#and then it just barrel rolls into oblivion

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Kinktober Special Part 8

Mo’s Kinktober Special 

The Crew’s Whore (Part 8) (+18)

!!!!!!MINORS DNI!!!!

Summary: You are the former owner of the Grand Line’s most popular brothel. Your powerful fighting abilities got the attention of the captain of the Straw Hat Pirates. He had asked you to join their crew but what would you bring to the team? Your battle skills were hardly comparable to many of the other Straw Hats… but you actually had a great skill. Your years working as a high end escort had prepared you to become the private plaything for this pirate crew. You joined the Straw Hats as their personal sex toy.

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

WC: 2600 lol

TWs: IT’S FOOT TIME! FOOT FETISH WARNING! Man I am not even into feet but this kinda did it for me. In my brain Law is canonically into feet in a weird way. Unprotected sex, p in v sex, table sex, alcohol consuption, toe sucking lmao, just fetish shit yeah.

——

The trip to the next island was turning out to be longer than anticipated due to poor weather. The Straw Hat pirates had allied themselves with now-warlord-of-the-sea Captain Trafalgar Law and were harboring him on their ship as they sailed towards the next part of their plan as an alliance. The weather had finally turned pleasant so of course Luffy ordered Sanji to prepare a huge feast, complete with piles of steaming food and barrels of cold booze. 

Eating and drinking were two of you favorite activities, second and third only to fucking, so you were thrilled at the prospect of a little party. No one had approached you yet and asked you for your time tonight, everyone being so busy setting up for the party and all… but you expected that to change as the night went on. Because you anticipated being taken for your services tonight, you took the time to bathe and clean yourself up a little extra nice. 

You curled your hair into soft waves and spent half an hour caking your face and painting your lips a glossy sheer crimson before heading to your closet and picked out an outfit. You settled on a flouncy little baby pink dress, the layered fabric sheer and light. The soft pink hem swished high up on your thighs, leaving very little of your legs to the imagination. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you decide to play it up even further and crouched down to grab a pair of red high heels from under your bed. You slipped on the pumps and with a final twirl in the mirror headed out to the party. 

The deck of the ship was buzzing with the sounds of your crew mates enjoying themselves. Brook was serenading the party with a jaunty tune to which Chopper and Nami were dancing, Luffy was busying himself with the sumptuous spread Sanji prepared, all while Zoro was ahead of the game and drinking himself into oblivion. Law was seated at the same table as Zoro, seemingly having much less of a nice time. The mysterious doctor was hunched over and stared emotionless into his drink, puffy brim of his hat shielding most of his face. 

You noticed your friend Robin leaning up against the back wall of the Sunny with a glass of red wine in hand and bit of a scowl on her face. 

“You don’t look pleased with the festivities.” 

“See that target they put up at the end of the ship?” Robin nods behind you. 

You turn and do indeed see a large target placed near the head of the Sunny. 

“Yeah?” You inquire. 

“Usopp and Franky keep having shooting contests. Franky keeps losing but he won’t give up. I don’t think they’ve sat down all night, and his face is as red as a tomato. Kind of embarrassing…” Robin giggles a little. 

“Are you surprised? I guess they’ll be out of our hair for the rest of the night then.” You laugh.

“That’s my point.” Robin rolls her eyes. Your brows raise in realization. 

“Ohhhh… you were trying to get laid! I get it now! Well no one’s approached me if you’re still up for it later…” You wink.  

“Thank you sweet y/n, always so thoughtful!” Robin sips her wine. “I’ll see if I can find you later if I’m still feeling up for it. Go get a drink and enjoy the party, dear!” Robin waves you on to the kitchen. 

You enter the galley and are immediately met with a very sweaty, stressed out Sanji. 

“Hi handsome.” You purr as you approach the blonde at the stove. 

“Oh, hello my love. I’m afraid the voracious appetite of our captain has rendered me incapacitated for the rest of the evening, the fucking glutton…” Sanji sighs. 

“Aww, my poor, tired, love cook.” You coo as you push his bangs out of his eyes. You place a kiss on his cheek. A droplet of blood escapes Sanji’s left nostril. “Well I’ll leave you to it then.” You grab a bottle of cold wine from the fridge and a glass from the shelf and carry them both out to the deck with you. 

You stroll over to the table where Law and Zoro were seated, now joined by Luffy whose cheeks were stuffed to bursting with various meats and cheeses. 

“You gentlemen mind if I sit with you?” You ask while already sitting down across from Law. 

“Not at all, pretty thing. Come have a drink with us.” Zoro smirks at you, holding his hand out to take the wine bottle from you. You oblige and he unsheathes a single blade to pop the cork off for you in dramatic fashion. 

“My hero.” You chide as the swordsman fills your glass to the brim. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get me drunk, Mr. Roronoa.” 

“And what if I am? You say the filthiest shit after you’ve had a whole bottle of wine and it’s fucking incredible.” Zoro shoots you a hungry look as he downs another cup of sake. Luffy giggles. Law straightens up and gives Zoro a confused look. 

“Not much of a talker, are you, Trafalgar?” You turn your attention to Law. 

“I didn’t know the two of you were a couple.” He states blankly. 

“We’re not. I’m seeing everyone.” You smirk across the table at the foreign captain. He looks even more confused. “It’s what I do. I love making my crew mates happy, you can understand that, can’t you?”

Without time to answer, Luffy interjects. 

“Haha you should give her a try, Traffy! She’s really something hehe!” 

Law’s eyes widen. 

“Yeah why not, Tra-Guy? You’re already here eating our food and drinking our booze, why not sample some of the other amenities we have here on the Sunny.” Zoro chuckles as he pours himself another cup of liquor. Zoro must be quite fond of Law, as sharing you is never something he likes to bring up. 

“I’m sorry… are you offering me… her? Shouldn’t she be doing that?” Law looks a bit offended. 

“Would that make you feel better? My services apply to guests of the Straw Hat pirates as well, and I assure you I can meet whatever needs you may have.” You swirl you wine in the glass and take a long sip. 

“Um… No.. that’s.. that’s quite alright, thank you.” Law stutters out his refusal. 

“You don’t know what you’re turning down, man. Whatever you’re into, and I mean whatever, she can do it. Sweetest pussy in the Grand Line.” Zoro leans back in his chair. 

“Zoro! Don’t be so vulgar around our guest.” You scold the swordsman. 

“Whatever, his loss.” Zoro shrugs and slams another drink. 

— — 

After hours upon hours of dancing and drinking, the party had thinned out quite a bit. Now that things were winding down, you notice the painful ache in your feet from wearing high heels all night. Most everyone had headed to bed and you were considering doing the same until you spy your unfinished bottle of wine on the table with Law still dated at it, alone now. 

You sit down across from Law and take a swig from the bottle directly, your glass having been lost several dances ago. 

“Classy.” Law remarks from across the table. 

“Never said that was part of my resume.” You smirk and take another swallow of alcohol. You pull your feet up into your lap and groan. “God this is the last fucking time I wear these heels.” 

You slip off one of your shoes and behind massaging the heel of your foot with both hands. You pause your ministrations to grab another sip of wine when you notice Law’s eyes on you. They weren’t on your breasts close to spilling out of your low cut dress, or your plush thighs squishing against the wood of the bench you were sitting on… they were on your foot in your lap. 

There it is.

Ideas filled your head on how to finally break this stoic stranger. 

“You’re a doctor, right?” You ask innocently. 

“Huh?” Law responds, having been snapped out of what seemed like a trance. “Um, yeah.” 

“Could you maybe feel right here? I think it could be swollen.” You extend your nearly naked leg across from you and push the table to the side so that there was nothing between the two of you. 

“It..i-it doesn’t look swollen… but if you really want I could… I could take a closer look…” He hesitantly up at you before returning his gaze to your perfectly pedicured foot. 

“I’d love that. Thank you.” 

Law gingerly takes your foot in both hands and presses firmly into where you were pointing. You squirm a bit, feet incredibly sore from dancing all night. Law starts to rub up and down from your toes to your heel, intently examining every inch. You couldn’t help but notice how his mouth was now parted and his breathing quickened as he stroked your foot. 

He stopped abruptly and released your foot from his hold. 

“I-it seems fine. You should be fine.” 

You drop your foot directly into his lap and push it firmly against the crotch of Law’s jeans. 

“Are you sure, doctor? I think you should check again.” You flash him a devious smile as you take another swig from the bottle. 

“W-what are you doing, y/n?” Law sputters out, sweat forming on his temples. You feel his cock begin to stir under the sole of your foot. 

“You know, Traffy, we could have a lot of fun together…” You push harder against his erection with your foot. 

Law winces but he doesn’t respond. 

“Y-yeah?” He manages to pant out. 

You begin to slowly stroke your foot over his denim clad member, feeling it from base to tip, hot and aching to be freed. 

“Mhmm… Why don’t you take him out so we can play? You’re so hard Traffy, must hurt… We’re the only ones left out here, no need to be shy anymore…” You giggle. 

Law sucks in a breath before eventually undoing his belt and jeans buttons. His cock springs up as he pulls it out his pants and briefs, laying rigid against his abdomen. 

“Wow… you have such a pretty cock, Traffy…” You coo at him as you slip your left shoe off your foot and allow it to join your other foot in his lap. 

“D-don’t call me that…” Law whispers out. 

“Sorry…” You begin rubbing both of your feet up and down Law’s now exposed length. He watches your movements in awe as his mouth hangs farther open than before. “You’re just so cute I can’t help but tease you…” 

Law pays your words no mind as he is mesmerized by the sight of your pretty little feet stroking his cock. Soft pants leave his lips as you continue working him over. 

“You wanna cum like this, or do you wanna fuck me, Law?” You ask as you slide the ball of your right foot over his leaking tip. 

Without responding verbally, Law grunts and leans forward to pick you up by your waist and lay you down roughly on the table you had scooted out of the way earlier. He rips his shirt over his head, keeping his hat in place. He wastes no time and flips up your frilly pink dress to expose your panties that had grown wet from merely giving a powerful man a foot job. 

“I’m not waiting-“ Law says as he pushes your panties to the side and slides the head of his cock from your hole to your clit and back again, coating himself in your wetness. He pushes himself inside of you quickly, causing you to moan and arch your back. After a few experimental thrusts, Law picks up a quick pace and rams his hips into yours, curved cock hitting all the right places inside of you. 

“Oh, fuck, Law that’s so oh-!” Your eyes snap open at the foreign feeling only to see Law standing between your legs with the outside few toes of your right foot in his mouth. Eyes slammed shut, he doesn’t falter in his thrusts as he savors the taste of your skin on his tongue. He uses one hand to rub at your clit as he caresses your ankle with the other. 

“Dirty boy…” You coo up at him as you rake your nails down his abdomen. “You like sucking on my toes, you filthy boy?”

“Mmmm” Law manages to groan out as he peppers wet, sloppy kisses to the sole of your foot now, making sure every inch gets his attention. 

“Make me cum and I’ll let you blow all over them.” You demand as you wrap your other leg around his waist and pull him closer. 

“Fuck… swordsman wasn’t kidding…” Law grunts out as he picks up the pace of his hips, plowing into you with an ungodly force. He untangles your legs from his body and pushes them up to your chest, allowing himself the perfect angle to heighten your pleasure. 

With hands under the crooks of your knees, Law brings you tumbling over the edge of your high and you cried out his name to the starry sky above you as your orgasm overtakes you. With your cunt still pulsing, Law pulls his aching, throbbing cock begging for release from your tight hole and begins stroking it in front of you. 

Law grabs both your ankles in one hand and proceeds to blow rope after rope of hot white spend all over your delicate, pink painted toes. 

Breathing heavily still, Law takes a few moments to admire his handiwork. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You quip from your exposed state on the table. 

Law shoves himself back into his pants and puts his shirt back on. He surprisingly takes the time to gently put your panties back into place and pull your dress down before helping you off the table. 

“You aren’t.. going to tell anyone about this… right?” He asks, hiding his eyes again with the brim of his hat. 

“About what? You liking feet?” You smirk. 

“Y-yeah…” 

“You’re secret is safe with me, Traffy.” You say with a wink. 

xx

*A/N ........ sorry :)*

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece anime #one piece fanart #one piece live action #one piece netflix #one piece fandom #one piece smut #law x reader #trafalgar d law #one piece law #one piece trafalgar law #trafalgar law #law x y/n #law one piece #torao #traffy

[l1tw1ck]

I have a question ⁉️ which horror movie character (of the ones you've watched) would you fill up and breed and why like describe it like your writing college essay and your professor is a strict mf

-🍫

ooo okay okay

Stu Macher

cw: top m reader, bttm ftm stu, afab language, dom/sub, face fucking, gunplay, cunnilingus, breeding

mostly using 2nd pov cause i prefer it 😭

So far, Stu is definitely the most breedable in my eyes next to Dewey. And ruinable, he's definitely someone who needs to be ruined.

He's so pretty, silly and eccentric, one of my favorites in the franchise so far. I like my men pretty & unstable, I can't help myself.

Burying your cock balls deep in his throat, making him gag and tear up from how rough his mouth's getting fucked. A gun pointed to his head to 'ensure' he doesn't try to get away (although extremely unlikely). Unbeknownst to him, the gun'd be empty for his safety but he loves the idea of possibly dying for disobeying you. His pupils'd be blown wide as he takes your cock without any complaints. "Don't waste any of it." You'd order, dragging the barrel of the gun along his face. A dark blush strewn across his cheeks as you practically drown him with your cum

Then you'd push him onto the bed, stripping him down to nothing and pulling on his sensitive nipples. He'd make such pretty hoarse noises as you only stimulate his nipples, he'd beg you to touch him in other places but you would ignore his pleas. "You can come with just your nipples, can't you sweetheart? Don't you wanna be a good boy for me?" The gun pointed at the side of his head, your finger on the trigger. Stu would nod, your satisfaction trumping his. Thanks to the constant encouragement, praises, and the threat of being shot, it wouldn't take long for Stu to come from getting his nipples pulled and sucked on~

Then you'd toss the gun aside and turn him over, spreading his legs and burying your head in between them, getting his pussy ready to be bred with your tongue. He'd bury his head in his pillow, practically sobbing as you tongue and finger fuck his needy wet cunt. His eyes would roll back as he came, squirting on your face and muffled fucked up giggles would leave his mouth.

You'd get him into a mating press, the perfect position for a beauty like him, and slam into him without mercy and finally fulfilling his wishes. An insane expression would be painted on his face, that perfectly messed up look that made you crave him more. His shaky words would be turned into incomprehensible babbles as you pound his cunt into oblivion, bringing him into an almost brainless state.

The only (just barely) comprehensible words that could come out of his mouth would be pleas for you to come, to breed him, and that he's about to come. He'd come so many times before you did because the mere thought of you filling him with your seed would send his overstimulated brain over the edge.

By the end of it all, there'd be thick globs of cum spilling out his pulsing cunt, his whole body shaking and a big grin on his face ♡

#wicks🕯shorts #male reader #top male reader #stu macher #stu macher x male reader #stu macher x reader #stu macher smut #ghostface x male reader #ghostface x reader

[spicyseonghwas]

breeding ; with : mingi

pairing :: song mingi x male reader genres/au's :: fluffy smut viewer rating :: 18+ ; sexual content content warnings :: cursing, breeding, rough sex, dirty language, bickering, absolute bitchboy reader word count 301 words network tag @preciousillusions-net

mingi , san , wooyoung , hongjoong , jongho , yunho , seonghwa , yeosang

mingi growled like a beast, his head falling back onto his shoulder and his eyes rolling back into his head. his hips began to falter slightly while also speeding up their movements, signalling you that your partner’s release was barreling right at him. 

