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kyutown · 3 years

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Good evening my liege! 💖 I was intrigued to find out about you while diving deeper into tumblr hell so, I am here with a plead to ship me with nct and svt, of you'd be so kind ✨

Alright so for starters, I'm an infp! I'm a generally well-mannered person with people I meet for the first time, borderline sweet and awkward at the same time. I like not to overinvest in first meetings with people and sometimes I think I am somewhat defensive of myself. My emotions always show on my face, both the good and the bad ones. So if someone does say something that I find offensive or whatnot, it SHOWS. I generally hate rude and offensive people all together, as well as people who are vulgar if we're not well acquainted first.

I'm not good at starting conversations and I usually just tend to listen to my friends talk most of the time. It's not like I have nothing to say but I really like listening to my favorite people ramble on about things they love or generally talk about their lives. Im a pretty good listener and I am always objective, even with my family. I won't hold back and I will give you my honest opinion in every case. I always try to see from all perspectives, maybe that's why I'm often somewhat indecisive.

That being said, I really don't shut up about things I love or my hobbies. I'm usually the mood maker of the group as I hate conflict and tension. I am a very sarcastic and cynical person in general and that reflects on my humor, which can vary from vulgar to very dark and inappropriate. Yes, the type of person that will try to hold in their laughter cause I made a mental joke to a funeral. I love witty, stimulating and deep conversations. I'm not that big on casual chitchat but it's okay most of the time I guess.

I'm the personification of open-minded and im also quite opinionated and I can back up my arguments if needed but I tend to avoid getting into heated conversations cause again, my mind reads it as tension. I love being around friends doing nothing and everything but most of the time, I find alone time to be very healing for my mind and soul. I find authenticity and weird little quirks that people have extremely attractive. I'm somewhat stubborn as well.

I also used to have stress and anxiety issues, not anything serious but enough that I had trouble sleeping at night. It was just a few years ago that I decided to not care about every single thing and have a more of a "fuck that" approach in life and honestly, I've never imagined that it would be so liberating. I regained my confidence, physically and mentally, it was an empowering process! I really do believe that self-exploring and healing is the no1 most important thing that someone can do. Love yourself first and foremost and fck what anybody thinks.

So, moving on xD I am a romantic and soft deep down, even though I try not to show sad emotions when around people. But you can be sure I cry at random rescuing dog videos, or videos with people helping each other. I love humanity but hate it at the same time? 😂 Idk if that makes sense, it is what I feel lol I love to learn new random stuff! I'm currently studying linguistics and uni and I aim to be a translator or interpreter, cause i love languages and the cultural differences that come with it. Hence my undying love for music of different genres and languages! Music relaxes me and I couldn't imagine going on without it for more than 3 days. While I do tend to listen to kpop which is more upbeat and experimental, I also LOVE Latin music and rock. I love love traveling around the world! My hobbies include drawing which I'm self taught, fashion and creative writing! I tend to daydream A LOT during the day and so many ideas pop up in my head. I love exploring other cultures' religions and beliefs as well as mythology. I always found it fascinating. I love plants as well! My room is basically a garden xD I also love mystical but also borderline creepy and gory stuff xD I call skulls "pretty" the same way I would call a puppy "cute" 🤣 I'm aware οf that but I can't help but enjoy the look of horror in people's faces xD

oh, I really enjoy observing people as well! Not in a weird way! Their mannerisms, the way they speak, their features. I also love thriller and horror movies the most as well as dark social drama ones. You know, with murders, suicides etc I like how in even the tiniest ways they depict our society as people and frankly, it's sad but I try to be optimistic and keep a positive approach in life. I also really appreciate stand-up comedy xD

Closing up this huge essay, some last things xD I, and I cannot stress this enough, am unable to flirt. Like at all. I can't even maintain eye contact for more than two Seconds. I wish I was kidding. Sadly I'm not 😂Weird thing is, turns out I am actually able to flirt but I'm not aware I'm doing it?? I'm a master at text flirting apparently lololol. What I am, is also called DENSE AS SHIT when it comes to couple things. True story, if you want to do the freaky with your s/o and you need me to leave the room you better TELL ME RIGHT TO MY FACE or else, we gon be there aaaaall night xD And its actually a remarkable feature of mine, considering how dirty minded I usually am lol

I also think I'm touch starved sometimes, like I really like hugs and cuddling and teasing but I'm not gonna ask for it🥺I'm a night owl and I tend to procrastinate a lot. I can't work efficiently if there's not a deadline, like I need that pressure on me in order to function xD My weak spot is actually to act whiny and needy and cutely in front of me. I can do ANYTHING that u ask me of when this happens. And if I show any resistance, JUST KEEP IT UP. I'm jelly on the floor when this happens. Idfk why, it just works?? My sister is abusing the sht out of this method 😭I can't say I make friends easily, cause I believe I do come off as maybe off-putting or weird at times, plus as I said if you're really cant shove your conversation in my face the first time we meet, imma be just an awkward ball of giggles and smiles and "can I go home now pls" 🤣 My general aesthetic / vibes would be sunsets on beaches, soft grunge, cottage core, lofi and hedge witch aesthetics!

Okay so, I think that's everything and probably way more than u needed, so thank you for reading everything my stupid ass wrote❤️

hi! thank you for responding!

for nct, i think yuta would be a nice fit! yuta also likes rock as his favorite band is one ok rock which is a rock band. i feel like you guys would always listen to music (not always rock) and would enjoy making time go by like this!

for seventeen, i think you would match well with the8! the8 would be the type to enjoy exploring new cultures with you and new religions, he would also love to dress up with you and put together outfits with you!

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primasveraas-writing · 4 years

Text

This is Home

Request: “Finnpoe where Finn keeps slipping into First Order habits/has culture shock with the Resistance?”

