#despite the far distances required for travel

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader, Seonghwa x reader, Yunho x reader, Mingi x reader, Wooyoung x reader.

Summary: Five eight-year-old boys aboard the slave ship Crimson Serpent form an unbreakable bond with five-year-old y/n. before she's sold at auction. Despite their failed rescue attempt, they swear a blood oath on her teddy bear to find her. Fifteen years later, now feared pirates leading the ATEEZ

Warnings: Slavery/Human Trafficking, Separation/Loss, Violence, Eventual Smut. SA(not by any main characters) y/n gets switched to a real name but it has a purpose. More warnings to be updated.

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Masterlist

Chapter 10.5

Reconnections Cont.

The walk to Hongjoong's quarters passed quickly, the ATEEZ's corridors now familiar territory after days aboard. Unlike her initial exploration characterized by strategic vigilance, this journey carried different purpose—movement toward reunion rather than careful reconnaissance.

When she reached the captain's door, y/n paused briefly, years of conditioned caution creating momentary hesitation. Then, with deliberate resolve, she knocked firmly—an active choice rather than passive response.

"Enter."

The single word, carrying both authority and unmistakable anticipation, created unexpected nervousness in y/n’s chest. This wasn't approaching a dangerous captor or potential ally, but the boy who had first called her "Treasure" during midnight stargazing aboard another ship fifteen years earlier.

She opened the door to find Hongjoong standing near his desk, hands clasped behind his back in a posture that suggested prepared formality despite obvious emotion in his expression.

"You came," he said simply, the observation containing both gratitude and lingering disbelief.

"I did," she replied, matching his direct approach.

For a moment, they simply regarded each other across the room, fifteen years of separation creating a distance that went far beyond the physical space between them.

"How is Mingi?" Hongjoong asked with genuine concern.

"Improving," she answered truthfully. "Still unconscious, but responding more strongly. Yeosang seems cautiously optimistic."

Hongjoong nodded with visible relief. "He's strong," he said quietly. "Always has been, even before circumstances required such strength."

"Please, sit," he offered, gesturing toward comfortable chairs positioned near his cabin's small porthole.

As they settled into their respective seats, momentary silence stretched between them—not awkward tension but necessary adjustment, recalibration after fifteen years of imagined possibilities on both sides.

"I don't know where to begin," Hongjoong admitted finally, unexpected candor replacing his usual strategic approach. "Fifteen years planning this conversation, and now all those carefully prepared words seem completely inadequate."

"I know what you mean," y/n acknowledged. "I've recited your names every night for fifteen years, and now actually sitting across from you feels..." she hesitated, searching for the right description, "...both completely surreal and strangely familiar at the same time."

Something shifted in Hongjoong's expression—surprise followed by dawning comprehension. "Every night?" he repeated. "For fifteen years?"

She nodded, the confession emerging without calculation. "Joongie, Hwa, Woo, Yuyu, Puppy," she recited softly. "Like a prayer or a spell. The one thing I had that Blackwell couldn't take away, couldn't even know existed to try destroying."

Hongjoong's composed expression cracked momentarily, his hand moving unconsciously toward the inner pocket where Mr. Hugs had traveled for fifteen years.

"We searched everywhere," he said, his voice rougher than usual. "Every port, every auction house, every slave market. Every rumor of a young girl sold in Halazia fifteen years ago."

"I know," she replied gently. "Yunho and Wooyoung told me. And I heard you yesterday, in this room, when you explained your mission to Ella. When you had no idea I was her."

Hongjoong's gaze met hers directly. "When did you know?" he asked. "That we were the boys from The Crimson Serpent?"

"I suspected almost immediately," she admitted. "The way you all interacted—your patterns, your distinctive mannerisms, the specific ways you moved together. Fifteen years changed so much, but those core dynamics remained recognizable."

"Yet you said nothing," he observed, the statement containing a question.

Y/n considered her response carefully. "Survival required certainty before disclosure," she explained. "I needed to be sure it was truly you, not coincidence or manipulation. That Joongie, Hwa, Woo, Yuyu, and Puppy had actually found me after all this time."

"And what convinced you?" Hongjoong asked with genuine curiosity.

"Everything," she replied honestly. "Wooyoung's spiced honey cakes. Yunho's stories about the stars. Mingi's compass mark on everything he creates. Seonghwa arranging objects in perfect right angles. Your habit of Rubbing the back of your neck.”

These specific details created visible impact on Hongjoong's face. Her observations revealed genuine recognition beyond surface appearances.

"You noticed all that?" he asked softly, wonder in his voice.

"Survival depended on observation skills," she explained simply. "Predicting others' actions, anticipating responses before they happened, seeing patterns others tried to hide—these weren't optional abilities during fifteen years as someone else's property."

The blunt assessment created momentary silence between them.

"I kept him with me," Hongjoong said abruptly. "Every day, everywhere we sailed."

Without further explanation, he rose and moved to the locked sea chest she had glimpsed during earlier exploration. With practiced movement, he retrieved a key from around his neck and opened the chest's intricate mechanism.

From within, he carefully lifted something wrapped in protective cloth, his movements containing reverence beyond mere caution. With gentle precision, he unwrapped the bundle to reveal its contents: a worn teddy bear missing one eye button, its fabric patched in multiple places, stuffing periodically renewed yet still unmistakably itself.

"Mr. Hugs," y/n whispered, childhood memories rushing back at the sight of her long-lost companion. "You really kept him all this time."

"We found him after Captain Redmond took you to auction," Hongjoong explained, his voice thickening with emotion despite his attempt at control. "In the harbor mud, near where the gangplank had been. Like you'd deliberately left him where he might be found rather than simply lost in the struggle."

The memory surfaced with unexpected clarity—her final moments of freedom before Blackwell claimed ownership, desperate calculation amid terror and grief.

"I did," she confirmed softly. "I knew I couldn't keep him with me, that captivity would mean losing everything I valued. But I hoped somehow—if I left him where you might find him—that you'd have something to remember me by."

Hongjoong's composed expression fractured further. "We used him to make our oath," he said with difficulty. "That night, after failing to protect you. Our blood, our promise to find you again—no matter how long it took, no matter what sacrifice was required."

"May I?" she asked, hands extending instinctively toward the teddy bear that had been her sole childhood comfort aboard The Crimson Serpent.

Hongjoong hesitated fractionally before deliberately placing Mr. Hugs in her waiting hands.

The familiar weight settled against her palms, memories flooding back. This wasn't simply a childhood toy recovered, but tangible proof that five boys had remembered, had searched, had transformed themselves into the most feared pirates on the seven seas specifically to fulfill an oath made during childhood failure.

"Hello, old friend," she whispered, fingers gently straightening his worn bow tie with movement identical to her childhood ritual. "You've had quite the adventure while I was gone."

Hongjoong watched this reunion with visible emotion despite his attempts at control. When y/n looked up, she found his eyes suspiciously bright.

"We failed you," he said abruptly. "That day in Halazia. Our escape attempt caused the fire that created the perfect diversion for Redmond to take you directly to auction. If we'd planned better, secured proper resources, established a backup meeting point—"

"Stop," y/n interrupted firmly. "You were children. Five against an entire crew of experienced sailors and armed guards. The fact that you even attempted rescue shows extraordinary courage beyond what most adults would have shown."

This perspective created visible impact on Hongjoong's face. Unlike vague reassurances, her specific acknowledgment addressed the core of the guilt that had apparently survived fifteen years.

"But we promised to keep you safe," he countered, though with less certainty. "And instead created circumstances that accelerated your capture and sale."

"You did keep me safe," she insisted. "For three months aboard that hellish ship, you five created protection that allowed me to remain whole when everything around me threatened to break me. You made space for laughter when terror seemed the only possible response. You showed me stars when darkness seemed absolute."

She held Mr. Hugs gently against her chest, body remembering the comfort from childhood. "And most importantly, you showed me that genuine connection could exist even within captivity—that human bonds survived despite deliberate attempts to prevent them. That lesson sustained me through fifteen years when Blackwell and others systematically worked to eliminate any sense of self beyond what they defined."

Her honest assessment created space between them for acknowledgment beyond blame or dismissal. Unlike empty absolution, her perspective offered reconsideration based on specific impact rather than just general reassurance.

"We kept searching," Hongjoong said finally, acceptance gradually replacing his self-accusation. "Even when logic suggested it was impossible, when years passed without leads, when false hopes repeatedly appeared then vanished."

"I know," she replied softly with genuine understanding. "The ATEEZ itself stands as evidence of that commitment—your reputation, your operations, your specific targeting of slave traders rather than just profitable vessels. Everything you've built represents extension of that original promise from The Crimson Serpent."

Something shifted in Hongjoong's expression—surprise followed by dawning recognition. Unlike assumptions that reunion represented completion of their mission, y/n’s assessment acknowledged the ongoing nature of their commitment—a fundamental purpose that had grown beyond just finding her to address the systemic injustice that had facilitated her captivity.

"It started as search for you specifically," he confirmed honestly. "But eventually expanded beyond personal mission to address larger patterns we witnessed throughout the maritime world. Your captivity became emblematic of widespread suffering that demanded response beyond individual rescue."

"And that expansion makes your oath more meaningful rather than less," she observed. "What began as promise to a single child grew into commitment that has freed countless others from similar captivity. The girl you knew aboard The Crimson Serpent would consider that fulfillment beyond original intention, not deviation from it."

This perspective—acknowledging growth beyond original parameters rather than just static adherence to childhood promise—created visible impact on Hongjoong's features.

For several moments, they sat in comfortable silence, Mr. Hugs resting against y/n’s chest while Hongjoong watched with expression containing both joy and lingering disbelief despite confirmed recognition.

"I still can't quite believe you're really here," Hongjoong admitted finally, genuine wonder in his voice. "After so many years searching, so many false leads and disappointments, to actually have you sitting across from me feels..." he hesitated, seeking adequate description, "...like a dream suddenly becoming reality despite everything suggesting impossibility."

