#oops this ran away with me

[blacktofade]

Gemtho Fortnight Day 8

prompt: Gemtho fortnight prompt: During a masquerade in Pearl’s ballroom Gem can sense Etho watching her from a corner of the room almost desperately. She’s put on a very revealing dress to tease him as much as possible. Later into the night he suddenly pushes her into a bathroom and bends her over the sink :)

cw: nsfw

“Whose eye are you trying to catch?” Grian asks, sidling up to Gem.

She can’t see his face behind the masquerade mask he’s wearing, but the fact he’s an entire head shorter than her and sounds exactly like Grian, she thinks it’s a safe bet to assume it’s him.

“I’m not — “ she starts, “ — nobody.”

Grian rakes his gaze from her head all the way to her toes and makes a noise, very much like he doesn’t believe her.

“If it’s who I think it is, he’s over there in the back corner being disgustingly antisocial.”

Gem’s stomach flips, her stare shifting, following the tilt of Grian’s head, but he’s not lying.

She hadn’t noticed him standing there, but it’s unmistakably Etho — his white hair bright against the darkness of his mask. The mask is similar to the one he usually wears, but there are tendrils climbing up around his eyes, like melted wax that’s defying gravity.

He’s staring right back at her and she finds herself losing her breath in a rush.

“It’s working,” Grian says with a laugh, clearly in response to her reaction. “You’ve definitely got his attention.”

Gem feels caught, unable to look away, and Etho lifts his chin, just the slightest bit, in acknowledgement.

He looks good — in a crisp shirt, a waistcoat that makes his shoulders look impossibly broad, slacks that are a little tighter than usual.

She blinks slowly at him, taking a sip from her flute of champagne, trying not to look as affected as she feels. But then his gaze drops, dragging down her body so slowly that it feels as though she’s being undressed right there in the middle of the ballroom.

“You two aren’t subtle,” Grian tells her and Gem glances away from Etho, ignoring the heat in her cheeks.

“There’s nothing to be subtle about.”

“Mhmm,” Grian replies, not looking sold. “Well, he’s coming over.”

Gem’s head snaps around to look, but Etho’s still standing where he was before, hasn’t moved an inch.

Grian laughs into his glass before taking a sip. “Like I said.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Gem argues, face twice as hot now.

“Okay, well don’t let him keep you up too late tonight, because we’re gonna finish work on the river tomorrow.”

“Since when?” she complains. The last thing she wants to do is work the day after a party.

“Since now ‘cause I know it’ll annoy you.”

She swats at him with her free hand, but Grian steps out of reach, a snort of laughter escaping him.

“I’ll message you in the morning. Bright and early,” he threatens and she offers him a dark look.

“Don’t.”

But instead of answering, he offers her a smile and wave as he starts to walk away, heading suspiciously in the direction of Mumbo. She wants to yell about how unsubtle he is, but knows better than to make a scene. She wouldn’t do that to Pearl.

Without a word, she finishes the last of her drink in two deep swallows and draws in a steadying breath as the alcohol buzzes through her body.

When she glances back over at Etho, he’s still watching, his hands tucked in his pockets, one shoulder leaning against the wall behind him — the epitome of casualness.

Carefully, she turns, giving him an unobstructed view of the open back of her dress. She’d spent hours making sure her curls fell just right and she can feel them tickling halfway down her spine. She knows without a doubt his eyes are glued to her, following her as she crosses the room in the direction of the exit.

She needs some air.

Though Gem doesn’t make it outside.

A hand catches her wrist when she’s just a few paces from freedom, the grip tight enough that she can’t break free.

“Leaving already?” Etho asks, and Gem likes the way he looms over her when he tugs her closer.

“Why do you care? Would you miss me?”

He glances down, undoubtedly staring down the front of her dress and heat licks up her spine.

“I want to show you something.”

When he meets her eyes again, she quirks an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t offer anything more.

She waits, just a beat, to watch the uncertainty creep into his expression.

“It better be good,” she tells him, and his shoulders relax, but his grip on her doesn’t.

He glances left and right and then pulls her in the direction of the bookcase behind them.

“I’m not — ” she starts to argue, almost certain he’s about to do something inappropriate where anyone can see.

But then he reaches up, tugging at one of Pearl’s books, and there’s a familiar click. Gem stares at him, eyes brightening, unable to keep the smile off her face as a doorway reveals itself over Etho’s shoulder.

There’s a secret room.

Gem laughs, head tipping back as he drags her along behind him as he slips inside, the door shutting behind them with a thud that she feels in her bones.

He pulls down his mask and kisses her in the same movement — so smooth that it feels like he’s done it a thousand times before.

She makes a soft noise, hands weak when she tries her best to clutch at his waistcoat and keep him where he is.

He kisses her greedily, as though they didn’t spend last night together, or the night before, or the night before that. As though they didn’t wake up, entangled, in Gem’s bed. As though they didn’t spend the morning restlessly learning each other until she’d eventually kicked him out so she could wash up and get ready for the ball.

They’ve barely been apart for half a day, but she can feel his insistence in the way he grips her arm, the way he tucks his hand against the small of her back and keeps her pinned against his front.

“Etho,” she exhales against his mouth when he finally lets her up for air, and he kisses at her cheek, at her jaw, unstoppable.

“You look — ” he starts, but doesn’t finish the thought, instead drops his hand down to the hem of Gem’s dress that falls mid-thigh.

He’s insatiable and Gem feels a rush of power through her veins. She’s doing that to him.

“I picked it out for you,” she says breathlessly, and Etho’s hand slides up her leg, up and up and up.

He hesitates, drawing back just enough to be able to catch her gaze.

“Is that for me, too?” he asks and Gem presumes he means the fact that she’s not wearing any underwear. Something she's sure he knows as his fingers graze across her bare hip.

“I may have been thinking of you,” she agrees, slowly smiling, wanting to eat him whole.

Gem gasps when Etho turns her, so quickly that her head spins.

He presses up against her back, shoving her forward toward an alcove where there’s a bed set up.

“It’s not soundproof in here,” he warns at the same time that he flips up the skirt of her dress, pinning it with one hand, and Gem still lets out a desperate noise, already wet, already wanting.

He holds her like that, clearly looking his fill, and Gem finds herself widening her stance and arching her back just a little.

“Want me on the bed?” she asks, not looking behind, and Etho’s other hand trails up the inside of her thigh.

“Don’t move,” he orders, and Gem bites back a groan when his fingers nudge between her legs.

She rests her forearms flat on the wood in front of her, head hanging down when he immediately finds her clit.

He circles it slowly with his index and middle fingers before nudging at her opening with his thumb, and Gem’s not sure whether she wants to beg for mercy or ask for more.

“You’re a mess,” he grunts, working at her with an efficiency that has her toes curling in her shoes.

“That’s for you, too,” Gem exhales, forehead pressed to her forearm, and he works his thumb into her, easing her open so easily she wonders if they were made for each other.

She can hear the unsteadiness of his breathing, how he’s clearly not unaffected, and it makes her stomach flip. He wants her so badly, he can’t even wait for them to get home.

She wonders how long he’s been planning it — was it when he first saw Gem in the crowd? Was it a spur of the moment idea when he realized she was slipping outside? Or was it meticulously thought out before they even got to the party?

“Etho,” she begs, because she’s never once pretended to be a patient person.

Etho’s other hand shifts, sweeping her hair aside before she feels the heat of his mouth between her shoulder blades.

He’s kept his mask down to be able to feel her skin, and for a split second, she imagines getting to push him down, to ride his face and get his tongue on her, to shove him back out into the party with her mess still around his mouth. With the mask in place, no one would ever know.

