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delldarling · 3 years

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the city is hoarding hearts | arroven

male dragon x gender/body neutral reader 9015 words lemon | mention of drinking alcohol, face riding, size difference, fairly submissive monster, penetrative sex, poetry, touch starved note: behold! my modern epic fantasy universe! this world first appeared back in August for my Patreon Story of the Month, and though I haven’t revisited Arroven again just yet, I did return to this universe for December’s Story of the Month as well. 👀

Magic, despite people's claim to the contrary, is beyond rare these days. No one really claims that it isn’t real, that it didn’t once run rampant with it’s existence. After all, it’s impossible to deny when people have things like the architecture of the North to reference. The towers built into their seaside cliffs, spiraling up like the serpents of old reaching for the sun? Without magic, without gravity spells, and an everlasting charm on those spells, thick enough to double as a coat of paint, the towers would have fallen into the sea by now, dashed against the dark stones jutting out from the deep green waters. Many people, though especially the elves, think that the towers will endure long after the cliffs have crumbled into the water. Floating relics, you’ve heard more than a few people murmur, wonder in their voices, wouldn’t that be something?

Even more common now, there are people the world over that claim they have a spark of magic left still, that they can feel the rhythms of the magical tide flooding back over the world.

She Wakes is written on street corners and thick posters, spray painted on the underside of the colossal Echo Bridge. No matter how often they have workers doing their best to clean the graffiti up, the giant letters are back in place a few days later.

Despite how much you’d like to believe them, as everyone dreams of the rumors, of magic returning, you’ve never put too much stock into the whispered words. Why would you? No matter how often you’ve spent watching wispy clouds streak by your window, no matter how often you’ve taken a moment to reflect on the thought, to nurse a seed of hope… Nothing has ever come of it.

It’s why you keep trying to ignore that heavy ache in the arch of your feet, or the way you keep noticing advertisements for Arroven.

History books and the elderly all say that this is how it starts when magic finally blooms in someone’s blood. There’s an itch. An ache. A constant irritant that starts in your extremities and wriggles into your veins, and then coincidences will start to pile up. Small things, like noticing whenever the clock strikes 11:11 on whatever clock you pass. Or maybe it’s having the luck to switch the radio station to your favorite song without fail, or—

“Stop it,” you mutter to yourself when you spot it. You breath puffs out into the chilly air, adding to the fog lingering in the streets. You kneel, brushing aside some of the fallen damask leaves, their velvety backs clinging to your touch even as you do your best to shake them off. Just barely hidden under their litter is a postcard. Without even glancing at it, you know what you’ll find on the back, but you’re drawn to pick it up anyway, turning it over. It depicts a sprawling city with green undertones, the word Arroven written in a sloping, beautiful script along the bottom of the image. The edges are creased, almost lovingly, and there’s a small puncture hole at the top left corner, as if someone had it pinned to a corkboard for no short amount of time.

Until this moment, you haven’t picked up any of the advertisements for Arroven. The stories all say that you can ignore it, that the magic will go away and fade from you like an ebbing tide if you only will it hard enough, but… You don’t know that you really want it to leave. Those seeds have hope might not have fully sprouted, but their roots have run deep, snaking through your veins. You swallow past the dryness in your throat and turn the postcard over, wonder if you’re going to get an address, or if there are words of encouragement intended for the last owner.

The postcard is faintly yellowed at the edges, but it’s otherwise blank.

You wilt, disappointed, but you don’t throw it back down onto the stones. If you check the railway listings, you’re more than certain that you’ll find a one way trip to Arroven suddenly dirt cheap. The pathway that will lead you there is probably paved with strangely good fortune, more invisible hooks ready to find a secure hold in your heart. You might as well find out if there’s anything to these claims of magic. You have far too much hope shored up in your bones and pumping through your chest not to at least try.

A month later, and you’re starting to believe that whatever magic that led you this far has all but fled. Of course, you’re more than content with where it’s left you, a word rattling around in the back of your brain and clamoring to spill from your lips: home. Arroven feels like home.

It’s not just the city though. It’s your place. It’s the stones that pave the streets and the people that fill them. It’s the smell of bakeries and the faint hint of exhaust. It’s the clean smell of paper and ink from the stationary shop you’d stumbled into on your first night in Arroven, and the proprietor’s barely-there smile. You’d made fast friends with her almost instantly, like it was fate.

Mora, despite her solemn stature, and the vast amount of spiraling tattoos disappearing under the neck of her cleanly pressed shirts, is beyond kind. She possesses a startling, sparkling wit that leaves a smile lingering on your lips whenever you think of her snappy little comments. She’d given you a job in her shop a few days after you’d first arrived, perking up as soon as you’d come back into her shop. She needed a cashier, so she could have more time to develop her own inks, and then a few days after that you literally stumbled onto a showing of a furnished apartment. It had fit all of your needs, and your shoes had sunk into the plush carpet of the bedroom, like a quiet voice in the place asking you to stay.

The ache in your feet had eased, that strange little irritant in the back of your mind fading with every passing day. You haven’t put too much thought into magic since then, as there hasn’t been a reason when you have a new job to keep you busy, and a city to explore on your days off. You love it here, the sea green patina on the copper statues, the swirling architecture that extends to every building in the city, no matter how large or small. Besides, you know if you go looking into magic again, at the message boards or if you go hunting down books, it’s likely that they’ll all say much the same thing: She Wakes, and her gift will blossom in you, but not Forever. She moves us like pawns, adjusting us Just So, no matter how small the slot She needs filled.

You’ve read it all before, have heard debates shouted in the streets or argued about in the back corner of classrooms. Magic moves through people as it wills, and no amount of pleading will keep it in you unless you’re a mage, and even then, that takes years of study. If the magic that led you here only existed long enough for you to make your home? Then you’ll have to be satisfied with that.

And you are, until that ache in your feet starts up again.

Late one evening, as you’re locking the back door of Rumoura’s, it floods through you fast enough to steal your breath. There’s no voice, no heavy hand on your shoulder, just a fierce pain that wells, threatening to bring tears to your eyes, until you turn to the right. You blink, surprise at the sudden and complete lack of pain, and take a ragged breath as you pocket the key to the door. When you feel steady enough, when your lungs no longer ache, you turn to the right and start walking.It takes you about ten minutes to realize you’re headed towards the main park, the one with ancient ruins of a half finished serpent tower peppered throughout its boundaries. You’ve walked through once, one golden afternoon with Mora, and you’ve been meaning to come back sometime on your lunch break. The past few days have been busy though, with a flood of students coming back to Arroven, stocking up on both casual and serious supplies from Mora’s shop.

Besides, there’s always been time to explore at your leisure now that you’re living here.

Two towering trees make a grand arch over the park entrance, and the slow swirl of damask leaves spiraling down from the branches make you laugh.

“Coincidence,” you murmur, a small smile curling your lips, and you walk into the park. The paths are well lit, even this late in the evening. This part of the city doesn’t boast about it’s lack of crime, but most people feel it. There always seems to be groups of people roaming: Elven tourists, hooking arms and laughing over cups of tea and coffee, Orcish artists and musicians, setting up on benches or street corners, busking for the simple sake of sharing their art with others. You wander through the park, expecting to simply take in the sights among the meandering attendees, but.. You haven’t seen anyone for the past few minutes. Your footsteps start to slow, wondering if you missed a sign somewhere and you have the nagging feeling that you just need to find someone.

Cautiously, you keep moving, the sudden bout of nervousness easing when you see someone up ahead. They’re sitting at the foot of one of the rather large blocks of toppled variscite, a dark hoodie hiding their face. Their shoulders are broad, and their clothes are a little more ragged than you see on people around here, but it gives off more of a well lived look than a dangerous one. They’re tapping the toes of their boots together, the tread of them worn smooth, and a low, masculine hum reaches your ears the closer you get. He stops as soon as you’re within speaking range though, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on his knees. There’s a street lamp not too far behind him, and with the hood and the angle of the light, it casts most of his face in shadow. All you can spy is a pair of long, thorn-like ear gauges, curling out from the depths of his hood. They’re bigger around than a thimble and sharp looking from this far away.

“Nice evening, hm?” You say in greeting, hoping that if he doesn’t want to speak, he’ll just bob his head and let you move along. You haven’t run into any trouble in Arroven yet, but even with that strange ache, you don’t know that you can see your good luck lasting forever.

“A lovely one,” he mumbles and he leans back, hands grabbing at his knees and squeezing like he’s the nervous one.

That thought makes you stop, your eyes focusing a bit more intensely on what you can see of his skin. At first glance, his knuckles are bruised and paint splattered, nails split and a little too long, skin rough in texture. You blink, realizing that his knuckles aren’t bruised, his skin just mirrors the strange patterns of the variscite he’s sitting on, ink black and sea green, and the rough texture to his skin has pointy, scalloped edges.

The noise he makes isn’t a sigh, not quite, but he turns his face away, as if he expects you to ignore him, or run, and his hood edges back, just a sliver. The arch of his nose is straight as an arrow, and his nostrils are thin things, slashing upwards. His face has so many angles that it’s hard to tear your gaze away. You wish you could see his eyes, but he has them closed, like he’s still bracing himself for a blow.

“Are you.. Are you alright?” You ask, because it seems like the thing to say, with how tense he is, with how he’s waiting.

His eyes flash open, reflective in the depths of his hood. His mouth curls into a frown when he turns to look at you again. His eyes are still the eerie glam of a reflected light. “You’re not frightened?”

“Are you?” You ask, ignoring the thundering of your own heart. You’ve seen Trolls before, and even a few half-elves or half-orcs of varying descent, with skin that just barely reminds you of his, but.. You’re willing to bet he isn’t any of those.

“A bit?” He says, unsure, and the edge of a violet tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip. “It’s been a few centuries since any of you have made yourself so at home here that you stumbled across me.” He hunches his shoulders, looking away from you for the breadth of a second, before he can’t help himself. His eyes flick back to you, rove over you from head to toe, almost greedily. “You felt a call then, an itch?”

“An ache,” you correct, staring at him with wide eyes. Centuries? The long lived races don’t often mention the time they have over others. It’s rude at the best of times, and most of them are terrible sticklers for manners.

“At home here, you said?” You ask, knowing that something about him seems terribly familiar.

Your question makes him pause, brow lifting before he finally pushes himself to his feet. He unfolds, all long, heavy limbs, but doesn’t move from his spot on the variscite. “M-.. Arroven. You do think of the city as home?” He breathes in, hesitantly lifting his chin. “Not to be rude,” he says, a little awkwardly, “but you smell like Arroven.”

All at once, the old poem flickers back into your mind, the one about hearts and desires and winter. The oldest folktales of the first cities, those built around the serpent towers, all seemed to carry the poem with them. It was both a warning and a blessing to those that wished to stay. You’d have to hunt down the entirety of it, but the ending couplet?

The city promises, you’ll be most adored So can you, will you, join the hoard?

You bite down fiercely on the desire to blurt out dragon, but he must sense it, might even see the aborted twist of your lips.

“..you’ve figured it out, then?” He asks, and when his shoulders droop, you spy the barest edge of a wing, tucked in close to his back. “If being in my immediate vicinity is a problem, I quite understand, but please stay in the city. You-” He blows out a breath, large hands fussing about with his hoodie pocket. Everything about him reads awkward, almost shy. “You’re safe here, I promise.” He breathes in again, like he can’t resist, eyes falling closed when his violet tongue appears, there and gone before you can blink. “You belong,” he murmurs and tangles his fingers in the material of his hoodie, like he would reach out if he didn’t stop himself.

Inexplicably, you wonder if Mora knows about the city patron. If you should waltz into the shop tomorrow and announce: I’ve officially been welcomed to the hoard. ...Sort of. Before you lose your nerve, before you can bite your tongue, you ask. “An official welcome involves more drinks though, doesn’t it?”

-Arroven, the dragon, the founder of the city, is sitting across the table from you, slouching in a barstool that has a difficult time encompassing his enormous body. Despite his height, and the way his hood shadows his face in a frankly ominous way, no one is paying him any attention. One of the bartender’s had slid a drink list your way as soon as you’d claimed the seats, but she hadn’t even glanced at Arroven. In fact, you think her eyes might have skipped right over his seat. It’s a little disconcerting, seeing as he’d claimed that Wink was one of the best bars around, but if they ignore him, if they can’t see him?

“What’ll it be?” A different bartender asks, a tall elf, with his hair plaited back in a complicated braid. He has pleasant features, though he looks a little flustered, a lock or two of dark hair escaping his braid. You think he might be on the newer end when he fumbles a bit with the card you slide his way, olive skin flushing when his fingers nearly touch yours.

“Uh, the special,” you finally decide, expecting him to turn to Arroven so he can order as well. Your jaw drops when he whirls, not even bothering. “Ar- hey, wait!”

The elf turns back, smiling vaguely, looking even more tense now that he can’t leave straight off, but he doesn’t seem to see Arroven when you gesture towards him. His gaze zips right through the neckline of Arroven's hoodie, straight on through to the next customer.

Perturbed, you lean in close to Arroven, heart skipping a beat due to his proximity. He smells faintly of musty books, and stone, cooling in the early evening after baking in the sunshine of a warm day. "Didn’t you want something?” You force yourself to ask, unwilling to let the elf leave without at least checking with him first. He doesn’t have to get anything, but you’d hoped he would, if only so you can spend a while longer in his company. Maybe the flirtatious tone you’d struck had made him uncomfortable?

For a moment Arroven hunches further into his sweatshirt, and you think your fears might hold weight. You are a little close, and you still don’t know each other terribly well yet. You straighten, hoping you don’t look as embarrassed as you feel and Arroven heaves out a sigh. He finally tugs back his hood, though the elf behind the bar doesn’t even blink. “Just a.. a Beetle Wing," he mutters, large, sharp teeth catching the light. The elf nods, though his gaze is still on you when Arroven speaks, and turns away to go make the drinks.

Without the darkness of night, without his hood shadowing his face, you see that his eyes aren’t permanently reflective. In the dim lights of the bar, they’re a lovely shade of blue-green that matches well with his skin. What you thought were ear gauges were actually his horns, thick and curving, and trailing after the clean arch of his jaw. His ears are heavy with plugs though, and they clink against his horns when he turns, noticing that you’re staring. The scent of hot stone grows stronger when you smile at him, and then he huffs, looking away and running a hand through his already tousled, short dark hair. You catch sight of scales on his scalp and then blink. It’s not hair on his head, it’s feathers. His eyebrows are much the same, in miniature. Fine, thin feathers, as ink dark as the scalloped edges of his scales.

“So,” you tease, hoping your questions won’t come off as prying. “Can the rest of the people in here see you at all? You said that it’d been a while since anyone had felt at home enough here to stumble across you, but.. I don’t know exactly if that means Magicis is at work, or something else.”

Arroven breathes in, glancing up at the filigreed round sign hanging over the bar. There’s a single neon eye in the middle, opening and closing on loop under the word WINK. Even with the noise of people talking, and the music coming steadily from the small corner of a dance floor, you can still hear the faint buzz and click of the neon switching over. “Not many,” he finally confesses. “If the proprietor were here, she would see me, but she’s been here for a.. For a while.” She’s one of the long lived races then. Arroven turns, taking a quick look over the other patrons, tense, as if he expects one of them to approach. “The couple near the dance floor there,” he finally says, pointing out two women leaning into each other, stealing sips of each other’s drinks. “The orcish fellow on his phone. They can see me, though I doubt they’ll realize who I am. Just living here doesn’t make someone part of the hoard, though it’s always a step in the right direction.” For a second, he looks like he might let the subject drop, but then he cringes, glancing at your eyes before he looks away. “I don’t- I don’t steal from the people living here, whether they’re part of my hoard or not, even if they don’t realize I’m around. Even if they can’t see me.”

That’s reassuring, though you hadn’t planned on diving into that topic.

“What then,” you ask, leaning your chin in the palm of your hand, and your elbow on the bar, “makes someone part of your hoard?”

Arroven’s rough looking scales don’t shine, but the neon light over the both of you shifts again from blue, to pink, and back. It was already hard for you to take your eyes off of him, knowing who he is, attracted to the nervous quirk of his lips, but now? The magic that you’ve only ever felt the after effects of, the strange aches and coincidences, it feels like more in this moment. More than a soft nudge in the correct direction. Arroven is sitting at your side, winking neon sign a spotlight over both your heads.

Hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, Arroven lifts his hand, reaching out, and taps once, softly, against your sternum. “It sounds esoteric, but the only explanation I have is that all of you feels like you should be here. From the way you smell, to the echoes of your voice or your footsteps along the pavement...” Arroven swallows, and then inhales, letting his hand fall away from your chest as his eyes close. He doesn’t pull his hand back completely though, just lets his hand hover over your thigh. “It’s always the desires of the heart that bring my hoard home,” he murmurs and starts to sway towards you.

There’s a soft clink on the bar, your drinks being set carefully in front of you and Arroven. When you look, the bartender still hasn’t noticed the city patron, the dragon, but the drink is still clearly set aside for him. Your card is placed very quickly next to your glass, the elf flashing you a much more jovial smile than earlier.

“Your drink has been taken care of,” he explains, but doesn’t stay behind to point out who might have bought them. When you look, Arroven is sitting straight up in his seat, and his guilty expression is answer enough.

“I was supposed to be welcoming you to the city,” he murmurs, turning in his stool so he can take hold of his glass. The liquid inside is iridescent, shifting from what looks like violet, to a strange umber. You’re willing to bet that it’s more blue and green, but the neon light isn’t doing it too many favors. Arroven lifts his cup, patiently waiting for you to do the same and then quietly toasts your arrival. The clink of the glasses rings in your ears with the clarity of a bell, echoes lasting far longer than the noise itself.

“Goodness,” you say, coughing when you finish your swallow. Your drink is a little stronger than you thought it would be, heat already spiralling down into your chest and filling your belly. “So, uh, the city blessings seem to be true, I take it?” You don’t look at him as you speak, afraid he’ll cringe away from the mention of them.

“Blessings?” Arroven asks, and then you have to search up the poem. He sounds like he doesn't know, but they're supposed to be as old as the cities. Or near as.

“Sometimes they vary, from city to city. But most of the time they have almost the same structure. The same meaning,” you explain, pulling up the poem on your phone. “Hoarding hearts, keeping people safe in winter. The, uh-” You turn it his way, but he doesn’t take the phone from you, just reads the words out of the palm of your hand, brows raised by the time he gets to the end.

“‘Sinking talons into your thighs?’” Arroven’s slit pupils grow wide, nearly drowning his iris in darkness. He straightens, taking another hasty gulp of his drink. He laughs when he’s finished, nerves finally beginning to ease. “That’s how they’re translating it these days?” He asks, but you notice his eyes lingering on your hands, drifting down to your knees and the way you’re sitting.

You pass a good portion of the evening, teetering back and forth with conversation about the city now, and how it was when Arroven had first settled. For all that he’s wearing modern clothes and walking on two feet, you can see him in a larger, more draconic figure, delving into the variscite mines and overseeing the people that had decided to settle under his watch.

He’s just as enthralled with your stories though, hanging onto your every word, even though he’s still clearly a little anxious. He abandons his hunched and wary demeanor as soon as you start talking about the magic though. All the little aches and nudges and postcards that had led a clear path to his city. To him.

You insist on buying the next round when he makes to wave down the bartender, who is still completely oblivious to his presence, but Arroven stops you with a hand on your wrist.

"Another time," he says, just loud enough for you to hear. "A welcome isn't a single round, is it?" He asks, a tentative smile revealing a small glimpse of those sharp teeth.

You could argue. You have the feeling that he would let it go if you pushed, but the smile sways you. It's the first time he's spoken without lowering his eyes mid sentence. You accept the drink, and try not to stare when his smile grows, shy and small and all the more endearing for it.

You both pretend not to notice each other grinning after that.

It’s just past 1 AM by the time the both of you leave the bar, only slightly unsteady after a few drinks and a few plates of bar food. Warmth floods you when Arroven’s hand finds your elbow, just barely keeping you from stumbling off the edge of the sidewalk and into the street. All it takes is a single stroke of his thumb over your arm for you to throw aside any worries you might have about flirting.

He's reciprocated, in quiet ways, for the last hour or so. He’s leaned into you whenever you lowered your voice, had let his eyes linger on your hands and thighs after you brought up the poem.. The worst thing he can do is say no.

“Come to my place?” You blurt and Arroven stutters, hand spasming in his grip on your arm. For a heart wrenching moment, you think he might turn you down, but he finally bobs his head, gauges clicking against his horns with the motion. “...You said you’d been out of the loop with the people living here,” you start, mouth dry, wondering if he knows what you’re trying to ask, but still a little too sober to spell it out. “I’m asking, I’m not just asking you to come visit. I-”

Arroven stops your worried speech with a slightly awkward smile. “I know what you’re getting at,” he finally says with a gentle huff of a laugh, hand sliding down your arm until he can twine his fingers about yours. His breath hitches, and for a moment you think he might stop, might pull away. “I- I would love to,” he says quietly, and squeezes until his fingernails gently prick the back of your hand.

Wordless with triumph, you flash another smile his way, heart pounding as you keep hold of his hand, ventral scales dry, but slick against your palm.

“The walk back to my place is a bit of a long one from here,” you confess, glancing at the handful of cabs loitering along the street. “Seeing as you got the drinks, I can—” You nearly trip over your own feet when Arroven tugs you back, keeping you from approaching any of the cabs.