"I understand completely," she replied with a gentle smile. "I spent fifteen years believing myself forgotten or abandoned by anyone who had ever shown me kindness. To discover that five boys not only remembered but transformed themselves into the most feared pirates on the seven seas specifically to fulfill a childhood promise—it challenges fundamental assumptions that guided my survival for fifteen years."

Hongjoong leaned forward, his eyes fixed on hers with an intensity that made the captain's usual strategic calculation fade away. For a moment, he was just a boy who had made a promise long ago.

"Not a single day passed that I didn't think of you," he said, his voice low and rough with emotion. "At first, I thought the pain would fade with time, but it never did. It just... transformed. From that sharp, desperate grief into something more focused. More purposeful."

He ran his hand through his hair, a gesture that reminded her of the fidgety child he once was. "There were nights when I stood on deck, looking at the same stars Yunho had taught you about, and I swore I could feel you out there somewhere. Even when logic told me the chances were impossible, even when others suggested we redirect our efforts, that feeling never went away."

Hongjoong's eyes glistened in the cabin's soft light. "We became pirates because we had nothing to lose. We became feared because we had everything to gain. Every ship we freed, every slave trader we crippled, was a message to Blackwell and his kind. But it was also a message to you, wherever you were – that you weren't forgotten. That you mattered enough to change the course of our entire lives."

His voice broke slightly as he continued, "I needed you to know that. That you were never just some child we failed to protect. You were our compass point. The reason we kept going when everything else fell apart. And now you're here, and I—" he stopped, overwhelmed for a moment, "—I don't have the words for what that means. I've commanded ships and men for years now, but sitting here with you, I feel like that eight-year-old boy again, making promises I wasn't sure I could keep." 

A single tear escaped, which he quickly wiped away, smiling through it. "But this time, this one time, I kept the most important promise of all. We found you, Treasure. And nothing – nothing – in fifteen years of sailing has ever felt as right as this moment."

Before y/n could respond, gentle knock interrupted their conversation—reminder that ship operations continued regardless of personal revelations. Hongjoong's expression immediately shifted toward captain's authority, though without completely displacing genuine connection established during their exchange.

"Enter," he called, automatically straightening his posture.

The door opened to reveal a messenger rather than officer—young crew member. "Captain, Quartermaster Seonghwa requests your presence regarding salvage operations from yesterday's engagement," the young man reported respectfully. "Says timing flexibility is available given non-critical nature of discussion."

The report, delivered with specific acknowledgment of interruption's limited urgency, revealed consideration beyond mere hierarchical demand. Seonghwa had clearly indicated room for personal judgment regarding appropriate timing—respect for privacy despite operational necessity.

"Thank you," Hongjoong acknowledged with genuine appreciation. "Inform the quartermaster I'll join him shortly."

As the messenger departed, closing the door with careful precision, momentary silence settled between them—not awkward pause but necessary transition, adjustment between profound personal connection and inevitable operational reality aboard working vessel.

"Duty calls," y/n observed with understanding smile, no criticism coloring her acknowledgment. "Ship operations wait for no one, even when fifteen-year quests finally reach fulfillment."

"Unfortunately," Hongjoong confirmed, though regret remained visible beneath captain's responsibility. "Though I'm grateful for Seonghwa's consideration in noting timeframe flexibility. He understands the significance of this conversation despite his own... current adjustment difficulties."

The diplomatic phrasing—acknowledging quartermaster's emotional distance without criticism—revealed care beyond mere tactical assessment. Unlike potential judgment that might have interpreted withdrawal as rejection or personal failure, Hongjoong demonstrated understanding beyond immediate reaction.

"He needs time," y/n agreed, matching his careful consideration despite the lingering hurt she felt at Seonghwa's coldness. "Space to reconcile fifteen years of searching with actual reunion. To adjust expectations developed during extended separation with present reality that inevitably differs from imagined outcome."

Hongjoong studied her thoughtfully, genuine appreciation flowing beneath tactical assessment. "Your understanding shows remarkable compassion given his apparent withdrawal following your identity confirmation," he observed. "Many would interpret his response as rejection requiring defense rather than adjustment deserving patience."

"Fifteen years navigating complex social hierarchies during captivity teaches careful distinction between genuine rejection and self-protective withdrawal," she explained simply. "Seonghwa isn't rejecting connection but creating necessary space for internal recalibration. The difference matters significantly, even if it still hurts."

The insight created visible impact across Hongjoong's features. Unlike casual assessment based on surface behavior, her analysis demonstrated perception beyond immediate appearance to recognize underlying emotional reality.

"You've become remarkably perceptive," he said quietly, genuine admiration in his voice. "Though perhaps you always were, even as a child aboard The Crimson Serpent, and circumstances simply sharpened existing abilities rather than creating entirely new characteristics."

His perspective—acknowledging essential continuity despite necessary adaptation—offered recognition beyond mere observation. Unlike approaches that might have separated childhood identity from adult development, Hongjoong suggested integration rather than division—connecting past and present.

"Sometimes I wonder," she admitted, unexpected candor emerging without strategic calculation. "How much of me survived fifteen years of systematic attempts to eliminate independent thought or identity. Whether the girl you knew aboard The Crimson Serpent still exists beneath necessary adaptations required for survival as someone else's property."

This vulnerable disclosure created momentary silence between them, significance flowing beyond casual exchange. Unlike tactical revelation designed to extract specific response, her genuine wondering invited shared exploration.

"I think," Hongjoong began carefully, each word containing deliberate consideration, "that core aspects endure despite external pressure to eliminate them. That essential characteristics persist beneath necessary adaptations, transformation occurring without complete replacement."

He gestured toward the unconscious movement of her fingers gently straightening Mr. Hugs' bow tie—identical to childhood ritual performed countless times aboard The Crimson Serpent. "That gesture hasn't changed in fifteen years," he observed softly. "Nor your habit of breaking honey cakes in half before eating, arranging objects at right angles when distracted, watching horizons with that specific combination of wonder and calculation."

These simple observations affected y/n more profoundly than elaborate declaration might have. Unlike abstract discussion regarding identity continuity, Hongjoong offered tangible evidence of characteristics that had survived fifteen years' systematic attempt at elimination—concrete proof rather than merely comforting hypothesis.

"I never realized," she whispered, unexpected emotion flowing beyond calculated response. "That so much remained visible despite years of deliberate concealment."

"Not to casual observation," Hongjoong clarified, no criticism coloring his acknowledgment. "Only to those who knew you before, who recognized essential patterns beneath necessary adaptations. To others, your careful presentation remains exactly as intended—strategic composure revealing nothing beyond deliberately selected disclosure."

This distinction offered understanding beyond mere observation. Unlike potential approach that might have suggested failed disguise or inadequate protection, Hongjoong recognized both effective concealment and specific connection that transcended general perception.

Before further conversation could develop, second knock interrupted their exchange—gentle but distinct reminder that ship operations required captain's attention despite personal significance of current interaction. Unlike previous messenger's supportive approach, this signal carried subtle urgency beneath its restrained delivery—genuine need rather than merely scheduled interruption.

"You should go," y/n said, understanding flowing without resentment or disappointment. "The ATEEZ needs its captain regardless of personal revelations. The crew depends on your leadership beyond individual preference or private connection."

Hongjoong nodded, genuine appreciation visible beneath returning captain's authority. "This conversation isn't concluded," he said. "Merely paused by circumstance."

"I know," she replied with gentle smile. "Until circumstances permit its continuation."

As she rose to depart, still holding Mr. Hugs against her chest, Hongjoong's voice stopped her momentarily—softer than his captain's tone yet carrying equal certainty.

"Keep him with you," he said, gesturing toward the teddy bear. "He's been waiting fifteen years to return to his rightful owner."

This simple statement created unexpected emotion within y/n, gratitude flowing beyond strategic calculation. Unlike potential retention that might have maintained control through limited visitation, Hongjoong offered complete restoration without qualification—genuine return rather than merely supervised reunion.

"Thank you," she said simply, the words containing multitudes beneath their minimal surface. "For keeping him safe when I couldn't. For carrying him through fifteen years when I had no way to protect him myself."

"He carried us just as much as we carried him," Hongjoong replied, unexpected vulnerability flowing beneath returning captain's composure. "Reminder of promise that sustained us when circumstances suggested impossibility, tangible proof of connection that survived despite cosmic forces aligned against its persistence."

For a moment, they simply regarded each other across shortened physical distance that nonetheless represented vast emotional terrain—fifteen years of separation creating space requiring navigation rather than simply physical proximity. Then, with mutual understanding that transcended verbal confirmation, they moved toward their respective responsibilities—Hongjoong toward ship management demanding captain's attention, y/n toward injured gunner whose recovery represented another aspect of their collective reconnection aboard the ATEEZ.

As she returned to medical bay, Mr. Hugs held securely against her chest, y/n found unexpected certainty settling within her. After fifteen years believing herself forgotten or abandoned, she had discovered truth beyond memory or whispered ritual: five boys from The Crimson Serpent had never stopped searching for her, had transformed themselves into the most feared pirates on the seven seas specifically to fulfill blood oath made during childhood failure.

More significantly, sixth connection had manifested through seemingly impossible coincidence—Yeosang joining the very crew specifically searching for his childhood friend, their separate paths converging aboard notorious pirate vessel despite cosmic forces aligned against such intersection. The wooden wolf they had shared during captivity now joined by Mr. Hugs returning after fifteen years' separation—tangible manifestations of connection that had survived despite systematic attempts at elimination.

And y/n, who had survived fifteen years of captivity through necessary disguise and strategic isolation, had finally reclaimed identity beyond mere survival—authentic presence rather than tactical necessity, genuine connection rather than merely calculated alliance. The wooden wolf, tiny sparrow, and now Mr. Hugs remained tangible proof of bonds that had survived fifteen years' separation—physical manifestations of connection maintained despite systematic attempts at elimination, reunion achieved against impossible odds.

