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kashimos-hajime · 4 years

Text

the shakes | p.d.

summary: “It’s the Shakes, darling. Makes everything excruciating.” Or, you’re experiencing the terrible side effects of being horny and Poe Dameron knows just how to fix it.

WARNINGS: SMUT (18+), oral (fem!receiving) and just a whole lot of banter, bruh poe is just feastin TONIGHT, sprinkle of plot pairing: poe dameron x fem!reader word count: 5.1k

a/n: uhhh so,,, heh,,, enjoy. bc smut.

“Ow, fuck.”

“You’re stepping on my foot.”

“My bad. It’s not like we’re stuck in a fucking closet.”

“Who’s fault is that?”

“Yours.”

You breathe out through your nose, struggling to contain your annoyance as you try to back up away from man but no dice. Instead, your back jams awkwardly against the busted control panel.

Said control panel is one of the reasons why you’re stuck in a closet with a man you met only twenty minutes before. Other reasons may or may not include you, the man mentioned, and a certain droid both of you are supposedly waiting on.

“You said that droid is coming?” you grunt as he lets out a heavy sigh against your collarbone. You’ve been squished in a four by four foot supply closet for the past twenty minutes at least and there’s barely enough room as he reaches around to jam the button again. “That’s not going to work,” you say pointedly and he scowls at you, pressing the button again.

“BB-8’s coming,” he growls. “He’ll know I’m missing.”

“Oh, thank the Maker for that!”

“Do you have a problem?”

“Uh, yeah. You’re breathing in my air, in my general vicinity.” A pause, and then: “Can you breathe in any other direction?”

In response, he sucks in a huge breath and lets it out in one big exhale towards the vent above them before glancing down again and arching a brow as if to say, Happy now?

You are most certainly not.

“At least this gives us a moment to breathe. It’s better than being arrested,” he says as if offering a ceasefire. The man leans away from you and you sigh, readjusting the strap of your short dress. His eyes are determinedly staying on yours but even you know they’ve dipped the few times your back was turned. “We can get to know each other.”

Not that you haven’t been thinking about his ass all day either. You spotted him earlier in the markets today, even if he hadn’t noticed you, with that orange and white droid rolling around behind him. Cute and memorable.

What can you say? A good looking guy tends to stick out in a crowd.

“I think I’d rather be arrested,” you say as you lean against your own wall and tug at your dress where you think it doesn’t fit too well. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“You mean, you don’t lock lips with any random handsome stranger?” he fires back. “I’m hurt.”

“Right. You know what I meant.” You nod to the chip in his pocket. “What do you wanna do with that?”

“Top secret, Snatch.”

“Snatch?” you repeat, frowning. “Never mind. I’m sure it’s a secret you can share with me.” At this, you push off the wall and, by the limitations of the closet, stand in his space. Dameron straightens up, an unimpressed smirk printed on his face. “So?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It could be.”

“It really couldn’t.” His nose brushes against yours and his soft breath tickling at your lips makes a hot spear shoot into your gut. You can taste the sunfruit on his breath, the sweet swipe of his tongue across his lips and your eyes narrow as his chest presses against yours. You don’t budge from your spot as a curl of his dark hair falls into his eyes. Almost automatically and before you can register what you’re doing, you reach up to brush it back and he catches your wrist before you can, grin growing. “I knew I recognized you.”

“I’m so happy for you,” you reply dryly. You shake his hand free from your wrist and back up against the wall, crossing your arms. “I’ve seen you in the markets a few times. The only eye-candy way out here,” you admit grudgingly, thinking of the weird fantasies you had about the guy you dubbed ‘The Man from the Market.’

Not your most graceful or catchy nickname, or your most dignified moment, waking up to soaked panties and a flustered sensation glossing over your skin, but you also didn’t expect to see him again. At this party, no less, of some merc bastard and his friends.

“Likewise,” he says, eyes dropping from yours to your lips and then darting up again. He chews on his lip, as if fighting back that cocky smile before he adds, “You’re the only thing that’s caught my eye in the past two days.”

“Charming.”

“Hm. Poe Dameron.”

You glance at the unopened door, sighing out a, “Good for you,” as you cross your legs at your ankles. Dameron only frowns, turning to the door and you observe the darkness around you. You can’t really make out anything but the solid shape of your fellow closet companion. You can’t even make out his features too well unless he’s extremely close to you, and even then, it’s a guesstimate.

You’re going to kill Yvonna. If she wants the intel, she’s going to have to pay you double the credits.

The darkness seems to crowd in on you and you take a deep breath, the heat of the room getting to you. You feel sweat gather underneath your arms, in the creases of your thighs, and maybe it’s the alcohol getting to you, but you swear your feet aren’t attached anymore. They’ve been strapped to some stupidly high heels to accentuate your legs and it's gathered in a trembling pain in your calves now that you’ve a moment to stop moving. You want to keep moving. It’s the dancing in your stomach, the strange flutter in your lungs, the involuntary clenching between your legs.

Normally, you’d be fine but right now…

God, it might’ve been something you ate. You don’t know, but right now, you feel like you’re a hollowed out piece of scrap.

“C’mon, BB-8,” Dameron murmurs as you let your head drop back against the wall. Your eyes slip shut and it’s not too different from the darkness surrounding.

Maybe it’s cause you haven’t seen Krieg in a moment which is part of the reason you’re here. Hasn’t given you a chance to take the edge off and you’re so full of this energy that needs to be spent or you’re going to die in this closet, in that ship…

You needed to do something.

Your eyes open and see the shape of Dameron’s head.

Or, someone.

Yes, you had kissed him first, pushed him into this closet, let his hands wander, but that was because a guard was coming and you weren’t about to get caught red-handed.

This fucking sucks.

“My friends call me Y/N,” you say glumly, your fingers gingerly tugging at the hem of your skirt. An uncomfortable slickening is occurring down there just thinking about that kiss that occurred in a time when you weren’t stuck in a closet, and you can’t help but think that Dameron was a good kisser.

Give credit where credit is due, all that bullshit.

“Y/N, huh?”

“I said my friends,” you reply pointedly. “Associates and otherwise know me by my callsign.”

“Which is?”

“Bandit.”

“How original,” he mutters almost under his breath and you roll your eyes. The burning in your gut spreads like a fan of fire, following where your knuckles press against your thighs as you try to adjust your dress to fit comfortably, but it’s too damn hot and you shift again, catching his attention. “You okay? Not afraid of the dark, are you?”

“No. It’s just… it’s just hot in here,” you mumble with a scowl directed at your own body betraying the way his arm bracketing you on one side of your head is radiating a heat you want to choke on. “When did it get so hot?”

“When they started serving spiced whiskey?” he tries and, this time, your scowl is directed at him with another poison to kill a small snake. “Maybe you’re having the Shakes.”

“The…” You blink, and you’re not sure if your eyes are adjusting to the blinding darkness or if you can actually see him clear as day when he bends his arm and leans against the wall by his elbow. You don’t move away and his breath, searing, tingles at your sweating neck. The drawling exhales only serve to send more thigh-clenching spasms into your stomach and you shoot him a weak glare. “The what now?”

“The Shakes,” he repeats as if he’s totally unaware of what he’s doing to your body. Maker, he must be able to smell it. There’s no way he can’t because you can feel just the effect of him being so close to you has done and— “You know.”

“I, uh, I really don’t.” If he knew a fraction of what his voice did to your panties, he would not be talking right now. Or he’d be talking more. You don’t know which one you want more.

“Oh, you know, when you haven’t had sex in a long time. I call it the Shakes. Every little thing sets you off, you get cranky and flustered, you’re all wired up and your gut feels like the first time you go into hyperspace.” He sighs, and you hear the quiet thump of his head resting against the wall. Y’know, darling?”

“Hm?” you hum, distracted by the index knuckle running over your cheek.

“It makes you distracted.” You can hear his smirk and you roll your eyes with a scoff. “It’s why I call ‘em the Shakes. Throws everything off, doesn’t it?”

“Stars, you love hearing yourself talk, don’t you?”

“You know, I see the it often enough that I can recognize any poor soul suffering from a mile away,” he says, ignoring you. “And you’re sick with it, Snatch.” Casually as if he isn’t lazily tracing the shell of your ear with his hand now, he chuckles. You close your eyes as if you’re not critically aware of every desire to pull him into another hard kiss, every little movement of his body from the way he leans to the way his fingers flutter around the curve of your jaw.

You’re a fucking fighter, though. You’re not about to hook up with some random motherfucker in a closet.

Even if the random motherfucker is the hottest thing you’ve seen in who knows how long.

Holy shit, you think your gut might explode with how hard you’re trying to keep it together so you say the first thing you can think of related.

“I didn’t get sick the first time I flew into hyperspace. I didn’t get sick the first time I did an aileron. I, uh, I really don’t get sick when I fly at all,” you say, eyebrows rising skeptically. “Do you?” Confused: “No. I’m a pilot.”

“Oh. And you get the Shakes often, then? Wedged in the seat for hours on end,” you ask conversationally, managing to keep your tone in check. Dameron chuckles at your question, but he pulls back. Your thighs press together and something lurches at his withdrawal, wanting him near again but you silently push those urges down. “If you’re so wise to depart your knowledge with me, that is.”

“You’re a funny girl. Nah, you just get used to it when you’re busy doing other things.”

“Other things?”

“Hm, well, let’s say I have a busy job, and that’s pretty much my whole twenty-four-seven schedule.” He comes close again, close enough that his lips brush against the delicate skin before your ear and shivers shoot down your spine like waves of electricity and you stiffen. You know he hears you suck in your breath, the tiny hitch of your chest and he chuckles again, almost amused.

“I think… it’s…” Maker, please forgive me for my utterly hedonistic will that has the strength of melted bantha cheese. “Fuck, I think it’s physically impossible to ignore that you’re horny.”

“I didn’t say that,” he corrects, lips whispering over your skin. He tilts his head. “I said you get used to it.”

“Well… n-normally, I’m pretty fucking good at that.” You bite your lip and lift your head to the ceiling, thighs pressing together and straightening up but the sound of your dress dragging against the wall gives you away. “When... people aren’t around.”

“People?” he echoes. “You alright, Snatch?” Fuck him. He is definitely enjoying this.

Well, fuck. Might as well, right?

