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razrogue · 17 days ago

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Let's Make a Deal (Rafayel)

Rafayel x Reader/You

Words: 1.5k+

Tags: mutual masturbation, smut

Notes: Thick thighs, soft tummy, and all that are mentioned. No beta, no edit, we ball (please be kind lol) 😂

Read on AO3

“Let's make a deal, cutie.”

He casually mentions as the two of you sit naked on his massive bed facing each other.

His hand slowly trails along the inside of your soft thigh, sending small sparks of pleasure down your legs with each swipe.

Your hand grips at his knee when his fingers lightly brush against you.

“A deal?” You ask him as your own hand slid along his outer thigh, resting at his hip while you wait for him to respond.

“Whoever comes first…”

Rafayel looks up at you, a hint of mischief in his eyes, and a sly grin on his lips.

You gaze at him, curious as to where he's going with this proposal, when his hand suddenly cups your breast and your breath hitches.

He rolls your nipple gently between his fingers before giving it a light pinch, eliciting a surprised squeak from you before you playfully swatted his hand away.

“Get to it, little fishy. What are you up to?”

Raf spreads your legs a little more, giving the both of you a better view of each other as he scoots a little closer.

“...has to do what the winner says for an entire day.”

Your eyes narrowed at him as he continued his leisurely rub along your thigh. When he reaches you again, his finger runs up and down your slit, swiping a little bit of you each time. With each pass over your clit, your back arches you forward into his touch.

He moves his hand back to your thigh as he waits for your response.

Your mind finally comes back to his proposition and you ready yourself to take him on.

With your hand resting on his thigh, you tighten your grip and confidently proclaim, “Sunset to sunrise and you're on.”

Rafayel leans in, “Kiss on it?”

Your lips meet his in a passionate embrace. Nipping and sucking each other, your tongues wrestle for a few minutes before you pull back slightly breathless. He knows you love kissing him and he knows what it does to you. You fell for it but try to regain your composure and focus.

He grins at you before reaching back for the lube from his nightstand and tossing it between your legs.

You pop the top and dribble a little bit onto his swollen head as you grab hold of him. The lube runs down his length and over your waiting fingers as you slowly begin to pump your hand.

He whimpers under his breath as your tempo remains slow and steady, making sure you're both covered. Your fingers graze over his slick shiny head, swiping at the clear fluid beading at the tip.

You smile at the way he's responding to your touch. He throws his head back as your hand moves up and down his shaft at a steady pace. Squeezing just beneath his hand each time you reach the top, delighted when he leans forward into your hand and you hear him moan your name. You're confident that you just might win as he starts to pump his hips a little faster into your hand, until you remember that he hasn't begun to touch you yet.

When Rafayel finally takes a deep breath and remembers the two of you are competing, he focuses with an intensity you weren't ready for.

His fingers spread your juicy lips, exposing your already wet cunt to the cool ocean air that's drifting in through his open patio doors. The tip of his finger enters you, circling around, making you clench, desperate to feel more of him but he denies you. He keeps teasing you, switching back and forth between circling your entrance and rubbing your clit. You're so wet from just his teasing that you forget the mutual part of the deal.

“You look so beautiful coming undone for me,” he remarks as his other hand grazes over your nipple, “but you're going to lose if you keep this up, cutie,” he teases as you notice you've let go of him and are holding on to his shoulders with both hands.

“Damnit Raf,” you hiss between shallow breaths. You reach for him again, determined not to let him best you since you were already developing plans for his loss.

You had tricks of your own and knew his body as much as he knew yours. You drag your finger over his head and down the bottom of his shaft and take hold of his balls. His teasing stops for a moment as he waits to see what you do. For the moment, you have him right where you want him and give him a small tug before squeezing them in your palm. Rafayel gasps and leans forward, resting his forehead against yours as he catches his breath.

“Oh you're mean,” he whispers between gritted teeth, shifting slightly as your hand continues massaging him.

You gently nudge his nose, “I don't know what you're talking about.”

He huffs and kisses your nose as he slips his fingers between your folds again. A slender finger slides in, watching your expression as he curls his finger and grazes that spot that makes your toes curl. Your stomach flutters as he goes in and out, each pass sending small jolts of electricity from your core to your toes and back again. Rafayel leans back and you catch a quick glimpse of a grin before he grabs hold of your thick thigh and slides a second finger into you. His thumb finds its place against your clit but just before he can find his rhythm again, you close your thighs around his arm in a desperate bid to stop him.

He bites his lower lip before he mouths the word NOPE to you as he scoots closer between your legs, freeing himself from your grip and concentrating fully on you now. You try but fail to keep your thighs closed, your body parting for him like your pride wasn't on the line. You resign yourself to your fate, hoping he doesn't have too much on his mind for you, and throw your legs wide open. Rafayel hums low in agreement, his fingers working again, slipping in and out of you. Your belly jiggles with each moan and whimper as you lose yourself to the motions of his hand. His fingers curl and that damn bundle of nerves makes your body quiver and shake for him but damn if it didn't feel good. The pressure in your core builds as he adds his touch back to your neglected swollen clit.

“Look at you, cutie. A wonderful mess all over my hand. Let me see you in all your beauty.”