Taglist: @hopeless-lovex0 @frankielou02 @jilxxasu @kur0kki @lezleeferguson-120 @uniquecloudbread @miniverse-zen @symmieangela @monstacheol @ateezswonderland @comicnerd557 @pixie0627 @fumaluvr @princesscallie @green-moon @starryjoong-jeongcheollie @wiccanmetallicrose @atinyapple1117 @sassy-snassy @soulphoenix1618

[sodaneko]

❉ in a long-distance relationship ↳ w/ Nanami & Naoya (separate)

a/n: getting into my clown car because originally i was planning to write this for four characters in total, then i blinked and suddenly i had written over 2k words in headcanons and drabbles and decided to call it a day. i personally want to thank Nanami and Naoya for representing the both flawless and horrendous ends of the spectrum regarding my taste in fictional men ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

contains: headcanons are sfw & gn!reader, drabbles are ns.fw & afab!reader. i'll put individual warnings before each drabble later in the text.

word count: 2.3k

❦ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

the driest texter known to man

it’s not like Nanami won’t think of you and text you throughout the day, it’s more that his texts read as if they’re coming from your tax consultant rather than from the love of your life

“Arrived at the accommodation. Room is very clean. About to head out for work, will call you later tonight. Love you, K. PS: Heard Lawson has cabbage on sale this week.”

he’s never beating the old man allegations

it’s an obstacle that yours and his work often requires you both to travel and spend time apart, but to Nanami, once committed, long distance was never a reason for things not to work out between you

he keeps his promises and calls when he said he would, he sends you flowers when he can’t bring them back home in person and he orders you food when you’re having a rough day, staying on the phone with you while you eat and letting you vent if you need to 

when he misses you (which he always does), he lets you know. no matter how far apart, Nanami would never make you doubt if you’re on his mind and in his heart 

often he’d send you photos of his lunch or local specialities, sometimes photos from the local pigeons too when they’d pick up the crumbs of his sandwich at his feet

“Those two seem inseparable. Made me think of us. Miss your voice, will call you tonight. What are you having for lunch? Careful when you cut the cabbage.”

at night, after another draining day of fighting curses, the only thing keeping Nanami going is the prospect of hearing your voice over the speaker

he will close his eyes and imagine you snuggled up in bed while talking to him, waiting for him to come home, and oh, how badly he wants to be by your side and never let you go

cw: afab!reader (no pronouns used, 'cunt' and 'pussy' used to describe genitalia), phone sex, panty sniffing, masturbation (with said panties), dirty talk, breeding kink (no mention of pregnancy or babies), mention of: brat taming, mirror sex and hair pulling

“Sorry, love. Were you asleep already?”

Nanami’s voice is quiet, almost like an apology for calling you this late. He knows you’re always staying up and fighting your sleepiness, despite him telling you not to wait for him—he’s grateful you do though, because hearing your voice is the one thing that will get him through each day, no matter how long it drags on.

“Mhm, not quite yet,” you mumble into your phone and smile at the sound of his voice. “‘m all cozy in bed though, it still smells like you. Only missing your warmth.”

Nanami laughs quietly at the other end of the line. He has no problems imagining you right now, having the big bed you bought together all for yourself but still curling up on his side of the mattress, where his scent still lingers. He hums softly.

“That was quite the surprise I found in my pocket this morning.”

You hear some rustling sounds and a pair of pants getting unzipped, and the grin on your face widens. Putting your phone on speaker, you set it down on the pillow next to you and roll over on your back, feeling more awake now.

“Well? Did you like it?”, you coo.

“Loved it.”

The panties you slipped into Nanami’s jacket before he left are now dangling from his finger in the dim light of the bedside lamp. He picked them out for you a while ago and now you were simply returning the favor, knowing how lonely it can get on a solo mission. He closes his big fist around them and brings them to his face, inhaling your musk and making him groan quietly. His cock aches in his boxers, precum staining them slightly, but he doesn’t touch himself yet.

“God, I miss you,” he mutters after catching another whiff of your worn panties. “Want to taste you so badly, love. When I get home, I’ll have you sit on my face till your legs give out.”

You chuckle at the prospect of it. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Did you touch yourself with my panties?”, you ask in a sultry voice and you can hear Nanami growl a little at the other end of the line.

“I’m doing it right now,” he replies in a husky voice, having his bottoms hastily pulled down his thighs and now fisting his cock with your panties wrapped around it. The fabric feels soft and expensive, and the thought of how they clung to your cunt when you soaked through them has his mind spinning circles.

“Good. I want to hear you cum,” you whisper, closing your eyes for a better imagination. “Tell me what you want to do with me when you’re back home.”

Nanami pumps his fat cock with one hand, the other holding his phone to his ear. He’s sprawled out in an armchair, head in the back of his neck, his eyes shut as well. His breath comes out raggedly.

“Gonna fill your pretty little cunt to the brim,” he mumbles. “Tongue, fingers, cock. Everything. Whatever you beg for, I’ll give it to you. Gonna pump you so full of my cum, you’ll have it ruin your panties for days, but you’d like that, don’t you?”

“Fuck,” you mewl at the other end of the line, kicking back the sheets and spreading your legs to touch yourself to his words. Your fingers reached nowhere as deep as Nanami's, but it was better than nothing.

“Gonna bend you over and fuck you on every flat surface in our house,” he rasps. “In front of the big mirror too, so you can see the faces you make when you cum on my cock. Wanna feel how tight you get when you’re milking me. As if you’re trying to remember the shape of my cock forever. Made for me, only me. And if you’re gonna be a brat, which I know you will, I’ll stuff your mouth with your panties and pull your hair till I fucked some obedience into you.”

Nanami groans; he is so close. Damn, if only you were here for him to bury himself in the warmth of your cunt. Your whimpering at the other end of the line and your panties wrapped around his cock as he pumps himself are enough to send him tumbling over the edge, a supernova of pent up lust and frustration unleashing within him. The silken fabric soaks up all of his cum, sticky and hot against his skin. He made a mess, but cleaning up was for later.

“You good, love?”, he asks in a raspy voice and can’t help but smile at the sound of your heavy breathing.

“Came so hard I saw stars a little,” you confess over the speaker and snicker. You’ll definitely have to change the sheets before Nanami gets home. As if you two wouldn’t ruin them anyway.

“Good, good,” he laughs. “Now sleep, dear, I kept you up for too long. I’ll be home tomorrow night, okay? Can’t wait to kiss you.”

❦ 𝐍𝐀𝐎𝐘𝐀

Naoya hates being apart from you and he doesn’t understand why you take on missions that require you to leave the Zen’in estate aka him

in his eyes, as his spouse there’s no need for you to work at all, you should just stay at home with him or accompany him on his business trips 

he can and he will yap about this while you pack your bags, while he drives you to the train station (he insists to escort you there himself), while carrying your luggage and even between goodbye kisses. seriously, this man never learned how to shut up in his entire life

the night prior, Naoya had made sure to leave plenty of hickeys all over your body, as a reminder who you belong to 

he’s clearly bored out of his mind without you around, your phone blowing up with text and voice messages from him, demanding your unrestricted attention and getting pouty when you don’t immediately reply to him

it’s not like Naoya is jealous or worried that you’d see someone else behind his back–his ego is too big to consider this even a possibility

he’s simply the undefeated champion in the pain in the ass competition 

he’ll act nonchalant when you call him once you’re back at your hotel, trying to sound as if he wasn’t pacing restlessly around all day until his phone finally lit up with your name on display

asking you about your day comes second, first you’ll have to listen to him whining how much it sucks without you around and that this’ll be the last time that he’s allowing you as your husband to go on a solo mission (he’s ignoring your unrestrained laughter about it), and that you’ll have to think of something to make it up to him on your way home which will be in 3 days, 11 hours and 27 minutes (he’s counting)

cw: afab!reader (no pronouns used, 'cunt' and 'pussy' used to describe genitalia), video call sex, dirty talk, masturbation, praise kink, mention of spitting, sweet talking Naoya into submission, he has nipple piercings in this one, Naoya being his own warning

“Seriously? You couldn’t wait three seconds to at least show me your face before flipping the camera to your dick?”

You lie on your stomach in a hotel bed that’s way too big for you alone, fresh out of the shower, glancing down at your phone in your hand. After a long day of fighting an extremely nasty curse, you crave nothing more than rubbing one out to the voice of your husband and passing out immediately afterwards. Your hips grind lazily into a pillow between your legs, feeling that familiar throb, while Naoya on the other end strokes himself on display as slowly, his thumb drawing circles over his leaking tip. His moans are slightly muffled over the speaker.

“Can’t help it, babe, I’ve been like this all day, aching for ya. Had my cock throbbing even at family dinner. Been thinking about nothing other than stuffing all of yer greedy holes. Just look–”

The movements of the video get a bit shaky when he fists his cock, pumping himself at a leisurely pace. You’ve memorized every vein of his cock, feeling your mouth water a little at the sight of it. While Naoya wasn’t a size king, he had the girth and you vividly remember how he knocked the air out of your lungs when he pounded you into the mattress for the very first time. You roll your hips some more, chasing for the right friction to get you off, the camera still aimed at your face. 

“Then gimme a show at least,” you whine and put on a small pout which you know Naoya can never resist. If there’s anything Naoya loves, then it’s attention and praise, and he is way too easy to bait into whatever could offer him that.

“Oh, ‘m gonna give yer a show, baby. Gonna make ya regret not being here with me. I’d have ya drooling all over my cock if yer were here with me now,” he rattles. “Would spit in yer mouth, that’s how ya like it, dontcha?” 

The display turns dark and blurry for a moment, and you can practically feel the excitement from the other end of the line when Naoya props his phone up against something to have his hands free. He is so obedient at times, yet he would hate to hear that. For the first time today you get a glimpse of his face now, the pink of his tongue poking out slightly between his lips, his hakama pants hanging unfastened from his hips, his cock resting heavy on his thigh when he leans back.

“The shirt, too,” you demand. “Take it off.”

“Nah, too many buttons,” Naoya huffs and grips his cock again, making sure to angle it just right at the camera. Oh, how he wished you were on your knees before him right now. All the ways he’d mess you up. 