“I don’t.. Fit very well,” he says, apologetically. “If you would rather take one, I can, but if you aren’t opposed..” Arroven’s wings, still tucked in flat along his back, quirk and stretch, spreading wide enough that he nearly clips another leaving bar patron in the face. They don’t move, don’t see him, but they blink, as if a gust of wind just hit them, and shield their eyes until they’re well past you and Arroven.

His statement leaves you staring, jaw beginning to grow slack. “Are you saying you can fly us back to my place?” Your eyes trace his wings again, the fragile veins spider webbing across the membranes. It’s not that you thought they were ornamental, but it’s one thing to see them, and another to know you’ll get to witness their use first hand.

Arroven’s shoulders start to hunch, but his eyes flick down to your hand, fingers still curled around his. He smiles instead. “Yes?”

You glance at the cabs, and then back to Arroven’s tall figure and broad shoulders. As much as you’d like being pressed up against him, trapped in the backseat of an uncomfortable cab isn’t quite what you’d pictured, and he’s already nervous enough. That settles things. You nod, just the once and lift your chin to meet his eyes. “Flying it is then! We can’t have you getting stuck in one of those, can we?”

While Arroven walks you through how he’s going to pick you up, how he’s going to hold onto you, some of the people on the sidewalk start to watch you. You’re nodding readily at what they assume to be empty air. You spare a second to wonder if they’ll see you vanish, or if they’ll be able to see the equivalent of a magical wind carrying you away. That would cause quite a stir, wouldn't it? You forget to ask Arroven about it though when he holds out his arm, waiting patiently for you to step closer, fingers gentle in their continued grip on your hand.

He’s still giving you the chance to turn away.

You take a breath, thinking back to the nerves you’d felt, packing up a bag and deciding to visit somewhere based on coincidences and the hearsay of magic. You think of Mora, and the apartment that feels more like home to you than nearly anything else ever has. The way everything fits here, every piece of the city you've set foot in branded on your brain, clearer than any map. You step close, eagerly letting Arroven curl his arm around your back and then lift you up in a bridal carry. His forearms and biceps tense, bracing you as he prepares, and then the snap of his wings flaring open makes your heart jump before he leaps. His wings catch a sudden breeze swooping into the street, allowing it to lift the both of you well clear of the ground before he starts to flap. The slight dip in elevation as he finds his rhythm makes you clutch a little tighter, but Arroven doesn’t complain. In fact, when you glance at him, he seems to be holding back a smug little smile.

It’s cold when he finally crests over the top of the nearest buildings. Between the chill, and the fast growing height between you and the ground, you have no issues absolutely clinging to Arroven’s neck. You don't feel like you're going to fall, but it's still safer than sitting meekly in his arms, isn't it? You try to twist your head about to see everything below you, but another rush of cold wind makes you squint. It takes a moment before you realize Arroven isn't moving though, he's simply keeping the both of you suspended in midair.

“Your address?” Arroven asks as soon as you start to frown, his voice rumbling against your ear.

“Ah.” You give it to him, laughing when you meet his still-shy gaze. “I suppose that’s a little important.”

While the walk would have left you both a little tired, the flight is a fairly short one. You have just enough time to relish all the places you’re pressed in close, to enjoy what little warmth you’ve managed to keep with the wind seeping through your clothes, when Arroven lands in front of your quiet building. There are no witnesses but the dim streetlights, the sound of his flapping wings muffled by the mist beginning to roll through the city. Arroven lowers you almost reluctantly, fingers slow to uncurl so you can step down onto the pavement. He takes a step back as soon as you do, like he needs the space between you to think.

“Still up for coming inside?” You ask, giving him the same chance he’d given you earlier. You jerk a thumb at the locked door, searching for your keys with your other hand.

Arroven’s head jerks forward almost too fast, the dark feathers on his skull prickling upwards. His wings snap closed, tight against his back again as soon as you unlock your door. It’s only mildly nerve wracking, having him follow you up to your place, and you think it might be because of how nervous he’s acting. He flinches away from the wall when he barely brushes it, almost tripping over his own boots as he goes up the stairs. He’s been shy from the get-go, but this-

“Arroven,” you murmur, turning to look up at him, hand pausing on your door handle. “Is something wrong?”

He breathes out, turning his head so the plugs in his earlobes clack against his horns, blue-green eyes roving over the hall. “No,” he says slowly, forcing himself to stop hunching into his hoodie, to take his wringing hangs out of the front pocket. “I’ve just, it’s just that I keep-” He stays where he is, brow furrowing for all of five seconds before he’s huffing and stepping into your space. When Arroven leans down, his pupils are needle thin, that sunshine warm smell suffusing the air. He was summoning up courage, you realize, just in time to let your eyes fall closed as he cradles your jaw with both hands. They dwarf your human face, his fingertips easily reaching all the way to the back of your neck, but his touch may well be the softest thing you’ve ever known. His kiss is more the brush of his mouth over the shape of yours, a slip of a taste when his tongue follows the curve of your lower lip. He hums, softly, but when you kiss him back? When your tongue touches his and you try to stand on your tip-toes to deepen things, when you stumble a step closer—Arroven’s groan is gratifying. Achingly slowly, he draws his hands down the side of your neck, leaving you free to control the pace of the kiss. His thumbs trace your collarbone, slow, deep circles that make you wish you weren’t standing out here, fully clothed and too warm.

You pull away, licking your lips and glancing down the hall. There’s no one there, despite your pulse loud in your ears and your breath heaving, surely loud enough to wake even those in the very depths of sleep. Arroven’s breath hitches, and for a moment he sways, ready to chase you for another kiss. “Wait, wait,” you say softly, trying not to smile too wide when his eyes flicker open, dark pupils growing larger. He starts to straighten, embarrassment lifting his shoulders. “Maybe we should get in my house first?” You rush to say, not wanting to potentially scar one of your neighbors, but not wanting him to rush away either.

His mouth opens on reflex, and then closes, slipping into a gentle smile. “Yes,” he says, and then you have to swallow, watching his eyes slide down to your hands and then further down to your knees.

You get your door open before he touches you again, but you’re only a few steps inside when Arroven reaches for you. He strokes the back of his knuckles down your forearm, fingertips only barely grazing your hips. “I’ve missed this,” he whispers, one of his fingers catching two of yours. “Touching,” he explains, the edge of his thumbnail stroking over your wrist and the base of your thumb and back. “Being close to, well…” He breathes in when you step into him, and grows as still as a statue when you balance against him, reaching around his middle to swing the front door shut. This close, Arroven still smells of sunshine, but there’s a sweeter, crisper undertone that makes you want to close your eyes to savor it, to breathe it in. He’s nearly vibrating with you pressed close though, hands hovering somewhere over the middle of your back, trying to keep himself still. He’s waiting for you to give him the go ahead, still caught up in his nerves... Or maybe just manners?

You grin, gently pushing yourself back a step before you smooth out your expression. “Part of your hoard?” You wonder aloud, but then you can’t keep yourself straight faced any longer, wanting him to recognize the words for the gentle teasing they are. You smile. “How about you touch me then?”

Arroven huffs, pleased, and then you quickly discover how needy he can be. He kisses you all the way down the hall, his wings nearly catching on picture frames, hands trembling in their stroking over your back. He keeps pausing at the top of your hips, like he wants to let his hands drift lower, but focuses on his mouth instead, mouth and teeth moving from your lips, to your jaw and down to your neck. You don’t think he’s willing to risk going further though, knowing that it would likely end up with both of you unbalanced and on the floor instead of the bed.

“Distracted?” You ask, reaching blindly around your doorframe, searching for the lightswitch as Arroven’s tongue flickers over the pulse on the left side of your neck. Your own breathing stutters for a moment, heat building in your veins. “You keep-”

Arroven’s breath puffs over the damp patch he’s left on your skin as he lifts his head, violet tongue sliding along the sharp points of his teeth. “Hardly,” Arroven interrupts, and his wings tense when you hook your fingers into the neck of his hoodie, drawing him further into the room. Your fingers find the lightswitch, the soft ring of the bulb lighting strangely loud in the room. “You’re all I can see. All I can focus on. ..am I missing something? Cues?” He asks, voice gone lower when you give his hoodie a fierce tug. He follows, all too willingly, fingers flexing around your hips.

“Hardly,” you say back, teasing as you back up towards the bed. You pull when you lean back, expecting him to let you fall, to fall with you, but his wings flare again. He catches himself on the blankets, hands to either side of your body, the blue-green of his eyes swallowed by his pupils as he takes the sight of you in. “Still good?” You ask after a moment, because he’s staring, because he hasn’t moved a muscle.

“Tell me,” Arroven blurts, arms tensing as his fingers twist into the blankets. “Tell me what to do,” he pleads, gaze catching on every sliver of bared skin he can find. “I’m.. finding it a little difficult to think. All I want to do is make you happy, make you want to-” He stops, feathered brows drawing together as he considers his words.

You arch an eyebrow, your hands stilling just shy of his chest. The way he’d hesitated, his flighty touches? they all make a bit more sense now. He’d asked you to stay in the city, had mentioned your belonging here. If you wanted to leave, if you insisted on stopping, Arroven wouldn’t keep you. But he wants you to stay here.

“Little to no thinking,” you muse, unable to keep from smiling as he hangs onto your every word. “Undress me,” you finally decide, and his nostrils flare before he sets to work. He’s terribly careful, every brush of his scaled knuckles whisper-soft and cool against your skin, but his breathing is ragged by the time he’s finished and your heart has sped in response. You’re tempted to make him undress himself too. In fact, he would probably do just as you asked, but you’re too impatient to get your hands back on him. “Hoodie off,” you declare, half amazed that he’s obeying your whims, “and lay down on the bed.”

Arroven listens immediately, tucking his wings in close before he’s pulling off the hoodie, careful around the curl of his horns and the arch of his wings. He isn’t wearing a shirt, but with his wings, you understand why. Most of those with wings don’t favor mass produced clothes or modern fashion. He’s on the bed before you can finish pushing yourself back up, jeans low on his hips, pale belly and chest all the brighter compared to the black and teal pattern of his scales. His legs spread reflexively when you stand, jeans growing taut when you reach for him. Your hands are steady, even if your pulse isn’t, but Arroven doesn’t seem to care. He looks blissed out from this much touch alone, jaw gone slack, eyelids heavy as you unbutton and unzip his jeans. He exhales when you pull at his jeans, eyes zeroed in on your face.

He’s thicker than he is long, and as pale as his abdomen, save for a violet tinge that makes you think of his tongue. Nestled as he is in the ‘v’ of his unzipped jeans, it’s all you can do to keep yourself from stroking him straight away, or even leaning down to-

“Maybe I can think,” Arroven says hoarsely. He lifts one of his hands, gentleman-like, offering it to you palm up. “Let me?” He asks, though you’re not entirely sure what he wants you to let him do.

Mannerly, you can’t help but think, lips twitching as you place your hand in his. The older races are, generally. It’s something to fall back on if they’re nervous or unsure. Not that most of them would ever admit to it.

“Are you thinking I should leave your boots on?” You get one knee on the bed before you pause, glancing back at his legs still hanging over the edge.

Arroven hums, but his grip on your fingers tightens for a second, not wanting to let go. “I’ll worry about those later,” he says, and then inhales sharply when you straddle his lap, cock pulsing as you settle against him. If he wants to let his jeans tangle around his boots, you’re not going to complain. It’s a bit of a thrill, knowing that he’s too impatient to fuss with them.

“Boots on, then. Now, what am I supposed to let you do?” You lean forward, drawing an aimless, spiraling pattern from his abdomen up to his ribcage. He’s much warmer now, with you astride his thighs and his wings trapped beneath him on the bed. It looks uncomfortable, but he hasn’t mentioned them once.

Hesitant, Arroven’s hold on you loosens, and then his hand drops to your thigh, eyebrows furrowing when he finally speaks. “Sit on my face?”

The brevity of it, the tone of uncertainty, makes your mouth twitch. “Jumping right in there, aren’t we? And here I thought you were kind of shy.”

“I am!” Arroven blurts and then covers his face with one hand, laughing quietly at himself. “I am,” he says, a bit more composed when he lets his hand fall away. “Though shyness has hardly ever been a factor in my favor. What is it humans say? Better to rip off the bandage?”

You crawl halfway up his body, smiling wider when he forgets to breathe. “Had to get the anxiety out of the way?” You brush a kiss over his chin, eyes catching on the curl of his horns. He’s moved so carefully that you’ve yet to feel the sharp points of them catching your skin, but if you sit on his face… You ignore Arroven’s disappointed sigh as you turn away to stroke the pad of your thumb over his right horn, wondering whether he has any feeling in them. They’re as ink dark as some of his scales and twisted in a lovely spiral that perfectly circles his pointed, gauged ears. Arroven isn’t reacting like he has sensation in them, though he reacts to every other little touch of you against his scales. “You’re going to have to help me balance,” you confess, sitting back against his middle. “Because even though they aren’t terribly sharp, I rather think I’ll be risking my thighs. Don’t you?”

Arroven stares, blinking, and then he looks horrified, which makes you wonder how long it’s been since he’s been close to a human, if ever.

“I’m not against this,” you add, grinning, “just to be clear.”

For a moment, all he says in response is a strangled sounding “Ah,” before he blinks again, glancing up at the ceiling. “I can... I will help. I’ll be careful. More than careful.”

It takes a few moments, and some adjustment, before you’re finally able to settle over his face. Your heart starts to pound a little faster when Arroven opens his mouth, those dagger-like teeth flashing in the dim light. His hands are strong though, curling around your thigh and bracing your hip. He’s too tall for you to do more than help balance against his chest, though you can see that he’s still wonderfully hard, and his cock is starting to leak. You’d love nothing more than to take him in hand, to taste him, but then Arroven nips your inner thigh, and you stop paying attention to his cock and start focusing on sensation. Your fingers curl at the first hot swipe of his tongue, pressing a little hard into the ventral scales over his chest, and the next slow lick has your eyes falling closed.

It’s not easy to stay steady, to keep your arms and legs from quivering the longer he licks and slurps. Arroven sucks small kisses over your thighs and the left cheek of your ass, his teeth only ever the barest pressure on your skin. His horns graze you, but he’s true to his word in keeping you balanced. The texture of them against your skin is just something more to feel, to enjoy as he tilts his head this way and that. Pleasure builds, faster by far than the magic that built in your veins, that left you aching with the need to come to the city. If that ache had been anything close to what you’re feeling now, warm, and slick, with the heady pressure of Arroven’s fingers on your skin, you would have picked up on the breadcrumb trail a lot sooner.

“You’re go- going to push me over the edge,” you warn with a gasp, legs starting to tremble. He moves you in response, starts to rock your hips so all he has to do is stick out his tongue, but your hands are shaking now too, cluing him into your urgency. Arroven shakes his head from side to side, a little wild, the plugs in his earlobes clattering against his horns with every shift. You bite down on your lower lip, orgasm rolling swiftly over you and nearly choke on the curse that wants to leave your mouth. He keeps you there, aching and weak, until you pat awkwardly at his chest, releasing you reluctantly with one last obscene noise of satisfaction.

You sit next to him, still a little unsteady and grin down at his pleased, messy face. “Now, unless you have any other lovely thoughts to share - your turn?”

His rough sounding “Please,” has your libido jumping back into overdrive, but it’s safety that has you slipping off the bed to dig out a bottle of lube from your things. He’s half pushed himself back up when you come back to the bed, resting on his elbows, fingers twisted gently into the blankets. His wings are partially stretched out now too, one of them reaching all the way to the end of your bed.

“Are your wings alright?” You ask, wondering if you should throw away the idea of climbing back into his lap, lube already pooling in the palm of your hand.

Arroven smiles again though, waving away your worry. “Tense,” he offers, as explanation. “I was more focused on you, but they’re good. I promise.” His cock bobs as you approach, and then he lays back down, irises vanishing into the ether of his pupils.

“If you promise, I suppose I’ll let it go.” You close the lube, only a bit ungracefully, and toss it to the side, climbing back onto the bed and straddling his thighs.

Your first wet squeeze of his cock has him whimpering, your hand barely fitting around him at his thinnest point. When you stroke, he bucks nearly unseating you until he claps his hands onto your thighs, muttering a hasty apology. Despite being tempted to laugh, you narrow your eyes, squeezing him just a little harder. “You don’t have to be still, but move a little slower for now, hm?”

“Of course,” he rushes to say, and then his jaw goes slack when you press him against you. “Oh,” he breathes, nails pricking your skin as you hold him in place. You rub yourself against his cock, up and back down, a slow undulation that makes you tense, still sensitive from your earlier orgasm.

And then you straighten, pressing the head of his cock into you. The first slow stretch of him inside you echoes the steady ache of magic, has your breath rushing from your lungs in a gasp. “Fuck,” you breathe and then glance at Arroven’s face. His head is tilted back, mouth open to reveal all of those sharp teeth, and his eyes are closed tight. You think he might be keeping himself from looking at you, might be trying to stem the urge to buck again, to move at all. You tilt your hips and press yourself down though, wiggling, and then Arroven is cursing. You don’t recognize the language, but you understand the sentiment behind it, the pleading tone that softens the edges of the words. It’s hard to concentrate, to keep yourself from getting distracted when all you want to do is sink down every inch of him and then just lay on his chest, trying to catch your breath. “Too much?” You manage to ask, but all Arroven does is shake his head and then carefully ease his grip on your thighs, stroking down to your knees and back up. Your legs, among other things, are definitely going to ache after this.

You ride Arroven until he’s a shaking, breathless mess, until he can’t help but tense his thighs every time he bottoms out, and you can barely stay up. You reach up, fingers just barely brushing his chin to make him pay attention. “Fuck me,” you command and his wings stretch to either side with force. You nearly scream when he starts fucking into you with purpose, and as lovely as your neighbors have been, you have the feeling they’re going to complain at some point. Every thrust has you tightening up on reflex, still shaky from your earlier orgasm, and it’s all you can do to keep yourself upright. A few moments later and Arroven arches as he comes inside you, clutching tightly to you until he’s finished, breath deep and rasping. You don’t wait. Carefully you flop down next to him, smiling tiredly against the blankets. You’re not sure your legs will carry you for the next hour or so, but it’s hardly something to complain about.

“Do you give all newcomers to the hoard such a.. Vigorous welcome?” You ask, laughing, your voice rough, not really expecting him to answer. Even though he’s clearly a little more comfortable, even though he’s been clinging to your skin and he looks wrecked by all the activity. Arroven nearly chokes.

“No,” he says immediately. “Moments like this,” he murmurs, reaching out for you, ventral scales on his palm smooth over the apple of your cheek, “moments like this are few and far between.” There’s a low rumble of noise from him when you roll close to brush another kiss over his lips, eyes fluttering closed. It’s all you can do not to laugh again, not to quote the poem at him or interrupt the soft moment. It still sits in the back of your mind though, sweet and lilting.

the city is hoarding hearts

it draws them in, with coin, with art

reflects their dreams on mirrored glass

sings siren songs to catch them fast

the lights?

they gleam, they glitter, bright

it steals a piece, with every sight

roots get worn

they split, they splinter

'but i'll keep you warm, in the depth of winter'

the city whispers, it cajoles, it cries

it'll sink it's talons into your thighs

it tears, it scrapes, it batters the unwary

but oh, the love it gifts, to those who tarry

the city promises, you'll be most adored

so can you, will you, join the hoard?

#exophilia #dragon boyfriend #dragon x reader #monster fucker #monster lover #d.darling writes

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yodawgiherd · 4 years

Text

Nightmare Buster

Rating: M

>>>Read on AO3<<<

The quarantine is finally getting to me, so have some fluff and smut while I do my best to figure out what to do with my life. Hope you'll like it. :)

Enjoy!

There’s an art in painting nails. The way you have to get the job done in even strokes, to spread the paint equally, to make sure that none of the surface is left out. It was hard work, needing a steady hand and dedication, and luckily Eren had all of these. As he didn’t decide to paint his own nails, yet, he worked in silence on his willing model. Mikasa’s feet in his lap, he gently dragged the brush over her toenails, making sure to cover all of it with her favorite shade of black color. Midnight.

“You have to admit,”, she said, tearing him out of his artistic trance, “I look good in this set.”

Lifting his eyes from his work, Eren swung them at her, noticing that she’s reading a fashion magazine with herself on the cover. The narcist.

“Which one’s that again?”, he asked, returning to his unfinished business with her toes, “The sports or the biker gear? Oh, is it the kimono? I like that.”

She eyed him over the rim of the magazine.

“Why that particular one?”

“Well…”, dipping the brush in the color, Eren took a moment to think, “I see you in biker or training gear almost every day, but kimono was a new look for you. You are not big on Japanese traditions, despite your Asian half.”

A sly grin entered his face.

“Unless we are talking about shibari, then you are quite the enthusiast.”

Hiding her slight blush behind the magazine, Mikasa murmured some half-assed answer, letting Eren work in peace. That was until something else caught her eye.

“Baby, look at this!”, she exclaimed, shoving the page almost into his face.

Curious to see what made her so excited, Eren once again paused his important strokes to inspect the text.

“It’s… uh… a competition?”

She nodded rapidly at that.

“A contest for the hottest surgeon, see? All you have to do is send your pictures, and if you win…”, she eyed the page again, “You get a professional photoshoot done! Isn’t that amazing?”

“I thought you were the supermodel of this household,”, Eren’s reply was rather sober, he didn’t feel the need of exposing himself like this.