Rafayel's hand begins moving faster, your walls clench around his fingers as you feel yourself losing more and more control until it finally breaks.

“Raf……….” You throw your head back and moan his name into the air as you grab hold of his arm. He holds onto you as you buck against him and roll through your orgasm, his fingers still in place, feeling every clench and getting covered with every drop of you.

Little by little as you come down from your euphoric high, he eases his grip on your hip as he reluctantly slides out of you. He held you so tightly to keep you from getting away from him that he left indents in your supple flesh. As you lay back on his pillows, pouting about your loss, you watch Rafayel lick you off his fingers before lying down on his stomach between your legs. His head rests on your thigh, observing the utter mess he made of you. You shiver as he breathes softly against your glistening folds. His hands run up and down your leg, caressing your soft skin.

“I can't believe I lost.”

Rafayel chuckles softly before turning his head to kiss your inner thigh, “That's ok, princess. You'll have another chance some day.”

He nips at your skin and soothes the spot before continuing, “Besides you wouldn't have beaten me today anyway.”

You raise your head a little as you push at his head to get him to look up at you.

“Hey, what do you mean by that?”

He realizes he's said too much and tries to distract you with a kiss to your clit but you shift yourself away from him at the last second.

He huffs aloud before he spills the details, “Fine! I had a little help today that kept me afloat so to speak.”

You prop up on your elbows to look at him. He gives you sad puppy dog eyes but you won't let him off this time.

“So you cheated???”

His cheeks begin to flush as he sticks his bottom lip out and avoids your gaze.

“You little shit,” you exclaim as you ruffle his hair, demanding his attention.

Rafayel looks at you, still trying but failing miserably to deter you.

“I will have my payback, little fishy. You can bet on it.”

Rafayel grins as his eyes widen in surprise before soften under your touch as you massage his scalp.

“I look forward to it.” He nodded in agreement before sliding a little further up between your legs.

“Now, sunset will be here soon and I have some delightful plans for you, cutie.”

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icewindandboringhorror · 1 year ago

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I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

#tumblr polls #hrmm... a little poll perhaps.. about a subject I find interesting.. since this image came across my facebook today #still really not feeling that well. no longer shaking violently and such but I still feel weird and weak much more than usual #They did say my markers for like infection or inflammation were elevated but that they werent sure of the cause so hopefully #it's nothing too serious. they did also say a lot of different things can cause that thing to be higher than normal but didn't go into spec #fics of what. maybe some of them are relatively benign or something. I still havent felt much back to normal since #I got really sick that one time though. I feel fine on and off but then little bouts of feeling weird and sick happen. hrmmm #ANYWAY.. looking for small ways to be productive. such as little doodles on evil ipad or editing game videos #or posting polls or cat pictures or some other like not very labor intensive things #I WISH I COULD FOCUS on writing HHRGGhh... I need to finish my game.. it would be so freeing.. a project that's been looming #over my head for like 5 years even though througouht that 5yrs I've probably spent a total of 3 months working on it lo.. ANYWAY #I still partially really cannot beleive that people CAN see stuff in their heads. There's always part of me that's thinking like. well mayb #e everyone DOES see the same exact thing but we just describe/conceptualize it so differently that we think we're talking about #different things when we're really not. But I have been assured by people I've talked to about it that they can GENUINELY really see #stuff in their heads like as vivid as an actual picture in real life or something. And the other senses are neat too. Like for exmaple I #can hear in my head much better than I can see imagery. I still CANNOT hear vividly like as if I were listening to actual music out loud..#but I think it's developed more than my sight. AND interesting how this varies the creative process. a friend I was talking to on the phone #said they write by literally just watching stuff play before them like a movie. where my process is COMPLETELY different. AND that affects #the content/what details we focus on as well as our individual styles of writing have differences that can be traced back to that.. hrmm

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dukeofthomas · 2 months ago

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I can't find it now but there's a post about suspension of disbelief and how it's broken when the story starts trying to excuse it. "character gets knocked unconscious for hours but there's no further issues from this" okay 👍 "and actually this makes perfect sense because of this and that" um no it doesn't why are you lying to me. like i am willing to ignore the holes and the discrepancies!! all you need to do is let me and not bring unnecessary attention to it!!!

and all that is my issue with the whole robin child soldier argument. like i am willing to ignore it i am willing to engage with the fantasy literally all you need to do is NOT try to convince me that Actually It's Fine Because They Want To Do It or whatever. like literally just shut up about it and i can engage with the fantasy!!