“The Shakes,” you say in a very steady tone that is betrayed by the absolute ocean swimming between your thighs, “may have found residence here.”

“Hm.”

“That funny to you?” you ask, feeling his smug fucking smirk against your cheek and turning to look at him. His dark eyes glint somehow in the non-existent light. You just know it’s there. A cocky spark.

“Explains why you kiss like I’d melt away between your fingers. It was a good kiss, by the way. You’re a good kisser,” he adds, “but more passionate than I thought you’d go for, considering all we were trying to do was evade the guards and that fact that up until that point, you were trying to pickpocket me.”

“I was trying to get the chip. And I think the pushing into the closet was a good touch,” you defend as he rotates around and cages you against the wall. You stare defiantly back. “He went away, didn’t he?”

“But that just implies something.” His elbows are on either side of your head and he leans in, low enough that you can feel the sound of his voice, his sweet breath against your aching mouth. It’s one thing to admit it but another thing to act on it. Maker, are you really about to—

You know what?

Fuck it. Your panties are ruined, you need this fucking annoying heat out of your system and he’s fucking right about one thing: you’re hornier than a Lucrusian fengrill in heat.

What do you have to lose?

“Why just imply something?” you ask innocently as his lips brush against the corner of your mouth. You sigh in relief when the heat seems to sink, spreads through your body instead, and his shadow brushes against your skin as he moves lower, lips finding your chin, the curve of your jawbone. “Oh, fuck…” you choke out, your hands finding his hair automatically, threading through the dry locks and his name slips out in a breathless moan. “Fuck, Dameron.”

His body jerks at the sound of his name coming from you and your eyes widen when his hips press flush against your thigh. His bulge is hot and hard, the fabric of his pants silky against your bare skin and you let out a soft sound when he nudges your head up. His hands run over the walls, find your shoulders, your waist, tugging at fabric that sticks to your skin before continuing elsewhere, and you’re not even breathing as he licks at the pulse point, the sweat, the alcohol glazing your skin.

“Shit,” he breathes against your neck, teeth running along the vein as his hand sneaks underneath the hem of your dress, skirts around the edge of your panties and it’s the brush across the absolutely soaked spot that does him in, does you in because you know he felt you clench around nothing. “Fuck, I can feel it—”

“Shut up,” you groan, wrenching his head up and smashing your lips against his. He sighs into your mouth, hips grinding against yours as you take a handful of his curls. You yank him back, your lungs seizing for air. Everything tastes like sugar and starfruit as you push him down to his knees, your calves burning. “My feet. Ow. Fuck these heels, honestly.”

“I got ‘em.” His hands immediately find your ankles, running smooth circles into your skin but before you can tell him the strap is on the outer side of your leg, he lifts your foot up. A protest stammers in your throat as he reaches up and presses you against the wall with a large hand flat against your tummy, but he merely smirks against your thigh, letting your knee hang off his broad shoulder. “It’s the Shakes, darling. Makes everything excruciating.”

“Dameron—”

“Relax,” he drawls as your back meets the wall flush and cold. You grab onto the handle of one of the mechanical drawers, wincing when his hand digs into the sore muscle on its way up to stabilize your thigh just as the other on your stomach travels down. “Got a nice view, don’t you?”

“Would be better,” you grit out, “if I could see.”

“Need me to pull out my glow-in-the-dark condoms for you?”

“Dameron.”

“Kidding. Well, only half. I do have some back on the ship.”

“Dameron.”

“Alright, alright. Next time.”

You can’t even see the silhouette of his face anymore, gone underneath the hem of your dress, but you shake your head anyway, lip caught between your teeth as you feel his hand slide up and down the one calf still planted firmly on the ground.

You take a breath and let your head fall back, your ravaged neck pulsing, your entire world spinning.

It happens all at once. When his grip on the thigh resting on his shoulder tightens, when he lifts your other leg over his shoulder, when he surges forward, his lips finding your soaked panties immediately, teeth nipping lightly at the fabric.

Your entire system shuts down.

He noses up higher and your thighs wrap around his head, ankles hooking. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, clutches at your ass really, and your fingers in his hair tighten when the dress begins to ride up higher, revealing more of the gorgeous man between your legs.

Oh, how you wish there was some sort of light in here so you can just—

There’s one shaky breath, then another, and there’s no movement which you’re only painfully aware of and your eyes open—when did you even close them?—as you look down. “What’s wrong?”

“I just wish I could see you, darling,” he breathes, kissing the top of your slit and sending a warm shiver through your gut. “Fuck. The way you’d look when I finally chase the Shakes out of you—I’d ruin you. Ruin you and then some. Eat for days.” And then his teeth return, barely skimming the soft flesh of your navel as they hook on the waistband of your panties and tug, his breath following down your thigh as he works on pulling it down, slowly, luxuriously, his lips soft as they press teasing kisses in the crease of your thighs, land tiny nips to the juncture of your hips. You spasm at every turn, wiggle and squeeze until you’re sure you’re cutting off the circulation in his neck, but he doesn’t give any indication that he cares.

No, he just holds you against the wall, your legs tossed over his shoulders, and grins.

You don’t know how you know.

You just do so you don’t know why you stutter out, “You g-good?” anyway.

“Fucking perfect.”

Maybe it’s so you can hear that voice, low and deep in his chest, between your legs.

He leans forward and his nose bumps into your clit, and, as if on reflex, a warm, strong tongue darts out and licks a solid stripe through your heat. “Fuck, darlin’.”

Definitely so you can hear that voice between your legs.

“You’re heaven, y’know that?” he mumbles but you can’t quite focus, your hands gripping at anything you can—one in his hair, the other on that handle and your back arches when he just goes for it, mouth to clit contact, tongue probing and licking and stroking all at once. “Think ‘m gonna die if you don’t drown me first.”

“W-way to i-inflate a girl’s—fuck…” Your voice goes hoarse midway, as if he sucks it out of you, and you can feel the air in your lungs going with it as your back arches off the steel wall. You can feel his jaw, sharp and strong and warm, flexing against your thighs as he works, tongue velvet, lips teasing and he inhales deeply as your legs tighten around his head.

His fingers dig deeper into your ass and you choke back a pathetic moan when his teeth raze your swollen bud lightly, just enough to tease you and keep you on edge. Everything is cotton. The shadows, his hair, his rough hands that are full of calluses you don’t know the meanings of.

Your nails scratch his scalp, tug him impossibly closer and you’re biting through your lip right now, your moans bundling in your chest as he pushes deeper, pushes you closer against the wall as if he wants more of you but can’t quite reach and you want to just let him continue, let him have his fun because you’re sure he can go down on you for hours but—

You’re only human, and the tide comes so quickly you fucking know for sure two things: Dameron knows what he’s doing and Dameron knows what the fuck the Shakes are.

A slight brush of his tongue at your clit and you’re gone. You’re on that downhill slope that sends a spiral of chain events through your body. Your thighs lock around his head and your fingers tighten as lightning shivers and lances through your limbs, sending your heart up into your throat and pulsing between your legs. Your gut clenches, so desperate to hold on that you can’t even breathe, that the only thing you can stutter out is some bare semblance to his name followed by ramblings of “fuck” slewn with more “close… close… so, so close…”

Your eyes are screwed shut, your mind scrambling to concoct an image—an image that would be reality if the lights were on and you can almost see it. Poe Dameron, with his dark eyes, raven hair, plush lips and a beard that scratches against your skin, on his knees with your legs thrown over his shoulders, his hands, huge and veined and strong, grabbing at what flesh he can, head gone underneath the hem of your dress and you can only feel what he’s doing—

You don’t even recognize him chuckling until you can feel the vibration of it through your knees, against your leg.

“Darlin’,” he pants, drawing back just enough to breathe and he tilts his chin just enough to press a sloppy, slick kiss against the soft flesh of your inner thigh and he laughs again, entertained at the desperate little whine that comes outta your throat because the image would’ve been just enough if he kept going for a second more, “gotta let me fuckin’ breathe if you want me to stay down here.”

“That’s…” You struggle for words because you’re heaving so hard, so out of breath because you didn’t even know you weren’t breathing for several seconds. “That’s—it’s, oh, shit.” Your thought process is disturbed by another teasing lick at your swollen folds. “Dameron, if you don’t let me just fucking—”

He nips at the juncture between your thigh and your soaking, swollen cunt.

“Watch it.” You retaliate with a sharp tug of his hair and he only laughs again, soothing the bite mark with a few gentle kisses.

“Just keeping you on edge, darling,” he whispers, peeking up from underneath your dress for the first time in what feels like hours. You run your hand blindly down his face and feel the slickness on his chin, swiping it off but his teeth catch your thumb, and then it’s his tongue wrapping around your fingers, too, sending fluttering shivers through your stomach. He licks them dry before he lets go and your hand finds his hair again as he sighs, disappearing between your legs again, and you barely hear it, a nearly indecipherable mumble that sounds more like it’s coming from inside your head that his own mouth, “Anyone ever told you… you taste like heaven?”

“And how would you know?” you gasp, feeling a little giggly yourself as the crest begins to rise, your chin tilted up as his tongue flattens against your slit. He hums to himself, the curve of his jaw brushing against your tender thigh as he pulls back just enough to speak.

“‘Cause I just tasted it, darling. And I know I could just feast on you for days.” Your entire body tenses as he laughs into your cunt, the ripples of it against your sensitive skin shooting through your spine and you’re on that downward spiral again as his smiling mouth attaches to your bud and his tongue dips into you again.

You’re dripping. The sounds are obscene, filthy to the nth degree, and you’re so close that it aches. You want to thrust but you can’t risk toppling the man you’re resting on the shoulders of, but at the same time, you know he’s teasing the ever loving shit out of you with his shallow passes, his fluttering kisses.

Taking his sweet time, indulging in it. You’re pretty sure if he could make do on his promise to eat you out for however long you’d let him, he would, but you’re half-aware of where you are, that the droid is supposedly coming, and having half-a-brain is half-a-brain too much to lose all common sense.

“Dameron,” you whisper, and he pauses, looking up and you wish you could see his face, the face of a man who stopped at the mere utterance of his name that it sends a thrill through your overstimulated system. “Please.”

There are no further words needed.