Seeing that he is still not very sold on the idea, Mikasa did her best to motivate him.

“Think of all the potential it would give you! How much you could stick it to your colleagues for example, like…”

“Onya.”, Eren finished for her, eyes turning interested, “Oh he would be green with jealousy if I won this in front of his face.”

Nice, she almost had him.

“And think of all the women who would look at your pictures and fawn over your body.”, Mikasa kept striking the iron while it was hot, speaking in a low breathy whisper “I bet that some of them would get wet just by looking at you.”

But this time, she missed the mark.

“I mean that’s cool, but why should I care what other women think.”, Eren countered, “You are the only one I care about.”

“Well, of course, you are mine, puppy, and if you as much as look at other women…..”

“I am legally required to look at other women. I’m a surgeon, I can’t put a sign on my door that says male patients only.”

Cheeky bastard.

“You know what I mean. As I was saying, you are mine, but they don’t know that. And potentially….”

“I couldn’t help them even potentially with their thirst. Or did you forget?”, Eren eyed her with a spark of humor in his eye, “My dick doesn’t work for other girls, just you.”

Maybe there was a scientific term for that, but Eren didn’t bother looking it up. Since that revelation back during their break-up period, It became only more and more clear that Mikasa was the only woman who did things to him. She had him by the balls, figuratively, and she didn’t even have to do anything. Just be herself, and that was more than enough.

“I still think that you are overreacting from one bad experience,”, Mikasa said, not completely convinced.

But still, it was sweet of him, so leaning closer, she pressed a kiss to his mouth. An innocent kiss that made her yearn for more when she felt just how nice Eren’s lips were. When she tried to deepen it, to maybe put their tongues into play, Eren pulled back, surprising her.

“Can I finish this first?”, he asked, holding up the brush.

Wait a second.

“Just to be completely clear, you don’t want to have sex because you are painting my toes?”

“Correction, I don’t want to have sex before I finish painting them.”, Eren shrugged, “I just hate to leave things half-assed.”

Laughing, Mikasa leaned back into her old place, watching Eren wink at her as he picked up the brush again and got to work. It wasn’t half bad. As her fiancé opted to do this shirtless, she could watch the muscles ripple beneath his skin anytime he moved. Even those delicate little strokes were giving her a show. Oh yes, he’s going to be an amazing model, the competition was over, they just didn’t know it. His whole body felt like sex personified, and it was made even better by those nice wings on his back, twins to the ones on her own. Mikasa never thought that she’s going to share a tattoo with someone, but here it was, marking them as soulmates. And watching Eren hunched over, dedicated to making her feet look even cuter than usual, she couldn’t have picked a better partner. Seeing him like this, it gave her an idea.

“Baby?”

“Hmmm…?”, unfocused, his eyes were still glued to where the brush danced.

“I want something new, something to wear.”

That made him look up, eyebrows furrowed.

“Like a dress?”

“No, like a…. you know…. Some play gear?”

“Oh.”, he caught that rather quickly, “Any preferences?”

She shook her head.

“Surprise me.”

If Mikasa wanted a new thingy, Eren would be the last to deny her.

“Very well, I can swing by the shop this week. Anything else?”

“Cuffs.”

“Cuffs?”

“Yup, some soft ones, so I can be soft on you for a change.”

An odd request, considering how rough and merciless she always was as a mistress, but there’s nothing wrong with mixing things up, Eren imagined.

“Sure. I’m sure that Zackly will appreciate the business.”

Seeing that she had no further requests, Eren dipped the brush in the paint again and went back to his work, determined to finally finish what he started.

A movement woke him alongside whispered words. Eyes opening into the pitch black of midnight, Eren quickly located the source of the ruckus by checking the other side of the bed. Mikasa was having a nightmare again.

Brows furrowed, sweat running down her face, she grimaced and moaned something, fisting the bedding so tightly that her knuckles were bleeding white. Trained and experienced in this, Eren immediately hunched over her, gently caressing her face and whispering to her. Waking her up harshly could have bad consequences, as Mikasa usually punched the first thing she saw and didn’t hold any of her inhuman strength back. Eren already caught a few of those during their time together, and he wasn’t very keen on repeating that experience.

“Hey, wake up Miki…”

Her eyelids moved, fluttering, she was close to being let out. So, Eren pressed on.

“Baby, I’m here, please come back to me.”

Finally, she opened her eyes, almost immediately locating his face.

“E-Eren… I…”, her greys filled with tears out of nowhere, “You died!”

“No, no baby, I’m right here,”, sitting up, he pulled her into his lap, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, as if she still didn’t believe it, her arms snaked around his torso and Mikasa pressed herself close to him, ear right over his heartbeat.

“It was just a dream, a nightmare. I’m here for you baby.”

“A dream… Y-Yes, a dream… I…”, she choked back a sob, “It was so terrible, I think… I think I…”

Overcome, she started crying openly.

“I think I killed you!”

Her hug tightening, she cried on his chest, her tears flowing down on Eren’s skin. Not sure how to react, Eren just stroked her head, waiting for the worst to come out of her.

“Just let it out,”, he murmured into her hair, “I’ve got you.”

She shook on top of him, somehow small and vulnerable despite all the strength and greatness Eren knew she possessed. Those night terrors always made her like this, twisted the worst of her fears into reality and injected them into her sleep. It was some time since Mikasa had a nightmare, but this unwelcomed guest was here to stay. And Eren was more than happy to help her chase it away. Rocking back and forth slightly, he kept holding her, doing the only thing that could be done. Waiting.

It slowly passed, her sobs grew weaker and that embrace strong enough to squeeze his bones grew less tight. Despite all these signs, Eren waited for her to speak, giving her all the time in the world.

“I’m sorry…”, she finally said, whispering it into his tear-streaked chest.

“Don’t apologize, it is my pleasure.”

She snorted.

“To be woken up by a crazy girl in the middle of the night and then forced to hold her while she cries on top of you. A privilege indeed.”

“The greatest one.”

Mikasa let out a shaky exhale, nuzzling into his chest. The slow heartbeat she could hear calmed her.

“I still can’t believe that I dreamed that I killed you. It was so… realistic.”

“If you killed me I’m sure that I deserved it. What did I do?”

She shook her head.

“I can’t remember. Something bad, terrible but still…”

The embrace grew tighter again. Maybe a bit too much.

“I didn’t want to do it. I surely don’t.”

“Well, if you squeeze me a bit more you might just end me.”, Eren managed to speak out of his quickly decreasing oxygen supply.

Seriously, even breathing was hard from how hard she clung to him. Immediately lessening the pressure, Mikasa looked up with an apologetic look on her face, but that was hardly necessary. As if Eren could ever be mad at someone this cute. With her wide wet eyes, tears on her face and slightly trembling pink lips, she was the image of a woman he would pledge his life to protect, not hurt in any way. Not possible. Leaning forward, he kissed her on the forehead.

“I swear I wouldn’t hurt you.”, she said, probably still dazed by the dream, “I love you so much, I couldn’t do it.”

Eren could never imagine hurting Mikasa, he would rather cut off his own hand than cause her any harm and he supposed that she felt the same way about him. Hurting your soul mate just made no sense, ever. Whoever that other Eren was, he must have been a colossal asshole to deserve being killed by the other Mikasa. This Eren was surely glad that his fiancé wouldn’t hurt him because when Mikasa was dead serious she was downright terrifying, there was no other word to describe it. She could murder with her eyes alone.

“Hey, I know that.”, pressing their foreheads together, he stared into her eyes, “I love you more than life itself, Mikasa.”

All this helped, of course, the nightmare demons retreated but somehow they stayed, lingering at the edge of her vision. She didn’t remember the entirety of her dream, but she did recall a few things. Huge, burning bodies. Blood and gunshots. Explosions. And worst of all, she remembered Eren’s eyes when she pushed that knife, or a sword?, into his heart. Because he wasn’t angry, resentful, or anything like that. There was acceptance written in his face as if this was meant to happen, as if there was no other way, as if him dying was the best possible outcome. Mikasa hated to even imagine such a scenario.

Even enveloped in Eren’s hug, listening to his heartbeat, she still felt a bit cold at the core of her being, she saw that face in front of her eyes. She yearned for him, she realized, yearned to know that he is real and here with her, in the bed. She wanted to feel his heated skin on her own, damn those sleeping clothes. Looking up, she blinked the tears away from her eyes, immediately getting his attention.

“Make love to me.”, a half-broken whisper coming from such a sad face gave Eren a pause.

Not like he didn’t want her, but it didn’t feel like the right thing to do, considering that she just woke from a nightmare and was still suffering the consequences. But Mikasa was sure, there was only one cure for her current condition and that was Eren. All of him.

“I need you.”, she continued, hands circling his shoulders as Mikasa shifted their position, lying on her back and pulling his weight on top of her. “Please baby.”

Wrapping her legs around his hips, she pressed her lower half into his, hoping he will feel that burning need that settled between her thighs. She needed him and needed him now.

Dropping a hand between them, Eren gently caressed the flimsy fabric of her panties, feeling the heat. Despite what he thought, Mikasa seemed to be craving this.

“Would you like if I made you feel good?”, he suggested, his fingers rubbing at her weak spot, “I could go down on you, make you relax.”

Mikasa knew that Eren was very good at that, that he could make her melt with his tongue, but she didn’t want that now. She needed him inside her, to be as physically close as possible to her lover, to feel his sweat run down her skin. Shaking her head, she rubbed her heat alongside his awakening length instead.

“Just make love to me, please.”, she repeated.

Defeated by her sound argument and the need in her voice, Eren made the smallest needed adjustment for her wish to come true. Nudging her panties aside, his pants already slid down to the halfway of his ass by Mikasa’s feet, Eren pulled back to line himself up properly, taking note of how eagerly she spread her legs for him. Pushing in, Mikasa’s eyes fluttering closed as her mouth fell open, a choked sob running through her body. He waited for a moment, waited for her to adjust to him, to the sudden fullness, watching her until she opened her eyes and nodded at him. Pulling back, pushing in, Eren did this dance a thousand times but still, he loved it as much as the first time. Maybe more, now that he knew what he was doing. Knowing that it was the intimacy that she craved the most, Eren adjusted his position until he was close to her, as close as he could until he was able to press kisses on her elegant neck which she gracefully bent to give him more space. She was moaning softly as he moved inside of her, a sound much sweeter than his own grunts, forced out by how she squeezed him inside of her, how massaged his sensitive length was.

Eren was starting to lose it, so closing his eyes, he pressed his face into her neck, clenching his teeth against the rising wave. But Mikasa wasn’t satisfied with that. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she forced him to look at her, to watch her face as her climax began to approach. Fire, spreading through her body, waking her up from that cold nightmare, making the last remnants of it disappear, chased away by Eren’s rhythmic deep thrusts, by the heat of his naked skin on her. Wanting to feel more of it, most of it, she removed her sleeping shirt with a quick flick of the wrist, making them equally naked. Now, when he was on top of her, his weight pushing her down, Eren grew more demanding, more feverish, using his hands to catch her wrists and pin them down next to her head. He was losing it, losing his precious calm, teeth gritting as he stared down at her flushed cheeks. To hide his expression and to make her feel better, he dropped his head down to her now naked chest, worshipping those small perky tits with his mouth. Dragging his tongue alongside her hard nipples, sucking at her firm breasts, Eren was sure to keep himself busy, as doing this was much better than just waiting to be overcome by that approaching wave. Each thrust was a grunt, each one so deep it made Mikasa roll her eyes back, each one pushing her closer and closer. She arched from the bed, moaning out loud now, held down only by him. He pinned her down to the bed, spread like a butterfly, fucked her into the bed, meeting her need for rougher treatment perfectly. And with a last deep shove, she was done, vision going white as her body clenched and writhed on the bed in Eren’s iron hold. He was close too, of course, and this spectacle Mikasa always delivered when she came, that desperate face and shaking body, that was more than enough to keel him over. One, two, the third thrust was his end as he emptied himself into her, spent. The sweat the was beading on his forehead fell on her face, making him mutter an apology but Mikasa only shook her head, not minding anything right now. Nightmares were gone and she was flying, high on her climax, anything dark and sad somewhere deep beneath her. Letting out a shaky exhale, she opened her eyes, watching her love stare down at her from his position above her, still buried deep between her legs. Sweat running down his lean, muscular body, green eyes framed by the long brown hair, Eren was quite a sight. Biting her bottom lip, Mikasa couldn’t believe how hot he was right now. And even with this mind shaking orgasm still present in her body, one thought solidified in her mind. She wanted to go on. She wanted more. Now.

“Can you go again?”, she asked, watching Eren’s eyes widen.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Can you go again?”, reaching out she ran her hand down his face, over his chest and stomach, gently touching that place where they were still connected, “Please…”

“You want me to fuck you again?”

“Mhmm.”, she nodded, “And harder please.”

Right, as if Eren needed more proof that she was a nympho. Then again….

“Fine, but I’ll do you from behind.”, pulling out of her with a wet sound, he gave her room and watched as Mikasa eagerly scrambled on all fours. Her need for a gentle wake up was taken care of, now there was a darker desire smoldering beneath her stomach. She needed to have him completely. She needed him to be as far within her as possible.

Adjusting her position with a few tugs, Eren moved to one knee, properly lining himself up and pushing back in. To be perfectly honest, Eren had a bit of an ulterior motive when he asked for this position. While taking Mikasa from behind was an amazing experience on its own, it had the added novelty of the tattoo on her back, covering the firm lines of her muscles and moving anytime she did, shifting her position slightly. Oh yes, this looked good, the artists did an outstanding job.

“So you want me to fuck you harder, is that right?”

Mikasa threw him a needy look over her shoulder, shaking her backside slightly to tempt him, to get him to move.

“Yes, sir.”

“And are you sure that you can handle it?”

This time, she threw him a sweaty smirk.

“Of course, sir.”

Very well then, it was high time to stop staring and deliver. Once again moving inside her heat, Eren picked up the tempo right off the bat, not wasting any time with preparation. He fucked her hard and fast, just as she wanted, roughening it up with open-handed slaps to her firm backside. The trick was in never falling into a tempo with those, so Mikasa could never see those short flares of pain coming, could not prepare for them. And judging from how hard she clenched around him anytime he hit her, Eren was doing a fine job. He was a storm behind her, dirty and uncaring, powerful in how he moved. Her body started failing her from the relentless assault, weakened by both pleasure and spikes of pain, arms failing to support her weight as her upper half slid down on the mattress, fisting the bedding instead. Her knees held, managing to keep her ass up for him, and that was the important thing here.

“You like this?”, he spoke up, demanding, in control, wanting her to say how she felt, “How does it feel when I fuck you?”

How does one say heavenly without making it sound so cheesy?

“G-Good, sir…”, she panted, forming words was hard at the moment, “Do-Don’t stop, plea-please, please...”

As if he would ever do that. Taking her slumped form as an opportunity, Eren hunched over her, making his presence felt as much as he could. If she wanted to feel him everywhere, he had no problem with that. Pushing one palm against her feverish cheek, Eren slipped his thumb into her mouth, rolling it over her tongue and gums, taking all of her at the same time. Finger in her mouth, cock buried deep inside her clenching pussy, Eren was dominating all of Mikasa, every nook and cranny of her athletic body, taking it as his. And she loved it so much. Her eyes were rolled back inside her head, her breath was coming out in short huffs of warm breath against Eren’s palm, her body trembled beneath his assault. Another harsh slap landing on her ass, the skin red at this point, the pain combined with the pleasure and pushed her so close that the coil in her stomach could snap at any moment. It took a deep thrust and another slap, this time so hard that it made her cry out to do so. Cumming at the same time while there are tears of pain in your eyes is an experience that Mikasa already had but was glad to repeat it. If anything, all those hours they spent in the gym together made Eren rather capable of spanking her hard enough for Mikasa’s tastes. And just then, in the middle of her climax, Eren altered the position again.

Curling his hand beneath her, around her stomach, Eren picked her trembling weight up and leaning back, he pressed Mikasa’s back into his front as he kneeled on the bed. Putty in his hands, Mikasa didn’t resist. Her legs were forced open in this position, his knees between hers, holding her there, open for Eren to have his way with her. Pulling his fingers from between her lips, he grabbed Mikasa’s throat instead, angling her head so he could kiss her, forcing his tongue deep into her mouth. She was half unresponsive, being stuck in the middle of her orgasm, her mouth open and pliant to his demands. And still, he fucked her, his hips moved like a hammer, hitting that spot deep inside her that kept the climax going and going as if it would never stop. Her muscles moved on their own, her hips snapped into his, her arms moved to wrap around his neck, pushing their faces even closer into that messy kiss. Her back arched into the perfect curve, her body quaked with each hit, unsure if it would ever be released from this sweet torment. Eren’s hands felt like steel by how unyielding he was, one arm encircled possessively around her stomach and her trembling abs, holding her up, while the other held her throat, the pressure there restricting Mikasa’s breathing. Choking was just what she needed right now, drowning in the intense pleasure already. Just as her vision was going dark, completely spent and exhausted by this rough lovemaking, Eren cursed and his cock spurted inside her, spilling a much smaller second load into her clenching cunt.

Done, she was boneless, high on hormones, and when Eren finally let her go, weakening the tight embrace he held her in, she immediately fell on the bed. Trying to catch her breath, trying to collect her bearing, Mikasa’s chest was still heaving, the intensity a bit too much. She was sure to feel this in the morning.

“So…”, Eren spoke behind her, eyeing her fallen form, “Hard enough?”

She just smiled, her mind still high in heaven from the remnants of her long drawn-out orgasm. There were a lot of words she could say, she could say how amazing it was, how perfectly it filled her need, how he took her breath away, but there was no need to do that. Instead, she looked at him from the bed, meeting his eyes with her half-lidded grays.

“Yes.”

And that was enough. After cleaning themselves from the filth and sweat, they settled in the bed again, this time to finally sleep. Tired from Eren’s performance, Mikasa was sure that no more nightmares were waiting for her, any fear of losing him was positively fucked out of her system. Angling her head, she kissed him, a small and quiet thank you gesture. After that, they settled back to sleep, with Mikasa still clinging to him and laying her head on his chest, using the steady heartbeat to lull her to sleep. She fell back into the dreamland rather quickly, exhausted, but Eren stayed up for a time, tracing the lines of the wings tattoo on her back, clearly visible as Mikasa didn’t bother with putting on a shirt after their shower. Inspecting it from up close, unbandaged and in all its glory, spanning over the whole area of her beautifully chiseled back, he had to agree that the suffering of thousand needles was worth it in the end. It was perfect, just as she was.

It was pleasantly empty here. Darius’ shop was popular, but most of the orders were placed online and only picked up or delivered. There are not many people who are confident enough to just strut into a sex shop and browse. After all these years of working with Zackly, Eren was one of those confident ones. Leaning on the counter, he ran his fingers over the new pair of cuffs the owner was presenting him with, soft black leather with red padding.

“You like them?”, Darius asked.

“Sure do.”, nodding at the shopkeeper, Eren reached for his wallet, only to stop when a new thought struck him, “Listen, do you have uh… What’s the name of this, it’s like clothing only for your upper half and…”

“You mean corset?”

“No, no, we have plenty of those. I was thinking that stuff that gymnast wear.”

“Leotard?”

Eren snapped his fingers.

“That’s it! Do you stock those?”

The shopkeeper grinned.

“Latex I guess?”

The doctor returned his smile.

“You guessed it, Mikasa likes that material a lot.”

Darius nodded at that.

“I think we do, let me check in the back.”

Disappearing behind the curtain, Zackly set out on the search while Eren made himself comfortable, examining the cuffs. They had a few pairs already, but Mikasa expressed the desire for some soft ones, for soft domming, which Eren found a bit funny considering how ruthless of a dominatrix she was. But hey, if she wanted soft cuffs, he’s going to buy her soft cuffs. Just then, as he finished this train of thought, a voice spoke behind him. A voice he had no problem hearing anywhere, a voice he knew, but a voice that he was not thrilled to listen to while visiting a sex shop. Ymir’s voice.

“Eren? Is that you?”

With a pained expression, he turned, facing the tall freckled girl and her blonde girlfriend, who was doing her best to disappear into the ground. And while Krista was blushing and looking away, Ymir boldly met Eren’s gaze, completely unfazed.

“Damn, would you look at this, I never imagined you as a sexual deviant.”, she said, grinning.

“Ymir!”, Krista spoke, poking her in the shoulder, “That’s not nice. Eren can do what he wants in private.”

“I’m just… You know…. Browsing…”, trying to put out the fire, Eren smiled nervously, “I was just curious.”

“Just curious?”, Ymir repeated after him, not buying his lies.

“Yea, you know… Life is like… Uhm…”, scratching the back of his neck, Eren was running out of things to say.

And then, Darius gave him the killing shot.

“Eren? I have the thing you asked for!”, coming from the back, Zackly carried the box with a smile of a winner, “I even found Mikasa’s size, I have it memorized after all that gear you bought from…”

Finally coming to the front, he eyes the situation, raising an eyebrow.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Satisfied that he was busted, Ymir took a step back, letting him complete his transaction in peace. Turning back towards the shopkeeper, Eren sighed.

“Just ran into some friends here.”

“That’s good, maybe you can show them around, give them some tips, you are experienced enough. It’s important that people who are new to this don’t fuck up anything, wouldn’t you say?”

Yeah right, Eren was totally looking forward to that. Then again, there was no way for Darius to know, and since he was working in the business, of course he would not be embarrassed by it. Paying for the gear, he waved at Darius before walking to where Ymir and Krista were standing, inspecting a row of dildos.

