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jonathanrogersartist · 3 months ago

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How 'The Acolyte' Disappointed Me, and Why the Themes of 'Star Wars' Matter

Someone recently commented on my 'On the Dark Side, the Jedi and the Moral Decay of Star Wars' essay with these words:

"A lot of words for saying 'I don't like the newer media, but I won't get into specifics as to why.'"

Okay! I shall then finally clarify those specifics....

That first essay has, so far, been my biggest success on this blog, and it's attracted a number of interesting responses. Full disclosure: I wrote that fresh off the heels of feeling depressed over how the Acolyte ended, and after reading/listening to several of Leslye Headland's interviews, where she went into great detail about her ideas behind the show's choices, the themes she's trying to get across, and what personal baggage she brings to Star Wars.

Why was I depressed?

Because the show's finale ended with the deeply problematic implication that Osha, by killing Sol and joining Qimir, has achieved true self-actualization. As Leslye herself put it, it's a 'positive corruption arc.' Interesting way to phrase it.

Furthermore, Vernestra's actions that frame Sol for several murders, all to protect her own reputation, and to avoid oversight by the Senate, confirmed one of the things that I was really worried this show would do as soon as we began learning plot details, which is that it's leaning into this very persistent edgelord take that the Jedi are actually big ol' bastards not worth seeing as heroes.

It's the Dave Filoni gospel of the Jedi Order as a morally broken and fundamentally hypocritical institution, a decaying monument to religious hubris, who brought about their own destruction with their arrogance and so-called rejection of emotion making them lack empathy.

This is, as many of my followers know already, a giant misreading of George's storyline in the prequels, and what he was actually telling us about the Jedi's philosophy and code. And in my experience, it gets us some vicious pushback when we try to inform fans of it, even if we back it up with proof of George's words.

George really did intend the Jedi to be the ultimate example of what a brave, wise, and all-loving hero should be, and are very specifically inspired by Buddhist monks. They do not 'repress emotions': they learn to regulate their emotions, so as to not let the negative ones feed the Dark Side, and they have the moral fortitude to focus on their spiritual duty. They're professionals that have dedicated themselves to a higher calling, and who still feel and display the same emotions we all feel, unless I watched very different movies from everyone else. We see that Jedi characters can still crack jokes, cry when they are sad, become scared or anxious, feel strong love and loyalty to their peers, and can even be righteously angry in some situations BUT always knowing when to pull back.

The Jedi of the prequels were victims of manipulation by Palpatine, and were caught in between a rock-and-a-hard-place with the Clone War, and they were ultimately destroyed not by their own actions, but by the treachery of Anakin Skywalker, who failed to overcome his own flaws because he refused to really follow the Jedi teachings, and was gaslit by Palpatine for decades on top of that.

Leslye's take on Star Wars, based on how she wrote the story of the Acolyte, is that "yup, the Jedi were doomed to destroy themselves by being hypocritical and tone-deaf space cops," and she also outright compared them to the Catholic Church (this reeks of Western bias and misunderstanding of Eastern religions). The one that really stunned me, was when she said she designed Qimir to be her own mouthpiece for the experience of being queer and suppressed, who isn't allowed to just be her authentic self in a restrictive world. Which, to me, implies that Leslye wanted to depict the Dark Side as actually a misunderstood path to self-actualization that the Jedi, in keeping with their dogma of repressing emotions, only smear as 'evil.'

Let me remind you all: Qimir is officially referred to as a Sith Lord, by Manny Jacinto, by Leslye, etc. And what are the Sith, exactly?

Space fascists. Intergalactic superpowered terrorists. Dark wizard Nazi-coded wannabe dictators, whose ideology is of might-makes-right, survival of the fittest, and the pursuit of power for power's sake. To depict followers of this creed as an analogy for marginalized people who have literally been targeted and murdered throughout history BY the real-life inspirations for the Sith.... I find revolting and tone-deaf by Leslye.

SO.... seeing how that show ended, and reading up on how Leslye intended it to be interpreted (Osha's 'triumph' over the 'toxic paternalism' of Sol/the Jedi in general), really put me in a funk, because deep down, I could just sense that this was not at all compatible with the ethos of Star Wars. It made me go on a deep-dive into the BTS of the writing of the prequels and George's ideas about the Jedi, and it's how I discovered the truth that Dave Filoni has been pretty egregiously misrepresenting George's themes for several years now, usurping George's words with his own personal fanfic about the motivations of characters like Anakin, or Qui-Gon, or the Jedi Council, etc.

His influence on the franchise has caused this completely baseless take on the Jedi to become so widespread as to rewrite history for modern fans. Who are utterly convinced now that this anti-Jedi messaging WAS George's vision all along, and they get real mad at you if you show them actual proof of that being a lie.

And the Acolyte is perpetuating this twisting of the very core of Star Wars. This is what I meant by the 'moral decay of Star Wars.'

The Star Wars saga was made by George Lucas in 1977 to accomplish these specific tasks:

To remind people of what it really means to be good.

What evil actually looks like, and how it comes from our fears and greed.

To teach kids how to grow up and choose the right path that will make them loving, brave, honest people that stand up to tyrants.

To give the world a story that returns to classic mythological motifs and is fundamentally idealistic, to defy the uptick in cynical and nihilistic storytelling after the scandals of Vietnam and Watergate broke Americans' belief in there being such a thing as actual heroes anymore.

THAT is the soul of Star Wars. That is what George meant for this remarkably creative universe to say with its storytelling. But I sincerely think that what the Acolyte told, was that morality is relative, the heroes of this saga are actually bastards, the fascist death-cult is misunderstood, and a young woman being gaslit into joining said death-cult is a triumphant girlboss moment. When it actually comes across as the tragedy of a broken person choosing the wrong path that will only make her miserable, full of hatred and powerlust, and hurt innocent people along the way.

The Acolyte betrayed one of George's most critical lessons: that the Dark Side ruins people, and if you want to truly become your best self, you must choose the path of Light, and the Jedi are the ones who have best mastered that path. So if the future of Star Wars is to continue framing the Jedi and their teachings as some corrupt and immoral system that is making the galaxy worse, then I would rather stick to rewatching the classic scripture of Episode 1-6. George wrote a complete and satisfying story, that is thematically consistent, and in my opinion should have been allowed to rest.

I will not hate on new fans that love the new material, but I will pity them if they really think any of this is actually faithful to George's vision (they may very well simply not care, either, which troubles me too), and I am afraid of a show like Acolyte teaching young people to see the Jedi's philosophy as wrong, and the Sith as having a point.

(P.S. I have a moral duty to clarify this, given the discourse around the show: No, this is not a problem with 'wokeness,' or diversity, or representation; that side of the fandom is very sick in the head and not to be taken seriously.

It's a problem with Leslye's themes and tastes as a storyteller, being fundamentally against the ethos of Star Wars and how it soured the entire show in hindsight for me... a show that I was actually really liking, before the finale dropped its thematic nuke.)

#star wars #star wars thoughts #george lucas #the acolyte #star wars prequels #star wars the acolyte #dave filoni #jedi order #the acolyte critical #pro jedi #leslye headland #leslye headland critical

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spatialwave · 6 months ago

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“𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵”

pairing: the ghoul x fem!reader word count: 4k summary: after two weeks of traversing the wasteland with cooper on the search for a common enemy, you found yourself needing some… relief. it just so happened that you weren’t alone in the sentiment. warnings: mdni! smut, choking, praising, cooper likes complimenting you while he fucks you. 🖤 notes: continuation of this post!

travelling with cooper started as a forced necessity, one that you hadn’t been able to make an executive decision on, but the feeling of that rope around your neck had been long forgotten as you both careened through the wasteland together. cooper had proved his loyalty to you, a surprising feat that you had never imagined being possible. if there was even an ounce of kindness or empathy within that man, it was invisible to the naked eye. he did a damn good job at hiding any and all outward emotion, reeking of wit, sarcasm and cockiness.

yet, you had been gifted with seeing another side of the ghoul, a side which made you wonder what sort of feelings he harbored for you. it was a tricky thought and easy to get lost in it, especially as you wandered behind him and were given ample time to just… stare.

each night you were greeted with his hands in your hair, gloveless fingers pulling through the strands and sometimes tickling against your cheek until you fell asleep. his lap had become your pillow, and his jacket was your bed and blanket.

neither of you spoke about it, most mornings waking up as though your nightly intimacy had never happened. you were thankful for it because you had no idea how to even comprehend how you felt for cooper.

love was too soon. infatuation was too strong.

you respected him. you cared for him. you appreciated the way he protected you.

you yearned for his touch.

each day as the hot sun burned your skin, you watched him from behind and imagined things about him. it started off as daydreaming about his fingers in your hair, rubbing along your scalp and how you couldn’t wait for night to come. soon, though, these thoughts drifted when you were greeted with a deep, familiar coiling in your stomach that came when you had spent enough time away from self pleasure.

guilt gnawed away when you found yourself dreaming about him in ways that made you squeeze your thighs. what would his lips feel like against yours? what sounds would come from his lips as he fucked you senselessly?

you rarely got far with your thoughts before you had to ask for a sip of water and a short rest, avoiding his groans of disapproval for slowing you both down.

cooper felt the same way, but the guilt riddled him far more than you could ever imagine. he had lived far longer in this world than you, he became a changed man—was once a loving father and husband who was betrayed and transformed into nothing but a merciless, murderous bounty hunter.

he knew better than to think of you in any way other than just a partnered traveler of the wasteland. war may have changed him, but there were morals that belonged to the old cooper howard that would remain forever.

you were so much younger than he was, an innocent little thing that had come to the surface after spending your whole life in a vault, all because you were so intent on saving a life and finding the truth. you had so much kindness and curiosity in your heart, once comparable to him when he was nothing more than a star for the masses. nothing good would come from him taking that innocence away from you, especially after what you’d experienced only a week prior at the hands of the man who wanted you in exchange for caps.

at night, his mind was pure filth when he thought about you as his fingers ran along your scalp, eyes watching the way your chest moved up and down. how your lips parted when gentle snores would escape.

you woke up alone most times, unaware that the reasoning was because cooper had to excuse himself in the early morning hours—a bit of relief.

you weren’t so lucky because he never left you alone.