“Then pull it up at least. C’mon, put it in your mouth like I do it for you sometimes,” you coax him in your sweetest, sultriest voice. “I know you can be a good boy for me.”

Naoya’s hips yerk up slightly at the praise and he lets out a shaky breath, clearly trying to restrain himself from coming too fast. His resilience is crumbling so easily at the sight of your pretty face and he hastily grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up, biting down on it to keep the fabric from sliding down again. One nice side effect of this was that with his mouth stuffed, he would shut up for once. 

“Mmm, yes. That’s it, so good, aren’t you?” you coo and have Naoya gripping his cock tighter, his movements getting sloppy. His abs contracted with every jerk of his hand, and soon he was whining and panting, legs spread apart so beautifully for your perfect view. 

“Are you gonna cum for me, baby?”, you ask while grinding against your pillow, mesmerized by the sight on your display. Seeing a man like Naoya falter so easily at your words alone has you feeling a certain kind of arousal, pooling right in your stomach. 

It makes you want to wreck him entirely. 

Naoya nods and whimpers, using his free hand to play with his nipple piercing, all while his other pumps himself into a higher sphere. His hips are bucking and precum is drooling from his pink tip, making a mess out of him and amplifying the lewd sounds. 

He doesn’t last long, and when he cums thick white ropes fall onto his stomach, his mouth hanging agape. His cheeks are flushed and he mewls while he keeps stroking himself, milking every last drop out of him while chanting your name in a needy voice.

This. This might be your favorite sight ever. 

“Such a good boy. So good for me. Now bend over for me, hm? Show’s not over yet.”

[imagine-darksiders]

Anon ,this was so beautiful and eloquently written, Golgoth my new BELOVED!

You have a real talent for writing, and I hope you continue to do so! Taking your advice and copying your story so I can put it under a 'read more.'

The original writing prompt

Below was written by Anon, please give it a read if you have the time, it's very good and wholesome!

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

Of all the universal truths, the inevitable realities that bleed down the bloodline of mankind, this one you know for certain: the strong oppress the weak.

Unfortunately for you, the latter best describes your tribe.

But what can you expect from humble fishers and farmers? From women weavers and little toddling weaners? An army born and raised to conquer and defend? A fortress as formidable as the Cahaya mountain that looms over your little valley?

One wishes it were so in times such as have been.

But wishing does nothing to keep the small band of Vulkars from randomly raiding your village, taking what little harvest is left and leaving with more and more of your people.

Now, with only a fortnight before the first frost, there remains only the dying elderly, the weather-worn mothers with their babes still suckingly their breasts, the frail and feeble children, and you.

The only young virgin to be left behind. 

Since many years ago, fire had burned the right side of your face and neck, claiming both that eye and what beauty you had. None were at fault. It was fate alone that cursed you.

And because of your curse, when you reached marrying age, none would have you.

But as there are two sides to your face, there are two sides to your curse, and in spite of the shame you feel, you are grateful it has spared you the doom of your tribal sisters at the hand of the Vulkars.

Only now it seems a far more despairing doom lies before you. 

For last night, it was agreed among the elders that if the tribe was to survive the winter, much less another Vulkar raid, there was only one hope left, only one who could save them. 

Golgoth, the god of war and blood.

There is not much that you, or anyone else, knows about Golgoth. Your tribe trifles not with higher beings. Only in times of greatest need does your people call upon them, requesting aid in exchange for the offering required. 

Golgoth is no different.

Inscribed in one of the stone tablets that has been preserved through the generations, there is a passage that speaks of how to summon Golgoth. The ancient language is known only by a few elders, and even then, not all is easily understood. But they have interpreted tells that one must give their hand in blood in return for his aid. 

So it was decided that one should travel to the peak of Cahaya to perform the ritual, seeing how the mountain stood nearest to the heavens and its distance from the village would improve its chance of escaping the god’s wrath should he find the sacrifice displeasing.  

And of all those left who could be chosen, it was you. 

Because of course it was. The elderly are too feeble to make the journey, and the children likewise. As for the able-boodied mothers, they have already given themselves to a man and are no longer innocent.

And everyone knows that war lusts most for innocent blood.

“There is no other option,” they told you.

And you know they are right.

It is why you willingly spent the waning hours of darkness repeating the summoning spell, committing the foreign words to memory. 

(Each repetition a strand in the rope wrapping around your neck.)

It is why at daybreak, despite your aged mother’s tearful begging for you, her only daughter, to abandon the task, you turned your back to her.

(She never saw the tear sliding down the pale of your cheek.)

It is why you swallow back your hunger and thirst, pushing yourself to keep pace as you climb higher and higher up the mountain.

(No need to pack provisions when you will not live past dusk.) 

You repeat the weighty words under your breath as you ascend, only for them to be drowned by the howling of the wind. 

You cannot afford to forget them.

You cannot afford to fail. 

Halfway through your journey, the eastern light rises overhead, its heat barely noticeable this high up. The wind hounds you even harder, barking at your heels and biting through your thin skin. Without the thick, white fur of the eshoka covering you from head to foot, you would perish before you could make it to the top.

But make it to the top you do, collapsing face down onto the ground, weary to the bone.

Up here snow has already fallen. Though its powdery flakes cushion your exhausted body, their chill does little to comfort you. At least you do not feel it on your disfigured cheek.

Sleep beckons you, and though you know it seduces you to your death, still it tempts you.

After all, you are destined to die here anyway.

Only when you remember the lives at stake- of your precious mother, of the struggling survivors, of those enslaved and tortured by the Vulkars- only then do you find the strength to sit up and face your fate. The western light hangs just above the horizon before you, painting you in its deep red rays.  

With frostbitten fingers, you remove your mitten and take the jagged knife from your belt.

You must do it.

They are all counting on you. 

There is no other option. 

. . .

 Breathe in and grip the knife.

. . . 

Press the blade to your right palm.

. . .

Hold the icy air in your lungs, and then . . . 

“A-ah! -a-ah . . . nnn-” you stifle your whimper, though there is no one to hear.

The flesh is numb from the cold, but not numb enough. Tears threaten to blur your only seeing eye, but you blink them back and force your eye open, exposing it to the stinging wind. 

You look. The cut trails from your pointer to your wrist. Down runs your bright red lifeforce, dripping onto the snow. 

It’s . . . mesmerizing, in a way.

You take a breath, recentering your focus on the task at hand. Bowing your head, your hair falls over your scarred side like a golden veil. Purple chapped lips utter the powerful words, the swirling wind carrying them to the skies.  "Uzgon Golgoth ver riskle panar." Golgoth, I give my hand for yours.

You hear the wind wailing louder, like a shrill woman shrieking in the air.

"Uzgon Golgoth ver riskle panar."

You lift up your eyes to see ashen clouds blocking out the sun. 

"Uzgon Golgoth ver riskle panar."

You feel colder, though from lack of light or blood loss, you cannot tell. Trepidation grips your heart in its fangs, squeezing what little strength you have from you, until your voice weakens to a whisper. You wish the snow would swallow you whole.

"Uzgon . . . G-golgoth ver- ver riskle . . . p-panar . . ."

Static prickles your skin . . . he is coming.

"Uzg-g-gon-"

A crack of lightning descends a few measures across from you and you shriek, flailing onto your back.

You lie for a moment, stunned from the shock but otherwise unharmed.

Groaning, you push yourself up on your uncut hand, the other clutched close to your chest. You squint with your good eye, your scarred one still hidden beneath your hair. Your vision finally focuses and then . . .

. . . your heart stops. 

Before you stands a being unlike anything you have ever seen before. 

He is as tall as he is wide, with legs and arms thicker than your entire body, and shoulders as broad as two barrels. Most of him is dressed in coal-colored leather and adorned with animal skulls, teeth, and other bones. What is not covered reveals reddish skin.  

Yet it is not his imposing figure that draws your attention, but his bowed head.

Hair as dark as dried blood, thick and shaggy, wraps around his jaw to his ears, while the rest runs down the neck like a mane. His ears are pointier than any humans, though not as pointed as the two bull horns above them. Stranger yet, an animal skull rests atop his crown, its boney jaw attached to his protruding one. The skull’s four large fangs frame his face, while his own mouth sports its own two small tusks.

For all that resembles a human, he feels more beast than man to you.

Meanwhile you feel little more than a twig to be stepped on, or prey to be snatched and torn to shreds. Like prey, a primal part of you believes that if you do not move, he will not see you.

But of course, that sliver of hope is stripped from you as he lifts his head.

His eyes  . . . they are filled with living flames, burning bright like firelight . . . 

 . . .  and they are staring right at you.

You stare back, frozen from fear and the frigid air. You notice not how the wind has dwindled to a soft breeze, nor how your nails dig into your open skin. You are wholly consumed by his otherworldly gaze.

The silence, tense and terrifying, remains untouched until . . .

“Urtz-baugsh-detsh fileen . . .” he mutters, his hushed voice as deep as- no, deeper than thunder.

His speech sounds similar to the ancient tongue you just used, but its meaning is unknown to you, thus you utter nothing back. You are not sure you could even if you wanted to.

The giant god thumps a fist against his chest and speaks again, clearly addressing you, “Bsktly oogn py fnells shishtar Golgoth.”

Again, you give no reply.

Bushy brows furrow for a moment, then his eyes widen. He shakes his head and mumbles more ancient words, perhaps with an . . . annoyed tone?

“Forgive me,” he speaks, now in your language, yet you flinch, “you spake in that tongue, I assumed you knew it. I see I was wrong. Do you understand now?”

You find your voice still has not returned, so you nod. 

Golgoth’s eyes brighten at that, his features relaxing. In fact, it almost appears as though he is . . . smiling. It's . . . not as malicious as you imagined a smile from the god of war and death would be.

“AH! Very good! I shall speak it again,” he says, thumping a fist once more, his chest bulging forward. “HARK! Here stands I, Golgoth.” 

You are well aware of that, though part of you seems hesitant to believe that this is the real Golgoth.

