#still need to finish my Inside Man review too

[kirain]

Rook/Emmerich fic Rook/Emmerich fic ROOK/EMMERICH FIC!

Lmfao! Here you go, anon.

The room was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the hearth and the scratching of Emmrich's quill against parchment. His study was dimly lit, the warm glow of candlelight dancing across his cluttered desk, laden with books, maps, and papers detailing plans too dangerous to speak of. Though nothing was more dangerous than the journey he was about to embark on, the reality of death pervading his mind.

With a dejected sigh, he dipped his quill one last time, the ink glistening as he signed his name with a flourish.

"Darling!" he called as Vae entered, her cerulean eyes grabbed his attention. "I'm just finishing reviewing my bequeathments. It made me consider… a topic I must broach." He stood to face her, nervously rubbing his hands. "The eve before we kill a god, my thoughts turn to mortality. And what we are to each other."

Vae tilted her head, her smile laced with curiosity. "All right."

Emmrich paused, his expression uncertain, as though balancing on the edge of a precipice. "Even under the best circumstances, you will outlive me, Rook. You've… grown to mean much to me and… I care for you, Rook! Deeply. But there are such years between us, I shouldn't heap you with that burden."

Her smile faded, replaced by something softer, more sincere. "I get it. You're scared because you love me."

"What?" His voice faltered, betraying his usual composure. He could sense she was teasing him, despite the gravity of his insinuation.

"It's fine to say it," she pushed, searching for something he wasn't ready to give.

"I can't… at my—"

"You're older than me. I get it." Her words were firm but devoid of judgment, though Emmrich still thought she was joking.

"I'm perfectly serious," he replied, his tone heavy with exasperation.

"So am I!" she snapped back, her patience slipping. "Why are you making this such a big deal?"

"One of us has to pay attention to these things," he countered, his words coming out sharper than intended.

"One of us needs the guts to say how he feels!" Vae's voice rang out, rousing and raw. There was no anger in it—just frustration born from longing.

Emmrich froze, his eyes widening, a flicker of shock breaking through his unflappable facade. For a moment, it seemed as though he had something to add; some rehearsed reply teetering on the edge of his lips. But then, as if overwhelmed by Vae's very presence, he looked away, his shoulders sinking.

The silence that followed stretched on for far too long, thick and uncomfortable. Vae stared at him, willing him to speak, to mend the gap he'd suddenly torn between them. She could feel her pulse quicken, her anger rising with every second that passed without a response, but his eyes remained fixed on the floor.

His refusal to meet her gaze, to give her the acknowledgment she so desperately craved, stung more than the words he hadn't said. But soon her anger crumbled into something worse—disappointment. She could feel it welling up inside her, making her chest clench against her ribs as the realisation settled: he wasn't going to say anything. He wasn't going to do anything.

A sharp ache pierced her wounded heart, but she couldn't force him to speak, and she didn't want to. Slowly, she let her arms drop to her sides. "Look, I... let's pack. Eve before we face a god, right?"

The older man straightened up. He wanted to apologise, but amidst his creeping guilt all he could muster was, "As you say."

The look on Vae's face mounted his guilt tenfold. He could see the hurt in her eyes, much to his dismay. He caused it, and for that he'd never forgive himself.

As she turned away, he lowered his head in shame, every nerve ablaze. He knew he should say something, but for once his extensive vocabulary failed. So many words, so many meanings, and yet none seemed sufficient. Fear, degradation, the weight of his deepest insecurities, and the thought that Vae would one day have to mourn him, alone and heartbroken, chipped away at his sensitive soul.

He kept quiet, even as his inner voice screamed for her to stay. Only Manfred's inquisitive hiss jolted him from his stupor, earning him a rare look of reproach.

"Don't start," he grumbled, his eyes drifting back to Vae.

The further she moved, the more every instinct screeched at him to call out, to bring her back, to make things right. But the words stuck in his throat, his feet rooted to the spot. He could taste the cowardice in his hesitation, and the helplessness of watching her saunter away, but he convinced himself it was better. For her, it was better. His desires didn't matter.

"Actually... no," she whispered, stopping just shy of the door. "No, we're not leaving it like this."

He flinched as she marched back to him, her expression indomitable. "Rook?"

She raised a respectful hand. "Emmrich, do you really think I never considered your age?"

His fingers twitched. "I..."

"Because I did. Of course I did."

"Darling—"

"My parents were murdered, Emmrich. Right in front of me", she said quickly, causing him to wince. "My poor, sweet baby brother, too." She looked away, her brow arching. "I watched them die. I watched..." Tears prickled at the back of her eyes, but she swallowed loudly, forcing them down.

"Oh, Vaelyn..." Emmrich struggled. He reached out to comfort her, but thought better of it, worried she'd recoil in disgust. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you relive that awful memory."

She shook her head, meeting his gaze once more. "I know what it's like to love someone and lose them long before you should. But I've chosen to face that pain again... because it's worth it. You're worth it, Emmrich." Her words were like a physical blow, but she wasn't finished. "Not having you in my life, not because of the inevitable, but because you're too scared to share the time you have... hurts more than I can bear. Worse than losing you naturally."

Emmrich stood speechless, struck by the depth of her confession. He knew there was nothing he could say to undo the pain he'd caused her, but Vae wasn't looking for an apology. She was telling him what she needed, what she wanted. The truth.

"If you think you're the only one tortured by the concept of time," she added, her voice faint, "you're wrong. I think about my brother every day. About the time he lost. He was so much younger than me, Emmrich. So full of life he deserved to live." She took a breath, a brief respite. "But I also think about the time we had together, and that makes me smile. I'm glad I had him, for however short or long it was." Her eyes softened, and she reached out to touch his arm. "If you care about me, then stop hiding behind your age. Because you're right—we don't have forever. We only have the here and now, but that's enough for me."

Emmrich remained silent, his heart pounding like a drum. His thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions, more wild and unpredictable than he'd ever allowed. He hadn't known the full weight of what she carried—the profound, unstoppable pain. Yet there she was, choosing him despite it all.

The guilt he felt for holding back, for trying to reject her in the coldest way, washed over him like a ruinous flood. And in the quiet aftermath of her words, there was a part of him that felt something shift; a crack in the armour he'd built for himself.

Suddenly, before Vae could react, he pulled her into a tight, penitent hug. His arms wrapped around her with a force that conveyed everything he hadn't been able to say, his face burying itself in her lush, floral-scented hair.

"I'm so sorry," he whimpered. "I've been such a fool. I never wanted to hurt you. Never." He squeezed tighter, as if trying to make up for the rift he'd thrust between them.

At first, Vae didn't respond, her body stiff in his embrace, but being held with such genuine remorse, his arms trembling with self-condemnation, shattered her resolve. The fight swiftly left her mind, her hands riding up his back as she melted against him.

"Emmrich..."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice hoarse. "You were right, I was scared. Unfathomably scared."

Vae shook her head, clinging to his shirt in an attempt to soothe him. "Don't apologise for being scared. Just... don't shut me out. Please."

"I won't," he said, his bare hand moving to cradle her head. "I won't shut you out. Not again. I promise."

[ingravinoveritas]

Oh my goodness...David is aging like a really FINE wine. I will pray for Michael.

I love that everyone has had such a strong response to the newest picture of David...but Anon #1, your message made me cackle and is by far the best thing I’ve read all day. Hahah. Well, since we’re here to discuss, let’s get the picture up again:

To your question, Anon #2, I do indeed think David may be wearing eyeliner. It’s not applied thickly (the way it was when he played Peter Vincent in the remake of Fright Night), but just enough to be noticeable, which I like. I am also enjoying that it isn’t drawn to the corners of his eyes, therefore keeping them more open and making them look even bigger and browner than they already are.

I have thought for some time that David likes to look pretty, which may include wearing eyeliner/eye makeup and perhaps a touch of lipstick. (I remember reading that it was David who picked out the purple lipstick for Nanny Ashtoreth in GO 1, so that is the other reason I have a feeling he enjoys occasionally experimenting with makeup.)

But yes, he is certainly aging quite magnificently as the world’s oldest twink. What’s amazing to me is that as hot as David looks in a suit or formal wear, he looks just as (if not more) incredibly attractive in a simple white T-shirt. It goes to show that there really is something about the way clothes hang on him and that it’s him who makes the clothes look good, rather than the other way around.

Anon #1, I am assuming you mean you are praying for Michael’s self-control, and I am right there with you. I have a strong feeling that he and David are FaceTiming or at least talking daily while Michael is in Australia, and every time they do, Michael looks at him like this:

Adoration mixed with more than a hint of barely-concealed lust. Oh, yes.

Michael managed to show the flimsiest amount of restraint toward David on the GO 1 press tour (the loving looks, the mouth staring, the lip licking), so I can only imagine what we are in store for on the GO 2 press tour. I’m sure Michael will have plenty of opportunities to get his hands on David before then, though, probably just as soon as he returns from Down Under in January.

In the meantime, though...yes. Let us pray for Michael, who is now several thousand miles away from his gorgeous Scottish boyfriend best friend lover (I can’t quite keep track anymore) and undoubtedly missing him something fierce. Would that we could all be there for the reunion, but in the meantime, at least we have David’s lovely, ageless beauty to enjoy...

[writervaul-t]

something about you

chapter three: friends?

summary: the start of fake dating is going well but [name] thinks they should go further.

pairing: modern!benjicot blackwood x f!reader

note: definitely filler chapter vibes but this is important to the plot i promise babes 🤞😫

masterlist | playlist

If looks could kill, [Name] would surely be dead. Since her lecture started 2 hours ago, she could feel someone staring at her. She did her best to figure out who it could have been but the lecture hall stretched too far to the point that people on the other side were essentially too small for her to see if they were even looking across the way.

She should have gotten used to this by now but she still wasn't. It had been days since her and Benji started "dating" and going out in front of the public. They had developed a routine; he would pick her up after work and her night lectures since he didn't have class around those times and take her to wherever she needed to be for that day and then walked off.

It seemed to have been fooling everyone. From the amount of people that would come up to her and pester her about what they were and how they even got together ("Do you think they'd buy into the idea you asked me out at the store?"/"Definitely."), they had managed to get everyone to think they were an item. Regardless, the treatment of being near invisible to being known by name had made her a little unnerved.

She did her best to seem unbothered by the newfound attention, the boring drolls from her Research Methods professor an open distraction. She focused on the class, making sure to note what confused her and that she had to review after she gets home today.

When the class had finally finished, [Name] had walked texted Benji quickly that she would take longer to go out before walking down to talk briefly about an assignment with the professor. It was a simple question but per usual, it had almost turned into a mini lecture where he had to explain his answer from the beginning. She could have fallen sleep there, had she not heard someone call Benji's name.

She glanced back, spotting Benji waiting from inside the classroom. He stood by the door with a crowd of people, talking animatedly. He must have made a joke when some people had laughed so loud, it echoed through the chamber. An easy going smile was on his face, though [Name] can tell it was more practiced than anything.

He looked down to where [Name] stood with the professor. An amused look crossed his face as he spotted the professor before pointing at the seat closest to him and waving to the crowd as they left before going on his phone. [Name] continued to nod along with the professor before finally feeling relief when he ended the conversation.

She had practically ran up the stairs, meeting Benji's gaze and smacking his shoulder lightly as they walked out. "Don't laugh."

"Why? Its funny watching someone practically nap standing up." Benji says, grabbing her bag off her shoulder. He looked ridiculous; the pinkand cream backpack contrasting greatly against his dark attire. [Name] had told him multiple times he didn't have to grab it from her, but Benji insisted.

"I'd do it for my real girlfriend so I'll do it for you." He argued again and again.

"Professor Dondarrion is such a bore." [Name] grumbles as they make their way outside. "All I asked was how to run a function on the system and he went all the went on and on about something else!"

"Yeah, that's why you get rid of Research Methods during your first year," Benji advises, grabbing her hand and lacing their fingers together. She could feel the cold metal of his bracelet pressing against her skin as they walked. "Professor Martell is only available to first and final years here but makes the class interesting. Not to mention she's hot--"

"Nice way to remind me you're still just a man." [Name] countered, though she was more amused than anything else. Most of their walks together always consisted of Benji cracking some kind of crude joke that made [Name] cringe or laugh before they would run out of things to say and walk in silence together.

