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hyperactively-me · 10 months

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black tie affair (part 2)

“You’re beautiful. So handsome,” you coo, beaming up at him with a certain tenderness that he’s only ever seen you use with him. He’s stunned, his eyes widened and jaw ticking. He wants to fuck you so bad. He doesn’t think he can wait a moment longer. “I want to rip this dress off your body. ‘S all I was thinkin’ about all night,” he says huskily, murmuring close to your ear. “I could barely control myself when you called me here to zip up this dress.” “I know,” you whisper, eyes searching his as you lean your face closer and closer. “Simon, I want you. I want you, I want you.”

hi guys. this is my first time writing smut, therefore 18+ only. 5.4k words. hope you like it. have fun. bye guys.

(asks are open)

happy reading

warnings: smuttyyy smut

The military ball was in full swing in the grand ballroom of the elegant hotel, the area bedecked with glistening chandeliers and adorned with gold and maroon hues. Soldiers and their partners mingled in the room, their attire resplendent and their medals glistening brilliantly.

You felt like you were on cloud nine, soaring high in the sky. He remained relatively quiet, but he kept taking “sneaky” glances at you. God, he thought you couldn’t see, but you noticed. You noticed every time. You noticed during training, during meals at the mess hall, during debriefing meetings, during missions. His eyes bored into your being, your soul.

At one point, a champagne toast was made, the bubbly liquid dripping down your throat as you took little sips here and there. You had handed Simon his glass, clinking the edge of it to yours before everyone took a collective sip, a nod to the reason of the occasion. Simon had swirled the liquid in his flute, eyeing you as you took a small sip from your own glass. He observed the way your painted lips hugged the edge of the glass, wishing nothing more than for your soft lips to be on his own. And maybe on his cock.

As the night progressed, people had started taking to the dance floor, swinging their partners to the tempo of the music. The dance floor beckoned them in as the orchestra played a steady tune. Simon extended his hand to you, his eyes turning up into what you assumed to be a smile behind his mask. Your eyes lit up as you placed your hand in his, your pulse racing at the thought of dancing with him.

You stepped onto the floor, surrounded by fellow soldiers and their partners. The ambiance of the room fades away as he places a firm hand on your waist, the other taking your hand. His body aligned perfectly with yours, molding together as if they were meant to fit. You could tell he was nervous. His movements were stiff, calculated as he kept his eyes trained to the floor as if to prevent himself from taking a misstep.

"I know you’re nervous," you smile gently at him, nudging him slightly.

His eyes flicker to yours, a lighthearted scoff threatening to spill over. He didn’t want to make a fool of you.

“Just tryin’ to make it seem like I know what I’m doin’,” he admits.

You squeeze his hand in yours.

“Just follow me,” you say, pulling him towards you slightly. You led him through the dance, already impressed enough that he had the courage to ask you to dance with him. The melody acts as a guiding force, you pull Simon along with you, slowly, methodically. You can feel the tension leaving his body as you move him, his hand squeezing yours, a silent thank you.

As the ball came to a close, you took Simon’s arm, laughing and smiling like there was no tomorrow.

“Simon, there’s absolutely no way that I’m letting you go back to your room right now,” you smile, a giggle escaping your lips. You tug on his arm gently, leading him towards the elevators in the lobby.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on going back, love,” he quips. “Besides, how else am I going to find out what’s under that dress of yours?” A smug expression takes over his face.

Your face heats as you tug on your dress. Did it just get hotter here? You snuggle closer to his arm, your face rubbing up against the fabric of his tux, leaning your cheek on his muscled bicep.

The elevator arrives with a quiet ding, making you stand up a bit straighter as you realize what's about to happen. Simon has been wanting you, needing you, since the moment he laid eyes on you all that time ago. He leads you in the elevator, and you let go of his arm, much to his dismay. He looks at you for a moment, but you look up at him with a reassuring smile, bumping your arm against his own.

“Don’t get frowny on me,” you joke, brushing some stray hair behind your ear.

“‘M not,” he deadpans, flitting his gaze to you for a moment.

He quickly presses the button to the fourth floor, rocking side to side, as if the elevator was taking its sweet time going up.

“Impatient, I see” you giggle, watching him press the button to your floor repeatedly.

“I’ve been patient for a long, long time,” his voice was gruff and low, a mocking tone solely for you to hear. You nod once, letting this revelation sink in. Oh. Oh.

As soon as the elevator door opens, you grab his hand tightly, yanking him out into the hallway. He stumbles for a moment, and that's when you turn around, grabbing him by his tie, pulling him down to your eye level. A grunt escapes his lips as you pull him down, his hands come to settle on your waist. You lean over to his ear, hot breath fanning over the shell of his ear.

“And I’ve been waiting for you the whole time, big man,” you whisper, tightening your grip on his tie.

His cock twitches in his pants. You give him goosebumps, but you can’t see them. God he wishes you could. He wishes you could see how much you affect him. Simon’s mouth is agape under the mask, a small pant coming through the fabric. You step back, letting go of his tie, smoothing it out before turning around on your heel making your way to your room. He stands there, unabashedly staring at your ass before following behind you.

You pull open your door, but his hand reaches above your head to hold the door open for you to enter first. As soon as you step into the room, you toe off your heels, kicking them to the side. You turn to watch him shut the door, his eyes trained on you. You’re brought back to what happened in this very room a few hours ago, and you’re already pressing your thighs together, trying to savor this moment for a little longer.

“What are you waiting for?” you question, batting your eyes at him, a smirk pulling at the corner of your lips.

“I’m just lookin’ at you,” he says as if he’s in a trance. “Jus’, let me look at you.”

He lands a hand on your face, cupping your cheek. You press into it, a small whimper building in your throat. His skin feels rough and calloused, despite how gently he drags his thumb along your cheekbone, savoring the silky texture of your skin. You stare at each other, all silent communication. You turn your face into his hand, bringing up your hand to cup his own, and inhale, taking in his scent.

“You’re beautiful, you know that, right?” he murmurs, watching your every movement.

“Mhm,” you acknowledge weakly, dragging your lips across his palm. You see him shiver as your lips brush over his skin. Simon handles you with care, dragging his thumb to the corner of your lip, stroking your lip.

You take his hand in yours, pulling it down as you grab his free hand, squeezing them both in your grasp. You push up onto your toes, pressing a feather light kiss against his mask on the corner of his lips. You pull away, admiring the lipstick mark you left on the skull, a stark contrast of the symbolism behind it.

He stares at you, shellshocked, pupils blown wide by your tenderness, and in an instant, he’s trying to pry his mask off his face, hands fumbling with the edges as his fine motor skills are knocked down a few pegs as if he was drunk from the kiss.

“Need this thing off,” he murmurs, and you push up on your toes and grasp the hem of the mask. He stills immediately, hands coming up to rest on your hips. You grab onto his bicep to steady yourself, and in one motion, you slip his mask off his face.

His eyes. Oh god, his eyes. His eyes. They’re staring straight into your soul. There's nothing for him to hide behind anymore, his final and strongest wall down. He’s laid bare in front of you. All he wants is you, you, you. You make him feel like he can’t breathe, like he can’t function, like he’ll evaporate from even the slightest acknowledgement from you. You can see a redness dusted over his cheeks and ears, his pupils blown wide, blond eyelashes dancing as he blinks, once, twice. His stubble-covered face and muscular jaw look appetizing, as if it was sculpted by the gods. His dirty blond hair is disheveled, but you don’t care. Frankly, you think it's endearing. You gingerly bring your hands up to his cheeks, running your hands over his skin as if you can’t believe he’s standing in front of you, face bare.

“Simon.”

He blinks, trying to register your words. He feels like he can’t breathe, your face is so close to his.

“Hm,” he hums, entranced by you. He can’t help himself. The way you’re looking at him, the way you’re dressed, the way you’re able to walk into a room and light the whole place. He can’t help that he wants you, needs you, wants to make you feel like you’re the most special woman in the world. The way his name rolls off your tongue so perfectly makes him want to collapse.

“I want to rip this dress off your body. ‘S all I was thinkin’ about all night,” he says huskily, murmuring close to your ear. “I could barely control myself when you called me here to zip up this dress.”

“I know,” you whisper, eyes searching his as you lean your face closer and closer. “Simon, I want you. I want you, I want you.”

You leaned closer, your breath mingling with Simon's, your lips slightly parted. Your eyes flicker from his gaze to his lips, then back to his eyes. Simon takes the chance and places a delicate, chaste kiss on your lips. There is no urgency or intensity, only a gentle press, a delicate touch, and a defining moment that cannot be expressed through words. Your lips brush across his, feather-light, the contact lingering only a fleeting moment. Your heart overflows with affection, care, and tenderness as he gently draws away, his gaze fixed on yours.

The next thing you know, he’s crashing his lips on yours, hard, filled to the brim with passion. You’re grabbing his shoulders, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulls you flush against you, squeezing the flesh of your hips as he presses into you. More, more, more. He swipes his tongue over your lips, asking for permission. He kisses you like a man starved, your lipstick smearing across his own lips as your teeth clacked and tongues pushed against one other. You didn't bother suppressing the lovely moan that escaped your lips, swallowed by the man in front of you. The two of you pulled away from each other hesitantly, your hand raking through his hair, pulling at it gently. You leaned in and bit his lower lip, placing a brief kiss on his cheek while rolling your hips against him. He walks you backwards until your back slams into the wall behind you, pressing you against the wall. You gasp into his mouth as he paws at your dress, pulling your sleeves off your shoulders, lips not breaking contact from yours. Finally, he pulls away, looking at you for a moment before flipping you around, pressing your face up against the wall.

“I’ve been waitin’ to do this all night, darlin’,” he says gruffly, his hot breath against your ear, making you shiver in anticipation. “I’m goin’ t’ take my time.”

You clench your thighs together at his words, a throaty, quiet moan escaping your lips. His hand brushes up against your back, his hot touch nearly making you moan. He toys with your zipper, then agonizingly slowly, starts pulling it down. His touch is hot, you swear your skin is melting off your body as he works his way down, his hand unabashedly caressing your skin until the zipper reaches the bottom, stopping with a singular click. Your breathing nearly stops as your dress falls off your body, leaving you in your bra and panties.

He chuckles slowly, watching your reaction with narrowed eyes. Simon starts to lean your head back, exposing your bare neck to him. He drags his tongue from your ear to your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses along the delicate skin, lightly biting along the soft flesh of your neck. Simon grinds himself hard against you, pushing you back into being pinned against the wall. His hand begins to graze down your body, his hand slipping under your bra strap, fingertips gliding along your bare shoulder.

You moan lightly as he nips at your neck, you press your back up against him just to get closer, wanting to feel every part of him. He suddenly flips you around, grabbing onto your shoulders like it's his lifeline. Leaning down again, he lightly licks along your collarbone, inching down to lick across the top of your breasts, reaching around behind you to unclasp your bra, letting it drop to the floor. You shiver as your bare skin hits the cool air, clasping your hands on his shoulders as he moves back up to kiss you, hard, for a couple of seconds. Pulling away, he moves lower down to take your nipple into his mouth, sucking it as his tongue flicks against it.

You gasp, hands squeezing his shoulders hard, shuddering at the warmth of his tongue toying with your nipple.

“Where can I go?” he asks quietly, so quietly that you don't notice it at first.

"Any- anywhere," you exclaim as his mouth descends, one hand gently caressing between your tits, tongue locating your other nipple and sucking hard. You gasp, unconsciously arching your back higher, and you can feel him tighten even more as he pushes his hips deeper into the space between your legs.

“Oh– more, more please.”

You gasp, wanting him there forever, and suddenly, he's gone, kissing up your collarbone and to your neck. He latches onto the valley between your neck and shoulder, sucking at the skin hard, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. He hums as he pulls back, admiring the bruise forming against your skin.

“Here?”

He's taking his time with you, exactly as he promised, barely brushing up against you when you want him to fucking ram into you at this very moment. He's relishing you, every inch of you, leaving no stone left unturned, but you want him to devour you, take you as you are now. God, your frantic mind is screaming right now, chest heaving as anticipation threatens to bubble out.

“More everywhere,” you manage, your voice quivering. You can't bear how desperately you want him inside you. “Please—will you– please,” you whimper, nonsensical.

He shoves two of his fingers in your mouth, shutting you up. You think you see stars as he pushes his two digits against your tongue, beckoning you, teasing you to suck.

“Good girl,” he says simply. “Just be quiet and let me make you feel good, pretty girl.”

His breathing grows ragged as you suck, moving your tongue between his fingers and circling around the skin. He groans at the pressure, adjusting his dress pants. You whimper slightly as he pulls his fingers from your lips. Strings of your saliva drip as he pulls his fingers from your mouth. He pauses for a moment, looking straight at you before plunging his two wet fingers into his own mouth, sucking them clean. You stand there, mouth agape, your panties becoming significantly wetter as you watch his tongue dart out to lap at your saliva.

“Hot,” you pant out, eyes half lidded. You run your hands over his chest, the fabric of his tux blocking you out.

“You need this off,” you say, pawing at the fabric, gliding your hands up to start pushing his tux jacket off. He doesn’t move, letting you take it off for him. A shiver runs up his spine as your fingers deftly move to his collarbone, fiddling with his tie. You slowly, agonizingly slowly, start to loosen it, untying the loops you had created it into a few hours ago. Finally, you yank it off, twisting the fabric in your fingers for a moment before letting it fall to the floor. His cock jumps in his pants as he watches you bite your lip, eyeing him with a look of pure lust.

“Darlin’ you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me,” he mutters, bringing his hands up suddenly to help you unbutton his white dress shirt.

“No, let me do it for you,” you stop him.

He’s letting all of his barriers down, letting you see every inch of himself. He’s wanted this, wanted to feel your fingers grace the bare skin of his chest, his face, his arms. You lean up to his neck, still unbuttoning his shirt as you move. You start to suckle on his neck, your searing hot tongue surging against his skin. He groans, your teeth nipping his skin ever so gently. You shake his shirt off his shoulders, his chest finally bare in front of you. You lightly run your hands over remnants of scars, reminders from his past. He shudders, the urge to pull away, to hide himself again, imminent. But, when you lean down to kiss a scar above his pec, he stills. Warmth. Warmth is all he feels, all he wants, all he craves. The warmth from you, your touch, everything about you.

“Simon Riley, you are so beautiful,” you mumble against his skin, gingerly tracing over old scars on his back. You press the front of your body against his, just embracing him in a hug. A fucking hug. He flounders for a moment, his heart feels like it's going to explode out his chest. He’s dizzy, chest heaving from the overwhelming urge to take you, to let you know that he fucking craves you, sees you for who you are, remind you that you are a beautiful person, inside and out. His primal desire bursts out, he can't hold back anymore.

“‘M gonna fuck you so hard n’ good, just like you deserve, love.”

Your knees go weak as Simon grabs your upper arms, walking you backwards until your knees hit the bed. He takes your back in his arms, slowly laying you down on the bed. He takes a step back, just staring at your body, raking his eyes up and down your form. He brings his eyes right up to yours, gaze unwavering as he opens his mouth

“‘M gonna savor this.”

You whimper at his words, getting impossibly wetter, slick coating the insides of your thighs. Your thighs press together, trying to alleviate the growing pressure low in your abdomen, your clit throbbing for release.

“Please,” you whimper, eyes flitting to his form.

“Needy, needy,” he tuts, a smirk tugging at his lips. He chuckles slowly, leaning forward, kneeling on the bed over you. His hands ghost over your thighs, coming up to your soaked panties. He reaches forward, palming over your clothed cunt, fingers pressing into your wetness. You moan at his touch, back arching to press him closer. This time, even more encouraged by your moan, Simon reaches for the waistband, and slowly pulls it off your frame, revealing your dripping cunt to him. Unbeknownst to you, he slips your panties into his back pocket.

A little treat for later he thinks to himself.

He slides off the side of the bed, now kneeling on the floor, eyes trained on you. Simon takes a sharp breath, sinking down to eye-level with your pussy, picking up your ankles and throwing them over his shoulder, yanking your hips down the bed. His hands come under you to rest on your ass, giving you a hard squeeze. You let out a small yelp, hands gripping onto the duvet, nearly shaking from anticipation. You know he’s staring, his gaze locked in between your thighs, then you feel his searing tongue drag up your pussy, a single stripe.

“Si- Simon,” you mewl, hands searching for his hair.

The second you mewled his name, moaning for him, his mouth grows into a blaze against you, his tongue a blazing inferno. It's skilled, and he drags it everywhere you want without saying a single word. You just moan, loudly and haphazardly, as the tip of it grinds up against your clit, scorching. His nose presses against your clit as he dives down, licking and sucking your wetness. He's starving. His groans are muted and blazing with desire against your wet cunt, lapping at your arousal and drowning in you. You can feel him drooling against you, worshiping you, and he gasps, heated, against you when your floundering hands manage to tangle in his hair.

“So fucking good for me,” he grunts against your throbbing clit, “such a pretty girl.”

“Y- you, really good– I’m gonna–” you moan breathlessly, chest heaving as the tight coil of an orgasm builds higher and higher in your abdomen, mere moments away from being released. You clench around nothing, cunt throbbing as he works his mouth on you.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,”

“Such a perfect girl, tasting so good for me,” he moans out, slightly lifting up so you can hear him clearly. You keen at his praises, tugging at his hair harder, pulling more grunts and sounds from his busy mouth.

He starts to run a finger through your slick folds, finger gliding along until it stops at your clit. You gasp at the slight pressure he applies, before fully massaging your clit. You nearly scream from the sensation, knees jerking and back arching, bucking your hips into his face as he plays with your clit.