For surely the real Golgoth, god of war and blood, would scowl and demand you bend to his will with a bellowing voice that would blast you to dust. 

Yet . . . this Golgoth does nothing but stand patiently, awaiting a reply or reaction. 

When both your silence and awe-struck terror do not change, he prompts you with, “Who stands before me?” Then stroking his beard, he adds thoughtfully, “Though should I say lies before me . . .” 

You know not why such a being cares to know your name, but you dare not refuse him. 

You swallow before weakly stuttering it.

He repeats the name, your name, his voice as soft as a mother shushing her newborn.

His mouth widens again, and this time you are certain it is a real, genuine smile. “Do you freely give your hand to me? Do you receive mine in return?”

Your heart quivers, yet you cannot have him doubt your sincerity. You stiffly move to sit on your knees, shifting the snow. You present your bloody blue fingertips. 

“I do,” you quietly, but steadily reply.

His brows raise. “AH HA! I see you have already prepared your hand for binding.” Before you can panic over having misstepped, he continues, “I too am just as eager, for long have I awaited this day.”

Golgoth takes one hulking step forward and bends his knee to the earth, like a great tree falling in the forest. You tremble under his focus, his brow pinched as he strokes his beard again. You hold your breath. 

“Hm, you are quite small. You cannot become bigger, can you?” he asks.

You blink. “n….no?”

“Then I shall become smaller,” he decides, closing his eyes.

And then . . . to your complete and utter bafflement . . . Golgoth begins to shrink, his mammoth body growing smaller and smaller, until he’s but the size of a large man. Though his new height does not make him any less intimidating, you do feel less like you are about to be squashed.

He opens his eyes again, the flames inside dancing with mirth and mischief. “You did not know I could do that, did you?”

You snap your mouth shut and dip your head, abashed.

“HA! In time, you will find all that I can do.” he says, but as mysterious as his words are, you pay them no mind.

Your attention is drawn to his hands (both still twice the size of yours). With the tip of his right finger, sharper than a talon, he presses into the flesh of his other palm. Tough, leathery skin, like the bark of a tree, punctures under its deadly point. 

Out oozes his blood, thicker than yours and bright as sickle wine. Distracted by the sight, you do not see Golgoth reaching for your wounded hand. You yelp in surprise, then bite your tongue, forcing yourself not to pull away. 

Though you doubt you could; his grip is gentler than you’d expected, but firm enough you cannot escape.

“One drop. One soul. One eternity,” he rumbles, holding his fist over yours.

You watch helplessly as a drop of his blood falls into your open flesh.

First you gasp . . . 

. . . and then you scream.

Fire is no stranger to you. You will never forget the feel of its flames on your face. But this . . . this fire viciously racing through your veins, melting your muscles, searing your sinews, burning within your very bones . . . 

This is not a fire you will survive. 

Yet your heart continues to pump wildly, mixing his boiling blood with your own, drowning you in wave after wave of agony. 

You need it to consume you. 

You need the fire to turn you to ash. 

You need it to end.

And end it does, though slowly, settling like the deep water after a storm. The fire ebbs and flows, until it fades to a candle’s flame, and you are left on the shore, struggling to breathe in raw, ragged breaths.

But you are breathing. 

You are alive.

And you are no longer cold. 

“Finally . . .” sighs Golgoth, his voice vibrating through your whole being, bringing back your awareness.

Though your blood still simmers, you regain your bearings and look up at him. His fiery eyes flicker in time with your heartbeat. Their glow burns with an emotion so raw and passionate, you must be imagining it.

“Now your blood is mine,” he hums, the seal of your fate.“You are mine.”

Your heart quickens, which you attribute to fear . . . until you feel the curve of your ears warming. 

You glance down, thankful he cannot see them. You do not dwell on the cause, however, as your gaze lands on your cut. The wound . . . it has closed, and while still smeared with blood, it is little more than a pink line that will surely scar.

You will mind it not, for what harm is there in one more?

Curious to see if Golgoth’s wound has healed likewise, you look just in time to catch him . . . well . . .

. . . licking it. 

He notices your gaze and freezes, his broad, bovine-like tongue stuck to his hand like a youngling tasting an icicle. Eyes wide, your ears heat once more. Gologth pulls back his tongue and gives you a cheeky grin, his lidded eyes burning a deeper orange.

“Do you wish me to lick yours as well?” he asks and- oh, oh dear!

Your cheeks, they flush fiercely at that, but you just as aggressively shake your head no.

Golgoth throws his head back and bellows out with booming laughter, causing you to recoil as much as you can with your hand still in his.

“HA! You are a shy one!” he exclaims, grinning from pointed ear to pointed ear. He leans in close, the scent of blood strengthens from distinct to staggering.  A hand starts to reach for your face. “I like that you are shy.”

His words are lost on you, for the moment the tip of his claws brush the hair covering your scar, you jerk your head away, eyes squeezed shut.

“W-wait! Please . . . . do not touch . . .” you plead.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” Golgoth speaks plainly. “I will not harm you.”

But for the first time since you’ve met him, harm is not what you fear. 

You pray that he will pry no further and allow you to make your request before he has a chance to see your curse, but you do not know who to pray to, and it is too late to learn.

His hand reaches again. You resist not, for you have not the strength, nor the wish to offend. He turns your face toward him once more. You keep your eyes shut, bracing yourself as you feel him push your hair back. His claws cradle your head with care.

“AH! I see you have a scar.” He observes, though without disdain in his tone. His thumb ghosts over your scarred flesh, sending a shiver through you. You purse your lips, awaiting his verdict.

“And what a beautiful scar it is,” he says.

Or so you hear him say, but you must have heard wrong. No one would ever deem your scar beautiful, much less a god like him. But . . .  just to make sure . . .

Your eyelids flutter, peering up at him.

“You . . . you find it . . . beautiful?”

“I do.” he affirms confidently, then tilts his head. “Do you not find it so?”

“I . . . I do not.” You glance down at the snow as shameful memories surface. “All have found it gross or . . . hideous to look upon . . .”

“HA! All are wrong!” Golgoth proclaims with gusto. 

He tilts your head up until you meet his fiery gaze. It flares intensely, yet with a warmth that reminds you of summer nights, when your tribe dances around the great blaze. Ever since you felt it’s ruthless ire you have kept your distance, too afraid to step near. 

But for the first time . . .

. . . you do not fear the flame.

“Your scar is full of beauty and bravery,” says Golgoth, staring at you not with disgust or pity, but adoration. “Burning fire could not consume you, and though it has made its claim, you live on, for your heart is strong. It beats like the heart of a warrior.” 

He leans closer still, his breath warming the air between you. “Wear your scar proudly, my soosha.”

His words whirlwind around you, bewildering and overwhelming you, but it is the last word that confuses you most.

“Soosha?” you repeat, oblivious to how he watches it fall from your lips. “What . . . what does that mean?”

Golgoth’s smile quirks in a queer manner. “In your tongue it means wife.”

For one blissful breath, you blink ignorantly at him.

Only for your next breath to be whisked out of you as the word sinks like stone into your stomach. 

“You . . . you mean to say that I . . . I- I am your wife?” you barely whisper.

But Golgoth’s words ring loud, proud, and with horrifying honesty. “You are, have no doubt! 

“I- I don’t understand. H-how? When?!” You stammer, your hands shaking.

“By blood binding,” he answers, his smile dropping, “but a moment ago.”

Staring at the snow, your vision swims as bile builds within your throat. You are unable to breathe, much less believe it to be true. Trying to make sense of this revelation only increases the nauseating horror enveloping you.

“You were not aware of what you were doing, were you?”

You glance up to see him frowning at you.

Fear seizes your tongue, spurring it to fly for its life. “I- I was not!  I- . . . I- I thought . . . the inscription said that to ask for your hand was to ask for your aid. I did not know that . . . what it truly meant was . . . I-I . . . I am sorry, Golgoth. P-please do not be angry with me!” you beg, bowing your head, expecting the hand still cradling it to crush it in displeasure.

Instead it withdraws, slowly and carefully, and though greatly relieved, something quite small inside you misses its touch.

“I am not angry,” he says calmly, the warmth of his voice reduced to cold, quiet embers. “I am disappointed.”

Your surprise is so great, you find yourself meekly inquiring, “Why? I-if I may ask . . .”

“I left that tablet with your people thousands of moons ago, when you still spoke that tongue,” Golgoth replies, his tone revealing how unspeakably ancient he is. “I offered my hand to any of your kind that would take it. My desire was that the one to give her hand in return would do so freely of her own choice.”

“But . . . you are a god? Could you not take her by force?” you dare prod further.

Golgoth stares solemnly at his hand. “Yes, I could take her. I am used to taking. And I watch over those who take. They take life, take blood, take earth and rock and river.” He squeezes his fist until his knuckles give out a sickening crunch. “But this is the one thing I wish not to take. It must be given, and it must be given willingly and knowingly.”

His smoldering eyes turn to you, then shut. “You were willing . . . but you did not know.”

“I know it now!” you exclaim, desperately thrusting your open palms at him. “I willingly give you my hand if . . . i-if you will fulfill my request.”

While you know you have no bargaining power, it is the only way you can still save your people.

Golgoth takes your wounded hand in his . . . yet his eyes open not.

“You have already given your hand,” he says, tracing your cut as if it were an insect's wing. He clasps your hand between his. “Nothing can break the binding, save only your death.”

But your death matters not, nor your fate as Golgoth’s wife.

Only the death of your people matters.

And there is nothing more you can do.

You have failed.

Bitterness and shame well up within your chest, and when your eye begins to mist, you close it tight to keep tear from escaping. 

But as you bite your treacherously trembling lip, you flinch, feeling a hand against your unmarred cheek. A thumb presses under your eye until it opens. Your sorrow seeps from it and is kindly swept away by the same thumb.

Though your sight is distorted, the warm smile on his face shines as bright as the sun.

“But I will hear your request, and fulfill it as I am able,” says Golgoth.

Your mouth opens, yet you are speechless. 