“cooper,” you whined, smacking your lips audibly so he heard you from a few paces behind, “can we rest? i need water, and maybe something to eat.”

boots stopped in the sand as you two ventured closer to the mojave, foliage becoming distant as the hot sun and dry air took over. after some investigating, the ghoul had found some intel on the whereabouts of another peculiar vault dweller, presumably your father, who had made way for new vegas. the travels had become difficult now as civilization was few and far between, and you still hadn’t been given any alone time that you desperately needed.

cooper glanced over his shoulder at you, quirking a hairless brow curiously, “and how do you think we’re going make it through the desert if we’re stoppin’ every mile, sweetheart?” the nickname rolled off his tongue easily, but he hadn’t meant it so sweetly.

“i like you better at night,” you huffed at him as you trudged forward, walking past him and taking the lead, “you’re much nicer then.”

you could hear the sigh as heavy steps came up behind you, leather rustling as cooper fell in stride beside you so casually, “seems we see eye to eye on that matter,” he drawled, “you demand less when the moon is high, vaultie. the sound of you snorin’ means i can stop listenin’ to your yappin’,” he clicked his tongue, solidifying his point.

“you’re the worst,” you seethed quietly between your teeth, keeping your eyes ahead and doing your best to ignore the way his voice warmed your cheeks and butterflies swirled in your stomach.

nightfall came fast, thankfully, and the two of you had just managed to stumble upon a rickety old home nestled in a hilly area of the desert. it was full of enough sand and dust to know that no one had set foot in it for a long time—safe enough for you to settle down for a rest. cooper allowed you to indulge in your stores of water and jerky, only enough to keep your stomach from eating itself alive.

however, water and food wouldn’t sate your libido. as a small fire warmed you as the harsh cold of the desert chilled you to the bone, you tucked your knees to your chest and closed your eyes to focus on your breathing. you had never felt more like an animal in your life, when you were in the vault you may not have had tens of suitors at your disposal, but you had plenty of alone time and two very usable hands. you were used to indulging when arousal struck.

you felt awful. your mind should’ve been fixated on your father’s whereabouts, yet you rested your chin on your knees and squeezed your eyes shut as you tried not to think about cooper fucking you. he was sitting right next to you, for crying out loud.

as if he knew you were thinking about him, the cowboy ghoul looked over at you with a quiet sigh escaping him as he shrugged off his long, leather coat, “here. you’re gonna’ freeze to death before mornin’,” he spoke lowly, shifting so he could drape it over your shoulders until it covered much of your body, “desert nights aren’t for amateur adventurers.”

a shaky breath quivered from your lips as warmth enveloped you, and you couldn’t help but lean your body against his side to chase more. in response, you felt cooper’s body tense for a brief moment before his arm slowly wrapped over your shoulders and hugged you tight against his side.

silence surrounded you, much like cooper, and you found yourself quickly drifting into a much-needed sleep. unfortunately for you, you were afflicted with the curse of sleep-talking, especially when you were particularly stressed.

cooper’s eyes were fixated on the fire, red and orange embers burning on the old wood as the smoke bellowed out the open windows. he’d been lost deep in his thoughts, wondering how he was letting himself get so soft for someone he hardly knew—then you started mumbling in your sleep. words mostly unintelligible.

“mmh,” you grunted, your eyes squeezing tight as you tilted your face toward cooper, nose brushing against the tight, weathered skin on his neck. it made his breath catch in his throat, “cooper.”

his eyes flickered down to you, tilting his chin just enough so he could see the way your eyes were moving behind their lids, dreaming vividly. he knew that he should wake you up, or at least give you a slight nudge so you would turn away or move down to rest over his lap, but curiosity won. he licked at his lips as you furrowed your brows, your breath hitching in your throat as you choked on what he could only imagine was a moan.

“please,” you slurred quietly, “cooper, don’t… stop.”

“vaul—“ cooper’s nickname for you was cut short when your hand had slithered past the confines of the coat and right over the bulge that tented in his pants, gentle fingers rubbing, “shit.” he hissed, fighting back a low grumble as he watched with half-lidded eyes.

there was no turning back now, not when he flickered his gaze to look over your face, only to be met with your own tired eyes, just barely open. shit.

“i really need this,” you murmured, inhibitions long gone as the night sank in, “please.”

“you need to think long and hard about this, darlin’,” cooper managed to keep his voice level as his gloved hand reached for yours and pushed it until it rested on his thigh.

“i’ve thought about it for a whole week,” you pleaded, fingernails scratching at the fabric of his pants.

there was the smirk you were hoping to see, cracking his lips apart as a laugh whistled out of him, “well, now, a whole week is quite some time to be keeping these feelings at bay without actin’ on ‘em. maybe you’ve got more willpower than i thought.”

you swallowed thickly, pulling away from him just enough so you could sit straighter, “don’t tease me,” you spoke, jutting out your bottom lip in a pout that made heat pool in the pit of his stomach, “i can very much tell you need this as much as i do.”

when his lips twitched you knew you had him right where you wanted him, there was no sense in him denying it. not when you could take one quick glance down to see the trouble you’ve caused for him.

“you think you know what i need?” cooper’s voice, as thick as molasses, made a shiver run down your spine. he lifted a hand after snagging the glove off, caressing your jaw as his calloused thumb brushed over your bottom lip. long gone were the thoughts that worried about morals, you had each other pinned and the outcome was inevitable.

“i do,” you said as you shifted in your spot, “you can touch me. i’m not going to break.”

that roused a laugh deep from cooper’s chest, a smile breaking across his lips, “oh, trust me, if you were gonna’ break you would’ve shattered when i first lassoed that rope around your precious neck,” he grinned, “you are somethin’ else—a real force to be reckoned with.”

you parted your lips to speak, but your breath was quickly taken when cooper’s pressed against yours and within seconds your entire body was on fire. arms wrapped around his shoulders and neck, the leather jacket falling off of your body as you moved to your knees for better support. you fought for air as you kissed him with desperation, hands clinging tight to his collar as you slipped so easily onto his lap with your knees on either side of his hips.

his hands slid up the side of your body, caressing your curves as your tongues pressed together and moans muffled in each other’s mouths. with ease, one hand moved to your front so he could tug down at the zipper on your vault outfit, just like the one he’d worn many moons before.

you broke the kiss so you could lean back and take a breath, your chest heaving with each inhale as you helped him remove the jumpsuit until it slid off your shoulders and left you in the white tank top that hugged tight against your breasts. not once did you feel judged under his gaze, in fact, his appreciation for your boldness was palpable, especially as he wore that shit-eating smirk while his fingers slipped under the hem of your top. his skin was rough against yours that had been mostly untouched from the harsh sun rays, it made you tilt your head back and let out a soft sound.

“i wanna’ hear more of those delicious sounds,” cooper’s voice was heavy in your ear as he leaned forward and brushed his lips against your jaw, hands grabbing tight at your bare hips and fingers digging into the skin.

he wasn’t afraid to handle you rough, squeezing a whimper out between your plump lips as he forced your hips to roll against his. both of you relished in the friction, you could feel his hardened cock buried underneath his clothing as it pressed against your aching cunt. it clenched around nothing pathetically as you rubbed yourself against him with need.

“fuck,” you breathed out shakily as you kept your hips grinding forward in a steady motion, feeling like you could cum like this—but cooper wasn’t going to have any of that.

“language, darlin’” he teased, his teeth dragging across your skin as his lips kissed down your neck, nipping at your skin so he could hear your soft mewls of pleasure as your fingers began hurriedly unbuttoning his shirt, rather poorly.

once rid of the fabric, your hands explored over his body, the skin thick and rough like leather, far different than anything you’ve experienced or known to be true. as your eyes fixated on his body in the firelight and your fingernails scratched at the surface of his chest, you shuddered when he slipped your shirt off and revealed your tits for him to ravage at his leisure.

you had felt selfish for so long, telling yourself that being on the surface meant giving up parts of your old life. pleasure wouldn’t be easy to come by, if at all. there were important things to focus on, lives to save.

yet, here you were—laying on your back over cooper’s leather jack as his hands tugged off the remainder of your vault suit and tossed it behind him. he was settled on his knees before you, so close to you that you were forced to spread your legs on either side of him.

long fingers pressed against your panties, the fabric between your legs soaking wet as he teased you. you could hardly meet his eyes, keeping your own closed as you felt him tug the fabric aside so he could press a digit to your swollen clit. his thumb circled it slowly and you squirmed underneath him, but his other hand pressed against your stomach to keep you flat against the floor.