“Such a beautiful girl you are, y’ taste so good,” he slurs. The vibration of a grunt rumbles against your sensitive skin, causing you to nearly faint, the pressure in your abdomen about to snap.

“‘M gonna cum—” It's half-gasped before tearing through you like a flash of electricity, strong and brilliantly tight, ripping every ounce of strength from your body and every ounce of sanity from your thoughts. You climax forcefully in his mouth and then simply lay there weakly and let him taste you, let him stroke your swollen pussy with his tongue. He groans, lapping up as much as he can before pulling away, eyes boring into yours. His nose, mouth, and chin are glistening, dripping in your slick.

“S’ perfect,” he groans whilst licking his lips, rubbing his chin slightly. You’re panting, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling, blissed out from your first orgasm.

“Fuck, Simon, you eat pussy like a champ,” you chuckle breathlessly.

“Look at me, love,” he says, removing your legs from over his shoulders. He starts to crawl over you, and you can see how incredibly hard he is, his cock straining against his pants. You push yourself up onto your elbows, eyeing his bulge with interest. First, he kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He shoves his tongue in your mouth, licking the inside of your mouth fervently. As he pulls away, strings of saliva leak from his mouth, making you clench your thighs together once more.

His hands begin to travel over your body, following the contours of your curves. He rubs the flesh of your ass, eliciting a tiny moan from you. He groans softly in your ear, brutally smacking your ass, your brief moan encouraging him.

“I want it so badly,” you grunt. You were the first to snap, feeling his palms graze the flesh of your thigh, his grasp so tight that he would probably leave some bruises.

“Go on, then. Take it.”

Your gentle fingers ease his belt free from the hoops of his dress pants, nipping at his neck as you remove it from his waist. You bring your hands to the edge of his pants, quickly pulling them down and off his legs, letting him kick them off the bed from his ankles. He's bent over you, his lips on the shell of your ear.

"You're such a tease" he grumbles, his hips shifting to grind against your core.

"So are you," you taunt back, grabbing his massive bulge through his underwear, palming your hand over his length. You finally pull down his boxers, letting his cock spring free from its confines. It's massive. You nearly moan just from the sight itself, the tip leaking precum. You immediately grasp it in your hold, wrapping your hand around it, stroking his length into your hand. You caressed his big cock, prompting him to press his hips into your hand while he groaned, high-pitched and needy.

“N– need you right now,” he groans, crawling on top of you, pressing his cock up against your stomach, grinding it over your soft skin.

“Mhm,” you murmur, hand coming up to stroke his cock.

Although he hasn't made any attempt to put anything inside you yet, his hips thrust into yours, like he’s trying to create a mental image for himself for the task at hand, burying his lips back under your ear, and you can hear how hard he's breathing, and before you can say anything, his lips are back on yours, his hand moving your legs open to give him more room.

“If—I'm too rough,” he growls, his voice resonating in your ear drums, “you need to tell me.”

Your pupils dilate. “You can do whatever you want to me,” you assert, “fucking ruin me— be as rough as you want, if that's what you want—”

“D- don't say that," he says, his lips brushing against yours. You bring your hand between his legs, wrapping it around his cock, pumping him once. He moans so loudly, it sounds like music to your ears, and then he pushes the tip of it against you. “I won't be able to control myself.” The blood rushes into your ears, your heart wants to sprint out of your chest.

“Fuck me, Simon,” you breath, barely audible.

That’s all he needed to hear.

“‘M gonna fuck you senseless.”

In a rush, he’s pushing your back into the bed, lining the tip of his cock up with your sopping entrance before he pushes the tip inside you, letting you adjust to his size. The stretch was a bit painful, but you didn’t let the pain stop you from releasing a deep seated moan. Your back arches as the sensation, a gargled moan erupting from the depths of your body. This only encourages him, as he starts to slide the full length of his cock into.

“Fu– fuck,” he moans, his voice husky and high-pitched, “y- you feel so fucking good, so fucking perfect—.”

He bottoms out, his hips meeting yours as he pants, his thumb coming up to rest on your clit once more. He stays completely still, feeling your tight pussy squeezing his hard cock just right. He growls and thrusts himself into you as far as he can. It's nearly too much, God, it's nothing like you've ever felt before. You can barely even breathe while he's pounding into you, you feel like you’re choking on air, your vision being taken up entirely by Simon. His body rocks in a steady pace against yours.

“Too perfect—beautiful," he grunts. "You're so soft, so soft, and so wet—that's my good girl.”

Your face flushes at his praises, you want to shy away, too flattered by his words to even look at him.

"Keep your eyes on me, love" he demands, pulling at your chin with his hand quickly, forcing you to look straight into his eyes.

You feel giddy, pure bliss at the thought of him holding you in such high regard. He hits something deep inside you, and you moan as you're abruptly pulled into the sensation of him circling your clit as he fucks you into the mattress. A coil of heat builds faster by the second, your stomach muscles clenching.

His hand comes back down to grip your waist, his hold tightening on you as he continues to thrust into you at a brutal pace. You grasp his neck, weak with the motion because every muscle in your body is fatigued from his unbelievable pace. He slides your hands down to his shoulders, grounding you as he keeps himself upright, continuing to slam his hips onto you. He massages your clit, knowing the way your cunt flutters around his cock, you’re close to another orgasm. You moan loudly, savoring the way the sound bursts out of you.

“Fuck– fucking me so— so amazing,” you blubber, trying to convey how fucking amazing he’s making you feel right now. And then he's pulling back out, tearing into you again, and you can't even find the proper words in your head, you just listen to Simon absolutely fucking you into oblivion.

“You're squeezing around me— so perfectly, love,” he strangles out, and you feel his hips buck up against yours, and you try to find his collarbone, and you bury your face into it, leaving open mouthed kisses along his skin. You can hear Simon mewling against your ear, guttural and deep, and all you can do is close your eyes and attempt to stay in this moment forever.

“I’m gonna fucking cum—” you blurt out.

“Good girl, cum for me, sweetheart,” he gasps, death grip on your hips.

The coil inside your core snaps as he hits the perfect spot inside you. You clench your eyes tight only to realize it's because you're in the middle of an orgasm, the rest of the world fading away, until it's just you and him.

“‘M gonna cum,” he blurts out, you feel his cock twitch inside you. You can feel him pulsating and throbbing as he grunts his way through his orgasm, breathing heavily and unloading his cum deep inside you. It was enough for you to see stars as his orgasm ripped through him, a loud moan pressed up against your neck escaping his lips as his cum filled you to the brim. He falls on top of you, sweat glistening on his forehead as he comes to take deep gulps of air.

Neither of you say a word as you both catch your breath, brains fucked out. He rolls off of you, laying by your side as you both stare up at the ceiling.

“Holy fuck,” you say first. You're done for. Panting and worn out, you find yourself in the exact position he left you in. You try to move but can't seem to do so. You merely lie on your back and wait for the feeling to return to your body.

Simon turns back towards you, pushing himself to sit up, leaning over to stare at you. You reach a hand up, pressing it into his jaw

“You’re fucking perfect, sweetheart. Everything I ever dreamed about and more.”

You hum under him as he comes to lay his upper body on top of you, his fingers tangling into your hair as he stretches his muscles out. You turn your face just in time to feel all the oxygen rush out of your lungs the second he kisses you.

“Says you,” you murmur as he pulls away from the kiss.

Sleep threatens to take over both of you, waves of exhaustion and bliss intermingling. Simon stills on top of you, before flipping over on his back and pulling you on top of him. He takes your hand in his own, eclipsing it, squeezing it once, twice.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers.

“Hm?” you hum, nearly asleep.

“Let’s do this again tomorrow.”

You press your face into his chest, he feels your smile against his skin.

"For the rest of time."

@neoarchipelago @allaboutirem0 @galagcica @alexia77 @rioluxx @madysato @ghostlythots @broken-kneecaps @poohkie90 @1-fuzzy-squirrels @simpingforfakes @kaysav608 @lieblinqs

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intoxicated-chan · 28 days

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 ༻ 𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬

(A/n) ➳ Going over this, I just now realize how similar it is to the first episode of House of the Dragon and I apologize for that! Feedback is greatly appreciated!! Take care of yourselves and take a break, eat a snack, drink some water!!

Word Count ➳ 2.7k

Content Warnings ➳ 3rd, P.O.V, violence, blood, injury, mentions the Doom of Valyria, mentions of death…

AWOIAF Masterlist

The sun set hours ago… Lake-town was cold enough during the day and when the sun came down, it felt like a winter storm.

Bard was preparing to set off to collect fish again. He hated leaving for so long and coming home for a day or two, it broke his heart whenever he had to tell his children he was leaving again.

Bard climbed the wooden planks and up to the rooftop where his young son, Bain, sat. He leaned back, his head up towards the sky with widened eyes.

“Come Bain, it’s cold.” Bard said, his arms resting on the rooftop. “It’s time for bed.”

Bain turned to his father. “Da, is the dragon gonna come for us? Like the one in the stories you told us?”

Bard hopped onto the rooftop, kneeling to his son. “No, son. The dragon sleeps within Erebor. It has for a hundred years.”

But Bain pointed to the sky. “But there’s one.”

Bard followed his finger and squinted. He felt his heart drop when he saw the shadowy figure soaring through the sky. He could barely make out the size or his wingspan.

A gasp left his lips as he grabbed his son’s shoulders. “Go, go inside.” He demanded, pushing him. But his eyes remained on the dragon. “Quickly now.”

Watching him take a couple of laps around the Lonely Mountains. His heart raced, was the dragon trying to tempt Smaug? He followed his son inside, trying to remain calm for his children.

He didn’t see the dragon descend towards Mirkwood.

The dragon flapped his wings as he touched the ground, sending out a cloud of dust, twigs, and leaves out of his way.

The dragon grumbled as the guards surrounded him. “Rȳbās.” His rider told him, taking off the leather belts that held her to the saddle. “Lykirī.”

The dragon bent his neck, allowing the rider to dismount. She smiled rather widely, running her hands along his scaly neck and to his head.

She placed her hand under his eye, seeing her reflection in his eye. She laughed as her dragon rumbled under her touch, she placed her forehead onto his skin, closing her eyes, humming a soft tune.

Tauriel approached her with a stern expression. Usually, she would happily greet her but considering that nobody was supposed to be leaving Mirkwood, let alone at midnight, she was frustrated.

“The King does not like repeating himself.” Tauriel warned her, coming close even if the dragon seemed to be displeased. “No one is allowed to leave unless granted.”

She pulled back from her dragon and turned to face her, the smile still on her face. “Aegar is more than big enough to saddle two. I know how much you love the sky.”

Taruiel shook her head in disappointment. “Come, the King wishes to speak to you.” She walked with some of the guards, two waiting for her.

She sighed and followed her, leaving Aegar to lay and rest.

She may have been here her entire life, but the Kingdom of Mirkwood never ceased to amaze her. They have been friends for her entire life as Tauriel was the one who taught her how to use a bow from a young age.

They walked arm in arm through the halls of Mirkwood. Tauriel found herself unable to contain her laughter and smile.

“It is difficult to understand you.” Tauriel giggled. “Do you take pleasure in seeing all of us scramble to locate you?”

(Y/n) grinned sheepishly. “Admit it. You wish to ride a dragon.”

“I believe I’m content with seeing you fly.”

“Your loss.” She pushed her lightly. “So tell me, how angry is he?”

(Y/n) then pulled her arm back as they approached the throne room, Thranduil sat there, observing a jewel in his hands.

Tauriel took her leave but not before looking back at her, her smile had faded but she remained calm. Tauriel left before Thranduil could say anything else to her.

“(Y/n).” Thranduil’s voice was calm yet assertive. But there was an edge of frustration. “You know how I feel about these reckless flights of yours. And to venture out without my permission, disappointing.”

(Y/n) bowed her head, her gaze focused on the floor. “Forgive me, My Lord.” She replied. “Yet you don’t allow me to go flying with your permission.”

Thranduil sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You must remember there are dangers out there, worse than what Aegar poses. You dare fly close to Erebor? Are you asking to battle with Smaug? A dragon three or more times larger than Aegar. He may be a dragon but you are not.”

(Y/n) straightened, lifting her head to meet his eyes. “Aegar is strong, he is loyal. I wouldn’t dare use him as a weapon.”

“The time is coming, (Y/n). You are a formidable soldier, you two make quite a team.” Thranduil admitted. But with a wave of his hand, he dismissed her. “Take a bath, you stink of dragon.”

It has been several days since Thranduil warned (Y/n). His words lingered in her head.

She shouldn’t have to feel frustrated with him, afterall, he was the one to find the items left behind by your family.

There were many things gifted to her when she was old enough to read. Books of her great- great- something grandfather’s handwriting, it was worn, some words difficult to read.

Before she even learned of High Valyrian, she thought the words were a remembrance of her home or maybe her family. But no.

It was far from it. A warning.

Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor.

A dragon is not a slave.

She managed to grasp her forebear’s language with some help but she wouldn’t say she mastered the tongue of High Valyrian. Rather, she knew the basics.

It was noon, the sun casting a warm glow over the wooden yard. (Y/n) focused on fastening the leather straps to the saddle, she had a feeling that it was becoming loose.

Aegar laid comfortably on the ground, snoring.

Legolas leaned against a nearby tree, watching her and noticing the furrowed brow that she had for nearly an hour.

“Something is on your mind.” Legolas commented. “Speak, looking bothered does not suit you.”

(Y/n) paused, her fingers picking at the old and peeling leather. “It is nothing.” Offering a smile.

But Legolas saw through her smile, he could see it in her eyes. “You forget I know you, I knew you from the start… You’re worried that once Aegar is old enough, you’ll be forgotten.”

She sighed, tying the leather back into the saddle. “I only worry for Tauriel. The King does not respect her enough.”

“You worry too much, you need to place some of it on yourself and Aegar.” Legolas stepped forward. “You have earned your place here.”

“I have no place here. My home is gone and I’m an outsider, I’m no elf. If I had not appeared with my dragon, Thranduil would’ve sent me away.” She explained, standing to her feet as she observed the saddle.

Legolas was ready to push that idea out of her head. He had no idea she thought of herself so lowly. He grabbed her arm.

Tauriel suddenly appeared. “There’s trouble.” She announced tension in her voice. “The King has ordered another nest to get rid of.”

(Y/n) pulled her arm back. “Aegar!” She shouted, waking him up from his slumber. “Iōrās.”

Aegar stood on his feet, stretching his wings. She grabbed the ropes to mount him.

“(Y/n), wait,” Tauriel grabbed her hand. “The King has requested you stay behind.”

(Y/n) frowned and scoffed. “It would be easier if Aegar-”

But she could see it in Tauriel’s eyes, Thranduil was going to keep her and her dragon here. “A dense forest with a large dragon?” Tauriel laid it out for her. “He fears the damage it could cause. Aegar could not maneuver properly in those woods.”

“Alright.” She muttered, stepping away from Aegar. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry.”

(Y/n) watched them go, annoyed and saddened. She longed to be by their side, joining them in a fight.

Thranduil was going to make her wait and watch. He was going to make her feel like a burden. His way was punishment.

(Y/n) watched from the corner, watching as each dwarf was pushed into a cell. Their complaints were falling on death’s ears.

She stepped out from the shadows and towards Legolas’s direction, wanting to know where the dwarves came from.

“What do you know of dragons, girl?” The dwarf’s voice was gruff, laced with bitterness as he eyed the dragon sigils embroidered into her clothing. “You wear it like a badge of honor.”

(Y/n) eyed him as well, realizing who the dwarf in the cell was. “You’re Thorin Oakenshield? Heir to the throne of Erebor.”

Thorin’s fists clenched around the iron bars. “You have yet to answer my question.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened in amazement. “I cannot believe it. I’ve-”

“(Y/n)! Dina!” Legolas commanded her to come. “Get away from the dwarf.”

With that, she walked away, leaving no room for Thorin or (Y/n) to say anything.

“Must you speak to them?” Legolas sneered, following you down the steps. “What reason do you have?”

“I’ve always wanted to see the infamous Thorin Oakenshield. It was not disappointing.”

“...Is it?”

(Y/n) nodded, a smile on her lips. “Yes. If what they say is true… If they reclaim the mountain, I would love to see the glory of Erebor.”

Legolas froze in his steps. “I am beginning to wonder where your allegiance lies.”

“What makes you wonder that?”

“...Go, I need to report to the King.”

She rolled her eyes, asking herself if her curiosity made Legolas or anyone else question her loyalty.

Of course, her loyalty lies with Thranduil, he saved her and took a human and a dragon in. A human not from this world.

The sun had begun to set when (Y/n) stood at Thorin’s cell. “Might I ask you something?” She began, breaking the silence.

He looked up at her, eyes wary. “What is it? Dragon rider?”

“If you had no memories of the kingdom or its riches, would you still fight to reclaim it?”

“Yes.” He answered without hesitation. “For it is not the gold or treasures that drive me, but the honor and memory of my kin who were lost. To reclaim Erebor is to honor their memory, to give those who wish for their home.”

He stepped closer to the bars as he spoke his words, loudly enough for the rest of the Company to hear. He spoke with bravery and pride, not a single ounce of shame in them.

(Y/n) listened to his words closely. It made her think of her own home, the writing of the book could not describe the doom correctly.

Only a dream, unsure if it came true…

(Y/n) became lost in her thoughts, she began to speak aloud. “I wonder…” She uttered. “What it would be to see Valyria, to walk the streets, see the dragons fly into the sky with my people on its back. I wonder if any Targaryens remain.”

She sighed, sitting down on the steps. “I wonder if the dream was true and the doom of my home was correct.”