“m-mingi, i-i’m so close- fuuuck...” you whimpered, letting yourself go and making a sticky, white mess of yourself as mingi’s climax finally came, hitting him like a truck as he filled you to the brim.

“yeees,” you groaned, wrapping your legs around his waist as he continued to pound you into oblivion.

“shit, you feel so fucking goood-” he groaned, cutting himself off as his second orgasm hit him like a truck. 

“fuck, yes mingi, breed me-” you mewled, hiding your face in his neck as your nails clawed their way up has his back.

“you’re so fucking tight...” he mumbled, falling onto your chest and burrowing his face into your neck.

“you’re just saying that because you have a fucking horse dick.” you sassed back with finality, doing the same with him and leaving bites and butterfly kisses all over his sweaty neck.

“so do you, bitchboy, now shush.”

“hmmmm...” you hummed, scratching your chin with a clearly fake expression of pondering on your face.

“no.” you decided.

“why not?” mingi fake-whined.

“’cus your ass.” you giggled.

“pffffh.”

“whaaat?” you fake-whined.

“why is it so damn annoying and yet also so unbearably fucking hot that you have such a big mouth...” mingi trailed off.

“no clue.”

“i guess i just like short, sassy bad boys.” he chuckled, leaving a trail of his own hickeys and butterfly kisses on your neck and throat.

you giggled, patting his head and wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and pulling him as close as you could get him.

© seonghwas-lighter 2023-2024.

#chase.exe 🌑 #fever.dreams 🌑 #cacaokpop #ateez #mingi #song mingi #ateez x male reader #ateez smut #mingi smut #mingi x male reader #song mingi x male reader #ateez x male reader smut

[diabolus1exmachina]

Borgward Isabella Coupé 

Has any automaker gone from oblivion to success and back again as quickly as Borgward? Mention the name today, and you're likely to get blank stares, or questions along the lines of "Borgward? Who made those?" It's hard to imagine any European posing that sort of question in 1955, when Borgward had risen from the post-war rubble to outsell all other German automakers but Volkswagen, or 1958, when the Bremen firm very nearly nipped Porsche for the German sports-car championship. And yet, by 1962, the company was gone, the victim of a tragic and avoidable series of circumstances.

The Isabella was a bull's-eye in the mid-priced sedan market segment. Volkswagens were less expensive, but smaller and less powerful. Mercedes-Benz's 180 sedan had the sophistication of an overhead cam, but no greater top speed, and cost 30 percent more than the Isabella's list price of 7,265 Deutsche Marks. Opel's Olympia Rekord couldn't touch its top speed, or its all-coil-sprung suspension; and BMW had nothing between the fantastically expensive "Baroque Angel" 501 and the Isetta-based 600 microcar. On top of it all, the press loved the car. By the end of 1954, more than 10,000 Isabellas had rolled out the factory gates.

The Isabella had thoroughly up-to-date underpinnings, with a coil spring at each corner, swing axles in the rear and A-arms up front. The engine, a pushrod four designed by Karl Ludwig Brandt, wrung 75hp from its 1,493cc, with its relatively high 8.2:1 compression ratio and good breathing. The intake manifold was entirely enclosed atop the engine, making for a tidy design that could have been mistaken for an OHC. So sound was the engine that, developed for racing, it powered Cooper-Borgwards to many Formula 2 victories in the Fifties. The Borgward RS, or Rennsport, became Porsche's nemesis in the hands of drivers like Stirling Moss, Jo Bonnier and Hans Herrmann.

If the Isabella had a flaw, it was that its development had been limited, and early cars suffered from weak engine bearings and front-end components. Competitors started a whispering campaign about "die Traumfrau mit der schmutzigen Unterwäsche," or "the dream girl with the dirty underwear," but Borgward, unfazed, worked with its suppliers to iron out the bugs, and no real harm was done to the model's reputation.

Just as with the Hansa 1500, new models were quickly spun off the Isabella. In 1955, Borgward launched convertible and station wagon versions, as well as a hot TS ("Touring Sport") model with a two-barrel carburetor that could top 90 MPH, leaving Porsche 1300s behind. As the decade wore on, new designs from its competitors and a softening economic situation led to declining sales, prompting Carl F. W. to add the most glamorous model yet to the Isabella lineup: the Coupé.

#Borgward Isabella Coupé #Volkswagen #BMW #Porsche

[stormkobra-5]

Birthday Wishes

Pairing: Poe Dameron x GN!Reader

Fic Type: Drabble

Summary: It’s Poe’s birthday, but he’s been so caught up in his duties that he didn’t even remember it. Good thing he has the best s/o and droid son ever, right?

A/N: Happy birthday (of an unknown year; how old is he turning? 36? I should know this...) to my gorgeous husband Poe Dameron, the best damn pilot in the galaxy <3

Notes: So, I’m trying out a new format here... I actually like it better. Think I might stick with this for all my fics.

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Poe counts as his own warning tbh, and so does Beebs being the best droid son ever. There’s some implied suggestive themes. Otherwise, none that I can think of.

Poe massaged his temples, desperately trying to keep from just dumping all of his general duties on Finn and going to go take a three-day nap.

Or flight. He probably couldn’t sit still for that long.

Better yet, a three-day flight in an area of space where he can nap in the cockpit. That’s the dream right there. The war may be over, but there’s a new one with only Finn and Poe on the front lines: being in charge of rebuilding. It’s a struggle— financially, physically, and politically— for the victorious New Republic to assist the vast colonies throughout the galaxy in their healing process, much more of one to deal with the endless streams of paperwork, of unsatisfied citizens and leaders, or pushy ones. It seems like every day there’s a flood of new problems on top of yesterday’s, and Poe’s not sure exactly how much he can take before he grabs you in one arm and BB-8 in the other to take off to Yavin IV.

Finn nudged him pointedly with an elbow, and Poe tiredly lifted his head to try and listen to the words coming out of Connix’s mouth. He barely heard any of the rest of her words, instead saying what he always did when things became too much for him: “Thanks, Connix. I’ll look over the details again later.”

Understanding, Connix nodded with sympathy before departing to continue her daily tasks. Finn regarded him curiously. “You alright, man?”

“No,” Poe huffed. “I’m tired. I’m hungry. I’m antsy. I wanna sleep for a couple days and do some barrel rolls in my ship. Maybe I’d like a nice relaxing picnic with Y/N or some rounds at the shooting ring.”

“Those are some... varying emotions,” Finn replied after a second, stifling laughter. “You seen ‘em today? Y/N?”

Poe shook his head. Another reason he was so irritated today. He was woken up at 4:00 AM by Beaumont Kin knocking on his bunk door and demanding his presence urgently, and as it turned out, one of their transports had caught fire due to some iffy wiring. It would’ve been a much better day if he’d woken up to you by his side, but instead all he’d found was a cold bed and a note that read “Went out with Rey, be back later XOXO.”

Cute.

But annoying.

Why the hell couldn’t you have told him in person? His days are always easier to deal with if he starts them with a kiss from you, not to mention a nice warm hug. So if he doesn't start his mornings off by your side, he's extra pissy.

It doesn't help that Finn's been grinning at him all day. Like he's up to no good. Poe huffs deeply and puts his head in his hands. "No, Finn, I haven't seen them."

Finn patted his back. "I'm sure they’ll show up. It's only a matter of time."

At that precise moment, BB-8-- who he also hadn't seen all day, which was a bit concerning for him-- approached with a series of soft whistles and beeps, as if he hadn’t disappeared into oblivion without warning. At once, Poe pushed himself out of his seat to kneel on the cracked duracrete floor before his droid. “Buddy! Hey! Where’ve you been?”

Bweep bwreet, the droid replied in Binary, and Poe frowned. “With Y/N? Where are they?”

Bwerp bweep, BB-8 answered, and began to roll away, only picking up speed when he was certain that Poe was following like he had requested. He noticed Finn’s grin widen and narrowed his eyes at him. “What’re you up to?”

“Nothing at all!” Finn chirped. He sounded a little too cheerful. “Just keep following your droid.”

Poe’s frown deepened. Now he was highly intrigued and sort of concerned. The last time something like this had happened you and Poe had been covered in head-to-toe with honey and feathers, so he wasn’t very keen on doing anything that involved Finn’s mischief.

But you were also involved this time around.

Which could be very good, or very, very bad.

He might as well get it over with.

So with a heavy sigh, Poe trudged after his little droid companion, who beeped and booped reassuringly as he led the pilot/general through the busy halls, all the way out onto the tarmac. Stubbornly, BB-8 refused to answer any of his questions, and Finn would only mumble something incoherent and unconvincing. Eventually he was taken right to the area where Black Squadron parked their vehicles, but he could see no sign of anyone.

“Beebs...” Poe sighed, “What are you doing?”

In answer, BB-8 rolled ahead into the middle of the makeshift corral of wings and engines, then gave his little thumbs-up with his lighter. Poe, understandably, was confused.

Then he jumped out of his skin with a startled “GYAH” as at least a dozen people leapt out of hidden hiding places in time with Finn abruptly grabbing his shoulders, all of them screaming at once, “SURPRISE!!!”

Confetti was dumped on him from above, where Snap and Karé, on respective sides and perched on their x-wing’s s-foils, poured barrels of the colorful shredded paper onto him. A cover was pulled off his x-wing to reveal a fresh coat of brand new, hotshot paint— the one he’d been telling you about for months now—

Poe was surprised. He had no idea what the hell was going on. Black Squadron, Rey, Rose, Chewie— hell, even Threepio and Artoo were there, dragging along Dio with them. And then there was you, running to him to throw your arms around his neck. He returned the hug eagerly, though still in a bit of a daze. “Guys... what...”

“Happy birthday, silly!” You laughed as you squeezed him tighter, and Poe realized with a jolt of alarm that, yes, it was indeed his birthday.

And in the midst of everything... you’d remembered. You all remembered when even he himself hadn’t. “Oh, baby...” He hugged you close, feeling a rush of gratitude and love for you and all of his friends for your thoughtfulness. “I... I completely forgot...”

“We know,” Rey laughed, eyes crinkling up in response to her bright smile. “That’s why we did this for you. You deserve it, Poe.”

He couldn’t help it: tears of emotion gathered in his eyes that he tried hard to stifle. “Guys...” He scanned over the gathered assembly of his loved ones, then smiled hard as a couple of grateful tears did fall. “You’re all amazing. Thank you... thank you so much. You didn’t have to... you didn’t have to do any of this. I... I don’t even know...” He shook his head, fighting through the emotion in his throat to add as he lifted his eyes to meet those of everyone else, slowly surveying the gathered crowd, “I just want you to know that I love you all, very much.”

“And we love you, Poe,” You said into his chest, and he hugged you tighter. Chewie roared softly and shambled forward to engulf both of you in a hug that took your breath away and lifted you clean off the ground.

“Love you too, big guy,” Poe wheezed with a smile, and Chewie set you both carefully back down. Just in time, too.

With the apparatus attached to his waist, Threepio came closer with a home-made cake with the one singular candle you could scrounge up. “I do hope you enjoy the cake, sir. We thoroughly exploited my vast mental database to find the correct recipe for this type of climate and our limited food supplies.”

Poe smiled fondly at the droid. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Threepio.”

Rose lit the candle, and in tandem, everyone around him sang, “Happy birthday.” By the end of it, Poe was sure his face muscles would never work properly again he was smiling so hard. The cake was delicious. The drinks were good. The music was better. And when the night had nearly been spent celebrating Poe’s birthday, you found him after he’d snuck away from the crowd to look over a quiet stream bubbling along its merry way, finishing off his cocktail.

“Hey, birthday boy.”

“Well that sounded sexy,” Poe commented slyly, quirking his eyebrows at you from over the rim of his glass. You made a face, playfully swatting his arm.

“How’d you like it?”

Poe beamed at you, pulling you in for a sideways hug. “I loved it.” He kissed your temple. “You didn’t have to do all that for me, babe. You could’ve just said ‘happy birthday.’”

You peck his lips. “Yeah I did. ‘Cause I love you, Poe, with all my heart, and I wanted to show you in the most extravagant way possible. You deserve it.”

Poe hums thoughtfully— he was paying attention, he swears it— but his eyes were on your lips as you spoke, and you’d hardly finished before he leaned down and captured your mouth with his in a slow, passionate kiss. It burned like you’d flown too close to the corona of a sun, and you pulled away with a certain kind of look in your eyes that he had kind of anticipated and had been hoping for all evening. You ran your hand down his arm, biting your lips to stifle a smile, and started pulling him innocently by his wrist back toward base.

“What’s this?” Poe asked teasingly, knowing full well what’s happening.

“You’ve got one more present to unwrap, flyboy.”

Poe chucked his cocktail over his shoulder and into the jungle underbrush carelessly, rushing after you immediately. “I like the sound of that.”

————————————————————————

Thanks for reading! <3

Taglist:

@poeticsorcery

@dameronsknight

@simonsbluee

@adamcarlsenslvr

@bluestuesday

@magnet-girl

@xcatnapsx

@seninjakitey

@ahookedheroespureheart

#poe dameron #star wars #poe dameron x reader #oscar isaac #this is short #but it is for poe dameron’s birthday #and so therefore #size matters not

[astudyincontrasts]

Fall Fires

A Here Be Dragons/Hic Sunt Dracones Gift Fic

Dragon!Silco x Fem!Reader NSFW

Rocking up to the party again a month late with starbucks for @sherwood-forests birthday! This is just a sweet little drabble for our beloved Sher to celebrate what a joyous light she is in this fandom. There is no one who is more ready to spread love and kindness than Sher, no one sweeter or more thoughtful or enthusiastic to celebrate the talents and creations of everyone she meets. Most beloved Sher, I hope for all good things in life for you always🖤

In the theme of Sher’s absolutely epic dragon!Silco fic HBD, this is just a little additional treat following Silco and his Feral Consort through the autumn traditions of dragonkind. Sweet and occasionally a little smutty, no real warnings apply unless you’re allergic to fluff, love, or dragon dicks.

It was the final night of the conclave, the bonfires bigger than you’d ever seen them as evening crept in across the sky in bruising plums and a lapping sea of infinite black, stealing the hue from a twilight painted a violent riot of brilliant oranges and sculpted pink clouds. Some of the main fires were bigger than houses in your village had been, heat rolling off them in licking waves that sent the chill of the autumn air scuttling back into the shadows under the massive pine trees that ringed the sacred hilltops like silent sentinels.

The summer months had stretched long and warm at the dragon’s keep in the Northern Pass. Time spent alone with your dragon in the blissful newness of each other, in his near fawning devotion and eager appetite for you, all of you. But as the nights began to lengthen and the heat of the days replaced with the promise of cool, crisp air off the mountains, Silco had grown distant.

At first you’d only noticed it when he took a little longer to join you in the gathered pile of furs that made the bedding nest of the massive bedchamber each evening. But more and more you’d caught him standing alone upon the parapets, staring westward toward the horizon and the sky as if it were speaking, holding silent counsel that only he could discern.

He’d break from the reverie with a touch of your hand, smiling down at you as he came back to himself, even once wrapping arms around you and tumbling backward off the wall into the waiting maw of oblivion, only to delight in your shrieks as he transformed and lifted you high up into the sky, letting you ride until your face was wet from the soft buffeting through the clouds and your teeth chattered as the night set in. It had allayed your concern, if only for a few hours.

Later that night you’d lain awake on his chest, cheek riding the rise and fall of his deep purring, wondering what call it was that your dragon stood heeding, yet would not share with you.