He works you up to it slowly, until your fingers are clamped so hard and you’re seeing stars despite there being nothing but shadows around you. The only sound is the wet slop of his mouth working against your drenched pussy, your moans and his heavy breathing that fans out across your navel.

It’s when his tongue pushes so much deeper, and curls, that your thighs clamp down around his head and your fingers are gripping so hard you’re not sure you’re going to make it without a few nail cuts in your palms that you know the Shakes are gone.

Your entire world flips as your vision goes black. Your fingers curl tighter, your thighs begin to quiver, and everything snaps inside you. Your back arches off the wall and you feel like you scream but it’s because your voice is so utterly broken that it seems so as he continues to drink through the floods, drawing out the aftershocks for as long as possible and the euphoria that shoots through you like a blaster is both molten and cool as spring water.

Your vocabulary is nothing but his name, soft breathes of “fuck” and “shit”, and the unrelenting “thank you”.

Your heart rattles against your ribs, beating so quickly you think it might burst from your chest and you feel another quivering sigh escape your lips as Dameron gives you a few more gentle sucks to your messy centre before he’s slowly running his hands up your thighs, to your knees, and gently sliding your legs off back to the floor.

Your body is trembling so hard that your knees nearly give in immediately, but, luckily, Dameron’s hands find your waist and ease you to the ground just as you let go of the handle of the drawer.

“Fuck,” you croak ungracefully once your ass is on solid ground and you gulp down nothing but air as you try to open your eyes. It’s not that different from your closed vision and there are a few white stars blinding you in the dark, but you can still make out the shape of your partner, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand before he’s leaning over your leg to check the control panel. It’s then that you can feel it, pressed against your shin. He’s hard as a fucking rock. “Y-you need—” But your voice is a garbled mess, exhausted from the alcohol and the Shakes, and he turns to you, fingers dancing up your calves before slowly pulling your ruined panties back up your thighs.

“Up,” he orders quietly, and you lift your hips up enough for him to slip them firmly back onto your hips. “And it’s fine. I told you. I’m good with the Shakes.”

“Yeah, but, y’know…” you mumble, “could be good.” You can feel him smiling as he leans over to kiss your neck blindly, still finding that tender juncture of your shoulder. You grin, your hands finding his shoulders and roaming his back, feeling the curved muscle of a military man. You know his type.

Continuing downward, down his sides…

“You do owe me,” he murmurs and you nod as he pulls back just as the sound of beeping on the other end of the door.

“Mhm, don’t wanna stay in debt,” you say just as the sound of whirring fills the heated silence and your grin grows as you expectedly raise one of your hands to shield the light about to fill their little closet. You pull your other hand away and you begin pulling the loops out on your heels, sliding your aching feet out of those torture shoes. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again in the future, huh? Pay you back then.”

The door slides open and you stand as he scrambles to his feet as well. At least, you can see his features clearly, and you grin because he’s just as handsome as the first time you saw him.

Absolute score.

With your fingers hooked on your shoes, you wipe the bit of slick he missed on the corner of his mouth. He grabs your hand before it drops, pressing a cheeky kiss to the center of your palm and you roll your eyes.

“That’s fine with me,” he replies, squinting against the light and you tap his cheek. “See you around, Flyboy.” You flash him one last smile before leaving the closet first and walking down the hall. Your knees are still trembling and you feel like you’re a complete mess as you stagger through the metal hallway. Exhaustion is telling you to just go the fuck to sleep right then and there, but you can’t. Not until you get back to your ship and get into hyperspace.

As soon as you’ve rounded a corner, you run with everything you have.

It’s only a matter of time before Poe Dameron realizes that the chip that was in his pocket is making its way to another buyer.

Yvonna totally owes you.

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skyeet-the-writer · 3 years

Text

soft touches

here is another one of my original works! i spend a while writing this during classes and it really means a lot. it’s quite personal to me bc this is the kind of life i’d want with a s/o, though it is implied to be a boy x girl relationship. hope you like it!

female oc (skyla) x male oc (mason)

summery: life can easily get stressful, but having a loving boyfriend to come home to makes things a lot easier

word count: ~3.09k

warnings: language, insecurities, suggestive mentions, unbearable amounts of fluff

Rain pelted Skyla’s car as she drove home from college. She was absolutely exhausted. She hadn’t slept well the night before because Mason’s insomnia was keeping him up. And when he didn’t sleep, neither did she. But she had classes and band practice after school, which explained why she was coming home at seven thirty at night.

She stopped at the stop sign and hummed along to the song playing from her phone. She was just about home. Hopefully, Mason wasn’t working late. If he was, she might not wait up for him. She’d probably just take a shower, eat something, and go to sleep.

Skyla took a left turn and drove slowly through the neighborhood. It was dark and also pouring rain, so it’s not like anyone was out and about. Still, she had always been a careful driver.

When she pulled into the driveway of the house she shared with her boyfriend and his best friend, she felt her heart flutter at the sight of Mason’s car in it’s spot. She put her car into park and turned her lights and her wipers off. She made sure everything electronic wouldn’t risk getting wet before opening the car door and opening up her umbrella.

She ran through the mud, which was a mistake because her boots got muddy, as well as mud splashing up on her sweatpants. She groaned and fumbled with her key as she held her umbrella with one hand. She finally unlocked the door and walked inside, shaking her umbrella off outside the door before shutting it and locking it again. She took her boots off and put her umbrella by the door before walking out of the mud room, stepping over the wet puddles from other people walking in and out of the house.

“Mase?” she called through the quiet house. She walked into the bedroom first to put her backpack down and saw no sign of him. So she walked into the kitchen and saw him cooking at the stove with his back to her. She smirked and walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around him from behind. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi, honey,” Mason replied, stirring whatever was cooking. “How was your day?”

She shrugged, rubbing her thumb on his stomach and giving him a small squeeze. “It was okay. I’m really tired, though.”

“Yeah… sorry for keeping you up last night.”

But Skyla quickly shook her head, saying, “Don’t apologize. It’s okay. I didn’t mind.” She quickly slipped her hands under his hoodie and squeezed around his waist.

“Yeah?” Mason sounded a bit shaky now as Skyla’s hands were beginning to drift downwards.

“Yeah,” she whispered into his ear as best she could. She was around five inches shorter than him. “I really liked it.” The tips of her fingers brushed his jeans.

Mason’s breathing got more uneven and he stopped stirring. “Fuck baby.”

“What?” she asked, her knuckles now under the waistband. “Something the matter?”

But Mason just made a hot, frustrated groan that made heat strike Skyla’s tummy. She was about to reach what she wanted before Mason grabbed her hand and shoved her against the counter, pinning her hands to the stone. “What’s wrong, baby? Your hands were going somewhere they’re not supposed to,” Mason mumbled, his lips inches from hers.

Skyla started to lean forward, but Mason squeezed her wrists and she stopped. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Have you?”

She nodded, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth. “Yeah. All day. You’re really distracting.”

Mason laughed and leaned closer, their noses now brushing. “Can’t I get a kiss first?”

And so she leaned forward and kissed her boyfriend hard. One of his hands drifted up to her throat and he squeezed, earning a whine out of her. He bit her lip and slowly pulled away. His blue eyes were dark and hooded as he looked over her face.

“Pretty,” he said before kissing her again, pushing her hips back against the counter with his own hips. Skyla tried to move her hands, but Mason’s grip tightened and he squeezed harder on her throat for five seconds before letting go completely and moving his hand to tangle into her hair.

When they finally had to pull away, Skyla was hot and blushing. “I have to take a shower.”

“Can I join you?” Mason asked.

“Please.” And he let her go, giving her a smack on the ass as she made her way to the bathroom.

~*~

“I’m glad that Blake isn’t here,” Skyla said after their shower, walking back into the kitchen in Mason’s t-shirt and athletic shorts. “He’s...not here, is he?”

Mason laughed and went back to the stove. Her heart fluttered. “No. If he was here, I wouldn’t have let you be as loud as you were.”

Skyla blushed, turning her head to the side. “Where is he, anyway?”

“On a date with Charlotte,” he answered, turning the stove off.

“When am I gonna be able to meet her?” she asked, swinging her legs on the counter, pulling at the promise ring on her finger. “Every time she’s been over, I’ve been at school or work. Does she exist or are you and Blake just lying to me?”

Mason laughed again and turned to her. “She’s real. Maybe we can all go on a double date sometime.”

“Yeah, that would be fun,” Skyla hummed thoughtfully. Thunder rumbled outside and she glanced out the window. It was still raining, but it seemed like it was raining harder now.

“Hey. Are you hungry?”

Skyla turned back to her boyfriend and nodded, grinning. “Starving. I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch--” and then she stopped herself. She fucked up. She fucked up bad.

Mason put the bowl down and slowly approached her. “You haven’t eaten all day?”

“No,” she mumbled, avoiding his concerned eye contact. “I was running late this morning and I just forgot to get lunch because I was finishing homework…”

“Baby,” Mason whispered in that sweet tone that made her melt. “You’ve been forgetting to eat a lot lately. Is everything okay?”

Skyla nodded and leaned into Mason’s hand as he placed it on the side of her face. “I’m fine.” And she was. She had honestly just been forgetting to eat. Besides, it’s not like she had been too hungry recently. “Promise.”

Mason leaned forward and kissed her forehead, pushing her wet bangs out of the way. She smiled gently and wrapped her arms around his middle, hugging him and pulling him closer. He laughed a little as he stumbled and wrapped his arms around her back, his hands resting on her lower back.

“I love you,” she whispered into his shirt, pressing her head against his chest. His heart was beating steadily until it suddenly began to speed up.

“Honey, if you keep hugging me, I’m gonna get hard,” Mason whispered into her ear, a grin in his voice.

“What?” Skyla exclaimed, pulling away but keeping a relatively close distance. “We’re just hugging!”

“I’m between your legs,” he whispered. He was indeed grinning.

Skyla groaned and pushed him away before hopping down off of the counter. “You’re disgusting.” Mason laughed and she picked up a bowl from the counter. “Men are gross.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

After getting some soup, which was tomato according to Mason, Skyla sat beside him on the couch while he scrolled through Netflix. “What do you wanna watch?” he asked her.

She shrugged and blew on a spoonful of soup. “I don’t mind. You choose.”

He hummed and clicked on a movie they had begun watching last night before getting… distracted.

