#impossible to Not to. it would be extremely difficult to try and suppress it and react more normally

[wlw-cryptid]

what does stimming mean

the word itself is a riff on "stimulation" and the action of stimming is an autism/adhd thing mostly? I believe it's usually like a(n often unorthodox) natural expression/reaction to whatever situation you're in. repetitive body movements me personally. i wiggle in my seat when im really happy or flustered or something because i just dont know how else to let all that out and its gotta go Somewhere

like. sometimes you feel an emotion so much that the reaction bubbles up and overflows into a physical energy, with a common example being flapping hands when youre happy, or clenching your fists really hard when youre overwhelmed by your environment. stims can be bigger things too, like rocking, bouncing, or spinning around.

BUT i think it can also be a stimulation seeking thing too? like being Understimulated so you start scratching at your skin, rubbing a certain kind of fabric, or tapping on a surface. like i said, a common stimming example is rocking. like in your seat, on your feet, or maybe in bed. its Soothing. stimming can give your brain a Sensation it was desperately looking for like that n a person often feels calmer because of it. but i might just be conflating this side of things with something that is more accurately put under a different name.

[connoisseursdecomfort]

Double meanings in furigana in Mission 1 and Twilight's idea of self

Inspired by this post by @yumeka-sxf.

I've been rereading the manga with @xxscarletxrosexx and @mossshrooms (join us here at ep 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6), which means a collective effort of extreme close reading. For my part, I try to bring the original jp version and the translated tw version into the discussion, and guess what? Endo has been sneaking many details into furigana, and I think these details set the tone of Twilight as a character.

Marked alongside with kanji, furigana is normally used as the phonetic notation of the kanji. However, especially in mangas, at times furigana are used to show the true meaning/ double meaning of the characters' words instead of showing the pronunciation of the kanji.

It all starts when, for the first time, Twilight thinks about his codename Tasogare, or rather, the other meaning of Tasogare. The furigana/pronunciation notation is normal here, but the kanji or the word is not Twilight. It is "who is this".

Now, the word, or the kanji, for Twilight (Tasogare) is 黄昏. The word Twilight 黃昏 is said to be derived from the phrase "who is this 誰そ彼" - as it's getting dark at twilight, it's difficult to recognise faces. It's fitting, because disguise is his specialty. Even without disguise, spies should "become" the role they play during their missions:

In English, the line is simply translated into "I abandoned my identity when I became Twilight." I suppose a more literal translation could be: "I abandoned my name and my face [to become] this 'whoever that is'." He will become whoever the mission requires him to be. His codename thus becomes part of his reasonings why he has to carry out his mission.

There is an irony in identifying himself as "who is this", or "whoever this is", because that indicates a lack of self-identification, especially when this scene happens right after he suppresses his emotions to undertake such an unreasonable, almost impossible, task. Why is that so? Because he's been emphasising on the fact that he has abandoned the sense of self since day 1 he became a spy. The sense of self is symbolised by his face, his name (the train scene as shown before), his ID card, and his "desire and determination" 執着 to get married and to live in ordinary bliss (the late night alleyway scene as shown below).

This is the first time he identifies himself as Tasogare, and at the same time he creates a distance from this identity, Twilight, as he skips right to 誰そ彼 ("who is this") instead of calling himself 黃昏 (Twilight). There seemingly is an identity - Twilight 黃昏, but without the sense of self - "who is this" 誰そ彼.

In the next scene in which he identifies himself as Tasogare, another double meaning appears:

This time it's slightly more straightforward. The furigana of 黃昏 is not "tasogare たそがれ" - it is "ore オレ", meaning "I".

A mental loop is thus created with the help of the double-meanings largely indicated by furigana - I am a spy. -> A spy is whoever the mission requires him to be (in short, "who is this"). -> "Who is this" is Twilight. -> Twilight is me.

And that is why this panel, also shared by yumeko, is important.

When he says 子ども (children), in furigana it reads as じぷん/自分 (self). He breaks the mental loop as Anya reminds him of himself as a child. Himself before becoming a spy. His goals when he decided to become a spy. We see a glimpse of [redacted], the self he thought he had already thrown away together with his name, his face, and his hopes and dreams.

This resurfacing of his sense of "self" seemingly sparks new flames of passion towards his work as a spy, which would slowly lead him to rediscover what his "mission" really is. However, his internal conflicts would also start brewing. He talked about having thrown away his desire and determination to get married and start a family along with his self in order to become a spy. He has been rediscovering this long lost/repressed self, including these hopes and desires.

In no way I'm trying to fault the translator(s) - I think the English translating team has been doing a good job in localisation in a limited time. Inevitably, there will be, as scarlet likes to say, cultural discount, especially due to Japan's high context culture. Endo is a diligent author, and this also shows in his word choices. It is surprising to see that many details he has included right from the start, and it does show that he goes back to them from time to time.

PS. There are two more details about "Agent Twilight". When the higher-ups are having a meeting to see whom they could assign the mission to, Westalis is still Westalis in katakana.

In the newspaper which Twilight reads on the train, the furigana for Westalis is "our country" わがくに. The English translation for the whole sentence is "Thanks to you, the minister has survived another day, to the great benefit of Westalis." At the end of the day, no matter how much they emphasise on their intention in "keeping peace", this is still an information warfare, and Westalis has to be benefited from his work. "Our side" has to win. (Duh.)

Twilight, however, did not even react to this. There is an irony in how they call him 黄昏くん, just for him to respond (internally) with switching the codename 黄昏 to 誰そ彼 when he caves in and accepts the mission for the sake of "peace" and "the people's lives". There is a subtle sense of disagreement or even disobedience hidden under the act of compliance right from Chapter 1.

Anyway, happy sxf update this Sunday. If you are interested, join us to reread the manga. ...Bye. (Runs in the inability to end posts.)

[after-witch]

Hey beautiful, so I was rereading your fic Sufferance and I've been meaning to ask; is there a particular explanation behind the occasional unreadable expressions Chrollo makes within the story? There are a few moments during the beginning and near the end of the rape scene where he seems to 'potentially' feel some sort of way that's hard to grasp. I'd assumed these weren't elaborated on simply because Chrollo's canonically pretty difficult to read and Reader herself was already in a state of extreme stress, but I have to wonder: were you perhaps thinking of a specific kind of emotion that Chrollo was seemingly suppressing deep down?

There's a line for example, near the end of the fic where Reader seems to think Chrollo appears to feel guilty, only for him to state that he actually feels as though his raping of her was not his fault but entirely hers alone. Initially I took this at face value to mean that whilst Chrollo may have regretted their "first time" turning out the way it did, he didn't feel any legitimate guilt for having violated Reader in the first place. I still have to wonder though, if perhaps you were trying to indicate that Chrollo maybe did feel a sense of guilt in that brief moment, but perhaps avoided addressing it by immediately deflecting the blame onto Reader so his emotions and conscience could remain completely untainted by regret or doubt.

Then there's the other moment (more towards the beginning) where his expression fluctuates right after the line where Reader states he "can't do this" (before he removes her pants) and Reader herself makes note on the fact that it was impossible to read the look on his face due to both the breakneck pace and stress of the situation. Now, I know that as an author you might not want to reveal any emotions Chrollo could have potentially been feeling in order to maintain the mystery of what he was thinking in this fic, and if you'd rather leave it up to the viewer or would rather not say, I definitely get it and completely understand. However, I will not lie when I say I am itching to hear your opinion on the issue, and if you yourself had ever personally envisioned Chrollo to feel a certain type of way when writing those particular moments. Was he making those faces due to stirrings of guilt or regret? Were those expressions being formed from things like confusion (maybe at his lack of self control) or annoyance at Reader or himself? Was it some strange sense of pity or something akin to stoic condescending sorrow in the face of Reader's pathetic helplessness that made him make those subtle faces? If you're cool with offering any answers, I can tell you I'd be dying to know <3

Oh, 'non, this is such a thoughtful comment I would feel awful for not at least trying to explain or offering up some thoughts for you.

There's a line for example, near the end of the fic where Reader seems to think Chrollo appears to feel guilty, only for him to state that he actually feels as though his raping of her was not his fault but entirely hers alone. Initially I took this at face value to mean that whilst Chrollo may have regretted their "first time" turning out the way it did, he didn't feel any legitimate guilt for having violated Reader in the first place. I still have to wonder though, if perhaps you were trying to indicate that Chrollo maybe did feel a sense of guilt in that brief moment, but perhaps avoided addressing it by immediately deflecting the blame onto Reader so his emotions and conscience could remain completely untainted by regret or doubt.

I think Chrollo might have some regret that their first time was not the fantasy he'd probably gone over in his head, but not actual guilt. He would easily, in his mind, justify what he's done because he tried to be "good" about it for so long.

His regret would be that it impacts him, and how the experience went for him, and how your inevitable traumatized reaction to it will impact him. It's regret, yes, but it's a greedy regret.

But as far as guilt, no, not really. Reader might wish he did. Reader would probably even pick up on his regret and plaster a fantasy where he regrets doing it for non-selfish reasons, just to make it more tolerable. Pretending is easier, sometimes.

Then there's the other moment (more towards the beginning) where his expression fluctuates right after the line where Reader states he "can't do this" (before he removes her pants) and Reader herself makes note on the fact that it was impossible to read the look on his face due to both the breakneck pace and stress of the situation. ... Was he making those faces due to stirrings of guilt or regret? Were those expressions being formed from things like confusion (maybe at his lack of self control) or annoyance at Reader or himself? Was it some strange sense of pity or something akin to stoic condescending sorrow in the face of Reader's pathetic helplessness that made him make those subtle faces?

Perhaps confusion, but not in the sense that he's confused at himself--reader saying he "can't" means that they have fundamentally misunderstood him, and who he is, and what he can do to them or anyone else. And it's perhaps that misunderstanding which led to this situation in the first place, where reader felt like they could push and push and push and push him, and not have consequences.

A misunderstanding which leads him to remind the reader:

“I’m a thief, love. I can take whatever I want.”

And he does just that.

I hope that explanation makes sense! Thank you for the thoughtful comments, pinning this to my figurative fridge, it makes me kick my legs (but literally) when people talk about my writing and it's clear that you've put tons of thought into something. Like.. .ahhh it just feels nice, thank you again for this message!

[horriblengrossstories]

Hey if Derek’s dad didn’t abuse him, what differences would you think would show in a non-abused Derek vs the Derek we have?

Non-abused Derek: He could potentially have a greater capacity for emotional connection. He might be able to form real, reciprocal relationships, even if he still struggles with some personal disconnect due to his genetic condition that affects his empathy. He may still have a hard time understanding emotions, but not because his father taught him to actively suppress or disregard them. He could have a greater awareness of vulnerability in others and a natural desire to protect or care for people, perhaps not to the extreme of unconditional love, but something closer to normal empathy.

Non-abused Derek: In a world without abuse, Derek might still have an obsession with control, but it could come from a place of ambition or personal insecurity rather than the need to defend himself emotionally. He would still want to be dominant but might seek legitimate success in the business world instead of the twisted, manipulative power he uses to bend people to his will.

Non-abused Derek: His internal battles would likely focus on feelings of insecurity and the pressure of being in his father’s shadow, but he may also experience moments of doubt and a desire for more authentic experiences or connections. His lack of empathy would still be a hurdle, but without the constant reinforcement of abuse, he may seek more balance in his life and not fall as far into the depths of sadism or manipulation.

Non-abused Derek: He could have learned normal emotional responses to people’s suffering, guilt, or sympathy, but his genetic condition would still make him prone to detaching from others’ feelings. He’d likely learn to hide it or mask it, but he could feel in a way that doesn’t seem quite as cold or malicious. Basic human connection would be harder for him, but not impossible.

The Bottom Line:

A non-abused Derek would be a more conflicted person, still struggling with the same cold nature due to his genetic condition, but not molded into the sadistic, manipulative figure he is with the abuse. He might still see the world as a competitive place, but instead of ruling through fear and pain, he might try to prove himself through achievement and respect. His interactions with others would be less warped, possibly even more genuine or balanced, though still touched by that coldness and emotional detachment from his condition.

it's not just his dad. It’s the entire ecosystem he's embedded in. The Wall Street brat heir life he was born into is designed to strip people of softness, empathy, and vulnerability. Those environments prize competition, power posturing, dominance, and image control above everything else. Emotional depth? Intimacy? That’s weakness in those circles.

So even a non-abused Derek would still:

Struggle to trust anyone—because everyone in his world wants something or is playing a game.

Be hyper-aware of status, performance, and optics, not feelings.

See relationships as transactions or power balances rather than spaces for genuine connection.

Be uncomfortable with real romantic vulnerability, even if he craved it deep down.

Probably still self-sabotage any chance at love because he’s never seen what love without control looks like.

So what’s left is learned behavior—and all the systems he learned from (his dad, his industry, his peers) reward cruelty and detachment.

So yeah, even if Bram didn’t abuse him, Derek would still end up a cold, prickly, difficult man,maybe just a little more hollow than cruel. Less violent sadist, more lonely man in a penthouse who can’t figure out why nothing he conquers fills the hole in his chest.

🧨 DEREK AS A REGULAR GUY 🧨

Aka:What if Derek was raised middle class, in a good, supportive family, got early therapy, had people who actually gave a shit about him

Childhood:

Parents clock early on that he's... different. Maybe he laughs when his sister cries, hurts animals once (and gets in big trouble for it), or says chilling things with no remorse.

Instead of brushing it off, or encouraging it, they get him in therapy. Maybe even get him evaluated. He grows up knowing he’s not like other kids, and his family makes room for that without excusing cruelty.

He’s still born with that cold glint in his eye. He pushes kids down the slide not for fun but to watch what they do. He dissects bugs without blinking. But instead of a father who encourages it, he has a mom who frowns and says, “We don’t hurt others. Why do you feel the need to do that?”

Support system:

His family doesn’t enable his worst tendencies, they set boundaries, rules, accountability. He learns early on that his impulses need outlets, not victims.

He’s probably weird at school. Socially off. Maybe gets bullied or alienated.

Therapists by age 8. School tries to suspend him for making another kid eat glue—parents instead enroll him in anger management and empathy training. He lies through it at first, but he learns. He adapts.

But he finds niche communities where his intensity is useful—debate team, martial arts, philosophy club, maybe even theater.

🧨 DEREK GOFFARD, AGE 17: Suburban Sadist in Training Edition

Middle-class home. Mom’s a dental hygienist, dad works in IT. They keep a tight house, check his browser history, put him in therapy after he stapled his own arm just to see how it felt.

He’s tall, sharp-shouldered, sleeps four hours a night.Charms the teachers. Horrifies the students.Parents love him genuinely. They just think he’s “a little intense.”

His mom: “He’s just gifted.”

His dad: “He’s going to be a CEO.”

📋 Family Situation:

Lives in a nice suburban home with a punching bag in the garage and a quiet pool out back.

His mom packs his lunch. Organic. Sweet note tucked inside.

He doesn’t lie to them.

His therapist tells him he has “impulse control issues” and “a skewed moral compass.” He smiles through it :D

📚 SCHOOL LIFE

People person and dependable. He’s quite popular a, little terrifying thought.

Honors classes. Clubs. Debate team. He’s sharp, persuasive, and charming.

His teachers say he’s “intense, but focused.”

🌪️ DEREK GOFFARD, THE FUNCTIONING CHARMER

He’s the kind of teenage boy who teachers love and students orbit. He’s tall, he’s well-dressed, he speaks well. He’s got that “put-together but a little dangerous” vibe. Girls like him. Guys want to be on his team. Parents say, “You’re lucky to have him as a friend.”

But beneath the straight A’s, smooth talking, and sharp fashion sense, he’s still Derek. He’s just learned how to play the game.

🦴 He still lacks empathy.

Therapy helped him learn the language of feelings. Not the feelings themselves. He can say things like:

“I totally get why that upset you,”or “That must have been really hard for you.”

He sees life like a chessboard, sure but now he uses that gift for strategy that helps people, not destroys them.

"Empathy is inefficient,But I understand consequences. So I just behave."

Always had a little too much confidence.

Broke hearts, but would warn them: “I don’t do love. You sure you want this?”

Ran school fundraisers like a mob boss, but always delivered the results.

Got called “intense” a lot. And “strangely polite.”

Impulsive Decisions:

Derek sees someone being picked on at school. He steps in, smooth talks the bullies into backing off, and then turns to the victim and says, “You’re lucky I was around.” And he doesn’t even realize how self-absorbed that sounds until later.

He drives too fast on a deserted road at night, just to feel the wind and the risk.

He shopslifted a high-end watch from a mall once, not because he needed it, but because he wanted to see if he could get away with it

Once, he found out that the toughest kid in school had been talking trash about him So, he arranged an underground fight in the woods one night, not to hurt the guy, but to show him who’s really in charge. The kid’s jaw got broken, but Derek doesn’t feel bad, he won.

Made a slideshow of everyone’s secrets for a class project, disguised it as satire. Got a standing ovation-

Burned someone’s eyebrows off during chemistry lab? Allegedly....

Lit his hand on fire with rubbing alcohol “as a dare”—just watched it burn. Didn’t flinch.

Stole a scalpel from biology. Still has it in his sock drawer.

🧠 He still needs stimulation~

This Derek doesn’t hurt people to get his fix but he thrives in high-stakes environments.

Crisis response teams? Yes.

Military intelligence? Maybe.

Wall Street? Only if he could ethically rewire it.

He doesn’t love or feel loyalty the way others do, but he chooses his people and sticks by them with terrifying efficiency.

He’s the friend who’d cut through red tape to get your sibling into surgery at midnight

💞 Romance, His Way❤️

He tells his partners the truth:“I won’t feel what you feel. But I’ll protect you, prioritize you, and never lie to you. That’s what love means to me."

And for the right person? That’s enough.

He remembers every detail. Never forgets a birthday. Always notices when something’s off.He doesn’t feel emotionally, but he acts intentionally.

And if someone hurts you?He doesn’t threaten He just says, “Give me five minutes.” 🧨

Hes still Derek after all.

He still doesn't cry at funerals.

He still zones out when people vent.

He still thinks things like:“That guy’s downfall was objectively hilarious,”but he doesn’t say it out loud anymore!

He helps people now. Not out of empathy, but because he likes structure. Stability. Control through kindness.

He's learned that being good gives him more power than being cruel ever did.

-birdie 🐦

[bambiraptorx]

Okay, my long overdue infodump about yokai medicine/painkillers is here. Just as a heads up, there will be discussion of and reference to a variety of drugs, drug use, and addiction.

There are three main forms of treatment used to deal with pain: pharmaceutical drugs similar or identical to the ones used by humans, potions, and spells. For now, I'll focus on pharmaceutical type medications.

