#you are both so incredibly chill and eager alike | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pseudofaux · 4 years ago

Text

even an injured hand grasps at grace

A lonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng time ago I did a follower celebration with short fictions and promised a longer story to the winner. That (incredibly patient) winner was @fieryanmitsu, who asked for a story set after Mitsuhide’s Act II. Holidays, family stuff, a global pandemic, more family stuff, a crisis of creative drive, MORE holidays and MORE time later... Here, at last, it is. Anmitsu, thank you so much for participating in that follower celebration, for being so kind about the mortifying amount of time this has taken, and for being a fellow Cat Daddy fangirl. I am very, very grateful for your grace! M, 6000 words, SLBP Mitsuhide. CWs: obvious but unnamed depression, brief discussion of death by weapons. (But mostly it is happy-thinky-poetic wife worship and baby fever.)

Sometimes when she is exhausted she speaks in this silly way. His love for her makes him warm to his toes. Adorable, his wife is adorable. He will never again allow any other duty to shove her out of the place she deserves in the center of his heart.

He will never hold a sword again. The discovery that there is still any strength in the arm once so mighty, enough that he can use it to work: a cause for gratitude and relief. A gift. He can attend to the responsibilities of his new life. He has a new life. Master Tenkai knows better than most men what death looks like when it bears down in a flash of metal. Sword death is the smooth silver of steel, spear death is the sluggish brown of mud that will cradle a dying man, and death by bullet is the black of blood that comes out so thick it is purple before it is red. Weapon deaths are cold, as though to compensate for the heat of their forging. There is a depth of balance in this that he cannot yet name, a mystery of the heavens like the others he spends so much time thinking about and helping the mountain villagers understand.

This new life is mostly keeping up their modest home (half residence, half tiny temple), and sharing knowledge with the villagers and their children. Of course he still thinks of Sakamoto when he sees the children growing... but his entire life he has been too much in his own head, and since they came to the mountain he has gotten better at leaving memories alone. He does not forget, and he hopes this makes him a decent man. Like any decent monk, he allows the thoughts of Sakamoto their due, which is to rest and flow over him as water flows over every side of a fish. It is right that it surrounds him. He could not and cannot do anything for Sakamoto, or address the irreparable harm he caused. He can consider it, meditate on it, and live with what he has done. And he will. Because he can live.

Swordwork’s precision and steadiness are forever gone from him, he believes. But he still has his arm and still has his life, even after he made peace with losing much more before Hideyoshi’s sword came down. He can pet the cats that congregate around the little temple, and he can twirl bits of string and stalks of grass for them. He can still write, his characters more calligraphic than they were before. He has to work hard to make clear strokes when he teaches the village children, and he feels that is a just requirement. When the house needs repairs, he can make them, and he can draw air into his lungs and live with his failures and successes both, or at least live with his failures and the grace he has been given. He has the brush, and he has the strong walking stick that his wife has helped him cut to the right height. The staff is smooth in his hand after only a few months’ use, a little extra oil applied when they have it. He wonders if he is allowed this easy comfort, but will not allow a walking stick to be a thing that trips his thoughts. His watchword now is moderation, not abnegation. If a fallen tree limb comes to him he will be grateful, and if the wood breaks he will let it go. He is willing, now, to let so much go.

There is only one exception, and she sleeps easy these days, when the cold of night on the mountain curls them together as though they are rabbits in a burrow. They wake slowly to this dream life. The part of him that is a decent monk cannot help but wonder how different their lives might be if it had been this for them all along. He did not want to rule; he had only ever wanted to spare others the hardships of ruling, and allow all good people the comfort of safety, from most divine ruler to most helpless child. These thoughts are in his head. Here in their tiny room in the building that is their home and the village’s temple, she is in his arms. In his heart and his bones, he knows that fact is grander than any man’s attempt at divinity.

He never has to force smiles at the children who come to the temple to learn. They are rowdy, eager, and completely charming. He is comfortably grinning at a group of them when he catches sight of her at the bend in the path that leads to their home. She is smiling, too, and there are tall leafy greens sticking out of the pack behind her shoulders that remind him of the folded wings of a fine hawk, the kind favored by samurai and nature alike. What would they do, if not for her hawklike competence and gentle ferocity?

Likely starve, he tells himself, on both melancholy days and happy ones. It is only the truth. He has learned a few things, but cannot match her, and while he is always available to the villagers, he stays near the temple unless he is asked for in the town. She does their shopping, she is their face. No one of quality can resist being won over by the warmth of her smile.

The children are thrilled to see her, and it reminds him of a dream he has had several times now, something he has kept to himself because it is so precious and he still does not want to ask anything of her. He is not sure if the slips of dream come from the peace of their life or the torment they left behind them, whether the dream is reward or recompense. But the cheers of the children take hold of his heart and make a tapestry of the scraps of his happiest dreams, weaving them tightly with what he is truly seeing. His thoughts nearly take him to his knees-- or perhaps that is an insistent little person, tugging at the edge of his sleeve.

“Master Tenkai!” chirps the village child. “Hana is home, so it is time for our lesson!”

They teach the children together in the afternoon’s warm, clean light, and only send them home when it is time for her to prepare their evening meal and him to complete the evening sweeping of the temple floor. Later that night, she seems relaxed and sleepy next to him, full of food, full of love. She asks, “Do you remember when I asked you to bring me a stone, so I could make you pickles?”

That is a pleasant memory from their life before, a luminescent pearl floating through silt that suffocated so much happiness. But the memory itself is light. So his smile is easy and does not feel like punishment, and he nods and strokes the space between her shoulders.

“On this mountain I have all the stones I need,” she declares, pressing her cheek to his chest. The smoothness of her face is finer to him than any pearl, a marvel of sensation that settles him, instantly and completely. “And I will make you pickles every week, if you want them,” she adds.

“Only whenever you are inclined,” he says, drumming his fingertips to tickle her.

Her giggle is sleepy. “There’s not time to make them every day,” she quips, snuggling closer and sliding an ankle between his calves. He has only the one dream that is sweeter than his actual life, and he is keeping it close to his chest for now. But he will not keep anything closer to his chest than she is. They squeeze one another, and he expects they do not fully relax their arms until they fall asleep.

A winter has passed, and a spring. This is their first summer on the mountain, so they are learning the cycle of invigorating mornings, sweltering afternoons, and unpredictable nights. They have already learned from kind villagers how to best coax food from the pebbly soil of their garden, and their efforts in the summer are devoted to this every day until the air grows too hot and they retreat to the shade of the temple to fan themselves with their hands and drink water that (they hope) has managed to hold some of the chill of the night before.

Every morning he braids her hair, and in these summer days a few strands always escape and stick to the back of her neck, temptations that coax him to bare her shoulders and murmur along the skin he worships. She often swats him away, because even after tending the garden there is plenty of work to do. But sometimes she does not swat him away at all, and some days she draws closer with a magnificent, confident need. He cannot determine if it is need for him or need to show him something, but each time, their bodies become hotter still, sweat running like streams and stinging their eyes even as it makes moving together easier.

There is a day at midsummer when they cannot help themselves, resting on the step to their home. They are covered from the relentless sun by the good new roof of the temple. He is vulnerable to melancholy in the heavy air that precedes a storm. She knows this. By the time the thunder and rain seem to be on every side of them, heaven’s own veil around the little holy place where they live, their hands are in each other’s hair, she is straddling him, and he is kissing her so deeply he can taste their midmorning snack. The last time she went to town she came back with karashi seeds, and their food this week has been bright in their mouths, cleansing and flavorful. He is hungry for it.

“Mitsuhide,” she pants quietly. The rain around them is so dense no one would hear her, but that name is never spoken above the softest whisper. Her other sounds are louder, even louder than the roar of the rain, and he loosens his hold on himself to match her. He groans as he tilts his hips up toward hers, everything that he is straining for her. They are so warm that even though the air is cooling around them, the rain may as well be steam. One of her hands slides from his hair to his neck and then down his chest, between their bodies, until she palms his insistence and he gasps for her until she squeezes. They moan together, unbearably hot in the sweet agony before they join.

“Now? Here?” he asks. They’re alone, but he craves her comfort as much as her indulgence. There is always a point where he stops asking, but before that he needs permission. She gives it in a nod and shuffles off his lap onto the floor, still stroking him through his clothing. Her clothes are already loose from their embrace, and she puts her other hand inside her collar and tugs down until she is cupping her breast. His blood in his ears is louder than rain or crashing waves or the war chorus of a hundred desperate men. He lunges at her, one hand in her hair and another at the back of her neck to soften her landing. When he is over her, he snarls at her temple before kissing the space with the beastliness that is revealed by these stormy days. It is a wet kiss, and because his tongue cannot taste enough of her he ends up licking from her cheek to her hairline. He savors her, salt and spice and earth and somehow his, as he pushes into her hand. She does not let go of him. He never wants to let go of her.

His hand slips from her neck into the heaven of her opened collar, and his thumb finds her nipple between her fingers. She lets go, gives herself to him, and he pants adoration into her ear as he rolls the peak, beautifully strong, until she moans. He knows this is right, that nothing else in the world is anything next to the truth of how right it feels to cage her in, make her tremble, and soothe her, serve her.

So he doesn’t hold back. He tells her she is the most wonderful, beautiful, desirable, beloved. His mind makes poetry for her and he licks the words onto skin he pinches delicately between his teeth. You are rainfall to a dying man, you are here, you feel better than breezes, you are mine. After all he has done, he remains a man, and a man is an animal, as any man who has gone to war can say with certainty.

The thin clothes he wears for gardening are sticking to his body, and he swears he can feel the drag of each thread against his skin as he moves with her, friction enough to spark a fire through their sweat. Her hand on him is maddening kindling.

“You are flames,” he declares as he ruts down into her hand. “You are burning me.” A man is an animal, a gasping creature not sophisticated enough to express all she makes him feel.

She slows her hand and hums, pleased by they way he gives himself over. That is the way they play. “It is too wet for flames,” she murmurs, as though she is consoling him instead of throwing tinder on the fire she has made. “Drown in me instead of burning, my love.”

The affection in her words soothes his amorous madness and spreads the familiar, comfortable warmth to all the tips of his body as the power shifts between them again. He loves her so much. Could any man convey so much feeling? To be an animal is not bad, but it is base, and she is made of heaven and still chooses to be with him. He smiles at her in wonder of all her beauty and bravery. He will focus on giving her anything that he can.

“Gladly,” he whispers, smiling wider. He takes her wrist and pulls her away from her work. When she complies and settles her hand against the floor by her head, he unties the rope of faded jute braids that hold her kosode closed at her hips. She is worthy of finery but dressed in these threadbare rags with him instead, and still her eyes say she has what she desires. As he drops the thick cord beside their bodies, he thinks he will try to find her a pretty bead, or even a nice smooth stone from the stream, something to adorn her middle and give her pleasure when she sees it. She gives him so much pleasure.

Their clothes as temple keepers are very humble, but they are much easier to remove than their daily wear of only a year ago. Sacrilegious but sincere, he mutters his gratitude at the simplicity of baring her body to his eyes. Her slopes are gorgeous, winding like the gentlest river against the air. She reminds him of a war map he saw years ago, illustrated with hills and pools so lovely he mourned as war was planned against the unarmed ground.

He shakes away that memory to construct another of the way she looks right now, sensual and receptive, womanly in the way she came to be when they started their lives here. Back in control of herself, of both of them, she parts her lips and breathes his new name. He undoes the scrap of old kimono that serves for his sash, and peels away his own sweaty robe. When he comes back down to her, she has freed her arms from her sleeves and their hands find each other, fingers dancing warm and worn as they wrap together.

Now it is still raining, but the roar of it has quieted to a loving hiss. The light is gray and blue, so she looks like nighttime. She pulls him to her with the power of dusk closing flowers, and their kiss is moon-soft, full of promise instead of frenzy. Her lip is a marvel between his and he loves pressing it with his own lips and teeth and sucking gently to make it swell. He wants to touch it with his thumb while he’s inside her and then kiss her again, maybe kiss her while he touches her with his thumb.

The chill at his back cannot last when there is so much heat between them, no matter what she says of drowning instead of burning. A man can drown in the bubbles of a hot spring as well as he can in winter’s water. He sucks in a breath and breathes it out into her mouth, and when she does the same with more force he shudders. His hands slide to her hips, where her curves fit into his palms as though he were a farmer and she were a ripe stalk of rice. She is at least as crucial and nourishing.

He is so hard he doesn’t need to take himself in hand. The head of his cock slides (with a sureness he would never claim aloud) between her folds, against the spot that makes her thighs flex. The movement is easy, a slip if not for his control. They are always so eager for one another.

“How?” he asks, and kisses the chin she is offering as her head is thrown back. “Here? This? Just outside the reach of the rain?” A demon is in him, to tease her like this, but the demon wants her pleasure as surely as he does because this is what she wants, for everything to be drawn out until their tension snaps. “Do you want the air on all your skin?” he continues. “I will give you anything. Just tell me.”

She hums the thoughtful sound that means she’s thought of some way to drive him insane. Thunder cracks with an ominous sharpness in the distance, and when she tilts her head and looks at him there is lightning and mischief in her eyes. He squeezes her but still she wriggles out from beneath him... and she goes to one of the beams that holds up the roof, safe from the rain thanks to the overhang. She moves her feet back and bends at her waist and he can do nothing but feel blessed and aroused, so aroused he is stupid. The warmth she put in him turns to tingles, like she has displaced the lightning from her gaze and made his skin the sky and his bones the bare, vulnerable earth. Within himself he feels a frighteningly intense buzzing.

“This first,” she declares. “Just watch for now, darling. Stay where you are.” Her thighs and calves are so defined from the ways she has to toil in this new life that he feels a shadow of guilt for enjoying the sight of her so much. It vanishes when he sees her fingertips between her legs, right at his eye level. She is pulling his mind apart, but her method for that is giving him this gift, and in this life he takes what he is given.

“Yes,” he rasps, and swallows before the dryness in his though makes him cough. “Yes, of course.”

The movement of her arm slides her loosened braid along a shoulder like a brushstroke. Her touches are sure-- she told him months ago that she learned to do this when he made her sleep alone for nights on end. He curses his foolishness even as he is grateful for it. She is always turning the most miserable ingredients into feasts, his wife.

Her sure fingers make circles and dip into her folds to smear her arousal. She likes it a little messy sometimes, another thing she has revealed in the safety of their seclusion. He loves what she loves, and he wants to put his mouth on her, put his cock in her, so badly that he fears his voice will scar his throat in a mad escape if he has to stay apart from her much longer. But he will die of idiocy alone if he interrupts. So he watches, the cool air of isolation doing nothing to keep his belly from tightening when she coos. Her hips begin to drop forward to meet her hand and he bites the flesh of his palm to stave off insanity as long as he may. She is a cat, he realizes, playing with all his many frayed ends. When she glances back, whatever she sees on his face-- he must be flushed, he feels terribly hot-- makes her laugh, dark and sweet. She keeps going and keeps her eyes on him. There is that gentle command so uniquely her in the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like he is blooming frantically, too fast, a blossom pummeled by rain and completely out of control... and she keeps looking, keeps smiling, draws the moment into moments until he thinks he might sob.

