#there’s such a pleasant new weight to it it’s like having a cold but without hoarseness

[todesboten]

4 weeks on t, chin getting fuzzier & morning voice is the fucking GOAT

[coralinnii]

Congrats on 2.7k followers!! You deserve it! :D For the event, may I request Malleus, Azul, Jade and Floyd with a gentle giant S/O? As you can already guess, S/O is super tall (you can change this detail if you’d like, but perhaps they’d even be noticeably taller than Malleus?) and maybe even kind of intimidating because of it, but they’re very friendly, quiet, and gentle. 

Again, congratulations on your achievements!! Keep up the great work you’re doing 🥳

‧₊˚✧ My Statuesque Sweetheart ‧₊˚✧

↳ Tall Gentle Giant/Reader

feat: Malleus ❋ Azul ❋ Jade ❋ Floyd genre: fluff note: no pronouns were used with the reader, I love beluga whales (it’ll make sense in Jade’s ver.),

Sooo…being someone that can’t relate to being tall :I, I went around to ask some of my taller friends to know what’s that like, so this took longer cuz of research. I also got into Genshin to prep for another prompt someone asked me and dang, do I gotta research on that too.

Similar prompt: Tall!reader who loves hugs

2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023

You were certainly a surprise to him. In his long years, rarely does he find people where he doesn’t have to tilt his head down for once.

Despite your height, you were as cute and friendly as a woodland creature, a contrast to Malleus who exudes regal power without much effort. He’s fascinated by you as your stature can command the room yet your energy has a rather soothing effect on him and those around you. 

Man is saying you have zero scary dog energy, and that is adorable to him.

If you’re the affectionate type, congratulations! You’d be one of the few to be able (and allowed) to reach his horns. What started as curiosity soon became a habit as you made it your love language to care and clean Malleus’ iconic features. As a bonus, everytime you are done it’s fun to lay your head gently upon Malleus’, between his horns which catches him off guard no matter how often it happens. 

Having a tall man with money certainly has privileges as you now have access to his personal tailor as well. Was there a pair of pants you really like but it only reached your ankles? Not anymore, let the royal tailor deal with that and add some matching accessories to that. 

However you feel about your height, you are a sublime creature of beauty to Malleus. When he looks up to you smiling at him with the shining moon behind you highlighting your tall outline, he hasn’t seen anyone more otherworldly than you. 

You stand out amongst every human I have encountered. Hm? Ah, I do not refer to your stature but rather… the way you effortlessly capture my attention and ensnare my thoughts with visions of you.

Azul being around an incredibly tall person? What else is new? Azul doesn’t feel all that insecure about his height, before or after meeting you.

Well, you’re definitely the most pleasant person he knows that towers over him, at least. He knows that many, him included, would use your sort of stature as an advantage over others. Instead, he likes your rather sweet nature and way of conduct. 

If you have stretch marks due to your rapid growth spurts, Azul would feel absolutely touched if you trusted him enough to show it. Azul would genuinely praise your resilience to may have been an aching and painful experience to go through. If you let him, he could create a potion to get rid of the marks if it truly makes you insecure, but he finds you beautiful no matter what. 

Watch him flinch and get flustered anytime you wrap your arms around him, smothering him with your taller form. You would laugh to see him so easily out of sorts if you press your weight onto him. He can handle it of course, but the heat of your all-encompassing hugs is vastly different from his time in the cold sea. 

Azul would provide certain things that would suit your needs that others may overlook. Suddenly, you would find blankets that can cover you entirely, or you were gifted a coat that is actually a long coat that doesn’t awkwardly cut off at a weird length on you. Mirrors in Azul’s private room are always suspiciously up to your eye-level whenever you visit. 

He’s happy to know that you see him as someone reliable regardless of that. He has an interesting way of showing his appreciation

Do you like the new decor of the Mostro Lounge? The new additions are quite beautiful and eye-catching. The tall but dazzling designs were inspired by you, after all.

Oh my. What a sight to behold, you are. 

Jade doesn’t seem like the type to brag about his advantageous height, but he is aware that not many can reach his stature and even fewer actually pass him in that regard. 

He still treats you as courteously as he always does, even more so as the two of you start to grow closer. 

A nice bonus about having a tall boyfriend is that most of the things in his room are perfect for you! Beds you can fully stretch out in, actual full-length mirrors that don’t make you bend down, and furniture that doesn’t require you to squish yourself into. Jade’s (and Floyd���s) has become one of your favorite places to visit.

He does find it amusing that some people may find you intimidating because of your height as he knows that you were far from any definition of that word. Jade would chuckle to himself whenever he sees you getting happy or excited, like watching a playful beluga whale squeaking in joy. Your gentle features and bright smile shines through any misconceptions of your intimidating form. 

Though not quite used to it, Jade doesn’t mind having to crane his neck to meet your gaze. Especially not when he could watch your adorable quizzical expression as he asked you to lower your head to him, only to whisper teasing words into your ear. He especially finds it fun to watch you jump to your full height in flustered surprise, even occasionally bumping your head on a hanging decoration. 

Really, how could he resist you? 

Do you need rest, my love? Perhaps a cup of tea can soothe your aches and joints while you sit.

Oh, Floyd would have no issues with you being taller than him. Probably the opposite, really.

Don’t @ me but I fully believe Floyd has a thing for legs, be it his own or others. He’s so fascinated by these human features that you may even catch him blatantly staring appreciatively at your legs. 

“What’s the big deal? They’re right there, who can blame me?”

He will however, with full confidence, laugh his lungs out if you hit your head on the door frame or trip on an ottoman seat you didn’t notice. Maybe he’ll rub the ouchie away but he’ll be laughing while he does.

Be prepared for impromptu fashion shows with custom made shoes to show off your gorgeous mile-long legs. Floyd could spend hours looking through online shopping with you, showing you websites that specifically cater to tall drinks of water like yourself.

This man will be floored by the experience of being the little spoon of a hug. To be able to lean into your arms and rest his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat while you  lovingly pat his hair? You can be unknowingly smothering him and he’ll be loving every moment of it. 

Regardless if you’re confident or not, Floyd loves to take you dancing. If you’re not confident in your dancing, Floyd is more than happy to lead you with every beat until you have fun. The man just loves to see the flashing lights paint your body, with your smile being the brightest of them all.

Did you get taller, Shrimpy? Aha ha, just pulling your leg there! Though, wouldn’t make a difference to me. You’re still a hottie even if you, hehe!

[livingsspecter]

𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕘𝕠𝕣𝕪 𝕍𝕚𝕠𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣: 𝙳𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 ☕︎

CW: Gender neutral reader, pure fluff with a little bit of angst! Hope you like it 🖤 !!

✧ Living alongside Gregory is like watching a cat warm up to you slowly, he will start interacting more, showing you his art and explaining them in detail (trusting that you won't make fun of it)

✧ At first, he will be a bit anxious about showing his face without makeup and being without his hood since they're both like a protective layer for him. But, little by little he will notice that you if you stare at him, it's to admire his beauty, and not because you're picking apart his features

✧ He is a quiet and pleasant company, always has a random comment here and there that might be entertaining or a little off-pocket (probably both)

✧ He will be happy to help with chores, even though he might not have a lot of experience (considering he is a rich kid and probably had a maid do it for him lol)

✧ Definitely more active in the night, he will like to stare out of the window while drinking a cup of tea, observing how the sky changes its hue as the time goes on, especially when it's raining, rain comforts him

✧ In dark stormy nights, before you sleep— he’ll shine a flashlight on his face and tell you horror stories, smirking when you shriek at a particular grim moment

✧ He is mostly dressed in hoodies, sweaters and sweatpants, even though he values style, comfort is also a must for him

✧ Once he warms up to you, he will let you paint his nails while ranting about the weights of his job as prefect, and you'll be happy to comfort him

✧ In the summer, he is way more vocal since the weather feels like death to him, he will feel dizzy when he gets home after being out in the sun for hours and sometimes you worry that he will faint right in front of you. Thankfully, he has you to check up on him

✧ Alternatively, winter and autumn (especially, since he loves Halloween) are his favorites, since he can wear his favorite outfits that cover more of his body and the weather is not aggravating to him. It's often that you'll see him wrapped up in a blanket like a burrito while drawing— quite a cute scene

✧ You take care of him and check up on him a lot because of his weak constitution. But, when you're the one feeling sick, he is way more worried than you, fretting about how you need to eat well and rest. He might even take a day off school to take care of you

✧ The funniest part of the day is when he walks behind you with light steps, not even making any effort in spooking you (a common occurrence)..only to wrap his cold hands around your waist, and you can notice that he is smiling from the way his usual monotone tone changes

✧ He will definitely leave little doodles around on post-its and on the refrigerator, either to just joke around, show a new doodle or just reminders

✧ Unfortunately, nightmares are a common occurrence for him and sometimes he will wake up sobbing. He will try telling you he is okay and that it’s nothing— but once you wrap your arms around him, you can feel him slowly hug back, clutching on you like you're his lifeline as the tears fall down on the crook of your arm

✧ Life with him is comfortable, fun and full of surprises, even though he is quiet, he will always listen to your problems and give good advice (particularly blunt ones). He is someone you can count on during tough times, even if he doesn't show it in his face, it's clear he truly loves you

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[hokusu]

🍁🍂 The quiet bridge between summer humidity falling into autumn cold always takes him by surprise. 

Hawks rolls out of bed before the sun even rises only to have a full body shiver from the cold of his toes against the floorboards all the way through each span of his wings. He lets out a little squawk, his body deciding right then and there nope and dives right back into the pile of warmth that's still curled up on his bed.

Hawks whines and burrows his face into the crook of Dabi's neck, pulls the long warm limbs onto his own until he's properly embraced and heated right back up.

A sleepy chuckle appears by his ear, but the arms pull him in tighter, leg thrown over his own and wraps him up under the weight of their blanket. 

"Is it time already?"