“Look, baby, it’s Mr. Kink.”, putting back the vibrator she held in her hand, Ymir turned towards him, “What did you buy, new ropes?”

If she only knew how many of those they did have back at home. Mikasa’s shibari obsession demanded ropework on a regular basis, and Eren had a healthy supply built up. The lady could always choose by what rope she wanted to be bound by. Luckily, he was saved from answering by Krista again.

“You can’t just ask him that! It’s not like we want to share why are we here.”

“Oh? But I’ll tell him if you want.”, meeting Eren’s eyes, she started, “You see, we want to buy some bo-.. ow!”

Rubbing her shoulder, she glared at her tiny girlfriend who just punched her there.

“What was that for?”

“Maybe you are comfortable with sharing our intimate life with everyone, but I’m not. So why don’t you shut up for once.”

“Ladies, there’s no need for that.”, defusing the situation Eren spoke up, getting their attention.

And hell, Darius was right, he and Mikasa were experienced in this, and Ymir and Krista were just starting. Maybe he could share some tips, if they want, of course.

“Let me guess,”, he began, “ Are you here for the first time?”

As Ymir took Krista’s advice and remained silent, it was the blonde who answered.

“Yes. We started talking about it just recently and we finally gathered our courage to come here.”

From the two of them, it was rather obvious who needed to gather the courage and Ymir wasn’t it. Taking a deep breath, Eren slowly pieced together the sentence, hoping to get his point across.

“As you may have noticed, I and Mikasa have been in this game for some time, so if you want, I could share some tips. Something to get you two started.”

If Krista wasn’t blushing before, her face was a tomato now. But Ymir immediately jumped on that offer, just as he expected.

“Yes! Totally, we can’t wait to hear all the dirty secrets!”

The blonde groaned.

“Ymir, there’s internet….”

“What? Why would we take our advice from the internet when we have this guy here? He’s offering!”

“I didn’t say that I’ll share everything, I’m just saying that I could help you since you are new and…”, Eren chimed in, but Ymir didn’t care.

“Sure, sure, we are totally in.”, taking the lead again, Ymir shot him a predatory smile, “Why don’t you come by our flat, we can discuss stuff there. Just tell me at work when you have the time.”

“Well, I need to run this by Mikasa first, see if she’s okay with this too and…”

But Ymir was already waving her hand.

“Sure, sure, whatever. It’s not like you are the one who wears the pants in your relationship and…”

Once again, Krista’s tiny fist hit the taller girl in the shoulder.

“Ymir!”, she hissed.

“Okay! Okay. Sorry, that was not appropriate. But my point still stands.”, Ymir cleared her throat, “Both me and Krista would be very grateful for any advice you might give us. And those dirty secrets.”

Krista sighed, rubbing her forehead.

“All right, I’ll see how Mikasa feels about it.”, not sure how to end this conversation without looking weird, Eren nodded at the pair, “Krista, Ymir... I guess I’ll see you at work.”

The blonde gave him a little wave, still blushing, while Ymir smirked at him, obviously looking forward to whatever he would share with her. Damn gossip. Heading towards the door, Eren couldn’t help but wonder into what kind of trouble he just got.

Damn it.

#eremika #fanfic #snk #aot #fluff and smut #:)

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elegiesforshiva · 5 years

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This is a review for the amazing sasusaku fanfic Perpetual Winter by @thefangirlslair It’s a brilliant modern AU and I highly recommend it!!! You can read it on fanfiction.net or tumblr :)))) FF: c l i c kkkk Tumblr: Part I, Special Chapter, Part II And time for a criminally late and obscenely long review!!!

Pt I

Winter has never been his favorite season

Damn what an intro, I’m already getting angst vibes lmao. I really like how you set the scene and stage the world of this AU. I didn’t expect the existence of clans in this piece, with it being a modern AU, but this is such a fascinating twist on the setting to me. I loved how you described Naruto’s endurance as unnatural, “like there’s a demon living inside him” and Sasuke and his clan have inexplicable warmth….inexplicable do I dare say…fire ???? ;))))))

Lmao seriously what a great way to pay homage to canon though. I love these attributes!

Modern au Sasuke that reads poetry and drinks coffee is a brand of pretentiousness I can get behind

Aaaaaaa omg I really REALLY REALLY fucking love this intro! I love how you describe Sasuke as appreciating liveliness, and vibrance—which we can honestly assume is canon with how his two closest people are the embodiment of these traits. And I love how you tie it back into the seasons. This really gives so much life to that motif in this story, and the title. That was clever af

…he was taken back to the time where winter was just a mere season, Bon Iver was playing on their shared earphones, and Sakura was his.

WHAT THE FUCK YOU JUST FUCKING DESTROYED ME WHAT A WAY TO SEGWAY INTO THE NEXT SCENE OOOOF IM KSJDFHLJSAKFL

There are so many things I love about this following scene… you really know how to write a couple in casual, mutual love. The banter and candidness of their interaction just has me floored. I also REALLY love that this is from Sasuke’s perspective, and how even though he doesn’t have an overwhelming amount of dialogue, we’re in his head, and his appreciation and love for Sakura just radiates. Lines like these:

From her latest discovered band to a recent discovery in medicine by a genius dude whose name he doesn’t even remember, she shares it with him. Favorite anime character, favorite memory with him, favorite pair of underwear — he knows it all because she’s that open to him about things she love.

They’re just….so good. I can hear his voice, his ardor, and his impeccable understanding of Sakura’s personality while also expressiong his own. The choice of having the narrative skewed through his lens was def a good decision. And ugh this piece is just overwhelmingly amazing already

He doesn’t know the pain to be dealt with when you’ve broken up with someone because Sakura was his first girlfriend. And honestly, he doesn’t, couldn’t, even think about being apart from her. Just the thought of them breaking up already makes him panic a little. He always thought to himself, ‘I will never let that happen.’

Okay this paragraph……………this paragraph tho……..dropping this. KNOWING. They’re gonna break up……….HOW DARE U

Seriously, what powerful writing. I don’t know how you do it……

I think it’s incredibly interesting that you chose music to be the catalyst for this beautiful, climactic moment of closeness My best friend/partner and I have had convos before about it, and she and i once talked about how we think of sex with music lol. I don’t know how to entirely explain myself on that, or where I’m really going with this, but I get the same vibe here too. Music that’s close to you is like an artistic intimacy and there’s something very personal and vulnerable about it. Maybe it’s an auditory thing, like getting lost in one of those guided meditations. (idk if you’ve ever had one that actually worked, they don’t always for me, but when they do god damn, it’s unreal) Either way, I really loved the way this scene played out, it was highly relatable and highly emotional, and I feel serenity and ardor just reading it. Beautifully done.

I love the way you moved back to the present and we immediately feel the differences and the similarities. The fondness and affection is still there, if not a little more muted, and it’s so obvious they still have feelings for each other. But there’s definitely moments that speak to their separation too, with the little differences in Sakura that Sasuke notices, or instances like her no longer drinking coffee or him deciding to open the door.

I really like how you inserted the interaction with Kakashi too. One thing I’m quickly noticing about this fic and your writing is how you very stealthily relay information to us readers. It’s seamless and entertaining, and I’m learning about this world and the past in ways that are so attention grabbing I don’t even notice it.

Also Itachi’s death and the way you handled it from Sasuke’s pov is so reminiscent of canon and also so gut wrenching. The lines

How dare Itachi leave him alone? How dare Itachi sacrifice himself and die? How dare Itachi pass his responsibilities onto his shoulders…

especially gutted me because of how is stands in stark parallels to the Sasuke we know in canon. This really smacked my head around with feels….poor Sasuke

OMFG POOR SASUKE !!!?!?!??!?!??!? THAT ENDING OOOLOGDSLGFSLKDGHLSDHFLKDFHVSLKV WHAT A FUCKING CURVE BALL LMAO

I mean maybe I should have seen that coming because like of course!!! But also I’M LOSING M Y SHIT HAHAHAHAAA

I can’t wait to see how this unfolds!!!!!

Special Chapter

This is such a powerful scene to start with. Itachi’s entire character was such a major influence in canon and seeing the way his death is affecting everyone now is so emotional. I feel so bad for Sasuke, having to take on all the burdens Itachi had left behind for him.

Also these lines:

“Mikoto cried, “Don’t you think it’s too soon? I just buried my first-born just barely a week ago and now we’re discussing how you’re gonna ruin my youngest’s life just like you did with Itachi?!”

The way her voice cracked when she said his brother’s name broke his heart. She’s still grieving, probably forever, and here they are talking about Sasuke’s suicide.”

Literally killed me. Dead. Deceased. Fallen to the Void. It’s so brilliant and powerful, and speaks so deeply on their dysfunctional family dynamics and feelings with so few lines. Really loved this…

This next scene was so stark and sad and beautiful. I meant to comment and pull lines again, but I couldn't stop reading tbh. Sasuke's thoughts and emotions concerning Sakura are so vividly gentle and full of praise. There's such a soft worship in the way you write his feelings towards her and tbh it's my absolute and only interpretation of feelings I care for concerning the depiction of their relationship. Still, you do this with a certain cleverness and mastery. It's really so moving for me...

The dream sequence that follows is absolutely debilitating, but so well done. I got the sense it was a dream only a few lines in just from the bluntness of the lines. It was truly very dream-like lol. I really could feel the panic and guilt along all of his inner turmoil. It's incredibly horrific to have such a dream about murder just after Itachi's too. This was devastating.

I really loved the way Sakura calms him groom the panic/anxiety attack. I've actually had a similar experience once, where I woke up from a nightmare and I was very frightened and stiff and couldn't really articulate myself. I remember I had felt deep horror and self loathing and nothing else. (I still remember the nightmare too, it was horrible.) My best friend at the time just threw herself on the bed and held me.

It's so crazy how grounding touch can be. I really felt that with Sasuke and Sakura too. The comfort she offers him is so seamless to her character and so ardently palpable. The repetition of "I got you" really touched me especially. It breaks my heart knowing the inevitable end of their relationship to come.

Oooooohhhh daaamnnnnn

I did NOT see the raunchy sex coming lmfao!! Although in hindsight, I probably should have. You already told us how they tend to get down and dirty when emotions run high with the arguments and make-up sex. I imagine this is instigated by Sasuke often, with him struggling to articulate his need for Sakura verbally so he does so physically. And I imagine Sakura is just kinky enough to crave this sort of animal want.

I do love how sexual interactions are easily moving in tandem with their emotions, how it just feels like another mode of communication. Sasuke breaking down during it leaves me feeling so tender too. It's tragic

She smiled. Sasuke doesn't know if he wants that smile or not.

These exit lines are going to fucking kill me istg

The following events honestly hurts to read because Damn haven't we all been there... the fallout of a relationship to the point where you're just dragging it through the mud… it’s a true deterioration of soul and you capture that slow death so well. I really feel terrible for Sakura—Sasuke too—but it sucks for her to be in the dark like this.

I love the way you write Karin!!! Honestly, I think it really mirrors the way she's written in canon. She's cold and strategically loud and generally calculating and overall kind of apathetic. She doesn't really know the value of meaningful relationships (and therefore doesn't prioritize them) until much later on in the series. I definitely get this sense of her here too. She's a little cold, but not cruel, and she has the pragmatic values of her and Sasuke's union in mind as she agrees to it all. I really like how you made her personality come through here.

Meanwhile there’s him, sucking all the hard traits from their father. His competitive streak, arrogant way of speaking, harsh words — it’s all Fugaku. And suddenly, he feels so exhausted.

This line hit me so hard. I love this fic already for an endless number of reasons but a striking one is how well you interrogate the relationships between family. When you described Itachi’s death as Sasuke losing a part of him, I really felt that. And here when you write about the way Sasuke takes after Fugaku and hates it and is also exasperated from it, just like how his father likely is, it just runs bone deep. You really know how to speak to life experiences and relationships in consistently intimate ways. I love that about you

This is his reality now — no more dream, no more Itachi; and pretty soon, no more Sakura.

’It hurts,’ Sasuke thought. 'It hurts, aniki.’

Wow death by angst lmao thanks for the pain, maren, glad to know you like to torture your readers as much as our ninja babies. Srsly tho the cadence of these lines and the material itself sync up perfectly. It’s such powerful writing

This entire scene is stuffed to the brim with dread and turbulence, and it’s so lifelike, I feel it’s haunting. The way you describe the suffocating atmosphere of the car ride, how Sasuke snaps at Sakura for simply knowing that something is up, the awkwardness of the dinner… You really brought so much passion into these scenes, I feel like I’m being tortured right with them lol

I looooooove the drama of this playing out omg. The way you have this convo go down is like a punch to the gut. Sakura announcing her acceptance to Harvard, and then her refusal to go. Sasuke knowing he’s the reason why…the guilt…the anger…

Also omfg these lines:

Sasuke hardened his resolve and stiffly said, “No. I don’t need you, Sakura.”

’Yes, I do.’

Sakura shook her head, “Yes, you do.”

I DIED. Sakura callin’ him out on his bull shit I fucking LOST IT lmaooOOooo I love this so much and I love how you write their dynamic! It’s funny how this fic plays into a lot of romantic clichés but also subverts them—gives them a twist that knocks the reader right off their feet. It’s honestly incredible

I loved the way you brought in winter into this scene too. The image of it, the feel of it, the terrible, lonely tone. It suits the entire mood of it all.

This is going to sound super dumb but I genuinely love how much agency you give Sakura btw. You probably know I’m a raging, batshit feminist by now and I gotta say, her dialogue is consistently powerful and reeks of someone who knows who they are, and their worth, even when in the fallout of a relationship where they are getting the short end of the stick. Like I’m just sitting here reading “Sasuke, you dumb jackass, what are you doing” lmfaoooo LIKE GURL I WOULD TREAT U SO GOOD…. SAKU BB IM SO SORRY BUT ALSO TRUST I KNOW HOW IT BE

I really do love it. And I love how you wrote Sakura as an orphan too. It really flips the script on the canon material (eat shit, kishimoto!! Women can have trauma and real backstories not centered around men, u misogynistic pile of adskjfhsklhfalkd) I just feel she’s very well written, and tangible, and powerfully human. I’d be just as smitten as Sasuke tbh

The last scene is so upsetting… it’s also strangely warming too though. It’s terrible Sasuke’s been broken down like this, but there’s something about this scene where he feels raw, and expresses his pain in a very infantile way, literally crying out to his mother about how it hurts. I really feel he’s been stripped of not just his life, but himself, under the weight of Itachi’s death and all that’s come with it, and it makes my heart ache. I loved this chapter, in all it’s infinite sadness.

Part II

He closed his eyes and thought about his talk with his father earlier, “We’re okay now. He called me while I was with Itachi.”

Love the ease and depth of this single line of dialogue. How Itachi is not alive but is still with him, and how it speaks to the way we humans grieve and the continuity and strength of relationships even after someone leaves. It’s just very simple and human, and it popped out at me.

He couldn’t even remember the last time they talked on the phone, or the last time he heard Fugaku as a father, not as the Uchiha patriarch.

Uggghhhhhhh this is exactly how I felt Fugaku was like in canon too. This fic is just full of brilliance, I really adore the way you describe all the relationships, but the complexity between Sasuke’s and Fugaku’s is really striking to me. You nail it perfectly.

And this whole intro where Fugaku apologizes to Sasuke and tells him he is proud…. I feel as if a major levee has been broken. While he’s in front of Itachi’s grave too. This Sasuke really has that same parallel with the one in canonverse where I feel he is held back by his family trauma, family obligations, the weight of blood. And this scene feels like a breaking point. Where Sasuke can be a man instead of an Uchiha, in the same way Fugaku gives him this moment as a father instead of an Uchiha patriarch. It certainly feels like a cleansing of sorts.

Once you thought you’re over it, one pink-haired beacon of spring will bloom in your eternal winter and blow all your progress into next week. What a woman. He will never find anyone better.

AaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAA !!!! this IS what I mean!!! His inner thoughts of her ugh….i’m so weak…Sasuke you lovesick fool…. And the return of the beautiful seasons motif. I love this so much

You can say they were drunk — with liquor, with each other, with love.

I just adore this line. It really emphasizes the vibe of their past relationship and the picture as a whole, and just that electric feeling of being consumed with someone. The description and cadence of it is just really catching, and I love it

God, this entire scene. Damn, maren. It’s criminal how well you write the tension of such a casual conversation. It feels as if an interrogation of sorts is occurring, and yet it’s still a heartwarming kind. Sakura is not vicious or mal-intentioned in inquiries and yet it still leaves Sasuke weak and defenseless if only because of his feelings for her. There’s so many ways you assert it too. It’s in every line, every detail. This one in particular stood out to me:

Sasuke clenched his fist under the table and scoffed, “I hope my mother didn’t tell you how miserable I was.”

'Still am,’ he corrected in his mind. 'How miserable I still am.’

I remember you used this particular tactic when also describing Itachi’s feelings from Sasuke’s POV. (Something along the lines of how he does became how he did because he is gone) In this fic where time is moving back and forward in a non-linear fashion, these details are especially striking. Despite the changes and pushes and pull, this one fact is consistent—Sasuke loves Sakura. And we, as readers, relearn it with every line.

Also I LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOvE that Mikoto saw Sakura off, and that there is this undertone of a bond. Like ughhhhh I’ve so been there, where there’s that depth of understanding between women and relationships that men don’t always know about or know how to grapple with it. My ex resented me for it lmfao

Adkjfasklfalsjdkfakls SASUKE CAN RELATE TO HIM APPARENTLY AHAHAHAAHHA B SNAPPEDDDD I totally get it though, it’s a little intrusive of Sakura to ask for that, but we all also know why she did. Poor saku bb is in love with this emotionally constipated idiot lmao. Oh I love the endless pining and miscommunication of it all !!!

“I thought you’d be here,” a voice came and knocked on the closed door of his heart. He turned his face towards it, he saw her and suddenly his doors came opening again.

The winter sun was directly behind her, giving her this eerie glow. Like a nymph; a spring nymph being born in his perpetual winter. He shivered inside.

Back at it again with that seasonal motif !!!! ugh you are killing me. I also really loved the phrase “knocked on the closed door of his hear.” You really have such a way with these metaphors and images, it’s so striking and makes the narrative of this piece so brilliant

and silence is a comfortable companion back then. When they became lovers, it was like their platonic third-wheel aside from Naruto.

Ngl I busted out laughing on that one. “aside from Naruto” hahaaaa I love the way you include him in this fic tbh. He’s not a very big focus, but he still feels like an integral part of this story, not just as Sasuke’s best friend, but also as another device to unite Sasuke and Sakura. Also he’s pretty fantastic comic relief, probably just as much for the two of them as for the reader.

I really love the way this convo goes down, and the change of scenery from the coffee shop to the playground. Considering the way their love at this point is founded in nostalgia (and perhaps something else, but let’s ignore that for a second) it’s so fitting for them to finally stripping away the masks and cloaks and being genuine with one another—Sakura talking about how she knew all along, and Sasuke finally admitting he still loves her.

I also loved that Karin broke off the engagement!!!!!! And how she did it and how you described it ughghhghg I love this. You really spoke to her character growth and development in canon too. It’s trivial compared to everything else that’s going on, but I love it.

…the pink of her hair, the green of her irises and the gold of the sun slowly setting down behind her.

Sasuke couldn’t see her clearly anymore, only the faint glow of her weeping eyes and the halo on her head made by the sun.

You think you’re slick don’t you…you think you’re some kind of mastermind with these subtle references/images…..well guess what bitch….YOU ARE

I looooove how you tied the music back in. Ugh this departure!! MY HEART!!! Also I’m seeing a handful of songs I love including OUR BOIIIII !!!! rex orange county uhhghhgjak maren this is the romance of a lifetime I AM WEAK

Ughh the forehead kiss…..that was so sweet. I loved Sakura’s choice to give him that bit of affection. This scene is so beautifully intimate, despite their positions.

Omg I FINISHED HOLY SHIT!!! And Sasuke doesn’t get back with her! Wow! Honestly, as much as my shipper heart is like, violently frothing at the mouth and saying “okay they totally got back together down the line tho like THEY HAD TO THEY ARE MADE FOR EACH OTHER WHAT IS TH—" I actually have such a deep appreciation for this ending. Their relationship in this almost feels dream-like, and with the way the story unfolds, even if they still loved each other in the end (and I really don’t doubt that they do. We don’t have Sakura’s perspective, but we also don’t need it. the affections are clear) it doesn’t mean they will end up together or are even really suited for each other in such a way.

Their love in this actually really reminds me of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Have you seen that movie? I just really get that vibe at the end. This entire romance cuts very deep and is very passionate and leaves me feeling so whimsical. I really loved this story, Maren… thank you for sharing it with all of us. thank you for writing it. You’re really one of a kind and you and this story has my whole heart <333

Also I’m sorry this is so late, but when I said I am going to write you a review, what I meant was I am going to write you a review. This English degree is good for nothing but sending elaborate love letters to friends and writers in the form of literary analyses and stupid overreactions and BY GOD I WILL NOT LET THIS CRIPPLING COLLEGE DEBT GO TO WASTE !!!

#sasusaku #ss fanfiction #ik its been like a year im sorry #but ily and ur my fav 5evr pls marry me maren my love

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askthecustodes · 5 years

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The Tribune’s Return

Rewriting some old stuff in an attempt to reclaim it, so if this drabble looks familiar, its probably because it is.

