#my inky needs resolution

[randomnow]

my first Inquisition playthrough was as an elf mage who romanced Solas I want some closure

no regrets but it definitely colors what I want from the game and I know I gotta set that aside

and you can't call trespasser closure because that man stole my arm and DIPPED. that's the opposite of closure >:(

[thunder-point]

tattoo artist!peem au

my phumpeem two scents for today are:

phum makes a reckless bet with mick where one of them has to get a tattoo somewhere on his body if something specific happens in x game storyline and he LOSES.

cue phum being absolutely nervous because a tattoo is a big deal, and he never truly thought about it before. but then tan recommends him this popular place and tells him two of his very good childhood friends own it and he will be 100% safe and handled with care there.

so he goes. the first day he goes to make the appointment (sure, he could make it on the phone but he wanted to scope the place out, alright?) he gets to meet Q, who is all proper and reticent, honestly a little bit daunting. phum is... more than a bit intimidated. Q is curt but he sounds like he knows his stuff; plus he's also tan's friend, so phum makes the appointment nevertheless.

but then the day of the appointment comes, and he's already sweating through his deodorant and oh, this time a girl named Fai greets him, leads him towards the chair and tells him to wait. he's shirtless (because he chose the tattoo to be on his hip; it's a small design but the jitters won't leave him), hands clammy and heart thundering, looking every few seconds towards the door for any glimpse of Q.

only that it isn't aloof Q who comes through. it's the prettiest boy phum ever met in his whole life. it's inky strands over equally dark eyes and gorgeous smile full of comfort and veiny arms and a soothing voice introducing himself as "peem, your tattoo artist for the day. nice to meet you, phum."

the other owner of the salon.

and now phum's chest is unstable for another reason entirely. more than one reason, actually. it's because peem's gloved hands are handling the sensitive skin of his hip with a care worthy of the priceless. it's peem's sweet hums as phum talks about his design, the one fang helped him choose. it's peem's resolute reassurance that he'll make phum proud of carrying his ink on his skin.

his ink.

it's peem hovering over his torso, eyes focused and plush lips getting bitten with every twist of his wrist. his hair looks so soft this close, and his face shines and his cologne has phum thinking whimsical things. unattainable things. and phum, who was so scared of the pain and of the permanence of this choice, would give hours of his life to have peem ink his body with such visible passion and love.

he'd learn to long for pain just to have peem wipe his skin and flicker his curved eyes up with a gentle "how is it? feeling good? do you need anything? a break?" soft, soft like a purr, like a hush; gloved hand settling along the curve of phum's ribs, another type of brand, a measure of his shattered breath under the warmth of that palm.

it's safe to say phum gets more tattoos. it's safer to realize peem does them all. in the salon, in his own home where he has his own set up, where he can keep phum longer.

yeah.

[windsweptinred]

Metamorphosis

Based in this post

The AU Where Morpheus doesn't retire and become mortal, but marries up and gets a promotion...

Part One

3 months earlier

The bedsheets rustled as Hob stirred, breaking the near perfect silence of the bedroom. In the distance, waves of revelry carried across the breeze from the city centre, and the odd crawl of traffic from the road out back could be heard through the window. London never truly slept..

Hob pawed at the empty bed beside him before furrowing his brows. Peeling an eye open reluctantly and gazing blurrily towards Dream's perch on the window sill. 

"Dream?" He called questioningly, before rubbing at his eyes. Lifting his head and fumbling for his phone resting on the bedside table. "What time is it? 2.05!" Dropping back with an overly dramatic grunt, he covers his eyes with the heels of his hands and let out an exaggerated groan. "Umph. I have to be up in four hours!"

Smiling softly at his lover's behaviour, Dream turned to rest his forehead against the cool pane of glass, momentarily flinching at the remembrance of the cold sting against his skin. Before gazing upwards in contemplation. 

" Night seems muted somehow." 

Hob pulled a pillow out from beneath his head, resolutely bringing it down over it again with a huff. 

"That's air pollution for you poppet." 

Dream looked up at the moon, a hazy blur of light, lording over an inky sky of equally sickly looking stars. Blinking feebly in competition with the bright lights of the city below. Placing a hand flat against the smooth surface, he took a deep inhale, tentatively reaching out towards his mother, feeling a lazy waft of irritation in return. 

"Perhaps" 

Hob peered one eye out from beneath his goose feather fortress, before pulling himself free with a sigh. "Dream, come back to bed. Your simple human needs a few more hours if he's going to face 30 odd freshmens tomorrow."

Pulling his bare legs out from beneath him, Dream dropped gently to the floor. Hob's old shirt hanging in gently folds about his thighs, one sleeve draped precariously off his shoulder. Tip towing silently across the floor and slinking back into the bed, Hob granted him a tired yet loving, lopsided grin. Already fighting the droop of his eyelids. 

"Look at you, shining like a star." 

Dream smiled indulgently as Hob let out a loud yawn. Tucking himself snuggly against the side of his body. Basking in the heat of his duvet cocooned skin. With his head neatly resting in the curve of Hob's neck, he let out a small chuckle. "I do no such thing Hob Gadling." 

He felt Hob's fingers run a gentle figure of eight into his shoulder blade. 

"Then why's your skin twinkling like a bag of diamonds?" He mumbled, voice thick with sleep. 

Dream rolled his eyes, burying his nose into Hob's jawline. "You are a hopeless romantic when you are halfway to my realm my darling. Now…" He ran a hand featherlight over Hob's face. "Sleep." 

With a snuff, Hob eyes closed and dropped almost instantly into a peaceful slumber. Glancing idly about the room, Dream's eyes caught the glaring numbers of the stereo display. 12.15 am. Hob's sleep-addled brain must have misread the time. 

"I too wish for more time, beloved."

……. 

2 months earlier 

Hob exited the door of the shared English and History department, taking in a lungful of fresh, early evening air. He swore they'd painted the windows shut back in the 90s. The last time the university had seen fit to refurbish the building. His demeanour quickly lit up when he noticed the slim, dark figure of Dream resting against the bonnet of his car. Head tilted back, seemingly observing the deep reds of the sunset. Walking to meet him with a renewed  jig in his step, Hob greeted him with a peck to the cheek and twinning his arms about the Dream's slim waist, propping his head upon his leather clad shoulder. Feeling the residual warmth left by the setting sun on the fabric. 

Dream turned to observe him, eyes flitting about, cataloguing the toll the day had taken on him before smiling a small, sweet smile. "You glow today my love."

Hob barked a laugh, re shouldering his work bag and running a hand through his tousled hair. "That's a nice way of saying I still look hideously hungover duck. I appreciate it."

Dream pulled away, angling his lithe body to fully face Hob. 

"I do not jest. You shine with life. If I did not already know such a thing to be impossible, I would say you looked younger." He reached up, sweeping aside an  errant strand of auburn hair from Hob's eyes. "Vitalised."

Hob let out a snort, placing a quick peck upon Dream's brow, licking at the sweet remnants of 'dream' stuff it left upon his lips. "If you say so, love. Yesterday I swear I looked and felt every one of my 600 odd years. My hair was practically grey I tell you."

The starlight pinpricks hidden within Dream's pupils flared in what Hob had come to learn was amusement. For a brief moment, he swore he saw the first stars of the evening, scattered haphazardly amongst the intertwined reds and blues of sunset, flare back. 

" You are as vibrant as the day we met." 

Hob smirked at that, crowding Dream backwards until he half sat on the car bonnet. Leaning forward until they were but a hair's breadth apart. He whispered cock surely, "That's what you thought of me was it? Covered in shit and smelling twice as fragrant? Vibrant?" 

A challenging spark lit in Dream's eyes as he quirked his lip, before pouncing forward, arms wrapped tight about Hob's neck, claiming his lips in a searing kiss. 

A raucous chorus of wolf whistles sounded somewhere behind them, followed by a riotous roar of hoots and cackles. A group of students who'd obviously begun the night early. Hob pulled away, rolling his eyes, before giving his ear an embarrassed tug out of habit. 

He watched Dream take in the group with a fond expression. Wondering passingly what he knew of them. Their lives, their hopes, their dreams. When Dream turned his attention back to him, Hob's breath hitched in wonder. His eyes, usually pools of blue or as pitch black as the midnight sky, were now a wash with soft, mingling hues of reds, purples and blues. As if someone had captured the dusk sky around them and painted it onto Dream's eyes. He took a moment silently, to once again thank whatever entity watched over him, for deeming him worthy of this ethereal, beautiful creature in his arms 

"What were you looking at anyway?" 

Dream looked to the sky, and once again, the stars seemed to blink brightly in response. As if clamouring for his attention. 

"The stars are singing. Can you hear them?" 

Hob smiled adoringly, kissing Dream one last time before detangling himself from their embrace, working his way round the car and sweeping the passenger door open with a flourish. 

"If you say so sweetheart. Come on, let's head home."

….. 

One month earlier 

Hob pawed at the meat of Dream's thigh, hefting it higher as his thrusts increased their tempo. About his shoulder, he felt Dream's other knee tighten in a vice grip. His toes, resting near the centre of Hob's back, clenched with every snap of Hob's hips. Mouthing desperately at the beautiful pale breast below him, he felt the familiar sensation of his coming climax alight like a sparkler. 

"Oh god, I'm close, I'm…" And suddenly, he was adrift. Gone was Dream and in his place he was being held aloft in the vast, endless skies of night. He felt the cold embrace encompass his body, gently, lovingly. About him, stars and comets danced and flared in a frenzied, joyus display. From within him, he felt a heat, a great light pulse and grow. A  power, an essence unfurling within him like a flower, opening to embrace the first rays of dawn. He was a  great wave crashing against a slowly eroding cliff face, he was sun and shadow, weaving its way about an ancient sundial. He was the very turn of the seasons, rotating like a great wheel, over and over. 

And then, there was the night again, about him. Stroking, clawing, adoring, challenging. He battled back, he loved back. He felt the pull and push, light and dark, heat and cold… expanding and condensing. Building, building, building… Then… Bang. 

Hob, melted rather than pulled off Dream. Flopping down beside him on the bed. 

His body, a mass of quivering gelatin, he was sure couldn't hold him if he tried. He took lungfuls of the stale, bedroom air, thick with the heady aroma of sex and desperately tried to catch his breath. Next to him, Dream seemed to fare no better. Sprawled out comatose, hands clutching at his head and heart. A glazed, almost vacant expression on his face. 

Somewhat, regaining the use of his vocal cords, Hob turned his head towards Dream, croaking, "Holy Fuck what was that?!" 