He asks for nothing in return, and he owes you no debt. You are nothing but a mortal who unknowingly bound herself to a god. His offer is beyond generous.

But your marveling at such a miracle can wait, you must not press his patience. 

You lick your cracked lips, your voice wet and wavering. “I-its . . . it’s my- my tribe. We have been raided and- and captured by the Vulkars. Those left cannot survive if they are not destroyed. Please . . . destroy the Vulkars and free my people. That . . . that is my request.”

“And so it shall be done!” he nods, firm and full of fire once more.

Golgoth lets you go and reaches for his neck. He unclasps a cape from his shoulders, one you had not noticed in your observation of him. Though the thick, black canvas looks more like a hut cover than clothing.

You stiffen as he reaches behind you and pulls the cape around you. Hunching into yourself, you suspect he’s going to cover you, but all he does is set it on your shoulders. You grab it, pulling it to cover your front.

It’s almost uncomfortably heavy, and it smells horrendous, but . . . inside, that strange small something finds the gesture a little . . . sweet. 

Golgoth groans, heaving himself to his feet. You grip your new blanket as you watch him grow back to his gargantuan height. But the fear you feel is not nearly as strong as before.

“Stay here and rest,” says Golgoth, stretching his neck taut on either side, the vertebrae popping unpleasantly.  “I shall be back before sunrise.”

And with that he walks away, his footsteps stomping snow and stone in his wake. Staring at his back, you find your voice, though it is so soft, you fear the wind will carry it away before he hears. 

“Golgoth . . .”

Yet he stops, turning his questioning glance over his shoulder. You stare at the ground, twisting the fabric between your fingers. You speak shyly, but sincerely.

“You have my gratitude . . . .” 

“HA! I have no need for it.” he smirks, thumping a fist against his chest. “I will do anything for my soosha.” 

He then turns and marches down the mountain, leaving you with that bold declaration of devotion . . . and mixed feelings.

Gratitude and relief, are the strongest of them. Though you have no reason to be, you are confident that Gologth will carry out his word. 

Your people, your family . . . they will be saved. 

They will survive the winter. 

You have succeeded.

Yet, it has come with a cost. 

A cost you know not the extent of yet.

Fear of the future that lies before you weighs as heavy within you as the weariness of your journey. Seeking comfort, or perhaps consolidation, you consider his treatment of you thus far. 

Of his careful caresses, his gentle gestures, his . . . other expressions of emotions, and most especially of his address of your scarred appearance.

Tenderly, you touch the pink, uneven flesh, the soft color bleeding over to your cheek.

No one- neither friend or enemy- has ever called it beautiful.

No one that is except Golgoth, god of war and blood, and . . . . 

 . . . and your husband.

[tribbetherium]

The falcyons, once the dominant aerial predators of HP-02017 in the Therocene and Glaciocene, which preyed upon both grounded prey and other flyers, have seen a significant level of decline since the coming of the pterodents, some of which filled large, soaring scavenger, seagoer and migratory forager niches and thus gradually pushed the falcyons aside. Yet the falcyons, despite the competition, are doing quite well even in the Middle Temperocene, thanks to a fairly recent adaptive radiation at the Temperocene's dawn that allowed them to claim new niches and make a living in a changed world.

Some, such as the eastern Gestaltian triathler (Triathlopteryx gestaltis) have become generalists, taking advantage of any food source they can find. Triathlers, in particular, gained particular success thanks to being good runners, flyers, and swimmers all at the same time, allowing them to seek food in the sea, on the shore, or in the air, snatching up any small prey they can grab in their jaws in a wide variety of environments that reduces the pressure of competition. Hunting insects and wingles in the air, shrish and pescopods in the water, and small crustaceans and mollusks on the shore, triathlers such have many options and no shortage of available food should seasonal availabilities of one prey item come and go. Nesting in cliffside rookeries by the hundreds, even thousands, triathlers boast precocial young that can hunt on land within a few weeks, even while still under their parents' care, but still have to learn, through imitation and experience, the skills required for the air and sea.

Not all the falcyons, however, are as versatile, but are much more specialized in one specific medium. The swift airstrike (Velocipteramys aerovenatrix) is notable for its aerial prowess, able to dive-bomb its prey at incredible force and speed. Easily one of the fastest flyers, the airstrike specializes on hunting smaller flying ratbats, knocking them from the sky with such power that they are instantly stunned or killed upon impact, which the airstrike then snatches up midair. They live and hunt in mated pairs, with the female the larger of the two, as the smaller male can take on smaller but more-agile aerial prey and thus reduce competition with his mate during the breeding season, when she needs far more calories than he does.

On the other hand, the ground pterrier (Terranyctocyon ambulus) is, conversely, a far more terrestrial species. While a perfectly capable flier, it instead greatly prefers to hunt on the ground, or in trees, chasing down squizzels, furbils, duskmice and small rattiles in grounded pursuit, before pouncing upon them to pin them with its wing-claws and dispatch them with a bite. Ground pterriers rarely take wing unless threatened or provoked, or when traveling longer distances to find new hunting grounds, mostly preferring to roam on foot while foraging.

While fierce acrobats in the air, falcyons, like many ratbats, are more vulnerable on the ground, and thus the reason even the more ground-dwelling ones are still capable at flight. They are at their most exposed during the time when they are nesting: as pterriers and their relatives build their nests on the ground in hidden dens concealed by overlying plants, where their young, not flighted until they are several months old, remain. One of the pterrier's relatives, the wounded bloodwing (Erythropteryx pseudosanguis), has developed a peculiar strategy to protect its young: females possess bright red marks on the dorsal surface of their wings, hidden when folded and walking. If a predator is in the vicinity of the nest, however, the mother bloodwing will make a display where she pretends to be injured, flashing the red mark on her wing and making distressed sounded cries and limping motions to create the illusion of an easy prey. This is all a ruse, however, to lead the threat far away from the nest, and once she reaches a save distance she drops the act and flies off, leaving the confused enemy in the dust.

Among the largest and fiercest of the Temperocene falcyons, however, is the skewering harpshrike (Phobocynonyctus crucifigere), with a wingspan of up to five-and-a-half feet. Native to arid desert or semidesert regions of South Ecatoria, this unique species is remarkable for being a larger-scale predator able to tackle small hamtelopes, podotheres and zingos on occasion, which it then stores away in a grisly fashion: a larder of thorny trees, with the impaled half-eaten, dried carcasses of small animals hanging from their branches. But perhaps its most unusual feature is its rather canine-like head bearing facial markings that, by coincidental convergence, came to eerily resemble those of the sapient calliducyons: earning the harpshrike a place in their folklore as "person-headed flying monsters" notorious for occasionally snatching up unwary pups who stray too far from their parents.

----------

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for breaking up with my boyfriend because I caught feelings for someone else? Context: I (26 F) had a boyfriend (28 M) of nearly 5 years. We met at the end of my college career and instantly hit it off. We moved in together not that long after we started dating, and things were great. A bit over a year ago, my boyfriend got a new job that requires him to travel a lot. We managed fine for a while, but him being gone for long stretches of time did put a bit of a strain on our relationship. I feel the need to clarify now that I have never had any suspicions of him being unfaithful during his travels. Despite the distance, he continued to be as sweet to me as the day we started dating. We used to do a lot of face time calls when able to, and he would take me out on date nights when he was home. So, at first, it wasn’t too bad. But as time continued, he got busier and busier with his job and had less time to face time me. Well, around 6 or 7 months ago, I ran into an old friend from high school. She (27 F) and I were practically inseparable in high school, but we’d grown apart after we both left for college. It was such a pleasant surprise to learn that she’d recently moved to my area. We’ve spent a lot of time catching up and hanging out in my free time, and she fit in with my friends super well. It was nice to have her as a friend again, especially when I was dealing the physical distance of my boyfriend. She’s honestly so incredibly wonderful and amazing. I really do care deeply about her. Back in high school when we were both single, we were far more affectionate with each other, but since we’ve reconnected she’s actually been super respectful of my boundaries as someone in a relationship. I know that’s the bare minimum but it really does make me happy that she was conscious of that. About a month ago, I got hit with the realization that, somewhere along the line, my feelings for my boyfriend had faded, and I had developed feelings for my friend. The moment I had this realization was when I was sick with a pretty bad cold, and she came over to my place to drop off soup to make sure I had at least something that would make me feel better. After she left, I was left with an immense feeling of guilt. Because suddenly I realized that I had very strong feelings for her, and because I suddenly realized that I may have unknowingly been emotionally cheating on my boyfriend. Of course, the next time he came home from work, I broke the news to him that I felt like we weren’t working out. He was devastated, and I feel really bad, but I feel like it would’ve been worse if I had stayed in the relationship even knowing I had feelings for someone else.

I haven't even brought up my feelings to my friend yet. Because I feel like it would be unfair to my ex-boyfriend to immediately get into another relationship, and also because I think maybe I should allow myself to be single for a while. But I still can’t help but feel like I’m the asshole for essentially emotionally cheating on him. So, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[skeletonh0e]

hihihi!! I was wondering if I could a request for an Underfell Sans x backstage crew member reader and they're dating Fell Sans and it's play season? thank you!

Comin' right up!

Gender neutral reader, left the type of band that the reader works for vague lmao

Underfell Sans x Backstage Crew Reader!

First impression? A certified "nice"

Depending on the band, he night actually get into some of the music but that's something he can be surprisingly picky about

Listens when you tell him about it, certainly beats his job.

Which granted his job is sitting on his ass all day but still!

Once play period starts, he's most than impressed by the level of dedication that the entire thing takes

A lazy bones like him could never

Speaking of, if there's ever the type of boyfriend to convince you to take breaks or slack off its him. But that's him with any job.