“keep still, my girl,” he murmured as he pushed a finger into your pussy, happy to find that a second slid in just as easily, “now look at you takin’ my fingers so well, you must’ve been needin’ this for a real long time. i suppose i can reward that patience of yours,” he praised you through tender movements, each thrust of his two fingers causing moans to spill from your lips as you squeezed your cunt around them, “good girl.”

being praised by cooper was a delightful surprise, warmth hitting your cheeks when you opened your eyes and saw him staring down at his fingers while he fucked you with them.

“oh, fuck—“ your breath caught in your throat when he curled his fingers, rubbing against the spot that always made you cum. you pulled your knees back so you could press your thighs together around his hand, growing overstimulated. that barely lasted for a second before cooper forced them back apart, the speed of his fingers picking up until he was fucking you relentlessly, your pussy dripping wet and coating his fingers. you hadn’t even taken his cock yet and your mouth was wide open and eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head as pleasure coursed through your body.

you moaned out his name loudly, your throat growing hoarse as the knot in your stomach wound tight.

cooper let out a heavy sigh, his hand pressing over your lower stomach and his thumb flicking over your clit, “i need you to cum, darlin’.”

that’s all the encouragement you needed to hear before you came on his fingers, squirming and touching as his fingers fucked you through the orgasm—his other hand tugging at his belt buckle.

“oh, goodness,” you breathed, your eyes fluttering as your senses slowly returned to you and you could finally get in a deep breath—but that hadn’t lasted very long, “ah, fuck!”

you tilted your chin down and hadn’t even noticed that cooper had unbuttoned his pants just enough to let his cock spring out. you weren’t given a chance to see how big he was before he was pushing it inside of you. you could already tell he was bigger than anything you’ve taken before as it stretched out your pussy, pain shooting through you as you whimpered loudly.

“shh,” cooper pressed a finger to your lips, trying to quiet you down as he pushed his hips forward until his cock was deep inside. you wouldn’t stop with the mixture of moans and pained whimpers, so cooper shoved two fingers into your mouth and you sucked on them like a bitch in heat, “fuck.”

both of you needed time to adjust, you could see cooper’s chest moving as he breathed heavily and you could feel his cock twitching. his free hand settled on your hip as he leaned back on his heels, the fingers in your mouth retreating to instead fondle your perfect tits. he was positioned nicely, able to indulge in the sight as his cock slowly pulled out of your swollen cunt, large hand now pressed against your lower stomach to keep you still as he rocked his hips in a slow, steady rhythm.

the ghoul’s mind was far from what was right and wrong. he was hyper focused on how you looked in this moment, your pretty face completely fucked out and full of euphoria. your chin wet from his fingers and your thighs squeezing against his hips to ground yourself from the size of his cock as it filled you completely with each roll of his hips.

slow didn’t last long—cooper didn’t have the patience, nor the need to go slow. he knew you were a capable young thing, able to take his cock easily as he leaned forward enough so his hand could instead wrap around your throat. his hips snapped against yours mercilessly in one quick thrust, a violent rhythm following after that made you want to scream at the pleasure that made your entire body shake. you swore you’d never felt someone fuck you so deeply, a gurgled moan choked in your throat as he forcefully kept you quiet, pressing on your windpipe.

“keep takin’ it,” cooper groaned, sweating beading on his forehead as his cock slammed so deep inside you that tears welled up in your eyes from the ache, “you’re good at taking a cock, vaultie, i should’ve fucked you senseless sooner.”

you were unable to answer his vulgar words with your jaw slack.

he fucked you like this for a good while, your hands lifting up to press flat against his chest and stomach. he continued to litter you with praises and compliments, words you were certain you’d only hear under this circumstance—you hoped this wasn’t the only time you’d be fucked by him.

your body was growing weak with each passing second, but you were able to offer enough energy to sit up as cooper pulled you along with him as he sat and leaned back against the wall. you were straddling him once again, your knees raw against the sandy floorboards as his hands guided you to slowly bounce up and down.

your hands rested over his shoulders for support and soon you had enough strength to fuck yourself on his cock just like he wanted, giving him the opportunity to sit back and watch your show.

you were desirable in his eyes, your cheeks red as you squeezed at his shoulders tight, long lashes fluttering as moans fell past your lips that he kissed so much they were plump and swollen. you were surprised that you were able to keep up a good rhythm, feeling him stretch you out each time you pressed your hips down on his. you wanted to talk to him, to tell him how good he felt or how you wanted him to toss you on your hands and knees and fuck you without holding back, but all you could do was moan his name as your head hung back and eyes fixated on the dim ceiling.

“fuck,” he hissed, leaning forward and pressing his lips against your ear as his thumb circled your clit, “i need you to cum on my cock now, darlin’,” he pleaded, breath hot and sending a shiver down your spine as you had slowly started to lose your strength, “be a good girl for me,” he cooed, and you were obedient.

much like when you exercised in the vault, you dug deep inside and gathered all your remaining strength, this time for the sake of pleasing yourself and the ghoul who had thrown his morals out the window for the sake of pleasure. cooper’s hand lifted so he could tilt your chin down, forcing your eyes to meet his as you bounced yourself steadily, “cooper,” you whined, “you… ah—fuck. don’t stop. please, please, please.”

your begging worked wonders. cooper’s thumb rubbed hard against your clit as he did his best to snap his hips upward each time you slammed down on his cock, meeting you halfway. his groans of pleasure were loud as both of you balanced on the edge of release, seconds away from letting that heat in your stomachs explode.

of course, you were the first to cry out so loud that cooper had to shut you up with his lips.

you came hard, your hips shaking and thighs twitching as you moaned his name as his tongue assaulted yours. you wanted to push him away and fall back onto the floor, to writhe on the ground in pleasure as your body could have a chance to relax…

but cooper wasn’t done yet. with both of his hands landing on your hips, he kept your sensitive cunt fucking his cock like you were just some toy. you were sensitive everywhere, your body hot to the touch and cunt abused by his cock, using a hand to cover your mouth as tears spilled down your cheeks each time he brushed against your cervix.

“shit,” he breathed, “you little killer.”

with a final, deep thrust of his hips, cooper came inside you with your name strangled in his throat. you could feel the bruising on your skin from his tight hands as you collapsed forward and buried your face into the crook of his neck.

your heavy breaths were the only sounds, aside from the crackling of the dying fire. both of your bodies were damp and sticky from sweat and cum—cold from the wind that blew through the open windows, so you curled up against his chest as his cock softened inside you. neither of you made a move, instead cooper reached for the leather jacket that had been under your body, putting it around your shoulders once more so the cool air was blocked for you both.

“we should… do that again.” you breathed on his skin, smiling when a weak laugh bubbled up from his throat, humoured by you.

finally, relief warmly greeted you both.

#fallout tv #cooper howard #the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x reader #fallout fic #cooper howard fic #the ghoul fic #wordsbyspatial #walton goggins #fallout prime

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onlyseokmins · 2 months ago

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ash and cinders • l.s.m.

Pairing: lee seokmin x fem!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), angst, royalty!au, fantasy!au, gods/goddesses!au Warnings: magic, mentions of blood, war, cruelty, tyranny - all that good stuff, mentions of religion (au-specific), violence (i.e. suggestion of murder), (death) threats, and possible gaslighting 💃🏻 which just means a minor power play between them at first okay 😬 i promise it's not that bad lmao i'm just paranoid, lots of making out, oral (fem. receiving), lil bit of temp play tbh, little bit of choking, uh I wrote this so long ago and just finished it so lmk if i forgot anything?? it's just basically me attempting to write prettily uwu WC: 4.24k A/N: soooo, this has been rotting in my drafts FOREVER!!! but yeah seokmin is my most darling, favorite boy i've ever stanned anyways ofc i couldn't help but use his elle magazine photos (yes that's how long this has been ROTTING) ahhhhh - ahem anyways this goes hand-in-hand with Mischief Maker so definitely recommend checking that one out too! heheh <3

He only stayed during the night.

When the blanket of darkness covered even the moon with a hazy layer of clouds, leaving tiny twinkling stars for a traveler’s guide. The fire once dancing in the hearth dwindled down to scarlet embers barely emitting enough heat to fill the large quarters.

Not that it mattered.

Even as you lay naked amidst the silken sheets strewn upon the grand bed, the thought of your lover’s return alone was enough to engulf your body in a flame of burning anticipation that settles and simmers between your legs.

He had been gone far too long. A lengthy patrol around the surrounding territories had taken him away from your embrace. Although every morning the sun’s rays tickled your face as a sweet greeting and bathed you in a radiant light through the day, nights without him were by far the worst.

Cold.

Lonely.

Dark.

On usual accounts, it was a grievous crime to keep the queen waiting. But you would forgive him for anything, wouldn’t you? It’s exemplified in the way he bursts through the doors without so much as a courteous knock that even your most trusted servants must abide by, water droplets dripping from his auburn bangs.

Despite the eagerness to see you as soon as possible, he refused to step foot into your chambers when reeking of blood after fierce combat and soiled with dirt from travel. You always protested. The gilded throne you reigned from, the heavy crown upon your head, and even the bed you shared — all were built upon those very foundations. But your lover insisted on only showcasing the glorious side of things to you.

The gold.

The diamonds.