Thanks for sending this in!

Ship/drabble requests are open!

WORD COUNT: 2855

XXX

Finn knows he was reborn the day he left the First Order.

Out of blood and pain, he reentered the world. He was given a name. He was held in the embrace of friends who would become family, and the moment they saw him, they loved him.

He was struck down, and he awoke again, taking teetering, unsteady steps as he relearned how to walk. There was fire and water and darkness as he stumbled confusedly on the ship until he ran into Poe, and the universe began to make sense again.

And Finn was reborn.

Yet the past never left him. The sensation of freedom, at last, overtook him- a weight off his chest, blissful as he’d never known before. Finn wasn’t sure if it was rational to expect complete liberation when the ideals of the First Order were so deeply ingrained within him, but he was given a new life and a new identity to make his own.

If he was reborn, then FN-2187 is the ghost that haunts his every step.

On a surface level, everything is fine. He has friends, Poe and Rey, and the whole of the Resistance seems to welcome him with open arms. He is free to do as he pleases, so long as he pitches in around the base, and he doesn’t have to fight in combat unless he chooses to. He has full meals three times a day, and people who smile at him when he passes in the hall. On their new base, he can go outside and smell the fresh air and explore the natural world.

Every morning, Finn wakes up at 0600. It’s the same time the claxon went off in the First Order barracks, and true to his earliest memories, his eyes open routinely, even before the sun dawns over Ajan Kloss. Since duties don't start until 0700 or 0800, depending on rank, Finn watches the sun rise through his window, and tries not to think about how for the first time in his life, he has a window to call his own. He has his own private quarters, and they are deathly silent each day.

Regardless, Finn dresses promptly, then turns to face the light. The sun hasn’t yet crept through the trees into his room, but he knows it will soon. He glances at the chronometer sitting on his bedside table. Yesterday, the sun rose at 0641, the first beams coming through the window slowly, almost one by one. Today, he waits for the sun to rise just a few minutes later.

This is how Finn bides his time, counting minutes of sunlight because he cannot escape a lifetime of conditioning.

At 0705, Finn rises, stretching his limbs, which are aching after an hour of sitting idly. Poe rises at 0700, and Finn has quickly learned that his friend is someone who can be considered a "morning person." It's a choice, apparently, to wake early and be productive at the start of the day. They make a habit of eating together before much of the base has come to life. In this sense, they are unique: few others willingly wake so early. Even Poe’s activity and enthusiasm are special, but Finn discovers that this is due to his two cups of caf taken daily in the morning. Even so, he's still brighter than Jessika, who refuses to talk until her first cup is empty, consumed slowly and accompanied with tired, sulky eyes.

Poe greets him loudly, smiling wide and clapping the other man on the back. Finn can’t help but respond just as happily, although it’s dampened with exhaustion, even after being awake for just one hour. Poe doesn’t notice, however, or attributes it to the normalcy of life during the war. Either way, Finn is glad no one else knows. He hasn’t told anyone of his sleeplessness, that he can betray the First Order but not shake them in his daily habits.

When they get to the mess, Poe heaps his plate with food, gleefully exclaiming about the freshness of a new dish that has appeared among the standard breakfast options. Finn takes small portions of a few staples, remembering how his stomach ached when he ate too much rich food immediately after joining the Resistance.

Jessika is already at their usual table, glowering at Poe when he says good morning. After Finn asks her why she’s up so early, she tosses back her dark hair, preparing to unload her grievances.

“Someone assigned me training duty,” she says, pointing a finger accusingly at Poe, who only grins in response. “I’m teaching a few new recruits the x-wing basics.” And although she rolls her eyes to puncuate this statement, Finn knows that she doesn’t really mind, aside from requiring an extra cup of caf and some pretend sympathy for the lost hour of rest.

The female pilot sighs, returning to her plate and half-emptied mug. She looks at Finn and shakes her head. “Man, I cannot understand how you don’t eat more. I wake up and I’m starving.” Almost to emphasize her point, she shovels a pile of eggs into her mouth decorously.

“Charming, Pava,” Poe says, snorting. Finn chuckles too, ignoring the sensation of his stomach dropping into the floor. The food provided by the Resistance is far more than he’s used to- so much more than the First Order had ever allotted for their soldiers. It was never enough then, but it didn’t matter. Their job was to function, not to be satisfied.

Still, Finn considers taking more food. His portioning had led to embarrassment one day when his stomach had growled loudly during a Resistance meeting. Most paid him no mind, but Poe, standing next to him, had offered Finn a ration bar, furthering the heat already burning Finn’s cheeks. He had promptly refused, ashamed that his body had ousted his hunger. He was already receiving plenty of food; he shouldn’t need even more.

Despite his thoughts, the meal continues, the pilots beside Finn drawing him out of his reverie. They are a reminder; he is a part of them now, but Finn does not get up to add more food to his plate. He starts the day still hungry.

Most of the day passes normally; by now he knows to smile at his fellow Resistance members in the hall and relax his posture when he walks. Only once does he catch himself looking around in fear of being reprimanded for breaking protocol, but he manages to remember where he is and the right way to behave. He attends a strategy meeting, laughs with his friends, and as the day continues, the knot of anxiety in his stomach begins to unwind.

It’s clearly fine, and Finn tries to show it. Most of the time, Finn doesn’t even feel his heart beating out of his chest; the fact that he can disregard it demonstrates his progress. Even when his voice falters midconversation, after missing Snap’s layered sarcasm minutes into a debate, he recovers quickly enough that they all can laugh and move on. Finn laughs the loudest, failing to notice how Poe refrains, moving slightly closer to his friend.

