#benefits of Direct to Garment

[luvwestwood]

"Give Me Five" - Choso Kamo

4,591 words.

₊˚༊*·˚ warnings. nsfw (18+), ice-hockey player! choso, bestfriend's brother trope, p in v, resolved sexual tensions, foreplay, fingering, titty sucking, choso fucks you in his jersey, orgasm denial, praising, hair pulling, rough play, nsfw links (underlined), spitting kink, mirror play, feral choso

₊˚༊*·˚ notes. I absolutely enjoyed making this special request for @moonriseoverkyoto! thank you all so much for 700 followers ^^ included a link for you lovelies as a gift, hehe I hope to send more work your way soon :) thank you for the love and support this whole month!

rightful art credits to @/kmskc_f, @/yume041624, @/elcheggen, @/uoru1_juju (all on twt)!

(russian translation) - creds to @juliabelll 🩷

Goosebumps formed all over your skin as you were met with the coldness of the rink. Bits of regret filled you for being stubborn this morning, choosing to not wear extra layers. Squinting, you look around to find a close friend of yours, not too far a figure jumping up and down catches your eye.

"Hey! Over here- I'm here!" Yuji called to you in his typical, chirpy voice. Multiple heads turned to the sudden commotion, followed by another look to your direction. Embarrassed, you facepalm; whispering quiet apologies to others as you squeeze past the row of seats, making your way over.

"Yuji!- I got caught in traffic. Did I miss anything?" You fold down the seat next to him, the excited Yuji passing you another one of those generic team jerseys that he also had on. You take a good look at it before putting the garment over your head, the team colours being black and yellow.

Beside you, the boy rummages through a large plastic bag of popcorn. "Mmph- No- My brother would be happy if he knew- You were here." His eyes were wide open and alert, observing the game like a hawk.

"..Ah, it's nothing. If I didn't go, I would have been rotting at home." You giggled, knowing the real answer. As soon as Yuji sent the text, 'wanna go to my brother's game next weekend?'. You had to go. You've been dying to go. Ever since you met Choso for the first time, you made good use of every opportunity you had to see him.

He had an unforgettable face, and a dreamy body you'd sometimes, and shamelessly catch a glimpse of from time to time. But you were doubting, and unsure if the feeling was mutual. The man was busy, which drove you to think he had no time for a woman in his life.

You fixate your head to the rink in front of you. Of course, you got a hold of the best seats. Yuji being the brother of a world renowned hockey player had it’s benefits.

The same bag of popcorn lands firmly onto your lap, Yuji reaching for the soda cup underneath his foot. "Hmm, he looks pissed though. I think I know why." He leans back, index finger scratching at his head.

You furrow your brows, taking several glances around the ice. A familiar back faced you, 'Kamo' and '12' plastered onto the behind of his jersey. Dark hair effortlessly left down, not too much going on. A couple loose strands falling onto his face, Choso looked like a dream. Yuji beside you shrieks for his name, cheering his brother on.

Choso spins around, glaring at the audience. He was outraged, and you weren't sure why. He didn't dare smile, or wave. Yuji grunts at his brothers reaction, smile fading and slouching back down onto the seat.

"..Oh, I get what you mean now." It was undeniable that Choso was a different person behind his helmet, and that he took the sport seriously. He always wanted to make everyone proud. As one of the best players on his team, everyone counted on him, so there was a generous amount of pressure on his shoulders.

The screeching blow of a whistle shrills throughout the arena for half time, Choso violently shoving his hockey stick onto the ice. Plenty of teammates approach him, others choose to not get involved. Either way, he shoves past them. Everyone around you seemed confused, wondering what made him so agitated. You watched as he cursed to his higher-ups, hands strongly gripping onto the side wall.

"Every day, I fucking hate this sport more and more." Choso speaks through gritted teeth, angrily ripping off his helmet. "Piece of shit."

The staff team stands aside, ushering him out of the rink. His coach guides him over to the side bench, crouching down to give him a typical, motivational chat. Choso only puts his head down and into his gloved hands, becoming more and more annoyed by the second.

"Kamo- you know what? Bring your ass back to the locker room and give yourself five." Not knowing what to do, his coach decides it was best for him to blow off some steam. Not letting out another word, he storms off back into the locker rooms, the crowds groaning as he does so; the privacy invading camera focusing on him.

Chatter filled the air between the crowds around you. “..What happened to him? Your brother just stormed off.” You turn to Yuji, confused and filled with millions of questions.

"No clue, but I'm still a bit hungry." Yuji sighs, looking at the now empty plastic bag of popcorn. He takes a sip of what's left in his soda cup.

"..What? You are?" You look through your purse for some money. More than enough, that's for sure. A wrinkled twenty bill was tucked away inside. "Here- I'll go and get you something. It's on me."

You could've sworn that you had seen happiness twinkle in his eyes. This boy certainly loves to eat. "..Really?" He smiles, in response you nod your head up and down.

"Yeah! Just give me five, I'll be back as soon as possible." You warmly confirm the offer and he nods, shortly before you had to endure the entire process squeezing your way back out of the row.

You walk off into the tunnel leading to the outside of the arena. So many halls, and I’m not even familiar with this place. The two minute stroll led you to nowhere anyways, resulting in you doubting yourself. “…Where’s the food court?” You pout, coming to the conclusion you had probably been walking in circles this whole time.

The next long corridor you were met with was filled with doors everywhere. Loads of them. “..Ah.. have I been here before?”

Walking past each door, you look around for anybody nearby who was able to provide some sort of guidance. Hopeless, there was no one at all. Until one door you had walked past was slightly open, the light on. Maybe someone was in there? You genuinely just wanted to get your hot dogs.

You retrace your steps backwards, the faint sound of two voices coming from the room. Curious, you peeked your head through the slight gap.

"I don't think I did my best out there." It was Choso, elbows on knees on a padded seat. Heaving heavily, pulling the last strings of himself together. His coach with arms crossed in front of him. The conversation was hard to make out, but you were still able to put together some bits of it.

Clutching tightly onto your necklace, you couldn't help but feel concerned. Choso adored this sport with his entire heart, but so much he didn't have time to do anything else. Yuji always talked about how distant he could be when preparing for the new season.

The cursing stops, and before you know it, the door in front of you was wide open; framing you to look like an absolute snoop. You howl, instantly stepping back from the door frame. The same coach stood in front of you, an appalling look on his face. "Who the hell are you?! A money hungry reporter? Guards!-"

You nervously laugh, "Oh- No, no- I'm not a-", endless words were coming out of your mouth in a complete babble.

"..I know her." Choso who was watching everything unfold, tilted his head to the side, looking to see who was at the door.

The coach looks at you with an unamused expression, giving Choso a double look. His voice grows low, speaking in a discreet manner. "How about you talk it out with him. He needs it." He says before walking away from the frame, giving you a stare down as he does so.

Dumbfounded, a string of words only come out in a disoriented patter, "..I was just, looking for the.. concession stand.."

Choso on the other hand, keeps quiet. Blankly staring at the carpeted floor. His gloves and skates were off, but his jersey still on. You gulp, considering if you should speak anymore; scared that you'll only tick him off further.

Your hands rested in each of your palms, unsure whether you should step inside. "..I'm here with your brother, actually- cause he invited me to-"

"I know. I wanted you to come. I invited you, I told him to ask you." Choso speaks lowly, his tone different from when he was talking to the coach. He lets out a labored sigh, mumbling. "..Only for me to play like absolute shit,"

Processing what he had just said, it still changed your entire perspective. You didn't know how to think of it though, so you simply looked over it.

Deciding to approach him rather than standing at the door like some stranger, you close the door behind you. Recalling the coach talking about 'money hungry reporters', you didn't want to take any chances. "..I don't mean to pry, but do you want to talk about.. this?" Sitting down on the free seat beside Choso, you were careful with your choice of words. You didn't want to dig the hole any deeper. Making yourself comfortable, you set your bag away to the side and faced him.

Choso's voice was more soft, and it wasn't as stern to when he was talking to his coach. "..I just don't approve of how I'm performing lately."

Personally, you didn't know much about ice hockey. Nor did you store any valuable advice for it in your brain. It pained you to think that if you were to give him advice, you'd sound like a typical high school guidance counselor.

"Oh, well um.." You purse your lips, trying to come up with something to say. "Is it because you're.. stressed?" Still unsure of what to do, your hand slowly makes its way onto the flat of his back; slowly rubbing shapes all over to comfort him.

"Probably." Although his voice was now mellow, Choso's replies were becoming short and quick. You were afraid that this talking out was of no use to him.

Your hand stops its movements, "..Should you do something about it? Like let it out?", Choso lifts his head up, turning to you. A gulp forces down your throat at how intense he was eyeing you, your own eyes unable to hold contact.

Choso blinks, head turning away once again to rest his chin on his palm. "..I don't know how." That was his problem, Choso wasn't good at letting out his emotions. He usually bottled them up, and solved his personal problems on his own— you could almost refer to him as a stoic being.

Clearing your throat, you bite your lower lip to try and think of something. You gave him the advice, but you didn't know the method yourself. This is why I could never be a therapist.

You mentally curse at yourself, trying to come up with a suggestion that isn't so cheesy like, do what you love to do!

"..I don't know either.. Me- I guess?" A worried expression washes over your face, a mazed Choso turning his head to you for the second time.

A perplexed, questioning noise came stirred up in him. "Huh? What do you mean?"

Eyes fluttering, you were unable to provide him with another answer. What did you mean by, 'me'? Was it just another one of those moments where you let your mouth speak before you think? "..You could let it out.. on me?"

Chosos demeanor had altered, his chin peeling away from the warmth of his palm. His body sat upright as he looked at you, his lips slightly parted. You couldn't tell if he was mortified or enthralled; and you were almost begging for him to say something.

He closes his mouth and swallows some spit to nourish his dried out throat, before standing up in front of you. You feel as if your beating heart were to take over your entire body and head any second now. A lingering tension in the air so thick— not even a lumberjack could saw through it.

Choso's eyes surveying you from top to bottom, studying the features on your face— his thumb swipes across your cheek in a tender, reassuring matter. He was grateful of your offer, but he just couldn't bring himself to directly accept it.

Choso's hand slowly moves down your face, the tip of his thumb gently pressing down on your lower lip. "..You look good in our jersey," His thumb forces the rest of its way into your mouth, "..but even better if it was my own." Was this a code phrase for, 'I need to fuck you, and I need to fuck you now?' His thoughts drifted off to filthy things—like imagining himself rutting into you in his own, bespoke jersey, 'Kamo' in a dirty gold written on your back as you take him whole like a good girl.

Your breath hitches, his finger gliding over the surface of your tongue before he decides to pull it back out. Choso starts to take off the gear on his upper half, both the body pads and jersey.

It was difficult enough to keep your eyes off the now, half naked Choso in front of you. His body muscular and perfectly carved from all of the work he's been putting in for preparation, Choso was more than pleasing to look at. He tosses his jersey and gear beside you, his hands grabbing onto the flesh of your waist.

Lifting you from the seat, you wrap your legs around his torso, lips desperately locking onto each other as he switched positions. The two of you now sitting back down on the seat.

Short mewls and gasps for air leave your mouth as you started to pull your top over your head; Choso's hands roaming all over the surface of your ass. Your hands travel down his chest, your finger tips tracing over his abs painfully slow. Tongues tangling, Choso swallowing any moan he could get from you, especially after the distressingly slow period of yearning for one another. It felt like a reward.

Being the skilled man he is, his fingertips undo the clasp of your bra effortlessly. Groaning in satisfaction, eyes closed and sucking; a free hand fondling with the other.

You claw your fingers through his hair, quietly moaning as he hungrily latched onto your nipple. Arching against his bare skin, you ached to keep him close, and possibly closer. Amidst the sucking, Choso reaches for his jersey beside him, gesturing you to put it over your head. He fulfilled his wish. You proudly raise your arms up, feeling the fabric graze against your skin. It was quite massive on you, hence himself being twice your size.

Impatient, your curious hands wander off to the waistband of his pants; his safety gear already being off had made it easier. Reaching down and past his skin tight shorts, a thought evoking in you causing your hand to withdraw.

"..W-wait," You pant, "What about everyone out there?" You couldn't help but worry about those outside who would start to get suspicious. You knew how much this mattered to him.

Choso rolls his eyes. "I don't really care, they're assholes anyway. Let them wait." His lips only make its way back onto the skin of your neck, warm breath fanning down your sternum. He didn't care if everyone else were to wait outside. He had been waiting for this moment, dreaming about it - and would do anything to not miss it.

Using two hands, you possessively grab onto his jaw to keep him closer, Choso's hands cheekily moving up inside the jersey and cupping onto both of your tits. He really loves them, doesn't he?

Pulling away for another breath your lips miss his already. You hop off his lap, hastily unbuttoning and kicking off your jeans. They fly away to the other side of the locker room, Choso pulling you back into his embarace. But this time, you were facing the other way.

His fingers tug onto the hem of your panties, pulling them back until they snapped against your skin; the stinging sound echoing throughout the room.

You intently watch yourself in the full length mirror across from you two, Choso using his hands to guide your legs open; his head falling onto the crook of your neck.

Choso's hand slowly made its way down to the your panties, his fingertips moving the fabric to the side. Toying with your folds, taking his sweet time. His delicate, addicting touch giving you shivers all over. You close your eyes to indulge in the ecstasy of this moment; scolding yourself for not doing this with him any sooner.

His same fingertips circle your clit, the speed of his movements fluctuating; which resulted in you grabbing onto his bicep, your body sinking down into his lap. Choso watches you break into pieces under his touch, how you repeatedly tap on his arm- asking for leniency.

Choso leans down to your ear, his throaty voice almost sounding like he's purring. “Just relax for me, I can feel you’re too tensed up.” Wasn’t it supposed to be me who gives him advice? Why is it that the roles have reversed?

The back of your head presses deeply into his chest, Choso bringing retrieving fingers give them a generous suck before pushing them into you. His fingers curl up inside, working them in a motion that emits a squelching noise.

“C-Choso, it’s too much- please,” A whimper crawls out of your throat, the man above you cooing and hushing you.

Your hair raising pleas being the catalyst for him only wanting to do more than he already is. His middle finger taps and teases and your bundle of nerves, his strength making your tug on his wrist pointless. “..Shh, you don’t want them to hear, do you?”

You frantically shake your head from side to side, Choso grinning against the top of your head as he had you wrapped around his finger. Cock straining against his shorts, he would take a photo to make this memory last.

His gestures come to a halt and you whine, Choso had forbidden you from orgasming. "Choso!" You hiss as he glues his hands to your hips, twirling you around against the seat.

Mindfully pressing onto the flat of your lower back, he bends you forward; in need of support, your hands reached for the wooden slabs that divided the seats. His strong hands rip your underwear into fragments off your body, Choso sneering at you nagging him.

His actions in no rush, the same hands that were cupping your pussy now feeling down your back, Choso sheepishly grinning at this fresh new view, a degree of gratification fills him for the hundredth time at the sight of 'Kamo' and '12' plastered on your back.

You reach behind you, barely tapping your fingers on Choso's pelvis to grab his attention. He leans down to hear what you had to say, the imprint of his cock imprisoned by his shorts pressed against your bare pussy.

“..Let it all out, I promise I’ll be okay.” Your hand snaked behind his head, fingers combing through his hair one last time. His body heat glossed over your behind, a position so intimate.“Just tell me if I’m hurting you, alright?”

Nodding in approval, Choso withdraws into his old position. Grabbing for his girthy cock out of his shorts, he groans as he jerks it ever so slightly. Forming an orb of spit on his tongue, letting it fall directly onto his length. He doesn't waste anymore time to slide it in, the objective of not hurting you still at the back of his mind.

You let out a long, awaited whimper that broke out into a pained sniffle, his entire length stretching you out. Your anchoring onto the wooden panels only grew stronger, Choso stilling in you for a few moments. The two of you create a symphony of guilty satisfaction, Choso himself unable to process that you let him inside of you; luckiest man in the world, he thought.