Dream gazed at the ceiling for a few moments longer before languidly rolling onto his side to face Hob. His eyes spoke of bone deep exhaustion but also utter contentment. 

"I do not know. That has never happened before."

Somewhere deep in Hob's subconscious, his ego stuck its chin out, gave a pompous, self congratulatory cockcrow and proceeded to strut elatedly. As it was, he sent Dream a slightly pleased, knackered looking smile. 

"Shit, seriously?" 

Dream nodded his head slightly in confirmation.

Hob paused for a moment before sending Dream a devilish look, "Was it just me, or did Big Ben go off just as we came?"

Dream eyes crinkled as a huffed chuckle escaped him. Hob guffawed in response. And thus they greeted the morning, snickering to each other like naughty children. 

…… 

The present day

The rain pelted incessantly from above, Dream's hair lay in sodden clumps, water draining from them streaking down his face, his shirt was soaked through. Yet he felt nothing. He clutched desperately to the cliff edge he sat upon, pressing the jagged rock into his palms, making it bite in the flesh. He willed it to pierce, to cut, to hurt, to make him bleed. Below, his realm was torn asunder. He wondered what it would be like to push himself forward, fall freely into the destruction below. Escape wantonly into oblivion. Would it be kinder, less painful then what was to come?

"Take my hand little brother."

He stared at Death's palm outstretched, he could not look her in the eyes. It would just be another unsaid farewell, another desperate want to stay, another moment fighting the urge to lay himself prostrate at her feet and beg for more time. 

He took a deep shuddering breath, attempting to calm his nerves. His arm felt like a deadweight as he lifted it. At once conflicting emotions of panic and relief rose from within him, overwhelming the numbness. His senses dulled and head roared simultaneously and he rocked forward toward his sister in a blind, nauseous haze. Soon it would be over… I'm sorry, I don't want to, I'm so tired, please don't make me go, I'm sorry, I can rest, I'm sorry…I love you… 

"Stop!" 

Hob

He felt himself being hauled into the confines of two strong arms, that locked about him like an iron cage, resolute in keeping their captive from all. In that moment, as his mind frantically scrambled to process everything, aeons of repressed pain broke from the tight binding he had placed about it. And cradled in Hob's embrace, mere seconds from his death, his reserve finally crumbled and he unabashedly wept.

In his misery, he felt the unexpected sting of sharp metal pierce his chest and wondered if this was what it was to die. Yet further it plunged deeper and deeper still, until it hooked his heart and pulled. And he knew then what this was. For the first time in countless centuries, Dream allowed his mind to be reeled in without resistance. As grey mists filled his lungs and phantom hands clutched at him, pressing him maternally to a soft stomach. There he lay in the clutch of Despair, as she petted his hair and cooed softly to him. As her rats scurried about him, gently nuzzling his body. Slowly, he became aware of a thud reverberating around them. Quiet at first, but growing steadily louder. A drumming, strong and proud that sent the rats scattering…. A heartbeat he realised. Was it Hob's heart pounding frantically under his ear, no… No he was not with Hob, he was being held from behind, two arms wrapped about his chest, beautifully manicured hands placed on his breast framing his heart. The smell of peaches smothered him and as his senses roared to life. 

'Fight it big brother, do you hear me? Fight it! Desire happiness, desire to be loved as you love. But most of all desire life. Let yourself desire big brother. Please, please!..' "Please, please don't!"

"Hob, you should not be here." 

Hob. 

He snapped back to the moment, feeling the painful, vice-like grip of Hob's hand in his hair, fiercely holding his head to his chest. Above them, he felt the rain still pelt down, below, the rock scrapped at his knees through his sodden jeans. Feebly, Dream reached out, grasping a handful of Hob's drenched shirt, clenching it in his hand like a tether. 

"Please Death, don't take him, I beg you! I love him." Hob pulled Dream's body even closer to his. Rocking them both in a soothing motion, Dream was not sure if it was for his benefit, or Hobs. "I love him."

As his vision cleared, the form of his sister slowly became apparent, kneeling at their side. A respectful distance away so as to not cause Hob further distress. From the protective barrier of Hob's arms, he met her eyes, awash with unshed tears. Dream wished desperately to reach out and comfort her, but for the first time in their shared existence, feared her touch. Instead he clung tighter to Hob's shirt, feeling the hitch of Hob's body as he hopelessly failed to hold back sobs. 

How was it he could bring such pain to those he loved when he wished them none?

"Hob please, it is not so simple..." 

Dream opened his mouth, tongue laden as he tried to speak, he worked his throat fruitlessly for a few moments as his voice sought to restore itself, before he let out a weak, "I don't… I don't.. "

Hob's startled, pushing Dream from his chest and reaching to carefully cradle his face with two trembling hands. "Dream, love? Dream?" 

"I do not wish to leave you."

[buckymorelikefuckme]

just let go

professor loki x masters student reader

words: 2.2k

warnings: s*exual content, o*ral (m receiving), unprotected s*ex (don't do that), the tiniest bit of degred*ation, implied age gap

a/n: surprise bitches!! my first ever loki fic and it's just straight up filth LMAO! not proofread, we d*e like men. any and all mistakes are mine. feedback is encouraged & appreciated ♡ xoxox

The wooden door to his office is all that separates you from Professor Laufeyson.

Just yesterday you completed your last final for his Mythology and Folklore course, which had easily become your favorite class. He had such a way with words and an alluring, mischievous presence that held the attention of even the most bored of students. His deep voice enraptured you as he earnestly told tales of gods and goddesses, of ancient cities and lost kingdoms, hard-won battles and tragic losses.

You've always had a deep love for history, both fact and fiction, but Professor Laufeyson made that love turn into an obsession and burning desire to soak up every bit of knowledge he was willing to share.

It certainly didn't hurt that he's very easy on the eyes.

His height had startled you when you first entered his class. And when he turned to greet everyone, you struggled to swallow past your suddenly dry mouth. Inky, dark hair curled under his ears, his blue eyed gaze meeting every single student as he introduced himself and gave a quick discussion about what to expect from the course. His lilting accent wrapped itself around you and you shivered.

It felt like time slowed down when his stare landed on you. Butterflies erupted in your stomach, a surge of warmth spread in your veins. You swore his lips twitched up a touch more, but perhaps it had been wishful thinking. The moment passed before you wanted it to. As soon as he looked away you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

Safe to say this new obsession also extended to your beautiful professor.

Which leads you to now, standing outside his office, biting the inside of your cheek as you war with yourself over whether or not you want to follow through with your plan. You wouldn't say it's a well-thought plan, by any means, but you can't go another day without knowing. You knock on the door before you can change your mind.

“Come in,” he calls from inside.

Steeling yourself, you enter. You should probably leave the door open, for accountability if nothing else, yet your motivations have you closing it behind you with a resolute click.

Professor Laufeyson glances up from his laptop, wire rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He smiles when he sees who's stepped in. Your name falls past his lips and it has goosebumps rising across your flesh.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he wonders, gesturing towards one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Do you have a question about your final?”

You sink into the plush leather of the chair. “Um, sort of.” He raises an eyebrow in question. “I was wondering if you'd graded it yet.”

He tilts his head ever so slightly. “I have. Grades will be posted tomorrow on the school’s website.”

“Right,” you say quietly.

After a moment’s pause, he inquires, “Is there something else you needed?”

You swallow roughly and gather every ounce of courage you can find. “You.” Your voice is nothing but a soft whisper, but you know he's heard you, loud and clear, because his eyes darken. “I need… I need you.”

When he speaks next, it's deeper than usual, gravelly. “You're treading dangerous waters,” he warns.

“I know,” you admit. “But I still want you.”

You see the muscles in his cheek jump as he clenches his jaw. The small action has hope swirling in your chest.

“Please, professor,” you say quietly.

He closes his eyes and releases a shaky exhale. “This is highly inappropriate.”

“That's not a ‘no’,” you point out.

“It should be,” he retorts fiercely.

But you can see his resolve beginning to crack. You rise from your seat, taking measured steps around his desk until you're standing beside him. He refuses to look at you, so you kneel. He mutters a curse under his breath.

You lift a shaking hand and place it on his thigh. “If you don't want me, all you have to do is say so.”

Your heart hammers against your rib cage as his silence. It's an answer all on its own.

Using the hand you have on him, you nudge him to turn toward you. You slide both palms up his thighs now, meeting his heated stare as you reach for his belt buckle. He doesn't stop you from undoing it and you hasten to open the button and zip on his trousers. You pull the waistband of his briefs down, finally setting your eyes on his half hard cock.

“Perfect,” you whisper, wrapping your hand around it and stroking it to full hardness.

He grunts at the touch, spreading his legs a bit more to allow you more room, which you eagerly accept, shifting forward on your knees. Your mouth waters when you see precome beading on his tip. Unable to hold yourself back anymore, you lean in and take the head of his cock into your mouth.

You swirl your tongue around him, dipping into his slit, humming as you collect his precome. He sighs, and when you look up at him through your lashes, you're delighted to see a faint flush on his cheeks. He’s gripping the arms of his chair tightly, the leather creaking. You grab one of his hands and thread your fingers through his, giving it a squeeze as you ease down his cock further.

“Fuck,” he hisses, head falling back when you begin to bob your head.

You make a noise of displeasure, pulling off of him with a noisy slurp. “Look at me, professor,” you instruct.

He obeys, eyes blazing, and you swallow him back down, stroking what you can't fit with your other hand. You settle back into your slow bobbing, savoring every bit of the moment, of his taste, tracing your tongue along the vein on the underside of his cock. Drool seeps past your lips, helping the glide of your hand. He groans and you hum in response.

“You look like sin,” he rasps. “Sucking my cock like there's nothing else you'd rather do than please me.”

You moan, nodding your head a little as your cunt pulses with want, increasing your pace. He makes another noise from the vibration of your moan.

“Are you going to let me fuck you? Hm?”

You pull off again, continuing to stroke him as you beg, “Please.”

He lets go of your hand and tugs on your arms until you're straddling his lap. Carefully, you take his glasses off and place them on his desk. When his fingers slip under your skirt, all the way up to your hip, the only thing he feels is skin, no sign of underwear.

“What a slut you are,” he muses, redirecting his fingers to where you're dripping for him. You gasp while he toys with your swollen clit. “You just knew I'd let you have your way, huh?”

You shake your head, hips twitching. “No,” you reply, “but I hoped.”

“Yeah? You wanted my cock that bad?” he asks, slipping a finger inside you.