So, to begin, I do need to address the fact that the yokai population has an immense level of biodiversity, from skeletons to insects to dragons. This means that the use of medicine is probably incredibly complicated, as a given substance can has wildly different effects on different species--not to mention that even within a species a compound can have different results (see: stimulants and how they have drastically different effects for people with ADHD than for neurotypicals).

Add to that the fact that we also see a large variety of sizes for different yokai, from Exploding Frankie (maybe a foot tall) to the colossal building-sized creatures we see walking around int he first episode of the show, and you've got a very complex problem. (Size is relevant in figuring out dosages because drugs often have different effects at different doses, but also because larger people tend to need more to have an effect in the first place. A dose that would kill a mouse probably wouldn't kill a 6 foot tall man, for example, but depending on the exact drug it might still mess him up a lot.)

This means that it would be very difficult to, if not impossible, to properly categorize a chemical based on its effects. Sure, they know Adderall works as a stimulant and opiates are painkillers for humans, but how does that translate to a slime yokai who doesn't even have a nervous system? How do you effectively (and ethically) figure that out when the population of slime yokai is extremely limited? In all honesty, you probably don't.

(As a side note, it's fairly important that for the drugs humans use, they go through large amounts of animals trials before ever being tested on people to a) make sure the drug actually has the effect it's meant to, b) figure out what potential side effects might crop up, and c) find out what a lethal dose is. That's because we can reasonably compare the reactions of animals to what we might see in a human body. For large amounts of the yokai population, that comparison probably does not work.)

So yokai can, in dire circumstances, use substances that humans would (as painkillers, sedatives, etc) but it would be very difficult to know what dosages are safe for a given species, if any are. This would also mean that the Hidden City probably has a very different approach to drug education: less "ooh these drugs are evil and you'll get addicted immediately if you ever try them" and more "just because meth acts as a stimulant for humans doesn't mean it can't kill you at half the dose it takes them to even get an effect so be fucking careful".

I would imagine that drug regulation works very differently in the Hidden City out of necessity. After all, you can't even reliably say what effects a given chemical has, let alone recommend a dose for people to use. In a lot of cases, the best that the HC can do is probably enforce purity standards and proper labeling of products so that at the very least, people know what chemical they're actually getting and how much of it.

Which of course means that their legal system is entirely different when it comes to drug related crimes, because the use/possession of drugs is something that cannot effectively be criminalized when a pill that would cause an overdose in one person would act as a mild cough suppressant in another. (That and the whole idea behind making drugs illegal in the first place is to prevent addiction by making access harder, which... is a bit of a weird premise in the first place? but that's a whole other rant. Yes, use declines somewhat when the drug is made illegal, but it also makes it much harder for addicts to get the treatment they need when drug use is criminalized.)

Given the length of this post I think I'll cut it off here and edit with links when I get the other topics covered lmao.

Part 2 Part 3

[fun-mad-ochouse]

Jesse Winters

(link to the picrew used at the bottom)

Jesss originated as an OC from a Bendy and the Ink Machine AU, but not much has changed about him since. His theme is still very geared towards sci-fi (it was a distanced setting for the AU) and he is still the portal jumping multiverse explorer that I originally loved.

His story now is different.

The multiverse houses an infinite number of threats to go with it's infinite spanse. Some more intelligent than others. This story starts with an empire, branched out over many realities, with absolute power over whatever they conquered. Their secret was mass production of androids, very specifically designed to replace living soldiers. They were made to look like the beings they represented, and to function with a full scope of emotion (for self preservation reasons), but still operate under infallible programming that would be impossible to instill in a living mind. Not to mention, extremely unethical.

At some point a project was set up, the goal being simple; to create an android that was powered by a soul, rather than batteries or a power cord. Something that functioned with both science and magic. They chose a soul that typically resided within a demon, and was particularly difficult to get ahold of or replicate, called a shadow type soul. More on that later. They made an android, to a greater quality than some of the others, and he was going to be the leader of the newly established Phantom Unit.

Things were going well, the beta android was very nearly complete with his training and was about to be sent into practical use with a team and everything.

A spy hijacked the ship he was being transported on, and got him somewhere where androids were... rehabilitated. Their trackers cut out, any defining programming removed, their independence enforced. Anything else on the ship was destroyed.

Jesse picked up his name later on, and at first, he went by Phantom, as a nod to his old purpose, as well as a testament to his skill set. The shadow magic that powers him is also his greatest weapon. He has been on the run ever since- at first, it was a matter of retrieving him. But as Phantom's reputation grew, it became a power struggle. He was moving beyond someone they labeled as a terrorist that could be hunted down as a success story- now he was a message about what people's tax dollars were doing!

They'd made a very expensive mistake, and the longer this new "Phantom Viper" continued to run circles around them, the less credit they got for failing to reign that mistake in.

Jesse himself is charismatic and lovable. He's got a strong hate for authority, but a lot of patience for anyone who just.. doesn't know any better. He genuinely hates the idea of having to kill anyone except for the higher-ups in the empire, and he's trying hard to be more than what he was made to be. He has no interest in being a weapon, though he's fantastic at self defense, by now having several hundred years of experience and the original combat training under his belt.

He's 6'4", openly and proudly homosexual, and has very strong paternal instincts- that he's responsible enough to suppress. He lives a life of danger and risk, he's not dragging a kid along with him and he's not going to just leave a kid to fend for themselves either. He wouldn't let himself be more than helpful unless he had a partner, and in many canons, he does!

@im-gonna-eat-your-eyes is the owner of Eightball, who later turned into Fate-! Jesse met Eightball and.. well, one thing led to another. Jesse continues to go on adventures, but he now has a home that he can return to and a family he can rely on.

[vi-does-stuff]

Reach Out

alpha!Obi-Wan Kenobi x f!omega!reader

Tags smut, mating cycles/in heat, post order 66, unprotected piv sex, mating bites, soft dom obi-wan kenobi, extremely little plot, no y/n

Word count 5.3k

When your master is killed in the years after Order 66, the last thing she tells you to do is to find Obi-Wan Kenobi. It takes you years, and eventually you do, but the man you find isn’t the man you remember hearing about as a Padawan back at the Temple. He does eventually let you stay, however, and you begin to get to know him — but how will you deal with the inevitable complications that come with your status as an omega?

ao3

It’s taken much longer than you’d have preferred to get to Tatooine. The years since Order 66 have been difficult — though you’ve been more lucky than most, actually having a master to complete your training, for one — and as you touch down on the planet it feels like something inside you is complete. You haven’t even completed your master’s final wish yet, needing to find Master Kenobi first, but you’re getting closer at least.

If anything happens, Master Nera had said before going out to face the people sent by the Empire, find Master Kenobi. He’ll be able to help you. owes me.

You’d protested, of course, wanting to help Master Nera instead of running and hiding — but you suppose that if she couldn’t beat them, you wouldn’t stand a chance. That rationalisation doesn’t exactly stop the guilt that claws at your heart every night, though. 

Locating Kenobi to Tatooine was hard enough. There were whispers — all you had to rely on, whispers — that he was on a variety of Outer Rim worlds, but none of them turned out to be true. Until one more concrete source came up, assuring you that the old Master was on Tatooine, hiding in the Jundland Wastes. And here you are.

Eventually, you find a mode of transport — ignoring the unsubtle inhale of the alpha trader and her repeated glances at your unbitten neck — and begin the journey into the Wastes. 

You only lived with suppressants for a few years before Order 66 made getting them virtually impossible without risk of arrest, but you miss their presence and usefulness a lot. Your heats are much less regular than the average omega’s, perhaps due to some lasting effect of the suppressants, and they always seem to catch you off guard at the most inconvenient times. You’ve also had to grow used to the increased awareness of people regarding your designation, particularly with you being unmated, and it never ceases to make you uncomfortable.

You close your eyes, reaching out in the Force as you try to look for a life form that feels Force sensitive, and allow it to guide you to where you think you’re meant to be. 

It takes a while — you knew that the Wastes would be big, but this big? — but eventually it feels as though you’re getting closer. You find yourself looking up at a steep climb towards what seems like a hut, and though you don’t exactly want to climb up there, something overwhelming in the Force tells you that it’s the right place. 

The walk is rough, and even though you know you can’t, part of you is tempted to stop and rest. You need to find Kenobi as soon as possible, so you keep going, trying to ignore the pain and tiredness that build up in your legs. After what feels like an age, you reach the top, and make the final few steps towards the hut. 

You pause for longer than you should before knocking at the door. You’re nervous, what with the anticipation of finally doing something that’s taken you years and you try not to shake as you wait for someone to answer the door. 

When the door opens, the first thing you take in about the man is his smell; alpha, big, strong alpha, and it’s all you can do to remember how to speak. 

“Master Kenobi?” The second thing you notice about him is how attractive he is, despite the lack of any positive expression on his face as he takes you in.

His brow furrows. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve been looking for you for- for years. I’m Master Nera’s Padawan. She wanted me to find you, so- here I am.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

It’s not just your omega side that reels at the rebuke. “But- I’ve been looking for so long, all I’ve been trying to do is find you-”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Please. Master Nera said you owed her. Whatever that means.”

Kenobi sighs. “Fine. You can stay. But not for too long — I have duties here that only I can fulfil.”

You can’t contain your gratitude in the Force. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t respond, only turning and gesturing for you to follow him into his hut. You do so, holding back a shiver at how strong the scent of alpha is inside — it does seem that he’s had a hard time getting hold of suppressants as well — and trying to look around in a subtle way. 

It makes you feel quite sad at how bare the hut is. You know that neither of you would be used to having possessions, but when you’d lived with Master Nera, it at least felt like home. This just seems like some random place that Kenobi’s staying in for a few days before leaving again. At least there’s a sofa, you suppose, so you’ll be able to sleep somewhere that isn’t the floor.

“Master Kenobi?” you ask. 

“Don’t- don’t call me that. Call me Obi-Wan. Or Ben; that’s how I’m known here. The Order is gone, I’m not a Jedi Master anymore.”

“Just because the Order’s gone doesn’t mean you’re not a Jedi Master. Master Nera still taught me for several years after Order 66.” Kenobi, again, doesn’t respond, and it seems he’s waiting for your original question. You sigh. “Why actually are you on Tatooine?”

He sighs too. “Please stop asking questions.”

“Why shouldn’t I ask? Don’t I deserve to know what’s going on with the place that raised me?”

“The Order is gone. How many times do I have to say it?”

“It’s not truly gone, Obi-Wan. I know it — I’ve spoken to the surviving Jedi while you’ve been stuck here. Nothing could really get rid of the Jedi Order completely, not even the Empire.”

“Then ask those Jedi what’s ‘going on’. I’m not here in association with the Order.”

“You wouldn’t willingly come to a planet like Tatooine and stay here for so long without good reason. There must be something.”

The silence that stretches out for several seconds makes you think you’re getting no answer again, until he speaks. “There’s a child.”

“A child? Yours?”

He exhales, a noise almost sounding like a laugh. “No. Not mine. But he’s Force sensitive — strong — and I watch over him.”

“Oh.”

You imagine him holding a child in his arms, and something about the image makes your heart jump. You should probably stop thinking about that.

“You can sleep on the sofa,” Obi-Wan says, changing the subject. You decide not to stop that. “My room is that one, and the ‘fresher is through there.”

“Okay.”

“Do you know why Nera sent you here?” he asks, apparently deciding that it’s his turn to ask questions.

You shake your head. “It was the last thing she said before going to fight the stormtroopers, she didn’t give a reason other than that you owe her. She mentioned you a few times before, though — it seemed like you were friends.”

“We were. I respected her a lot. And she- well, she saved my life once or twice. That’s probably what I owe her for.”

You imagine the great General Kenobi, saved by your own master, and find yourself wondering how the two of them got on. 

“She respected you a lot, too,” you say, before pausing. “I miss her.” You really do; you miss her tutelage, you miss the friendship that your apprenticeship had grown into, and you miss having another omega there who understood you and was a comforting figure through your heats when neither of you were used to having them. 

Obi-Wan’s face shifts almost indistinguishably. Your signature is practically radiating grief, and some deep part of him yearns to protect you, to push that grief away until he can see you smile at him. 

“I miss her too, little one.” The diminutive catches you off guard, and you have to fight to repress the keen in your throat.

You try to smile. “Well. Thank you for letting me stay.”

He shrugs. “Hey. Don’t thank me until you see how boring it is here.”

He isn’t wrong — life on Tatooine can be rather boring, as you find out over the following week. But you find that there’s something you appreciate about it, not having to actively be concerned about some random person spotting you and realising you’re on the run from the Empire. 

You don’t worry, that is, until Obi-Wan takes you into Anchorhead for some supplies. It’s a small town, yes, but you’re used to always having to look over your shoulder and being around more than one other person again makes you feel uncomfortable. Thankfully, you aren’t there for too long, picking up the necessities quickly before going back to the hut.

You spend almost all of your time in the hut, or at least very close to it. You haven’t stopped your usual Jedi morning routine of katas and meditation, and you notice that Obi-Wan hasn’t either. One morning, you wake up later than usual, and you see him going through it as you walk to your usual spot. He’s not wearing a shirt, and you have to tear your eyes away from his bare chest, feeling blood rush to your cheeks as you walk away.

Releasing your feelings to the Force once you’re settled in your typical spot, you appreciate how much time you get to spend meditating now you’re here. It reminds you of when you were still with Master Nera and you didn’t have to hide your Force sensitivity from anyone in your direct vicinity.

Spending more time with Obi-Wan helps you feel more comfortable around him, too. You don’t talk about an awful lot — it’s difficult for you both to divulge certain things, and you both respect that, too — but he seems to grow used to having company. You even begin to spar with one another; why not take advantage of having someone else who can fight around, you suppose. Obi-Wan consistently beats you, but you appreciate having someone so knowledgeable in various lightsaber forms so close to you again. His corrections are always useful, and it makes you sad how he’s missed out on teaching a whole new generation of young Jedi how to use a lightsaber. You manage to take most of it in as well, despite the distraction of having such a strong alpha in close proximity to you.

Obi-Wan really does appreciate having someone else around. He hadn’t realised how truly lonely he was until you showed up at his door, and he is very glad that he took you in — he’s actually rather fond of you, as odd as it is for him to admit. 

Things are almost good for a few weeks. Until the inevitable comes along.

You finish your routine before Obi-Wan does one morning, and are making breakfast when he walks in. He comes to your side, going to get his own food, and you notice him sniff a little, as though smelling something odd. 

Being in Obi-Wan’s hut has caused its own scent to shift; it’s no longer just alpha but more balanced, and it’s reassuring to return to when you go outside. But when you inhale, you realise that something smells wrong — you.

Sure, you’ve felt slightly off all morning, but you hoped that you wouldn’t have to contend with this just yet. You smell of preheat, nowhere near as intense as it will become later, but still noticeable to any alpha or omega nearby. 

Your surprise must resonate within the Force. “Are you alright?” Obi-Wan asks, somewhat awkwardly. 

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t realise this would happen yet.”

He swallows. “It’s alright, little one. You can hardly control it.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Would you like to take my room when it gets worse? The bed would probably be preferable to a sofa.”

Your signature rings with gratitude. “Thank you, Obi-Wan. If that’s alright with you.”

“It’s probably the best thing for both of us.”

You sit down to eat your breakfast, and try to push back the intensity of your incoming heat with the Force. You can do it to a certain extent — you’ve done so before — but only for a little while. Nothing can stop the inevitable if you don’t have suppressants.

Over time, you feel — and smell — the preheat coming on much more, your core growing warmer as it does so. “Could I- could I go to your room soon?” You ask. “Before it gets bad.”

You watch him inhale again. “Yes. Whenever you need.”

“Thank you. Again, I’m really sorry about this — it’s always really irregular, but I thought I’d have quite a bit longer than this.”

“It’s alright. Do you want to go through now?”

You nod, and he shows you through to his room. “Thank you, Obi-Wan. Truly.”

He just inclines his head slightly. “I don’t have many blankets or anything, so I’m sorry about that. I only have what’s on the bed.”

“It- it’s okay. It’s better than nothing at all.”

“True. Well- I suppose I should leave you to it.”

“Okay.”

Part of you desperately wants the man you’ve begun to really care for to stay, to take care of you, but you try not to seem too sad as you watch him leave. You instead turn your attention to the room; his bed is in the corner, which you note happily — you’ll feel safer not being completely open on all sides — and though there aren’t many sheets, you feel like you’ll be able to work with what you have. You spot a robe in the corner, and can’t stop yourself from taking it. It smells of Obi-Wan, the alpha’s scent reassuring you in a way you didn’t exactly expect, and you keep it close to you as you bury yourself in his sheets and try to meditate.

Outside, Obi-Wan also tries to centre himself in the Force. He hasn’t been remotely close to anyone in heat in years, and especially not since coming off his suppressants, and he’s not used to this all-controlling urge to protect and care for. He’s wanted to look after people before, of course he has, but he’s never felt such abject frustration at being unable to do so. But you’re not unable, he tells himself. She’s right there.

Right there. Just on the other side of the door, a door which is hardly blocking your scent from taking over the rest of the house. 

Obi-Wan stops himself from going in, again and again. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to you, but you’re in heat for goodness’ sake. Neither of you would be acting in your right minds if anything did happen, and the last thing Obi-Wan wants to do is to make you feel any sense of regret for coming to him once your heat is over. 

But he needs to look after you.

After most of the day spent meditating somewhat successfully, Obi-Wan stands. Even if he can’t ease your heat in the way that you truly need, he can make sure you’re not starving and dehydrated. He gathers together some food and pours a glass of water, and takes a deep breath before opening the bedroom door.

If he thought your scent was strong outside, it was nothing compared to what he’s hit with once he steps inside. You’re practically writhing around in his bed, his clothing clutched to your chest as you do so.

At the noise and presence of someone else in the room, you shift to look at him, pupils dilated. “Alpha?” you ask, practically calling out to him. 

“It’s only me,” Obi-Wan says. “I brought some things to keep you going.” He steps closer, somewhat worried about what he might do if he doesn’t stay away from you, and hands over the plate and glass. He watches you eat and drink — you seem to be rather hungry, which doesn’t really surprise him — and takes the empty things back from you when you’re done. He goes to leave again, but halts at the sound of a whine coming deep from your throat.

“Alpha- please stay,” you say, almost sounding pitiful. You give in to your previous wants, and decide that you may as well ask. It’s not like you can stop yourself from doing so, anyway.

“I shouldn’t. You’re not in your right mind.” 

“Obi-Wan, please.” He stops again at the sound of his name, having begun to move to the door. “I don’t want to be alone right now. I can’t.”

Obi-Wan sighs, but you can somehow sense through the Force that he’s decided to stay.

“Come in my nest, alpha. It already smells like you.”

He puts his things down on the bedside table and gives in, tentatively going to sit down on the bed. You quickly go to wrap your arms around him, pulling him into an embrace and inhaling the comforting scent of alpha as he reciprocates the hug, holding you close to him. 