Thorin, still irate from the encounter from earlier but genuinely curious about her side of dragons, sat as well. “Was it taken?”

“It was destroyed. A Targaryen had a dream, D… Daenys had a dream. She had foresaw the destruction. But I have no way to know if it was true, I do not know if Valyria still stands or if any Targaryens remain to rule the skies.”

(Y/n) looked up to the ceiling, closing her eyes to remember how Valyria was described. “To be home. I would give my life just to see it.”

“…May you find your way home, dragon rider… And safely.”

It was a chaotic scene. The dwarves and Bilbo found themselves stuck in wine barrels but their path down the rough rivers were blocked by the portcullis.

Kili’s cry was loudly heard as he fell back, clutching his leg that the Morgul arrow stuck out of.

“Kili.”

Thorin felt his heart sink, hearing his nephew’s cries as he was unable to do anything.

Legolas, Tauriel, and the other Elves fought against Blog and his party.

The Orcs were relentless, fighting to the point until their bodies gave out and welcomed death.

Arrows flew into their bodies, daggers stabbed into their hearts or heads.

Kili’s eyes shut tightly, hissing loudly as he attempted to get back up.

His eyes opened and widened, his eyelids fluttering as the pain was flowing throughout his body… He could see a dragon flying… A dragon?

He could make out the dragon’s silhouette against the sunlight, circling the river before he saw him make a dive. He could hear him roar, loudly.

Tauriel’s eyes immediately shot to the sky, Aegar’s body casting a shadow over the river.

Aegar descended from the sky and landed into the river, his landing sending waves that splashed anyone close.

Thorin couldn’t see Aegar but the sound of his roar was enough to send chills down his back. He looked back and saw the rest of his Company staring up at the dragon.

(Y/n) swiftly unchained herself from the saddle, her feet hitting the ground. She drew her sword, cutting down the Orc coming towards Kili.

She took a quick glance around and estimated the amount of Orcs, she could hear another group coming.

Aegar let out another roar, lunging forward and his massive jaws snapped shut on the nearest orc, easily crushing him into two pieces.

He exhaled a quick stream of flame at the incoming group, the Orcs screaming as they threw themselves into the river.

The Orc swung his ax at her, she ducked and cut his leg, making him kneel with a shriek. She pierced his head with force, making sure he was dead.

She continued to cut through the Orcs with Aegar protecting her, coming down on an Orc that nearly came down on her.

“Tauriel!” She shouted as she tossed one of her daggers past Tauriel’s head.

She grabbed the dagger lodged into the Orc’s chest to stab it once more before using it on another, she tossed it back and (Y/n) caught it.

She heard Kili loudly groan once again, Thorin’s Company were sitting ducks in those barrels and they could only do so much with little to no weapons.

That’s when she noticed why the Company was just floating. The portcullis was shut. It must’ve been why Kili wasn’t in his barrel and why he was on the ground, holding his knee.

(Y/n) dodged another Orc’s attack, managing to move behind him. She grabbed his head and slid her blade across his neck, she then let him fall to the ground.

She came to Kili’s side. “Now’s your chance!” She stated, crossing blades with another. “Go! Before they outnumber us all!”

Kili managed to conjure whatever strength he had left and grabbed the lever, opening the portcullis, and allowing the Company to escape.

“Kili!” His brother cried out, watching Kili slump to the ground once again but push himself into the barrel.

Kili felt and heard the arrow snap, sending another wave of agony throughout his weakening body.

(Y/n) watched as one-by-one, the Company fell into the water and their barrels carried them through the rough stream.

She turned back the Orcs, immediately impaling one Orc coming down on an Elf, and used her dagger to finish the job.

She looked up at Legolas drawing another arrow. “Secure Mirkwood.” He ordered. “Worry about damages later.”

Legolas ran off, following the Orcs that were focused on the Company, Tauriel was behind him.

She rushed to Aegar, she climbed onto Aegar who lowered his neck, allowing her to quickly settle herself.

“Sōvēs!” Aegar began to run, flapping his wings a couple of times before taking off.

(Y/n) directed him towards the gates, wanting to spread the word first. Thorin looks back into the sky, watching Aegar and noticing (Y/n) upon his back.

Taglist ➳ @mrsdurin , @marsmallow433 , @oneiratxxia10 ,

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idkfitememate · 4 months

Note

Boar!creator visits the cathedral, and beats Barbara's stalker to a pulp I mean sings with Barbara :)

Barbra was not prepared at all to meet this “Boar of the Wilds”. She was perfectly fine where she was, in the Cathedral, safe and sound.

Of course Barbatos had other plans - he was tired of the Boar only picking fights with him what could he say!

So as she sat there in the Cathedral, praying her little heart out, she was interrupted by screams from right outside the door.

She quickly got up and rushed to the door, only to see the very boar she was just thinking about roasting one of the members of her fan club to a crisp.

“Hey! Hey!! Stop that right his second!” She cried. And you did just that.

Though, before the man could ask Barbara for any kind of help, you kicked him down the stairs.

She pointedly looked at you with a small glare before speaking.

“You can not do that! Harming people in or by the Favonius Cathedral is a big no no! Now… shoo! Get out of here.” She made shooing motions with her hands to try and run you off, but you ignored them and walked right through the open doors, causing her to gasp.

She was quick to follow, about to start scolding you again, but found that you had sat yourself right in front of the pew, head down like you were paying respects.

“Do you… also believe in Barbatos?” She asked.

You jumped up and oinked happily. Now you would not usually go to church in your world - not say you didn’t believe but you were just a wee bit busy - but you did know that it was something Barbra believed in heavily. And adding the fact that you kinda fucked with Barbatos damn near on the daily…

You nodded which caused her to gasp and throw her hands to her mouth. Perhaps you weren’t that bad after all!

“Well I too believe in our Lord of Anemo! Perhaps I could sing you a tune? That of which it is said our God also sung as he soared above the cloud?” Her hands clasped in front of her as she bent down to your height, and again you quickly nodded.

“Alright then! It’s starts like this…” and her heavenly voice began to ring out through the halls.

You sat with bated breath as she sung, beginning to sway a little to the beat. You eventually hopped up and began stamping your hooves to the beat as well, making little clinking noises as they fell onto the polished floor.

And finally you began to sing with her. The Deaconess giggled as your squeals and oinks harmonized with her voice. The sisters of the church watching from afar, covering their giggles with hands and smiling at you two having fun.

Rosaria watched from the shadows. Not usually likening to spend her time at the church- despite being a nun - but finding hilarity and solace at the scene before her.

Maybe you were just what was needed to help destress their darling Deaconess.

Venti totally heard you outside and was like: “Even??? The nuns???? Like that stupid boar????? I thought they were on my side >:(“

No Venti, you fucking coffee cup, they were never on your side ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

#genshin impact sagau #sagau x reader #sagau #x reader #x gn reader #gn y/n #yandere x reader #yandere x you #Boar!Creator #asks <3 #anon <3

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deepouterspacecandy · 1 month

Text

Our Sanctuary of Ruin

18+ only. Violence, references to death, and sexual themes.

Sometimes it all falls apart. Perhaps with Abby, you can overcome anything. I hope you enjoy, thank you a million for all the love!

Abby feels the warmth of tiny hands tugging at her sleeve, their grip wrapping snuggly around her thumb. As she looks down, a toothy smile greets her, and it’s contagious.

A precious sunflower opens up inside her chest as little feet bounce in her presence.

Accompanying the dirt streaked smile is a sweet voice, teeming with innocence.

“Mama?”

“What’s up, buttercup?” Abby asks.

“Did you and mommy make this whole town?”

Falling behind schedule for her training session, Abby shifts on her feet. She treasures her family above all else and proves it to you every day, but tardiness is the bane of her existence. She contemplates handing off the question to you and making a quick exit, but the intensity in your gaze gives her pause.

“We sure did, Bug.”

The child wiggles their fingers, inviting Abby to lift them up into her nurturing arms. With one swift motion, she obliges, eliciting a giggle that fills your home with bliss.

“How, mama? Tell me a story!”

When Abby glances at you, as you carefully trim the aloe vera plants that decorate the living room window, it’s with a sea of affection.

“When you’re a little bit older, I’ll dish all the deets, okay?” Abby explains. “How about a song?”

In the foyer, Abby gently rocks the child to their favourite tune, melodies drifting along the bright spring breeze and spilling into the courtyard.

Her hope is that they will only encounter the ways of the world through stories, shielding them from the harsh truths that you both have experienced.

The thought of history repeating itself keeps her awake at night.

--------------------------------------------------

Abby is away on a two-week assignment with her squad, when you notice something is amiss at the stadium.

Isaac has distributed an overwhelming workload that has stretched everyone to their limits, and you can feel the support beams of the bridge beginning to shudder. But it’s more than that and you sense it in your gut.

There is a noticeable shift in behaviour, as people become more guarded, stress levels soaring through the community.

Before Abby set off, an unshakeable premonition niggled into you, hinting at imminent upheaval. While you wish you could’ve gone with her, it’s rare for the two of you to work together anymore.

To achieve broader coverage, Isaac strategically assigns his most skilled soldiers to different missions. In the past, questioning his authority has always had negative outcomes for both of you.

Your extensive knowledge and experience in various types of weaponry, as well as Abby’s exceptional skill in combat, have made you indispensable members of the WLF.

If that enhances the likelihood of you leading missions independently and getting separated, pissing off Isaac almost guarantees it.

It’s not uncommon for your brain to send signals of distress when she's gone, even though there’s often no unsurmountable danger to speak of. You’ve navigated being isolated from her countless times and always emerged relatively unscathed.

Still, this time, midnight without her seems to linger, its darkness a looming, cavernous shadow that only expands as time ticks by.

The familiar sound of her crunching her way through a bag of sunflower seeds is something you’re desperate to hear.

Occasionally, your fears have crept up on you and consumed your thoughts. But now, they have materialized into a tangible, brambly husk, prodding both hands.

You try to ignore the group sitting across from you in the chow hall, their hushed conversations sporadically punctuated by the sound of them coughing into their arms. Isaac’s practice of bringing soldiers from other parts of Seattle into the stadium has, time and again, resulted in the spread of dreaded viruses.

Lately, it seems like his drive for power has clouded his judgment, making him increasingly careless. His urgency to build up his militia has led to lax enforcement of quarantine protocols, something you’ve griped about for a while.

Memories come rushing back like a flash flood as you observe a sweaty, emaciated man coughing without restraint while waiting in line for his breakfast.

He receives disdainful looks from both soldiers and civilians, the atmosphere thick with disapproval.

You get where they’re coming from.

Last year, a terrible flu spread through the community, and it knocked you on your ass for three days. Abby’s diligence played a crucial role in ensuring that you recovered quickly, just in time to reverse the roles until she was back on her feet, too.

For the first time in a while, you felt the perils of something that wasn’t Cordyceps.

With your girlfriend’s support in making certain you were hydrated and fed, keeping a cold cloth pressed to your forehead, you were able to endure the fever until it eventually broke.

Not everyone in the community had the same stroke of luck.

Enveloped in the ambiance of Abby’s mixtape playing in your ears, you ditch your tray and stroll towards the communications room. When it comes to selecting music that can elevate your mood and ease anxiety, Abby is nothing short of a godsend.

True to her nature, she threw in something completely offbeat, leaving you to interpret its meaning.

Just as the edges of your worries are blurring, a sudden and forceful slam against the janitorial room door next to you reverberates through the corridor.

Your shoes absorb the vibrations from the shock, making every muscle in your body coil.

“What the fuck?” you mumble, yanking out your earbuds.

“You gotta snag it while it’s hot, am I right?”

You let out a sigh as a passerby chuckles at the extremes people will go for privacy. With your music blaring, it’s clear she picked up on nuance better than you could.

“Right,” you say.

As the woman’s giggles trail her down the hall, you can’t help the nausea squirming inside your stomach.

--------------------------------------------------

It’s a refreshing change to find the radio room completely empty.

Most times, there is a line that goes all the way out the door, and despite being given preferential treatment, you seldom make use of it.

With anticipation, you reach into your pocket to retrieve a crumpled slip of paper, the frequencies Abby plans to use hastily scribbled on top.

Without fail, you’ve established a daily routine of connecting with each other twice a day. Regardless of any compromises she may make in other areas, Abby remains unwavering in her position on this issue.

The one time you overslept and turned up late to your work assignment at the armory, missing your scheduled date with her, she charged into your apartment days early from her mission with a wild expression in her eyes.

It’s better to set aside your other duties temporarily than to worry her half to death while she’s fighting through an ominous world with her bare hands. Although you try to conceal it, devastating panic would consume you just the same if she didn’t show up.

As soon as you switch to her current frequency and call out, her chuffed response is instantaneous.

“Morning, sunshine,” Abby says. “God, I miss your voice. How is this dreary day treating you so far? Over.”

You’re dying to tell her how much you long for her, worse than a lost limb, but you’re keeping it under wraps. Abby becomes discombobulated when she concerns herself with your well-being while she’s on the road, and it’s crucial for her to stay mentally sharp.

“You know I’m out here kicking ass and taking names. Over.”

Even with static interference, Abby’s laughter numbs the swarm of wasps buzzing between your ribs.

“That’s my girl. So, I have something super important to ask you, okay? Over.”

As you rest the mic against your cheek, the delightful sting of happiness tugs at the corners of your mouth. The mischief in her tone echoes through the radio waves, unmistakable to you, even miles away.

“Lay it all out, beautiful,” you say. “And you better make it good. Over.”

The line intermittently switches between static and clear, a signal that she’s preparing to make your day amazing.

“Tell me,” Abby purrs. “What are you wearing right now? Over.”

The area where she is situated is constantly milling with eavesdroppers, obvious to you as the lively whoops and cheers of her crew ring out in the background.

You can’t help but fling yourself backwards in your chair, feeling your cheeks grow warm as you try to gather your composure, determined to give her more than just bashful glee through the line.

One of her favourite things, aside from making you happy and keeping you safe, is catching you off guard with her playful prowess. Every soldier on Abby’s squad is someone you trust and adore, fueling your determination to outshine your girl at her very own sport.

“It’s good you asked, my love,” you say, pulling on a frayed strand hanging from the hemline. “Since I only just realized how stinkin’ low your tank top hangs under my arms. Do you think I should go home and put on a bra before my shift starts? Over.”

While you wait, the line falls silent, giving you a moment to picture the delightful sight of those elated blue eyes crinkling at the edges.

There’s no view quite like Abby when she runs her teeth over her pouty bottom lip, pretty freckles blending into pink cheeks.

“Goddamn,” she says.

The huskiness in her voice is a telltale sign her resolve is wavering fast.

“You’re killing me, woman. Which one did you steal this time? Over.”

“The one I tore off you the night before you left,” you say.

You let your lips graze the microphone, creating a tantalizing, crisp murmur you know will torture her.

“It still smells like you, Abigail. I don’t know how on earth I’m going to stay focused at work today. Over.”

You’ve appropriately scandalized the soldiers at the other end, without a doubt, who you suspect have positioned themselves close by to listen in on their captain’s conversation. It thrills you to no end that they will have ample material to tease her for the rest of the day.

It is certain to bring a smile to her face and keep it there.

Instead of striving to regain her dominance in the exchange, Abby’s voice turns softer, brimming with enthusiasm.

“Man, am I ever nuts about you,” she says with a breathless chuckle. “You still make my heart race—have I ever told you that? I must be the luckiest girl alive. Over.”

The spark of your very first meeting with Abby burned as brightly as a bolt of lightning trapped inside a bottle and you reminisce with her for a while.

They paired you together in training just to watch you consistently eclipse her in target practice events, while she effortlessly outperformed you with her mastery in hand-to-hand combat. It took mere moments for you to become infatuated with each other.

Your affection for her surpasses all others, but the most significant impact has been how she has helped you learn to love yourself. Abby revived the light in your life, offering you a fresh perspective on the art of finding it.

“I can’t wait to hold you. Swear you’ll keep my side of the bed warm for me until then? Over,” Abby says.

A raw lump settles in your throat. Each goodbye feels just as difficult as the last, and no matter how much you try to suppress your fears, you can never predict when it might be the last time you lay eyes on her.

“You know I will,” you say.

As you wrap your arms around yourself, the scent of the forest lingers on your skin, and Abby is right there with you.

“I love you deeper than the ocean, Abby. Stay safe out there. Tell Manny to watch your six until it’s my turn. Over.”

Out of nowhere, an ear-splitting siren blares throughout the stadium.

An eerie chill shoots up your spine, as if you had already known what was about to go down. It completely obscures the last thing Abby said to you, making it impossible to comprehend her message.

--------------------------------------------------

The disorientation intensifies as you make your way back to your suite, with the relentless strobing of the emergency lights fixed on the walls above you.

There are only a few reasons security personnel will trigger the alarm, and all of them spell trouble.

Someone, somewhere, made a catastrophic error.

Panicked screams echo down the corridor, and you can’t help but wonder how many festering bites and scratches slipped past the gates undetected, spreading quietly among the population.

You’ve witnessed firsthand how a single infected can wreak havoc on an entire population. Just how many people have been suffering in silence? With the sun slowly sinking below the horizon, casting a fiery orange hue over a mass of frightened individuals dashing through the open field, it seems like it’s only a matter of time before you stumble upon the answers you’re seeking.

By sliding boards onto the hitches Abby installed, you fortify the battered door to your apartment. In their frenzied escape, bodies collide against it, causing the hinges to rattle and groan against the frame.

Abby’s cautionary words about living in a high traffic area replay in your thoughts as you realize the importance of heeding her advice.

Scrambling under your bed, cobwebs and dust tickle your nose as you grab the go bags you’ve prepared.