He actually will hang around backstage with you if he's allowed and you don't mind, he won't cause any trouble just does the typical Sans shit, sits, watches, occasionally gives snarky comments or naps

If your job requires you to travel and travel long distances at that well....he does have shortcuts

Obviously he can't always be with you in those circumstances despite that, he can pop in for a bit thanks to short cuts but yeah lol can't really do that 24/7 (bro doesn't have THAT much energy especially if you are really far away)

Pretends not to miss you but he does

Grumpily lays on your side of the bed, eyes glued to his phone as if waiting for when you'll call or text

Which yeah please text him

He won't say it out loud but he'll appreciate some dumbass jokes, a selfie or just hearing from you in general

Feels like he'll be the type to pull something like

Red: "you workin'?"

Y/N: "Yeah"

Red: "don't text at work dumbass"

Very cuddly anytime you get back or he does short cut to visit you for a bit, also a lot more....handsy than normal

He's glad you like your job but he'll be so happy once play season is over, you belong on his lap with him better than anywhere else, in his always correct opinion of course

[mysticstronomy]

HOW FAST DOES LIGHT TRAVEL??

Blog#395

Wednesday, April 24th, 2024.

Welcome back,

The speed of light traveling through a vacuum is exactly 299,792,458 meters (983,571,056 feet) per second. That's about 186,282 miles per second — a universal constant known in equations as "c," or light speed.

According to physicist Albert Einstein's theory of special relativity, on which much of modern physics is based, nothing in the universe can travel faster than light.

The theory states that as matter approaches the speed of light, the matter's mass becomes infinite. That means the speed of light functions as a speed limit on the whole universe. The speed of light is so immutable that, according to the U.S. National Institute of Standards and Technology, it is used to define international standard measurements like the meter (and by extension, the mile, the foot and the inch).

Through some crafty equations, it also helps define the kilogram and the temperature unit Kelvin.

But despite the speed of light's reputation as a universal constant, scientists and science fiction writers alike spend time contemplating faster-than-light travel. So far no one's been able to demonstrate a real warp drive, but that hasn't slowed our collective hurtle toward new stories, new inventions and new realms of physics.

A light-year is the distance that light can travel in one year — about 6 trillion miles (10 trillion kilometers). It's one way that astronomers and physicists measure immense distances across our universe.

Light travels from the moon to our eyes in about 1 second, which means the moon is about 1 light-second away. Sunlight takes about 8 minutes to reach our eyes, so the sun is about 8 light minutes away. Light from Alpha Centauri, which is the nearest star system to our own, requires roughly 4.3 years to get here, so Alpha Centauri is 4.3 light-years away.

"To obtain an idea of the size of a light-year, take the circumference of the Earth (24,900 miles), lay it out in a straight line, multiply the length of the line by 7.5 (the corresponding distance is one light-second), then place 31.6 million similar lines end to end," NASA's Glenn Research Center says on its website. "The resulting distance is almost 6 trillion (6,000,000,000,000) miles!"

Stars and other objects beyond our solar system lie anywhere from a few light-years to a few billion light-years away. And everything astronomers "see" in the distant universe is literally history. When astronomers study objects that are far away, they are seeing light that shows the objects as they existed at the time that light left them.

Originally published on https://www.space.com

COMING UP!!

(Saturday, April 27th, 2024)

"HOW WAS OUR SOLAR SYSTEM CREATED??"

[crow-aeris]

So i’ve been thinking (shocking, really) about the world building for my reverse robins wingfic.

ike, sure, it’s a little fic and ppl prolly won’t notice, but i just cant help but speculate.

in this au, everyone is born with wings unless afflicted with a certain illness, disease, or genetic defect that leaves you with no avian traits (which is the excuse the kents use).

but how would having wings influence the infrastructure? well, i’m glad you asked! cities are more compact because there isn’t really as big a need for transportation unless you’re an aves that’s just not built for long-distance travels like various passeriformes birds.

planes still exist, but they’re utilized by the avians who aren’t able to fly long distances. avians who have wings like albatrosses or terns or other soaring birds would probably require licenses to do their annual migrations and travels- same applies to regualr migritory species like ducks and geese- where the instinct remains despite not needing to migrate.

of course, with the constant migration through countries, i think there would be more mixing of races and ethnicities especially within the migratory bird communities, so there would probably be less overall hostilities.

now, there will still be discriminatory and hateful ideals, and some are shown in my fics. For example, Gotham’s elites are mostly made up of raptors and birds of prey like eagles, kites, kestrels, hawks, falcons, ospreys, owls, etc- birds who actively hunt down mammalian or lizards for prey (in the real world i mean), that is because of displays of powers. Scavengers like condors, vultures, buzzards, are regarded lower on the social ladder but not as low as perching birds and song birds simply because of their ability to have sustained flight.

like i mentioned briefly, songbirds and perching birds (passerines) are regarded lowly in general due to their “weak demeanor” and overall flashiness, which gives them the reputation of being only suitable to work in brothels and such regardless of gender (but especially dudes where the aves species exhibits sexual dimorphism, eg. cardinals, peacocks, golden pheasants, etc.)

there are definitely some exceptions, being corvids. some cultures have corvids as villans, whereas others may portray corvids as intelligent and charming.

now, we arrive to genetics. im still not 100% sure how i want the phenotype of an avian to be passed down. so far, it’s mainly just sons are the same aves as their fathers (like thomas wayne, bruce, and damian are all harpy eagles, but martha wayne was a kingfisher and talia is an imperial eagle), but im not sure abt daughters. genetics is messy, but i think i’ve managed to sertle on a 50/50 chance of being born either the same aves as their mother, or their paternal grandmother. like if damian had been born with xx instead of xy chromosomes, then he’d either have been an imperial eagle like talia, or a kingfisher like martha wayne. intersex people exist too, and i think their wings would be a blend between both their mother and father’s.

now for the the supers and the other metas:

as mentioned previously, the kents claim that their adopted son had a genetic disorder that basically prevented him from growing wings (or just left him in a state similar to humans before they were all “cursed” by a diety to have wings, or whatever. in the dcu, that probably woulnd’t even be too far fetched), so clark lacked a major social component to his childhood. without wings and a tail, others would have a harder time reading his emotions, seeing as these appendages are crucial in nonverbal communication between avians, and that gives clark a leg up in reading other people, but having them not understanding what he’s thinking.

now with jon and kon, they have two VERY different situations. for jon, since his paternal side is wings-free, i just gave him lois’s ave- western kingbird- instead of making him no-winged. kon, on the other hand was a test-tube baby, so it was a toss-up on whether he’d get lex luthor’s purple martin wings, or clark’s no-wings since they’re both guys. I think kon would’ve enjoyed wings, so i gave him the purple martin wings. Plus, they’re pretty much invulnerable, and their wings are no different.

diana and the other ppl from themyscira wouldn’t have wings since they aren’t human, and same applies to the other jl members who aren’t humans.

on a wholly separate note: the lazarus pits. here, not only does it give you white streaks in your hair, it’ll bleach out your feathers. so liek if a peacock was thrown into the pit, not only would they die and come back manic, their feathers would make them look like piebald, or have different markings or white ticking.

anyways, that’s the end of my long post, and i hope yall enjoyed listening to me speculate and talk about birds and my silly little guys!!

[syrakhanistan]

((Let’s talk about time-stops; or, “Why the Rule of Cool trumps proper logic in fiction”…

Before we begin, here’s a fun fact: The Earth moves around the Sun at roughly 67,000 mph (107,000 km/h) - or, about 18.5 miles a second.

When we see time stopping abilities in fiction, from Sakuya Izayoi and DIO to Akemi Homura and Esdeath, the viewer is often expected to say “Oh, holy cow, that’s cool!” (no pun intended in Esdeath’s case). What is often not discussed, for reasons that will become obvious, is the mechanics behind what a time-stop is, how it would work, and what happens during and after it.

Let’s take DIO’s The World from JJBA. After activating “THE WORLD!”, the viewer witnesses a perfect sphere expand from the vampire’s Stand. Despite the dramatic look of the expanding colour change, the World’s stated range of attack is roughly 10 metres (the length of an average bus, or the height of a three-story building); while the actual encompassing distance of The World’s ability are not stated (even though the show seems to show it affecting at least the entire river and bridge area during the final fight of the third season), so let’s just assume it’s 10 metres cubed (10m^3).

For comparison, and more relevance to my work on this site, let’s look at the far more vague abilities of Akemi Homura, another famous time-stopper in fiction. When Homura twists her shield in one direction, time is stopped. This sentence is relatively simple, but rather more complex to explain. For example, we say time is stopped - but for a few moments after the time-stop, objects still remain in motion (for example, any bullets that have been fired just prior to activation). Similarly, anything that Akemi Homura is in direct contact with is not affected by the time-stop - from her clothes and weapons, to other people (“Don't let go of my hand, Kyoko, or else you're gonna freeze along with time”, while fighting Oktavia von Seckendorf).

However, while Araki is somewhat vague in exact details in JJBA, his words seem almost scientific compared to that of Madoka Magica in this circumstance. For example, a common question is “At what point does Homura’s ‘contact’ end? In the Walpurgisnacht fight, does her contact affect falling skyscrapers? What about when her feet touch the ground - does she affect the entire planet?”.

These questions, while valid, aren’t even the tip of the iceberg. For example - air. Air, while invisible to the human eye, is comprised of atoms and molecules (predominantly nitrogen and oxygen); but there is still space between those very, VERY small objects. Homura’s ability cannot be simply based on “contact” - otherwise she would find herself quickly unable to breathe (although strictly speaking, this is unnecessary for a magical girl given their unique physical condition).

This extends to other things; for example, sight and sound. Sight is, very generally speaking, when photo-receptive cells in the eye receive light (photons of very-small-effect electromagnetic properties), which triggers a nerve reaction that gives information to the brain; similarly, sounds are based on waves (vibrations through air-particles). If time has truly stopped, then what of sight and sound? The implications of a time-stop not affecting particles or electromagnetic radiation would be intriguing; at what point would a time-stop decide when and where a particle is required to stop? What particles does it say can continue to travel? If all particles and waves in a time stop cease to function, Homura would be left effectively blind - or, slightly more likely, her vision would remain in exactly the same spot while her body would still be able to move, leading to an extremely disorienting experience (let alone the fact that balance in the human body is predominantly based on motion within the ear canal - which, again, is based on air particles (put very simply)).