And then she curls her fingers against herself to beckon him and says “Come here.” The way her voice puts the words somewhere between request and demand is flattering, but he has no time to be flattered. Rain-cooled air yields against his arms and legs as he rushes to her. Immediately, he is there behind her legs, positioning himself, and the heat of her backside would burn him were he not already so ruined. Against her at last, he can appreciate the way the weak light on her sweat-slicked back is more beautiful than the finest inkwash, the ways she smells competent and domestic and alluring, like the precious sweet scent of soil that hides between mountain pebbles. She is all these things, and she is so calm as his mind whirls in its delirium of adoration and arousal.

He doesn’t mean to tremble, but his hold on himself has been too tight, and the spaces where his teeth dug into his hand throb. Like the mongrel pet to a noble lady, he has little other purpose but to love her. He sees that she can sense it. There is a grace to her certainty when he grits his teeth, even though she is wound so tightly that when the head of his cock finally presses inside her, he must push. Slick, soft, smooth, she feels, somehow, despite the pressure. As he pushes fully inside, their groans are wanton to the point of inhumanity, more like the sound of creatures in the night than of a man and his wife. His wife, his wife. He pulls back and groans again at the way her body fights to keep him. He swipes the braid off her back and kisses her shoulder, pushing back in slowly as her soft, strong body welcomes him.

“More,” she cries, her first sound of vulnerability, and he is eager to take care of her. He knows to move steady and powerfully but keep it slow at first. She comes better around him, but needs to be allowed to focus, so he is quiet as he focuses on her and the way the muscles of his back stretch and roll to please her. He is still a fit man, and he hopes his body thrills her as hers thrills him.

She makes a needy noise between her teeth and moves faster, shaking just a little. She hisses “keep going,” and of course he does. The tension he felt a moment ago is so unimportant now he is not sure if it was real. In the time when things shift between them he no longer needs permission, and he feels the magic calm settling over him-- it is his turn. All he needs to do is what she needs from him, it’s so simple. And he would do anything she asked, for the chance to be so near her when she finds bliss. It is already rising up his legs, like a snake squeezing and sliding, like ripples... and her sighs are like waves. Maybe she is too wet to be flames because she is water itself. The way into her is blissful enough, a slick heavy pressure around him where she is swollen from all their kisses and touching. The challenge of it makes him grin with a ferality he usually keeps well out of sight, and he presses on, pulls back, kisses her shoulder again and calls her his beloved. His voice doesn’t shake.

Hers does. “Again,” she pleads, grasping back for his hand. “I want it again.” She guides his fingers in circles until he knows where she is and what she needs, and then she lets him give it to her. Trust is such a sacred thing.

When he touches her she laughs, and he laughs too, and fucks her with a great deal of joy. They find their pattern: her hips push back to meet his thrusts, so when he presses in, deeply, they fit as cleanly as a carpenter’s masterwork. The storm has truly cooled the air but all it does is chill the fresh sweat on their skin as they move. It invigorates him, makes his spirit shout with a freedom he cannot contemplate at the time. His wife is using the beam that holds up their roof to push back against him, allowing the tender space between her breasts to be abraded by the wood. There is room for nothing but happiness here, nothing to do but honor her sacrifice and make her feel more pleasure.

“Yes,” she rewards him with her voice for a particular thrust, dragging out the sound at a pitch that registers inside him while he is inside her. So he moves himself even faster to try and repeat it, then relishes the sweetness of her soft whine. It makes him feel like he is surprising her with his love for once, instead of the constant way she graces him with her own.

He leans over her a little more. “I want nothing as much as I want your happiness,” he tells her, the croon of his voice broken by the intense way their bodies are connecting. Her hand comes back over his, keeping him in place. Magnificent. “Go on,” he tells her. “Again, love. Just like you want. Just like I want. Again.”

She shudders and stops moving her hips (she clings adorably to the support beam, her arm as tense as her hand on his). He keeps going, because he knows that is what she expects. At the end, what she needs is to be filled, to be given something to clench around, and he needs to be that for her. He is so driven, from inside and out, to fuck her, that he cannot do anything else until he feels it, not think or breathe, only move into her as though he can shove bliss into her body. So he tries, until he feels the shaking of her legs as perfection alights, and then he takes one great breath before it hits them both as she squeezes tighter still. They gasp together again as her clenching and soft sounds pull his warmth to fill her. Abundantly. Deeply. The air comes out of his lungs onto her shoulders, then touches his cheeks with the softness of a cloud.

She is breathing heavily, and slowly she puts her weight against the wood and becomes still. There’s a gentle press against his hand before she drops her arm. He’s tempted to catch it and kiss her knuckles, but he does not want to move from being curled around her back. He does move his hand away and puts the arm around her belly instead, holding her that much closer. She feels exactly as warm and soft as a cat who has fallen asleep in the sun.

There is a slick, sticky feeling all around his cock, but there’s nothing unpleasant about it-- something in him actually relishes it, loves the thought of mixing, loves the thought of there being too much, it makes him want to take her to the floor and have her again-- and she does not ask him to move, so he stays until he softens. “Darling,” he whispers then. “I’m going to get us a cloth.” He has desires, but he has mastered himself.

But she mumbles “No. Hold me.”

So when he pulls out as not to slip from her, he simply sits down and pulls her with him, right down into his messy lap. There’s not a breath between the time they land and her turning so she can snuggle his chest. He strokes her hair and kisses her cheeks and nose and tells her what a marvel she is. She is all pliant affection, touching his arms, kissing his jaw, raising a love welt on his shoulder... reaching to stroke him gently, experimentally, just like she did when they were on the steps.

He has mastered himself, but not as well or fully as she has.

He pulls over their clothes and lays her out on top of them on the temple floor so he can join their bodies yet again, unhurried. They have the time for slow lovemaking in this life, and the grace. Her knees frame him as he moves and he cannot help but kiss one and then the other, reveling in her laughter (when he tickles her ribs, she tightens deliciously around him) as much as in her love. They lay together for a long time after that, cool and lazy in the quiet. When the rain is replaced by the first note of tentative birdsong, they know they should move in case someone comes to the temple. Despite the afternoon, they are a cautious couple by nature.

He attempts to clean her with their clothes, and carries her to their room to rest more comfortably. Her hair clings to the idea of a braid, but much of it is loose and floats about his arms in the sodden air. There is a satisfied tilt to her mouth when he helps her sit, and as he moves behind her the last he sees of her face is her smile curving deeper. He settles his robe over her shoulders and combs his fingers through her hair to ward off tangles. When he is finished, he replaits her hair and kisses the ribbon, then her mouth. She shakes her head, hiding her mouth and making him chase it. His rewards are sleepy giggles, enchantingly low, every time he catches her.

Several kisses later, he redresses and leaves for the kitchen to make them a simple meal. He delights in feeding her by hand as soon as he returns, because their closeness makes him feel whole and doting on her feels right. They stay near as they bathe, and then they go back to bed. It is early, but they will need to start early tomorrow to make up for the time they spent not working this afternoon. They have earned their sleep. He wonders if he will have the dream again.

Tucked into their bedding, she is in his arms, not yet dreaming herself. “Darling,” he says quietly into her hair, and murmurs love until she turns to kiss him sweetly and tells him to go to sleep.

He does have the dream. It is the most wonderful dream yet.

“Chichi-ue!” The voice is high and happy. It is coming from behind him, so he must turn away from the sight of his wife with a baby at her breast. Before he can see the little one who called him-- called him chichi-ue, his child-- the dream shifts and his wife is with an older child, tasting broth and listening patiently as the child recites ingredients. Then his wife is with two children, each holding one of her hands as they turn on the bend of the path to their home, and the smallest lets go of her to run to him. Their faces are all obscured by a sudden cloud of mountain dandelion seeds borne on the wind... all he can see are healthy little legs and feet in clean sandals, slapping against the ground as fast as they possibly can. The movement becomes a child’s hand with a brush, marvelously steady and precise. The same hand around a cluster of flower stems. Scraped knees and palms and little puffs of breath between shrieks and giggles as tears are soothed away. Two voices laughing over the plunking sound of skipped river stones ending their flights, and he recognizes the stream where they stand. The face and voice of the herbalist in the village, kindly telling them to be patient and then whispering something they might try. Four simple bowls, mismatched but meant to be together, set around a table. He can see this scene over his own shoulder, hears those same two voices dutifully expressing gratitude for their meal. The sounds change as his dream gives him the voices at different pitches through time, thankful for their rice, fish, vegetables; the bowls stay on the table, the food in them changing in dizzying whirls of color until he wakes.

“Good morning,” says his wife, in the voice she can only use for the first words of the day. Quiet and deep as a hidden pool. “I love you.”

He reaches to stroke her cheek, and tells her about the dream at last. She tells him her dreams, too.

Exhausted but awake, awed and unsure, he holds his son for the first time in the crook of his better arm. All of him shakes, because he is weeping at the perfect newness of this child. The baby, so unhappy with the village woman who came to help with the birth, settles into his father like poetry, and closes sweet dark eyes, and yawns flawlessly. They way the baby’s tongue trembles reminds him of a stretching cat. Master Tenkai of the mountain cannot look away. There is so much to see, and there is something about gazing at this tiny face, shifting magically from pinched to peaceful, that shows him the virtue of disregarding time completely. He should know it for what it is: another effort by man to control what he cannot. Everything that marks time in a human way can be broken. The sun rises no matter what people do in the night.

One of the temple cats senses a fellow creature and leans up to sniff at the baby. The baby’s father is happy to share the sight. The cat noses at the baby’s plumpness and then slinks off, but Tenkai stays where he sits, holding his son beside the bedding where the baby’s mother is gazing at them both with a tired, happy expression on her beautiful face. Her hair has all come loose from its ribbon. The woman from the village said it was an easy birth, but it certainly took its time. At the end, they have their perfect son, and she is alright. Everything is alright. The greatest challenge facing them at the moment is that he will have to learn to braid one-handed. He chuckles to himself and the baby blinks, then settles.

He will never hold a sword again. Whatever time may be, it feels like he made his peace with a more important truth a very long time ago, perhaps in another life entirely, and had only to relearn it. To hold his woman, and child, and the other he believes will join then... that is more than enough for the warrior who was once Mitsuhide, who became Master Tenkai of the mountain. All else may come and go. He will treat everything with respect, and allow all that is temporary to leave his hand like water. His family, permanent and indescribably precious, is the only thing that he will never, ever give up.

#slbp mitsuhide #slbp fanfic #slbp fanfiction #samurai love ballad party #fieryanmitsu

37 notes · View notes

doobler · 3 years ago

Text

Indebted

//Implied NS.FW content warning//

Stephen knew Chrys was still in the Sanctum. He could feel his energy, the natural spring of magic that bubbled inside the dhampir. His aura was often a lovely dance of grassy green and hot pink. Now, it was sallow and grey, the colors muted and cold. He finally found him slumped down in a beaten old armchair, eyes lidded, lips parted as he stared into space.

"Chrys?" Stephen asked tentatively, unsure if he was meant to be a sorcerer or a doctor in this moment. "Are you okay, bud?"

"Ah, sorcerer," It seemed to take a lot of effort to speak. Chrys' usual silky English baritone was crackly and soft. "Pardon me, this is. A sorry state to see me in."

"What's wrong?" Stephen stepped closer, hands anxiously hovering over the dhampir.

"It's been so long since I last fed," Chrys' head lolled back and he squinted at the ceiling. "The hunger... I do my best to feed so little, sustaining myself on large meals and deep meditative states but... I can't fight my lineage, I must feed at some point or I'll wither away."

Stephen swallowed. He bridged the gap and laid shaking hands on Chrys' forearms. The dhampir jumped a little in his seat, his pupils shrinking into thin little slits.

"... Would that be... Dangerous for whomever you uh... Feed on?" Stephen cursed his lack of knowledge.

"No, I don't have the power to turn anyone," Chrys croaked. "Only pure-bloods and those who've been turned can spread it. My mixed blood isn't enough."

Stephen swallowed. He looked back over his shoulder. Wong was out for today, probably passing on some updated records to Kamar-Taj. It was only Stephen and his dhampir; his large, handsome, selfless, romantic, self-sacrificing dhampir. He tried to tighten his grip on Chrys' arm but his damaged hands didn't permit it.

"What if--"

"Stephen," Chrys tried to sit up, groaning lowly. "That would require... Consent. And a lot of trust between us."

"And?" Stephen searched his face, maintaining eye contact. "I... Trust you, you've been an incredible ally for the time you've been here and a confidant and a teacher--"

"You hesitate," Chrys raised his hand, cupping Stephen's chin. He rubbed circles against his jaw with his thumb. "I need... Complete and total trust. Consent with no regret. Otherwise, I'd never. I could never forgive myself. I can sustain for a while longer, I'll just. Animal blood will suffice--"

"No," Stephen stood, bracing his hands against Chrys' chest. He ran so warm but now he was burning hot. "No. I trust you. Completely. You've already saved my life more times than I can count--"

"As you have mine," Chrys took a deep shaking breath. "Are you sure? Absolutely?"

"Yes." Stephen inhaled slowly, steeling himself. He nodded. "I know... You'll be safe. You won't hurt me, turn me... Kill me. I trust you."

Chrys watched him warily. It was easier to see his age like this, the century of pain and heartache that lived behind his eyes. In his weakened state, he seemed more genuine, old blood magic and an alien sort of beauty laid bare in his features. He took Stephen's hand, intertwining their fingers.

"Take me to your room then. We'll do it there."

Stephen's quarters were somewhat humble. He had a four-post bed covered in a variety of blankets, a oaken desk, a walk-in closet, a dresser, and a slim floor-to-ceiling mirror. While the Sanctum itself had a bit of an old dusty smell to it, Stephen's room smelled like the sorcerer himself. Part of Chrys wanted to faceplant down onto his mattress for another seventy-five year nap.

"Are you sure about this, Stephen?" Chrys asked once more, hovering over the bed.

"You seem far more hesitant than me now." The sorcerer laughed. He'd already shed his sweater and shirt, now standing bare-chested at the foot of his closet.

He folded up his shirt, still holding it against his chest. Chrys could hear his heart beating, slowly and evenly. He could hear the blood pumping through his veins, the air whooshing through his lungs, the delicate flutter of his eyelashes.

"You and I are a lot alike," Stephen sighed. He sat down, patting the bed as invitingly as he could. "We're both old souls with a lot of trauma. We're both beings of magic and science. We're both... Misunderstood, I think."