It’s been a good day, Finn decides, with significantly fewer blunders made than the day before. Finn tries to maintain the conversation before he lets himself get lost in review, thinking over what he should have done better. But by the time he’s in the command room, even after the last meal of the day, his mind wanders, and General Organa, made haughty by extended hours, barks out his name suddenly.

Finn instantly stiffens, snapping to attention. His gaze hardens, staring straight ahead, and his heart thuds in his chest, so loudly that he’ll be scolded for that too. His arms are rods at his side, and Finn braces for Phasma’s raised voice-

“Relax, Finn,” the General says softly. Her tone is as gentle as Finn’s ever heard it, mirroring her comforting touch as she reaches out to grasp Finn's shoulder. "We don't do that here. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

Finn nods, shame burning inside him, fueled by the anxiety that’s made its home within every part of his being. She is looking at him with pity in her eyes, and Finn cannot meet her gaze. Perhaps she realizes this, because she speaks again, this time assuming something closer to her typical conviction.

“To win a battle and to return scarred is still a victory. You have been fighting this battle ever since you got here. Nobody expects you to lose, but no one expects it to be easy, either.” Her words become conversational, as if Finn’s plight were the changing of the seasons. “But one good thing about living on a rebel base is that you’re surrounded by good, patient people. And most of us know a thing or two about change, too.”

She leaves it at that, but her eyes are sparkling. Finn comes back to himself, nodding. That one of the biggest differences between his old life and this new one- he's never felt a mother's gaze until Leia had looked at him, with such an unfamiliar sympathy and love. It's inexplicably wonderful; Finn wants to burst into tears and hug the General all at once. Sometimes he wonders if she would ever let him, but he can't allow himself to ever decide. Instead, he nods again, clearing his throat so he can manage a soft “thank you.”

Leia smiles briefly, then dismisses him for the night, declaring to the whole room that they have free time until duty begins again tomorrow.

***

Weeks pass, and Finn does better. He still doesn’t take more food, but each day, even each hour, he becomes more and more unrecognizable as a First Order trooper. He becomes Finn, who is part of the rebellion all around, born of his friends’ humor, love, and loyalty. It is good, even if he can still sometimes hear his heart pounding in his chest or stiffens whenever an admiral passes by.

At night, he collapses into bed, exhausted from the effort of assimilating into the Resistance. As soon as he’s left off from duty, Finn usually retreats to his quarters, preferring a few moments of peace and quiet to himself, lying on his bed as the world spins around him and he tries to regain a sense of balance between his new life and the one he left behind. He doesn’t wish to go back- of course not- but when he’s exhausted and depleted at the end of the day, he wants something familiar. Which in turn makes him angry, because all that’s ever been familiar was the First Order, and he certainly doesn’t want that. So the cycle continues, and Finn is helpless to it, even if it gets easier day by day. He is still resigned to the hurricane of emotions and tiredness at every quiet moment available to him, when the bustling life in the Resistance slows enough for him to think.

It’s on one of these nights, when Finn is halfway undressed and slumped in bed, that Poe comes knocking on his door. Finn, mostly asleep and lethargically watching the sun set through his window, scrambles to his feet, pulling on a pair of pants frantically.

“Coming!” Finn shouts, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, although his heart is racing enough that he’s fully awake already.

Poe is smiling when the door opens, but it quickly fades upon seeing Finn, wrinkled clothes, messy hair, and all. Tenderly, he reaches out to touch the other man’s shoulder, but Finn fights to keep a smile on his face still.

“Can I come in?”

Finn steps aside, allowing Poe into his quarters, almost regretting it when Poe’s critical eyes sweep over the room, taking in the emptiness of it all, including the bed that has already been slept in that evening.

“Take a breath, Finn,” Poe tells him, managing an easy grin once more. “I was just stopping by.”

Finn nods, relaxing his shoulders and posture, leaning into Poe as he speaks, showing calculated interest beyond his genuine appreciation at Poe’s visit.

“So,” the pilot continues, “is this where you disappear to every night?”

Freezing momentarily, as if he’d been caught, Finn has to remember how to talk. Perhaps Poe realizes this, because he speaks again, his tone gentle.

“I was just worried about you, buddy. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Finn shifts uncomfortably, dropping his gaze. “It’s a lot. Every day” His words are timid and painfully soft. “I just want to fit in but it’s all so new.”

Stepping closer to Finn, Poe reaches out to grasp Finn’s arm. “I understand, Finn. But you aren’t alone in this. I know how overwhelming this can be. We’re surrounded by all kinds of beings from around the galaxy during the middle of a war. I know it’s harder for you, but if you ever need anything, just ask.”

Wordlessly, Finn nods, and Poe draws him close, wrapping his arms around Finn’s waist and letting the former stormtrooper bury his face in Poe’s neck.

***

So Finn does ask. In the morning, when Poe offers him a bite of his food, he tries it and asks for more. Not every day, but sometimes. He asks about species of beings he’s never seen before, to try and understand all parts of the Resistance. He asks how he can help, how he can reach out to people he’s never talked to on the base. He asks how to fit in, how he should address his superiors and compose himself during meetings. He asks medics and Poe and everyone he knows who has faced impossible odds and the anxiety that comes with it on how to find and keep calm. He asks for help when he doesn’t understand something, even after the relevant moment has passed, because Poe is always there afterward, his eyes kind and knowing, and Finn learns that Poe will never stop being there for him. It is gradual and slow, but soon enough, Finn isn’t embarrassed or afraid anymore, to need Poe’s help and patience, and life becomes easier.

So Finn later asks, only partially shy, if he can kiss Poe.

(Poe says yes.)