The weight of Abby’s duffel presses heavily into your side, forcing you to abandon it. By sliding it back under the bed, you expect that if she comes looking for it, she will recognize that you have effectively accomplished the initial steps of your plan.

Frankly, you pray she will stay far away from this place.

After tugging the curtains over the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows, the fabric gliding smoothly along the rod, you reach for the crowbar fastened behind your wardrobe.

The armory enforces rigorous regulations, even for the soldiers who manage it.

They strictly prohibit carrying weapons outside the premises without authorization. Although implemented for good reason, it is of no use to you in a crisis—say, for example, an outbreak of infected ravaging the close quarters of your home.

Despite Abby’s persistent efforts to change the rule, her high-ranking position hasn’t granted her the privilege of storing firearms within the stadium, let alone carrying them on her person inside the walls.

As you marvel at the sight of the magnificent oak furniture Abby helped you build, you can’t help but appreciate her rebellious nature. With each creaking board you pry back, you slowly reveal a hidden trove of firearms and polished blades.

On top, a notepad you don’t recognize teeters precariously. Written inside, Abby’s scrawl is barely legible, a testament to her hurried thoughts.

You are my world, so please, baby, don’t be a hero. You’re the toughest person I’ve ever met, but that heart of yours is just too damn big. I won’t tolerate you getting hurt, so I’m asking you to put yourself first, just this once. Nobody needs you more than me, okay? I’ll find you—wherever you go. -Abigail

The sirens continue ceaselessly, their piercing wails ringing through the gardens and hallways outside your door. Beside your coat, hanging on a hook, are the earmuffs you both rely on during target practice at the firing range.

You place a pair over your head, take a deep breath, and slip out the back door.

--------------------------------------------------

Turmoil reigns in every corner of the stadium as despair and hysteria consume all who inhabit it.

Your ear protection muffles any ability to differentiate between screams and sirens as you jog down the stairs towards the dog kennels. The more you see of the chaos, the more driven you are by the need to rescue them from the horrifying ordeal of being tormented and confined.

With each cage, your hands tremble as you struggle with the latches. The moment you set the dogs free, they instinctively look to you, waiting for your direction. You’re at a loss for how to guide them and while there are supposed to be established procedures for situations like this, the shortage of resources seems to take its toll.

You raise your voice, urging the animals to leave, but they stay by your side, tails wagging anxiously. As the dog whisperer in your duo, you sorely miss Abby’s insight. If only she could give you guidance on getting everyone out alive.

A sudden cry booms through the field, and you strain to find where it came from. In the distance, a woman stands, her hands shaking as she holds a splintered baseball bat in her outstretched arms.

With a steady gaze, she focuses on the person she struck, their lifeless body sprawled on the ground. Frozen in place, her eyes widen in disbelief as the infected body twitches and writhes, its grisly movements disturbingly unnatural.

It lets out a gurgling scream through decaying vocal cords, and you sprint toward her without a second thought.

Rising from the ground with determined, predatory speed, the Runner locks its sights on the woman who clobbered it before fixing its empty gaze upon you.

You shout for her to run as your fingers close around the hilt of your weapon. The dog at your side acts swiftly, neutralizing the threat with its ferocious, gnashing teeth before you can even draw your gun.

Trouble seems to stretch in every direction as you frantically search for an escape route. Heart pounding in your chest, you steel yourself, ready to fight for your life.

When piercing gunfire fills the air, it’s a haunting testament to the unraveling fabric of your crumbling district.

--------------------------------------------------

Abby’s leg bounces restlessly as she waits by the radio, hunched over in her chair well past the scheduled meeting time. The sound of Manny’s footsteps hammering on the airstrip grabs her attention, and she braces herself for more disappointment.

“Anything?” she asks.

Holed up in the traffic control tower all afternoon, efforts to reach out to Isaac have consumed her squad. Just like Abby, Jordan was also on edge, growing increasingly unsettled as the day passed by without a single call from his fiancée.

“Nada,” he says. He motions towards Abby’s radio. “How about here?”

Abby shakes her head, her white-knuckled fingers tightly interlaced as she presses them against her worried mouth.

“Maybe she got held up. It has happened before,” Manny offers. “Have a little faith, Abs.”

“Why the hell isn’t anyone else getting their calls, then?”

Her eyes well up with burning tears as she hurls the microphone towards its wooden enclosure. Manny places a reassuring hand on her shoulder, giving it a firm shake.

“Your girl is a fighter, just like you,” he says. “Trust her.”

“She’s the only one I trust,” Abby whispers.

Feeling a headache coming on, she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Something is wrong, Manny. I can feel it.”

Static crackles as a distorted transmission comes through. Abby lunges forward, snatching up the device.

“You’re breaking up. Say that again—we’re standing by,” Abby says.

Spotting Jordan, who is aimlessly pacing beside the helipad, she waves him down. Having abandoned his work on the helicopter hours ago, the fretful soldier rushes to huddle around the radio to the desperate pleas of a survivor begging for backup.

“They got inside.”

“What did he say?” Jordan blurts. “Anderson!”

With a raised hand, she signals for everyone to hush, her blood running cold when the strange voice continues.

“The stadium’s crawling with infected—we can’t get out.”

“Have you tried the east gate?” Abby asks, fear pulsating through her veins.

She has executed this drill many times, there should already be a task force combing the area.

Each passing minute sees the group around the transmission steadily expanding, their murmurs and whispers padding the silence.

Abby tries again.

“Are you still there?” she asks, abandoning all radio etiquette. “Can you hear me?”

“We can’t get near the gates—they’re gunning everyone down. It’s a fucking massacre.”

Abby nods at the helicopter, its reinforced fuselage and formidable firepower making it an intimidating beast against a backdrop of moss ravaged aircraft.

“How much longer before that thing is in the air?”

“Give me an hour,” Jordan says. “Maybe less with extra hands on deck.”

“You heard the man,” Abby barks. “We ship out in thirty. Get a move on!”

She uses a firm tone to direct the person on the other end of the radio to barricade the doors. With terror gripping her, the panicked voice becomes increasingly distant as her surroundings fade.

While her thoughts meander through a misty haze, your kind face materializes with striking clarity. It ignites an irresistible urge within her to reach out and touch you, stealing her breath.

She has learned so much about being a leader from the way you tirelessly protect your people, while still holding such a strong capacity for teaching others how to be vulnerable.

Even when you’re not together, you guide Abby through her darkest hours.

She picks the mic back up, feeling the cool metal against her fingertips, and blows out a deep breath.

“I know this feels really fucking scary,” Abby says. “And it is. But you’ve made it this far ‘cause you’re tough and you’re smart. You’ve got this. Stay right where you are—help is coming.”

The powerful rotors of the helicopter slice through the air with a deafening roar. She commands her team to collect all the guns and ammunition they can find and get ready to load them onto the chopper.

While nearing the aircraft and realizing that she will fly at an altitude of over ten thousand feet, her concerns about her competence as a soldier escalates.

Jordan’s grip on her arm is firm, demanding her immediate attention.

“If shit goes sideways, I need you to look out for my kid,” he says.

It’s so loud that they have to shout to communicate.

“We’re making it through this,” Abby says, reaching for his hand and giving it a liberal squeeze. “You’ll be back with them in no time.”

“I mean it, Abby. Tell me you’ll look out for my family. Please.”

The pain in Jordan’s eyes resembles the anguish she saw in yours the day she left. This heightened intuition that something is bound to go awry.

“If anyone can fix this shit, it’s you,” he continues. “It doesn’t have to be this way anymore.”

Envisioning a life free from the grip of a tyrant, Abby feels a surge of strength coursing through her. A newfound determination to build a home where nobody has to be left behind.

It is a cause worth fighting for.

“I’ve got you,” she says.

“Let’s give ‘em Hell, then!” Manny yells.

The metallic scent of aviation fuel permeates the air as they climb aboard, ready to fly into the heart of the storm.

#abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby x you #tlou abby #lesbian

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eddiediazes · 1 year

Text

find a way to you (if it kills me)

[19.5k words] [rated: mature] [season six era post-6x13 pining buck]

They’re sitting on the couch when it happens. Buck’s new couch - which frankly sits like it’s made out of cardboard and halligans, and yet every time Eddie comes over, he sits on it and doesn’t complain. Buck keeps layering blankets and pillows on it like it’s going to get better, but there’s really nothing to be done about how miserable it is to sit on.

Sitting on it actually makes it difficult sometimes for Buck to pay attention to conversations, which is why he only tunes in when Eddie says, “Are you busy on Saturday?”

Buck perks up a little. “Uh - no, why? Does Chris want to get started on that science project?”

Eddie flashes a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “No. Uh-” He switches his beer from one hand to the other, and stretches his newly free hand out. “It’s more that - I’m asking for me.”

It’s something about the way Eddie phrases it. Something about the combination of his words and the way he’s staring down at the floor, and the flush in his cheeks and the way he’s fidgeting. Buck thinks, abruptly, he’s going to ask me on a date.

He has no idea where the thought comes from, because - he’s never thought that Eddie would ever - but in that moment, he becomes certain, abruptly, that Eddie’s going to ask him to hang out, just the two of them, and it’s going to change everything. Just as quickly, Buck realizes, I’m going to say yes.

Aside from a passing attraction when they first met, Buck can’t remember the last time he had a romantic thought about Eddie and actually called it that in his head - but as soon as he realizes that Eddie wants to take him on a date, Buck wants to go so badly his palms start to ache with it. He sits up, and scoots a little closer, rubbing his fingers over his sternum, right over his own pounding heart.

“For - you?” Buck asks, nudging Eddie along, encouraging him to clarify.

“Well I - wanted to tell you first, and I need someone to watch Chris, anyways - I know he’s getting old enough now he doesn’t like feeling like he’s got a babysitter, so I was hoping - sorry. Not the point. Uh. I have a date on Saturday.”

Just as abruptly as his own hopes had come soaring up above the cloud cover of his own unawareness - they go crashing back down to the floor - to the basement, and into the mud. “A date?” Buck rasps out.

[read on ao3]

#buddie fic #buddie fanfiction #911 fanfic #911 on fox #my fic

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zyonsay · 5 months

Text

Wildfire, Chapter Five MV1

Fem aligned people may read but not f3tishize my work!!

Summary: Max feels unwell, he doesn't know why though.

Reader: Male

Warnings: Idk if i can define it as mental unwellness?

Now playing: 'Waste' by Kxllswxtch

AN: I may or may not return and update this chapter another time. Anyways, a Fun Fact for you: I originally planned six chapters for this fic, now i have circa 11 planned. I am great at planning my stuff, i swear! *falls to knees*

And for the people who haven't seen the SMAU from the last chapter: i chose 26 as Readers driver's number and i do know that it's Kvyats number. Max stole his life, why can't i steal his drivers number?

Comment or dm me to be added to the taglist!

(Here is the previous chapter)

(Here is the next chapter)

Max was deep in thought. The sloping hills and impressive forests raced by the window of the bus. His headphones were blasting a familiar tune, and he was sitting in his seat like a statue, unable to move. His gaze lingered on the landscape, though his thoughts were far away from the lush, green nature.

A bitter, dark feeling had made its way into his gut. He felt sick, like a bad cold had come over him, though he was perfectly healthy. His heart felt heavy. His eyes had the color of a mountain lake and usually held the depth of the ocean, though today they seemed… dull.

Right next to him, you were sleeping in your seat. Your soft lashes threw shadows on your tired face, and you too had earphones on, but their battery had died a few minutes after you’ve fallen asleep. Rhythmic, calm breaths left your figure.

This little team building camp was held near the beginning of the winter break, you still had two races to complete, one of which was Zandvoort. Christian was curious to see if you and Max would behave better after this little nature trip, after all that was the purpose of coming out here.

Max’s hands found their way to the hem of his shirt, messing with the dark blue fabric. His hands tingled and he overall felt uncomfortable. He could not pinpoint what made him feel so weird, but he just knew that something wasn’t right.

The Dutch was startled by a sudden tap sound. He then spotted a rain drop on the glass next to him. Then another one, and another one. A few moments later it was pouring down like crazy. Your eyes fluttered open at the loud splashing sounds against the bus’s window. Eyes trailing towards the window, you were greeted with two blue-greenish ones. Max’s expression was plain and held little to no emotion. You furrowed your eyebrows slightly, something was off. He then avoided your gaze and looked back outside. The bus shook as it was driving over a gravelly path now, waking up many of its passengers. But shortly after that, sleep got the better of you and you sunk back into your seat, huddled up in your sweater.

Max risked a look into your direction. You looked peaceful and contempt. He hoped that you hadn’t noticed whatever was up with him, but he knew damn well you had. As much disdain as he held for you, he had to admit, you seemed like a very empathetic person. Even if you made yourself look like an arrogant jokester to the media.

Someone shook your shoulder, and you woke up gasping, like you had just woken up from a terrible nightmare. Horner’s face greeted you; he was smiling warmly. “Get up y/n, we’re at the airport.” While rubbing your eyes, you got up and pulled your suitcase out of the now empty luggage compartment.

You stretched your legs, they felt wobbly after the long drive. Max exited the bus shortly after you, walking towards the plane while you stood in front of Horner. He noticed the worried expression on your face while your eyes trailed after Max.

The plane soared into the sky, you watched as the airport disappear in the distance, then you were above a sea of clouds. You glanced at the headphones in your lap with an annoyed expression. Not fully charging them beforehand was stupid, you thought to yourself. Once again, Max was sitting next to you, resting his eyes. What you didn’t know was that he struggled to find peace. His eyes were closed, but he couldn’t fall asleep. Sleep was a difficult situation for the past few days, he’d have trouble falling asleep and then would wake up at ungodly hours in the morning. The only thing indicating his messed-up sleep rhythm was the dark shading around his eyes.

The flight was followed by another excruciating bus drive, everybody has had enough by now and wanted to finally get a good portion of sleep.

The wheels of your suitcase made a smooth noise on the Hotel Lobby floor. The lady at the front desk handed you the keys to your room with a big smile, after walking around the corner you heard her whisper-yelling to her coworker who’d she just seen. ‘That was THE y/n l/n! I think I’m sweating Cassie.’

You tiredly rotated the golden keys in the keyhole and were greeted with a luxurious hotel room. The bed looked very inviting, its fresh white sheets beckoning you. There was also a fairly large closet, along with a desk and a vanity table. You were also granted an on-suite bathroom, with a shower which looks like it cost more than your life.

The bed is what your body longed for, but you wandered over to the desk. It had all the utensils you needed, but it was still neat and organized. There was a little box with small, perfectly square pieces of paper, probably for quick notes like a grocery list or a reminder. You grabbed a black pen and one of the colored papers and began scribbling.

A knock erupted at Max’s door, he’d almost ignored it, if it wasn’t for his curiosity. The dutch was very tired and wanted to go to bed as soon as possible. Before opening the door, he spotted a small paper in front of it. Someone must’ve slipped it underneath the door, he thought while picking up the paper. He carefully opened the door, looking down the hallway, trying to find whoever left him the little note. Though not very successful, the hallway was dead silent and there wasn’t a single person around. Strange.

Max then curiously examined the light-yellow object in his hand. The handwriting on it was squiggly and could’ve very well been from a toddler and a doctor at the same time. But the message that was inked on the paper was still very much readable:

‘I know you hate me, but I know something’s off. I hope you feel better soon, lmk if I can help you with anything. -26’

He knew exactly who left him this note. 26 was your driver’s number. A groan escaped his figure as he laid the paper on his bedside table before flopping onto his bed. This was a nice gesture of yours, but he’d rather nobody notice him not doing well. Max then scrambled to get off the bed and over to the desk. He pulled out a light green paper from the small box on his desk and quickly wrote something down. Very quietly, he snuck his way towards your door and let the small paper fly underneath it. What he didn’t know was that you were already knocked out, spread over your bed like a starfish.

‘Thanks, very nice of you. But I’m ok.’

Max was still in a light slumber when the first sun rays made their way through the window of his hotel room. He slowly sat up and stretched his arms, earning a loud pop from one of his joints. Last nights sleep was much better than he had expected. The white sheets were still fluffy as if he hasn't lain in them for a whole night. The dutch felt the need to shower, since he went straight to bed last night.

The marble shower wall looks stunning, he thought while lathering himself up. The water droplets ran down his body, soothing his aching muscles. Max hummed along to the tune coming from his phone on the sink.

He finished up and stepped out of the shower, dripping wet. Max fetched a towel and wrapped it around his waist.

He felt a bit better now. The heavy feeling in his chest had lightened a bit and motivated him to go out and do something. After all he still had a whole day before the practice for the next Grand Prix would start.

A knock on your door woke you up, startling you slightly. "Who's there?", you asked while padding over to the door.

"It's Oscar and Lando, we wanted to ask if you want to hang out?", you recognised Oscars gentle voice, then Lando chimed in "We havent seen you since last week! We miss you y/n!!" You know for sure that Lando was pouting like a child right now. Opening the door, you were greeted with two happy smiles. Before you could do anything though, Lando pulled the three of you into a big hug.

When he finally released you and Oscar, you bid them inside of your room. Oscar sat on the edge of your bed, while Lando spun around in the desk chair. "So, how was the camp? Did you survive Max?" You picked out some clothes from your suitcase. "Yeah, it was alright. Christian made me and Max stay in the same cabin. Obviously he was annoying, but nothing i couldn't deal with." You mumbled, while throwing on a T shirt and some comfortable jeans. You grabbed a tote bag and threw in your wallet, keys and other smaller items.

Lando jumped up from the chair and hurried you and Oscar out of the hotel room. "Let's go!"