Chrys sat beside him, watching his face in earnest.

"This past month as been interesting," Stephen chuckled. He peered up and Chrys found himself lost in his pale green eyes. "I've learned a lot. I think of you as more than just an ally, you're... More than a teacher, more than any of that. And I cherish it."

"I feel like you're leading up to something." Chrys held his breath.

"Just. Trying to communicate that I trust you," Stephen smirked. "I've been betrayed and backstabbed and hurt before but. I struggle to believe you could ever be that guy."

"I would rather die," Chrys laid a hand over his heart. "I... I cherish you, too, Stephen. I've really enjoyed our time together."

There was a pregnant pause. Chrys could practically taste the pounding of Stephen's heart. He leaned in, as did Stephen, until their faces were mere inches apart.

"I think...." Chrys licked his lips, trying his best to hold Stephen's gaze. "I think I'd very much like to kiss you now."

"Please." Stephen breathed and they crashed together.

Chrys was clearly the type to love with his entire being. He cradled Stephen in his arms, cupping his cheek with one broad palm. He curled his arm around his slim waist, dipping his head to deepen the kiss. Stephen felt dizzy. He carded trembling fingers through the ocean of Chrys' hair, moaning quietly as he was ravished.

"Wow," Chrys breathed as he pulled away. "I uhm. Wow."

Stephen laughed, bright and loud. His lips were flushed, his high cheekbones painted a pretty rosy color. Chrys felt his heart flip a few times.

"Can I...?" He stroked his thumb along Stephen's neck, pressing gently where he felt his pulse pound the hardest.

"Yes, just-- run me through it first. Please."

"I'll bite down on your neck," Chrys held his gaze. "A venom will be released into your bloodstream that will temporarily thin the consistency of your blood. I'll drink it-- not to worry about overdrinking, I know exactly how much blood fits in a human body. When I'm sated, a second venom will be administered to thicken your blood and seal the punctures. Within a few minutes, your blood will have recycled through your body multiple times, flushing out all the venom in the process. There won't be side effects or anything, just a mark on your neck for a week or two. And... That's it."

Stephen laid back, hands folded over his sternum, and nodded. He tried not to flinch as Chrys touched him, gently coaxing his head to turn to the side. Chrys pressed his lips to the sorcerer's neck. He could smell his blood now, counting the beats of his pulse. If he focused hard enough, he could sense the natural magicks that flowed through Stephen's body, glimmering through his aura like fireflies. He laid a few open-mouthed kisses along Stephen's neck before he bit down.

Stephen gasped but did his best to stay still. He could feel Chrys' fangs sink into his flesh, much sharper and longer than he realized. The initial pain faded quickly, replaced with a warm dizzying feeling. Stephen huffed, a chill running down his spine. He reached out for Chrys and clasped his hand as well as he could. The dhampir drank. He was silent, the only tells being the sound of his hungry swallows and the alien sensation overtaking Stephen's neck.

Chrys drank for what felt like ages. Finally, he laved his tongue over the wound and retracted his fangs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He was a very clean drinker, the only lingering evidence being a small streak of blood along his knuckles.

"Are you alright?" Chrys gathered Stephen up in his arms. Already, his skin looked healthier, his eyes bright and sharp. His aura was almost smothering, it radiated so brightly.

"Uh huh," Stephen tried not to squirm as he pressed the heel of his hand against his groin. He was rock hard. "I'm. I'm fine."

"I apologize, there are occasionally some... Side effects," Chrys blushed though there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I'll ah. Let you take care of that."

Chrys stood to leave but something made him hesitate. He turned back and froze like a deer in headlights.

Stephen was panting, cherry red lips parted, pupils blown, his naked chest heaving. The fly of his slacks were already down, when he'd done that wasn't apparent. He watched Chrys and Chrys watched him.

"Unless..." The dhampir curled his hand around one of the bedposts, gripping until he could feel tendons roll beneath his skin. "... You'd like me to stay?"

"Did you drug me?" Stephen spluttered. He pressed his fingers against his chest, over his heart. "Is there. Is. Is vampire venom... An aphrodisiac?"

"It's a sacred and intimate exchange," Chrys squeaked, swallowing loudly. "I. Can't control the effects it has on your body, I'm--"

"Stay," Stephen breathed. He was always so calm and cool and collected, seeing him so unraveled had Chrys nearly drooling. "Stay and... Fix this."

"I'd be honored," Chrys' shirt was off before he even finished his sentence. "I've craved you since we first met, I'm--"

Stephen shook his head, raising his brows. His more standard brand of humor shone through.

"I'm gonna need a first date before we put any labels on anything."

"Yes, absolutely, of course," Chrys babbled, shucking off his pants. "Anything for you, let me take care of you first."

Stephen laughed as Chrys' full weight hit the bed. The sorcerer was thrown up a few inches, thumping back into his forest of pillows and blankets. Chrys leaned over him, his hair cascading like a waterfall and framing Stephen like a curtain.

"You're very eager." Stephen felt smug for once.

"You're quite a man," Chrys shrugged with a shy smile. "I'm delighted."

They shared a kiss and didn't say much else for a good while.

#my oc #self-insert #stephen strange #chrys bloodlurch #tiny fic #oough oough oough

6 notes · View notes

we-rate-tmnt · 4 years ago

Note

I request: Leonardo. Please and thank you 🙏.

Idk if everyone loves Leo or if my header and avatar just remind everyone about this amazing blue boy. (This one’s super silly btw. I’m just sillier as time goes on. Character development I guess?)

The iconic leador Leonardo (1987)

Bro idk why but I loved this Leo. I have a tiny memory, especially with this version but I clearly remember that I thought he was the funniest and the coolest. I mean, he had swords, what was I supposed to do as a 7-year-old. NOT like him??? Anyway, while Raph was the best at insult comedy, I think Leo had the best puns and punchlines. I really like how nonchalant this Leo is compared to his iterations, going along with really silly ideas and having fun along the way. But because of this, his leadership is a little forced at times, he seems like such a chill and fun dude that when he gets serious, I have to squint and ask ‘are you Leo? Or were you just putting on act a moment ago?’ Or my perception is entirely warped over time. Either way, good turtle boy, could have used some work tho. 5.7/10

Here comes grumpy lad wooo this is all read very monotone btw Fearless Leader (2003)

What. What the fuck happened. I was actually so confused when Leo turned really angry and serious and almost manic. I thought that episode when he popped into Casey’s window and was like ‘Hey bitch lets go beat the shit out of some lowlifes’ I was WOAH THERE BUDDY BACK UP BACK UP BACK TF UP. It was so sudden to me and when it was finally explained, it made some sense??? Like yeah, character development is great an’ all but this ain’t it chief. I can’t imagine what it was like having to wait for these episodes to release one at a time. Bc I watched every episode back to back on Youtube and I was genuinely bamboozled. But when you have an experience like that where guilt is weighing down on you from a situation you couldn’t control, it would’ve been HELLA HELPFUL to have at least a flashback, like a line saying ‘I was so useless!’ at BARE MINIMUM. Like right after Shredder is booted off to Planet Zula, Donnie would notice that Leo didn’t seem all that happy and would ask why and Leo would get upset and yell at Donnie saying that ‘You wouldn’t understand’, ‘You don’t know how I felt, how I feel because of that’, etc. Like you don’t even have to say he felt guilty or helpless, just give us something to grab onto. We’re merely six-year-olds who thought they could climb the YMCA rock wall in easy mode but instead the script riders harnessed us up on the hard one and wouldn’t let us come down until we rang the little bell at the top. I think that is the only problem I had with his Leo. The sudden change of calm and decisive to angry and irrational was so jarring that it felt unnatural without that crucial context. If you want a surprise reveal, at least hint at the reveal (like just about every Disney movie with their ‘twist’ villains) not wait until the very last moment. I think this might be my least favorite Leo and I think the season where he stood out the most and seemed the strongest was Fast Forward (Which was GOOD FIGHT ME), especially in scenes with Dark Leo, his clone. He sees so much of himself in Dark Leo but he also sees something he had once grasped (AKA the poorly written character arc, I CANNOT stress how bad I thought it was). Although, I honestly think he’s a really good character and he’s a pretty neat guy. However, this score is entirely held up by Fast Forward and his connection with Usagi, sword bros to the end of time. 3/10 (2 for FF and 1 for Usagi)

And now a Leo that makes me genuinely feel UWU Leo (2012)

I cannot stress how much I like this guy! Like his design is so appealing, his dedication, his obsession with Space Heroes, like I FUCKING LOVE IT. And everyone knows, that shit with Karai, at first when they didn’t realize they were related, I can let slide but kajsdflksadf what even like why did the writers feel the need to add in more ‘love interest’ implications like yuck yuck yuck. The only two interactions with Leo and Karai that I really like are when Leo defeats her using the healing hands technique and when Leo has a goth/emo/punk/idk I’m new here phase and they team up and EXPLOSIONS. He was introduced to us as being incredibly naive and his idea of leadership is from some old cartoon that’s basically star trek but ethically questionable. After his fights in season 1, to the finale with the technodrome, you can see his growth. He’s able to formulate plans and make life or death decisions. BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE. When Leo got hurt, I felt like the oof sound effect mixed with some tears I normally shed at some Shojo manga bs. While the episodes following were super weird, it was a nice way to help Leo recover, not only physically but spiritually (Although I don’t remember the spirit arc at all except the epic Raph vs Fishface fight, so we’re skipping that). When Master Splinter really died, you could tell there was a huge impact on Leo, but he had to remain stoic and lead the family now. A lot of heartbreaking moments in this series came from Leo and I’m glad they took at least some thought into developing him. Tiny head Leo will haunt my nightmares, but the giggly fanboy will warm my heart constantly. 6/10

I only have one word for this Leo (Heroes in a Half Shell: Blast to the Past)

This is a super crazy bad idea accent on the super crazy bad part have I mentioned it’s also a really terrible idea/10

Okay, spoiler alert, didn’t really think this Leo was that grand Leo (2014/2016)

Painfully average. He didn’t stand out that much, Raph was part of the focus and had that touching scene at the end, Donnie was ICONIC and Mikey (with his weird-ass eyes) was super lively and funny! Leo? Uh, I don’t remember a single line he said. Because he never really grabbed my attention, I don’t have too much to say on this version. The Raph and Leo fight felt forced and the whole ‘keep this stuff that could turn us human a secret’ was pretty pointless and was added just to cause drama, I don’t even remember what that Splinter and Leo conversation was about. Design-wise, really neat! You can see some more traditional Japanese clothing/style mixed with modern (I’d feel a lot better about this assumption if some could tell exactly what the heck he’s wearing, but I get traditional Japan warrior vibes from it) in his look which was super neat! Other than that, if you like him, please tell me why because I don’t get. He was just kinda eh. 5/10

AHHH MY BOY YASSS WHOOO!! Neon Leon (2018)

Okay, I loved Ben Schwarts already from Parks and Rec but like him being Sonic AND Leo, like DUDE. He’s super funny by himself but teamed up with this shows writing and animation, it makes it hilarious. I literally love this Leo so much, maybe because we’re alike but honestly, he’s amazing. I love his design with the red and yellow crescents accenting his skin and livening up his color pallet. He has a very healthy and natural dynamic with his brothers, he’s the first to know what’s wrong and tries his best to make up for his actions. This is really prominent in the most recent episodes, along with the episode portal jacked. In both, Leo is separated from his brothers. Portal Jacked is in a more literal sense, while Air Turtle handles in more of an emotional sense. While both are brief, Leo sees his error and tries his best to make it up to them. I love his dynamic so much and it’s so nice to see something like this compared to the unnecessary drama and tension between the brothers in the previous series. It’s refreshing and this is something a younger audience needs to see; instead of fighting, it’s better to work together and improve yourself along the way. Improvement is a big theme for Leo here. He’s a goofball, makes jokes at every opportunity and isn’t quite skilled at fighting or using his weapon. But he grows over time, he learns to manage his power and he’s working on mastering it. He’s trying to put aside his narcissism more and focuses on his family. I think the approach they took with him rising to leader rather than slapping it on his forehead was the goddamn best decision they could make. He’s making plans, finding loopholes, helping out and getting out of his comfort zone. I cannot stress how well this show has handled Leo, along with the other characters. I can’t wait to see more episodes about his growth and I am awarding him with one of the greatest honors I could give... 10/10

Storytime: I drew a super cute 2012 Leo, you should look at him. Shameless self-promo, but you should follow me on my main blog bc I’m nice and I draw pretty pictures. Also. I have a little 2012 Leo Happy Meal toy??? I think??? guarding my window and he’s been there for YEARS. I need to bring him in and refresh his paint job.

Wow! I didn’t expect this many requests for Leo, so the blog will be momentarily spammed with the requests, but it shouldn’t be too much! Up next should be the last turtle (Mikey) and then we can get to some REALLY great requests I’m eager to answer. As usual, please comment and reblog! I’d love to hear your opinion!

#Tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #leonardo #1987 leo #2003 leo #2012 leo #2014 leo #2016 leo #rottmnt leo #Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #asks #I forgot how my tagging system worked

59 notes · View notes

asgardian--angels · 6 years ago

Text

Calling All LOTR fans! Why aren’t you on LOTRO yet??

Hey everyone! It’s Molly here - aka, Sauron’s #1 fan lmao.

Now, we’re a big fandom, between LOTR and the Hobbit and the Silm, there’s millions of us out there, and thousands on Tumblr! And we’re always looking for new ways to experience and interact with Tolkien’s legendarium. Plus, many of us have an overlapping interest in gaming, of any sort. But even if you don’t - read on, I implore you!

There’s an incredibly awesome free MMORPG out there, one that I’ve been playing for years. It’s called LOTRO - Lord of the Rings Online - and it’s gotta be my absolute favorite interpretation of Middle-Earth ever.

For those not aware, an MMORPG is a massively multiplayer online roleplaying game, basically an open world PC game that has thousands of other users you can interact with within the confines of the game’s universe. And in this case, that’s Middle-Earth!

Everything you know and love about Tolkien’s world is brought to life in stunning thoughtful detail, from the rolling hills of the Shire to the eaves of Fangorn and beyond. You become an integral part of the story of Middle-Earth, assisting the Fellowship both directly and in the littler ways that count most of all - staving off the forces of darkness by doing good deeds and helping the folk of Eriador, Rhovanion, and Gondor. Everything you do ripples outwards to influence the fate of Arda itself! Without you, there would be no hope for the Fellowship to succeed in its dire quest. Traveling from land to land, you become beloved and treasured as a hero by all the free peoples of Middle-Earth, royal and common folk alike. While you may start out small, soon your path will bring you to the feet of great lords and kings, and onto the very doorstep of Mordor itself, where the Dark Lord awaits. Fight the fell beasts of Sauron, skip through the Old Forest with Tom Bombadil, and ride your warsteed across the vast open plains of Rohan - the world is yours to explore, and to save, if you can. Middle-Earth depends on you.