Then Poe is there, in the early hours, when Finn wakes before dawn. His boyfriend is a light sleeper; as soon as Finn stirs in in his arms, Poe rises too. At first, they start their day together, beginning their daily duties hours earlier, but as time goes on, and Finn feels more at home in Poe’s embrace, he stays in bed longer, even if he can’t fall asleep again. Until, one day, Finn opens his eyes and sees Poe smiling above him. Finn is confused, but upon checking the chronometer next to him, he realizes that it is far past 0600. This does not happen the next day, nor the one after that, but it is the start of a gradual change, one that will continue through to the rest of his life.

They share a cup of caf after, especially when it becomes routine for Poe to wake Finn, despite the latter's grumpy protests. Finn starts by sipping the dark beverage, made strong and without sugary additives, even though it's far too bitter for Finn's preferences. Poe laughs at him when his nose wrinkles at the flavor, but he doesn't mind it when their kisses shortly thereafter still have the lingering warmth and taste of the drink.

Finn discovers his favorite food, a dish made from exotic fruits. The recipe has been passed on from Shara Bey to her son, who recreates it for Finn after a particularly bountiful supply run, and all Finn wants is more, a thousand more lazy afternoons watching Poe cook and mutter to himself in languages from Yavin IV, and kissing Finn periodically as he does it all.

They hold hands in the hall, and Finn finds himself grinning back at his friends, heat flushing his cheeks when Poe tells him how beautiful his smile is. That’s new too, the ease with which he can navigate teasing and sarcasm, and he is overjoyed when Black Squadron falls to pieces at one of his jokes.

Leia smiles at him brightly as ever, and after Finn suggests a new strategy, he realizes she's beaming at him. Once the meeting adjourns, she wraps her arm around his shoulder and tells him she's glad he's home. He does get choked up then, turning away so Leia doesn't see the shine in his eyes, but she is merciful enough to squeeze his arm and walk away, leaving the statement hanging in the air, and Finn to his joy and thoughts.

But she’s right, he thinks, as the Resistance celebrates another victory that night. He’s curled in Poe’s arms, watching the flames of the bonfire flicker into the night, listening to the laughter and shouts of joy from the rest of the base as they drink and party with a sense of carefreeness that is surprisingly common here, even during the war.

This is home.

#finnpoe #finn x poe #poefinn #finnpoe fanfic #finnpoe fanfiction #finnpoe imagine #finnpoe headcanons #stormpilot #stormpilot fanfiction #stormpilot headcanons #stormpilot imagine #stormpilot fanfic #finn #poe dameron #star wars #star wars fanfiction

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blustersquall · 5 years

Text

Trying to get back into the swing of writing.

Haven’t written Thancred and Phaedra in a romantical setting before so... here we are.

Thancred reunites with Phaedra (WoL) in Il Mheg.

[Please forgive any grammatical/spelling errors or lore based errors. Lore is not my forte. I’m trying. Also, forgive me if Thancred’s “voice” is not quite there. I’ve not written him much, and there’s a lot to unpack.]

---

They were alone.

For the first time since arriving in Il Mheg, it was just the two of them. Urianger was elsewhere, preparing for the journey and tasks ahead and Minfilia was outside last time Thancred checked. Phaedra stood with her back to him, poring over an open tome on the table.

Thancred’s mouth was dry. He was immobile and all the words and emotions he wanted to express had now left him dumb.

Five years.

It was five years since he last saw her. Last spoke to her. Last heard her laugh, or say his name, or just breathe. Five years for him, and he was unable to articulate himself. Unable to tell her what seeing her again meant to him.

He was able to distract himself during those long years. He focused on mastering the gunblade. Then, on finding and liberating Minfilia from Eulmore. He learned all he could about the First and the Source and how they were connected. He did all he could. He didn’t thrive, but he managed. It was easy to ignore the pang in his chest when he was focused. When he didn’t allow his thoughts to drift to the life he led in the Source. To his friends, the war they were dragged unceremoniously from. The body he left behind, and the woman he left there, too.

The Crystal Exarch was determined, there was no doubt about that. The fruit of his labours stood not ten feet from him and, true to form, Phaedra set straight to business. Ridding Lakeland of its Light Warden, and already on the path to removing another. All quiet and sincere determination; she went about what was asked without complaint or thought for herself. She ran into fights over and over again, coming out bloodied and bruised, but victorious…

Thancred moved a step. The worn wooden floor creaked under him and Phaedra shifted. A tiny change in her stance to indicate she noticed. Her tail flicked lazily from side-to-side as she turned pages without reading them. Thancred tried to summon up his voice and the words he couldn’t find.

“Do you think Urianger has these arranged in any particular order?” her voice caught and stopped him. He swallowed a breath and started to close the gap between him.

“Somehow, I doubt it.” Stopping behind her, he chose action over words. Words he could use later. He could dazzle her with his words and wit later, at that moment he wanted assurance. He wanted – needed – the certainty that she was real. That she was a physical being in the First, not just his imagination or a wild fever dream.

Phaedra stiffened a moment as he slipped his arms around her shoulders. He expected that. He also expected, and was glad, to recognise her body relaxing against his, accepting his embrace. He buried his face into her hair, squeezing the fingers of her hand that she lifted to touch his.

“I have missed you,” Thancred declared, his throat threatening to close. “Terribly.”

Phaedra leaned back into him and he adjusted his hold to bring her closer to him. His armor denied him any real contact, but it was enough to be this close. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“The Gods certainly have a sense of humor… No sooner do I return to you, I find myself being stolen away.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his tone. Back in the Source, they spent more time apart than in each other’s presence during the year before Thancred was unceremoniously brought to the First. At home, his need to be secretive and hidden to work in the shadows meant communication by linkpearl was out of the question, except for emergencies. He had hoped to have time with Phaedra after the fighting was done, and the war was over but then… everything happened.