The luxuries.

All which adorned you by day. Glowing, glistening, and shining. Gems and jewels, fabrics woven from the highest quality quickly reduced to layers that only became a hindrance once it came time for his descent upon you. For you were absolutely beautiful clothed — this he very well knew — but when your whole body was bared naked for him and him alone? You were truly the definition of divine.

Those who dared to speak ill of you tried to foster ridiculous claims. Critical of the wealth in your possession. Mocked what they presumed was a lack of ambition. Wailed that you were a witch. A young monarch on an undeniable downfall to tyranny, one that would lead them all to hellfire and ruin.

Anything to validate that you were not worthy of the royal seal emblazoned across the lands in honor of a valiant leader with a royal bloodline still running through your veins.

Hypocrisy at its finest when you were the reason that they were bestowed or able to retain property linked to their names, money in their pockets, and a legacy to live by under your prosperous reign. Arrogant to cast down the very thing that elevated them to their current standing. But their greed would eventually come back to bite them. One day.

Even the religious sect whispered lowly, hidden in the shadows of the grand temples. Doubts that the king actually held a shred of affection for his partner — if the seldom visits seen visiting your chambers only when night falls were of any substantial evidence to go by. That he only lay with you out of duty, shackled and bound to an imposter who was never a faithful servant to the gods like they were.

Because not one of them truly believed that a god could ever favor, let alone love, a human.

You knew you were a savior to as many as you were also an enemy. A hindrance and a threat. A bold refusal to control or be controlled. There was nothing more to do other than lead your people as fairly as you judged.

All the preposterous assumptions infuriated him — your devoted knight, unorthodox husband, and scandalous lover. But he manages to temper his fiery rage out of respect for you. Behind your ruthless, steely intent is a righteous and kind heart that always calls out for him, now fully vocalized and embellished by the sweet voice he's missed hearing dearly.

“Seokmin,” you murmur, grasping his warm hand once he's within reach.

An entity of many epithets with an existence worth a millennium beyond comprehension and full of worship. Yet his favorite phonetic combination he'd ever heard was the one that fell breathlessly from your lips. The closest the human tongue could get to a god’s true name. And his second favorite would be yours, the syllables rumbling in his chest like a song and you smiled in contentment.

He was back, he was home, and he was yours.

Even in the darkness, Seokmin glowed. The ethereal radiance surrounding the broad expanse of sinewy muscles easily proved his lofty status as the great god of the sun. But it was also his eyes, flickering with the unmistakable presence as one of many deities. The kind of power that has managed to refrain from turning you into ash and cinders.

Whether it's attributed to your resilience, a ruler born to stand out and lead, or an entirely different reason — or a mixture of all — Seokmin isn't really sure. He's not the first to appear in a human vessel nor the last, with at least twelve of his known brothers wandering the mortal world for various reasons.

He wonders if he's the first to bow his head willingly, though, holding back his more devious and destructive tendencies. To pay back tenfold the worship he's received since the beginning of time all to you — a mere human — yet nonetheless, his queen.

The event of swearing his undying fealty feels like it was yesterday. For a being that persists forever, it may as well have been that short ago. Every memory he etches and sears into his mind for eternity consists of you, and only you.

How could he forget? How was he supposed to bury away the confident smirk that graced your lovely lips? Would he ever not recall the first time he bent the knee in such desperation? Not for a trick or as a dark seduction that tumbles into a dreadful demise, a conquest for carnage, and an abuse of his powers. But instead for the good of humanity — however short of an era it may be.

And maybe… for more. One that his heart fears to admit, for it does not beat within his chest, but in a plane beyond the reach of mortals.

"Would you kill for me?"

"For you, anything," the god affirms. "I have laid waste to kingdoms, countries, empires, and even continents themselves. There is nothing I'm incapable of."

"And if I asked you to behead the entire entourage that has traveled with you?"

"… If it is what you will, then it is simply my command to follow. For you, I am a lone knight at your disposal."

Silken skirts flare out as does your anger when you turn away from the large windows in the tower's tiny excuse of a throne room — hardly fit for the heir — showcasing a brief flash of the lethal dagger strapped to your thigh. "Do you wish for my downfall before I've even risen to the throne? You expect me to be a tyrant, despised by the people I am meant to save? To lead?"

"Do you think I, a god, care what thoughts others conjure up in their silly little minds? I am to act on your behalf, get my hands dirty in lieu of you. No matter how morbid your desires may be."

Stepping closer, you lift his chin with the tip of a dull sword intended to be ornamental. But it may be even deadlier than the one hung at his side, metaphorically sharpened and honed by a rebel princess's innate rage.

His little show of bowing means little with the way he stares straight at you without a shred of respect in those galaxy-filled irises. However, it is the mighty sun god who is taken aback by the hellfire burning in your gaze, hungry and powerful enough to rival his own as you scoff.

"I will show you what kind of queen this land needs, the methods we will follow, and the morals I wish to uphold. You will learn in order to understand them and enforce my will. Not only to help guide the vision I desire but to keep me accountable lest I stray. A critical misstep such as that is when I'll ask you to cut me down. Will you swear to do that for me?"

"… You dare question a god of what he can do? Your tiny, impudent human mind couldn't fathom a sliver of my capability."

"I dare to question what you can't or won't do."

"I told you, there is not a thing beyond my realm of —"

"Leave."

"… Your Highness?"

Painted lips curl in a snarl at the first address of your proper title since his arrival. "Begone, I said! Return when you feel like acting like the god you are, not simply a tool to be harnessed and used at will. Until then, I have no need for you."

Seokmin's jaw drops as you seat yourself back on the throne with a sneer and flick of your wrist for the guard to usher him out.

A challenge.

He's been abandoned many times. Discarded and tossed to the side once his usefulness has been expended. He's left before betrayal can even be thought of — for no one points a blade at a god's back — but never has he been rejected.

It was only the beginning of how you would become many of his 'firsts' and all of his 'lasts'.

Seokmin is lost deep in the memory even with the feeling of your lips curling in a gentle smile against his — a stark contrast to your initial meeting. A nail grazes his chin, digging lightly into the skin to fully bring the god back to the present.

You'd be offended by the habitual spacing out if he hadn't admitted to only getting lost in thoughts of you. Something he'd picked up during the routine patrols away. Though you strive to bring the god out of dwelling in the past when you're sitting right in front of him — the present — and deepen the kiss.

Yet he pulls away to tilt his head. "Do you remember what you offered to me?"

"Have I not offered you my all, my king?"

Charcoal lying dormant in the hearth flares back to life, emitting playful sparks when he chuckles. "After I returned to pledge my loyalty to you."

"Ah, even though I had you wait outside the gates for five days."

"Unfathomable for a god to hang around at the whim of a meager human, isn't it?"

"Meager?"

"To me? Yes."

His warm exhale of amusement feels just like the breeze that fondly brushes your cheeks every morning despite the eternal humidity. It may very well be him because no matter how far away physically from you he is, Seokmin's essence radiates in every sunray that stretches across the grand skies and below.

He is everywhere and everything all the time. But he is here with you tonight once again, kissing the palm you'd placed on his cheek. With mischief flickering like a teasing flame in his eyes, the god brings your hand to his throat, encouraging you to splay your fingers across his Adam's apple.

You free yourself from his light grasp to run them ticklishly up and down the bumps of his vocal cords. The movements of swallowing ripples beneath the light scratch of your nails until he halts you by replacing a veined hand over yours and murmurs, "Squeeze."

"Ah — but I…"

He repeats it again louder when you fail to do as asked, not even daring to move a muscle. Simply staring in almost awe-filled hesitation until he guides you to tentatively do exactly as he states, "You would have done anything to strangle me back then, what has changed?"

"… You know what."

"Tell me," he says it like it's a command, eyes brightening and swirling with an authoritative amber hue though it's all in jest. "Tell me what it is, my queen."

Never one to be deterred, only Seokmin could render you motionless for so long. You do as you're instructed, the gentle pressure applied by your hand around his throat causes auburn eyelashes to flutter. The slight restriction to an airflow that isn't all that necessary for a god's survival has his eyes rolling back before they re-focus on you, half-hidden by hooded eyelids.

"Love," you murmur. For it is the answer to everything, is it not?

"Love," is echoed with a resounding voice that doesn't fully come from the tongue of the man beneath you, but bellows out from an otherworldly essence that surrounds the entire world and beyond. And at the same time, he speaks it so fondly because ultimately, he's addressing it as a title for you.

The god of the sun, as immortal as he might be, has died before. Mortal vessels manage to persevere for a fixed number of years and a feeble human body can only endure so much wear and tear. Yet Seokmin's soul still shines steadily onwards despite the memory of death over and over again lingering… and he unsurprisingly realizes that he wouldn't mind dying like this — by your hand.

Was that love?

But the amount of power, energy, and time, along with the unpredictable wiles of the creator would never guarantee him returning to you. Preservation of this human shell was of the utmost importance, the first time he's ever handled a vessel with care before.

Perhaps that was love.

Rather than be swept up in unpleasantries, he entertains the amusing thought of how much fragility you exercise with him. Having already released your grip far too quickly and instead, fiddle with the untied laces on his loose shirt.

"Love," he repeats, this time as a call in a raspy drawl of his own voice.

"Hm. Or maybe it was… pity."