I truly can’t overstate how much I love LOTRO. I’ve been playing for five years now and I am just as much in love with it as the day I first started. It’s always a little dicey, as a Tolkien fan, especially if you’re a highly devoted one, trying to judge and decide if an interpretation of his work will enhance your experience or ruin it - you just want to see justice done by him and everything he stood for. Trust me, I’m like that too (there’s no need to talk about a certain upcoming Amazon series...). So believe me when I tell you that the spirit of Tolkien comes alive in this game. The creators, writers, and designers of LOTRO have put so much thought and care, and heart, into staying true to Tolkien’s vision and messages. Great attention and care is paid with respect to accuracy to the lore and languages Tolkien created as well, something that cements the authenticity of LOTRO for diehard fans. You just feel good playing it (and honestly, I feel like it’s helped my self-esteem?? Those little virtual hobbits are so grateful for everything you do). Warm fuzzies all around. With a fair helping of angst, can’t forget that. Not all stories can have happy endings, but with your help, a whole lot of them can.

So... maybe you’ve read this far, and are a teensy bit interested? Or at least intrigued. This is a chance to expand the world of Tolkien to something you can actually immerse yourself in, be a part of, explore like never before! Wander the cobblestone streets of Bree, smell the pipe-smoke in the Prancing Pony, feel the chill winds of the icy wastes of Forochel upon your face. Do you have the guts to face the Witch-King himself?

LOTRO has so much to offer! Whether you are interested from a gaming perspective, or a story perspective, it’s endless fun. Before LOTRO I’d never played an MMO, and I certainly would not consider myself a gamer. I came from a love of Middle-Earth, and came for a chance to see that story brought to life. So don’t count it out if you think you’re not up for some hardcore gaming lifestyle - this game has the pace that you set for it. Whether you join a social kinship and roleplay, a raid group to do skirmishes, or go it alone and fish the day away, the possibilities are endless.

Plus, I feel like it’s worth stating that the scenery in LOTRO is astoundingly beautiful. It’s not uncommon for my friends and I to ride around just for the view. And you know what else? The music, guys. Just, the music. LOTRO has been blessed these many years with composer Chance Thomas, who has crafted some of the best soundtracks I’ve ever heard - comparable to those of the Lord of the Rings films themselves. He truly encapsulates the emotions, the grandeur, the coziness, the uneasiness, the dread and the joy, of every corner of Middle-Earth. (It’s so well-loved by players that TWO official soundtracks were even put out, and I play them in my car all the time, ngl. Check out one of the Rohan tracks here!)

So, for the nitty gritty that you may be wondering about! This is a great time to join LOTRO. Over the years, the game has grown tremendously, adding more regions of Middle-Earth to quest in, building more storylines, and expanding the characters you can have, the clothes you can wear, and the activities you can do! Currently, you can play several races - Man, Dwarf, Elf, High Elf, Hobbit, and Beorning - as well as a wide variety of classes - hunter, lore-master, rune-keeper, burglar, champion, minstrel, captain, guardian, and warden- each with their own unique stories and abilities. Multiple characters can be created for free on one account. There’s a wide customization capability for characters and cosmetic items, for housing, steeds, emotes, pets, and more. That’s part of what makes LOTRO so fun! Most expansions can be purchased in-game using points earned by completing deeds, making LOTRO affordable and FTP (free to play) for a large proportion of its content. Additionally, we have an incredibly thorough and comprehensive Wiki-style website for all LOTRO-related information. This is an incredibly knowledgeable and welcoming community.

...Did I add that there’s maiar in the game too? If you have a keen eye you’ll spot them.

Molly why are really you making this post?

Now, earlier I mentioned kinships. Traveling Middle-Earth can often be more fun with others, and having friends can help you learn the game and offer advice and insight. They can be roleplay partners, band members (yes, you can play instruments in the game!), or just buddies to talk to. Many LOTRO players are in kinships, and each is different, depending on what you want to get out of the experience. You can find a kinship within the game, or on social media - in fact, I found my kinship, the one I’ve been in all these years, right here on Tumblr! I want to extend that hand in friendship to potential new players that are in the position I was all those years ago.

Our humble kinship is called Dwarrowdam. You may recall this is the name for a lady-dwarf! While many of our members are dwarrowdams, that is by no means a prerequisite. We welcome players of all races and classes. Dwarrowdam is a casual social kinship, where we enjoy helping others out, from learning the ropes to festival activities, deeding, raids, concerts, and much more. We host weekly kin nights, where we get together and have fun for a couple of hours. This kinship has been going almost since the start of LOTRO itself, and we are eager to meet new people! A few of our higher-ranking members have had to depart after many years, due to real life commitments, and we hope to build our ranks again. We all thoroughly enjoy mentoring new players, myself included. Dwarrowdam would be a great choice for kinship for any player just starting out, or a continuing player looking for a relaxed social atmosphere as part of their gameplay experience! We are located on the Landroval server, which itself is known for its friendliness and its roleplay opportunities. It is our hope that gaining a solid handful of new, active members will allow our kinship to return to its former glory. Kinships can fizzle out and dissolve if too many players leave, and that is the last thing we want to happen to Dwarrowdam. It’s been like a home for me and many others, and I believe we can restore it.

I am an officer in the Dwarrowdam kinship, along with Badari and Daerhovan. We strongly encourage you to contact us with any questions you might have, about the kinship or LOTRO itself, or if you would like to join Dwarrowdam.

Anyone who loves Tolkien and Middle-Earth should give LOTRO a try. For me, finding it was like filling a hole in my life I never knew existed. It’s thrilling, peaceful, emotional, hopeful, all in one - basically, everything that the stories we know and love already are, but brought to life in front of us. I’d like to think that if you tried it, you’d love it as much as I do. And if you’re in need of a kinship, please consider Dwarrowdam.

And besides, look at Gandalf and his bushy eyebrows. You can’t say no to that.

#lotro #lord of the rings online #lotr #lord of the rings #the silmarillion #long post #mine #do i enjoy writing posts about lotro? absolutely #we seriously need new members #n e w b l o o d #but more than anything i just want to share the joy that lotro has brought to my life #it's gotten me through so many hard and stressful times #you just ride out into the middle of nowhere in rohan and sit there and watch the sun set and everything is right in the world #i LOVE being able to mentor new players it's so fun and having that chance to be in a kinship as soon as i started was pivotal #we welcome you all with open arms #anyway yeah we're desperate for new members and if we can't get some we will probably be forced to merge into a larger kinship #which is alright i guess but you lose that sense of identity #so this is sort of a plea post? like please help us #we need renewed interest in LOTRO itself overall. there's a wide audience to be had but membership is down #and i feel like part of that must have to do with the fact that there's no more movies coming out #nothing drawing new people in #so this is me turning to the audience lotr already has that probably doesn't yet know this game exists

151 notes · View notes

rkkyul · 5 years ago

Photo

190801 MGA SEASON 5 + EPISODE FIVE + #5050 FEATURING : TEAM KT ⟨ ━━ ❀ ° PART ONE: PERFORMANCE, LION HEART + I GOT A BOY ( LINES / SONG ) ⟩

it hits her all at once, the overwhelming emotions trapping her before swallowing her whole. she’s going through the motions - watching heejin and minho rise from their seat beside her as their names are called, numbly following them up onstage. kyulkyung isn’t sure she’s breathing air, mouth opening in surprise and eyes widening as her teammates lead the way. perhaps her reaction is a bit dramatic, but oh is it genuine.

the whole experience was so surreal - to even be considered for the top performance of the week when she had failed to do so the entire show. kyulkyung was tired of being average, of resting on that safe middle ground between being the best and the worst. average. want an ugly word. their names weren’t called when the top performance was announced, but she was too high in the clouds to notice - hand clasped tightly around heejin’s as they awaited the announcement. was it disappointing? maybe a little, but to finally be at the point was certainly an ego boost.

semi finalist.

the words were strange to her. the woman who had allowed herself to persuaded into something she once found silly was now officially a semi finalist for the mga’s fifth season. oh, she couldn’t wait to tell her mom.

her heart was still racing when the trio once again returned to their seats, following throughout the hug minho gave them - adrenaline coursing through every part of her being as the show went on without her. kyulkyung listened, watched more talented performers leave them and she wondered how she had even managed to make it this far. she didn’t doubt her worth or talent, just wondered what happened to suddenly have luck on her side.

after the disaster that was 2018, the woman entertained the idea of this just being some cruel joke. zhou jieqiong? making it this far on her own? joonho would’ve laughed in her face. but she tried to not think about that.

she’s slapped back into reality when the contestants suddenly awake with life, their bodies moving in shock and excitement rising in hushed tones. moving her eyes from where they stayed fixated on her shoes, they follow the movements of the new appearances on stage

from sphere entertainment, please welcome CONVEX’s very own JINKI and JINWOOK, as well as our star trainee and winner of the last season of the MGAs, GO HOJUNG!

her ears hang tightly onto the world CONVEX, hoping a familiar someone’s name will follow but much to her disappointment, she’s left with unfamiliar faces and dismay. but she perks up, attentive in her seat as she patiently awaits the coaches from TRC to be announced. JINSOUL - kyulkyung can’t help the tiny noise that passes her lips, excitement enveloping her entire form when she lays eyes on her best friend. “hey, that’s my best friend!” she attempts to whisper to minho and heejin - practically shaking in her seat and definitely way too excited.

i can’t believe she didn’t tell me, despite her thoughts, kyulkyung grins anyway. her anticipation only grows as time passes. please let me get onto trc’s team. please. please. please.

and no, not just because that would mean jinsoul gets to coach her.

she’s just a tiny bit disappointment when the TRC group announcement rolls around and her name is passed up. just the tiniest bit. however, this is short lived when her name is revealed under KT. the company is a bit surprising, solely for the fact that she wouldn’t have chosen it for herself. out of everything, she was expecting nova the most. but getting picked to perform in a group for a company run by katie lee, that’s pretty amazing.

❀

"semi finalist? oh, god i can’t believe.” yea, she can’t either.

kyulkyung laughs at her mother’s enthusiasm over the phone - feeling her cheeks grow hot at the woman’s constant, unrelenting praises. it’s nice to hear the complements and she allows her ego to inflate with each syllable. her mother always complemented her, but it was nice to hear something the woman herself could also feel proud of.

the mgas were different than anything else she had done in life. there was no reliance on anything other than what her talent alone had to offer. there was no behind-the-scenes magic that needed to worked, no amount of bills slipped under the table and secrets to be kept. the fact made her prideful if anything.

after last year, it seemed as if everything wrong she had done had constantly stayed on her back - a quiet monster, the chill that ran down her spine and kept her awake at night. it was hard to put it past her, but somehow she had managed to tuck it away far enough, bury it so deep within that it never even became an afterthought. the process took time and trust, especially with her mother who felt almost as guilty as her.

“you know after last year, i worried about you. i felt like i set a back example.” kyulkyung clenched the phone pressed against her ear tightly in her grasp, fighting back whatever emotions spewed up. biting down on her lip, the woman pushed through whatever words left her mother’s mouth through the phone. perhaps the worst part about the whole situation was that her mother felt responsible, took on her daughter’s worries and that was not okay.

the woman’s voice is strained through the phone and she fears she’s holding back tears. “but i’m proud of you, for doing something and making it this far. i really hope you make it this week, jie.” me too, mom. she answers, burring herself further beneath the sheets - feeling the dull ache of attachment to the woman who can only speak to her through a phone or stupid screen.

“i wasn’t going to tell you this in case it jinxed you this thursday but chun and i are coming in next week - just in time for the finals. he has a business down there, but i figured i’d tag along just to see my girl.” and lying in her bed that night, phone tucked between her ear and pillow, making it to the finals next week meant so much more to her.

❀

once again,the week goes by rather smoothly with her teammates. except for the fact that they are busy, busy, busy.

the coaches and teammates are alike in the ways that they are helpful to a girl with minimal singing experience. and lucky for kyulkyung, this week she’s in a room full of incredible talents. of course yukhei and her scream over each other their first meeting, having only spoke to the boy over suwoong’s phone a few episodes ago and having got along pretty well. he’s just as fun as the woman expected and paired with talent to combat his upbeat nature.

the girl known for her singing and musical talents, yuri is just as amazing to work with as she expected. their team is full of power vocals, yuri and sia bringing enough to the table and offering whatever tips they had to ever so curious kyulkyung. “c’mon please... think of me please?” she begs yuri to sing such an iconic song - phantom of the opera being a personal favorite of the woman. she could never get enough of the tragic story that was erik and christine. ugh, it made her cry every time.

“i’d say i’d help sing it, but that’s a disgrace to phantom of the opera. it’s a sin.” kyulkyung pulls a hand to her chest, bowing her head in sadness before shaking her head at the thought. yuri is the only one who could do it justice while she couldn’t bare the embarrassment for herself.

kyulkyung’s delighted witrh yuri’s compliance, elated to hear one of the songs from her favorite musical from personally one of her favorites on the show. before being teamed up together, the woman had always admired her from afar - completely losing herself in her voice and loving every moment of it. just as expected, yuri’s voice complements the song nicely and she can’t help the long drawl she lets out, pressing a hand against her heart and swaying ever so dramatically to the tone of the other’s voice.

all shenanigans aside, the woman found herself in a situation that left her bewildered. she didn’t mind to help usually, but sia’s call for help left her a bit nervous. kyulkyung didn’t have experience with cutting or mixing music, but the other girl needed help and who was she to refuse? “i don’t care to, but you’ll have to lead the way some.” the woman admitted with a tiny smile, eager to help out in any way that she can.

the process wasn’t too difficult, but it was a process. creating the choreography with nakyung for the dance break wasn’t nearly as hard as creating the mix, but eventually they got it done ( and kyulkyung was there to offer any extra help whenever someone needed it ). the fact that they had managed to pull it off was extremely exciting for the woman, even going as far as to do a mini celebration dance whenever they finished it. yes, she was embarrassed with herself afterwards but damn was she proud.

turns out she’ll be heading back to hook & crook after the show with a little bit more than dance and performance tips.