“It’s my favorite Marvel movie,” Skyla teased with a smirk. She looked at Mason and saw him just staring at her with a look that said “I’m done” and she bursted out laughing.

“For the last time, it’s not a Marvel movie,” Mason said with a smile.

“It literally is!” Skyla exclaimed, pointing at the TV. “It has RDJ, Scarlett Johnason, and Jon Faveru. This is Iron Man 2.”

“No!” Mason repeated as he laughed. “Baby, it’s not Iron Man 2.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She brushed it off with a waved hand and started to eat. Mason shook his head and ate as well.

After eating, Skyla went to put the bowls in the sink. She’d do the dishes later. Right now she wanted to cuddle. Apparently, Mason had the same thing in mind because when she returned, he was already sitting on the couch with a blanket. The same blanket, in fact, that Skyla had gotten him for their first Christmas together four years ago. Her heart swelled and she smiled.

“Cuddles?” Mason asked with his brows raised in hope.

She smiled and lay down on the couch. “C’mere, baby.”

Mason made a small sound of happiness and laid on top of her with his head on her chest. Skyla got the blanket fixed and exhaled deeply. This right here was her favorite place in the world. Mason with his hands under her shirt and holding her sides. When he was still in California with his POS mom, he always texted her about how he wanted to cuddle with her. How he wanted to lay his head on her chest and hear her heartbeat. Unsurprisingly, his love language was physical touch.

“Hey.”

She turned away from the movie and looked down at him. She knew what he wanted and so she leaned her head down and gave him one of the softest kisses she had ever given him. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he whispered back against her lips, kissing her again.

“I love you more.” Another kiss.

“I love you most.” Another one, this time a bit more forceful like his words.

She pulled away and smirked. “I love you more than that.”

“If I had to choose you or the stars, I’d choose you every time,” he replied with a smirk.

She scowled. “You can’t use my own pickup line on me. You don’t even like the stars.”

“I like you,” he said, placing his hand on her cheek and stroking her cheek with his hand. “You’re pretty. Like the stars.”

She blushed and turned her face away as he laughed. “Stoppp,” she whined.

“Okay, okay.” He put his head back on her chest and put his hands under her shirt to hold onto her sides. Skyla went back to running her hands through his hair like she often did.

About halfway through the movie, Mason suddenly sat up. Skyla made an upset sound and reached her hands up. She was in the middle of braiding his hair while he was kissing her stomach and borderline giving her hickies.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sitting up more as Mason stood up.

“Switch,” was all he said.

So she nodded and let him lay down on the couch before climbing on top of him. She straddled him, putting her legs on either side of his torso. Mason got the blanket fixed and she snuggled into his chest, laying her head over his heart. She smiled as he felt her immediately begin to run his hands through her hair. Okay, maybe this was her favorite position.

She turned her head to the side to continue to watch the movie. Her hands moved under his shirt, though she struggled a little bit. Skyla noticed him take a deep breath before her hands slipped under his shirt, and so she looked up at him.

“You okay? Am I too heavy?”

“Hm? No, you’re fine baby,” he answered. “It’s just… you were moving your hands.”

“Oh. Sorry, I did kind of touch that spot on your side that you said feels weird. Sorry--”

“No, no.” Mason shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I thought your hands were gonna go down my pants.”

She blushed a little before she smirked. “Oh. Did you want them to?”

“...Maybe.” He mimicked her smirk.

She bit her lip. She really wasn’t in the mood and so she gave him a look.

He had gotten good at knowing what she meant by a simple look. “It’s okay, baby. We already had sex, so it’s okay.”

She hummed a little and gave him a kiss on his throat--basically as far she could reach without moving too much--before settling back into his chest. He rubbed her back and she drew tiny patterns with her fingers.

Skyla had just begun to doze off when suddenly Mason gently shook her. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, squinting. “Hm?”

“We should--were you asleep?” Mason asked, cutting off what he was originally going to say.

Skyla nodded and rubbed her eyes, yawning. “Yeah.” How could she not? She was exhausted and he was warm and safe. “You know scratching my back makes me sleepy.”

Mason smiled. “Sorry, baby. If you’re tired, you can go to bed and I can clean up.”

But then she shook her head and sat up. “No. You cooked so I need to clean. We have a deal.”

He sighed. “Okay. I can help if you want.”

Skyla shook her head again. “No. I can do it. Go to bed, baby. It’s like, 10.”

“That’s not late though,” Mason said, folding the blanket up.

“It is for me,” she said to him. “I’ve got a 7 a.m. class and then work until one. Then I have a 1:30 lecture that goes until 3:30 and then--”

“Honey.” Mason grabbed her arms to make her stop talking. His hands drifted up to her face and he cradled it in his hands. “I was joking. Calm down. I know you’re stressed because of finals and band and everything. Take a breath.”

Skyla nodded and took a deep breath. Her anxiety was getting worse. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he told her with a small laugh. He leaned forward and kissed her head. “I get it. But you’re smart. You’re gonna be okay.”

She said nothing and simply stared up at him. The way he was looking at her, the softness in his blue eyes. She almost started to cry. She swallowed the lump in her throat and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his middle and gripping his shirt in her hands. He stroked her hair and she pushed her forehead into his shoulder, gritting her teeth so she wouldn’t cry.

“I love you,” Mason whispered after a minute or so. “So much.”

“I love you,” she managed to get out. Her voice was strained as she was on the brink of tears. “I don’t wanna lose you.”

“Honey.” This time, his tone made a tear slip out. It was so sweet, so gentle, so intimate. He wrapped his arms tighter around her and cradled her head. “You won’t. Never again. I’m not leaving you.”

Skyla wanted to tell him how thankful she was, but she couldn’t form the right words. So she nodded against his shoulder and hugged him tighter as Mason hummed and swayed in place. When she sniffled, Mason kissed her forehead and whispered something. It made her smile and nod and she pulled away. He held onto her forearms to keep her from moving too far.

“Hm?” She looked up at him as one of his hands left her arm to cup the side of her face. His thumb stroked her cheekbone and she closed her eyes, leaning into his hand. When it left her, she felt cold and she opened her eyes.

“Let me do the dishes, baby,” Mason whispered. “Go to bed.”

This time, she nodded. “Okay.”

Mason smiled and gently let her go before walking into the kitchen. She stood in the living room and wiped at her eyes and sniffed. After she recollected herself, she made her way into the bedroom. She didn’t have any reason to change clothes since she was already basically in pyjamas already. So she pulled her backpack off of her bed and made sure to plug her laptop into its charger at her desk.

Rubbing at her eye, she pulled her backpack away from the bed and put her phone on her nightstand. After brushing her teeth and avoiding her reflection in the mirror, she got into bed and pulled the blanket up to her neck. Her stuffed animal, a possum, was clutched to her chest.

But she didn’t fall asleep. She just stared at the wall, her mind in a flurry. She only snapped out of it when she heard the front door open and footsteps.

She heard Blake’s voice and then Mason’s. She smiled. She did like Blake, he was always so nice to her. And he was Mason’s best friend, had been since middle school.

But part of her kind of wished he didn’t live with them. She wished that it was just her and Mason. And maybe a dog. She wished she wouldn’t have to worry about being too loud during sex. Blake never mentioned it, bless his heart, but she knew it probably bothered him. She wished that she and Mason could spend the night talking with each other and not have to worry about waking someone up. She wished it was just them.

But then there was laughter, Mason’s laugh, and she felt guilty. Blake made him happy. Why should she wish for someone who makes the love of her life happy to go away?

With a sigh, she closed her eyes. The bed was warm and it smelled like Mason. Maybe this was her favorite place to be.

The door of their bedroom opened once more and she squinted at the light, making a tiny groaning sound.

“Shit,” Mason cursed, quickly closing it once again. “Sorry, baby.”

She just sighed and settled back into the covers, beginning to doze off.

But, as it always did, Mason getting into bed woke her up enough to shift positions. His shirt was off and she put her stuffed animal to the side to instead cuddle with her boyfriend. He chuckled and his chest rumbled under her ear as she got settled.

Their legs tangled together, her head over his pecs as he laid on his back, and his rough, callused fingers slowly drifting up and down her back.

“I’ll try not to wake you up tonight, darling,” he whispered to her.

“Thank you,” she whispered back. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

And they fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other's arms with the rain pattering on their roof to sing the couple to sleep.

——————————

feel free to make requests. reblogs are completely welcome, but no reposts on any other platform unless you ask me first. thanks y’all!

#fluff #original characters #original work #young adult #shortstory #short story

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glasyasbutch · 4 years

Note

Stella: 13 Roona: 22 Gent: 30

prose boys part one! prose boys part one! under a readmore bc its almost 2k words! thanks for sending them in rebekah i did full scenes for each prompt bc im a whore. bolded are the actual “things they said”.

Stella: Things you said that were important to you (set about six months after her clan’s home in the wood is razed to the ground, and she’s just found herself fully indoctrinated to the nearby city’s criminal ring as an assassin)

Her hands are small, even relative to the rest of her, which as a gnome, is much tinier than most people walking these streets. It's usually an advantage. Makes it all the more simple to just slide her hand into someone's pocket while they were preoccupied at the food cart. Snag a coin while they ordered, snag a hunk of bread while they paid.

She isn't proud of it. She doesn't like having to penny pinch other people's pennies to get by between jobs. But she likes starving to death less, so she swallows her damn pride and got down to it.

The problem is that the figure she’s trying to rob is also a gnome, which means her hands are not nearly as relatively small as she’s used to them being, and she manages to get her thumb caught on the edge of his pocket as she pulls away. His hand is around her wrist before she has a chance to react, grip terrifyingly tight.

"Pardon me, but I don't believe anything in my pockets belongs to - Ester?"

The fake tears she's been trying to push out begin to well up for real, turning her into a breathless, glassy-eyed mess, and she looks into a face she thought she'd never be seeing again. "Gray?"

Gray drops his grip on her wrist, only to clasp her hand between his protectively. "Ester, what are you doing out here doing this?"

She finds her knees start to buckle, and she pushes her weight into Gray's hands a bit to stay standing. "The fire, Gray, I barely made it out, I just ran in the first direction I saw. I ended up here, and when I looked back it was nothing but smoke. I only had my bow with me and I - I thought I was the only one who made it out. I didn't know what to do. I'm just trying to survive in a world I wasn't raised to live in."