“That’s hardly your fault.” Phaedra turned to face him causing Thancred to lower his arms. He hesitated a moment before allowing his hands to rest on her hips in a strangely unfamiliar yet familiar way. “It is nice to see you haven’t lost your flair for dramatic entrances.”

He chuckled, “I do enjoy showing off now and then.” The corner of Phaedra’s mouth quirked into a smile. Thancred cradled her cheek in one hand and she leaned into his touch, kissing his gloved palm and allowing her eyes to close. She clasped his hand at her cheek with her own. “You’ve hardly changed.”

“Neither have you.” Her eyes slid open, turquoise as the seas of Costa del Sol and just as breathtaking, smiling up at him. “You cut your hair though. And I notice the lack of fuzz.” She brushed her thumb over his bare chin. “And no bandana, either?”

He shrugged, “I turned up here like this… Although, naked.”

“Again?”

“Hardly my fault.”

Phaedra laughed, “you just seem to have a habit of appearing unclothed.”

“Twice is not what I would call ‘habit’, dearest.”

It was nice to joke. Nice to laugh and feel a part of himself thawing with each word shared between them. Phaedra could relax him like no one else, and he was sure he hadn’t bee relaxed since the first day he arrived in the First.

“When the Crystal Exarch told me you had taken up with another companion I…” She lowered her eyes. Thancred’s stomach sank and he nodded once.

“You think I would stray so easily?” he leaned down to her height until they were forehead to forehead.

“Well…” her cheeks darkened, “five years is a long time and…”

He held her face in both hands breathing deep to settle the swirl of nervous energy in his stomach and chest. “The Gods themselves would be unable to tempt me. You are my heart – I thought that much was clear in the Dravanian Forelands.”

Another smile came to her lips, followed by a disapproving glance that did not hold the emotion she tried to convey. Their reunion Ishgard was more physical than this one. A night in Fortemps manor wrapped up in each other’s arms, a mess of limbs and sweat, expressing through gesture what was too raw to say.

“I’m sorry,” Phaedra brushed her nose against his, an act of affection that was familiar and made Thancred tingle down to his fingertips. She exhaled shakily, her breath ghosting against his lips. Thancred’s chest grew tight as she drew closer, tilting her head to one side. She paused before they made a connection, her eyes darting up to meet his gaze as if gauging his willingness and desire. Unable to bare it, Thancred closed the space between their mouths, kissing her soundly and pushing his hands back into long, thick hair to cradle the back of her head.

Gods, she was like air to him. Like air, and sunlight, and water, and peaceful rest, and she was like a blast of colour that spread across his vision and allowed him to see the beauty in the world of the First since he arrived here. Phaedra’s arms encircled his neck and Thancred stole a breath when she deepened the kiss and pulled him closer. He was both unwilling and unable to release her; this was something he had dreamed of in the five long years he’d been in this world forsaken by Darkness. The memory of Phaedra’s lips, her voice, the texture of her scales, the smell of her skin and weight of her were all fading before this moment. They were all sensations on the ver edge of Thancred’s memory, things he desperately tried to chase when in those moments between awake and asleep. To suddenly have her again in his arms; real, vibrant and his was almost too much to take.

Phaedra pulled away and Thancred concealed a chuckle, taking stock of her flushed face and slightly reddened lips. She smiled as he drew a thumb along her lower lip and laughed along with him. After a few moments he sighed.

“We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“We do.” Phaedra nodded once, “but more than that, we have a world to save.”

“Trust you to think of business.” Thancred quirked a brow and straightened up. Phaedra turned her gaze to the door that led to Urianger’s chamber; there was noise coming from within.

“The sooner we rid the First of this plague of light, the sooner all of us can go home.”

Thancred squeezed her hand, “let’s concentrate on Il Mheg. One step at a time, hm?”

Phaedra gave him a gentle shove as Urianger joined them.

I’m still bad at ending things. whee.

#thancred #thancred waters #ff14 #final fantasy 14 #thancred x WoL #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #phaedra mero #thancred x phaedra #writing #my writing #short

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theheartofpenelope · 5 years

Text

SIMPLE THINGS - Chapter two

Chapter two - a flashback to their first encounter. Enjoy gentleman!Tom or tipsy!Tom. Feedback always (and very much) appreciated. ;-)

Tag list: @winterisakiller, @devikafernando, @scorpionchild81, @messy-insomniac-bookgirl, @smutsausage, @hiddlesbitch1 @noplacelikehome77 @wolfsmom1 @meh1217 @dina-bln @lilaeye39 @tinchentitri @fairlightswiftly @nonsensicalobsessions

Author’s Notes/Warnings: Not beta’d.

Also on AO3 through this link

Bonus: click here for the pinterest moodboard (always updated)

Chapter 2

Flashback to eleven days ago

It had been eleven days ago, when they had enjoyed an incredibly pleasant evening together. It was quite silly really, an unexpected turn of events. You know, in the way life suddenly decides to sneak up on you and turn order into chaos. Just for the sake of it. So yes, ‘unforeseen’ would be the word for it. But the term ‘fun’ comes to mind as well or entertaining, liberating and carefree.

It all started when Tom attended ComiCon with some fellow actors. And that is where he had first run into her. Or better yet, the other way around. She was called in to settle a particular edgy paparazzi-situation Tom and his colleagues had involuntarily found themselves in.

She didn’t really stand out between the crew. She stood at an average height of 5’7 and was dressed smart in a simple, yet elegant, tailored sleeveless navy jumpsuit with a pair of open toe shoes to match. Her chestnut locks were pulled up in a messy bun.

She had handled the predicament with grace and a smile that instantly made you overlook the mean streak lingering in her stern repartee. She had dismantled the proverbial bomb with ease and humour that had left Tom enchanted. So much so that he found himself walking up to her when he’d laid eyes upon her again. He felt the need to express his gratitude, which she had waved off straightway, stating she was ‘only doing her job’.