The first few days were nearly unbearable; the awkward silence and the fear of saying something offputting was enough to keep [Name] from doing or saying anything too damaging. Benji had been the first to break the tension when he had slipped on the wet pavement by her apartment. She wasn't sure she had laughed as hard as she did that day.

Still, some things felt missing but she hadn't had the chance to bring it up or was even sure if she wanted to bring it up. She was definitely sure Benji knew too; after all, he was a lot more perceptive than he led himself to be. Maybe he didn't know how to bring it up either. Regardless, if they felt something was off, they need to address it before it goes too far.

She tugged Benji's hand when they reached the crosswalk, directing themselves to the opposite way of either of their apartments. "Let's go somewhere before we head home." She only offers up. Benji goes along with it, letting her lead him to one of the overnight diners, King's Harbor.

Benji eyed the restaurant suspiciously. "Don't loonies only come in here?"

"Yes, you're looking at one right now." [Name] jokes quietly as she pulls him in. The diner was small, the inside seemingly taking them back into the 60s with the signature red and white leather chairs and a jukebox that hadn't worked in ages. Old posters of movies [Name] couldn't recognize besides Rosemary's Baby hung around in places where LED lights weren't swirling about along the walls.

"What a sight to see!" Yelena Hull calls out from behind the counter. "You're usually here past midnight, dove."

[Name] smiled. "Ah, well, I wanted to take my - ah..." She glanced at Benji sheepishly. "Benji to the diner."

"I'm her boyfriend." Benji states matter of factly, earning an elbow to the stomach by [Name]. He gave her an innocent look. "What? I am."

Yelena looks over at Benji, a smile breaking out of her face before turning to [Name]. "Well, lets get you and your Benji a seat!" She ushered the two to a corner table, just below the Rosemary's Baby movie poster. "Your favorite seat. And first good luck!"

Yelena sent a wink toward [Name], who covered her face in embarrassment as she walked away. "You'll have to excuse Yelena; I'm probably one of the only ones at the diner that doesn't disrupt her graveyard shifts."

"Why do you come here past midnight?" Benji asks.

[Name] motioned to her backpack. "To study. I can't really focus if my bed is a couple of feet away, you know?"

Benji gives [Name] a long look for a moment. "Do you just... Study and work?"

"Most times," [Name] admits. "But that's not why I brought you here. I know this little... Agreement we made is a little strange and we definitely didn't really start off on any proper footing so I guess I just wanted to, I don't know--?"

"Get to know each other more?" Benji suggests, making [Name] nod.

"Yeah - nothing too deep. Just simple stuff like favorite color but I think that's kind of obvious." She eyes his dark blue linen shirt and black pants before darting to her clothes - from her pink sweater to pink ribbons pinning some of her hair away. "But you know what I mean - we get to at least talk about something while we pretend to date."

"You're not wrong. Though not sure I want to hear about what you learned in class today." Benji says.

"I don't talk about class every day!" [Name] says back, throwing a balled up piece of straw cover between his brows.

Benji huffs, "Ha! Liar. You always talk about classes with me whenever I take you home. I swear, I know about your information science classes more than my own business classes."

"Because I had nothing else to talk about." [Name] counters. "Which is why--"

"We're here. I get it. But I still doubt you do anything fun."

The notion made [Name] glare at Benji, who only offered a smirk in response. When he'd gotten comfortable enough with her, he had ended up some weird mix of the Benji's she's seen: friendly and a provoker if he was in the mood.

[Name] rolled her eyes. "I'll have you know that I don't just study. I have actual hobbies."

Benji leaned into the table, a grin on his face. "Yeah? Like what?"

"I collect Peach Riots when I get the chance, go to the Kingsroad Market every Saturday and find a new recipe to eat while I watch horror movies--"

"Horror movies, huh?" Benji asks, glancing at the poster beside them. "And does that involve anyone?"

Chiara had only ever watched with [Name] if she was worn down long enough by the latter. It had taken her nearly a month and a promise to take the trash out that same month to convince her roommate to watch the Halloween series.

"Usually just me if Chiara can't or won't do that with me." She answers truthfully. "Your turn."

"I like hanging out with my friends." Benji starts, pausing a moment to think. "We go the bars and clubs around here often and sometimes go on weekends trips. Most times, though, we go to the beach just a couple miles from campus and have a campfire. Its only a couple of us but they make it really fun."

He seemed content when he spoke about his friends. Chiara hadn't been joking when she mentioned only sticking to a few people. [Name] wasn't even sure she saw him with them when they were just walking around campus, save for the Tully brothers who always made sure to make their friendship with Benji be known.

It made her wonder what it would be like to have a friend besides Chiara. [Name]'s first year had consisted of her constantly working shifts if it wasn't during the days she was on campus. Not to mention, CIC's small and elite population had her at a disadvantage since cliques and friend groups were already formed.

"Sounds nice." [Name] says to him, glad he was receptive to her impromptu change in their routine. Faintly, she checked the watch on her phone. "Am I holding you back, by the way?"

Benji shakes his head. "Nah. I got nothing tonight. Now, about those horror movies: what's your thoughts on that Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake?"

"Oh my god, do you have all night?"

The rest of the evening had been just that; movie hot takes and soon figuring out that both of them having an affinity for spicy food, even if Benji's mouth is burning a thousand degrees. By the time they had left the diner, they both had nearly everything to say and the walk felt shorter for [Name], which disappointed her greatly since they had gotten into the topic of Aeron Bracken's unusually inflated ego and how Benji went by his middle name "Davos" during Year 5 to 7 before dropping it because too many people were confused if Benjicot and Davos were the same people or not.

The night ended on a good note. [Name] had been more than eager to see Benji again soon instead of dreading trying to figure out what to say to him during their walks. Momentarily, she reminded herself about their agreed conditions and Benji's question from when they first spoke.

"We can't even be friends?"

Had they become friends? [Name] wonders to herself as she settled into bed that same night. For a moment she wants to push against it; making new friends outside of high school was tricky. Regardless, she felt a sense of calm and ease around him that she hadn't felt with many people here.

She pushes the panicked thought back as she closes her eyes, wondering just how interesting the next coming weeks will be now that Benjicot Blackwood seemingly found a way into her mundane routine.

taglist

@not-a-glad-gladiator @opheliaas-stuff @sahvlren @nikki-is-a-nerd @weird-things-i-think-about @cxcilla @anakilusmos @haydee5010 @waystarkia @newestobsessionishere @herejhsttostan @hardkiddonut @aisselasstuff @rebeccawinters @aemondsb1tch @radiantdanvers @northofvalyria

[y11irfilm]

violet – chapter 2

qimir x f!reader | chapter 1, chapter 3 & chapter 4

summary: she had no direction. a nomad who didn't choose a side. but when a vision makes her save people, she has to face her mind in the worst way possible: on a planet made of water with the man who reminds her of her past.

content: deaths, power bond, a kind of “chosen one”, dark past, sexual tension, dark confessions, kisses | wc: 1700+

notes: hello, it’s not reviewed yet! my creativity is at the heights that i managed to finish this part 2 in hours — english is not my first language!

Kind. This was her favorite memory of her childhood. Surrounded by Jedi, knowing how to wield a saber since the beginning of her memories. “Why is it purple?” she remembered asking his mother, she didn't understand in the past, but now she knew how hesitant she was to answer. “It’s your favorite color, isn’t it? That's why." It wasn't because it was her favorite color.

When she saw blood spilled, she knew why it was purple. She had no salvation.

The smell of the sea and the noise of the waves hitting the rocks. Her eyes were opening with the strange feeling of déjà-vu. She's been here before, in her vision, he. She stood up from the bed she was placed in, looking around. A home made in the stones. It felt comfortable and warm. So many years she hadn't felt this. She stopped for a few seconds, feeling a pang in her stomach, lifting her shirt and seeing some bands around her belly. He took care of you.

Taking a few steps, she found the exit of the cave, leaving her breathless as she looked. It was incredible. The immensity of the ocean just a step away from her, like in her dreams. Where was he? She knew he had brought her here, but why? Wasn't killing her enough pain? This torture to find out her fate was too much.

Walking along the sea marches, she saw him. He seemed calm, and that was strange. Flashes appeared in his mind, making him put his hands on his head. A familiar couple, as they walked on the sea marches, hands clasped with smiles on their faces. They looked like they did in the past. Stop, get out of my head, I know. When she managed to stop the visions, she looked ahead and he was there watching her. The man began to walk forward, leaving her alone again. She wasted no time and walked forward to her appointment.

Her steps slowly stopped as she watched him begin to undress. Beautiful, he was beautiful. If he hadn't been fighting all the way on the forest planet with his helmet, she didn't know if she would have had the courage to attack him. She didn't know why she thought that.

The man began to enter the water, swimming and swimming until he was away from the margin. She moved, looking at his belongings, a saber was lying on top of her clothes. Looking at him and knowing he wasn't looking, she walked over and took the saber in her hands. He reminded her of her father's saber. “You are truly a surprise.” Her voice echoed throughout the place, leaving her on alert and putting her saber in attack position. “A surprise in the best sense if you have any doubts.” He turned to look at her, letting a smile grace her face. “Why haven't you killed me yet? Torture? I do not need this." She took a few steps back.

He swam out of the water, still wearing that damn smile. “Kill her? You’re the one with the gun.” Coming out of the water, he collected his clothes and got dressed. The drops running down his body. Not for a moment did you leave each other's eyes. She seemed to be in hypnosis, the torture was to look away from those playful eyes that knew exactly how to play with her. Her eyes were like two large obsidian stones.

"Do not move. Until you don’t tell me why all this shit.” She prepared to ignite her saber, but stopped. Her memory betrayed her, so she let him fall to the sandy ground. Every step felt like she was burning inside. Feeling his presence, without any kind of excuse for fighting, felt dangerous. She looked ahead, noticing his bizarre approach. Just one more step and he would melt into her. “I thought having an acolyte was enough, but your mind is a treasure.” He murmured, looking at every part of her face. “And no acolyte could bring me that pleasure.”

His breathing was irregular, every word out of this man's mouth was fire. An indomitable fire. “I am nothing, and that’s all you need to know.” She didn't deserve anyone's interest. That man could sink her into worse memories of her, and she would rather die than look another second into those dead eyes. He brought her face a little closer, ending up touching his nose to hers. “It’s so angry.”

“You will regret it.” She muttered. Her skin was burning, she wanted him to stop talking. She felt her barriers breaking down every second she let herself look at him. She took a step back, but before she could finish the action, she felt a hand above her hand pulling her close again. Noses touching. “I accept the risk.”

"Are you hungry?"

"What is your name?"

They walked side by side back to the cave, the heat could still be felt between the two. He let her keep the saber, even though she knew she wouldn't use it against him. She would not be able to do such an action. “Qimir. Can I ask yours?” She thought for a few seconds before saying her name. He nodded as if absorbing the information.

“Can you access my mind?”

"Not exactly. Your anger says something about you.” She knew exactly what he was saying, remembered his dark thoughts.

“Why did you kill those Jedi?”

Qimir stopped walking, looking at her. “You tell me, you were the one trying to stop me.”

His gaze dropped to the stones in the sand, she didn't know how to respond to that without creating more curiosity in him. Her desire was still to remain like salt in the sea, a nothing mixed with so many others. “I saw it happen.” She whispered.

She continued walking, not wanting to answer any more questions, even though she was curious about him. Arriving at the entrance to the cave, she turned to continue watching the ocean. Holding the saber tightly in her hand. “Let’s continue what we didn’t finish on that planet.” Her voice in her ear left her destabilized. She turned her body towards him, facing each other. He approached her, holding the arm that had the saber and pressing it against her belly. 

"Do. Finish what you started.”

Her eyes left the ocean to be held by his. Eyes were beautiful. How could a person seem so unreachable? Qimir was standing still, ready to be killed. For her to avenge all the deaths she let slip through his hands. Bloody hands. “Jedi do not attack the unarmed.”

“You said you weren’t a Jedi.” And she wasn't. She never was and never would be.