An Ancient Tribune returns and is immediately thrust into combat again. A familiar face brings light back into his heart.

@ask-tribune-ra

Ten Thousand years. It tasted wrong on his tongue, the time fitting imperfectly into the recesses of his mind. He resisted the implications of it. While he understood that the passage of time in the warp was far different than its passage in realspace, to think that that many millennia had passed put a dread in his belly. How many of his comrades from that time remained? How long he had been gone was of no matter, only that Terra remained and the Golden were there to protect their liege lord. There was a sense of relief in coming home. A tension in his shoulders dissipated at the sight of Terra still standing.

His brothers met him and his sodality at the star port. The Adeptus Custodes were as resplendent as ever, their armor the iconic brilliant gold with red plumes. Red had replaced their black mourning shrouds; he would later learn of the return of Lord Guilliman’s plea to call the Golden back to the stars once more and Valoris’ plans to answer before the call was even made. For now he did not ask. They had no words for him or the Custodians that followed, for they could not have been more different in their streaked gold and bearing the tokens of thousands of battles against the forces of chaos. It was for the best, he mused. He had little patience for the decay he had seen during this journey home.

He kept his head high despite their suspicions. He remained unbent as they tested him and his companions for corruption. He did not blink when they told him he could not return to his previous position as Tribune. Still, the Captain General clasped his arm in the end. For the tedium of it, the Ancient once-Tribune understood well enough; there could be no doubt when if came to the safety of their King.

The Tribune had hoped for some time alone, to visit the Hall of Names and visit with friends long dead, and to learn of who had joined them. He had faced many daemons in the warp and in the webway, and they had told all sorts of stories- no doubt lies- about the horrid fates that had befallen his brothers and sisters. One name had recurred often, every story more grotesque than the last in its brutality and horror. Ra was not ignorant- ten thousand years of protecting the cradle world would have seen many, many losses, and those early days were no doubt a tremendous struggle. So he had made peace with their inevitable violent ends. He just had longed to know if her name really had found place in the endless honor rolls. He had dreamed of her in his few moments of rest, craved her gentle touch when they found some respite, wondered what she would think of him now.

But there was no time for such things just yet; orders came through immediately, that he and his kin would serve another shield captain and their company to handle an a chaos outbreak in a system adjoined to Sol. He accepted the assignment with a scowl, mustering his make-shift sodality to leave Terra once again. Their new partners remained aloof and afar. He bristled under their suspicions. It would take time for their brothers to accept them into the fold, but he didn’t have to like it.

He finally met with the shield captain of this unit. She was almost as tall as he, her armor a shade of a lighter gold than the traditional saturation of the main force. Amethyst eye lenses bored into his crimson red as he introduced himself. Her body language had been subtly hostile until he gave her his name. Then he swore there was a flicker of confusion in the way she shifted.

“Remove your helm, Ra.” There was something familiar in her cadence despite the vox wash of her helm.

Something prodded him to keep the sharp retort that came to mind unvoiced. Ra indulged her despite the objections of his companion. He looked many years older, and new scars lined his face. Long dreads were pulled back, and he needed a shave. He watched the shield captain before him carefully. She remained still for several seconds, before reaching for her own helm; the act silenced his companion. No other custodian outside the Captain General had done him that honor, for it was a symbol of fraternity among the Ten Thousand.

Ra could not keep the surprise from his face. She was exactly as he remembered her- ashen hair and piercing gray eyes, delicate cheekbones that swept to a gentle frown. Her brows were furrowed, as if she didn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“Ra?”

“Arturia…” Her name came like a oath from his lips. He closed the distance between them in a few quick steps, setting aside his helm to pull her into a tight embrace. “You yet live.”

The Custodians at her back swept their Guardian spears to aim at him, the unexpected behavior suggesting treachery. Ra’s companion replied in kind, not liking his odds but willing to protect the Tribune. Arturia raised a hand, wishing she could hide the tremor in it, before wrapping her arms around him. The trio lowered their weapons, but the tension remained.

“You’re alive…” She whispered and, like a dam breaking, she wept. “You’re alive…”

He laughed, tears welling up in his own eyes at the relief and joy that threatened to overwhelm him. “As do you.”

“I thought you lost.” She mumbled, tightening her grasp on him.

He nuzzled her ear, breathing in the scent of her. “I know.”

“Honored Watchman.” One of the Custodians called her attention. “We break from the warp soon.”

“Hm.” She was slow to disengage from Ra, her hands lingering on him. “Yes. I must brief you on the coming assault. Come.”

She led him into the ship’s strategium and walked him through the planned assault, detailing the information given to them by spies and scouts. She was different here, but she had ten thousand years to grow into leadership and planning. Ten thousand years of experience against a varied host of foes. He envied her in a way; there was little sense in his time in the webway or in the warp. No battles to plan. No assaults to map out. Simply skirmish after skirmish after skirmish. Rhyme and reason were absent in the Immaterium. It was hard to know how many he would have at his side, much less what he would be fighting until they made contact. He watched her as she brought up maps and explained assault vectors and gave warnings. She couldn’t have been more beautiful to him. A sharp mind, careful in how she spent the lives of those who followed her. There was a precision she had lacked when he had last seen her- but she had been more wild then, more instinctive. Time had changed him too; he idly wondered if the new her would still as fiercely love the new him.

“Your thoughts are elsewhere, Tribune.” She interrupted his reverie.

He rolled his eyes, his gaze sweeping from her to the map and back again. “I am not a tribune any longer, but I am appraised. My men will be ready at their strike point.”

Her eyes searched his for a bit longer than a standard moment, her expression tight. “When you are done briefing your men, return to me. We have much to catch up on.”

He nodded to her, amused at how comfortably she gave him orders, and touched her arm. “As you wish, Honored Watchman.” He drawled her title, but she could not quite tell if he was mocking her, or emphasizing the difference between them.

Arturia gave no more words as he donned his helm and left the strategium. A hollowness collected in her chest in his wake. Their completion of this mission could not come soon enough.

The population had fallen to the hold of chaos cults, and the doomscryers were certain that their leader would pose a threat to Terra if allowed to escape. Arturia had volunteered for the role, and few could deny her it- since her first time among the companions, she found herself speaking with the Emmisaries Imperatus and taken in. Her King spoke to her on more than one occasion of the millennia, whispering as he done in life, brushing her mind and expressing His will. He told her to be there, that she had more purpose there than she could guess.

A shield company in addition to a warhost of Imperial Fists and guardsmen seemed excessive, but at the sight of the blighted planet, Arturia conceded perhaps it was not the most unreasonable. The surface looked not unlike old Terran artists depictions of Hell. Monsters of a multitude of variations lumbered among their zealous cult followers as they screamed for their patron gods. Arturia looked on impassively as the first sodalities made planetfall. She would follow with her own sodality, though she wondered if she would have the opportunity to see him, to fight by his side once again.

Ra was among the first on the ground, his sodality eager to wet their blades and prove their mettle once again to their brethren. They waded in, fighting as one unit as they broke the waves of chaos. There was a sense of revelry among them; to be in the service of their Emperor, doing what they had done for ten millennia, seemed almost like a dream.

Within hours they had narrowed down the location of the cult leader, deep within the hive city. Arturia led her shield company, her silver and gold armor stained with blood and gore, outriders feeding them information from their screaming hit and run passes overhead. She took no pleasure in every kill, for there were hundreds falling to her blade, and hundreds yet to go. Mortal or daemon, it mattered not.

The streets down which they walked bore the marks of the cults defilement. Their patron God’s symbols were smeared in blood or scratched by whatever was handy on every wall still standing. Bodies littered the streets, either willing sacrifices or unwilling citizens resisting the initial uprising it was impossible to tell. Smoke turned the air acrid, fires still burning where ritual fires lost control or Kataphraktoi gunners found more than their mark. Black billowed from buildings. Arturia was grateful for the air filter in her helm; the smell of burning flesh and putrid waste where sewage lines had broken made her want to gag.

Ahead was a cathedral, towering high above the surrounding structures. What once depicted the city’s dedication to the Throne World featured broken stone and shattered stained glass, mangled bodies of the planet’s defense force, and defaced frescos with proclamations to chaos gods. The sodality strode toward the gigantic wooden doors, taking the parade-wide stairs two at a time.

Another sodality came up on their right flank. In her peripheral she almost took them to be more daemons until she spotted the armor beneath their patchwork fixes. She picked out the tell-tale marks that separated him from his kin.

“Arturia.” His voice purred over the vox. “After you.”

A part of her loathed how her name in his mouth evoked so much longing nostalgia in her; in the years that followed his disappearance, she struggled to make sense of the tremendous losses from that time and had put away the part of her that had loved so personally and freely. She gave him a nod, refocusing on the task at hand. There would be time for making peace again after their duties were seen to. Duty first.

It took the strength of several of the Custodians to pull the great doors open, the hinges automated system nothing but smoldering ruin. The rest of the two squads stood aside, their weapons ready.

Even with the windows smashed in, the light of the outside only reached in a few feet. There was an exchange of glances between Arturia’s sodality; impatient, Ra’s sodality moved forward as a single flock, crouching low as if they were on the prowl. Ra looked to Arturia, though she didn’t quite guess what his expression might be before he slipped into the inky blackness after them. This was not the way of the Custodians, but from what she had watched, these were now an entity all her own.

Her sodality followed behind, their formation and posture less of hunting animals and more of primed warriors. The black fouled their sensors; none of their helmet viewer modes showed anything helpful. A Custodian was not reliant on sight alone however, and they were quick to make contact. The bark of bolter fire and the crackle of power weapons mingled with the shrieking cries and heavy footfalls of daemons. Arturia couldn’t get a gauge on numbers, but it seemed as if more than a small fighting force had been ready and waiting for them. What was chilling most of all, was not the warcries of the monstrosities they were fighting, but the equally ferocious roars coming from their returned brethren. It left the Emissary unsettled.

Someone must have found the source of the smoke, because sensors chirped with acquired targets and the thick clouds began to dissipate, revealing the sheer breadth of the host about them. The sodalities were surrounded by slavering fangs, monstrous blades both biological and metal, and leathered flesh. Most of the cultists had already fallen to the Custodian’s whirling dervish of blades, but hordes of daemons took their places without hesitation. Their footing was getting all the more challenging with how they simply threw themselves upon the Custodians.

With the cleared smoke, Arturia spotted their target standing at the balcony to one side of the chapel. His outline shimmered, giving away the presence of a shield generator on his person. She seethed, annoyed she could not simply put a bolt round up there and be done with it.

“Target spotted, top left balcony. Be advised: Personal shield generator.” She hadn’t finished her last phrase before one of the returned had turned and did just what she knew would not work. The shell exploded a foot from the balding man, the force knocking him from his feet, but he was otherwise unharmed. He gathered himself up, and vanished from their line of sight. Arturia scowled, a Terran curse tumbling from her lips. “We’re losing time here. Angreth, Lionel, Oceanus, Grist, prepare to break off. Everyone else, clear a path for them.” Her sodality shifted towards the arched doorways on the far side of the chapel. With the help of Ra and his team, the red cloaked Custodians disappeared after their prey. The remaining Custodians’ circle tightened with the loss, and their foes pressed in closer.

Arturia didn’t fit into their flow of combat, leaving her mostly to fend for herself. Not that it bothered her any- it was the tradition of most of the Custodes divisions that they be singular in their fighting style. The Tribune and his men however, deviated from that doctrine, fighting in unity almost as astartes did. That style had evidently evolved with their time in the warp, making it just that much harder for her to follow.

The fighting had called the attention of other foes. A booming laugh called their attention to the great doors at the back of the chapel. The whole doorway was taken up by its bulk. It surveyed them with milky white pupiless eyes, its lipless maw curled into a vicious smile.

“Y̴o̶u̴r̷ ̴s̶k̷u̶l̸l̴s̵ ̶w̴i̴l̶l̸ ̶b̶e̷ ̵a̸ ̵n̶i̵c̴e̷ ̶e̶d̸i̷t̸i̴o̴n̷ ̶t̸o̶ ̵t̶h̴e̸ ̴T̸h̸r̴o̵n̸e̷ ̷o̷f̷ ̷K̷h̷o̵r̴n̷e̷“

Its voice was a gutteral sound, barely understandable. Arturia sneered back, fearless in the face of a chosen monster of Khorne. She cut through the daemons between her and the daemon, her blade moving at lightning speed. He laughed again, bringing forward his massive axe to meet her.

They still had dozens of daemons to kill before they could effectively join their sister-custodian. Ra grit his teeth; his men had faced such entities of the warp before, and were well adept at killing them, and while he was impressed that she thought she could take it, there was a tightening in his chest. She would not be the first if she were to fall.

Arturia was as strong as she was quick, dodging and slicing as she bounced around it, irritating the lumbering daemon. Its size seemed a detriment, its barbed body almost impossibly muscley. But with every cut, every drop of spilled blood, its rage and its speed grew, and soon she was struggling to outpace it.

Ra ripped his spear from the last of the horde that had assailed them, and looked up to see how the Shield Captain yet fared. Time slowed for a moment as he watched her Guardian Spear get knocked wide, and the spiked end of its axe surging towards her. It punched through her chestplate, the force knocking the air from her lungs. Pain bloomed immediately, drowning out feeling the myriad of other punctures and breaks in her armor. She might have screamed if there wasn’t blood bubbling up her throat. Weak hands grabbed at the haft of the axe the now lifted her into the air.

“Arturia!” Ra roared, equal parts wide eyed and furious. He charged the monstrosity, his Guardian Spear alive with a corona of crackling energy. It snarled at him, flinging her towards him with a whip of his axe. Arturia tumbled across the floor, blood spattering the floor in her wake. Ra jumped over her in his charge, his sodality following in his wake.

She watched as they descended together, united in their direction and purpose. One defended another as they fired their adrathic destructor on it. The others cut deep through it’s thick hide, earning unearthly screams. At some point she closed her eyes, focusing on the gaping hole in her ribs. Blood was collecting in her mouth, making it impossible to breathe without filling the inside of her helm. She couldn’t let herself fall into a healing sleep without at least removing it, but she couldn’t right herself enough to get at her seals.

Then she felt arms pulling her up, the vox whispering her name. Her broken fingers fumbled for the seals on her helmet. Ra gently pushed her hands away and relieved her of the cover. Blood made the air release sputter. She spat blood and gasped. Her good lung was struggling to keep up with the needs of her body.

“Finish- the mission.” She urged. “Su- support my- sodality-”

“My men are on it.” He tried to sooth her, cradling the broken Custodian to his chest.

“Med-evac’s- on its- way.” Every word was effort. She grimaced, baring her blood slicked teeth. “Go.”

“Stop talking, Arturia.”

She smacked his chestplate with her mangled gauntlet and tried to pull herself out of his grasp.

He held her fast. “Stubborn woman; stop this.” Arturia peered into his crimson eye lenses, her eyes narrow, but relaxed against him, her expression softening. He smiled under his helm, recognizing the relinquishing of control. “If you need to sleep, sleep. Just stay with me, okay?”

#drabble #the Tribune's return

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thesunlounge · 5 years

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Reviews 215: Bartosz Kruczyński & Poly Chain

Into the Light has traditionally focused on unheard and overlooked sonic gems from Greece’s past, but last year the label initiated an internationally focused series with Postclub Prism by Cass. And now, the second such release has arrived in the form of Pulses by Bartosz Kruczyński and Sasha Zakrevska (otherwise known as Poly Chain). It’s no secret to any reader of this blog that I am a huge admirer of Bartosz’s work and though I haven’t had a chance to write about her productions, I also adore Poly Chain’s Music for Candy Shops, which is simultaneously one of the most playful and tripped out releases on Transatlantyk (and that’s really saying something). At some point during the period following the releases of Music for Candy Shops and Bartosz’s stunning Baltic Beat LP on Growing Bin, the two artists united with an intent to record and play out, one result of which is Pulses. Modeled after their performances and using a minimal setup of a DSI Prophet ’08, Moog Sub 37, and Korg Minilogue, the album was recorded live and then edited into seven sonic journeys. The vibe is of deep kosmische hypnosis, with fizzy waves of ethereal synthesis surrounding crystalline arps and meditative sequences. And quite surprisingly, the duo start to explore beatless acid trances across the B-side, as mystical Detroit futurisms merge with aquatic Berlin school dreamscapes.

Bartosz Kruczyński & Poly Chain - Pulses (Into the Light, 2019) “Jacana” begins with submarine synths fading in from silence. Bleary melodies form within ultra-slow filter motions while seascape star trails wrap around enveloping bass pulsations. As the filters open up, smoldering dronewaves move ear-to-ear and are soon joined by sequences that sound like fuzzy shards of glowing glass. Throbbing bass pulsations and resonant laser strikes enter as a sort of monstrous riff builds beneath the interstellar atmospheres. And as liquid feedback oscillations and starshine fluids rain over the mix, the primary sequence becomes increasingly morphed and modulated, taking on shades of galactic acid before fading into silence. Sickly pad movements, rippling oscillations, and decaying beauty serve as the introduction to “Solacious.” Amorphous distortion textures and overblown organ synthetics move through dense noise clouds…the sounds guttural, almost animalistic….like some sort of disorienting cosmic breath. Dreamworld arp bubbles dance through space while the spectral background haze grows increasingly distorted and chaotic until the bodies of smoldering dust give way to barely there wind movements that add hints of percussive propulsion. Pillowy bass synths enter and wrap around the soul in a way evoking Bartosz’s Baltic Beat…these cosmic currents flowing forth from the center of the universe while radiant feedback streaks and shimmering leads melt over the mind.

Sun rays waver through a delirium haze in “Quietism” while drunken new age cycles sound as if they’ve been transmuted through multiple dimensions and universes. The track exists as a fever dream of atonal psychedelia until dancing sequences emerge…these echo covered percolations floating eternally as hallucinogenic string orchestrations waft overhead. A complimentary synth pattern diffuses in to play off the descending cosmic melodies and everything seems obscured…as if seen through layers of glowing fog. Starlight arps float alongside cerebral feedback flutters and create head-spinning polyrhythms as they move according to their own temporal logic. But eventually, Schulze-ian synth meditations wash it all away, leaving billowing clouds of sonic ether to swirl slowly. “Xenolalia” revels in stereo sequencing as duophonic tapestries of interstellar wonder suffuse the sound spectrum. Kosmische hypno-arps and galactic winds move across moon deserts while golden string melodies hover within an electrostatic storm. As in “Solacious,” lush and physically absorbing basslines enter, giving shape to what was an abstract cosmic drift while simultaneously sweeping the heart towards a cosmic-balearic paradise beyond the stars. Extra-terrestrial motions and psychoactive mix movements dazzle the mind as further sequential layers enter, resulting in a jaw-dropping display of spiritual sonic transcendence woven together from interlocking electro-patterns, immersive sub-bass pulsations, searing organ tones, and harmonious vocal synths that eventually gives way to a disturbing coda of uncontrollable ocean ambiance.

“Fluxional” sees jacking kick patterns morphing into far-out acid lines while gaseous reverb trails tickle the mind. Liquid cut-off movements and insane resonances flow forth from the school of KLF’s “What Time is Love?” as heatwave noise clouds glow in the background. Technoid sequences play off the maddening acid energies and percussive synths approximate big room trance snares…these ever ascending rolls working beneath filter freak-outs towards an anticlimax of mutant bass oscillations. Then in “Velicious,” primordial drones emanate from subterranean realms, their wavering sonic movements joined by dreamy sci-fi sequences…as if a lullaby is playing out on some malfunctioning machine from another dimension. Sunshine chimes and futuristic music boxes dance together as everything smears out and dazzling bass rhythms and solar noise blasts bring airs of child-like fantasy. Further acid experimentations feature squelching synths bouncing alongside crystal marble repetitions and it almost sounds like pianos are alighting on new age adventures deep with the white noise storm. The romantic chord progressions of “Echolalia” call out through ethereal delay hazes and once again, something akin to a piano emerges…like an ivory dreamspell smothered in a technohaze. Buzzing arps dance and time-morph while further piano emulations evoke waterfalls of oceanic light and at some point, helicopter electronics chop through the faded rainbow layers as the decay opens up on the celestial arps…their rotating patterns spinning around each and coalescing like a collapsing binary star system.

(images from my personal copy)

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theartificialdane · 7 years

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Galactica, part 251

We rehearse for the wedding, and things could go better!

Thank you to everyone who has waited, and to the amazing Galactica readers

Thank you @samrull @toriibelledarling and @veronicasanders <3

“Are you really going to wear that suit?”

Raven checked her lipstick in the elevator mirror, making sure she didn’t have anything on her lips. She was wearing a formfitting red dress, her body looking like sin wrapped in silk.

“It’s the one I’ll wear after the ceremony.” Raja smiled and turned around slightly. She was wearing a white suit, her brown skin glowing, her long legs perfect in the tailored pants. “You’re changing too, and I want to match my wife in her Russian wedding dress.”

Raven looked away from the mirror, her nose slightly crinkled. “Your family’s going to think you’re a lesbian.”

“Don’t you think they’ll realise when I legally marry you?” Raja pulled Raven tight, kissing her hair gently. She could feel the nervous energy rolling off of her fiancée.

The elevator dinged, and Raja walked out, the lobby filled with her entire extended family, all flown in from Indonesia, as well as Raven’s family from Russia. Raja saw Sutan out of the corner of her eye, her brother flocked by their great aunts, all of them so happy to see him and without a doubt chastising him for not visiting in the last year. Raven was dreading the rehearsal dinner, but as Raja took her hand, she knew she’d get through it.