And so their respective lonely paths had crossed for the first time that summer.

After a sincere smile and the expression of appreciation on his part came the introduction to their real selves, a joke was told, an anecdote shared and ultimately a farewell exchanged. As you do.

She was easy on the eyes he would have to admit as we walked away after that first encounter. She was a very straightforward professional but next he had come to discover she possessed a captivating persona. As unyielding as she had handled the trespassing ‘journalist’, so warm and bright was her smile when she thanked Tom for his simple act of kindness towards her.

Consequently, when he found out later on that she was desperate for tickets to the Globe Theatre, he had taken it upon himself to set his publicist on the task at hand. Because he somehow found it was the least he could do. He was “British that way”, he had joked to her when he informed her on his gift to her..

He was only scheduled for 2 separate appearances at ComiCon on two consecutive days. But on the rare occasion they had been in each other’s vicinity at ComiCon, they’d always exchanged a - short but - pleasant word. Right up until the last night….

The World Cup Soccer Tournament was coming to a close and the entire country was in a cheerful state due to their country’s unexpected winning streak. That particular night was they were playing the Semi-Final against England. Tom and some of his soccer-minded colleagues did not hesitate to accept the generous invitation to watch said Semi-Final on a big screen one of the ComiCon organisers had set up in his backyard.

The promise of watching the Semi-Final in privacy with drinks, BBQ, home prepared salads and dessert was a prospect Tom absolutely did not want to turn down. After living out of his bag for so long, this kind of homely invitation was virtually a no-brainer. Also, England was playing the Fifa Semi Finals! As a proud Brit you do not refuse an offer like this, even if you are quite possibly entering the lion’s den.

It had been a pleasant surprise that she was attending the evening as well. She was all dressed down in summery attire, her auburn locks now pulled up in a high ponytail to defy the summer heat and the country’s tricolour haphazardly applied on her cheek by an enthusiastic friend. She was all smiles and relaxed. Her name was Charlotte.

Finally; a name to put by her attractive appearance.

The nervous happy atmosphere surrounding the World Cup had rubbed off on all spectators and promptly switched into outright excitement when the referee whistled the end of the match. Charlotte, self-acclaimed ‘not-the-greatest-soccer-fan’, had literally dropped whatever she’d been doing during those finals minutes of the match and cheered out heart and soul with the rest of the locals at their country’s victory. It was quite the sight. Tom, though disappointed at heart at his country’s loss, could only grin at Charlotte’s enthusiastic outburst when their eyes briefly met.

Yes, England had lost the game – agonisingly so - but the spectacle of so much joy quickly made Tom and his friends partake in the erupting celebrations nonetheless. The entire city seemed to burst into much anticipated, yet unexpected, festivities. Alcohol flowed freely, the music was cranked up and amateur fireworks were lit. On the big screen images flashed by of impromptu parties that made it to the streets where people bonded, laughed and danced. And kissed.

My god, did they kiss…

In that stupendous garden at the riverside, a party had started on its own. And true to form, Tom had danced with several women in the course of the evening. He couldn’t help it. He was “British that way”, he’d joked. Yet again. It was no exception that he would dance with Charlotte as well at some point.

It was just silly laughter at first and an improvised dance. She danced quite well. He liked that. She humorously called him out on re-using his silly joke. ‘So much for originality Mr. Hiddleston. Is that how it works? Only eloquent when the lines have been fed to you?’ He quirked an eyebrow and spun her around as a silly retaliation. Again. And again. And again. Only to hear her giggle louder and louder, until she had admitted her defeat and dizzily clung to his chest. He chortled at the sight and his inner tennis geek surfaced; ‘fifteen- love’. (ed. in tennis, love means having a score of zero or nil.)

It was the beginning of the end.

They did not break away from each other after that dance. Tom came to discover Charlotte was a great conversationalist and repeatedly caught himself mistaking her for a native speaker as they delved into a mishmash of subjects, albeit slightly intoxicated at one point. Looking back, he might regret some of his tipsy comments, but he did not regret that kiss…

Maybe it was the atmosphere at the riverside, where the music softly faded to the background and the dark night complemented the magic of fading fireworks. Maybe it was the slightly philosophical twist their conversation had been taking. Or maybe it was just the effect of copious gin-tonic, but he could swear there was this magnetic pull that he found he could not resist.

With the fireworks officially rounded up, all the guests slowly started making their way from the waterside back to the patio. Once their own gin-tonics were finished Charlotte suggested following the others and leaving the pier she and Tom had been lounging on. Tom, quick on his feet, offered her his hand as Charlotte made an attempt to rise herself up from the wooden platform. With a smile she accepted his gentleman-like offer.

The softest summer wind graciously blew a hint of her perfume into his direction. That wasn’t helping him much either. On the contrary. As she stood before him her soft fragrance of white musk and jasmine was merely the last drop. Her hands rested in his a little while longer while she came to balance on the gently swaying pontoon and pleasantly sighed.

The water was quietly lapping and the soft background music was sometimes drowned out by laughter of friends. It was a beautifully summery and starry night. Her dark brown eyes glistened in the moonlight as she looked back up to Tom to signal she was ready to head back now. She was greeted with his tipsy, lopsided smile. And then, there it was.

With her hands still in his, a gentle tug on his side sufficed to pull her just that little bit closer to him. He moved as if his was on autopilot. Mesmerized by the night and all it had entailed for him so far. He had kissed her softly at first, his lips just brushing against hers, as if he was just testing the waters. His one hand released hers and smoothly travelled to her cheek where it brushed some loose strands away, after her ear. A second kiss followed shortly after and this one was less tender, more vigorous, and more lustful.