"Stop this." She tried to pull her arm away, but he grabbed it tighter, not allowing her to pull. “So tell me why you don’t just finish it. Let's go." Qimir looked deep into her eyes, allowing her to continue. But his eyes started to water, not knowing why to continue. “Your parents were Jedi, weren’t they?” Qimir turned his head to the side, asking in a whisper.

“Don’t talk about them.” Tears ran down her face.

“Tell me why you left them.”

“Because I chose it that way.” More tears flowed, she was lost in her thoughts. "Let me go!" She tried to pull her arm again.

“All this pain, this anger. That's what you were hiding. So this is who you are.”

“I'm not like that anymore. I left everything behind.”

“Why have you been hiding all this time? Did Jedi know about you?”

“I left them for protection.” It was a joke how she was a terrible liar in front of a person who could read all her thoughts.

Qimir thought for a while until she realized something happened. “Ah, they were afraid of you. The Jedi saw something in you and that's why they threw you away.”

“They didn’t throw me away.”

“Then why are you still aimless? Why were you never a Jedi?” He, he, he. He is the cause of this. Of your fall. "Why?"

“I have blood on my hands!” With her voice breaking, she moved her hand, pushing him towards the entrance wall, turning on the saber and placing it in front of him. “They would never forgive me. They knew and were afraid of me. Blood of my parents. I was never meant to be a Jedi because I killed one.”

His eyes piercing, trembling and dead.

“Get out, get out, get out.” She dropped the saber, lowering herself to the ground and placing her hands on her head. Hitting one hand on the head. She just asked for a breath of life. So much death and pain.

The heat returned to her body. A body crouched down beside her, placing a hand on her back and stroking it. She took a deep breath, then managed to remove her hands from her head. Her gaze then went up to the man. Qimir looked at her with an affection she hadn't seen in years. She remembered the dead eyes, his mother's eyes. He turned his head to the side a little, barely blinking at you. His hand went up to her arm, exploring it and little by little she found herself intertwining her fingers with his. Her heart was racing and she could hear the ocean far away. But there is an ocean of silence between the two and they were drowning in it.

"Anger. Fear. Loss." Every word said was as if her heart was going to explode, it was so fast. "Desire." Her gaze dropped to his lips, it was a new sensation. Totally different from any other experience. Qimir followed and let his gaze also fall to her lips. “Below the surface of consciousness there are these powerful emotions.” He helped her stand up again, not letting his fingers leave hers. "I lost everything. But when you lose everything. Finally becomes free.”

Her mind was a total mess. She just wanted to stop thinking about her mother. How those eyes hurt you. “I don't care about any of that, I just want them out of my head. Stop torturing me. I feel so, so angry.” Her free hand goes up over Qimir's arm and is left hugging her neck.

Qimir brings his face closer, saying close to his ear. “That anger will disappear when you allow yourself to feel it.” He pulls away from her ear to look at her. Each feeling a force pulling them towards each other. The pink of his lips startled her, making her eyes widen. “Allow yourself to feel.” The exchange of looks. His hand was left on her waist, feeling a slight squeeze of courage.

She pulled his neck, touching her lips to his. She felt his grip on her waist again, being taken to the wall that just moments before he was pushed against. Qimir held her neck with both hands, deepening the kiss. Letting go of all the desire he had been feeling since he saw her taking him down in the fight against him. It was impossible for him not to feel any kind of desire, he had finally found the perfect person. So broken that only he could stick each piece together. 

There were no dead eyes, no dead parents, no fear or anger. Everything disappeared and only Qimir's lips moving over hers with so much affection and desire that his heart needed to leave his body stuck in his thoughts.

[thevillainswhore]

Tension

Pairing: Massage Therapist!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: You’re devastated when your usual massage therapist becomes unavailable at the last minute, but an unexpected trainee is more than happy to handle you.

Warnings: Smut (fing-ering fem receiving, mentions of a-nal play, m-asturbation male receiving)

A/N: Unbeta’d, dividers by saradika and firefly-graphics - also a massive thank you to my babe @rookthorne for helping me edit my header, loves you bitch 💗

Listen, just please use your imaginations with the oil, let’s pretend it’s safe and can be used for… things 👀 okay thank you, enjoy x

Resting your head against the back of the waiting room leather chair, you await your appointment at your regular spa. Headache already starting to disappear from the eucalyptus aroma of incense seaping into your skin.

You needed this. The long work week draining you of all common sense to not hit your coworkers over their heads every two seconds, due to their incompetence. Now, it has finally come to a close, and you could take the opportunity to indulge in your guilty pleasure.

This was the only way you could continue to keep your head above water. A monthly treat to yourself of a two hour long full body massage - undisturbed peace and soft hands kneading the stress out of your body until it felt like you were floating.

And it was literally heaven on earth to let go of the strong willed nature that came with your work, placing your care into the hands of someone else. Giving up your responsibilities of taking charge and allowing another to take care of you for a little while.

It felt so good to let go. Forgetting all of your worries that seemed silly in the midst of the background waterfall noises that lulled you into calmness.

Jesus, you weren’t even on the massage table yet and you already felt so much lighter.

With that thought, the lovely receptionist, you’ve become familiar with from your numerous visits, walks out from the back room and addresses you with an apologetic expression.

“Miss, I’m so terribly sorry about this, but an unexpected personal emergency has come up for your regular therapist and she’s had to leave before your treatment today.”

Your face drops. The excited anticipation bubbling inside you from at last being able to relax, dying out instantly at her words.

Of course it wasn’t your therapist’s fault that you would miss out on the only pass time that gets you through the month. Of course, it wasn’t her fault you’d probably go home and scream into your pillow. Yet, you couldn’t help your internal frustration at the disappointing outcome.

It didn’t help that you hadn't had an orgasm for god knows how long too. The band inside was you on the verge of snapping. A massage being the only way to soothe the built up tension over the month and you feared you would have a mental breakdown from the added stress.

“Listen, I wouldn’t normally suggest this,” she goes on to explain as you lift your head with intrigue, “but we have a new massage therapist in training, free for your time slot. His clientele base is still quite small. However, he’s received great reviews and he’s happy to cover your treatment today - if that’s something you would consider. Would you like to meet him before coming to a decision?”

Fuck it. It’s either this or try to relieve yourself with your shitty vibrator at home that’ll probably die out before you can finish anyway. And you really didn’t want to make the dent in your bedroom wall any bigger from the other times you’d thrown the useless thing at it.

So, what harm could it do?

After agreeing to an introduction with the trainee, telling yourself you should at least see if you feel comfortable enough with him, you stand outside the private massage room, waiting to be invited in.

Eventually hearing a breathy shout of “Come in!”, the receptionist opens the door and allows you to step through, the seemingly young man’s back turned towards you as he fiddles with last minute preparations for your massage.

“Just tryna get everythin’ ready for ya, won’ be a minute.”

After finishing up and a final appraisal to the set up, the trainee spins on his fit, claps his hands together and looks at you directly, “Sorry ‘bout that, darlin’! The name's James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky, sweetheart, I’ll be lookin’ after’ya today.”

Holy shit, where the hell did they find this one?

Bucky’s mid length chocolate hair ran rogue with an errand piece falling into his eyes. It took all of your strength to not reach out and tuck it behind his ear, or maybe even scratch your nails through his hair just to grip it and tug to see if he whimpers.

Woah, settle down girl.

A tight white womens beater, stretched across his pecs, showcased his bulging arms and the pure muscle you couldn’t tear your eyes from. You were pretty sure you were drooling, but you couldn’t give a single fuck right now.

If you had to guess, you would have pinned him as a farmhand or a ranch owner from down south before he became a trainee massage therapist - it definitely would have explained his devilishly built form and his southern twang that has your knees weak.

That’s not the only reason I want my legs to be shaking.

It most definitely isn’t difficult to imagine Bucky with a cowboy hat sitting on his head, thick thighs clenching to keep himself steady riding a horse. Or how easy it is to picture him throwing stacks of hay over his shoulders, dirt covering his sweat glistened body as his pure strength gives him no trouble carrying them to the stables.

You don't even realise you still haven’t spoken a word, stood dumbstruck with your mouth gaping open and lost in your unholy thoughts about the living wet dream about to rub you up, completely forgetting another person was in the room with you.

The receptionist speaks up, “Are you comfortable with James stepping in-“

“Yes!”. Your cheeks burn hot with embarrassment from how quickly you answered, clearing your throat and steeling yourself not to continue making an idiot of yourself. “Um- yes of course, yes… not a problem at all.”

You miss Bucky’s sly little smirk as you make the effort to keep your gaze towards the floor, his tongue peaking out and wetting his lips as he gives you a once over.

Things were about to get interesting.

“So sweetheart, I’m gonna step out while you get changed, take all clothin’ off, start off with lyin’ on’ya stomach for me and cover y’lower half with a towel - I’m sure y’know the drill by now.”

Reverting your attention back onto him, your pulse quickens at his nonchalant conversing of stripping naked. Okay, it was standard procedure for the therapist to go over protocol, but that talk from him is sinfully criminal.

Walking up to the door, Bucky suddenly turns around, “Oh and don’t forget to take off the underwear too, darlin’, be back in a tick.” Bucky winks and slaps the doorframe, finally leaving the room.

Fuck my life.

You have a couple of minutes to compose yourself before Bucky comes back. Changing out of your clothes was almost a relief - sweat clinging to your skin from meeting him and that freaking accent that drove your mind wild. Your panties seemed to agree too, considering the sticky mess that clung to your folds as you pulled them down your legs.

As you now lay face down on the table, folded towel covering your ass - back and legs on display - you anxiously wait for Bucky’s arrival, muscles subtly twitching from either your stress or the need to get fucked.

Probably both.

The door opens to your only knowledge of hearing, sight only focused on the floor from the carved head cushion allowing your face to sit through it. Goosebumps raise on your arms as you listen to the door then quietly close and footsteps get closer towards your direction.

You hold your breath when you see boots stop into your peripheral and legs bend to show a pair of thick thighs straining against the denim of his jeans.

Yep, definitely Bucky.

Lifting your head slightly to look at his face when he doesn’t speak, you choke on your spit when you find him shirtless, stomach marveled with so many abs. You would count, but you’re a little afraid you’ve lost brain cells from his presence alone. And all hope is gone when you see his jeans strung low on his waist - ‘v’ line tantalising your dignity as you wonder how morally wrong it could be to drop to your knees and lick it.

You’re not proud to say you don’t take anything he says in as Bucky begins going through what’s to be expected for your treatment. Ever the professional as you think he probably tells you what to do should you like any adjustments made with his pressure or technique. Luckily, you seem to have gotten away with it as he stands and picks up some oil, tilting your head back down to do some breathing exercises.

“Jus’ the massage today then, sweets? Y’know I wouldn’t mind throwin’ a free facial in there for y’too with the trouble y’had.”

What the fuck?

Your brain short circuits. Surely he must hear what he’s saying out loud… right?

Inwardly shaking your head, you put it down to the lack of intimacy you had gotten recently, mind conjuring illicit fantasies and turning everything he says into something dirty.

You stutter to reply, “N-no, that’s o-okay, just the massage i-is fine.”

The small smile on Bucky’s face is so innocent, like he hasn’t just rebooted your entire being. “Alrightie then darlin’, lemme get started then.”

Guess them breathing exercises went to shit.

Bucky begins slicking his hands up with the massage oil, lathering between his fingers and ensuring all crevices are glistening - especially his veins that bulge all the way up his forearm.

“I’m warnin’ y’though, I’m quite good with my hands.”

You don’t have time to stop yourself blurting the next automatic thought in your head out into the open.

“I bet you are.”

If you could slap yourself you would. Cringing in despair at your ability to make yourself look stupid. You expect things to turn awkward, for Bucky to show unease and even stop the session altogether.

To your surprise, you feel a whisper of a breath caress your neck as he mumbles the very thing to probably cause your death.

“Oh, you have no idea, darlin’.”

The start of the massage truly had your nerves settling down and calming you enough to actually enjoy yourself. Yeah, you still struggled with keeping your cool with Bucky’s huge hands caressing you with his sensual touch, but you managed to stop your squirming and relax.