An eyebrow raises and the corners of Seokmin's mouth twitch upward. "Only my queen would dare to pity a god."

"It was for what you were. And who you weren't. I despise those uppity, repetitive displays of unwavering loyalty that either party can easily discard."

"Like the former king's imperial court."

"Yes."

Your angered hiss is exactly the same as the first time you informed him of your plans to take down your father and his cult. The disgust and rage have barely ebbed even after all the progress made for a better future and as many years that have passed.

Seokmin scans your expressions. He's always admired your spitfire that could rival his own flames. But in times when it burns long enough to possibly exhaust or hurt you, he worries. You're strong — he knows that — so many times he simply becomes the safe space where you can seethe aloud without interruption.

"Would you rather grow dull and be poisoned because someone is not even worth keeping an eye on or the thrill of unpredictability? A constant sword dance that keeps each other on their toes, never deviating gazes from one another."

He smirks. "That sounds familiar."

You think back to earlier days with him. A stubborn royal and an even more stubborn deity. When did the challenging, pointed glares at one another change to simmering looks of desire?

Instead of your swords tangling together in an angry clash over a small matter, it was your tongues after a heated sparring session. How condescension switched to respect to something more passionate… more primal… more intimate.

"Perhaps so. But look at you now — look at how you shine."

His skin indeed glows a bit brighter as he melts further into the soft touch of your palm returning to his cheek. Thumb tracing constellations between the pair of moles on his cheek while your other finger follows the nearly invisible scar below his eye.

"Little blemishes," he had once told you, "even the body of a god bears its flaws after fighting on a battlefield."

You thought they only made him all the more perfect.

"And look at how I've fallen."

As if to demonstrate his murmured words, Seokmin moves at the speed of light — his normal pace — to lie on his back, umber strands of hair spread out like flames of fire against the grandiose bed's silken sheets.

Somehow, he'd positioned you on top of him. Much accustomed to the tiny displays of omnipotence here and there, you remain unbothered. Affectionately, you brush back his bangs. Fiery wisps of hair that seemingly move on their own accord with the amount of power that ripples through their thin fibers.

He might just be the most powerful among his fellow deities and you could wield all of that as your own because he sits obediently in the palm of your hand. Lays dociley among your silken sheets. What he's trying to prove to you — the hold you have over him — immediately enthralled under your spell as you play with his locks and softly whisper, "You're Seokmin. My Seokmin."

Despite your bare chest quite literally in his face, the god waits. Fully clothed in soft linens where he can feel every tempting pulse thundering in your precious mortal body on top of his.

And still, he waits.

His hands don't even reach out as you unlace his shirt. Though he has wrecked and ruined your body in a thrillingly sensual, blistering, and passionate heat of love-making before, tonight he gives himself over to you. Vulnerable and all yours for the taking, watching with faint amusement as you impatiently urge him to shed the rest of his garments.

"My queen."

"My king."

"There is no rush. We have all of eternity."

"Do we?" you breathe out and look him in the eyes as your fingers dance along his inner thigh. "Or is it only you, divine ruler of the everlasting dawn and never-ending night?"

"My graceful moon," Seokmin sighs and distracts you from grasping his weeping shaft, urging you to straddle his legs. You follow his will despite the object of your desires lying neglected between your bodies, coating your stomach in the molten saltiness that drips from it.

"My stars, my sky, my galaxy, my universe." Each title of affection is seared into your skin with a burning kiss to brand your body. Your cheek, your ear, your neck, your shoulder, and your hand. "Without you in it, the world ceases to exist."

"My sun, my warrior, my knight, my shield, and my sword." You repeat a version of your own display of worship and what he means to you — mimicking the same actions across his lithe body. "My love, it would do you good to live in the present with me. Must you think of a dire future so soon?"

"Each inhale of life thus returns an exhale of death. I dread every moment that brings me closer to your end."

"Such morbid thoughts you carry, my darling. Where is the fearless god that took a poisoned arrow to the heart and pulled it out without so much as a flinch?"

"You think me weak when I'd take the blow of any weapon as long as it does not harm you."

The irony when you'd both been struck by invisible, non-lethal darts fired from the god of love's feathered bow. But the terrifying memory of Seokmin taking the assassination attempt in your place causes a rare, but true, fear twisting in your gut. The flash of life before your eyes changed the trajectory of your tactics and your relationship with the god. And as always he reassures you with what he knows to be the truth — for the most part.

"Nothing can hurt me as long as you're alright."

"Then make me your goddess in return so that I will be invincible enough to protect you from harm's wrath too."

"But that… you know I can't," he whimpers, "no matter how much I long to."

A tear trickles down his cheek, crystallizing when it falls. Like many before and well after, all bodily fluids of the god will be found transformed as various tiny diamonds and gems. Tangled within the bedsheets the following morning as they always are and stored away in the queen's treasury.

Seokmin cries, not just at his frustrations, but at how you gingerly hold his hot and hardened length. Heavy in your palm that rubs and strokes it lovingly before sinking down with practiced ease, having already stretched yourself out earlier while waiting. Undulating your hips in slow, controlled circles that make him dizzy with desire. Your words pierce his chest, paining him like no sword that sliced him open could ever compare.

"If fate will not let it happen, then bury me in the ground so I can thrive beneath your warm rays that whisper sweet nothings. Let me smile up at you after winter passes while I bloom brilliantly through spring and long into the heated days of summer. Weave my soul among the stars so I may greet you in the morning and kiss you goodnight every evening. Scatter my ashes into the windy gusts of the north and down the silver rivers flowing south so I may laugh and dance in the skies alongside your sunbeams."

He sobs at the poignant emotional tug of your words, every poetry waxed by your breathy voice punctuated by a tantalizing undulation of your hips. You reassuringly clench around him, foreheads and bodies pressed together, hands clasped tightly in each other's grasp.

The god's chest heaves and the mountains on the eastern border shift to the left. Sometimes the air cools when this occurs but tonight, it shimmers and glistens as if straining against his commands. A hot wave that threatens to distort the very seam of reality itself.

"I will always be yours," you kiss the corner of his trembling lips, "and you mine, my darling god."

"My sweet goddess, my everything… my love."

Seokmin's hips buck up anxiously and you let him lead the pace. Wild thrusts take over as he chases that high, wanting and needing to take you over that peak with him. Your body lays prone against him, along for the jostling ride as the god seeks his own pleasure through and with you. Praises and worship fall from his lips, never failing to be in awe of how your cunt molds and works his cock like a blacksmith shapes an iron rod yet he can bully it as he wants to fit him. Only him.

You were made for the god of the sun.

Golden ichor thrums through his veins, lighting his skin in flashes like the sparks of embers. He's beautiful. Otherworldly. Your lips capture each glowing pulse of godliness that erupts beneath his flesh with a tender peck. He's all yours.

And he was made for you.

When Seokmin plunges into your welcoming warmth that is his alone to claim before he finally succumbs, it's blinding. On the other side of the earth, the sun shines a little brighter. A harsh glint that already emits a sweltering heat from its fiery nature flares even hotter in the blue sky. A blessed priestess looks up in contemplation, waving away the worried maidens who tend to her every need.

You feel his large hands — one presses in a bruising hold between your shoulders, the other on your lower back. Keeping you flush against him, holding your body to his while you welcome inside the scorching spurts of his seed within your womb that feel like lava. Your walls flutter around him and he basks in the feeling of them pulsating as you jerk your hips

"Come," he begs out. It's loud and resounding. More of an instinctual command if anything and your body almost obeys unwittingly, unaware of his intent before he lifts you up with inhuman strength and clarifies, "Up here," and sits you on your rightful throne — his face, "where you deserve, the queen of queens. My queen. My love. My goddess."

He laps at you like a dehydrated dog. Both cleaning you up and creating an even bigger mess. Your thighs squeeze tightly around the sides of Seokmin's head, one hand tugging harshly at his hair and the other mercilessly wrinkling the silk bed sheets. His moans are sweet songs of praise but muffled as he sucks his release out of your cunt only to push it back inside with his tongue. The addition of globs of spit accompanying the still-hot, smeared mess causes your own sounds to grow much louder, writhing on top of him from the sloppy sensations.

Back and forth he repeats this a couple of times, the firm point of his nose stimulating your sore clit in his efforts. And finally, you come undone — spasming on top of Seokmin's chin and suffocating him just like he likes. Breathing and drowning in your essence, the very elixir of life.

"I shall make you mine," he whispers later, dutifully laying your deliciously aching but clean body onto freshened sheets. Your lover is ever so attentive, rarely nearly needing the same amount of aftercare he showers upon you.

For he is a god from the heavens to bestow blessings upon his desired mortal.

"I am already yours."

"But for all of eternity, it shall be so."

Satiated and content, you reach for him. He lovingly takes your hand and presses a kiss to the tip of each of your fingers. "How?"

"The Mother. She's the closest thing we have to the Creator and might be older than the universe itself. There's nothing she doesn't know so I'm sure she'll have the answers I seek."

"Must you leave so soon?"

Seokmin smiles as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. "The sun never fails to rise, my dear. I will be back before you know it bringing with me tidings of great news."

"I'll be waiting."

Your shared kiss is soft and gentle. Sweet and full of sentiment. Indeed, you always wait for him and the sun god leaves with a full heart of hope. Little does he know, and little do you suspect, the true one lying in wait was the shadowed figure holding a poisoned dagger beneath their cloak.