Gray's eyebrows furrow, his expression sinks. He reaches his other hand out to grip the side of her face. "There's at least three of us who made it out. I left with Reddy, but he took off from this town a few weeks ago. I was starting to get lonely, but ... then I find you." He smiles, in the crooked sort of way that happens when loss starts to slip through the cracks of joy. "You can do better than this, Es. We're still clan. My house is still your house. Come back with me, at the very least 'til you get on your feet."

"Gray, no, really, I couldn't," she starts, but gets cut off as he begins to tut and takes his hand from her cheek to grip her other hand.

He pushes back her sleeve with his fingers, unintentionally, ever so slightly. He isn't even looking, but it's still enough to make her gasp and stiffen. That, he does notice, and gods damn it, he glances down.

Their clan is from the woods. They don't know a lot of city culture, but the symbol tattooed on her wrist, still slightly red from its freshness, is one of the things they have to recognize. Its something they know damn well to avoid, because these men who take shelter in the woods some nights, with these symbols emblazoned on their wrists and sword scabbards and coin pouches, setting off their hunting traps for fun and leaving their empty booze bottles behind when they go and not putting their fires out properly, are the kind of men who know no rule or law or code, and show no mercy when they feel they've been crossed.

"Ester," he says, voice darkening. "You can do better than this."

She tears her wrist away, tugging her sleeve back down. "My business is my own, Gray."

"As is my home, if you've chosen to turn your back on everything we lived for so quickly."

"I was hungry. I was going to die out here. I don't have many marketable skills, but they saw something worth a paycheck in me."

Gray says nothing, but drops her hands from his with a sharpness that can only indicate disgust.

"You can do better than this," he repeats. Then, for a brief moment, his gaze softens. "I hope you do."

She makes no move to stop him as he turns to go, walking with as big a stride as his gnomish legs can let him, vanishing into the crowded streets. She rubs at her wrist, letting the sting of pressing on the fresh tattoo distract her from the sinking feeling in her gut as one of the last survivors of her clan willingly turns his back on her. She had always figured she had no one left, but now she’s looking right at him and she knows it.

"I'm gonna," she whispers at the space where he has been standing, making up her mind to get back what scraps of her family she still has left. "I'm gonna get out of there, eventually. Swear on the trees."

*****

Roona: Things you said after making a bad decision.

"Vinny Vinny Vinny Vinny Vinny!" Roona pants, running so fast she nearly trips over her feet, "Pouch pouch pouch pouch please please please!"

They tug at the loose piece of leather fixed around their traveling companion's waist, barely waiting for acknowledgement of their presence before scrambling up the leg into the pouch and pulling the flaps closed, trying to look as much like a lute as possible.

Now, most lutes arent quite so lumpy, because they don't have knees to tuck in, and they don't swell and sink because they don't have lungs that are heaving from the mad dash they've just undertaken. But, however much like a lute she doesn't look, Roona supposes the ruse has worked, because no one sticks a sword straight into the flaps and the shrill complaining voice eventually huffs its way out of earshot.

"Is the purple dress lady gone?" she whispers, pulling one very small peep hole open in the mouth of the pouch.

"Yeah," Vinny sighs, still debating whether or not she wants to know what happened this time.

"Okay, good." Roona's head fully emerges from the pouch now, braids more mussed than usual and face still flushed reddish from exertion. They flash a forced smile up at Vinny. "So, don't get mad but. Um."

It seems, whether or not Vinny wants to know, Roona's gonna be telling her anyway.

"You know that really fancy dress shop down the road? I was over there window shopping, you know, like you do. And, well, I went inside, cause they had this really nice yellow thing and this other dress with lilac trim, and I wanted to know how they'd look together? Um?"

Vinny's lips press together, knowing exactly where this story's going.

"So I, uh, I grabbed a pair of shears, and I took a little bit of the trim off the back of the skirt? I mean, it's the back right, no one's gonna see, and it's not like they ever sell the mannequin models anyways, but. For SOME reason, the dress lady didn't like that."

"Roona. C'mon."

She sighs, brushing a few loose hairs out of her face. "No, no. I know. I ... I know. Like, actually. Sometimes people are just stuck up dickheads about their stuff, but like, this one I get. I'll go apologize in the morning, probably. Once she's had the chance to forget where she's left the fabric shears again."

They begin to pull themself out of the pouch, but stop with one leg dangling out over the lip. "On a totally unrelated note. Can I pitch you on a mix and match dress shop?"

*****

Gent: Things you said when you should've been quiet

"Gods," he huffs, flipping over what he's pretty sure is the third page of sigils for what he's significantly less sure is the fifth time. "You really think an archmage with a lifespan like his and absolutely no friends to hang out with would be able to find the time to write a damn key for his notes. Wenceforth! C'mere. Do you know what the fuck these double lines are supposed to be mean?"

The goblin starts at the mention of his name, trotting over on creaky joints from the post he'd be standing by the door. He slips on a pair of glasses, and peers over the piece of paper being held out for him. He spends a good minute tracing a finger across the ink, grumbling and mumbling to himself before turning to face Gent and announcing, very definitely, "No!"

Gent groans and slumps even further in the chair than he has been.

"You've known him forever, Wenceforth, has he always been this illiterate? I mean, god, for all the griping he does at me about penmanship making the difference between a Dancing Light and a Flaming Sphere, you'd think he'd care literally at all about how his own fucking notes look."

"Well, Master Errenis is quite a learned mage, you know, he's really quite skilled, but uh. Between you and me. He's always been a bit more meticulous with his notes since. Well."

Gent immediately shoots up, leaning over the arm of his chair to stare down Wenceforth. "Since what, Wence? You can't just leave me hanging here, man."

"Oh, you know, I don't really want to embarrass him or anything," he mumbles, anxious grin twitching onto his face.

"Oh come on! Please? I'll pay you the rest of my weeks stipend, Wence, I need to know what could've possibly embarrassed Yussah bad enough to change his wizardly ways."

"Oh, all right," he chuckles, leaning in, "but you didn't hear it from me. One time, good few years back, Master Yussah was studyin' this little ball thing, and got himself stuck inside. Had to call in a bunch of his wizard friends to get him back out. And they, ah, barely made it too, I heard, 'cause his map notes were just ... unintelligible."

"You're kidding, Wence? He got stuck. In a ball."

"Sure did, sure did! Had to call that pretty Taldorei lady myself to fix it all up."

"You had to get Arcanist Vysoren to get Yussah out of a ball?" Gent reaches for the goblins shoulders and gives them a good hard squeeze. "Thank you so much for telling me, Wence. You are truly the only man I have ever cared about in my life."

"Come now, surely he's not the only one." someone drawls from the doorway behind Gent.

Gent spins around in the chair, placating grin half way through stretching across his face. "Master Errenis, hello, how are you doing, did you need a hand with something, hope I haven't kept you waiting?"

Yussah gives a wry laugh. "I've been waiting in this doorway long enough, Ms. Avoris. Gossiping about my handwriting won't get those wards copied any faster."

Gent presses his lips together, turning (relatively) apologetically back to his work. Yussah motions for Wenceforth to follow him out of the room, starting to describe some spell components he needed dug out of storage. He stops in the doorway, just to be sure Gent is still in earshot.

"I have got to get that kid to see some other wizards. Let him study with someone really old and crazy, like Waccoh. Then see how he feels about my damn notes."

*****

#bros if you thought This was long get ready morgan sent me one for every single character #stella #roona #gent #asks

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vincent-frankenstein · 5 years

Note

different anon, but heck yeah u should definitely infodump about lucid dreaming!! im really interested in it

aaaaa okay !!! uh hold onto ur ears yall im abt to talk em off lmao

so !! if u didnt know, lucid dreaming is basically when you become aware that you’re dreaming while youre in a dream. once you’re aware, you can take control of the dream in literally any way u want — u can do anything, go anywhere, meet anyone, all with the knowledge that nothing can hurt u and nothing can stop u

its a fascinating concept and, the feeling when u actually become lucid for the first time? its better than anything else in the world. its the most invigorating thing u can ever feel, i think. but actually becoming lucid is, ,, , , hm. a time and a half.

putting the rest under a cut bc, hooooo boy this is gonna get long

first things first! you absolutely have to keep a dream journal. forgetting ur dreams is all well and good when ur not trying to accomplish anything in them, but if you become lucid and then wake up with only the vaguest memory of what you actually did? thats painful.

u can either go all out and get a fancy journal and write them down physically each morning, or u can do what i do and just download an app. i personally use the app Dream Catcher, which lets u tag ur dreams for easy organization. just get in the habit of writing down your dreams every morning, and if you really, really cant remember anything, just write down that you didnt dream anything that day. you’ll train your brain to remember your dreams better

secondly! reality checks! are absolutely imperative! the idea behind them is that, if you do something throughout the day that “proves” your reality, eventually you’ll start doing it in your dreams as well. for example, a common thing in my dreams is that i’ll have extra fingers, so i check my hands a lot throughout the day.

it can’t just be a casual thing, too. if all you do is glance at your hands and b like “yo looks normal, we gucci”, then you’ll do the same in your dreams even if you have Weird hands. trust me, Dream-You is an idiot, you gotta be obvious with this stuff. take a few moments, look at your hands, count out your fingers, and really think to yourself “am i dreaming?”

try to get in the habit of doing that at least 15 times a day, and eventually you’ll start doing it in your dreams too.

now, if you just stick with doing those two things — which is what i’m doing right now — your chances of becoming lucid will raise astronomically. even just those two tiny things can train your brain into realizing when the world around you is real and when it isnt. you can also attempt something really easy called a MILD — a mnemonic-induced-lucid-dream — which can help your chances even more without upping the effort

whenever you go to bed, just take a few moments — even just five minutes can help — and just. lay there. and think to urself, again and again “the next scene will be a dream” or “i will become lucid in my dreams tonight” or something similar. get ur brain really focused on lucid dreaming right before you fall asleep and chances are, those Vibes will bleed over into ur dreams and you’ll become lucid

practice those three things consistently, every day, and pretty soon you’ll start becoming lucid. it takes time, though! dont be discouraged if you end up not becoming lucid for the first few weeks, or even months. sometimes your brain just needs a bit of extra training

that’s what ive been doing for the past year or so — bc damn do i Not have the energy to actually put in too much effort — but!!! there are other techniques!!