“Yes,” you whine.

He softly shushes you. “You have to be quiet, sweetheart. Wouldn't want anyone to hear, would you?”

“I-If I’m totally honest, I—oh—I really don't care,” you confess as he starts sliding his finger in and out, grasping at his shoulders.

“Christ,” he mutters, adding another finger.

He's reaching places inside you that you're sure have never been found before. You can't help but grind into his touch, moaning when he curls his fingers and rubs over a spot that has you trembling. You've hardly even started and he's already got you wrecked.

After he's eased a third finger in, you can't help begging, pleading for more, for his cock. Desperation claws at your chest the longer he doesn't give it to you.

“Please, please, sir, I need it, I need you, please,” you babble.

Wordlessly, he removes his fingers, ignoring your whimpers at the loss, but then he's tapping your hips to signal you to sit up. You eagerly comply, whining when you feel the head of his cock align with your entrance. You don't have the patience to wait anymore and sink down on his cock without warning.

“Jesus, fuck,” he groans, panting as the wet warmth of your pussy welcomes him.

The stretch has your jaw slackening and eyes fluttering closed. When you're full seated, you clench around him involuntarily. He curses again and you giggle deliriously.

“You feel so good,” you breathe, rotating your hips in small circles. “I'm so full, professor. Your cock is so thick, stretches me perfectly. Wanna keep you inside me forever.”

“The mouth on you,” he grits. “God. If I had known…”

You hum. “Well now you do.”

You lift yourself, moaning at the drag of his cock, then slide back down. The grip he has on your hips is bruising, but it only adds to your pleasure as you set a slow pace, making sure you both feel every inch of his cock going in and out. It's a delicious torture, one that has your toes curling.

“You're riding me so well,” he praises breathily.

You let out a keening noise, settling with him all the way inside and grinding in a filthy way.

“I’m—I’m being good?” you ask, biting your lip as you gaze at him through heavy lids.

A small smirk paints his features. “Such a good girl,” he confirms.

You bury your fingers in his hair, yanking him forward into a messy kiss. He returns it with just as much enthusiasm, one hand coming up to wrap around your throat as he bites at your lips, sucking on the bottom one before flicking his tongue across it. You moan brokenly, feeling as if you can't get enough of him.

Suddenly, he moves his hands to your thighs, holding on to you tightly as he stands and carries you to the sofa in the far corner of his office. He lays you down on it much too gently for the way he's devouring your mouth. He wastes no time and begins thrusting into you, hard and calculated, the sound of his hips meeting yours, the sheer force of it, has you crying out.

“We really can't afford to have anyone hearing us, sweetheart. Be good for me and be quiet.”

“Yes, sir,” you gasp, biting back a whine when he changes the angle.

He cups his hands under your knees, pushing them back so your skirt slips up and he can finally get a look at your pretty pussy. The sight has him growling, thrusting that much harder. You throw your head back, eyes rolling, a steady moan vibrating against your lips.

“You're going to look stunning when you cum on my cock,” he declares, picking up his pace. “Will feel even better when you clench uncontrollably around me.”

“Please,” you whimper pathetically.

He releases one of your legs and rubs quick, messy circles around your clit, and your knees hike higher, back arching off the sofa as your orgasm starts to build in your core. You're trying to be quiet, but choked off, needy noises manage to slip out.

“Let me see it, love,” he instructs. “Cum for me.”

Your body goes rigid, breath locking up in your lungs as the coil within you snaps. You gasp in a sharp breath as your climax hits, spreading slow like molasses through you, clenching wildly. He doesn't let up, continuing to fuck you and prolonging the most intense orgasm of your life.

“So fucking beautiful,” he grunts.

He chases his own high now, thrusts losing some of their finesse. You pull him down into a kiss that lacks focus, mostly tongues tangling and panting breaths.

“Just let go, professor,” you whisper.

“My name,” he gasps, pleading, “say my name.”

Your pussy flutters at the demand. “Let go. Cum for me, Loki.”

He groans, pressing his face in your neck. His last thrusts are sharp, harder than ever, and then he finally stills. You sigh in content as he moans through his release. His hips twitch with aftershocks, grunting lowly.

He doesn't move a muscle as he catches his breath, and you're more than happy to have him where he is, hovering above you, buried to the hilt inside you still. You comb your fingers through his hair, softly kissing his temple until he raises his head, trailing his own kisses up your neck and jaw.

“Fuck,” he sighs.

You giggle. “I agree.”

He lifts himself up to see your face better. An impish grin greets you.

“If we hurry and clean up, I’ll take you home for round two.”

You try to tamper down on your smile, but you can't contain it. He kisses you and it's like a promise.

“There better be more than just a second round. I haven't had enough of you yet,” you reply, swiping your thumb across his cheek.

His eyes twinkle playfully. “Don't you worry. You're not leaving my bed anytime soon, even if that means tying you down.”

You lick your bottom lip. “I wouldn't be opposed.”

“Dirty, dirty girl,” he accuses and you don't deny it, giggling as he leans in to kiss you stupid.

[shanny-banany]

I lost track of time terribly, but thank you so much for the tag @weird-felt-hat!!!

Rules: Share a snippet from whatever you're currently working on, and then tag 5 people.

I was originally going to share from my closest to completion wip, but as drive to just finish that one and post the whole thing I decided to go with the one I started today instead:

It wasn’t often that Ryuuji allowed himself to wallow in his desires. He was driven and passionate, and anything worthy of drawing his attention garnered either a resolute commitment or a stern and total shutdown. There was little in between, for he was unwavering in his ambitions and unwilling to be swayed by temptation in the way so many of his peers were.

It was only during nights like this, where the inky darkness stripped him of those self-imposed barriers, enveloping him in an unfamiliar sort of boldness, and the light of the stars, the moon, the crackling fire seemed to permeate through his being, filling him with a serene, treacherous, empowered acceptance, that he felt no need to pretend.

Free of his inhibitions, Ryuuji couldn’t deny how alluring Rin looked bathed in the firelight.

I’m not sure who hasn’t been tagged yet, so tagging anyone interested in sharing, I love reading wips <3

[swemtpotamtam]

Yikesss, bioware taking away all the previous choices from the whole series and limiting them to only 3 choices (all of which are trespasser-only) is wild in the worst way possible <:D

The excuse for it being "we don't want new players to get overwhelmed" is weird too 'cause they could've gone with a default world state thing, just like they did with Inquisition if you didn't have saves/Keep info from previous games.

Like, are you telling me that all those things don't matter? Why? Because we're not in Southern Thedas? That's weird 'cause the world is, you know, interconnected. The decisions made in Southern Thedas would still reflect on the Northern part.

I understand that writing all of those things in, tying it all together, is hard but I don't believe that it was straight-up impossible. And using the "new players won't understand" excuse is just.. cheap? People aren't dumb. People can catch on to little details as they go, you don't need to know everything from previous titles to experience the story and enjoy it. In actuality, it gives new players the incentive to go back and play the whole series from Origins to Inquisition, and then replay Veilguard after they've seen everything to make everything click even better now that they possess the knowledge from those older entries.

I just... I dunno. It feels wrong to even just say that the whole of Inquisition can be narrowed down to: 1) who your inky was (race and gender) and who they romanced, 2) if they wanted to hunt down or redeem Solas and 3) if you disbanded the Inquisition or kept it around. What about other choices? What about who became the Divine? Sure, it might not affect Tevinter or any other Northern kingdoms but come on, it still has ties to all those other areas. No Well of Sorrows stuff? That was such a cool and mysterious detail, with no resolution in Trespasser as well. What about Hawke? What about Hero of Ferelden? No mentions at all? Wild 'cause there's a chance that Hawke went to Weisshaupt and also Hero of Ferelden is part of the Grey Warden history. And does this mean that Kieran isn't a thing?

I know that there's still a whole month ahead before we find out everything but this just puts such a sour taste in my mouth.

The game that was all about player agency and consequences just suddenly ditches this whole system.

Edit: I might come around on this whole thing if Veilguard proves that there is a reason why they cut down on choices carrying over. Perhaps they decided to do this because it really is a more secluded story, kinda like it's own little thing with no outright outside connections aside from some cameos. I don't know yet.

But I will likely revisit this post, adding on to it my thoughts and opinions after I get my hands on the game and complete it at least once.

[sometimesanalice]

I'm going to ask about three because I'm greedy; This is Me Trying (already know this is going to kill me), People Talk, Rumors Walk/ Rumor Has It, and Picture Perfect follow up (pure serotonin hit my brain seeing this on the WIP list)! 💗🩷💕

For you, Monroe, I will happily tell you about all three!! 💖

This is Me Trying is truly going to be one of those passion projects when I get around to writing it, which I keep putting off because I know it’s going to kill me too 😂🥺😭 This one is going to be set during those dark days at and around Carole’s death and the fallout of Mav pulling Bradley’s papers. This is also the period when Bradley is so set on self destruction that he tries to end his friendship with SG. But we’re also going to see how he starts to pick up the pieces of his life again, and the catalyst for him getting back on track.

“I put up with you for my mom’s sake. I hung out with you because it made her happy. Our mom’s were friends, real friends. But she’s dead now, and I don’t have a reason to keep doing this.” The words pour out of his mouth like an oil spill. Black and inky. They taste like acid on his tongue. “We aren’t friends. So stop being so fucking naive and grow the hell up.”

(Ok ooof)

Moving onto the tentatively titled People Talk/Rumors Walk//Rumor Has It! This is going to be a full length Bradley series! And I’m equal parts and excited and intimidated by it, lol. It’s been in my head since 2022, and needs to be written so I can have the brain space back.

After attending a big gala event, Bradley ends up going viral. Wanting to take advantage of the media attention to revamp their image a bit, the Navy brings in an outside strategic consultant with roots in the political landscape. And it turns out that they’ve already met 👀

Here’s a baby teaser!

Ahhh! I’m so soft about the Picture Perfect follow up! That fic started as a little (read: long) text that I sent to a friend about a different fic idea that kind of turned into this what-if fic for the Like I Can babes.

But since I fully believe they find their way to each other in every timeline, I couldn’t just leave that one hanging without a resolution!

Here’s a little peek!

ask me about my wips!

[sirfrogsworth]

I was worried the TV would be too big, but it honestly feels like watching a big movie screen at the theater and it is so immersive. Like you are *in* the frickin movie.