And so, with the death of a queen so loved by the god of the sun… the prophecy begins.

onlyseokmins: September 2024 ©

#ez.creates #svthub #svt.smut #dokyeom smut #seokmin smut #dk smut #lee seokmin smut #lee dokyeom smut #smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #kpop smut

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jolalibrary · 10 months ago

Text

isn't it

din djarin x f!reader

summary: at first, it had been you who had found a problem with each one he’d landed at. but, at some point between your clothing being around your ankles, you’re sure he’d begun to find problems with you leaving too.

warnings: mentions of smut/alludes to smut. bad star wars writing (probs, i'm new forgive me). no use of y/n. brief mention/allusion of hand necklace (thanks @rhoorl for the term), m!oral, p in v. loosely season one/two, although likely au. wordcount: 1.7k an: a huge massive thank you to @saradika for firstly convincing me i could do this, and then letting me show her this so i could be assured i didn't butcher him. ily so much 🤍

It’s beautiful.

The sound of wind rustling through it, how it waves in spots up and down the hill—moving side to side like a cosmic wave.

You thought you’d known green until now; thought you had known silver too, assumed you understood the way reflections worked and how quick movements could be. But that was before him.

Before you’d known the feel of his solid body lay on top of yours.

Then, you discovered a lot of things. Like how easy it was to spread your thighs on either side of him. For your fingers to seek in the dark—how they effortlessly hunt and find the parts he’ll expose to the night, but never to the light.

You even found you don’t hate the sound of your name when he says it. Somehow makes it longer, more impactful—like it has meaning when it comes from his mouth.

All of which were things you’d never known before you convinced him to bring you.

A promise, a barter—an exchange. Your hand clutching his blaster slugs, tears clutching to your lashes, flowing from your eyes—aware of what you look like, aware of the desperation you reek of.

Just take me to a different planet. A suitable one. Please.

At first, it had been you who had found a problem with each one he’d landed at.

A bogus reason, a ploy—all stemmed from a rising infatuation with the man under beskar. But, at some point between your cheek against the wall of his ship and your clothing being around your ankles, you’re sure he’d begun to find problems with you leaving too.

But, this place is a gift—it’s a slice of heaven.

It had been a stop gap you’d almost pleaded at him not to make, a pause in the travel plan. Now you’re not sure you want to leave it.

Because here is a sea of greens, a variety, a never-ending display of every shade between the letters which make up the name. Some are more saturated, some are deeper; some are tinged with yellows and others are blotted with dark spots that aim to discolour, but just make them more unique.

There’s no bounty here—no collection to be made.

Just a sight for your eyes and a moment for him. And, you think you could sit here for hours and bask in it. Take it in. Allow the air of this planet to fill your lungs and carve a space inside of you that no one will ever be able to rip from you.

Stroking your fingers through the ground, you feel how your tunic presses to your spine—how it’s held there by the perspiration on your spine. The fabric desperate to blow, to whip around your ribs and the sleeves to float around your arms.

You don’t care that it’s warm—don’t mind that you can feel your skin prickling under it.

Because you’re lost in it, the limitlessness of this place. How surreal it is that each blade points north to the sky, all upright, anchored pleasingly to the ground it came from.

Things had been beautiful earlier too, you remind yourself.

When you had been enveloped by darkness, not a slither of light—not that there’d be the space for it in the small cot. His hands, forever a staple, an anchor, to your hips, determined to pin you there.

He’s a man who chases after those who run, and you suppose it’s ingrained in him. This belief that everyone, at some point, will leave—will go. You think it’s why he holds you tightly when you’re nothing but bare; you suppose it’s why after, when he unsheathes himself, he always traces his thumb over the places his fingers have been, reminding your skin he’s kind, just in case you need another reminder not to leave.

“We should go.”

You hum because you should. Yet, your mind rationalises that the baby is still asleep and there are more minutes to sit in the silence, to not dwell—you suppose it’s why your hand reaches up, and brushes over the gloved fingers instead.

Action is easier than words when it comes to him.

A game the two of you play, one of silence and strategy—wondering who’d be the first to crack and speak more words than necessary. You suspect it’ll be you in time, likely soon enough.

It’s why you clutch, cling. Weaving and working until you’re holding his fingers at an odd angle, a silent plea there, a wishful hope spoken without using syllables or your lips and mouth.

“One more minute.”

“Okay,” you respond.

Watching the strands move again, swaying, dancing.

A content sigh rolls from you, and briefly—in the back of your mind, you wonder if you’re really awake. Whether this is some form of peace your brain has concocted after the sight of him stained in crimson; his palms flat in the air, modulator expelling he’s fine, it isn’t his, he’s okay, it’s okay—

For a while, you’d believed him, until you felt the bruises—all pulsing and colouring in shades you can’t imagine. An image being drawn, shaded in—forever in black and white, just outlines and half-concocted feelings you have on what lives under his armour.

He sighs next to you, it rattling out through his helmet.

And you wait to hear it, the confirmation he normally hands you. Deep, even through his modulator that this “isn’t it” either.

It’s been a routine ever since the two of you began this dalliance. Ever since you’d smuggled yourself aboard his ship with the promise that you’d never ask him for anything else.

Neither realising how false that would be.

You beg for a lot. For more, for his lips, his fingers and his cock. You wait for the darkness, count down to it—thrum with excitement for it when he steps down the ladder and his helmet is aimed in your direction.

Somehow, no words are said, just mutual acknowledgement, acceptance. Or that's what you call it. It being seemingly better than admitting that you crave it—him. That you care, that the sight of him smeared in ruby still haunts you—lingers there, bleeds into good days and casts shadows while you wait in the hull. The child in your arms, soothing him—telling yourself you’re giving him comfort, when you suppose you gain more from the small being than you could ever provide.

“This isn’t it,” he eventually says from above.

His helmet turned, and you imagine the eyes that live under it. Question if they’re almond-shaped or hooded, whether they’re brown, green or blue. You also wonder if he looks at you with curiosity or want, whether it’s with a thousand thoughts running or none at all.

“No?”

“No. Not this one.”

That’s when you close your eyes. Let your ears do the seeing.

Allow your other senses to kick in, to swallow the lack of sight and make do. You end up lingering on the gloved hand in yours—the one which sometimes slides around your neck, lightly pinches either side as you moan at the feel of him. The same hand which slides down your spine to aid your motion, or lingers there when the terrain isn't trouble-free.

It's the remembering which makes you let go of it, of him.

Quickly managing to pretend your hand doesn’t feel cold when you do. Stuff down the emptiness that begins to drown you in the space you put between you, as you stand up. A part of you admitting defeat, silently saying goodbye to tall stands of green and the rolling hills adorned with shades.

“Thought you’d be sick of me by now.”

It rumbles from you. All heavy, laced in its own metal—ready to slam into him and take him down.

It doesn’t. You’re not sure any words ever could.

You suppose it’s why he says nothing, silently following, not too far so that you’re alone, but not close enough that you can feel the ghost of his touch. The distance measured, all purposeful. It remains so until you’re back aboard, until the door closes behind you and you’re once again surrounded by metal.

A part of you knows you shouldn’t grow used to him, shouldn’t be waiting for him to flood your spine with his chest. But you do—you really fucking do.

It’s why you don’t move, don’t take a step closer to check on the baby or even unclench your hand from around the strands of green you’d stolen. The ones you’d ripped up from the ground, roots tickling your wrist—the rest remaining tucked closely between curled fingers and a sweaty palm.

Yours. The smallest piece of a place you’ll likely never see.

“You should sleep.”

It’s an order. Direct—practically thrown at you. Followed by a tight grip on your waist, fingers finding the same place they always do. His place. The one not needing a mark, but he leaves them all the same, ownership, a possession.

Sometimes in the throes of it, you hear him hiss mine, jus’ mine—your head nodding in the dark, because you are, you know you are, the same as you suspect he knows he’s yours. It’s another thing which festers behind your teeth, keeping lips clamped shut, knowing it requires no confirmation, no words in exchange for the momentary slip-up he lets escape. But then, you offer nothing when you trace mine against him with your tongue, when you muffle the words around his shaft as your mouth widens to take more of him.

It’s just pleasure, an easy-to-choose solution to another body being in proximity—a lie you tell yourself.

One you bargain with when he sleeps and you’re coated in the dark, convincing yourself until sleep carries you away and you wake to find yourself either alone or the very opposite.

Because it’s easier, simpler. Far better than admitting your heart does a double take when he returns, that you yearn for him in the days that pass when he leaves you on the ship.

It’s less complicated than asking him if you’ll ever be worthy of seeing him.

And you’re not the type of person to question. So you don’t.

And so the routine continues.

an: you don't know how long this has been burning in my head.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction

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swordoffrivolousthings · 3 months ago

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The gods in PJO are not godly enough, in my opinion

I will start this rant by saying that this is only one of my problems with the PJO series. I understand why Riordan has humanized them, I know this is a middle school age book series. But I am older and I want to make them freaky and strange and kind of eldritch. With little to no explanation as for my choices.