She shuts her eyes, moaning, and Etho nudges forward, letting her feel that he’s already hard in his pants, just for her.

“Etho,” she repeats, and he finally seems to listen, his belt clinking as he tugs it open with one hand, the one between her legs never leaving.

She feels his knuckles on her thigh as he strokes himself and then his thumb slips out of her, making space for the blunt head of his cock.

“If I’d known it was this easy, I would’ve worn this dress sooner,” Gem says, though all the air rushes out of her lungs when Etho shoves forward without warning, forcing her open as he slides in deep.

He groans, almost too loud, one hand finding her hip to drag her backward onto him, pressing their bodies flush, as close as they can get.

Gem widens her stance, knees feeling weak as she struggles for breath, feeling too much, wanting him so badly it makes her chest ache.

His pace is unsteady as he starts to fuck her, and she feels his desperation in the short, sharp thrusts of his hips. She wonders if it’s the newness of their relationship that makes him so insatiable, or maybe he’s had it bottled up for years, watching her, waiting so patiently for the right moment.

“More,” she pleads, though she’s not sure she’ll survive it, but she’s ready to fall apart beneath him.

His free hand shifts, fingers getting back between her legs to nudge against her clit, and it gives her everything she needs.

She presses her mouth to her forearm, holding back the yell that threatens to escape when he pushes her through an orgasm that has no right to be as good as it is. With hardly any build-up, a frantic fumble midway through a party shouldn’t be enough for her.

But she’s tight around Etho, riding the high as far as it’ll take her.

“Gem,” Etho pants, voice tense, and she’s not sure how long he rocks into her, but she feels it when he starts to lose control.

His thrusts turn deeper, harder, and she wonders if the slapping of their bodies would be enough to give them away.

He clutches at her, moaning softly as he shoves fully inside and holds himself there, following her over the edge.

There’s sweat at the small of her back, at her temples, and she knows her face is flushed beyond saving.

She’s not sure how they’re going to slip back out into the party and act as though nothing has happened.

“That was — ” she starts, but can’t find the rest of her sentence.

After a moment, the warmth of Etho’s forehead presses to her back and she feels the shaking of his body before she hears his breathy laugh.

“I can’t believe we — ” He trails off into another laugh, and Gem exhales when he finally draws back, pulling out of her.

She’s a mess.

“I think I’m gonna have to sneak home,” she admits, finally lifting her head and starting to straighten, though Etho doesn’t help when he gets a hand on her ass. “To clean up,” she clarifies, turning to offer him an exasperated look.

“I’ll walk with you,” he insists, which shouldn’t be so sweet when he’s tucking himself away and fastening his pants again.

Gem watches him put himself back together, almost looking the same as before when he finally tugs his mask back up into place.

Meanwhile, Gem knows her hair is a mess, knows her makeup must be smudged, but she finds herself smoothing down her dress the best she can and offering Etho a crooked grin.

Despite everything, Gem doesn’t regret a thing.

“If we’re fast enough, maybe no one will notice,” she tells him, reaching for the door to open it the same way she'd seen Etho do earlier.

But before she can, there’s a click and the door slides open by itself.

Beside her, Etho grunts in surprise. In front of her, Grian and Mumbo blink at her — shocked, caught, knowing.

Grian’s the first to react, laughing so loudly that Gem wants to step forward and slap a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t,” she warns, even as Grian glances between them, seeming delighted to be proven right.

“I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine,” he offers and Gem reaches back, grabbing onto Etho’s arm and tugging him forward.

“Fine,” she agrees, already easing her way out and pulling Etho along with her. “But only because Pearl can’t know about this.”

“Pearl can’t know about what?” a voice asks, and Gem freezes, watching as Pearl heads toward them, long and lean and probably not as forgiving as Gem wants her to be.

Pearl’s gaze bounces between the four of them and then settles on the open door, her shoulders dropping in disappointment.

“I’m not even going to ask,” she says.

“Good,” Gem tells her, “because you won't like the answer.”

Before Pearl can argue, Gem tightens her grip on Etho and flees in the direction of the exit.

[ravencp86]

Heat - Jegulus and Wolfstar - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 1,020.

TW - suicidal thoughts (not followed through!)

I swear I tried to make this shorter 🤦‍♀️ anywhoooo...

James’ mind started to go blank, his vision was fading into ever decreasing circles and his lungs were on fire. He wanted to grab at his throat, hit his chest, anything to get the air flowing, but he couldn't move his arms, or his legs. They were too heavy. 

He was being dragged under and there was nothing he could do. He was dying. His whole world had shattered and he was going to shatter with it.

He could hear quiet, muffled noises, but they were so far away, he had no idea what they were saying. He tried to listen, but it was no use. They were getting further and further away. 

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

"James! James, please!” Remus was screaming at his best mate, but he couldn't get through to him and he could see James was giving up. “You have to breathe, James!” Remus frantically waved over one of the paramedics who had spun around at the sound of Remus’ loud, panicked begging. 

The paramedic came pelting over with his crew mate and the two of them got an oxygen mask onto James and started rapidly discussing what to do next. Remus sat back on his heels and watched as the paramedics worked to keep him breathing. 

Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay…

Suddenly, a blood curdling scream had him spinning on the spot. He saw Sirius break through the police tape and then be wrestled backwards by two armed officers. 

“REGGIE! JAMES!” The pain in Sirius’ voice was breaking Remus’ heart. Taking one look back at James to see him blinking and the paramedics looking relieved, Remus leapt to his feet and ran to Sirius.

“Siri, I'm here!" Remus tried to grab Sirius, but was swatted away. “It's me!”

When Sirius realised who was trying to get his attention, he stopped fighting and fell into Remus’ arms. 

“What the fuck happened, Rem?!” Sirius cried, tears cascading down his cheeks, as he flung a hand out to the burning house.

“We don't know yet sweetheart,” Remus said, trying to keep his voice calm whilst he also tried to lead Sirius over to where James had been moved to one of the ambulances. Remus could feel the heat from the blaze and it was making him sick. 

Sirius refused to move, but he kept looking left and right. When he spotted James at the ambulance, a small flicker of relief rushed across his face, he looked around again. 

“Where's Reggie? Is he in that ambulance, or a different one?” Sirius looked at Remus with such hope in his eyes and Remus felt his own tears start to fall again, unable to find the words. “No.” Sirius started shaking his head roughly. “No, no, it's not-”

“My love-”

Sirius shoved away and started running towards the house, several fire and police persons shouting at him to stay back and some of them trying to grab him and Remus, who had given chase. 

He grabbed onto Sirius and they both collapsed to the floor. Remus held on with a death grip, as Sirius screamed Regulus’ name over and over. Begging any deity that could hear, to save his baby brother. 

“REGGIE!!” The anguish in Sirius’ voice was too horrible, too heartbreaking and Remus didn't know how to fix it. Didn't think he ever could. “REGGIE, PLEASE! NOOOOO!” The screams were not human and Remus was shaking as well.

Suddenly, a fire officer came bursting out one of the living room windows, flames licking after him, as the fresh injection of oxygen flew into the room. The man had something in his arms and both Remus and Sirius collectively held their breaths.

“MEDIC!” 

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

James was breathing again, but not through choice. The paramedics had refused to let him go. So, now he was being tortured slowly. He had a front row seat to Regulus’ fiery tomb and all he could think about was how he could join him. He knew that wasn't a great thought, but James also didn't know how to be in a world without Regulus.

“MEDIC!”James suddenly heard a deep voice yell. “HE'S STILL BREATHING!”