And even in the 2 years since I got my other TV, the picture quality has improved quite a bit. All of the issues I had with my other TV are pretty much resolved. The only thing it can’t do perfectly is deep inky blacks like an OLED screen. But it comes really close and it gets much much brighter than any OLED, so lasers and lightsabers just look soooo cool. Like they could melt your face off.

I am also finally able to notice a difference between 1080p and 4K. Though it is still subtle and I wish people wouldn't think 4K is the ultimate measure of clarity and quality. Resolution has become one of the least important aspects of picture quality.

I mean, our phones can film in 4K. An Arri Alexa cinema camera can also film in 4K. Do you really believe a $1000 smartphone and an $80000 motion picture camera have equivalent quality?

The goal of higher resolutions is to resolve more detail to provide a sharper image. So imagine a tiny tree in the background where the leaves are all mushed together in a blur in a low detail image and the individual leaves can be seen in a high detail image.

What allows you to get that high level of detail?

Teamwork!

You need a really good sensor with a lot of photosites or pixels. And you need a really good lens with a great design and perfect glass. Bigger is better in both cases.

There is this concept called "perceptual megapixels." This is a measurement of how much detail a camera lens can resolve. So if you have a 50 megapixel sensor but a lens that can only resolve 20 megapixels worth of detail... then you are getting a 20 megapixel image.

The dirty secret of smartphone advertising is that while their sensors might *technically* be 4K or 8K or 100+ megapixels, none of those tiny lenses have the resolving power to support those resolutions. That's why a Samsung with a 100 megapixel sensor does not look significantly sharper than an iPhone with a 12 megapixel sensor. And that's why if you took an old DSLR with a 12 megapixel sensor and slapped a Zeiss Otus lens on the front, the image detail would trounce any smartphone.

But honestly, detail and sharpness really only come into play when you are pixel peeping and zooming way into images. At normal viewing distances, pretty much any modern camera or lens is sharp enough to give you an acceptably detailed image.

If you are looking for a quality TV picture, ignore the Ks and look for things like brightness (nits) and black levels (contrast ratio) and color gamut (number of colors) and HDR interpretation (tone mapping). A great site that breaks all this down is rtings.com. They have the most detailed reviews of anyone and they test various aspects of picture quality. You can decide which aspects are important to you and choose a great television accordingly.

[akindofmagictoo]

Beneath the Waves

a continuation of the Hurricane x ARMV crossover Potions and Pirates, and a gift to my beloved @ashen-crest​ in return for her wonderful hurt-comfort

part 1, in which we answer the question of “what will Aella get up to with a potion of water breathing?”. part 2 coming tomorrow.

Word Count: 2697

TW/CW: drowning, claustrophobia, panic attack

Context: Ambrose and Eli washed up on the Hurricane, and as a thank you for saving them, Ambrose brewed a potion of water breathing and sent it to Aella, Tempest and Theo. The full thing can be found on my Wattpad, @/zcmitchell.

Breathing underwater was certainly a strange situation, but Aella could have lived in the feeling forever. She flipped over to look back up at the surface, already so far away, but not so far that she couldn’t see the sunlight on its surface. The water of Wavemeet’s bay was so clear. Clear and blue, just like Theo’s eyes. 

She could picture them now, actually. He’d tried not to show it when she dived, but she’d seen the worry in them. The little furrow of his brow as he clung resolutely to the other end of the rope now tied around her ankle, ready to help pull her out at a moment’s notice despite his hatred of deep water. If she squinted really hard at the surface, she could maybe see the dark smudge that marked the jetty. 

As much as she trusted him, she was also glad that he had his uncle and several of the Hurricane’s crew standing by to help as well. Not that she really needed help. The rope had been obtained at Tempest’s suggestion and Theo’s insistence, even though Aella had never needed to dive with a rope before, not in a clear deep area like this one. But Theo had asked her to take it, and she didn’t mind the slight extra tug on her ankle if it kept him from being too worried about her. 

This potion had a time limit on it, she recalled. She should keep going. 

She turned a slow flip backwards and kicked, forcing herself further down into the inky gloom below.

~

Since the sun was directly overhead, it pierced far into the darkness beneath the water, but eventually even its last soft rays had to give way to the embrace of the cold depths. She pressed on, stroke after stroke, feeling the deep satisfying burn in her muscles as she propelled herself deeper and deeper, letting the abyss wrap around her like a dark cloak. 

She liked it less when she couldn’t see. 

For a split second, she could hear the sound of a cell door locking behind her… but no, she was just diving. This was safe darkness. The sea was safe, she reminded herself; it always had been, ever since she was a tiny child too young to walk. 

Tempest, Aria, Marisa and Cai had held her while she learned to swim. Theo, Emmy and Victoire were holding onto her now, all of them ready to feel three tugs on the rope and pull her safely back to the surface. 

She could leave now if she wanted to, but she didn’t want to. Not with so much left to explore. She was Aella Onyeisi, veteran of the Hurricane, and she had survived horrors far greater than this. She would not be turned back because she was scared of the dark.

~

As she reached forward for another stroke, her fingers brushed something. She stopped mid-motion and extended her hand again. Whatever it was was smooth and cold, and strangely familiar. She kicked behind her so she could place her hand flat on the surface. Still oddly normal, but in the darkness it was difficult to tell what. 

Wood. It was wood, worn smooth by time and water. 

It felt like the wood of a ship. 

She felt along the surface in front of her until she reached an edge, then pulled herself along it, hand over hand. Alright, so that felt like it could be a railing, which meant that either she was on the deck or hanging off the side — at least as far as that description applied when she seemed to be more or less horizontal. She pulled her feet forward until they also met the wreck, gauging angles as best she could in her head. Off the side it was. With a gentle push against the hull, she hoisted herself up level with the rail. 

Was that light, or just her mind playing tricks on her? She screwed her eyes shut and waited a moment. Whatever it was she’d just seen was gone. When she opened her eyes again, it seemed to be back. Just a very faint glow somewhere in front of her, maybe one or two arm’s lengths away. 

Another gentle push sent her flipping over the rail and downwards towards the deck. The glow brightened as she moved forwards. It seemed there was a hole in the deck, and the light was coming from within. She kicked out behind her, pushing herself towards the gap.

~

The gap’s edges had once been jagged, but just like the rest of the ship, they had been rounded and smoothed by currents. She wrapped a hand around the edge and peered over. This gap seemed to lead into the ship’s hold, and that hold was covered in softly glowing algae. 

In places, there were only small pinpricks of it, tiny blue stars in the dark. But one corner was completely covered, and it was that glow that had summoned her. 

The algae didn’t hold her attention for long, however, because its light gleamed off metal in the furthest, deepest corner of the hold. She wriggled through the gap — a tight fit, even for her — and into the hold.

~

Whatever had happened to the ship, the hole in the deck was the least of the damage. Support beams and all sorts of loose chunks of wood and metal stuck into the room at odd angles. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but off to one side, sticking up from the sea floor, was what might have been another ship’s ram. Two shipwrecks? 

Keeping an eye out in front of her for further debris, and both hands, she swam deeper into the room, heading for the metallic glimmer ahead. What could it be? Weapons? Treasure? Some further indication of what had sunk this ship? She didn’t know, but she needed to find out.

~

As she swam, she realised the algae wasn’t just blue. Patches were green and purple, and even one or two small specks of gold dappled the overlapping glows. On one wall, just at the edge of her peripheral vision, was something else gold. When she turned, it wasn’t algae, but a picture frame. Parts of it still shone, though parts were covered in algae or tarnish. She flipped over, avoiding a loosely floating crossbeam, and swam closer. The wall with the portrait was tilted such that it seemed more like a ceiling, so she floated underneath it on her back while she inspected it. It seemed to be some rich-looking white man, dressed like a merchant. Perhaps this wasn’t a hold. Maybe it was a cabin. Hard to know. She turned back over, surveying the dimly lit room. That could be a table in the far corner, a broken half-cabinet still attached to another wall. 

Time limit, she reminded herself. Time limit. She abandoned the portrait and dove for the gleam in the bottom corner. 

It was indeed metal that the algae had glinted off. A small chest, not much bigger than her two fists, the metal bands around it tarnished and aged, but not enough to dull their shine. And it didn’t seem to be locked. She drew her dagger and dug it under the latch. 

The latch sprang open to reveal… treasure. 

Pearl necklaces. Golden earrings. Shining jewels in every colour she could imagine and several she had never seen before. A golden ring set with an amber stone. Silver chains with delicate pendants attached. All of it reflecting the colours of the algae behind her, blue and green and purple and pink. All of it beautiful. 

She was probably running out of time on her potion. She shut the chest and gathered it into her arms, and let herself sink down into the corner, ready to kick off upwards. 

Was that a ram over there? Surely she could check quickly? She shifted direction, swimming in that direction instead. 

It was a ship’s ram, forced through the hull but not fitting tightly. Of course. The ship had likely sunk thanks to taking on water, which was harder to do if the ram remained to plug the hole. She hadn’t expected to find a shipwreck here, let alone one that had lost a battle. Rams were a pirate tactic, and Theo said they hadn’t been seen in Wavemeet for a very long time. 

TIME LIMIT. Perhaps she’d have to write to Ambrose to ask him for more of the potion. There were so many unanswered questions in her mind, answers to be found somewhere in this wreck. But she couldn’t stay to find them out, not without getting herself into significant trouble. Theo would be very worried about her if she pushed her limits on the potion. He’d be worried enough about her as it was. She should go.

~

Finding her way back to the hole in the deck was fairly easy. Manoeuvring through while keeping her hold on the chest was harder, but she managed it without catching her clothes on the edges of the gap or dropping her loot. Now all that was left to do was swim back to the surface, and let herself be reeled up like a beautiful fish if the potion started to wear off. Easy. She kicked off the deck. 

The rope around her ankle pulled her up short. 

Shit. 

She jerked her knee up to her chest to dislodge whatever it was caught on. Or rather, tried. The motion simply pulled her back down. 

What could it be tangled up in? It could be anything. But she might have time to fix it. She took a deep breath in, then let it go, and dived back down.

~

It seemed that in all her roaming of the room, the rope had gotten looped around some sort of metal apparatus on the wall. She braced her foot on the wall, tucked her jewel chest safely under her arm, and tugged. 

Nothing. Her hands just slid on the wet rope. 

She looped the rope around her hands and tried again. Still nothing. In frustration, she launched a kick at the wall. The shipwreck might be old, but it wasn’t that old. All she managed to do was send a jolt of pain through her heel. What could she do? She could cut the rope, but it was thick rope, and tying it securely back around her ankle underwater would be pretty difficult. She could hook the rope around something else and use that as leverage to pry the metal off the wall. That didn’t seem likely to work either. Shit. 