You tuck your head into his shoulder, and the movement makes his beard rub slightly against the scent gland on your neck. The slight friction earns a keen from your throat that you desperately try to push down, and you resist the urge to attempt to bear your neck to him. 

You’re resisting a lot in general right now; in going to hug Obi-Wan you essentially straddled him, and with his knee slotted between your legs it’s very difficult not to grind against him. A small, barely-there part of your brain is reminding you not to make him uncomfortable, despite the larger, almost overriding part of you desperate for more contact with the alpha. 

Obi-Wan’s hand comes to rest at the nape of your neck, thumb lightly stroking your scent gland, and you shuffle a little in his lap, still trying not to be too obscene with him. “Oh, omega,” he says softly, almost catching you off-guard. “Is this helping?”

You nod, hoping he registers the movement correctly. You try to get a read of his Force signature, hoping that he’s not too uncomfortable, but he seems completely calm, not unlike the comforting scent that he’s releasing. “Can I- can you help more?” you ask hesitantly. 

“What do you want me to do, omega?” His voice is so close to your ear, an edge to it that only drives your desire higher. 

You swallow. “I’m so empty, alpha, it’s starting to hurt. I need you.”

His breath catches. “Are you sure? Are you sure it’s not just the heat?”

“No, Obi-Wan, alpha, I swear-” you get out. In an attempt to demonstrate your feelings towards him through the Force, you somewhat clumsily completely take down your shields, pushing everything through to him that you can. 

“I shouldn’t,” he says, and it kills you. 

“Don’t you want to?” If you thought your voice was pitiful before, it was nothing compared to this. 

“I do. Kriff, I do.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

The question seems to change his mind, and Obi-Wan moves you so he can finally capture your lips in a kiss. It starts soft and sweet, but you both have needs right now — you suspect you may be kickstarting his rut, if the shift in scent and growing bulge you feel against your thigh are any indications — and quickly deepens, Obi-Wan seeming to know exactly what to do. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how quickly your heart is beating, racing in your chest, and Obi-Wan places a hand right over it as though trying to calm you down. 

He uses that hand to push you away slightly, and you’re afraid that he’s going to stop things, but he only moves you further onto the bed. He moves too, going to remove his shirt so that his chest is bare before you. You can’t help but stare; his arms are fully freed for the first time as well and though not massively muscled, there’s just something about them that you can’t tear your eyes away from. 

You look back up at his face, and there’s a somewhat nervous expression there, as though he expects you not to like how he looks. “Alpha, you are gorgeous,” you say, leaning forwards to trail your hands along his torso, wanting to map every inch of him with your palms. 

He smiles at the compliment, before pulling you into another kiss that you eagerly reciprocate. It seems it’s your turn to undress, as Obi-Wan fiddles with your clothes — all you’re wearing is a long shirt which he easily pulls over your head, leaving you completely naked. 

Obi-Wan moves you again, laying you both down on the bed with him positioning himself just above you. He begins to kiss you again, before trailing his mouth down to your jaw and neck, dangerously close to your scent gland. You’re already sensitive, and the contact of his chest against your bare skin only adds to the sensations, eliciting a moan from you that you can’t hold back. 

His lips are at your scent gland now, and you’re more than tempted to beg him to sink his teeth in. It wouldn’t be a bad thing at all, you reason with yourself, to be mated to Obi-Wan. You’ve idly considered it before over your weeks with him, and if you didn’t think that the request would risk him stopping this whole thing altogether, you’d be saying it in a second. You let out a keen again, the yearning you feel clear in your voice, and your hand moves involuntarily to the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, fingers in his hair. 

You inhale, and mixed in with the scent of alpha is the unmistakable smell of your slick, which you can feel between your thighs. You’ve never been this wet before — you’ve never had any other stimulation during your heats — and it surprises you. Obi-Wan seems to smell it too, and he halts, leaning up to look at you from where he was pressing his lips to your chest. “Omega- can I taste you?”

All you can do is nod, and watch as Obi-Wan moves further down your body to settle between your legs. You shuffle backwards to give him more space, and oblige him as he pushes your thighs further apart to give him more access. It’s a vulnerable position, another that you’ve never held before, but the scent of your- the alpha right in front of you helps to ease how you feel. 

He doesn’t go directly between your legs, instead beginning by pressing a line of kisses against your inner thigh. You’re already sensitive there, and the light scratch of his beard adds to the feeling, especially when he nibbles at the skin. He doesn’t quite break the skin — not that you’d be complaining if he did — but you can guess that it’ll probably still leave a mark, which pleases some deep part of you.

The first press of him against your cunt simultaneously sates you and ignites a fire in your stomach. Your hand instinctively goes to rest in his hair, and when he licks into you your fingers tighten, and you try to force them to relax and remove your hand. “Oh- sorry,” you manage to get out.

It’s fine, Obi-Wan tells you through the Force. You can touch me all you want.

With his highly fortunate blessing, you place your hand back in his hair, and with another lick — this time to your clit — you press his head further between your legs. He begins to suck lightly at your clit, making the sensations you’re feeling yet more intense, and you can’t help but writhe your hips slightly. It feels good — really good — but something about it doesn’t quite fill you in the way you crave. 

“Alpha, wait-” you say, and he pauses, lifting his head up to look at you. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks. “Am I doing anything wrong?”

“No, this is great, I just-” you swallow. “I really need you to fuck me. I feel so empty.”

Obi-Wan laughs a little. “Okay, little one. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you, alpha.” 

He moves from between your legs, sitting back on his knees. The two of you seem to realise how wet his beard is at the same time — you, somewhat embarrassed by the fact — and he goes to wipe it with his hand before going to kiss you again. “So wet, omega,” he says, between kisses. “Is it all for me?”

“All for you, alpha,” you say.

“You got all nice and wet for me, is my omega going to present for me as well?” Even though you reason within yourself that it’s just a slip of the tongue, that he didn’t actually mean it, the possessiveness of the phrase my omega kills you a little bit inside.

Even though you’ve never presented for anyone before, you instinctively know what to do as you shift onto your front and press your shoulders down into the mattress, baring your cunt for Obi-Wan to see. You hear him remove his trousers before he takes his place above you, caging you in with his body so that you feel safe and comfortable, and presses a light kiss to the side of your neck. “Are you ready, omega?”

“Yes, Obi-Wan, please,” you say, and he pushes himself into your cunt.

You’d known that he’d be big — he’s an alpha, after all — but even with the help of the slick you’ve been producing, you can tell that he’ll take some getting used to. Even with that recognition, you almost immediately feel better at the feeling of someone so deep inside of you, in a place which has never been reached before. Neither you nor Obi-Wan can halt the pleased noises that tear themselves from your throats, and knowing that the alpha is enjoying this too makes you feel even better. 

“Oh, omega, you feel perfect around my cock, so tight and wet,” Obi-Wan says, mouth still right by your ear so the words send shivers along your spine.

You manage to laugh a little at that, although thinking clearly is becoming progressively more difficult. “Imagine how it’ll be when you knot me.”

Obi-Wan actually growls at that, instinctively thrusting deeper into you, and if it was possible for you to get any wetter, you definitely would have at the sound and feeling of his voice right next to your ear. “Are you looking forward to that, omega? Want me to fill you with my knot, with my come?” He punctuates the question with another forceful thrust, and the answer you were beginning to form is blocked by another moan. 

“Alpha-” Obi-Wan continues to push his cock into you, initially trying to make it slow and deep. Your desperate clenching around him, however, seems to make him lose his control, and he soon increases his pace, which you certainly aren’t complaining about. His focus also remains on your neck, pressing clumsy yet purposeful kisses around your scent gland, teasing you with the prospect of being mated. 

You continue to feel better and better the more time you spend with Obi-Wan inside you. It feels like he’s everywhere: his body is caging you in, his familiar and comforting scent has filled the room, giving the atmosphere a touch of desire, and he’s finally beginning to open his Force signature up to yours. While not quite as familiar as his scent — yet — there’s just something about Obi-Wan’s Force signature which draws you in, as though it’s pulling on your own in the desire to make a deeper connection. Desire is the main part of it; yours and Obi-Wan’s feelings ricocheting around the room, seemingly only getting stronger as time goes on. 

“Obi-Wan?” you ask breathlessly.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can you-” you pause nervously, unsure whether you’re actually going to ask, but Obi-Wan senses your hesitation and goes to comfort you through the Force. “Can you mark me, alpha? Bite me?”

You hear his breath hitch in his throat, and his rhythm falters for a second. “Are you- do you want me to? Do you understand what that would mean?”

“Yeah, it would- it would make me yours, alpha. I just want to be yours.”

“Sweetheart…” he growls. “You want to be my omega?”

“I do. Very much.”

You can feel Obi-Wan’s (initially reluctant) joy at that admission through your tentative, barely developing Force bond, and his attentions on your neck intensify. His teeth scrape against your scent gland, a hint of what’s to come, and you shiver in anticipation within his arms. Just the knowledge that he’s going to mark you, that Obi-Wan will be your mate very shortly pushes you that much closer to the edge, excited for what this will mean for the two of you. 

All of your thoughts are Obi-Wan, thinking of your future together, being bonded so strongly that you’ll never have to endure a heat alone again, never endure anything alone, all because of the new relationship with this man you’ve quickly fallen for since he opened his home and his arms to you.

“Omega- are you ready?” he asks, voice rough at the edges as his pace shifts again, his knot just about beginning to swell. 

You moan at the feeling of it, desperate to be completely filled and to feel your alpha’s teeth sinking into your neck. “Yes, alpha, please-”

And he sinks his teeth in. There’s an element of reluctance at first, but you push your feelings of affection and willingness out through the Force, and Obi-Wan breaks the skin, sealing you as his. The feeling, as well as the conclusiveness that you are his and he is yours helps you reach your orgasm, and you clench yet more around Obi-Wan, whose own knot is beginning to catch against you. He pushes it in one final time before being unable to pull out again, moaning at the feeling of you tight around his cock. 

Then he’s pressing kisses against the gland, cleaning up the blood from where he’s sunk his teeth in as well as simply providing the affectionate gesture, before gently moving you both so that you’re sitting in his lap and baring his own neck for you to mark in return. You do so happily, appreciating that he’s willing to let you bite him, feeling your connection with the man slot into place. You nuzzle into his neck, wrapping your arms around him and letting yourself relax into the clarity and relief that comes with your mid-heat orgasm. 

Obi-Wan reciprocates the embrace, lightly stroking your back with his hand and holding you close to him. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”

“Much better, Obi-Wan,” you say. “Thank you. I hope you’re- okay with everything. That I didn’t pressure you, or anything.”

“I’m more than okay. And I apologise if I’ve been somewhat distant recently. I’ve found it quite hard to open up to people after everything that happened, but with you? You make me want to. I just hope that you could be patient with me, at times, and I want you to know that I don’t regret this at all.”

“I’m glad you feel that way. I don’t regret it either, alpha.” You pause, and grin. “My alpha.”

“My omega,” he responds in kind, going to kiss you. It’s much less heated than the kisses you shared before, but you don’t care, appreciating the softness of his touch. “Is there anything you need?”

You shake your head, and settle back down into Obi-Wan’s arms. “Just hold me for a bit.”

“I can do that.”

You close your eyes happily, basking in the atmosphere of the room. Your Force signature is open, alongside Obi-Wan’s, the two of you feeling comfortable enough to be unshielded around one another. Of course, it still smells of alpha, but your scents have mixed in a way that the room feels like it’s yours now, too. It didn’t happen immediately, but you realise that this place (both the building, and here in his arms) has become where you feel the most relaxed and safe — with Obi-Wan, you’ve found your home.

alpha obi-wan on tatooine round 2: electric boogaloo, I hope you enjoyed it! thank you for reading <3

(a sequel is up! read it here)

my masterlist

[fe-fictions]

Any Virion reposts? :)

(How about Virion frantically trying to take care of his sick wife??)

“Cancel everything- any appointments, meetings, requests or contractors! All of them! No one is to step foot in this place except the doctor and myself, understood?”

“But milord, what about the nurses?”

“I will not repeat myself!” Virion’s voice echoed through the manor halls, taut with worry. It could be mistaken for severity or anger, but anyone who worked for him knew that wasn’t the case.

The entire staff was on edge because Virion was in full blown panic. His wife had fallen ill.

He had no more time to waste outside the bedroom, where you were cooped up in quarantine, kept away from others for the safety of his staff and Rosanne. 

He didn’t want to risk your illness spreading, even if you insisted it was just a fever and cough. 

That could very well be a very serious strain of influenza, and he wouldn’t risk you being exposed to something through contact with others, nor would he want you to accidentally infect someone else.

He only engaged with staff that lived in the manor, which in this case was the poor head maid who was scrambling to keep up with her frantic master.

Virion was impossible to handle at times like these. The worry ate him up alive, regardless of how severe the problem was.

In matters concerning his Robin, there would be no negotiating.

You knew this, and so you did your best to be patient with them, of course promising to treat the poor servants to something nice.

“What is the status of Cherche’s travels? Has she retrieved the medicine I requested?”

“She sent a letter- she will not be here until later in the evening.”

“The evening?” Virion repeated with a jerk of his head, “That’s far too late! What if something terrible happens in her absence?”

There was not a single person on earth who could give him a reassuring or proper answer. Instead he pinched his nose, dismissing the woman as he tried to suppress his frustrations.

What a terribly frustrating turn of events. You were ill and unable to do much of anything, relying on your dear husband to take care of you in such trying times, and yet he could do so little.

Which, he realized, it was past time for him to check on you. He turned on his heel and returned to the master bedroom, taking great care not to burst through the doors and startle you, but enter quietly (he had already made that mistake once).

“Mon amour? Are you resting?” He stepped into the room silently, the doors quiet as they clicked behind him. 

You were lying there in the center of the bed, swallowed up by the size of it. Kerchiefs littered the blankets, the steam from the washroom’s extremely hot bath water humidifying the room in an attempt to help you breathe.

The labored movement of your chest would suggest it wasn’t helping as much as he’d hoped. Yet still you smiled up at him, your eyes glassy but maintaining your usual mirth.

“Welcome back, Virion.” You held a hand out for him to take. He crossed the room hastily, capturing it in both of his. 

“How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do for you to alleviate your burden?”  He asked with such sorrow in his voice.  You shook your head, letting yourself sink back into the pillows.

“I’m afraid not,” You spoke through your nose, voice hoarse and scratchy. “I’ll be stuck like this for a few more days, at least.”

“Mon dieu…” He sighed heavily, bowing his head, “All I wish is for my darling Robin to be healed, and yet her medicine is delayed, her head is still stuffed, and I am powerless to do anything about it.” 

“You’re doing what you can.” You ran your fingers through his hair, which was tousled and out of place given his anxiety. “It’s just a cold.”

“If it were just a cold you would not be so terribly incapacitated.” He reminded you with a deep frown, “You must rest, mon ange, so that you will recover quickly. I just wish it were not so difficult for you to do so.”

“You and me, both.” You chuckled softly, which devolved into an ugly cough. Virion quickly grabbed his handkerchief and held it to your mouth. His hand pressed to your back when you doubled over, trying his best to support you despite how useless he felt.

Gods, was there truly nothing more he could do?

“I’m okay,” You assured him when you regained your breath, all but flopping back onto the pillows, “I’ll be back to tip top shape in no time, and then you won’t have to worry one little bit.”

“I am so very glad you have kept your sense of optimism my love, for I lost mine long ago.” Virion sighed shakily, looking positively pitiful. 

He squeezed your hand, holding it to his lips, the worried creases in his brow only deepening when he felt how very warm your fingers were.

“Oh, no- has your fever worsened?” He shifted to feel your forehead, finding you were indeed burning up. But you shook your head and waved him off, replacing his hand in yours.

“Darling…please don’t worry.” You murmured, kind and patient, “You need to relax or you’ll worry yourself sick, too.” 

“I am the least of your concerns, amour…please focus on your own recovery. My duty is to care for you in sickness and in health, and I am very worried that I cannot do even that for you!”

“But you’re doing a fine job,” You attempted to reassure him, but he remained unconvinced. It was a side of Virion that very few people had ever seen. 

The have and silver-tongued archer was always brimming with confidence. But when it came to matters of the heart; true, deep and raw matters…he was so very vulnerable.

So rarely did he know what to do, or how to react when things started to go wrong. Whether it was your health or reaffirming your feelings for him (which had to happen more often than you’d think), he relied on you for comfort and confidence.

So when his pillar was no longer viable, he started to collapse in on himself like a dying star. It sounded dramatic, but there wasn’t a much better way of explaining it.

Your poor husband was absolutely a mess when you weren’t around. 

“I have traveled across many a country and continent. I have heard countless stories of men and women who have lost their most beloved counterparts due to sudden illness. It starts out as nothing, yes, a mere cough or a mild fever. Then the next thing you know, they have taken a sharp turn and are dead in days!”

“I don’t think that’s what’s happening to me.” You said with a sad smile. Virion closed his eyes with a weak groan, his head falling to your middle. He buried his face in the blanket. 

“Yes, yes, the doctor said you would recover with plenty of rest. But what does he know? Is he as well-traveled as I?”

“Perhaps not.” You rested your hand atop his head, “But you know that he’s devoted his life to studying medicine. I’m confident in his diagnosis, as should you be.”

He turned his face to look at you, eyes just as glassy as yours (though for a different, more tearful reason). “How could I ever be confident when you are unwell, mon ange? What am I to do if you are in such a bad way?”

“You are to nurse me back to health, of course.” You pinched his cheek with a gentle touch, attempting to pull his lips into a smile. “I would do the same for you without hesitation.”

“Because you are the essence of perfection and beauty.” He managed a small smile, pulling your fingers from his face to kiss them sweetly. 

“Then can I trust the Archest of Archers to do the same for me? I mean, you’ve been doing an excellent job so far.”

“But of course, my darling. I will not leave your side until this ailment is cured!” He vowed to you, “Well, until Cherche returns. Then I must go to retrieve the medicine, and send for the doctor for tomorrow’s visit…”

“It’s a figure of speech, Virion- you don’t have to stay right here.” You genuinely laughed at how perplexed he looked, which brought him some relief.

Exhausted and miserable as you felt, you had yet to lose your golden sense of humor.

He cusped your cheek, thumbing away the little tears that peeked from your eyes. You were in such a terrible state, and while it did destroy him on the inside, it gave him great comfort to know you were still happy despite it all.

“There is nowhere else I would rather be, mon coeur. I shall stay beside you until you fall asleep, at least, so that when you wake I will still be with you.”

“And you can get things done without worrying about me being alone?” You quirked an eyebrow, pulling a chuckle from his lips.

“Naturally.”

“An excellent strategy.”