Charlotte had closed her eyes and allowed herself to get swept away in that unexpected moment where Tom’s mouth claimed hers while his hands softly but surely pulled her into a very desirous embrace. It had been a long time someone had conquered her in the way he – perhaps accidently – had done. In her mind this aspect of her life had been closed off, like a finished book, or the empty jar after all the fireflies had fled. But now, somehow, it seemed as though maybe one firefly might have stuck around somewhere.

Yet, she was the first one to pull back. Her forehead resting against his as their lips left each other. Her fingertips that had carefully caressed his soft beard, slid down to his chest, keeping him both close yet at a safe distance. Wordlessly she slowly came to herself again.

She adored being cradled into his strong arms. He was tall and mesmerising, intelligent but with a dry sense of humour, he was both playful and polite, a flirt and absolutely adorable a few drinks in. And particularly that last aspect worried her the most.

Tom immediately and solemnly apologized to her, explaining he had no hidden agenda, no pretences. It had simply caught him off guard. He was not a one-night kind of man and he swore he didn’t suspect her to be that either. It was just the night, the atmosphere, the alcohol, her… Although he chose to not disclose that last remark.

Charlotte was well aware that all he said was in fact true. And that’s how, while Tom had wanted to ask her to keep the incidence between them, she had come to beat him to it, claiming her job demanded discretion. Which was truthful. And that perhaps ‘this’ could just remain a little secret? Between them?

She combined a coy smile with a slightly playful wink when she added she however intended to take that kiss as a compliment, if he didn’t mind that.

Thàt, he most certainly did not.

Their paths had crossed one last time the following day. Charlotte was in the foyer tending to the tasks at hand. When Tom and his entourage crossed her, they exchanged a warm smile and a polite nod. And that had been that. Their paths set to disentangle to never meet again. However, life never really listens to manmade plans now does it?

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x ofc #simple-things

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pornosophical · 6 years

Text

Deathstalker

hi yes so this is a big ol’ excerpt from these über-pulpy space opera trash books that I love and it’s also fucking #goals because oh my god. that final scene cutting comment—and also the world-building is some low-key genius

“Now, is there any other business?”

The ceiling high above the throne exploded, and debris rained down through the shifting mists. The maids-in-waiting leapt up and sheltered the Empress’s body with their own. Sharp-edged rubble cut their pale flesh and blood flowed, but none of them flinched. The court screamed and panicked, milling this way and that in their fear and confusion. Dram drew his sword and gun and looked about him for an enemy. And out of the smoke and mists above the throne dropped a dozen long lines, down which slid men and women dressed in leathers and chains. They hit the water and stepped quickly aside to make way for others coming down after them. Dram looked at the dozen guns facing his one and stood very still. The newcomers gestured for him to drop his gun and sword, and he did, watching expressionless as they disappeared into the dark waters and were gone. Kit SummerIsle dropped his sword without waiting to be told. The maids moved a little away from Lionstone to form a defensive circle around the throne, staring at the newcomers with unblinking insect eyes. The courtiers were all shouting and talking at once, and one word rose again and again above the rest.

Elves … the elves have found us. …

“Honor to the Esper Liberation Front!” shouted one of the newcomers, a young woman in battered leathers and far too many chains, over a T-shirt bearing the legend “Born To Burn.” She was short and stocky, with muscles bulging on her bare arms. Her long dark hair was full of knotted ribbons, and she might have been pretty if her eyes hadn’t been alight with the fire of the true fanatic. Other elves gathered around her; half trained their guns on the quieting court, the others on the throne. Lionstone watched in silence from behind her maids, her eyes full of fury. Neither she nor Dram nor anyone in the court was foolish enough to go up against energy weapons.

The esper terrorists looked hard and roughly used, but the chains holding their leathers together were freshly polished, and they all wore bright colors on their faces and in their hair. Most of them were young, some barely out of their teens, but they all had scars somewhere on their bare skin. The Empire used espers harshly, which was why so many died or went rogue. Most died. There were very few old espers. The elf wearing the “Born To Burn” T-shirt stepped forward and bowed mockingly to the silent court.

“Sorry about the mess, but a good entrance is so important. Now be good boys and girls, and do as you’re told, and you’ll be able to leave here with all your major organs intact and still attached in the right places. Annoy us, and we’ll think of something amusing to do to you. And some of us have a really nasty sense of humor. Being an outlaw can do that to you.”

She turned to look at Lionstone. “Relax, dear, we’re not here to kill you. We’ve come for one of our own. Now do you want to step down from that throne, or would you rather be thrown down?”

Lionstone rose to her feet and stepped down into the dark waters with icy dignity. The maids moved immediately to surround her. The elf ignored them all and crouched down beside the throne, running her hands carefully over the black iron studded with jade.

“Do you have a name, traitor?” said the Empress.

“Stevie Blue; not at all pleased to meet you.”

“My guards will be here soon. There is no way you can hope to escape.”

“Your guards are currently being run in circles by associates of ours. Your only protectors are those poor mind-burned souls acting as your maids, and the esp-blocker built into your throne. Ah, got it.”

She slid back a recessed panel in the side of the throne and carefully removed a translucent cube the size of her head. An esp-blocker was really quite a simple device: the living brain of an esper, removed from its body and held in suspension. A low current passed constantly through the frontal lobes, keeping the brain awake and aware and functioning, using its esp to prevent any other esper abilities from functioning in its vicinity. Just another hell the Empire made, and the only real defense against a rogue esper. Or an elf.

Stevie Blue lifted the cube above her head and brought it down with savage force on the arm of the throne. The fragile container shattered, and the brain tissue fell apart, already dying. The bloody tissues slipped down the side of the throne and dripped into the water.