The two guys on either side of James tried to hold him back, but he ripped the cannula from his arm and ran full pelt towards the fireman and the person he carried. 

He arrived at the same time as two different paramedics and their gurney did. The man carrying Regulus, placed him down quickly but gently. One of the paramedics tried to push James aside and he growled at her. She looked startled, but stood her ground. 

“We can't help him if you're in the way,” she tried to reason and James took a step back out of her way. He grabbed Regulus' ankle, just as Sirius and Remus arrived and Sirius grabbed Regulus’ other ankle.

The paramedics were moving lightening fast, getting an oxygen mask on Regulus and hooking him up to an IV and the heart monitor. They started to wheel him towards the ambulance as they worked. 

James registered that Sirius and Remus were talking to him, but he couldn't hear a word they were saying. He could only hear the paramedics. 

“Baby, I'm here,” James started speaking quietly, still holding on to Regulus' ankle and squeezing it. “I'm right here, Reg. I'm here, I'm here.” 

A tiny sound came from the direction of Regulus’ head and suddenly everyone was quiet.

The paramedic removed Regulus’ mask.

“J-Jaime,” Regulus croaked and James had never heard a sound more beautiful in his entire life. 

James flung himself up to the top of the gurney, the paramedic moving out of his way this time. 

“Mi estrella, estoy aquí!” James gushed, as he cried and cupped Regulus’ face. “I'm here, I'm here.” James repeated, kissing Regulus and stroking his hands through his soot covered hair and face. 

“Jaime,” Regulus croaked again and coughed. “I think I burnt dinner.” Regulus cracked as much of a smile as he could manage and James smiled with him, shakily laughing through tears and snot and more kisses.

His star. He was going to be alright.

[itsalmostavengers]

7!! 🥰

7: Late nights

"You should rest, sir."

It was sound advice, all things considered. Jarvis had given him a lot of sound advice over the last 24 hours: things like 'bathe' and 'look over the new fortification plans' and 'address your people'. The assassination attempt had occurred in the middle of the square, after all - the citizens would be scared. It was Anthony's duty as king to assuage those fears.

But while Jarvis was the best Chief Advisor a man could ask for, his role was confined only to that. Advising. And Anthony had no plans on moving more than three inches from the spot he was sat at right now, at Steven's bedside.

He kept his eyes fixed to the other man's peaceful expression. They'd stopped the bleeding hours ago, but the knight still hadn't awoken. His fever still raged; a terrible storm under the surface of Steven's porcelain skin.

The sword had pierced clean through his chest. Front to back. Armourless, because Gods only knew that Anthony had fortified that man's uniform more times than he could count at this point in his life, but of course, it had been when Anthony was bothering him during his sparse few hours of personal time that his would-be-executor had decided to try their luck.

Steven, of course, hadn't hesitated to put himself in front of the blade. That was what his oath demanded of him, after all - to die for the king without hesitation. Without question. No matter how many times the King may have begged him not to over the years.

"I'll rest when he wakes," Anthony muttered, his voice sounding distant and faraway even to his own ears. The late night was beginning to edge closer to an early morning, but the idea of not being at Steven's side just then was not one he could stomach. His decadent bedroom, his thick furs to keep him warm - none of it worth anything when put up against the man laid out on this simple cot, tucked away in the palace sanatorium.

He cleared his throat, rubbed his heavy eyes, and then refreshed the cold rag that was sat atop Steven's forehead, dunking it in a new dose of icy water before laying it back across his knight's clammy skin. This was not a job befitting of a king. He was well aware of that. He had been told as much by the nurses he had sent away, by the Chief of Staff he had instructed to keep things running in his absence, and he was sure if these palace walls could talk, they would say the same. But in that moment, the Gods themselves could've come down and demanded he get back to his divinely chosen role and Anthony would have told them to go and rot in hell. This wasn't about status or position or duty, all of which Anthony would abandon if it meant that man in front of him would just wake up.

No. This was about a skinny little stable boy with too-long limbs and floppy blond hair and a smile both warm and challenging, whom King Anthony had loved since the very first moment he'd set eyes on him 15 years ago, and had not stopped loving for a single moment since.

His fingers were slick with water and they left glistening trails against the side of Steve's cheek as he stroked, feather-soft and tender, down the plane of the other man's slack face. He didn't care that Jarvis saw it. Jarvis would already have guessed, as would most of the palace officials, and the hour was too late for Anthony to care about it any more. Perhaps Steven would've, if he'd been awake. But he wasn't and so he didn't get a say.

"My Lord," Jarvis' voice was unbearably soft, and still Anthony refused to look his way, because he knew exactly what he would see on the man's kind face if he did. "I know you must feel great guilt, but flagellating yourself in this manner is going to do nothing to-"

"I will rest when he wakes."

"And if he doesn't wake?" Jarvis responded, fast and heavy. "What then, sir?"

Anthony's fingers grazed the corner of Steven's soft mouth, thinking of their shared lifetime of lingering glances. Overstayed touches. The quiet, resigned devastation that'd been plastered across Steven's beautiful face when the Royal Wedding had been announced three days ago. It had been inevitable that Steven would need to take some time, and yet still Anthony had insisted on sneaking out of the castle, hunting him down, demanding to talk with him about it when he was in his plain attire, no uniform, defenceless -

Anthony sucked a sob back into his chest before it could slip out and reached blindly for Steven's hand. "He will wake," he insisted, childlike and petulant and wholly uncaring about it. "He will. He will, Jarvis."

Jarvis inhaled as if he were about to argue, but in the end, nothing came out. Instead, there was a soft sigh and the sound of light footsteps. Age may have changed his body, but when Jarvis pressed a hand to Anthony's shoulder, the presence of him was as comforting as it had always been.

"I can still remember the look on your face after you'd been introduced to that first horse of yours," the elderly man spoke softly, his fingers squeezing down against Anthony's skin. "You were enraptured. Eyes shining like two shooting stars, practically bouncing off the walls. I thought you'd simply taken a shine to the animals." There was a gentle chuckle. "But Gods almighty, your Majesty, you would not stop talking about that stable boy. And no matter what we said about the horses, you always found a way to bring it back to him. Always him."

Steven was warm and soft and unresponsive under Anthony's hands. He could still feel the ghosting wetness of the man's blood as it'd poured out of the gap in his chest; see the expression on his Knight's face, nothing but pure relief, even as he'd been falling to his knees in the dirt. You're okay, Steven had told Anthony, a moment before he'd slipped away and a moment after Anthony had realised he would do truly unforgivable things if it meant that he'd get just one more day with his Knight.

Tony nodded, curt and unhesitating. "Always him," he agreed.

[se-agapo-skywalker]

The Old Man and the Sea

Flashbacks are italicized

CW: age gap (dilf!Luke Skywalker), oral sex (f!receiving), penetrative sex (p in v), unprotected sex, usage of petname "master," mild degradation

WC: 4.4k

"You are no Jedi... nor am I." Luke's back faces you, his solemn eyes cast upon the sea. "I cannot train you."

You reach out to touch his shoulder. "Master, please-"

He flinches away from you, almost recoiling in disgust and shock, all the while keeping his face away from yours. "I already told you. That title no longer means anything to me."

"Then what should I call you? Sir?"

He sighs and shakes his head. "No, I'm not that old..."

"Mr. Skywalker?"

"Too formal."

You pause to think, considering your words carefully. "...How about just Luke?"

Finally, he turns his head to look at you. His eyes reflect a strange vulnerability, sadness and fondness all mixed into one, emotions he tries to keep as hidden as possible. He isn't doing a very good job.