my personal favorite is the WBTB, or wake-back-to-bed method. with this technique, you set your alarm for roughly 5-6 hours after you go to sleep so you’ll wake up inside of one of your REM cycles, specifically one where your dreams will be the most vivid. dont do anything, just roll over and go right back to sleep.

you can even use a MILD along with this, repeat whatever mantra u usually use as you fall back asleep. you should start to see hypnagogic imagery — blobs of color and vague shapes floating before your eyes. just observe them. at one point, they’ll start forming more familiar shapes, and places, and maybe even people — and there should be a moment, a snap, where you go from observing these images to actually being in the scene. you literally build the dream around yourself, its magical

i have read that WBTB can cause sleep paralysis, but i’ve never personally experienced any problems with it, aside from the fact that im always tired the next day.

another thing that could severely increase your chances of being lucid but also involves Effort — meditation. specifically mindfulness meditation. the act of bringing full awareness to your Existence, honing in on just Your body, Your mind, Your breath, will make you a more aware, mindful person, which in turn makes you more perceptive of dream signs. also, the ability to clear your mind and center yourself with a moment’s notice really comes in handy when the dream becomes destabilized and you have to take control

if ur an adhd lad like me — or neurodivergent in any way, really — the idea of meditation can be,,,, terrifying. honestly, i havent meditated in like six months now, because it really wasnt?? doing anything for me?? mostly because im absolutely incapable of sitting still for that long without Something to stimulate me

so! loophole! guided meditations. having someone else guide you through the process can make it a bit easier to focus. just find one that works for u on youtube. there are even guided meditations made specifically to prime ur brain for lucid dreaming!

so thats how you get lucid. now for when youre lucid

at first, lucid dreaming is going to be extremely hard. dreams fall apart very easily — if you get too overexcited or if a dream-character looks at you the wrong way or if you cant seem to do what you want to do, your lucidity can fade and you’ll either go back to being your normal dream self or you’ll wake up. dreams are volatile and hard to control, and even harder to master

thats where meditation comes in handy. youll have a much easier time controlling your dreams if you can look at the world around you, take a breath, center yourself, and know that you can control it. that being said, you can absolutely learn to take control without ever having meditated a day in your life. its all about your mindset!

you have to go into it with confidence. the key to controlling your dreams is knowing that they’re your dreams. you cant forget that you’re in control. thats why i feel like learning to lucid dream doubles as a lesson in self-confidence — you have to learn to trust yourself, trust that you can handle any scenario thrown at you and come out on top.

if you can achieve this mindset, you can literally do anything. ive had maybe 50 lucid dreams since i started learning about them — which… is honestly a really low amount, but. i havent really had the time/energy to really throw myself into it as much as i want to. but just in those dreams, ive flown, ive shapeshifted, ive met my sides, ive teleported to vast, gorgeous lands and seen some of the most beautiful things ive ever seen. anything is possible in a lucid dream; thats why its so worth it to put in the effort

but when youre first starting out, itll be extremely hard to maintain that mindset. like i said, Dream-you is dumb as shit — you’ll forget youre dreaming, you’ll be unable to control anything, you’ll wake up before you manage to accomplish anything. more often than not, the dream will destabilize, which is Not Fun

if the dream starts to destabilize — basically, if things start going fuzzy or vague, if you suddenly cant see, if you can feel ur body in bed, basically anything that points towards you waking up — there are ways to fix it. literally just spinning around helps for some reason? spin around, fall down, run ur hands along anything u can find and feel the texture, or just demand that the dream stabilize itself. most of the time, thatll work

and if it doesnt, dont be discouraged. theres always another night to dream

so basically: start a dream journal, do reality checks, mmmmaybe meditate if youre up for it, and your dreams will become like. at least 10x more interesting. trust me, try flying: its literally the best feeling in the entire world

its just !!! such a huge, incredible thing, and its so fascinating to learn about too. all the different ways you can train your brain, all the different things you can do, all the studies done on the subject. i suggest reading about Steven LaBerge or keith hearne. hearne led the study that proved lucid dreaming existed in the first place! he got a lucid dreamer to signal to him that he was conscious while asleep using REM (rapid-eye movement), because lucid dreaming happens during the REM state. also, robert waggoner’s book Gateway to the Inner Self is really fascinating too!

hm wow i really went ham here lmao

thanku for giving me a chance to infodump im very happy rn

#me: /spends a full half-hour infodumping abt something most people havent even heard of/#now if only i could remember this much when it comes to schoolwork lmaooooo #ty for the Infodump Permission im !! vibin rn #lowkey highkey this makes me wanna get back into it. . . might do a wbtb tonight...#personal #logan talks #lucid dreaming #Anonymous

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ellanainthetardis · 6 years

Note

Prompt (only if you're still taking them ofc): Effie embarrasses herself pre-Mockingjay and Haymitch tries to calm her down (maybe with Cinna there too just bc i love Cinna) :)

Here you go! [x]

One For The Gag-Reel

“I cannot wait forthis dreadful Tour to be over!” Effiesnapped, her cheeks still burning red. She limped to the closest armchair andsat down with relief, immediately folding her right leg over her left so shecould get a good look at her ankle.

“But we’rehaving so much fun…” Haymitch drawled out. Without any sympathy. As usual. He went straight to the liquor cart and shesupposed she should have been gratefulhe hadn’t headed directly to the train’s bar car.

She pursed herlips and glared at his back.

“It’s not that bad.”Katniss offered, dropping on the couch.

Humiliating.

It was humiliating.

“Not that bad?”she hissed. “You are aware this willprobably go into the gag reel, aren’t you? Everyone will watch me fall downthose stairs on a loop and laugh.”

“It was funny.”Haymitch snorted, taking off his jacket and tossing it on the back of thecouch. “That little screech you made? Comedygold.”

“The important thing is that you didn’t really gethurt.” Peeta commented, not unkindly, as he sat on Katniss’ other side.

“It truly wasn’tthat bad, darling.” Portia swore. “I doubt the cameras had a good angle…”

“You are sweet but the cameras were aimed straight atthe flight of stairs I missed.” she retorted. She undid the buckle of the shoeand rotated her ankle a few times. There was an unmistakable pinch. “Damn shoes!”

“Told you they would kill you.” Haymitch taunted fromthe cart where he was doing who knew what. How long did it take to pour oneselfa drink? And really was it too muchto expect for him to do the polite thing and offer everyone one?

“I am so sorry, Effie.” Cinna winced. “I designedthose heels..”

“Oh, it is fine…” she sighed, a little subdued by thatapology. “It was the stairs… The stairs were faulty.”

“She should have told Six’s mayor.” Katniss mutteredto Peeta under her breath. “I’m sure he would have liked to know.”

Effie pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at thechildren.

“Here’s some ice.” Haymitch declared before she couldtell the girl off for being insensitive to her pain. “Quit bitching now.”

She was genuinely surprised when he placed ice cubeswrapped in a cloth around her ankle. He hadn’t been fixing himself a glass then,after all. It made her feel guilty and she gave him an apologetic look that hedismissed with a roll of his eyes.

She was not really angry anyway.

Simply…

Well. Humiliated.She couldn’t even tell how it had happened. One minute she was walking up thestairs next to Haymitch, the next she was falling all the way back down. Sheremembered having made a desperate grab for him, she remembered he had tried tocatch her… Then she was sliding down the stairs on her side. Everyone rushed toher naturally. The Mayor, the kids, Cinna and Portia… Even Haymitch had beennext to her in a flash, asking if she was alright before defusing the tensionwith a joke…

She had laughed along and she had smiled for thecameras but she hadn’t been able to relax all dinner, fixated on the fact thatthe whole country had seen that fall and that it would probably play on repeatfor days. The simple thought wasenough to make her flush again.

The children didn’t linger long in the living-room andPortia, after making sure she was alright, followed them down the corridor,declaring she wanted to get as much sleep as possible before they reached Five.Effie could understand that. They were all tired and stressed out. She wouldn’thave fallen down the stairs if she hadn’t been tired and stressed out.

The ice made her skin numb and she moved the makeshiftpack around a little, wincing when she caught sight of her ankle.

“Oh.” Cinna made a face, crouching next to herarmchair and lifting the ice pack to get a closer look. “That doesn’t lookgood…”

“What?” Haymitch asked from the other side of the roomwhere, this time, he was fixinghimself a drink.

“It’s swollen.” the stylist said. “I think you mightneed a doctor…”

“It is simply a sprain. Nothing I cannot handle.” shesighed.

Haymitch took a sip of his drink on his way to herarmchair and handed it to her for safekeeping. He carefully coiled one handaround her ankle and placed his other one of her foot. He slowly made her footturn one way and then the other…

She had half a mind to ask him if he had gotten amedical degree while she wasn’t looking…

“Shit,sweetheart, it does look bad.” hefrowned, a bit sheepish. Probably because he had been making fun of her nonstopsince it had happened.

“I will keep it wrapped until we have to go on cameratomorrow.” she sighed, glancing at Cinna with a pout. “I was supposed to wearthe red heels in Five but I think they might be too high now. Do you think wemight switch for the black ones? They are less impressive but they are alsomore comfortable.”

“You’re joking.” Haymitch scoffed, gently rubbing histhumb on the swollen part of her ankle. “You shouldn’t put weight on that foot.Never mind wearing those death traps.”

“Oh, don’t you worry. I went down the catwalk withmore serious injuries than this.” she dismissed. “Sprains are a model’s lot.”

“I will go see what we can do for your outfit.” Cinnapromised. “We’ll make you look so fabulous nobody will remember what happenedtonight.”

“I doubt that but I thank you.” she smiled, squeezinghis hand when he placed it on her shoulder. “Goodnight, dear.”

Once the sliding door had automatically closed behindthe stylist, Effie slouched a little in the armchair, losing her regal bearingand wincing at the pain in her side. She only hesitated a short moment beforefinishing Haymitch’s whiskey. The taste was awful but she hoped the alcoholwould help her relax.

He tossed her an annoyed look when he saw what she haddone but didn’t comment, still busy inspecting her ankle as if he could heal itjust with his willpower.

“I hate totrouble you but would you terriblymind helping me to my room?” she asked.

“You hate to trouble me?” he snorted, openly mocking.“Since when?”