His grip on the plush of your waist transition into a soothing massage, “..Are you okay?” Concerned, he regards your strained noises.

Tears well up in your eyes, Choso rubbing his hands up and down your back. “..I-I’m fine.” You replied, managing to form some words. Even though it hurts, you didn't want him to stop. You wanted this as much as he did. He inhales deeply, grunting as his hips stroked into you slow and deep. He took you in like a work of art, savoring every minute, second with you.

“Fuck, Choso- just go faster will you? I know you want to.” You choke out, words dying in your throat. Choso obeying the green llight, you felt him grab and twist onto the fabric of the jersey behind you, his hips snapping into you at a faster pace.

A cacophony of skin slapping and moaning echoed throughout the room, Choso brings his hand down to toy with your clit; heightening your stimulation. Your entire body jolting with each of his thrusts, his little praises like 'good girl', and 'you're taking me so well' making your sex pool like mad.

Broken and choppy curses slip past your wet llips, Choso letting go of the jersey and fixing his grip on your scalp, pulling your head back towards him.

His hand sneaks underneath your chin, forcing you to maintain eye contact as you furrow your brows up at him. Your mouth stays wide open, moans no longer heard coming out from it. "Look at me baby," lids shut at the colossal pleasure, Choso needs not to repeat himself; but he does. "I said, look at me," Hauling your eyelids up, a vision of Choso glaring down at you from above— he wasn't the same person as the one half an hour ago.

Choso drops yet another ball of spit into your mouth, patting on the bottom of your chin telling you to shut and swallow, letting out a throaty sound in approval.

Clawing his fingers back into your scalp, he pushes your head back down. His leg lands onto the seat beside you, his thrusts brutally drilling into you deeper than before; Choso definitely rearranging your guts. You let him use you, so he did exactly that. Hell- if you two had a bed, just make sure you have enough saved for a new one the next day.

Makeup was unfortunately ruined from tears and spit, your hair no longer in perfect style from all the grabbing. His heavy balls relentlessly slapped against your clit, Choso huffing quietly.

He takes a hold of your two wrists, prying you from the comfort of the seat and commanding you to stand. Hypnotised, you watched everything unfold; Choso still holding onto your arms behind you as he continued to rut into your hole like a mad man.

Your cheeks were stained with tears, all sorts of unimaginable feelings stirring in the pool of your stomach; Choso already grows bored of the position. He swiftly lides you off his cock, turning you around for the fifth time today so he could see your beautiful face one more time.

Unsure of what was to happen next, you tiringly wrap both of your hands around his neck as he cupped onto the surface of your ass, lifting you up and sinking you down onto his cock. Your head rests against his chest in exhaustion, Choso’s anchored grip slowly loosening, choosing to move into the inside of your legs. Short paced breaths and eyes shutting at the new sensation of him fucking up into you. It was light work to him, carrying you was no problem at all.

Pushing both of you against a nearby wall, your back almost slid up and down the cold panels as Choso grew feral, his cock bullying but thoughtfully kissing your cervix at this unforgiving pace.

You fail to keep your eyes open, body taken over by bliss as he bottoms into you, convinced you had lost your voice. Choso could feel your silky juices move down his shaft, walls constantly clenching around around him.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes,” Choso orders, your hands hysterically tapping onto his shoulders to let him know you were going to snap. Your face winced in pain, you knew that you were going to have a hard time walking for the next week or two.

“..C-Choso,” you choke out, a threshold about to be met as the unfamiliar coil in your stomach urges to let loose.

His thrusts deepening to push you over the edge, cock sloppily moving in and out of your hole; his entire length coated with you.

“Just let it out— let it out.” he desperately whimpered, your mouth forming an ‘o’. His words like a spell, something that will haunt you for days coming. Choso’s eyes faux-sympathetically looking into yours that were blinking like mad as he felt your legs shiver in his grasp.

You shatter and cry at the orgasm that washed over you, bringing yourself to look at his cock withdrawing from your puffy, used cunt. Choso's jaw clenched, beads of white endlessly form at his tip, his balls twitching at the same time your gummy walls pulsed and throbbed around him.

He doesn’t let go of you, bodies still overheating and glistening from sweat. Instead he carries you back to the seats, sitting you down like a fragile porcelain doll. “My legs,” your voice raspy from the endless moaning, “..they’re so sore.”

Choso leans in for a meaningful kiss, your cock-dazed smile forming against his lips. His hands kneading your thighs. The locker room smelled of filthy, sinful sex—but that will just air out in no time. “..You need me to walk you out?”

“Choso, you can’t. There are cameras everywhere.” You grab your purse off the ground, in search of your phone. Almost forty five minutes have passed, your eyes widening. “Huh?! How long have I been gone for?"

He attempts to wipe the stained carpets, a faint white still engraved. Atleast he tried. “Pussy too good I forgot where I was, I’m not gonna lie.”

“Not funny, Choso. I need to get back to your brother!” Scurrying around the room, you pick your jeans off the ground, Choso whistling behind you causing you to turn your head,

“..Guess these aren’t of use to you anymore?” He holds the fragments of your panties up, torn to pieces, the dismaying mempry angering you as you were reminded of it for the second time.

You snap at him, Choso not taking any inch of you seriously. I mean, he literally had you whimpering, fucked you in his jersey and melting under his touch less than five minutes ago. “You fucking owe me a new pair.”

“I’ll buy you a hundred.”

You hurry out into the lobby, looking around for Yuji. Not having time to fix your hair, you almost scream as you walked past a reflection of yourself, mortified at how you looked. It’s okay… he wouldn’t suspect anything, right?

A familiar coral haired person was lounging at the sofas down the end, of course that had to be him. “Y-Yuji? is that you?” The head turning to your direction, it definitely was him; his eyes were shocked to still see you alive and standing before him.

You sit on the free armchair beside him, “..I’m so sorry, something just.. happened.” Nervously smiling, you wipe the residues of dried spit off your chin, your head stuck in one direction to avoid looking at Yuji in the face. Airing yourself with an invisible fan, you look away in all sorts of directions.

“It’s cool, the game got cancelled anyways- and I got my hotdogs.” He points to the four empty wrappers on the table in front of him. Yuji leans back against the sofa.

“..Uh— ..Is that, Choso's jersey?"

Fuck.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ © luvwestwood ‘24 all works are owned by me, and originally come from my own head. please do not re-post on a third party platform without my permission!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ as always, thank you for the love on each and every one of my posts! it means the world to me, ily guys sm!!🎀🩷

[luvwestwood masterlist]

[anantaru]

𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐓, 𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐄𝐓

the temperature in sumeru continues to grow with the heat making scaramouche horny and frustrated.

୨୧ WORD COUNT: 2.6k

୨୧ WARNINGS: nsfw, fem! reader, you call him kuni, riding, frustrated kuni, unprotected sex, cumming inside, sweaty and messy.

"what the fuck?!"

the persisting, nagging heat in sumeru surely reached a new record today, scaramouche was sure of it, the lingering uncomfortable feeling of his clothes sticking together was bothersome and how thick the air turned, many people facing sudden difficulties in something as easy as breathing alone.

his shirt was already pretty tight, yet the way it was clasping onto his body was enough for him to wiggle himself out of it at last, angrily tearing and throwing the damp garment on the floor, leaving him bare chested in your shared modest apartment.

the lace of sweat on his chest was obvious to be perceived, he next, voiced a sharp sigh of relief which bubbled out of his throat when he was mopping away the perspiration that had developed on his pale skin.

his tense muscles fed into each other when he stretched himself, tilting his head left and right with lidded eyes, yawning out in a frustrated manner.

the high temperature that had constricted him from moving freely was dissolving just a bit upon hearing the door open together with the sound of you, or to be exact, the silent squeal as you walked into the scorching room.

"kuni? what the hell?!"

immediately, you unbuttoned your dress and spotted your boyfriend having a near on breakdown from the hot weather, the anger laced around his features nothing but a copying mechanism to survive the heat.

"how is it even hotter in our apartment?!"

you seem to be capable to read his clear thoughts, or that's what scaramouche thought the second you questioned the very thing he had been asking himself all damn day.

"i don't fucking know, it's tedious and nasty."

with your hand fanning cool air into your face, you paced over to your boyfriend who dramatically plopped himself onto the couch, his head thrown back with his chin held high, rubbing his damp forehead that his hair was sticking on.

in any other circumstances, you might think someone who had worked for the fatui in the past and endured the freezing cold in the cryo nation had built a remarkable resistance over any weather, yet he found the heat despicable, scaramouche would rather get hit by a massive ice block than endure any more of this living, roasting hell.

the flared, red expression on his pale skin stirred the tiny hairs on your neck, he was utterly adorable, struggling and pretending that he had himself under control under a flaming fire like that.

"hey, what if we take a cold shower together, doesn't that sound good?"

posing your question, you plopped next to him as he peaked at you with his indigo eyes, perceiving your unbuttoned dress loosely hanging around your shoulders, what a sight, his mouth watering.

"look at you."

his statement was direct, turning his head to get your attention, "cover yourself or the room will get hotter, do you want to kill me that badly?"

to say you weren't flustered by his passive aggressive compliment would be a blatant lie, yet today you didn't want to give him the benefit of triumphing over you.

rolling your eyes you attempted to move away but got stopped in the end by both of his strong hands suddenly holding your waist down, a self satisfied smirk concealing his handsome, facial features.

"come on now, don't tell me you really thought i was being serious?"

how comfortable it was for him, that you clearly knew how he acted sometimes as he didn't feel the need to explain himself, ever.

"who even knows what you're serious about and what you aren't."

with you spending a lot of time taunting him, you surely were certain what right buttons to push to tickle the desired reaction out of your boyfriend.

unable to suppress a laugh, scaramouche proceeded to shift himself to your body, the small indifference of your breathing being enough evidence that whatever he was doing right now clearly coaxed a reaction out of you, one he knew very well.

"i'm very serious about this right now."

setting as to proving you wrong, he leaned in to abruptly kiss you, squeezing the sides of your hips to pull you onto his lap with you straddling him. Overlaid with the faint scent of clean sweat, you deepened your connection and placed your hands onto his naked chest, adding your tongue.

"how serious?"

there it was, the early sexual tension, the one you happen to experience whenever you shared a room, more so whenever you pressed your lips together, tongue's dancing in tandem.

"never been more serious before, dear."

scaramouche ended the sentence with an alluring smirk as he inclined his face towards yours a bit more and laid his hands over the flimsy material of your dress, drawing it off your shoulders in a fastened manner.

clearly witnessing the sudden urge in him, you ran your fingerpads down his sweat covered stomach with the curves of his natural muscles glowing. Drawing his breath in with each stroke of your hand prancing lower to his groin, his hungry kisses exposed him off his need, his arms flexing around you to press you close.

how immensely grateful he was that his pants weren't as tight as his shirt prior, his cock being semi erect now as it rested right within your clothed pussy, the blood in his veins pumping and throbbing through it.

your inability to speak out seemed to be related to the fact that you were very much enjoying this right now, the hurling inferno in your apartment coming secondary, almost forgotten when you stilled your fingers on his waist at last, hooking your skillful digits into the waistband to pull him out off his confinements.

at this point, you weren't bothered by anything anymore, lazily dragging his pants down together with his boxers until the garments hit his knees before studying his eyes, intoxicated with a haze of euphoria.

"what are you waiting for? kiss me." as flowers opened back in spring, so did your heart whenever you heard his rough familiar voice on you, all the more pleading without him actually begging.

naturally, doing as he says, you trailed yourself back into him to place your lips together, the rest of his breathing was lost against your parted mouth. Careful, you gently nibbled on his lower lip, the light sucks made his whole body tremble in significant shivers.

scaramouche groaned softly under your touch, gentleness being the very thing he longed for as he placed both hands on your wet chest, gathering you and tangling together.

there was nothing more bewitching than your breasts in his eyes, the beauty of your mounds being enhanced by the faint outline of sweat entwined around the raw curves, glistering.

rolling your nipples in between his thumb and pointer finger, you squealed into his mouth, involuntarily grinding yourself into his now fully erected cock, catching him off guard with the air getting stuck in his throat.

completely unyielding, raw, with so much emotions you thought your mind would turn blank and dizzy, on the brink of passing out.

at once, the heat was spreading into your body, one, that wasn't akin to the high temperature in sumeru, but one that came from you and your soul alone.

his touches on your breasts felt like pure liquid, soothing and wet when he drifted back to your lower region, hooking his skilled fingers into the flimsy material of your panties to messily draw them aside, exposing your aching pussy to the warm room.

fuck, scaramouche couldn't believe his eyes, honeyed fire displaying itself on his widened pupils. How wet you had gotten and how sinful it melted together with the sweat on your bodies.

he needed to feel you right now, make love to you and fill you up with another filthy essence, more so possessively mark you from the very inside.

everything about you was natural and he loved it, craved it, his hand getting a hold of his stiff cock resting on his stomach as he took it, motioning a small tunnel with his fingers to stroke himself while you continued to suck on his tongue.

you got the message, how could you not? whenever scaramouche got needy it was evident, he wouldn't admit to it, so you proceeded to study his body responses, how his breathing hitched, how the grip on his hands got harder and the most important part, how his eyes glowed with that yearned sweetness, searching your scorching touch.

your folds were so soft and your pussy so warm, squishy, so responsive to his touch when he flicked his cock head over your prickling clit, aligning himself with your fluttering hole next as he beckoned you to retract your body a bit.

"sit on it." even with you practically being on top, it still felt as if scaramouche towered over you, the sheer control and authority in his aura was heavy on your skin, yet alluring and somehow made you yearn him further, it reminded you on his past as a harbinger.

through gritted teeth, you sat down to take him in one by one, your sharp fingernails digging into his shoulders as he helped you with one of his hands while the other one held his cock up so you could properly engulf him.

the second you greedily swallowed him up fully, you both moaned into another developing kiss, his eyes half opened as he watched you through his lashes, your chests sticking together yet none of you seem to care, more so was it a positive aspect now, aiding you in being intimate.

scaramouche realized you were more wet than usual, you felt so mushy and soft it was maddening to him, both your natural lubricants made it fairly easier to slip in without you feeling a huge amount of discomfort.

he wanted to do more than just stimulate you, you've been unreservedly good to him, any time, the last thing he wanted to do was actually hurt you or give you any form of discomfort.

still remembering that one time you showed him that it was okay to crave intimacy, cradling and caressing his body, till this day said moment was proceeded to be engraved in him.

scaramouche was holding it close and applying it whenever he got to make love to you.

his cock was hot and hard within your sobbing walls, grazing over the tingling flesh with the hardened veins that was pulsating with blood. Your hole was buckling around his girth, making it quite difficult for you to move without his added strength.

at first, your grinding was soft and slow, needy but tender, scaramouche gave you enough time to find your own rhythm as he began to breathe through his mouth, the hot air swirling over your bodies and doing you no favor, at all.

fascinated at the way you were circling your hips on him, his moans stuttered in his throat, his head slightly lolled back to indulge in your filth covered beauty.

and here he thought you couldn't get any sexier, not with sweat and perspiration dwelling on your breasts and being embedded right above your collarbone, yet here you were, glowing and taking the lead from him, chasing your orgasm energetically.

you lowered your head into him, resting your foreheads together as he helped you back and forth his impressive shaft, your tight, pretty pussy being more comfortable with his well packed groin, gradually swallowing him in and out.

hips lifting, another long moan, grinding down, the technique you went for had your heart thumping under your ribcage, his face displaying that he obviously enjoyed you and drank up everything you gifted him with.