#my dc posting #dc #robin #batman #like. if you want to tell a story and not worry abt the child endangerement thing just DONT BRING IT UP ???#all you're doing when you bring it up is telling me this is something i'm allowed to think abt when it comes to the story #and then you tell me Um Actually It's Fine ?? no! what the fuck are you talking about!!#i am tryinggggg to just have fun n read fics your lil “isnt that child endangerement and kinda fucked up?” “no actually they wouldve done i #anyways bla bla bla batman couldnt have stopped them bla bla bla''#is COUNTERPRODUCTIVEEE #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #<- tagging the robins sorry #sorry this just. this topic annoys me so much #...also ''batman couldnt have stopped them/they wouldve done it with or without him'' are literally #just factually incorrect in jason's case. he did not in fact start on his own and the only thing batman wouldve #needed to do to stop him is literally just NOT make him robin BUT- at this point im just beating a dead horse on that topic #w how many times i bring it up lmao #like. in real life you cant just knock a person unconscious for hours with no consequences on them.#but i dont care when it happens in fiction despite being not realistic!! bc its fiction!!!#unless of course the characters out of nowhere do a lil sidequest PSA abt how actually doing that is fine #and completely safe with no risks #yknow??#like if that happened id be annoyed and like no its fucking not fine why are you trying to convince me. just move on and dont bring it up #and I wont bring it up #anyway. yeah these are just some thoughts im having rn sorry its not more coherent and put-together i cant be assed rn lmao

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aroaceleovaldez · 9 months ago

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im really not a fan of Rick's recent trend of recycling bits of his writing that got a good reaction the first time and acting as if that's a valid substitute for. actually bothering to write something original a second time around. It's clearly just there as a callback and nothing more.

It's "Nico's rage exploded" and "Percy's rage exploded" with the exact same paragraph formatting. It's CoTG having titles like "My Singing Makes Things Worse, and Everyone Is Totally Shocked" (reference to TLO, when Percy says he thinks his singing would cause an avalanche) or "Pretty Much the Best Good-Night Kiss Ever" (reference to TLO "Pretty much the best underwater kiss of all time") or any other number of near word-for-word references to the first series. It's Nico calling Percy "seaweed brain" in Un Natale Mezzosangue (when Percy says in TTC that anybody but Annabeth calling him that is a major offense). It's Nico and Will falling into Tartarus in TSATS word-for-word referencing Percy and Annabeth in House of Hades, despite it not making any sense for their characters (and otherwise being written as Percabeth 2™). It's the show making huge changes but keeping random "fan-favorite references" (mostly overusing "seaweed brain" and "wise girl" and emphasizing percabeth) only because they're popular in-jokes and considering that a faithful enough adaptation to market it heavily as such. It's lazy writing.

And it's a disservice to the series and to the audience, because it clearly shows Rick doesn't have original ideas anymore (though given all his writing is heavily derivative to begin with, it begs the question how much was original in the first place and how much he has difficulty when he doesn't have a structured mythological plot to work from) and that there is an expectation that the audience will just sit down and accept that behavior hook-line-and-sinker. Everything recently is clearly such lip-service to the audience, either in retcons that are overt speaking-to-camera acknowledgements of things he's been criticized on or wink-wink-nudge-nudges of community in-jokes that have no business in the actual text (see: over-use of ship names in canon). Especially since Rick tends to be about 5 years behind on the fandom uptake. It's just so disappointing to see.

#pjo #riordanverse #tsats crit #pjo tv crit #rr crit #< OH BOY A TRIPLE #MCGA's reference to Jason's concussions in the chapter titles is on thin ice but can stay for now #callbacks can work! in-jokes and references can work! see: Percy's dam joke in Son of Neptune #or Percy in the musical making the joke about his singing causing an avalanche as a reference to TLO #or any other number of references in the musical #but you need to know when they belong and when they ABSOLUTELY DO NOT #and when it's a fun nod and when it just feels like you're copying your own homework #a great example actually - i was recently reading an *excellent* fic by @vivitalks #and in it Jason uses the phrase ''you knock me out'' as a fun nod to Jason's ''you're a knock-out'' in TLH #that's a good little reference! that's how you do it!#a character who has already used one phrase uses a similar phrase. because theyre the type of person to say that phrase.#that's already been established. and it highlights something about their character that they return to that phrase #in that fic it highlights that Jason is a total dork especially when it comes to romance #Percy's ''dam'' joke reference in SoN works because it's only used once very briefly and it's very quickly brushed by #and it's literally Percy making a reference to his own past and acknowledging that he's doing that. it's his own in-joke! that's reasonable #it's not reasonable to expect FOUR DIFFERENT PEOPLE to have the EXACT SAME REACTION to FALLING INTO SUPERHELL #especially when they're established to all be EXTREMELY DIFFERENT CHARACTERS with DIFFERENT DYNAMICS #long post //

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daeyumi · 4 days ago

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Cycle of the Stars

Prologue I:

Protosphere

***

THUD.

A wave of sensation washes over them, vague and fleeting, like light filtering down through deep water.

Colors.

Thoughts.

The impression of someone calling out to them from far away, obscured through the blurry images that whisper across their eyes.

THUD.

Silence. Oppressive and heavy.

It feels familiar somehow, this weight. A long forgotten dream. They feel that they’ve known it before.

They think they feel a sense of self. An identity against the current of infinitum, one blot on a blank sheet of paper. A tangible presence. It dissipates the next moment, rolled away on the tide.

‘Before?’

Not understanding the comparison, they sit alone with the word and it’s implications. More colors spring forth to their eyes, unbidden. A lone figure on a hill, his back to a ruined land. Red and grey and black. The gold-tinted-orange of a dying sun, bleeding out over the empty horizon.

A vast expanse of dying grass, crowned with innumerable gravestones. Grey earth, grey sky, grey stone. An aftermath, a finale. A beginning. A single swatch of green, kneeling before a headstone. Life among death.