Bucky however, couldn’t keep a straight head for the life of him. Softness of your skin and the feel of your curves literally in the palms of his hands had his cock threatening to bust the zipper of his jeans.

Timid little thing you were, so skittish when you saw him and he just had to have a little fun with you. That soon backfired on him the second he got a hold of you. Fingers itching to just smooth down your luscious body and open you up like his own personal present.

Unfortunately, he had to make do with rubbing his erection against the edge of the massage table to give him some relief. You were just so sexy - a stunning face and an amazing figure - never mind how fucking adorably shy you were.

Just my type and I’ll be damned if I don’t get a piece’a ya, sweetheart.

Was it wrong for him to be thinking of a client this way? Of course. Would Bucky most definitely get fired before he’s even completed his training should anyone find out? No doubt about it. Was that going to change his mind over what he was about to do next?

Absolutely fucking not.

You had succeeded in keeping your moans and whimpers locked away when Bucky reached particularly sensitive spots on your back. No, not the ones that felt a little too tender, the places his touch elicited your growing desire - as much as you tried to hide it, he could still hear your little intakes of breaths.

But that’s not what I’m after sweetie, I wanna hear how good I’m makin’ you feel.

So, he comes up with a plan.

“Oh darlin’, I can feel all those knots in y’upper back, been workin’ so hard ain’t ya, sweets?”

Fuck, you really had. And Bucky’s praise paired with his seductive voice makes you feel all gooey with neediness, trying to stop yourself sinking into your fuzzy headspace as you reply back. “Y-yeah, I mean I guess so.”

“How ‘bout we try somethin’ different, hm?” Bucky begins to explain, “Reckon if we got y’to bend them legs into a kneelin’ position then it’d feel so much better.”

The sincerity of his voice has you rethinking your suspicions towards how exposed you might be. You still had the towel to cover anything private and while your old therapist never suggested anything like this, Bucky may have learned something new and wanted to try it out.

So you begin to do as he’s asked. “Um, l-like this?”

“Tha’s it, arch that back for me, sweetie.” Again, you follow his instructions all too easily. “Little more for me- there ya go, jus’ like that.”

Bucky can’t help the groan that slips out as he observes the thin towel curve over the shape of your ass. You’re not much higher from the first position you were in, but the subtle lift in your legs, and bowed back allows a perfect image for him.

And a perfect chance.

“Gonna work on y’legs now, sweetheart, lemme know if somethin’ ain’t feelin’ good.”

You don’t have a chance to reply as Bucky begins to knead the muscles in your legs. An unrestrained moan escaping from your lips as he uses his thumbs to work the tension out. You feel as though you've been transported to another world, eyes rolling to the back of your head in glorious pleasure.

Meanwhile, Bucky is having the time of his life watching the jiggle of your ass every time he switches up the motion of his strokes. You don’t seem to notice the towel slowly shifting upwards, revealing the bottom of your ass cheeks to him.

He just needs your legs to spread that tiny bit more so he can see your pretty little pussy.

“That feelin’ good for ya, darlin’?”

Apparently, you let go of all inhibitions from the satisfaction Bucky’s hands bring you, all but unbashfully moaning, “Mhmm, god yes Bucky, feels so fuckin’ good.”

That’s what I love to hear.

“Amazin’. Doin’ so great for me sweetheart, jus’ let ya’self relax and Bucky will take care a ya.”

The dip of your back deepens as you unknowingly start to bring your legs more under you, ass canting up like a cat as Bucky’s thumbs rub close to the crevice under your ass cheeks.

He’s so dangerously close to his prize, he can literally see the wetness that’s spilled from your cunt, coating your inner thighs.

Fuck it.

Bracing for the worst, Bucky’s thumb runs over your pussy lips and your breath hitches as the bolt of electricity that shoots through your body. Now fully aware of his intentions, you expect yourself to feel a slither of outrage, some kind of anger at him for letting it go this far and yet you can’t seem to bring yourself to stop him.

Bucky pauses his thumbs in question, waiting to back off as soon as you deny him and allowing you the freedom of consent.

But, you want this.

The fact he stops his ministrations within an inch of your cunt has you unable to hold back your loud whine, ass pushing back into his hold to try and get him to carry on.

As much as Bucky loves your enthusiasm and he’s almost certain you want this as much as he does, he needs to hear your verbal consent in order for him to proceed. “Ah ah, sweet girl, need to know y’want this, need to hear y’say it.”

With great difficulty, fog clouding your head, you manage to mumble a whimper of agreement. “Fuck, y-yes pleaseee Bucky, give it to me.”

And that’s all the confirmation he needs.

Bucky places both thumbs on each cheek and spreads them apart to reveal your pretty, slick pussy, hole pulsing, almost begging to be filled.

You whimper as you feel his long pointer finger slide through the mess you’ve made and teasingly give your throbbing clit a little tap for good measure.

The little shit even has the audacity to chuckle at your desperation.

“Look at ya darlin’, such a fuckin’ good girl for me, ya think we can get y’a little more wet, hm?”.

He laughs at your stutter, no worries for him though, he can’t wait to make sure he leaves your head empty enough for not one single thought to cross your mind.

Bucky gently slaps your leg and bends over you to whisper in your ear, “turn around, pretty girl.”

The last defence of the towel covering your modesty falls from your body as you quickly move to lie on your back, too fucked out to even notice the breeze that hardens your nipples and exposes your tits to Bucky’s gaze.

He could’ve just picked you up and fucked you against the wall right then and there. But Bucky’s a patient man, and he’s not about to put his pleasure before yours. He wants this to last.

Straddling the table as he combs his wild hair back, Bucky grabs your thighs over his forearms with feral need to drag you down towards him, placing your legs over each of his and separating them. This was his personal slice of heaven.

The view of your cunt and the bounce of your tits has him gripping his cock over his jeans, shaky breaths rattling his chest over how turned on he is from the sight - you really were a goddess, a doll for him to play with until you couldn’t walk.

Releasing himself and grabbing the bottle of oil from the table next to him, Bucky looks directly into your eyes, his own hooded as he unscrews the lid. Your high pitched moans and whimpers have his nerves set alight and he can’t wait to see your face as you cum from his fingers alone.

“Buck-Bucky, what a-are you d-doing?”. It takes everything in you to lift yourself on to your elbows, looking down to see him hovering the bottle over your pussy.

“Y’trust me, sweet girl?”. Fuck, with that voice alone you’d put your whole faith in him.

You gently nod as you never take your eyes away from his, that wicked smirk adorning his face as his eyes light up from your answer.

“Good.”

That’s the last thing you hear before you feel the cold splash of oil drip against your pussy and your shocked moan fills the room as your arms give out.

The liquid rolls down your folds, down to your puckered hole and the thought quickly surpasses Bucky of what your reaction would be if he suggested a little anal play.

First things first, Barnes.

Right.

After emptying the remainder of the oil over you, Bucky tosses the bottle onto the floor, and begins to run his fingers over your cunt, shining in all its pleasurable glory. Trailing down to your hole, Bucky begins to press one finger inside you, stopping at the first knuckle only to take it back out and repeat his torturous teasing.

You can’t help your squirming - hands fisted tight in your hair as your toes curl. The relief of a second finger added to the first only lasts for a minute as again, he torments you by going no further than his first knuckles. All you want is for him to slide his fingers as deep as they can go, but Bucky is far too mesmerised with the glisten of his fingers and the feel of your fluttering little pussy.

“W-want more, baby, p-please Bucky, need more.”

The term of endearment as his feasted eyes snap up to look at you, has his cock twitching - you looked so fucking beautiful like this for him and the pleading in your features has him going soft on you.

Always was a sucker for pretty girls begging.

“Need more, sweetheart? Alright pretty girl, y’can have some more.”

You soon figure how Bucky was holding out on you as he fucks you with his two fingers at a quickened pace, the squelch of mixed juices from your cunt loud to your ears and you’d be embarrassed if Bucky didn’t enjoy it.

And he really did, the sound of your arousal leaking out of you because of him leaves him feeling untamed, beastly, as his veins bulge from his arms. His cock is aching, hard from how much he gets off on your pleasure - he knows he can make it better for you, though. He won’t be happy until you lose your voice because of him.

Slowing down, his deep rumble has the knot in your stomach tightening even more, “Think y’can handle another, sweetie? ‘Cause I think y’can, think this wet pussy needs to be filled up till she can’t take no more.”

With that, Bucky eases a third finger along with his other, the stretch just right to have you wailing out with consistent cries of his name.

Curling his fingers against your upper wall, Bucky searches for that spongey rough patch - he wants you to see stars and he isn’t giving up till you do.

“Hold on a sec sweets, lemme just-, find… oh, there it is.”

All of a sudden your back shoots off the table and your scream of pleasure drowns out the sounds of waterfalls in the background.

“Fuck!”

“Tha’s right darlin’, lemme hear y’scream for me.”

You grip his wrist to keep his hand fucking you, his perfect rhythm too good for you to speak something tangible. But you can’t have him changing anything, you need him to keep everything the same, so you can finish.

Bucky still finds it so fucking hot, sweat from exertion gathering on his neck and dripping down his chest. He couldn’t care less, he just wants to see you cum.

He physically has to use his free arm to force your legs open, it won’t do that you’re trying so desperately to close your legs around him. No. He wants to see you tremble in his hold. He’s fucking craving it.

“C’mon baby, know y’so close sweet girl.”

You are so fucking close, so near to that orgasm you haven’t had in so long - you’ve turned dumb, world blurring around you, only important thing in your mind getting to finish.

And you’re done for as soon as Bucky places his thumb on your swollen clit and circles.

“BUCKY!”

He watches as your shrieks fall from your mouth. Tremors rack through your body, legs finally able to close around his hand as tears from the intensity roll down your temples. You’re in your element and he’s never seen sexier in his entire life.

White cream drips from your pussy as Bucky slowly takes his fingers out, not able to help himself as he plays with your folds and starts to fuck your cum back into you.

Soon enough, you begin to calm down, heavy breathing with your occasional whine of overstimulation from his motions blessing his ears.

He leans down to pepper kisses over your heaving stomach and underneath your breasts, other hand stroking over your heated skin and up to your cheek.

“Easy girl, that’s it, deep breaths.”

Bucky continues to talk you down and strokes your sweaty hair back from your face, your eyes closed and mouth open, panting.

He stops his ministrations altogether, but keeps his fingers inside you, his body connected over yours to settle some of his weight on you and bring you back down to earth.

Giving you a couple of minutes to come down from your fluffy clouds, Bucky analyses all your signals to make sure you’re okay and that you feel safe - and once he completes all his internal checks, he flashes you a dazzling smile.

“So… this may be a bit forward a’me, but what d’ya say I take y’out on a date tomorrow night?”

You chuckle breathlessly at his little joke - as if he didn’t already have his fingers still in your cunt. “Only if you answer my question.” you counter back.

“Sure thing, lil’ darlin’.”

Trying to keep your expression aloof you ask, “What did you do before you started training to be a massage therapist?”

He looks like a little confused puppy as he cocks his head and frowns, but answers anyway with a cheeky squint of his eyes.

“I used to work on my mama’s ranch back home, sweetheart.”

Your head rolls back onto your shoulders as Bucky begins picking up the steady pace of his fingers again, fucked out smile on your face in rememberance to your guesses from earlier.

Fucking knew it.

He may not have the slightest clue what you’re thinking, but he doesn’t have to know as long as he’s the one who’s making you smile like that.

And, he already can’t wait for your next meeting as he unbuttons his jeans and pulls down his zipper to bring his dick out and start fucking his fist while he enjoys the sight of his other hand fucking your cunt.

“Now, we got another hour to make sure ya get what y’paid for darlin’, so hold on tight and enjoy the ride.”

A/N: who doesn’t love a happy ending, right? 😈

[sunnebeam]

before, after, forever.

DRABBLE.

pairing: kim namjoon x reader

warnings: smut (minors do not interact), unprotected sex (bc of the time period but in today's day & age please use protection), knight au, slight mulan au, other warnings are withheld due to possible spoilers

masterlist + disclaimers.

note: ok ngl i'm not quite happy with how this turned out :( which makes me extra sad bc i was so excited to write this plot/trope 🥲 anyways i hope u guys still enjoy this cute lil knight!namjoon drabble. and as always, feedback & reviews are my lifesource <3

The moon is full.