Luke nods, silently, once again casting his eyes down to avoid your gaze. "Just Luke."

Snuggled up into Luke's side, you twirl a lock of his hair around your finger and sigh. His head is leaned back against the pillow, eyes closed, breathing slowly and quietly. You smirk to yourself at the sight of him laying there so peacefully--he's spent to the point of appearing fast asleep.

For a man of his age, his stamina is quite impressive--pinning you beneath him, driving into you at a pace that has you moaning his name over and over--but once he's out, he's out. It's rather cute, to be honest... yet you can't help but wonder if he drifts into sleep so easily because he can't stand to be awake.

You've found that when he isn't doing menial chores, Luke spends most of the day either staring at the sea, walking along the cliffs, or doing who knows what inside of his hut. Perhaps he's meditating, or sleeping, whatever an old Jedi does to pass the time when he so clearly hates his life--you almost feel sorry for him. Almost, as every attempt you make to connect with him is met with disdain or rejection. Usually both.

Still, the Temple Island isn't big enough for you two to ignore each other entirely, no matter how hard he might try. Your paths intercept too frequently, much to his chagrin and your delight. There's something strangely magnetic about him--beneath his gloomy exterior lies the remnants of his grace and discipline, the dignified power of the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order.

It's something you're determined to bring out again.

Luke stirs a bit, shifting in the bed slightly. With confirmation that he's indeed still awake, your hand wanders to his face, delicately stroking his beard.

"One more round?" you ask, voice sweeter than honey. You already know the answer--most likely a no--but it doesn't hurt to try.

He groans softly. "I don't know if I have it in me, starlight." Blue eyes squint open to meet yours, a smile growing on your lips, and he scowls. "What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing, I just think you're cute," you laugh, and he furrows his brow.

"Sweetheart, calling me cute is like calling the sky red."

"But it is red, during the sunset!"

"You know what I mean."

Knowing there's no reasoning with you, Luke relents to your will as you lean over to kiss him. He must think you're impossible--you're certain he does--but that's what keeps on drawing him back to you. At least, that's what stops him from turning you away.

Knocking on the door of Luke's hut, you wince. What were you thinking, coming to him like this, drenched in rain during the middle of the night? He's sure to think you're crazy, if he doesn't already. You shiver as the water continues to pour down, making your hair and clothes stick to your body like a wet tooka as it positively soaks you to the bone--you don't even know why you're here, if you're being honest with yourself.

Finally, the door opens. There stands Luke, your reluctant teacher, the man who's been avoiding your friendship for all this time, looking upon you with annoyance and confusion.

"Why are you here?" is all he says, eyes flicking across your wet form. You scratch the back of your neck self-consciously.

"I... I needed you," is all you manage to say in response.

"For what reason?"

"I don't know." You look down at your feet guiltily. "Something in the Force is telling me to be here."

He scoffs, clearly not believing you, but shakes his head and beckons you over. "Well, come in before you get sick," he grumbles, and you follow him inside as the door shuts behind you.

His hut is simple, not far from what you'd expect the living space of an old Jedi hermit to look like. Old sacred texts are scattered about, and so are his robes; he's currently dressed in simple nightclothes, ones that you briefly find yourself staring at.

No, no, you shouldn't look at him like that--especially not when he's standing right in front of you. But you could've sworn earlier that he looked at you the same way when you stood outside his door, wet clothes clinging to your body... You didn't mean to, well, approach him like that. But here you are, standing in his room and shivering before him as water dripped from you onto the floor.

Seemingly reading your mind, Luke finally breaks the silence--"You know, you should probably change out of those clothes and warm up."

"And change into what?" you ask, cheeks starting to burn.

A quick flash of embarrassment crosses his face, but he quickly conceals it. "I, um... something. This," he says, tossing his cloak to you. "I'll turn around."

You keep your eyes on him as he turns around and awkwardly goes to sit on his bed... and you swear you see him take a pillow into his lap. Slowly, you start peeling off your wet clothes; it's quite the thrill, being this exposed near him, something you'd never anticipate you'd do. If you were in your right mind, you wouldn't--but you aren't, and here you are.

After stripping out of the last of your clothes, you wring your hair out a bit and drape Luke's cloak around your shivering, nude form. It's quite warm, made of thick bantha wool, and it smells like him, although you manage to fight the temptation to bury your face in it. He's right in front of you, anyway.

"I-I'm done," you manage to say.

"Please, tell me... why are you really here?" Luke responds, not even turning around to look at you. "You're welcome to stay until the storm dies down, but if you're here to torment me, don't."

You grab onto the ends of the cloak, keeping them secure to preserve your modesty as you move to sit next to him. Startled a bit by your boldness, he finally looks over at you, and there's something in his eyes you can't quite recognize.

You take a deep breath and exhale. "Look, I don't know why I'm here. I don't know why it's storming, and frankly, I don't know why I'm naked, but here we are. But I think we've both noticed how we can't exactly stay away from each other, no matter how hard we try--how hard you try. I'm not here to hurt you, Luke, I only came to Ahch-To to find you, to see that you're still alive. And now that I know you, I..."

In a move that nearly knocks you off his bed, Luke slowly reaches out with his flesh hand to brush a wet strand of hair out of your face. "I know."

By some strange string of fate, or perhaps by the will of the Force itself, you find your lips meeting his. His beard is rough, scratchy. You wouldn't have it any other way. His lips, apprehensive at first, move against yours rather sloppily, either out of desperation or out of inexperience--although you wouldn't fault him for either. It's not like you're particularly experienced, you never quite had the time, and you aren't opposed to the two of you learning together. The student becomes the master, the master becomes the student...

"Master," you breathe out, "please."

Luke's lips trail from your lips to your jaw, and then to your neck, pressing plenty of ticklish kisses in his wake. His hands move to gently grip the side of your face and back of your neck, careful not to mess with the cloak. Part of you wonders if he ever will, if he's willing to go that far, perhaps even in this sitting. A Jedi would show restraint; yet he is one no longer.

In what can only be interpreted as him sensing your thoughts, Luke stops his advances to look at you, lustful eyes now showing with worry. "Are... are you sure you want this?"

You grab his mechanical hand--you quite like the feeling of the flesh hand on your neck--and bring it to the fastener of the cloak, not undoing it, but letting him know it's an option. "More than anything."

Luke's change in demeanor from grumpy to surprisingly gentle is intoxicating, shocking you in the best way possible--you knew this side of him was still there, you just knew it, and you're so glad you finally have confirmation of it. Peering over, however, you try to get a glimpse of the other confirmation of his affection that you seek...

Just as Luke begins to fiddle with unfastening the cloak concealing your body from him, you slip your hand between the two of you, first to carefully grip his thigh as you lean in to kiss him again, moving your hand further and further until-

"Stop," he interjects, grabbing your hand.

"I-I'm sorry, Master, I-"

His gaze softens, guiltily. "No, it's not you. I'm not ready for that--not yet." Flesh hand reaches up to cradle your face. "I want this to be about you. I want to make up for how cruel I was."

You bring the hand to your lips, kissing the palm, silently accepting his proposal to apologize. The Luke you first met on that cliff all those months ago is near unrecognizable--never before would you have expected him to ever apologize to you, let alone be this communicative with you. Well, communicative by Luke standards. From what you’ve heard of his past reputation as a Jedi, all those stories and legends about his vast accomplishments, he had always been quiet, guarded, only now amplified by his guilt in exile. But he’s trying, that much is clear to you.

“Do you want me to continue?” Luke finally says, breaking the silence with a rare show of humor. Smiling and nodding into his palm, you give it one last kiss, relinquishing your control over it.