A hole in a gnarled tree, leading down, down, into the recesses of the world, swallowing life and soul and self.

A call.

A name.

A word.

Link.

The connection, the void.

Everything and nothing.

The colors swirl before their eyes in an infinite flash of space and time.

THUD.

Memories? Visions? They try to close their eyes against the current of impressions and find them to be already closed.

THUD.

Mind racing, as if fighting through the muddy currents of a storm-bloated river. They can’t understand. Thoughts begin to feel impossible. Even the whirling forms within their mind’s eye start to close in on them, oppressive and threatening. Moving so quickly that the sound deafens their ears, crushing the blunt silence with an overwhelming pressure.

They crack open their eyes and find no relief in the cold darkness that envelops them, somehow moving even faster than the nauseating colors that threatened their closed eyes moments previously.

THUD.

Thud.

Thoughts begin to slow, finally finding relief in the void beyond cognition. The intangible shapes and patterns flow languidly now, a comforting caress to replace the constant barrage on the senses. Blue. Like the shallows of a river that stretches to the horizon, through which can be seen the blue sky above, falling off into infinity. Above and below. An all encompassing finality to contain the world. Blue and green and the serenity of the day’s end.

Gradually, they become aware of a clenched fist repeatedly making contact with a thick pane of glass in front of them.

Thud.

A hand. An owner. Belonging. An emptiness to once again overtake the soul, blotting out the essence of the previous inhabitant to make way for new images to stamp their impressions on its walls.

Confinement.

A separation in the everything.

The e v e r y t h i n g

thud.

n e v. e r e n d. i. n g

thud.

thud

The quieting pulses are forced to one final crescendo as the hand, unbidden, makes a last desparate strike against the unmoving surface, shattering the barrier of the world.

Heavy glass bursts outward from the threshold along with a surge of viscous liquid, pouring out toward the ground; the draining substance revealing a limp, convulsing pile of limbs and torso, frantically coughing up fluids from their burning lungs. The sound of draining pressure coincides with the roaring in their ears and the desperate cacophony of retching and wheezing before falling uncomfortably silent; the only sound the steady ooze of solution falling to the ground far below in steady droplets. Drip. Drip. The solitary rhythm of measured time.

A heartbeat passes and they stir, blue eyes opening slowly as if wading through still water. Weakly, they try to raise their head to the glow of intense light radiating from above; their muscles strain tensely before falling limp again, exhausted.

Trapped.

The walls seem to close in again, threatening their inhabitant once more with darkness and manic imagery that still flashes before them when they close their eyes to blink. Forcing limbs to move, straining for something, anything but the paralyzing numbness that binds them. One motion at a time; but their muscles won’t obey, their mind won’t respond. Pain. Stagnation.

A hand passes through the right side of the eyes’ range of vision. Slender, pale fingers to match the hand from earlier.

Their own hand.

Panic sets in amid a tangle of flailing limbs.

Coughing, gasping for air, the pallid figure claws against the side of the cramped enclosure, hands scrabbling to find purchase on the smooth interior. Shaky fingers finally make contact with the shattered remnants of a glass wall in the side of the tank and grip weakly to the edge of the hole in the room, still dripping a slow current of colorless liquid onto the empty stone floor far below. In between ragged breaths, they start to pull themself desperately toward the edge of the enclosure. Muscles quivering from disuse, chest heaving from exertion. With a final effort, their body clears the opening and slides down to the floor below, landing with a quiet splash that shatters the silence in the cavernous chamber beyond the broken tank.

He lay unmoving for a moment, save for another round of violent coughing.

It takes everything they have to lift their shoulders off the floor, still-bowed head following suit. Hunched over, their weight barely supported by quivering arms. They try to lift their gaze and immediately retch again, a repulsive mix of bile and clear fluid spilling over the exposed skin of their legs and onto the panels of the already wet floor beneath them.

Bony fingers clutch at an emaciated throat.

Can’t—

The room spins and they fall the short distance to the floor.

Unconscious.

Unmoving.

Sodden, pale hair clinging to a thin frame. Skin, and bone, and earth. A birth or a battlefield.

The last gasps of echoing sound die alone in the vast recesses of that empty room, smothered by the endless labyrinth of tubes across the vast ceiling.

***

He woke.

A thick darkness suffuses the room, broken only by the cold blue light flickering through the thick haze that obscures the edges of their vision. The trembling figure pushes himself up on weak arms, bleary eyes surveying the landscape before them. Fallen pillars on the ground, crumbled beyond recognition until they snaked across the cold stone terrain and beyond to the edges of the horizon, starlight glinting off them in irregular patches. Beyond, small shapes protrude from the ground, obscured by fog and distance. Shrines? Homes? Some even show a faint glow of light that cuts through the mist.

Their head spins.

Blue eyes hazily follow the swirling patterns from the base of a row of short pillars up to the top where they meet the sky, seamlessly melding into the azure heavens.

An endless expanse of sky and clouds, above and below. All encompassing. Lightning without rain.

With effort, he directs his gaze to the pinnacle of the sky.