You first notice it as you're approaching the lake, its circled orb reflected on the water's rippled surface. You let the moonlight accompany you as you arrive at the lake farthest from the base to take a much needed bath.

You're sure everyone else is asleep by now, but still, habit makes you look around in caution before taking your clothes off. Your hands are shaky as you take the wrap off your chest but when it finally falls off, you forego covering your breasts with your hands as you hurriedly run to the water.

It's warm.

You thank your lucky stars that the water's warm enough. Quickly, you scrub your body, making sure to get all the dirt because you don't know when you'll be able to sneak away to bathe again.

It's when you're untangling the tie on your hair that you notice movement in the corner of your eye. Panicking, you open your mouth to scream but the culprit promptly steps into view, hands in the air to show no harm, the moonlight shining on his face.

It's Namjoon.

Your breath stops. You debate scrambling to put on your clothes or hiding deeper in the water to hide your secret. He ends up choosing for you instead, walking towards where your clothes are before speaking softly.

"Are you finished?" he asks. "Don't worry if you aren't. Don't rush on my account."

"It's hard not to rush when someone's watching me."

He smiles, dimples showing. "Better me than them," he says, hand picking up your chest wrap.

You freeze. And you're about to come up with an excuse when he just shushes you good-naturedly.

"Don't be scared. I won't tell anyone, I promise."

"How did you find out?" you ask.

He chuckles. "When you've been training as long as I have to look for the missing princess, you have to be able to look at a situation intuitively and spot anything suspicious."

"But why are you helping me? Why are you promising to keep it a secret?"

"I don't know why any woman would pretend to be a man but I can tell you have your reasons." He shrugs, before smiling cheekily at you, adding, "And I can also tell that you're practically in love with me—"

You choke.

"—and I can't have your admiration of me diminishing just because I can't keep a secret now, can I?"

What the—?

"I don't know what to say," you admit, marveling at how he hasn't changed one bit.

"You don't have to say anything. But I do have something to ask you."

You wait. After a few heartbeats, he finally asks.

"Can I join you?"

And that's how you found yourself stark naked in the middle of the lake with your fellow knight, your lips connected like you don't even need air, your hands pleasuring each other under the water.

"Are you ready for me?" he asks, his fingers toying with your clit causing you to moan.

You nod, and without further prompting, he slips inside you easily. And like you knew it would, it feels like home.

Does he know you've been ready for him for a long while? Does he know you've been waiting for this for the longest time? Does he know you've been dreaming of this for the longest nights?

He starts off rough, pressing his lips against your own to compensate for the intensity, but he doesn't need to.

You know he likes it rough. You like it, too, as long as it's with him.

Does he know that you already know he likes it hard and fast? Does he know that you already know what he feels like inside you?

You wrap your legs around his waist and meet his thrusts halfway.

You whimper at the sensations, head falling back in ecstasy. He muffles his groans, mindful of the fact that your companions back at the base might hear the two of you.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Namjoon mutters. "Are you close?"

Without waiting for your answer, he balances your weight on one hand and uses the other to play with your sensitive clit. You whine at the heightened pleasure but also at his action.

His mind might have forgotten, but his body still remembers.

You find yourself nearing your climax at the thought of his body moving and relying on muscle memory to get you off. When you begin creaming around his hard cock, he quickly pulls out to cum as well.

Both your hearts are beating insanely fast, and your breaths are erratic. You both take a moment to calm down, basking in the glow of the moonlight and listening to the peaceful sounds of the night.

You feel a hand on your cheek. Looking up, Namjoon looks blurry and it's only when his thumb brushes your cheek that you realize you're crying.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

Everything, you want to say.

But you can't. So you don't.

Because telling him that you're actually the missing princess will just end up confusing him. Because telling him that you were once star-crossed lovers will just end up hurting him.

Bscause telling him the truth will just end up killing him, literally and figuratively.

And he probably wouldn't even believe you.

After all, the story of an esteemed princess and a lowly knight falling in love, getting caught, and being punished – with the princess banished and the knight wiped of his memories – is certainly not for the faint of heart.

And besides, you aren't pretending to be a knight to trigger his memories. No, you're pretending to be a knight to make sure it never happens.

See, the thing about the royal family's ability to wipe out memories is that it comes with a side effect. If the victims end up recovering their memories, they'll be faced with an even worse fate.

Death.

COPYRIGHT 2023. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[notmaverick]

MORTAL KOMBAT 1 Kenshi Takahashi AU: “Never Yours” PART 3

[PART 1 ] [PART 2]

MASTER LIST

Warnings: DOM & SUB, Dark, Killing, Arrange Marriage, Rape, Yakuza!Kenshi Takahashi, Slave!Fem Reader, Porn, MDNI, Squirting, Aftercare, Kenshi is a little mean here, choking, slapping, Usage of Y/N And L/N (THIS APPLIES IN THE WHOLE FIC)

Let me know if I missed anything!

Author's Note: Here's the 3rd part! Posting this because I'm finishing my final exam tomorrow! I did this before reviewing for physics😓 this fic is just Pure Horny^^ Kenshi has a soft side for reader.

Previously: “You fuckin whore, I'm gonna teach you how to behave.” He said as he grabbed his hard cock and aligned it to your entrance, “I'm gonna make you beg for my mercy, Y/N, I'm gonna let everyone know how much of a whore you are."

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

He smirked as he harshly slammed his his to your entrance, you whince in pain as you felt him stretching your tight cunt, “God, Y/N, fuck- You're so tight-” he grunts as he slowly pushed himself further, “Kenshi-” You felt breathless, you felt like you're going to pass out for how big he is, he kissed your lips gently as he starts a slow pace, “I want to take my moment with you, Y/N you're so- ah-” he groans as he hit that spot of yours that makes you shiver and moan, “Please, need you to go faster kenshi- please-” you begged as he looked down at you, “You sure, baby?” He asked still remaining his slow pace, You nodded as you looked at his eyes, With that he slammed his hips to you faster and deeper, “Fuck! kenshi- hmm-” “You like that Y/N? Hmm?” He asked you, cupping your chin for you to look at him, you nodded, “Yes sir-” you responded to his question, “Good girl, Y/N, so good for me.”

He lifted you from the sink and went out from the bathroom and led you to the bed while still inside you, He put you down gently, “Turn around.” He commanded as you obeyed him and turned around, lifting your bare hips and cunt to face him, “All this for me, Y/N?” you didn't say anything as he smacked your ass, “I asked a question.” “Yes! I- Yes!” You cried out, “There we go, such a good girl for me, Y/N.” He said as he grabbed his cock and leaned down to your cunt to spit on it, “You sure you don't want me to be gentle? Hmm?” He asked once again, “Please kenshi just-” with that he puts his cock harshly inside you, grabbing your hips, fucking you faster and harder, “God- Fuck Y/N, So tight for me-” he leaned in to grab your hair, pulling it as he fucks you.

Kenshi's phone rang at the bedside table, “Fuck!” He yelled as he looked at his phone, still not stopping of fucking you. “Kenshi- Stop I'm gonna-” he turned you around and lifted you and angrily slammed his cock inside of you again, making you arch your back, digging your nails on his back, leaving crescent moons on it, making Kenshi whince in pain, “Fuck-Thrust-Stop.-Thrust-It.!” you moaned louder, “Kenshi please!” The phone continued to ring as Kenshi got annoyed and grabbed it to answer, he sat down with you sitting on his lap, facing him as he gestured to you to move, “What is it?” He said a little annoyed, “Kenshi-” you moaned his name, “I'm assuming you have the girl?” The Man on the phone said as kenshi looked at you, eyes half open, “Leave her alone, she has nothing to do with ah- fuck!” He said as you bounced yourself on his cock repeatedly, “You're enjoying yourself too much, Takahashi.” The man on the phone says as Kenshi ends the call.

He sighed, “Fuck.” He said to himself as he looked at you, eyes tearing up, lips swollen from biting it. “I'm sorry about that i-” you cut him off with a kiss, a gentle and sincere kiss, you pushed him back down to bed, you moaned as he thrusted upwards, making him find an entrance to your mouth as he found your tongue and danced with it. Your tongue and Kenshi's danced together, gasping and moaning as he fucked you, kenshi pull away from the kiss as he kissed your jaw all the way down to your neck, licking and sucking the skin, “Kenshi- I'm gonna cum, I can't hold it anymore-” you begged “just wait a little longer Y/N, Want you to cum with me.” He said thrusting inside you faster as you felt your climax coming in, you tried to hold it as you found the urge to cum with him too.

“Ken- i- please too much-” “I know baby, cum for me, cum all over my cock.” he said as he thrusted deep inside you.

You came, You're a shaking mess on top of him, he continues to fuck you as he felt his climax coming not long after yours, “Fuck-” He Thrusted deeply as he came, he held your hips tighter as he roughly slammed his hips upward wanting to hit every spot of your sweet cunt. You felt something that you never felt before, “Kenshi i- Fuck!” You said as you pulled yourself away from his cock, squirting all over his abdomen, shaking as you came. Kenshi's eyes widened, he wasn't expecting that he'll make you squirt for your first time with him he puts his cock back in, not wanting to waste any sweet juices from your cock as he wants it all for his cock, “Cum all over my cock, fucking squirt all over it, Y/N-” he thrusted upward “No more kenshi- Please-” you begged tears ran down across your cheeks, kenshi stopped thrusting as he slightly frowning from your sudden crying, he wiped the tears using his thumb, “I'm sorry, I got carried away…” he rolls you over, making you lay beside him, “I'll go get a towel-” he said as he stood up and went to the shower to grab a warm wet towel, he went back few seconds after, He leaned in, gently patting your cunt with warm towel, wiping yours and his cum, after that he threw the towel on the floor, and went to your face to kiss your forehead, “Do you wanna rest first or take a shower again?” He asked, chuckling, earning a chuckle from you too, “we'll rest then do the shower over again, properly this time.” He shakes his head, still smiling. “I love you, Y/N.” He said looking directly into your eyes, “I hope you know that..” he added, “I know.” You said smiling, He looked at you as if he was waiting for you to say something, “And I love you too, Kenshi.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

TAGLIST:

@kumquats-are-gay

@channiesprincess

@mynameismisty

@bluandd

[burtonandtaylor]

Burton’s First Encounter with Taylor (1953)

“It was my first time in California and my first visit to a swank house. There were quite a lot of people in and around the pool, all suntanned and all drinking the Sunday morning liveners – Bloody Marys, boilermakers, highballs, iced beer. I knew some of the people and was introduced to the others. Wet brown arms reached out of the pool and shook my hand. The people were all friendly, and they called me Dick immediately. I asked if they would please call me Richard – Dick, I said, made me feel like a symbol of some kind. They laughed, some of them. It was, of course, Sunday morning and I was nervous.

I was enjoying this small social triumph, but then a girl sitting on the other side of the pool lowered her book, took off her sunglasses and looked at me. She was so extraordinarily beautiful that I nearly laughed out loud. I didn’t, of course, which was just as well. The girl was not, and, quite clearly, was not going to be laughing back. I had an idea that, finding nothing of interest, she was looking right through me and was examining the texture of the wall behind. If there was a flaw in the sandstone, I knew she’d find it and probe it right to the pith. I fancied that if she chose so, the house would eventually collapse.

I smiled at her and, after a long moment, just as I felt my own smile turning into a cross-eyed grimace, she started slightly and smiled back. There was little friendliness in the smile. A new ice cube formed of its own accord in my Scotch-on-the-rocks.