Hands return to the fastener, and you feel your heartbeat increase as you're finally hit with the realization that this is going to happen. You have no reservations about it, you've fantasized about sleeping with him for quite some time now, but you must admit the actuality is a bit frightening--and absolutely thrilling.

You want this. Luke does, too, if the totally unsubtle tent in his pants has anything to say about it. But something tells you he's just as nervous as you are--perhaps he's worried about being out of practice, or, if he had previously pursued the path of celibacy, he's worried about having no practice at all. Either way, you don't mind, truly. All you want is him.

Finally, in one swift motion, the fastener is undone. Letting out a shaky breath, Luke begins to pull the fabric of the cloak from your shoulders, ever so slowly, exposing inch by inch of your bare skin to him. As the fabric pools at your waist, you shiver at the feeling of the cool air hitting your slightly damp skin. He notices, instinctively reaching out his hand to touch you--the sudden contact and warmth makes you jump.

"Sorry," Luke whispers, unable to look anywhere besides your face.

"Don't be... please."

Now is his chance to ravish you with his eyes, finally gazing upon--and practically devouring--the beauty that has been hidden from him for far too long.

"Stars, you're... you're incredible."

You blush, both out of pride and bashfulness, as Luke's eyes continue to trace your figure. He stares at you for quite some time, not daring to touch you aside from the hand he has gently caressing the flesh of your waist. It isn't until you grab said hand and move it to the swell of your breast that he finally gets the nerve to actually feel you.

Fingers trace around the soft skin of your nipple, coaxing the little bud into a hardened peak as Luke pinches it ever so slightly. He squeezes your breast, firmly but not painfully, and before you can even register what is happening, his mouth is on you. Beard hair tickles your skin as he plants an open-mouthed kiss at the center of your chest. Kissing, licking, and sucking, he marks his journey through the valley of your breasts by leaving your skin raw and marked--claiming you as his own.

You let out a high-pitched gasp as Luke's lips attach to your nipple, alternating between sucking and flicking with his tongue before switching to do the same to the other. He does this multiple times, only stopping when he leaves them visibly puffy and swollen, with you shuddering and moaning softly at the loss of his touch. As he had worked on you, your hands had found their way into his hair, carding your fingers through and tugging at it softly--he nearly bit you in response, and given the effect on him, you swore he almost liked what you were doing more than you liked what he was doing. Almost.

Your hands move from Luke's hair to cradle his face. He looks up at you nervously, waiting for your reassurance or your approval, hoping he hasn't done anything to upset you.

In a moment of boldness, you say, "Oh, I like that... there's just another place I think I'd like it even more."

Icy blue eyes widening, he nods slowly, taking in a deep breath as he prepares to obey your command. Gently pushing you back, he lowers you onto his bed, laying your head on his pillow--and he pauses.

"Are you sure you want this?"

Your first instinct is to pout, but you don't. He's very likely entirely new to this, and nervous about the fact, so the least you can do is have some grace. Reaching out for his hand, gently ghosting your fingertips over his, you tell him, "I want this. I want you."

With nothing more than a silent nod, Luke finally lifts the remainder of the cloak off you and pulls your thighs apart. His breath hitches at the sight of you--so tight, so wet, glistening in anticipation for him. Him.

Reading his emotions--you're becoming a lot better at that under his tutelage--you smile at him coyly through your eyelashes. "It's for you, Master. All for you."

You flutter and clench at the way Luke breathes out, groaning slightly. After a moment of just staring at you, piercing blue eyes locked onto your beautiful, beautiful core, he ducks his head to get closer. Whatever nervousness he had before has almost completely melted away, starting with light kisses to the inside of your thighs as he pries you open even more. You squirm ever so slightly beneath his touch, one that starts out hesitant but grows more and more eager, the rough hair of his beard nearly rubbing the skin of your thighs raw.

Luke pulls away, just for a moment, his voice deep and gravely. "Let me take care of you."

You shudder at the feeling of his breath on you. But you aren't prepared for what follows--the feather-light poke of his wet tongue, slowly licking a preliminary stripe from hole to clit as he slicks you with a combination of your own wetness and his spit. You had wondered, dreamed when this day would come, and now that it's here, you find yourself melting so readily at his every move.

Noticing the effect he has on you, Luke tentatively wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling you closer to his face so he can taste you more deeply. The new angle has you situated to where you could very well begin grinding on his face, and you have no doubts that he'd let you. This is what he wants--to be needed, to please, to do something, anything right. To have you spread out so beautifully before him is a miracle of the Force itself. He'll do his best to prove he deserves it, as much as he thinks he doesn't.

Alternating between gently probing you with his tongue and languidly exploring the contours of your folds, Luke's lips finally make their way to your clit, where he gently begins sucking. For a man who most likely has no idea what he's doing--although he would never admit it--he sure seems like he does.

Your hand instinctively makes its way to his hair again, albeit this time with far more urgency. Arching your back into him, you pull unapologetically on his greying locks, eliciting a deep groan from him.

An idea enters your mind.

"You like this, Master?" you moan, maneuvering to look at him working between your legs. His eyes flick up to meet yours. "You like finally being useful to someone?"

Your words seem to ignite a fire within him. Without even giving you a moment to process what's happening, Luke's mouth leaves your clit--drawing out an absolutely pathetic mewl from you--and he pulls your legs around his waist, lifting your hips off the bed. Using the Force, he swiftly pins your hands above your head, leaving you fully exposed and at his mercy.

"You think I'm finally useful, huh?" Luke practically growls, "Who are you to judge?"

You can feel his hardened cock brush against your sensitive core from beneath his nightclothes, and, desperate for friction to satiate your hunger, you try to rock your hips against his. But he won't have it--holding your legs still, he keeps you in place with an iron grip.

"Before I show you how useful I can be, you must learn patience. Now be still."

Luke's stronger mechanical hand--still gloved, which only adds to the allure--keeps a hold on you as his flesh hand moves to free himself from the confines of his pants. After a brief moment of fumbling where you pretend not to notice, he manages to pull down his waistband, and out it springs.

And it's... a lot. A lot more than you expected. Where you were eager to take him before, desperately aching for him to be inside you, you can't help but feel a bit nervous. Still, you can't take your eyes off him--large, thick, nice and veiny with a pink tip...

"Is this alright?" Luke asks, his voice low and husky, already starting to slowly drag it across your folds. Your body jerks slightly when the tip bumps into your still-swollen clit, but he's too busy lubricating himself with your wetness to notice. "Well?"

"Y-yes... I need you, Master, please," you practically beg.

Smirking to himself, he finally grants your request. Aligning himself with your entrance, he ever so slowly presses in, eyes screwing shut in the process as a low grunt escapes his throat.

"Maker, you're tight..."

You throw your head back and whine at the stretch. Luke is so much--almost too much--filling you in a way you never thought was possible. It stings slightly at first, but it's such a delicious feeling, one you never want to go another day without.

After giving you a moment to adjust, Luke's eyes meet yours--gently questioning, but still clouded by his need for you--and you signal for him to start moving. Slowly drawing himself back out, he starts a steady pace of deep thrusts, although they're a bit shaky at first. Amidst your ecstasy, you forgot that this may very well be his first sexual encounter--something he's doing a very good job of hiding.

In truth, it doesn't bother you at all. Luke sure keeps you on your toes--the more the night progresses, the more you learn so many seemingly conflicting things about him... and the more you realize you never really knew him at all. Perhaps no one did. He can be stubborn, and gentle, and firm, and vulnerable, a million different things all wrapped into one. And, slowly and surely, you'll peel back those layers to reveal who he truly is.