Six identical moons above, surrounded by a myriad of stars, trailing constellations back down towards the earth. Blue. The blue of the night sky, whose weakly blinking stars, too, are never strong enough to illuminate the land below. The blue of the deep ocean, where forgotten kingdoms sleep in disrepair, the same as the dilapidated landscape they see before them. Remnants of a broken empire. An unnatural blue, made worldly only by age and disuse.

Ages of….

A heavy weight overwhelms them, as centuries of water carving deep fissures through mountains; and they collapse to the ground, exhaustion reclaiming its hold on the figure once more. Cold. The void of the cracked tile below shoves daggers into their skin, leeching what little strength they had and reducing them to a crumpled heap on the frigid stone floor; the repetition of choppy, shallow breaths the only sign of life.

Another wasteland, empty as before, piercing white. Scattered glass upon a vast field. The cracks between lead down, down into the black oblivion of eternity, where all things are null, as time itself, as life, as identity, as color; and above, the frozen world. Colorless, unbroken.

Silent.

Melancholy; the soul of the interloper. Convergence. Concurrence.

Passed beyond knowing.

A lone tree in a grassy field.

Faces obscured behind titles and grand deeds.

Stories.

Legends.

“The face in the glass… is that the real you?”

They felt they should know… something. A past, a future. An identity. Surely they’d had one before?

…Before?

It’s empty; like walking a corridor lined with doors made of possibility that turn to dust at the moment of approach. A glass room bounded by mirrors and crystal vases filled with water. Tangible but hollow. Repeating in on itself with every refraction until the thin lines of light and shadow mean nothing to the perception of an observer.

Connections.

Thoughts.

Disorientation as one thought reflects back above the others.

Resonance.

The impression of a name. Link.

They felt sick again, and then they felt nothing.

***

The stars still shine above when they wake, crowned by those too-consistent moons. Not moons and stars, Link realizes as their vision steadily begins to clear. Too perfect to be….

Gingerly, they try to uncurl themself from their position on the floor and find that their body does work, though made none the easier by their atrophied muscles. He stretches out a trembling hand, placing it against the smooth floor and pushing himself upright. The air smells stale and slightly damp as Link looks around, cataloguing the shapes that their eyes hadn’t been able to make out before.

Strange figures in the fog solidify themselves into derelict machinery.

The walls are lined with rounded devices that give way to wide panels above, decorated with carved patterns of lines and circles evoking myriad constellations in a night sky; the points of the stars glowing faintly with ethereal blue light. Most of the light in the room, however, comes from the six identical skylights crowning the apex of the chamber. The “moons” Link had noticed previously. The large round lights form a circular pattern around the top of a singular central pillar in the room. A pillar which was not, in fact, a pillar; but the shaft of the massive incubation tank that, Link realizes with growing horror, they themself had occupied until just recently.

With difficulty, he shifts his position from where he sat on the floor, gradually turning around until he sits fully facing the massive apparatus. It is made of a hard material, more akin to stone than metal, and cool to the touch; an ominous column that bows out as it reaches the floor to make room for the cavernous space inside like a gaping maw. Link shivers as they reach out their hand to place it on the raised pattern of the tank, rough and almost porous in contrast with the sleek underlayer. It reminds him of a stomach, he thinks, or perhaps a tangled mass of intestines, with its maze of uneven lines twisting and curling in on themselves. They feel vaguely sick again but curiosity forces them to keep looking anyway, noting that the center of each circle in the pattern houses a window of varying sizes, some seeming to lead to other tanks, adjacent to the main belly but many times smaller in size. Empty.

Empty, too, is the largest chamber of the incubation tank, looming above their thin frame like a drooling mouth, with shards of shattered glass forming the teeth at the edges of the main window. Link hasn’t the strength to stand and look inside. He doesn’t think he could stomach the sight anyways; flashbacks to the manic fervor of trying to escape already rising to the surface of his memory.

Their eyes drift instead to the base of the structure, where thick tubes as wide as Link’s own torso run out towards the edges of the walls, joining with other machines and even to the wall itself. The tubes glow faintly where patches of the outer material has peeled away to display the translucent membrane beneath. It’s apparent that they would have been used to transport the clear liquid into, or out of, the massive cistern. There’s no current running in either direction, but Link wonders if they house the vile solution even now. They force themself to look away, swallowing hard.

From his vantage point in roughly the center of the stone floor, Link can make out precious little else about the darkened room. More tubes cross the ceiling, traveling again the distance between the walls and the central pillar and meeting it, Link presumes, at the top; though they aren’t going to risk passing out again to crane their head to see. More strange shaped rubble gathered around the corners of the room. Link can’t even begin to guess its source, as none of the constructs nearby seem to be crumbling or missing pieces.

Their wandering gaze solidifies on an incongruous shape sitting amongst the wreckage. Curious, and without any other course of action, they begin to crawl towards it.

The object in question reveals itself to be a small ring about the size of the palm of their hand. It appears to have once been a perfect circle, adorned in symmetry with the same constellation pattern as the walls of the cavernous room; now sharing in its fate. Broken and discarded, dust and other refuse clogging the fine grooves in its surface. A crack runs across the rounded surface, culminating in a sizeable chip missing from one side.