***

“Come on! Quick!” Sutan smiled as Violet hurried past him, the two slipping into the elevator. They could hear the dinner was just about to start, the hall bursting with noise, the rehearsal dinner hosting almost 200 people out of the wedding’s 500 total guests. They had actually been there on time, when Violet realised that she had forgotten her bag, the two of them using almost 30 minutes to get to the elevator, because everyone kept stopping them to chat.

“Your family is…”

Sutan looked down at Violet, his girlfriend wearing a beautiful blue dress. He could see she was fidgeting, but he figured it was just because of the many guests. The elevator started, Sutan pulling Violet into a half hug.

“Gigantic, terrifying, meddling, Indonesian?” Sutan lifted an eyebrow, waiting for Violet’s reaction, the girl breaking into a smile.

“Big, it’s big.”

***

“Wow!” Laila smiled as she took her phone out to snap a picture of the dish in front of her, though she didn’t get far as a waiters very pointed stare made her put it back into her bag. Of course no one could release anything about the wedding until the actual day. “The food looks really good...”

Pearl smiled as she looked at her girlfriend. Laila was gorgeous, her hair a striking purple. Pearl wasn’t sure if she had truly wanted to go to Raven’s rehearsal dinner, but the light in Laila's eyes when she had mentioned the amount of makeup artists that would be attending had convinced Pearl right away. Anything and everything that could make her Laila smile was reason enough to do it in Pearl’s book.

“Know what looks even better?” Pearl put a hand on Laila’s thigh, light dancing in her eyes as she whispered in Laila’s ears. “You.”

“Pearl...”

“We’ll be eating the same food tomorrow.” Pearl tightened her grip slightly, thanking the gay gods that her girlfriend shivered. “Come to the bathroom with me?”

“Really?”

“Please.”

Laila nodded slowly, and Pearl felt warmth wash over her.

“Okay.”

***

“Owen, sit still.” Juju took her son’s face in hand, trying to wipe the main course from his face. “How you can get so messy with so little is a mystery.”

“Mom you’re so embarrassing.”

“Relax Kelly, it’s fine.”

Karl rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe Raven allowed kids at her wedding.”

“Hey, watch your tone.” Detox held up his knife, pointing at Karl. “My kids are a fucking delight.”

“Fuck!” Julia smiled brightly, the table bursting into laughter.

***

"Hi, umh, hello, everyone, my name is Violet Chachki, I- When Raven asked me to... I was asked to be Raven’s maid of honor.. I.."

Courtney lowered her champagne glass, concern crossing her face. The dessert was taken off the table, and the entire rehearsal dinner had been painfully boring so far. Courtney liked Bianca's friends well enough, but she was slowly starting to regret that she hadn’t taken Adore’s offer of what she was pretty sure wasn’t a joke to run away and spent New Years drinking their way through Europe. She wasn’t even lucky enough to be seated at the “kids” table as Raven had dubbed it, where Adore was making faces at Owen.

“I, it’s lovely to see so many people here today who all- who all-”

Courtney looked around the table, saw everyone’s benign, pleasant expressions, and furrowed her brow. Could these people not see the extreme distress Violet was in? The woman's hands were shaking, her voice nearly cracking on each sentence. It was obvious to her that Violet was about to break down, and yet everyone seemed touched, like she was only emotional, her shaky words a testimony to how much she cared for the bride. Courtney had worked with Violet. She’d seen the girl keep cool under intense, ridiculous pressure. She’d seen her hold it together, and this? Right now? She was not even remotely holding it together.

"Raven and Raja are- they're- I.. I.. I-”

Courtney couldn’t take it anymore. She jumped out of her seat and bolted over to the mic, grabbing it from Violet’s hand, putting an arm around her to steady her.

“I think what Violet is saying is that Raven is so utterly indescribable, that no words could possibly be sufficient. And also, probably, stay away from the raw bar? Not that I’d know, since I’m a vegan.” Courtney flashed a charming smile and put the mic down, wrapping her arm tighter around Violet’s slim waist and practically carrying her out the doors towards restroom, not paying any attention to Bianca picking the microphone up, her girlfriend's voice filling the room behind her.

They arrived just in time for Violet to push Courtney aside, smack the door open and bend over the toilet, her shoulders shaking as Violet threw up everything she had eaten that day. Courtney held her hair back, rubbing her shoulders in slow gentle circles.

“Fuck... Fuck fuck fuck.” When Violet lifted her head, her cheeks were streaked with tears. “Oh god...”

“Hey, it’s not that bad.” Courtney dabbed her eyes and then her mouth with toilet paper, tucked her hair behind her ear. They sat on the floor, leaning against the stall.

“Thanks,” Violet sniffled, hiding her face. “Shit...”

Courtney flushed the toilet, before she sat down next to Violet. “At least we’re not wearing our clothes for tomorrow.” Courtney tried for a smile, but Violet didn’t even look up. “Don’t worry, she’ll understand...”

Violet scoffed, giving Courtney a look of disbelief. They both knew she was talking about Raven, though neither of them had to say it.

“I mean, eventually.” Courtney squeezed Violet’s arm

“Thanks…” Violet smiled slightly, her makeup utterly ruined. “I really fucked up…”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know, or, I do, but, I can’t... I had everything prepared but, when I have to speak in public... It feels like being back in middle school, my hands, my throat, I can’t focus, everything starts spinning-”

“Hey, hey-” Courtney shook Violet slightly, the other womans color going green again. “Try to calm down-”

“Hey, what’s going on? Some of us are trying to fuck, so could you please keep it down-”

“Oh god.”

Courtney barely caught Violet, the other bending over and puking again, as if the words she had just uttered had made her sick.

“Vi? Is that you?”

Courtney looked up to see Pearl standing outside their stall, her hair a mess and her suit pants open.

“Wow, is she okay?”

“I don’t think-”

They were interrupted as the door slammed open.

“What in the bloody fuck was that?!” Bianca barked, bursting into the restroom. “Raven is gonna kill you!”

Violet groaned softly, Pearl and Courtney looking at each other for a second before they switched spots, Pearl next to Violet on the ground, her hand on her forehead, whispering to her as Courtney stood up.

“She was sick. I had to get her out of there,” Courtney explained.

“So, you decided to jump on a grenade for Violet...why, exactly? You think she’d have done that for you?”

“So what?” Courtney threw up her hands, exasperated. “Sometimes you do things because they’re right, Bianca, not because they make you look good!” She grabbed a few paper towels and started running water over them.

Bianca rolled her eyes. “Very nice. And now you get to suffer Raven’s wrath.”

“Yeah, well, I can handle it. I doubt she’ll remember tomorrow, anyway...” Courtney handed the wet towels to Pearl, who pressed them to the back of Violet’s neck.

“You’re missing the point-” Bianca began, but Courtney dragged her out of the bathroom, only barely noticing Laila that ran for her life the moment she saw her chance.

“No, I see your point. You’d rather I just sat in the corner quietly while someone had a meltdown, right?”

“Courtney...”

“It’s fine. I need a drink.” Courtney flashed a sunny smile and took her hand, biting back her simmering anger.

***

“Oh god, I don’t ever want to eat another bite.” Fame laughed as she opened the door to her and Patrick’s room.

“You realize it’s going to happen all over again tomorrow?”

“Sssh, please don’t say things like that.” Fame turned her back to her husband. “Help me out of my dress? I don’t think I can move another inch.”

Patrick grabbed the zipper, the wine in his blood making him gently kiss his wife’s shoulder.

“It would be my pleasure.”

***

Courtney chewed on the side of her finger, realizing that she’d just read the same paragraph 3 times before putting her book down with a sigh. Trying to read environmental science after 3 glasses of champagne when she was still tense with anger was probably not the best idea anyway. She switched off her lamp and snuggled down under the covers.

After a minute, she felt Bianca slide into the bed with a soft groan, and arms circle her waist. Bianca kissed her neck softly.

With a slightly aggravated huff, Courtney wriggled out of her grasp, moving as far away as possible without falling out of the bed entirely.

“What’s the matter?”

“Seriously?”

“No, that was a rhetorical question for my own amusement. Yes, seriously.”

Courtney switched on the light and sat up, crossing her arms.

Bianca groaned. “Oh god, here we go.”

“Yeah, here we go!”

“Nevermind, forget I asked-”

“No, you wanted to talk, let’s talk! I’d /love/ to talk!”

Bianca put her arm over her eyes. “I’ve made a horrible mistake.”

“First of all, I did not appreciate the way you immediately sided with Raven, of all people, when all I was trying to do was help Violet. If anyone in that room had half a fucking brain, they’d have been /grateful/ that I got her out of there before she puked all over the podium. Not to mention that Violet is supposedly someone that they all care about, so you’d think they’d be happy that I saved her from humiliation.”

“You expected Raven to be logical? About her wedding?”

“No! But I expected you to be on /my side/! Instead of being a condescending asshole lecturing me about my poor choices! And by the way, I know you think that you know everything, but you’re not exactly an authority on morality. And neither is anyone else in that room.”

Bianca rubbed her temples. “I’m too drunk for this right now.”

“I’m not done.”

“Wonderful.”

Courtney narrowed her eyes. “Do not even think for a second that I missed out on you flirting with Allison Harvard.”

“Allison Ha-are you /kidding/ me?!”

“You’re gonna deny it?”

“Allison is my friend! I’ve known her for like...I dunno, ten years?! I’m not allowed to talk to her at a party?” Bianca demanded.

“A friend that you’ve had sex with.”

Bianca rolled her eyes. “I’ve had sex with a lot of people. So what?”

“So that’s the point! I get that I have no choice with Fame, but do you have to go out of your way to chat up former lovers at every single event we go to?! I’ve told you that I fucking hate it. You know this. And you keep doing it anyway. It’s maddening.”

Bianca sighed, leaning her head back. “I’m too tired for this.”

“And you think I’m not?! I feel like I’m going crazy!”

“Well, what the fuck do you want from me, Courtney? We’ve had this conversation a million fucking times. I’m not cheating on you. I don’t want to cheat on you. But you know, it’s never good enough.”

Courtney covered her face, a sob escaping her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so-”

“Hysterical. You’re hysterical. What happens when I actually fuck up?” Bianca asked, shaking her head. “Because, you know, I’m human. Eventually I’m going to do something that you’ll actually be justified being pissed off about, instead of this petty garbage.”

Tears were streaked down Courtney’s face as she pulled her hands away, looking at Bianca like a puppy who’d been kicked, breath hitching, gulping for air.

Bianca reached for her. “Alright, alright, calm down. It’s-”

“Don’t just tell me to calm down!” Courtney cried, pushing her hands away.

“Oh my god,” Bianca muttered. She got up and walked over to the closet, yanking out a suitcase and quickly throwing things in from the drawers.

“What are you doing?” Courtney asked tearfully?

“I’m gonna go sleep somewhere else tonight. I can’t fight all night. I need some rest or I’m never gonna get through tomorrow.”

Courtney sniffled. “Well, you shouldn’t have to leave. I’ll leave.”

“Yeah, right. You’re not going anywhere in this state. It’s fine, you can stay and chill and we’ll talk tomorrow.” She pulled a garment bag out of the closet as well.

“But you paid for the room.”

Bianca rolled her eyes, picking up her purse, “What else is new?”

Courtney narrowed her eyes. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Love you too, baby!” Bianca called, gathering everything into her arms and sailing out the door.

***

“So about Violet’s attempt at human speech-”

“Did you see the way my mom was staring at you when I said we’re sharing a room?”

“Raven I really think we should discuss-”

“We’re getting married tomorrow! She’s not going to change my mind about you!”

Raja smiled as she gently ran the brush through Raven’s long black hair, the evening ritual calming the both of them down before the big day. Raja knew that under any other circumstances, Raven would be livid that someone had dared to break off the carefully planned and what was to be perfectly executed wedding agenda, but her fiance's anger about her mother had meant that Raven had barely noticed Violet bolting from the room with Courtney, Bianca's quick speech afterwards quickly tidying everything over.

"Violet isn’t going to do her speech tomorrow. At the wedding I mean. She just told me, so what do you-” "Who cares, tell your stupid brother to do it instead-”

“So you’re not angry that we have to change the lineup?”

“I swear, if I have to look at my mom disapproving of my choices one more time, I’m going to, I’m going to- Urgh!"

Raja laughed, happy that Raven was at least focusing on something else. She bent down, placing a gentle kiss on top of Raven’s head.

“I’ll get your mother a new seat for tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

***

Fame rose from the bed, heading for the door, as frantic knocking on her door got louder and louder.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

She looked through the peephole and then opened the door, brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t ask,” Bianca answered hoarsely. “Can I crash here?” She spoke gruffly, but Fame could see that her eyes were a bit glassy.

“Come on in,” Fame said, opening the door wider for her to enter. She wrapped her arms around Bianca tightly for a few moments, let her friend cling to her, face buried in her hair, until Bianca broke the hug, pushing her off.

“Okay, that’s enough,” she said, blinking back tears. “Let’s just go to bed.”

Fame nodded, leading her over to the bed, where Patrick eyed them skeptically.

“What’s going on?”

“We have an overnight guest,” Fame explained, crawling into the king-sized bed and snuggling up to Patrick. “It’s okay, right? I owe her.”

“I...we have a sofa, you know,” Patrick muttered softly, as Bianca climbed under the covers with them.

“I have lower back issues, bro,” Bianca said. “But I’ll keep my hands to myself. Just tell your wife to do the same.”

Fame giggled, shoving her on the shoulder. “Shut up.”

Patrick switched off the light, laughing and kissing the top of Fame’s head. “Now now, girls. Be good.”

***

Violet could feel her boyfriend getting into bed, the man thankfully not turning the lights on. Pearl had tucked her in, her friends gentle voice lulling her to sleep as she sat up her side, their fingers intertwined as Pearl had talked and talked, knowing that it was one of the best ways to keep Violet centered.

Sutan smelled like whiskey, and Violet knew he had most likely shared a drink with Karl at the bar, the two always enjoying each others company, Karl always looking at Sutan as if he made the sun go up in the morning, and like he would get the moon from the skies if Sutan just asked.

Normally it didn’t bother Violet, she didn’t really think of it, but as Sutan began to snore softly besides her, the knot in her stomach only grew. He hadn’t even realized she had gone missing, hadn’t come looking for her, hadn’t asked if she was okay. She knew she didn’t deserve it, telling Raja that she couldn’t give the speech one of the hardest things she had ever done, and as Violet closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep, it was with a heavy heart, the warmth of her boyfriend beside her not comforting her at all.

#Galactica #au aag verse #rpdr fanfiction #my fics

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fuzzystarofficial-blog · 7 years

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Excitement!

There isn’t much news this week....

...other than the fact that we’re close to launch time! Right now, we’re looking at November 17th as the official launch date for Isaac Comett Act I! We’re expecting to have both hard and digital copies available for purchase on the Kindle store. Something to note is that if the hard copies are given enough love, it could open the door to other things. Stay tuned for that ^^

Coming up is another segment from the story. This one is taken from early on when our heroes first meet their mentor. Like some first encounters, this one leaves a rough impression!

We kept our eyes open as home faded away through the naked trees. Once out of the complex we cut through neighbor's backyards away from the main road until we were in the forest. Even though I told myself I was never going back to the woods, we all knew it was our only lead to finding more information. With the fair over, interrogating Lady Blossom was out of the question, and if she knew what was good for her, she would stay away.

"I bet if I had one of those rocks I would get super strength. Or no, wait! Wouldn't it be cool if I could fly?! Or..."

"This isn't a game, Fiora." said Emma.

"Well it certainly plays like one, doesn't it?" she said.

I shook my head. "Who's playing? This is life and death!"

"It's hard mode." she said.

Fiora was off in fantasy land until we arrived at the spot where June was attacked. She was already there, looking over a tree with a dark splatter across its bark. I saw her gloved fingers shake as she stroked them across the dark stain. The area by the pond looked so tranquil, almost like an artist's painting as the sun glistened against patches of ice. Birds chirped happily as they flew under a cloudless, baby blue sky. A squirrel hopped whimsically in a high drift, getting powder in its fluffy tail. You would never have guessed one of us almost died there.

"Hey," I called to her, "find anything?"

"Nothing but some traces of black goop." she said. June shivered as she looked at the dark spot again.

"Thank goodness for these weapons." said Emma, kneeling down next to June to get a better look. "These monsters would have ripped us apart."

"Stop rubbing it in." whimpered Fiora.

"You want one of mine? I got two daggers."

"R-Really? You can do that?" she asked. An aura of hope enveloped her as she took June's hand and jumped up and down.

Before we could scourer the area for more clues, we heard something in the distance. All of us shot up and turned. From out of the woods ahead we saw a figure approach. He was too tall to be Austin, but too human to be one of those dark things. Still, he didn't belong. His eyes were covered with thick sunglasses and his long black trench coat was zipped and buckled up to his high collar, which blocked his mouth from view. The only skin that showed was his forehead, which had an orangey tint to it.

At first we thought he was some guy in the middle of a midlife crisis trying to be a punk poseur in a sad attempt to relive his teen years. That idea went up in smoke when the gem in his left glove lit up. The words "Of Fear" floated around him, and the next thing we knew he had a long, shining scythe in his hand. We found ourselves holding our weapons too.

"H-Hello?" called Emma as she clutched her bow.

"Who are you?" I tried to stand tall, but it was hard to go against a guy who clearly looked like he knew more about what he was doing with his crystal than we did.

He didn't respond. His pace didn't slow, either. Rather, it looked like his movement increased with every second. Obviously he was bad news.

"Emma! Do something!" shrieked Fiora, hiding behind her sister.

"Like what?!" she panicked

"Like use your bow!"

"Yeah and with what arrows?!"

He was practically running at us. June and I stepped backwards, our legs shook.

"You don't need them, remember? Just shoot!" I said.

Fiora took her sister's hand, which was on the empty string of her weapon, and pulled it back. A bright, thin dart made out of light formed out of nothing. Emma let go sending the missile straight at the enemy. He side stepped it, but it was a start.

Emma fired off as many shots as she could before he reached us. With a battle cry that sounded more like a scream for help, I rushed him and swung my sword. I hit nothing but snow, but the assailant didn't miss his mark. With the long end of the weapon he smacked me away.

I looked up to see June swatting at him with her daggers, missing every strike. The guy had the reflexes of a ninja. Her swings were so fast they just looked like streaks of light, the knives in her hands not even visible. Still, she couldn't touch him.

Emma finally had a clear shot after he swatted June the same way he did with me. He parried the arrow, however, and teleported up to her. Not even lying; the freak of nature just zipped on up to her face so fast the snow on the ground was sent soaring into the air.

We all yelled as the scythe was lifted high then came down quickly at Emma's head. More shocking was how she blocked the sharp edge with her bow. Without missing a beat she pulled back the bowstring and shot fired an arrow at his head. Sparks rained around her, and the man winced as his glasses took the fatal shot for him.

I had a solid opening. I sped at the guy with everything I had. My legs flung me into the air high enough to make a slam dunk, and I raised my sword above my head. He countered with his scythe, but the unexpected happened when his blade shattered to hundreds of pieces.

I pointed my sword at him and he step back. The remains of the man's weapon vanished into the air. His golden irises looked intently at me. Despite the danger, I felt so unbelievably awesome I wanted to laugh. Even more, I hoped June saw my moves.

"Isaac!" June shouted.

I smiled at her.

"Behind you." said the man with golden eyes.

"Yeah right!" I scoffed.

I don't remember anything after that.

#excited #book time #reading time #launch day #sci fi story #sci-fi & fantasy #surprise attack #writerblr #writeblr #swordfight #legendary sword #power crystals #man in black #read #reading #what is real #ninja moves #books like anime #books like comics

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tylerhoechlns · 7 years

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Sterek Recs: Bookmarked (1/?)

I’ve been lacking with my posts, specifically my sterek recs, so I decided I should post all 1,163 (and counting) fics that I have bookmarked on AO3 into a few separate posts.

WARNING: I have been bookmarking almost every sterek fic I have ever read since the summer of 2015. Some of these fics may include side pairings or briefly include Derek and/or Stiles with someone else. I tried to add some tags and warnings here but PLEASE read the tags and or warnings on the fic itself if this is something you do not like. All of these fics are completed.

How to Win an Argument Without Really Trying by sffan (Explicit - 2.2k)

It started with a kiss.

Well, actually, it started with an argument.

— Tags and Warnings: Underage, First Time, Porn Without Plot

Blushing Pretty by the_deep_magic (Explicit - 3.2k)

Tonight’s the rare occasion when he gets to take Stiles apart, piece by piece, and Stiles – annoying, mouthy, brilliant, gorgeous Stiles – lets him.

— Tags and Warnings: Porn Without Plot, Established Relationship, Light BDSM

🔒 The One In Which Derek's Dick Disappears by bleep0bleep (Explicit - 3.3k)

Derek wakes up one afternoon without a particular appendage.

Stiles thinks someone left a very realistic looking dildo in his bed.

— Tags and Warnings: Mildly Dubious Consent, Public Sex, Telepathic Sex

Muffins As A Declaration Of Intent by JenNova (Explicit - 3.7k)

“Top or bottom?” Stiles asks, off to Derek's right.

“Bottom,” Derek says automatically, not really looking at him. “Wait, what?”