In the meantime, what Luke does show you is just how pent up he is--he isn't even fully out of his clothes, and he's already fully erect and fucking you into his mattress. The noises are borderline obscene, both the creaking of his bed and the squelching of where your bodies meet, with him loudly sliding in and out of you. While he was rather slow at first, he's since picked up the pace, snapping his hips against yours with a bit more fervor. If you hadn't known any better, you'd say he's just about as virile and libidinous as a juvenile fathier.

You moan and write beneath Luke, your hands still pinned above your head by the Force. After all his talk about its sacred rules and how one must respect and fear it, you truly never expected him to utilize it in such a way--but, knowing your Master, you doubt he cares. He looks down at you with those heavy eyes, his gaze filled with emotions you can't quite describe or even begin to understand. He's quiet, oh so quiet--you can't exactly say the same about yourself--that if it weren't for his borderline frantic rutting, you might not have been sure of his enjoyment.

Catching on to your concern, Luke reaches down with his flesh hand to reassuringly stroke your skin, gently tracing from your thigh to your hip, across your stomach, and all the way to the swell of your breast. Your nipples are still puffy and sore from his relentless sucking and pinching, skin covered in the evidence of where his beard had scratched you. He feels a bit guilty, having marked you up so thoroughly like this, yet he also has a strange sense of pride at how you let him. If things go your way, you'll let him again and again and again--until your hunger is satisfied, which you're sure it never will be.

For as much as Luke is thoroughly attracted to you, however, he can feel his hunger start to reach its peak. Whether it be through the Force or your own pleasure, you can sense this, too, and it only serves to bring you into the early stages of orgasm as well.

"M-Master, I-," you whine, not even able to finish your thought as Luke brings his hand back up to rub your clit. He may be stubborn, and grumpy, but he is by no means selfish, especially not as a lover. Like with all things, he's determined to do this right. And he does--each thrust of his hips and tight circle rubbed by his thumb pushes you closer and closer, until finally you're pushed off that cliff and engulfed by the force of your orgasm. Twitching and spasming, legs shaking, you cry out as it overtakes your senses so spectacularly.

Luke watches you, completely in shock that he actually managed to do this--although you knew he would. Feeling you clench around him so deliciously is enough to motivate him to follow suit. Speeding up his pace one last time, positively hammering into you, he chases his own orgasm sloppily, desperately. Perhaps he hasn't had one in a long time, hasn't even had the desire to touch himself, so having you here to offer him some much needed relief truly is a godsend.

You're too blissed out and trembling in the aftershocks of your own orgasm to notice the way his hips stutter, finally stilling as he spills thick ropes of his seed inside you. In that moment, neither of you really care about the consequences--you don't think anything could happen, anyway--nor do you even really pause to contemplate them.

Luke stands before you, panting and slightly dazed, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. Lowering your legs and pulling out--hot, white liquid spilling out of you as he does so--he adjusts his clothing and finally collapses beside you.

"That was, I..." you start, covering your face with your now-freed hands. "What are we now?"

Luke sighs. "We're something, I guess... something the Jedi of old wouldn't approve of." A glimpse at his old humor appears as he winks at you. "But they aren't here now, are they?"

You open your eyes to the sight of Luke asleep in your now shared bed. His hair is sprawled out on your pillow, long-lashed eyes still shut as he snores ever so lightly. The morning light bathes his sleeping face in a surprisingly lovely way, illuminating the soft, vulnerable side of an otherwise stoic and dignified Jedi master. His arm is still around you, mechanical hand resting at the small of your back--he still prefers to touch you intimately with his flesh hand, but by instinct, he'll use his cybernetic. You don't mind one bit, and he knows this. It brings him peace. Hence where he is now: entangled with you, beneath your covers, mind somewhere off in the realm of dreams.

"Oh, Skywalker..." you whisper, careful not to wake him. You can't tell whether you're talking to him, or really just talking to yourself. It isn't important. Taking a moment to pause, to think, you take a deep breath and say it--"...I love you."

Luke stirs, and you wince. Was it too soon? Is that not how he sees your relationship? He could wake up any minute and reject you and-

"Love you, too," he murmurs, not even opening his eyes, face still buried in his pillow.

Relief washes over you, but so does a strange new feeling... surprise? Excitement? Fear, even? No, no, it can't be anything bad... So you decide to accept it for what it is: something you can't explain, yet something that brings so much hope, so much meaning to your life. And, for the first time in a long time, you're happy--and he is, too.

[greenleaf4stuff]

As a fellow “Celebrimbor is secretly buff/has a sleeper build” truther I’m Screaming at that one pic you reblogged lmfaoo. Poor Adar won’t know what hit him. Adar can pick up whole elves one handed he’s probably used to being the strongest person in the room meanwhile Brimbs got enough muscle to give Adar princess treatment and is just too polite to use it. Or waiting for the right day to surprise Adar with it lmao

Yaaay and hello, fellow "Celebrimbor is buff, actually" truther, thank you so much for your ask, I fully agree! :D <3 (It's this pic, isn't it?)

I actually love that idea so much and it's been stuck in my head as well; I have a WIP that makes use of such a scenario because it has *so* much potential, but I am sadly nowhere near posting it. I really like the idea of a surprised/flustered but ultimately very intrigued Adar reacting to Celebrimbor's muscles.

But you know what, it's not like I have multiple WIPs to finish and several things to edit, have a little snippet of how that concept could go that I just cooked up. I love the concept too much not to use it. Enjoy!

Hidden Assets

Celebrimbor made to side-step the uruk in front of him, only for Adar to take a step as well, landing him right in front of the smith again.

The elf paused. "Would you kindly step aside so I can continue to work?"

Adar only narrowed his eyes in response and remained as he was. "No. You haven't taken a break all day and are clearly exhausted. If you want me to move, you will have to move me yourself."

The smith heaved a sigh. The other's concern was certainly touching, but he did wish to get that last piece done before he retired for the day.

Also, well. Adar clearly thought this was a challenge that Celebrimbor would - could - not take up. The chance to surprise the other a little was just too good to pass up on.

A smirk spread over the smith's lips. Judging by the uruk's resulting expression, he had not expected that kind of response. Before the uruk could even open his mouth again, the smith had stepped up to him, reached down-

and grabbed Adar by the back of his legs. Only to then hoist him up in one smooth motion. The uruk was too stunned to even make an attempt at stopping the elf.

Which was how Celebrimbor ended up standing in the middle of his forge, grinning rather smugly, with a very bewildered looking Adar in his arms, legs dangling alongside the smith's hips.

The uruk's eyes had widened comically as the elf picked the other up, and he'd had to extend his hands and wrap them over Celebrimbor's upper arms to make sure he didn't lose his balance.

There was a moment of perfect stillness, and then the elf began to walk over to a table he wasn't currently using, onto which he deposited the uruk in his hold - albeit gently.

Perhaps he should have known the other would use the positon to cross his ankles behind Celebrimbor's knees and keep his hold on the smith's arms. The uruk had no inhibitions about fighting dirty after all.

"Don't tell me you have been hiding all that strength from me until now?" The other sounded almost incredulous.

Celebrimbor batted his eyelashes in a show of innocence. "Well. Just because I do not carry a big sword and scary armor doesn't mean I am only a politician. First and foremost, I have always been a smith, who tends to engage in rather physical work. As you know."

He leant forward, and now his grin turned almost sly. "I might not have your rather powerful physique, but I can still handle myself just fine."

"Indeed," the uruk breathed, and squeezed Celebrimbor's muscles as he looked at the other appreciatively.