Link picks up the ring with a trembling hand, fumbling it once before gaining a steadier grip. It’s made of a similar material to the tank in the center of the room, but judging by its size must have once been a piece of something larger.

The image sticks in their mind as they continue to scan the room for anomalies among the mess of machines and wires running the perimeter of the vast space. A forgotten tool lying alone in the wreckage of a desolate land, buried with the past.

The parallels to his own situation seem significant somehow.

He finds his fingers curling around the ring instinctively, though his eyes now look past it, focusing on a dark gap in between some of the panels on the wall to his left.

The exit.

Or so he hopes. A brief flash of fear crosses Link’s mind, imagining a passageway closed off with more of the rubble before him. Trapped. Apprehension washes over him, imagining the suffocating embrace of the water inside the tenebrous vessel. Why was he even here? Alone? The rest of the room is empty, the machines deteriorating and, as far as Link can tell, inactive. Is there more to this place? The sheer number of control units along the walls suggest there should have been a sizable number of people to operate the facility. His mind balks at the implications of his solitary confinement to this place. The sole inhabitant of the tank, the sole inhabitant of the room. How long..? Memories of the interior of the tank are replaced by thoughts of a sealed chamber, no doors to be found on the smooth interior; or a narrow exit blocked by collapsed rubble. His breath quickens and new images flash before his mind. Bloody fingernails capping raw fingers, scrabbling at the walls, bruised and bloodied knuckles; and still the harsh, unmoving stone of the enclosure, one person unable to do what only time can accomplish, unable to tear down the boundaries, to free themself. An agonizing death by starvation. He doesn’t want to think about the alternative.

It’s too much.

He tries to fight through the rising alarm, shoving it down to the pit of his stomach along with his nausea. Deep breaths. Clenching his fist further, driving nails and the imprint of a stone circle into the palm of their hand. Forcing themself to lift their gaze once more to their destination.

Link shakes their head to clear it and immediately regrets it, the throbbing in his head only intensifying with the movement. I need to leave this place.

***

The hallways beyond the central tank chamber are more of the same in appearance. The now-familiar constellation pattern decorates the upper part of the walls, while the lower portion is tessellated with the twisting pattern of curved lines in chunky relief, boundaried by a single line of the same raised, rough material running unbroken down the length of the hallway. It is this conformation that Link clings to as they make their way down the dim corridor, leaning their weight on the wall as they half stumble, half pull themselves along the wall with shaky arms; making up the difference for their protesting legs. It’s the fourth hallway like this they’ve encountered, though there had been only one exit from the incubation chamber. The path had split often, at first, and he had needed to retread the same paths multiple times in places as he met with many dead ends in the labyrinthine halls. They had passed other compartments on their quest to find the exit; small rooms bare except for a couple sparse beds with thin shelves jutting from the walls beside them. An impossibly tall chamber with a vaulted roof that seemed meant for storage, but held nothing but dilapidated shelves and crumbled debris. A locked door at the end of an agonizingly long hallway for which Link did not have the key, nor the strength to try to open. They fervently hoped it didn’t lead to the exit. The door had felt cool to the touch, but Link had been forced to abandon it to continue his search down the previous passageways.

This whole place is abandoned.

Though he knew it already to be true; the deafening silence betrayed no signs of life. Link’s own shuffling footsteps, quiet though they are, are the lone sound in the eerie gloom.

He feels more lucid, now, though his head still pounds and his vision still swims even from this slow movement down the corridor. They try to recall anything about themself, but find nothing to betray their past in their memories. Link. He feels that he ought to know something about the owner of that name. About himself. But any attempts to recollect further are met with failure and the feeling of trying to lift water through a sieve. Meaningless, obviously, but they are far too exhausted to feel frustration. And they can feel that their body will need to eat soon, even through the lightheadedness and nausea that still blanket them like thick fog.

A blue aura ahead signals the room at the end of the hallway; too far to make out, but steadily coming into view. Narrow panels hang along the walls, framing the doorway as Link draws near. Smooth and blank, but placed as though a sign to indicate the path. It would have seemed significant if not for the fact that every door prior had also been marked in a similar manner. Link’s fingers catch on the edge of a panel and they stumble, crumpling to the ground as they enter the room at last.

Not the exit.

But this room was different to the others they had encountered previously. Link swallows bile as he raises his head from the floor, dizziness returning in full force while they reposition their legs beneath them and reach for the edge of a low shelf to pull themself to their feet. Rows of glass tanks line the walls at the edges of the room, more uniform by far than the singular pillar shaped tank in the chamber Link had awoken in, with its divots and knobby carvings surrounding uneven windows. These seem almost sterile by comparison, though each window was still rimmed by twisting patterns of stone. They had no apparent function, as they lacked the tubes that had connected the larger tank to the machinery and walls of the huge cavern. There also didn’t seem to be anything inside. It was hard to make out whether the clear liquid contained within differentiated from tank to tank, and even that would have been to difficult to see if some of the tanks had not been cracked and partially drained. A high table spanned the length of most of the chamber, rising up from the ground like a solid plinth.

