Ka Lā came around her. "Don't worry Dolly. Maybe we can ask Ka Lā to give us a ride back to the mainland." Roland suggested, hugging his daughter and trying to keep her calm. "I have to admit...I can't help but feel a little uneasy here too." Misère said, her eyes shifting back and forth.

"Dad. You think that the others feel the same way? After all, Yuri and Kaylo had the same 'treatment' as me..." Dolly admitted, hoping her father would understand. "I think they do. If you don't feel comfortable, we can leave. After all. It's not like this is the school again." Roland said, rubbing his daughter's back, trying to keep her calm. "How about this: We find Ka Lā and ask her for a ride back to the mainland in the morning." He suggested. Dolly, while happy that her father acknowledged her fear, was also nervous about staying on the island for one more day.

"Don't worry Dolly, Everything will be OK." Roland said as he got comfortable in the tent he set up. No matter how much Ka Lā insisted, Roland refused to stay inside one of the room, instead, he brought a portable tent (a YURT. As he says) and set it directly in the forest, Claimed that it felt more like home. Dolly also had her own tent, but for some odd reason, she lost hers after one night. "Ok...Good night Dad." Misère said, making herself comfortable on a nearby hammock "Good thing that it's a warm night tonight." She said to herself as she closed her eyes.

However, the next time Dolly opened her eyes, she saw that she, her dad, and Misère were strapped down to 3 metal tables. Panicking, Dolly began shouting for them to wake up "Dad! Dad wake up! Misère! Get up!" She yelled. Unfortunately, her words were in vain, the two adults were knocked out. Struggling, Dolly attempted to wiggle out of her restaints, but to no avail. "Oh I wouldn't bother if I were you." A scarily familiar voice said. Dolly tensed up. She knew that voice ANYWHERE...and she didn't want to.

"M-MOM?!" She screamed in terror, watching as Ka Lā stepped out of the shadows. Dolly's breathing grew erratic. "K-KA LĀ?! BUT-HOW-BUT-YOU'RE" the girl sputtered, panicking as she saw the woman getting closer. "Now Dolly dear...it's improper for a girl to stutter." 'Ka Lā' said, making Dolly thrash and panic even more as she was now standing directly above her. "BUT HOW?! THE POLICE ARRESTED YOU!!" Dolly yelled, unable to fathom how her perfection obsessed mother was HERE. Although she was JUST arrested on the news. "Oh Dolly. You know that the quest for perfection never rests." Prim said, in a almost mocking voice.

"W-What do you want? I live with dad now and your school is destroyed. I have nothing you could want." Dolly said with as much bravery as she could in her voice. As much as she was terrified to see Prim again, she would NOT let her have the upper hand, and Fear her. Prim's eyes narrowed "Ah yes. Your stupid flower-loving, Tree-hugging hippie of a father has completely warped your mind. And my school is now in shambles, thanks to that bug loving brat, and her pink haired demonic friend. But don't worry...Mother is going to fix it all once more. Along with your new sisters." She said in a strangely calm voice.

Dolly grew confused. "Huh? What sisters? I'm an only child." She said. "Not anymore you're not. You and you're going to be a PERFECT role model." Prim said, her perfection crazed smile shining as she stood back...and revealed Yuri and Kaylo, everything that made them special gone, their eyes duller than a dull blade. The two of them gazed at Dolly and Prim with emotionless smiles.

"Good Day Dolly. Hello Mother..."

[irithnova]

Things Manchuria did during the Qing to unintentionally troll Mongolia:

Nomad LARP (even to this day)

"Mr Mongolia us #nomads need to stick together :3"

"...kys"

"Copy" Mongolia's traditional clothes

Based his own script on the Mongol script

"I can't believe Manchuria is using MY script...

"...Mongolia isn't your script originally based on the Uyghur script?"

Another case of nomad larping, used an "imperial yurt" for high profile events but this mf has never lived in a yurt/tent in his life

Literally went around wearing glasses with no lenses in them (didn't need them) just so he could look more similar to Mongolia

Was like "Mr Mongolia I'm also a patron of the arts, just like you were!" and shoves a painting covered in Emperor Qianlong red stamps in his face

Mongolia being mad that some new upstart is bossing him around and not seeing the sheer irony in that

"I can't believe this kid thinks he's a legitimate Empire!"

China's honest reaction knowing that everyone was saying the same about Mongolia a couple hundred years ago: ._.