She sipped some beer and went back to her book. I affected to become social with the others but out of the corner of my mind – while I played for the others the part of a poor miner’s son who was puzzled, but delighted by the attention these lovely people paid to him – I had her under close observation. She was, I decided, the most astonishingly self-contained, pulchritudinous, remote, removed, inaccessible woman I had ever seen. She spoke to no one. She looked at no one. She steadily kept on reading her book. Was she merely sullen? I wondered. I thought not. There was no trace of sulkiness in the divine face. She was a Mona Lisa type, I thought. In my business everyone is a type. She is older than the deck chair on which she sits, I thought headily, and she is famine, fire, destruction, and plague, she is the Dark Lady of the Sonnets, the on lie true begetter. She is a secret wrapped in an enigma inside a mystery, I thought with a mental man-to-man nod to Churchill. Her breasts were apocalyptic, they would topple empires down before they withered. Indeed, her body was a miracle of construction and the work of an engineer of genius. It needed nothing but itself. It was true art, I thought, executed in terms of itself. It was smitten by its own passion. I used to think things like that. I was not long down from Oxford and Walter Pater was still talked of and I read the art reviews in the quality weeklies without much caring about the art itself, and it was a Sunday morning in Bel Air, and I was nervous, and there was the Scotch-on-the-rocks.

Like Miniver Cheevy I kept on drinking and, in the heady flow of the attention I was getting, told story after story as the day boozed slowly on. I went in swimming once or twice. So did she, but, lamentably, always after I’d come out. She swam easily and gracefully as an Englishwoman would and not with the masculine drive and kick of most American girls. She was unquestionably gorgeous. I can think of no other word to describe a combination of plentitude, frugality, abundance, tightness. She was lavish. She was a dark unyielding largesse. She was, in short, too bloody much, and not only that, she was totally ignoring me. I became frustrated almost to screaming when I had finished a well-received and humorous story about the death of my grandfather and found that she was turned away in deep conversation with another woman. I think I tried to eavesdrop but was stayed by words like – Tony and Janet and Marlon and Sammy. She was not, obviously, talking about me.

Eventually, with half-seas-ed cunning and with all the nonchalance of a traffic jam, I worked my way to her side of the pool. She was describing – in words not normally written – what she thought of a producer at M.G.M. This was my first encounter with freedom of speech in the U.S.A., and it took my breath away. My brain throbbed; I almost sobered up. I was profoundly shocked. It was ripe stuff. I checked her again. There was no question about it. She was female. In America the women apparently had not only got the vote – they’d got the words to go with it.

I was somewhat puzzled and disturbed by the half-look she gave me as she uttered the enormities. Was she deliberately trying to shock me? Those huge violet-blue eyes (the biggest I’ve ever seen, outside those who have glandular trouble – thyroid, et cetera) had an odd glint in them. You couldn’t describe it as a twinkle…. Searchlights can not twinkle, they turn on and off and probe the heavens and so on.

Still I couldn’t be left out. I had to join in and say something. I didn’t reckon on the Scotch though. I didn’t reckon that it had warped my judgment and my sense of timing, my choice of occasion. With all the studied frenzy of Dutch courage I waded into the depths of those perilous eyes.

In my best chiffon-and-cut-glass Oxford accent I said: “You have a remarkable command of Olde-Englishe.”

There was a pause in which I realized with brilliant clarity the relativity of time. Aeons passed, civilizations came and went, brave men and cowards died in battles not yet fought, while those cosmic headlights examined my flawed personality. Every pockmark on my face became a crater of the moon. I reached up with a casual hand to cover up the right-cheeked evidence of my acne’d youth. Halfway up I realized my hand was just as ugly as my face and decided to leave the bloody thing and die instead. But while contemplating the various ways of suicide and having sensibly decided, since I had a good start, to drink myself to death, I was saved by her voice which said, “Don’t you use words like that at the Old Vic?”

“They do,” I said, “but I don’t. I come from a family and an attitude that believe such words are an indication of weakness in vocabulary and emptiness of mind…. Despite Jones’s writing that in times of acute shared agony and fear, as in trench warfare, obscenities repeated in certain patterns can at times become almost liturgical, almost poetic….” I ran out of gas.

There was another pause; more empires fell. Captains and kings and counsellors arrived and departed. She said three four-letter words. These were, I think, “Well! Well! Well!”

Somebody laughed uneasily. The girl had turned away. I had been dismissed. I felt as lonely as a muezzin, as a reluctant piano lesson on a Saturday afternoon, as the Last Post played on a cracked bugle.

I went home and somebody asked, when I told them where I’d been, what she was like. “Dark. Dark. Dark. Dark. She probably,” I said, “shaves.” To nobody in particular I observed that the human body is eighty percent water.”

Words by Richard Burton

[pumpkin-belly]

Ok. Pumpkin update when I should be filling out his medical forms or fighting fruitlessly with the pharmacy, my doctor's office, and insurance to get a replacement for the discontinued immunosuppressant I need to fight the damage covid did to my immune system, turning it against me even worse than the arthritis i had before.

To review, my Elder Statescat has:

Nineteen years

Feline herpes triggered by stress, causing cold sores/irritation inside nasal passages

Arthritis in his back legs

Hyperthyroidism since 2022, which dropped him from 12 to 10lb.

Chronic Kidney Disease confirmed Dec 2023

Congenital enlarged heart and intermittent heart murmur.

Which wasn't a problem until last checkup, when it showed ventricle thickening & constriction.

Probably the cause of a syncope (fainting) incident while I was in Texas. i've never seen that happen before.

Plus he's outlived his original owner. Her family, including vet tech granddaughter, are my neighbors.

Since December, kidney and heart disease have progressed, herpes flareups keep giving him cold-like symptoms, he's lost appetite (not normal with hyperthyroidism), and his thyroid med has stopped working. His weight has dropped to 8.4 and falling. 😢

When he first came to me, he was an overstuffed plush toy of 17 lbs.

But he's still opinionated and purring and talkative, and he just climbed up to bug me bc  I haven't been paying attention to him while writing this.

So, after ultrasounds to make sure there weren't other problems causing his loss of appetite, I've signed him up for Iodine-131 treatment on Sunday.

This is a Hail Mary: hyperthyroidism aggravates kidney disease and heart problems, and can cause nausea/ibs too. if we can get some weight back on him, maybe he'll have more reserves to fight the herpes flareup too.

Otherwise, I think we'll be saying goodbye pretty soon.

Even if it works, of course, he's old. The doctor's prognosis was 2 to 4 more years, with kidney disease finishing him off like most cats (including my last). But hopefully his quality of life will be better.

Wish the old man luck.

April 1, 2020 - Floofer pre-hyperthyroid

[kunikinnie]

Hi!

I love your writing, they are so sweet and in character.

Could I request a fic with Poe where the reader (not neceserally in a realationship yet) reads one of his books, and after finishing it he gives it back and inside there are a bunch of pieces of papers full of illustrations/fanarts of the book?

If you don't want to write it or you don't have time, that's okay too. Don't owerwork yourself. Have a nice day!

a/n: thIS IS SO SWEET omg I remember when @amenemisa drew a Kunikida based on one of my drabbles adfjaldfkja anw here's some pure fluff!!

note: GN!reader is NOT in a relationship yet

There was nothing special about a nervous and restless Poe pacing around his room for God knows how long. Anything and everything that could potentially trouble him could trigger such a reaction, although lately the list has been significantly reduced to only two topics - namely, his writings and his crush.

That is why in this current episode, his anxiety has unfortunately doubled in magnitude.

A few weeks ago, you had shown interest in reading one of his very own works (not that it was a rare occurrence - in fact you've repeated yourself dozens of times) and were about to return his book and share your thoughts on it.

Both the panic and excitement were so intense that Poe thought he'd literally split into two different people: the serious writer and the hopeless romantic. The former was ready to brood over possible criticism while the other was simply happy to see you in person again. The only thing the two halves could agree on was the stress from receiving anything, let alone a review on his work from you.

A servant knocked on his door and announced that a guest had arrived, but before he could mention the identity of the person Poe had already scurried to the receiving room.

"Can't believe you had your decor changed just for Y/N..."

Instead of you, a nonchalant young man surveying the room was comfortably lying on the couch.

"It's good to see you, Ranpo-kun," Poe genuinely gladly greeted him. "But what are you doing here now, of all times?"

"Yeah, about that..." He sat up and handed over a familiar leather-bound hardcover book. "Something came up so Y/N asked me to bring this to you. The review's inside."

All the fire from until that moment's fervor had been dampened with a mere few words. Still, just holding the physical manifestation of your thoughts prevented from the disappointment from setting in completely.

He opened the book to where not one, but a few sheets of loose paper were stuck in between. Upon noticing that some of the papers did not contain words, he frantically looked for the one that did explain or summarize whatever you wanted to say. It was a small sticky note at the back of the front cover.

I really enjoyed this! Couldn't help myself so I hope you don't mind :)

That alone tugged a small but stupid smile on his face. However, further examination of the other papers nearly made his heart burst.

The characters, key moments were familiar... was this fanart of his work...? Drawings? For his work? No one has ever done this before...

"Looks like you'll need more that a moment so I'll just go straight to your game- wait, don't cry on my cape! I just washed it!"

tagging: @stygianoir

[johnoliverstshirtcannon]

Ian Duncan x Reader

S3lf harm comfort, father issues comfort

No use of Y/N | GN reader

Requested

Part 1 | Part 2

"First, I just want to say, you're very brave for coming here."

The small collection of clocks ticked out of sync, but they all showed the same time. Five-thirty-three.

Your professor, who had just patted your back essentially for walking from your last class to his office, was sat with his legs crossed in a brown and gray ensemble. The color hues hardly matched.

He was holding a college ruled journal and a sharp pencil. The journal was new it seemed, but the inside papers were coffee stained and wrinkled. The pencil however, was ready to do what it was made to do: write. Even with the bite marks across it and its missing eraser (it wouldn't be able to help fix its own mistakes. The pencil would need something else's help for that, or cross them out and keep writing as if they never happened.)

"I'm sorry we had to meet so late. I've been busy. Not that your health isn't a priority," He finished speaking by cautiously saying your name, as if guessing who you were.

"It's okay," You mumbled, rubbing your legs subtly, nervously.

He wrote that down.

Oh boy.

You took your mind off of it by looking around at the exotic decor he chose for his already cluttered office. There were masks and drums and other instruments you wished you had the capability of identifying the origin of.

He spoke again. "I'm proud of you for coming here. To visit a psychiatrist means you acknowledge you need help. Acknowledgement is the first step to recovery, they say."

You nodded your head. That's part of twelve-step, no doubt. Great. Your little habit knocked you down to the level of an alcoholic. No offense to the man sitting in front of you.

Trying to ignore the realization that your own addiction may be as crippling as his, you focused on the other part of his statement. He was proud of you.

This may be something he says to all his clients, or students, or whoever visits him, but the important part was that he said it to you, too. And seemingly meant it.

"It's been two months since your last relapse? Since we spoke?"

"About, yeah."

He nodded, writing that down.

"And how've you been doing since then?"

You did the best you could while explaining. You gave him some backstory on your childhood, specifically your father, and how his behavior affected you today. He listen to every word and to make sure he didn't miss anything, would occasionally cease your talking to write for a minute, which he did almost nervously, understanding that it's hard to stop and start again when it comes to these topics.

But he cared enough to try to get every detail in the best way he knew possible.

When you were finished, he calmly stared at you before nodding again and reviewing his notes.

When he spoke, he kept his eyes on the paper."

The actions of your father seem to affect you still today, as you've said yourself, but I want to reassure you that your intrusive thoughts are just that. He is not you, and you are not him. You can be better, and, in my personal opinion, you already are." He smiled. A small one, but his dimples still showed prominently.

[popcherrypop]

Im playing with my ALT character in FFXIV, finishing HW questline (Finally!). For people that had played the game, Im just talking about Y'shtola when visiting Master Matoya and being scolded.

Now, as my reblogs has sugested, I have been playing BG3 lately and this just popped my mind yesterday.

What if this Tav have done something reckless like Y'shtola did back final ARR (you know, banquet CS :x). But instead of going to the lifestream, Tav did invoke flow magic, and they traversed the weave. They lost the light in their eyes and barely got snatched from the raging tempest that pure magic is.

So, when the tadfools (I read this in another tumblr and loved it) meet them, there was something uncanny about their eyes but being able to navigate as a normal person.

(TLDR, Yshtola can navigate using her magic, but the cost is her own lifeforce).

In an idle conversation with Gale, whom more or less can tell what they are doing, they confess what they did in the past and he is scandalized.

But then the tieflings (Zevlov, Dammon, Rolan) would overhear the other tadfools talking about it:

Zevlor:

In the beginning, he doesnt truly understands the implications of using this magic.