When you caught him at it once more the following evening this time you stopped him trying to distract you with a peppering of kisses, fingers coming to rest gently over his scarred mouth.

“Why won’t my dragon tell me what is weighing on him?” You asked, as he grumbled, submitting in a deep lean to your reach for one of his curling horns, teal eye slanting to a shining turquoise slice as your fingertips went playing along sensitive ridges and griped, tugging at the crest of it, nearly lifting you off your feet by your grasp with a slight roll of his head.

“I will tell you, mousling, but it is a conversation to be had over supper… and perhaps some of that accursed wine you so enjoy.”

With the promise of an explanation at last, you allowed him the delay of roasting dinner, and enjoyed the cups of wine from the pilfered barrels in his hoard that he had no taste or use for. It was a delicious vintage, and while he seemed to enjoy the loosening of your restraints whenever you indulged, could not stomach the taste of it himself. It felt very much a ploy to either distract you or else ease the sting of whatever news he had to share, the way he kept your goblet filled as the evening’s quarry turned on the spit before the great fire within the hall while you both sat listening to the hiss and spit of fat sizzle and crisp.

Silco was long silent before he finally released a rumbling quiet groan of resignation and began.

“You know what season comes?” He asked, the mismatch of eyes sliding your way at last, away from the intent study of his own clawed hands.

“Autumn, yes.”

“Tell me mousling, what the fall brought with it where you come from?”

No need to think too hard on that, the memories were pleasant enough and the question simply answered.

“Harvest, gatherings. Moon celebrations and feasts before the dark of winter came if the summer season was a plentiful one.”

Silco nodded and reached over the flames to pull a hunk of meat from the roasting haunch of venison to lay it upon your trencher before tearing himself a massive handful as well, as mindless of the licking flames and searing heat as if it were but a show of light instead of scalding.

“And the wild things?”

You thought on the question for a moment, sipping at the wine as your meat cooled.

“The squirrels prepared for winter with their own harvest, the deer grew fat, some animals made nests for winter sleep, and many of the birds flew away.”

Silco hummed quietly.

“Autumn is a time for gathering. For migration. And it is also the small death throes of the world, a thinning between the fabric that lies between us and beyond. Magic lies heavy, and there are dead to be honored.” He explained, picking at his dinner to spare you the weight of his glance until he could no longer avoid it, and dragged eyes to your curious gaze once more.

“The dragons gather soon. The conclave will meet. I have not been to a conclave since I was introduced there after my first flight. We dragon are solitary, territorial, but we keep the oldest ways and honor the magic that birthed us. We gather only this once each year, and only if we have need to. I have never had cause to return to a conclave… save now.”

He dropped his unwanted meal upon your trencher and dug claws into the flagstones as he leant forward, demanding your full attention, clearly at odds with the demands of his kind and the insistent pull of nature herself toward what he knew he must do.

“We are joined, mousling. We must present ourselves.”

The scrape of the long, clawed nail of one forefinger etched a line across the stone before it and then a second, parallel line alongside.

“I must present you.”

His trepidation on your behalf warmed your heart nearly as well as the wine had warmed your stomach, and you set goblet aside to come crawling into his lap, much to Silco’s surprise, as he sat back, hands closing upon your hips as you settled arms round his neck and pressed forehead hard to his, so that nothing but the hot coal and cool blue of his eyes filled your vision.

“Does my dragon fret for me? Is that why you’ve been so distant? I’m not afraid of a little harvest gathering.” Not afraid of anything, not with him.

Silco rumbled, groused. Displeased to be humbled before you only to have you flick his concerns aside as easily as flies.

“It has been centuries since I’ve seen another of my kind,” he admitted lowly, “And I do not know if a human mate has ever been welcomed at conclave.”

The admission hung heavy in the air before his grip tightened upon you and he spun you to the floor, pinning you beneath his weight as he gazed down at you fiercely.

“No h-”

“No harm will come to me at your side.” You finished and he nodded slowly before stopping any further interruptions or questions with the hunger of a kiss.

You had anticipated a desperate lovemaking that evening, with him eager to drown his fears and sate your wants, but instead he’d just curled tightly around you and held you in his sleep as if something might come and snatch you from his arms should his grip loosen but a moment. It sparked a small lick of apprehension in you, that a creature you knew to be so fearless should be so stricken. Yet, there was the glow of curiosity, of that adventure you so longed for, and the spice of the unknown that all kept that spark from catching conflagration and consuming you.

A half a week later you’d set off together to join the conclave.

It had been a long flight there, into the west, a journey of several days even with the ground slipping away beneath you as you rode among the clouds. Very glad indeed that Silco had insisted on your dressing warmly, insisted on the fur-lined cloak he’d draped over your shoulders and the warm, sturdy boots laced well up to mid-thigh. He’d grinned when you’d tucked your dagger into your belt but did not argue.

The wind whipped cold around you as you watched the countryside go by beneath, more of the land than you’d ever seen in your brief lifetime, and so beautiful from up above. Everything smaller, simpler looking, and the gorgeous palette of fall colors painting everything as far as the eye could see in lush reds, deep burgundys, brilliant yellows and crisp browns. The fields of wheat moved like great seas of gold, blowing wave after billowing wave against the winds, and the scent of hearthfires from farms and towns wafted enticingly on the breeze.

Silco had allowed that you both stay the evening in a town one night, not sleeping rough in the fields, but rather at an inn and tavern in one of the small villages. He garnered many looks; tall, cowled form nearly brushing his head against the rafters as he towered silently behind you, glowering at all the befuddled locals and their curious stares as you negotiated dinner and a bed.

None dared bother you though, and the warm food was delicious, the simple pleasure of buttered hot bread one you’d forgotten how much you longed for, and welcome indeed alongside the salty brine of hard cheese and the sweet crisp bite of ripe, rosy apples. The meat came in deep trenchers, dripping in a rich, glossy brown sauce alongside roasted whole onions, pale turnips and sweet, thick slices of carrots. Silco devoured it, save for the turnips, and you grinned over a mug of spiced ale as the bar wench jumped at the sound of his voice when he requested seconds be brought.

Well fed and tired from the long flight, Silco was nearly out cold the second he stretched on the straw-stuffed pallet in the small room you’d been given. He barely fit on the bed, legs hanging a good portion off the end, but it hardly seemed to bother him, nearly snoring by the time you climbed atop him, only to roll that flaming red eye down himself to watch you trail a lazy pattern of licking kisses along his chest and stomach as you pushed his shirt up.

“Mousling…”

“Shhhh. You may have eaten your fill, but I still hunger.” You hushed him, only to be rewarded with a low rumbling as your tongue traced teasing little licks above his navel and you buried your face in the soft divot of muscle that ran from hip down into the waist of his pants. Fingers made short work of his stays as one large clawed hand came to rest atop your head, nails fitfully, gently raking at hair, and tail curling up around your thigh to rub lazy soft enticement between your legs as you pulled the twisting mass of his cocks free and set to exploring the texture and taste of them.

“Ahn! M-mousling…!” He huffed breathlessly, the backward toss of his head rending twin tears in the pillow beneath him as you traced little licking passes over the crested pointed heads of his cocks and then up over and over again at the fused corkscrew twist of them until he was stiff and hot to the touch as if you’d pulled him from the fire like a branding iron.

Hands and mouth, wet tongue and hot, slow friction, you worked him as he arched under you, purring, snarling, gasping your name and growling out bliss until he came for you, a hot spill you lapped from his skin before settling over him, warmly exhausted and he already dropped back to sleeping, his trepidation of the coming meeting and distrust of the town around you forgotten for the evening. Your jaw ached and tongue felt raw and new as if it had been scrubbed in sand, but it was a small price for both the satisfaction of his release and the peaceful slumber that welcomed you both.

The next dawn saw you both back in the air before the town had awoken, payment left richly upon the bedside, that they might continue to welcome strangers as peacefully as they had done for you.

The following dawn after that brought the conclave.

The hills you’d flown over were rising steadily, the mountain range they lay at the foot of growing upward into the sky with each passing minute, a massive and long scar of jagged dark rocks and peaks that dwarfed the range of the Northern Pass where Silco had made his home. These were ancient lands, the very roots of the earth disemboweled sometime long ago and thrust as black pillars to the sky. A land shaped by fire deep and hot as any that ever poured from the mouths of dragons, now full of life, and wild as the beasts who gathered there this season to unite for three days and nights.

The clearing spanned several hilltops pressed together, and in the shallow basin of their meeting a stone circle of standing rocks shimmering and black as obsidian. You could see shapes moving below, large shapes, and in the clouds with you were others, circling.

The cries were already lifting as you descended, hands a tightening grip upon the ridges of Silco’s back against the way the wind buffeted and tugged at you as the ground rushed up to meet you both. Silco landed heavily, tossing you bodily forward upon his back. Quickly, you regained your seat, though, the ground trembling under you both as heavy bodies landed all around or came thundering up. Not that you could see much, with how Silco kept his wings lifted, kept you shielded from sight and so blocked off much of your view as well, the length of his neck effectively limiting your vision directly before you too.

Hands slapped to your ears as the deafening chorus rose around you, earsplitting shrieks and piercing, rumbling bellows all around until you too were screaming, shouting loud and long as you could. It was not fear, though it may have begun as some kind of primal noise akin to that. No, this came bubbling up from somewhere deep, just another voice longing for that chorus.

So lost in it, and so determined to dampen the cacophony surrounding you that you failed to notice when all voices had ceased save your own, left alone screaming to the sun and the mountains… until you opened eyes and found Silco’s wings lowering and every gathered dragon staring straight at you.

Voice died in your throat as hands slipped from where you’d pressed them to the sides of your head as you stared back at more dragons than you could have expected in as many and more variety and color as you could have possibly imagined, like a gathering of dark jewels upon the crown of the hilltops. How silly it seemed now, that you had suggested once to Silco that dragons were extinct.

All eyes rested upon you as you slid from Silco’s back with a dip of his wing, only to find him transformed beside you once feet hit the ground, cowl of his cloak pushed back and the curve of his horns jutting proudly to the sky.

Many dragons remained as they were, but many more also took that mind-bending path into human form. Three of the tallest approached, the eldest among them in their center, a proud and wizened creature, no less fiercely strong looking for his long hair shot through with pale whites and silvers and the deep furrowed crinkling at the outer edges of brilliantly pale blue eyes the color of glacial ice.

Beside you Silco shifted tensely, edging closer to you possessively, protectively.

“...Silco?” The tallest dragon asked, squinting, before recognition and Silco’s own dip of a nod confirmed suspicions. A broad, sharp smile broke over the old dragon’s stern face, “It has been many, many years. We welcome you back.”

The tall creature spread open arms and Silco stepped forward, away from you as you stood watching the exchange curiously, feeling very self conscious indeed with so many eyes upon the pair of you. He approached the trio of elders and canted head in a stiff bow that probably ought to have been lower and more deferential, but your proud dragon only offered what he could stomach. The elders accepted and inclined heads back to him in unison, the tallest reaching forth to place a hand upon Silco’s shoulder that you could see him stiffen at, but permit.

“What brings you to conclave at last?” The elder asked, glancing past Silco toward you meaningfully. Silco turned to cast a look over his shoulder with the softness of that teal eye at you.

“I have a mate. We’ve come to have the binding blessed.”

Murmurs kicked up from the gathering, and while you could hear surprise and even delight in their tone, Silco could not, or did not, and you watched him bristle, casting hot glances to and fro around his gathered kin.

Beside you a woman had crept up, and you startled as she slid a hand under your own, glancing up into her face to find a sweet, sharp smile and hair flowing down over shoulders to her waist in strawberry-golden waves, eyes like amber with sun streaming through them.

Silco lurched toward you both with a snarl, only to be stopped by the grip the elder tightened upon his shoulder.

“Welcome, dragon-bound.” The woman purred, stroking a glittering greenish claw of a hand atop your fingers that she held.

“T-Thank you.” You managed, eyes flicking from her to Silco to the elders and back again to the radiant creature that stroked your knuckles so gently. You dipped a curtsey, unsure of what tradition or circumstance demanded, yet it seemed the right thing to do. The elder smiled gently and the woman drew you to herself. Though you could see Silco straining at the grip upon him, struggling to contain his anxious tension, you felt no fear.

“Silco.” The elder murmured, tone not scolding, merely gently walking the line toward reproachful. “I know it has been many years since you joined conclave, but no harm will come to your chosen here. Nor you. Your binding shall be honored.”

The elder turned, letting his hand slide from Silco’s shoulder as he opened the hematite glitter of clawed hands and addressed the gathering in a booming voice.

“We have much to celebrate, and some to mourn. We gather to honor all, to offer gratitude and pay homage in the old ways. THE CONCLAVE IS GATHERED!”

Around you the hilltops rang with dragon song, the towering mountains echoing back the sound like the old roots of the earth recognized the children it had birthed of fire and stone and sang to their return.

Each night passed in ceremony and celebration, in feast and dance and song and fire. Fires built big and burning brightly through the night to dawn and through each day, never extinguished, only heaped higher and brighter until the final night when they burned big as houses, flames leaping and dancing.

The first night had been for mourning the passing of those who had gone before or recently passed, solemn and so beautifully poignant in story and song, in offering and recollection that you could not help but weep for times and creatures passed that you had never known. The second night welcomed the younglings from their first flights, a warm and joyous thankfulness for new life to carry forth the flame of the past, fun and light hearted with the frolickings of the little ones brought to be introduced to all and welcomed to the fold. The third and final night was your own; the blessing of unions, fruit of the future and vine of the past joined together.

Silco had kept you close, regardless of the assurances of the elders, though his wariness seemed to have ebbed as the nights went on and you remained unaccosted and well cared for, even if he seemed to dislike how the pair of you were a novelty, a curiosity among the ranks, and how others flocked in cautious droves to meet the feral consort of their lonesome brethren.

You were enchanted, however, as one beautiful, terrible beast after another came to share your fire, share food or gift you trinkets, as the younglings stole you away to play games in the daylight, and delighted in your gifts of autumn wildflowers as you crowned their little horns with yarrow and goldenrod, thistle and ironweed, and as they squealed at your ghost stories around the feasts at night. All the while your dragon, dark and silent and determinedly protective by your side, gathering you to him each night to kiss your face and tuck you to himself, as hoarded and treasured as gold.

The final night, however, you were separated.

Silco looked distraught as you were led away, folded into a group of dragon mates that surrounded you like tall, kind sentinels. Each eager to meet the human dragon-bound, to welcome you. They descended upon you like a gentle flock of enormous beautiful birds. Passing you hand to hand as you were gently disrobed, bathed and dried, as your hair was brushed out and dried to a lustrous sheen. They spoke in hushed voices, that enchanting golden woman who had greeted you first chief among them as you were prepared.

“We paint you for the blessing, little one.” She explained as your hands and arms were taken and they began the slow process of drawing beautiful patterns and shapes from your wrists up past your elbows. “Tales of your mate’s kin and his past upon your skin. That your story becomes one.”

Fingertips were dipped in the same dark red henna paint and palms, fingers and knuckles carefully traced with your own exquisite pattern of scales. Across your bare back the cool paint was drawn as well.

“Wings for you, consort, may you touch the heavens in love.” The golden-green woman explained the painting upon your back as she wrapped your waist in a fold of a deep plum-colored rich silk that was long enough to trail behind you as you walked, shot through here and there with golden threads that caught the firelight with each movement and gave the slithering, soft fabric a life of its own.