She pouted. “I was simplybeing polite.”

“See, you sayyou’re being polite but that’s just a covert way to be bossy.” he accused,outstretching a hand to help her up. “Come on, I’ll carry you. Should have saidit was that bad. Wouldn’t have letyou walk all the way from the Justice Building to the train.”

“I told youI was in pain.” she argued.

“No. You told me it was a disaster ‘cause everyone’dbe laughing at you.” he objected, rolling his eyes. “You said you were fine.”

“Well, I was not about to admit being hurt through myown clumsiness on national TV.” she retorted, wrapping her arms around hisneck. She held her breath when he picked her up, pain flaring on her right sidebut she clenched her jaw and pressed her forehead against his shoulder.

“What now?” he grumbled. “You’re okay?”

“Bruised.” she breathed out slowly.

He didn’t answer but his expression grew a little darkerand he hurried down the corridors and to her bedroom. He was careful when heplaced her down on the bed and she was grateful he didn’t toss her like hesometimes did when he fancied himself a funny man.

“Where’s the first aid kit?” he asked, alreadyrummaging in the cupboard of her en-suited bathroom. “Never mind. Found it.”

There were more sounds of things being moved around.She supposed he was looking for the right salve.

She did a quick job of getting rid of her remainingshoe and of the dress. Then she stood up and hopped to the full-length mirrorscrewed on the wardrobe door. And she made a face.

There were angry looking bruises on her right sidefrom her ribs to her mid-thigh.

“You shouldn’t be up…” Haymitch started scolding as hecame back in the bedroom only to do a double take. “Holy shit.”

Before she really understood what was going on, he hadher sitting down on the bed and he was running his palm all over the bruisedarea, sometimes pressing a little too hard for comfort. There was a frantic,almost panicked look in his eyes and it took her a few minutes to figure outwhat was wrong.

“I am fine,Haymitch.” she promised.

“You’re lucky you didn’t crack your ribs.” hemuttered. “Shit. You should have saidit was that bad.”

“I honestly did not know.” she sighed. “And the factyou are distressed do not excuse your language.”

“Ain’t distressed.I don’t care if you go and break your neck.” he grumbled, picking up the smalljar he had found in the bathroom.

She tried to take it from him but he batted her handaway. It seemed he was determined to take care of her injuries himself so shelet him, relaxing because as strong as his hands were – and there were strong – they could be extremelytender when he wanted them to.

He was only satisfied when her side was entirely coated with cream. He rubbed a generousamount on her ankle too and watched, apparently fascinated, when she expertlywrapped it tight.

He lifted his eyebrows. “How often have you donethat?”

“I told you. Sprains… It is a common thing.” sheshrugged. “I have been wearing heels since I was ten. It is bound to happen.”

He stared at her and then shook his head, standing upfrom the bed to get rid of his own clothes. “But you still wear them. You’recrazy.”

She huffed but didn’t rise to that bait. She watchedhim discard his waistcoat on the chair in the corner before kicking his shoesagainst the wall…

“I do not remember inviting you to stay tonight.” shescorned, a little vexed by his name-calling.

“Thought it was an open invitation thing…” he smirked,glancing at her over his shoulder before ripping the tie off his neck andtossing it on top of the waistcoat. The shirt and the pants didn’t get thatfar, they remained on a heap on the floor, prompting her to press her lips in ahard disapproving line. Not that he cared.

“Perhaps you thought wrong.” she hummed, unclaspingher bra and slipping her panties off. She had to use the bathroom anyway so shepointedly hopped to the clothes hamper to drop her dirty laundry.

He was usually more receptive to her naked self – evenif she was hopping around – but his grey eyes remained on the bruises marringher pale skin. And they were hard.

She rethought her original plan of going into thebathroom and limped closer to him, locking her arms around his neck. His handshovered uncertainly next to her hips before settling at the small of her back.She wasn’t sure she liked the way he was touching her, as if she was abreakable fragile thing. He never touched her like that.

“You know Imark easily.” she reminded him. “It looks more impressive than it is. It doesnot even hurt that much.”

“Yeah.” he granted, brushing his knuckles along theline of her spine. ��Just don’t like seeing you hurt.”

She smiled and raised on tip toes – balanced on heronly good foot – to kiss him.

She didn’t make the mistake of telling him she thoughthe was being sweet but she hoped she made herself clear anyway.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #prompt #victory tour #funny one #hurt comfort #hbic effie #protective haymitch #coconuts friends #injuries #the kids #the stylists

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laurent-ofvere · 8 years

Text

amnesia snippets bc im a disorganized fuck

“ @safetytank the base plot is that ya boys are out doing something or other with some soldiers and get jumped by bandits, damen gets clonked on the head and THE REST IS HISTORY (fuck me i’d love to make this proper and finished but the wedding fic is taking up all my attention) also feel free to stick any of this under a readmore bc even these little bits are kinda long”

DAMEN GETS AMNESIA AND FORGETS LAURENT AND ITS SO SAD AND IM SO SAD EVERYONE READ THIS AND CRY WITH ME

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Auguste of Vere knelt over him, one hand tilting his jaw upwards as that accented voice said again, “Damen.”

In the split-second it took him to drive his fist into the prince’s shoulder, he had the sense of mind to stomp down the pang of guilt at how his opponent’s expression had been one of worried concern.

Strangely—if fortunately—the Veretian hadn’t expected the move at all, and hit the ground hard enough that the force threw him onto his back. In the space of a heartbeat, Damen rolled over and scrambled to his feet, yanking his sword from its scabbard in expectation that the other prince would have done the same.

He hadn’t. His counterpart had only managed to wedge an elbow between himself and the grassy dirt, and now Damen could see what looked like a piece of yellow silk knotted tightly around the arch of his foot.

He frowned, his sword’s grip never wavering. Auguste hadn’t been injured before they had begun fighting, he was sure of it. And neither of their armies carried yellow, only blues and reds. Now that he thought on it, he didn’t recognize their surroundings at all. Marlas was a wide-open field, not a valley between gently-sloping hills and dense forest.

And Auguste…was not Auguste, he realized with a dawning moment of comprehension. The man lying at his feet was a fair double, possessing the same pale complexion and blond hair as the Veretian royal family, but he was thinner, softer, and wore his fear more plainly than any real crown prince would have allowed.

“Damen,” the impersonator repeated. Then, in Akielon, “It’s me.”

He breathed out, letting the tension drain from his shoulders. Just like Vere to claim they would hold to the rules of an honorable battle, and then send a body-double in their prince’s place. He sheathed his sword, staring down at the false prince with unmasked disdain.

“Clearly,” he spat, “it is not. Tell me where you have taken me.”

The confusion on the double’s face gave him pause, enough that the man seemed able to gather himself, wheels clearly turning behind those lake-blue eyes.

“We’re camped at the foothills of Serecote,” the false prince spoke in accented Akielon. “You are in no danger.”

His glance around them at the bodies strewn across the grass was a snippy retort all on its own.

“They were brigands,” the Veretian continued, admirably calm for someone sprawled on the ground with what looked like a broken ankle and a ruse that had come apart inside of a minute. “Loyal to no country and no ruler. All of them have been dispatched.”

As likely a story as any. “Why have you brought me here?” he demanded, very deliberately placing a hand on the pommel of his sheathed sword. “Are you hoping for an Akielon surrender if my father can’t produce a combatant? Because I can assure you that won’t be the case.”

The imposter’s flinch was the only hint that his words had any effect whatsoever. No matter, he thought, taking a last glance at the corpses strewn around them for any clue that one might be playing dead with a knife gripped under their bloodied breastplate. The hills surrounding them would provide enough of a vantage point to gauge his distance from any mountain ranges, and from there chart his course back to the border.

The only problem would be evading his captors but, as he met the double’s eyes again, he didn’t believe that would be too much of an obstacle.

“Damen.” He paid the double no attention, choosing the nearest hill that wouldn’t leave his back exposed, in case the imposter had falsified his broken ankle as well. “Damen!” Then what had to be a filthy curse in Veretian. “Damen, wait!”

“Don’t call me that,” he responded in annoyance, turning his head enough to catch sight of the imposter still propped up on his elbows—his injury legitimate, then.

“Damianos of Akielos,” the double snapped, the title dripping with venom. “Your father has been dead for three years.”

The lie was of such poor quality its brazen tone caught him entirely off-guard.

“Is that what they told you to say?” he blurted after a moment or two. “Your masters are more terrible at this than I thought. Where’s your national pride in dishonesty and deceit?”

He shouldn’t have stayed to insult the exposed fraud, no matter how amusing it was to see the man take such offense that he was rendered practically speechless.

~~~~~~~~OH SHIT EVERYONE ELSE SHOWS BACK UP~~~~~~~

“United?” he blurted, the words punching through the shock rooting him to the spot. “How—when—”

“I believe it would be appropriate,” Auguste’s double interjected, silencing Nikandros’ beginnings of an answer, “for proper introductions at this time. None of this will make sense to him otherwise, so it would be prudent to begin with what is most important.”

From the gathered men’s silence, it seemed they agreed. Damen bristled silently at their acquiescence to a Veretian, and a professional liar at that.

“Fine,” he agreed reluctantly. “I would hope you know me already,” he addressed the gathered Akielons, whose nods without hesitance were a comfort. “In fact,” he turned back to the man wearing a prince’s armor, “the only one here I don’t know is you.”

Were he not seated as close to the imposter as he was, he might not have caught the minute strain of a tendon in the man’s neck, only a flicker of movement before those icy eyes settled on his own.

“Very well,” the man replied, his tone deliberately kept even. “Your people know me as King Laurent of Vere.”

King? His mouth fell open. He didn’t bother trying to close it again.

“You, however,” the man, the king of Vere, continued, “know me as your Prince-Consort.” He spoke the Akielon words with more of a pronounced accent than he did his conversational vocabulary. “We have been married for two and a half years.”

“We have not,” was all that came out of his mouth, on such a whispery breath that it robbed the words of the argumentative tone he’d intended. “We haven’t—Nikandros, this is—”

His friend’s lowered eyes were answer enough on their own.

“Married?” Damen blurted helplessly. To him?

“Whether you remember it or not, it was somewhat of an extravagant affair,” continued King Laurent, as if he were discussing the weather. “Three days of ceremonies, seven more of feasting, some ridiculous display you insisted on that involved horses—”

“The first ride is a revered tradition,” Damen mumbled, cheeks flushing with warmth. The thought of parading around atop a ceremonially-decorated steed with this mouthy Veretian royal in his lap was embarrassing enough without the addition that everyone presently gathered had likely witnessed it as well.

“So you told me, repeatedly.” The king’s tone remained cool and unperturbed as one pale finger idly circled the rim of his goblet. “Perhaps it’s better you’ve forgotten the mountains of paperwork that came after. Ratifying the merge of two kingdoms did not make for a particularly thrilling honeymoon.”

They were married.