Having regained his footing, Link starts once more down the rectangular room, supporting his balance on the intermittent tables or walls. They are struck once again by the sheer hollowness of the place; the tables, the shelves, the jars embedded in the walls- even the room itself, he realizes, lacks the network of tubes crossing the ceiling that had so defined other rooms in the labyrinth. It isn’t so much that the room is empty so much as… devoid of habitation? A strange… desolation that they hadn’t registered until now, even despite the layers of dust that coat every surface. He passes a small, round alcove in the side of the wall, housing yet another barren container, this one free standing but otherwise matching the others in the room; the only thing setting it apart being the myriad “arms” that protrude from all sides, each containing a channel that points toward the central chamber.

Trying to combine something? It looks like it was built to fit this space. Or the other way around…. Link shudders again, contemplating the purpose of his presence in this place.

It’s a short enough distance to the other end of the vault, but it takes them several more agonizing minutes to cross the expanse. Step by step, feeling the omniscient gaze of the empty tanks on his back. his legs refuse to increase pace, however; continuing his uneven gait towards the far door, and at last steps into the small antechamber beyond.

Carvings in twisted stone relief completely cover the interior of the round room, only serving to highlight the closed door opposite him. He’s reminded once more of the bowels of a giant beast, the writhing pattern enclosing him, constricted; waiting to be digested. It’s cramped and oppressive compared to the previous rooms, and Link feels the walls start to close in around them. Reliving. Clenching his fist on the circular charm he had picked up from the floor earlier, he focuses on the sole thing keeping him in the room. Fresh air. It creeps in from the edges of the door, fighting a losing battle with the dank, musty scents of the broken down facility. Giving its life to promise freedom to another.

The door doesn’t budge when Link turns the handle so they throw their weight against it clumsily, falling upon the access with a dull thud. They are forced to repeat the action again and again before the door relinquishes its hold and creaks open, heavy stone scraping aside as Link slides to his knees. He is moving forward again almost instantly despite his exhaustion, spurred on by the faint breeze he feels across his skin.

It’s the longest hallway he’s encountered so far. Not even a pinprick of light can be seen ahead; the corners of the wall all converging to a single point in the darkness. The tunnel ascends at a gentle slope that wears on his legs after just a few minutes of walking, though Link already uses the wall to support their weight. they long to sink to the floor and rest, to give in to the deep exhaustion that has plagued them since they awoke. His throbbing head is at odds with the gnawing pangs of his stomach. He feels as though he has been wandering the deserted passages for hours, days. Sense of time degraded and fractured beyond recognition. If he could see what his state of mind looked like, he imagines it would be like the stone lines on the wall. Twisting, sinuous, ever moving forwards but slowly, painfully. Doubling back or circling around before continuing on. None of them connected. Fragmented. His breathing is getting heavy, and they can tell they’re moving slower than before, their movements less coordinated. If he stops walking now, the floor will swallow him whole. Returned to the void.

He walks on.

The dragging of footsteps is joined at last in its lone refrain, accompanied at last by the soft sound of a wayward breeze.

Blue eyes raise once more toward the outlet of the passage, confusion registering with the recognition of an inky chasm past the walls. Startled, their mind summons once more an image of cramped rooms and overbearing machinery waiting beyond, wandering forever; before the solution snaps them back to sentience.

Oh.

It’s nighttime.

Footsteps quicken and they stumble the last few steps toward the exit, relinquishing his grip on the wall as he rushes down the corridor. Frantic. Wind whipping through the tangle of long hair at their back and rushing through their ears, deafening. The slapping of feet on stone is replaced at once with the dry rustling of grass, and he falls to his knees as the world opens up before him at last; vast forest rising up around him as he emerges from the cavernous hole in the ground, long overgrown with flowering vines that herald the changing of an era.

Link feels as though they kneel before the precipice of a dreamscape.

Thick forest, the vast swath of trees forming columns under a vaulted ceiling of branches, starlight pooling off the leaves and filling the cool night air with energy. An infinite expanse of world surrounding. The ethereal made manifest amid the verdant sanctum of possibility.

Freedom.

And survival.

#zelda #legend of zelda #zelda au #loz au #LoZ #writing #loz fic #cycle of the stars #cycle of the stars au #link #cycle of the stars link #original legends #loz: original legends #dae writes #okay i actually.. wrote something lol #so i guess there’s news for anyone who’s been asking whether i’ll write for my cycle of the stars au #tho i can’t promise quality #this is literally baby’s first writing attempt so please be kind to me lol #but i’ve been saying i want to use my au as a place to experiment with new things so.. i figured i’d try it out

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seiwas · 5 days ago

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for writing game, iwaizumi + assistance <3

hope this sparks some inspo and thank you in advancee

hi there!! thanks for sending in a prompt 🫶

contains: friends to lovers (ish), halloween parties, reader is dressed as catwoman, expletives, iwaizumi is thiiiiis 🤏 close to murdering seijoh4 (jk)

iwaizumi + assistance

this is a set-up.

iwaizumi knows he shouldn't have fucking believed anything the boys "promised" him back when they assigned him this costume.

the suit is fucking tight, spandex digging into his groins and all other crevices that definitely should be aired out after after a few hours. he's had to constantly readjust his stance almost every few minutes, the black fabric compressing his thighs and torso, significantly constricting the range of motion his shoulders and arms are typically used to. if anything else, it could double up as a back brace from how rigidly straight it's kept his posture all night.