She yanked on the rope a third time. The wall seemed to groan, a rough grating sound that echoed through the whole room. Something struck her shoulder and she bit back a yelp, letting go of the rope. 

The whole shipwreck was shifting. She glanced down; what she could see of the ‘floor’ was starting to rock and slide to one side. 

She had to get out. 

How could she get out? Could she still get to the deck gap safely? She should have enough slack in her rope still, but… she glanced up towards the gap and nearly shrieked. 

The shipwreck seemed to be falling towards her. 

She couldn’t breathe. 

Why couldn’t she breathe? The potion should still be in effect. Her hands flew to her throat, her heart beating erratically beneath her fingertips. The water pressed in around her, colder now, chilling her to the bone, the glow of the algae seeming to retreat to the corners of the room. 

No. No no no NO. Why was the algae fading? Was she dying? Was she going to be stuck down here until her air ran out, with Theo and her friends unable to pull her up because the bloody rope was bloody stuck and— 

She had to get out. She had to leave. She fumbled for the knife at her belt, her fingers slow and clumsy, barely able to feel anything. Knife. Knife. Where is it? Had she left it where the jewel chest had been? 

Around her, wood creaked and cracked. 

She still couldn’t breathe. She was running out of time. No time. No time. 

There! Her numb fingers closed on the handle. She squeezed it tightly, so tightly her nails dug into her palm, though she barely felt it. Then she grabbed the rope and began to saw at it, still gasping for breath in the cold water. Come on, come on… the rope was thick, but not that thick. She could do this. 

Deep breaths, she heard Theo say in her mind. With every scrap of reason she had left, she forced herself to listen. Deep breaths. One breath in as she drew the knife one way; one breath out with the next stroke. She could still breathe. The potion was still working. And slowly, slowly but surely, the rope fibres were splitting beneath her blade. 

Don’t look at the ship. Don’t think about how to get out. Cut the rope. One task at a time. One task at a time. Just one. It will be okay. It has to be. 

The rope snapped free so suddenly she could hardly believe it. In the same moment, the ship rocked beneath her again. A beam crashed hard into her back, sending pain firing like lightning through her chest. 

Time to go. 

She dodged another slowly falling piece of ship and dragged herself through the hole in the deck. Its edges caught on her shirt this time. She didn’t care. She barely noticed it past the throbbing in her back. She just had to leave.

~

Swimming up was harder than swimming down. She was tired, she was scared, and she had to work harder to pull herself towards the surface. 

One stroke at a time, she told herself. Theo would be waiting for her. She needed to get back to him. The only way to do that was to swim. 

Something scaled brushed past her bare foot. She shuddered and kicked harder. As with any bay, there were stories of creatures in the water. Some good, some bad. Theo’s parents’ friend, Nell, swore she’d seen several nasty-looking sea serpents in the bay. On the other hand, Theo’s father had told a story of going swimming in the bay and almost drowning, but waking on the shore with a single shimmering scale on the sand beside him. 

Neither story had been proven, but either could be true. The Hurricane had run afoul of a kraken far too recently for Aella to really doubt either story. Either way, she’d rather not take her chances with nasty sea serpents. She swam on. 

She could see the surface of the water, the rays of the sun spilling down, not quite reaching all the way to her yet, but close. So close. The muscles in her arms and legs burned; she shifted her treasure from one arm to the other. Her chest was burning too. Breathing was difficult now. Was it the potion wearing off? Was she just tired? She had to keep going. The rope would do nothing for her now; in her haste to swim back up, she hadn’t thought to follow it. She had to keep swimming.

~

The burning wasn’t going away. She was so close now, close enough to see the sun sparkling on tiny waves in the bay. Just as beautiful as before. No, even more beautiful, because it meant safety, and now she desperately needed that safety. 

Something brushed her foot again. She ignored it, still striving for the surface. 

As before, she breathed in and took in water, but this time it stung. This was wrong. This was bad. There was nothing in the water to help her anymore. She tried to breathe it out, but there was nowhere to send it. No. No no no. 

The surface seemed to dim. She wanted to scream, but she had no air left to do it. She wanted to keep swimming, but she had no more strength for it. Nothing she could do but watch her vision fade to nothing.

Potions and Pirates Taglist: @copper-dragon-in-disguise @diphthongsfordays @pepperdee @zmwrites @the-orangeauthor @quilloftheclouds

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ID: a banner with a brown pirate hat in the middle. the hat has two fluffy feathers sticking out of it, one blue and one yellow. the banner is placed above and below the main text. /end ID.

[starlingflight]

Running

A/N: On the 4th day of my New Year's Resolution to write everyday, I made Draco suffer. Continues below the cut or on AO3.

The roaring crackle of the fire still echoed in his ears. When he closed his eyes, it was to be greeted by the shimmering orange inferno; when he inhaled, he could still feel the smoke cloying at his lungs, or at least, that’s why Draco assumed he still couldn’t breathe one year later. 

The other possibility, that this was simply who he was now, was too much to bear. 

A knock at his bedroom door forced the Fiendfyre in his mind to retreat, though it still burned, waiting, in the dark recesses of his brain, where it lived. 

His mother did not wait for his permission before opening the door. She looked as she always did; hair perfectly arranged, robes unwrinkled, haughty self-importance etched into every line of her face. Draco turned away, finding a spot on the wall to her left and staring at it intently. 

“We’re going out,” she declared, voice commanding. 

Draco said nothing. He merely jerked his head sharply up and down once in a vague approximation of a nod. The most he’d communicated with another human being in days.  

“Be in the entrance hall in ten minutes.” 

This got his attention. Draco’s eyes swivelled back to her. “Me?” 

“Yes,” his mother’s tone was not one he typically argued with. “You’re part of ‘we’ aren’t you?” 

His head was already shaking before he’d even really considered what was being asked of him. 

He didn’t know where his parents were planning on taking him, the only places he’d been in the past year were the grounds of Malfoy Manor and the Ministry of Magic for hours of questioning and meetings and a trial. A trial where he’d only been allowed to say the very specific phrases given to him by his parents' representation. Someone else’s words coming out of Draco’s mouth, it was hardly a turn up for the history books. 

“Refusal is not an option,” his mother said in response to his shaking head. 

“I thought we were done?” The trial had ended a week ago. The Malfoys had been declared innocent, a word which, apparently, had a very different meaning to Draco’s previous understanding. 

He suspected a large amount of gold had changed hands, though he’d made no effort to confirm if this was true. Ignorance, as Draco knew all too well, was bliss. 

His mother sighed, whether in frustration or concern, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. “You’re not legally mandated to leave the house, Draco.” 

That was all he needed to hear. “Fine. In that case, I won’t.” 

Her sharp stare pierced him. He braced himself to hear her barked commands, commands he would follow simply because it was easier than arguing with her. He had lived his whole life unquestioningly following his parents, there was no point stopping now. The time to stop had been months ago. Years ago. He’d never even considered doing so, which was proof enough that he was beyond salvation. 

“You’ll have to come out eventually,” his mother warned, apparently deciding to give him a reprieve for the moment. 

The door closed firmly behind her. 

Draco crossed from his desk to his ornately carved four poster bed, collapsing on top of it fully clothed. He lay there for what he knew must be hours only because the sky outside his window turned from bright, summer blue to dusky pink to inky black. 

His mother’s words echoed on a loop in his head, mingling with the screams and the booming blast of curses that permanently reverberated there. 

He could not think of a single reason why he should ever have to leave his bedroom again. He had no friends, no connection to anyone outside of this house that he would like to maintain. His mother would undoubtedly ensure food and water were sent to him. It wasn’t as though he needed to work, there was enough money in his name that he would be kept alive quite without any effort at all on his part. Whether he deserved it or not. 

He could just lay in this bed, slowly fading until he died out, like one of the stars he’d been so laughably named after. 

This course of inaction he settled on was disrupted by another knock at the door. Another knock that did not wait for a response. 

Draco did not look directly at his father, a force of habit at this point. All of the horrific scenes that he’d witnessed, yet somehow it was the sight of his father’s face that he couldn’t bear to see now. When he did, everything Draco had been, and everything he would inevitably become in the future stared back at him, and that was harder to stomach than anything dark magic could inflict. 

“Your mother sent me.” 

His father’s words hung heavily in the air. Evidence of how much things had changed, if the two of them needed Draco’s mother to bring them together when, for as long as he could remember, he and his father had been inseparable. 

“She wants us to go to the Falcons match tomorrow – we can sit in the box… it’s private.” 

“I won’t be here.” This declaration bypassed Draco’s brain and tumbled straight out of his mouth with no conscious decision from him, yet it felt right. The first sentence he’d uttered in a year that didn’t turn to ash on his tongue. 

Even in the dark, even when he wasn’t really looking at him, Draco could sense his father’s frown. “Where will you be?” 

“That remains to be seen,” Draco replied matter-of-factly. 

His father’s cane tapped impatiently against the hardwood floor. “And what, exactly, will you be doing?” 

“Another mystery to be solved,” Draco muttered. He could add it to the pile he was already unable to stop himself puzzling through. Mysteries such as why he’d done things he’d done and how had he done them. Questions he didn’t even know if he wanted to know the answer to. 

“Narcissa!” His father’s voice echoed out into the hallway. His mother’s heels came tapping along in response a few short moments later. 

One flick of her wand and the darkness Draco and his father had been dwelling in was illuminated. “What’s the matter?” 

“He’s speaking in riddles.” His father shook his head. “He says he won’t be here tomorrow.” 

“Well, that’s good!” His mother said, her tone too bright. “You need to get out of the house, darling. Where are you going?” 

Draco shrugged, his eyes wandered to the emerald green canopy above him. “Wherever the first Portkey will take me.” 

“Portkey? Draco, that sounds rather drastic.” 

He didn’t respond, too busy mentally calculating the minimum arrangements he would need to make to get out of the country. The cacophony of noise that raged in his head quieted slightly from the distraction. The tightness in his chest eased infinitesimally too. 

“When do you plan to return?” 

Silence stretched out between them. The only answer Draco could give. 

“Darling, we’re supposed to be returning to normal.” 

Normal It was striking how one innocuous word could twist his stomach into knots and set his pulse racing. His skin itched, too tight over his bones.

His mother took three quick strides into his room, crossing her arms as she stood at the end of his bed. “I won’t pay for it,” she said firmly, because when reason didn’t work, the next logical course of action was to turn to threats. 