“I thought so,” He rose from his seat beside you, and bent down to kiss your forehead. “Please, get some sleep if you can. I will return to check on you shortly, but I must handle some other matters. Will you be all right while I’m gone?”

“I will send for you if not.” You promised him, the loving gaze in his eyes warming you from head to toe. You had no idea how you had gotten so lucky, to marry a man who truly adored you no matter what.

Naturally you felt the same way, even if he was a goofy, anxious mess from time to time.

“Dors bien mon amour.” He murmured, kissing you once more before he finally pulled himself from your side.

As expected, you would make a full recovery in the coming days, each morning your breathing slightly easier than the last. 

Unfortunately your husband was not so lucky, catching your cold and ending up in the same position you were in days prior. Cherche was the one who scold him for being in such close proximity to you. What was he thinking, kissing and touching a sick woman?! 

You married a fool, she said as she left him to your care.

You were inclined to disagree, though…sneaking in a few kisses of your own to comfort your poor, sweet husband.

[hauwunted]

This is too long winded to truly get into tbh but like I feel like.. a lot of my life I get stuck in this rotten little area where I figure something out (like being trans or autistic) just before the crux of the "so many people are this now, it's such a trend, it's detracting from ppl that are actually suffering" and every time it happens I feel like i personally am the problem and that i must be wrong and it holds me back from exploring or addressing things because im "probably faking it because im sure i would KNOW"

Like it just leaves me feeling like I have to either suppress what I now have access to and "bottle it up" or just know fully I won't be taken seriously, even in safe spaces, when i talk about it.

Specifically too though like... I am diagnosed with autism right I have my letter and accommodations (not that they get met) but like. Diagnosed! And yet the resistance of ppl treating it like it's trendy (it's not) and insisting that not this many ppl can have it (they can) instead of realizing it just means more ppl have been suffering from it and deserve the space to exist within it?? Idk my ass ends up seeing the angry ppl posting that ppl have to stop "treating it like its cute" and I get so flustered because I'm like "ur right I should have never sought out my psychiatrist and tricked her into diagnosing me with something that only other people suffer from because it sounded fun" when I'm one of the lucky few to actually get tested and diagnosed!!!! And if I'm still capable of performing mental gymnastics to villanize myself, then I know that younger ppl are going through it much worse and its gonna set them back 1000 years in their coping and recovering process.. Idk its not my responsibility but the conversation is extremely difficult between "I've suffered my whole life from this and always had the word to throw my hate and anger at so when you say you have it but don't seem pissed off or ruined the way i feel, I get upset therefore you all have to stop acting like it's a trend" and "I've suffered my whole life from this and since I wasn't diagnosed I didn't have a word to throw the hatred at so I just directed it internally at me being stupid and broken so I'm celebrating this thing that has largely made my life impossible and that probably seems pretty offensive to the ppl that had the opportunity to know what it was the whole time" without it sounding like you're patronizing the other group of people under your umbrella or acting like the other group is wrong or privileged (when neither are neither)

Idk It applies to so many parts of my life (ur not REALLY trans if your not trying to "pass" or have bad enough dysphoria) and I'm so so tired of seeing both sides without anyone bothering to represent the middle: some of the things are going to get cutesyfied due to the pervasive nature of social media and pop culture but taking it out on people that are fresh into discovering, exploring, growing, and/or learning about themselves and saying they haven't suffered enough to be able to talk about it openly is not the answer CHIEFS...

Tldr that one meme with the mirror about calling ppl ugly when it only affects the ppl around you, not the people that are going to do wrong no matter what you say. Ultimately There's no right or wrong way to suffer or to cope and you're always going to alienate someone when you try to talk openly about it but talking openly about it is all there is to do so....I guess we will just die

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Monthly Follower Recs

Monthly follower recommendations for the month of December 2022

Baby, I’m a Star (ao3) - cactusgal

Summary: Phil is a lighting designer. Bored with the community concert gigs he has had for a few years, he applies at a touring company. He gets assigned to a popular band, the dreamx, to cover a world tour. Getting paid to work on nearly every continent; how rad is that? Phil’s really excited until he the first day of rehearsal when he learns something vital: the lead singer is a complete twat. Will Phil quit his job? Will Daniel, the lead singer, realize how much of a dick he’s being? Will they eventually forget their differences and become friends? Who knows. Only time will tell.Loosely based on the song “Baby, I’m a Star” by Prince and has aspects of the film “Lost In Translation”.

banging on a heart of tin (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: Dan has a little crush.

Give Yourself A Try (ao3) - analester

Summary: Phil Lester thinks he is straight. At least until he gets to uni and meets Dan Howell. Being gay is extremely frowned upon, so Phil tries his best to stay away from Dan, but it becomes difficult when his professor asks Dan to tutor him. Afraid of being shunned by his friends and family, Phil tries his best to suppress his feelings, but how can he when Dan is so pretty?

home for the holidays (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: Dan and Phil take a moment to themselves while hosting Dan’s family for Christmas.

i'm giving you all of my love (ao3) - localopa

Summary: phil is 5 years sober and dan thinks it's just a party to celebrate it.

In My Way - ineverhadmyinternetphase

Summary: Phil is less than impressed when Last Man Standing is getting filmed in his hometown. And he certainly doesn’t want anything to do with obnoxious, arrogant, so irritatingly perfect leading actor Daniel Howell.

Losing everything and falling in love (ao3) - ironicallyrad (snakedolls)

Summary: After arguing between who should go buy milk, Dan finally gives in and heads out. It's not until after 40 minutes that he's out, that Phil receives a call from the hospital saying his best friend is in a coma. Phil has to go through the struggle of possibly losing his best friend and then helping him recover as he falls desperately in love.

meander through the garden of your mind (we can take our time) (ao3) - indistinct_echo

Summary: “I don’t—,” Dan starts but then cuts himself off. He takes a deep breath. “It’s not PJ’s reaction that I’m worried about. It’s the saying of words bit.”

a fic about identity and the ways we can create and explore it

One Thousand Midnights or More (ao3) - JudeAraya

Summary: A decade of love told in moments.

right here, right now (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: Dan’s buzzing with furious, frenetic energy, and he wriggles his shoulders and slumps back in his seat and it doesn’t actually touch the wild gleam in his eyes.

“Go on,” Phil says, pushing his knee at the side of Dan’s chair. “Let me sort this out.”

(impossible quiz #6)

Speaking Truthfully (ao3) - Junebug1312

Summary: The universe decided it was time for Phil to start telling the truth. No matter if he wanted to or not.

The First Christmas Together - doomedhowell

Summary: It’s Dan’s first Christmas without his abusive ex-boyfriend. Dan and Phil have only been together for about a year. Dan isn’t really feeling festive, but Phil’s still determined to make Dan’s first Christmas with him the best, while Dan wants to thank Phil for everything he’s done for him. So Dan enlists the help of Martyn to get Phil the best Christmas present.

When the Weather Breaks (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: Sitting across from Phil on that worn out velvet Starbucks sofa, sharing sickeningly sweet coffees and what they would like to think were hushed giggles, was the first time Dan felt a glimpse at what real love could feel like.

or

Perception checks, pining, and peppermint mochas.

[anarchoherbalism]

Opiate rant

It boggles my mind how much time, effort and resources the medical industrial complex puts into pain relief research when we got it right with opium and morphine a hundred goddamn years ago. Are they desirable for everyone? No. But instead of trying to meet the needs of people with complex or difficult to treat pain conditions, the pharmaceutical industry is desperately trying to create alternatives for people that wouldn’t need alternatives with decriminalization, education and home synthesis rights.

The average relationship to opiates in the so-called US is not what it could be. It’s extremely hard to manage physical dependency when your supply is inconsistent and you have to spend half a batch trying to get a handle on how strong your shit is and then have to start over with a completely different batch a week or two or three later–to say nothing of how impossible it can feel to schedule tolerance breaks or plan ahead to manage how fast your tolerance builds when you don’t know where your next fix (or the money for it) is going to come from. Black market pressure (especially how drug penalties are calculated) prioritizes the most potent possible substances in the smallest physical quantity, meaning lots of people are forced to take doses much higher than what they would otherwise need or find desirable, causing tolerance to build very rapidly and be difficult to control. AVOIDABLE gastrointestinal problems, malnourishment, and infection run rampant because our culture teaches drug users that these are punishments for immorality, not simple side effects and risk factors that can be dealt with through drug-user-specific health education and care.

How many people would live happy, desirable lives–fuck it, how many people would STILL BE ALIVE RIGHT NOW if they had the option to use safely produced, content-guaranteed, consistently-dosable opiates? How many people are suffering on non-indicated ineffective gabapentin prescriptions when their pain could be easily, safely managed with opiates? How many people lose years of their life to antipsychotics and SSRIs when a week or two of opium tea could’ve been all they needed to get through that rough patch, cope with that death, keep that awful event from becoming a life-long trauma?

What would happen if instead of choosing between pain and fentanyl-cut who-knows-what, you could plant some poppies in your back garden and have next-to-free access to effective relief? If instead of shelling out for pharmaceutical pills that could just as easily be cut you could make your own or get them from a farmers market stall or your friend in the corner house with the big lot and know exactly what was in them and how they were made? If you could go to any doctor or community healer or medic or harm reductionist or WHOEVER and get customized, experienced, well-thought out advice on a dosage and tolerance management plan, on food habits and options to help with suppressed appetite and potential GI problems, recommendations for supplements or medications to limit or eliminate GI distress, fresh needles and rigs or glassware and injection training and wound-care supplies and instructions, supplements and medications and exercises/habits to limit lung damage from smoking…

No more ruinous addictions. No more ulcers from tainted supplies or trying to disinfect wounds with hand sanitizer and mouthwash. No more avoidable pain and emotional distress. No more emotional and physical damage from using intense substances without knowing how strong they are or what effects they might have. NO. MORE. FUCKING. DEATHS.

Opium is exceptionally easy to produce–morphine and heroin are more complicated, but we’ve been making them for a long time prior to modern industrial labs and the basic chemistry knowledge and equipment needed for safe production could be 100% achievable to just about anyone. The harm reduction and side effect management are THERE, they’re just obfuscated by drug war politics and general health illiteracy. Opiates are not ontologically dangerous, they are made dangerous by the state. Because the state is not invested in healthcare, it only cares about control. Opiate deaths are a punishment. Addiction (as opposed to managed dependence) is a punishment. For daring to be poor, for daring to be Black or Indigenous, for daring to be disabled, for daring to try to be OK in a system that dangles health and happiness as a reward for participating and being the right kind of person— and to get the right kind of people to do the right kind of thing, to live between the lines and reproduce civilization, to retain homeostasis in the social macroorganism, there has to be a threat. There has to be a scapegoat. There has to be the wrong people who do the wrong things.

The opiate crisis was engineered through overprescription and under-education. The problem wasn’t just availability of these substances: It was and continues to be pushing opiates without harm reduction, without health literacy, without unconditional safe supply and user-tailored healthcare.

I don’t have any grand synthesis to wrap this up in a nice bow. I’m just tired, and angry, and scared, and screaming into the internet in the hopes someone reads and understands. I don’t have an answer. I don’t have a call to action. If this inspires you to do anything, please do it. I don’t want people I love to die anymore.

[9tzuyu]

a widow’s surprise

prompt: “who wouldn’t be angry? you ate all my cereal and faked your death for three years!”

note: i have no idea what this is i’ll be honest, this was just for funsies and i wanted to see if i could write this prompt. so don’t be too harsh </3

warnings: none :P

ty moli for proofreading <333

🏷 : @c-is-writing @nermalina @wandaromanova @blackxwidowsxwife

. . .

adjusting to life without natasha felt impossible. it took over a year and a half to accept her death. you’d gone through all the other stages of grief, but acceptance was the most difficult to come to terms with.

it’d been three years now, and you still cried on anniversaries, the date of her death being the worst of them.

but you could get through the days, weeks, months. time no longer felt as suffocating as it once did. you no longer carried anger towards sunny days or the presence of someone else’s company.

things were casual. you were out with friends, laughing as you kicked rocks down the pavement. there was no particular destination in mind, but it was nice to feel free for just for a little while before you had work in the morning. the conversation was smooth, there was talk of moving cities and following dreams too far-fetched to even fathom.

before you knew it, you found yourself back inside your car. as you shut your door though, your pocket-sized picture of natasha fell from your sun visor. the action caught you off guard, causing your breath to stick in your throat.

as much as you hated to say it, natasha hadn’t crossed your mind in a little over a month. remembering this triggered a surge of guilt to shock your heart.

you didn’t want to forget her, and that’s what it felt like. how could you do that? and how would natasha feel about it?

with a deep sigh and a clenched jaw, you put your car in reverse and drove yourself home.

you fumbled with your keys as you unlocked the front door. to your surprise however, you were met with a head of bright, red hair twisted into a french braid.

it couldn’t be.

“natasha?”

the familiar-looking woman spun around at the sound of your voice, setting your now empty box of cheerios on the counter.

“hi.”

“you- no, there’s no way!”

“yes baby, it’s me. im here.” natasha moved to step towards you, but you backed away instantly, not missing the flash of hurt reflect in her eyes.

“you’re not real, you’re not real, you’re not real! this is some fucked up joke played by the universe. you’re dead. you’ve been dead! this can’t be hap-”

natasha swiftly moved in front of you, cupping your face with her hands. they were gentle, soft to the touch just as you remembered.

“i’m not dead. this is real, i’m really here. i’m sorry i was gone for so long.”

she pulled you in for a hug that you were sure would break you. “oh my god i missed you so, so, so much.”

“i- how?”

“they call me black widow for a reason, baby.”

the excitement in the air quickly died down, your face frowning into realization that she’d been alive the entire three years you’d mourned her.

“why the fuck didn’t you tell me anything?” natasha tilted her head in confusion. “are you angry?”

“who wouldn’t be angry? you ate all my cereal and faked your death for three years!”

the russian crossed her arms, rolling her eyes in faux annoyance. “i can get you a new box of cereal tomorrow morning if it’s that important to you.”

“you’ve got to be kidding me. you’re not- oh my god!” natasha picked you up bridal style mid-sentence, not caring at all how mad you were.

“you can be upset all you want later, or even now, i don’t care. you can scold me all you want, just let me hold you while you do it.” you clung to the back of natasha’s neck, waiting for her to set you down.

and when she did, you found yourself in the bed of your room. you sat up, waiting for natasha to lay down. she already knew what you wanted, and she was happy to comply. her back lay flat against the mattress, arms reaching out to lay you on top of her. it was something you liked to do whenever you were extremely upset and having her hold you from behind wasn’t enough.

your hips laid across the belt of her jeans, hands digging their way underneath natasha as her arms crossed over your spine.

“you’re like a koala,” she mumbled.

“you always say that.” you giggled before pressing a kiss against her cheek. “never, ever do that again natasha, or i’ll… well i don’t know what i’d do, but i wouldn’t be happy.”

“making you happy is the only thing i want to do.”

your grip around the russian tightened, as if you were afraid she’d slip away again. and although you tried to ignore it for the sake of the moment, the overwhelming realization that natasha was back shocked you yet again.

one sniffle and natasha pushed you back. she could tell you were trying to suppress your cries, but she knew it was better to let everything out than to keep it locked in.

“i’m here. it’s okay, you won’t ever lose me again. i’m here – i promise i’m here.” she cooed. the back of her index finger offered a gentle stroke around your face.

you looked down at natasha once more, taking in her appearance. her green eyes were bright, radiating liveliness as they scanned over your body. her lips were pink and full, and her infamous red hair was tangled, strewn across the pillow beneath her head.

“the last time i saw you the ends of your hair were blonde.” natasha grinned, your statement flooding her brain with memories of the night you bleached her hair.

“i cut off what was left when i got bored of it. do you not like my hair the way it is now?” she teased, giving your hips a small squeeze.

“no, no, i love it! red has always been your look. and it’s much softer than the blonde, anyway.” natasha hummed her reply before tugging you back down into her arms.

“let’s just stay like this for a while, yeah?”

“of course natty.”

[hlizr50]

Update: The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 8 (It's a long one, y'all)

A choice, a conversation, and a question

Read on AO3

Azriel’s body was perfect.

Anyone who disagreed was surely blind.

Gwyn had been watching him for the better part of half an hour, choosing to sit in silence when he hadn’t acknowledged her presence. There was no possible way he didn’t know she was there – he would have scented her at the very least. Azriel was one of the most accomplished warriors in the history of Prythian, after all, and no-one could ever enter his sphere without notice. She had only managed a handful of times, and she had a sneaking suspicion that his shadows had been responsible.

Those shadows were coiled tightly to their master tonight, looking like they might snap from even the slightest brush of a finger. They mirrored the tension that rippled over the shadowsinger’s bare back. Gwyn smirked to herself as she silently cursed the Illyrian for focusing his frustration solely on the post in front of him, facing away from her and cruelly limiting her ogling. He’d opted for punches and kicks, no doubt requiring impact and pain to relieve whatever it was that had weighed on him today. She would have quite enjoyed the sight of that gloriously elaborate eight-pointed star, appreciating how the sweat would bead and trickle down his spine or between the muscled ridges of his stomach.

Mother above, he was beautiful.

Both of the Illyrians in her life were impossibly tall and built of solid muscle. They were the definition of power. But Cassian and Azriel were so utterly different. The general was brute force, hulking muscle, arrogant. The spymaster, though… He was leaner, strength hidden underneath an unfair amount of grace for a male of his stature. Gwyn had seen him shirtless many times, but rarely did she have the chance to appreciate the vision that he truly was. She wanted to memorize the tangled strokes of the tattoos that waterfalled down his neck and over his shoulders. She marveled at the ease with which he moved, even with his long legs and arms. His wings were magnificent, even as silver ribbons of scars streamed over the thin skin. She’d heard Nesta, Cassian, and Emerie talk about wingspan and how it related to other parts. That wasn’t particularly important to her, but it had still made her blush.

And his hands.

She knew Azriel was determined to hide and hate them, just as much as she was to love them and prove to him how special they were. She nearly crumpled in tears every time she recalled the cruelty that had marked them, fire and torment melting the flesh as quickly as it could be woven back together. The story of his childhood had shattered her heart, and she was even more awed that he had somehow grown into someone so considerate, noble, and kind. Gwyn longed to hold those hands, to trace her thumbs over the mottled flesh and make him feel her adoration for them. But she wanted them to adore her, as well. To feel those graceful calloused fingers gliding over her skin…

She felt warmth coil deep in her belly as it crept into her cheeks. Gwyn blinked away the haze in her eyes and chided herself. There was no reason to think things like that – she shouldn’t get ahead of herself.

The priestess scowled as she saw blotches of red blossoming over the strips of cloth wrapped around his hands. Enough was enough. She pushed herself up off the stone and strode over to where the Illyrian continued to batter the post, shadows still taut around his rippling shoulders and incredible wings.