"faster, f-fuck." he asked breathlessly, astonished by your ravishing tempo as you cried out upon feeling him abruptly thrust up, your body falling further.

the dominant motion that was actually dictated by the pace of his ruts into you had your mind feel heavy, your toes were curling when his swollen tip remotely hit into your sweet spots, one time, two times, fuck, your orgasm was so close you could practically taste it on the tip of your tongue.

scaramouche had his eyes pierced in where your bodies connected and his cock disappeared in you, your fluids were dribbling down his shaft with a faint layer of your essence appearing.

not really being surprised by the sheer amount of slick, there was a barely visible white ring of pure bliss entangled over his girth. The sounds of joy and glee rolled over the walls and were hitting his ears, the next groan coming right from his belly where his climax was building up.

"I-i'm so close kuni."

the sight of your brows scrunched together and you showing him a desperate expression was exhilarating. You could perceive the echo of strain in your thighs from how hard you were pressing and grinding onto him, ignoring the ache, the tingling sensation in your pussy being far too delicious to stop yourself from swallowing his cock now.

"lets cum together."

with those words, he sealed your fate, pulling his hands off your waist only to brand them on your cheeks, forcefully drawing you into a starving kiss as the both of you released, moaning into your parted mouth with drool lolling out of the corners of your lips, staining your chin.

"f-fuck, fuck." the wet heat and the significance of having him so deep in you and in that position as well, seemed to be enough to shower you with overstimulation, your hips giving out at last when he abruptly, in a sliding second, looped his arms over your waist to push you onto your back, shoving you into the couch when he rammed his hips forward in a hungry pace, riding your climax out with his aching cock.

how desperately you wanted to cry out his name with scaramouche towering over you now, moan out screamingly yet his tempo was otherworldly, your mouth was as dry as the desert with your throat being tied together. Nothing came out of your mouth, only dying words as you bathed in overstimulation with your mouth gaped open while he fucked you silly.

with that, his heavy member twitched within your velvety insides, overflowing, spilling himself into you and painting your abused walls with white ribbons of warm cum. it was runny and sticky, he came too much as you didn't have the space to keep it all in, his seed dribbled out of your fluttering hole and just enough so that it ran over your behind.

it was too much, truly, the warm temperature and your hot body ultimately made him collapse on top of your wet body, his head resting in the nook of your neck with his uneven pants coating the sweaty, thin skin.

"archons, you're crazy." you tucked him into your arms as he laughed at your sentence, for once passing up on the opportunity to say anything snarky back to you right away, far too spend to even move an inch.

"just noticed that now?"

even without seeing your boyfriend, you knew he had a prideful smirk painted on his face, he could clearly perceive your back still being arched and your body shivering, shaking from aftershocks that had an electrifying intensity in them.

when you loosened the tension in your muscles, you laid into the soft, damp cushions of your couch, scaramouche grasped onto the left over energy he had as he pulled himself out of your core, your slick and his cum stuffed you full as it drizzled out.

"what a mess."

you dared to peak on your lower region yourself, your body was glowing and sweaty, yet his face, it told you a different story.

for once, he had a smile, that one that was normally built shown on blueprints promising warmth, satisfaction and utter love.

all of a sudden, scaramouche got up much to your surprise, sliding down his pants from his knees as he finally wiggled himself out of them, leaving him standing bare for your eyes to relish in.

"lets take the cold shower you were talking about now."

©anantaru do not share, copy, translate

[blogdays]

Fastdtftransfer - Devasa+ (2)

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[mostly-mundane-atla]

Hi! Your blog is awesome. I don't know if I'm allowed to ask non-atla questions, so I hope this is okay. I'm working on a non-avatar ttrpg campaign that takes place both in a (fictional/fantasy) northern tundra region AND during a magical endless winter. The people in it aren't based on any specific culture but, given that they're successfully living in similar environments & have for countless generations, I want to draw as much inspiration & knowledge from real-life circumpolar cultures & native science as much as possible. Do you have any advice or even just fun, underappreciated ideas for winter tundra survival, things someone who grew up in a desert like me wouldn't think of on my own? If you need/want more direction: I'm particularly looking for clothing, shelters, resource gathering-practices for non-food (esp what kinds of resources would be valuable), as well as like, any fun details that evolve naturally in a culture that formed in the tundra that you'd want to see represented. I hope that makes sense ^^; Thanks so much if you decide to answer, have a good day either way <3

[I am SOOO sorry this took so long! Tumblr kept not saving my progress when i tapped "save draft" so i had to rewrite a few of these passages a few different times]

Don't worry about asking, friend, i get cultural questions all the time and i'm happy to share.

Note: my knowledge is almost entirely based on coastal tundra peoples with access to marine mammals. That's not to say it's impossible for people to live farther inland, just that it's not my area of expertise.

Clothing

Just about everything you wear is going to come off of a dead animal. This doesn't necessarily need to be the case if your fictional culture has a means of raising hardy livestock for fiber and a history of woven textiles, but even then skin clothes are warm and generally quite hard-wearing and are a good fit for living in these circumstances.

This amount of fur means lice are a perpetual problem. If you want to make that an immersive part of the game, you can work in a mechanic for checking scalps and clothing and bedding for lice.

Bird skins can also be used for clothing and waterfowl specifically has the benefit of water resistance. Fish skin can also be used for similar properties. Animal intestines can be made into a waterproof material if sewn with sinew and soaked before finishing.

On that note i'd recommend making a list of available animals and what qualities and textures their skins and furs have. Even if you don't intend on being incredibly descriptive with clothing, it's something better to have and not need than need and not have. And if you do anything else creative in a similar setting you have your nifty little source to consult.

When it comes to the actual construction of the clothes, you want a loose fit. Trapped air ia a great insulator and you want clothes to be easy to move in. Another benefit for loose-fitting upper body garments in cold weather is you can pull your arms in and keep them by your much warmer core. Not only will this option keep you comfortable, it can also prevent muscle injury or getting frostbite

Mittens can be worn on a string yoke. This doesn't have to be exclusive to children either. Wind can pick up out of nowhere and lost mittens means fingers exposed to arctic cold which can mean gangreen and amputations down the line.

Swimming or running to deliver a message may involve stripping nude, even in cold. Clothes soaked in water or sweat are deadly in the cold.

Clothes may be stored in bags outside when not in use. The low temperatures can kill bugs and bacteria. On a similar note, boots and coats are best to be hung to dry as soon as one is indoors for the day. This may mean it's normal for people to be topless indoors.

Boots should never have holes or tears. Frostbite and resulting gangreen is already bad enough but you especially do not want it on your feet

Shelter

You're going to want dwellings to have as few rooms and windows as possible and small doors. The fewer walls you have, the easier it is for heat to circulate throughout the whole dwelling. You'll probably want one room separating the door and where you sleep. Remember: trapped air is a great insulator.

The culture I've reconnected with is semi-nomadic so the permanent houses are not always occupied and a village can seem abandoned when it's just on its "off season". You can take that or leave it depending on what you're going for.

Even if the dwelling is not a tent, you're probably still going to have poles serving as a supporting frame.

Sod houses are common due to the availability of sod (the grass and the dirt its roots are tangled in). Tents made of warm, waterproof skins (like walrus skin) are also an option.

An easy way to insulate such a dwelling is to build a wall of packed snow around and fill the gaps with loose, airy snow. This traps air the same way down feathers do.

Non-Food Resource Gathering

While I imagine you meant obtaining resources outside of hunting, in a tundra or tundra-like setting, a lot of your resources are going to come from dead animals. Your garments and shelters and bedding are likely to be made of animal skins, with hollow and/or fluffy fur for warmth, or smoked intestine or fish skin, sewn with tiny stitches and soaked to keep everything flush, for waterproof boots and overlayers. Antlers and tusks are good carving materials for things like spoons and closures and slabs for armor and handles and also talismans and smoking pipes and beads and art. Baleen is good for art too, as well as boot soles and smaller sleds and beautiful baskets. Sinew and rawhide are good for thread, ties, and rope. Bones have a near infinite amount of uses from tiny wing bones to make sewing needles to huge whale bones used to build houses.

For the purposes of working this into a roleplaying game, i'd second the recommendation of keeping a list of animals in your universe and their properties, as well as the things that can be gathered from or made of them. A sort of crafting recipe guide would allow all kinds of quests and sidequests.

There are, of course, non-animal resources to gather for non-eating purposes. Soapstone is the traditional material for oil lamps. Grasses can be woven into baskets for any number of purposes, including supports to give the uppers of one's boots more structure. Wood, in the form of slices of tree trunks, can be hollowed out into bowls and small tubs and buckets or, as logs or slats, can make up flooring. Sturdy branches can be used for frames in houses, boats, and drums, and tree resin makes both good glue and antibiotic salve for closed wounds. Sod, also called turf, makes a good building material and moss is exellent insulation in boots. You can make a list of these too, if it helps.

If your fictional culture has a strong tradition of metallurgy, then they'd also mine for metal that can be used for knives. If not, slate is another option that requires significantly less fire. You could even have both and make the metal a status symbol.

Fun Details to Represent

There are so many lovely little things that show up in arctic cultures

First, a gift economy. Where a cash economy relies on a fairly individualistic culture where you work for someone else to earn capital and exchange that capital for goods and services, a more collectivist and interdependent culture natural to the harsh conditions of the tundra tends to result in a gift economy. The currency in a gift economy, to perhaps oversimplify, is favors. Someone does you a good turn, you remember that, and when you're in a position to help, you return the favor. Usually this means basic material things like hospitality and food, but the "gifts" exchanged can also be luck! King Islander boys would often wish hunters setting out at dawn good luck, with a slab of driftwood as a token of that luck, and if the hunters were successful, they'd give the boys who wished them luck a share of their catch. I believe it was Frank Ellana who remenised that this was what the world was like before money.

Another thing that would be nice to include is parenting practices considered fairly gentle to a Euro-American perspective. Physical punishments are traditionally treated as abuse and scolding a child is not only seen as wrong but something an adult ought to be ashamed of. Discipline is instead a series of moral lessons, teaching children why what they did was wrong and using stories as examples of the consequences. Given the amount of stories about the dangers of abusing a spouse or child, i'd say a lot of these lessons were proactive and preventative. Knowing someone will be hurt by it is considered enough of a deterrence to stop bad behaviors. Traditional potty training, for example, is also gentler in comparison; starting at a younger age (about six months) with more emphasis on praise and encouragment than routine. The goal here is to teach the baby to signal when they need to go so they can be taken out of mama's atigi and relieve themself in a hygenic manner instead of holding it until they get permission. Even our take on kissing is based on inhaling instead of pecking with the lips. This kind of gentleness is usually overlooked to instead focus on the badass hunter image or overall "cuteness" so it would be nice for it to be referenced.

Oral histories would be pretty neat too. I think the idea of learning to be a historian of oral histories is an interesting one and i think it has a lot of potential plot hooks for an rpg.

That's all i have for now. Sorry for the delayed response time. Happy gaming, and i'm always up for further discussion if you would like ^-^

[everybodyshusband]

...i know i made a post about not doing @kroas-adtam's kinktober because i'm going to be too busy but in my defence i was left alone with a computer ...i have no excuse

kinktober ; day one, tentacles ❤︎ mist/terzo

cw. light puppy play, small dick humiliation, personification of tentacles

approx. 850 words.

“Mist,” Terzo moans, fisting the bedsheets below him in a futile attempt to keep himself in check. “Fuck, amour, la mia ninfa, please. Do something. Touch me, please.”

“Why would I,” Mist lilts from where she’s straddling him and grinding down on his clothed cock, “when you sound so pretty begging for me to touch you?” She sounds infuriatingly composed for a ghoul who’s been grinding a dick against her dripping pussy for what feels like forever.

In reality, it’s most likely only been about an hour. The water ghoulette grinding down on the third Emeritus, his back resting against his own ornate bed frame, clutching at the pillows surrounding them both as he struggles to obey the no touching rule that’s been imposed upon him since the two of them began. At least Mist had the courtesy to strip Terzo down to his boxers before she began, he’d have overheated by now otherwise. Despite her cooling, aquatic nature, Mist certainly has a talent for getting Terzo hot and bothered like no other.

“On the other hand, though,” she continues, still apparently unfazed by her own desire. “Maybe I should reward you for begging so prettily… Give you a treat, eh, boy?” The way she places careful inflection in her voice and her change in tone drives Terzo crazy.

He inhales sharply at the—rather literal—pet name. He’s helpless to being treated this way, it gets his dick hard just thinking about it.

He thinks his cock must kick against Mist as he takes her words in and imagines all the possible ways this situation could progress, because she looks down her nose at him, throws her head back, and laughs. “Ohh, you like that idea, puppy? You want a reward for being such a good boy for me?” She punctuates each sentence with a sharp roll of her hips, directional enough that if neither of them were clothed, Terzo’s cock would have no doubt slipped into Mist’s hot cunt.

He sobs at the denial. He thinks he hears a stitch rip, his hands have fisted the sheets too tightly for the fabric to handle. As Mist shifts off of him, Terzo sobs again, but his misery is quickly soothed as she slides his boxers down his legs, throwing the unwanted garment across his room for the third Emeritus to find at a later date. His cock slaps against his stomach as it’s freed from its fabric prison, immediately creating a sticky mess.

When Mist climbs back onto him without removing her own underwear—besides her sheer bralette, of which Terzo is immensely grateful; he’d worship her tits all day if given the chance—and this time straddling his thighs rather than his lap, his confusion must be obvious

“Wh… Wha–?”

“Shh,” Mist immediately cuts him off with a gentle finger against his lips. She leans in a little farther than strictly necessary and her tits brush against his own chest. If he perished right now, he’d die a happy man. “Good puppies don’t speak unless spoken to.”

Terzo whines, longing for an answer to his unspoken question.

Thankfully, Mist is a kind being and grants him an answer without him needing to voice his query. “Oh, Papa… I’m not going to fuck you.” She remains unperturbed by Terzo’s distressed sob. “She is.”

The water ghoulette pulls her own boxers to the side allowing her tentacle to snake out at its own pace.

At the sight of it, Terzo is unable to restrain himself from talking. “I– It’s so pretty, mia ninfa…”

“It?” Mist demands, looking angry enough to slap him across the face at his disrespect of her, and his refusal to remain silent.

“She,” he clarifies, terrified of Mist’s wordless threats and more than a little turned on. “She is so pretty.” He hesitates before speaking out again, weighing up the dangers of being punished versus the benefits of complimenting his love. “Big, too. You– You should be proud of her, mia ninfa…”

The water ghoulette smiles down at him smugly. “I am proud, puppy. And yes, I agree. She’s much bigger than you could ever hope to be, isn’t she?”

Before the third Emeritus can even begin to think of a response to Mist’s taunts, her tentacle snakes up between them both until it reaches Terzo’s cock, coiling itself around him and squeezing with enough force to make him gasp out a moan. “M– Mist, amour, she– She feels so– Shit! She feels so good.” His eyes squeeze shut as Mist’s tentacle begins to stroke his cock, pulsating around it with every upstroke.

It’s an embarrassingly short amount of time before he’s thrusting up into Mist’s tentacle’s grip, begging and pleading Mist to show him mercy, let him cum for being such a good puppy for her earlier. She hums, unswayed. “It’s not me you have to convince, puppy.” Her tone remains miraculously bored, as if she’s completely unaffected by her actions; Terzo may not know much about water ghoul anatomy, but he knows she’s gaining pleasure from this somehow. “Don’t ask me, pretty thing. Ask her.”

[wepsi]

Fuck, I wish I could feel you right now- Belphie (smut)

Female reader, friends with benefit?

Cw: mutual masturbation, tail, praise, voyeurism,exhibitionists, some cursing, hand job

Some soft belphie cause you haven't unlocked dark mode yet >:)

Scenario: Another night spent slumped against the door Belphie is locked behind, inches away from him but out of touch. So you guys do the next best thing...

After meeting the seventh demon brother in the attic you immediately develop a crush on him, the way his soft hair falls over his intense eyes, and his sweet and poisonous voice. You spent many nights by the attic door, talking till both of you feel asleep. The lack of sleep causing you to fall sleep into your breakfast cereal. When asked, you just make a excuse of having a bad sleep schedule like Levi because of online content, I mean Levi completely believed you at least.