Magician things, he thinks.

But Tav eventually starts to involve themselves with the tiefling party, more and more, helping them constantly and even mediating with Kagha (and resolving the conflict, to at least give them some more time to prepare).

Is just then when Tav is reviewing Zevlor maps for a tactical meeting with the tadfools, that he asks.

Well, not ask, but more like in idle chat he mentions what is this potent magic they used before. Flow, was it?

They pause a second, frowning so subtle but still pondering his question.

“Well… I have to admit, this kind of magic is forbidden for a reason.”

And against better judgement, well, we all know Tav doesn’t have the best judgement. But sharing this kind of information is too sensitive.

But we are talking about Zevlor. Just because they know Zevlor won’t fail them, that they tell him the whole story.

And we know how Zevlor is.

His high regards for this person make his heart to ache. He curses himself for asking such topic, of course this was sensitive.

But what truly unsettles him is not the usage of prohibited enchantments. But the usage of their own life source to navigate as a normal person.

From that day on, he would always be pendant of Tav.

He knows they don’t need him to survive, hells, as the ex-general of the hellraiders he has show more weakness than this adventurer has ever show in their short fellowship.

But still he worries.

He worries they are exhausting themselves and it could be actually avoided if he was there.

So, from that day he would always extend his arm to Tav when he knows they needn't to godspeed to whom knows where.

He would delegate more of the menial task to his brothers, the ones he usually would ask Tav to take care.

Tav would realize what he is trying to do, and it made them feel all warm and fussy inside, but they assure the gentleman this isn’t necessary and they won’t be dying on him any time soon.

This spooks Zevlor a little, but he won’t stop anyway.

“You already have done so much for us, to tax you with more errands is wrong from me. Rest assured, if needed, I will reach you to find a solution to any problem we can actually not solve ourselves”.

He still will offer his arm to help Tav to rest their magical senses, and in a gesture of goodwill, Tav will rest their eyes in his presence, trusting this man to be their eyes from time to time.

This is honestly only an excuse to hang of Zevlor's arm. Not that he does mind. On the contrary, he actually enjoys the clinginess.

Rolan:

His jaw, for what Lia confess in the future, she never had seen Rolan’s jaw drop as bad as the day he heard from the same person what reckless thing they did.

Cal said they didn’t really think much about it back then, but once Rolan wouldn’t drop the topic they would start worrying. Worrying about this savior, worrying about their brother sanity.

He is mad, believe it or not.

When the topic drops for first time, he didn’t say much because he wouldn’t believe this random person could actually invoke so powerful magic AND survive it.

But as he watches this person navigate themselves in the groove, he actually starts to believe it. Many of this person quirks could be explained by the usage of mana to actually see.

Fool. He thinks. This fool wants to get themselves kill by the same hand that feeds them, by the hand of their mistress.

Its just when Tav comes backs from the Goblin attack that it actually sinks.

Uneasiness sinks.

He can tell even breathing is a colossal task, they barely can walk straight. Their hands shaking for overexertion.

And they do, they collapse as they are walking by Halsin side in their way to admonish Kagha.

Everyone reacts fast enough to stop their fall, but is Rolan whom offers succor.

“Let me help, all of you”. And he would start channeling their own mana to this person.

How could he not? Twice they risked their life for him. Well, not only him. Nevertheless, he felt indebted to this… newfold ally.

He offers the party to leave Tav with him until their business with Kagha is resolved, he would share a little of his mana to them so they *should* be fine once everything was discussed.

Or that he hopes.

From that day, he would always check on Tav every time they show themselves in the groove.

He would frown and scold them as kids for using their lifeforce in the groove.

Tav would look at him puzzled at first and with an exaggerated sigh (“Do I have to explain everything?), he would just take their hands and give them a little mana.

After that, he would boss around his little brothers to help Tav in their errands.

Cal and Lia would roll their eyes, and Tav would just hide a chuckle behind their hand, indicating them to follow, but they wouldn’t ask the brothers to do anything at all.

Barely to stand close the first times they were tasked with this “oh so huge errand”.

Then, they would free the siblings and send them directly to Rolan, making an excuse for them to say.

Probably about having to fight something not so dreadful, but hard enough to excuse the siblings.

Given, without the goblins and nothing stopping the Tiefling party, this wouldn’t last for long. But at least for a little while, he wanted to help.

Tav would low-key love how warm his hands feel and would make some couple of extra stops because they know Rolan will extend his hand as he is reading, his eyes not leaving his book. It is nice. They could grow used to this if this was actually safe (which is not, let me tell you. But they would indulge from time to time).

Dammon:

Just as Zevlor, he doesn’t really understand the implications of this.

But he does know Karlach has something in her mind.

Tav isn’t there actually, they are talking with another person in the Groove before the Goblin assault.

“Is everything alright?” he would ask in hopes to help his fellow tiefling friend.

And Karlach would sigh, how uncharacteristic of her. But the rambling after that sigh is very characteristic.

He understands little. But he knows this is serious enough for anybody with some decency to worry about Tav.

Tav in the other hand doesn't show any signs of discomfort or sign of tiredness, he supposes they have been doing this for a long time already.

He would, instead, work in something to help them. He might not be able to give mana like Rolan, nor would escort them in the groove since Zevlor already does that.

Instead, he would do what he knows better. Craft something to help Tav.

The question is what.

So, he studies the proprieties of different types of metals, which would be better suited to syphon magic from the ambient so they wouldn’t have to resort to use their own magic force to compensate for their blindness.

He does finds something and even when goldsmithing isn’t his forte, he is capable of making a necklace for them. It’s a little rudimentary, and he is bashful at first.

But Tav’s expression changes everything.

They cannot see the trinket, but they are holding it tight. He admires the way they’re *seeing* with their hands, taking care of examinate the gift.

He exhales the breath he was holding, smiling at them with fondness.

“I promise you, once I have my forge back, I will do something better for you.”

Tav fusses about it, giving him an embarrassed look. “You have done a lot for me already Dammon, I cannot repay you for something like this”.

He takes their hand between his and look at them tenderly.

“You have done way too much for us, refugees, there is no way we can repay *you* for something as unusual as your kindness."

They stay a minute like this, they might not be able to see his smile (and he comments it) but they are grateful still.

Let me self-indulge: After saying that, lamenting Tav cannot see him for they know he is honestly grateful, Tav would ask him if it was alright to touch his face, to feel what he is saying. Even if it takes him aback a little, he takes their hand and place it over his cheek, only for them to cup his face with their hands (before proceeding to map his face with such tenderness in their touches).

[mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea]

Writing Questions Tag Game!

I was tagged by @darsynia and I'll do my best to answer these questions! Some seem very thought-provoking for a Saturday when my brain wants to just lie around and indulge!

What is your absolute all-time favourite idea you’ve ever had?

I always always hate these favorite questions. I feel like a parent being asked to choose a favorite child, and I'm not one of those parents who could have a favorite child. I mean, I guess for the sake of the question, one of my favorites, at least, is Hemispheres, which is a WIP (not abandoned!) Frostiron series that uses some canon but diverges from canon as well. I could also say that Outside the dawn is breaking (But inside in the dark I'm aching to be free), a Scott/Logan X-Men 3 Fix-it WIP is another favorite. Also another idea that is a favorite is an original story idea that I haven't begun writing yet that involves two of my favorite things: food/cooking and writing, but I won't go into details about that one right now.

Is there a question you’ve been asked in the past that really stands out to you and you still think about sometimes?

About my writing? I don't think so. Most people don't ask me questions about my writing.

What is your favourite part of being a writer? What parts could you take or leave?

My favorite part of being a writer is losing myself in the stories I create. Putting myself into the characters and living vicariously through them. I also really dig the positive feedback I get. I could really do without people who want to tell me how *they* would prefer my stories be written to suit their particular niche needs/wants. Or telling me, someone with degrees in language and writing, how something is supposed to be punctuated based on their views on Old People Writing vs. Young (obviously more correct) People Writing.

What is your greatest motivation to write/create?

To have fun. To, again, live vicariously through the stories and characters. To exercise my empathy for the characters. Also I know that while my writing isn't the most popular out there, I still have a small crowd that is made happy by my writing, so that's a good motivation for me.

What do you wish you knew when you were first starting out writing?

Well, when I first started writing, I was 12 years old, and at that time, I'd probably have wanted to know how much easier using a computer made writing compared to writing by hand. Of course, when I was 12, my parents couldn't have afforded a personal computer (I'm 50 now, so do the math). My brother bought the first personal computer after he got out of the army (I was 14-15 then), and he always offered to let me write on it and save my writing, but I wasn't interested at the time. Plus any of that wouldn't have easily been salvageable between then computers to now computers.

What is your favourite story you’ve written TO COMPLETION? Link it if you’d like and can!

Favorite original story: It was a short story I wrote for a short story class and later published in my college's publication, Windward Review. It's called Two Minutes Too Late, after the Alanis Morrisette's song, "Ironic," about a man on death row who doesn't belong there and who's already injected by the time the call comes to stay his execution. It was pretty personal, and those who know me know why.

Favorite finished fanfic: Probably a toss-up between Behind Blue Eyes and Never Piss Off a Telepath; Or How Logan Opened His Mouth and Said a Stupid Thing

What is your favourite out-of-the-box quote?

I don't quite understand this question. Meaning a favorite quote from something I've written? Again, I hate picking favorites of anything, esp with my writing. LOL

Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

Most controversial mindsets would be Emma Frost, Loki, and Tony Stark, I would think. Probably even Scott Summers, to be honest. I don't feel they're controversial (they're not controversial to me, that is), but so many people hate Scott just for existing because they think he's just a stick in the mud/stick up his ass boring leader who, for a time, "picked the wrong girl" (aka he chose Emma Frost for a while instead of the redhead). I think Emma is controversial because she came between Scott and said redhead, and many people like to label her a slut (and trust me, it's not just dudes labeling her that; I've argued with so many women about Emma as well) - I think she's also controversial because people who love or hate her only see her as this BDSM domme and that's the whole of her character instead of her actual *job* for a while that is not the whole of herself. I and a few other people don't write her in that way, and I think our vision of Emma therefore becomes controversial because we write her more humanized than some one-dimensional bimbette. Same with Loki, tbh. He's controversial because you've got the people who just hate him because he's a villain and he stabbed Thor (without looking into the potential reasons why he stabbed Thor - look, I have a brother whom I love but who behaves in a very Thor manner - dismissive, gaslighting, condescending, bullying - and sometimes I wish I could get away with stabbing him where he'd heal just fine from it but otherwise would know that I was pissed off at his bullshit). He's also controversial when you have writers who ONLY write him as this humiliation-kink, abuse-loving (as in thinking he deserves to be abused and loves to be abused), 24/7 BDSM-living character who can only be written wallowing in angst and these writers get annoyed at those of us who don't write him this way. And Tony - well, he's controversial because people just love to hate on Tony because he's Tony.

If you, when you first started writing, met you now, what would younger you think?

I think the 12 year old me would be disappointed af that at 50, we aren't published, we aren't romantically or physically where we thought we'd be. I think 12 year old me would be thrilled that our smut writing improved A LOT over the years, so there's that. I think 12 year old me would see that what we thought our aspirations were didn't quite get us where we wanted to be, so maybe they would take some different turns to achieving the writing success but not the academic success. Definitely they would insist on getting the hell out of Texas much earlier, avoid the whole shitty marriage, and discover who we were all along much earlier, not to mention set boundaries so much earlier in life.

Thanks for tagging me!