______________________________________________________________

taglist: @velunis

#i need him in my bed #gay #male reader #f1 x male reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #max verstappen x male reader #reader insert #x reader #male reader insert #reader x character #male x reader #x male reader #male x male

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ramayantika · 7 months

Text

Shyam Raatri

The large monsoon clouds assemble in the vast expanse of the night. I am alone here. The terrace is as dark as the dark clouds assembled in the corner of my vision. There is not one star in the sky -- the moon already lost somewhere under a dark veil.

A sweet tune rings in my ear, it's volume increasing as I take my breath. My eyes do not move even an inch away from the darkness in the night sky. Somewhere beside the extreme coal coloured sky, I see greyish clouds floating away with a light breeze gently blowing my hair.

Darkness is often associated with evil and sinister plans when everything eerie has to occur. Black surrounds me. Even the plants kept aside scare me with their dry twigs.

The flute tune now turns from something sweet to a mysterious melody. I feel a deep yearn from the depths of my soul; a sudden lunge in my heart to run into the darkness that keeps calling me. The light, the other path doesn't attract me anymore and my feet as if hypnotized walk ahead.

But there is no sinister allure in the air. There are no dark whispers looming around. There is the scent of fresh jasmines and wild flowers. The mysterious melody now transforms into a deep love tune as if played by someone who carries deep love in his being. I see no one. I am flying I think. Am I in my body? Who am I anymore?

Does it matter?

And suddenly a name escapes from my lips. Shyam. The dark expanse envelops me around and I lean into their embrace. Without a lamp, without a flame colour bursts in my soul, I see it dance as a loud thunder rumbles like a drum. The flash of lightning makes me see the one in the guise of the dark clouds.

Shyam, as dark as the night sky, as dark as the monsoon laden clouds shines as brightly as thousand diamonds. The flute tune now flows through my being. My heart soars with delight. I think this is how bliss feels like.

To go beyond my name, my body, and my identity, I find solace in that dark embrace. I find home in those arms which hold me tight and a small whisper makes me alert of his presence even more.

"I shall never let go."

The dark clouds part away to form the most handsome man in the whole universe. The stars surround his body, his smile as bright and warm as a hundred suns. Enchanting is an understatement. There is no word in my dictionary to describe me, for they only dim his lustre.

And when those rain filled clouds clash, a loud rumble pours heaven's nectar down the skies, drenching me. Mother nature forgets that her daughter is already drenched in love.

Oh how do young souls love so deeply, so passionately? They ask.

I have lived through many lives, each bringing me to him. Who needs a fire torch to light the path when you have him? A serpent turns into a garland with him around. My arms wound around his neck tightly as tears mix with the rain drops falling down my face.

Time is an illusion. Everything is. He can be the only truth, my only solid rock to my existence.

Which poet shall ever be able to write about this love? I cross every boundary deemed moral by this society. I am not a woman in love. I am a soul in love.

How do I go back to society, my dear one? I cross the deemed line every time I go to meet you in the dark.

'This isn't the way to love a god!'

'You aren't as pure as his other devotees.'

'You don't even have an ounce of knowledge than the ones who sought refuge at his feet.'

'This is wrong and immoral. You can't worship him this way.'

And so with tear stricken eyes, a fiery desperation in them, I raise my chin up and ask God himself. "If I have wronged you in any way, if this impure woman's love has borne any impurity in love for you then make me forget you forever."

And when I tell you that God himself wonders how mortals love so fiercely, with so much passion and longing that they are ready to hurt themselves than hurt the beloved, it is all true.

He himself bends his head down, his arms wide and I see the universe swirling in that space between those jewel studded arms. I can never say that I never looked into his eyes. His eyes meet mine and I see a glaze cloud over those lotus shaped eyes.

'If it weren't my wish, you wouldn't have noticed me standing here. You wouldn't walk all dazed towards me. Look around you. All of them. They only see dark swirling clouds but you found me. I have been here for you, waiting when you would find me, when you would realize me. I waited by the door of your room, by the corner of your vision, in the deep recesses of your mind whose doors you opened only in dreams. You found me. Is that not the answer to your love?'

The darkness whisks me away, leaving behind a scent of roses.

Oh mother how can I ever come back to the house anymore? I found my beloved.

*****

SSSSH IDK WHAT EVEN THIS IS I AM WRITING THIS WITH KRISHNA SONGS FROM MAHABHARAT ON LOOP CONTINUOUSLY. I SAW THE DARK SKY FROM MY TERRACE ALONE AND THERE WAS THIS ONE SPOT WJICH WAD EXTREMELY DARK LIKE DARKER THAN BLACK AND BESIDE IT A FEW FEET AWAY GREY CLOUDS WERE FLAOTING AROUND JUST LIKE I WROTE. I GOT SCARED A LITTLE KNOWING I WAS ALL ALONE IN THE DARK TERRACE BUT THAT DARK CLOUDS BLACKISH CLOUDS MADE ME STARE AT IT AND MADE ME FEEL SAFE. I KNEW I HAD TO WRITE SOMETHING BUT SOMEHOW THE TERRACE DIDN'T FEEL SAFE ANYMORE AND I KINDA GOT A MESSAGE FROM INSIDE SAYING GO DOWNSTAIRS AND WRITE WHATECER YOY WANT. I AM LITERALLY SITTING ON MY SCOOTER AND TYPING THIS DOWN. IF MY VISION COILF ONLU FOCUS ON THAT EXACT DARK SPOT THAT FELT JUST PERFECT I WOULD ACTIALLY WRITE THIS MAYBE EVEN BETTER BUT OKAY I WROTRE THIS I HAVE NO IDEA HOW DID I EGEN WRITE THIS AND I AM PROBABLY GLING TO READ IT TOMORROW TO MAKE SENSE OF IT OR CRINGE OVER THIS YEAH EKZKZKZL WHATEVER THIS IS A QUESTION-ANSWER WHAT NOW. FIND WHAT YOU NEED THE ANSWERS TO. MY EYES GURT AND MY ELBOW.

#samridhi writes #krishna #gopiblr #writing

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jpitha · 2 months

Text

Between the Black and Gray 16

First / Previous / Next

The next morning, they were all gathered on the Command Deck for the final link to K'lax.

Fen was sitting in her usual chair, lounging with her legs hanging over the arms, watching. Gord sat in the Command chair going over the details and fine tuning of the link with Spyglass and Nal sat towards the rear in a jump seat, making notes on her pad.

"You ready Fen?" Since Fen had the most trouble with links, Gord always made sure she was ready for them. He knew how unpleasant it was to be surprised.

She nodded. "Good to go, Gord. I'm ready."

"Okie dokie. Spy, ramp up and prepare to link."

"Aye Gord."

Immediately the sound on board changed. Since they were at a full compliment of reactors now the HVAC didn't have to shut down, but Fen still heard the low thrum of the reactors climb to a whine that hurt her teeth. It was a sound just on the edge of hearing, something that she could almost feel. She glanced over at Nal, and noticed that she had quietly put her active noise cancelling earpro in, but still, her ears were flat against her head.

"Linking to K'lax in 3, 2..."

Fen was laying on the grass. She sat up, but this location was unfamiliar. Normally she'd wake up somewhere that was supposed to be a representation of Earth. Pure blue skies, no clouds, birds wheeling overhead, an endless sea of tall grass. This was different.

She was in a forest. Impossibly tall and spindly trees soared overhead, the light coming down was dappled and too orange. She took a breath and it smelled different too, spiced, soft. Almost like...

Ma-ren ran up to her, this time dressed in an ancient traditional K'laxi outfit. She planted her feet in the ground about two meters away and leapt.

The lower gravity allowed her to soar an impossibly far distance into Fen's arms. They hugged a long time. "Fen!" She buried her head into Fen's shoulder. "You're near K'lax!"

"I am. Is that why it looks like this? Is this your world?"

Ma-ren laughed. Fen nearly teared up at the sound. "Much like yours, it's a... representation. It's an idealized version. She looked up at Fen and Fen was lost in her eyes. "You're in danger, hon."

"What? Why? Because I'm near your homeworld?"

"Fen, it's practically your homeworld. You may have been born a human, but K'laxi raised you more than they did. I see your piercings, your tattoos, they're K'laxi. You can speak K'inmar as well as Colonic." Her ears twitched in amusement. "I notice you haven't told Gord."

She turned away. "Gord doesn't need to know everything about me, about us." She put Ma-ren down gently. "What did you mean, I'm in danger?"

"Just that. You know the rules, I can't go into details. Just know that I love you, always have, always will and that you need to keep your head on a swivel. Remember, be K'laxi!"

Fen came back as Spyglass re-entered space. Gord was used to it by now and after confirming that she was back, turned to his pad. Nal was watching her curiously again. "It happens to you, doesn't it."

Fen nodded. "Yeah. It's not... unpleasant once I got used to it. What about you?"

Nal's tail twiched and she shook her head. "No. No such luck, I'm afraid. Hem'it karmu"

So it goes. Nal spoke K'inmar. It was just an old idiom, but Fen knew the meaning. She worked overtime to keep her face neutral, but she had a hunch that Nal caught she was understood.

Gord hadn't caught any of that, he was busy working out a parking orbit with Spy and talking to Traffic Control. A panel at the far end of the room squealed for attention. Gord's head snapped over to it, and he practically leapt out of his chair to investigate.

Fen stood, but didn't follow. "Gord, what's that? I don't recognize the alarm."

"Wormhole detector. Someone just linked in. Spyglass, do you have a bearing?"

"Just a sec, Gord." Suddenly, there was a shift in gravity and Fen's inner ear told her that they were gyrating wildly. The sound of the reactors climed again and she fell into her seat. "It's three Super Dreadnoughts Gord! It's the Empire!"

"What?" Gord's eyes went wide and he turned to Nal. She looked up at him, her ears straight up. "Is this your doing?"

"Gord, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play coy, Nal. I know you're a spy. I just don't know who you're a spy for. Spyglass had your room isolated, so you couldn't have sent out a message, and I stayed aware the whole time, so I know you weren't snooping."

Nal crossed her arms - another human gesture - "so doesn't that mean it wasn't me? Maybe it's a coincidence. It's not like the Human Empire and the K'laxi are enemies."

Gord ran back to the Command chair and his fingers started dancing over the controls built into the arm. "Spy, this is bad. We can't pretend to be someone we're not. You're a five kilometer interstellar starjumper. They don't exist anymore. Spin up to War Emergency Power, and free the lasers. We might have to shoot our way out. I'm going to start prepping another link."

"Gord, I wasn't planning on a multi-link, the capacitors aren't charged."

Gord swore in his ancient language. "Charge them then. Tell me you have some juke charges at least."

"I have a few Gord, but I haven't needed them in-"

"I know, I know." Are they pinging us, or did they just loose missiles already?" Gord's voice is bitter through the stress.

"Nothing yet Gord. No ping, no sweep and no missiles. We're on the other side of the system, if they're not looking they have no reason to notice us."

While Gord and Spy fretted, Fen took out her own pad and checked out the ships. She had never seen a Super Dreadnought before. She could tell that they must have been based on a starjumper design, they had that same oversized look that regular starjumpers had, but in addition were so many more weapon blisters and lenses for the exawatt lasers, missile ports and generally looked more menacing. Spyglass was able to passively read their IFF And they were The Vengeance of Lavinia, The Dreams of Hyacinth, and Ultimatum.

Fen looked up. "Gord, I think this is just coincidence. Why don't we dock, drop off Nal, and then leave. We can probably be gone before they even notice we were here."

Gord turned to Fen and opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it. He turned back to his task. "Spy, are we ready?"

"Gord, what about Fen's question?"

He shook his head. "Spy, it's time. Habs vs Bruins."

"What is-" Before Fen could finish her statement, she felt warm and soft and watched the world slide down to the floor, curiously detached.

Fen came to slowly, painfully, in fits and starts. Her head was pounding and her shoulders hurt. Her vision swam and she tried to make sense of where she was. As her head cleared, she learned why her shoulders hurt at least.

She was belted tightly into a seat. Where though?

Next to her Nal was still unconscious, also belted in tightly. They were in a small compartment with six seats in two rows of three. On the floor in front of Fen was her rifle, her go-bag and Nal's luggage. Why was her stuff here? What's going on?

As she looked up and tried to figure out where she was, she saw a window. She looked out and was able to see Spyglass rotate quickly around the window, growing slightly smaller with each turn. That's odd. Why can she see Spyglass from the outsi--

Oh. Recognition fought through the fog of whatever had knocked her out. She and Nal were in an escape pod tumbling away. "Gord!" Her voice sounded thick and blurry. "Gord! What's going on?"

The speaker in the escape pod was tinny, small. Gord sounded far away. "Hey Fen. Sorry about all this."

"What are you doing? What happened?"

"Fen, I have to say, I'm impressed. Spy said that she gave you enough to keep you out for more than 12 hours and it's been barely 2. We're leaving. We're going to boost away with the stardrive and get some speed before we link. I'm pretty sure the drive emissions will hamper their attempts to trace our wormhole links. I knew this was a mistake, but I couldn't say no to one of Vivenni's progeny."

"Who? What?" Fen fought against the drug mightily, but following Gord was hard in the best of times. When he got nostalgic it was nearly impossible even when she wasn't pumped full of a sedative.

"Don't worry about it Fen. I gave you your rifle and your clothes and your share of the money. You have more than enough to sign on with a Merc group or whatever. Hell, you probably have enough to buy at least a third ownership in a cargo freighter. You can keep doing what you're doing."

"But Gord... why?"

"Because of who I am Fen, because of the Empire. They don't want people like me to exist, and I am rather fond of existing. I'm not going to hang around and wait to be captured, shackled or shot. Not again. Never again."

Gord cut the connection. Fen reached out to stop their spin and watched as Spyglass lit her stardrive for the first time in more than five hundred years. A lance of pure white light, twice as long as the ship itself shot out of the rear of the ship, painfully bright. The window on the pod darkened to protect Fen's eyes, but it was still incredibly bright.

"They're boosting at at least five Earth gee, maybe more." Nal's voice was also fuzzy, but she seemed like she was able to recover from the sedative much quicker than Fen. "He's right too, the drive emissions will scramble most attempts to trace the link. He's going to get away. Even if it didn't he'll be going too fast for any missiles to intercept."

Fen turned to Nal. "What's going on?"

Nal's ears pointed to the window. "You're friend was spooked by the Super Dreadnoughts and decided to dump us and run."

"But why?"

"Fen you may be pretty but you are a little dim. That was Gord Beaverbrook. He's in history books. K'laxi and Human. He's got a two million star bounty on his head. Four million if he comes alive."

Gord? The old man who had a hard time keeping track of what year it was? "Two mill- Nal, I was raised in a refugee camp on a Gren station. I know very little about human history."

Nal's eyes widened and her ears flicked. "Well that explains some things. Like, how you can speak K'inmar. "Just how much do you know?" Nal switched to the K'laxi lingua franca.

"I know enough, Nal. My parents died when I was very young, I was raised by a K'laxi familial group. My partner is -was- K'laxi."

Nal nodded. "That explains the piercings and tattoos. You know what that pattern means, right?"

Fen leaned forward trying to make her belts looser. "Of course I know what it means. It's the pattern of Gen'mil." K'laxi from the northern latitudes of their planet would decorate their clothing and bodies in patterns of lines and dots and whorls. The difference in the patterns were also a way to determine things about a person from a glance. Gen'mil was the pattern for a group that Ma-ren's family identified as. Fen having the tattoo meant she was a member of that group as well. It was a sign of her and Ma's partnership.

Nal raised an eyebrow. "Okay, so you were mated. You're in K'laxi space now with a K'laxi marriage tattoo and K'laxi earrings, speaking K'inmar. I am willing to admit you are the real deal, but... she turned and looked out at Spyglass boosting away. The starjumper was noticeably smaller. "You're going to be seen as an... oddity here." She looked back at Fen. "There will be talk."

"Hmmph." Fen frowned. "You think this will be the first time people 'will talk' about my choices? Nal, I grew up on a Gren station among Humans and K'laxi who ran away from the Empire for their beliefs. Her eyes were hard. "Let them talk."

There was a blinding flash. Fen looked out the window, and they were only a few kilometers away from one of the Super Dreadnoughts. "Looks like the Empire is interested in us. Guess we're taking a detour before we go to K'lax." Nal tipped her head towards the window. "Doesn't it seem like a wormhole link like that should make a noise? I know we're out in space and there's nothing to carry the sound, but something like that? Full of light and drama? Should make a noise."

Fen stared at Nal, her mouth open slightly. "You're not the smallest bit worried about the Empire?"

Nal shrugged around her belts. "Why should I be? We're not AIs. We're a K'laxi and a human that grew up K'laxi. They'll pick us up, ask us what happened, grill us about Gord and let us go."

It took another hour for the Super Dreadnought to get close enough to them, and a large grapple hooked the pod. They were dragged inside.

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #sci fi writing #humans are space oddities #humans and aliens #jpitha #writing #humans and ai #humans are space capybaras #humans are space australians #Between the black and gray

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oliviassunrise · 29 days

Note

if you’re feeling like it: hand-holding 30 or 34 for Helen and Dale? :3

Oh, I had fun with this one! I think my heart wants to believe that year between seasons 1 and 2 was a good time for them. Went with 34–holding hands while driving.

Thanks for the prompt!

Touches Ask Game

…

Windows down, music blasting.

That is the way Helen likes their drive to Bendigo for Christmas. Val has a turkey in the oven and has promised clean sheets on the bed in Dale’s old room. As they cruise down the freeway, Helen tips her sunglasses back over her eyes, fighting the hot rays of early summer in Victoria.