Manchuria claiming common ancestry with Mongolia (other than unironically calling Mongolia his father)

Again, Mongolia not seeing the irony in him being mad at this when he encouraged Ilkhanate to do the same with Persia

Oh yeah Manchuria claiming Mongolia is his father

"Mr Mongolia... If I was alive back then (Mongol conquest era) I TOTALLY would have been your ally :3"

Mongolia, remembering the Jurchens (ancestors of Manchus): "....No the fuck you wouldn't have"

Mongolia going around claiming Manchuria has no culture of his own because all he does is "copy" and then getting mad when it's pointed out to him that everyone used to call him uncultured too

"OK but you guys were saying that because you were butthurt. I'm saying it because I'm right"

Mongolia... Getting mad that Manchuria wasn't collecting tribute from him correctly???

"You obviously have no idea what you're doing because this is NOT tribute if you're giving me something of equal value in return"

"...Mongolia I don't think this is something you should be mad about-"

"All I'm saying is that you're incompetent"

Some notes:

-Manchurians are a sedentary people, not nomadic

-The Manchus based their script off of the Mongol script

-The Mongol script was developed from the Uyghur script during the 13th century

-The patron of the arts part: The Mongols were very excited about art and yes they did patron a lot of art/ artists. Emperor Qianlong, who I am referring to, was a Qing emperor who was a bit... Enthusiastic to say the least. Whilst in Chinese culture, the way in which one engages with art is more interactive, Qianlong took it a bit far and stamped his seal all over quite a few paintings.

-The "Mongolia encouraged Ilkhanate to do the same" Ilkhanate was a subdivision of the Mongol Empire and essentially one of Mongolia's sons. The Ilkhanate ruled over Persia and yes, Ilkhanid rulers would try to claim common ancestry with Persians through the Sasanids to make themselves somewhat more likeable. What's funny is Manchuria isn't completely wrong for claiming common ancestry with Mongolia - most likely through the Donghu.

-The Jurchen are ancestors to Manchuria. Mongolia warred with the Jurchens of the Jin dynasty during his conquest era.

-Yeah the Mongols were called uncultured a lot during their hey-day

-Yes, the Manchus would give Mongol Lords, Dukes etc something of equal value when they'd pay tribute

[domesticatedanimal]

FFXIVWrite2024

Prompt 25: Perpetuity

Implied sexual content. Dawntrail Spoilers

At Dusk

“Do you ever miss it?” Sif asked, breaking a long silence. “Living like the Shetona, I mean.”

“I do.” Erenville seemed to consider something. Sif had learned to recognize the look he had while he was turning something over in his head. “Not all of it. And not all of the time, but when we’re out here, so close to home… I do.”

Sif followed his gaze. The pair were sat on the top of a dry hillock, trying to make camp on some borrowed ragged carpets. A great valley of golden grass stretched out beneath them, pockmarked with Shetona yurts and cabins. A dozen thin strings of campfire smoke rose up into the sky, each surrounded by a tiny cluster of life.

If she was honest with herself, Sif wasn’t entirely sure why they were still traveling, or where they were trying to go. Any semblance of a “northern tour” had run out of steam weeks ago. Now they just wandered, following streams until they ran into the foothills of jagged mountains unlike anything she had ever seen. Sometimes they would join up with migrating locals for a few days. Usually they were alone. At first, they shared stories to pass the time. Erenville held a surprising library of close calls and exotic adventures behind his mild demeanor.

But now they rode in silence, taking in the sounds of the plains. Wind sweeping down from the mountains to rustle the tall unkempt grasses. Giant hawks that would swoop down to inspect them, kicking up dust and letting out cries that made your ears ring. The energetic crackle of ceruleum burning in the distant cenotes that covered the wilderness with hundreds of tiny blue sparkles every night. On days when the ride had been easy, they would end the night mating, reveling in the open emptiness of it all. Wearing nothing but the moonlight on their skin, staring up into the impossible blanket of sky that stretched out forever, in every direction.

There was something they found in those moments that neither could really explain. It wasn’t boredom, nor stress, that they were seeking release from. Sif sometimes thought it was the air. The breeze was thick with the smell of grass and untrod soil, and it seemed to awaken some bestial craving in the pit of her stomach. Whatever it was, she found herself loving it. Erenville’s was the first male touch she had known, and that newness was intoxicating.

That day had been quiet and calm. A leisurely ride down an old hunting trail that the native Shetona kept clear and wide to make their valley more welcoming to outside trade. The sun was sitting on the horizon like a fat drop of honey. Sif was nearing the bottom of a waterskin she had filled with cheap and cloudy red wine bought from a farm they passed that morning. Her head swam deliciously in the alcohol, and she ached a bit, thinking of what would come later that night.

“How would you describe us?” Erenville asked suddenly.

The question hung in the air between them. Sif hoped it would just float away on the breeze.

“What do you mean?”