"It's cold," Hawks mumbles in confirmation, clinging onto Dabi and all his wondrous heat like he has no intentions of ever letting go. 

Dabi pecks a kiss against Hawks' forehead and heats up his fingers, running them down Hawks' back, between the soft downy feathers and the base of his spine. Hawks melts under his touch and sighs contently. "Hm... should I start heating the house before you rise?"

Hawks snuggles in deeper, voice muffled against his neck as he exhales a quiet breath, "Please."

And it tugs his heart. 

It's something Dabi started doing for him without ever having been asked. The villain who would sneak in at three or four in the morning on colder nights and turn the heated floors on, just in time to let it warm the house before his early bird rises. Something to welcome Hawks so his little bird wouldn't freeze when he rolled out of bed at the ass crack of dawn. Imagine Hawks' pleasant surprise when he'd first landed on toasted floors on another cold morning. 

Even when Dabi started falling into bed at the same hours as Hawks, he'd sneak out of bed just an hour before Hawks would rise to do the very same. Bless his villainous heart, there's no villain in him when it comes to Hawks. 

Dabi gives him another pat, let's the feathers run off his fingers and then makes to get out of bed to do just that, but Hawks tugs him tighter, grip against the blanket and his waist, legs tangled in his own like they've become one giant burrito and refuses to let go. 

"Birdie... you're gonna have to let go for me to do that," he muses. 

"No."

"No?" Dabi repeats in amusment. 

"It's cold," Hawks protests again.

Dabi casts his eyes back down at the clingy bird, something softening inside him as he relaxes back into bed. "You have patrol to get to soon don't you?"

Hawks makes an indistinguishable noise and Dabi laughs softly, hands pulling his bird ontop of him fully as he resumes combing his fingers against Hawks' wings. Heated fingers against every feather, every vane. Sometimes he still thinks it's s insane that Hawks lets him do this. Let's his fire come so close to all the fragile pieces of him and doesn't even bat an eye. 

"Breaking news... Pro-hero Hawks turns villain full time to avoid the cold. What would the world think?" 

"That I need a permanent body warmer to cling to me."

"You'll fly me around all day?" Dabi asks with another laugh. 

"Maybe I will."

"I think," Dabi muses. "That would ruin your image. A villain on your back? Scandalous."

"Maybe I don't care anymore," Hawks huffs. 

"You don't mean that, little bird," Dabi breathes softly. 

"And if I do?"

"Then I'll hold you to your words," Dabi dares lightly. 

Because there's no place for them outside, what they have only stays behind closed doors and villain bases, away from prying hands and the eyes of the public. But sometimes... sometimes Hawks stubbornly tells him otherwise, like he'd throw it all away in a heartbeat. 

"And I'll make it a reality," Hawks promises so easily.

Like he means every word of it. 

And Dabi, wants to believe him.

[biribaa]

WAWAAWAWAAWW ROMANCE THIS PLATONIC THIS WHATEVER I WANT TO SEE SCRYBES AS PARENTAL FIGURES

Leshy would be a well balanced father, he knows when to treat you sweetly and he knows when you need to be scolded. For me Leshy is one of the most leisurely patrons, so you can have plenty of free time to do any kind of parent and child activity.

I really believe that Leshy would teach you how to make wooden figures. Just you, his dear child, and him, making some wooden figures together. Did you cut yourself with the knife? Of course, don't worry, Leshy will have his full attention for you and take care of your cut. Leshy isn't desperate with certain injuries of yours, of course he's worried, but he knows you're going to be fine.

Leshy will have a hard time making food for you... Seeing how he's not very fond of cooking. Having some cookbooks would be nice right now...

Leshy tends to sleep hugging you, he wants to make sure you're warm, the woods usually tend to be cold, and he would hate to see his dear child have to suffer from a cold nose and sneezing.

Leshy will teach you how to hunt, write, read, how to skin animals without getting blood on you, etc. Basics for you to survive in the forest if at some point you want to live alone.

Also, Leshy tells you bedtime stories! He was hesitant at first, but seeing how insistent you were, he couldn't say 'no' to your lovely smile.

.

I bet Grimora has dreamed/wanted at some point in her life to have a child, so trust me, you are a blessing in her life!

Grimora showers you with verbal support. You did a drawing of her? "Why, isn't this splendid my child! I'm truly proud of you Y/N. Keep drawing and I bet you'll be even better than uncle Magnificus!". You finish the duties Grimora sent you to do? "Good job Y/N! I know that I could always trust you." Or anything else that you made a effort? "Magnificent Y/N! I'm so happy to hear this news!"

She doesn't spoil you, but Grimora clearly gives the attention every child needs to you and you alone. Grimora doesn't just want to be your mother, she wants to be your friend.

Grimora loves to teach you things, even the simplest things, like sewing or how to make tea. And after that the two of you try to sew something together while she listens to you talk about your day.

.

Magnificus being a father figure is similar to Leshy, but more protective. Leshy trusts you and knows you can get by with his learnings, while Magnificus is extremely protective of you.

He always asks where you're going and who your new friends are. Don't get him wrong, Magnificus its just worried and care about you, both your physical and mental health. He wants to make it more than clear that you are not just anyone, but the child of Magnificus. Perhaps this sudden fame and a lot of people treating you like royalty might irritate you slightly, so it would be best to talk to Magnificus about the situation if that's what bothers you, so he can make an attempt to sort things out.

I don't think Magnificus is one of the best fathers, so he puts a lot of expectations on you as his child, but over time he realizes that you are not a saint and sometimes you just don't have the physical/mental strength to do certain things , he tries to lighten the weight of expectations and responsibilities on you while you're still just a kid, you deserve to be free :]

And like Grimora, Magnificus likes to shower you with verbal support, always telling you he's proud of you for doing your chores. Sometimes, he even gives you gifts that he knows you like!

Magnificus is also a great listener. The moment between the two of you while Magnificus paints a picture and you talk endlessly about your interests is pleasant for him. Speaking of painting, you're the first person he shows the paintings he's done!

.

Oof, P03 is a tough one.

P03 never planned or was interested in having a child, and yet, here you are.

P03 is horrible at showing the affection they have for someone. The easiest type of affection for P03 to express affection is simply helping you with whatever difficulties you are having.

They help you pick up things you can't reach for your size, helps you with tasks you're having and listens to you talk about the horrible day you had (with a bonus of them calling whoever bothered you an asshole. And having something against that person after that day).

And of course P03 will teach you strategies and how to play cards, saying that "I don't want to suffer the shame of having a horrible player as a child", but in fact he meant "Omfg I don't want anyone calling my kid a loser I want them to be the best so they can be proud of themselfand not have their mental health destroyed by idiots"

And when P03 praises a drawing you made for it or completed a task or won a card battle, it just says "Good job Y/N", with a lil' pat pat in your head. But he SWEARS he's been so positively affected by the things you've done, he just has a big problem expressing it. So please, do tell him if you don't feel appreciated enough, and P03 will make an attempt to show his true feeling more.

[erebusbabylon]

Threads of Fate Chapters 15 and 16

Find chapters 13 and 14 HERE

CHAPTERS FIFTEEN AND SIXTEEN

Chapter Fifteen: A Forgotten Response

Two weeks had passed since your conversation with Miroden, and winter had firmly settled over Eregion. The landscape was transformed into a serene wonderland, blanketed in soft snow that glistened like diamonds under the pale winter sun. 

Miroden had decided to take some time off to visit a distant friend, leaving you to tend to the healing needs of Eregion alone. It felt strange without his steady presence, but you welcomed the solitude. It gave you space to reflect on your thoughts and feelings, particularly regarding Celebrimbor and the growing connection you felt toward him.

On one particularly frosty morning, as you arranged glass jars of herbs in the small greenhouse, you felt a familiar presence behind you. Turning, you found Celebrimbor standing in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the pale light.

“Good morning,” he said, a warm smile spreading across his face. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” you replied, your heart quickening at the sight of him. “I was just finishing up.”

He stepped inside, shaking off the cold from his cloak. “I wanted to see if you would join me at the forge tomorrow. There’s much to show you, and I believe you’ll find it fascinating.”

A thrill ran through you at the invitation. “I would love that,” you said, trying to remain composed. The thought of being in the forge, watching him work, sent a rush of warmth through the winter chill.

“Wonderful,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’ll prepare something special for you to see.”

As he spoke, you felt an undeniable pull toward him, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing moment. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was what Miroden meant about embracing your fate.

After your conversation, you spent the rest of the day in a pleasant haze, thoughts of the forge and Celebrimbor swirling in your mind.

As dusk approached, you heard a soft knock on your chamber doors.

As you opened the door, you were greeted by a herald holding a letter, his posture formal and respectful. Your eyes fell upon Gil-galad's familiar seal, and a jolt of realization struck you like lightning—you had never responded to his last correspondence.

“For you, my lady,” the herald said, bowing slightly as he presented the letter.

You accepted it from him, feeling the weight of your oversight, and thanked him sincerely.

After closing the door, you took a moment to gather yourself, the letter heavy in your hands. You moved to a nearby table, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating the intricate seal. Slowly, you broke the wax and unfolded the parchment, your heart racing with anticipation.

Gil-galad's elegant script flowed across the page, each word imbued with warmth and familiarity:

My Dearest, I hope this letter finds you well and in good spirits. I never heard back from you after your initial letter, and I find myself longing for news of your days in Eregion. I trust that the beauty of the land has captivated you, as it often does for those who visit. I wish to know how you are faring, and I am eager to hear of your studies. I trust you have been exceedingly busy, and thus unable to write.  Eregion is known for its artisans, and I hope you are finding inspiration in the work of Celebrimbor and his smiths. I hope Lord Celebrimbor has been a gracious host.  Please write back at your earliest convenience. I miss you. With all my love, Gil-galad

You set the letter down, a sudden wave of guilt and shame washing over you. How could you have forgotten to respond to his last letter? It had been nearly a month since you received it.