Dale is in the driver’s seat, bopping his head along to Helen’s choice of heavy rock. He’s the most relaxed she’s seen him in months. Since he took over the desk last autumn, he’s on edge, constantly trying to prove he belongs where he’s at and isn’t simply a filler for Geoff—a substitute until someone “better” comes along. His change in energy for this holiday is refreshing, and Helen is grateful for a stress-free trip.

This isn’t the first time she’s been to his mother’s, and their little trip back in the winter had been…well, it had been less than desirable. Dale had spent the entire time on the phone, listening to the radio—anything for updates on what he initially believed would become a huge story. He had been convinced they would have to pack up any minute and return straight to Melbourne, and not only had it left Helen unnecessarily antsy, but she’d watched him deflect and miss every single one of his mother’s attempts to enjoy their company.

Helen and Val had reached an understanding and appreciation for one another that weekend.

For this visit, however, they’ve had a talk. Dale is not to think about work. He is not to turn on the telly outside of the usual Christmas specials. And he sure as hell is not allowed control of any radio. Hence, Helen packing a shoebox of cassettes for the ride.

The current tape ends, and she sifts through her box for a new one. It needs rewinding, but the second Pat Benatar blares through the speakers, Dale is on cloud nine.

Helen can only giggle at his antics—at his exaggerated pitch and his enthusiasm as he drums on the steering wheel. He’s lucky they’re on a long stretch of road with few cars, or his swerve might have dire consequences.

“Watch the road, or I’m telling your mother to bust your arse when we get there,” she threatens with a chuckle.

But he keeps going. “We belong to the light, we belong to the thunder!”

He grasps her hand and holds it up victoriously, and she nearly chokes with laughter. “Dale!”

“We belong to the sound of the words we’ve both fallen under!”

He keeps up his dramatic performance, hand still holding hers. “Okay, Dale, really—”

“Weeeeee belong! We belong, we belong together!”

He stops and turns the volume down, both of them in fits of hilarity. And as she sees the smile on his face—a genuine smile for the first time in weeks—she thinks…this can work.

“Ladies and gentleman, that was the musical stylings of Dale Jennings,” Helen narrates, putting on her camera voice. “Tune in next time…if he doesn’t crash the car.”

“I’ll be here all week,” he gives a little bow, planting the hand holding hers back on the steering wheel.

“You know, we should see if Lindsay will let you turn this into a bit. Really put a bug up Geoff’s arsehole.”

“Oh, I’m sure the ratings will soar.”

“It’s what the people want—to be dazzled and entertained, right?”

Dale only laughs and shakes his head. “I bloody love you, you know that?”

Helen reaches for his hand again, offering him a sweet smile. “Yeah, I know.”

#ask kayli #the newsreader #helen x dale #helen norville #dale jennings #the newsreader fanfiction #my fic

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celestialspecial · 7 months

Text

Expanding Galaxies - (Pt 6)

You stood on the balcony to your room, admiring the clusters of stars that painted the night sky. The sun had already set, painting the horizon in a wide array of purples, oranges, and pinks before fading into the deepest navy.

A far off sound of calling birds and various ambient noises from the waterfalls around you sang out in a brilliant chorus.

A cool breeze blew through the air making you shudder, rubbing your shoulders for a hint of warmth. To be fair your outfit wasn’t quite suited for a nighttime stroll.

The gala to celebrate successful exchanges and encourage new ones was tonight and a fanciful dress had found it’s way to your bed. It was never something you’d have ever picked for yourself and yet wearing it tonight felt right.

Gossamer tulle in the palest blue spread over your shoulders, spilling forward to gather at your waist, held by delicate braided silver ropes that reminded you of tree branches reaching outward.

Little was left to the imagination as your chest was nearly exposed save the tender fabric barely concealing your breasts. A slit cut gracefully up one leg, the rest hidden by the waterfall of fabric pooling to the floor.

But your favorite part had to be the rivulets of crystals dotting along swaths of the material, catching the light this way and that. The night sky made manifest on your gown.

A section of your hair gathered in the teeth of an opalescent comb, just enough to keep stray hairs from your face.

Another gust of wind had you shivering and backing away from the balcony just when a firm single knock sounded on your door.

Closing the entrance to your balcony, hoping to stave off the chill and gather as much warmth into your room before nights end, you slowly made your way to the noise.

The wind was no longer chilling you but the tingling running through your body at the sight before you was prominent nonetheless.

Billy stood before you, cloaked in the deepest navy. Like the sky, you thought. Lush velvet with satin black piping and two opal cuff links, similar to your hair comb.

His dark hair appeared almost an inky black as it was slicked back, matching dark scruff hugged his jaw appearing a little less ‘clean shaven’ than you were used to.

His dark eyes roamed your body hungrily. Pupils lost in a sea of inky blackness and you swore you could feel each body part light up as his gaze traveled over it.

“You look…” his eyes finally returned back to your face to hold your attention, “transcendent.”

The heat rose in your cheeks and surely you could feel the warmth extend to the front of your very exposed chest. Hoping he didn’t notice, you smiled up at him, fiddling with a piece of the silver rope before accepting his outstretched arm.

“Shall we?”

You’d never been to a gala on earth but you were sure they couldn’t compare to this.

Packed to the brim with xiadians and humans all clothed in fine fabrics and covering every hue of the rainbow, even a few others that toyed with your eyes in a downright alien way.

Tables of fresh cut fruits glistening under candlelight, baked goods with their sweet aroma wafting into the air. Meats and seafoods, some recognizable and others completely foreign.

Chalices of dark sour smelling liquid and flutes of bright pink bubbling mixtures were passed around. You noticed only the xiadians seemed to be gravitating towards the foul smelling drink.

Music rang out and a large dance floor was filled with groups walking, chatting and dancing. The music you recognized, songs you had heard in earth, orchestral tunes that made your heart ache thinking of home.

As a servant passed by Billy grabbed two glasses of the sparkling pink flutes and handed one to you. It felt like an icy cloud soaring over your tongue, fizzing in the back of your throat.

“So what is-“ you inclined your head towards the goblets a few more xiadians grabbed and tossed back heartily. “That?”

Billy swallowed the rest of his own drink, his dark eyes returning to yours.

“It’s zhelaris ale. Incredibly strong and incredibly terrible.” He winked at you. “But xiads…well let’s just say it takes a lot to get us drunk.”

Your eyes drifted back and forth to the beautiful gowns and the dance floor. You’d never been a skilled dancer but something inside your cells seemed to hum with the tune being played.

This wasn’t missed by Billy, who set his glass onto a passing tray. Gently taking your own empty flute and placing it on a nearby table.

“Would you like to dance?”

Heat rose in your face, first excitement soared through your veins then a telltale bashfulness at the chance of potentially looking like a fool.

“I would, but…”

His one eyebrow rose, gaze encouraging you to continue.

“But, I’m afraid. I haven’t dance, at least not like this…in a very long time.”

“Well the good news is it’s a lead dance. So all you need to do is follow me and my steps.” The worry must not have completely left your eyes because his thumb was there at the side of your mouth, brushing your skin softly.

“If you should not enjoy it or wish to continue we don’t have to.”

He held his hand out to you, letting your own fingers drift against his, his warm skin tingling against your own.

Slowly guided out to the dance floor, the fabric of your dress skating along the marbled surface behind. A firm hand resting against your waist. The soft touch of his thumb resting against your bare skin where the dress cut off.

The music struck up a melodic tone, and then you were moving. It resembled enough of a waltz for you to catch on. Thankfully Billy was enough of a good dance partner that following his lead came naturally.

Whirling and twirling past other couples, the swell of the music capturing you both in a vivid haze. The candlelight danced across his face, you could’ve sworn you saw blue sparkle in dark eyes as the next cascade of shadow fell over you.

How your feet kept pace you didn’t know but the notes sped up then reached a crescendoed peak before a final dulcet tone rang out to signify the songs end.

Laughter and clapping actually spread through the onlooking crowd and dancers. You smiled up at Billy, his own expression one of pure enjoyment.

Playfulness danced in his eyes, and you noticed his hand hadn’t left your waist. A moment later another song began, one much more different.

Slower, thicker, deeper. A rolling melody with the steady undertone of drumming. The beat seemed to coalesce with your own heart.

You felt your partners hand grip yours tighter. More xiadians took to the floor, it was clearly a song that they knew.

Eyes widened and heat rising to your face as you glanced around.

“Billy, I-I don’t know this song.” How to dance to it, how to move…there was a roiling in your stomach.

The tempo was all consuming, ancient. It reminded you of Billy. Feeling the weight of his stare on you before he leaned in close to whisper, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Just follow my lead.” Trust me. An unspoken phrase.

Your chin dipped with a quick nod and then you were off. The rhythm would grow and fade in a sensual flare.

The movements were much more fluid, there was an indescribable feeling that prickled over your skin with each new motion and gesture.

Did the other humans feel it too? You wanted to look at them but your eyes couldn’t be torn from the face before you.

A being carved of rock and energy and shadow and power. Smooth, calculated, a predator stalking its all too willing prey.

And his eyes…his eyes no longer black but an unearthly blue. The thunderous muscle in your chest beat a rapid tattoo as the music began to pick up.

Spinning, the room around you blurring, fingertips digging into the soft velvet on his shoulders.

Was it the drums or the blood pounding in your ears? Ritualistic- a carnal beat. This dance unlike anything you’d ever seen or felt before.

Peaking higher and higher, the trill of singing notes whistled in your mind as your head felt like it was filled with the fizzing pink liquid.

His grip on you remained tight, guiding you through each new loop, swirl and dip. Gliding and you could swear your feet hadn’t touched the ground.

The song reached its climax and in a rush of movement, hands hoisting you skyward as you leapt up in a final display.

In that weightless moment you could see others also being lifted as part of the dance in your periphery.

Then held aloft for another second before Billy lowered you steadily and slowly. Your body pressing and grazing against the entire length of his own.

It sent ripples of pleasure tingling through your body. His forehead rested against yours, strands of his hair tickled your skin as you could breathe deep the scent of him.

When you looked once more his eyes were again their original deep brown.

Realizing the both of you were panting Billy lead you from the dance floor and off to a less busy alcove by the drinks. Your chest seemed to buzz with frantic energy. Had it been the deepest parts of your soul those drumbeats had reached or something else?

It was dim in the hidden corner you two had retired to, yet your eyes didn’t dare drift open fully. Letting your hand skim along the side of his suit jacket, then shifting it underneath.

You feel Billy tense under your fingertips, hard muscle, a breath stopped short in his throat. It felt good, having just a moment of power over him.

Your other hand reached up to join underneath his coat. Splaying against the silk of his shirt. It rippled and cascaded in colors reminiscent of an oil slick.

Pulling him deeper into your hiding place. Music played on, close but also so far away. You needed his mouth against your own. To taste him after that dance, had it affected him as it had you?

Feeling your tug Billy leaned in closer, legs coming in close as you pressed yourself further away from the crowd beyond.

His mouth against yours made your head feel dizzy. Light and heavy all at once.

Maybe it was the dancing, maybe it was the drinking maybe it was everything but you couldn’t suppress the giggle building in your chest as his stubble brushed against your own jaw.

“What’s so funny?” The delicious scrape of his trimmed beard pressed to your flushed skin.

The way his brown eyes glimmered in the lowered light of the evening. Soft and wicked.

“Do you ever not feel weird about this?” He always seemed so confident, like he was destined to be here and you were a laughable mistake.

“I mean, to me you’re a spaceman.” The laughter rippled through your body at the awkward statement.

“A man of the stars?” His own mouth was pulled into a grin as he placed another kiss along your neck, tongue darting out to tickle the shell of your ear.

“Starman.” Your fists gripped into his jacket, knuckles going white. If you held onto him tight enough perhaps you wouldn’t topple over the side of the planet and its weak sense of gravity.

“I suppose that is what I am.” Your lips met again, his hot mouth working against yours until you didn’t need to open your eyes to see stars.

When he pulled away and you could breathe once more a memory crossed your mind.

“My dad used to love a movie called Starman. It was very old, even to him, but I remember watching it. Thinking how when it was made it was considered outlandish and sci-if.”

Billy watched you recall this moment, eyes scanning your face as if he could read each thought from the minuscule muscle changes .

“It was about aliens?”

“Yes. An alien, well- he comes to earth and has to figure out how to get home.” The heat in your cheeks wasn’t just from the kiss now.

How he watched you, intently listening as if hanging on every word. You’d never had this much undivided attention before in your life. Maybe that’s why you felt so uncertain to continue.

“And does he…get home?” His hand had moved to press against your wrist now. Pulse fluttering under his thumb. The digit soothingly caressing against your skin.

“Yes.” Your lips parted, tongue licking the bottom one before continuing. “But not before he falls in love.”

You didn’t know it was possible, but his dark eyes grew brighter. A flash of blue then that familiar blackish brown, lit up from something within.

“With a woman from earth.”

All you could do was nod your head. The marble column pressed into your back, you could feel a film of sweat along your spine.

If you had blinked you would’ve missed the faint twitch of his lips into a subtle smirk. Quick, but not teasing. No. More telling if anything.

“It seems the writers were ahead of their time with that one.” His hand unpinned your wrist, grazing along the fabric of your skirt, skimming tauntingly against your bare thigh.

You made a noise from the back of your throat and his hand ceased all movement. Any sign of light in his eyes was replaced with a darkness that gobbled up all the remaining brightness.

You wanted to say something, anything, but the words died in your throat. The heaviness of his hand, warm and present against your thigh. Fingers just brushing the inside enough to make you want to squirm.

“And this Star man, he goes home. And never sees her again?” You swallowed thickly. In truth, yes that is exactly what happens. Why did it make your chest feel tight?

Billy was on top of you now, your chests bumping against one another with each breath. Agonizing how you could smell him, his taste still on your lips. How were you to form a coherent thought when all you wanted was for him to tear this dress off of you?

“He does. But he-“

“He?”

“Gives her a gift.” His lips parted in a gentle “ah”. Waiting. He knew. You KNEW he knew. But he was waiting for you to say it. “A baby.”

“Is that so.”

With that you surged forward, fingers clasping into his hair, nails scratching against his scalp pulling him into you. Lips devouring each other like it truly was your last night here.

He groaned as your nails grazed down his neck, tugging at his collar. He stepped forward pinning you firmly against the column and you could feel his excitement pressed to your thigh.

His fingers drew up and parted your skirt, until they found their mark. You moaned, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. Hand fisting into his dress shirt as his fingers delved between your legs.

“Billy”

“Do you want me to do that?”

Your reply was a garbled nonsense of words and noise.

“Do you want me to give you a baby?”

Your mind wanted to battle, to say no- not yet. To remind him it wouldn’t be yours. Not to keep. That as soon as that happened he’d be gone.

That it was all moving so fast and yet not fast enough. The blood was pounding in your ears. You were helpless and hopeless in the worst way.

And yet you knew resistance was futile.

“Yes.”

#billy russo #ben barnes #the punisher #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #billy russo fanfic #ben barnes character #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher au #frank castle #billy russo smut #billy russo x you #alien!billyrusso #alien!billy x human!reader #expanding galaxies #alien au #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction

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thenewgothictwice · 1 month

Text

"Images from Gaza" by Palestinian poet Nasser Rabah. Translated from Arabic by Saleh Razzouk and Scott Minar

1. The children would say we played but not happily, the trees would say we finished our greening but failed to produce fruit, the bell said for years I’ve been dancing alone in a serene nakedness, and speaking would say I have no more to confess to draw absence’s attention before it too goes missing. The children, the trees, and the bell made a boat of senile papers to float on the river, saying O drowning, take away our testaments, we grew up and have no use for anything anymore.

2. The vendor shouted all day about his goods, but no one made the purchase: jokes for sale, new and fresh jokes. He walked the village, street after street, and no one bought a thing. He hammered the doors, the windows and the walls, but no one bought a thing. Only one person picked up a joke, but it failed to please. He merely wanted to see the village sad, like so.

3. O distracted paths you are walking toward me, where I have no place, no visage, and where no mirrors show your senses those full of love, though soldiers are increasing their numbers, along with the dead and the carrying of false banners. My way is distracted so please be vague like the countries, and be angry like the faces, like these ever-increasing mistakes in my heart, however a chance may bring us together in the garden of madness.

4. I think of the clouds: they were simple land, wars passed them, they soared and soared making a sky, but then changed their minds. I think of the war: a cloud of blood, the rains of sad mothers loved simple lands, but then changed their minds. I think of the land: my land was much too jealous of me, but when I fell for my mother it left our home like a swift cloud and then changed its mind. I think of the heart, how does it go to sleep and wake itself on time, while collecting shards that have been scattered in the mirrors. And collecting its dreams, those have been scattered on the pillow, nevertheless he spat blood on the dress of the lover, the lover who changed her mind.

5. To the tunes of the Song of Songs all were dancing. For the ears of wheat in the fields of the shepherds, on Jabel Mukaber in the wake of caliph’s ascending. On the gates of Hittin when invaders left it. During the harvest season in the Jaleel when they were crushing fruits and dancing. On the stitching of the bride’s dress they drew a dancing boy and a girl. O most generous Canaans here are my hands, take me where joy can steal us, where the souls of the lands sway, along with their shoots and roots, and where a long lasting dance continues, and where we do not die.

#palestine #gaza #free palestine #palestinian poetry #nasser rabah

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obae-me · 9 months

Note

For the burb prompts(if they're still open), a fantasy au with merperson mc and harpy mammon would be super cute. Remember to stay hydrated! Love your work!

Dude, this is such a cute idea!!! I'm in love with it, thank you for the suggestion! Might be willing to return to this concept later. I'm obsessed now, thanks!