Your eyes were darkened with kohl, lips stained with berries as the lines of the paints dried and hardened and then were wiped away to reveal the beautiful art left behind to saturate skin for many weeks to come in a rich red-brown hue that sang against the color of your complexion.

Your bare chest was adorned with a jingling treasure of gold coins fashioned almost to a loose and light chainmail breastplate, split in twain from sternum down, fastened round your neck and down behind the small of your back with thin gold chains. Every motion sang softly and the loose hanging scales of coins tickled at your skin and stiffened nipples.

“A dowry for your love, from the gathered.” The golden woman explained, as you were fitted with other little trinkets until you shone wrist to ankle, “In welcome and blessing.”

When at last you were adorned to their satisfaction, the coterie drew you forth from where they had sequestered you beneath the pines and followed you in retinue back up the sloping hill toward the largest fire and the stone circle it burned and danced within. Silco waited before the flames, bare to his waist, tail flicking nervously, crowned gloriously with an autumn wreath of leaves and pale birch among the curling reach of his horns He had been painted in licks of gold, traced outline to the shape of each scale running up his arms and whorls of it etched like shining epaulets across shoulders and collarbone. The elder stood beside him, both of them watching your ascent as the other dragons gathered and drew near with your approach, a keening, haunting cry going up, a beautiful low bellowing beneath, as voices raised around you.

Silco was gazing at you as you drew near as if he could not find air to fill his lungs, an ecstatic joy close to pain upon his face, unspeakable in its infatuation. He reached out as you neared, and your hand fitted to the folding grasp of his long clawed hand, always so terribly gentle. The elder took your other hand and both drew you to the edge of the fire, where heat rolled off in heavy waves, brushing back the strands of your hair and gently singeing darkened lashes.

“We join this eve to bless the unions made this year.” Began the elder, “To celebrate the binding of souls. In this we persist. In this our kind is made stronger. You have danced, you have become one, you have shared a flame and food. Tonight, we share blood, and bring you not only to the blessing of your binding, but also to ourselves.”

From around the fire, the two other elders came, one bearing a cup, and the other a glittering blade. The elder dropped your hand as he accepted the blade, and for a heartstopping moment you shied close to Silco as he raised the knife, only to watch him slice open his own arm and hold it over the cup. The blade passed to the other two elders, who did the same, as the tallest of them took the cup in exchange, each bleeding a little into the chalice. Around the gathering it went, until at least ten of the dragons had given their blood, ending with your own. Silco, releasing his gentle grip on you, to bleed himself into the cup before the elder took the knife and gave the chalice to him.

Silco held it out in offering, brows knit and upturned at their center, like he held his heart in his hands for you to devour.

“Drink, dragon-bound, and join our fire.” Intoned the elder, behind you.

Fingers trembled as they closed over Silco’s grasp of the proffered cup, and let him tilt it gently. The fiery liquid lapped at your lips before it filled your mouth, searing and copper as stone, thick and cloying as dripping honey, hot as any pepper spice you’d ever known and indescribable in taste as it flowed down your throat with each thick swallow. It burned like whiskey and lit through your veins the second it hit the pit of your stomach.

Rocking on your feet, your arm was caught by the elder as Silco withdrew the cup. Distantly, you were aware you were being drawn away from him, closer to the flames, watching his face as the heat grew and grew… until you turned to find that the elder held your hand out into the very fire itself, that you had your fingers splayed to the searing soft lick of the brilliant light and yet you did not burn. He released your hand as you reached to toy with the kiss of the flames, fascinated and bewitched.

Among you, that cry went up again, filling the hills and mountains.

“Go to your beloved.” The elder murmured, breaking the reverie as you stared at skin unburnt and felt no fear of the searing heat. No need to be told twice as you glanced up at him and then to Silco waiting, looking for all the world like his heart might burst as you spun from the flames and launched yourself into his arms. He caught you up; his feral, wild, unburnt adored, and devoured the kiss you offered. If the elder had more words of blessing to say they were lost to you as you pressed your forehead to Silco’s, arms wound round his neck and the song of dragons ringing in your ears.

The moon hung full and heavy above, nearly as richly orange as if it had been plucked from one of the fields of ripe pumpkins you’d flown over in your journey here. Beneath you the bed of soft moss and leaves cradled you under the spill of the silk that had been gathered round your waist, now spread bedroll to your joined bodies under the shadows of the dark pines and golden birch, tucked in a private nook of the hills. The scent of bonfires joined the distant joyous ruckus of the gathering, of dancing and song and laughter by the firesides, a chorus mingling with the crickets and the hymn of the late evening forest that lay down beyond the hills. Here you made your own music, soft urgent moans to his deep rumbling, sweet laughter at a tickle and sweeter still a whine of pleasure.

Silco took you slow, though he’d been in a terrible hurry when you’d left the blessing fire together to come here, to finally be alone at last again.

You stood, breathing hard as he circled you with deliberate steps, as if he’d memorize every inch of the beauty the other dragons had wrought you in for him, as if he’d finally quarried the prize he wished and now would take his time at the feast. Heart hammered eager anticipation as he circled, pausing to trace a painted line here or toy with a tendril of coiled hair there, sparking soft little arcs of excitement rushing along skin with each small, teasing touch. Breath leaving you in little sighs as he closed in to brush a kiss to your shoulder, heat of his mouth a welcome reprieve from the goosebumps rising against the chill night air. You held perfectly still, save for the occasional delicious little shiver as he bent to scrape a tender bite to your jaw, to whuffle breath warmly in your hair, sharp blade of his nose crushed to you, drinking in the scent of you.

“Is my dragon pleased?” You asked slyly, the words hitching in your throat as his hips pressed to the back of you, heat of him inviting as large hands splayed along your hips.

Silco hummed approval, agreement, rumbling against you in a way that had you melting back against him.

Clawed hands pulled the silk at your hips loose, let it spread out upon the ground, before running nails lightly over the loose draped shirt of coins you wore. Shirt was a generous term for it, truly it was but a necklace that draped tapering in twin sheets of glittering gold to your waist, two waterfalls of gleaming metal that shone like burnished scales when you moved, concealing breasts alone. It tickled and warmed against the skin, had you gasping as he toyed with it and blushing hot pleasure to hear him purr another deep noise of satisfaction as a clawed hand dipped beneath the golden shimmer to cradle up the soft of one breast.

“They dower you as a princess, my little beauty.” Breath washed a ticklish hot sheet over cheek and chest as he lowered his head to drag his tongue a slow lick along the rise of your cheekbone.

“Mmn, am I glittering enough to add to your hoard?” You teased back with a smile, fingertips running along his gold painted forearms lightly.

“You are the treasure of my heart, mousling.” He murmured low, “If all I had were you, I would still be rich beyond dreams.”

It had your heart clench with pleasant pain within, had you spinning slow to face him, the gentle drag of claws teasing the rise of a nipple as they slid out from under the coined mail.

Mouth pressed tenderly to the heat of his chest, head dipping to press a kiss to the silvery grey scar the spear you had wrenched from him had left behind. Fingers tugged at the stays of his pants, impatient hands slipping over lean hips, progress only halted when he came to his knees before you, putting you nearly face to face with his height, the cool of his touch sliding down to take a possessive, delighted grasp of the curve of your of your bottom, the mismatched sheen of ruby and teal sapphire watching you suck a gasp as he got a cheek in each hand and the prickled points of claws sunk harmlessly into giving flesh.

“You do look beautiful, beloved. Though I like you best in nothing at all.”

It had you raise hands back behind your neck to unfasten the delicate clasp of the necklace and let it slide, tinkling softly, to the forest floor, only to cradle fingers around the sharp angles of his face as the heat of his mouth nuzzled against your collarbone. He drew back just enough to regard the small array of scars he’d left upon your chest; little pale pink weals where his claws had sunk in over your heart, months and months ago. They were not the only scars you’d been left with in your adventure across the Northern Pass with him. Across your upper lip, your cheekbone and through one brow, along with a smattering of others, your early days were written across your skin. Perhaps not as prominently as the grey, deep furrows that marked his left side, but there nonetheless.

“Do you know,” you asked softly, one hand coming to rest upon the broad span of his bare shoulders, as you slid fingertips of the other under his chin to tilt it to you, “If you had torn the heart from me that day, I would still have been happy?”

“What? Why?” He rumbled, dark brows furrowing tightly.

“Because it would have been with you, where it belonged.”

The distant sounds of revelry echoed across the hills behind you as Silco stared up at you in stunned awe, a pained look of exquisite adoration twisting the sharp, darkly handsome marred features of his, so unused to such deep gluts of emotion.

He brushed a kiss featherlight to each of the five little scars he’d left over your heart, eyes turned upward to hold your own. The warmth of your hands had just lifted to cradle his face when he slipped lower, the impossible heat of his tongue coiled round a nipple. Neck arched hard as your face turned to the open heavens above as he sucked slow before the tender pinch of fanged teeth came down and had you rocking into him.

Inch by inch, he took his time, tasting, laving at the softness of you, between breasts and over the gentle slope of stomach, kissing ribs one by one where ragged breath brought them to the surface, tongue dipping, dragging through the indent of your navel before his face pushed hard to the crux of your thighs and the delicious wet heat of his licks slicked along the part of your sex in teasing slow laps.

Clawed hand released it grasp of one soft cheek of your behind to drag the promise of claws along the back of your thigh before he caught your knee and hooked it up over his shoulder, tongue redoubling its efforts as he licked through the soft cleft of your sex, delving between sweet folds, leaving you no choice but to take desperate grasp of his horns and hang on for dear life itself as he devoured you.

Braced on one foot, back arched hard to offer him what was his, you sucked a sharp breath as large hands raked over the soft curves of your backside, as the melting silken heat of his tongue spread you and delved into your wetness, sweet heat slicking through soft folds, teasing every so often at the eager little ache of your clit as he drank you in, rumbling chuckles at the stifled little moaning gasp you made each time he’d let his tongue slide out of you and up, as his hands parted the cleft of your cheeks until you were writhing, fisting the hard, knobbled curl of his horns beneath your fingers and nearly begging he take you already as his tail caressed up the length of your stomach and between the weight of breasts to coil round your throat. Not happy until you were mewling, pressing into him and dripping down your thighs with the teasing.

Each renewed grasp of his horns or trembling stroke of fingers had him grumbling and groaning his own delighted satisfaction. Paying no mind at all to the crown of leaves you were dislodging one by one with your caress, golden and red bits of them falling to flutter across his shoulders to the ground.

“Silco! Please…” You were panting, rocking, standing leg ready to give out before he lifted his head to watch you with a devious, sharp glinting smile. And thank whatever gods held sway over the dark mountains and their dragon gathering that he took pity on you at last and laid you down, gently.

So far gone you barely registered it when he lifted you, laid you on your back against the silk, save for the dizzy change in the pull of gravity. You watched through heavy lids as he shed pants and settled between the welcome splay of your thighs upon his knees, hands coming to brace over you as he bent to nuzzle the warm wash of nipping kisses up your throat.

For all his teasing, he took you so slowly. The smoke and ash taste of him mingled with your own salt-sweet on his mouth as it closed over yours as he spread you, worked you gently with thrusts so tenderly careful you could feel his hips shivering, feel the stringing tension coursing through each line of him as he held himself in check while you rocked up against him, inviting him into the welcoming heat, savoring each ridged rise and thick, pressing texture as he sank within you.

It was Silco this time who was gasping for air once he lay fully seated, hips rocking as if he could not stop the mind numbing, overwhelming urge to move against you. The blade of his nose pressed to your cheek, fanged mouth open over yours, stealing breath and air as you whispered and moaned soft encouragement and adoration up at him. Until he was gazing down at you, laying in his arms, the backs of his dark knuckles caressing your jaw.

When the pair of you moved again, you moved as one.

Entwined, you arched under him to each slow roll of his hips. Etched against the night sky above you he was a glorious, terrible beauty, the searing glow of that burning ruby eye and the crowning glory of his dark horns singing to something wild within you. Had you biting tenderly at his lower lip, tugging, licking at his sharp teeth and hot slide of his tongue. Yours, your dragon, your heart, like he had actually torn it from you that day and ate it all up and now went walking the earth and flying through the clouds with it still caught, stuck a tender beating thing behind his fiery maw, still aching for him within the furnace of his own chest.

Your fingers could not drink enough of him, could not seek enough of his heat and the texture of his skin, from face to throat, shoulders to ribs to the slow roll of his hips. He sighed into your touch and shoved his face hard into the crux of your neck and shoulder, sucking shivering, deep gulps of breath as if he’d imprint the very scent of you this night into an indelible stain of perfection on his memory.

“Silco… Silco…” Thick and sweet as the rich butter you’d had on hot bread back at the tavern days ago, his name slid from your throat, filling your mouth, more heady than any wine or ale, tasing better than any luscious fruit. You made a song of your desire for him, pitch lifting as he moved all the faster within you. Always fit to break for him, always a wonder at how deep, how full, how perfect he took you. Dragon-bound, his, made together on some strange forge.

He was snarling, groaning, the deep rumblings of his chest crushed to yours only heightening each exquisite sensation. He stopped your voice with a slow, deep kiss, followed by a thrust just as agonizingly deep and gradual. Breaking the sweet, suckling languor of his devotion to your mouth to gaze down at you.

And for a moment, just for a breath, he was that broken, lonesome boy on the side of the mountain pass again; touched by a terrified tenderness and longing and fear that had seasoned over centuries to a knife’s blade of emotion.

“I love you.” The whisper of it caught in his throat, hitched and broke.

And in that tidal pull of his breaking dam you rushed up to meet him, to tug him under into your waves, to show him, tell him, let him eat the love, the heart right out of you again. His; beating to the rhythm of dark wings across a harvest moon, where the lifting sparks of fire and the brilliant glow of stars all became one drifting constellation.

#gift fic #dragon!silco #silco x f!reader #Silco x reader #hbd/hsd #silco #arcane #silco au #dragon au

[chiefdirector]

A HAIR’S BREADTH FROM DEATH | Tim McGee | NCIS | Whumptober 2022

Day three: Gun to temple

The barrel of the gun felt cold against her head. The sensation almost felt calming to her, the coolness in contrast to her rising, anxiety induced, body temperature. It was almost as if it was grounding her back down to earth. As if it wasn’t going to be the thing that kills her.

She couldn’t see that far ahead of her, the ex-petty officer had made sure of that. She could just make of the home video camera by its flashing red light, next to it sat a small disposable phone. The dampness in the air suggested that she was underground but all of this knowledge was useless to her now. If only she had known about the basement before she has surveilled the house then maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have ended up here.

Gibbs would be disappointed in her. She could feel the head slap waiting for her when she ever got out of this situation. Or if she got out. She should’ve known better than to go in alone, she had been a NCIS Special Agent long enough to know that. Maybe it had been her arrogance or her unwavering need to prove herself against her male colleagues but whatever it was, it wasn’t worth dying for.

The ropes that had bound her hands behind her back dug into red-raw skin as she tried to shift away from the gun slightly. Ziva had once taught her how to get out of bondage like these many months ago. If only they hadn't opened that third bottle of chardonnay then maybe she would have managed to escape before her captors had come back for her.

She tried not to focus on the burning sensation in her wrists. Instead she thought of Tony, and the lewd comments he would make about her being tied down. She could almost here it now: Look at you, Y/N. I didn't think you were the type for restraints. She could imagine how Kate would have rolled her eyes at him if she had lived. She could imagine rollering her own eyes at him if she survived this.