ZEUS. He is the Olympian king of the gods, god of the sky, weather, law and order, destiny and fate and kingship. He is the law, as any king is. Every word he says is godly law, every little order will be followed. He is the king. So, he is stone-faced, made of marble, with no expression other than thoughtfulness and severeness (even if he sometimes isn't). His eyes are pure lightning, the hurricanes that ravage the world and the gentlest of summer rains. Most days, when he speaks of future events, they tend to happen that way, if not overruled by a higher power. His very presence is the ozone layer being brought down, heavy, tiring mortals and demigods out quickly. He treads lightly, with steps like gentle patters of rain, but his every breath is thunder.

HERA. The goddess of marriage, women, the sky and the stars of heaven, and the Olympian queen of the gods. Marriage, despite her own being something less than aspiring, is sacred. Couples that marry are under her protection, she still blesses their marriages. She sky shifts with her emotions, getting darker and night starting to fall. Her himation worn over her head, the only garment visible, reflecting the sky above. Her eyes, two bright stars, seeing something more than human perception can begin to understand.

POSEIDON. Olympian god of the sea, earthquakes, floods, drought and horses. His body is not, just from the corner of the eye, made of muscle, bones and tendons. Water, swirling and moving in the shape of a man, the odd strand of algae. Then you turn and he is barely human, but not saltwater. The waves seek and tug at his heels whenever he walks along the beach. His eyes, oceanic tectonic plates crashing, sending tsunamis to devastate the world. The air around him is salty, sea air clinging to his skin. Algae appear in his wake, reeking of the sea.

DEMETER. Olympian goddess of agriculture, grain and bread who sustained mankind with the earth's rich bounty. In her wake, every step makes a grain sprout, growing tall and healthy, and nothing can take it down. The seasons are slowly blooming and booming in her presence, the spring more verdant, the summer hotter, autumn plentiful beyond measure and winter always frigid. From behind her ears sprout oats and barley, always young and vibrant green, crowning her in the coming bounty. Her eyes are the colour of wheat, and when the wind blows the shadows in her eyes move with it.

ARES. Olympian god of war, battlelust, courage and civil order. He is war, bloody and cruel, senseless, personified. His very presence makes fights break out, indignities and betrayals happen. He is an oppressive force that bring the bravery out of the people, along with all the hate. If he stays long enough in one place, even Olympus, war breaks out, be it civil or not. This is why he never stays in one place too long. He is luting for blood, but war had wearied him. He will not do the same mistake twice, even in war. His eyes are the open wounds of soldiers, bleeding, infected, dying skin and rotting meat.

ATHENA. Olympian goddess of wisdom and good counsel, war, the defence of towns, heroic endeavour, weaving, pottery and various other crafts. Every tapestry and pot and garment worked by hand that is not up to her godly standard shrivels and turns to ash in her presence, obliterated by her beyond-human perfectioned craft. Towns are instantly protected when she is there, good grace and godly favour. War, like Ares, follows her. It is not kinder, nor is it bearable. Calculated, cold, some would argue that her wars are crueler, sadistic. Eyes like garment fiber and shattered pots, blood covering them.

APOLLO. Olympian god of prophecy and oracles, music, song and poetry, archery, healing, plague and disease, and the protection of the young. The sun, a power passed on, burns under his skin. It is the worst in the summer months, when the sun is more preeminent. His music, lighting every room in shades of enticement, is otherworldly, his voice, be it in song or word, is a mastery of perfection. From his hands, a single touch can be salvation or sickness. His arrows, silver for his twin, always strike true, no matter the target. His presence brings prophecies and fates to light. The power of the sun is in his eyes.

ARTEMIS. Olympian goddess of hunting, the wilderness and wild animals. She was also a goddess of childbirth, and the protectress of the girl child up to the age of marriage. Around her sprout forests, wild and untainted, a world where humans could get lost in and never be found again. Wild animals prowl after her, protectors and friends of her hunters. When the night is darkest, a power inherited, her skin lights up, a moon to shine in the dark of the shadows. Her hunters, her girls, are protected and her wrath is painful and cruel, like her domains, and they are recognisable by their golden arrows.

HEPHAESTUS. Olympian god of fire, smiths, craftsmen, metalworking, stonemasonry and sculpture. Beneath his skin flames are visible, a moving part of him, like tattoos. Every piece of metal he works with, no matter how briefly, turns into beatiful and powerful tools, an art all of their own. His buildings are steady and everlasting, the stone protected by his touch. His eyes, the hammer hitting metal, are coloured in such a way that they resemble statue's eyes.

APHRODITE. Olympian goddess of love, beauty, pleasure and procreation. Born of sea foam and godly blood, the salt clings to her. Curls her hair and makes her glow, the power of the sea just under her perfect skin. Everyone finds something beautiful in the face of beauty. It is enchanting, a spell most can hardly exist. She is everything everyone could ever want, a goddess for everyone's taste. Yet her anger is born of the sea, a cruel and unforgiving sort of death. To make love dislike you is to lose it all in the blink of an eye. To disrespect a goddess means death.

HERMES. Olympian god of herds and flocks, travellers and hospitality, roads and trade, thievery and cunning, heralds and diplomacy, language and writing, athletic contests and gymnasiums, astronomy and astrology. He speaks in languages long lost, and his travel notes are written in queer glyphs and writing systems. Sheep like him, without doubt. The souls of humans clash and itch to follow him when he enters a room, beyond willing to be taken to the underworld. The stars illuminate his path, a road he knows by heart but they don't care. They will guide him, no matter what.

DIONYSUS. Olympian god of wine, vegetation, pleasure, festivity, madness and wild frenzy. Vines grow from his footsteps, water and seawater and nectar and any other drink turn to wine in his hand. Where he is, the frenzied, happy and drunk follow, a retinue of people that enjoy and enjoy and enjoy. There is nothing not to like at first glance, and only at first glance. When one looks closer, the insanity begins. It is like sparks in his eyes, a nonsensical word past his lips. When you look closer at the people, there is no happiness in the thaws of madness.

HESTIA. The virgin goddess of the hearth and the home. It does not make her kind, because the gods rarely are. It makes her steady, the fire in the home that keeps the chill away from making itself at home. The fire that lights the way back home, sacred in temples and to extinguish it is to forsake her favour. Homes she has blessed are cozy, full of love, of safety. It does not make them fireproof.

HADES. The king of the underworld and god of the dead. He, king over bones and lost memories. His wife, unnamable, his presence like the heavy hand of time on mortal shoulders. Bones and skulls and the wispy whisper of the lost are his retinue. Half decomposed corpses his servants and valets and butlers. His name, scorned, is never said but on the eve of the winter solstice, when death is the surest companion. His eyes, dark but brittle as bone, promise something any other god can't understand.

PERSEPHONE. Goddess queen of the underworld, wife of the god Hades. She was also the goddess of spring growth. Her presence brings with it the smell of the first flowers of spring, little by little making the world greener. But her steps are always silent, always just a little far from the ground. She is a queen, death is her and her husband's domain. Of course she is ghostly, terrifying. Her perfume is of freshly dug earth and autumnal rain, the weeps of widows and widowers, the death of the young and elderly. Her name is unspoken, a curse when invoked. You will not hear her name on Olympus, in mortal mouths. Kore, Despoena, her titles are safe. Her eye is not benevolent, when it's attention is captured.

#percy jackson #cezy's insanities #hoo #pjo #pjo hoo toa #pjo headcanon #headcanon #alternate universe #heroes of olympus #percy jackon and the olympians #greek gods #I will also add that this is pure fiction and character design on my part #I do not worship these gods and if I said anything disrespectful to you and your beliefs please tell me so I can correct the problem #and do please enjoy my little fuckery #and I know that Apollo and Artemis are not the gods of the sun and moon respectively but this is based on PJO so I've gone with what Riorda #has established in the canon and nothing more. Also so I can use the sun/moon parallel

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semicolonsspace · 1 year ago

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Galvanic- a Stiles Smut<3

Warnings: knee humping, handjob, premature Orgasm, multiple orgasms, Dacryphilia, tit worship(kinda) fingering(f receiving), unprotected sex (p n v), creampie,

Y/n and Stiles have been best friends since Kindergarten. They were so close everyone just assumed they were dating. Neither Stiles nor Y/n were bothered by it. Actually, it was quite refreshing for Y/n. She was always paranoid of other boys, it took her forever to be able to trust Scott.

Every Tuesday the pair would hang out. They'd either watch movies, research together, or go to abandoned buildings. Today they were going to watch a Star Wars movie once again.

But, every time they did so, Y/n had to masturbate. She had to because Stiles somehow riled her up innocently. Whether it would be by a simple hug, a lingering touch, or just the way he looked at her with his big brown eyes.

Y/n sighed and got up from her bed; She just finished for the 3rd time and she reeked of sex. Y/n stumbles off her bed and wobbles to her joint bathroom. She quickly takes a shower and wraps the towel around her curves. She checks if it shows anything before leaving. She walks out of her bathroom and almost screams. Stiles was standing next to her bed, shamelessly holding the dildo, examining it with an analytical face. Y/n snatches it out of her friend's hands swiftly. Her hand still clutched her towel with her other hand and grumbled. "You saw nothing." She quickly walks to her joint bathroom and sets the dildo in the sink, she cleans it and lets it sit there to dry.

"So," Stiles begins with a shaky voice. "I'm early-" He starts but is cut off by his slightly annoyed and extremely embarrassed best friend.

"You are... By a whole hour," Y/n sighed, She couldn't be mad at him with the way he looked at her. But she was never going to forget this... How could she be so stupid? Leaving it on her bed like that?