----

"It's dangerous getting too close to the surface," they'd been told. Over and over again, they were repeatedly warned about venturing too far upwards. "The sky hunters are up there."

The harpys. An unpredictable bunch. MC had only seen them from a distance, up far beyond the clouds, dancing together in the air. Twirling, chirping, so free. They always looked so graceful and happy. But ever since one member of the pod was gravely injured by one of them, no one had approached the surface for fear of another random attack.

It didn't matter if it was just one that gone rogue... most of the pod had mentally made the harpys their enemies.

MC didn't want that. It was disheartening. They knew most of them were friendly. They could simply tell from their movements. They shared storied in those dances, revealed the secrets of their soul. It was so...inspiring. Songs seemed to swell in MC's chest every time they watched them. So, it was inevitable that MC would go against the warnings, sneaking off and swimming towards the light of the sun of the surface. They were closer to the land than they ever had been before, close to a cliff, hidden behind a cluster of jutting rocks.

High above, they saw the harpys dance. Dipping, falling, spreading their wings, and letting their feathers shine in the sun. There was always one that seemed brighter than the others. White hair as stark as the purest pearl, wings large and covered in golden plumes. He was a soaring jewel of the heavens. MC secretly wished to touch them, those feathers, wondering how different they felt compared to scales.

The longing, the admiration, it forced a hum from MC's thoat. A shy sort of tune, one they couldn't help but wail out, one that matched the dancing. Either they weren't as quiet as they'd hoped to be, or the harpys had excellent hearing. The white-haired creature suddenly stopped, looking down before dipping behind a cloud. Gone. MC's song stopped, a little embarrassed, slightly disappointed, and perhaps a touch guilty. They'd interrupted his dance.

After a moment, they turned their head away from the sky, moving away from the rock and backing up in the water, ready to descend back into their realm. Only, the water beside them rippled, a bright yellow reflected in the ocean's surface.

MC shrieked a little, spinning to see that same harpy perched on the tip of one of the rocks behind them. Their body dove back under the waves, hearing a muffled "wait" cry out from above. MC stopped, glancing up. The harpy was staring down at them, a pleading sort of look in his eyes that was unobscured by the wrinkles in the water. The wings lowered, his legs crouched, as if he was trying to make himself shrink, seeming less like a threat.

Curious, MC allowed the very top of their head to peek out, their hair sticking to their forehead, everything from the nose down protected by the sea. The harpy smiled at this, tempted to inch forward, but keeping himself as still as he could muster. "Was that... singing you?" He asked, his voice chittering in a bit of awkwardness. All MC responded with was a silent nod. His body leaned forward, barely clinging onto the wet stone. "I've never seen a merfolk before. Only ever heard the songs from a distance..." As he tilted forward further, his claws lost their grip, a little yelp coming from him before he splashed into the water.

It took MC a little too long to realize that he couldn't exactly swim...

Scooping him up quickly, MC tugged with all their might, bringing him towards the closest shore. Their hands managed to brush over some of the soaked feathers. Soft... The harpy panted for breath, his wings soaked. It took him a moment to realize he was clinging to MC. Flustered, he crawled away onto solid ground, the water still lapping at his feet. With a brisk shake, a shower of droplets flung from his body, but it still seemed he was grounded for now. "T-Thanks, I guess," he grumbled a bit, clearly embarrassed. MC nodded, pushing themselves away from the sand, but once more, they were halted. "O-Oi! Hold on a moment... Listen..." Even though he demanded attention, it seemed he was struggling with his words. "I guess, if ya wanted to, I wouldn't hate it if you came and sang again." His eyes drifted away from MC's frame, like he couldn't quite stand to look at them right now. However, it was clear his attention continued to be drawn back to MC's glistening scales. "Name's Mammon, by the way, and ya better remember it."

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x mc

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needfantasticstories · 3 months

Text

Day 1: Helpless

TW: divine possession, slight body horror, traumatic flashbacks

Characters: Sun (Linked Universe), Hylia (The Legend of Zelda)

Divine Disturbance

(Connects to Hidden Heroes)

Zelda lay in bed in her Knight’s Academy dorm, her eyes refusing to stay closed. She stroked the remlit curled at her side and stared at the rafters obscured in shadows above. Only a patch of waning moonlight from the window, pale and ghostly, outlined her room.

She scratched gently behind the remlit’s floppy ear, smiling despite a twinge of jealousy at its easy rest. She knew, from seventeen years of existing as a mortal girl, that she needed sleep. It would heal her body from the day spent sparring, studying, and running around the islands as a representative of the village council. She needed the rest, but the divine within her resented it.

DO NOT LOSE A MOMENT! ARISE!

Not again… Hylia, we’re mortal now. We need to rest. Like in the crystal, Zelda thought to her former self, to the enormous ghost that lingered within her. The goddess seemed to grow more persistent every day. She dragged Zelda’s thoughts and emotions into another life at the smallest hints of her old one. A breath of mint or rosemary might send her dancing as she had in courts of old before her feet realized they were moving. It was rather embarrassing during lunch in the dining hall, but luckily Link and Groose began to clap along, causing Pipit and Karane and Fletch to tap their feet somewhat hesitantly too, and by the time Zelda became fully aware of her presence at breakfast and not the leading a Royal Ball, her friends had appeased the questioning stares with generous laughter, as if it was all a joke they had planned. Link bowed and led her to her history tutor before anyone could ask for an explanation, so it faded into another silly story the others would sometimes joke about at gatherings. Silly, spontaneous Zelda. She did not appreciate the changes in her reputation. She’d rather remain known as “level-headed” and “determined,” especially as an aspiring member of the Council.

She didn’t mind the changes brought on by the goddess’ knowledge when she finally beat both Link and Captain Eagus at sparring, to everyone’s surprise. Link guessed rightly that the goddess had something to do with it, and he’d beamed at her when she’d confirmed his theory in private. His eyes, so proud and trusting and full of admiration, made her heart ache. Who did he love, really?

More recently, a simple tune hummed by Peatrice as she passed on the road had sent Zelda’s mind into a panic, racing to the edge to leap after her hero. The Song of Mourning, she knew all of the sudden, the last she’d sung after… he’s struggling down there all alone and DEAD DEAD DEAD! She’d raced to the skydock and leapt, desperate to find him in the clouds, ready to soar on her own wings, blade at the ready to face Demise and stop him but knowing it was already too late.

Luckily, she’d come to herself as the wind whipped her shawl over her eyes. She’d resheathed her sword and called her loftwing, Indigo, to catch her before plunging into the cloud barrier where no loftwing could follow.

She grew afraid of the goddess, for the first time, and prayed to her past self that it would not happen again. The power had hummed like an earthquake inside her, and she hoped it understood.

Most of the time, if she could manage to close herself from the tides of emotions, she could get by. She could act normal. After all, how could she explain?

Gondo would present the council with the newest set of repaired robots and explain about the wonder of wires and circuits, and she could pretend she didn’t remember how to infuse a consciousness within a machine with just the right spell, if only she could access Hylia’s magic at will. It would mean nothing to them.

When Link would wonder about his predecessor, how could she spoil his day by expressing the overwhelming love she felt for a man a thousand years in his grave, a stranger to them both, while feeling that same love for the young man at her side, as if they were the same? How could she explain that she would always see their faces overlapping?

When she’d burst into tears of joy at finding a large seed on the Surface, how could she explain the faint memories of Deku trees planted and nurtured in places she knew by heart but would never find again? She wasn’t even sure if they came before her era, or after. How could she explain so much with so little?

She couldn't, so she didn’t.

Instead, she found ways to explain away the strange, divine impulses as excitement, silly curiosity, a flight of fancy, or beginner’s luck.

Link. Groose. Father. They knew she was the goddess’s mortal form, but they would never understand. So she bore the goddess alone.

Fear swelled in deep corners of her mind. Trapped. Small. Constricted. Her head stung from the pressure of condensed sunlight burning, burning, burning within it. The Sacred Springs had been excruciating but short-lived, and the Goddess had settled quickly after each cleansing, even if the goddess’s commands frustrated Zelda long after. Now, she was a mouse that had swallowed a dragon, a divine beast of dazzling power, perpetually in motion and raging, and Zelda was about to crack at any moment. Her heart beat like a drum against her ribs. Delicate webs of nerves danced and screamed at every turn of the divine mind as it struggled to comprehend this new world through the bars of a tiny mortal prison.

Sensing the danger, the power began to ease: hot but no longer blazing; pounding, but no longer bursting.

Zelda gasped, able to move on her own once more. She rolled out of her smothering, feather-filled blanket and settled flat on her back, letting the night air cool her. One hand buried in the fur of the fluffy animal still sleeping beside her and another hand pressed against her own chest, as the thud thud thud of two mismatched hearts reverberated in her palms. At last, her own thundering cacophony began to steady and slow. She breathed in and out, measuring each breath evenly.

I am still me. I am the same Zelda. Just…changed…

She addressed her thoughts to the divine ghost within. I need to sleep, Dear Hylia.

DEITIES DO NOT SLEEP.

The declaration wrenched her eyes open. She startled so sharply that her little remlit companions yowled, shot out of the nest of blankets, then scrambled under the bed.

Zelda sighed, and wiped sweat from her brow as her heartbeat picked up again. She longed to agree with the goddess. So often, sleep brought breathtaking, confusing, or nightmarish memories that left her heart longing or broken, her eyes red and swollen from weeping from the memory of loss and failure and a world nearly destroyed. Beneath it all an ocean of rage and regret: THEY ARE DEAD! THEY ARE HURTING! THEY ARE LOST! HE IS DEAD, HE IS DEAD, HE IS DEAD! HOW CAN A GODDESS OF TIME BE LATE? CELESTIAL MOTHERS, HOW DID I FAIL HIM?

The goddess supplied herself a furious answer, the waves of rage swelling, and it set Zelda’s heart racing again. I TOLERATED AND IGNORED DEMISE FOR TOO LONG. I COMMANDED THE HERO TO FIGHT BEFORE HE WAS READY. I FEARED MY SHADOW, AND MADE HIM FACE IT IN MY STEAD.

Please, stop! Quiet quiet quiet! Zelda begged the divine as it threatened to drown her. What mortal could bear such rage? Such despair? Such love? Such hatred, all at once? There was nowhere for it to go, and she could not contain it.

She tried to turn aside, to cry into her pillow, but she couldn’t move. Helpless, she realized tonight was far different than other memories. Vivid to the point of blindness, she saw a flash of light as the might of Fi’s power shot up to the sky, but her wielder needed her! NOW! Zelda…no, Hylia was falling, not soaring and barely controlled, yet still so far away from him, too weak to simply appear at his side. Tears streamed NO! TOO LATE! This despair was no longer a swell, but an electric shock. Zelda seized up at the sight of those dead-white eyes on the hero’s beautiful, serene face, and when the vision closed at last she gasped and curled tightly on herself. She had sensed every vein and sinew in the man’s body, and in what order they stopped functioning. No one should know so much about the death of another, nor should she so love a stranger, no matter how like her own Link he appeared.

The self-loathing of a goddess was more than she could bear.

Zelda squeezed her eyes shut, and they shot open again. And again. And again. The visions crowded her room. She cried for the goddess’s hurt, for her frustration at mortal limits, for memories she did not want to see, for the goddess’s anger at being trapped as a mortal, and her own anger at being swallowed by the divine. But she could not move, her body completely in the hands of the goddess, and her grief was still rising higher. If she could, she’d have screamed in agony.

Link is not dead! Her usual first line of defense from these divine, dark thoughts seemed so small tonight, and made no difference. She tried again. He’s alive! Let me rest!

Link is alright. He’s safe. You saved him!

Zelda’s assurances pushed back as weak as a breath compared to the goddess’s tempest. Usually, it was enough to redirect the momentum toward happier thoughts, and then the goddess would grace her with more pleasant or helpful memories.

Not tonight. Her assurances only seemed to exacerbate the goddess’s fury and terror. More memories flooded her, new and unfamiliar. Knights swiping blades to cut her down, giant spiders crawling closer, pale dead hands reaching from the floor, and the silhouette of a man, his laughter cruel and grating, as he stood victorious over a dark shape on the floor. A crown glistened in the space between them, and—

Please, let me sleep! she begged as another swell of jumbled images and sensations and feelings too complex to parse threatened to crash over her and sweep her away into oblivion. Her head throbbed and grew feverishly hot with the effort to keep herself in one piece as her mind pulled a thousand directions at once. Excruciating pain and exhaustion and the fierce will to live and the threat of death all wrapped in one overwhelming feeling. She was being consumed.

WE ARE SAFE! She barely kept from screaming her thoughts out loud. THE WORLD IS SAFE!

HE IS NOT SAFE! the storm shrieked back at her. THE WORLD IS NOT SAFE!

She knew that Link slept in the room almost below hers, just one off, and by this hour he would be snoring by now, safe and sound. Demise and his blade were dead.

He’s here! It’s over! It’s done! There’s nothing more you can do! Haven't you done enough?

The goddess’s wrath slowed, and the storm became a whispered song of hope at the thought Zelda had conjured of Link, safe and asleep.

And then, nothing. The storm dissolved. She’d finally shut up.

Only whisper’s of Indigo’s dreams remained, chasing skytails, mercifully free of the Goddess’s storms.

Zelda drew a slow, deep breath as her palms lifted off her sweaty hair. Has it truly stopped? Her hands lingered by her ears, ready to resume the desperate hold on her aching head. But nothing disturbed her thoughts now, and her room was starkly quiet in the pallid moonlight.

Zelda sighed in relief. At last, she could rest.

She retrieved the down-filled blanket she’d kicked onto the floor. Autumn air chilled the night, and she tucked the blanket close around her, and wiped her brow with her sleeve. Ignoring the sweat drying on her skin, she basked in the quiet and calm. Her body relaxed, at its limit. Each night, for three nights, she’d wrestled with the Goddess, and she was done.

Hylia, please be at peace, she prayed, hoping to keep the goddess appeased. It is over. Demise is gone. You saved everyone. Your hero is alive.

Even without the goddess’s urging, she would always watch over Link. Not that many threats remained: a few monsters on the Surface they’d face together, nosy questions about their time on the surface, rude comments about his lightning scars. Not that he couldn’t deal with them on his own, but his state had been fragile the first month, and she still struggled not to hover.

She owed him that much: from her failure as the goddess to her failure as a friend he’d trusted. At Hylia’s bidding, she’d thrown him into danger. The goddess had been only a blessing back then, and who was she to question divinity? She would not make that mistake again.

But Link had volunteered after he knew the truth, and he’d faced the demon that had hunted her and her people thousands of years ago. He was just a boy, barely seventeen, and he’d saved her and the world from the jaws of Demise.

She owed him the world. And all he asked for was her friendship. Not her love, or her favor, but her company.

Her mind grew heavy and thick, full of pleasant dreams: playing in a fairy fountain with tiny sisters, taking in the healing magic and soft glowing light.

Do not sleep, daughter of my soul. Take up my blade. Tear the monster asunder. Break him across the ages. More must be done. Finish it.

The new thought jostled her awake. Zelda groaned, but paused. Something was different. The goddess felt calm and aware, like a remlit ready to pounce rather than a storm. Why had the idea come after she’d already felt her mind close to the deity only moments ago?

Zelda sat up and moved to the window. Above Skyloft floated the silhouette of Sir Hawke, and she knew whoever had nightwatch with him flew below the islands, ready to catch anyone Sir Hawke might have missed.

Nothing else stirred. Her head swam as she stood, protesting at being awake for two days and counting. Her joints felt like chu jelly, weakening while she stood. Is this long enough? Are you finally resting?

Stillness followed. Optimistic, she returned to bed.

Silence. Blessed silence.

Quietness settled over Zelda’s body again as she burrowed in downy covers. At last, she sighed in relief. Within seconds she lay on the brink of sleep.

A yell from downstairs shocked her upright. She recognized the tenor of that voice.

Link.

#linked universe #linked universe fanfic #skipwrites #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump #whump fic #whump #lu sun #hylia #goddess hylia #febuwhumpday1 #possession #traumatic memories #slight body horror

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ervona · 9 months

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Day 5: Forgotten / Devotion for @tes-summer-fest

Once there was a tower, a twisted thing with winding corridors and roots sunken deep into the ground. It had stood in its place for ages longer than many now abandoned ruins, and it was alive. The master wizard liked his tea bitter, his stew warm, his estate orderly and his patients content. He kept busy, shrouded in mystery, far from power struggles and political squabbles, making few enemies in his long lifetime. In the end, his greatest enemy turned out to be himself.

Before the great calamity, Vvardenfell was teeming with wildlife in grasslands and ashlands alike. Each day marked their struggle for life, which mer deemed as survival of the strongest. One ought to know that a nix-hound was no match for a kagouti, such a spindly thing in comparison. But when a pack of nixes descended together, they could best the mightiest kagouti and leave nothing but bones.

All creatures wished to survive, and some of them even wove secret arts through intricate magics to further lengthen their lives, but that didn’t necessarily keep them safe from harm. The tower would outlive its maker, and in turn make good use of him.

On the highest spire of spores was a mer clad in bone and brass. Having just unmade her maker, one could guess that she was distraught. In truth she was taking in the morning air, like a newly hatched kwama's first breath. Once, twice, she clicked her feet and her magic boots soared. Unlike how netch would float high with an innate sense of limits, for the time she was lighter than air and they helped to weigh her down.

So high above one could see the whole island, from other towers to castles of stone, black sand and green plains and rivers of fire, and at the very heart of it the corprus-spitting mountain. She thought of the woman who’d last visited them looking for the cure, grumbling under her breath in the tongue of that old friend Vistha-Kai.