Abby, she knew, would be hysterical. They had always been close. Abby had been her first friend at NCIS, briefing her of the Do's and Don'ts of Leroy Jethro Gibbs (she also showed her the right spot of the vending machine to hit for free Doritos much to Tony's dismay). Abby couldn't lose another friend. Ducky would be there for Abby, but Y/N knew that he would be the one to perform the autopsy, she knew that Ducky would have to live with that image forever more.

And Tim, her sweet, sweet Tim would be left widowed. She knew how much he lad lost and how many burdens he had to carry with him. She had stayed by his side throughout some of the worst moments of his life, she had promised him that she would always be there for him. Now, she faced being his next problem, his next issue, his next burden to bear.

"The address," Her captor said, breaking the heavy silence in the air. "Give me the address and then I'll let your little agent here go."

The phone crackled as the recipient of the call spoke. "No deal. Give her back then - and only then - will I consider giving you anything."

Instead of responding, the former marine clicked the safety off, pushing the barrel further into her head.

"I'm sorry, Gibbs. I tried. I really tried-"

"You have nothing to be sorry for, L/N. He does. This is his doing, not yours." Gibbs took an audibly breath before turning his attention back to the man. "Let her go and then we'll talk."

"In your own words: no deal"

The trigger was pulled quickly, so quickly that Y/N didn't hear a thing before her world went black and she plunged into oblivion; the NCIS team watched helplessly as they watched her body slump forward in her chair on the MTAC screen before the picture disconnected.

Tim didn't know how long he stayed there, watching the fuzzy screen before him. He didn't remember Tony offering him a ride home, or how the two sat silent in his car for nearly an hour. He didn't remember much of the following days, or the funeral. All he knew was that he was alone now.

Masterlist

#whumptober2022 #no.3 #gun to temple #ncis cbs #ncis #hostage #talks of death #chiefdirector #tim mcgee x reader #tim mcgee #timothy mcgee x reader #timothy mcgee #ncis x reader #ncis imagine #tim mcgee imagine

[dumdumsun]

To Nightfall

A/N: Happy holidays, y’all! One more chapter!!

Warnings: character death (Klaus, ya know), violence, blood, mentions of blood and death/dying

Word Count: 5130

—————————————

Chapter 19: Oblivion

(Y/N)’s mind was in a frenzy as she barreled down the passageway that glowed in a white patterned light along the walls. She placed her hands on the wall to steady herself so as to not crash into Allison in front of her. She wasn’t certain who was behind her, but she only hoped it was Five or Klaus.

From the front of the line, Lila kicked open the door on the other side of the passageway, the group spilling into the room. Perhaps it was her mind running wild, but (Y/N) was almost certain they had gone in a circle. Despite her limited time in the Buffalo Suite, though, she did notice some differences with the room. The paintings had changed, the furniture was completely different. The biggest difference was the buffalo head that was once over the mantelpiece was now the tail end of a buffalo.

“Let’s never do that again.” Viktor panted.

“What? Narrowly escaped the apocalypse?” Five sarcastically asked.

“Yeah, that’s kind of our thing, isn’t it?” Diego mumbled as he inspected the room, harpoon at the ready. As he returned to the group, Ben was staring at the buffalo before them in wonder, swatting the tail of it with his hand.

“There’s something very wrong about that…”

“Same suite, just ass-backwards.” Lila informed.

“No hyperbole there.” Five frowned.

“This is some hardcore Alice in Wonderland shit.” Ben gasped. Diego tightly smiled.

“Yeah, it only gets weirder.”

From the open door, the final passenger of the caravan bolted into the room. Breathing heavily, Reginald shut the door and leaned against it. “At last,” He breathed. “The other side…”

(Y/N) shook her head and looked around the room. “Hold- Hold on. Where’s Klaus?”

“Children, I’m sorry, but your brother…” He trailed off for a second. “I did all I could, but he didn’t make it through in time. The Kugelblitz has claimed its last victim.”

“Bullshit, he just helped me through! How did you make it and he didn’t?!” She raged. “We’re going back to get him!”

“There’s nothing to go back to, my child.” He went to place a hand on her shoulder, but she moved away quickly, standing at Five’s side, who gently held her as his venomous stare fixated on Reginald. The old man sighed in disappointment. “Children, there will be time for tears later. Right now, we have to keep moving.”

Reginald brushed past them all to leave the room and enter the hotel. When he was gone, everyone took a second to let everything sink in.

“Wait. Luther and Klaus?” Viktor whispered in disbelief. They had lost two more members of their team. It was becoming surreal. More surreal than the incoming apocalypse they had just dodged.

When the lot of them finally decided to follow their father, they all ended up in the lobby. The Hotel Oblivion had much more of a polished hotel decor than Obsidian did, with its shiny checkered floors, lack of tacky furniture, even the pillars shone orange instead of blue.

“You guys should’ve stayed here.” Ben grinned as they walked further into the lobby. “This place is way nicer.”

“Lila and I barely got out alive last time. Remember?”

“Yeah, but I’m here this time, and the numbers are in our favor.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes at Ben’s smug reply, having enough of his cocky attitude. She much preferred his inebriated self more than the real him. In fact, she preferred her Ben to him.

“Well, whatever it was, it was strong, fast and super pissed.” Lila sighed as they neared the front desk.

“Alright, so, whatever you do, do not ring this bell.” Diego informed, pointing at the brass bell sitting at the desk, a sign with the Japanese language written sitting beside it. “Unless you wanna lose a finger or a tentacle.”

Sloane moved closer to it. “I’ll take my chances-”

“Don’t!” Lila stopped her.

“Get out of my way.”

“To take out this thing, we need to be in the right state of mind.”

At that, a fire crackled in Sloane’s eyes. “State of mind? Do you mean, am I angry? Yes, I am angry. I wanna kill whatever it is that hurt Luther!”

(Y/N) walked up to her sister-in-law and gently placed a hand on her back. “Sloane, we lost both Luther and Klaus. We’re all angry, but if we aren’t careful and smart about this, then we’ll only lose more people. I wanna kill it, too, okay?”

Lila nodded in agreement. “Yeah. When the time is right, we’ll act.”

“Don’t even try it, Five.” Diego called out to his brother, who was approaching the entrance of the hotel, a glaring white light barricaded on the other side. “Doors won’t let you out.”

Five hesitantly walked back to the group as Allison scoffed. “So, what, we’re stuck here?”

“This place is a test and a trap and a means of salvation, all at once.” Reginald spoke.

Viktor motioned towards the bell. “Does anyone know what that sign says?”

“Yeah, it says ‘Do not ring the bell’. That’s what that means.” Diego firmly said.

“We get it, Diego. Bell bad.” Five shrugged. “What do we do? Anybody know?”

A little ways away from them, Reginald had taken out his signature journal as he inspected their surroundings. Everyone’s attention turned to him, awaiting what they hoped was an explanation he was getting to. But he didn’t say anything.

“Reggie?” Allison called out. “Reggie.”

When he didn’t answer, Lila sighed and headed towards the other side of the room. “I’m hungry. Does anyone fancy an unagi roll?”

Ben glared and walked up to her. “How can you possibly eat at a time like this?”

“Shut up, Ben.” (Y/N) mumbled as she walked past him to follow after Lila. Where the alcoholic bar once was now sat a rotating sushi bar, presenting what seemed to be freshly prepared fish. (Y/N) joined Lila at the bar and watched the woman stuff her face for a bit before her curiosity just couldn’t be held back any longer. “Lila?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re friends now, right?”

“Where are you going with this?”

The girl sighed and picked up a piece of sushi. “Are you pregnant?”

Lila nearly choked on her food as she stared at (Y/N) in fear. “What did Diego say to you? Because if he said anything, I swear I’ll-”

“No, no, no.” She shook her head and chewed on the fish in her mouth. “He didn’t say anything.”

“Then how do you know?”

(Y/N) smirked at her. “Lila, I’ve been pregnant twice. I can tell the signs.” She picked up another piece. “Almost every time I’ve seen you, you’ve got food in your mouth and yet, never a drink. Not when we celebrated trapping the Kugel and not at the wedding. Now, we haven’t been friends for long, but you don’t strike me as the type to not drink at all.”

Blinking, Lila swallowed both the lump in her throat and the sushi, but she never stopped eating.

“No wonder Diego’s been so protective of you…” She whispered. “Hey. Bit of advice from a mother to a mother?”

Lila slowly nodded.

“Do whatever you need to do to keep that baby safe,” She gently held her hand. “This is also coming from a childless mother… If we make it out of this, I’d like to meet my niece or nephew.”

A teary smile slowly stretched across Lila’s face before (Y/N) gently patted her hand and hopped off her stool, heading back into the lobby. As she passed Diego, she gave him a proud smile and a nod. She walked right past Reginald without even a glance to him and approached the staircase, where Sloane sat.

The poor woman was trying to clean her blood-stained hands as she sniffled and weeped to herself. (Y/N) saw so much of her past self in Sloane, and she hated that she could empathize with her.

“I’ll help you with that.” She whispered and sat beside her in-law, taking the rag and beginning to clean her hands. It was then that (Y/N) realized that her own hands were also covered in blood. Blinking, she moved the thought away. “I was a widow before I married Five.”

Sloane’s lashes batted the tears out of her eyes and down her cheeks. “You were?”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) nodded, choking on her words as her heart clenched. “I lost my husband and I was left with two very small children who I was not ready to raise alone. I wasn’t strong enough for them, you know? I-I fell into depression and I just… I ignored everything. My responsibilities, my career… the two of them. They didn’t deserve that. They needed me more than ever…”

(Y/N) fell silent for a moment to collect herself. She had never, ever talked to anyone about her neglect towards Michael and Jada. Not even Allison, who was always there for her after Anthony’s death. Now that she was admitting out loud what a horrible mother she thought she was, the sinking in her stomach only plummeted deeper, eating away at her to make her feel even more empty.

She supposed this was her karma after all those times she tuned out Jada’s crying, after all those times she pretended not to hear Michael on a late night complain about how hungry he was. She didn’t deserve her children.

She came back to herself when she realized that the pity party she was throwing was not meant for her, and turned back to Sloane. “What I’m trying to say is that no one gets to tell you how strong you need to be, okay? Because they can say whatever they want, look at you in any way, but nothing can truly prepare you to lose someone you love… I’m kinda losing track at this point. It feels like my whole family is dying.”

“My whole family did die…”

(Y/N) let out a silent sigh before wrapping her arms around Sloane and pulling her close. Sloane sniffled and clung to the girl as more tears cascaded down her face.

From the other side of the room sat Five and Viktor, quietly conversing with one another. “Nah, it’s like the old man said.” The boy whispered, his eyes on Reginald, who was still walking about the lobby. “Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, and three times ain’t gonna happen ‘cause I’m not a gibbering idiot.”

“Well, we can’t be sure he killed Klaus or Luther.”

“You serious? This is his modus operandi. We’ve seen this before. Have you forgotten how we all came together in the first place?”

Viktor sighed as his face fell. “Dad’s funeral.”

“Exactly. He pulled this on you rubes before, and he’s doing it again now.”

“Come on, Five…”

“No. He lost the vote to come through the tunnel, yet here we are.”

Viktor shook his head, not wanting to believe what he was afraid he believed. “Are you really sure that he could kill Luther?”

“I think he could kill Luther, Klaus and the rest of us without breaking a moral sweat. And what’s worse, I think Allison is involved.”

“No, no.” Viktor scoffed, the both of them turning to look where Allison was joining Sloane and (Y/N) on the former’s other side.

Sloane sighed and slowly sat up as Allison cleaned her hands. “I hate to say the things everyone says.”

“Mourning in cliché is the last thing you need to worry about.” Allison rasped, (Y/N) sending her a warning look.

“I know everything is ending,” Sloane sniffled. “...but I thought we’d be together when it happened. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Allison and (Y/N) shared a look before the former gently took Sloane’s hand into hers, wiping it clean with her rag. “I got to say goodbye… to my daughter… and my husband. (Y/N) got to say goodbye to her kids.” She gently spoke. “But it wasn’t enough. And I think she can agree.”

“She’s right. It’s not enough…” (Y/N) whispered tearfully.

“Feelings are just… They’re too big for words. Luther loved you… to the moon and back.”

The three softly chuckled at Allison’s sweet attempt at a joke.

“You made him so happy, Sloane,” (Y/N) gently kissed her cheek. “In all my life, I’ve never seen him smile as bright as he smiled at you.”

Neither of the two noticed how Allison met Reginald’s eyes.

“No, she… she was with Sloane in the tunnel.” Viktor whispered as he watched Allison comfort Sloane.

Five tilted his head slightly. “I’m not talking about Klaus.”

“Luther…? What? No, she would never do that.”

“She’s been unraveling since we got to this timeline.”

“Yeah, she lost her daughter.”

“And she killed Harlan.”

Viktor frowned deeper. “(Y/N) almost killed Dad. She lost her kids and she watched herself die twice. She’s not unraveling?”

“(Y/N) is absolutely losing her mind, but she hasn’t taken any of her pain or anger out on us like Allison has. Dad deserved what he got from her, Allison is the one siding with him. Do not compare them.”

Viktor blinked at the offense in Five’s tone and turned his head back to watch Allison now cleaning (Y/N)’s hands. “Even if you’re right, I can’t imagine they’re just gonna come clean if we confront them.”

“I agree…”

Once her hands were free of blood stains, (Y/N) gave both Sloane and Allison a cheek kiss before descending the staircase. She was just about to head over to Five and Viktor when she caught Ben in her peripheral. He was in another seating area, anxiously wringing his hands as he tracked Reginald’s every move. She knew that look. It was a look her Sparrow self gave him. It was a look she and her siblings gave him when they were young and in his grasp. Ben was still seeking validation from him.

With a sigh, she abandoned her original agenda and walked right up to him. “You know, you can stare at him as long as you want. He’ll still be a total dick.”

Ben shot up to his feet with a heated look. “Excuse me?”

“What, you disagree?”

“He is my father. He’s your father, too. The difference between you and me is respect.”

“He was never a father, Ben!” She quietly hissed so as to not cause a scene. “He was just a man who adopted us! Didn’t you care about your (Y/N)?”

“Of course, I did!” He snapped back in her volume.

“Then why are you still following Reginald? After everything he put her through?”

Ben looked away. “He said it was never his intention to hurt her.”

“Good or ill intent, he still broke her. Even when she was freed from the basement, she was still in his grasp.” (Y/N) blinked back her tears. “That’s the issue with abuse, Ben. You can never truly escape it. But you need to break free now more than ever, because whatever he told you, he didn’t tell you everything. Whatever he’s got planned is only for his benefit, and I know you know that.”

His eyes didn’t leave her even when she walked away to join her husband and brother elsewhere. However, his attention was stolen by Reginald when the man ascended a flight of stairs wordlessly. Ben stood and followed him with furrowed brows. When he reached the top, he saw Reginald examining a grandfather clock, he and Allison having a hushed and heated argument. When they noticed his presence, they ceased their talking, Allison moving past him with a bump to his shoulder. He ignored it and set his eyes on his father.

“What was that all about?”

“That’s none of your concern.” Reginald answered as he scribbled in his journal.

“Not my concern? We’re here now, in the Hotel Oblivion. Just like you wanted. I made that happen.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Reginald snapped his book shut. “Allison killed Harlan, and I united the families. What did you do, Number Two?”

He left his son behind and returned back to the lobby. “Gather around, children. Now that we’ve had a chance to catch our breath, the real work can begin.”

Five stood from his seat as everyone collected at the center of the lobby. “Ah, the myth of the seven bells, eh?”

“Exactly. Somebody’s been paying attention.”

“Okay, so we find the bells, then what?” Diego asked.