Stiles smirks at her and sits on her bed. He pulls her closer to him, his hands toying with the hem of the towel. "Maybe I can make you feel good? Instead of watching a stupid movie," Stiles suggests playfully. That's right! Stiles wanted to watch Star Wars but disregarded it just like that?

Stiles and she had always been flirty toward each other but this time it felt different. Just the mention of him doing so made arousal slip down her thighs.

Y/n shakes her head. "Now is not the time with your teasing, you're early! I haven't even got dressed yet!"

Y/n squints at him and shoves him off of her. She turns to her closet to pick out some clothes. Stiles pushes himself off her bed and grabs a shirt from the closet along with his sweatpants that he left over the previous sleepover they'd had. "Get all comfy and cute for me," Stiles jokes with his infamous thin smirk. Y/n rolls her eyes and grabs the clothes, grabs undergarments before he can see them, and walks to her bathroom to change.

Stiles scoffs, his slender hands falling to her hips. He squeezes them in an attempt to reassure her. "No need for that, I've seen you naked before," Stiles shrugs nonchalantly. He had only because they used to take bubble baths together when they were young. Then she hit puberty early, destroying the fun they had in the water. That didn't deter them, they just had fun splashing each other in her pool.

When she was finished she walked out and climbed onto her bed. Stiles was already on her bed, so she snuggled into him like she'd always done. He sighs with content and wraps his arms around her happily. A few moments go by and his arms tighten so tight she knew she wasn't going to be able to escape. "We're gonna have to talk about that toy, Y/n/n." His voice was husky, something she'd only heard in her fantasies.

Y/n struggles one last time before giving in and going lax. "Never," she mumbles. Her pride wouldn't let her go that easy. His strong arms were tight around her torso, his forearms pressed against her hard nipples; He could feel the tempting buttons, begging for his attention. "What are you doing, Stiles?" she asks in a shaky voice. His breath was heavy in her ear, tempting her with all the fantasies she'd had about him.

"Thinking about that toy," he whispers with cracks.

Y/n's breath was now heavy, the second thing she could hear. His breathing, hers, and her racing heartbeat in her ears. Now she could feel his body, feel his arousal pressed against her back, slowly hardening against the small of her back. She squirmed again, trying to fearfully getaway. There is no way this was happening, Y/n thought.

"Your dick is pressed against my back," Y/n groans, squirming again to get away.

"Your squirming is making it that way; Be still, I want to cuddle," he bites back, stifling a moan as her ass just grazed his shaft deliciously.

He moves his knee, not away but further between her legs. "Is this okay?" Stiles asks with faux innocence. Y/n moans when he asks this, bringing her plump lips into her teeth. Her eyes roll back and her toes curl, not expecting such beautiful pleasure just from his knee. Her brain seems to short-circuit when his knees start to rub against her clit. "What about this?" he whispers. Y/n nods, her hips grinding against his knees to assist. "Just- don't stop," she cries, literal tears falling from her eyes. He leans down and kisses the salty glint on her euphoria-filled face.

Y/n doesn't listen and tries to get out of his grasp. He gets fed up and pins her down with ease. He hovers over her, his eyes are hooded, his hair is messy, and his breath is heavy. She could tell he was aroused, not just from feeling his length on her thigh either... His knee pressed against her mound, causing her to arch her back delectably. Her tits were now in his face, she felt his breath tickle her areolas. It was so imperiling to just give in and suck on them.

"Stiles, please. Move your knees. Too sensitive," Y/n breathes.

A wave of pleasure washes over her. Better than anything she's felt with her toys. Stiles couldn't hold back anymore, not after seeing her cry his name in such a Melodic way. He kisses her, groaning when she kisses back almost as soon as their lips connect. "So pretty," he coos as he moves on hand off her wrist to move her hair out of her face. "'You going to be a good girl for me and help out?"

Y/n nods quickly, her eyes big with the yearning. "I'll help," she says as her hand rubs his covered shaft with the palm of her delicate hand. Stiles doubles over, his head falling to her neck. His trembling body caught itself, slowly positioning between her legs while his open-pouted lips petted her neck. Y/n then slips her hand into his sweats, under his tight boxers, and rubs the precum into his tip. He moans pleasantly as she uses the thin amount of liquid as lubrication to jerk his veiny member properly.

They couldn't bring themselves to say anything. They were too scared and too caught up in the intimacy. Their stomachs were filled with butterflies, twisting and turning with the utmost yen for each other. Their eyes were locked, the bodies feeling the rest for them.

"Oh my gosh, Y/n... Your hand- I'm-" Stiles whines as he finishes on her hand. He cums hard, his teeth baring into her soft shoulder. She continues, easing him down from his high. He shakes and moves her hand off before the overstimulation can hit. She licks her hand clean, looking into his eyes while doing so. This sends him over the edge again as he prematurely starts squirting his sperm on her shirt that she stole and cropped. Y/n giggles at him not fully knowing how he came from just a look. "You're gonna kill me," Stiles whimpers breathily.

"Now now... You aren't dying and getting away from me now," Y/n purrs with synthetic confidence. His eyes practically bulge and he expels a guttural growl.

In an instant, he rips off the shirt that he wore. He grumbled out "You can steal more 'em," before Y/n could complain. He leaves kisses on her perky chest. His mouth latches onto a breast and Y/n's hands go to fist the back of his shirt. She didn't know her nipples were that sensitive.

Her hand entangles with his hair, her head falling back as her eyes flutter. She moves her legs over her thigh, now her ass was pressed against him as he was still on his hands and knees floating above her beauty. Her breast falls out of his mouth as her ass massages his dick as she rocks into him. "I need you, Stiles. Wanna feel you," Y/n pleads. How could he deny her what she asked for when she begged like that? With one hand, his shirt was thrown across her room, then he caressed her face as he pulled her into a long passionate kiss. His hands feel her body, attempting to engrave every detail it touched before and replace it with this memory. He pulls her sweats off, then his, never breaking the dance between their lips.

His hand finds her damp underwear, successfully finding her bundle of nerves. He toys with it, making her struggle to continue to kiss. He notices this and chuckles at her. "Make you all weak, have I? Just wait until later, little girl," he taunts before kissing her lips once more. His hands fumble, sliding down the underwear off. He collects her arousal, at once his finger penetrates her welcoming hole.

She moans into the kiss, tapping his back to get him off her face. She gasped for air, crying as her previous orgasms that day caught up to her. She was so unbelievably sensitive, but she didn't want him to stop touching her this way.

"Please..." she mewls before he enters another finger.

"My pussy is so inviting, baby," he whispers feebly. "So compliant..." he spreads his fingers in a scissor motion, slowly fucking them into her. "I'm gonna need more of this, baby... You'll let me, won't you, dear?"

"Yes- Yes, I- I will. Just don't," she pauses as she feels the delightful feeling about to explode once more. "Don't stop, please. Don't-" He cits her off by adding another finger that easily slides into her dripping cunt. "Oh-"

Stiles emits a dark chuckle she's only heard when he was possessed by a certain spirit. The wretched thought of him becoming so dark pushes her over the edge again, clutching his naked torso as an anchor to reality.

"Do you think you can take me?" Stiles asks slowly rubbing his length. She moans out a response that makes him smirk. His tip teases her folds, agonizingly slow as his dick inches into her. The stretch was unlike her dildo, which was skinnier and longer. Stiles was thick and probably about seven inches.

She babbles once he enters her. Her hands searched for something to grasp onto. He collects her hands and interlocks them. Her hands gracefully accept them and grasps them tight as he fully sheaths into her.

He carefully starts rocking into her, giving her kisses on the neck as she is too cockdrunk to respond to a kiss on the lips. His hips were colliding into hers with love. This wasn't him fucking her, it was slow. Sensual. He was making love to her, and her body was so weak from him doing so, not just because she came four times today. The way he moved into her was messy as well, the sounds of her cunt with her release and as well as his, was just galvanic.

She convulsed around him, feeling like she was going to climax once more. He continues, as well as he continues leaving love marks on her neck and her chest.

"Mmph- Stiles, I-" she tries to tell him. But he hushes her with a brisk kiss on the lips. "I know babydoll," he roused. "I can feel it," he hums approvingly. He was close to the edge as well, teetering over it. He was trying his hardest not to release, wanting to see her face when she cums on his cock. He knew he would become addicted to it, of seeing her face in ecstasy and feeling her finish around him. Hell, he already was addicted to her...

She falls off the edge, causing him to jump off the edge as well from how tight she gripped him. They slow down, the breaths still ragged as they feel each other in bliss.

After they recover Stiles groans as he is already semi-hard again just from her occasional twitches. He pulls out, the creamy liquid gushing out of her. He hums as he stuffs his dick back into her, not wanting any of the love elixir liquid to leave her womb. Y/n cries and slaps his back as he does this and he only laughs. "Gotta make it stay baby, don't want any of it to go to waste." Then he gets a filthy idea and quickly pulls out once more and slurps it up, drinking all of the elixir they had just made.

(a/n yeah😃 wtf did I just write? This. Took. 6. Hours. But- it was worth it, I love it. I hope YOU love it as well as I do! I love you, babes❤️)

#dylan o'brien #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #stiles #tw #stiles x reader #teen wolf smut #stiles x reader smut #teen wolf stiles #Smut #dylan o'brien smut #dom!stiles #stiles smut

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