Perhaps that floe in the sea of her normalcy had come to note when the patient survived, impatient and insistent that she had a god to kill for what he’d done to her. The tides of inevitable change came for all. For all the effort to remember her parting words, she could not.

Four sisters scattered to the four winds and set out for the sights they’d been sure to never see. One wished to look for ways to aid the afflicted alongside an old friend, another wished to have the world sing and dance to her tunes, and yet another wished to make a name for herself in the circles of noble mer.

One was floating ever still, with no particular devotion for anything, so she stayed and pored over the ancient tomes and artifacts left in her keep. She’d never been alone before, it hadn’t been allowed, so she used the quiet to think upon who she even was on her own.

When calamities struck one by one, she found it difficult to care. Unfortunately, her tower was dying, and she had little interest to maintain it further rather than let the cycle of decay and growth finally be. Let the elements take it, the undercroft swallow it and monsters claim the treasures.

Of herself she made a falling star, and she saw Azura from stone standing strong as ever while the eruption clouds choked in ash her whole world. And she laughed, though out of breath. Goodbye tower and sand and plain, goodbye shimmering coast kissed by an impassive Prince, goodbye Vvardenfell. Goodbye sisters, whom the winds took to where their hearts pointed, may the sun shine on you.

She had never gotten to visit the ruins of old that dotted the landscape, nor seen the snow fall like ash as it did in the north of Telvannis. When she stood on the highest peak of the Velothi Mountains, she had no doubt about journeying further westward to find her place. So she found herself a mountain, and bone-weary from her travels, fell into a deep slumber.

Ah, no, not quite. But that was certainly how it felt when she awoke one day to the sight of a statue–grand one by the looks of it–being built almost in her courtyard. Soon enough she would have pilgrims and busybodies all over her peaceful, frozen mountain and the home she’d made for herself in its forgotten corridors. She was of course fuming like an alchemist’s attic, more vexed than she'd been in so long, having almost put her temper behind her.

Rather than simply let them disturb her peace, she would come to them first. Winterhold–which had stood for ages longer than she’d known, cared or moved into its vicinity–was a city of mages, and they were awfully curious. These fools could be content with aught that sounded like arcane knowledge, but she would teach them lessons that they’d never forget, if they survived where she sent them.

Once again came a heavy knock on her door. “I have a letter for the wizard Fyr… not sure who from,” the courier’s voice came in muffled, but the howling wind was as sharp as ever.

“Give it over,” she said, then rushed the poor thing inside, if only for a moment of respite. Must have been truly devoted to her work, to come all the way up here. But word traveled even faster. How did she even find her, was the question. “Do you know who I am, girl?”

“I… think you are very old and you come from Morrowind. I’d love to visit it someday. And you were of House Telvanni, correct?”

The courier left after having poked her with more questions, but she’d begun to tolerate this. She’d never been alone before, and now she was the wizard Fyr. As far as they were concerned, the only one that ever was and ever will be. Still, she burned the letter unopened.

It took another great calamity to strike her home for her to stir once more. Something in her had sought company for so long, but she’d never expected to find it where she had, to find herself sitting at the foot of the shrine as a habit, supping with its last remaining keeper.

“More tea, Alfe?”

“What? Ah, and more honey. Thank you.”

“You are going to use up all my stock,” she tutted, but mixed in the honey ever still.

“But you don’t mind, right?” Alfe slunk to her side on her fur bedroll. It was no position to drink in, but she liked to tempt fate. After all, fate had led her to the strangest places.

“Certainly not! There are but two of us here.”

Aranea Ienith was by her own account a strange mer, but she was no stranger than herself. The path of sorcery taking a sharp turn into monastic life must not have been so rare, though she didn’t know enough people to tell. She was only strange in that she remained assured Azura had a plan for her yet to be revealed, even after everything that had transpired.

The sea had never stopped hungering for the land, and in years uncounted after her move to Mount Anthor, the raging waves had devoured half of the city below. Winterhold had been a passing interest, rarely a necessity, but to Aranea it’d been much more. This image of Azura was just as uncaring as the one back home had been, looking upon what remained with silent acceptance.

Alfe simply wished that she could offer what her Prince didn’t, and so she did, for they ate and drank and even laughed together despite it all. They discussed at length the lost art of spellcraft while cleaning up the snow piled on the shrine's entrance that so few ever visited.

On the coldest nights made warmer by her presence, she thought of an old book of Aldmeri ballads that she’d left to rot, illuminating what she was feeling and decided to keep close to her chest. She was not the Nerevarine–wherever that woman was now–to contest with gods.

Ofttimes she wondered if they’d met before, somewhere on her rare outings to Sadrith Mora, and it had slipped their minds like so many moments of their long lives best left behind. She was sure she’d seen Aranea before, the same copper hair framing a silver face, only younger, as she had been. It mattered little in the here and now.

Their lives had grown entwined like the roots of old trees, and the priestess' striking devotion was her own now. Not necessarily for the Lady of Twilight, but for each dusk and dawn spent together, for the promise of tomorrow that neither of them would have to face alone.

Thus the tale of Alfe Fyr went on, and would go on for quite some time. As for her sisters, one might wonder, had they each found their place under the sun? Theirs were tales for another time, but rest assured that they lived and prospered, and may yet live to this day.

#tesfest23 #tes #the elder scrolls #morrowind #skyrim #alfe fyr #aranea ienith #merry if you squint. she's there #also the nerevarine. all women special chapter #no cw necessary for this despite the characters #aaand we're back sorry for the delay #scrawling tag #tes legends #i forgot to specify that because i've talked about it before. alfe on mount anthor is from that game!

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genav0s · 6 months

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❪ ⌕ . ❫ ' OO. ㅤ ﹕ ㅤAMNESIA ! [ . . . ]

i was bleeding with a september kind of longing; the type of longing that is both patient and unconditional.⠀–— from, “To The Tune ‘Soaring Clouds’”

✶ . CHARACTERS: sanghyuk & ian. (ft. ian's therapist!) ✶ . WORD COUNT: 2.5k ✶ . WARNINGS: childhood trauma & swearing. ✶ . NOTES: not proofread by anything but the google docs spell checker :)

Ian can’t remember the sound of his mother’s voice. He thinks he resolved to cut it out of his memory a long time ago— much like his father’s face. His therapists all told him it was a coping mechanism, a way for his brain to protect him from the pain of the memories they would bring. Ian never really thought about it much, it just was what it was. He couldn’t remember his mother’s voice or his father’s face and that was quite alright to him. It meant he never had to say much to his therapists when they all asked him the same annoying question: “Tell me about your childhood?” It was a lot easier to shake his head and purse his lips. A quiet “I don’t remember much,” went a long way in Ian Moon’s world.

Sanghyuk always scoffed when Ian used that excuse.

“I don’t remember much,” didn’t fly in Ahn Sanghyuk’s world.

In his world, everyone remembers, even if they don’t want to. Ian found it funny how invested the older male was in getting to the bottom of Ian’s angsty, subtly antisocial exterior. He questioned him when he disappeared in the early morning hours, threw away his haphazardly stored cigarettes, and took notice of his lack of short-sleeved shirts in his wardrobe.

It never bothered Ian as much as he was sure Sanghyuk wished it did. He would shrug when Sanghyuk brought up his near-obsessive usage of cigarettes at all hours of the day. He would stare blankly as Sanghyuk droned on about responsibility, risk, and repression. At times he would even roll his eyes at Sanghyuk’s concern for his notoriously hot showers. “You should see someone about that,” was met with a dismissive nod of Ian’s head as he turned to get back to whatever he was doing last.

Sanghyuk leaned against the wall, hovering over Ian’s shorter stature. He eyes Ian carefully as he watches the younger male take another drag from his cigarette.

“Smoking’s not good for you,” His voice laced with concern, though it never quite reached his expression. Without so much as a glance, Ian rolled his eyes. An exhale in the form of a cloud of smoke exited his pursed lips.

“Thanks for the lecture, dad.”

The quip promoted the darkening of Sanghyuk’s expression. A sudden seriousness settled over the two young idols, the silence drew Ian’s attention before Sanghyuk could respond. “I’m serious, Ian. You’re risking your health, fucking over your voice too. In case you forgot, you’re a singer.”

Ian scoffed. “My voice? Give me a break.”

Sanghyk shook her head, incredulous at the sudden switch in Ian’s tone. No longer indifferent to his leader’s concerns, it was as if he had grown tired of his pestering.

“You’re missing the point—”

“What point, Sanghyuk?” Ian snapped, he stubbed out his cigarette with a certain level of arrogance. His jaw clenched as he shoved his hands into his jacket, eyes set on a distant sign on the other side of the street.

“You can’t keep living like there are no consequences for anything you do.” His stance against the wall changed as he pushed himself to stand on his own without support. Ian scoffed, his face hardened as he had already chosen not to listen to a word of Sanghyuk’s advice or concern.

“My bad, I forgot the part where I’m a perfect little singing angel boy.” His voice deepened with sarcasm before he added, “I apologize.”

Sanghyuk crossed his arms, eyes narrowed as he tried to decide what course was best to take with the stubborn male in front of him. All the while, Ian paced back and forth, anger finding a home among his features. It was unlike his normally composed self. Never having seen Ian become this irate, Sanghyuk struggled to believe the same man in front of him was the group’s same suave visual.

“Whatever it is you’re avoiding, it’s gonna catch up with you.” His tone was firm.

“Avoiding what?” Ian snapped, his eyes flashing a level of vexation foreign to the group’s oldest member. “What am I avoiding, Sanghyuk?” His voice rose, its depth lower than Sanghyuk had ever heard prior.

With a raised eyebrow, Sanghyuk cautiously moved to end the conversation before it could escalate any further. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t play stupid. You’re running and you don’t know when to stop.”

Ian scoffed. “Sanghyuk, seriously, you don’t know shit about me.”

It was Sanghyuk’s turn to scoff, his head bowed as he turned to return to their apartment building. If Ian wanted to be stubborn that was fine with him, he would be able to live with himself knowing he tried to reason with the younger male.

“You’re right.” His hand reached for the door as he added, “Go see a fucking therapist or something.”

Ian preferred his minimally dangerous rebellion from the traditionally “good boy” image others in his position adopted early in their careers. In his eyes, the sooner he was caught doing something he shouldn’t be, the sooner people would get rid of their expectations of him. He would be able to get away with whatever he wanted. After their heated argument, however, Ian found himself unable to shake off Sanghyuk’s words. Days spent brooding over their conversation, the memory of the words exchanged by the two replaying over and over again in his mind. It hadn’t been the first time Sanghyuk had voiced his concern for Ian’s habits but it was the first time he had mentioned therapy, it stuck with him.

“Who are you told you resemble most? Your mother or your father?”

That threw Ian for a loop. Ian had been in and out of therapy offices for years, ever since he was a child— as mandated by the Child Protective Services agent that facilitated his adoption into his uncle’s home in suburban eastern Texas. Over time, he had grown used to the routine: he sat in a quiet room and talked to someone who was paid to listen.

From an early age he had learned that if he gave them enough information, they would leave him alone to report back to his agent. As he got older, he only found himself growing more frustrated with the system that failed him. He was tired of being probed and analyzed and dissected for the right answers and the right feelings. Eventually, he had shut down enough for them to leave him alone. He had long since left behind the days of shrugged shoulders and blank stares to avoid having to engage with any of his therapists on a deeper level.

The dreaded question about his family had come up enough times that by the time Ian had become an adult, he had a bank of responses to choose from. Though this question wasn’t much different, it sent his rehearsed conscious spiraling for an equivalent, unrehearsed response. His psyche spoke for him instead.

“My… father, mainly. I have his- nose- and his smile.”

She hummed lowly, her pen beginning to scribble across the pages embedded into the small folder in her lap. “And what did he do for a living?”

“He was a pediatric surgeon. I never saw him much.”

With a nod, she motioned for him to continue. Ian stared at her for a moment, his dark eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He felt a dull ache forming at the apex of his forehead.

“Uh— he worked at a hospital in Seoul when I was little… before we moved to the States.” He began to stutter, noticeably out of character for the usually intentionally composed vocalist. Out of guarded responses, he could no longer provide formulaic answers that satisfied his audience without so much as a second of contemplation.

“How old were you when you moved?”

Ian’s frustration grew apparent on his face as she continued to ask the simplest of questions. It jarred him to see her so calmly in control of their conversation. Without as much as a twinge of emotion on her face, she reversed Ian’s casual complacency against him— flipping his usual tricks onto him.

“S-seven years old.” His head tilted as she scribbled more words down in her notes.

As she paused, Ian observed her features curiously. It was as if she was unbothered by his being caught off-guard by her unorthodox methodology. She took a moment to consider her next question, Ian left ridden with anxiety as he attempted to determine what direction she would take next.

“You said ‘we’ earlier. Did you have siblings? Or was it just you and your parents? Maybe just one even?”

Just like that, she went in the complete opposite direction. Leaving Ian scrambling once more for an appropriate response. In a carefully calculated moment, he was forced to remember. Memories he had blocked out of his mind at least a decade before came rushing back to him in a flood.

“‘We’ was all four of us. My parents and my brother—”

“Brother?”

“Half-brother,” His voice quiet akin to the gentle hum of the air conditioner in the quaint office. His eyes were unable to meet hers as she observed him once more.

She waited for him to continue as if she had created a sense of self-direction for Ian, a chance for him to steer the conversation. He knew that wasn’t the case, but he took it regardless. The flood breaking through the barriers erected so long ago he could no longer recognize the materials used to build them.

“Wonjun— Nathan,” He rushed to correct himself, ever consciously aware of his surroundings even when he craved to be as oblivious as other guys his age.

“He goes by Nathan in the States.” His dark eyes darted about before landing on a spot on the cream-carpeted floor, comfort finding a hold over his senses.

“Same dad, uh- different mom. He’s four years older. From- from my father’s first marriage.” He blinked rapidly, his mind and heart struggling against each other as one fought to suppress the other’s hold over his words.

Unsure of which one had won him over, he continued, “I- uh, he wasn’t a huge part of my life until we moved. It was like all of a sudden… he was there- living with us all the time. Then he just- I don’t know, left one day.”

As he spoke, Ian rubbed at his temples. The tightening of his head extended past the point of his forehead to the edges of his eyebrows— the same eyebrows all three male members of his immediate family were famous for sharing.

“Left?” She leaned in, catching the last part of his recount. Her pen which had never left the page in front of her came to a halt. Her thought was left unfinished as she pried Ian for more detail.

Caught off-guard once more, Ian shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t spoken about, or to, his estranged brother— half-brother, in years possibly. It wasn’t a sore subject, just one that was unimportant to the perception he valued within his little world. For all intents and purposes, Ian Moon was the sole child of his absent parents.

Ian rubbed at his wrist as he eyed the watch adorning his left arm.

“Boarding school.” He muttered, low under his breath as if he attempted to hide it from the therapist seated before him.

She nodded, eyes sweeping over his figure; closed off and intensely guarded.

“How did your mother treat him? It wouldn’t be unrealistic for her to hold some unpleasant feelings towards the son of her husband’s first wife.”

Steered away from his thoughts, Ian made a brief moment of eye contact with the woman in front of him.

“Fine,”

Quick to respond, she picked up the pen lying in the crease of her paper to scribble once again. After realizing he would refuse to continue on she conjured another question as his mind swirled to rebuild its defenses once more.

“What did she do?”

In an instant Ian’s jaw hardened, eyes set upon the spot he had chosen earlier once more. The question had touched then strangled a nerve, one that had never been touched in all of Ian’s years of “not remembering” the sound of his mother’s voice. With a bated breath, he hunched over with his hands folded between his spread legs.

“Cured kids with cancer.”

The silence between the two kept Ian’s mind swirling. He picked at the skin of his fingers, jaw set just the same as his deep eyes. With his flared nostrils, the therapist allowed him a moment to collect his thoughts, granting him a moment to sit with thoughts he had kept out of reach for far too long. The weight of the moment lay heavy on his chest as his head throbbed against his skull, his composure no longer under his control. Once his fists clenched with frustration, the therapist saw his emotions finally spill over.

“She cured kids that had cancer while I walked to and from school on my own with holes in my shoes and clothes that were sizes too small for me.”

The anger in his eyes extended to the clenching of his jaw, switching from discomfort to an embracing of his memories.

“She never spoke to me, I was shy so I couldn’t make any friends, and my father was off screwing some other intern like he had done with my mom. Then, Nathan was sent away and the only person I could talk to… was gone.”

He continued releasing the frustration that he had hidden years ago in favor of the silver-tongued adolescence that granted him the social status to match the looks he had inherited from his father.

“I would go days without a real meal and the only time she gave a shit was when she wanted to guilt-trip my father about his sex addiction.” He scoffed, his head bowing at the memory.

“He ended up having to resign from the hospital because he caused a chlamydia outbreak.”

“Piece of shit, I’m glad he’s dead,” He muttered with a casual chuckle, the smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” He spoke with a turn towards the therapist seated across from him.

“She was so busy caring for other kids that she didn’t have time to care about her own kid.”

She allowed another moment of silence once more. Ian bit at his lip, enough to come close to drawing blood from the power of the pressure. Seated in the silence, his mind raced to piece together the realization from the memories Ian had long buried away.

He had never been able to shake off that feeling of being unwanted and unimportant. It was a wound that he had never given a chance to heal; for fear it would destroy what little of himself he had left. As much as his parents resented his hindrance in their lives, he resented their role in the emotional scarring of the little boy he could never quite grow rid of. In Ian’s little world, his mother’s voice and his father’s face were the hurt and abandonment that left him unwanted at such a young age. The unwantedness haunted him, shattering the rationality that escaped him so long ago.

That wasn't something worth remembering.

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