Tonight like usual, after everyone feel asleep you tiptoed up the now familiar stairs. Heart picking up pace when you spot the demon sitting next to the door on the other side seemingly dozing off. He was waiting for you, feeling butterflies you pick up your pace then plop by the other side of the door.

Sticking your arm through the holes in the door you pinch and lightly pull on his sleeve, he opens his half lidded eyes and peer at you, flashing a small smile.

"I tried staying awake to wait for you, but I guess I feel asleep anyways."

Belphie then chuckles that laugh that always made you bashful. You look away and fidget with your nightgown telling his it's ok. He reaches his arm through the door to caress your face, thumb tracing and lingering at your lips. He almost looked angry he couldn't kiss you right then and there, brows slightly furrowing.

"I had a dream about you, a dream about us."

He runs a strand of your hair through his hand, and looks up at you with a hint of lust in his eyes. Is he saying he had a wet dream about you? You see his pillow strategically placed on his lap, gulping you hang onto his next words.

"You look so beautiful right now, the only way you'd look more beautiful is without this silly piece of fabric."

He tugs at the strap of your night gown, retreating his hand Belphie waits for your move. You knew what he was insinuating, you guys have done this before. Blushing like mad you take your arms out of the straps and pulling the nightgown down, exposing your chest. Belphie stares into your soul, smirking with approval, then hungrily move his gaze downwards to take in your new exposed skin.

"Mmmmmmm good girl, every part of you looks so sexy. Fuck, I wish I could feel you right now."

You started playing with your chest, putting on a show just like he likes. Belphie likes every part of you that is soft and squishy, he desperately wanted to grip those parts, lay his head on them, maybe give it a nibble, and definitely wanted to feel them under him. You peer up at him, biting a corner of your lip, and massage your breasts moving them in different directions to display the softness.

At this point Belphie is sitting up, giving your show his full attention, making you wet. Seeing him disregard the pillow, and start to palm himself through his pants you decide to take it up a notch, and start pinching and pulling at your nipples. You roll your now hard buds between your fingers, you swear you caught a glimpse of Belphie licking his lips. He snakes his tail through the door to wrap around you, trying to keep some form of skin contact.

"Fuck I wish I could taste you too, there are so many things I want to do to you."

Blushing at the comments you rid the rest of the garment, you hear him let out a purr seeing that you were not wearing any underwear. Feeling his stare and your face burning, you slowly open your legs in his direction, looking away out of embarrassment. What if Lucifer walked up here to check? He would see you stark naked and putting on a full display for his little locked away brother.

While you were busy in your head, Belphie was practically drooling over your dripping heat. The way the folds glisten in the moonlight, and how puffy and inviting it looked. He thought he couldn't hate his brother anymore, but right now he felt even more anger. He wanted to touch you, taste you and bury himself in you. But all he can do is watch you and try to relieve himself.

Snapping back to the present when you felt his tail flick your clit, seeing that he also pulled out his length to relieve himself, you begin as well. You feel his gaze drowning you, following your hand as it nears your heat. You run your fingers up and down your heat, feeling how wet you already became from him. Lubing up your fingers you gently rub on your clit, every now and then moving down to caress your entrance. Other hand still grabbing on your chest, you start whimpering and grinding against your hand.

On the other side as you watch, Belphie was watching you back. Sitting cross legged on his pillow, his cock in hand he exposes himself with no shame. The cocky smile still on his lips, a slight pink flush decorating his cheeks. His tail swishes against you softly, hinting at his excitement . Being locked up here for a while now and everything growing dull, then you fall from the sky into his lap.

Belphie takes in every detail of you, how the sweat is now causing hair to stick to your forehead. Your eyes half open looking drunken on pleasure staring back into his. Your cheeks flushed which he found adorable, and the soft panting coming out of your lips, oh how he wanted to consume your moans. He strokes himself, not wanting to stop looking at you for a single second. occasionally fondling his balls, and focusing on the tip. His spit the only lube around, but if only he could drown in your nectar.

The grunts from Belphie pleasing himself only turning you on more. Finally you slip your hand from your chest into the entrance, it slips in deliciously easy. At this point the embarrassment faded, replaced by a need to fell good while being watched. You pump your fingers in and out of your dripping heat, gradually working faster when you feel the heat building up in your stomach.

At this point it was a struggle to maintain eye contact, you stimulate the g spot with one hand and the clit with the other. Now body twitching all over, toes curled and moaning unintelligent phrases. Belphie notices and tries to help you get your high, wrapping his tail now tighter around your waist, occasionally flicking at your chest, and also grunting praises. You finally come, head thrown back and walls twitching around your hand.

Legs now on the floor from exhaustion, you crawl over to Belphie who hasn't finished yet. He looked pretty disheveled himself, panting but the mischievous glint still in his eyes.

"Hey pretty girl, can you help me out? Please, I need you to touch me"

You gulped, this wasn't the first time you have mutually masturbated, but you've never touched him. Gingerly sticking your hand in the lions cage, a little cautious a little curious you reach between his legs to grab his throbbing cock. He still only looking in your eyes, sighing when you finally wrapped your fingers around him. Feeling shy and inexperienced you try to mimic his movements earlier.

Encouraging you Belphie lets loose whimpers and moans, making your heart race even more than it already was. He starts bucking up into your hand, not sure what to do you pick up the pace. With you touching him and the combo of pace, Belphie couldn't hold back his orgasm any longer. Without warning the cum coats your hand, Belphie leans his head back closes his eyes to soak up the moment, then picks up your hand to kiss the back of it.

You retreat your hand, still horny and curious you put your hand in your mouth, tasting his release. Belphie's eyes slightly widen, his hard on seemly coming back to life again (you think demon lords have cooldowns?) He reaches his hand past the hole in the door and rests it on your heat, raises a eyebrow and smirks

"Wanna go for round two? The night is still young."

..............................................................................................................................

Check out my master list for more content!

This is part of my 2022 Kinktober list!

[mahayanapilgrim]

Light Offering Prayer

Composed by Lama Atisha

After lighting a candle or a butter lamp or any lights, the prayer should be recited in conjunction with the visualization.

May the light of the lamp be equal to the great three thousand worlds and their environment, May the wick of the lamp be equal to the King of Mountains – Mount Meru.

May the butter be equal to the infinite Ocean.

May there be billions of trillions of lamps in the presence of each and every Buddha.

May the light illuminate the darkness of ignorance of all sentient beings

From the peak of samsara down to the most tortuous hell,

Whereby they can see directly and clearly all the ten directions Buddhas and bodhisattvas and their pure lands.

OM VAJRA ALOKE AH HUNG

EH MA HO

I offer these beautifully exulted clear and luminous lights

To the thousand Buddhas of the fortunate eon,

To all the buddhas and bodhisattvas of the infinite pure lands and of the ten directions,

To all the gurus, meditation deities, dakas, dakinis, dharma protectors and the assembly of deities of all mandalas.

Due to this, may my father, mother and all sentient beings in this life and in all their future lives,

Be able to see directly the actual pure lands of the complete and perfect buddhas,

May they unify with Buddha Amitabha in inseparable oneness,

Please bless me and may my prayers be actualized as soon as possible

Due to the power of the truth of the Triple Gem and the assembly of deities of the three roots.

TAYATHA PANTSA DRI

AWA BUDDHA NAYA SOHA

The light transforms into single brilliant five-bright-color wisdom.

On a lotus and moon disk the syllables OM and DHI appear.

Marmema

From them, one hundred and eight beautiful goddesses of light, Marmema, appear,

Wearing beautiful garments and precious garlands.

Every goddess holds lights in her hands and from them

Emanate billions of trillions of infinite replicas of light-offering goddesses, Marmema.

All of them make light offerings uninterruptedly to all the

Buddhas in the buddha fields throughout the entire space, to the peaceful and wrathful deities. Thus due to the merits of having made such a light offering

May all the benefactors, the deceased and migrating beings of the six realms benefit,

May all their degenerated samaya and broken vows be restored,

May all their superstitious obscurations be purified,

May all their bad karma, negativities and obscurations be purified,

May the three realms of samsara become empty immediately.

Please grant control, power and realization.

Goddess of Light (Skt. Alokä; Tib. Marmema the consort of Samantabhadra: Samantabhadri

[sezja]

Febuwhump Day 19: "You Deserve This" Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Ship: Nourval, Sanson Smyth/Guydelot Thildonnet Triggers/Content warnings: n/a

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Nourval waits, his heart pounding.

In less than a bell, he'll be a free man - albeit only for a while. Only long enough to do what must be done. Then it's back to this cell, with the world none the wiser... if he does as Sanson asks, and returns to his prison as he's bid.

He stares at his hands in the dying light spilling in through his window. Sunset. Nearly time. They'll want the cover of darkness - much relies on no one looking too closely. Secrets, more secrets. Nourval chuckles humorlessly to himself, thinking on it. The many secrets he'd learned, growing up at his uncle's knee, both strict and passionate in turn; the man truly believed all he spoke of, and hearing him, Nourval had taken it all deeply to heart. Vainchelon's murder at the hands of Ala Mhigans. Gridania, driven to seek aid from "lesser" nations as a result.

The righteous fury he'd felt; the anger, the hatred!

In its place now sits confusion, and a sense of loss - the loss of an identity he'd carried his entire life. What, then, is his future? He'd been prepared all his life to lead Gridania into a war a century in the making; a war to avenge his ancestor, slain by treachery and cowardice. What becomes of him, in the absence of that war?

And what becomes of him if he becomes a kinslayer, cutting down the very man who taught him all he knows?

He could turn on Sanson, he supposes.

It might very well get him back in his family's good graces, if he kills off two of the men responsible for finding and concealing the truth of Vainchelon's murder. If he can aid his uncle in making it look as though the Ala Mhigans slew them - for that must be Astarnaix's plan - then surely, he'll be welcomed back with open arms and accolades: his family's golden boy once more. Vainchelon reborn, here to once more lead Gridania into a golden age, independent of its ties to the Alliance, and... and...

I can't do it. I cannot do it.

It's a question of honor - Vainchelon's, Landrenel's. His own. Aye, and his family's, too, though they won't thank him for it. They weren't there that day, when that damnable bard sang the song writ in stone upon Vainchelon's grave; when the old man stepped forward to tell him of Landrenel's latter days. They weren't there when, suddenly, a great deal of Nourval's life began to make a horrible kind of sense, pieces sliding into place.

If he has a chance to... to do what Vainchelon himself might have done, to stand up against a great injustice... and perhaps reclaim some of his own lost honor in the bargain-

"Nourval!" Sanson.

It's time.

He lifts his head, rising from his seat on the bed. Sanson, yes - and another Wildwood man, in a Serpent Commander's uniform. "You convinced him, I see."

Vorsaile Heuloix gives him a nod of acknowledgment. "He was quite persuasive... and is quite convinced of your merit, might I add."

"We haven't much time." Sanson kneels before the lock, fiddling with a ring of keys. "The guard will grow suspicious if we take long."

Vorsaile, ludicrous though it seems, begins to strip off his uniform. "I fear you may find my clothes a poor fit," he says, by way of apology. "You've a few ilms on me, unless I miss my guess."

"I expect I'll do well enough." He begins undressing - far less work than getting in and out of one of those overcoats, but then, the bulky nature of the overcoat is much to their benefit tonight.

Sanson gets the door open at last, and the two elezen exchange clothes, dressing hastily in the unfamiliar garments. Sanson keeps his gaze fixed in the direction of the guardroom, though whether it's to grant them some semblance of privacy or simply out of practicality (someone must keep watch), Nourval doesn't know. The tension in Sanson's every movement speaks to his anxiety; and how not? Even now, as they carry out this desperate plan, it may all be too late.

"The guard thinks we need to search your cell for hidden evidence," Sanson explains, while they dress. "It took a good deal of convincing for him to agree to let us do so unaccompanied."

"I'll owe the fellow a bribe somewhere down the road, like as not," Vorsaile says cheerfully, now fully garbed in prisoner's drab garments - he turns his attention to helpfully assisting Nourval with the many buckles and clasps on his coat. "There you are, keep your hat on and your head down, and no one's the wiser."

People see what they want to see, he thinks, doing as instructed. He affixes the Serpent Commander's lance securely to the harness at his back, wishing he had more time to familiarize himself with the new weapon; he can only pray his skills haven't gone to rust.

"We must be going," Sanson says, closing the heavy cell door... but leaving it unlocked, the better to allow Nourval to return to his cell at the end of the night's doings.

Nourval takes a deep breath. "Thank you for-"

"Don't," Sanson says, shaking his head. "Prove to me... prove to me you deserve this chance, and that will be thanks enough. Provided I don't lose my rank after all is said and done, anything that lies within my power to grant is yours. Only..." He blinks quickly, swallows hard, turns away. Begins walking. "Only help me save him. That is the only thing that matters."

Commander Heuloix pats Nourval's shoulder through the bars. "He means it, you know."

"I know." He shrugs the man's hand away, and hurries after Sanson, keeping his head down, hiding his face as best he can in the heavy overcoat.

[sasorikigai]

Ninjas, historically known as skilled covert agents in ancient Japan, is depicted in Mortal Kombat universe as well. Hanzo Hasashi, obviously, is one of them and he possesses a lot of qualities of being a ninja. While there is a blend of historical facts and fictional elements associated with ninjas, some common characteristics are often attributed to them:

Stealth and Infiltration: Ninjas are renowned for their ability to move silently and operate covertly. They excel in sneaking into enemy territory without being detected. While Hanzo exhibits such stealthiness and infiltration skills, he isn't exactly the epitome of this characteristic. A huge part of it has to do with his character-defining yellow Shirai Ryu garment, but it is mostly his own personality. He isn't all the secretive nor clandestine to figure out, although I consider him to be a complex person.

Martial Arts Expertise: Ninjas are skilled in various forms of martial arts, allowing them to defend themselves and incapacitate opponents efficiently. These skills include unarmed combat, weapon use, and specialized techniques. Hanzo does have his signature weapon (a roped kunai, developed into a chained kunai that is never divulged outside of Shirai Ryu grounds), and utilizes myriads of skills, further amplified with imbued hellfire of his. He is also exceptionally proficient in swordsmanship. He is always equipped in his daishō, which he keeps at his side at all times.

Weapon Proficiency: Ninjas are often associated with a diverse array of weapons, such as shuriken (throwing stars), kunai (bladed tools), ninjatō (ninja sword), and other concealed tools that aid in both offense and defense. Hanzo used to equip himself with other numerous weapons besides the ones mentioned above, but his character-defining weaponry, along with his skillset is more than ample to protect himself and others.

Disguise and Deception: Ninjas are adept at disguise, espionage, and impersonation. They can blend into different environments and take on various roles to gather information or carry out covert missions. Ever since Hanzo has been imbued with the power of Netherrealm's hellfire, he seldom utilizes disguise and deception, since he can easily teleport not only himself, but his company. And Hanzo doesn't really utilize such qualities to his benefit.

Tactical Intelligence: Ninjas are portrayed as strategic thinkers who carefully plan their actions. They are known for exploiting weaknesses in their enemies and using the environment to their advantage. While Hanzo has his own ways, tactical intelligence hasn't been his strongest suit (with the exception of Modern! Hanzo), as he is often found to be impulsive and direct with getting what he wants, and executing his plans.

Adaptability: A common trait associated with ninjas is their ability to adapt to different situations. This includes adapting to changing environments, improvising weapons, and adjusting tactics on the fly. Hanzo does like to utilize his environment to his advantage. With him being an already an exceptional and proficient fighter, he knows how to maneuver around his environment, whether he's familiar with the territory or not.

Physical Conditioning: Ninjas undergo rigorous physical training to develop strength, agility, and endurance. This conditioning enables them to perform acrobatic feats and navigate challenging terrains. Hanzo spends immense amount of time training, whether it be in solitude, sparring, or even with numerous other Shirai Ryu warriors and apprentices. Whether in his canon or modern verse, it is imperative that Hanzo maintain his exceptional physique, for he always has been the leader who has been responsible for not only his own safety and sustenance, but of others as well.