he'll give it to makki though; he did outdo himself sourcing this year's costumes―this batman set looks pretty damn legit.

except for one tiny problem.

there's no fucking pee hole. it's a zip-up, zip-down one-piece situation. and that normally wouldn't be a problem, except that oikawa "accidentally" knocked over a cocktail straight into his pants, the sickeningly sweet liquid now seeping straight into the fabric and past his boxers―cold and sticky as it touches his skin.

and so, the problem: his pants are wet, it makes him want to fucking pee, and coincidentally, the only vacant bathroom is across the hall, at your apartment.

this is why he believes this is a set up. that, and the fact that you're dressed in an outfit strikingly similar―just with cat ears.

he's been asked five times in this party if you're in matching couple outfits.

it catches him off guard, flusters him because of how badly he wants to say yes. but, you're just friends, and he doesn't even think you like him that way (despite mattsun and oikawa practically begging him to confess. makki tells him he thinks you're going to do it first).

so he politely smiles and says no, but you look good, your costume clinging to you in all the right places. thank fucking god he has a cape because he's pretty sure he spent the first 30 minutes in the party hiding his boner.

"hajime, it's fine, i swear," you stand beside him in front of the conveniently locked bathroom in oikawa's apartment. from the other side of the door, he's pretty sure he hears mattsun and his girlfriend mumbling. maybe fucking? who knows. "you can just use the bathroom in my apartment."

he glances at you before closing his eyes, contemplating, before finally agreeing to you.

"okay."

if he's being honest with himself, friends is definitely an incomplete label to what you are. as oikawa's neighbor, you are conveniently around all the time; and oikawa being oikawa, the ever-social butterfly, he's somehow managed to carve a space for you in the friend group.

(never mind the fact that oikawa's sniffed him out from the moment he first introduced you.)

you were a crush, then a friend, and now you're someone he picks up from work and drives back home three times a week, because he "has to train oikawa." you don't question it, even when you both know he stays over for dinner way past the gym's open hours.

"you know where it is," you open your apartment and urge him in.

"sorry again," he turns to face you.

"yeah, yeah, just pee!" you laugh, shoving him towards the bathroom door.

getting out of the suit is manageable, and he's able to wipe off a bit of the cocktail that's leaked to the suit and his boxers just to make sure it isn't gross and sticky when he gets home later. peeing is a big relief once he gets it over with, but it's when he has to suit up again that things become difficult.

stretching out the spandex one body part at a time is a workout in itself―the hardest task being when he has to pull it over his shoulders, adjusting it to fit properly over his arms and chest.

but then the zipper breaks.

and he truly thinks makki has fucked him over.

iwaizumi contemplates what to do next for a good, good while. he tries calling oikawa, only to no success every time; no way in hell is he calling mattsun in the middle of having sex. and calling makki isn't even an option; he'd never hear the end of it.

then you knock on the door, your voice soft and concerned as you ask, "hajime? you good in there?" you hit it spot on, too, "do you need help with your suit?"

iwaizumi presses his palms to his eyes. he's a rational man, straightforward and logical in thinking. there is literally no other option for him right now but to ask help from you. again.

fuck.

it's 30 minutes later when oikawa barges in your door, and the sight that greets him is iwaizumi in nothing but a hoodie (the hoodie you borrowed some time ago) and his boxers, with his hands on your waist as you hover your hairdryer over the crotch of his batman costume―cat headpiece off and all.

"you finally got together?!"

#iwaizumi x reader #hq!! x reader #omg i hope u enjoyed this!! i had fun thinking it up ehehe and writing it #in my mind this is set in the same universe as the halloween one i did for mattsun―actually its the same party HABFHBSF #some stuff about the fic: iwaizumi is hot in that costume i spared the details bc i was going to combust MYSELF #but it clings to his muscles REAAAAAAL good and there's really not a lot of padding in the costume itself #bc makki believes in iwaizumi's anatomy enough to deliver #what happened in between iwaizumi asking for help and oikawa barging in??? we may never know 🤷‍♀️ kidding !#i just didnt write it in bc it would be too long but #if anyone is curious maybe i'll write it as a separate thing!#other stuff abt the fic: reader became good friends with oikawa first bc neighbors but then oikawa admittedly wanted to play matchmaker #so he invited reader a ton to their group things so he could introduce em to iwaizumi HAHA and iwaizumi crushed hard #they become close pretty quickly too hence why reader calls him hajime HAHAH and they hang out even outside of the group #theres definitely something like they text a lot and stuff but neither of them are sure of how the other feels so they arent admitting #reader has borrowed a hoodie from him tho #(aka the one he's wearing in the blurb bc it's the only article of clothing that fits him in reader's apt)#also they figured they'd just kill time by drying iwaizumi's costume bc for sure they couldn't chuck it in the dryer so the next best thing #was to just use a dryer and spot dry it #makki did source most of the costumes! except mattsun's and his gf's #uhhh they go back to the party afterwards but reader literally had to makeshift lock iwaizumi's costume with safety pins HAHA #i guess his muscles just be too popping 🤷‍♀️#fvntybomb #ask #rep #ask game answered #shotorus.workbook

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