[gayvecchio]

My initial impression when I watched Eclipse for the first time (and what I still believe) is that Stella knew full well that Ray didn't humilate himself on purpose in the bank when they were kids. I always read it as Stella knowing how embarrased and ashamed Ray would feel for having wet himself, and instead of trying to console him and tell him that it was okay, she let him be the hero instead. Because even though in Ray's memory he thought that he was being 'John Lennon, James Bond, Joe Namath, all rolled into one', I don't think Stella actually fell in love with an illusion at all. Like Fraser said, 'I am willing to gamble that Stella looked beyond that one incident and saw the whole person'. I think she always saw Ray for who he really was, but Ray's own insecurities about himself made him believe that she had to be with him based on a lie. I think the person who doesn't see Ray clearly is Ray himself. He has such a low sense of himself that he can't imagine her falling for anything but a con. He can't imagine that Stella simply fell in love with little Ray Kowalski, because who the hell is even is that? He's convinced himself that he's been playing the part of 'the hero' all these years that he doesn't really see that he has actually become one. The person who recieved all those citations that Fraser recounts wasn't a lie or a con, it was Ray Kowalski, a good policeman, someone who one would be proud to call a partner and a friend. In my opinion Ray's biggest con was conning himself into believing he isn't good enough just the way he is.

[operationslipperypuppet]

@purplecladmerchant you got it! :)

after he comes back from being dead, zirk is freezing cold.

he’s always freezing cold.

he can’t seem to warm up, and it terrifies him. it reminds him too much of winter nights when he was in between towns with his mom and they’re huddled in separate corners of the wagon and he can’t sleep because of the sound of his teeth chattering. worse, it reminds him of the first winter he was alone (why, why, why, did he choose to drawn the line and leave his mother in winter to begin with?) and he had nothing and used what little magic he could muster to create small fires and hope no predator or bandit or horror saw the smoke and came running.

he tries to push it away, to ignore it, he really does.

but the boat is already so cold.

zirk thinks henry notices first. he’s moving past zirk, trying to tie them off at some dock, and brushes his hand. zirk jumps back, alarmed and worried about being in the way. but henry pauses and says “jeez, zirk, you’re freezing.”

two days later, they’re getting back on the boat, and zirk finds a pair of gloves on his pillow. he smiles as he pulls them on, and can’t help but notice henry’s grin when he sees them.

irina notices next. or, acts on it next. it could have been either her or fia who noticed first. she’s taken up knitting aboard the boat, a new way to make clothes to go with her patchwork style, and a way to do something with her hands that isn’t magic. her first sweater looked terrible, but fia loves it and is rarely seen without it when the wind picks up. her second sweater, purple and lumpy but beautiful, goes to zirk. he loves it. something about it keeps him so much warmer than he thought possible. it’s probably magic, he thinks, but he doesn’t question it.

he doesn’t quite realize everyone knows until they’re all sitting on the deck and swapping stories. a cold wind blows past him and he shivers, involuntarily, the sweater feeling useless for the first time. without stopping her story, fia stands up, drapes the blanket she had on her lap over his shoulders, and sits back down, curling into irina’s side.

he realizes that maybe this is what love is supposed to feel like. that maybe he never had to hide something as trivial as being cold.

[rose-tinted-vision]

↻ FLIP FLOP for the fic asks game! it would be interesting to know what lxy was thinking meeting fdb and llh, or what fdb was thinking about being courted by lxy :D (no need to write a whole new fic but just curious about your thoughts about it heh) (this is j, it won't let me send asks from sideblogs)

Hello @hualianisms !!! Thank you for your asks :D I’m assuming you mean “What matters is ‘you’ and not which state of you” for this one >_< (I'll get to your second ask soon!!)

Flip Flop for the fic asks game: send me a scene from one of my fics and I’ll describe or write it from another character’s POV!

---

For LXY’s pov: I think he’s mostly confused at the start, but very charmed by this pretty young master– and that much is obvious from the way FDB carries and addresses himself by “本公子 (ben gongzi)” – and his interest is further attracted by FDB’s swordsmanship, his unique duochou gongzi’s swordplay.

Obviously, it’s nothing more than a passing attraction since he still has QWM in his heart, but he had noticed the way LLH reacted to his flirtatious remarks directed to FDB– and well, he’s bored living in this tiny, cramped house that was smaller than his room back in the Sigu sect with nothing but bothersome chores to do all day, so he continues this game of his.

(He thinks Fang daxia has caught on– otherwise he didn’t seem much like the type who would entertain unwanted affection, much less unrequited ones– and the man was much more observant than he let on, so Li Xiangyi plays it up on some days, if only to watch LLH eat vinegar).

---

As for FDB: It’s startling for him to see LXY materialise out of nowhere one day, and he is momentarily overtaken by fear that something has happened to LLH, except that he had just woken up beside an untouched, healthy LLH. So to say that FDB is confused is an understatement, but he takes him in anyway, knowing that LLH wouldn’t leave him to die outside the Lotus Tower, no matter what he might say.

FDB doesn’t know how to feel, at first. How is someone to react, upon meeting the person who has left such an impact on their past, who has so drastically changed the course of their life without knowing it and subsequently vanished for the next decade?

(LLH stays on the upper level of the Lotus Tower all afternoon, and FDB does not try to bring up the topic with him. He knows of LLH’s complicated emotions regarding LXY, knows that the other needed his own time).

He himself thought he knew his own stance on the topic, but seeing LXY in the flesh, his striking resemblance to the man he shared a blanket with– shook up his resolve a little.

That is, until he opened his mouth.

His manner of speech, his (not entirely unfounded) confidence and arrogance, his clumsy attempts at flirting– they were all so unlike LLH that FDB wonders how he ever thought them similar. LXY was still a teenager, he realises. Still so young and untouched by the jianghu, still with that unbridled optimism and hope and drive to save the common people.

He was still so young.

Well– not that much younger than FDB himself, but young in that he was still less travelled and less jaded than him and LLH themselves, and he marvels at the sight.

Just how little self-preservation LXY had, FDB would soon witness, as the young sect leader makes a pass at him over dinner, something that had him choking on his food at.

He checks on LLH soon afterwards, who had woodenly passed him a cup of water without a word– sure enough, his glare would've killed a lesser man– FDB could only thank the gods that LXY had a seemingly impenetrably thick skin.

(It was the first of many more attempts to come, he would soon find out.

…which was not that bad, he would admit. LXY’s awkward attempts at courtship were amusing and came with the added benefit of watching LLH eat vinegar.

The tables were flipped for once, FDB smiles triumphantly).

[keeps-ache]

the free stuff section on craigslist makes me feel like what i think the devil was trying to do to jesus in the desert. why do i think i need a patio table right now. or pallets

[kashilascorner]

What were the prose Tristan authors eating for lunch when they wrote Mark and Tristan's dynamics seriously it's so toxic but also like they keep hanging around each other? Toxic exes except family instead of lovers

[indiesextape]

I have the giggles

[s1xseasonsandamov1e]

silly pictures of my youngest cat i think everyone deserves to see:

[coureirsix]

me sobbing into my hands reading luis' wiki because i. took SEVERAL liberties in this fic where i was just like "yeah this probably happened based on what's in the game/the notes in game and who he is trying to be" AND IT TURNS OUT ALL MY GUESSES WERE CANON

[freedcmscall]

Plotted Starter — Blood Magic | @triickst

Anders knew how drained he was, could feel that he had next to no mana reserves left in that internal pool from which he could pull. Fumbling hands pulled another bottle from his pack, a muttered curse escaping his lips as he realised it was the last one. No time to worry over that at the moment, he would be fine. His companions, however, he was not so sure of. Resolved, he pulled the cork of the lyrium potion out with his teeth and knocked back its contents, grimacing as ever at the somehow bitter yet cloying taste the liquid brought to his tongue.