❀

thursday approaches quickly and this time, kyulkyung’s a bit nervous when she climbs onstage. the semi finals held a lot of more meaning than the other performances and after being in the top 3 last week, she’s sure there’s an expectancy for both her and her team. in fact, the entirety of team kt had at least one episode’s worth of top 3 experience under their belt and it makes her wonder if they’ll be watched that much closer.

her hair, now faded a bit after a few washes, hangs loosely atop her head - the white nature of her top and shorts a contrast to the red bandanna that’s tied around her thigh. she’s standing on stage with her team, head held high and signature smile wide despite the nerves that light up when the judges and eyes of their first live audience lays upon them. “hello! we are FOH!CUS.” the team greets before being met with the thunderous clap of applause.

the noise is enough to brighten her smile and settle whatever negative emotions she felt. kyulkyung did not get stage fright, well not anymore at least. the eyes of an audience was not foreign to her especially after her time with knb. it was all just noise to her, eager eyes there to watch them perform and their entertainment for the night. they’d give them a show worth while, especially with all the pretty faces and power vocals up there.

in the most arrogant way possible, kyulkyung thought team FOH!CUS was hard to forget.

“hello! constant #5050, zhou jieqiong here again!” she will never forget that tiny bit of chinese at the beginning of her introduction - not until the very end ( it’s kind of a habit at this point, honestly ).

as the group arranges themselves for the beginning of the performace, yuri finds herself in the center - surrounded by her teammates and introducing the audience to chi chi’s lion heart. the vocals are soft as are their movements, the singer’s tone and charisma alone enough to draw attention and set the mood of their performance. kyulkyung’s sure the audience’s heart fluttered just a little as did hers when she heard yuri sing the song for the first time.

ah 넌 달라진 게 없어 여전해 난 애가 타고 또 타 사냥감 찾아 한눈파는 너

kyulkyung’s voice follow’s the other girl’s smoothly, a nice transition into her sweet tone and flowing nicely with the music. luckily for her, the movements during this part are minimal for her at least - allowing her voice to carry unfaltering and comfortably. singing live was something she worried a lot about, but with tips and a lot of help, her confidence grew little by little. her smile is delicate upon her lips, her legs carrying her into the next series of moments as they draw into the chorus.

chi chi’s choreography isn’t hard to follow, but it’s nice and fun to watch. the song and melody allows for an easy smile from kyulkyung, putting on an image of a girl in love and innocence. their movements and choreography are soft and flows nicely against the music, but that makes it so much better when the shock of their transition settles in.

lion heart suddenly comes to a halt and everyone is moving into new position - a new light overwhelming them as the beat changes entirely. the mix that kyulkyung and sia put together takes over the stage, the group moving in sync with one another in a way contrasting themselves just a few moments prior.

nakyung and kyulkyung were responsible for creating the choreography, transitioning them into the beginning of i got a boy and creating a whole new mood for their stage. the woman’s presence changes drastically, a more coy, cheerful look overtaking her frame as the upbeat tone of the music sounds. personally, she prefers songs like this to lion heart - feeling more like herself with peppy beats and modern lyrics. hahaha! eh let me introduce myself - kyulkyung points to yukhei as speaks, here comes trouble, whoo! there’s a playful grin on her lips as she moves - raising a hand to motion a ‘come here’ movement with her fingers, 따라해.

어떨 땐 오빠처럼 듬직하지만 애교를 부릴 땐 넘 예뻐 죽겠어

preparing for their performance was once again fun for the woman - this being what she looked forward to most when she joined the competition. and honestly speaking, kyulkyung learned a lot more than she thought she would. working with people was one thing especially on a show like the mgas, the fierce nature of the competition threatening to bring out the worst in people but so far, that hadn’t been the case ( at least for her ).

the way they move alongside one another on stage is exciting - no doubt a visual and talent overload for their audience and she wonders if this what being an idol felt like. and if that’s case, it makes her want that contract even more.

making it this far was exciting, but left her greedy more than ever. there was a lot pending on today’s performance, on her advancement into the competition that she undermined completely. coming in with no expectations and following through with nothing but the highest, that was surely a shock. but not only did she want a contract presented to her in the end, kyulkyung would also love for her mother to at least see her perform once.

귀 기울여 주는 너 너

her mother’s words drive her confidence, fuel the endless stream of energy that courses through her as they near the end of their performance. kyulkyung didn’t have a lot of lines, but she didn’t asked for many - leaving the singing up to the professionals and taking as many notes as she could. the coaches and her teammates helped equally and she matched their drive with one of her own, practicing up until the very last moment because she didn’t need the embarrassment up on stage.

she’s not as perfect as she’d like to be, but she knew what she had to work with and milked it for its worth. what she lacked in singing she made up with her dancing and countless expressions, enjoying every minute she was up on that stage.

as the performance neared its end, kyulkyung couldn’t help the bottomless pit of worry that began to sizzle deep within her stomach. no matter how good they did or how much the crowd loved their performance, one of her teammates would be going home.

it hurt to think about, but she supposed that’s just the nature of a competition and she’ll do anything in her power to make sure that person isn’t her.

#rkmga5 #rkmga5groups #❀ ° ～ once upon a time.#wc: 2674 #rkmason #rkheejin #rksuwoong #rkyuri #rkxuxi #rksihyeon #rknak #haseulrk #rkariel #rkxluda #etc: italics are chinese

8 notes · View notes

no-ill-wind · 6 years ago

Text

Top 10 Tracks of 2018

After the announcement of Grammy nominees, I sat down to sort out my ten favorite new tracks of 2018. Last year saw major releases from my top three favorite acts and releases by a few more groups that would become new favorites. This year did not pack that same punch but thus allowed me to branch out further and latch onto some other artists I might not have explored as much. As usual, I’m only sharing one track per artist.

10. Best Part - Daniel Caeser feat. H.E.R. A favorite in pop circles in 2018 that also offers some of the most distinctive and delectable harmonies of the year. These two collaborators come together so genuinely that they sound like they’ve been one act all along as they sing, “You're the coffee that I need in the morning // You're my sunshine in the rain when it's pouring.” What a beautiful sentiment. From dancing to this song with my partner to hearing my guitar students eager to learn it in class, this song has followed me through the semester and I am glad for it.

The list continues below with Gorillaz, Childish Gambino, and more.

9. Black Eyes - Bradley Cooper While not the banner song of the crowd- and critic-favorite film A Star is Born, “Black Eyes” is no less impactful, being the electrifying opener to the 2018 film. It strikes you with the one-two punch of, “Wow, can Bradley Cooper sing!” and “I can’t wait to see what else this film has in store!” It’s a moment of true musical cinema. Cooper and Co. leverage the power of music in incredible ways from start to finish, and as a result this introductory song stayed with me long after leaving the theater.

8. Suspirium - Thom Yorke Radiohead frontman Thom Yorke followed in the footsteps of his counterpart, Jonny Greenwood, in pursuing film score this year. While Greenwood has already enjoyed an Oscar nomination for his soundtracks, Yorke is just now applying his electronic and ethereal musical sensibilities to the world of film music. Despite the appropriately eerie and desolate electronica that accompanies most of this year’s Suspiria remake, the title (ish) song that also served as the soundtrack’s lead single is a bare but entrancing piano waltz. “Suspirium” thus captured my imagination immediately, as I knew it would as the latest brain child from the brain behind my favorite band. Everything that I love about Radiohead is here.

7. This Is America - Childish Gambino Donald Glover proves himself to be one of my favorite working artists with everything that he does. The mere fact that he does everything is inspiration enough. For years he was one of my favorite actors and comedians. Then in 2016 he surprised even die-hard fans with what unarguably became the best song of the year with “Redbone.” “This Is America” deserved all of the attention it got. A pastiche of musical styles and a barrage of complicated images, the video which introduced this song to the world is as complex as they come. The music is visceral, perhaps the most significant factor that divides casual media with serious and meaningful art. The answer to “How could he top ‘Redbone?’” is this.

6. Magic City - Gorillaz Everything about this album is a reaction to 2017′s Humanz, from it’s length to it’s relative though glaring lack of featured artists. As someone who cherished Humanz as the first release from the band I experienced as a converted fan, I struggled to really get into The Now Now at first. I am all about it now, but from the beginning the track that I felt perhaps the most affection for was “Magic City.” With surreal imagery and sincere emotion operating side-by-side, this track works as the heart at the center of this chill and synthetic album. It plays in my head constantly.

5. 100 Years - Florence + the Machine Though The Guardian deemed this track a “misfire” in their tempered review, I knew from first listen that it would become my favorite from the album. Though I agree with some of the reviews that High as Hope marks perhaps F+TM’s most tepid album thus far (don’t get me wrong, it is still remarkable), I disagree here and knowingly go against the grain of criticism in declaring “100 Years” the best song on the album. What the album suffers from is a low-rumbling sense of self-parody, as if this album was someone else’s attempt to create “Florence” with a capital F. Here on this rousing track, Florence and her machine rise above their own formula to bellow out the most fresh, bold, and sincere thrill since How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful.

4. Movement - Hozier Hozier’s next big hit, though arriving late in the year, was instantly captivating. Perhaps it was the bewitching switch from minor to major as the music flows from verse to chorus. Perhaps it was the hypnotic grace of dancer Sergei Polunin. “Movement” boldly announced itself as a worthy successor to Hozier’s breakout “Take Me to Church,” perhaps its superior. In suitable fashion, Hozier reasserts himself as beloved purveyor of graceful, harmonious indie rock.

3. Make Me Feel - Janelle Monae This might be Monae’s year, as she wields the potent weapon of her third studio album, Dirty Computer. She sets her sights on the hearts of critics and audiences alike with music that is both intensely addictive and socially advocative. The song feels like the moment just before bubblegum pops, like the euphoria of feeling so in love that you can feel it in your stomach. It’s the song that has come to define “bisexual lighting” while also being one of those songs that you can put on repeat and never lose the way it makes you feel. I am afraid that Dirty Computer is too interesting to walk away with the Album of the Year award it has been nominated for - the Grammys prove time and time again to be bound by the gravity of what is simple and what is everywhere - but Monae certainly deserves the accolade if the Recording Academy can muster the courage.

2. Please Don’t Die - Father John Misty God’s Favorite Customer was Father John Misty’s The Now Now. It is an about-face from an album released the previous year that many people deemed too big or too full, focusing less on the outside world and turning inward to the artist himself. Unlike Damon Albarn, however, Father John Misty stayed jarring rather than go languid. The fifth track from his fourth album is jarring before you even hit play with such an abrasive and forthright title. What follows is a heartfelt and concerning look at his own self-destructive habits from the outside, specifically from the point of view of his concerned wife. She shows up in the music video as the angelic hero he has always painted her to be, but the daring falsetto that strains above the plodding undercurrent of the devil’s sleigh bells intimates the fear that it might be too late to be saved. It is a potent song that wakes the album up from the ennui of formula. While the album is angsty through and through, it sounds at times like someone else was paid to write a Father John Misty album based on the model of his first three albums, in much the same way that Florence’s new album does. “Please Don’t Die” thus plays the role of wake-up call in more ways than one, and from the first listen claims the title of enduring favorite that will, ironically, outlive the rest of this album.

1. Beyond - Leon Bridges By perfecting a throwback sound that you can’t help but look forward to, Leon Bridges has crafted what is easily this year’s most charming music. The Fort Worth darling has proven himself more than just “interested” in recreating the sounds of decades past, but damn good at it. If we opened the yearbook of this year’s musicians to look at the Superlatives, Bridges would be “Best to Bring Home to Mom and Dad.” It all seems genuine though. It’s more than just a novelty act, summoning the Ghosts of Soul Music Past. The whole album delivers the power of soul straight to present audiences like he’s a man dancing by a jukebox in a diner in the past who is so in love that his song can be heard not just across space but across time. As catchy and endearing as it is well-constructed, “Beyond” is wholesome music that feels like butterflies, probably best summed up by the wonder-struck fadeout, “O me o my I can’t explain, she might just be my everything.”

3 notes · View notes

dragabloodvist · 6 years ago

Text

Night of the Hunter - 5

Fandom: How to train your Dragon

Rating: E

Pairing: Astrid x Ryker // Astrid x Hiccup

Chapter 1: FF-net AO3

Chapter 5

If Hiccup hadn't pressed her against the door the moment they entered his – no, their – home, Astrid wouldn't have cared or known whether it was closed or not.

Finally, after years, they were married now, and everybody on the island, were they up in the Great Hall celebrating or just randomly passing by, knew exactly what they would be doing now.

“Don't you think our guests will miss us?”

The question arose but quickly got dismissed.

“I don't care. I want you. Now!”

There was laughter, giggles, and kisses, lots and lots of kisses, as they stripped each other of their clothes. It was something they were practiced in by now. Hands roamed over the flushed skin, searching and finding the spots that drew moans and growl until they eventually stumbled toward the bedchamber in the back of the house, stark naked, groping and fondling. His hand found her breasts, pinching hardened nipples, as hers wrapped around his swollen cock, squeezing and pumping.

They were freshly married, and this now would be the first time they had sex. But that didn't mean that it was the first time they were naked together. Not! At! All!

“Gods, Hiccup!” Astrid moaned as his mouth on her neck was threatening to drive her insane, his hand fiddling between her legs. He knew just how to play her body, pinching and rubbing her clit until she cried out and her body shook with what surely would only be the first of many orgasms she experienced tonight.

When she floated down from her height, she found herself still somehow standing, supported by Hiccup's arms around her.

“I love you, Mrs. Haddock,” he whispered, voice raspy and thick. His eyes on her were soft, but there also was an undeniable fire in them, fuelled by lust, desire and also by the secret ingredients mixed into the cup of honeyed mead they'd shared earlier.

Astrid smiled up at him, her mind still dazed by her recent climax, and yet she knew that she couldn't by any chance get any happier than in this very moment. “I love you too, Hiccup,” she replied, her heart swelling with the truth of her words before she pulled him down into another kiss.

He seemed all too happy to oblige, his arms around her tightening and his lips moving eagerly until she could barely breathe anymore. It was fun – but not enough tonight.

“Is kissing all we're going to do tonight?” she eventually teased, her fingers closing around his cock once more.

Groaning, he bucked into her hand, fingers desperately digging into her shoulders. “Definitely n-not. Just wanted to give you t-time to reco-ooh fuck!”

Without much of a warning, Hiccup suddenly spilled over her hand and stomach, head was thrown back in a low howl.

As so often, Astrid eagerly watched her boyfriend, no, her husband, in his throes of pleasure. She just loved how the tight cords in his neck relaxed and his face went slack. He was a beautiful sight at any occasion, but these were the moments she enjoyed the most. When he relaxed and was completely hers, not the Chief or the Dragon Master, and just her lover.

“Wow, these aphrodisiacs are tough,” he growled after he regained his senses.

“Or you were just very eager,” Astrid suggested playfully, fully knowing that he was right. He usually wasn’t that quick to shoot his load.

Smirking, he walked her backward until they landed on the big bed, freshly made with clean white sheets. “I certainly was,” he mumbled against her skin, kissing and caressing her wherever he could reach her. Astrid gave as much as she took, eagerly exploring his body, relaxing in the familiar activity. Trying not to feel nervous about what would come next.

The special substances mixed into their drink really seemed to work brilliantly. In record time, Astrid felt Hiccup’s erection poking against her belly, hot and hard, heard him hiss at the contact.