“Be at peace, my friend,” said Stevie softly. “The fight goes on.” She turned her gaze on Lionstone again. “That’s one less soul living in a hell you made for them.”

Lionstone smiled. “I’ll get another. There’s no shortage of donors.”

She broke off as the elf took a step forward and then stopped herself. Stevie Blue looked at her coldly. “I could kill you now, Lionstone. Any of us could. We want your death so badly we can taste it. We dream about it at night and wake to plan new ways of taking it. One day we’ll take your precious Empire apart stone by stone till there’s nowhere left for you to hide, and then we’ll come for you. But if we were to kill you now, while you’re weak and helpless, you’d just be replaced by another from your corrupt line, and the new Emperor would order massive reprisals among the esper community. Thousands would die, and thousands more would suffer. But we didn’t want to leave without giving you some indication of our true feelings for you. So we brought you a little present.”

She reached back and a large cream pie was placed in her hand. Stevie Blue grinned at Lionstone’s shocked expression, and then aimed and threw the pie with one easy motion. It hit Lionstone squarely in the face, and she fell back a step, clawing at the mess on her face.

Stevie laughed. “You’d be justified in calling for reprisals over an assassination attempt, but over a pie in the face? You’d just look extremely petty. Not to mention weak. Goodbye, Lionstone. It’s been a pleasure.”

Lionstone glared past the thick swirls of cream and pointed a quivering finger at the elves. “Kill them! Kill them all!”

The maids sprang to obey. They surged forward, steel claws shooting out from under their fingernails, and the elves went to meet them, manifesting their abilities. Stevie Blue wrapped herself in fire, living flames of pure heat, but the maids jumped her anyway. They were beyond such weaknesses as pain or fear. Stevie disappeared beneath the clawing figures, and the other elves raced to help her. The maids split up to greet them. They fell upon the first two espers and tore them apart with their unnatural strength. Blood flew on the air as the elves screamed and died. One esper gestured desperately, and the maids stopped suddenly as though they’d slammed into an invisible wall. And then they stumbled forward again as the wall collapsed. Stevie Blue’s flames flickered and went out. Lionstone laughed and sat upon her throne again.

“You didn’t really think I’d trust my safety to just the one esp-blocker, did you?” She had to shout the last part over rising screams as the maids moved among the desperate elves. Disrupters fired, but the maids moved too quickly to be hit. Then they were among the elves, and it was too dangerous to use the guns anymore. The maids leapt among the espers like wolves in the fold, tearing at defenseless flesh with their clawed hands and stuffing the bloody meat into their mouths. They were hungry. One esper stuck his gun in a maid’s mouth and fired it. The maid’s head exploded, spraying bloody gobbets everywhere. Another maid appeared behind the esper and wrapped her arms around him in a bearhug. The esper’s ribs collapsed and drove inward, piercing his heart and lungs. The remaining elves tried to run, but the maids were everywhere. The elves fell, one by one, until finally only one man remained free. He ran toward the throne and tried to fire his disrupter, but the energy crystal was still recharging. He threw the useless gun aside and drew his sword. A maid jumped him and pulled him down into the water. She held him under and watched impersonally as he drowned. He kicked and struggled, and then his sword thrust up out of the water and slammed into the maid’s belly. The force of the blow threw her back, and the esper burst up out of the water, coughing and choking. He fixed his gaze on Lionstone again and hefted his sword. He moved forward, and the maid jumped him from behind. She concentrated in the way she’d been taught, and the shrapnel bomb set inside her body exploded. Both she and the elf were torn apart by the blast, and blood and shrapnel rained down for long moments.

Blue, crouching torn and bloodied in the water at the base of the throne. She’d managed to draw her sword, but her hand was trembling violently from the shock and pain of her wounds. She stumbled forward, forcing herself on, her bloody mouth set and determined. Dram stepped in behind her and ran her through with his sword. Stevie Blue fell to her knees. She whimpered, and blood ran from her mouth. Dram pulled his sword out and she shook once, as though at a sudden chill. Lionstone stepped down from her throne to kneel before her. She had an ornate silver dagger in her hand. She leaned forward till her face was right before the esper’s.

“Have you nothing left to say to me, elf? About how weak I am, or how clever you were? No last declaration for the cause?”

Stevie shuddered again. Blood poured down her chin. When she spoke, only the Empress could hear her.

“I’ll be back. There are lots like me. One of us will gel you. Burn in hell, bitch.”

Lionstone slid the dagger delicately into Stevie’s heart and breathed the esper’s dying exhalation into her own mouth, savoring it like a connoisseur. She pulled out the dagger, put her fingertips against the esper’s breast and pushed. Stevie Blue fell back into the dark water and lay still. Lionstone straightened up, made the dagger disappear up her sleeve again, and allowed Dram to help her up onto the throne again.

“Elves never talk,” Dram said casually. “They program their minds to self-destruct, rather than give up any secrets. If anything, you gave her an easy death.”

“You always want to spoil my fun, Dram. She died in despair. That will do for me. For the moment, I’m more interested in how that many elves got past your security defenses.”

“A good question,” said Dram. “And one which I will be putting to my staff very forcefully once this audience is over. I can only assume I have a traitor somewhere in my organization.”

“I thought that was supposed to be impossible.”

“So did I. If there is a traitor, I’ll find him.”

“I hope so, Dram,” said the Empress. “Because if I can’t trust you to protect me, what use are you?”

Dram smiled and carefully dipped a finger into the traces of cream still on her face. He tasted it thoughtfully. “Brandy buttersauce. My favorite. If nothing else, the elves do have excellent taste.”

“Of course,” said Lionstone, “just ask my maids.”

#simon green #deathstalker #empress lionstone #dram the widowmaker #stevie blue #kit summerisle

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