While it was true that your studies had consumed much of your attention, if you were completely honest with yourself, it was Celebrimbor who had occupied your thoughts, drawing your mind away from Lindon and your beloved Gil-galad.

You grabbed fresh parchment and ink, setting to work on your letter. The words flowed easily at first, but as you continued, you found it increasingly difficult to express your true feelings about Eregion. Should you lie? Should you confess to Gil-galad that you were caught in a tempest of confusion? Or would it be better not to mention Celebrimbor at all?

Your mind raced with questions and doubts, each thought pulling you in a different direction.

Finally, after much inner turmoil you managed to finish your response.

My beloved, I hope this letter finds you well. It feels like an eternity since I last wrote to you, and I must beg your forgiveness for my silence. The days here in Eregion have been filled with a whirlwind of activity, and I find myself lost in my studies, often forgetting to pause and reflect on the world beyond. Eregion is a land of beauty and wonder, its landscapes a tapestry of shimmering light and vibrant colors. The gardens are alive with winter blooms, even as the snow begins to blanket the ground. Each day, I learn something new, whether it be about the rich history of this place or the intricate arts of crafting and forging. Master Miroden is wise and patient, guiding me through the complexities of the knowledge I seek. Lord Celebrimbor has been an exceptionally gracious host. A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of dining with him and several of his advisors. It was a delightful evening, rich with conversation, and I gained valuable insights into the politics of this realm. The experience served as excellent preparation for my forthcoming role as High Queen. I miss you an immeasurable amount. Yours forever

You gazed down at your words, a shadow of guilt looming over you. As you carefully folded your response, you reminded yourself that you had done nothing wrong and, therefore, had no reason to feel guilty.

Chapter Sixteen: The Land of Holly

The following morning, you got up before the sun to ready yourself for the day ahead. At dawn's break you found yourself stepping into the forge, a place alive with the sounds of clanging metal and the warmth of glowing embers. Celebrimbor welcomed you with a smile, his presence radiating both confidence and passion.

“I’m glad you could join me today,” he said, motioning for you to follow him. “Let me introduce you to the other smiths.”

As you walked through the bustling workshop, you met several skilled craftsmen, each engrossed in their work. They greeted you warmly, their camaraderie evident in their laughter and banter. You felt a sense of belonging in this vibrant atmosphere, where creativity and tradition blended seamlessly.

Celebrimbor guided you to his own workspace, a  semi-private section of the forge that seemed to shimmer with possibility. He gestured toward a delicate silver and emerald bracelet he was crafting. “This is what I’m working on today,” he said, pride evident in his voice. "A silver bracelet."

You watched, captivated, as he skillfully shaped the metal. The intricate design featured holly leaves, their curves and edges reflecting the light in a way that made the piece seem almost alive. There was something undeniably alluring about watching him work, the way his hands moved with precision and grace, each strike of the hammer echoing with purpose. A warmth spread through you, and your face became flushed with desire. 

Hours slipped by as you observed, lost in the artistry of the forge. Celebrimbor seemed to become part of the very elements around him—metal, fire, and earth—his focus unwavering.

Finally, he turned to you, a playful glint in his eyes. “Would you like to join me for lunch?”

You nodded, eager to break the spell of silence that had enveloped the forge. He led you to his upstairs study, a cozy room filled with books and artifacts, where the scent of freshly baked bread filled the air.

As you dined together, the conversation flowed easily, laughter punctuating the air. You felt a sense of ease in his company. It was a moment of respite, a chance to connect beyond the confines of duty and expectation.

After you finished eating, Celebrimbor stood and walked to his workbench, retrieving the bracelet he had been crafting earlier. He returned with it in hand, a look of earnestness on his face. “This is for you,” he said softly. “I want you to have it as a reminder of your time in Eregion.”

You took the bracelet, the silver cool against your fingers, and your breath caught in your throat. The holly leaves intricately carved into the design spoke of the land itself—Eregion, the land of holly. Tears welled in your eyes, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of his gift.

“It’s beautiful,” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

Without thinking, you jumped up and hugged him tightly, wanting to convey the depth of your gratitude. As you pressed against him, a sharp pulling sensation pierced through your chest, causing you to gasp.

Celebrimbor stiffened, confusion flickering across his features. “What was that?” he asked, concern etching his brow. "Did you feel that?"

You pulled away, breathless, your heart racing. “I… I don’t know,” you replied, bewildered, rubbing the spot on your chest where the pain had been.

Celebrimbor stepped closer, and you instinctively took a step back. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “This is all just too much.”

His eyes softened with understanding. “We can’t keep pretending that nothing is happening between us,” he said gently. “It will only drive us both mad.”

"Stop!" You shook your head, panic rising within you. “No, my future is already written,” you said firmly. “I will become Gil-galad’s bride and the High Queen of the Noldor.”

You swallowed hard, forcing down the emotions threatening to spill over. “Thank you for the bracelet, and thank you for your hospitality” you added, your voice steady but strained.

With that, you turned away, leaving the warmth of the forge and the lingering connection behind. Each step felt heavier as you walked away, the weight of your choices pressing down on you, the bracelet clutched tightly in your hand as you stepped back into the winter chill.

[missy-the-dragon]

Today I share my finished (Main) Slugcat Gijinkas. I hope you enjoy them! I made the designs to be as androgynous as possible, however you are free to refer to the slugcats with any pronouns you'd like.

I'll share their design notes under each image :3!

Spear Master- I wanted to go for a pretty intimidating look while also keeping a sense of elegance and professionalism because above all they really are just a glorified mailman. Their hair is tied up so they can get a good shot with their spears and they wear dark colors to be able to traverse without being noticed. The mask up on their face is for fashion and to cover up the fact that they simply don't have a mouth. All of their communication is through sign language and their eyes and eyebrows.

Hunter- They're on the move. Constantly. CONSTANTLY. So I gave them clothes to travel in. Pants that tie up easily a pouch for small items and the world's probably worst smelling tank top ever. I forgot their rot initially so that got added. I wanted them to have a pretty stern rbf kinda face. And also their hair is chopped up like that from both self inflicted horrid haircuts and pissed lizards. Also their ears are permanently affixed into alert mode. Good upper body and lower body. Scars from plenty of conflicts. They have dimples and thicker brows.

Gourmand- Someone who pursues food and specifically hunts for it on their own. I wanted their clothes to be comfortable but also convenient but also professional. But they're honestly a fashion crime and they know it. Their clothes under the button up shirt are easy to move in and the apron doubles as a cloak. They're usually not THIS well dressed and usually have a bit more protection on considering they hunt stuffs to eat whether it be literally or just foraging. They're also pretty muscular in the upper body but their legs are a tad noodly. But I think you should know they would probably body half the slugcats with physical prowess alone. Shorter hair for convenience because hair in your food isn't pleasant. And a short chunky tail because it's cute. They were tricky but I just designed what I thought would be fun in this case and they're based on my old culinary teacher slightly. I think I will give them new clothes sometime though.

Artificer- They're litterally at war w scavengers like. They need to be well dressed for that. The black under their shirt is actually pretty thick for withstanding blows and there's a brace on one of their arms (I feel like constantly exploding fucks up ur nerves y'know?) to keep their aim steady with spears n bombs. Also their tail is bent at a werid angle! Still functional but it has a lil knot in it. Under their clothes there are vents in their body to release heat. They're one of the older slugcats. Gnarly claws on their hands and feet.

Rivulet- Rivulet was hard for me because I was sure what I wanted to go with when I was doing them. I gave them kind of a more sporty active build made for swimming. I thought it would also be interesting to give them a camera. But this was mostly me just clowning on their big eyes. Under the jacket and cargo shorts they are wearing the world's goofiest swim attire. Floral print and all. Their ears are also ALOT smaller than the other cats.

Saint- They were incredibly fun for me design wise but I struggled to figure out what kind of body type to give them. Their hair is in a thick braid and their bangs cover their eyes. They also still have a sticky tongue. I decided not to draw their eyes open. I think it's more fun to leave an interpretation for them on what you think they look like. I gave them a robe with wool on the inside so they aren't cold.

Survivor (I know it's spelled wrong I'm tired)&Monk- My friends said to not separate them so I didn't. I've always imagined survivor as the taller slimmer sibling with a average build and Monk with a bit more weight on them and a bit shorter. The braids in their hair are from each other. I gave them simple robes to wear something flexible to move in but also comfortable for travel. They're basically supposed to be opposite in every way. A little fun bit is that monk's bangs is supposed to look like the final karma symbol.

I'm done! I will eventually make a post with the last two slugcats which are Inv/Enot and Nightcat but I'm not sure in their designs yet. Until then thank you for reading all of this and taking the time to look at my art and design! And reblogs in this post are greatly appreciated!

[wastingstarlight]

Prompt idea, that has been spooking in my head for a while: Soap having some mental issues and Ghost being his weight blanket, when he can't have his real one. Hope this doesn't sound too weird. Thx for listening

not weird at all; love this prompt!! thanks so much for sending it in 💜

rating: T length: ~700 words CWs: guns, wartime violence, suicide reference, nightmares, insomnia

///

The gangster’s snarled promise swirls in Soap’s ear.

These deaths are on you.

Bang, bang, bang, bang. Four shots. He’ll never forget those four shots.

Silence.

Soap squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them, there’s a pistol in his hand. An unknown force is directing his arm to raise the gun, point it at the civilians cowering in the corner. It’s his finger pulling the trigger.

Soap wants to scream, to kick, to fight, but he can’t; he just watches in horror as one by one they fall dead.

Bang, bang, bang.

Then he’s turning the gun to himself, the barrel cold against his temple.

Bang.

Two steaming mugs settle on the table next to him and break Soap’s daze. He blinks. The mug of tea currently clutched between his palms has long gone cold. How long has he been sitting here?