“No, no, no, no.” Reginald shook his head. “The bells are just a metaphor for this.” He held up his journal to show off a drawing sketch along the pages.

(Y/N) squinted her eyes to get a better look. “A sigil?”

“Correct, my child.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He hesitated, but continued. “The sigil is the key to the seven bells. Once we find this symbol, we’re one step closer to resetting the universe.”

“What do we do when we find it?” Sloane quietly asked.

“I don’t know.”

A collective gasp sounded as Viktor stepped forward. “Excuse me? We’re here because you said you have a plan.”

“I do. Up to a point.”

Lila snickered. “Great. So, we’ll just stay in the hotel forever, staring at the walls and eating bad sushi.”

“Finding the sigil is our only way out of here and the best chance we have of resetting the universe.” Allison spoke up.

“Funny how you and Dad are on the same page again.” Five narrowed his eyes at her. Allison glared at him, which caused Viktor’s want to deescalate the situation before it got ugly.

“Okay, uh, where do we start?”

Reginald perked up. “We’ll split into groups. I will go with Allison and Sloane, Ben, Five and (Y/N) with Viktor.”

“No, we want Allison.”

Five nodded with a sly smile. “Ben for Allison. We’ve trained together, so it makes sense if we take Allison.”

Allison clenched her jaw and scoffed. “Yeah. No, thanks.”

“Why not?” (Y/N) raised a brow, truly confused as to why Allison didn’t want to team with them. Allison looked at her, speechless.

“Splendid idea!” Reginald piped up. “Allison, you go with the Umbrellas. Sparrows, stick together. Everyone take a different floor. We must find that sigil.”

“What about us?” Diego called out.

“You’re a duo.” He waved them off. “Nobody wants to listen to your endless bickering. Now, spread out, leave no stone unturned, and meet back here in thirty minutes.”

Three floors above, the Umbrella team entered one of the bedrooms, Allison and (Y/N) beginning to look through drawers for any sign of a sigil. “Someone went through a lot of trouble to hide this thing.” Allison said.

“How big is it supposed to be?” Viktor asked as he wandered the room.

“You know, dear old Reg didn’t say.”

Five hummed. “Really? Hm. That’s surprising. I figured you’d know more about his plan.”

Allison slowly turned to her brother. “Sorry, what’s that supposed to mean?”

(Y/N) straightened with a frown. “Guys, what’s going on?”

“I saw you and him in the White Buffalo Suite during the wedding.”

“Wait,” She stepped closer with wide eyes. “She’s the person you saw with him?”

Viktor sighed. “I don’t know if now’s the right time-”

Allison interrupted him. “You know, I heard that you blacked out last night.”

“I did, and it took me awhile to remember what I saw, but I do remember, Allison.” Five stalked closer to her with an accusatory finger pointed. “You and Dad made some kind of deal. What did you agree to?”

“A deal?”

“Mmhm.”

“With Dad? Please, tell me you’re joking.”

Viktor stared down. “He’s not…”

At his agreeance, (Y/N) crossed her arms and glared at her sister. “Answer the question, Allison.”

Allison chuckled and turned to her sister. “Oh, you, too? See, this is exactly what I meant,” Her finger waved between the married couple before she turned back to Five. “You’re out of your mind.”

Five leaned closer. “You and Dad make a deal, now Luther is dead.”

“Okay… Luther was killed by whatever the hell that thing is.”

“And Klaus?”

“He didn’t make it into the tunnel.”

But Five didn’t believe her for a second. Neither did his wife. “You know, your deal is costing people their lives.”

“Do you really think that I made a deal with Dad to kill Luther and Klaus?”

She looked between her siblings, and while none of them answered, their expressions said enough. Viktor guiltily avoided her gaze, (Y/N) was still measuring her with her eyes and Five continued to stare her down with an unwavering certainty. She was losing them.

“I’m done.” She moved past them to leave the room. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“Hey… Hey, wait, no.” Viktor sighed and then scoffed at Five before hurrying to catch up with his sister. “Allison. No, just listen to me.”

Five shook his head and looked to his wife, who was frustratedly tapping her foot. “So, her apology to me was bullshit, huh?”

“Afraid so, my love.” He swiftly brought her hand into his and began out the room. “Let’s go before we lose ‘em.”

When the two stepped out of the room, something (actually, many things) were off. For one, the hallway was much smaller than it was before. Five called out for his siblings as he walked towards one end of the hall up to a plant that was not there before. (Y/N) rushed up to the other end of the hall, where three paintings hung on the wall. She pushed against them in case they would lead her into another secret room, but the wall didn’t budge.

“Okay, what the hell is going on?”

“Now the real fun starts.” Five clicked his tongue and walked back into the very different bedroom they had just exited. (Y/N) followed him in, dread settling into her heart when she realized they were now on the fifth floor.

On the third floor, Allison was still storming away from Viktor. “No, I’m done with the three of you and your conspiracy theories.”

“Come on. Just listen to me-”

“Why should I?!” Allison whirled on him after pressing the elevator button. “Huh?! You’re the ones who voted to stay and die. You’re the ones who said to hell with family and the whole universe. I’m the only one fighting to save both.”

“We just need to know what Dad is planning before more of us get killed.”

Allison, once she realized they were two people short, moved past Viktor to look around the corner. “Where the hell are Five and (Y/N)?”

Viktor followed. “They were right behind me. Five?” He walked back down the hall in search of his siblings. He stopped in the doorway of the bedroom, but neither of them were there. “(Y/N)?”

Back on the fifth floor were Sloane and Ben, the former moving picture frames in search of the sigil while the latter leaned against the wall and ridiculed her. “Ooh, don’t forget to check under the plants.”

“Get off your ass and start inspecting the walls for hidden compartments.” She sharply spoke. Ben pushed himself off the wall and knocked on it.

“Hey, uh… here’s a wall and, uh…” He knocked on another. “Oh, here’s another wall.”

She rolled her eyes and opened a door to one of the rooms. “What the hell is wrong with you? People are dying left and right, and you’re acting like a sulky teenager.”

“You sound just like Dad.” He growled as she moved to another room. At his retort, she whipped her head back to him and shut the door.

“Why is it so important for Dad to like you? He doesn’t define you or us. We made our own mark in this world without him.”

“As the Sparrow Academy, but they’re gone now.”

“He was never a Sparrow! He was our dad, and a shitty one at that! You don’t need him.”

He sneered. “Easy for you to say when you’ve already got a new family.”

She deeply inhaled as her lip quivered, pointing a finger at him. “And the best part of that family just died.”

Their argument was interrupted when Five and (Y/N) rounded the corner, hand-in-hand. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Five started as his wife went up to Sloane and shared a hug with her. “I’m actually glad to see you guys.”

“What’s wrong?” Sloane looked down at her.

“There’s something seriously wrong with this hotel. We were just two floors down and now we’re here the next second. It’s like the place is alive.”

Ben frowned. “We should get to the lobby.”

“Tried it.” Five shook his head. “Whatever direction we choose, we end up in the same spot.”

“Or maybe you two have no sense of direction.”

(Y/N) bristled. “Alright, douchebag, lead the way.”

Ben gave her a look before doing just that, the teens parting to make room for him. They let Sloane in front of them before they joined hands and followed them. On the third floor, Allison and Viktor were looking for the two of them, calling out in hopes they’d call back.

“(Y/N)?”

“Five?” Viktor called before sighing. “Where are they?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?!” Allison hissed.

“Come on. We can’t keep doing this.” He stopped the both of them. “Please, how do we get back to the way things were? You know, before that fake apology and-”

“And the lies?”

Viktor nearly groaned in frustration. “Allison, come on. How do we do that?”

She stopped and stared at him for a second, biting her lip before she inhaled. “I don’t know that we can.”

Suddenly, the entire hotel shook and rumbled, the lights above them glowing a bright yellow as the ceiling lamps swayed with the force of the shaking. They planted their feet to keep from falling and surveyed the area around them, the air shifting as an ominous tone settled within the many halls of the hotel.

“We should get back to the lobby.” Allison led Viktor back where they came from. “Which one of our moronic siblings do you think rang the damn bell?”

A few feet ahead, a figure broke through the wall and stood before them. This figure was large in stature, covered in armor with a mask-like face covering in the shape of a tiger on its face. Before either could react, it swiped its large ax through the air and cut into Allison’s arm, sending her to the ground with a gut-wrenching wail of pain.

“Allison!” Viktor cried out. Glaring up at the guardian, he summoned his blue energy and blasted it to him, sending the armor-clad figure down the hallway and skidding across the floor. Immediately, Viktor dropped to the ground to help up his sister and get her as far away as possible. “Allison, we gotta go! Allison, get up! Let’s go!”

The guardian twirled his ax in the air before darting after them. On a different floor, the quartet had rounded a corner the same time as another guardian. This one looked similar to the first, only its mask was different and it held a katana rather than an ax. Spotting its targets, it snarled and swiped its katana through the air, holding it up at the ready.

“Really? A samurai?” Ben deadpanned.

This must have been it. The thing that killed Luther. Sloane tried to remember Diego’s description of the possible weapon used, but all she could remember was “blade”. That was all she needed. With a war cry, she charged up to the guardian. It headed right for her, but before it could send its blade into her, she flipped around it, ending up behind the guardian. It turned around and swiped its katana down, but halted when Sloane used her power to stop it. It was clear that she was struggling, though. She was going to need help.

“Revenge looks good on her.” Ben smirked. Five and (Y/N) rolled their eyes.

“Would you shut up and help us kill this thing?” The boy scoffed as he went up to an ax hanging on one of the doors. He grabbed it and went to blink closer to the guardian, but stopped when (Y/N) grabbed ahold of it. His eyes widened in astonishment when she duplicated the weapon. “Where the hell did you learn that?”

She smiled before sending her ax into the wall next to her. From its shadow, she pulled out a duplicate of that ax, along with a clone of herself from her own shadow, its hands tightly clutching the weapon as it was summoned from the wall. (Y/N) turned to Five and cocked her head.

“My sister taught me.”

Ben leaned against the wall and watched the three lunge for the guardian, hacking axes and manipulating gravity in an attempt to defeat it. Below them, Viktor was assisting Allison in hurriedly rushing down halls to get to safety. When he saw the sign for the spa, he urged her forward. “Here, here. Go, go, go.”

She ran inside and leaned against a pillar, holding her bleeding shoulder in agony. Behind her, Viktor shut the door and rushed her towards the back of the spa, behind the last tub. “We need… We need to tie off that wound.”

Allison whimpered and groaned as Viktor acquired a towel. “You were right, okay? I made a deal with Dad.”

Viktor ripped the towel and looked up at her. “Luther and Klaus?”

“No, I had nothing to do with that. I swear.” She winced. Viktor quickly wrapped the towel around her arm and tied it roughly, Allison crying out.

“Why tell me now?”

“Because I need you to believe me, okay?” She panted as he let go. “That I did this for all of us. Luther and Klaus, too.”

He shook his head. “What did he offer you?”

“I need you to trust me.” She whispered. “Look at me. If we get through this, everything’s gonna be okay.”

The door to the spa fell in, granting access to the guardian. This one was different, though. Yet again, it had a different mask and held a chain. One end of the chain held a mace, and the other end held a sickle. It swung the end with the mace before sending it forward, blowing the tub to pieces when it crashed into it. Allison and Viktor split ways and flew out of different exits to avoid the blast.

“Viktor?” Allison called out from the ninth floor.

“Allison?” Viktor called out from the fourth floor.

—————————————

Taglist: @natewrightt @sapphicsyn @m00n-sh @starcurrent @alexander-hamilhoe @youcandalekmyballs @wonderlandfandomkingdom @yrdadjstcallsmekatya @sm0kingcrack @sbyderman @moatsnow @bubblegumflamingos @starstormssymphony @meowiemari @magicalgothpandamaker @keayastitties @hehehehannahthings @harryshomeismyhome @rhain3 @deigobonitooo @xxeiraxx @camerondiaz48104 @theyaremorethanjustfictional @that-can-of-fizz @luckyzipperscissorsbat @0range-slices @molzsecretspace @officialjypofc @dragon-master-kai @justsomecreaturewandering @fandomxo00 @roman0ffsheart @idktbhloley @wifeofcamillamacaulay @twsssmlmaa @teamspideyman @instabull @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @the-simp-next-door

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #umbrella academy x reader #tua #tua fanfic #tua x reader #tua five #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #number five #number five x reader #five x reader #of starlight #and dusk #to nightfall

[saintworks]

@twotiime2

Oh yeah, check this out. Friggin me out.

>It's a video of Hermes, situated... somewhere. A lime-green tarp is spread out on gray sand that is PROBABLY not sand, with a beach-blanket laid out over that. On it is a chest cooler, loaded with coffee drinks and alcohol, and out of the side of that emerges a battered umbrella pole. Taped between the chest and a water cooler that says, "Gassoline," (Like, there's actually quotes on the tape where she wrote that.) is an umbrella that appears to have been sewn together, scavenged from the corpses of many other discarded umbrellas.

>Also featured amid the mess is a half-rusted lawn chair, the top half definitely NOT the original, with a golf bag leaning against that replaced back. There's only three clubs in it, each one prohibitively expensive and stolen from some rich cunts' private sets, nestled among a rifle barrel, two pool cues, a sheathed dai-katana, and a rolled up parchment as tall as any of the clubs; oh, and an actual club, for bashing things with.

>But beyond this absurd setup, along that gray, bizarre sand, is what appears to be a wall. More of a mirror, actually, and not a very good one. With an effect that could be described as "Frosted," the mirror only reflects a blur of colors, as it seems to randomly intersect the ground and run on. In either direction. For ever, it seems. Wherever the dull, lifeless ground appears to touch it, the mirrored wall ripples from the contact, like the too-still-surface of some arcane ocean sits perpendicular to Hermes.

>The video picks up after getting a blurry eyeload of Hermes' cleavage, while she attempts to prop the phone against some out-of-frame stand. By the time the resolution's solidified into something more useful than the "mirror" reflection in the background, Hermes has skipped over towards her clubs already, selecting a black-and-gold one for a second and looking it over. Choosing instead a driver with a head made out of solid diamond (also stolen), Hermes drops a chipped-looking, neon-green golf ball on the blanket.

>"Now," she says, voice scratching like torn velcro as her "Now," starts as the exhaled grunts of bluntsmoken, "Watch this shite," Hermes takes some kind of mental aim at the anomalous mirror, gives the driver a cane-twirl, and then slams the ball away; The thing takes the usual "THWACK" and soars the hundred yards down the stretch of oblivion between her and the mirror-wall, but when it hits the mirror, it hits like she just slammed it right into water.

>The material of the infinite mirror-wall is viscous, even as it offers almost zero resistance to the golf ball, and every displaced wave or splash fails to disconnect, or fall away, from its point of origin. The shimmering epicenter of rippling mirror-stuff seems to spread in a perfect circle, slowly coming to a jiggling rest... until the displaced kinetic energy appears to reach its furthest extent, at which point the entire surface of the impacted mirror boils suddenly...

>And ejects hundreds of golf balls, soccerballs, shuttlecocks, footballs... an entire high-school gym's supply closet, exploded out of a 10' wide circle in the "glass." The video ends as sports equipment and balls are still bouncing and skidding across the dampish, grayish sand, cutting off how it began: with a blurry eyeload down Hermes' tank top by accident.