Draco’s eyes met hers. Ice clashing against steel. They both knew she would. She’d give him anything he wanted. Perhaps that had been the problem all along.

[ellekhen]

When Your Mind's Made Up

Chapter 19 - The Beginning

Chapter Summary: An illithid meets the Church it was once fated to become, but he has other plans for it. The mind flayer digs deep for answers, learning the truth of why Church came back for him.

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Original Male Character/Illithid Tav Rating: Explicit Progress: 68K+ words; Chapters 19/20

Excerpt below:

“You are who I was,” the mind flayer intones to its companion. “A tiefling. Church.”

His eyes are inky black, his skin pale, and his fangs as sharp as ever.

“It’s complicated,” the tiefling says, his voice softer and less resonant now. He sighs, running a hand nervously through his silver-streaked hair. 

“Like I said… I was you,” he repeats gently, voice breaking ever so slightly. “But you don’t have to become me.” His face hardens. “You are not going to become me. ”

“If you were me then you know why I need to do this,” the illithid insists. “Why are you stopping me?”  

“Because I can,” Church says matter-of-factly. “And… because this path is unknown. Mine is — and I have decided you will not share it.”

He closes his eyes briefly.

“I am sparing you my regrets,” Church continues resolutely. “I am giving you what I didn’t let myself have — time.”

He wraps his arms back around the mind flayer’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to the side of its head. 

“You’re going to be something unknown. Something incredible. Something fate hasn’t decided just quite yet. You’re going to drive the gods mad just by existing.”

“I don’t understand…” the illithid flicks its tentacles dubiously. “Who are you to change fate?”

“A monster, perhaps,” Church shrugs lightly. “A madman. Perhaps even an agent of chaos, in Withers’ book.”

“Why bother?” the illithid demands. “Why decide this for me?”

The shadow of a tiefling huffs a laugh. “You’re one to talk. Just moments ago you decided for Karlach, didn’t you?”

“So did you,” the mind flayer says pointedly. 

“Yes. I did,” Church smiles ruefully. “So it would only be typical of us if I insisted upon saving you.”

“So if I — you — died, how would you have been me?” the illithid asks. “You’re not…”

It hesitates. 

“…are you…?”

“Dead? Yes,” Church shrugs. “But not gone. Never really gone.” He hesitates. “Not yet, anyway.” 

Start from the beginning

[serephinastardust]

he Book I'm writing: Requiem of the Rising Flames-Elixir's Pursuit: A Kitsune's Journey Rewrite #3 Book 1 Chapter 2

As Aiden's eyes bore witness to the unfolding tragedy on the battlefield, a profound sense of horror gripped him. Sylara, once a beacon of ethereal flames, now bore the weight of accumulated wounds inflicted by Malachar. Each strike seemed to take a toll not only on her physical form but also on the very essence of her being.

Sylara... what have I done? Aiden's thoughts trembled with a mixture of guilt and anguish. He strained against the tendrils, his attempts at escape growing more desperate with every passing second. Yet, an unsettling realization crept into his consciousness—the more he struggled, the weaker he became.

His once-chiseled physique now felt like a vessel drained of vitality. Panic welled within him as he connected the dots. The tendrils... they're siphoning our strength. But for what purpose?

Aiden's focus shifted to Malachar, whose malevolent laughter echoed across the battlefield. The Voidbringer seemed to revel in the pain he inflicted upon Sylara, his power growing with each passing moment. Aiden's internal turmoil deepened as he recognized the sinister nature of the trap.

He's feeding on us. A cold realization settled over Aiden. Our life force, our vitality—it's fueling him.

The weight of the revelation bore down on Aiden as he struggled to reconcile the dire situation. His gaze flickered between Sylara, valiant but visibly weakening, and the tendrils that bound him. The battle had transformed into a cruel paradox: to save Sylara, he would need to sacrifice himself.

Sylara can't withstand much more. If I don't act now, we're both lost.

As the internal struggle intensified, Aiden's thoughts wavered between the instinct for self-preservation and the overwhelming need to protect Sylara. His mind, clouded with conflicting emotions, reached a solemn resolution.

Sylara deserves a chance to defeat this darkness. Aiden steeled himself for what seemed an impossible choice. For her, I must face the abyss.

His focus shifted from the tendrils to Sylara, determination replacing the panic that had gripped him. Forgive me, my love.

With a deep breath, Aiden surrendered to the reality of their plight. He ceased his futile struggles against the tendrils and embraced the grim decision that hung over him. The battlefield, once a stage for a valiant struggle, now bore witness to a sacrifice that transcended the boundaries of mortal understanding.

As Aiden embraced the chilling decision to save Sylara, he steeled himself for the ultimate sacrifice. The battle, once a tempest of magic and steel, fell silent as he made a conscious choice to sever the tether that bound him to life.

The tendrils, like inky threads woven into the fabric of despair, clung to Aiden's form. As his azure eyes locked onto Sylara, he whispered his farewell, a silent vow etched into the depths of his gaze. With a resolute breath, Aiden relinquished his hold on life, allowing his soul to slip away from the mortal coil.

The tendrils, sensing the absence of resistance, recoiled as if scorched by an unseen force. Aiden's vision dimmed, the world around him fading into an ethereal tapestry of light and shadow. Yet, even in the throes of his passing, his gaze remained fixed on Sylara, the woman he loved with a depth that transcended the mortal realm.

The tendrils, now devoid of the vitality they had sought to drain, withered away into nothingness. The void that had threatened to consume Aiden's essence receded, leaving behind an empty vessel, a sacrifice made for the sake of another.

In the midst of this ethereal transition, Malachar felt the unraveling of his trap. The sinister grin that had adorned his face contorted into a mask of furious disbelief. His power, a hungry void that had sought to devour the life force of the valiant couple, now waned, its source extinguished.

The battlefield, once bathed in the ominous glow of impending darkness, was now silent. Aiden's lifeless body lay still, the tendrils that had ensnared him evaporated like morning mist. Malachar, his malevolence temporarily stilled, cast a disdainful glance at the lifeless form. The victory he had sought tasted bitter, for it was devoid of the spoils he had anticipated.

Meanwhile, Sylara, still locked in combat with Malachar, felt a sudden, gut-wrenching void. The connection that bound her to Aiden severed with an abrupt finality. Horror painted her features as she glimpsed the lifeless form of her lover. The air seemed to freeze around her as the realization settled in, an icy grip tightening around her heart.

Aiden's sacrifice hung in the air, a testament to a love that transcended the boundaries of mortality. The battlefield, once a stage for a tragic struggle, now bore witness to the aftermath of a choice made in the face of insurmountable darkness. Sylara's grief echoed through the silent expanse, a mournful melody that lingered like a haunting refrain in the stillness that followed.

Sylara, her ethereal flames flickering with a subdued glow, felt time unravel as she gazed upon the lifeless form of Aiden. The battle that had once raged with unyielding intensity now seemed a distant echo, a cruel interlude in the wake of an unbearable truth.

"No… Aiden…" Her voice, usually filled with strength, now wavered with the weight of grief. She fell to her knees beside him, her hands trembling as she reached out to cradle his still face. The world around her blurred, the once vibrant colors of the battlefield now muted by the sorrow that enveloped her.

Aiden's lifeless eyes stared back, their azure depths robbed of the tempest that had once raged within them. The realization of his sacrifice cut through Sylara's heart like a dagger. Tears welled in her mismatched eyes, their amber and sapphire hues reflecting a sorrow that transcended mortal understanding.

"Why, Aiden? Why would you...?" Her voice caught in her throat, choked by the anguish that threatened to consume her. She traced the lines of his face, as if the touch of her fingertips could bring warmth back to his cold form.

The battlefield, now a silent witness to the tragedy that had unfolded, seemed to echo the emptiness that gnawed at Sylara's soul. The ethereal flames in her hair dimmed, a reflection of the flickering light within her that had been extinguished.

"I never asked for this," she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words. "I never asked for you to sacrifice yourself for me. I would have faced the darkness alone if it meant you could live."

Aiden's lifeless form remained still, and the world around them felt frozen in time. Sylara's gaze lingered on the features she had come to love, etching them into her memory with a painful precision.

"You were the light in my darkness, Aiden. The strength that guided me through the shadows. And now… now I'm lost without you." Her voice trembled, the raw emotion of her grief laid bare in the quiet expanse.

As Sylara cradled Aiden's lifeless form, her whispered words of grief hung in the air like a mournful lament. The ethereal flames in her hair dimmed, reflecting the somber atmosphere that enveloped the battlefield. Unbeknownst to her, Malachar observed the scene with a sinister satisfaction.

In the silent interlude, Sylara pressed a final kiss on Aiden's forehead, her lips lingering in a tender farewell. She closed his eyes gently, as if hoping to seal away the pain that marred his features. The battlefield, once a tumultuous stage of conflict, now stood as a tragic tableau of loss and love.

Malachar, watching with a cold detachment, remained silent for a moment. His dark eyes bore into Sylara as she kissed her beloved goodbye. The cruel amusement that danced in his gaze betrayed the malevolence that lurked within.

As Sylara's lips left Aiden's forehead, a sudden, chilling laughter escaped from Malachar. It started as a quiet, mocking chuckle, a venomous undercurrent that slithered through the air. But as Sylara's will to fight waned, the laughter swelled into a maniacal crescendo that echoed through the silent expanse.

Sylara, still grief-stricken, felt the malicious laughter seep into her very soul. It grated against the echoes of her mourning, a discordant symphony that stirred both fear and anger within her. She lifted her gaze from Aiden's lifeless form to meet the malevolent eyes of the Voidbringer.

Malachar's laughter, a perverse counterpoint to her sorrow, fueled the embers of defiance within Sylara. Through her tears, she sensed the gathering of dark magic, a palpable malevolence that hung in the air like an impending storm.

"I won't let you revel in our pain, Malachar," Sylara whispered, her voice trembling but infused with a newfound determination.

As the laughter subsided, Malachar's expression shifted into a cold smirk. "Oh, my dear Sylara, your pain is but a prelude to the ultimate suffering I shall unleash upon this world."

Sylara, sensing the impending doom that his words carried, made a silent vow. If she couldn't defeat Malachar, she would seal him away, locking his malevolence in a prison of her own making.

In the quiet expanse, both adversaries prepared for the final act of a battle that had transcended the boundaries of mortal understanding.

In the quiet aftermath of Aiden's passing, Sylara's thoughts resonated with a solemn vow, a promise forged in the crucible of grief and determination. I cannot let Malachar's darkness consume this world. If I cannot defeat him, I will seal him away, no matter the cost.