“What’s wrong?” she called, making sure he could hear her over the echoing thunder of his fists against the padded wood. Azriel paused but didn’t turn to face her.

“Nothing.” He squared his shoulders again, but she would not have it.

“You’re a liar, Shadowsinger.” He straightened but didn’t respond. So Gwyn continued. “You were tense during training this morning and you skipped dinner. And I can only assume you were here instead because, violent and powerful as you are, it would take you longer than the last half hour or so to beat your hands to a bloody pulp.” She crossed her arms, the billowing blue of her robes tucking under her wrists. Gwyn bore into his back with her eyes, willing him to turn around and face her. She’d be damned if she let him shut her out, not after things had been going so well. She could feel her heart beating in time with his measured breaths, those toned shoulders shimmering as they rose and fell in the moonlight. She was so entranced by his breathing that she jumped when he flared his wings.

He finally turned around. His shadows had loosened, if only slightly. But it was a start. Gwyn shot him a grin, daring him to tell her that she was wrong – to deny that something was eating at him.

“It appears I’m caught, then.” Azriel’s voice was quiet and measured. Most wouldn’t understand how it differed from his usual tone, but it set the priestess on edge. She looked into the dark gaze of the spymaster, and somehow the angles of his face had sharpened. “Interesting training attire.” Gwyn ignored the lightning that seared through her as his eyes swept over her body, even though she knew there wasn’t much to see thanks to those robes.

“I didn’t come here to train.” She rolled her eyes. The shadowsinger’s cold stare flickered for a moment, a crack in that practiced stoic expression.

“Then why –“

“I came out here to make sure you were alright, Azriel.” Cauldron, he could be so dense. She cocked her head, watching his face relax as her words sank into him. And she might have heaved a relieved sigh as his shadows started twirling like candle smoke and hazel gleamed back at her in his widened eyes. Satisfied that she had been able to reach through his veil of detachment she strode toward him. Gwyn did not move her eyes from his, even as she stopped in front of him and pulled at one of his battered hands. She cradled it in both of hers, allowing her fingertips to caress the whorls of skin and blood-soaked rags. “Why don’t we go inside. I’ll take care of these and you can tell me what’s bothering you.” She kept her hold on him gentle, though she couldn’t help but tighten her fingers around his for fear that he might pull away. The priestess studied his tanned face, trying desperately to read any hint of where his silence was leading them. The spymaster mask had slipped, but aside from the pooling light in his hazel gaze and the easy wafting of the shadows there was no breath of what he was thinking.

Gwyn lowered her gaze, frustrated that he was still so reserved. But she would not give up – that was not her way. So she sighed as contentedly as she could muster and focused on his hand. She drew her fingers softly over his knuckles, surely cracked and stinging under the crimson stains she traced. Her fingers followed the paler lines of scars to the end of one finger, then the next, until she had attended to every piece of exposed skin she could find. Then she folded his fingers into his palm and raised his hand to her chest. She dared a glance up at him and found it difficult not to cower away from the intensity in his visage – burning liquid pools of hazel seemed to pierce straight into her soul. But she gathered her courage – from where she did not know – and stared back, lowering her chin and brushing her lips over his knuckles. Gwyn felt his intake of breath, even though his lips barely parted and his face betrayed nothing. The air around them grew thin and taut and she waited, once again, for him to pull away.

When his hand squeezed one of hers, she knew her cheeks had flushed a deep crimson. Mother, she was sure her face looked giddy with child-like hope, but she smiled up at that perfect face when she squeezed back. She earned a soft crooked grin in return.

“Lead the way, priestess.”

~~~

Azriel kept his wings tucked close as he was silently led through the house. It had not gone unnoticed by him that Gwyn had not released his mangled hand, choosing to keep those long fingers of moonlight tangled loosely with his own. He couldn’t quell the warmth that spread through him, and he couldn’t stop shadowy tendrils from circling down his arm and looping around the contact. If the priestess noticed she didn’t show it as she pushed open the door to the library.

“The library?” He raised his eyebrows, but his question was soft. He had assumed she would guide him to his room, but realized as soon as he’d voiced his surprise that it was a ridiculous assumption to make. Being alone together in his room would feel extremely intimate, and she was likely not ready for that.

“Is that alright?” Gwyn asked him as she turned to him with that lovely hand still grasping his own. “We could have gone to your room, but I know your privacy and space are important to you. I didn’t want to intrude on that.” Her head cocked as she blinked toward the ceiling, freckled nose scrunching in thought. Azriel felt the corner of his mouth quirk, unable to suppress his fondness for how expressive her features were. The warmth inside him took root as her words registered. She’d been thinking of him. Of his comfort and not her own. Irreverent and spontaneous as she was, her consideration for those she cared for was thorough and thoughtful. As surprising as she always was with her candor, Azriel was floored by the depth of her compassion.

“Actually, I’m not even sure I know where your room is so,” she shrugged and tugged him over to the settee, “the library will have to do. Now sit.” The spymaster dropped onto the cushions as if his body were unable to resist her command for even a moment, though she let go of him when he did so. The absence of her gentle touch left him aching and he looked up at her gleaming teal eyes. “I need some things to tend to your hands. Promise you won’t leave?” His heart pinched at the earnest plea as he tried to understand the emotions churning in that ocean-deep gaze.

“You have my word, Gwyn.” He hadn’t meant for his voice to be so rough, thick with other promises he wanted the priestess to ask of him. But he was inwardly smug as he watched the blush stain her freckle-painted cheeks.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered and scurried out into the hallway.

Azriel allowed himself a chuckle at her reaction, running a hand through his dark locks. Then his mirth settled, a weight in his gut replacing the contentment he had felt only seconds before. He didn’t want to talk to anyone about his distaste for Illyria, least of all Gwyn. He didn’t want to see her eyes darken from his own sorrow, and he couldn’t bear for her to realize that just by being Illyrian he was a potential danger to her – a monster.

But, Mother above, this was Gwyn. He’d promised that he wouldn’t pull away, that he wouldn’t decide how she would react instead of giving her a chance. And somehow that beautiful warrior would not see the same things he did. Something inside him just felt it. So he would be brave and he would lay himself bare to her. Again. And he knew, terrifying as it was, that he would do it over and over – she need only pin him with that hopeful, caring gaze.

A clinkinterrupted his reverie, and he saw a porcelain bowl sitting on the coffee table, the water still rippling from its sudden appearance – no doubt a request to the house from Gwyn. As if on cue Azriel shifted his attention to the door and found the lovely copper-haired priestess pulling it closed behind her, a basket in her hands. He allowed himself a grin and let his gaze follow her as she crossed the room and placed the basket next to the bowl of water. Then she hiked up the waterfalls of blue robes and sat – somewhat unceremoniously – facing him on the couch. She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, surveying her supplies and formulating her strategy, and the shadowsinger could feel the heat coil low in his stomach at the sight. It was a small mercy that she gestured for his hand and released that lip from her teeth.

With less trepidation than he expected, Azriel placed his scarred hand in Gwyn’s alabaster grip, but kept his focus planted on where they touched. Her long fingers were nimble as they worked against knots to unwrap the crimson-stained rags. As he might have expected, the wounds had already closed, his Illyrian blood providing swift healing. When the priestess scowled playfully, nose scrunched, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

“I suspect I might not have required your medical expertise, Berdara.” But the priestess just shrugged a shoulder, unaffected by the turn of events.

“It was only an excuse to get you to stop and talk to me,” Gwyn admitted before looking up at him, beaming that her ruse had succeeded. “So I’ll wash off the blood and make sure everything is fine. And you’ll start talking.”

Azriel just stared at her for a moment, shadows flaring in his periphery at her unabashed statement. Her hair shone like flames in the fae light as it fell over her shoulders, her focus firmly on his hand. She had dipped a cloth in the water bowl and started dragging it gently across his knuckles, cleaning the red stains from his mottled skin.

“I’m waiting, Shadowsinger,” she cooed.

“I have to go to Illyria. Tomorrow. With Cassian and Rhys,” Azriel sighed, and had his hand been free he might have flopped dramatically into the back of the settee. When the priestess remained silent he whispered venomously. “I hate it there.” Gwyn still didn’t look back up at him, and he wondered if she did that purposefully, as well, so as not to make him feel more pressure than the anxiety that already gnawed into his chest.

“You don’t lead the armies. Why do you have to go?”

Cauldron, if she only knew how many times he’d asked the same damned question.

“For… status checks such as these my primary purpose is intimidation.” He let his eyes wander over the rainbows of book spines filling the shelves on the end wall, once-vibrant hues dulled by time and dust. “We present a united front, the leadership of the Night Court and their forces.” Azriel felt the warm cloth on his hand pause and he turned his attention back to the Valkyrie who now looked up at him, head tilted in curiosity.

“So you, Cassian, and the High Lord?”

Azriel nodded. “I believe the High Lady will be joining us, as well. Sometimes Mor accompanies us, as a representative of the Hewn City. We’ve tried a few different strategies regarding who makes these visits.” He couldn’t hide the contempt in his words. “But we’ve found a strong female presence is… rarely helpful. Even though it is proof of the point that Rhys and Cassian are trying to make.”

“Rhys and Cassian, but not you?” The shadowsinger inwardly cringed at the implication that he may not share his brothers’ beliefs about the value and potential of Illyrian females, but the priestess before him held no judgment in the depth of those teal pools. Azriel ran his free hand through his hair.

“My brothers have been quite insistent that Illyrian females have the opportunity to train, should they choose, as well as putting a stop to some of their more barbaric traditions and practices.” He stifled a gasp as Gwyn’s fingers traced over his now-clean knuckles, examining them for any remaining injury. Apparently satisfied, she set that hand in his lap before lifting her gaze.

“But you don’t include yourself in that effort?” Her eyes narrowed, but her lips lifted in a wry grin. “I know firsthand that you also believe that females should be trained and can be capable in battle –“

“More than capable, priestess, as you have proven.”

Gwyn’s smile widened. “So why is it that you separate yourself from them?”

“Of course I share their beliefs, and I would love nothing more for wing clipping to be a figment of a dead past and for camp leaders to stop insisting that weapons must be buried once females touch them. I just don’t have faith that the Illyrians will ever change.” He loved his brothers. They were the best males he’d ever known, their hearts and minds full of so much hope. But Illyria would always be a cesspool of brutality and carnage.

“You believe so little in their potential?” Gwyn’s face had softened, no lines crinkling her nose or the corners of her eyes, swirling orbs of concern. His shadows held tight to him, unmoving with his bitterness. Not a single tendril reached for the warrior who gingerly grasped his other hand and pulled it into her lap. “You and Cassian and the High Lord are all Illyrian, and the three of you have grown into quite exemplary males.” After that soft statement she turned her attention to the bloody wraps, sighing contentedly. He watched the top of her copper-tressed head.

“Cassian and Rhysand are the best of us. I’m not –“

“Azriel.”

His throat bobbed at the quiet reprimand in her voice. Gwyn’s grip on his hand had tightened considerably and the rest of her body had tensed. Silence thickened the air and it fell over him like a blanket, urging the shadows closer to him, to safety. When she looked up at him again his mouth nearly fell open at the intensity of her expression.

“Why do you do that?” He was taken aback by the roughness in her voice, usually a sweet, soothing song. “You are one of them. You are. Their hearts and souls are no more pure and precious than yours. And even if we spoke only of you, what about being Illyrian would damn you so?”

The shadowsinger gaped, and Gwyn’s bright eyes challenged him to prove her wrong. Just like he knew she would. But, no matter how many times she proved to him the depth of her empathy and understanding, he still felt the pang of shock simmer through him. His fingers tingled in her grasp.

“Tell me, Azriel,” she whispered her near-silent plea.

“Gwyn, you know how the Illyrians are. You’ve seen it with your own eyes and experienced it.” Azriel took a breath and shifted his gaze to their hands, still entwined in her lap. “Illyrians are bred to be brutal in all areas of their lives, violent and entitled and possessive and selfish. They take what they want without thought or regret. They… indulge themselves freely, taking females for their own pleasure with or without consent. And that is the heritage I share. I was created there, just like the other brutes, to be a monster. Powerful, yes, and lucky as fuck to have found myself under the care of Rhysand’s mother. But a monster, nonetheless.”

The spymaster kept his lidded attention on his bloodied hand and Gwyn’s delicate pale fingers tightened impossibly further around it. He focused on the contrasts – his darkened, ruined skin under the freckle-spattered moonstone of hers; her two hands unable to wrap completely around his much larger one.

“You’re not a monster. You’re not a brute. And no matter what happens, I will always be here to remind you of that.” Azriel closed his eyes, shuddering at her conviction. He felt her hands moving again but kept his eyes closed, unsure of how to continue. He felt the wet cloth against his skin and knew his priestess had resumed her ministrations, washing away the stains of his frustration and contempt.

Minutes passed in silence as he focused on the dampness against his skin and the soft, comforting breaths of the incredible female in front of him. Then the cloth was gone, his fingers guided to fold around her hand, and then he felt two fingers lifting his chin. Azriel took a breath to gather his courage and lifted his gaze, finding full lips in a soft smile, constellations of freckles dusting pink cheeks, and the most incredible, impossibly expressive teal eyes shining with emotion. The fingers left his chin but he barely noticed, lost in that ocean.

“When you go to Illyria, I want you to remember what I’m about to say.” He gave a nod when she paused, waiting for him. “Nobody is just one thing, Azriel. Being Illyrian does not doom you to a life of committing atrocities and causing pain. There is hope there. Remember Balthazar? He aided Nesta and Emerie during the Blood Rite. I know there aren’t many, but they are there. Think of Cassian and Rhysand, who you say are the best of males. They have far outshone the picture of damnation that you’ve painted.” Gwyn squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. His eyes must have been playing tricks on him, as he swore he saw a fine line of silver on her lower lashes.

“But what I really want you to think about is you. You’ve shared your history with me, Azriel. You have experienced pain and loneliness and darkness greater than most can even imagine, and your power is some of the greatest that Prythian has ever known. You had every reason and every opportunity to become a monster. If anyone could have become the most fearsome, brutal male it could have easily been you. But you didn’t.” Azriel felt pinpricks in his eyes, and the way the priestess smiled at him… that light seemed to breach his very soul. “You are here, a dedicated servant to your court. You do the things you must, to protect your family and your home. You are thoughtful and kind and more generous than you probably realize. You are not a monster, but you areIllyrian. And you are sitting here with me, holding my hand. Being Illyrian has not defined who you are. And there are likely others out there who are the same. Try to remember that.”

Azriel let out a disbelieving huff, but he felt his lips curl into the slightest grin. This warrior priestess was going to be the death of him – a certain death of broken-down walls and encouragement and fierce rebuttal of the self-loathing that had been with him far longer than he could truly remember. It was uncomfortable, and he almost didn’t know who he would be without it. But the way Gwyn looked at him, the way she saw him. Maybe he could find himself there.

“Well,” she patted his hand and gave it back to him. “Your wounds are healed, the blood is gone, and hopefully now you can get some rest.” She hopped up and began cleaning up her rags and water, only to give a soft ‘squeak’ as the house vanished them away. He snickered, earning a withering glare, which only made him laugh harder.

“I’m going to bed,” she huffed, sticking out her tongue at him before stalking to the door. Azriel rose quickly to stop her.

“Gwyn,” he called, halting her at the door. She turned to look at him, an expectant eyebrow raised. He reached for the back of his neck, suddenly nervous. “Thank you. For listening. And… and for your encouraging words.” Watching her expression change was like magic, like watching the sun transform the sky as it breached the horizon. The irreverence and playfulness fell away, replaced with that delicate gentle smile and burning compassion in her ocean depths.

“Thank you, Azriel. For trusting me. I am so grateful that you didn’t pull away from me.” She paused before turning back to the door. “Be safe, Shadowsinger.” And then she was gone.

Azriel just stared at the empty doorway, confounded and delighted and… awestruck. And there was nobody to hear his quiet vow when he finally spoke.

“Anything for you, Berdara.”

~~~

He was all but running down the ramp to one of the lower levels of the library. His long legs loped, carrying him closer to his goal – the sweet voice echoing a lilting melody through the stacks. Azriel kept his wings tucked close, knowing that if he unfurled them even a little he may be tempted to fly.

He was sure Clotho and the other priestesses would not appreciate such brazenness.

He didn’t think he would ever describe a visit to Illyria as pleasant, but even he couldn’t deny the optimism that had somehow permeated his soul. It had helped him open his eyes beyond his own bitterness. She had helped him. Of course he had been every bit the feared spymaster that he was required to be, but he had surprised Rhys and Cassian when he had joined them for every meeting and observation, choosing to utilize those few moments of downtime to execute his more covert tasks. They were to debrief immediately with the rest of the Inner Circle – given only enough time to wash before they were required at the River House. But as soon as he had smelled the air of Velaris all he could think about was the lovely Valkyrie priestess who seemed to be a balm to his scars.

He was breathing hard when he spotted her, shadows flitting at the enchanting picture before him.

“Gwyn.”

Her singing stopped as her head whipped to face him, face splitting into the brightest smile. “Shadowsinger! Welcome home!” If their relationship were different – if it were further along – he might have run to her, gathered her up and swung her around in his arms. Gods knew he wanted to. But he had to keep himself in check, at least for now. So he settled for a grin and walked briskly toward her. Her eyes darkened in question. “Do you need something? When did you get back?”

“A few minutes ago. I don’t have much time – we’re supposed to go debrief at the River House with Amren and Mor. But I do need something.” Gwyn’s smile had softened but she giggled.

“Alright, well I’ll do whatever I can –“

Her voice halted when she noticed that Azriel had extended his hands to her in silent question. He could never just grab her, but he prayed to the Cauldron, the Mother, to all the gods above that she would take his scarred hands in hers. Confusion fluttered over her features, but he grinned, hoping she was encouraged. He released the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding when she cautiously lifted those robed arms, placing her palms in his open ones.

“Az?”

“I do need something. I need to ask you… if you would join me for dinner tomorrow?” For once he could be smug, seeing the surprise light in her eyes and knowing this wasn’t what she expected. He was emboldened. By her. So he brushed his thumbs over her knuckles as he continued. “I know it’s only been a few weeks. And I’m sure I haven’t done nearly enough to prove myself, but I just –“

“Yes.”

His eyes had to be wide as saucers, and his breath seemed to have escaped his chest. But he didn’t need it. Not when Gwyneth Berdara, hands still safe in his own, smiled at him that way – corners of her eyes crinkling above flushing cheeks.

“You came straight here – knowing you were needed immediately by the High Lord – just to ask me to dinner?” Gwyn snickered but it caught in her throat, betraying emotions that stormed in her beautiful eyes. He released one of her hands, only to grasp the other with his scarred fingers.