Ghost’s dark, familiar form sinks into the seat at Soap’s left. His balaclava is rolled up to his nose, exposing a heavy dusting of white-blond stubble. Ghost nudges one of the mugs towards Soap and takes the other for himself.

Soap makes a noise that’s halfway between a greeting and a thank you and pries his fingers off of his mug, reaching carefully for the new one.

“Wanna talk about it?” Ghost asks, voice gruff. They’re still new at this, new at…talking about things.

Soap shakes his head. “Not right now,” he murmurs. He doesn’t think he’s managed to string more than a couple of hours of sleep together since he returned from the mission six days ago. He’s running on fumes, nerves raw, and if he talks, he’ll break.

They drink in silence.

“Come to bed.” 

Soap blinks. “Not really up for foolin’ around tonight, Lt. Rain check?”

Since Ghost’s balaclava is still pushed up, Soap gets the distinct pleasure of watching the blush spread down Ghost’s neck.

“To sleep, MacTavish,” Ghost growls. “I assume you do that.”

“Not lately,” Soap replies with a flicker of a bitter smile. But Ghost knew that, didn’t he? And this was his way of trying to help. After a heartbeat, Soap relents, damn him. “Maybe your bed is better than mine.”

“It is,” Ghost says without a hint of anything but sincerity. He’s on his feet, balaclava pulled back down, and Soap has no choice but to follow.

The sleeping together is another one of those things they’re new at. It had started a month after Las Almas with a couple of life-affirming handjobs traded at a safehouse and turned into…well, whatever this was. Stolen moments when no one was watching. Gasps of life in a world of death.

Not that Soap’s complaining. He’s had a crush on Ghost since the moment they’d fuckin’ met and he’s a greedy bastard; he’ll take whatever Ghost gives him.

And, tonight, Ghost really does want to just sleep.

The bed creaks as they settle into it. The scent of Ghost is overwhelming and it’s almost enough for Soap to forget. Ghost’s arm curls around Soap’s waist and Soap has to fight back a shudder.

But when Soap closes his eyes, he still sees the bloodless faces of the people he wasn’t quick enough to save.

“Could you—” Soap starts, then snaps his mouth shut. No, it’s stupid.

“Anything, Johnny,” Ghost murmurs, breath hot on the back of Soap’s neck, and in what world can Soap say no to that?

“Would you mind…like this…” Soap mumbles, shuffling them around in a pile of limbs until he’s on his back and Ghost is all but on top of him, face curled into Soap’s neck.

Soap takes a deep breath and all he can smell is the shampoo in Ghost’s hair, all he can feel is the pleasant resistance of Ghost’s bulk against his chest as he inhales. He feels small. He feels safe. 

He could sob with how good it is. Instead, he exhales shakily and presses a kiss on Ghost’s temple. Ghost presses a kiss to his shoulder in return.

Finally, finally, Soap sleeps. And it isn’t easy and it isn’t peaceful, and the faces of those civilians never leave him, but the rhythm of Ghost’s breath—his heavy, solid presence—is enough to lull him back under every time.

[lorbanery]

Shenanigans are happening.

...

Okay, not really shenanigans.

I found instructions to make an Edwardian skirt and we made one for Halloween out of this suiting wool we had lying around. And I LOVE it.

I've been wearing it CONSTANTLY. It's light but still warm; it's so hydrophobic that I didn't realize until hours later that I'd accidentally spilled coffee on it on Halloween and I was able to just blot it off; it's fitted at the top but got a great swirl at the hem; since I made it, it's the correct length to be long without worrying about it dragging on the ground; and I can dress it up or down as I see fit.

So when it came time to put together a list of things I wanted for the holidays, I realized that one of the major things that I really wanted was a bunch more of these skirts. Long, swirly, made out of hardy natural fibers. So I could just transition into a Skirt Wearer. The problem being that we don't, in general, have on hand the amount of fabric needed to make another skirt in my size, even in a poly. BUT there's a discount fabric store less than an hour away from us that has a decent selection of wool for less than a third of the price you would pay buying new. So what I asked for was a trip there and a budget to buy enough fabric for a few skirts.

I was thinking maybe three more, but the prices were even lower than I expected and I ended up with enough for six skirts — 4 wool and 2 linen, 3 mid/heavy weight and 3 light weight. Also a bonus tatting needle because I wanted to try tatting lace and it was only $6 and came with instructions and a simple pattern, so why not?

Another bonus? That greyish green one right above the houndstooth? It looks like stripes, but it's actually wool corduroy! Which was a pleasant surprise! I picked it out on the color alone, the back of it looks similar to the Lothlorien cloaks, but it was folded up on a shelf and, like most textured fabrics, was folded inside-out to protect the texture. So I didn't actually see that it was corduroy until I got it up to the counter and unfolded it a bit to get a better sense of it.

That one and the houndstooth, I think, are going to be split down the front and get some buttons. The other two wools are just going to be plain. The linen skirts I'm thinking about doubling up as petticoats for under the wool skirts on particularly cold days. Which might end up including a removable ruffle. This was apparently a Thing around the turn of the century. The ruffle would add some extra fullness to the bottom of the skirt, protect the actual hem of the petticoat from damage (since it would be worn and laundered more often than the skirt), and be sewn to keep the gather, and then basted onto the pettycoat for easy removal to wash or mend or replace it.

I suspect I'm gonna be too lazy to actually do that. So either one of the linen skirts will just have a permanent ruffle, or I'll make a removable ruffle and it'll just sit in the back of my closet.

But I'm GREATLY looking forward to this, especially with all I learned from the first skirt.

Also tatting? The lowest bar for learning a new needlework craft. It's a single long needle, and there's only one stitch. There's some trickyness to it starting out, i've gotten my rings knotted several times. But I do think part of that is because I'm using embroidery floss. I do actually have the correct yarn, I just have to go digging for it, and I had the embroidery floss more easily to hand.

[intrepidacious]

What if .... by some miracle (let's just pretend, no one cares how, this is only a what if) you found Bucky again, or Bucky found you in every dream gone. Would you live in that house again? Would you live in a new one? Stare at Wakandan sunsets? Give me something happy for them, pleeeease 💙

homecoming

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 775

warnings: continuation, in a way, of every dream gone. implied smut. if you want this to be pure fluff, refrain from reading the last sentence. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning

a/n: i know i said i wasn’t gonna write something else for these two but this is a what if scenario and i got inspired. also i'm sorry.

Summer was over, there was no doubt about it.

Fallen leaves were piling up on the side of the road, specks of orange and red coloring the muted gray of the neighborhood. It had rained again overnight, and the dreariness hadn’t managed to dry up yet.

Bucky wiped the condensation off the window with the sleeve of his pyjama top, rubbing sleep out of his eyes with the other hand. He was tempted to just go back to sleep, nightmares be damned. Today promised to be a day best spent in bed, ignoring the outside world and the cold that came with it.

"I made coffee."

He was smiling before he’d even fully turned around, a small weight slipping off his shoulders. He hoped he’d never stop having that reaction to your presence, no matter how used to it he got again.

"You are a saint," he told you earnestly as you handed him his mug, and it earned him a chuckle that made his stomach flip.

"You should just marry me, then," you said, humming in pleasant surprise when Bucky leaned over to kiss you.

"There’s an idea," he murmured, his grin ghosting over your cold cheek.

"I was thinking," you said as he caught your freezing fingers in his hand. One look downwards confirmed that you were once again not wearing socks, much preferring to run around barefoot despite the low temperatures. "What do you say to pancakes for breakfast?"

"I’d say you’re full of great ideas today," Bucky answered. He put down his mug on the window sill. "But I think I have a better one."

"Better than pancakes? I’d like to see tha—Bucky!"

You yelped when he suddenly picked you up, only to take a few long steps and toss you on the bed without much ceremony.

"Can’t have you catching a cold, sweetheart," he said when you looked at him with astonishingly big eyes, and he pulled the comforter up to your neck in one quick swoop.

You laughed, then, and it was still and always his favorite sound in the whole world. Everything else disappeared when you laughed, until it was only you and him and this moment.

Back in the forties, he fell in love with your laugh before he’d ever seen you. He’d been at some diner after a fight, not really paying attention to his surroundings all that much as he tiredly nursed his drink, when someone in the booth behind him erupted into a fit of laughter that hit him like lightning.

Steve was sitting opposite him, hunched over his sketchbook, and he glanced up at the noise only to do a double take at Bucky, all wide eyes and pink cheeks. There was something about you from that very first indescribable instant, even before Bucky turned around and found himself looking at the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

You never believed him when he told you it’d been love at first sight for him, but that didn’t make it any less true.

When you stopped laughing, he was still looking at you, and your gaze went soft. It was probably written all across his face, how much he adored you. How lucky he was to have gotten you back after all this time.

"Now what?" you said.

"Hmmm," Bucky hummed, rubbing his nose against yours, "let’s see."

If he could spend the rest of his life kissing you, he’d die a happy man after all.

Your fingers curled into the hair at the base of his neck, tugging slightly until he kissed you more deeply. He swallowed that little sound at the back of your throat and made it his mission to taste it again, your legs kicking the comforter away to wrap around his waist.

It was then that your stomach growled loud enough to startle the neighbors, and the two of you broke apart with a snort.

"I think I’ll enjoy your idea even more after breakfast," you said, slowly untangling yourself.

You kept giggling as he buried his face in your neck and rolled the two of you around, letting out a dramatic sigh.

Vanilla and peonies. Nothing and no one else could make him feel at home like you.

"Pancakes it is."

You made a happy sound and pecked him on the lips one last time before making your way back downstairs, step creaking. Bucky watched you with a smile still on his face, attempting to catch his breath before following you. He felt it in his heart that everything was going to be okay.

Westview was the perfect place for the two of you to start again.