~~~~~~~~MOM THE BOYS ARE FIGHTING ;A;~~~~~

“Oh,” he groaned aloud. Right. Married. Of course there was only one bed. “Did we—”

“We shared it,” Laurent answered, his eyes never straying from his sheaf of paper. “And many other things besides.”

He was glad Laurent hadn’t looked up. He wouldn’t have approved of Damen’s appalled expression.

“You needn’t subject yourself to my presence tonight.” Of course Laurent had caught his shudder despite Damen’s best attempt to hide it. “My own quarters are distanced enough that my existence shouldn’t offend your gentle sensibilities.”

“Are you always like this?” he responded irritably, his words harshened by exhaustion and still-lingering disbelief. “I can’t think what I must have seen in being insulted every time I so much as breathe with you around.”

“It’s no concern of mine that you shy away from responsibility like a whipped dog,” retorted Laurent, finally deigning to lift his gaze from the report fix Damen with an icy, calculating stare.

“I’ve been told not half a day ago that not only is every member of my family dead, some after trying to kill me, but that I’m supposed to lead two kingdoms’ worth of people that want any excuse to throw us back into war!” he exclaimed in exasperation. “It’s a lot to take in, thank you!”

He’d hoped pleading for sympathy might soften those blue eyes, but they merely narrowed in subtle displeasure.

“Ten years might have passed for you, but they haven’t for me,” he continued, too tired to keep the helplessness from seeping into his voice. “I’m not the Damianos all of you are convinced I must be. I have no idea what to make of any of this, to be truthful. I’m still not sure I believe any of this is really happening. And you’re not helping with this needless vulgarity.”

Laurent simply stood and made to leave. “You are correct,” he spoke over his shoulder in parting. “You are not Damianos. He would never defend his inexperience by bleating like a sullen child.”

The canvas flap of the tent entrance had already swung back into place before he’d finished spitting an obscenity at Laurent’s retreating back.

~~~~~~everyone’s upset, let’s calm down a little and try again~~~~

“His Majesty humbly requests your presence, Exalted.”

The messenger was well-trained enough not to react to Damen’s disbelieving snort at the use of the word “humbly.”

The tableau in his head hadn’t been exact, but he’d carried a clear expectation of how the King of Vere might present himself upon Damen’s entering his tent. From what little time they’d spent together he’d become quite accustomed to the haughty reticence and lancing words, familiar with his supposed-husband’s meticulous dedication to exacting social performances. As such, Damen had expected to find him lounging disinterestedly on some ornate piece of Veretian furniture, or perhaps seated at his missive-covered desk with a quill and impossibly straight-backed posture.

He certainly hadn’t expected to catch the ruler of two nations in the midst of pouring tea.

“Damen,” Laurent acknowledged, “thank you for coming.”

Everything about the scene was jarring. The fussy, demanding King Laurent bent over a low-set table with an overly elaborate piece of porcelain in hand, serving tea as if the camp wasn’t full of attendants to do it for him. The pair of cups he must have acquired specifically for this purpose, as their Akielon simplicity couldn’t have looked more out of place surrounded by Veretian opulence. The fact that Damen had been greeted cordially, almost warmly, rather than enduring some manner of snide comment upon his entrance.

He hadn’t been this wary since his father had agreed to hear the Veretian herald’s terms at Marlas.

The dark turn of his thoughts must have shown on his face. Laurent set the teapot down, one pale hand indicating the seat arranged opposite his own.

“I fear we’ve made poor first impressions of one another,” he said, making no visible acknowledgment of Damen’s cautious approach and guarded sitting posture. “Yesterday was a volatile time for the both of us, yourself in particular. I believe it would be to our mutual benefit if we could, perhaps, start anew?”

If it seemed too straightforward for what Damen had come to understand was a treacherously corkscrew Veretian nature, it was probably exactly that.

“As much as I’m sure you’d love to uncover some hidden motive of mine,” Laurent interrupted as if reading his thoughts, “you will be disappointed to find that I am perfectly capable of honesty, should the situation call for it.” Some unidentifiable emotion passed over those blue eyes. “I have you to thank for that, in fact. Tea?”

Whatever his dedication to remaining steadfast against Laurent’s machinations, he could perhaps hope that one claiming to be his husband would not try to poison him with so many Akielon soldiers gathered outside. His first sip had his brows raising in surprise.

“This is—”

“Ironwart,” Laurent finished for him. “You introduced me after we returned to Ios.” Something gentle flitted across his face, quickly hidden by the action of lifting his own cup to his lips. “You pouted at me for an entire afternoon when I told you Veretian tea is taken with milk.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he said, “you’d just end up—”

“—Diluting the flavor,” Laurent said together with Damen, their voices mingling in unison. “You were quite clear in your belief that I’d rendered the health benefits entirely ineffectual.”

“Not that it stopped you, I’m assuming.”

“Now you’re catching on.” The approval in Laurent’s tone sounded strange, at least compared to the predictability of his snappish insults, but it was not unpleasant to have directed at Damen for once.

His eyes caught on a glitter at Laurent’s wrist. Strange, he hadn’t thought the king’s austere preferences included jewelry. Laurent, of course, noticed immediately, and lifted his other hand to tug back his sleeve.

The golden cuff encircling one slender wrist was Akielon in design, simple in shape and minimalist in decoration. Were the implication of such an item not paramount to its aesthetics, he might have said the color suited the Veretian king.

“You gave me this,” Laurent said, turning his hand so that the metal glimmered in the lamplight. “Its twin sits on your own arm.”

~~~~~~~~~~REBUILD UR RELATIONSHIP AW YEAH~~~~~~~~~

“Tell me about Damianos.”

Laurent, perceptive as ever, had immediately turned those blue eyes upon him with an unreadable expression. “What do you wish to know?” The guarded tone was clear, though his closing and setting aside his book was a sign that it was safe to proceed.

“What you—what he was like,” Damen corrected. “There are ten years between us, and I have…difficulty understanding the place he occupied in the world.”

Though Laurent remained seated with a wary stiffness, the admission seemed successful as an extended olive branch. “He was an effective ruler,” he began, clearly playing his words close to his chest. “Much beloved by his people, and passionate about the merge of two kingdoms so long at war with one another. Though he was one of the best captains I had ever served with, he did not possess a violent heart, and was pleased to see conflicts ended with a minimum of bloodshed.”

It was entirely possible Laurent was withholding anything but praise for the Other Damen out of a hope that compliments would earn him the veneer of trustworthiness. Still, Damen couldn’t bring himself to think that his counterpart could have been a greedy miser or a murderous tyrant. The Akielon honor guard would never have treated him with respect if he had, let alone the unanimous support Other Damen seemed to have garnered from the kyroi.

“Who was he when he wasn’t king?” Damen asked, hoping to keep from demanding too much too quickly, else his best source of information might shut down and wave him off entirely.

Laurent broke their held gazes, turning instead to his hands clasped in his lap. “He disliked confinement,” he said after a moment’s pause. “If there was nothing to hold him from it, he would be out riding or hunting, or participating in some manner of sport.”

That, at least, sounded familiar. He didn’t even realize he’d let a smile creep onto his face until a glance at it seemed to strengthen his plea in Laurent’s mind.

“He gave endless amounts of advice, whether it was called for or not. He made no mystery of his opinions, and stood by them with a conviction I’ve yet to see matched by any other man.”

“He sounds incredibly stubborn,” Damen offered.

“I’ve met rocks with less commitment to holding their ground.”

He chuckled aloud at that, imagining the Other Damen and Laurent debating into the night because neither believed in surrendering his point. The sound of his voice seemed to startle Laurent, earning him another of those looks that carried within it a strange jumble of approval, mixed heavily with sorrow.

“What brought the two of you together?” he asked, tentatively and hoping his intrusion might be buoyed forward on good humor. “It seems a strange coupling, given how different you both are.”

“A shared goal,” Laurent answered simply. “He wanted his country back, I wanted mine. His brother stood in his way, my uncle stood in mine. Any course other than working together would have been ill-advised, suicidal at worst.”

“Did you get along with him then?”

“Of course not,” Laurent practically snorted, though such a crude verb could hardly be applied to the delicacy of his every action. “He found me insufferable and I found him defiant and uncultured. Had he not proven his usefulness to me I’d have had him executed on the flimsiest of premises.”

He’d heard the gist of the story, but to have it confirmed so flippantly put an uncomfortable weight in his stomach that he couldn’t quite get rid of.

Of course, Laurent would have noticed even if it hadn’t shown on his face. The observation seemed to sober the other man somewhat from the light tone he’d used moments before. “I treated him poorly,” he admitted in what could almost be described as a small voice. “He didn’t deserve the punishments I inflicted upon him in my misplaced anger. He proved his unwavering loyalty time and again, and I couldn’t have asked for a more honorable companion.”

“You cared for him very much,” Damen observed, dropping the pretense of phrasing it as a question.

Laurent sighed, his gaze rooted firmly to the floor. “I did.”

In that moment, he could begin to conceptualize the sheer weight of loss that had to be hanging from the Veretian king’s shoulders. The Damianos he spoke of was everything Laurent himself was not. Together they’d tackled situations neither of them could have survived on their own, and had deposed two usurpers to rule two kingdoms’ worth of people through their combined efforts and complementary strengths. To lose that person, with whom he had built so much and weathered so many storms…

“I’m sorry,” he said weakly, though the words seemed to inadequate to fill the silence that had opened between them like some great, gaping chasm.

~~~~~i’m sorry~~~~~~

#THIS WAS FUCKING AMAZING AND IS BREAKING ME APART AND I NEED MORE OH MY GODDDDD #submission #captive prince #amnesia fic

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