“Yes,” he breathed, lifting that pale hand and brushing his lips lightly over the soft skin of her fingers. A shadow twirled down his arm and danced where they touched, but Azriel’s focus was pinned to her face. He was relieved to see no sign of discomfort, but a furious blush had painted her cheeks and the points of her ears. And he chuckled. She could not be more lovely. “I want to see what comes next, Berdara.” She shook her head.

“We need to work on your priorities, Shadowsinger.” She scrunched her nose and then gave him an easy shove with their tangled hands. “Go, you’re going to be late.” He kept ahold of her, jerking her forward lightly. Smirking, he kissed her knuckles again before letting her go.

“I’ll see you in the morning, priestess. I hope you haven’t been slacking in my absence.” Azriel winked at her – Mother above the things she made him do – and turned on his heel, moving much more slowly to leave than he had to find her.

“You’re going to wish we had!” she threatened. And he laughed, throwing his head back, reveling in the joy he felt. Whatever was next, he was ready to face it. And he wanted to face it with Gwyneth Berdara.

Tag List: @trashforazriel @tealnymph24 @secretlovelybeauty @meher-sumedha @imsointobooks @flora-shadowshine @positivewitch @tanvee1231 @imwritingthesewords @camreadsum @vikingmagic33 @katiebellf @shisingh @gwynrielsupremacist @sagureads @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @sv0430

[cafeinthemoon]

The Home I Crave - Chapter XV

Chapter: 15/?

Wordcount: 2900

Title: Hand Signs

Fandom: Naruto

Pairing: Tobirama Senju X reader

Previous chapters

1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8 . 9 . 10 . 11 . 12 . 13 . 14

Symbols: ⭕ . ➕ . 💛

Warning (s): none

N. A.: Yeah I think I owe you apologies for taking this long to post this chapter, but here it is, finally! I was feeling so upset and guilty for not writing as much as before, but it's simply because I haven't had time to sit down and work on my stories. These days have been rough 😣

You didn’t remember well how things happened after the man left your door. You only remembered seeing Tobirama turning to you and saying something, trying to raise his voice above the storm’s sounds, but it wouldn’t let you understand the exact words. You probably stood up and took the first clothes you could find, but you weren’t sure how; even less passable of an explanation was how your husband could find time to put his full armor before you two left the room, all your package except for the weapons being abandoned there as well as your hopes of having at least one pacific night before going back on your journey.

Somehow you reached the first floor, from where the people of the tea house were trying to leave as fast a possible. The ninjas you saw when you arrived at the place came to speak to you. They were in three.

You two turned to them and the one who seemed to be the leader of the group introduced himself:

- I am Yuuta from the Land of Wind– and turning aside to indicate his partners – These are my brothers, Yuji and Yoko. We understand that you two are shinobi like us. We’ve heard about the ditch and thought we could work together to help the people who live here.

There was no time to think about the strangeness of the situation or to have suspicions about the group. You felt a sort of regret for the bad impression you had of them at first, because they seemed to be honest people now that you paid close attention to them.

Apparently Tobirama had the same opinion, judging by his response when he spoke for you two.

- We are shinobi from the Leaf Village. I am Tobirama Senju and this is my wife, Y/n from the … clan. We are going to the village near this tea house to help the people there.

- I am used to work in rescuing missions and it would be of great help if some of you came with me – you completed.

Yoko, who was the only woman among them and seemed to be the youngest sibling, replied that she had experience in rescues too. You and the three ninjas had a quick conversation and it was decided that Yuuta and Yuji were going to help the people of the inn while you and Yoko were going to the village. However, when Yuuta asked Tobirama to stay at the inn with him and his brother, the Senju refused.

But it was the explanation given by him for such refusal that left everyone stunned.

- I will be more useful if I’d go with the women because I have a plan to stop the flood. However,I need to see the territory to make sure it will work.

The entire group stared at him in silence, but none of them dared laugh at him or question his attitude: it was clear that Tobirama was not joking, neither he was the type who needs to justify himself to others, even more if he just met them. That was not a man one wouldn’t take seriously. You yourself were caught in surprise, but you had the same reasons as the others to keep quiet as well.

In the end, Yuuta and the others nodded and the group was divided and you three were running toward the small village that was said to be near the tea house.

***

Now that you had some time to pay attention to your thoughts, you were running without talking, trying to process everything that was said during the conversation with the three shinobi of the Wind. So, Tobirama had a plan to help the villagers – perhaps a plan that started to take form when you were still in the inn’s room and your husband was talking to the man at your door – but whatever he wanted to do, it sounded absurd even to his standards. You started to think if all the Senju people were like him or if he was the one who differed from the rest of the clan.

Above these valid questions, an intrusive thought that you’ve been trying to suppress just took over your mind: you couldn’t forget the involuntary way in which you turned your head away from the group when you heard him introduce you as his wife. If that situation happened just a few days before you’d surely be irritated: he haven’t done anything that served as a proof that he acknowledged you as his spouse, so why would he call you his wife in front of those strangers? Well, after the things you’ve been through in that journey, it didn’t seem appropriate for you to just get angry. The truth was that you didn’t know how to feel about it.

If things stopped at this, you would be okay. Problem was that it didn’t: soon, you were remembering the dream you had just before the knocks on your door woke you up. The strangest part of it was that you weren’t sure of when exactly you fell asleep – was it before or after the… kiss? You firmly believed it was before. Just the diligent manner in which he left your side on the bed to answer the door showed that the kiss was not real. It couldn’t be.

But it felt so real. Almost as if you’ve been wanting it for days. Thinking of this made your face warm up despite the cold drops of rain falling on it.

Yoko’s voice brought you back to the present moment, among the sound of the raindrops on the trees above and the soaked soil swallowing your feet.

- Y/n-san, do you know this village? – she was asking – Any information about its geography can be useful for us to form a rescue plan!

You took a second to understand what she was saying under that storm, but once you did you tried as best as you could to explain that you’ve never been at the village.

- I’ve been in that tea house before, but I’ve never visited the village itself! I don’t know what we’re going to find there!

- So what now? – there was preoccupation implied in her tone.

- Supposing that the village’s territory is similar to the inn’s, with a flat ground and enough open space, things can be a bit easier – you knew it was a shot in the dark, but you wanted to avoid causing desperation in your new partner – It means that its people have a good chance to escape just by running. I’m a Doton user. I can stay behind and build barriers to delay the flood while you lead the way for them!

Fortunately for you, Yoko agreed with your suggestion.

- Right!

However, that was not the end of the conversation or your worries. The girl didn’t forget that Tobirama took a difficult – almost impossible –task for himself that would separate him from the rest of you, and decided to question him about it.

- And what about you, Tobirama-san? – she spoke to the man who was slightly ahead of you – What exactly are you going to do?

Tobirama replied your question as if the answer was something obvious.

- I am going to check the flood’s path and think of a way to stop it.

You opened your mouth and the storm drops that entered it almost made you gag.

- Listen, I know you are a master of Suiton, but I think that’s a bit extreme!

That time he looked at you while speaking.

- I do not plan to use mere Water Style to solve this, y/n-san. I will explain when we get there!

***

The village, just as the inn’s owner informed you, was so close to the tea house that you reached it in less than two minutes.

It was smaller than you imagined, though. It was formed by one large, main street that had its lines defined by groups of small, modest houses on both sides. These houses had their doors and windows all open, and the villagers were reunited outside them.You didn’t need to look for too long to see terror in their eyes. An old man was holding his cane so tight that his fingers were becoming pale; no so far from him, a woman was trying to calm down a child crying and asking what why was everybody so scared. Others were trying to run with packs on their backs, trying to reach the grove’s path. Among all those people there were some animals, faster than their owners in leaving the place to hide among the trees.

Tobirama, you and Yoko looked at each other but didn’t say anything. You just walked ahead and when the people noticed your presence, they opened the way for you without questioning your reasons to come. You knew what this reaction meant: it only showed how rare was for them to see shinobi in their territory.

Before any of you could ask who was in charge there, a man ran toward you, screaming:

- Who sent you three? The village is doomed! Soon this place is going to be under water!

You asked if anyone was missing.

- No, we are all here – the man replied – Except for Toji, who ran to the inn to alert the people there.

You were thinking of what to say in response when Tobirama took a step toward him and spoke in his commanding voice:

- We are shinobi from Konoha and we’re here to stop the flood! – and elevating his voice for the others to hear – All of you! My partners, y/n-san and Yoko-san, will guide you through the grove! Our other friends will meet your group in the middle of the way and help you! Do as they say and everyone will be safe!

You didn’t know it was possible for someone to obtain such power of influence on people they didn’t even know in so little time until you saw the people’s reaction to your husband’s words. Once they heard his voice, they gathered around him, their desperation soon replaced by a serious attention; they stopped pushing and stumbling on each other he gave his instructions. Their eyes turned to you then, and you did your best to calm them down: as your experiences in rescuing missions told you, that was the crucial moment when you had to make sure the victims would trust your leadership.

- Prioritize the women, the children and the elderly! Those ones who can carry children, do it! Do not take unnecessary weight with you! Follow the same direction and do not push each other! Yoko-san will go ahead of you, and I will be right behind you!

You pointed the grove’s path and felt relieved when you saw the people obeying your command. With words like “Do not look back” to the people, you went to the end of the line and saw Tobirama going to the end of the street, now empty. Instead of staying with the last people of the group, you followed him. You needed to ask what exactly he was going to do, because yes, you already knew he had an established plan, but you would feel safer if he shared its entirety with you.

Before you could say something, he turned and asked you:

- Y/n-san, do you have any Doton technique that is able to open a large crack or a ditch in the soil, one that could divide this ground from side to side?

You swallowed your surprise for receiving this very specific question and said that yes, you knew such technique. As well as its level of danger.

- Of course. But this is not a simple technique. It requires great quantity of chakra and might not work well if you’re not familiar with it. The ditch could end up not being deep or large enough.

Your reasons apparently were not enough to scare the Senju, however.

- Do not worry about it. This is exactly what I need right now. Tell me the signs.

You swallowed and told him the signs. His eyes followed your movements without blinking, and when you finished he thanked you with a nod. He made the signs of his Shadow Clone technique and created two other versions of him, each one with a pair of kunai that carried the mark of his Hiraishin. He also marked the Clones themselves with the seal.

As if he understood that you wouldn’t leave until he said something, he didn’t deny an explanation of his plan.

- Me and these two Clones are going to take positions at the points where the flood is going to pass. Each of us are going to use your jutsu to open ditches on the ground. They will contain part of the water and diminish its force. If it shows to not be enough to completely stop the flood, it will at least minimize the destruction in the village’s ground.

So he was really going to try what you suspected: to stop the water all by himself. Within the little time you had at the moment, you thought of it. If this have happened just a few days before, the first and only thing you’d think would be how ambitious, even pretentious of him to try such plan without help. But now that you’ve seen a bit more of Tobirama, something like that coming from him didn’t sound so absurd. No, it was exactly the kind of thing you should expect. You also remembered when he manifested an interest in seeing that village’s structure when you were talking to the inn’s owner. Of course: he lived in a village, one that he helped to build and worked to protect. It was only natural for him to be willing to do something for the people of this one when it was in his power to do it.

You stood for a moment.

- Tobirama.

That was the first time you called him by his name. It was enough to make him turn to you again; his Clones followed his move.

- If your plan doesn’t work as you expect, do not stay here.

There was no disdain for your preoccupation in his reply. Still, the respect for your worries didn’t stop him from exposing his belief in the plan’s success and reminding you that you didn’t know everything he could do. Not yet.

- It will work. Thanks to your technique.

And without waiting for a response from you, he turned to his Clones and sent them ahead. They used their kunai and teleported themselves to somewhere out of your sight.

***

When you went back to the group of villagers and explained your husband’s idea to Yoko, you sensed that she was as shocked with his plan as you were, but she was better than you in handling her surprise.

With the shock came the question you never felt you were ready to answer.

- Well, that’s an audacious thing to try. But do you trust him with this?

You nodded without thinking too much of your own fear. Yoko was not your only company; the villagers were there, looking at you – and you knew that in times like that, the wrong word could mess up with the best plans.

- I will go to the end of the line now. Just follow the plan!

The girl didn’t waste time with discussions or doubts.

- Right!

With these matters solved between you and her, you ran back to the end of the line.

But you wouldn’t stay with the people for too long. Patiently, you waited until the last villager entered the woods, far enough from the flood’s way, to go back to Yoko and talk to her apart from the folks.

- Listen. When you asked me if I trusted my husband’s plan, I said yes. And I really do. But I can’t go with you and leave him behind.

The woman’s reaction was nothing like you expected when you said that. Instead of minimizing your worries or suspecting from you, she put her hand on your shoulder, speaking in an assuring, whispered tone;

- Of course you can’t. Don’t worry. I’ve been living among men for a while. I know how stubborn they can be sometimes – she then looked over her shoulder, to a spot above, in a tree; there was a bird looking down at you, one of the species used to send messages – Besides, my brothers are close now. They can help me with the people.

You put your own hand on her shoulder to express your support and gratitude.

- Right. I’m leaving, then. Thank you.

She laughed.

- Just go!

You looked behind you, to the deep grove, eager to cross those trees again and terrified by what you could find after them. However, you were on a rescue mission, not only for the people of that village, but for him and yourself. You still had to leave that place and follow your journey; you still had to reach your family’s compound. And you wouldn’t do that if you stood there. The flood was coming. There was no time to waste.

You took a deep breath and forced your feet to move.

[feliix]

in his arms ↠ hhj (18+)

↠ Hyunjin x Reader 

↠ Genre: Established Relationship!AU, Smut Fluff, Angst if you squint 

↠ Rating: M 

↠ Word Count: 5.3k

↠ Summary: The average Netflix & chill night is just not doing it for you anymore. After conducting some research and gaining the confidence you needed, it’s finally time to suggest the idea of having sex to your boyfriend.

↠ Warnings: explicit sexual content, soft sex, unprotected sex, first time sex, virgin sex, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), fingering, nipple play, creampie, praise, aftercare?

↠ A/N:  @moonlightlino​ this is for you for being the best support system a girl could ask for, I literally would not have been able to write or post this without you AH I love you♡ and thank you to @jinterlude​ for beta reading this♡

It’s only been a few months since Hyunjin asked you to be his girlfriend. Needless to say, things between you have been a bit slow. Not that there was anything wrong with that, you loved getting to spend time with Hyunjin. Any time you get to spend together is greatly appreciated, but at this point you want more.

To put things into perspective, you are a virgin. And you know for sure that Hyunjin is not, making it difficult for either of you to bring up in conversation. He cares for you deeply, wanting to make sure that your first time is ‘perfect’ or something.

It’s not like you haven't tried to bring it up before. When make out sessions got a little too heated, Hyunjin would back away, wanting to take a break and ruining any shot you had to go further.

But by this point you are too exhausted from trying to suggest the desired deed, exhausting all options and being dodged each time. You aren’t sure if he’s doing it on purpose, or if he’s just really bad at getting the hint.

Taking it upon yourself, you decide to conduct some research of your own. If anything, you don’t want to embarrass yourself during your first time. You know that Hyunjin is experienced, and no, that’s not something that you’ve ever held against him. You're just a later bloomer than he is, and there's nothing wrong with that. What matters is that you’re ready now, you’re in love with him and you’re ready to take your relationship to the next level.

“So I’ve been thinking,” you begin, hands placed gently on your lap as your eyes meet his.

“Thinking about?” He questions, raising a brow in your direction as you nervously chew your lip.

“I think,” your shoulders tense, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes to get some composure, “I think that we should have sex.”

The statement is blunt, catching Hyunjin completely off guard that he nearly chokes on the air he breathes. Not giving him much of a chance to calm down from his coughing fit you speak up again, not able to bear the awkward tension.

“I’ve been doing some research and-”

“You’ve what?” His voice stammers out as he suppresses another cough from leaving his throat, his cheeks puffed out in an attempt to hold it back, “Research on what?”

Noticing the palms of your hands are quickly becoming clammy, you drag them across the fabric of your jeans, doing your best to coax yourself into relaxing instead of dwelling on how unbelievably awkward this conversation is.

“I’ve just been looking up some stuff online about how to like… I don’t know.”

Hands quickly covering your eyes, you sink into yourself. Maybe this isn’t something that you should have brought up. The internet has some mixed reviews, some saying to let it happen naturally while others say to make a plan. You’ve always been more of the spontaneous type, but alas, here you are, making a plan.

Hyunjin doesn’t interrupt you, but simply  waits for you to finish what you have to say. It's painful. Having him just sit there with his brows furrowed while your face heats up with nerves.

“I just wanted to make sure I knew what I was doing when we...I mean if we...you know.”

It’s beyond impossible to make eye contact with him now, especially when he knows exactly what you mean now. There isn’t anything else that you have to say. But thank god he doesnt let an awkward silence take over, quickly jumping to take your hands in his before speaking up.

“Y/N,” his soft voice instantly brings you comfort, his thumb stroking over your hand to ease your anxiety, “there's nothing you have to be worried about, I love you. You know that?”

A nod is all that you can manage in response, doing your best to just focus on your breathing before getting yourself all worked up. There is nothing to be worried about. It’s Hyunjin, he knows you better than anyone else and would never want to make you uncomfortable.

“We don’t have to do anything that you’re not comfortable with, baby. We don’t have to have sex if you’re not ready–”

“I am,” you’re quick to interrupt him, not wanting him to ramble on anymore. The nerves that once consumed you are now gone, your body props up straight as you make eye contact with him now. Confidence is key, and if you don’t show him you’re sure about this you know there’s no way he’d go through with it.

A gentle hand tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, exposing your supple cheek to him before placing a soft kiss on it. He’s being extra gentle today – taking his time to let you think about each of his movements and words before he moves forward. There’s nothing he wants more than to make sure that you’re comfortable.

Hyunjin waits a few moments, relishing in your gaze before his fingers take place on your hips, pulling you closer to him until you’re adjusting yourself on his lap. Nothing so far has been anything new, just his newfound calamity and regard for your comfort. His eyes wander between your forehead, eyes, and lips, visually confirming that you’re showing no signs of discomfort.

Sighing in acknowledgement, you rest your head on his shoulder, the earthy smell of his cologne consuming your senses as your nose brushes against his neck.

Hyunjin shivers in reaction; his neck is one of his most sensitive areas – something you figured out quite quickly. He finches each time your fingers brush his neck, whether it's accidental or on purpose, Hyunjin always gets a chill from it.

Rubbing your back soothingly, his hands gently roam to the swell of your ass, giving it a subtle squeeze. It's not something that you expect, your back stiffening in reaction as your head snaps up to him wide eyes. He’s not normally this cheeky with you, but as things are you can tell that this is a good sign. The smirk on his face says it all.