— Tags and Warnings: Porn Without Plot

Stiles, why is Derek Hale passed out on our front porch? by marguerite_26, mothlights (Explicit, 4.4k)

Stiles doesn't hear the knock on his front door, but he figures there must have been one, because now his dad's calling out to him,

"Stiles, do you know why Derek Hale just passed out on our front porch?"

Stiles freezes, carton of milk half way to his mouth. He looks around the empty room, wondering if it has any answers. Derek Hale just passed out on his front porch -- sounds like one of the signs of the coming apocalypse.

— Tags and Warnings: Spark Stiles, Magical Bond, Hurt/Comfort

With Warmest Regards (Affectionately Yours) by asocialfauxpas (fuzzytomato) (Mature - 5.9k)

House Hale and House Stilinski form an alliance through the betrothal of Prince Derek and Prince Stiles. Having only met once before, they write letters to get to know one another.

— Tags and Warnings: AU: Royalty, Alive Hale Family, background/side pairings.

Intro To Art For NonMajors by otatop (N/A - 13k)

Derek has one more class to pass before he can finish his degree but he can't bring himself to give a shit about art. He can, however, give a shit about his professor.

— Tags and Warnings: AU: University, Student!Derek/Teacher!Stiles, Artist!Stiles

an exaltation of larks by llassah (Explicit - 25k)

There are times when he feels as if they could fall into bed together, easy as breathing. If Stiles were not highborn, if he were an omega without connections, Derek would be sorely tempted. As it is, he resists. Derek wants, he yearns, but he resists. Still, the sight of Stiles in his cot is enough to test him, even now that it is familiar. At the end of each lambing season, he sleeps for a week, worn down by months of hard work, of relentless struggle. He doesn’t know how he’ll feel by the time Stiles leaves, how he’ll feel after long days and longer nights spent resisting the insistent tug of Stiles’s scent and the inclinations of his own foolish heart.

All Derek wants is to get through the lambing season with his body and spirit intact. He had thought that the blizzards would be the main danger, not a highborn omega with beautiful eyes and a stubborn streak.

— Tags and Warnings: AU: Historical, AU: Werewolves are Known, AU: Medievalesque Omega!Stiles, Alpha!Derek, Non-Graphic Torture, Mutual Pining

Nothing Short Of Perfect by GotTheSilver (Explicit, 27k)

In which Derek and Stiles are made aware of their potential and have to make a choice about what their relationship will be.

“Let me get this straight,” his dad says. “You’re telling me a witch told Derek and yourself that you could be destined to be together and now Derek will be going to college with you?”

Stiles shrugs, resting his hands on his legs to stop himself from fidgeting. “That’s about it, yep.”

— Tags and Warnings: University, Soul bonds, Getting Together.

By Any Other Name by entanglednow (Explicit - 33K)

He doesn't know his name, he doesn't know who he is, and neither does the werewolf he's on the run with. But he's pretty sure they hunt monsters, because they seem to be really good at it.

— Tags and Warnings: Angst, Amnesia, Violence

Strike Softly (Away From The Body) by qhuinn (tekla) (Explicit - 34k)

Derek is a bodyguard and Stiles his spoiled, resistant client.

— Tags and Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers

The Worst Thing I Ever Did by RemainNameless (Explicit, 41k)

Stiles would say his relationship with Derek is about fifteen percent empty threats, thirty percent sass, ten percent avoiding violence together, and five percent eyebrows. If anyone asked, he would say the remaining forty percent is mutual orgasms.

It’s a good thing no one ever asks.

— Tags and Warning: AU: Canon Divergence, post 3x03, Underage, Canon Typical Violence, Porn With Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Dubious Consent, D/s themes, Non-Negotiated Kink

Traces by standinginanicedress (Explicit - 44k)

Derek snaps his fingers and glares into Stiles' eyes. “You say you're not the same, but – there you fucking go, acting just like yourself.”

Stiles bristles. “Oh, right. Because you know me so fucking well, don't you?”

“Better than you seem to think,” he mutters under his breath in response, and Stiles gets even more incensed.

“Pushing me up against walls, shoving my head into steering wheels,” he shrugs his shoulders, glares, “some real heart to hearts we've had!”

“Holding me up in eight feet of water when I was paralyzed, nearly cutting my arm off for me to save my life. Doesn't seem so fucking shallow to me, Stiles.”

— Tags and Warnings: Underage (17), Angst, Body Dysmorphia, PTSD, Kate Argent

our lives are changing lanes by grimm (Explicit - 47k)

There's a lot of screaming going on inside the first house Stiles visits. He isn't really worried, because it sounds like kids, but then the door opens and hi, says his dick, because the dude in front of him is gorgeous, built like a god with a face like thunder. Stiles wants to lick that solid jaw line. Hold the fuck on, says his cop brain, because the dude's got kids hanging all over him; one's on his back, skinny legs looped around his waist, and another two hanging off one arm, toes barely brushing the ground. There's a tubby toddler clinging to his leg like a koala, and he's got a baby tucked into the crook of the one arm that doesn’t have kids hanging off it. Stiles' mouth drops open.

"How many of those kids did you kidnap?" he asks before he can wrangle his brain into submission.

The man gives him a look that says what the fuck is wrong with you and snaps, "You think I'd subject myself to this on purpose?"

"Oooh," says one of the kids hanging off his arm. "I'm telling Mom."

— Tags and Warnings: AU: Werewolves Are Known, Deputy!Stiles, Single Parent Derek, Past Kate/Derek

☆ Sense of Home by siny (Explicit - 53k)

Home can be a place, but it can also be a person.

After the events with the Nemeton, Stiles starts suffering the consequences of their sacrifice. A journey he attempts to make on his own, but only becomes worse with every step he takes. In the process he seeks comfort in an unexpected place and it draws him toward an unexpected person.

— Tags and Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Major (Fake) Character Death, Angst, Slow Build, First Time, Happy Ending, Background/Side pairings.

Move A Mountain by ZainClaw (Explicit - 69k)

Stiles goes camping with his friends in New Mexico after graduation where they befriend a biker gang led by Derek: a guy whom Stiles can’t decide if he will be either relieved or devastated to never see again once their week is up.

— Tags and Warnings: Smut, Angst, Biker!Derek, background/side pairings

Occam's Razor by MissAnnThropic (Explicit - 74k)

When Stiles goes to sleep, he’s a junior in high school. He wakes up in a world where he’s twenty-four and married to Derek Hale. Stiles just can’t seem to catch a break.

— Tags and Warnings: Angst

☆ Cornerstone by Vendelin (Explicit - 83k)

Suffering from PTSD, ex-Marine Derek Hale moves back to Beacon Hills to open a bookshop and find a calmer life. That’s where he meets Stiles, completely by accident. Stiles is talkative, charming and curious. Somehow, despite the fact that he’s blind, he’s able to read Derek like no one else.

— Tags and Warnings: Blind!Stiles, Marine!Derek, PTSD

☆ No Homo by RemainNameless (Explicit - 84k)

Stiles' sophomore year starts something like this: 3 FourLokos + 1 peer-pressuring cat - 1 best bro to end all best bros = 1 Craigslist ad headline that reads "str8 dude - m4m - strictly platonic". Derek is the fool who replies.

— Tags and Warnings: AU: University, Internalized Homophobia, Recreational Drug Use (Marijuana), Alcohol, Lots of Safe and Unsafe Sex

🔒 Shatterproof by pyes (Explicit - 90k)

The first time that Derek kisses Stiles, they're in the Jeep—which is sideways—while they're trapped in an overpass collapse.

It's the second time when things really get scary.

— Tags and Warnings: Post 3b Pack, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Canon Typical Violence/Gore.

I Know Where Babies Come From, Derek by DiscontentedWinter (Explicit - 127k)

Stiles finds a baby on the porch.

It looks exactly like him.

Well, this is awkward.

— Tags and Warnings: Underage, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Domestic Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Death, Pack Feels, Abduction, Threats of Rape/Non-Con

Little Wild Animal by DiscontentedWinter (Explicit - 131k)

Derek Hale finds a feral human on his pack's property. Humans are supposed to be extinct. But then, Stiles is full of surprises.

— Tags and Warnings: Underage, Feral!Stiles, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background/Side pairings. Fics 2&3 of sterek aren’t majority about Sterek.

#sterek #sterek fic rec #sterek fic #sterek rec #eternalsterek #my rec #eternal sterek

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expressandadmirable · 7 years

Text

Femslash February week 4: Favourite Trope

The first time they met, it was mid-afternoon.

Officer Sol Feldryn -- formerly Major Sol Feldryn of the Royal Cornerian Guard, and other names and other titles before that -- had forgotten how meditative walking a beat could be. Corneria was quite a beautiful city when you stopped to look at it, and the best way to do so was on foot. She had also been fortunate enough to land a route that centred around one of the larger parks in the city: a vibrant, sprawling green oasis hemmed in by tall brick and stone. In truth, she suspected it was not luck that had given her this route, but her superiors hoping to ease her back into the routine after so many years of active duty overseas. Whatever the reason, she was grateful.

The weather was warm and clear for the first time in days and the park's wide pedestrian walkways bustled with activity. Vendors with hand carts hawked wares and food and drink, artists created elaborate chalk drawings on the stones or invited patrons to sit for caricatures, musicians and dancers claimed small patches of performance space and blended their disparate music into one constantly shifting soundscape. Sol allowed the distance between herself and her younger partner Brash to widen as they meandered, confident she would not lose track of a nearly-seven-foot Dragonborn. She let her focus wander, theoretically scanning for suspicious characters but largely just people-watching. It had been a pleasantly uneventful day so far.

As she approached the plaza at the centre of the park, its fountain guarded by the bronze statue of a long-dead hero, a single clear melody rose above the din. It took Sol's long ears a moment to locate the source: a violin, tucked against the neck of a tall, willowy Tiefling woman standing at the base of the statue. Her gold-streaked purple hair was pulled into a short, loose braid that looked as if it was fighting her with all its might; with each tilt of her head, new strands shook themselves free, giving her a wild, almost feylike quality. Her black clothing reminded Sol of an apocalyptic dancer: a loose, flowing tunic and fingerless knit gloves paired with ripped jeans tucked into combat boots. Sol found that she had stopped walking, distracted by the notes of the Tiefling's instrument and the way she swayed in time with the music she created. She debated for a moment, glanced ahead to make sure she could still see Brash, then leaned against a lamppost. Call it part of the job, she reasoned. Protecting citizens. Sure.

The Tiefling attracted a small crowd as Sol loitered, each person eventually stepping forward to drop coin in the open violin case at her feet. She smiled and dipped her head at each benefactor, sometimes winking if they seemed particularly shy. She seemed perfectly aware of the enchanting effect her music produced and she revelled in it. In time, the piece she played came to its natural conclusion and she lifted the bow from her strings. The crowd applauded respectfully. She grinned, bowed slightly, allowed people to disperse, and started another.

Sol pushed off from the lamppost as the song ended, suddenly aware she had lost Brash completely. With any luck she could catch up to him further along their route. She left the plaza and continued on, her pace slow, keeping an ear on the violin for as long as she could before it faded into the background.

"Hey!"

Sol turned. A young Human man was running full tilt across the plaza in her direction, clutching a very familiar violin case, closely followed by a very familiar Tiefling. As Sol calculated the best course to intercept him, the Tiefling unleashed a string of furious words in a guttural tongue. The man stumbled, his eyes wide with surprise and pain, providing Sol with just enough time to step into his path and send him sprawling to the ground. He looked up at her, dazed. She raised an eyebrow.

"That's not yours."

"No, it's most certainly not," agreed the Tiefling as she caught up to them. She took a moment to catch her breath as Sol rolled the man onto his stomach and handcuffed him, then retrieved her case and stowed her instrument and bow. "Am I going to get in trouble for the spell? I was defending my property. That's my drinkin' money right there."

Sol shook her head and tried not to smile at the Tiefling's odd commentary. "No ma'am, you're all set. This fellow is coming with me." She hoisted the man to his feet and he scowled at her.

The Tiefling grinned. "Works for me." She was even taller up close than Sol realised -- and more striking. Her braid had given up completely during her sprint, a mane of messy purple hair now framing her face. Silver studs in her nose, lower lip and eyebrow shifted with her expressions. Her gold eyes met Sol's. "Thank you for taking him down."

"Thank you for the assist," Sol replied with a slight smirk. She paused. "Your music is beautiful."

"Oh thank you! I thought I saw you listening." She smiled and Sol felt her chest tighten slightly, as if she had been caught. "This is one of my favourite places to play. It's got the best acoustics in the city."

"Do you play elsewhere?" Sol held onto the handcuffed man but did not move to take him away just yet.

The Tiefling nodded. "Here and there. Bar gigs and basement shows, mostly. Haven't hit it big quite yet. Still a ways to go."

Sol opened her mouth to ask another question, but the handcuffed man wriggled in her grip and brought her back to her senses. "Alright you, let's go." She started to push him in the direction she knew Brash would be, then addressed the Tiefling once more. "I hope I'll get to see you play again sometime."

The Tiefling smiled again. "Maybe you will, Officer..." her eyes flicked to the nametag on Sol's dark blue uniform in a gesture that may or may not have contained a once-over, "Feldryn. I'm Lux. Look for me when I'm famous. You can say you knew me when." She winked before she walked away.

Sol set off to find Brash, feeling something she had not felt in a long time.

* * *

The second time they met, it was evening.

Sol blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the bar. It was a dive, but it was the precinct's preferred dive, and Sol had promised Brash she would make it out eventually. She nodded to him as he played darts with a Dwarf, then made her way through the press of people to lean against the bar and wait for the Human behind it to notice.

A low, rich voice from the tiny stage at the back of the room caught Sol's attention. She craned her neck to peer over the sea of heads and felt her pulse quicken. Lux was perched on a high stool, barely visible in the low light, an acoustic guitar on her knee and a microphone hovering on a stand before her. Her makeup was heavier, dark and smoky, and her song spoke of a woman in mourning as her lover wasted away. A roar erupted as she finished, and she smiled and thanked the crowd.

After a moment of consideration, Sol asked the bartender what the Tiefling onstage was drinking and ordered one sent to her. She waited. At the end of Lux's next song, a waiter made his way over. Lux accepted the presented glass, confused, and conferred with the waiter for a moment. He gestured at the bar; Lux followed his gaze. When Sol knew she had been seen, she lifted her own drink. Lux's confusion turned to surprised delight and she raised hers in return. She took a sip, set the glass on the small table beside her, and began another song.

Sol watched Lux's entire set, any interest in making small talk with her coworkers quickly dissipating. Brash came to check on her and she assured him she was fine. It was only when Lux disappeared backstage that she turned back to the bar and debated ordering another ale.

"Officer Feldryn! My hero!"

The corners of her mouth curled slightly as Sol tilted her head to look up at the Tiefling who had just materialised beside her. "I'm off duty. It's Sol."

"Well, what a coincidence! I'm off too. What are you drinking?"

Sol held up her nearly empty glass. "But I wouldn't want you to spend any of your drinkin' money on me."

Lux grinned, her dark eyeshadow lending her a coquettish edge. "It would be my pleasure. You rescued it, I figure I can buy you at least one."

One drink became several, and they talked the entire rest of the night. The conversation flowed with an ease that rather surprised Sol, as she had never considered herself much of an honest talker, and she sensed the same was true of Lux. They appreciated many of the same books. Sol asked about music and composition and Lux waxed poetic on the topic. They disagreed on the superior breakfast cafe. Lux had grown up in Corneria, while Sol had moved to the city later in life. They both liked Dwarven food. Sol spoke of her time in the service. Neither enjoyed hiking. Lux revealed her first name to be Aviva, which was not something she generally shared. Sol said she thought the name was beautiful, and was fairly certain the Tiefling blushed a few shades darker.

Last call came and went, and all too soon it was closing time. The bartender reminded Lux her guitar was still backstage and she grumbled that she knew. She looked apologetically at Sol. "I've got to go. Rented studio space to try and record an EP tomorrow. We'll see how it goes."

Sol nodded. "Save me a copy. When you're famous, I'll say I knew you when."

"Of course," Lux replied, her smile coy. "See you around, Officer."

* * *

The third time they met, it was morning.

Lux dragged herself through the doors of the coffee shop with an exhausted groan. Day four of recording was due to begin as soon as she could make it to the studio, but she'd be damned if she was going to do anything without coffee. She had followed Wilhelm's orders and drunk nothing but water for days -- and she would never, ever make such a grievous mistake again. The barista asked if it would be the usual and she responded with a dull nod, willing herself not to rub her eyes and further smear yesterday's makeup. The day was going to be a trial.

In blessedly short order, Lux's breakfast was ready. She retrieved it gratefully and turned to find a seat at one of the myriad small tables dotting the cafe. The morning sun streaming through the windows glinted off something pale in the corner of her eye, and when she squinted over to see what it was, she suddenly found herself very much awake.

"Officer Sol!" The Drow was out of uniform, clad instead in a dark flannel over a tank top and jeans. Lux offered a quick, silent prayer to anyone who might be listening that her makeup still looked somewhat presentable. "We have to stop meeting like this. People are going to talk!"

Sol closed the book balanced on her knee and looked up at Lux with a small smile, the sunshine turning her white hair into a brilliant halo. "I'd rather let them talk."

Lux eyed her, intrigued. "What are you doing here?"

"Hoping to run into you." Lux seemed momentarily taken aback, which amused Sol. So she could be rendered speechless after all. "You said this was your preferred place, I figured I'd see what the fuss was about."

"Well, you've certainly caught me at my most glamourous." Lux gestured to her unkempt appearance with a sleepy grin. "Welcome to the secret life of musicians."

"I think you look lovely." Lux blinked, once again at a loss for words. Sol tilted her chin toward the empty chair across from her. "Do you have time to sit?"

Lux immediately moved to set her breakfast on the table, then stopped mid-motion. "I actually don't think I do," she said, transferring her coffee to the other hand so she could pull her phone from her pocket. She checked the time and made a face. "I don't. I'm sorry, I wish I did. Wilhelm will have a conniption if I'm late; at this point I'm pretty sure he survives purely on caffeine and his own neurosis." She paused and thought for a moment. "But if we keep on schedule, I'll be free tonight. There's a Dwarven place up the street from here." She pointed the direction with her phone. "You interested?"

"Absolutely. What time will you be out? Actually, how about this--" Sol held out a hand for Lux's phone. When Lux passed it over, Sol typed in her number and saved it before giving it back. "Just let me know. I'll be there."

"It's a date." Lux beamed. "Enjoy your coffee, I promise it's worth it. See you tonight, Officer Sol." She left the shop with an extra spring in her step. Turned out it was going to be a very good day indeed.

#Dungeons and Dragons #AU #Modern AU #Original characters #Femslash February #AU Lux

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pengiesama · 7 years

Note

If you're still taking fic requests... SorMik in any Disney AU? Idk I'm a sucker for Disney AUs ^^;

THIS GOT FUCKING LONG I’M SORRY

As was custom when talk of marriage came up, Mikleo set offfrom the palace and into the forest. As prince, he was aware that it was hisfate to be married off to secure a trading alliance or some such banality – he wasunder no such illusions that he had the option to pursue some sort of courtlyromance, but the idea that he was expected to be eager, or even excited, whenthe topic came up? That was theridiculous part, far more ridiculous than the concept of him plucking at a luteunderneath some garden window.

He would cooperate – no more and no less – and would takeevery opportunity to abscond from overhearing the constant gossip of the noblesand staff about his upcoming match. And so, he was here, settling himself intoa forest clearing with his notebooks and sketch paper. He might as well getsome work done on his book and not waste an afternoon.

It was then that a breeze picked up, sweeping up his notesand carrying them away into the trees. Mikleo despaired, but leapt to his feetto doggedly chase down months of work. It took him the better part of an hourto track down the scattered pages, and was still missing the better half of hissketches. He expected to find them muddied in a soggy ditch, or torn to shredsby an enterprising partridge for its nest.

He did not expect to find them being admired by a youngpeasant boy.

The boy seemed to finally take notice of Mikleo’s staring,and looked up, blinking, from the pages; with eyes green as the canopy above.

“Are these Elysialarks?” the boy asked, pointing to theavian sketches. “They’re great, but the pinion feathers are just slightly offin shape, and the notes on nesting patterns…”

They had talked in the forest for hours, and Sorey could notbe more in love.

He wandered back home as if in a dream, clenching andunclenching his hand – he could almost still feel Mikleo’s hand in his, but hewouldn’t have to wait long, no, he’d promised to come for him tomorrow eve, forSorey’s birthday, to compare more notes on flora and fauna and talk about histravels. Mikleo was a scholar and an artist, and Sorey had never met someone sogentlemanly…well, he’d never met another human period, really, but Sorey wasquite certain that Mikleo was the picture of a storybook prince. He might notknow the tailfeathers of an Elysialark from the butt of a sparrow, but his eyessparkled with intelligence, and his laugh was like music, and the sheer warmthof his presence sparked within Sorey an easy familiarity. Surely it was justMikleo’s charm – Sorey was sure he’d never forget meeting someone like himbefore.

Sorey sighed happily as he swung open the door, eyes dartingaround eagerly for his grandfather.

“Gramps! I met someone in the forest, he’ll be here for mybirthday dinner tomorrow night; we were talking about his book, he writes books, and even draws for them,and he wants to travel all over the world to write and draw and I--”

“—will be leaving tonight for the palace,” Gramps said,firmly. He rose from his armchair. Sorey’s face went blank at the sight of thewings on his back. “Sorey. I’m so sorry, but we have much to discuss about yourupcoming birthday.”