Erenville sighed. He knew she was deflecting. “I know what we are both like. I know that you are not planning on settling down somewhere and hanging up your swords. I do not necessarily want that either. But I need to know what your expectations are. I do not wish to give you false impressions.”

It was Sif’s turn to sigh. “Does it need to be so complicated?”

“No. But it cannot be nothing. We can stay out here for months, for years. But there is still a world out there, and we have a place in it. I need to know where we still stand when we get there.”

“I don’t know,” she exhaled, barely above a whisper.

“You don’t..?”

“I don’t know!” She felt tears in her eyes, and she hated herself for it. “I don’t know what happens after this. I don’t care what happens. Can’t we just take this for what it is? Damn it all! Just once, I want this to be easy. I don’t want to think about what could happen. I don’t want to think about the rest of the world.”

She jammed her palms into her eyes, feeling humiliated at the loss of control. “The rest of the world can burn for all I care. Fuck! Don’t I deserve to be a little selfish, for once? Don’t ruin this. Please, don’t ruin this.”

“All right.” His voice was calm. No hurt. No disappointment. “As long as we are out here, as long as this lasts, there is no ‘next.’ Only now.”

“Is that OK?”

“That is OK.”

Sif scooted across the threadbare carpet and leaned into him. Erenville held her, and let her cry out the rest of the tears. He didn’t know how many years of frustration were bubbling up, but he knew enough to let it happen. He spoke gently, describing what was probably happening among all of those tiny campfires in the valley. Making up little fantasies for each of the families, and creating simple dramas she could laugh at.

Despite Sif’s wishes, something changed between them. It had to. Erenville had asked the question, and brought complication into their little escape. When they came to each other, after sunset, the joy was still there, but the movements were different. The carnal and animalistic lust had given way to a hedonistic comfort.

He would always regret asking, but needed to be sure. In the end, they were both just running away. And neither wanted to confront what it was they were running from.

[tm-trx]

currents.33[2024]

selections from my week in media [11-17 august 2024]

[celebrating]

My birthday was this week (one of the milestone ones 😬) and both Onew and Taemin are in the midst of album pre-release promotions right now, so it's been a fun week.

[listening]

[loving]

That pool scene in Sunset x Vibes.

Akira's coming out scene in Life: Love on the Line.

[reading]

Half a Soul by Olivia Atwater {5 stars} - A very sweet fae fantasy. Dora Ettings is one of my favorite book characters I've read this year.

Idol Lives by KT Salvo {3 stars} - A satisfying conclusion to the trilogy of books about these two. I say that because the author is continuing the series next year but changing protagonists to kpop idols competing in a survival show.

Light of Stars (and the Destroyer) by Sanguis - MDZS AU

My Summer of You, vol 2-3 by Nagisa Furuya {4 stars} - Finished up this manga series and loved it. Slowest of slow burns, but seeing Wataru and Chiharu get more comfortable with each other and their relationship over the summers was wonderfully nostalgic.

[thinking]

There is such an interesting contrast between the intimacy portrayed in two of the shows I'm watching as they air: Sunset x Vibes is suggestive and takes its time, leaving a lot to the imagination. 4 Minutes is filmed closely, sometimes bluntly and it feels like you see practically everything. I think in practicality, you don't, which is even more fascinating and just shows how important filming style is to the mood and feel of a scene.

[watching]

4 Minutes, ep 4 - I was happy to see more back story filled in for Tonkla and Korn's relationship, but it really highlighted how little we know about Tyme. He's the second lead and yet the show is very focused on Tonkla when it's not following Great. Yet another thing to pay attention to on my binge rewatch. The highlight of the episode was that last scene between Tyme and Great. The focus stayed with Great's adrenaline rush longer than expected and it was lovely how Tyme's tenderness in response led to their first sex scene. It was just very well done all around. (Even though I found myself wondering where Great found a glamping yurt at that time of night and on such short notice.)

Life: Love on the Line (Director's Cut) {finished: 5 stars} - Um wow. My heart is full and yet again I've got no way to describe how a jdrama has left me feeling. It lived up to every good thing I've heard about it over the years. And the framing device using their ages was genius.

Monster Next Door, ep 4 - I really liked how deftly the show treated Diew taking steps outside his comfort zone, with God's very sweet support and encouragement. Also, God is a very funny drunk. I do wonder what God's character development will be because if they've hinted at it I missed it completely.

Sunset x Vibes, ep 10 - The past life scenes I've been waiting for yay. Does Sun have a past life too? He's not having dreams so I'm inclined to think no, which is disappointing because I like the shared reincarnation trope. I am still all ::chinhands:: about the way Sun is with Lin. I love him.

previous Currents posts

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