Hyunjin moves in slowly, his lips meeting yours with pure desire while your heart pounds against your chest. A gasp leaves your mouth when his lips start to move gently against yours, his tongue tenderly brushing across your bottom lip as he notices the part in your lips. The kisses he gives you are delicate, so faint and sweet to show you how careful he’s being with you. It's something you appreciate, smiling into the kiss as you begin to lose yourself in the thought of him.

Pulling away for a breather, his warm breath fans across your face. You take this opportunity to open your eyes to glance at his expression, but you can’t see much as he rests his forehead against yours. The look in his eyes was endearing yet filled with lust; it's unclear if he’s holding himself back for not. But he’s being extremely cautious, more so than usual.

“I want you, Hyunjin,” your whisper lands on his lips, your thighs unconsciously pushing together to ease the growing throb of your core. In an instant Hyunjin is adjusting himself beside you, his hips shifting backwards slightly as his thighs tense.  A hand is placed on your thigh, tugging you in his direction to shift yourself onto his lap. That's when you can feel it – his hard erection pushing up against your clothed core.

“Y/N,” your name sounds breathtaking as it leaves his lips, “I want to know that you’re sure about this.”

He doesn’t give you much time to respond, cutting you off in the nicest way possible as his mouth brushes lightly against yours. You pull away slowly though, savoring every moment of this build up that you can. You are sure, you’ve never been so sure about something in your life. It’s Hyunjin, it always has been.

Nodding your head in agreement, your peak up at him through your eyelashes. “I’m sure, Hyunjin.” Your voice sounds so innocent, a stark contrast to the filthy things that are racing through your mind.

Hyunjin’s eyes are looking at you like you’re holding his entire world in your fingertips, doting on your every feature. To him, you’re perfect, and he can’t help but want you in this moment, accepting that now is finally the right moment to kick things up a notch.

In one swift motion Hyunjin is placing an arm under your knees, the other stretching to support your back when he sweeps you off the couch. You follow his movements accordingly, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold yourself against him. As your head falls into his chest you take a deep breath, the comforting smell of his cologne consuming you once again. You aren’t nervous, he’s your safe-haven – his arms holding you tightly as his smell calms your nerves.

As he makes his way into the bedroom he lies down carefully on the mattress, resting your head on the massive heap of throw pillows it's decorated with. His stare is wandering your body, eyes raking up and down your figure in disbelief. It's not like he hasn’t thought of you this way before – but this time it's for real.

Shifting awkwardly in your place, you curl your lips into an apprehensive smile and tilt your head to the side, hoping that he’ll say something to ease the awkward energy beginning to fill the room.

“I’m sorry I would have made this like...better if I knew you wanted to do this tonight,” a defeated sigh leaves his lips as his hand reaches for the back of his neck. His fingers graze the skin, scratching it lightly and pushing his head forward to avoid eye contact. So much for easing the awkward tension.

“Better?”

Hyunjin had always planned on making your first time special, probably more than you would have realized. He wanted all of that stereotypical romantic stuff. Taking you out to a nice dinner, lining the hall with candles, having mood music playing in the background, he wanted it all. But you caught him off guard, which was okay. It's much more natural for things to happen like this; but he can't help but think about how he could have made your first time just a little bit more special.

“Yeah like, something more romantic, I guess.”

The disappointed look on his face makes your stomach twist. He’s always so hard on himself to be the best for you, when one thing doesn’t go his way he takes it to heart. You know the only way he’ll get over it is with reassurance, which luckily is something you’re always willing to give Hyunjin.

“This is romantic,” you smile, pushing yourself up onto your knees to place a soft kiss on his cheek. Hyunjin releases a sigh of relief, or displeasure, it was a little hard to tell with the disappointment still evident on his face. Either way, your instinct is to calm his nerves, hoping that it could also settle your own in the process.

“Can I?”

Your voice comes out stronger than expected, hiding the nervous feelings wracking at your brain. It's not until your eyes are wandering down to his crotch until he picks up on what your question is really about; staring at the semi-hard on that you can make out through his sweatpants. Not able to stare for long, your eyes quickly shift back up to his – wide in disbelief.

It takes everything in you to not curl into a ball of embarrassment the second the words leave your lips. It's evident he’s nervous too, for different reasons than you, but still. Hyunjin’s lips begin to roll in between his teeth, bearing back a laugh. That's when you feel your cheeks heating up, immediately bringing up your hands to shield your eyes, far too humiliated to look at him any longer.

“You’re so cute,” a soft chuckle leaves Hyunjin’s lips following his words, grabbing ahold of each of your wrists in his hands. The barrier separating your embarrassed eyes from his looming stare is broken. A slight smirk present on his lips, quite contrasting to the pout overtaking your features. So you let your shoulders fall, sinking into yourself while you inhale deeply.

“I’m sorry,” you whine, letting a gush of air press out of your nostrils. Hyunjin’s reaction immediately changes, his hand letting go of your wrist to climb onto the bed with you.

“Sorry for what?”

It was a genuine question. There was nothing you had to apologize for, but the sliver of anxiety riddling your system is making your brain act out of whack. Hyunjin’s been nothing but patient with you, he always is, but for some reason you can’t get out of your head and just let things happen in the moment.

“I feel like I’m being weird now and you don’t want to do it anymore.”

“So you think that I don’t want to have sex with you right now?” He asks, his eyebrows raising in question.

“Maybe I’m just–” Hyunjin’s arms meet the backs of your bent knees, pulling them out from under you so you’re laying flat on your back. In that split second he is now hovering over you, your chest heaving for air as adrenaline begins to pump through your veins.

Hyunjin’s face is just inches from yours, his hot breath fanning over your flushed cheeks as he moves his lips closer to your ear, “Do you have no idea how hard I am for you right now?”

Breath catches in your throat as Hyunjin’s teeth nip your ear– arousal suddenly begins to gush from your core. You can’t see him but you know he’s wearing a shit eating grin, pleased with your reaction. He’s enjoying this effect he has on you.

Shivers run down your spine as lips graze your jawline, peppering kisses down to your neck until he reaches the collar of your shirt. In one quick motion, his fingers are sliding underneath the fabric and pulling it over your head. Goosebumps litter the surface of your skin as your torso is exposed to the cold air of the room. You’re flooded with emotions. Yes, things between you and Hyunjin had gotten hot and heavy before; the only difference is this time you know where things are heading. As you watch his eyes devour your figure, your legs unwillingly begin to cross. The arousal flooding from your center is far too prominent to ignore now.

Your core throbs in desire as Hyunjin’s lips meet the skin of your chest. His hands roam over your sides as you roll your head back. Mind racing with dirty thoughts, all you can think about is how badly you need him right now. It’s better to amp yourself up now than to dwell on the small fears swirling in the back of your mind.

Soon Hyunjin is ridding himself of his own clothing and tossing the fabric aside, getting back onto the bed completely nude before he rests his body over yours again. You swallow thickly, unsure what to do now that he is naked and on top of you. The google search history definitely does not have anything to guide you through a situation like this.

“Babygirl?” He’s quickly able to sense your sudden change in demeanor as he looks down at you with cautious eyes,  “you okay?”

His words snap you out of your thoughts, shaking your head as if you’re physically removing your worries from your brain. “I'm just…not really sure what to do now,” you say as you break eye contact with him, your eyes wandering down his naked figure.

With a gentle kiss placed to your lips, Hyunjin sits back on his heels, pulling your arms so you're sitting up in front of him. “Well normally this is the part where we get undressed, but if you’re not comfortable with that…”

He doesn't have to finish his sentence before a smile is creeping onto your face. Thankfully his lighthearted commentary is soothing your worries. It doesn’t hit you that this doesn't need to be as big of a deal as you’ve made it out to be. It's just you and Hyunjin here.

A small nod of your head gives him the go ahead; one of his hands reaches slowly towards your back to fiddle with the clasp of your bra. The feeling of sweet relief consumes you as the elastic releases from your body – there really is nothing like taking your bra off after a long day.

But Hyunjin doesn't stop there. Like the princess you are, you wait for him to finish undressing you; pulling your pants and underwear down your legs and throwing them off to the side of his bed and into a messy pile on the floor. You’re getting over that sense of anxiety now, there is absolutely no desire that you have to cover yourself from him. The way his eyes gloss over your figure with such admiration makes you feel safe under his touch – his touch that trails from the tops of your thigh and traces the curve of your side.

“Beautiful,” mumbles past his lips. Heat rises to your cheeks once again, fighting the instinct to cover your face as you blush at his compliment.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Hyunjin asks one last time, one hand brushing your hair back as the other supports his body weight. You hum in response, lifting up to peck his lips tenderly. He looks so angelic over you, a slight blush tinting his cheeks the longer he looks at you.

In one swift movement he’s rocking back into a kneeling position. Tilting your head, you watch his slender fingers wrap around his hardening member, watching in awe as it grows with each slow pump of his wrist, the collection of bracelets adorning his wrist swaying with each movement.

Soon he’s pushing your knees up so your feet are placed flat on the mattress. The cool air washes over your dripping core sending shivers through your body. And just like that, Hyunjin’s lips are moving south, his tongue diving into the soaking depths of your cunt. Involuntarily your hips buck towards him, unable to control your own desire from the pleasure his mouth is bringing you. Hyunjin’s thumb soon meets your clit, circling the bundle of nerves gently as his tongue presses flat along your slit.

A moan escapes your lips as his tongue moves faster. Mind flooding with filthy thoughts about how good his mouth feels on you; you’re clueless to how anyone could manage to form a coherent sentence during something like this.

You let out an airy gasp as his fingers move down to your entrance, circling around it a few times before dipping inside. Unable to resist the urge, your hips jump up towards him, bucking into his touch. A hand flies up to cover your mouth, shocked at your own body’s response to his touch.

“Hm?” he smirks, well aware of the effect he's having on you. If he didn’t want to rub it in even more he’d give you a second to calm down, but you have barely enough time to react before his index finger is slowly pushing into you. Your eyes flutter shut as his finger draws outwards. Bliss consumes your body, the outside world slowly seeming to fade away with each motion of his wrist.

Your walls squeeze his finger deliciously as they adjust to the new sensation. And Hyunjin’s eyes are kept on you, taking into account your comfort and keeping track of how your body reacts to each of his movements. Another finger is soon added; your body reacting to the extra pressure by tensing for a moment, the greater size doing a number on you. But luckily the mild discomfort is quick to disappear. All thanks to the soft kisses being pressed to the inside of your thigh.

Your hips jut forward as Hyunjin’s fingers begin to separate, stretching your walls as they move in scissor-like motion. For a moment you think you’re seeing stars, the breath trying to escape your throat getting caught in reaction.

Hyunjin places his other on your lower stomach as his lips begin to trail up and down your thigh. A path of residual saliva is left in his tracks; the cool air meeting with your supple skin gives you a quick chill. But the scissor-like motions pick up in pace, your walls constricting and contracting around him as your arousal coats his fingers. You know he has to keep going. You’ll never be able to take his size if he doesn’t prep you enough.

As your hand reaches down to rake through his long blonde locks he picks up his head to meet eyes with you. The satisfaction from the way you take his fingers is written all over his face, as well as some residual arousal coating his lips. The expression on his face is unfamiliar to you – his eyes are so dark and filled with desire they look like they could swallow you whole.

Your stomach churns with anticipation as his fingers reach new depths inside of you. All prior pain is morphed into sweet pleasure, all thoughts in your brain swirling with Hyunjin and his control over your desire.

“Hyunjin,” you breathe out, a raspy moan-like sound closely following his name. You’re in need of more than just his attention, the cries of pleasure leaving your lips says it all. He narrows his eyes in response, his eyes still locked on your expression as he waits for you to continue.

“I-I think I’m–”

Euphoria consumes your body all at once. Back arching off the bed, your cunt squeezes over his fingers tightly. Hyunjin’s praises fall on deaf ears while your body enters the ultimate state of bliss.The pulse of your orgasm is unforgiving, rendering you immobile for what feels like eternity as you ride out your high.

It takes a minute for you to come down, but once you do you’re too in shock to even say a word. His eyes are pooling with desire after watching you cum on his fingers; you have no idea how long he’s wanted to see you like this.

“Think you can make it for another?”

The quick nod of your head is more eager than you anticipate, earning a satisfied chuckle from Hyunjin. Again, he’s rocking back onto his heels before leaving one last kiss to your clit. Oversensitivity makes you squirm in his touch, wondering if you’ll be able to last very long once he’s inside you for real this time.

His nimble fingers return back to their place on his cock. You can’t help but admire how pretty and delicate they look wrapped around his fully hardened member. His slender digits using the arousal from your orgasm to slide graciously down his shaft. Its mesmerising, eyes wandering up and down his toned figure and sneaking a peak at his facial features; eyebrows furrowed and eyes clamped shut.

He’s focused, caught in the moment of making sure he’s harder than he’s ever been. It gives you a minute to regroup as well, still quite sensitive from your previous orgasm. Hyunjin’s eyelids flutter open gently before locking eyes on you – it’s finally time for the main event.

Hyunjin moves carefully to adjust you, taking your hips in his hands and scooting you until you're in a comfortable position and he can kneel between your legs. One last glance grazes over you to make sure you still want to go through with this. All that's evident is your eyes heavy with lust and your chest heaving as you wait for him to push forward.

Slowly, the tip of his cock presses against your entrance. Adrenaline courses through your veins as the thick sound of blood pumping fills your ears. Is it nerves or excitement – perhaps it could be touch of both? But you’re sure to give Hyunjin a reassuring nod paired with your hand reaching out for his to hold.

Hyunjin accepts the gesture, interlacing his fingers with yours. And now it’s time for what you have been waiting for all along.

Hyunjin pushes into you slowly, your velvet walls surrounding his hardened member all at once. A muffled grunt leaves his lips, quickly disguising it as a cough as he tries to refrain from moaning loudly in satisfaction. He’d feel too selfish crying out in pleasure so soon while you’re still trying to adjust. You feel so tight around him it's hard for him to keep his composure, it's unlike anything he has ever felt before.

“Feels so good babygirl,” he moans as he begins to pull backward, gripping you tighter as he pushes back into you slowly, “so fucking tight.”

You keen at his praise, but the discomfort in your lower half is prevalent. Tears begin to prick at the sides of your eyes before you squeeze them shut, desperate to hide it from Hyunjin. You know it would worry him too much but you didn’t want it to stop. If it was anything like before the mild discomfort would soon turn to pleasure, you just need to give it some time.

Though your expression doesn’t go unnoticed by Hyunjin, who has been studying every inch of your body since the moment he undressed you. Out of instinct he’s leaning forward, placing a soft comforting kiss to your forehead and then your lips before tilting his head to your ear.

“You’re doing great, babygirl,” his whispering tone quickly brings you comfort. The sensation of his smooth, deep voice ignites a fire through your body. With a deep breath you’re finding yourself relaxing more, wanting more. But he doesn’t move, just waits for you to adjust to his size and strokes his thumb over your joined hands.

It's all in your head – the underlying nerves you still carry cause you to restrict yourself from living in the moment. Hyunjin had prepped you well enough – you’ve already cum once tonight. You’re ready.

Hyunjin is looking at you with apprehension, you notice once your eyes are languidly opening to meet his stare. A subtle smile graces his lips, his blonde hair pushed back by the hand that's not holding yours. He’s patient and he doesn’t mind – not as long as you’re comfortable.

You let him know you're ready with a soft smile and a squeeze of your hand.

With a determined look on his face, Hyunjin’s cock draws back once again. Your velvety walls squeeze him deliciously as he returns, this time the stretch more bearable than the last. It's becoming easier for you to let your body relax under Hyunjin. Just focusing on the way the soft skin of his hips graze against yours while his long blonde hair sways gently is bringing you back down.

With a few more slow thrusts, the uncomfortable stretch is no longer as noticeable. Hyunjin’s fingers roam your body to distract you from the pressure, finding other areas to pleasure you in accordance. A small gasp leaves your lips as his thumb finds its way to your mouth, dragging it down your bottom lip to coat it in saliva. Your eyes follow it closely as he makes his way down your body, stopping at your nipple and rolling the perky bud between his fingers.

“Fuck.”

You can’t hold back as his mouth takes the place of his finders. Hyunjin’s tongue washes over your sensitive bud greedily, your back arching off the bed in reaction. It's so much stimulation at once – your mind won’t stop buzzing. His cock glides in and out of you so effortlessly; like you were made just for him. Hyunjin doesn’t let that go unnoticed either. Words of praise leave his lips in the form of mumbles, only amplifying the sense of your arousal.

The pleasure you’re feeling is unmatched. Heart pounding in your chest and sweat beading down your chest, your need for him intensified. Slowly, your hips swivel downwards, meeting his eager thrusts into you. Desire consumes you, the mild ache in your core completely gone and replaced with lust. Your drive for him is only building; shifting and grinding your hips into his until you can feel yourself on the brink of white hot pleasure.

“So good for me,” he groans, his thrusts quickening, growing deeper to match your motions. A mutual moan is shared between you, his tip hitting new territory in your center.

This build up is much more intense than the last. The feeling of your muscles tightening beneath your skin and throbbing of your cunt only rises as his cock meets a space that hadn’t been touched before. Unable to control yourself you’re left screaming his name into his neck. It's impossible to get a grasp on your own body. The need to chase your high is much too strong to slow down now.

And now you know what everyone talks about. Yet all of the mindless google searches and skimmed over articles you read have nothing on this feeling. That much desired knot was tightening, begging to be tugged and snapped to lead you to your end.

The sweat that gathers on Hyunjin’s brow glimmers in the dim light as his hips buck harder into yours. You can’t help but notice how breathtaking he looks like this; pleasure squeezing his eyes shut and pursing his soft lips into a tight line.

“Cum with me?”

His voice is raspy, winded even. It's phrased as a question but you take it as an order, nodding your head although Hyunjin isn't able to register your response at this time. He can tell where you are from the pulse of your walls wrapped around his cock, whether it's intentional or not. His thrusts soon become sudden, craving a high so deeply that he’s not able to move fast enough.

Changing positions quickly, Hyunjin rests his arms on either side of your head. His hair comes untucked from behind his ears, shadowing his eyes from your view. Swiftly, you bring your hand up to brush it backward to read his expression; his soft features now morphed with determination. Sweat beads down the sides of his face with each surge of his hips.

Before you have any time to catch a break he was moving upwards, straightening his back and driving his hips into yours, chasing his high. Extending your neck back, you let out a muted cry – the force of his tip against a sensitive spot inside you beginning to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Hyunjin!”

The tight band in your stomach snaps as you chase your release, Hyunjin’s name repeated from your mouth like a mantra as your back arches off the mattress. It was unlike anything you had felt before; your body felt numb yet so sensitive all at once. Pussy throbbing sporadically around Hyunjin’s cock, he isn’t able to hold on any longer.