“It’s okay,” she gasped, arching into his touch as he roughly palmed her breast. “I’m ready.”

Hiccup groaned, grinding against her, but still had enough sense left to make sure. “Are you certain? We have all night, after all. We don’t need to rush.”

At that, Astrid laughed. She'd been waiting for this moment for years now. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

Hiccup nodded and rolled them around until she lay beneath him. She could see how nervous he was as he settled between her thighs, fumbling as he aimed himself toward her entrance. He took another moment to look at her, to make sure that she was ready, then, slowly and carefully, pressed into her.

Astrid gasped, hands grasping at the sheets as he stretched her open. It stung, just like she’d been told, hurt even – though not as much as she’d expected. But she wouldn’t let that thought ruin her mood.

Once settled inside her, Hiccup stilled, trembling. “Gods, you’re so hot,” he moaned, visibly fighting to hold still, to give her time to adjust.

Astrid could do little but whine at first, entirely lost in the sensation of being so full, of finally, finally having Hiccup inside her, being one with him in every possible way.

From there on, everything was nothing but a blur for her, the arousing drugs fully kicking in. Eventually, Hiccup began to move, slow and measured thrusts, as well as he could manage, and she lost all sense of time. It didn’t take long for the initial pain to subside and for their joining to feel good. So incredibly good!

Hiccup came with another low groan, deeply buried inside her, and the heat filling her only heightened her own tension. He didn’t pull out, just kissed and cuddled her until, only minutes later, he grew hard again and went on. Astrid came too, helped by fingers pinching and rubbing her nipples and clit, and it was so much more intense with him inside her that it almost made her cry.

They continued like this for hours, losing count of how many times either of them came, their stamina undoubtedly fueled by the long wait and the aphrodisiacs alike. Frantic thrusting and grinding were followed by soft and sensual caresses until, in the early morning hours, they were both spend and done. Giggling with exhaustion and love, they eventually fell asleep, entangled in a tight embrace neither of them ever wanted to leave.

***

When Astrid woke, it was still relatively early in the morning if the dim light outside was anything to go by. She stirred, confused about what had woken her. A chill crept over her exposed skin, and she hastily covered herself with the blanket again. And then noticed that something was off.

She was alone.

She was alone in the big bed in the Haddock House, Hiccup nowhere to be seen. Confused, she lighted a candle, got up, the blanket wrapped around her naked body against the cold, and looked around. Hiccup’s leg, that he’d at some point taken off last night, was gone, too. Tentatively, she opened the door to the front room, but it, too, was empty.

Frowning, Astrid returned to the bedroom. Maybe he’d just needed the outhouse. She was just about to lay back down to sleep again when her eyes landed on the bed sheet. It was, by no means, clean and fresh anymore. It was disheveled and crumpled from their night of intense sex, visibly stained with their mingled sweat, her arousal and Hiccup seeds that unavoidably had spilled out of her every now and then. It was a horrible mess, and it almost made her giggle… if not for the one stain that wasn’t there.

There was no blood.

Astrid didn’t even realize how much she was shaking. This night had been supposed to bring clarity…

The room around her seemed to vanish as other pictures and sensations boiled up in her mind, memories she'd thought she'd efficiently banished.

A small chamber, filled with the scent of stew.

Pain, blood, and shame.

That man and the filthy words he'd muttered into her ears.

“Try not to catch.”

“Open wide, sugar.”

Whimpering, Astrid slumped to the ground as her knees gave way beneath her. Desperately, she shook her head, trying to chase away those memories she’d thought she’d gotten rid of years ago.

No, no, no. Not again. She couldn't go through all that again. She was over it, was married to Hiccup now. She was happy.

“Do you want to cum?”

Sobbing, she threw her hands over her ears. Ryker was dead. He couldn’t be here. He was gone. All that was nothing but nightmares of the past. All her doubts and fears, always second-guessing herself, she was over that!

“Missed me?”

“NO!” Her high-pitched scream echoed through the quiet room like the call of a dragon as she sat, crumpled, on the cold floor, rocking back and forth, trying to ward off her nightmares. It was over, over, over. This night had been supposed to prove that it had been nothing but a nightmare. It had been supposed to let her know for sure.

But there was no blood…

Astrid didn’t register the hurried and uneven steps coming closer, nor did she hear how the door behind her opened. All she knew was how, suddenly, there were arms around her, holding her, restraining her. She tried to fight them off, she didn’t want this, none of this.

“Shh, shh, it’s me. Astrid, it’s me, it’s Hiccup.” His voice was urgent, frantic.

“Hiccup?” she muttered, dazed as she instantly calmed down. Right… of course it was Hiccup. Who else? Sobbing, she let herself go limp, knowing that he would hold her.

She didn’t know for how long they sat on the ground like this, how long it took her to calm down and stop crying. But eventually, Hiccup interrupted his soothing noises and asked, “Astrid? What happened?”

Unable to explain it, she let her eyes shift toward the bed, to the traitorously not-red bed sheet, then lifted her hand to indicate toward it as well.

Hiccup’s eyes followed, but he didn’t understand. “What do you mean? There’s nothing, I don’t see–”

“Exactly!” she interrupted him hoarsely. “There’s nothing.” She gulped, closing her eyes in defeat. “No blood.”

“Oh…”

That was all he said. Just that one little word. Astrid almost felt like laughing. Her world was crumbling around her, and all he said was ‘Oh…’? She tried to wriggle out of his arms, away from him, but he wouldn’t let her.

“Astrid, it’s okay,” he insisted. “That doesn’t mean anything. Not every woman bleeds on her wedding night. Sometimes the maidenhead got broken before already, riding a dragon could do that, for example. There’s no need to worry, I know that you haven’t slept with another man after all.”

Astrid groaned but didn’t try to scoot away from him again. She felt so weak, so tired. “And what if I have?” she whispered. That was the most likely explanation, after all… That her nightmare hadn’t been a nightmare at all. That all that had really happened. Because, if her maidenhead had broken at some other time… shouldn’t she have noticed? Gods, if only she knew for sure! Once again, the uncertainty about what had happened was threatening to drive her insane.

Her question made Hiccup pause, though not for long. “Then… then I’d say it doesn’t matter,” he muttered.

Frowning, Astrid stirred to finally look at him. “It… doesn’t matter?” she asked disbelievingly. “It doesn’t matter whether I’ve slept with another man? Don’t you care about me at all?” The thought hurt, hurt so much that she thought she wanted to die right there and then.

But Hiccup just gave her a soft smile. “Of course I do, silly woman,” he assured her, carefully pulling her back into his arms when she didn’t resist. “I love you more than anything else. But you are my wife, not my property. And what you did in the past is none of my business. If you’ve slept with someone else, then… then that’s okay. Just... if it was Snotlout then please don’t tell me.” He chuckled shakily, and under different circumstances, Astrid probably would have joined in on that awful joke. But then he became serious again. “I don’t own you, Astrid. You can do whatever you want. All I’m asking is that… that we’re always honest with each other.”

Again, Astrid wanted to die of shame, but this time for a different reason. Gods, he was too good for her. Once more, she broke out into tears, sobbing into his tunic until her eyes had run dry and all she could hear was his slow and steady breathing.

“Will you tell me what’s upsetting you?” he eventually asked. “Not now, if you don’t feel like it, but… someday?”

Astrid hesitated for a moment and then nodded. Awkwardly, she fought herself back onto her legs and, entirely out of reflex, helped Hiccup up as well, knowing that with his pegleg he would have trouble to do so all by himself. It felt weird, helping him when she felt so weak and entirely relied on his strength to hold her together.

She eyed the bed and the traitorous sheet for a moment but then walked over toward it nonetheless to sit down at its edge. The hours they’d spend in this bed had been amazing. She would not let the past ruin those for her. Hiccup sat down beside her, tentatively taking her hand in his and wrapping his arm around her shoulders, and once she felt safe and comforted in his presence, she began to talk.

And she told him everything.

What had happened that day on Ryker’s ship, her nightmare and what Ryker had told her what had happened. How she hadn’t been able to distinguish between dream and reality. How strange she’d felt afterward and how the memories of that night had haunted her for so long. Were still haunting her. And how the worst part was that she would never know what really happened. “And I'd always thought-thought that my maiden blood on our wedding night would prove, once and for all, what was real and what wasn't,” she eventually finished.

Hiccup had listened quietly, not saying even one word. Astrid had expected for him to retreat at any moment, that he would blame her for not fighting harder or would think her dirty and unworthy. But none of that happened. If anything, his hold on her became tighter.

“I wish you would've told me earlier,” he finally muttered.

Astrid grimaced. “Do you want to revoke our marriage?” she asked quietly. She wouldn’t even blame him.

“No! Gods, Astrid, no. Please believe me. This doesn’t change how I feel about you.” He sounded almost angry. “It’s just… Odin, I wish I could have helped you. All this time, and…” he trailed off, shrugging.

“How could you have helped me?” she asked weakly. “There’s nothing you can do. You weren’t there, you don’t know what happened either. Only Ryker knew and he… he…”

Hiccup was quiet, soothingly rubbing her arm, but didn’t reply for a while. “I… don’t think that’s true,” he eventually whispered. When she gave him a confused look, he added, “He’s not the only one who knew. Heather and Dagur were there, too, and–”

“I already asked Heather,” she interrupted him, wrapping her arms around herself. “Shortly after she moved to the Edge. I asked… whether she remembers something unusual or weird about that night. But she didn’t, so...“

Hiccup nodded. “But you didn’t tell her what-what you told me?” He sounded weirdly sober, concentrated. Astrid thought that she ought to be angry at that, at how detached he was. As if he didn’t really care. But Astrid knew that he cared. This was just how he dealt with problems… and maybe he would actually be able to help with hers, too.

“No, I-I told nobody. I didn’t… speaking about it makes it more real, I think.”

He nodded again, slowly. “I see.” He was quiet for a while, and Astrid watched him thinking. It was soothing in a way, how his eyes never seemed to stop moving even as they just stared unseeingly at a single point, and how he randomly would lick his lip or chew on it. Eventually, he nodded to himself, frowning a little, and focused on her again.

“You… just want to know the truth, right? Whatever it is?” he asked carefully, and Astrid nodded.

“Yes. I just want to know what happened… Or whether I’m insane…” She dropped her head against his shoulder, once more seeking his strength. It felt good. For so long, she’d tried to fight these memories on her own, but now, she couldn’t do that anymore. She needed him.

“Then… then I might have an idea,” Hiccup muttered, uncomfortably shifting to look at her again. “But it might mean to at least tell a bit of what happened to another person.”

Astrid gulped. Every part of her fought against the idea of admitting her weakness to yet another person. But she trusted Hiccup. He wouldn’t suggest that if he wasn’t convinced that it would help her… right? So she nodded. “Who?”

Hiccup took a deep breath. “That’s up to you. Heather or Dagur.” He lifted a hand to ward off her protest. “I know, you said you already asked Heather. And in all honesty, I believe that if what you experienced had been real and they knew about it… they would have said something by now.”

Astrid frowned. “So… so you think I just imagined it all?” That thought left her feeling twisted. On the one hand, she wished to not have experienced anything of what she remembered. And yet…

But Hiccup shook his head. “No, I just think… Well, maybe you were asking the wrong questions.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “So, who would you rather ask? They’re both here, after all, we can solve this once and for all.”

Dropping her eyes to the ground, Astrid pondered. Heather used to be her best friend, back when they’d been younger. There had been a bond of trust between them, but it had grown thin over the years, and by now it was barely more than another painful memory. And Astrid didn’t feel like summoning any more hurtful memories tonight. Or realizing that her best friend had known the truth for all this time after all, for that matter. That made choosing easy.

“Dagur.”

***

Dagur didn’t look exactly thrilled when Hiccup led him into their house about half an hour later. Not that he appeared to be drunk or hungover, as that was rarely possible to tell with Dagur anyway, but he certainly looked tired. Well, exactly as if he’d been woken up in the middle of the night for no obvious reason.

“Right, what was it you guys wanted to ask me?” he asked, baffled, when he spotted Astrid sitting in a chair, still huddled into her blanket. “I mean, if you don’t know how to do the do, I’d be happy to, erm, demonstrate. But in that case, you’d want to wake Mala too. For, you know, demonstration purposes?”

If she’d been in the mood, Astrid would have given him a deadpan look – and the fact that she didn’t seemed to show Dagur how serious the situation was, as he sobered up directly.

“Hey, just kidding. So, what’s the matter?”

Hiccup walked past their guest, sitting down next to Astrid and reaching for her hand, but also somewhat shielding her from Dagur’s attention. “This might seem like a weird question to you, but… We’d appreciate it if you could just answer without asking any further questions.”

From her place halfway behind Hiccup, Astrid saw how Dagur nodded, despite the confusion written all over his face.

“Erm… alright?”

“Thanks, Dagur.” Hiccup hesitated, squeezed her hand once, and then approached the topic without preamble. “It’s about the time you spent as the Grimborn’s ally.”

“What the actual- that?” Dagur sounded scandalized. “I thought we’d put that behind us. I’m on your side now, or do you still doubt me?”

“No, none of that,” Hiccup assured him. “Nobody is doubting you. It’s about something else.”

Dagur took a moment to think, still not looking happy, and Astrid almost thought he would leave in a huff at any moment. But, apparently, all his meditating had been good for his self-control after all.

“Alright. What do you want to know.”

Hiccup glanced one last time at Astrid, and she nodded. He had her permission to go on, to say whatever he deemed necessary. By now, she just wanted clarity.

“Do you remember that time where you guys and Ryker had Astrid, Legs, and the twins captured?”

Dagur snorted. “Sure I do. It was kinda funny to see the shocked faces when Heather showed herself. I mean, by now I’m sorry. I get that she was just playing her role to convince Ryker and, well, me of her trustworthiness. But back then, it was just immensely hilarious. No offense.”

Astrid took a deep breath to stay calm. She understood his point of view. He didn’t know how very not funny those days as their captive had been for her.

“Good,” Hiccup said in a low voice, clearly fighting to stay calm, too. “There was that night Ryker and you interrogated Astrid.” Dagur nodded and Hiccup went on. “From what I know he... invited Astrid for dinner before you guys questioned her.” Yes, that was the official version, Astrid thought bitterly. But was it the truth?

Dagur nodded. “He did. I was angry that he would feed her the good stuff while Heather and I, his allies, had to eat with the crew.” He cackled. “Again, no offense,” he added, throwing a grin past Hiccup at Astrid.

“And… do you remember how long this dinner took?”

Astrid made a small gasp as she finally understood where Hiccup was going. Of course! Maybe it was true that nobody but Ryker knew what exactly had happened. But that didn't mean that there were no other ways to find out whether he'd lied or not. A spark of hope bloomed inside her, and she stood up to get a better look at Dagur's reaction.