#IC #Viewable ICly

[kagedbird]

Continued from this *Allora's body finishes transforming, finally fully becoming a werewolf. Her fur is a deep blonde, sleek, and smooth. Tears roll down her face as she lays a bit on the ground, slowly and shakily rising to her four paws. She's only about a foot taller than she was previous, a very tiny werewolf compared to Aela's form.* Aela: *speaking through growls and barks* Can you hear me, Allora? What happened? Allora: *groans, stumbling a bit and holds her head, taking in staggered breaths* Kodlak... wanted cure... for curse... tried to... heal... hurts... everything hurts... soul... where's my soul...? Aela: You're here, all of you. Try to keep calm, all right? You're home. You're in Jorrvaskr. Allora: *shakes her head desperately, whining loudly* No, no... no... it's gone... I can't feel it... the warmth... it's all gone... Aela: *shifts a bit to guard Kodlak more in his weak state, herding Taliesin as well despite him clambering away from her* Allora, you have to calm down. Allora: *slowly removes her hands, hearing another voice in her mind, one telling her there is prey just outside the walls. Her mind flashes with images of her boys before settling on Bren's face. Her growling becomes louder and louder without her noticing, jagged teeth showing from her muzzle curling in her rage* You really think... I'd do that? Aela: Allora- Allora: *snarls and howls loudly, charging out of the room and barreling through the halls; leaving claw marks all over the wood and leaving splinters all around and torn tapestries* HIRCINE! Taliesin: Allora, wait! Gods- *goes to hurry after her, but is stopped by Kodlak* What-? Kodlak: We don't have much time. You are Allora's friend, are you not? Taliesin: I am, so let go so I can catch up to her! Kodlak: *shakes his head* Aela, call for Farkas. You know how he calmed her the last time. His strength will manage. Aela: *dips her head in nodding before charging off herself* Taliesin: Farkas? That oaf? Don't tell me you're all werewolves! Kodlak: Those of us in the Circle only. Now listen well. I have much to tell you. -With Allora- Allora: *charging through the streets of Whiterun, dodging all the guards and people she can, pushing herself to race past Bren's house, just barely managing to ignore the overwhelming urge to break the door down. She digs her claws into the stonework and launches herself towards the gates and outside* *Team Dragonborn + Bren rush outside of the house at the screams and war cries of people rushing to attack the rogue werewolf, the men stiffening as they see a new one rushing out and two more rushing after.* Kaidan: That was her. I know it was her. We've got to go. Bren: Those damned Companions! Where in Oblivion is that Altmer?! Inigo: It does not matter. We must go. Lucien, can you keep up in a run? Lucien: I'll do my best. Let's hurry. Taliesin: Wait! *gasping and panting as he raced down the way, stumbling and putting his hands on his knees as he tried to breathe* Bren: *stomps over and yanks the Altmer's shoulder, forcing him to look at him* What in Oblivion happened?! What happened to my niece?! Taliesin: *holds up a hand, trying to compose himself before standing tall* That old man, Kodlak... he said it was supposed to happen this way. Lucien: Wh-what? Kaidan: Forced to turn into a werewolf? Are you mad? Inigo: Please, tell us what you learned Taliesin. Time is running out. Taliesin: You're not wrong. I'll explain on the way. We need to meet up with them. Bren: I'm coming. Kaidan: What?! Bren: All of you have failed in one way or another when I told you to keep her safe. I don't trust any of you for it anymore. I'm going after her. *Bren races down the path to the broken gate* Lucien: Mr. Folsterhan, wait! Inigo: We must go. Taliesin, explain on the way.

#tes #Skyrim #TESSDE AU #Skyrim Taliesin #Skyrim Lucien #Skyrim Inigo #Skyrim Kaidan #aela the huntress #Farkas #kodlak whitemane #I call this 'The AU Where I Never Wanted Any of This' #Because lord almighty do I hate the Companions quest so fucking much #I forced myself to play through it for commentary from Taliesin. Boy you better know how much I love you. #Also for this lil AU since this is the route it's taking #I thought I might as well make it more lore accurate. #There's so much I hate about this fucking quest. God. LMAO.

[retvenkos]

monsters | k.b.

Grishaverse - Kaz Brekker & Reader, angst, former relationship

Series: Like Rabbits and Poets (they’re born to be killed)

tw: alcohol, one (1) suggestive comment, demon imagery, death imagery, rot imagery, mentions of blood, mentions of burning word count: 2.7k

Summary: something is growing within these kaelish boys, and you must gnaw at all they have to give.

The Crow Club was more lively than usual, the lights bright and the drinks at the bar flowing free. Patrons were betting more than their lives were worth on dice, and others were dancing skin-against-skin to the music of the in-house band - something energetic and fervent, with the same undertone of sensuality you couldn't escape, this deep in the Barrel. The Dregs were celebrating a particularly successful job, and everyone felt sweet - like new money and strong drinks, like million-kruge smiles and saccharine lips. You took your drink from the bar and slipped through the restless crowds. You snagged someone else's shot on your way out - just a little fun before the night calmed, and business went back to usual.

You found him outside the Club, standing in the corner beneath the portico, the bright lights of East Stave dousing him in orange and red hues. He heard you approach, and when his gaze met yours, the glint in his eyes was like diamond - his irises a dark Kaelish whiskey on the rocks. You propped yourself up against one of the black lacquered pillars to drink in his deep, brown depths. He leaned toward you when you stilled, and then, as though his mind caught up with him and thought better of it, he pulled away. You noticed - you always did - but back then, you didn't mind.

Of all the games Kaz Brekker played, you liked this one the most.

“You're not celebrating?” You spoke after the silence had settled, and all the world was glittering before you, almost soft-looking, the way the dark night blurred his roughened edges - obscurity sanding him smooth. 

“I already celebrated—” you raised your eyebrows; he tilted his head “—I counted the kruge.”

You rolled your eyes, making a big show of it as you opened your mouth in a soundless scoff. You looked at him, again, and he was grinning (or maybe just flashing his teeth).

You still had the shot in hand, and seeing as the night wouldn't get much better than this, you gulped it down, feeling the sting at the back of your throat. Sometimes, burning was your only proof that it was all real. Kaz looked at the other drink still in your grasp, the liquor swirling in a way that seemed like oblivion. His gloved hand reached out, dancing in the space between, and you held out the drink to him. 

His fingers brushed yours. He was quick to pull the glass away.

The liquid sloshed against the side; the waters rose higher. Kaz traced the rim with his gloved finger - as though quelling the tide. You watched him carefully. The liquor wouldn't climb higher than the glass.

“I hope your kruge was worth it.” Your words pulled him out of his head, and Kaz turned his gaze to you. “I hated that poor excuse for an outfit you had me wear at the casino. It was cold! And I never want to paint my lips purple ever again.”

You chuckled at your own joke, not missing the way Kaz's eyes lingered on your lips, and how his own curled into a smile. It was something genuine, or so you believed, and such beauty was rare. The deep night carried warmth on the breeze, and for a moment, you both swayed together.

“Purple’s your color,” and his voice was so quiet, it was almost not there.

But you had long since learned to hear Kaz Brekker and notice changes in the rasp of his breath. He was closer, now, and you could see the way all his life stood on the edge of his glass - one tilt toward you, and everything might change. You hummed, and the world drew close around you. The night was dark, and the lilt of music still drifted toward you.

His lips parted; he whispered your name.

You wanted to feel his breath against your neck.

The door to the Crow Club swung open, and someone called for Kaz. The world flooded back towards you, and it was loud and uneven - tilted to its side, and jarring you awake. You huffed in annoyance, and Brekker nodded at the intruder. You didn't know why you were surprised - no one could afford privacy in Ketterdam. The door to the Club slammed shut, and the evening shifted with it.

You raised an eyebrow, half-amused, but not quite. Kaz leaned in, but he never crossed the full distance. “It was worth it,” he breathed, but by the time you registered the meaning of his words, he was gone.

I don't deal in monsters, but I have met men and I have held their death. I have cradled a demon in my lap, and I have watched the world do the same.

The dying months in Ketterdam were brisk, but somehow, it was in those weeks that the sun shone brightest. It confused many, but you understood. An island of contradictions had to be beautiful in them at some point - otherwise, no one would fill her harbors. The sun painted the sky in burnt, orange hues as you sat in the Boeksplein, papers all strewn around you, with Nanko on your left and Jem on your right.

You looked at Jem until he noticed, then you shifted the other way.

This was the dozenth time you’d met them here - on one of the benches in the vast courtyard - a brief get-together in between classes, where the world around you was taking its failing breaths, and you contemplated just when you would follow suit.

“It’s too florid, isn’t it?” And you gnawed on your bottom lip, creasing your eyebrows just so.

You had cultivated this closeness between you slowly - like an aria - one step, then another. It had started with nights at the wall. Then meetings like these - clandestine moments stolen from the stream of time - sweet encounters between classes, where the world was amber-colored. Honey.

The first time you tracked them down, it was under the pretense of giving them back something you’d taken - a sheet of poetry Jem had shown you, one night by the wall - something still incomplete and not yet raw. They had been surprised you cared, rather than shaken you knew how to find them, and it would make all the difference, in the end.

The next time you chatted with them, you made sure that Nanko spotted you. The time after, it was Jem who sought you out. You had met enough times to make your presence comfortable and made just enough gambles to ensure your admissions felt right. They wouldn't be surprised to know you, now, and it would save you when your hand was played.

This time, you had found them to share a piece of your own writing - something flowered and kaleidoscopic, romantic, and not quite breathing. You loathed it, from the moment you penned it. You hated that you had once believed its fragrant lies.

But you smiled at them, innocent, and asked for their opinion. You were all new to this, after all. Little things like yourselves should cling together.

“No! No.” Jem smiled and licked his chapped lips. He caught your gaze, and you held it more carefully than a smoking gun. “I like it. It just… feels different than what you’ve written before.”

On your face, you painted the visage of an embarrassed longing. You let your fingers dance outward as though subconsciously testing what lay between. 

You bit down on a smile; you looked up through the lashes of your eyes. “I got some inspiration, is all.”

Jem shifted closer. You pretended that it sent you reeling.

You shook your flustered head. “I mean... I'm a nutcracker, after all. Remember the soldier prince? ‘My life began with wanting something for myself’.” —(and what did you want, now that you were just heaving?)— “We all have to find something to covet.”

Jem's eyes glittered like far diamonds; Nanko bowed his head.

The clock marked the hour, then, and they were off to their next lesson. Nanko was swift as a rabbit - like some kind of prey that was too smart to be taken alive. Jem lingered in his farewell - as he had done for some time now - standing up slower and catching your eye before turning around. 

Your mouth fluttered into a smile because it was designed to. You looked into his dark eyes because it was your con, and when they caught the sunlight, you pretended not to notice the shade of their depths.

They were just brown, and you were just a nightingale.

“If you refine your poem and bring it to the next meeting, I can help you carve it.” Jem fiddled with the strap of his bag. He had remembered what you said, one night, about his beautiful penmanship. He clung to your every word.

“You don’t think it’s too shallow for the wall?”

“It’s truthful, isn’t it?” And you didn’t know what to do but smile. Jem shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets. Sometimes, they still snagged. “That’s all it has to be. And if it is, it’s enough.”

Enough. You hoped it would be, in the end.

“I’ll bring it, then.”

He was dazzling with the light of the sun before he was gone. You watched him as he left - his black curls bouncing with every step - and it was hard to mourn the living. The Kaelish boy was a dreamer - like he didn't yet have smoke trapped in his lungs or a demon curled in his lap. 

What a beautiful thing - to be that alive.

You sat on the bench for a moment, and the world passed you by. Two weeks had passed since you began this lie; for fourteen days, you had been living a version of the life you'd always longed for - something tied in poetry and lined with expressions of love. Part of you longed to enjoy it, but another, more broken division demanded you end this game before it got out of hand.

Before their blood was on your silver dagger, their fortune in Kaz Brekker's coffers.

Silly thoughts - they'd get you killed. An actor was only so good as their scenes - a liar only as successful as the reading of their lines. The last time you had believed in your own artistic liberties, you'd paid the price for it, and so had others, dead and gone. This time, there would be no deviations from the plot. 

The only mercy you had was time.

You made your way to the library, swallowing the Kaelish boy’s goodbye and feeling the way such a good-natured parting sat in the space behind your teeth. You slinked into the book-lined rooms of the library and wandered over to a table in the corner, writing little messages about the knowledge you’d gleaned. You breathed in deeply on lines that were harder to pen, and the honeyed smell of the University wasn’t as strong as it had once been; something in the shadows of your deeds had poisoned it. Already, it started a rot.

You found yourself choking on memories that no longer belonged to you.

“I'm not one for poetry,” a shadow had confided, once, in you.

And you had liked the way you danced around its jagged edges. You had coveted the broken knuckles and the fractured glances. You had longed for this shadow and the way you teased it in the hushed pitch of night.

You circled around it with a smile - close enough to feel its breath, far enough away to never touch its heart. “Ah, but you've never read mine.”

And your shadow liked to bare its teeth.

“(Y/n).”

You looked upward, and the darkened tendrils of the Barrel were gone. Quiet Inej stood in front of you, and just how long she’d been waiting to announce her presence, you’d never know. You blinked away the past, but for a moment, it lingered. It clung to you, unfreed.

But still, here you were: the library, the note, the con.

The Wraith had the mind to smile.

“Inej.” And despite the years of distance between you - stretches of time where you hadn’t seen her, and had only heard of the deeds of her ghost - the contours of your worried mind smoothed into something genuine. “I wasn't expecting you.”

She took a seat across from you, and you wondered what the both of you must look like. The Wraith and a nightingale. A university student, and something more. In another life, such a scene would have never fit together, but Ketterdam liked to blur her edges and lines.

“A pleasant surprise,” you mused, smiling and tilting your head. “Did I wander too far, and Dirtyhands asked you to find me?”

Inej scoffed, as though the thought of losing you was impossible. “You're not hard to track, y'know. Anyone could find you if they wanted to.”

You shrugged. “That's the point, actually. I can’t be hidden and noticed.”

‘Why bring it up, then?’ a part of you insisted.

‘To hear something that isn’t my own desperate thoughts.’

“Are you here for this, then?” You folded your page of secrets and held it out to Inej. She hesitated, but took the note and slipped it somewhere within the folds of her vest. “I was going to take it to the Geldcanal later tonight, like every week. Is that not soon enough for Brekker? Does he really need it now?”

For a hairbreadth of a moment, she didn’t meet your gaze. It betrayed more than it should have.

“What is it?”

Inej breathed in, and when she spoke, her voice was low and even. She was expecting something rash, then, was she?  What ruin had Ketterdam brought you, now? “Kaz wants you to come to the Slat tomorrow night.”

You blinked against a wave of something more. “I thought he said—”

“One night won't blow your cover. If you come late enough, everyone will think you just blew off some steam at the Crow Club and wandered your way in - no one will think much.”

You held in a scoff, and the bitterness was acidic. The Slat. You hadn’t been back there in nearly two years, and when you had left it, you swore to yourself you’d never pass its foyer, again. You didn’t need the Slat. Or, more aptly, you didn’t want it. It was just an extension of Dirtyhands - just another way you were indebted to him.

Kaz Brekker, the Bastard of the Barrel, Usurper of the Dregs. He was smart. Clever, even. Brekker always knew what made others tick. And more than that, he always knew when to play his hand.

You kept your tone even but raised a calculatedly curious brow. “Why not the Crow Club?”

And Inej tipped her head, something rueful in the depths of her gaze. Why did Kaz do anything he did? For power. For kruge. For the pleasant feeling of vengeful blood dripping down his throat. All the diamonds in the world wouldn’t compare to that copper taste at the back of his tongue. It would never be enough, and the acridity of him would soon burn all of Ketterdam through.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to leave. You wanted to burn all of Kerch.