It was supposed to have been another routine mission. Really, he should have known. Anders had known Lucian for long enough to know that any time something was supposed to be normal or routine, it ended up anything but. That was probably why he'd come along to begin with. It had been fine, destroying a cave full of slavers, until the point that it was very much not fine and they were considerably more outnumbered than they needed to be. Finally, though, everyone could catch their breath.

He'd tended to their other two companions, by some stroke of luck or act of the Maker only inflicted with largely superficial wounds. And then he'd gotten to Lucian, and dammit he should have started with him. Anders shoved down the panic threatening to bubble up in his throat and replaced it with stubbornness, pulling at every last ounce of mana and pleading with any whisp that would listen from the Fade to help him in healing this man. He couldn't lose him.

Soon, too soon, dangerously quickly, Anders was left panting and useless. He pulled at the Fade, begged it, pleaded, even sent a quick prayer to the Maker, and nothing. Lucian was still hurt, still too hurt. He couldn't heal all of the wounds - his mind helpfully supplying a moment later that it was likely because some were too imbued with blood magic. It was too dangerous of a combination, a large attack and Lucian's dependence on blood magic. This was the danger of blood magic, not a lack of control, not consorting with demons, but losing someone dear to him. For a moment, Anders' mind flashed back to Karl, dead by his hand, dead because his actions could do nothing to save him — no, not again. The healer was rendered a desperate man, and desperation could be a dangerous thing.

He took a deep, steadying breath, steeling himself. He had to do this. "You'll be okay," he whispered, not sure if it was to himself or to Lucian, whom Anders knew likely couldn't even hear him at this point. He was too close to dying, Anders was too close to losing him. He glanced about, ensuring no one else was watching him, reassured by the fact that it looked like the other two were conversing and sufficiently distracted, recovering energy from the mess that they had been caught in.

He blindly fumbled for the small knife he kept strapped to his belt, refusing to tear his eyes from Lucian in case his condition worsened even in the brief moments that such a movement took, moments that felt as though they were being pulled through molasses instead of the air through which time flowed naturally. Quickly, Anders unwound the gauze tied about his wrist and pulled off the leather cuff on his right arm. Taking no care, he tore apart the poorly stitched together old tear in the fabric of his coat - he could sew it back together, as he had done countless times. It was fabric, it didn't feel. It wouldn't die.

Left hand shaking and head pounding from the severe lack of mana as well as what he could feel was clearly Justice's disapproval, he brought the knife to the flesh of his wrist. His palm would have been easier - more pain but less fabric to undo, but likewise would have been too obvious. He couldn't risk anyone knowing what he had done. Before he could talk himself out of it, Anders had sliced open his flesh, floundering for a moment before he managed to get the blood to behave as close of an approximation of his normal healing as he could get.

There was a moment, too long of a moment, too tense of a moment, where he feared it hadn't worked. He had never studied blood magic, it was against everything he believed in (except for Lucian, he was okay to use blood magic except for when it left him bleeding out and dying in front of Anders). What if he failed anyway? His fears didn't last long, and at long last, the healing appeared to take. He was pale, sweaty, and exhausted, but the worst of the damage done to Lucian had been repaired and it was clear enough to Anders, given his profession as a healer, that he would live.

Before he himself could lose consciousness from the exhaustion, the mana loss, and the blood loss combined, and before Lucian could regain his own consciousness fully enough, Anders hastily re-wrapped his gauze about his wrist, messier than it had been but hopefully enough to hold. He neglected the leather cuff, wiped his small blade on his tunic, and tucked it back away on his belt.

"Come on, wake up," he encouraged, voice soft from care and wavering from all-encompassing tiredness. He would not rest until he saw Lucian stir. In Anders' state, he didn't notice that the blood was beginning to stain his sleeve. It wasn't even a passing thought or glance - he wasn't important at that moment.

[operationslipperypuppet]

The sentence prompts are so much fun! Could you please consider "We're gonna have to keep ice on that" and the band of boobs?

ooh absolutely hell yeah

send me a sentence prompt + character(s)

---

The officially sanctioned celebration for the reopening of Irondeep, just under six months after the end of the war, was scheduled to last a week. The days were full of all sorts of events, culminating in a wrestling tournament on the last two days.

Two exhibition matches would finish the tournament.

The first was more for show, an extension of the ongoing peace between cities. A match between King Grimthor MacGannis and King Cyrus Coldain. It ended fast, was a best of three, and MacGannis eventually got the upper hand. It was expected, but the crowds adored it.

The second was much more intense. A bought between two true champions of Irondeep - Ulfgar Trueaxe and Hardwon Surefoot.

It was a knockdown, drag out type of fight. Hardwon had talked to Ulfgar beforehand, both of them were excited for it, but neither wanted to take it too seriously.

That turned out to be their downfall.

He loved every second of it. He could hear Bev and Moonshine in the stands, cheering impossibly louder than anyone else, somehow distinct over the roar of the crowd. Ulfgar kept smiling at him, and he knew he had a ridiculous grin on his face, too. The end of the war had brought him happiness, certainly, but it had been a long time since he'd simply had this much fun.

However, the fight got sloppy. Their lack of seriousness made them a bit too happy-go-lucky, caused them to make some decisions, some moves, that simply weren't the safest. The fight went on for about six more rounds than either of them intended, and it only ended when he dislocated his shoulder.

He did win, though.

Hardwon was swiftly shuffled back to the holding area, where healers would be waiting for him. Ulfgar offered a hasty but genuine apology but was brushed off, Hardwon felt no ill-will toward him at all.

Moonshine and Bev were already there, somehow, when he arrived. They didn't even give the official healers a chance to look at him, just promptly started with their fussing.

"There are people here to do this, y'know," He mumbled, absolutely not leaning into Moonshine's soft touch as she wiped the blood off a cut on his forehead.

"Hush now, you're ours to take care of, Hardwon Surefoot," she replied, moving to brace and set his shoulder.

"I can do it, Moonshine, if you want." Bev said from Hardwon's other side, where he was also cleaning up cuts.

"Nonsense, youngin', I've got the right angle. And I've done this before. Hardwon, you're gonna want to hang onto something."

Hardwon grabbed Bev's hand, and somehow neither man screamed at the pain of the situation, despite their faces giving away that they wanted to.

"Alright, sit up now," Moonshine guided Hardwon back upright. "We're gonna have to keep ice on that."

"And you're not gonna want to use your arm for a bit," Bev said, shaking the hand Hardwon had held.

"Thanks, guys. You didn't have to do this." Hardwon said sheepishly.

"Don't be ridiculous, Hardwon. You do what you can for people you love." Moonshine said, smiling at him as she wrapped an ice pack in a bandage, keeping it securely on his shoulder. He couldn't help but to grin back at her.

"You still coming to party, Surefoot?" Ulfgar's voice rang out across the space, shaking Hardwon out of his slight prolonged stare at his best friend. He nodded at the dwarf, and moved to stand back up.

"You guys ready?" He asked, earnestly checking that they were satisfied with his care.

"Let's get fucked up." Moonshine said, crossing to his other side slinging an arm across his good shoulder.

He may not remember the rest of the details from the party, but he does remember that they all had fun.

[psychologicalwhorefare]

ok u know that anon was just an ass and u talk so awesome cc

-?

hehe ^w^ thank you for being so niceys to me like always <3 i'm not real bothered about the anon i just thought it was funny :3 👍