Mystique and Secrecy: Ninjas are often shrouded in mystery, with their identities and activities kept secret. This adds an element of intrigue to their character and contributes to their enigmatic reputation. Hanzo may come across as intimidating and impenetrable in first encounter, but once the formidable wall has been breached and one gains his trust and loyalty, Hanzo isn't that mysterious or secretive. He does wield complexity amidst his profoundly definitive character.

** Loyalty and Discipline:** In many portrayals, ninjas are depicted as being fiercely loyal to their clans or masters. They follow a strict code of conduct and are disciplined in their training and missions. Hanzo is extremely loyal and disciplined. His hatred towards Raiden in the comics involving the Kamidogu, and then Hanzo turning around to aid Raiden to battle Kronika and having the Shirai Ryu Compound become the stronghold and refuge for Raiden's army constitutes this. While Hanzo may have initial conflicts and struggles with someone, he is an exceptionally passionate, stubborn, and strong-willed, so once the conflict comes to an end, he is a ride-or-die individual who will exemplify such traits.

[storiesofsvu]

Hidden Desires Ch 2

Warnings: Language, talk of the job. A/N: WOW, I hope y’all are ready for fucking trope city with this fic. It wasn’t meant to be this tropey but this chapter alone covers so many and I know there’s more coming. Whoops?

**

It had been an absolutely helllish week as you dealt with the aftermath of your case with SVU, the only upside was your defence counsel was Sophie Devere, someone you could playfully quip back and fourth with. It was much nicer than having someone scowling at you the entire time, it was completely normal for opposite sides to be friendly outside of the court house. When things were finally wrapping up you groaned heavily as you pushed open the courtroom door, muttering something about how you needed a stiff drink. Sophie tossed you a playful glance, mentioning that she might be able to do you one better, an hour later your phone pinged with a text,

‘All set up, Serafina Restaurant at 7. Let off a little steam, S.’

And that was how you ended up set up on a blind date on your Friday night. Thankfully you kept a small amount of other outfits in your office for occasions just like this, when you were working late and racing off to an event or meeting friends. You packed up your case work, pouring a glass of scotch to calm any nerves while you scrolled through your phone for a bit, putting off the inevitable. Feeling the mood of the work day start to slip away you walked over to the small garment rack you kept in the corner, leafing through your options, torn between two you figured you may as well try them both on, unbuttoning your shirt, tossing it to a nearby chair.

“Hey, do you know anything about the People V. Martin, 2006 case?” Alex called from around the corner, stepping into your office.

“2006?” You questioned, stepping into her view, dress in your hands, clad in your bra and skirt.

“Oh shit, sorry!” Alex nearly immediately flushed, managing to tear her eyes from your frame after a hopefully unnoticed lingering glance. “You always parade around your office half naked?” You laughed at that,

“Sophie set me up on a date, I’m trying to decide what to wear.”

“What if McCoy walked in?”

“McCoy knows how to knock…you and Sonya are the only ones that don’t.” You’d moved over to the wall of books, scanning through quickly before pulling one out and passing it to Alex, “Here. Info should be in here.”

“Thanks.” She did her best to keep her eyes on the journal as you retreated into the back half of your office,

“K, I helped you now you help me.” Plucking your other option from the rack you turned back to her, “Blue or green?” You smiled at the way her head tilted slightly, taking in the outfit choices, analyzing the benefits of both in a way that was so uniquely Alex.

“Blue…” Before she even had time to think the green dress was back on the rack and your skirt was halfway down your legs. Really? Matching lace lingerie? Were you trying to kill her? She was quick to grab the bottle of liquor off your desk, pouring herself a glass in any attempt to make it through the next ten minutes.

“Will ya zip me?” Glancing over your shoulder you noticed she’d turned around again, you let out a huff of a laugh, “Since when did you get so modest?”

“I-just trying to give you some privacy.” Somewhat reluctantly she stepped towards you, thankful that you moved your hair out of the way yourself. Her hand softly braced itself on your hip while the other slid the zipper up quickly.

“You sure you’re okay?” Your eyes were directed to the mirror in front of you, smoothing out the fabric across your body, “You’re being kinda weird.”

“It’s just this case.” She quickly waved it off, leaning against a spare chair.

“Yeah at least you won your last one. I nearly got someone killed…not my high point.”

“You couldn’t have known anything like that was gonna happen.” Alex’s hand darted out to squeeze yours as you moved back across to your desk, digging through a drawer until you found a pair of earrings, moving back to the mirror.

“Oh! Speaking of last cases…I saw that Amelia chick in the hall the other day..WOW! I wish I was that pretty.”

“Oh come on! You’re gorgeous!” You practically scoffed,

“You have to say that, you’re my friend.” Alex rolled her eyes, if only you knew the half of it. She watched as you fluffed out your hair, combing through it with your fingers.

“Well she’s overrated, hardcore into asphyxiation.”

“Who says I’m not?” You smirked at her through the reflection of the mirror, laughing as her eyes widened, choking on her drink. “I’m kidding!!” Turning to face her with a laugh on your cheeks, “Well..mainly? I mean like, pin me down, maybe a light hand near throat, but the whole rope tying bondage thing isn’t my type.” Alex was unbelievably thankful for your distraction with your own drink as she shifted slightly uncomfortably.

“Sounds like your date’s a lucky man.”

“Let me meet him first before you start making assumptions.” You moved back to the mirror, taking a once over of your appearance.

“I expect all the details on Monday.” She watched the way your head tilted, your lips pursed in thought as you surveyed your reflection, her own eyes dragging up your frame.

“It’s missing something…” You murmured, half to yourself.

“You need a necklace.”

“Hm..I don’t keep any at the office, the chains tangle too much if I keep ‘em in my desk.”It was without even thinking that Alex moved from the chair, hands clasping behind her neck,

“Here..” She unclipped the small gemstone from her neck, hands swiftly swinging around your head, settling the jewelry against your collarbone, fastening it around your neck.

“You sure?” You turned back to face her and she was suddenly very aware of how close you were to each other.

“Yeah, “ She waved it off, stepping back to the table, sipping at her scotch, “I’m just meeting Liv for a drink, no need to impress her.”

“Thanks.” Alex practically jumped when your phone’s alarm went off, blaring through the office. You were quick to silence it, double checking the time, “Shit, I’ve gotta go or I’ll be late.” You hastily moved through the room, collecting the things you’d need for the weekend, “Let me know if you need anymore info on the ’06 Martin case.”

“‘Course.” You pulled her in for a quick hug before practically dashing from your office, knowing she was more than capable of locking up for you as you headed out into the streets of the city.

*

As it ended up, you made it to Serafina before your unknown date, figuring you’d grab a drink at the bar to kill your time, not to mention it looked one hell of a lot better than awkwardly waiting in the lobby, especially if he bailed. Halfway through your drink you heard a voice beside you breaking your concentration,

“Y/N?” You turned to face the voice, a friendly smile on your face. The man was good enough looking, dressed in a nice suit, at least Sophie hadn’t completely screwed you over,

“Hi.” You greeted warmly,

“Trevor…” He extended his hand, giving yours a warm shake. Your brows furrowed slightly, a grin breaking out on your cheeks.

“Wait..I know you..Langan right?” He gave a small laugh and nod, “Yeah. I do believe I swept the floor with you on the Thompson case last month.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t remember that.” He admitted, quickly ordering a drink from the bartender, passing him a twenty to cover it.

“You kidding me, I got praise from Donnelly for two weeks after that, and that doesn’t happen often. You and Sophie at the same firm?”

“Yeah.” He took a sip of his drink, “She mentioned you’d had a rough week, could use a night out.” You rolled your eyes,

“Wasn’t exactly how I’d hoped my week to be.”

Trevor started to reply but was interrupted by the hostess mentioning that your table was ready. You gave him a soft smile as you followed him to the table, thanking him when he pulled your chair out for you. The conversation flowed easily enough, you both shared a lot of knowledge, ran in the same circles despite being on opposite sides of the courtroom each day. You wondered if he was trying to impress you by ordering a bottle of wine on the reserve list after asking what your preference was. As nice as he was, there was a definite lack of chemistry, you were thankful when you both jumped to entrées instead of having to suffer through a three course meal. When you finished your meal, there was about 1/3 of the bottle of wine left and the conversation rolled around to work yet again. You politely excused yourself to the ladies room, and on the way back in, stopped at the bar, thankful it wasn’t in plain sight from your table.

“Tequila please.” You ordered when the bartender came your way, “You know what, can you make that two?” You had your head ducked, attention on your phone as you prayed Trevor wouldn’t notice you up at the bar. You were noticed by someone else, someone who gulped at how well the blue dress she’d suggested clung to your body in all the right places, the way the small gem on your neck rested right above the swell of your breast in the pushed up bra she knew you were wearing.

“If you’re ordering tequila at the bar I take it the date isn’t going to well?” You nearly jumped at her voice, face shooting up to the blonde.

“Alex! Oh my God!” You laughed, “No..fucking Sophie..” You tossed back the first shot, grimacing slightly at the burn, “Set me up with Langan.”

“Trevor?” Alex cocked a brow.

“Yeah. I mean..he’s nice enough, not horrible looking. But like…I’m so fucking bored.” You tossed back the second shot, sliding some cash to the bartender with a smile, “I honestly don’t think it’s worth it to suffer through dessert to find out what he’s like in the sack.” Alex let out a bark of a laugh at your sheer honesty of your statement.

“Well your better decide quick…he’s headed straight for you.” Her eyes barely darted over your shoulder before they came back to yours.

“Save me!” She smiled at the pleading in your eyes, her hand linking in yours as she softly tugged you closer to her.

“Alex…you always spy on your coworker’s dates?” Trevor greeted playfully,

“Nah, you just missed Liv, happy coincidence.” He glanced between the two of you, noticing the way you were much closer to Alex than you normally would be in the D.A’s office. “I..hate to be the one to break this to you Trevor, but Y/N here’s just too polite, a little shy sometimes. Sophie mentioned how much you were looking forward to tonight and she didn’t want to upset you, but Y/N is taken..very taken.” To emphasize her point her lips softly met your cheek, your bashful smile meeting Trevor’s gaze.

“I’m so sorry…”

“Oh..OH. No, I’m sorry.” He practically stumbled over his words, “I didn’t realize…”

“You know how it is.” Alex continued, “We all like to keep our personal lives private at work. God forbid it gets brought up in the middle of a trial.”

“I get it.” Trevor gave a soft smile to the two of you. “I should let you get going.”

“Oh, I can-“ Your hand reached for your wallet on the bar but Trevor shook you off,

“Don’t worry about it. My treat.”

“Are you sure?” You honestly felt a little bad about the situation, especially about the lie, but you weren’t going to not take the opportunity in front of you.

“Of course! I’ll see you two around.” With another smile he turned to cross back to the table. You turned to Alex, practically burying yourself in the shoulder Trevor couldn’t see, doing your best to hold back your laughter.

“Thank you…” Your glee was met with a small laugh from her, a gentle kiss to your head for show.

“So..you really think sticking through dessert wouldn’t be worth it?” You glanced up, the two of you had your eye line set on Langan.

“You kidding me?” You smirked over at her, “You think that man knows anything aside from missionary?” It was Alex’s turn to snort,

“Honestly, I doubt it.” She smiled at the way you playfully smacked at her arm, “What’d’ya say you come over and we catch up on some Bachelor?”

“As long as you have sweatpants I can borrow. I cannot handle this dress any longer.” You glanced over at her, nearly rolling your eyes at her expression.

“I’ve got Lulu’s?”

“You don’t even have an old pair of Harvard sweats stashed in the back of your closet?” She shook her head with a laugh, “God. You are far too fancy to be a lesbian…we’re going to my apartment.”

“Works for me.”

You linked your arm through Alex’s, giving Trevor a small wave as you made your way out of the lounge. At the very least you’d gotten a couple of free drinks and a free dinner out of the evening, and now you’d get to end it comfy and hanging with one of your best friends. Alex was simply happy she’d managed to run into you, she had truly been out with Liv at the same place, staying after the detective left for another drink when you showed up at the bar. She was always more than welcome to save friends from un-ideal situations, and this one got an added bonus of an evening spent with you.

[rhaenyras]

when men say shit like "booo hooo i need to work 8h per day in a stupid factory or in a coal mine to earn a living wage while lucky privileged women only need to sell one (1) feet picture per week or marry rich and they're settled for life".... i cannot even begin to make the full unabridged list of all the points they're missing or intentionally trying not to see. because, point one, my hermano, you should probably take this very valid complaint to your employer. the permeating capitalistic rethoric we're all wallowing in has led you to believe that you cannot change the status quo and therefore you have come to accept your subjugation with complacency. in this state of supposed powerlessness and self-pity daze, you would never dare question your direct superior or the power dynamic they impose on you, in fact the only thing you feel brave enough to do is take your frustrations out on unemployed people surviving on welfare, immigrants, or sex workers. and that's literally the dumbest shit you could ever do because it's NOT them exploiting your labour by also deliberately allowing you just enough crumbs to keep your head above the water AND simultaneously pounding into your brain the mere delusion that you should indeed feel mildly content with your situation, because that's how it's always been and that's what you were born to do and that's what everyone else is doing and how dare you question that. anyone with a solid foothold on reality would tell you just as much, no? plus communism is just unfeasible and crazy and just as bad as fascism, after all. while capitalism just feels so right and has virtually no downsides or long-term consequences for the environment or humankind, am i right?

point second, women put out more work than anyone on this god-forsaken piece of junk floating in space and don't you ever dare say otherwise because, again, you'll only sound ridiculous and out of touch. women are responsible for ALL the care and emotional labour you have ever encountered or demanded in your life. in fact, without women and the enormous staggering gigantic weight of childbearing + childrearing + homemaking placed on their back since birth for millennia, you wouldn't even be breathing right now, and perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad thing now, would it?

furthermore, even if we're choosing to stupidly ignore the weight of being expected to care and assist every child or old person in your proximity, it's still worth mentioning that black and brown women make up 85% of the workforce employed in garments sweatshops, under appalling working conditions and laughable wages. I don't know what sort of tale you're telling yourselves but it seems to me that women are still getting the short end of the stick here as even the ones benefiting from white privilege are still, in fact, working "regular jobs" and being paid less for it than the average male coworker, while still not shying away from all the unpaid unseen labour that sustains entire households and family dynamics, the absence of which would lead to the downfall of patriarchal order and the world as we know it.

oh and as per the feet picture turn of phrase y'all keep coming back to.... I don't know how to explain to you that having your entire body and every single part of it commodified and sexualised and turned into a "kink" for men to get off to is not something you should be jealous of. the fact that there MAY be some money in it, might look like privilege and luck to you, but it's actually the only way women could find to own this unreciprocated unsolicited male desire and, being the resilient resourceful survivors that we are, we turned it into a viable career path, which still, doesn't come without its challenges and pitfalls, and should not really be idealized, as in many cases, it is not even a woman's first choice.

the latest wave of feminism has only now begun to try and correct all the wrongs and is still timidly attempting to recalibrate the scales of rights so that they're not too heavily tipped in your favor anymore. and even still, we probably won't reach full equality for the next 200 years because of all the lousy ignorant pathetic obtrusive misinformed bullshit you keep spreading, pushing back our efforts of several decades (-: the least you could do is literally just to SHUT UP and let the anti-capitalistic feminist agenda advance without further hindrance from the likes of socially unaware pricks in tinfoil hats like y'all.

[pentechnics]

My loves!

I've been diligently writing lately, and I started a new oneshot for spooky season that's still gonna take some time to finish. But I wanted to post something, so I decided to give you all a sneak peek of it! I'm very excited about this story, it's making me stretch some new writing muscles, and I hope you all will look forward to the full thing!