As she made this silent commitment, Sylara adjusted her position on the ground. The ethereal flames in her hair, once dimmed by sorrow, flared to life with an intensity that mirrored the burning resolve within her. She closed her eyes, focusing on each pressure point and vital juncture in her body. With meticulous precision, she began to unlock and open them one by one, allowing the power that resided within her to flow unrestrained.

The air crackled with the manifestation of magic, a force that surpassed the limits of her mortal form. Sylara's body, already burdened by the weight of grief and pain, trembled as she harnessed a power that belonged to the very essence of her being—the phoenix.

In her hand, the one closest to Aiden's lifeless form, a radiant light began to coalesce. It shimmered with an otherworldly brilliance, a testament to the extraordinary magic she sought to summon. The air around her seemed to vibrate with the intensity of the impending ritual.

Her thoughts whispered through the recesses of her mind, each word a declaration etched in the language of sacrifice. For you, Aiden. For the love we shared, and the future denied. I will unleash the phoenix's ultimate magic.

As she channeled the power, the flames in her hair blazed brighter, casting an ethereal glow that painted the scene with hues of red and gold. Sylara's eyes, usually a mix of amber and sapphire, now radiated with the incandescent brilliance of a celestial flame.

The pain, both physical and emotional, surged through her as the phoenix magic coursed through every fiber of her being. It felt like a tempest raging within, threatening to consume her from the inside. Yet, she endured, driven by an unwavering determination to honor the sacrifice Aiden had made.

In her outstretched hand, the radiant light took form—a luminous, ethereal being that mirrored the majestic grace of a phoenix. It hovered above her palm, a manifestation of rebirth and renewal. Sylara's heart, heavy with grief, found a flicker of solace in the presence she had conjured.

With the phoenix reincarnation poised in her hand, Sylara's thoughts merged with the primal cry of the magic she summoned. For love, for loss, and for the hope that emerges from the ashes. Aiden, this is my final gift to you.

Sylara knelt on the battlefield, the ethereal flames in her hair dancing with renewed vigor as she harnessed the ancient magic coursing through her veins. With meticulous precision, she brought to life both her Dragon and Kitsune magic in her hands, a symphony of elements converging with the intensity of a celestial storm.

In one hand, the radiance of the phoenix's ultimate magic, Reincarnation, pulsed with a divine glow. It hovered above her palm like a beacon of rebirth, its presence a testament to the eternal cycle of life and death. In the other hand, the intertwining energies of Dragon and Kitsune magic swirled together, forming the ethereal masterpiece known as Luminara's Embrace.

The aura that surrounded Sylara transcended mortal understanding—a kaleidoscope of radiant colors, each hue a manifestation of the elements she commanded. The air itself seemed to resonate with the power she wielded, a palpable force that quivered with the raw energy of creation and destruction.

Her eyes, now aglow with an ethereal brilliance, reflected a determination that defied the limitations of mortality. Sylara's outstretched hands, holding the convergence of magic with a grace that bordered on the divine, created an image reminiscent of a celestial being in prayer, beseeching the cosmos for a miracle.

As she channeled the magic, the very fabric of reality around her seemed to dissolve. Sylara's physical form wavered like a mirage, a testament to the unrestrained power that surged within her. The boundary between the mortal and the magical blurred, and her essence became a conduit for the ancient forces she sought to wield.

The battlefield, once a stage for conflict, now bore witness to a transcendental spectacle. Sylara, caught in the throes of magic beyond comprehension, became a beacon of light that pierced through the encroaching darkness.

Across the battlefield, Malachar, his malevolence momentarily overshadowed by a rising sense of trepidation, quickened the pace of his incantations. The weave of his spell shifted, a subtle alteration that spoke of instinctual survival. His fight-or-flight instincts kicked in as he felt the shifting tides of power on the battlefield.

[captainmdhridoyhossain-blog]

[ad_1] New processors, higher blacks, reformulated panels, and new boundary-stretching sizes are all in retailer for LG’s 2022 OLED, QNED, and UHD TV lineup, which it offered right here at CES 2022 in Las Vegas.LG’s OLED line has come a ways because the first 55-inch panel used to be unveiled for an eye-popping $11,999. Now the marketplace is stuffed with 4K TVs for neatly beneath $500 and stiff festival within the still-premium OLED TV area.In its quest to carry onto what could also be a narrowing lead, LG gave TechRadar an early have a look at a variety of big-screen, high-resolution shows that includes sensible colours, inky blacks, and surprising element.Meet the all-new C2 and G2 Gallery Version OLED TVsLG's new 97-inch OLED evo G2. (Symbol credit score: Lance Ulanoff)LG’s OLED evo line will characteristic a brand new 97-inch G2 4K show. Whilst now not the most important panel we’ve observed, it's ambitious and with spectacular imagery. As they talked via key specifications, the panel ran via a number of masters' paintings in fake frames that seemed only a paint-stroke clear of the true factor.On the different finish of the spectrum is the brand new 42-inch LG42C2 4K OLED panel, which could be particularly sexy to players in search of small, room-friendly panels that don’t skimp on symbol high quality pushed via the most recent console techniques.The imagery at the new LG65C2 is beautiful and includes a new composite-fiber frame that makes it part the burden of its predecessor. (Symbol credit score: Lance Ulanoff)A lot of the generation in the back of those panels is converting with new brightness booster generation within the Gallery line of OLED evo panels - thank you, in large part, to a brand new warmth dissipation gadget - and the entire high-end shows characteristic LG’s new Alpha 9 (a9) Gen. 5 processor.The a9 provides AI upscaling to straight away take sub-4K imagery as much as complete 4K decision. Tone mapping is now implemented to five,000 zones (it used to be simply 576 in the past), and there’s a brand new AI object enhancement to lend a hand correctly separate the foreground from backgrounds in imagery.The gadget could also be boosting audio to a digital up-mix of seven.1.2 encompass sound, up from 5.1 remaining yr. Skinny panel shows be offering notoriously dangerous audio, and LG would be at liberty to promote you a brand new soundbar to enhance that aural fact, however now not everybody needs to shop for extra hardware, which is why LG is all the time operating on making improvements to the units’ local audio chops.The brand new LG soundbar (Symbol credit score: Lance Ulanoff)LG could also be unveiling a brand new soundbar that provides an up-firing speaker on peak that considerably boosts voices. I usually can’t stand how muddled the direct audio is from my HDTVs and am all the time suffering to listen to the voices. This kind of 3-ft huge field did a very good activity of raising the speech above a cacophony of motion within the abysmal Batman vs. Superman.LG up to date the G2 chassis (rear) to be extra uniform than the C1 (foreground). (Symbol credit score: Lance Ulanoff)There are some chassis upgrades as neatly. The high-end G2 line will get a extra constant panel thickness that slims the thicker backside 3rd of the display screen to make all of the panel a extra constant width. The ease here's that all of the show will now take a seat flush towards the wall—extra just like the placing image body it’s intended to be mimicking.The C2 line now includes a new composite fiber subject material body that LG claims make all of the set part the burden of remaining yr’s C1 set. That’s just right information for the ones mounting those to the wall on their very own.The entire new OLEDs, with the exception of the A2 fashions, at the moment are able to a 120Hz refresh price, making them nice for players.The 42-inch LG42C2 could be an excellent gamer display screen. (Symbol credit score: Lance Ulanoff)webOS

has a brand new title and the cinema-sized Z2 OLED8K gaming, somebody? (Symbol credit score: Lance Ulanoff)LG isn’t slowing down on 8K OLED show construction. I noticed an implausible 88-inch Z2 fashion the place I virtually needed to put my nostril towards the show to come across the pixels (at the 97-inch 4K show, I may just come across them at about an inch away). We additionally were given a have a look at LG’s new 77ZX 8K gaming show. It’s NVIDIA G-Sync suitable and helps HMDMI 2.1’s complete 48 Gbps throughput. The corporate attached it to not a console, however a formidable gaming PC and allow us to spend a couple of moments taking part in a online game at the display screen. It seemed just right however I will be able to’t say I truly spotted the variation between gaming on it and, say, a bigger 4K show.LG’s show generation upgrades aren't almost about symbol high quality. The corporate is crafting a couple of interesting updates that would enchantment to customers who could also be much less all in favour of symbol high quality.The brand new line of units will improve At all times In a position, the place they may be able to run in an ambient mild mode, rotating artwork (I noticed a large number of that right through our demos), a clock, or your personal pictures.WebOS22 will will let you upload profiles. (Symbol credit score: Lance Ulanoff)LG’s good TVs all run WebOS, now renamed WebOS 22 (for the yr). The platform is getting a couple of updates, together with the facility so as to add person profiles. Customers will log in and get their very own mixture of content material—however now not TV show settings.Those units additionally combine far-field microphones and many of the key good assistants and, an LG exec defined, you'll be able to, equipped you may have an account and are logged in, get right of entry to any of the techniques at once via the usage of their most popular wake phrase. The units may even reply to, naturally, “Hiya, LG”Someday in the second one part of 2022, LG will upload Room to Room Proportion for suitable LG TV units. Put merely, it means that you can ship a TV supply (cable field, streaming set-top field) at once from one LG set to some other, equipped they’re at the identical Wi-Fi community.The QNED line and Micro LED spice up(Symbol credit score: Lance Ulanoff)The imagery right here at the LG-QNED-Mini-LED-75QNED99 is surprising. (Symbol credit score: Lance Ulanoff)LCD shows nonetheless outsell OLED, which is why LG could also be updating its 4K QNED line for 2022.  All of them characteristic up to date Quantum Dot generation by which the Nano Mobile is now an emissive layer. The crux of quantum dot is the clarifying of the sunshine from Blue LED to working some in the course of the Quantum Dots to run them inexperienced after which a Nano Mobile layer that emits purple mild. LG claims a 90%+ DCI-P3 huge colour gamut replica in comparison to the 70% protection on conventional LED-LCD TVs.The usage of Mini LEDs offers the shows extra discrete keep an eye on of black ranges and hose down haloing. Their 8K shows have 2,400 native dimming zones.I took a have a look at a couple of of those new QNED units and despite the fact that they’re now not wearing 33 million pixels of decision, the imagery is superb. Such a lot colour, implausible black ranges, and superb element that holds up even from a foot away.There also are quite a lot of new entry-level UHD units that use the reasonably older a5 CPU however are at 56.7mm thinner than the former technology Extremely HD units and run the similar WebOS and good TV content material and the dearer OLED and QNED traces.Pricing and availability main points are anticipated in Q1. [ad_2] #brings #brighter #OLED #TVs #sequel #OLEDs #CES,lance.ulanoff@futurenet.com (Lance Ulanoff) , 2022-01-04 02:00:00 ,

[ginosgarden]

Page 11 of my The April Fool Chapbook! Poems, as always, are written out under the cut. These ones really transport me back to how I felt when I wrote them

Page 1 | Page 2 | Page 3 | Page 4 | Page 5 | Page 6 | Page 7 | Page 8 | Page 9 | Page 10

15/30 4/17/2018 - Thanks, Cat

I can feel my steps, everyone I walk. My hair splays about in wild lockes. My face is warm though the air is still cold. There’s a power there, or so I’m told. I can carry my body all by myself. I can lift up my own two feet. I can feel them carry me ever forwards, as my hair moves to envelop me. There’s a power there, at least one that I can see.