Tagging: @scottxlogan, @mcfiddlestan, @kleenexwoman, @chaotic-hypnotic-erotic, @chaoticgardenbread, @renlybaratheon-tyrell, @just-fandomthings, @securitybreach, @endlesstwanted, @cerylid, @sivan325

[kuiperror]

i watched the 2015 film "the danish girl" for my english class and i have to write an essay thats due eod tomorrow SO to get my juices a flowin i'm gonna review the movie here first. spoilers from here on out duh

So this movie was kind of 😐. i knew about lili elbe and gerda wegerner way before this movie , im not like a historian on them but i know that gerda supported lili in her transition and they were still very much together and in love up until the last years of lili's life in 1930 shortly after their marriage was dissolusioned since lilli transitioned and their marriage couldn't be recognized anymore. Also like gerda was a huuuugee woman lover she painted a lot of lesbian erotic art. i was actually really confused most of the film like "ok when is gerda going to start accepting lili and theyre going to be happy with eachother?" but i guess portraying gerda as anything but straight is too much somehow and she needs to rely on a man to help her process the horrible situation of her wife discovering who she is and medically + socially transitioning :(

obviously that was sarcasm , but that does happen in the film. Ok to be real, i will probably finish writing this post, draft a few pages of my essay and rewatch the film again in the morning because im having trouble processing this movie. its earnestly coming off as a nothing burger to me. i was keeping an open mind about how they portray lili's gender awakening and her subsequent female persona as a different person where lili can only be "einar" or "lili" depending on what she is physically presenting as, because this is set in the 1920s and obviously they do not have the same vocabulary and terms for things we do, hindsight is 20/20, that sort of thing. but like. i really expected them to steer away from that way of presenting things, because in the modern-day most (and yes. generalizing but thats how the cookie crumbles in analysis situations) transgender people view their agab self and their "transitioned" self as the same person, because. you really are the same person, you just look differently, a way that is more conjunct with your perception of your gender identity. so i was really expecting lili to start thinking of herself as both "lili" and "einar" or like explain to gerda that she is still the same person she knew, just different, in a way. but no, they keep going on with the "two identities" thing, and while that probably is the way that Real Life lili thought of herself, if the story is going to divert from reality then you can absolutely use fictionilization to your advantage to more clearly explain transgender identities to your cis audience .

one thing i did Not really like was the fact that lili's gender euphoria was always tied with her sexuality. and like. yeah gender ties with sexuality, duh, i would be a fool if i acted like they were seperate, but for lili biggest moments of gender euphoria are portrayed as sensual sexual pleasure. like when a naked gerda pulls off lili's male clothing to reveal a silky camisole underneath or when lili goes to a live peep show and mimics the girl inside, trying to learn to act feminine but stops when the girl sees her (as lili is presenting masculine and doesn't want to raise suspicion) but eventually she loses herself in the pleasure and continues to mimic the girl until she reaches down and remembers she has a penis instead of a vagina and its like... normally i would be cool with this kind of sexual portrayal if this movie was written or directed by a trans person or like 1:1 based off of a trans person's experience but this movie is Obviously made for cis people by cis people. and i would say that a LOT of cishet people, even those who are "allies", think that queer identities are inherently sexual. thats why they say that "children can't be in queer relationships" or that "all trans women / trans people are perverts" because they cant imagine divorcing queerness from sex. and just like the way that the movie refers to lili as having "two identities", this REALLY isnt helping cis audiences understand transppl better.

i think that this movie is helping american society step away from the bare minimum idea that trans ppl (but basically just trans women) are manipulating / abnormal and should only be used in media to point and laugh and say "EWWW the main character had sex with them that's disgusting!!" or "this Trans character is the Villain and they are SOOOO unhinged!" in horror and shit. but it isnt that good at representing like. nuance in gender identity or things like that .

K going to take a break and then continue slaving away at my keyboard

[sinagwrites]

days of the past future

Dear future self,

How are you? If you're reading this, I hope you're still alive. I'm not okay and I haven't slept for 2 days straight. Jade's sleeping pills aren't helping me at all. I have tons of reviewers with me right now. I still don't have friends, I still have my curfew (lola's been so disappointed at me for coming home 5 minutes late from my curfew), I still have grades to maintain, and a mom to thank. Screw the traffic in Mendiola, she thinks I'm lying and cut my classes because of that 1D event that I told her about. Mom told me not to mind it over Skype, but you know her, she's disappointed too. I kind'a wish I went there instead if I knew she'd react this way. I'm barely hanging by a thread, trying my best to survive and there are days when I can't seem to compose myself.

I hope you're now waking up to the sound of the dogs barking in your vet clinic... video-calling Josh about how Manila is compared to Denmark. I hope your car enjoys the traffic of Manila knowing that lola's waiting for you at home.

I'll do my best to give that life to you, I promise. I hope you're smiling while you're reading this and telling yourself that you're finally okay. I wrote this email as a reminder that I need to strive harder so I won't fail you... so you can live.

Dear old self,

I'm sorry it took a while for me to compose the perfect words to reply. I was stuck between the lines, wondering if you would be condescending or patronizing me but I found my ink to write back.

I know you believe that it's not a good habit to look back in the past so you tried to dig for goals of where I will be in the future. I am sorry to disappoint you but things didn't go as you planned.

I haven't slept in two days because I had tons of work to do. I work 8 hours a day at home and does podcasts at night hoping I could help people like you. I know how much you loved to write and most days, if not everyday, I still do.

One direction went on hiatus a few months after you wrote that email. You cried a bucket of tears but no worries, you're okay after.

At 18, you decided to be independent and move out of the house instead of going to Europe. You didn't graduate and granny was disappointed... but no worries, you worked your way up and proved them wrong. They trust your decisions now and mom's proud of who you became.

You don't own a coffee shop... but you met a friend who brews coffee for you and she's great. Yes, you're right. You finally learned the art of making friends.

You didn't become a vet but you have dogs now. They feel so warm, love to cuddle, and the other one's turning two next month.

You didn't end up with Josh. He's still in Italy, finishing his studies with Ash, and I wanna pat you a good job for letting him go. He's happy now.

You fell in love a lot of times and got hurt, mentally, physically, emotionally but learned. You're currently dating a man filled with tattoos. I know, I know, you hate men with tattoos... but trust me, he's okay.

It all made sense to me now. I can vividly remember you writing that letter with the intention of looking back at it one day and so I can tell you that you made it... and guess what? You did. You survived... and somehow deep inside, I know that's all you ever wanted.

PS: I hope you can hug lolo before leaving the hospital for work at September 2022.

I know it may not change things, but I still hope you do.

I guess the only thing that has not changed is the fact the I still hate spoilers and I hope you don't hate me.

[masterwords]

✨ 2022 Writing Year In Review ✨

Many thanks to @spencer-reids-adventures and @domestikhighway58 for tagging me here. <3 Pretend I'm doing this on time...I spent ALL DAY yesterday at a children's wrestling tournament (seriously, 10 hours in a high school gym with hundreds of people...I can feel all the germs invading my body as we speak) so I didn't have the lifeforce remaining to use my brain. (This got long so I put most of it under a cut.)

1. Number of stories posted to AO3: 85! Holy moly.

2. Word count posted for the year: 470,122

3. Fandoms I wrote for: Criminal Minds, The Punisher (sort of...I shipped Frank Castle with Hotch so...) & Fargo

4. Pairings: AHAHAAA! Oh. Okay. Hotch/Morgan. .... ......... I did write a small amount of Hotch/Blackwolf, Hotch/Will and Hotch/Reid. But let's be real here. I am an OTP girl and Hotch & Morgan are married in my mind.

5. Story with the most:

Kudos: Catching Sparks

Bookmarks: missing pieces of sleep, but a close second and non-collab was Catching Sparks.

Comments: missing pieces of sleep, but a close second and non-collab was Running Toward Nothing.

6. Work I’m most proud of (and why):

Probably Running Toward Nothing, because it was hard for me to finish. It took so many twists and turns, and I didn't plan it out well enough (story of my life)...it was written for a challenge, and it was not at all what I imagined it would be when I started. But I also wound up really loving it by the end.

7. Work I’m least proud of (and why):

Cold Hands. Hotch/Reid isn't my ship already and I just felt very...like I could have done better. I don't dislike the story but I don't feel very proud of it either.

8. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

By far, my favorite was @olivinesea putting me in jail repeatedly for The Silence Drowns (a different take on the Foyet arc).

9. A time when writing was really, really hard:

May/June/July. Something about that 3 month span, my kids in baseball, I don't know. I couldn't write shit and it was stressing me out. Thankfully it came back to me eventually.

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: 

Writing Foyet the way I did in The Silence Drowns was really an experience, focusing so hard on his POV, devoting entire chapters to how he did what he did and what he did when we didn't see him...that was really fun. And flipping the switch on Reid and turning him into the antagonist while also royally fucking up his life in Running Toward Nothing was interesting too.

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

He moved slow, still half-asleep. One rrrrrrip and he tore into the tissue to reveal a soft blanket. Too soft. Velvety, thick, plush. He couldn't make out the strange array of colors and buried his fist inside of it in order to pull it out. The bag and tissue paper were quickly discarded, and Derek reached out to grab the bottom two corners, helping move this along faster. He really had to go. Quickly, he splayed the blanket out over the bed. It was huge and almost impossible in the dark and from Hotch's angle to make out the pattern at first.

Derek grinned proudly the moment he caught the realization on Hotch's stiff features. “Is that...your face?”

“Sure is,” Derek announced, pushing the tissue paper back into the bag and tossing it aside. “So you won't forget me while I'm gone.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “Do you think that's likely to happen?” He had abdominal surgery, not brain surgery. He'd been trying to be gentle with Derek since it happened, the man was pulling double duty as Unit Chief and primary caregiver, burning the candle at both ends. In some ways, Hotch was glad they had a case that would take him out of town, maybe he'd get a break. He could focus entirely on the job and not worry about how Hotch was going to get from the bed to the toilet and back at 3am. Having the catheter had removed the need for that step but it was fleeting. He was on his own now. He was also doing just fine, he thought. No falls, a couple of near misses but he'd caught himself each time.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Hotch replied quietly, smoothing it beneath slow hands. He was losing the battle with his tired body. “It's beautiful.” It was. In that way that heartfelt things often were, their beauty didn't lie in aesthetics. He wouldn't put this blanket on display in the front room, perhaps, but he adored it nonetheless. "It'll keep me warm as I convalesce." He'd been using that word a lot in the last few days, Derek noted. It was his boredom talking, finding ways to make light of his situation in order to soften the blow that he could barely manage a walk from his bed to the kitchen without being significantly winded and ready for a nap. He'd been refining new jokes, mostly biting sarcasm that came out a little slow but didn't sting any less. Jess was the recipient more often than Derek, being around more. He'd dare her to steal the blanket, just to see, but he was pretty sure she wasn't going to try it. Not with Derek's enormous face right there. Derek managed to create the one thing she'd stay far away from. She was probably going to call it creepy.

“As you convalesce, huh?"

Hotch nodded and smiled, smoothing his hands over the soft fabric. He was so out of it. Derek didn't mind. He was struggling with this slower lifestyle, something he'd be at for the next few weeks. A few more days and the staples could come out, after that he thought things would get better. Maybe speed up a bit. Slowing down wasn't in the Hotch playbook of life, but he was dealing.

From Convalesce

12. How did you grow as a writer this year: 

I'm not sure I did until the end when I realized I didn't need to over-think editing quite so much, and I should really just have fun. I spent most of the year stressing out over it and not enjoying it as much as usual. No more of that. I also decided that I don't mind so much being a one trick pony. I want to write about Hotch/Morgan more than anything else and I gave myself permission to just indulge it as often as I felt like it.

13. How do you hope to grow next year:

I hope to detach my worth as a writer from the interaction I receive. I do my best to maintain that mindset, and I hope to settle in better with it.

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc): 

I mean, I probably should just simplify this and say it was Hotch & Morgan, really. Nearly everything I wrote this year centered around those two so I think I would be remiss not to acknowledge them as the muses they are. All of my friends, all of you incredible amazing writers I am fortunate enough to consider my friends...you have all influenced me positively. I can never thank you enough.

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

Uh..hahaha! Yeah. I included lots of sports dad/coach moments, a lot of Jack because of my kids, you know...that kind of thing. Nothing huge...but this? Yeah. My life.

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

You can focus less on editing. Don't edit at the expense of posting your stories, yo. Don't overthink it.

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

I'm looking forward to actually finishing a bunch of these multi-chapter stories that I've been dragging out forever. Writing more with @domestikhighway58 on our Hotch/Reid story, diving in to the SWAT and retired in Chicago series more...so much.

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read.

@eldrai @olivinesea and anyone else who really wants to fill this out!