Hyunjin’s head is thrown back in pleasure, an airy moan leaving his lips simultaneously. You can feel his release painting your walls; the white, hot spurts of cum making you feel so unbelievably full. You have never felt closer to Hyunjin as you have in this moment, his body collapsing over yours. A deep breath leaves your lips as his arms wrap around your tired frame, holding you close as you come down from your highs.

“I love you, Y/N.”

The words are whispered beside your ear, it's not the first time that you’ve heard him say it but something about hearing it now seems different. Soft kisses grace the clammy skin on your neck; your blissed out figure unable to move much more than a gentle smile.

“I love you.”

And for the rest of the night this is how you remained, wrapped in each other’s arms before passing off into a blissful slumber. Your heart is warm, satisfied with the night and the beautiful man you were lying beneath. Needless to say, it was worth the wait.

‘In His Arms’ is copyright 2020 @chaangbin​​, all rights reserved. Please do not repost on any platform or translate without permission.

[jq37]

The Report Card – Fantasy High: The Seven Ep 2

The Girls Are Fighting!!!

We return to Aguefort Adventuring Academy where the man himself has just told the Seven Maidens that their party is being split up which they are NOT having even though it doesn’t seem to be a malicious plot so much as the fact that Danielle, Ostentatia, and Zelda are Juniors while the other four are graduating Seniors. Antiope casts Hunter’s Mark on Aguefort, Penny pleads, Katja threatens (well, “threatens”; she walks up menacingly and then says that he can’t do this because it’s the only group of friends she’s ever had and it’s heartbreaking like all of her non-hilarious dialogue is).

Aguefort understands that it sucks and has no respect for rules but says it’s out of his hands. Sam clocks that he’s hiding something (along with the fact that he seems to know about something going on with Antiope and Penny which we know is their respective internship/apprenticeship offers) and calls him out, hitting him with a Lightning Lure to drag his ass back when he tries to turn into a bat and escape out the window. She’s unhinged and I love it. 

So does Aguefort who decides to let them in on some school secrets, leaving a decoy while he leads them all to the super secret part of the forbidden library which is bondage themed because sure. Also, Ostentatia is topless for this also because sure. He does a lot of pomp and circumstance to summon a book which Yelle flatly says better not just be the syllabus and it isn’t but she’s close. It’s the bylaws of the school district which he has summoned for the guidelines on the special, magical thing the girls can get so they can graduate together…

Their GEDS!!!!! Trés mystical. 

Basically what they need to do is complete a level A, B, or C quest together (which Antiope knows are like the top 3 highest difficulty quests--they go from A-F) and get signoff from the superintendent. But the superintendent has been missing for 12 years and there can’t be a new one until she’s dead (which she isn’t or else they’d be able to appoint a new one). Her name is Tectonya Karkovnya (who I will be calling TK) and Aguefort calls her, “chaotic and impossible to predict,” which coming from him is como se dice, troubling. 

Sam pulls out her mirror to do a little snooping on TK’s past and sees that she’s a coppery, earth genasi woman. She also sees her talking to Aguefort and saying that the magic of consciousness is far superior to his beloved chronomancy. Then the scene shifts to show her getting more and more worried as she got deeper into her studies and then going to a dwarven holy site in the Mountains of Chaos with some kind of shadow figure following her. 

Penny gets photos of the super cursed bylaws and Arthur leaves since he very much is the principal of the school and has to do his job (ostensibly). With Aguefort gone, the girls discuss the proposition after conscripting a very reluctant Antiope to be their leader (Aabria hilariously improvises that a shaft of sunlight somehow comes down to illuminate her and she has to step out of the spotlight). 

They discuss whether they want to do this GED quest or not and Zelda says she wants to but she wants to give anyone who has other stuff going on an out so they don’t feel beholden. Ostentatia immediately shoots back that Zelda is just saying that because she has plans with Gorgug. That brings down the mood and Sam, despite being a water genasi, fans the flames by saying that Gorgug has lots going on that doesn’t involve her so she shouldn’t be running back to him all the time. 

Yelle tries to calm things down and says they should sleep on it but Sam and Ostentatia are taking this super personally and are offended that they’re even having this conversation. Penny accidentally lets slip that she has some kind of apprenticeship (she’s trying to keep it on the DL because it’s supposed to be a secret) and oh man it becomes a Whole Thing. They fight in the way that you do when everyone in the fight actually wants the same thing and cares deeply about each other but are in completely different headspaces which are making them lash out.

Penny, not wanting to be around the conflict, goes invisible. Zelda is suppressing going into a rage and says that maybe she should go be with Gorgug. At least he won’t yell at her. Yelle once again tries to cool things down and suggests they have a text thread where they can say if they’re in or out by the end of the night instead of hashing it out in the open. She’s accused of not being in and, in response, texts that she’s in. Ostentatia and Sam also immediately text that they’re in, which basically makes her “solution” entirely moot. 

Zelda is finally fully fed up and leaves (Penny following invisibly). Katja also follows. 

Antiope can tell that Sam is upset about something that’s not this but Sam brushes her off rudely and storms off (quite literally, causing storm clouds outside in her wake). Yelle goes after her. Ostentatia is left with Antiope.

Time for a string of very emotional mini scenes which I highly encourage you to watch because they are peak improv.  

Zelda, Katja, (Invisible) Penny

Katja runs to find Zelda who is under a tree crying and asks if she’s OK. Zelda says that Sam and Ostentatia are so beautiful and confident and eloquent and she gets so tongue tied and useless when they disagree with her because she’s so timid. Zelda wants this so bad but she doesn’t want to feel like she’s forcing her friends to stay with her. 

Katja, as we know, has major abandonment issues because of her constantly away dad (and prob her mom too) and she doesn’t want to be left behind again but she also doesn’t want her friends to factor her in so she tries to be stoic and says that the people you love have to want to stay. But with a 3, Zelda immediately clocks the emotion behind the words. Instead of calling her out, Zelda offers to listen to music with her. 

Penny takes this opportunity to make herself known (which has got to be terrifying--unless you’re used to it and then it’s like same shit as usual from Ms. Luckstone) and Zelda goat jumps to grab her out of the tree she was crying in above them and tells her that she doesn’t have to go invisible every time there’s conflict. They all agree that they hate confrontation and Rehka gets the funniest lowkey line of the episodes: that she wouldn’t know what to do if they didn’t agree on that. We then cut to…

Ostentatia and Antiope

Where Izzy gets the high key funniest moment of the episode by transitioning in with a big, “You know I LOVE confrontation,” which breaks everyone at the table. But she says it as a preface to admitting that she may have been a bit of a bitch to Zelda. She plays coy for like a half second before she breaks down sobbing with Antiope catching her before she sinks fully to the floor. Antiope comforts her and admits that while she wants to stay with the party, she hates having options taken away from her as they have been her whole life effectively. She was honestly kind of relieved when she was trapped in the crystal because it meant all that pressure was gone for a bit. They affirm that they love each other then Ostentatia goes to apologize to Zelda. 

Danielle and Sam

Yelle goes to talk to Sam (who she adorably calls “merbae”) and while Sam doesn’t wanna talk about it, Yelle says they don’t have to. She just wants to be there for her in whatever capacity she needs. She knows Sam loves her friends and would never hurt them on purpose so something must be wrong with her-- “History of abandonment?” Sam finishes, almost glibly. She’s tired of losing people. She doesn’t want to lose more. She doesn’t want things to change. Nature is change, Yelle says. Nature sucks, Sam says. Yelle is gonna pretend like she didn't hear that. 

Sam feels bad that she snapped at Zelda and Yelle says that they’re all a family. Things will be alright. The storm clouds that Sam reflexively summoned peter out into a cool, refreshing mist. 

Ostentatia and Zelda

Ostentatia goes to where Zelda and the girls are and full ass runs at her like they weren’t just fighting. After assuring her that she’s not there to fight she apologizes, saying she was a cow. Zelda says she honestly agrees with Ostentatia that she wants the group to stay together and wishes she could be bolder in non-rage settings. Ostentatia says that maybe if the Seniors leave they can still have a party and Penny vetos that even though, as Ostentatia says, it’s a pretty reasonable compromise. Anyway, they basically all go in a circle saying they love each other and it’s very sweet. 

I’m serious, I can’t do these heart to hearts justice in this format, just go watch them for that emotional girl group goodness.

Anyway, outside of the main group, Antiope goes to talk to her sister Corsica who is currently teaching a class. Antiope does not give AF. She orders the students out and they scatter. Wouldn’t you?

Antiope wants advice. Should she stay with her party after flaming out of her last one? Should she take the internship and stay on the path her parents want her on? Corsica really feels for her. Antiope has had to struggle in a way that she and their brothers never did. She finally answers that she and her brothers are awesome and successful fighters but none of them have been able to do the scariest thing possible: disappoint their parents. They’re soldiers. They like it that way. They fall in line. But maybe Antiope isn’t a soldier. Maybe she’s a leader. She ordered those kids out of the room without thinking after all and they obeyed. It’s an extremely good speech and Antiope basically has chills, as do I.  

I assume while this is happening or perhaps right before everyone goes home, Penny goes to see Jawbone (who has some spiffy new art--as did Gilear who cameoed early in the episode when Aguefort atomic wedgied him invisibly because sure) and talk about this uber difficult decision she had to make. Jawbone gets to the heart of the matter pretty quick. Penny is a high achiever who’s lived a life without choice. But now that she’s about to be off the rails for the time she’s freaking out. Penny sees the truth in the statement (after hilariously trying to solve his metaphor about an amusement park) and thanks him for the perspective. She then, in a very Fig move, tries to kiss him and Jawbone basically stiff arms her and breezes right past like it didn’t happen, showing her out. What a trooper that Jawbone.   

Moving on to Katja. When she gets home she tries to call her dad who is unreachable on his hell mission. She leaves him a message saying that he should call her back when he can and she knows what she wants for her graduation present now. She wants her party to not break up. This breaks Brennan and me. 

She then snoops arounds for info on TK. She sees letters of her dad trying to get her into Hudol. And she sees some stuff from the Ministry of Adventure, asking if he knew where TK was. But she doesn’t get anything else. At least, she doesn’t get anything else that’s helpful. She does however find a picture of her mom which makes her bolt to go talk to Cinnamon who prances for her to make her feel better. She joins in dancing, badly.

EDIT: I initially wrote that Katja’s mom was dead because that’s what I thought she said but @ennn said that in the Adventuring Party, Rekha said that her mom didn’t die, she left. Which is less dramatic in some ways but SO MUCH WORSE for abandonment issues so, yikes girl!

Yelle meanwhile goes home to talk to her unofficial third mom, Holly, who is the awakened tree under which her house is. Picture a Grandmother Willow situation from Pocahantas basically. Yelle talks about the conflict a bit and, as usual, ends up on a tangent about how the world is unfair and she has to speak for the voiceless. Holly is concerned for her (as are her other moms which I may have neglected to mention in the last recap). She asks Yelle if she can tell her something that might be painful. Yelle agrees. Holly says that Yelle is great and wonderful and kind but she spends so much time speaking for other people that she never speaks for herself. Her moms worry that there will come a day when she needs help and will have to ask for it without couching it in terms of the greater good and she won’t be able to. 

Yelle really hopes she’s high when the time comes. 

At her home, Ostentatia casts Commune With The City to see if TK has been around and she’s not there now but she can tell she has been (though there’s no indication on if that’s recently or not). On a 17 religion check she knows that there is a dwarven holy site in the mountains that matches Sam’s description from the mirror. She’s still avoiding her dad but when she prays for her spells, she asks for her dad to feel like himself again too. 

Hey, what time is it? Let me check my watch. 

Ah yes, it’s time for Sam to make some rash decisions. 

She feels like she should text Zelda but doesn’t. Instead, she goes into Penelope’s room. And she takes out her mirror. And even though she’s expended the charge for today, she tries to make it show her Penelope. 

OK, says Brennan. Sure. Hey, can you roll me a quick little Wisdom Save?

5. 

Haha, Sam’s in danger. 

The mirror heats up as it’s pushed beyond its limits and Sam sees an image of a young Penelope with braces grabbing her hands and grinning and saying that they’ll be best friends. Then, the image shifts and she sees the Penelope of the present in her tattered prom queen dress and glass shard crown. Her eyeless, haunting, demon prom queen form, teeth razor sharp as her words. 

“A call without a text,” she says. “Are you out of your mind?”

“You look better than you ever did alive,” Sam spits back. 

It is a battle of the bitches right out of the gate. The girls are fighting part two if you will. They snipe at each other for a bit and Brennan has Sam roll insight into herself. On a 19, Sephie says that’s not enough for Sam to get a read on herself (yikes girl) so she doesn’t understand that this fight can only ruin her because while Penelope enjoys causing people pain, Sam doesn’t. 

They both get in some very choice barbs but when Penelope tries to entice her into making a devilish pact and disparages her new party, Sam does the mic drop of the century by telling her that her parents are divorcing and hanging up. The entire table LOSES THEIR MIND. It is like a real life representation of one of those Draw The Squad memes. Everyone brandishes their fans in a salute to that truly epic conversation ender. 

As the night draws to a close, Brennan asks the girls who haven’t responded to the text chain yet if they respond. Katja texts that she’s in. Zelda texts Antiope and Penny that she’s not going to text whether she’s in or out until they respond because she doesn’t want it to feel like a 5 on 2 dogpile.

Antiope and Penny call then text, then call, then text, then call each other to discuss what they should do and also hype each other up because with all the drama, they didn’t really get to celebrate their opportunities. Penny tries to downplay her thing and insinuates that it wouldn’t be a big loss if she wasn’t in the group anymore and Antiope shuts that down immediately. You’re the last thing so many people see before they die Penny! That’s so cool! 

They both decide to text that they’re abstaining from voting for now and go to bed.

The next day, Antiope gets up and sees that her party’s schedule has been cleared for the next two weeks by the school for quest reasons. She tells her dad she wants to talk to Charity Blythe (the woman at the Ministry of Adventure she needs to talk do) and he sets up a no pressure (but actually tons of pressure) meeting with her before turning her 5 mile run into a 12 mile run because she is a Jones and 5 mile runs are for Amateurs. 

Ant texts the rest of the Maidens that this meeting is happening so they can maybe get some quest info from Charity and Ostentatia has in the meantime texted (after the 2 abstains) that she will be going for the GED regardless and anyone who wants to join can. Of course, there was never any reason to NOT go for it (besides the danger which they obv don’t care about) and getting it doesn’t mean any doors are closed to them. It’s just that emotions are running so high they can’t fully seem to see that (or at least some members can’t). 

Ant doesn’t have the clearance to meet at Charity’s office so they meet at the Museum of Adventuring instead. In it happens to be the skeleton of Kalvaxus who they killed (if you don’t remember, the Bad Kids killed him first and then he was resurrected so the Maidens could also kill him for catharsis reasons). Tensions are still super high as evidenced by Sam’s snide abstention comment to Penny and Ant and then by her TRYING TO LIGHTNING BOLT THE DRAGON SKELETON TO DESTROY IT.

GIRL.

That doesn't happen though because she’s Counterspelled by Charity Blythe who walks in, surprised to see that Antiope brought her whole party. Antiope says they were just leaving but Charity can sense shenanigans when she sees them and says if they’re gonna spy on the conversation they might as well stay for it which they of course do.

She gives Antiope a rundown of the internship: 1 year commitment with a possibility to expand to 2-3 years. Stipend. She’d have to live in Bastion City.

Katja remembers that her dad was talking to the Ministry of Adventure in the letters she found and asks Charity about it. Charity says they were asking him about TK’s whereabouts because he was friends with her. On that, Yelle casts Detect Thoughts with a Stealth roll of 17 (we see on a secret Box of Doom roll that Charity got a 26 to see her cast it). Anyway, she sees that TK took some object with her when she disappeared (which she later sees is a crystal screen with a map seemingly marking quest locations from A-F) and of course the fact that Charity knows this. Yelle shares this info with everyone as Antiope walks off with Charity to talk further. Katja suggests to the group that maybe Ant should take the internship to get more info for their quest. While she’s talking to Charity, Ant feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

See looks up and sees a figure with blood red lips look at her and disappear.

Yikes! Combat time baybee!

Superlatives 

Danielle: Most Likely to Talk Her Way Out of a Hostage Situation 

While, like her mothers, I am slightly concerned that Danielle is the type to set fire to herself to make sure others are warm, I also very much love her chill, warm, encouraging vibes. For those of you coming off of MisMag, she is like vibing at the same wavelength as Whitney Jammer but with the intensity turned all the way down. Danielle encouraging Sam honestly gave me like second hand calm. Excellent vibes. 

Random Thoughts

If you’re wondering how long it took for it to come up that Aguefort banged a phoenix, the answer is 12 minutes.

The concept of phoenix chlamydia is the definition of thanks, I hate it. 

Aguefort saying that TK is a crazy person could literally mean anything tbh. It could mean she is the most batshit person on the planet or it could mean she’s totally normal and just kinda bugs him. Literally no way to tell. 

Someone (I think Rekha?) mentioned that the cursed bylaws book is copper and so is TK. Idk if that’s relevant but thought I’d flag it anyway. 

We learn in this episode that the friendship bracelets Penny made them last week let them track each other and see each other even if one of the in knocked out (which is what gives it utility outside of what their crystals can already do).

We learn in this episode that Skullcleaver Elementary School is actually named after Katja’s family. 

Nothing like the fear you feel when a DM gives you what you wanted even on a failure. And on that note...

Sam, I wish you a very happy Please Go To Therapy. Please girl. 

This episode was such an emotional roller coaster. I deeply empathize with the horrible feeling that your friends have stuff going on and you don’t and you’re going to be left behind. It’s so rough to see everyone hurting and lashing out (or in the case of Yelle for instance, trying and failing to diffuse the situation). But it’s so nice to see everyone trying to be there for each other and apologizing and affirming that they love each other (from Antiope saying that she would kill and die for any of them to Danielle defusing the ticking timebomb that is Sam). The players really get the cadence of how teenage girl friendship works and it’s such a treat to watch. 

“Did we ruin your life?”

Do you think ep 7 of The Seven is gonna be when everything pops off? As a DM I wouldn’t be able to resist that.

Penny’s response to being told that she can’t take every path is, “You can with chronomancy” which isn’t a bad point. 

Rekha is the Zac of The Seven which is to say low key the funniest person on the planet. Her saying she was so scared that she wasn’t gonna be told “I love you” during that scene was so funny. Her comic timing is impeccable. 

Katja fainting at the end of the “I love you” session after Penny says she loves her and Cinnamon. 

I love the table ambient whisper of, “LCAB” under Antiope’s scene with Corsica. 

I really felt for Zelda in this episode. Like, I felt for everyone but especially her, being the quiet one with all this yelling happening. When she was talking about how much she hates to have to fight with Sam/O my heart really broke for her. I’m so glad she got all her hugs in after that. 

In this episode Katja, Ostentatia, and Sam roll nat 1s. No nat 20s.