:)

thank you for reading!! comments fuel my soul and creative madness so feel free to leave one. if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

[netherzon]

Nadezhda

This is for the @hws-anthology Secret Santa exchange! I present to you, my gift for @arachnoidmater! Their request was "anything with Russia" so I hope this is alright ^^'

Pairing: Canada/Russia (not explicit)

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 3512

Featuring: human and dog OCs, dog sledding, Kuma is a full size polar bear again, and questionable winter camping advice

Summary: Russia takes a vacation to the Chukotka Autonomous Okrug, where he meets an old friend and makes a new one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a special occasion whenever he came out this far. The travel had become much easier with the invention of planes, but there still wasn’t much out here. Not for him. Not for work. Not anymore.

Besides, it was nice to have something that remained mostly the same.

He made the journey slowly, using a train when he could, and when the train tracks ran out he rented a snowmobile. There weren’t always roads here either —the Chukotka Highway was still unfinished, and wouldn’t extend Lorino even if it was — but in the middle of winter that was not such a problem. There was plenty of snow.

Perhaps one day that would also change.

Thoughts for another time.

He rode all night long. A human would never be able to make this journey the way he did, especially not while carrying winter camping supplies the way he was. Regular camping supplies felt heavy enough until one experienced the weight of winter camping gear. He didn’t want to dig into those just yet, though. He needed to save food for the next part of his trip.

Plus, he liked arriving in the morning. That was half the fun of traveling east. Watching the gradual lightening of his surroundings, feeling the gradual warmth as the sun finally slipped up into the sky. The weather was pleasant despite the season, and it made him smile under the scarf covering the lower half of his face.

He rides all the way into town. People hardly glance at him as he goes by. Without proper roads, snowmobiles in the winter and ATVs in the summer were common forms of transport. He too utilized them when necessary, but he also found them cold. Inhospitable. He craved something else.

He passes many dogs on the ride, some of whom follow him to his destination. They run beside him, tongues lolling out of their mouths as he approaches the wooden building, their home. The bright blue exterior paint has been stripped away in some spots, but the painted sign is legible even from a distance: чуко́тская ездова́я - Chukotka Sled Dogs.

He pulls up to the porch outside. One brave dog approaches him, almost all black besides his stomach and a thin rail of white fur up his nose. He recognizes this as one of the eponymous Chukotka breed sled dogs. The dog puts its front paws in his lap, even with the engine of the snowmobile still rumbling, and licks at his face. This makes Ivan laugh. The dog responds by licking him more enthusiastically. He can hardly see through his goggles now, but that’s alright.

A sharp voice calls, “тень!” - Shadow, and the dog immediately climbs off his lap. A woman with a wrinkled face and long gray hair stands in the doorway. The dog obediently lays down at her feet.

Ivan grins at her. “I assume this is one of the leaders,” he says cheerfully. He stands from the snowmobile, wobbling a little as he readjusts the weight of his pack.

Pulling a rag out of one of her many pockets, the woman gestures for his goggles. The shine of the sun makes Ivan blink a couple times. A few other dogs gather around them. Even more approach the woman, hoping for treats. Ivan assumes this woman runs the tour company.

His goggles are significantly cleaner when she hands them back to him.

“I am Zinaida,” she says.

“Thank you, I am Ivan,” he says, appreciatively. He keeps it simple for now. The woman is not wearing a coat, and he can see she is already starting to shiver. Her skin has thinned with age.

Zinaida nods, and turns back towards the warmth of the building, making it clear she is uninterested in small talk outside. Ivan follows her. The entrance appears to be a singular office, with a small, lit fireplace to one side. Leather hides cover the walls to block the draft. It is sort of like an inside out yaranga. Seeing it makes Ivan both smile and feel deeply sad.

“Are you here for a tour?” Zinaida sits down heavily in a chair by the fire. The wood creams in tune with the crackling of the fire. She picks up a sewing project she must have been working on before Ivan got there. It’s hard to tell what she’s making, but it looks large and warm. She multitasks through the whole conversation.

Ivan drops his sack of camping gear on the floor and sits down in the other chair, quickly removing all his outer layers. Hopefully this will not take long, but it would be worse to overheat. Shadow places himself between them.

“No,” Ivan says, ”I only need a sled team.”

The woman regards him: his fur and leather gear, his content smile despite the season, his stature. She must judge him to be a competent sled driver, because her next question is “How long?”

Ivan watches her practiced fingers pushing and pulling thread through treated leather. Rather than a number of hours, he answers, “Three or four days.”

She frowns minutely. Ivan does not take it personally. A stranger has entered her town and just asked to take six of the dogs she and her family rely on for multiple days into unpredictable conditions without the usual supervision they get. This would give anyone pause.

Ivan knows Zinaida is not the type for spur of the moment adventures like this, but she must sense something abnormal about him. Something in his eyes or the way the light of the fire flickers across his face is something beyond human. After another few minutes of studying him silently, she says yes, to Ivan’s surprise. “Only my slowest dogs,” she specifies, “And I want all of your information before you go.” Her face makes it clear that Ivan will be found personally responsible for anything that might happen to the dogs, or if any of them are not returned. He readily agrees.

An hour later he has a lightweight wooden sled, the kind with a basket for multi day trips. He is grateful to store his heavy camping equipment there instead. Zinaida calls all the dogs in —- Ivan counts 26 at least —and singles out the slowest of them, so if Ivan proves to be a runaway dog thief, they would be able to catch him.

He is introduced to five new dogs: another Chukotka sled dog, one Siberian husky, and three Yakutian Laikas. A few have gray appearing along their muzzle. Ivan wonders if it was a natural coloration, or signs of age. It would explain Zinaida’s assessment that these would be the worst getaway dogs.

Regardless, they are all impeccably trained. “My husband and my son used to handle the dog training,” Zinaida explains as she tests his knowledge of harnessing the dogs. “Now, my son is teaching my grandchildren how to do it.”

Ivan does not meet any of these people before he leaves, but the loving warmth in Zinaida’s voice as she speaks of them prompts him to ask more. “So this is a family business?”

It is the wrong conversational path to take. Zinaida gives a noncommittal shake of her head, something between a physical yes or no. “It is how we live,” and she says no more about it.

“How old are your grandchildren?” Ivan goes for a less loaded subject.

Zinaida’s warm smile returns to her face. “I have five grandchildren,” she states proudly, “one is 14, old enough now that we are teaching him to see the trails so he can lead tours one day. Another is 12. When the 14 year old has learned, we will have him teach the 12 year old on the trails. The others are all under 8. We have them work with only the puppies for now.”

As she talks about her family, Ivan hooks the five dogs onto the gang line. A few other dogs paw at the harnesses, evidently disappointed at not being chosen for this ride. It is then that Ivan notices that there is no lead dog for this team yet.

“Sorry,” Ivan begins, interrupting Zinaida’s story about how one of her brothers once got into a fistfight with a whale, “who will be the lead dog?”

Zinaida glances towards Shadow. The dog waits eagerly by the end of the gang line, tail wagging. Ivan is sure that he is not the slowest of their lead dogs, but Zinaida says, “Shadow seems fond of you,” and so he begins strapping the dog in, more slowly than the others in case Zinaida decides she wants him to take a different dog.

She does not stop him. She merely scratches Shadow’s ear, and says a prayer for their safe travels.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nobody bats an eye at Ivan as they leave town, as unsurprised by dog sleds as they are snowmobiles.

The land around Lorino is an open, hilly tundra caught between the The team, used to hunting trips on the ice flows, begin curving towards the beach out of habit. They follow the tracks from other sleds that Ivan can still see, but he wants to remain inland. Ivan gives the command “Le!”, before he remembers the right word. “Ho!” he calls, and the dogs quickly turn. Ivan sees a thicket of trees in the distance, and he aims for those.

The weather remains beautiful in this open expanse of white, and the trees are still quite far. So far they’ve stayed at a relaxed jogging pace, but Ivan gives the command to speed up.

The dogs are zooming across the ice now. Ivan clings to the handle bar of the sled through his mittens and laughs, pure unburdened joy.

They pass many whale bone markers standing up through the landscape. Jaw bones and ribs curl up into the air, reminders of the area’s maritime culture. Further down the path they had been following Ivan spots two other dog teams, this time with hunting sleds, canoes strapped to the backs. He waves to them, still laughing loudly.

It takes an hour to reach the tree line. Here they pause for a light lunch. When Ivan unhooks the dogs two of them immediately begin play-fighting.

“You still have so much energy!” he laughs. When they notice him digging out six collapsible dog bowls, they quickly put aside their differences.

“You burn a lot of energy in this environment, so eat up!” He gives them each one scoop of the high protein dog food Zinaida had given him. It looks like fish mush. It smells like fish mush. It’s probably some kind of fish mush.

The dog’s lick their bowls clean. Ivan is glad for the bread and cheese he packed for himself.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It was many hours before they stopped to camp for the night. He didn’t have a real destination in mind, so it was a good thing he couldn’t get lost. He could just ride and ride and ride, enjoy the wilderness, enjoy the company. Whatever guides him is something intangible, an internal sense of the path, a path. One that has not been used in a long time. It does not take long to reach a distance where they no longer see any other people.

When Ivan finally decides he’s found a flat enough area among the trees, they stop. This time, the dogs lounge around, having gotten most of their energy out on the way there. Their attempts to play are half-hearted, only the Husky is still in the mood. The others whine with irritation when she tries to engage them. One of the other dogs leans against his legs. They remain as vocal as before. Only the lead dog, Shadow, is still in work mode. He circles around the camp, sniffing everything, assessing, before flopping down right where Ivan had planned to put the tent.

He walks over to try and convince the dog to move somehow. It doesn’t work. Shadow stares up at him with big brown sad eyes, you wouldn’t make me get up and move would you? The plan is abandoned before he even gets a word out.

So the tent might be tilting slightly. Could be worse.

Shadow gets comfy, even curled up in the snow. Ivan stays bundled up as he searches for mostly level ground for the tent. It is most important that the thermal sleeping pads will not shift inside the tent. It will be their first defense from the frozen ground. Their next defense will be heavy duty sleeping bags, then their layers of clothes. The ancillary heat source, their fire pit, he arranges after the tent is situated.