The Berserker Chief just frowned in confusion tho. “Eh, I'm not sure? I didn't exactly pay attention to the passing of time then. I was miffed, drank some beer.” He shrugged, looking actually sorry. “I don't know.”

Hiccup’s shoulders slumped and he turned to give Astrid an apologetic look. But she wasn't ready to give up. Not now.

“Dagur, this is important,” she implored, holding Dagur's gaze with a not small portion of desperation. She just had to know. “Think again, please. I passed out while we ate. Ryker told me he'd given me a truth drug that had knocked me out for ten minutes or so, right before you guys came back. Is that true? How long was it before he called you back? Was it really just little over half an hour?”

Dagur gave her an incredulous look. “Half an hour?” he repeated, then burst out laughing. “You're joking, right? Half an hour? We waited almost the entire night before he finally called us back. I remember wondering what intimidation or torture technique he used that took so long, but you looked just as usual when we were called in, and you were so openly answering every question that I guess I forgot about it. And then you all– Hey, are you alright?”

Astrid's eyes had become wide and she'd started to tremble. The more Dagur spoke, the worse she felt until her knees gave way beneath her. Without a doubt, she would have fallen to the hard ground had Hiccup not caught her.

“Thank you, Dagur,” Hiccup muttered over the sobbing mess in his arms that was his wife. “That's all we wanted to know.”

Dagur stared worriedly. “Uh, what just happened? Did I say something wrong?” Hiccup shook his head, soothingly rubbing Astrid's back, and Dagur's eyes went wide. “If she thought only half an hour passed… then what happened really? What–” He caught Hiccup's grim nod and his hands balled into tight fists. “Oh, that bastard! I'll kill him! I'll– Shit! I… I didn't know! I swear I didn't. Astrid, I'm so sorry! You–”

“Thank you, Dagur,” Hiccup repeated, his voice hollow. He glanced pointedly at the door and Dagur understood. Without another word he left the Haddock House, leaving his friend and spiritual brother alone to care for his wife.

Inside, Hiccup held Astrid for what seemed like forever. At some point, he carried her trembling form back into their bed and wrapped them both into the warm blanket. Then he continued to simply hold her, not saying anything as she cried and cried until, eventually, all her tears were gone.

“I'm so sorry,” he mumbled after an eternity of silent comfort. “I'd hoped to learn something else.”

Astrid took her time before she answered. “It's okay,” she finally whispered. And she meant it. As bad as it was… Something like quiet laughter escaped her. “It means I'm not crazy. It means I didn't imagine all these horrors. It means everything was real… what I felt… what-what he made me feel. I didn’t make that up, didn’t… didn’t subconsciously wanted to feel that. It was all him, and not me.”

Hiccup didn’t reply, only held her even tighter, but that was okay.

Astrid didn’t know whether this meant the end of her nightmares and fears. But it was a start. She knew the truth about what had happened in that night now, and as bad as it was, it was better than not knowing, always wondering.

And it was the past. Part of her fears had always been how Hiccup would react if he ever learned. But now, she was positive that this part of the past wouldn’t influence their present, and surely not their future.

What Ryker had done had left scars. But he was gone and all that remained were memories.

With a deep sigh, Astrid snuggled closer to her husband, to his low and even breathing. He was already half asleep again, but reacted out of reflex and pulled her closer, and she wallowed in the sheer comfort of his closeness.

Tomorrow, their new life would begin.

#httyd #fanfiction #hiccstrid #Astrid!whump #whump!#Astrid Hofferson #astrid x ryker #rape #recovery

2 notes · View notes

moonlightmadnessreviews · 5 years ago

Text

Luz (2018)

The possession movie is a path so often walked it’s been worn down to the bedrock. We have our flagship films that will long stand the test of time, and then we have the run of the mill, thrown together movie that comes along so often it’s destined to be forgotten once the next one comes around. For this reason, when a movie cuts out a new path that is so haunting, so beautifully shot, and executed in such a creative an imaginative way, it begs to be watched again and again. Written and directed by Tilman Singer, 2018’s Luz is one such film.

The film follows Luz Carrara, a Chilean taxi driver now living and working in Germany. The opening scene sees her arriving at a police station after a mysterious accident, then Luz’s backstory is revealed when an old classmate of hers, Nora Vanderkurt, meets a psychiatrist, Dr. Rossini, who works consults with the police. While attending an all girls catholic school, Luz’s interest in the occult results in the suicide of a pregnant classmate, a mysterious illness plaguing a number of students and finally Luz’s expulsion from the school. It’s her recent interaction with Nora that has brought her into the police station and Dr. Rossini is now there to put the pieces together through hypnosis.

Director Tilman Singer helms a love letter to 80s Italian horror, shooting on 16mm film and filling frames with grain and hair in every shot. Cinematographer Paul Faltz does a magnificent job of recreating the look of those iconic films, while still allowing Singer’s film to look and feel all his own. The film has a washed out, unsaturated color palette that still manages to punch through the screen beautifully. Not to be forgotten is the score by Simon Waskow, pulsing with deep 80s synth and pads that float over each scene. The combination of visual and audio are a powerful one, though their subtlety helps to separate the film from the overly saturated market of nostalgia obsessed horror films and in your face retro wave soundtracks.

The interrogation scene is one of the most creative and captivating scenes in the film. We watch as Dr. Rossini, or an entity posing as the Doctor, asks Luz to talk them through the events of the previous night. It isn’t until Luz is under hypnosis that we realize the chairs are set up to emulate the seating inside a taxi, and the microphone stand doubles as a stand for a rear view mirror. We then watch as Luz pantomimes lighting a cigarette, only for a cigarette to eventually appear between her fingers. I watched this scene multiples times out of the joy I felt watching something so original and so effective! The lines between what we are lead to believe is real and the actual reality of it all are constantly blurred in this film and it’s great to see someone take their artistic freedom and just run with it through and through.

Luz is an incredibly contained film, with only 3 major sets and some really creative methods of taking us to new locations without ever leaving the room. Clocking in at only 70 minutes, the film is also paced slowly to help build up tension and dread. Shots linger and carry you into a frame, while sometimes the camera shacks up in one spot and forces you to watch the action play out at its own pace. There are moments where something so simple as characters carefully passing by one another just sends shivers down your spine. The magic is in the execution.

Jan Bluthardt (Rossini) is amazing in all 70 minutes of this film, his presence filling up the screen every minute he’s in a shot. That being said, the real star of the film is Luana Velis. Her portrayal of Luz is both haunting and painfully human. She manages to not only transcend the barrier of language (she speaks no less than 3 different languages in her time on screen) but she manages to take us along with her on a trip through time and space. I feel that I can’t stress enough just how much of her character Velis manages to communicate to us in a runtime that’s is 20 minutes shy of our usual full length film. I look forward to seeing her in more projects in the coming years. Of course, acting is a major part of the equation, but the writing in this film is the soil these actors use to build a creative and exciting new path for horror.

The films ending mirrors the opening shot, but where the films opening draws you in out if curiosity, the ending sinks you into your seat, chills traveling down your spine. We get a sense that Luz had to live life constantly looking over her shoulder, the shadows of her past refusing to leave her alone once they’ve been called forth. There is a repetition of phrases in the film, one of them a blasphemous prayer, another a means of hypnosis, and it’s curious how the film is bookended much in the same way. The questions “Is this how you want to live your life? Is this seriously what you want?” is asked again and again, and it feels like Luz speaking to herself, as well as that shadow asking if she wants to live in constant fear of being caught up with. The threatening tone and ominous nature of the question makes it one of my favorite elements in the film.

As I said, the possession film has been done time and time again, but Luz BEGS to be watched multiple times. Not out of a need for clarity, not out of a need for picking up on key points you may have missed, but simply because the hike to the climax is just that exciting! Though the story may not be original, the way in which it is crafted makes it stand out from the crowd. Singer has managed to give me a new favorite to rant about, and this is a film whose path I’m eager to share with friends and readers alike.

Rating: 5 Full Moons out of 5 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕

#luz #luz movie #foreign film #foreign horror #horror film #horror movies #possession films #film reviews #movie reviews #horror movie reviews #moonlight madness #moonlight madness reviews

0 notes

redstarfiction-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Simple. (pt.9 of Sonas/Happiness)

Hi guys, I really hope you like this chapter. I spent a long time thinking about it and what I wanted was something that captures the best of these characters. Not just their love, but their humour, resilience and kindness too and that is what I have tried to write here. Thank you for all those of you who have followed this story so far, thank you to @yesfangirl for the prompt which has led me down this route and thank you to everyone who shares my work and takes the time to say something nice. Much love, Han xxx

p.s. you can find the links to the rest of this series here: https://redstarfiction.tumblr.com/masterlist

Jamie’s eyes fluttered open again before the sun was fully risen. Pale pink light was filtering through the windows, casting a faint rosy glow across the room and casting squat shadows.

For a moment, his mind was blank, memory lost in the foggy space between sleep and waking and then it all rushed back. Brianna. His daughter! Ah Dhia!

He sat up, careful not to wake Claire, and got out of bed, crossing to the window and easing it open. He needed air and drank huge gulps of it as quietly as he could whilst waiting for his heart to slow back to its regular rhythm.

Brianna.

Jamie smiled, laughed and then realised he was about to cry and closed his eyes tightly, forcing the emotion back. He would not meet his daughter with red-rimmed eyes and a wobbly chin. God! The thought alone made his stomach knot with shame.

As if eager to make its presence felt more keenly, Jamie’s stomach rumbled loudly and he realised with a vague sense of surprise that he was ravenous. Not surprising considering it had been nearly eighteen hours since he last ate. He decided to shave before eating. The stubble on his cheeks was itchy but the moment he was done and suitably fresh faced, Jamie tugged his breeks on, not bothering with a shirt or stockings and barefooted, made his way down to the kitchen, casting a lingering look at the door behind which Brianna was still asleep before descending the stairs.

There were scones in the breadbox that Jenny, as their mother before them, kept stocked free for whoever was hungry to rummage through and help themselves. Jamie helped himself to a generous dollop of jam and then another for good measure and set about the scone, using his right palm as a plate.

As he lifted the last morsel to his mouth, a blob of jam fell from the crudely broken scone and slid down his forearm. Without thinking, Jamie lifted his arm and craned his neck, trying to lick the smear of strawberry from his elbow.

“Oh!”

His head snapped up and his eyes widened in shock. Brianna stood in the doorway, a chamber pot held out before her like a bizarre offering, her own face a mirror of his and her cheeks rapidly reddening, just as Jamie’s were. She was wearing Claire’s dressing gown, a rich blue that contrasted beautifully with her red hair and Jamie could scarcely believe how incredibly beautiful their child was. Despite seeing her the night before, looking at her now, poised and elegant as her mother, Jamie found himself at a loss for words.

“I’m sorry … I was just trying to get outside …”

The lass looked down at the pot in her hands and her face flamed a truly magnificent shade of crimson. Jamie was recovering his composure quickly and he smiled, hoping it looked welcoming, encouraging, and fatherly and not the deranged grin of a fool who was just licking his own arm.

“I didna hear you approach, you have a light footstep, lass.”

She gawped at him as if he had spoken a completely different language.

“What?”

Jamie opened his mouth to say something but she cut across him.

“Are you my … I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but are you Jamie?”

Time seemed to slow down for Bree in the second between the question leaving her lips and Jamie … her father … answering her.

“Aye, and you are Brianna.”

The way he said her name was strange and not at all like anyone else had pronounced it. Jenny and Ian had been careful to say it exactly as Mama had when they had been introduced but Jamie said it with a completely different inflection. It was as if the word meant something more to him than just being her name, he spoke with a sort of reverence that made her feel at once incredibly self-conscious but also very happy.

“I am.”

She stood awkwardly for a moment. Neither of them seemed to know what to say and then Jamie, stepped forward and held out his hand.

“Can I take that for ye?”

Bree looked down and remembered afresh that she was holding a pot of pee and wanted nothing more than the ground to swallow her whole.

“No, it’s fine. I … Oh God. Okay I’m going to get rid of this … if that’s alright?”

She stammered and hurried to the kitchen door and out into the courtyard before he could answer. Around the side of the house, Bree set the pot down, closed her eyes and leant back against the sturdy stone and took three very long, very deep breaths. Once she had let the last one go, she opened her eyes and very quietly, but distinctly said

“Fuck.”

That said, she felt immediately slightly better. She knew he would be waiting for her and she knew, instinctively knew, that he would be kind and patient and he wouldn’t be annoyed that she had just run out on him, babbling like a crazy person. He had that air about him, gentle despite his size and God! He was huge! Mama had made him sound like a giant and he wasn’t that but he wasn’t far from it either. Bree had noticed the size of his hands and the breadth of his shoulders immediately, but when he had noticed her and drawn himself up to his full height … she snorted. Well she was six foot tall herself, he was hardly likely to be a small man, was he?

And they looked so similar too! Everyone had said it. Mama of course, Jenny and Ian and all of her cousins had made some exclamation to that effect but seeing it for herself had been a bit of a shock because they truly were startlingly alike.

Jamie. James. Father. Certainly not Daddy. Never that.

Bree shook her head. She didn’t know what to call him at all. ‘Jamie’ felt a little rude, a sort of improper use of the affectionate pet-name his family and friends called him. ‘James’ sounded too stern and ‘Father’ was painfully formal and perhaps even more improper because despite what Mama thought, there was a chance that he didn’t actually want that relationship with her at all.

Bree wished fervently that her mother or Jenny, anyone really, would get up and come and save them both from the clumsiness of the encounter. She knew she should go back in; it wasn’t fair to just leave him stood there in the kitchen. She smoothed her hair and then lifted her chin and made her way back to the kitchen.

Jamie watched his daughter hurry past the window, her gaze rigidly on the garden path in front of her. The moment she was out of sight, Jamie slapped his forehead with the palm of his left hand and closed his eyes, making a noise that was half-way between a moan and a laugh. The poor thing! She had just been trying to go quietly about her business and instead stumbled upon her father, half-naked and licking jam from his arm like a dim-witted child.

His back! Jamie didn’t think she had seen it but she surely would if he didn’t dress himself properly before she returned. He barrelled from the kitchen and took the stairs three at a time, snatching a clean, white shirt from his dresser before sprinting back down the stairs, tugging it over his head as he went.

He entered the kitchen cautiously in case she should have already come back and was relieved to find it empty. What would Claire do? Tea. He should make a pot of tea, it would give him something to do with his hands if nothing else.

He crouched by the stove, packing in wood carefully to make sure it stacked evenly and as he worked, calm began to descend. The familiar task was gratifyingly soothing to his nerves and as he struck the flint over the little pinch of kindling fluff, Jamie felt the last of the tension leave his shoulders and heard the back door ease open.