Basically this is Night at the Museum with ghosts, and some other fun twists!

Ghost!Din Djarin & gn!reader, modern AU Warnings: reader swears a bunch, and Din is a ghost

~~~~

“You’re hired!” 

With a smile you shook Lena’s hand and let her lead the way out of her office. 

“So if you’ll just come this way, I’ll give you the grand tour.” 

She took you up a flight of stairs to the museum’s main floor and down a hallway into the Curator’s office. 

“You’ll report to me in this room at the end of each shift. Here are your keys, badge, and your uniform’s in there.” 

As she listed each item she placed it in your waiting hands. You glanced over each one: a ring of at least ten different keys attached to a separate ring with your badge, a large, sturdy flashlight, and a black garment bag. 

“You start right after closing, and you’ll finish up before opening. Any questions?” 

“Yeah,” you started, redirecting your attention to Lena. “Is there anything specific I’m looking out for, or am I just meant to lock up the displays and wander around?” 

“Oh, yeah, your job’s pretty easy. Making sure no one breaks in, basically.” 

“Okay…” your voice trailed off, only now the wheels in your head turning in a more critical direction than they had during the interview. “Is there a reason the last night guard left?” 

Lena’s eyes bulged the slightest bit, her smile becoming stiff. 

“Well…” she averted her gaze and fiddled with her fingers. “It was a bit sudden, and he didn’t really say why.” 

The silence that followed her quickened response was deafening. Doubt began to sprout in a tight coil around your gut. 

Seeing the job listing at first felt like a godsent; $35 an hour, steady benefits, free admission to your favorite museum, and a schedule that suited your already nocturnal sleeping habits. Not to mention a quick and easy interview. 

But as you stood in that office with your new materials in hand, it was clear there was a reason for all that. 

Before you could inquire any further, Lena ushered you out of the office with a final order to be there at closing time. 

“Well,” you said with a sigh. “Guess it’s worth a shot.” 

~~~~

The sun cast a rainbow of oranges, purples, and pinks into the sky as it dipped under the horizon. You glanced up at the saturated clouds as they framed the little museum in their hue. 

It was an old medieval fortress steeped in history about Mandalore’s royal guard. Relics told stories of ancient knights stationed there, everything from their hard-fought victories and subsequent tragedies, to their family lives and daily routines. It was all at once fascinating and riveting.  

You stopped in front of the wooden doors and looked down at your uniform: simple black slacks and jacket that went over a plain shirt, with a utility belt to hold your keys, flashlight, and other materials. You gave the lapel one last pull before making your way inside. 

“Hello there,” greeted the docent. You smiled at the kind-looking woman as you walked up to the front desk. 

“You must be the new night guard.” 

“I am,” you said with a nod. “First night on the job.”

“Well, good luck to you! I hope you’re around longer than the others.” 

Your brow furrowed as you leaned in closer to her. “Do you know why they left?” 

“Well,” she started with a shrug. “Apparently they’d experienced something strange. No one ever has the exact same story twice.” 

“What do you mean?” 

She glanced around before looking your way once more. 

“Some have said that they’ve run into something… unnatural, during the night.” 

Your confusion only grew. What exactly was she trying to say? 

“Oh, there you are!” 

Lena waltzed down the main entrance and stopped beside you. 

“I see you’ve met Ahsoka. Super fun person.” 

Ahsoka gave her an indiscernible look, tossing her dreads over her shoulder before returning to her duties. 

Hm, good to know you weren’t the only one who wasn’t sure how to feel about your boss. 

“So lock up after the rest of the staff is gone. The morning crew normally shows up an hour before opening, so be prepared to have the doors unlocked by then. Otherwise you’re all set to go.” 

Without waiting for any acknowledgement, she walked out of the building. Ahsoka gathered up her bag and came out from behind the counter. 

“Don’t worry,” she said to you with a grin. “As long as you show some patience and kindness, you’ll be just fine. I suggest reading up on the 20th cavalry if you haven’t already.” 

The 20th cavalry? You raked through the knowledge in your brain; you’d been here countless times, you knew the layout like the back of your hand, and there was only one section in the whole museum that talked about the 20th cavalry. 

The sudden shutting of the front doors brought you back to the moment, where you now stood alone under the fluorescent lights, the desk beside you and the items in the entryway exhibit your only source of company. 