The sun is beginning to set when he hears the echoing barks of a different team of dogs. The dogs around him perk up, curiously. He feels that itchy feeling they all get when another nation is coming closer.

Through the trees, another sled and dog team appears. Someone equally bundled up in furs clings to the back.

The mystery person’s identity is proven when Ivan looks further back and sees the great white bear following behind the sled at an easy pace.

“Hello!” Matthew greets him as the sled pulls up to Ivan’s camp. Pieces of his curly hair stick out from under the edges of his hat, bouncing as Matthew hops off and starts unhooking his own dogs. Matthew has also brought a six dog team, but he recognizes them as an Alaskan Husky, two Samoyeds, two Qimmiq dogs, and a Siberian Husky. Not breeds he’d be likely to find in Russia.

“How did you get all those dogs across the border?” He asks.

Matthew’s answer is cagey. “On a boat,” he says.

“Ahh,” Ivan laughs a little, “‘Illegally’ is what I am hearing.”

“Then you didn’t hear anything,” Matthew snaps back playfully.

“Perhaps I did not,” Ivan agrees, offering Kuma a nose rub as the bear nudges the side of his head. It’s a miracle that the dogs do not freak out at his presence in the camp considering their use in polar bear hunts, but he also knows Kuma manages to be invisible to humans too sometimes. It must be related to that. “What would you do if I did ask to see their papers?”

“I would show them to you,” Matthew answers honestly, “but it’s a hassle to do all that with border guards even for one dog, much less six all at once.” Ivan nods in agreement as Matthew continues, “So it’s just easier to bring them over through port. It’s not that they weren’t declared, I just had each one paired with a different crew member, they did the work for me.”

“Ohh, that’s a clever strategy!” Ivan is not at all bothered by Matthew’s flagrant disregard for the Federation’s pet import restrictions. If the roles were reversed, he would’ve done the same.

It is lucky Matthew picked up firewood on his way. Ivan had expected they’d go the first night without a fire as the wood they would collect around them would need to dry out before it was usable. Instead, they get a fire going then, and the difference in the warmth of the tent is tangible. They leave the fire burning low overnight. It’s not recommended, but Matthew assures him Kuma would wake them up if anything went wrong.

Matthew goes to sleep quickly, slightly behind from the shift in time zones. Ivan sleeps peacefully, lulled by Matthew’s light snores beside him.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next two days they spend the daylight hours sledding. They gradually pack down the safe paths. When something appears dangerous they warn each other. Kuma keeps guard. If there were any wild animals who might have bothered them, the bear’s presence keeps them away, although the howling of the wolves at night still spooks the dogs.

When it is dark, they return to the camp they’ve established. They move the warm stones from the fire pit close to the tent each morning to maintain a heat source during the day. There is only one close call with their heat source. Ivan cut a small ventilation hole at the top of the tent so they can keep a candle inside. On the evening of the second day, Matthew accidentally knocks it over. He quickly grabs it, saving their tent from catching fire, but the hot wax and glass burn his hands badly. It will heal by the morning, but for that night Matthew pouts all through dinner.

“This is embarrassing,” he mutters. His face feels like it's burning as much as his hands.

Ivan scoops up another spoonful of their rehydrated rice and beans, “

Matthew opens his mouth to accept Ivan feeding him, but Ivan suddenly jerks the spoon back. He blows gently on it before presenting it to Matthew again. “Sorry, it looked too hot, and I would not want you to burn yourself,” he teases.

Matthew glares at him for a moment, before taking the food. “You’re gonna feed me s’mores by hand too for that,” he declares, “We still have a tent to sleep in because of me.”

Ivan’s smile widens, “Of course. You have earned it.”

They entertain themselves with various means. Ivan packed a couple small books. Matthew brought a pack of cards. During dinner they watch the dogs follow Kumajiro around. Whatever the dogs know of Kuma’s presence, it seems they can sense his body heat. The dogs go from sleeping all in a pile together, to snuggling with the bear. Occasionally Kuma huffs and tries to move away, but all twelve dogs follow him every time.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The third morning begins as peacefully as the others, but with no small amount of disappointment that their vacation must come to an end. They do not speak about it. They do not have to. It is clear enough in how they reluctantly take apart their camp.

At least they will both be going through Lorino, so they will travel back together. Ivan must return the sled and the dogs to Zinaida, and Matthew’s return ship will leave from the harbor there.

Following the paths they’ve tread for three days now, the travel is faster, even if they don’t want it to be. The two teams burst out of the woods in a flurry of snow and coniferous evergreen needles. As long as they are in the woods they prioritize safety, but now the landscape stretches out around them again, flat and smooth. Ivan glances over at Matthew, the shape of his smile under his face guard. Matthew glances back, and briefly pulls down his face guard. His smile is better described as a mischievous grin when he calls out to his team, and suddenly they are racing away at full speed.

Shadow watches them pass by. When Ivan gives the call to keep pace with them, it feels like Shadow was waiting for it. Matthew’s laughter rings out across the ice when he glances back at them.

The last thing Ivan hears before the wind is roaring in his ears is a loud huff from behind him. Kuma had been keeping pace with them in the woods, but rather than speed up, Kuma starts to walk more slowly. The bear speaks into Ivan’s mind, I refuse to run.

By then Ivan is out of range to respond. He is confident Kuma will be able to find the town if they get out of view, because Matthew must be confident of that if he left the bear so far back in the first place.

Ivan’s dogs are slower than Matthew’s, so his chances of winning this impromptu race are none. When Lorino appears on the horizon, Matthew takes pity and slows his team down, allowing Ivan to pull up alongside them. The ride together into town. Matthew is still slightly ahead, but the fun doesn’t come from winning. Their smiles are equally wide as they stop outside Zinaida’s business.

“Well,” Matthew begins, “Thank you for inviting me to do this.” He does not unharness his dogs, likely planning on riding them to the boat.

“You are welcome,” Ivan answers honestly, “and you are welcome to come with me anytime.”

Matthew smiles sweetly. “Maybe we’ll make this an annual trip,” he adds.

Before Ivan can agree, Zinaida opens the door and the loose dogs rush towards her. Even as she turns away to keep them from jumping on her, she looks at Ivan appreciatively. Her relief at having all the dogs returned safely is palpable. Later, Ivan will offer to cook dinner for her and her family as another thank you.

A ship blows its horn to announce its approach, and Matthew interrupts, “I had better get going now, but seriously, thank you for inviting me.”

Ivan grabs his sleeve before he can get going. “We will do this again,” he states.

Matthew smiles, and calls “Hike!” to his team. Ivan watches them speed away.

“Did you have a good trip, then?” Zinaida asks behind him.

“Yes,” he answers, cold air burning his lungs, “Yes I did.”

[thesinglesjukebox]

FKA TWIGS - "EUSEXUA"

Forever 'til the end of time...

[7.70]

Ian Mathers: First part: I do wish more pop music sounded like its makers had heard "Windowlicker" at least once, yeah. Second part: why does it suddenly feel like we're freefalling without a parachute? Third part: you know what, they should have gone with "braindance" back in the day. [8]

Grace Robins-Somerville: Everyone should burn down their place of work and host a rave inside its charred shell. This song is so fucking good. Twigs can do whatever she wants forever.  [9]

Will Adams: The office choreo clip that kept bouncing around my timeline upon the video's release was a fake-out; the stuttering boom-boom beat in the prelude is a separate song entirely, "Drums of Death." "Eusexua" proper is breathtaking in the way the best trance music is: strobing, nervous, euphoric all at once. The titular concept would seem overwrought were it not explicated as flawlessly as Twigs does here. Her voice is suspended in mid-air as the track swirls around her, until everything falls away and she is lifted to that higher state. [9]

Jel Bugle: It’s ponderous, and I had to google what "eusexua" is: "a state of being" and "the pinnacle of human experience." I didn’t really get to the summit of human experience with this one – it’s kinda Perrie Edwards x Yeule, and I feel this leaves a sort of electronic slop. Maybe it’s the kind of thing that gets played in a club, rather than on a cold drizzly afternoon, The last 40 seconds are good, where it’s more disjointed and ethereal. That should have been the whole song. [5]

Katherine St. Asaph: Putting my editor's cap on: Twigs used 167 words to describe the indescribable "eusexua" when one word existed and would suffice, "ecstasy." Zero words, even, would suffice: the last part of this song. [8]

Mark Sinker: Listening to this engenders a state of being and the description of that state of being is: pleasant! In a somewhat nervous and spooky way! It’s not really a new state of being though, because I’ve heard other songs by FKA Twigs. It seems a vaguely needless pressure for everyone to invent a whole new word for it.   [7]

Taylor Alatorre: FKA Twigs is bad at naming things, including herself, but this is known. The syllables comprising "Eusexua" are an obstacle of her own making, which is apt for a song that portrays its (unfortunately) titular feeling as a state that must be fought and clawed for, even against one's better judgment. As depicted, the ascent to transcendence is a rather bumpy one, speckled with earthly crevices and frictions -- those chittering little clacks against the temple are what deny us an early exit from crass materiality. Twigs dances around her definitions because she knows that, despite what she says at one point, to transcribe would only tether her down further. She trusts in her voice, and its wide range of contortions, to do the real semantic lifting, and the trust pays itself back. Our reward for following her on this ersatz Eightfold Path is a guiltless surrender to the simple joys of trance, not in scare quotes but in full hands-up glory. It can't last forever, of course, but just long enough to have made the journey worth it under any name. [7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Maybe my standards are too high for her — at this point, I expect masterworks from Twigs every time, songs that will stop you in your tracks through novel stylistic choices or sheer emotive weight. "Eusexua" is instead merely a case of well-executed contemporary sophistipop, hitting all of the right semi-nostalgic synth tones and rhythms to feel like a moment of ecstasy on the dancefloor. Even when it slows down I don't get any more out of it; she phones it in a little, which is to say she does better than most working pop musicians.  [7]

Nortey Dowuona: I already felt constantly alone. It's my own damn fault. I'm getting older, so it's my job to fix it. That is when you reach eusexua. You finally hit the end of your excuses, rationalizations, punching up and down and delusions, and you swim free into your own eusexua. Fear is a common process -- it happens often when others are trying to drown you with their own despair -- but fear not; eusexua is here for them too. Look past yourself to see the despair and regret you constantly feel just for existing reflected in another's eyes; pull them too into eusexua. Eusexua will be our freedom, our community, our life. You will not have to be rich, you will not have to be handsome, you will be healed of your disabilities and difficulties, you will need no power or gratification, you will become part of us, and be a greater whole that will have you complete and loved. You will finally have help. [10]

Alfred Soto: Putting aside my FKA Twigs skepticism was easy: I'm a sucker for boom-clap stutterbeats. She channels K-pop and Fever Ray for the sake of inhabiting a reasonable facsimile of euphoria. She's always been reasonable. [7]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[loudlooks]

Day 9 - two steaming mugs

A/N: tiva nonsense

Tag for blocking/following: 30 days of fall

Prompt: two steaming mugs

Word count: 449

Two steaming mugs stood untouched on the coffee table, the cellphone  that lay next to them dinged as the screen lit up showing a new message.