You painted something calm on your face.

Inej blinked. It was as though she wasn't sure what was reality, and what was your game. If you were to look in a mirror, would you know, yourself?

“Tomorrow night,” you conceded. “The Slat. I'll stop at the Crow Club for a game, first - a cover story in case I’m seen. Who else will be there?”

“Jesper and I.”

That’s right. One of you was already gone. Nina had left on a barge to Fjerda, with a new face and long-aching woes. Inej would take to the seas herself, in a few months' time, on sails of her own. Even Jesper was close to leaving the Slat - he’d still be caught in the web of the city, but he’d remove his place in its balance. They’d all be scattered to the wind soon - some of them already were - perhaps somewhere better than here. They were already gone, but some things would stay.

You would be at the Zelver, all the same, singing operas that would make audiences itch for someone to come home. Kaz would be in his office, working until the candles burned low, and everything in the harbor lost its breath.

“A reunion, then,” and your lips curled into something that resembled a smile. Inej settled comfortably into your features, and you ached at your own lies. “I haven’t seen you or Jesper in years. You might want to have a drink beforehand.”

Inej laughed, and then she was gone.

taglist: @starkeysslut​​, @musicallisto​​, @catsbooksandmusic​​, @thefifthweasley​​, @thegirlwhocriedwerewolf​​, @amirahiddleston​​, @ellora-brekker​​, @amortensie​​, @permanentreverie​​,  @teaand-dreams​​, @ughgclden​​, @konepmi​​, @mystic-writings​​, @sunny-reys​​, @brekkers-desigirl​​​, @mylifeofcalculatedchaos​​​, @dontworrycherry​​ // message me if you want to be added!

#grishaverse #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker fic #fic series #series #angst #dark #like rabbits and poets #flashback flashback flaSHbaCK flaSHBACK FLASHBACK FLASHBACk— #also it's very interesting to hear your thoughts on the kaz/reader relationship. #i can't wait to include this next intermission and see your heads spin. #you all have a big storm coming.....

[realhankmccoy]

looks like Babybruce is feeling like he found a red-pill meme appropriate for a 10 yr old Republican boy (note the histrionic hysteria about how the government in the form of a man is coming to kill them -- these kids actually seem to think the government is not only male but TOOOOOOO male)

in other words babybruce is screetching ike a drag king

while stomping his foot and insisting the government be more female

and dare i say liberal

more tolerant of kiddos who don't give a flying fuck about the greater good but cannot reconcile that with their belief of YOU SHOULD BE A PATRIOT AND ADOPT THE AMERICAN WAY FOR THE GREATER GOOD

all sorts of idiot contradictions going on here

did you kids know Babybruce felt deeply ashamed when his hair colour turned out red instead of blond? he found his colour 'humiliating' yes his word 'HYOO MILL I PEDIING" the 'humiliation' of not being all Hitler ever wanted, all Hitler ever needed on a pigmentation Aryan scale

wanting to star in The Human Millipede movies, it's a patriotic Millipede that cares not for the collective good only the flag and the constitution just in his mind the sort where you only play

AL FUH

and AL FUH just simply gets his dick sucked as clean and sterile as an inflatable innerturbe blowing up an innertube this is why it is called A BLOW JOB a nuclear family blow job

and these kids -- this is the funny thing -- this is the very much damage that the Babybruce and the Babybro do

the gall of these nitwits to even so much as suggest i'm the problem

when they're just rolling out the Nazi barrel of yesteryear's "OBEY THIS 10 YEAR OLD IN A BLONDE BEARD BUT FLUSH THE 40 YEAR OLD BLACK WOMAN DOWN THE TOILET AND LAUGH'

which is exactly what Corporate America told these kiddos is how you

RUN A CUM PUNNY

tragic, isn't it

well, bruce is an idiot so that's all you need to know

this is even dumber than a Shepherd Fairy art saying OBEY

you know the ones kids you've seen the t-shirts and the HOPE obama ad

let's not pretend america or bruce or any of em ever have an idea

they're just cogs replicating a status quo you're already saturated in

like a gust of wind is just a replication of whatever front is moving in

at least if they farted something original might come out

what's also stupid about this meme as it attempts to zombify you is it presumes the grey leftist is naive and never thinks about dying

america always thinks WOW MURDER OR DYING THATS SOME TOUGHT STUFF WOW IMAGINE THAT

i guess Babybruce is still living in oblivion about Jordan Peterson's narrative about how the leftist are now all assisted suicide and it's coming to america

in which case it'll be NOOOOOO NONE OF THIS 'RATHER DIE' STUFF THATS WEAK! ME SO STRONG STAYING HOME WITH THE 'PUTER!

#babybruce

[viva-la-whump]

Febuwhump Day 10

@febuwhump

A random Eli appears!!

KILLING IN SELF DEFENSE

“Eli! Behind you!”

The young corporal heard the warning of his comrade over the din of battle, but the words didn’t sink in until he heard a shout from behind him from a voice filled with anger and bloodlust. Turning around, Eli Vanto saw a huge man from the Separatist Army almost upon him.

He froze, eyes wide as fear seeped to his very core, making him incapable of doing anything other than think “I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead…” But by some miracle, he brought up his rifle, just barely, bayonet glinting in the sunlight. He couldn’t get his finger to find the trigger, but the brute barreled towards him, eyes wild with murderous intention, and didn’t seem to heed the blade pointing straight at his gut. 

The impact drove Eli to the ground, all the wind knocked out of his lungs in a mighty whoosh. His head connected with the ground and sparks danced in his eyes, his vision blurring so he only saw a vague form looming above him, a large red spot oozing more red to the ground. How was he still alive? How could someone possibly get up after a wound like that, let alone continue to fight?

These thoughts swirled in Eli’s mind and he was barely aware of more shouting from a familiar voice. That snapped him out of his stupor and he rolled to the side just as the goliath swung something down right where he’d been. It was his own gun! He must have thought it wasn’t loaded and was now using it as a club.

Survival instincts finally kicked in and Eli scrambled to his feet. He was small, certainly smaller than his opponent, but he was also faster. He dodged another swing of his gun and danced behind the man, sending a kick to the back of his knee that made his leg give out. With a grown of annoyance and pain, the man tried to swing his makeshift club around, but once again, Eli was faster, perhaps in part due to the blood loss that was finally seeming to have an effect on the behemoth.

Eli grabbed the knife that was at his belt and stabbed    the man high in his back. There was a strangled cry, almost more like a gasp, and the man dropped Eli’s rifle. His arms, seeming to have grown heavier, waved about uselessly, both trying to reach the knife still in his back and to hit Eli. But soon his efforts grew slower and weaker until he fell forward onto ground and moved no more.

For his part, Eli just stood there, numb, looking at what he’d just done. He could hardly believe it. He knew this was part of war, knew he’d have to take a life at some point. But he’d never…he didn’t think… His hands were shaking and the world grew blurry again, but this time it wasn’t because of the hit to his head (though that was still pounding painfully throughout his skull). No. This time it was due to the tears that were welling up in his eyes. His knees gave out then and he was powerless to try and stay upright, so he just let his body fall. Except he didn’t. Something stopped him from hitting the ground, something with arms that wrapped around him. Something that had a face with so much concern written on it that it drew a sob deep from within Eli’s chest.

It became too much for Eli - the shock, the pain, the sudden exhaustion he felt sapping all the strength from his body, and the boiling mass of emotions churning inside him. He allowed himself to be held by those arms, trusting that face to look after him as he closed his eyes against this hellish battle and sank into the sweet oblivion that welcomed him.

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday10 #Star Wars Western AU #battle #blood #fear #wounded head #self defense #killing in self defense #survival #unconscious #you'll find out who that someone is later hehehe #whump #angst #me #mine #my work #fanfic

[skookumsupine]

Years ago, [Xanthius] experienced an intense bout of insomnia. From early October 2013 until late February 2018, he found it impossible to get more than two hours of sleep consecutively. Each night, he would lay twisted in his bed, finding every new way he lay just as forced and uncomfortable as the last. He felt like he had forgotten the precise contortion needed to slip through the cracks of the waking world and fall asleep, like he was a mass of protruding limbs trying to fit through a square hole.

Waves of fear and regret crashed down on him in towering sets with no break between poundings long enough to catch his breath. Eventually, gradually, his nocturnal anxieties became a more or less normal part of his everyday routine. He would lay on his back some short summer nights and watch the light fade out of the western window until it rolled back in with the morning in the Eastern corner of his room. It was oddly peaceful and utterly unbearable.

Then, when he was completely desensitized to his own cortisol, he found a way to let himself be carried away by the rip currents in his mind and be swept under into oblivion. He discovered how not to try to not try too hard to sleep. Life in general took a turn for the better after this. He felt in his bones that the seasons of his life had taken a sharp turn towards sweeter times.

His record in all those years had been about 72 hours awake consecutively. Any amount of time beyond this and his body would hard reset on its own. This morning as he watched the brazen sun spill into his room, he realized he was approaching hour one hundred and sixty. He realized bitterly that his seasons were changing again.

Floaters and black dots swam giddily around the edges of his vision. He closed his eyes and counted his breaths, trying to detach his mind. After a few cycles he could feel the fuzzy hood of sleep slip over him. Then the bird slurred its song again “Chooka Wiillaa Widowww!” and his chance at sleep was ripped away from him, again. Rage boiled over in his guts. He coiled like a drunken snake and launched himself to his feet with sudden furious energy. Glaring out of the window by his bed, he focused on the lumpy brown bird swaying in the wind with the branches of the Chickasaw Plum, like a bloated tick swaying on the back of a panting dog. The Nightjar slouched slovenly in its nest. His vision narrowed into a tunnel as narrow as the barrel of a gun. The black floaters in his peripheral vision swarmed and multiplied. Their edges took on the technicolor sheen of a bubble on an oil slick. A fat vein popped out on his neck and with every pulse of blood the rainbow edges of the floaters flared with gemstone brilliance. “Chuuok-au-Weehee-Wippou!!” cried the drunken Nightjar. His body tremored with electric spasms that shot up his spine, forked across his bony shoulders, and wound a circuit around his solar plexus.

About two months back, a local beekeeper dumped the Sheriff’s son. Every morning for a week, Walker County deputies sprayed all the neonicotinoids pesticides they could economically get their hands on, to demonstrate the weight of his scorn. Every easily accessible flower in the county had been laced and not an invertebrate was safe. As of this week there were no more moths for tens of miles in any direction, and the grasshoppers rotted in the soy fields. The sidewalks were littered with shuddering horseflies. The beekeeper moved to New Caledonia and married someone that sells Swiss Watches. The Nightjar that lived in the Chickasaw Plum lost its primary nutrition source and was forced to branch out its eating habits by trial and error. Was the discovery that its shockingly wide mouth could gobble down several gooey, sickly sweet-smelling, maroon colored fruit in a single swallow a mistake? Yes, very much so, but the Nightjar wouldn’t discover this until too late. For the moment it was caught deep in the undertow of its Dionysian death spiral, blissfully unaware it was poisoning itself.

[Xanthius] was aware of the situation and the plight of the hungry bird, but that only made him angrier. The injustice of his wrath ate at his belly and created a positive feedback loop of destructive negativity. The black dots in his eyes crept in from the edges and one by one evacuated the peripherals for the center of his view. The murmuration of brilliant floaters coalesced into a single mass in his eye like a wizard's cataract, completely obscuring the bird. His righteous fury had fully soured and he wanted only to hurt something defenseless. To flex his power. To do harm to the innocent. To get this expel this evil energy that had possessed his being to such totality, and to project it onto a sacrifice. The multicolored rim of his black cataract flared with a searing light and smoke billowed from its circumference. His blood pounded deafeningly through his ears and his teeth felt electric. He shivered once and the floaters began to drip away from the central shape in rapid succession. In seconds his vision had cleared and he saw shriveled, scorched corpse of the bird that had lived in his backyard for so many years now. The bird whose song he used to wake up to at 4am and marvel at despite himself. He felt a tingling below the skull of his forehead and a sensation like an outflow of snow melt into a stagnant pool. He felt refreshed. His pulse felt gentle, as if he had slept for twelve glorious hours.

#tiny story #current wip #first draft #writeblr #satori #just goofin with words

[predofwhiterun]

Bones and Flesh

“Is this all of it?” Quartermaster Brietrus as he shifted through the important items in several named barrels, his aide Consen Sexid was turning his back to snatch a couple lines of salted fish, “I believe so, si-” Suddenly another tremor of a roar straight from Oblivion itself shook the room and he could have sworn stone became unloose in the hall.

“Gods save us, damn the Thalmor and their need for a show!” The Quartermaster snarled, he've been uneasy since the elves were bringing back prisoners from their raids as of late and most recently – and most horrendously, with the aid of that old fool Brucorallen – they tortured and dissected a creature unlike anything he've seen before.

He saw it when they brought it in, twice the size of a man with a snake-like hide that gave Brietrus in the mind of a tailless Argonian but something, in the most animal part of his own mind, he knew; that was no Argonian. It was wounded and easily chained by metal and magic, even then – it was a struggle for its captor. Perhaps that is why its long death was more painful than needed.

When the Imperial veteran looked up to the table, seeing the bones of what remained; still 'moist' of its extraction, from its thickly crested skull and massive ribcage and spinal cord. With it was a large chest in the process of holding its wargear. A wrist-mounted blade the length of his own arm, gauntlets, a odd assemble of overlayed plates and body netting, and a pair of helmet. One wasn't belonging to it. One was 'plain', if one could call it that. Undecorated yet well-used. The other remained him of an iron helmet made from nordic craftsmen - jutting horns with nordic pictographs along its cheeks.

As he started to look back, the Quartermaster immediately snapped his head to see it missing. There was a bladed staff among the evidence! Instinct cultivated constant battle between himself, the damned rebels of Stormcloak, and the war that saw the Empire humbled and leashed by the Thalmor – whether anyone disagree or not, its the truth – he threw himself to the floor, rolling from a frustrated, fearsome roar just over his head.

“Quartermaster!” Consen cried out, pulling his iron gladius out and met the creature in combat. Brietus didn't even look back as he scrambled to the table, the lacking weight besides his thicker armour told him enough that his greatsword was behind him. Snatching the wristblades from the table, with steely nerves recognized and snapped the open port around his own forearm. The scream of the younger Cyrodillic man gurgling and wheezing his final death, the Quartermaster couldn't give a quiet prayer in his own head as he lunged out with a warcry of his own.

The monster, just like the other one – this Yautja as said in the accounts that were also on the table from the Thalmor agents – hurled an ax end-over-end from across the room and slammed Brietus into the shelves. A wheezing gasp of shock, dribbling pain and looking down – found him staring at the angled heft, its bearded head punctured through armor and ribs. It was growing increasingly hard to breath, a quivering hand reached and gripped at the axe-heft.

The Yautja was approaching, quivering with a quiet rage as it looked over at the remains of a fallen companion and back on the dying Imperial. The bladed staff dripping with Consen's blood. Its face was...hideous, like a mudcrab achieving the gods' blessing of standing upright. Fanged mandibles flexing and curling out to reveal the sneer of predatory fangs. Eyes that shone like wolves' gold glared from the pit of its crested skull, long hair in Redguard-dreads flowed over shoulders and back. The glint of piercings on its ridged brow.

A clawed hand curling into a popping fist as it lifted its bladed staff and roared for the coup de grace!

#escape from helgen #drabble #outside pov

[redisaid]

#HONK #and then it just barrel rolls into oblivion #mass effect #yes we're mass effect shit posting this weekend