You sighed and pulled out your keys to lock the door. 

~~~~

After the first three hours passed, you having done your rounds to lock up the exhibits, you took a stroll into the armory room. 

This was always one of your favorite parts of the museum. Lined with all sorts of full knight suits and a large variety of weaponry, it was dedicated to the craft of their creation. 

Each item had a placard about its creator and the knights that made use of them, where information was available. Some suits were larger, thicker, while others were sleeker. Some were made of pure steel while others were forged with mixtures of multiple different materials. Some featured chainmail elements. 

You moved towards the back of the room, where five sets of armor sat behind glass. Each bore the name of a soldier from the 20th cavalry, a division that was almost completely wiped out in one of Mandalore’s many battles. Not every suit had information on its placard aside from the materials it was made of; the suit in the center of the lineup, with the shining golden helmet and elements of chain among its plating, only read:

Commander/Armorer  20th Cavalry

The one to its left was thicker in its build, taller, and almost entirely armor. 

Paz Viszla ?-1650 20th Cavalry

You stopped in front of the suit on the far left. 

It was shorter than Paz Viszla’s; a mix of silvers and browns, with a peck of blue on each glove. Chainmail stuck out from underneath the chestplate, and along each limb, poking out of sturdy pauldrons and thigh plates, pooling into a sturdy set of boots.  

The helmet was the most impressive part: fully silver with a prominent opening where the knight’s eyes would be. A brown feather stuck out on top, fanning out and slightly drooping forward. The suit was obviously well-used, with scratches, dents, and signs of rusting and tearing. You were surprised at how preserved it was, given how much time had passed.  

You grinned. This suit had a lot of character. You glanced down at the placard. 

Din Djarin 1617-1653 20th Cavalry 

You did the math in your head: he died at 36. 

He was… so young. Your grin slowly vanished. While premature death may have been more common in those days, it didn’t make it any easier to digest. You wondered if Din had a family, a home… 

… a proper funeral. 

How horrible it would’ve been for his loved ones to not be able to say goodbye. 

In an instant, the air around you grew colder. The hair on the back of your neck stood at attention, goosebumps sprouting so fast they almost hurt. Your muscles seized under the pressure. 

You couldn’t shake the sensation that something was… watching you. Fear crept through your system like a snake curling itself around your body, squeezing and making your blood pulse in your ears. 

A small creak from behind penetrated the silence. You whipped around with a hand on your belt, only to find a still, quiet, empty room.  

“What the fuck,” you whispered. 

With another glance around to clarify your solitude, you made your way back to the front of the museum. 

You checked your watch from your perch at the front desk: 4AM. Three more hours until your shift ended. 

After recovering from the strange vibes in the armory and trying not to think about how they might relate to the stories of the other night guards, you killed time by learning and relearning the exhibits in other areas of the museum, eating a meal, and taking a small nap. 

You sighed. As much as you loved this place, it was harder to keep yourself occupied than you thought it would be. How is anyone meant to spend eleven hours straight in one place? Would you really be able to do this five nights a week? 

You whipped out your phone and put on some tunes before going on another round. 

As Ke$ha worked her magic to soothe your nerves, you glanced around at the various artifacts that surrounded you. More weapons, old horse saddles, and even smaller things like a set of silverware and articles of clothing were all safely encased in their glass homes. You walked past a large brown satchel, its placard simply stating that the creator and dates of use were unknown. 

That same cold breeze surrounded you once more. You wrapped your arms around yourself in an attempt to stay warm. 

“What the hell is that?” you wondered out loud. “Is the air conditioning just stronger in some places?” 

You walked along, the sound of your clicking steps against the tile melding with the faint volume of your music, echoing through the vast halls. The breeze came and went, sometimes more intense than others. You made a mental note to have someone from maintenance look at the system. 

You circled back to the armory, peering in from the entrance. You glanced about at the exhibits once more, dread spilling down your spine as your body recalled the feeling of being spied on from your last visit. 

It seemed foolish, to be fearful of a sensation you weren’t even positive you felt. It could’ve just been a trick of the temperature, or your imagination playing with you since your mind wasn’t used to being this active in the night. 

Besides, no one could actually be watching you. You were the only one in the entire building. 

You stepped inside. 

Slowly at first, you looked at the suits that lined each wall. Intricate swords of all shapes and sizes were mounted above them, alongside axes, spears, and crossbows. The dim yellow light from the ceiling bounced off each shiny surface and cast glares onto the walls. 

You kept glancing back at the suit from earlier. Tucked away in the back corner, it was like a magnet, drawing you in. Calling to you. No matter where else you tried to look, your head kept turning back to it. And even with other objects obscuring your view, Din Djarin’s old helmet was perfectly in your sight every time.  

Step by heavy step, you drew closer to it. And as you did, the air around you grew thicker. You clenched your hands into fists as they began to shake, gulping down an unsteady breath that clawed at the sides of your throat on its way down. 

You stopped and faced the suit. The vague sight of your reflection in the glass peered back at you, just below the helmet’s visor. 

You stared into the black stripe, cocking your head to the side. What was it about this suit that had you so captivated? Of all the times you’d visited the museum before, it never stood out to you. The 20th Calvary in general was a very small chapter of the fort’s history that – due to its tragic demise – was not that well-documented compared to other eras. 

But something was… very different now. 

You couldn’t look away. But the more you peered into the little void, the more you thought you saw something foggy dancing around within. 

You leaned closer and placed your fingertips on the glass. Was there something inside the helmet? Or maybe it was just smudges on the glass? 

What you never could’ve prepared for was the sudden appearance of two very clear, very brown eyes staring back at you. 

You let out a shriek and backed away from the suit, your heartbeat loud and painful. 

“W-who- …what?!”

You stepped towards it once more. The eyes were gone. 

‘Shh…’

You jumped at the harsh, deep sound. Where was it coming from? You glanced all around. 

“Who’s there?” you asked. 

‘Please…’ 

“Where are you?!” 

You whipped out your flashlight and shone it around, a frantic stream of light following your every move. Your breathing was erratic, like a rabbit on the run from a fox. Your phone was still faintly playing music, The Weeknd’s voice making the atmosphere all the more eerie. 

‘Need… find…’ 

The voice was gritty, as if you were hearing it through a walkie-talkie. While not as stern as it just had been, the deep rumble still echoed through the room. Blood rushed to your head all too quickly, making you dizzy as your knees threatened to buckle beneath you. 

“What the actual fuck,” you breathed. 

Ahsoka’s words suddenly echoed through your head:

“If you show a little kindness and patience, you’ll be just fine.”

You huffed and tried to steady your nerves to little avail. 

“Look, man-- or woman,” you started, continuing to circle around yourself at a slower pace, “Or, whoever you are– I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing, but I don’t want any trouble.” 

Your voice cracked as you spoke, your panic rising to an all-time high. You turned back to the suit and shined your flashlight onto it, taking slow steps away from the display, as if it would do something else if you moved too quickly. 

Both of your experiences began with this suit. There had to be a connection, an explanation. 

You never cared enough about the supernatural to really believe in ghosts, and hearing tales of such experiences never seemed to phase you, but little else could convince you more of what was happening.

A ghost was fucking talking to you. 

“Are…” your shaky words hardly made it out of your throat. You gulped and pointed your flashlight at the placard. 

“A-are you this knight? Are you Din Djarin?” 

Silence. 

The air still hung heavy, as if filled with stones. You listened for any response from the staticy presence, still making your way towards the exit. 

You stopped dead in your tracks when your back collided with something hard, solid, and freezing cold. 

‘Yes.’

****

[paintedscales]

006. Arulaq

The day of the Naadam has come, and during her time there, Nomin's attention is brought to a tribe she had never seen nor heard of before thanks to Yul's excited observations. Though not much is learned from the Oroqi individuals who have traded with the Arulaq in the past, there is hope that Nomin might one day travel to see the valley they come from.

Word Count: 3,088

Steppe by Steppe Chapter List

The day of the Naadam had come all too quickly for Nomin. That was how it felt to her at any rate when she woke up to the excited chatter and commotion of both Sagahl and Oroq. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes and removing herself from the cover of her blankets, Nomin squinted about the ger, catching sight of Bayarmaa organizing a good portion of belongings into a crate, meanwhile, Esenaij was nowhere to be seen in the abode.

No matter… What really made Nomin pause to consider the day was the fact that on this morning, she would have undergone her naming ceremony with the other previously unnamed Tumet children. Part of her wondered amongst those fleeting thoughts of what she would have been named had she gone back. Yet she had her name, she chose it, and she was more than fine with that.

She was…no…she is Nomin.

Still, as Nomin sleepily removed herself from her bed and stretched, she thought back to previous Naadams that she could remember. She remembered going to higher ground to witness the Tumeti warriors partake in combat with the other warriors of the Steppe. When she thought of the Sagahl, on the other hand…

“... Are the warriors preparing for today?” Nomin asked, yawning at the tail end of her question.

Bayarmaa gave a slight start, looking up at Nomin from where she was cleaning up part of the ger. Placing a hand over her chest as a means to collect herself, Bayarmaa offered a small, embarrassed smile in response. “I didn't realize you were awake, Nomin. As for our…warriors, no. We don't partake in the Naadam on the last day of the Tsagaan Sar. It doesn't benefit the Sagahl to fight for leadership over the Steppe.”

“Mm…” Nomin hummed, processing Bayarmaa’s words as she stretched her arms over her head and then trodden over to where her clothes were normally kept. Nomin’s gaze fell to her old gutal for a moment before she opened a dresser drawer and rummaged around. She lifted some neatly folded garments till she found the copper shard that had been used in her trial.

Picking it up, Nomin turned it over in her hands, candlelight glinting off of it as it caught onto the metal. She then looked over at Bayarmaa, who kept her own gaze mostly pointed in Nomin’s direction.

“What do you have there?” Bayarmaa asked, leaning to the side slightly as if that would give her a better look at the copper shard.

Holding the shard up, Nomin showed it off to Bayarmaa.

“I was wondering if you could do something with this?” Nomin inquired, closing the drawer halfway and then walking in Bayarmaa’s direction. Her movements were a little lagged, indicative of the tiredness still present within. “Since…well, since you made the baras. I bet you could make it into a necklace or something!”

Bayarmaa held out her hand, and Nomin placed the shard on her palm. A soft sigh fell from Bayarmaa’s nose as she looked the shard over a couple times. Its shine was dull -- as if a discarded piece used for throwaway clothing. However, the edges were sharp, an interesting detail when metal fittings and decorations upon their clothes were often filed or dulled so they caused no harm. “I can see what I can do. This is that piece of copper from the story you told Esenaij, isn’t it?”

“Mhm.” Nomin had already been walking back toward the dresser so that she could get herself dressed more appropriately.

Bayarmaa hummed softly in thought and then reached down to a pouch on her belt. Tucking the copper shard away safely, she continued getting the area cleaned up and packed away. Occasionally, she stole curious glances in Nomin’s direction, watching her and studying her.

“Are you…disappointed? That the Sagahl have no warriors who fight in the Naadam, I mean…” Bayarmaa asked, turning her gaze back to the chores she took on. She was in the process of closing the crate as Nomin pulled on some thick robes to combat the chill of the Steppe.

“... Not really…” Nomin replied after a moment's thought. She tightened her belt and got her dagger secured to herself. “I know I haven't been here long, but I guess it makes sense. I like that about the Sagahl. I like that you don't really want to fight in the Naadam. I don't think I'd want to fight in it, either. Even when I'm an adult like you or Esenaij.”

A small smile grew on Bayarmaa’s lips as she went about the ger. Pulling down a tapestry that hung on the eastern wall, she folded it. “That is well. We like not conflict with other tribes if we can avoid it… But…it does stand to reason that life on the Steppe necessitates such measures. After we get to our next location, I'd like to teach you what I know if Esenaij can't show you how to shoot a bow.”

Nomin paused. She was already sitting at the edge of her bed, getting socks on her feet. A look of contemplation grew on her face as she slowly pulled the thin fabric over her feet. With a few more moments of thought, she finally gave her response: “okay. Esenaij won’t be able to just travel to Reunion every day, will he? He can definitely teach me how to use a bow!”

Bringing a hand to her mouth, Bayarmaa chuckled softly. “Indeed. I’ll make sure that he actually sees to it.”

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

The gathering of other tribes to watch the Naadam was astounding. As it ever was. It was also awe inspiring to see many different standards to indicate the tribes stood up on long, wooden poles proudly billowing in the breeze over many different groups of people. This was the first year that Nomin really took more involved notice of these standards, noting the different colors, symbols, and even different standard shapes that some of the tribes adopted as their own to represent their people.

By virtue of the Naadam itself, Nomin and many of the more passive tribes that attended the Naadam as an audience had little to worry about. Those that were more wanting of the thrill of battle found themselves already upon their hard-earned yol companions from the trials of Bardam's Mettle. Restless warriors rode their yol all across the presumed site of the Naadam, as everyone was still waiting for the Gharl soilbearers to make their appearance and spread the earth. To mark the start of the Naadam.

The Gharl Iloh was visible from where Nomin stood, their many ger erected and devoid of color -- pure white, waiting to have been stained by the new year's travel over the land. Nomin recalled how the Tumet sometimes traveled early enough to watch the Gharl arrive and set their ger up. She had overheard at the time that their ger only looked clean and spotless, but it was because they set fire to their old clothes and ger canvas to meet the new year in wholly new garments that will show their stories as the year progresses.

Looking around as the Sagahl traveled alongside the Oroq to a high enough outcrop, she looked for colors and tribal standards that she could pick out. The Oronir had been easy enough, with their bright colors that represented the bright sun of Azim. She saw the Dotharl as well -- ever the warriors that would charge into battle. In addition, there were the Adarkim, Qestir, Dataq, Goro, Olkund, Buduga, and many more of which she could not yet identify.

“Do you need some water, Nomin?” Bayarmaa’s voice broke Nomin’s concentration. Looking up at her, Nomin nodded and accepted the waterskin. She went back to looking out at all the standards, only occasionally looking up at the warriors that excitedly flew overhead on their yol.

“Whoa! The Arulaq are here, too!” Yul exclaimed, jabbing a finger out toward the standard that flew alongside the Khatayin's. When the Sagahl and Oroq traveled to their location together, he followed along after Chotan, who had not been that far away from Nomin, Esenaij, and Bayarmaa herself. He had since worn the wreath of flowers Chotan made for him around his neck.

“Arulaq?” Nomin walked over closer to Chotan and Yul, tilting her head in confusion. She had never heard of the tribe before. When she looked at their standard, she kept the symbol upon it in mind.

“Y-yea!” Yul started in response, glancing over at Nomin. He grinned, an opportunity to show off knowledge he had pleasing him. “We Oroq met them once when we were traveling down close to the base of the Tail Mountains one year! When they come down from the mountains, they're always with the Khatayin! They don't speak a lot of the same Steppe dialect we do, so the Khatayin often translate for us and them so they can trade and attend any tribal meetings!”

“They don't speak the same dialect as us? Why not?” Chotan lifted her hand to her chin, cupping it in thought.

“Dunno, truth be told…” Yul's expression fell to contemplation. “I think when I overheard some conversations with the Khatayin and Oroq elders, it was because the Arulaq had been sequestered away in a hidden valley! Apparently they never really needed anything from the rest of the Steppe and just stayed there until the Khatayin stumbled across them one winter! So they've been seen with one another more oft than not. For the best, probably. The Arulaq don't really have warriors than they do hunters since they've lived away from all the Steppe conflict for so long.”

“Yul has the right of most of it,” a gentle voice spoke. Nomin recognized it, and the three children looked in the direction of the voice. Yul’s mother was approaching them, a soft smile upon her lips as she looked out toward the Arulaq standard. “We’ve traded with them at some point with some minor difficulty. They have valuable ore and herbs found in their little valley that can be found nowhere else.”

Nomin’s eyes shimmered at the idea of a valley that had things she had never seen before. Biting her tongue momentarily, she pointed a determined gaze up in Esenaij’s direction. He looked back, and his brow quirked with immediate suspicion and annoyance. He was not necessarily listening in on the conversation, though Nomin’s expression only filled him with some level of dread.

“No.” Esenaij folded his arms over his chest, staring down Nomin, his gaze unwavering.

“I didn't ask you anything yet!” Nomin’s mouth fell open as she now started gawking at Esenaij in disbelief.

“You’re thinking of asking something, and the answer is no.”

“What was it that you were going to ask, Nomin?” Bayarmaa asked, peeking around Esenaij with a pleasant look on her face that spoke more to mischief than genuine curiosity. In response, Esenaij’s expression fell and an irritated sigh was soon expelled. His hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose in slight frustration.

“Since Esenaij travels out from the site of Sagahl often, I wanted to see if we could go to where the Arulaq live! I want to see the valley where all that rare stuff comes from!” Nomin eagerly said in response to Bayarmaa, her hands balling into excited fists that came up to emphasize her desire. The shimmer in Nomin’s eyes returned as her little tail flicked skyward with Bayarmaa entertaining her clearly curious nature.

“Did you really have to ask her about what was on her mind?” Esenaij grumbled, pointing his annoyed look of slight exasperation down at Bayarmaa.

“Whatever are you talking about,  my one and only dearest brother?” Bayarmaa asked sweetly, happily hopping away with a slight twirl to her step as she stuck her tongue out at Esenaij before looking back out at the expanse of land. Raising a hand, she shielded her eyes from the sunlight and looked around. A low ‘ooh’ left her lips as she waved her hand to beckon Nomin and the other children over.

Sweeping her free hand forward, Bayarmaa eagerly pointed a finger in the direction of the four distant Xaela, robed in pure white, and riding atop horses just as pristine. They were majestic, in a sense, as their horses strode calmly and elegantly across the grasslands. The one that led the van held a clay urn that had no lid to it. When more of the audience and warriors caught sight of them, cheers erupted, starting low before rising into a raucous series of whoops, whistles, and elated cheering.

“The Gharl soil bearers come!” Yul exclaimed once he saw them, his eyes lit up as he gazed upon the Gharl. His tail wiggled to and fro with his delight as he stuck close to both Nomin and Chotan

One of the Gharl soil bearers dismounted, followed by the three others soon thereafter. Nomin watched as they walked out onto the land, the leader holding her urn with practiced care. Tilting the pot, the soil bearer spread the soil of their last location onto the land. Once the last of the dirt was poured upon the land, battle cries from the warriors erupted as they charged for their prize -- the ovoo.

“My next harvest is on the Oronir again. With Sadu of Dotharl still a child in their current incarnation, the Dotharli warriors have hardly the support needed to claim the ovoo from the Oronir. Especially with the Buduga having recently allied themselves with them,” Esenaij said, folding his arms over his chest. “The Dotharli people may be known as the ‘undying ones’ with their reincarnation, though that will do little to avail them this Naadam.”

“Sadu?  Who is that?” Nomin asked, looking up at Esenaij.

Bringing a hand to his chin, Esenaij squinted before looking around where the Dotharl standard was raised. He pointed toward them and said, “the young girl with the white hair.”

When Nomin finally saw who Esenaij was talking about, there was a moment's consideration. This Sadu looked to have been the same age as Nomin herself.

“That is the future khatun of the Dotharl. Some would even argue that she was khatun the moment she had been born and determined the fallen soul of their previous khagan,” Esenaij explained. “But look how she carries herself. Tall, proud…and already in possession of the staff of the previous khagan. The Steppe is lucky she is too young to fight.”

“... Is she powerful?” Nomin questioned.

“We are yet to know fully. If she is indeed the true reincarnation of their previous khagan, then she will be a mighty force to contend with in several years’ time…. It is only fortunate that we Sagahl have no desire to reign over the Steppe. We know our strengths in knowing the land and its creatures. Fighting the Oronir, Dotharl, and the Three Giants would do little for us…” Esenaij said, frowning. “Though I cannot deny the Dotharli girl already emits such a powerful aura. Even at this distance…”

In that moment, the events of the Naadam became just background noise, slowly muffling as Nomin’s attention kept itself on Sadu of Dotharl. She was not quite sure why she was drawn to the other girl, but something about Sadu drew Nomin’s attention far more than any combat or competitive show on the grasslands below for the ovoo.

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

When the clamor and dust settled, there was one who had captured the ovoo and was now dubbed ‘khagan’ for the year. A Dotharl man stood the victor for he and his tribe. There were cheers and whoops to celebrate the victory, though there were also groans and murmurs of concern from those that thought the Dotharl too battle hungry and bloodlust driven.

However, Bayarmaa was beside herself with laughter.

“So your next harvest shall be going to the Dotharl instead?” Bayarmaa asked, her hands on her hips and a wide smile upon her lips. “And you were so positive that the Oronir were guaranteed to win this Naadam!”

A frown was set heavily upon Esenaij’s face as he made no attempt to retort or respond to Bayarmaa. Nomin, however, only giggled alongside Bayarmaa at the turn of events. Though another thought entered her head when she realized what that also meant. With a small gasp, Nomin’s tail flicked up and she looked up at Esenaij.

“Esenaij! Can I go with you to visit the Dotharl Iloh?” Nomin asked, her eyes sparkling with the thought of being able to travel the Steppe and see other tribes and peoples. Not only that, but learn more of what other edible or beneficial plants there were that the Steppe offered. Granted, as not a true daughter of the Sagahl, she was missing meat, but perhaps she could hunt if Esenaij allowed it.

“So that I might suffer more of your questions and inquiries? No,” Esenaij replied, folding his arms over his chest.

“Bring Nomin with you, Esenaij…” Bayarmaa said, chuckling softly still. She then echoed Nomin’s thoughts: “it will be good for her to travel the Steppe! She needs to learn more about what we can find, how we prepare it while traveling, and if you’re headed out toward the Dotharl Khaa, you might as well also show her what grows on the fringes of Nhaama’s Retreat. Teach her as you taught me of the Steppe.”