Sorey had begged, and pleaded, and even had the wild thoughtthat he might be able to run, run away after where Mikleo had rode back home onhis white horse. Gramps simply stood there, his mouth drawn into a thin, firmline.

He had been confined to this tiny forest grove his wholelife. When he tried to sneak outside the limits of where Gramps allowed him togo, he always found himself turned around, disoriented, and mysteriously on thepath back home. Sorey had always chalked it up to a bad sense of direction, andthe confirmation of fairy magic turning him roundabout was cold comfort.

He’d been a prisoner, lied to his whole life. And now, whenhe had just seen a light from the outside world, when he’d just found someonehe couldn’t bear never to see again…he was being ripped away, spirited offagain, being sent off to marry a stranger because of some agreement his parentshe never knew came to. He’d happily live his whole life in his forest birdcageif it meant he could see Mikleo again.

Sorey laid his head on the ornate desk in the palace room,his eyes staring at nothing. His favorite feather hair tie had been cast awayby the royal dressers, and his long hair had been yanked into an ornate twistof braids, pinned and secured to the crown atop his head. Gramps had left himto his own devices after failing to convince Sorey of the necessity of thiseighteen-year-long charade, and the stone room felt cold and empty despite itsrich furnishings.

He thought of Mikleo knocking on the door to an emptycottage, and squeezed his eyes shut.

It’s simply unfair.

The voice murmured in Sorey’s ear, though the room was empty.

Treating you as just apawn in this political power play. Not caring about their charge’s happinessone whit.

An eerie purple mist began to gather in the room’s center,and Sorey slowly drew himself up to look at it, as if in a trance.

The mist became corporeal in the form of a spinning wheel. Araven with glinting purple feathers perched upon the wooden wheel, and spreadits wings, cawing sharply at the point of the spindle.

Why not throw a wrenchin their plans? Sleep, young prince, sleep until this whole wretched kingdom isdust.

Mikleo had been there, at that christening. He had been soyoung, and could recall little but a few flashes of memory. The tiny foreign princein his cradle, giggling and reaching for Mikleo as he peered over the sidesuspiciously. His mother’s voice in his ear, teasing him about sneaking a peekat his future fiancé. Then the horrible stench of darkness, the terrifiedshouts of the nobles, and the impossibly tall figure looming over the prince’scradle; tainting the gifts of the fairies with his awful curse. The lightning strikesstreaking through the air, chasing the terrible creature from the hall, but toolate, too late, too late.

When he was older, he learned more of the events of thatnight by eavesdropping on his uncle’s meetings with his advisors. A death curseon a baby, all because of a jilted party invitation. Mikleo had known fairieswere petty, but as far as he was concerned, this was a new low.

He’d known that his infant fiancé had been taken into hiding.He could surmise that the ones harboring him would have to be powerful –powerful indeed to keep the dark fairy lord at bay. Mikleo considered himself afairly intelligent lad, and well able to keep up with shrewd politicalmovements, whether they were inter-human or inter-fairy. He was perfectlycapable of putting two and two together regarding the mysterious boy in thewoods, with the same sparkling eyes that had gazed at him from that cradle.

So why he hadn’t anticipated being ambushed by the darkforces on his way back to Sorey’s cottage…well, he could only blame himself.

It was a mystery why the dark forces hadn’t killed him onthe spot, but the morals of the fairies were beyond human comprehension – as ifMikleo cared to understand at this point, chained as he was to a wall in somedark dungeon. Perhaps they were keeping him as a plaything, content to sit backand watch him stew and quiver in impotent rage, anxiety, and despair.

What had they done to Sorey and his grandfather? The cottagewas empty when Mikleo came by; empty save for a squad of cackling littlegoblins that leapt upon him before he could reach for his knife or bow. IfMikleo could just loosen his chains, he would turn his miserable wreck of acastle upside-down looking for him, if he could just—

“Sup.”

Mikleo looked up, startled. The door to his cell opened, anda young-looking fairy girl strolled in, twirling her umbrella idly. She lookedMikleo up and down, and raised an unimpressed-looking eyebrow.

“A scrawny little nerd chained to a wall. This is where wehave pinned our hopes.”

Mikleo was too baffled to respond. An older-looking fairywoman tapped in behind her. Her red dress stood out starkly against the darkdungeon walls, and the jingle-jangle of the keyring she dangled in front of herface was a beautiful sound indeed. She smiled warmly.

“We’ve come to rescue you!” she trilled. “Come now, you’vegot a prince to save.”

The young fairy girl wandered out the door as the womanunchained him. “Mind the goblin corpses on your way out.”

Mikleo staggered up the stairs, taking step after painfulstep. The dark fairy lord made a fiercesome opponent indeed, even without thewhole dragon business at the end. But an enchanted arrow to the heart had finallyspelled his undoing, allowing Mikleo to make his way through the forest ofthorns that surrounded the once-lively palace. All its people slept like thedead, dreaming where they stood, frozen in time.

He had made his way through the streets, slow under theweight of his wounds and exhaustion. He made his way into the palace proper, tothe stairs leading to the highest tower. And here he stood, at the door leadingto the room where the fairies had laid the sleeping body of the prince.

Mikleo pressed his forehead to the door, and took a momentto catch his breath. He couldn’t imagine how Sorey was feeling right now -- hewondered, was he dreaming of his forest cottage, dreaming of a time beforeMikleo stumbled into his life? Mikleo couldn’t help but feel as though he wasthe walking catalyst for something Sorey would never want…shackled into amarriage he never chose for himself, chained to serve a kingdom he never knew.

Perhaps it would be kinder to let him dream a better life.

Mikleo opened the door, and limped into the tiny tower room.Sorey lay on a plush bed; the stained glass window overhead casting colors ontohis sleeping face. Wrapped in velvet robes and sporting a crown of braids andgold, he looked the picture of royalty – so different from the sunshine-facedforest boy that Mikleo had spent an unforgettable afternoon with.

They had talked of so many things. Mikleo told him about histravels to the oceans, and the mountains – of great canyons carved out overthousands of years by a single river’s flow. He told him of great cities withmassive libraries, of ancient temples and ruins, all but lost to man- andfairy-kind. Sorey drank in every word – it seemed like his heart was filled tobursting with the very thought of such amazing things out there in the world.Things that Sorey could never see, locked into an endless dreaming sleep.

A kiss would break the sleeping spell, the fairies hadexplained to him. It was all Sorey’s adoptive grandfather, a venerable elder ofthe fairies, could do to soften the deadly curse the dark fairy had placed uponhim. Just a simple kiss. Then, he’d explain everything to Sorey. Apologize fornot immediately voicing his suspicions on Sorey’s lineage when they met,acknowledge that Sorey might never forgive him. Promise him that he wouldrefuse this whole ridiculous marriage foisted on them by their parents andallow Sorey to be free to explore the world, with or without him.

Just a simple kiss. Mikleo knelt by Sorey’s bedside, andleaned in to gently press his lips to Sorey’s.

After a long moment, he felt Sorey sigh in contentmentagainst his mouth. Mikleo drew back just enough to see Sorey’s eyes flutteropen.

Sorey’s lips curved into a smile.

“Good morning, my prince.”

#sormik #sorey/mikleo #soremiku #soymilk #tales of zestiria #a tenderly crafted fanfiction #i guess this is my personal tales of zestiria tag now #chiuuchiuu

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cupidschance-blog · 7 years

Text

Chapter Two

"Good evening and welcome to Boulevard, name on the reservation please."

"Carter Lockhart, I'm meeting Owen Danvers, has he arrived?"

"Not yet, Jennifer will escort you to your table, Miss Lockhart." The maitre d' motioned toward a young waitress wearing a tailor fit uniform.

Carter gave the maitre d' a slight nod then followed the waitress to a nice quiet corner table.

"Would you care for something to drink while you wait for your guest?" asked Jennifer handing Carter a menu.

"Chardonnay will be fine, thank you," Carter said shifting her gaze toward the restaurant's entrance before looking at her watch.

He was late, which was very much unlike Owen. Normally she kept him waiting, but that didn't matter tonight, it would be special regardless--she was breaking her streak. Tonight marked the sixth month and one day of their relationship. To her it wasn't just a trivial milestone to celebrate; it was a freaking miracle. Carter Lockhart for the first time jumped the dreaded six-month relationship-hurdle.

By the time Jennifer made it back to the table, Carter had one of those silly grins on her face, the grin of someone considering whether she had fallen in love. She thanked the waitress and took a sip of her wine as she remembered the day she met Owen.

Owen Danvers was an artist who moved from Poland to San Francisco eight months ago. He set up a gallery and because most of the artwork was worth millions of dollars, he needed a security firm that specialized in moving expensive items. She was proud to run the company her father had built.

The day Owen walked through the door, her world shifted. He was a couple inches taller than her five foot four and slender enough to squeeze into her skinny jeans with a dark shaggy mop of hair on his head--not the type she dated. Owen's expressive eyes changed her mind the warmth and knowledge in his honey brown eyes belonged to an old soul and spoke to her. The first two months they spent a lot of time together working out the details of transporting his shipment. Three days after their business concluded, Owen walked into her office and presented her with a portrait he had painted of her from memory before inviting her to join him for dinner. Like all couples, they had their ups and downs, but they survived and now they had made it past the dreaded six months, she couldn't be happier.

"What has put that smile on your face?" The accented voice pulled her back to the present and she locked her gaze on his.

"Just having a good evening and thinking about things," Carter responded.

A faint smirk touched Owen's lips as he leaned down and placed a polite kiss to her cheek, avoiding the lips Cater tried to present him with. As he pulled back two things caused a brick to drop into the pit of her stomach. She'd caught a slight whiff of cheap perfume and a look in his eyes that seemed guarded.

Instead of taking the seat next to her, he chose the chair across the table from her, crossing his arms over the edge of the table he stared at the water glass in front of him. Taking a deep breath then releasing it in a slow sigh, he started, "I apologize for being late, though I must admit I never expect you to arrive on time."

All the happiness she had been feeling faded as she watched him. Her stomach sent a big flashing neon sign to her brain that screamed get up and walk away now, but she couldn't move, her body was glued to the chair.

"I see," she said. I see! Seriously? That's the best she could come up with? Her throat felt dry, and she drained her wine before looking back to Owen.

"I don't want to endure this a moment longer than necessary, so I'll get straight to the point. I can't do this anymore Carter, I'm not happy and I don't want to pretend to be happy anymore. I'm sure you know this is long overdue." Owen paused, watching her, "Look at you, the way you sit there, perfectly stoic as if nothing I am saying is even getting through to you. That shouldn't surprise me, over the past six months not once have you allowed me even a slight glimpse into your heart."

As her world shifted for a second time due to the man seated across from her, she took a sip of her wine not trusting herself enough to speak just yet. It took all the strength she had to keep the moisture from gathering in her eyes. Carter held her head a little higher and squared her shoulders, adopting the approach she picked up in her military training before she responded.

"I was unaware you were so miserable. Why did you wait until now instead of bringing it up sooner? We could have fixed whatever made you so unhappy," she said with deadly calm.

"Unaware? That is priceless," Owen laughed. "I'm already fixing what made me unhappy. I'm leaving you."

Carter sat up straighter. She knew why he requested a public dinner, he wanted to make a scene and embarrass her, knowing she would not respond in kind. His words cut her like a knife and she wasn't sure how much longer she could hold herself together.

Owen smirked as he watched her and said, "Look at you, sitting there with ice running through your veins. The perfect ice queen."

"Six months and a day," Carters words were little more than a whisper as they passed her lips, afraid to speak any louder. She blinked to fight back the tears he was causing her.

"Don't, don't even try to feign sadness, it doesn't become you, Carter. Before I leave, let me give you some advice. In your next relationship, make sure you let the poor guy know you are an emotionless workaholic ice queen and if he needs references, give him my number. I'll be more than happy to fill him in." Owen rose from his chair, but Carter's tone of voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Sit down Owen, you have had your say, but now it's my turn," she said wrapping her slender fingers around the stem of her wine glass.

Carter drained the remaining contents of her glass before she locked her hazel eyes on the man that now turned her stomach. "This whole time, I sat here and listened to you belittle me and point out my flaws, but what you failed to inform me, is if you were so unhappy with me, why did it take so long to tell me? Just last week did you suggest moving into my house?"

She tapped her finger against the globe of the empty wine glass she still held in her hand. "But then I realized," She paused as Jennifer stepped over and to fill her glass. Carter glanced up at the girl and nodded her head in thanks, knowing full well she had been listening to their conversation and it made her wonder how many others were listening in. She took a sip of the wine then pinned her eyes back on Owen who was squirming in his seat.

"I'm not an imbecile, you have met someone. I hope she can give you what you deserve." She drained her glass of wine once again, then arched her brow at him. "You're dismissed."

Owen stood up and laughed, "Always have to get the last word in..." He shook his head and walked away.

Before Cater could even get her thoughts together, Jennifer was at her side.

"Are you all right, is there anything I can do or get for you?"

The concern in the waitresses' eyes made Carter sick to her stomach. Carter despised being pitied. She brushed everything off then glanced at the menu. "I'll start with the sea scallops then the Angus filet mignon, and bring me a bottle of Kistler Chardonnay, please."

Carter knew better than to run after drinking, but she needed to find a release for all the anger that had built up inside of her. At first, she had considered going home and cleaning her Colt 1911 but decided in her current mood, she would end up shooting out the windows of Owen's gallery and getting arrested. That would have been fun explaining to her father. She was on the trails that lead through Golden Gate Park pushing herself until she made it back home.

Her house was larger than necessary, but she had a love for historical homes. Her three-story Italianate-style house was classic with modern interior renovations. It was a home she wanted and hoped to one day start a family in. So far, that family only comprised her blue French bulldog Max, Russian blue cat Grizzelda, and herself.

The moment Carter reached her front door and opened it, she heard the clicking of Max's manicured nails striking the hardwood floor. Before she could even close the door behind her, Max was leaping at her. She leaned down and scratched behind his ears and said, "We have work to do buddy."

Max followed her into the garage and watched as she grabbed boxes and emptying them. She took the empty boxes pausing in the kitchen long enough to grab a bottle of water and a black marker from the junk drawer then continued up to her bedroom on the third floor. Carter dropped the boxes on her bed, almost hitting Grizz, who let her know she was lying in the center with a low growl. Max jumped on the bed and laid down causing Grizz to hiss and swat at him, but Carter shooed the evil cat off the bed. "You know you aren't supposed to be up here Grizz, now go."

The cat paused in the doorway and flicked her tail back and forth before sauntering down the stairs. Carter rolled her eyes said to Max, "Why can't you act like a normal dog and chase the cat away instead of letting her bully you?"

The phone rang as she pulled Owen's clothes from her closet. She dropped them on the bed--not caring if they wrinkled--and glancing at the number before answering her phone. If anyone else had called, she would have just shut the ringer off, but she couldn't ignore a call from Major-retired Silas Carter Lockhart.

"Major, you're up past your bedtime," She said putting the phone on speaker and laying it on the bed and continued shoving Owen's clothes in the box.

"Since when do I have a bedtime?" His gruff voice caused Max to leap off the bed and run into the bathroom to hide.

Ignoring his question she asked, "What are you up to tonight, sir?"

"That's top secret," he responded.

"Since when have I not privileged to your top secret information?" she asked. She couldn't help but chuckle wondering what he had gotten himself into tonight.

Since when do you question when I say something is top secret?" he argued.

"When you call me at," she said then glanced at her clock, "10 pm, I have clearance for top secret information."

"I'm in hiding," he mumbled sounding embarrassed to admit it.

She thought she had misunderstood, but laughed. "In hiding? What or who are you hiding from Dad?"

"Claire," He said sounding defeated.

All thoughts of what had happened earlier disappeared from her mind.

"What did you do to Claire this time?" She asked sitting down on the bed, waiting to hear the story.

"Well, I may or may not have forgotten an important date she may or may not have told me about a month ago, along with a reminder a week ago and yesterday," he confessed.

"Please tell me you did not forget your 20-year anniversary." Carter shook her head in disappointment.

Claire was her father's second wife. It had taken him a few years to find someone after her mom had passed from brain cancer. At first, she wasn't sure if Claire was right for the Major, but after getting to know her better, Carter had decided that Claire and the Major needed each other. Claire was a recovered alcoholic for 20 hard years, but she spent ten of those with the major. He had helped her fight her demons while Claire helped him get over his guilt of not being there when his wife passed away.

"I know I fucked up, but she has been nagging a lot so I've been avoiding her and I guess it slipped my mind. I know it was important, but nothing I can do about it now but hide," he rambled.

"Just go home and apologize to her dad, throw a little party for her and make sure you shower her with attention. That will make her happy. You're been together too long for her not to forgive you."

He was silent for a moment then said with a sigh, "Well... That will be a problem.""Why? What did you do or say to her?" Carter asked.

"Oh, nothing like that... It's just when I go into hiding, you know I am superb at it and tonight I ended up out on the boat, in the harbor fishing."

"Still don't see the problem dad," She couldn't help but shake her head as she threw Owen's clothes into boxes again. Sometimes her dad could frustrate the hell out of her when it came to getting information out of him, like pulling teeth with tweezers.

"Dammit, I'm out of gas, okay? I'm out in the middle of the harbor in a boat, hungry, out of beer and no damn gas," he said feigning anger then chuckled. "Need you to get down to the slip and bring the dinghy out to rescue your poor old man."

There was something about a Major saying the word dinghy that made her laugh. "Yes sir, I'll be there in 20 minutes," she said with a laugh.

"And bring the pizza!" the major added.

"Want me to grab beer too?" Carter asked."If you don't, I'm throwing your ass into the ocean. Let me grab my coordinates for you," he said, but then Carter heard some kind of struggle. "Gotta bite, call you back in a minute... " The phone went dead.

Carter kept laughing and ran her hands over her face, the day had been one hell of a whirlwind and didn't look like it would come to an end soon. She grabbed her keys, purse and slipped on a pair of tennis shoes before heading out the door. As soon as she got into her car her cell rang again.

"So, what did you catch?" Carter asked.

"Nothing, it got loose," her dad grumbled. "Let me get you those coordinates."

"I can get your location on my phone GPS, I'll stop and grab the pizza, beer, and gas then head out to you."

"See you soon, Semper Fi," said the Major.

"Ooh-rah!" Carter said with as much enthusiasm she could muster then I hit the end button.

Carter gave her dad a short blast of the horn to let him know she was coming up on him. As she approached starboard, he tossed a line to her to tie the dinghy up. Once she was secure, she passed her cargo along to the Major then climbed onto his boat. It had been a couple of years since she had last been on the boat, the Major preferred to fish alone, claimed it allowed him to clear his mind."Here," Her father tossed her a beer then sat back in his captain's chair and eyed his daughter. "You look like you've been running, Marine."

Carter sat down on the bench seat and propped her feet up on the side of the boat as she twisted the top off the bottle. She knew she should have changed out of her running shorts and tank, hell, she should have taken a shower, but all she wanted to do when she got home was get rid of anything that reminded her of Owen. She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders and said, "Needed to expend energy, running was the most acceptable way to do so at the moment." She flashed him a grin and took a drink.

"Humph," He took a swig from his bottle and leaned back, resting his head against the top of the seat. "When are you going to bring that new guy around to meet me? What's his name again? Brad? Robert... or was it John?" He lifted his head enough to look over at her and smirked.

"You know damn well his name is Owen, and I won't be bringing him around. We broke up tonight," Carter said staring up at the stars in the sky.

"Owen... Ow-en... Owe-n... Who in the hell names their kid Owen? Is he owned? It's like they are in debt or something and they owe everyone. What was he again?" he asked.

She nearly choked on her beer as she laughed, using the back of her hand to wipe her chin. Her first thought was that Owen was an asshole, but that's not what her dad was asking. "He's the artist, the one we transported the art for, from Poland."

Silas tilted his head and scratched his jaw, looking as if he were trying to remember what Owen looked like. He gave a shake of his head. "Please tell me he was not that little wormy guy you were flirting up a storm with that day I came into the office."

Carter kept her interest in staring up at the beautiful night sky, hoping if she didn't respond, he'd just drop it--she should have known better.

"It was, wasn't it? Dammit, girl, you are better than that worm. Why can't you find someone like Troy? Now he is a fine example of a man. He's a hard-working family man and from what I hear he still goes to dinner at his mom's every Sunday evening. I think he even goes to church with her on Sunday mornings as well and so you know what the best thing about him is? He was a damn good Marine."

"Can we forget about Oworm! Its done. And Troy is my best friend and married with whom he has three wonderful children. Besides..." She finished her beer and dropped the empty bottle into the cooler and grabbed another. "We never clicked that way. I get to spend as much or as little time with him as I want, then I get to leave and his wife has to put up with him the rest of the time." As she lifted the fresh beer to take a drink, her cell phone rang. "Claire," she said reading her caller ID.

"Don't you dare..." her dad warned.

"Hello, Claire!" Carter said answering her phone and flashing a grin at her dad--that'll teach him to bring up her love life. "Oh yeah, Dad's sitting right across from me. He brought the boat out into the harbor and ran out of gas. I had to come rescue him. Want to talk to him?"

Carter couldn't stop grinning as she handed the phone over to her father then laid back down on the bench, to gaze at the stars. She knew he'd get her back for it, but right now it helped her mood. As she drifted off to sleep, she thought she heard wings flutter overhead.

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