Tony glanced at the screen, and huffed. "McGee."

"Work?"

Tony registered slight disappointment in her voice, and smiled as he leaned back against the couch. "No, he's trying to convince me Jar Jar Binks is a good character."

"Who?" Her fingers found their way back into his hair, playing with the short strands.

He hummed at the pleasant sensation, and closed his eyes. "Star Wars."

He felt her weight shift next to him as the pleasant sensation stopped abruptly. He turned his head to look at her.

"You have been arguing about Star Wars for three days, I thought you settled it during lunch?"

"There's a lot to argue about, especially with opinions as bad as McGee's."

Ziva pursed her lips, then reached for one of the mugs. "You just like to argue," she said coyly, before taking a sip and placing the mug back.

"You know me so well," he said leaning in.

From the corner of his eye he saw the phone's screen light up with a new message from McGee. He reached over, turned the phone upside down, and focused all his attention on Ziva, wiping stray curls from her face. "Now, where were we?"

Ziva smiled as he nuzzled her nose. "We were going to warm up with a hot drink from being outside in the cold most of the day."

"Hmm." He placed a kiss on her nose. "There are better ways to warm up."

She pulled him closer by his shirt as his lips explored her jawline. "Really, such as?"

The sultry tone of her voice warmed him from head to toe. He kissed his way to her ear, and breathed, "Vigorous exercise."

Ziva sighed as his lips touched all the right places. "You want to go for a run, now?"

He abandoned her neck and looked her in the eye. "Vigorous indoor exercise."

"Oh," she said, and pecked him on the lips, "like burpees."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Now who likes to argue."

Ziva's chuckle turned into a fit of laughter as he tickled her sides, and she ended up on her back underneath him. "This does not count as indoor exercise."

"Why not?" He slipped a hand underneath her shirt, making her arch into his body. "You're looking a little flushed already."

She bit her bottom lip, holding his gaze, while her fingers deftly unbuttoned his shirt. "Because, it is not indoor exercise if you're not naked."

Tony laughed heartily while struggling to remove his shirt without sitting up. "Can't argue with that."

---

tagging @hopeless-nostalgiac, @mrsmungus

[austajunk]

7 and 9 for Yomi/Makoto? Maybe Makoto gets caught off guard and gets topped by Yomi?

Well! A Yomi and Makoto fic where Makoto is the sad bottom is quite a challenge to write, so I hope you enjoy this one. I had fun writing it but I feel sorry for Makoto. XD Fic below the cut.

Triggers: Sodomy, Non-con, prison sex, nipple clamps, and orgasm denial/edging

With a pulsing throb to the back of his head, Makoto Kagutsuchi awoke on the cold, hard ground of a prison cell inside of Amaterasu Corporation. That was to be expected. He couldn't very well trust going off on his own in the middle of the night without someone placing a target on his back on behalf of Yomi Hellsmile. Even with the pain stinging his senses, he didn't really feel all too surprised by that.

No. What was somewhat surprising was the chill of the air curving against his naked body. When he glanced down, he saw that he had been completely stripped of his suits. His hands were bound behind his back. At the very least, it seems he was left with the decency of being able to keep his mask. That, or perhaps Yomi would find it amusing to say that he was too hideous to be looked upon as he was tortured. Typical of Yomi Hellsmile.

For the next few hours, Makoto was left to himself. The prison was painfully quiet as though all the other prisoners down here were removed just so the focus could be on him. There was no need for witnesses, Makoto figured. The cameras posted at every corner of his cell would capture his torment. The worst of it was the cool air teasing his body. Oh, how he wished to slip into a warm bath filled with bubbles to coat and soothe his skin. Instead, the chilly air just made his body twitch and stiffen. His pale nipples stung, goosebumps surfaced across his sensitive flesh, and he trembled with a heavier breath leaving his lips.

Eventually, he caught a flash of that red hair and the smile of a devil peering in on him from behind the bars. Makoto was used to forcing a pleasant smile when Yomi Hellsmile was around and today would be no different…even behind a mask.

The door slid open and Yomi marched up to him to get a closer look. He relished standing above Makoto in such a way before grinding his boot in between Makoto's legs. "How's that feel, you freak?" He mouthed to him in a low, intimidating sneer. The underside of his boot placed its pressure to Makoto's cock, earning him only a twitch from his captive.

Makoto ignored him. "Well… you're getting it very dirty," he said back. "That's not very kind, is it, Yomi?"

Expecting a hit, Makoto braced himself for the result of his insolence. But it never came. Instead he found that widening grin all too unsettling. Yomi removed his foot and knelt down to his eye level.

"You don't like it?" Yomi mimicked a tone of pity and concern. "Shit. I thought this would be the kind of shit a fucked up usurper like you'd be into."

"Stepping on it would probably just hurt," said Makoto carelessly. Though the slight pressure against his shaft had gotten him halfway hard on the floor. Any touch besides the cold could probably do that, but Makoto found himself wanting more. More heat.

Yomi amused himself with tracing a sharp finger of his across Makoto's lithe chest, stopping to flick his stiff nipple. He rolled it between his fingers, then pinched it mercilessly until Makoto was forced to gasp and wince. "Oh, you like that? Sensitive here?" He tugged his left nipple as well. His nail dug into the flesh and drew a pained groan from the CEO. "Of course you are. Good news, you fucking menace. I have something that you'll like then."

The biting sting of metal tightened into his nipple and Makoto flinched, stifling a sudden cry. Yomi had latched a clamp to his left nipple as he pinched the right one to force it to swell between his fingers. The metal seared onto his right nipple to finish, tugging both his swollen nubs down by the large weight that swung over a heavy chain between them. A hot sweat broke out across Makoto's body as he panted, trying to adjust to the burst of pain flooding across his chest. With each inch of movement, the metal stung worse and made him move again to repeat the hellish process.

Yomi snickered and slid his hand upside Makoto's mask to tilt it up. He saw the redness of Makoto's cheeks and his wet eyes. The curl of his lips as he gasped and winced. Fuck… he could stare at that pained look forever.

"See? I knew you were sick in the head," hissed Yomi to the side of Makoto's ear. He gripped his light hair and tugged it back so Makoto could no longer avoid his gaze. "You look like you're ready to drool like a goddamn baby when I play with you."

"Hngh…" Makoto grunted. He didn't want to move, but Yomi twirled his fingers around the weighted chain and he was left in the torment once again.

"I brought more than one toy for you, you know?" Yomi waved a dark, cylindrical toy in front of him. If Makoto had to guess, it was something close to a hitachi wand, a vibrator of some kind.

"It's tempting to shove it up this tight hole of yours," continued Yomi with unhinged glee. "But where's the fun in that? I leave you stuffed to the brim and let you come buckets without my strict guidance? I'm so much better than that." He leaned in closer, digging a sharp bite into Makoto's ear shell.

"I want to train you. By the time I'm finished with you, you'll be wet for me on my command."

Makoto could hear the click of the switch. He braced himself and tried to remain still as that low vibration was placed to the underside of his cock. It teased across his vein, massaging him and sending sweet vibrating motions to his open, purple slit. His breathing became shallow and agonizing. It was slow, but the pressure grew in a steady, uphill pattern across his hot flesh, making him move his hips. And of course, with each thrust or jerk of his body, the nipple clamps shifted and brought him down the path of more pain.

Between the hungry groans and whimpers, Makoto couldn't speak. Yomi merely smirked and flicked the switch to raise the vibration. The wand toyed with him and ran along his shaft, increasing the time spent playing with his girth. It felt good.

"Ngh…" The precum dribbled from the opening of his cock and Yomi slid a thumb across it to catch some of the excess.

"See?" He told Makoto, his voice entering that low, sadistic growl. "Tell me you were meant to be my whore instead of a the worthless CEO that you fucking are."

"..." Makoto sucked his face into a rebellious frown, defiance flashing in his eyes. His fingernails dug into his palms to raise himself above the pleasure he wished to succumb to.

"Awww, are you acting proud? Give it up. Tell me what I want to hear and maybe… maybe I'll let you come." A lie. Why would he ever give Makoto anything unless it amused him? He didn't want to see Makoto's face forming that little "o" of ecstasy, to watch his body curl up and convulse with satisfied lust. No. He wanted Makoto's cries, his pains, his begging and pleading with his eyes! Yomi didn't think there could be anything more beautiful in the world than Makoto Kagutsuchi on his knees, glancing up at him with his mouth open ready to accept Yomi's hot meat.

"N-No."

"What was that?!"