Bree had paused by the window watching him work on the stove and as she watched him, her heartbeat slowed and she felt a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth. He had put a shirt on and was building a small fire, most likely for tea judging by the kettle on the table. Whilst she wasn’t exactly used to seeing people stoke fires just to make a cup of tea or coffee, it was the sort of domestic chore that was familiar enough to normalise most situations and if she helped, it would give her something to do with her hands if nothing else.

“Hi, sorry about that.”

“No bother.”

Bree noticed that when he smiled at her over his shoulder, the smile reached all the way to his eyes and it relaxed her slightly more.

“Would you like me to fill the kettle?”

“If ye would, aye. That would be a help.”

Bree nodded and lifted the heavy black iron, carrying it over to the sink where Jenny kept buckets of water from the well overnight ready for the morning. She filled it halfway and carried it back toward Jamie who had finished with the fire and was now standing again.

As he took it from her, their hands brushed and Bree was shocked by how warm he was despite the slight chill in the kitchen. He was as warm as she was.

Jamie gave her another one of those eye-smiles and Bree found herself returning it without even thinking.

“This is strange, is it no?”

Jamie gestured for her to sit at the table and Bree did so, picking up a small saltshaker and rolling it between her palms, absently.

“Yeah. I mean, it is strange for me but it must be for you too. I hope you don’t mind me being here, this is your home and I …”

Bree trailed off shrugging

“Whatever is mine is also yours, Brianna. As to ye being here, no I dinna mind at all. Quite the opposite. I am truly glad to meet you.”

Bree brushed her hair behind her ear and smiled shyly

“Thank you. I … ah … I’m really sorry but I don’t … I don’t know what I should call you?”

He seemed to consider this for a moment, his brows drawing in ever so slightly and his fingers drummed once upon the table, something Bree herself did when thinking she realised with a small start.

“Weel, ye may call me ‘Jamie’ if ye wish, most people do but if you would like, and if it wouldna be too presumptuous of me, maybe ye could call me ‘Da’.”

“Da? Is that Gaelic for father?”

Bree asked and saw his chest swell and his lip quiver ever so slightly as he said

“No lass, it’s only simple.”

Jamie held his breath as Brianna considered the options he had given. Her hands were gathered neatly around the saltcellar and Jamie desperately wanted to reach out and fold his fingers around hers. To try and convey through his touch everything that he felt but he forced himself to remain still, he didn’t want to frighten her or force anything upon her.

“Da? Is that Gaelic for father?”

Jamie swallowed the lump which bobbed in his throat and tried to control the tremble of his lower lip.

“No lass, it’s only simple.”

“Da.”

She repeated the word as if testing it and then smiled brightly at him and to Jamie it was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, the light of it warming him from the inside out.

“I don’t know how I pictured meeting you but it wasn’t like this. It’s fine though, just different.”

She shrugged again and Jamie grinned despite himself

“Aye, I must have imagined it a thousand score times and maybe more over the years, but I was never looking such a dolt as that in my dreams.”

Bree nodded, eager to join in with his joke

“I wasn’t expecting to be carrying my pee a chamber pot.”

Their eyes met across the table, the last of the tension left them, and suddenly they were both laughing.

“I’m sorry, Brianna. Truly for the first impression ye had of me and for scarin’ ye half-to death.”

Jamie reached his hand across the table in invitation and Bree placed her own hand over his as if it were the most natural thing in the world and really in a way, it was.

“Don’t be. It was fine. Mama will think it’s hilarious!”

“Och! Aye no doubt she will.”

Jamie nodded in agreement and squeezed her fingers.

“I daresay everyone has been commenting on how similar ye and I look, and we do. But I would like to tell ye also that you have so much of your mother about ye. I often … over the years I often thought about you and what ye might be doing and I knew ye would be beautiful and canny but I never could have imagined just how perfect ye truly are, Brianna.”

Jamie watched the tips of his daughters ears glow pink with pleasure at the compliment and was glad to have made her feel so.

“Thank you … Da.”

Bree squeezed his fingers back, and just like that, everything was simple.

#Outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander tv #outlander au #Voyager #redstarfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #jamie and bree

151 notes · View notes

mass-effort · 7 years ago

Note

are you still doing the emoji thing? if you are how about ahya, the skull emoji and morrigan

I certainly am, I’m doing them all week!

You made a great choice with Morrigan and ravens btw, these go SO WELL together and I don’t have the energy to stretch my imagination tonight :))) This one isn’t really scary at all, but I loved writing it. You provided me with an opportunity to figure out how its first established that my Tabris and Lavellan are twins. THANKYOU SO MUCH ANON I AM FOREVER GRATEFUL!

Send me an OC, another character from that universe, and an emoji!

*****

Characters: Ahya Lavellan, Morrigan

Prompt: 💀 Ravens

Word Count: 635

*****

“Inquisitor, you are taking in the pleasures of the garden I see”.

Ahya had been lying down on the wooden bench in the Skyhold garden, looking up at the pinky hue of the evening sky. The garden was oddly quieter than usual, so Ahya decided to take advantage and relax a little. The Orlesian nobles probably thought she was a bit peculiar; lying down on a bench outside, when there was a chill in the air – but she was Dalish, and they thought her peculiar anyway, so what did she care? Ahya sat up now, however.

“Morrigan, what can I do for you?”

“Have no fear. I am in search of no favours, Inquisitor. Simply taking a stroll.” She looked thoughtfully up at the sky and took a seat next to Ahya. “It is a beautiful place, is it not? Skyhold.”

“It certainly is, I feel incredibly lucky to have found it. Though that’s all down to Solas of course.”

“It certainly is not. There is no doubt we would not be here without the elf’s knowledge, but I hear the Inquisition would not have survived without your actions at Haven. Is that not true?”

“Well, I don’t know about that.” Ahya absent-mindedly picked at a loose thread on her leathers.

“Everyone else seems to say so. Do not discredit yourself.”

A silence passed between them for a couple of moments, but a comfortable one. Ahya leaned her head back on the bench and closed her eyes. The breeze made loose hairs tickle her nose.

“A raven,” Morrigan said, so quietly she could have been talking to herself.

Ahya opened an eye, and indeed saw a raven flying overhead.

“One of Leliana’s most likely” Ahya replied, just as quietly. Morrigan hummed in agreement.

After a moment, Ahya asked a question.

“You…you and Hero of the Fifth Blight. You were involved were you not?” Ahya did not know what prompted the question. Only that Leliana had mentioned it, and she was curious.

“Yes. We are still together.” There was a pause, “She is on a quest of her own as of late, once she returns we will be a family once again. Kieran misses his mother so.”

“Is her quest more important than the Breach?” As soon as the words fell from her mouth Ahya regretted them. The question sounded lofty of her, but she was only curious. Morrigan however, just laughed at the question.

“No, and yes.” She looked up at the clouds, “Regardless, the world has asked too much of my love. It ought to let her be.”

“Quite.” Ahya knew that feeling.

“Jana would do right to return to her family and rest for a while, though I fear she goes searching for people in need. She is much too kind for the likes of me.”

“Nonsense. I see how you care for your boy, you are not as heartless as you like to appear.”

To that, Morrigan did not reply. Another comfortable silence passed over the two women, the gentle breeze and leaves rustling nearly sent Ahya to sleep.

“’Tis the most curious thing, Inquisitor.”

“Hmm?”

“When I first met you at Halamshiral, I almost thought Jana had returned to me. Tis foolish, I know, but you both look exceptionally alike.”

“Really?”

“Mmm, ‘tis an odd thing.” Morrigan regarded Ahya perplexedly, as if trying to figure out a puzzle. It was the first time she had felt uncomfortable around the witch, and she found it most unnerving.

A raven, perhaps the same one that was taking flight a moment ago, cawed loudly. The noise made Ahya jump, but she turned to look at it, eager to end the conversation. She wasn’t entirely sure why. The raven was rested atop the slightly crumbled garden wall, looking directly at Ahya. She had heard that the birds were omens of knowledge and prophecy.

#thanks again anon #this made me so happy #morrigan x female warden #dragon age #jana tabris #ahya lavellan #morrigan #morrigan x warden #my writing #dragon age inquisition

4 notes · View notes

lethe-distillery-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Soon

I stared after him with the wanton desire of the unfulfilled, the longing desire of the needy; I wanted him, and I wasn't ashamed of that fact. My eyes caressed him with that slow, sensual caress of appreciation as I took in his suntanned flesh. He was an exquisitely carved masterpiece of divine design, every part of him perfect, not a scar out of place, each blemish carefully considered and placed for the most human charm. But I knew better. This man, in all the ways that mattered, in all those subtle ways that make women pant, in the ways of courtship, of carnal needs, and the ways of seduction and poetry. This man, was not simply one of us, he was so much more. He was, a God.

I watched the sweat trickle down the caramel skin, my mouth watering for a taste. Though I knew every ripple of muscle beneath my tongue and that sweet sinful taste of him had long ago branded itself into my thoughts as my favorite thing. I still hungered for him, needed him in ways that were not at all what I was not at all used to. My control shattered before him, his own desires and needs sparking mine to a raging inferno while the storm of him made us grow together. The sheer weight of him had surprised me. The intensity, the power, the ferocity of him simply left no comparison between him and any other man I had met. It was as though they were two separate species, it seemed nearly unfair that they should look so alike for things so vastly different. I took a long shaky breath, feeling the pressure at my throat and knowing without even being fully aware of myself that I had placed my own hand there to satisfy the longing deep inside, at least a little.

I shuddered beneath his gaze, the eyes so vivid a grey they appeared to be quicksilver as they took me in. His long mane of dark hair had lightened to a wheat blond from the summer sun and his beard finished off the Viking complexion. He seemed a living embodiment of such warriors, feral, wild, and yet refined and gentle when the situation required such from him. Yet still, he always gave me chills, his manliness simply a veneer over the beast that was held within him. A powerful creature that warned of danger, of pleasure, and of protection. I toyed with him, my fingers sliding over the front of my robe, pearls of water still glistening on my pale flesh from my shower. How badly I had longed for his company, his scent overwhelming me as he took me, harder, his lips against mine, his hand in my hair, oh fuck.

I took a long shaky breath, trying to come back to myself, my audience of one watching me. Not with the casual indifference of some, and yet not with the rapt attention of others. No, the way he watched me, with his eyes following my movements was positively feral in its way of tracking me. I knew his wants, and they fueled my own to desperate abandon as I slid my hand lower, lower. Gosh it felt so right to be this naughty in front of the window. Knowing anyone could see us, but knowing that he was in fact watching. I needed to stop biting my lips or they would be ruined and no amount of lipstick could cover the impressions. I skimmed my fingers over my body, so plain and insignificant, and yet when he looked at me, when he did nothing more than look me up and down, I felt like a hedonistic demon, I felt as though not a woman could touch my comparison. Not when he looked at me like that.

I shuddered as I slid my fingers over my slit, body shaking and thrusting against my own digits, as desperate as I for his touch, as eager as I for his hunger. 'Soon,' I told myself, 'soon,' it wouldn't be soon enough but I needed to hold on, I needed to wait for him to finish, if I lost control I really would go out there, shrug my robe off and let him savage me right there, right on the lawn and I don't think I could bring myself to care if someone saw us. I slid my finger into my hot channel, it was insane how much he affected me, how wet he got me with seemingly no effort at all, how desperate I got, it was insane, and the part that was worse. He knew it.

I saw his tongue slide over his teeth and lips, my whole body burned in response. My whole body burned for him, my nipples hard and ready, my breathing coming out in whimpering gasps. He was a contrary beast, sweet talking me in the midst of fucking me so raw that I was concerned I would limp the next day. His great size overwhelming me, his insatiable hunger both enthralling me to him and yet also terrifying me. Gosh. I slid another finger into myself. I wanted him.

Harder I thrust, my hips bucking against my palm, our eyes looking over the other, desperate, needy, and yet so far away. Not really that one can call twenty feet and separated by a single window far, but what I wouldn't give for him to be right here before me; needing me, watching me, desiring me, until he couldn't take it anymore, slid his hand around my throat and finally took me. I shuddered, my robe doing nothing more than keeping off the chill as I slid my fingers into me with a wild abandon, my knees shaking, my breath coming out past my hand in whimpers. I could feel my climax building, peaking, and yet just out of reach, just too far away. I pleaded silently to him, knowing he knew. I needed him, nothing else would ever work, I needed him. His lips pulled back, smiling as he watched me, knowing what I needed, what I required. He drew it out though, making sure to drive me nearly to madness as he watched me, before I saw his lips move, and that deep sensual growl filled my head, even though it was nothing more than memory. "Cum."

I wrapped my arms around his neck as he slammed me to the wall, our lips locked in a passionate embrace, his own strength keeping me pinned in place. It was erotic, being held in place, kept there as you are satisfied, pleased, and brought to the brink of madness again and again. I knew I shouldn't have teased him out in the yard like that, that it was just spelling trouble but still, I couldn't help myself. I wanted him, worse, I needed him. I moaned into his mouth, feeling his erection pressed between us, hard, throbbing, and I so desperately wanted it inside me. I was instantly wet, I was instantly needy and desperate. Gosh. This was insanity.

I shuddered as his fingers slid into me, my whole body remembering, reacting, oh fuck. I thrust against his fingers, wishing it was his cock, but he loved teasing me, denying me, making me beg. He was cruel in the best sorts of ways; he always knew what I needed, and he would make sure that I got it, it just wasn't when, or how, I was expecting.

His fingers felt so much better than mine, his breath felt incredible as it seared my skin, his teeth scraping across the side of my neck as I fought to not cry out, it would only encourage him. Still, I rocked my hips against his hand, too far gone in my own lusts to bother playing coy. I hated that I had found him so late in my life, so many days like this that we could have shared, stolen moments where I felt beautiful, sexy, and like I belonged somewhere. It was, intoxicating. It made me think of all the memories we could have had, times in high school, our first kiss, our first lovemaking, and of course, the first time he made me scream.

I shuddered and bit down at his skin, savoring the taste of him even as my mind shattered with my climax, my breathing coming out hard and ragged as I fought every urge to cry out, every need that I said to scream his name to his gods in thanks of him. My knees shook, my grip around his neck tightened. Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh fuck; yes, yes yes, yes! I couldn't hold back the muffled cry that came out of me, I couldn't stop the hunger from making my essence flow over his hand. Fuck!

I shuddered, trying to remember how to breathe, oh, wow. I shivered, still clutching him for support, shaking against him when I heard the zipper, I reached out and touched his hands, covering with a shaky palm. "We can't." At least not right now. I heard him growl in frustration, his snarl making fear trickle down my spine and pool like hot desire at my core. I hated that I had to deny him when I wanted it too. I had never been this hot, this eager, this desperate for any man, save him. If only my husband would just leave for work already.

0 notes