16/30 4/18/2018 - The color turned out to be pink

This neighborhood has no business being so pretty. It’s a town out of a picture book. The crescent moon, pushed to the edge by shadow, Looms above watching over perfect brownstones and blooming trees.

One tree mirrors me, with buds stretching out to meet the inky blue with its last promises of light. Even in this brisk spring it stands resolute, no more than a twig, trying to push through.

Cold snaps be damned, she listens. She listens to all I have to say until I’m repeating myself and yet still she listens, waiting to bloom. But it’s not her time quite yet and I need to be moving on. One of these years I’ll be able to see what color they’ll be.

But this part of town is no longer mine. It’s exactly the same even as stores close and open and strange art installations appear with no apparent commemoration. But the streets keep their names and the air is always just a bit cleaner than I remember it to be. And it’s still so, so pretty, too pretty to be real.

[stationeryideas-2022]

Hello to my beautiful pen and inky friends, how are you all doing, hopefully you've got over the Christmas chaos, today again I've been able to relax and take things gently (which is something I definitely need to do as I was quite ill on Christmas Day and unfortunately unable to eat any of my Christmas food, but by all accounts it was very yummy including my dessert) Here's Day 3 for December 'End Of Year Reflection', of the #penandinkchallenge hosted by @penandinkchallenge and @kari.bullet.journal Today prompt is '🅡︎🅔︎🅢︎🅞︎🅛︎🅤︎🅣︎🅘︎🅞︎🅝︎🅢︎' well I have to be honest I don't make any new years resolutions mainly because I tend to break them within an hour if me making them --- so no Resolutions for me...lol On my desk 📘 Notebook @ppennedofficial 🖋️ FP @esterbrook_official in Aqua and @sailor.europe 2.0 calligraphy pen @stationeryideas2022 Single Pen Pillow Rest #2022challenges, #penandinkchallenge, #penandink, #fountainpens, #sketchbook, #mgmbme, #journalscribblers, #writing, #journalideas, #journalinspiration, #mgmbesalie, #draw, #write, #create, #challenges, #drawingprompt, #creativeideas #stationeryideas2022, #sturminsternewton, #dorsetUK, #stur (at Sturminster Newton) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cmr5xH3IqyP/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[seriouslysnape]

Perfect Resolution

Harry Potter x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut. Language. 

Word Count: 1,641

“Good. You deserved that after today.”

“Even when you’re being stubborn, you’re still my pretty girl.” Harry huffed out, his voice strained when you slammed back down onto his lap in a particularly rough way, the tip of his cock pounding at your g-spot.

Your brain was mush at this point. Every thought that crossed your mind was occupied by either Harry or your goal to achieve the orgasm that he was helping you towards. Harry looked so good right now. His hair was unruly and ruffled in every direction from where your hands had untidied it from being wrapped in it. You leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to his famous scar without ever breaking the rhythm of your hips.

You had been rather difficult today. It hadn’t been your best day, and everything had seemingly gone wrong since the moment you had gotten up that morning. You had been sour with him all day, brushing him off and barking at him for the most innocent intentions. He had been trying to get through to you all day, trying to make you feel better. But even Harry, who was the most patient person you knew, would crack eventually. The last straw was drawn when you had blown up at him for attempting to help you study for your Transfiguration exam that you were totally screwed for.

“I don’t need your fucking help, Harry!” You had basically screamed at him, causing him to recoil completely. 

He had been standing next to where you were sitting at your desk, rubbing your back soothingly and pointing out things in your notes when you got stuck on something. He hadn’t expected you to respond so harshly to him just trying to help, and honestly he had enough with your attitude for one day.

Without another word, he had yanked you up from your chair, sitting in it himself and pulling you onto his lap. He murmured something about “fucking the attitude right out of you”; something that he didn’t do very often. He had pushed you over the edge the first time with just his fingers, pumping and curling his fingers until you were writhing around his hand. Now he was repeatedly being buried deep inside of you each time you crashed back down onto him.

Even though he was aggravated with you, he knew that you had just been frustrated all day. He wanted you to feel better, because he could never stay mad at you. Still, he hadn’t quite worked through all the irritation.

“You take my cock so well, don’t you?” He practically groaned out, “Just like you took my fingers just a few minutes ago...you’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

You hadn’t said anything in a while, your thoughts too preoccupied to form any kind of coherent response to what he was saying to you. Your eyes were screwed shut, so tightly that you were seeing inky blotches behind your eyelids. Your head was tilted upwards to the ceiling as you focused on the way he was stretching and filling your slick walls so perfectly. He was meeting your bounces with his upward thrusts, hitting every sensitive spot that had melted you into a whimpering puddle.

It wasn’t until his hand gripped your chin to force you to look at him that your eyes opened and you snapped out of your trance.

“Are you not going to answer me?” He asked gruffly when you didn’t give any kind of reply.

Your head fluttered as your dilated pupils met his lust blown ones. You were breathless as you spoke, your chest heaving with each rapid inhale of oxygen that you took. 

“Sorry, Harry. What’d you say?” You asked him to repeat, your own voice echoing in your ears.

Instead, Harry shot up from the chair without removing his throbbing cock out of you. Your wobbly legs were pitiful as he brought you to your feet, pressing the front of your hips into the desk and pulling your back against his front. 

“Since you can’t get it together, I guess I’m going to have to fuck you into your desk.” He growled, pushing your skirt up and chuckling lowly in your ear at the reminder that his favorite pair of your lace knickers had been discarded long ago. 

The wooden material of your desk dug into your skin, but you were too focused on the delicious feeling of Harry fucking in and out of you to even notice. Your palms gripped the edge of the desk, your eyes raking over the countless parchments of Transfiguration notes in front of you. The words were blurred jumbles of letters, and you couldn’t comprehend what any of it said to save your life right now.

Harry was fucking you hard and fast, pulling out almost completely each time before railing back into you. He kept one hand on your waist to keep you from straying away from him, since sometimes you tended to squirm. His other hand cupped one of your breasts, playing with the stimulated nipple. Your orgasm was heating up and pooling in your belly, your desperation becoming more and more clear.

“Harry.” You croaked out, your voice light and airy.

“What, angel?” He acknowledged with a grin, knowing you were beginning to beg.

“Please...” You whined, your knees trembling more with each passing second.

He laughed again in your ear as he slammed in again past your sopping folds, your arousal had drenched his cock and was dripping down your thighs.

“What do you want, baby? You’ve got to tell me if you want something.” He sneered with the knowledge that he had you at his mercy.

You swallowed hard, your brain even foggier than before as you replied without much hesitation.

“I wanna cum.” You admitted, crying out immediately after a particularly perfect thrust from him.

“Do you? Only good girls get to cum,” He pointed out, his voice muffled from his mouth sucking on your neck, “You’ve been bad all day. I don’t know if you deserve it.”

The desire and the need to finish was exploding all through you. This was the best you had felt all day and if you didn’t get your release, you were sure you’d be a mess before the night was over. 

“No, no, no. Please, Harry. I didn’t mean to- fuck! I just wanna cum so I can feel better...” You pleaded.

Harry was a real softie at heart, and he rarely could stand the sound of you so needy and broken down. Maybe if you had really pissed him off, he might hold off on letting you cum, but right now he felt too bad to leave you like this.

“Okay, love, okay. Just because you’ve had such a rough day, I’m gonna let you finish,” He said, his words beginning to slur together, “But the next time you get snappy with me, I might not be so nice.” He rumbled.

A moan of satisfaction and bliss bubbled out of your throat as he continued to wonderfully fuck you the way only he knew how to. The band of ecstasy was stretching and stretching in your gut, and it was only a matter of a few more immaculately pounds into you that it would snap. His cock twitched deep inside of you somewhere, signaling that he was about to burst as well. 

When he felt you clench around him, he splayed his hand across your chest and pulled you completely back and flush against him as you came on his cock, his own release spilling into you. The sound of his moan as he finished sent waves of thrill through you as he held you close as you fell from your climax. The rushes of electricity and lust fizzled away slowly the further you both trailed from your finishes. The only sounds were your matched heavy breathing and occasional sigh of content.

Harry dragged his now softened cock out of you, his tip leaving last with a wet sounding pop. Your core and legs were shaking violently as he spun you around, holding you up by your arms to keep you from collapsing on him.

“You alright, lovely?” He questioned once he felt stable enough to speak.

“Mmhm,” You mumbled, “I’m perfect.”

“Good. You deserved that after today.” He responded, referring to how a good loving making session was all you needed.

You didn’t quite catch the intention of his words, and your expression changed into a guilty one.

“Oh, Harry, I’m sorry I was so mean today. It wasn’t your fault.” You apologized, kissing just above his right pectoral muscle.

He kept you held up with one arm, using his free hand to brush your messy hair from your face. He kissed the tip of your nose, then pressing another lazy kiss to your lips.

“I know, sweet girl. It’s okay,” He said warmly, “I meant that you deserved to feel good after you’ve had such a bad day.”

He whisked you away to your bed, snuggling up with you to give you a break from both studying and fucking. He littered you with kisses, aiding in getting rid of the remnants of your bad mood. He whispered sweet nothings in your ear and kissed all the places that made you smile or giggle happily.

Today reminded you of one of the many reasons you loved your beloved Harry. He was patient when you were being difficult. He was understanding when you were struggling. He was there for you when you needed him to be. He made your heart swell and your stomach flutter every time. 

He was the perfect resolution every time things got hard.

“Thanks for making me feel better. In more ways than one.” You said appreciatively with a small laugh. 

Harry grinned proudly, leaving another kiss on your forehead.

“Anytime, my love.”