That irksome defiance made Yomi's blood boil. But he forced that pleasant smile… or at least, he felt it was pleasant enough for what he would make Makoto experience.

"Well, that's just fine!! Hahaha!"

It started with more metal clamps being added all over Makoto's body. His skin was pulled and stretched between the clamps biting into him. Every breath was a new form of hell. Yomi silenced Makoto's resistance by shoving the vibrating wand down his mouth until it hit the back of his throat. Makoto's gagged and drooled on the tool, the rumbling making him sick to his stomach. It made his mind spin until Yomi tugged it out and flipped Makoto onto the cold floor upon his chest, raising his slender ass into the air.

"You're still sopping wet, you freak.." Yomi said to him. Then he placed the vibrating wand to Makoto's puckered hole to admire the size of his large toy compared to Makoto's ass. Without mercy, he shoved the toy in and drove Makoto's into the floor with a howl of agony.

"Worthless CEOs deserve to get sodomized with a stick, but I'm just the most forgiving soul I know…I'll let it vibrate inside of you," added Yomi over Makoto's squeals and cries. In and out, in and out, he drove the toy inside of him back and forth.

Makoto bucked and plunged his head into the corner of the wall. Any sensation to block out this impalement. It started painfully tight. The vibrator could hardly squeeze through his walls. He was forced to open himself, to contract to survive as the tears formed in his eyes.

He laid on the floor, defeated. His body was covered in welts and bruises while his ass hung in the air. The vibration was something he adjusted to, but his cries had soon turned to wanting moans. His twitches had turned to jerking his hips in the air, offering his ass to be fucked harder. Stimulation. He needed more.

He wanted more. The sight of crimson hair flashed above him as Yomi watched him quiver as a broken mess on the floor.

"I…I want to…"

"I know," said Yomi with a snicker. "You want to come. You're ready to offer anything, even if it means kissing and licking the scum off my boots." He knelt down again to the ground, giving Makoto's ass a sharp slap. He watched the flesh bounce pleasantly and sighed.

"And maybe… if you learn to properly suck and clean your beloved leader's cock today, I'll let you come all over yourself sometime this week…"

[thegreatwicked]

Almost Done!!!!

Hey guys! You've all been so awesome with the feedback you've given me on my stories, although Unbreakable Bonds seems to be the running favorite, I appreciate all the support and engagement! So, onto the good news! My Obi-wan/Cressida one-shot is almost done!!! I've been in such a writing funk lately and it's been so hard to force myself to write and I've wanted to write this story so much but the writing mojo for this particular story was just NOT coming! But I had a breakthrough the other day! So I'm happy to say it's getting close, then I need to edit the hell out of it and fine-tune it! But as a thanks for your guy's support I thought I'd give you all a little preview!

As the one less acquainted with the infamous dish, Cressida's ignorance about its taste and smell had shielded her from the full extent of its unpleasantness. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she reached forward and stirred the contents of the bowl. The smell, even worse when cold, wrinkled her nose in a comically exaggerated display of distaste. Without missing a beat, she offered the spoon to Obi-Wan, who responded with an emphatic head shake and a firm rejection of the spoon. 

"As their playful banter unfolded, Obi-Wan skillfully dodged Cressida's attempts to feed him the dreaded swamp water stew. His mastery of Soresu extended beyond lightsaber combat to playful food evasion. Her repeated childish antics managed to elicit a genuine smile from the Jedi Master, and the room resonated with his chuckles. However, Cressida aimed for more—she sought to provoke an unrestrained, hearty laugh, the kind that echoed through the air. 

“You’re the one with a padawan... who hasn’t eaten in a week,” she teased, determined to escalate their playful skirmish.

“It’ll make me sick… Would you like to see me throw up what I have eaten?” Obi-Wan countered, humor coloring his words as the two engaged in a lighthearted battle over who would dare to take the first bite of the notorious stew. “No, absolutely not!”

“Come now, Obi-Wan, make Qui-Gon proud, drink the swamp water.”

“You’re the sentry; I thought sentries were fearless,” he playfully prodded, poking at the infamous pride associated with sentinels.

Undeterred, she shook her head at him, muttering, “Coward,” before bravely bringing the spoon to her face and taking a bite of the stew. The comedic dance between them continued, each move and quip contributing to the playful atmosphere that momentarily dispelled the heaviness in the room.

As her face contorted into a look of sheer disgust, Obi-Wan couldn't contain the laughter that bubbled up within him  rivaling the roar of a Wookiee. . It erupted from him like a geyser, a release of pent-up tension, and the laughter poured out of him in uncontrollable waves, echoing through the room. The sheer absurdity of the situation fueled his amusement, and he found himself laughing harder than he had in weeks. Her defensive posture resembled a creature recoiling from an unpleasant surprise as she dropped the spoon into the murky swamp water, a culinary nemesis that seemed to take personal offense. With wide eyes and an audible groan, she valiantly attempted to wrestle the offensive taste into submission, which only fueled his amusement."

And now something a little spicy...

"Feverish kisses lingered, creating a momentary pause as the weight of His obi and tunic met the floor, forgotten in the fervor of their passion. Cressida's hungry gaze roamed freely over the expanse of his chest, tracing the contours of his young and unblemished form, unburdened by the scars that time would later etch upon him. It was a feast for her eyes, a tableau of youth and strength.

A pleasant haze enveloped them, a blend of contentment and the drowsy aftermath of desire. With a gentle push from Obi-Wan, they eased back onto the bed, cradled by its softness, yet it did nothing to impede the urgency between them. Amidst the gentle touches and caresses, they spiraled into a frenzy, the realization of their actions and any reservations about the risks lost somewhere in the recesses of their minds. In lives dedicated to serving the galaxy, such indulgences were rare and often frowned upon, sacrificed in the pursuit of duty. However, in this intimate act, a different kind of service unfolded—one that transcended the expectations and quieted the lingering doubts. As their bodies entwined, those voices advocating restraint were drowned in the sea of shared vulnerability and passion.

Every soft murmur of contentment that escaped Cressida's lips became a gentle melody of encouragement, urging him to press his growing erection against her. His own breath caught in delightful surprise when she skillfully discovered a tender spot on his neck, evoking another sweet sound from him with a tender love bite—gentle enough not to leave any visible marks, yet firm enough to leave an impression. One that would occupy his thoughts on lonely nights when he wanted temporary physical relief, he would think of this."

Thanks again everyone! If you'd like to be notified when its done give me a comment or a reblog and let me know and I'll add you to the tags list!

@heyhawtdawgs @pickleprickle

[myalchod]

Howdy (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡

It’s me, hi, I’m your hex buddy, it’s me! *giggles*

Loved your thoughts on Farah and Saul, align with my own perfectly!

Good news: today my questions are not cruel.

What are your favorite colors? What do you prefer: silrah as teens, few years after Aster Dell or post show’s events? Do you have favorite winter’s shenanigans?

(Hope your Friday is great💙)

Hello, my darling! 😘 My Friday was overall fairly pleasant -- I hope yours was too, and that your weekend is going well! I am, once again, excited by these new questions; I can see why people say the inbox shenanigans are some of the best bits of HEX. 🥰 So let's see about answering these ...

My favourite colours tend to be cooler and darker tones; I am The Worst (tm) at picking favourite anythings, as you may have noticed, but I like the colours you see in peacock feather eyes -- teals, blue, green (and gold does go wonderfully with them) -- but also deep wine-red.

And the rest of this is getting long so I'm gonna drop a cut lol.

Timeframe is a tough one, because each one has their own attractions! I love the promise and the possibility of Silrah as teens, with so much ahead of them and before their ideals were shattered; I love them after Aster Dell, trying to pick up the pieces and figuring out how to move on, salvaging the fragments of idealism to try to make a better world for the children whose futures they now hold and struggling with all that they dare not speak of, the ghosts and the guilt and the emotional morass; I love them after the show, whether that's Saul with only his memories or Farah returning and them having a chance to be more in a way I feel they never could before or any one of another hundred permutations. There are so, so many options, and there's a part of me that desperately wants to tug on every thread and chase every possible universe and see what could happen. (I realise this is almost certainly unhelpful, my dearest HEXer, and for that I am deeply sorry.)

As to the last: I adore winter as a season. I know there are a lot of people who don't like the cold and the dark, but honestly, the cold in particular is something I love. I turn into a puddle once it gets warm, and my ideal storage conditions top out at about 15C, so the weather cooling off means I'm in my element. I love getting to wear warmer clothes, snuggling into blankets or putting on the fireplace if it's particularly chilly, nursing a cup of something warm (I'm a tea drinker first and foremost, but a mug of cocoa is nice too). I lived most of my life somewhere without snow, and there's a part of me that turns into a small child when I get it nowadays -- especially if it's the soft fluffy kind where you can catch snowflakes on your palms and look at the shapes. I love the way the world looks blanketed in white, all of the rough edges softened, and the way things sparkle when the light hits them on a frosty morning. I love walking outside in winter, the crispness of air almost freezing and seeing your breath make clouds and the crunch of fresh snow being tamped down under your boots. (I realise there are absolutely places where it's much more bitterly cold, or the weight of snow and ice can damage everything and become oppressive, and that if I lived there it might change my tune, but right now I consider myself lucky enough to be able to enjoy it without worry.) Winter isn't my holiday season, primarily, and so I don't have the association so many do, but the holiday I do celebrate then involves candles, and one thing I've always loved in association with the darkening of the year is how illumination -- whatever the form -- plays a part in the winter season, and the imagery of lights in the darkness. It's a small thing, but it also has stuck with me my entire life and as a thread through many things and states of mind, and I think that's one of those things I'll always associate with winter, beyond just the cold itself.

Anyway! That's a wall of text for sure, and so I'm pretty sure I owe you a cookie in recompense for reading it all! 🍪 I'm excited to see whatever you do with all of this information, though I can safely say right now that I have no idea -- but I'm sure it'll be wonderful. 💙