A small growl of indignation came from Esenaij, though Nomin had been happy that Bayarmaa was at least on her side when it came to doing more fun stuff. Plus, Nomin was unable to learn much about what was in season at this time and would have to wait till spring had arrived properly. Skipping up to Esenaij, Nomin raised her hands to him with a grin.

“I’m not picking you up,” Esenaij sighed. He had declined such silent requests since Bayarmaa told Nomin how he carried her from his wain to their ger. A pain, now that he had to deal with Nomin’s random ‘requests’ for being carried. Though he was met with a pout from Nomin, Esenaij started making his way back with the other Sagahl and Oroq to their site.

Bayarmaa, on the other hand, was finally coming down from her amusement. She shook her head at Nomin and gave her a mischievous look. “Don’t you worry about Esenaij and him leaving you behind. I’ll see to it that you’re ready to travel with him in the coming days.”

[lastleggysee]

Substitute Lovers - Sage Lesath

Friends with benefits with Felix? Sure!

Going drinking with Sage? Hell yeah!

Facing the mortifying vulnerability of letting your feelings towards Sage be known? Absolutely not!

I have no idea where this fits into any route/timeline but here we are.

Also, I <3 catman sm but I haven't written anything in years so

Warnings: Alcohol, slight NSFW? (nothing graphic imo, either way minors DNI)

Word count: 4,115

You should have known. With a building like Fathom creaks and groans are to be anticipated, not unlike the modest home you grew up in. Unfortunately, the groans you heard had less to do with the settling foundation than you would’ve hoped.

He was there, as you expected. Your eyes pass over the figures on the bed to the flowers struggling by the bedside table, wilted petals mimicking the spots of paint peeling from the aging windowsill. 

Your efforts to feign blindness did little to convince the two men of your ignorance of their situation. Over the sound of your blood vessels opening their floodgates to color your cheeks (Is it normal for a heart to beat so fast?) a familiar, low chuckle made itself known. 

He’s going to be so proud of himself for this later. 

It was too late. Regrettably, you had already caught the sound of a sharp gasp as the stranger nearly knees Sage in the chest, hands reaching for unfound garments settling for something, anything, to cover his body with something more forgiving than an unanticipated stranger’s gaze.

“Gods, Sage”, you breathe, whether to him or yourself you are unsure. “A gentleman would’ve locked the door at least.”

The flowers (Marigolds? Giant dandelions? To Felix’s dismay, you had yet to master the many flora of Astrea), no longer the leading act for your distraction, now seem to point you towards his direction when he speaks. Your previous focus now broken, your mind takes the opportunity to relish new stimuli to drink in. 

The self-satisfied flip of his long hair over his shoulder. His now unoccupied right hand lazily rising and calloused fingers attempting to soothe the flushed skin of his neck, rubbing idly up and down for a moment. The matching blush high on his cheeks as he cocks his head towards you, mouth moving-

“...and besides, people don’t come home with me for the gentleman treatment. Though I’d be glad to demonstrate for you another time.” Sage’s retort shatters your trance. You make a mental note to bury your gratitude for the distraction deep, deep down. 

“Awfully rude of a host to make plans in front of a different guest.” Your mouth manages to work out before your brain fully catches up to the gravity of the situation. “Your abysmal etiquette aside - think you’ll be done in an hour or so?”

The nameless partner (you wasted no time nicknaming the poor bastard “Gasp”, but there’d be no opportunity to inform him of such) makes his presence known again with a hurried “YES!” at the same time Sage shrugs. You know his gesture of uncertainty is vain. If you seriously asked, Sage would escort the stranger out immediately with a few honeyed words of a promise to continue at a later date. 

“I’ll be in the kitchen. Come dressed this time, please.” You turned, realizing your hand had never released the doorknob, wondering if you’re gripping it tightly enough to leave a permanent indentation of your fingertips. 

“Nice to meet you, by the way!” You yell over the slamming of the door. You’re unsure if the company heard you over the boom of Sage’s laughter. Hand still grasping the doorknob, you allow energy to flow through your fingertips until you hear the click of the door’s bolt locking itself. It’s the least you could do for the poor stranger, after all. 

The echoes of your boots through the empty hallways are your only company as you make your way to the kitchen. A silence that would’ve unsettled you in your old home, your old world (Can you even call it that? It’s still there, after all, just…without you), blankets you with comfort as you sit down in a hard-backed chair. Stella has made herself scarce for the majority of the morning, Anisa is out Anisa-ing, and then, there’s Felix. 

Felix said he’d be gone for the rest of the week, something about consulting Florian on a poisonous bloom he’d managed to cultivate over the past few full moons, meeting with an ambassador, and other aristocratic errands he so nonchalantly complained about. You and he both knew the true reason for his visit was Ecell’s birthday celebrations, which Florian insisted Felix be present for; even threatening to send Scylla to drag Felix by his ear to the party if he didn’t make it himself. You doubt he’s left his old room for the majority of the day, picking away at the polish on his nails and flipping through old books and memories from his childhood. 

                                   *                        *                       *

He has trouble meeting your eyes, after. You’d grown used to this over the past month, batting away the insecurities you refused to bring up with him, and rose to sit on the edge of the bed. 

Your own skin burned hot against the cool air that cradled you. Still coming to terms with the reality of air conditioning being a thing of the past, you were grateful for the ever-present draft that plagued Felix’s room. 

Felix lay on his back, propped up by pillows, hand across his bare chest. He was beautiful by the very definition of the word, and you counted his steady breaths as time passed over you both. It would be pleasant, except for the knowing. 

Neither of you really wished to be next to the other, all things considered. And yet, you found yourselves in each other’s chambers more often than not at night. 

He whispered your name and the spell was broken. “Going so soon?”, danced across his lips before his own danced over your shoulders, softly. You choose to ignore the ache bubbling in your chest. Now is not the time for emotion and heaviness. You quiet your internal quarrel like soothing a small child. 

“No, just looking around,” you turned to him as you replied, giving him a faint smile. He’s looking at you now through half-lidded eyes, and he returns your grin with one of his signature smirks. 

The ache intensifies. You wonder if he can feel it, with the two of you being so close. 

“You’re so keen to see the bigger picture of it all. You’ll simply have to forgive whatever impression of me this mess gives you.” He punctuates his sentences by placing feather-light kisses against your cheek. 

“That won’t be a problem,” you chuckled. “Since I’m not the one that has to wake up to it.”

You did not realize your mistake of your own accord, but the absence of his lips against you alerts you. Felix’s face is flushed and he’s avoiding your gaze again. He mumbles something along the lines of “No, I suppose it won’t be”, but his attention appears elsewhere. Your hand grasps at his of its own volition but he’s already fiddling with the hem of his sheets. 

Felix notices your gesture and entwines your hand with his.The gesture is warm, comforting, and platonic, despite your actions mere moments prior. 

“Rime used to say the same thing, about waking up to a mess. We usually slept in his room because of that, but it’s gotten worse since....” Felix trails off, and you don’t have to meet his eyes to know he’s blinking back tears. 

You squeeze his hand lightly. There are no words of comfort or condolences. You do your best to focus on Felix. You turn to him and smooth his hair, and offer him your ear to listen and your shoulder to cry on. 

You do your best not to sink into bitterness, but a small voice in your head nags you regardless. At least Felix had something to cry about, unlike yourself. The words of flirtation Sage exchanges with you are nothing special, and that’s all you’ll ever be to him - nothing special. An ear and a shoulder at times, but nothing more. A placeholder until the next ear and shoulder came along.

You extract yourself from Felix, reprimanding yourself for the rudeness of thinking of another man while still in Felix’s bed. After a brief moment digging through a pile of your discarded clothes, you find your flask. You return and straddle him, wiping the ghosts of tears from his cheeks and placing the vessel of water into his hand. 

He takes a sip and mutters his thanks. “I won’t spend the rest of our time licking my wounds, I promise.” he whispers, taking the opportunity to explore your exposed chest. 

“It’s fine. I’ll lick your wounds, you lick mine, and neither of us end up bleeding out all over the place. Win-win,” you begin to prattle on until his mouth finds a particularly tender spot to leave his mark on, and you lose the patience for your usual banter. 

He pulls away slightly, enough to look into your eyes but not enough for you to examine his work. “What a fine pair of substitute lovers the two of us make,” he chuckles darkly, his free hand coming to rest on the small of your back. 

His words fell to the wayside in your mind as you focused on the way his voice wavered. Is that how you sounded, when you talked about Sage? Felix’s mouth on your ear, your shoulder, and the thought was gone. The night carried on. 

      *                        *                       *

The jarring sound of a chair scraping against the floor alerts you to Sage’s presence. You flinch slightly, some of the many dangers of Astrea flashing through your mind.

“Ha! Doesn’t feel so good when someone else is doing the sneaking, huh?” He laughs, and you know this quip will be the only indication of your run-in earlier. No hard feelings. It’s a part of Sage’s charm; the actual charm, not the facade he puts on to lure strangers into his chambers. “Now, what was so important that you had to disrupt my very, very important meeting?”

“That’s your third meeting this week,” you scoff, turning towards him. There’s a familiar disorder to his outfit, evidence of haste as he dressed in the misalignment of his many belts. At least some things will stay the same. 

“I’m a busy guy. Your point?” Sage has already lifted his feet onto the table, leaning back in his chair. 

“My point would take longer to drill into your thick skull than I have the patience for.” His smile is still easy, despite the threat. He rocks on the back legs of his chair, a silent invitation for you to actually get around to the reason for your earlier intrusion. 

“I’m going drinking.” You blurt at last. “You know how I get around crowds. Figured if anyone was going to accompany me, it might as well be someone who enjoys the scenery at least.”

His ears perk up, and he’s as lively as you’ve seen him all day. Under any other circumstances, the glint in his eyes would’ve been enough for you to approach the scheme with the same caution of walking over a frozen lake. Sage’s head bobs from side to side, as though he can hear the gust blow past from your uncharacteristic tossing caution to the wind. 

“Gotcha. I do charge a two-drink per hour minimum for my bodyguarding duties, though.” He purrs. 

You’re already standing before he finishes his sentence. His head follows your form to the cupboards as you remove two short, stout glasses. He detects the strong, almost sickly, sweet smell before you place the glass in front of him. Sage studies it for a moment - you must’ve picked a damn good hiding spot - before your hand calls his attention. Still wrapped around the perfect match of his own glass, idly, he wonders about the scars across your hands, the indentations of recently-removed rings left on your fingers, lingering evidence of a habit of picking at the skin around your thumb-

“Consider this my deposit, then,” you grin, waiting for the celebratory clank of his glass against your own before downing its contents. Mercifully, Sage grants you the permission you so sought with a muffled “Cheers” before following suit.

“So, any place in mind?”

  *                        *                       *

The dizziness you’re feeling is approaching the fine line between bliss and unbearable. You take another small sip from the glass of water in front of you, tapping your dangling feet lightly on one of the posts of the barstool you’re perched on. 

Sage had garnered the attention of a small crowd of onlookers as he engaged any who approached him in an arm wrestling match. The thud of his challenger’s forearm slamming against the creaky table is overshadowed by riotous cheering and laughter at Sage’s victory. His hand, free of his signature gauntlet, roughly grabs the pile of coins on the table before tossing them into the air in a triumphant gesture, his tail flicking as he exclaims there’s more where that came from, asking for the next contestant, all punctuated with jubilant laughter.

He knows how to work a crowd, if nothing else. You whisper to yourself before flagging down the bartender. You order the next few rounds of your drinks, you’re on Sage’s time now, after all, paying for them with the money he forfeited to you in a card match earlier in the evening. 

Your corner of the bar was much dimmer and quieter than his. Despite falling into Astrea from another dimension, you wonder how the two of you can exist in two separate worlds while still remaining only steps from each other. Unable to find an answer in the shallow water remaining in your glass, you seek counsel from the newest concoction placed in front of you. 

As far as you’re concerned, Sage was the best person you could’ve asked to accompany you on a night like this. He’s got a knack for reading people - Intuition? Instinct? - but he doesn’t pry, content to live and let live. You find yourself humming “Hakuna Matata”, and you’re pulled further into the whirlpool in your head. 

“Anything else while I’m here?” The bartender’s eyes looked tired. A sense of camaraderie between the two of you as the opposite end of the room erupts into brilliant hysterics once again.

        *                        *                       *

Golden as the pile of coins jingling in his pocket, his eyes flit across the bar until they settle on you. 

“That’s an impressive collection you’ve got there,” he says, taking one of the empty glasses into his hand in mock examination. His voice comes out louder than he means for it to, reverberating through your dizzy ears still as his smirk above you awaits a reply. His face is flushed, pupils all but blown - his collection of drinks couldn’t have been much smaller than yours, you silently conclude, as he moves to spin the glass on its axis like a top. 

“Impressive party trick you’ve got there,” your retort is cut short by a hiccup that could only be described as violent. “But what’s really impressive is how you’ve managed to keep your hands to yourself all night-” another hiccup, as Sage’s eyebrow raises. “-really thought you were going to put that one guy’s head through the table about an hour ago.”

Sage’s laughter reverberates through you like echoes bouncing through a stone hallway. You wonder if the pores in rocks are able to soak in the sounds they toss back and forth through spaces like that, or if the echoes just wear them down over time. 

“‘S getting late; plus I think this dump shuts down soon anyways,” Even as his words run together ever so slightly, he speaks with a sort of clarity. 

Despite his drunken state, he notices as the corners of your lips rapidly fall at his suggestion. There’s visible tension in your shoulders that creeps its way to your jaw. You shake your head slightly, idly swatting him away like an annoying fly that’d crept too close to your meal.

“Seriously, I’m not holding back anyone’s hair tonight,” Sage said slowly, hoping you picked up on the earnestness in his request. “Come on. I’ll even make you a few drinks back home if you want, let’s just go.”

You feel his eyes roll without having to look at him. “Fine. We’ll sober up here for a bit, but damned if I’ll sleep in a booth tonight when there’s a perfectly good bed waiting for me.” Sage grumbles, all but tossing himself down onto the flimsy stool next to you. He glares at the candle waning between the two of you, as though he could intimidate it into remaining lit. You briefly recall something Felix mentioned when you first met, about Sage’s abysmal magical prowess, and as soon as it appeared the memory is soaked in emotions like muddy water. 

You extend some of your energy towards the candle and the flame erupts into the air, nearly meeting Sage’s nose. Instinctively, he raises an arm to swat the flame off the counter, cursing gods you’ve never heard of, before he catches your gaze. Half shocked, half something else entirely, he exhales sharply through his nose and shakes his head, the ends of his braid sweeping the surface of the bar. 

“Thought you’d be used to hanging out with magicians by now,” satisfaction drips heavily from your voice as you pick through the glasses in front of you. 

“So that’s why you brought me out here, to give me a heart attack?” he mutters, choosing to believe it’s the heat of the flame that warms his cheeks when you speak. 

“I could’ve done that anywhere. For much cheaper than a night of drinking, I might add,” you chuckle, picking up a textured glass and placing it atop the small candle. The divots in the glass fragment candle’s flame brilliantly, and you wonder how long the two of you have before the bartender tosses you out on the street. 

Sage’s attention is briefly called to the now-refracted candlelight moving across the table, but his eyes eventually wander back to you. He has no issues seeing in dim light, but he finds himself grateful for the now-illuminated space between the two of you. The tautness in your jaw has yet to subside even as the light bounces from your eyes like the sun reflected on moving water - have there always been so many colors in them? Images of you over the months he’s known you flash through his mind in comparison for a moment longer than he’d care to admit, and he shakes his head violently, chastising himself for having too much to drink. 

Although the silence between the two of you was anything but uncomfortable, it felt almost painful for you to break it. “I’m thinking of ending things with Felix.” you state matter-of-factly, like describing the weather. The sip of water you take does nothing to quell the burning in your throat, yet you hold onto the glass regardless.

To his credit, not that he’ll ever hear it from you, Sage takes the news in stride. “Want to talk about it? Or not talk, not talking is fine too.”

“I’m not even sure what there is to say,” You mutter. “Other than it’s what has to be done, so I might as well go ahead and do it.”

“I get that.” Sage said, unsure if he actually did get it, but he was no stranger to a sense of duty so that had to count for something. 

He didn’t lecture. He didn’t ask why. He didn’t want a list of your reasons, didn’t want to weigh the pros and cons. You nod. 

You’re unsure of where you want to go with this conversation. You’re unsure if this should even be a conversation you’re having with Sage Lesath of all people. “I just don’t…I just don’t know how to do it is all, you know.”

Sage offered a noise of approval, eyes fixated on the candle once more. His pulse was pounding in his ears, tail flicking against the legs of his stool. 

“I guess it’s not that much of a secret, that we were together, but not together together,” your voice shakes. You haven’t said this to anyone, you haven’t said it out loud even to yourself. “And it’s a good enough arrangement, but I don’t think it’s good for him. For either of us, really. Not when he wants to be with someone else the whole time.” Not when you want to be with someone else, either. 

Sage nods. “Look, I’m not exactly the authority on relationship advice,” he says, shifting side-to-side in his seat. “Anyone could tell you that. But you think about it too much-”

“It’s kind of hard to avoid thinking about someone when you’re with them for more than just one night.” You bite at him. Although his hands are clenched, his gaze is level. Understanding. Kind, even. 

You wish you could muster up the anger to hate him for that, but you can’t.

“Rime being back or whatever…it messed with everyone. But Rime’s different, and so is Felix. And guess what? He’s with you, not Rime. Felix made his choice a long time ago when hell’s favorite reindeer came back from the dead. And guess where he’s at now? Probably writing crappy love poems to read to you whenever he gets back - or whatever you guys do, no shame.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose as a particularly strong wave of dizziness washes over you. The bartender is off sweeping up the remnants of Sage’s party, obviously preparing to close shop. “Sage, it’s not just about that-”

“Well, what is it then?” He asks, removing your decorative glass from the candle and extinguishing it. 

“C’mon Sage, even you know there’s more to relationships than just a - a choice!” you grumble, suddenly feeling the weight of this conversation upon you. 

“Oh, I’m well aware of how much more goes on in relationships,” he begins, suggestively, but cuts himself off when he notices your expression. “I don’t know what else you want from the poor bastard. He brought the damn guy back from the dead, but he can’t turn back time and make it so they were never together. They were a thing, and now they’re not. Like I said, you think too-”

“You don’t know what it’s like to be second place, do you, Sage? You feel that shit.” you manage to get out through gritted teeth. Your blood heats up a degree with each word of consolation that falls from his mouth. The idea of him, of all people, telling you to stay with Felix. The compassion he coats your rejection in, without even knowing he’s doing so, ignites a fire in your throat. “Forget it. Forget I said anything.” You do your best to take a sip of water, but struggle to swallow it down.

The subtle waves in your glass alert him to the trembling of your hands, and Sage finds his own raising to take the cup from you. 

That was his intention, at least. Looking back on this moment Sage would blame the alcohol, the dim lighting, an imperceptible earthquake that pushed him off his center of balance, if he even claimed he was able to remember it at all, as he overshot and instead grazed the skin of your wrist. He didn’t move. You didn’t move. The room didn’t move. The world didn’t move. 

Sage’s mind did move, however, soaking up every detail of this moment. His middle finger resting softly on the pronounced tendon of your wrist, while his other fingers sat atop the thin skin that served as the only barrier between himself and your veins. The tender flesh beneath his calloused fingers keeping him a hair’s breadth away from your heartbeat. Your heartbeat. Another eternal moment passed. He didn’t move. You didn’t move. 

The world resumed its former speed with your inhale, shaky as the voice of reason in Sage’s head, and he righted himself. Not entirely able to remember what he’d been trying to do just a moment ago, he settles for taking your glass of water and quickly bringing it to his lips for a sip. 

“Sorry, I’m no good at this thing,” he rasped. You’re so much smarter than him; everyone is so much smarter than him. There were no mirror-rehearsed pickup lines, no recycled one-liners, nothing in the recesses of his brain as he struggled to find something to say. Nothing to neutralize the electricity crackling through him as his gaze moves to your lips, spit-damp and slightly parted-

And besides, how could Sage do anything but what you asked?

“Well, you’re better at this than you were at cards, at least,” you turn to hop off of the bar stool, cocking your head at him as you go. “C’mon, bodyguard. Walk me home.”

[gwensparlour]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Tagged by @johaerys-writes Thank you Snippet from my pod-together project for this year An epistolary fic that grew more than it should have Can't wait to hear @monicaatthefrontdesk reading it The other voice was a traveller who happened to get lost. It is not a rare occurrence, this mountain can be difficult to navigate for those not used to it.

Surely you will remember all the times I had to come searching for you and Telamon because either took the wrong path. Luckily Achilles has a perfect sense of direction and Patroclus is prudent enough to never stray too much from the known path. The traveller told us he comes from nearby Athens and after having heard stories about the beauty of this place wanted to check it out himself. Achilles and Patroclus behaved well and in perfect line with all rules of hospitality, though I suppose our unexpected guest could have done without Achilles’ cooking, but hospitality goes both ways. But he survived and after some due chatting and having made sure he was rested, we sent him on his way with a map and our best wishes. About the clothes, yes, both Achilles and Patroclus would benefit from some new garments.

I taught them to mend their tunics when possible, but these last months they experienced a growth spurt and their old clothes begin to be too small for them. Patroclus is also in desperate need of a pair of new sandals, as his own are literally falling apart. I pray you stay in good health and enjoy the season Chiron

[idreamcolorlife]

Benefits of Having Straight Hairs

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