On a slightly grander scale, in most time-stop scenarios, there is also the issue of locale. Let’s say that there’s a distance or perception limit; maybe DIO can only stop time within a 10 metre sphere, or maybe Homura can only stop time within a certain area of her capability to perceive things. This means that this cross-section of things has their time stopped - but nothing else is. After the time stop ends, the user and their affected area would suddenly and swiftly find themselves quite possibly thousands of miles away from the Earth, alongside it’s gravitational pull and atmosphere. The incoming pressure due to a sudden vacuum would likely obliterate everything within the area - let alone the fact that, due to the previously mentioned extreme speed the Earth orbits the Sun at, the piece of area that has had time-stopped would now be accelerating at roughly the same speed, but without any of the gravitational pull to keep it cohesive. If the pressure from the sudden vacuum didn’t squash the participant, the sudden deceleration meeting accelerating forces would turn the participant into a splatter on a rapidly decomposing windscreen. There’s also the matter of how particles being frozen in such a way and then being smashed back into reality would behave; while not exactly as powerful as the “Baseball at the speed of light” concept, something similar may well happen due to the force and pressure exerted, likely leading to a small amount of nuclear fusion occurring. Again, almost certain obliteration. Even if Homura’s time-stop somehow affects not just a single area, but the Earth itself - the Earth would suddenly find its place in the Solar System massively disrupted. What if it affects the whole Solar System? The Solar System is just one small system of stellar objects within an entire localised area of space within a massive galaxy. The impact would be, quite literally, astronomical.

For the sake of argument, let’s take this further, to the ultimate limits. We don’t exactly know the full true measurements of Homura’s time stop, or most other time-stops. So what if a time-stop affects all of time and space? Let’s say the entire space-time continuum is held in place by a single magical girl. There are SO many laws of physics broken here that it’s genuinely hard to conceive, so let’s start with the one that the Incubators of PMMM are most concerned about - the laws of entropy. A time-stop of all things would include the expansion of the universe (I.E.: the fact that due to time dilation, the Big Bang is technically still ongoing, and the universe is still rapidly expanding). Reality being stopped for LITERALLY ANY SINGLE LENGTH OF TIME would already likely instantly expend more energy than the entire Big Bang itself (an explosion that started the universe within under a Planck-scale duration - 10^-43 of a second, or a zero, a decimal point, thirty-four consecutive zeroes followed by a single one. For comparison, a nanosecond is only 10^-9 of a second…), as the potential energy required to be prevented from occurring in all of reality at the same time for any length of time is likely only a few decimal places off from infinity itself. Any time stop, let alone a true/universal time-stop, also immediately breaks all three of Newton’s Laws, and fundamentally goes against pretty much everything you can understand about physics as a concept.

If a time-stop was even slightly scientifically accurate, the Incubators would be A LOT MORE INTERESTED IN HOMURA than they are in the actual series. Screw magical soul gems helping to slow the heat death of the universe, or creating a deity to control it entirely - you already have a single shield that can do it at a whim.

Oh, and that shield? It can do something EVEN MORE INSANE - it can REVERSE THE FLOW OF TIME ITSELF.

Theoretically, at the most extreme possible place in the universe - just beyond the event-horizon of a singularity in a black hole - time is dilated, leading a slowing in perception, which could theoretically allow you to skip forward incrementally in time. The most extreme thing we know in the universe can only slightly affect time, and can only do it forwards - yet here is a single silver plate of magic that can do that, but better, while also having the ability to functionally reverse time itself.

Also, once more - does Homura’s time-reversal back to the few weeks prior to Walpurgisnacht affect the whole universe, or just Earth, or just Japan, or just Mitakihara?

…I hope you’re starting to see what I’m getting at, here.

Once you begin asking about the logical function of certain things within fiction, particularly within a magic system, the questions quickly escalate to wacky proportions.

It’s the same with other concepts in fiction; for example, most fantasy worlds have everyone speak in the same accent and same language - which is absurd in settings that are supposed to be the size of continents.

The thing is, in fiction, we sometimes have to simplify - otherwise, when thought of at a logical level, things quickly become absurd.

This is the so-called “Rule of Cool”. If something doesn’t make sense in a story’s system of mechanics - just call it magic, and hand-wave it away. Obviously, this doesn’t work for EVERYTHING - a magic system still requires basic functions and rules; but the Rule of Cool allows one to ignore certain minutiae for the simple fact that explaining or trying to understand every single little thing will inevitably lead to a downward spiral that ends in a single word:

“Why?”.

And at that point, you might as well give up selling it as fiction. Sometimes, it’s better to just… enjoy the story. Sure, if you think about something logically in a fictional setting, it likely quickly devolves into absurdity - but, unless of course the mechanics of a thing are critical to be understood, perhaps it’s better to just… move on. Let the author tell their story. If something is logically inconsistent within a fictional universe… maybe it’s just magic.

Let it be. Otherwise fiction likely and quickly unravels into a LONG set of mathematical equations. And nobody wants that, right?))

[geekyule]

In the alternate world of Teyvat, where you begin your journey to find your loved ones by becoming a weapon of war in the Fatui

CW: violence, mention of blood, angst & fluff Thoughts: Excuse my first attempt at writing. There will be several parts coming soon. Semi-proofread

Part 1 - First Encounter

The snow fell thicker. Today marked your third day on the assignment on the outskirts of Morepesok, a seaside fishing village. Despite it being the third day, you hadn’t yet located all the hiding treasure hoarders. Anxiety was creeping in. The chilling winds blowing in from the sea and the night descending made your entire body tense with vigilance. Those scoundrels had meticulously planned their siege on the village to kidnap its inhabitants. Every entrance to the village required passing through this dark forest. They would target those traveling along the forest path; perhaps you would have to disguise yourself as bait to...

“Sister!”

You jolted into a defensive stance, turning towards the voice. A frantic girl ran towards you, carrying a smaller child on her back. One of the girl’s hands held a basket of herbs, while the other tightly gripped the sleeping child behind her. The treasure hoarders don’t raise children to deceive others like this, do they? - You silently pondered as the girl reached you. The girl looked up at you, panting, trying to appear tough but her voice trembling.

“Have you been waiting long, sister?”

“...?”

The blue eyes of the girl pleaded with you, before quickly glancing behind her, indicating that someone was following them. She shifted the child on her back and spoke louder.

“Teucer fell so we're late. I’m sorry. Let’s go home together, sister!”

If it weren’t for the sincere apology and the tears brimming in the girl’s eyes, you might have dismissed her. You believed the children trembled in fear whenever they caught a glimpse of your piercing gaze and eerie silence, avoiding you at all costs, just as you avoided them. Being around someone like you was dangerous enough for them, but now you realized you had to protect the two children and return them to their parents before any harm came to them.

“Let me carry Teucer. Mom will scold me until morning!”

“I'm sorry.” - The girl's face relaxed when she saw you played along. She hesitated a bit when handing her little brother over to you, but she was surely exhausted after running in fear. Her limbs trembled, tears started rolling down her rosy, cold cheeks.

“It's okay.” - You smiled gently - “I'm here now.”

With one arm holding the little brother, you used the other to pull the girl close to your side, patting her gently. You led the girl slowly back towards the village. The danger was definitely not over yet; these two children had ventured deep into the forest, with still a considerable distance to reach the safe area of Morepesok.

“Hold onto my coat if you know the treehouse." - You whispered, leaning down to the girl's head. She opened her eyes wide and immediately grabbed onto your coat. A clever child - you thought and smiled reassuringly at her. The little girl knew the home was too far to return to safety, they needed a shelter while the adults were around to help.

“There are 3 people chasing us…” - The girl whispered nervously.

“You and Teucer go to the treehouse and stay quiet, do not come out until I give the signal. I will protect both of you.”

As they headed towards the treehouse, you silently sensed the movement around, pinpointing the pursuers. Besides the three the children unfortunately faced, there were others gathering and chasing. The treehouse you mentioned was actually a landmark where the village hunters often stayed during long deer hunts. Luckily, you had learned from the villagers in the past few days, and the Archons had not disappointed the children as the treehouse was still sturdy even though it wasn't hunting season. You handed the little brother to the girl, urging her into the hideout and securely closing the door. Then you walked a distance away from the hideout.

“Now, let's greet each other properly.”

Three bandits stepped out from the shadows. There are two archers at 11 o'clock and 1 o'clock behind - You reminded yourself and pulled out a stick from your belt pouch. The treasure hoarder gang laughed loudly. One, seeming to be the leader, shrugged with the others, then smirked.

“Little girl, don't play childish games. We're just here to help you get to safety.”

Twirling the stick in hand, you advanced towards the group of bandits. With a flick, the stick unexpectedly split open at both ends and extended into a silver battle staff. A golden light encircled the threatening staff. The treasure hoarders, now intrigued, cautiously approached. You smirked provocatively.

“I'm also looking for a few people here.”

“You…” - The leader's face changed.

Slamming the staff into the ground, you sent golden geo energy lines snaking through the frontline bandits, deep into the darkness of the forest. Along the way, the lines carved the ground full of snow, terrifying the bandits. From the shadows, the ground trembled, followed by cries of pain, then silence. The bandits turned back to see their archer comrades.

“Don't worry about them. You’ll be reunited in "a safe place" soon."

You swung the staff forcefully, knocking the bandits off balance. With the archers out of the combat, dealing with the close-range fighters became easier. The bandits were not prepared to face a warrior with a Vision. You weaved through the bandits, calculating each move while manipulating the ground to gain the upper hand in battle. Despite your defensive techniques, years of weapon training and your petite stature provided you with a speed advantage in attack. Not to mention that the opponents couldn't assess your true abilities. The bandits fell one by one. You then created a stone wall to trap the treasure hoarder group, finally completing the mission.

“So, are you behaving now?”

You retracted the staff and carefully walked back to the hideout where the two children were when a light "swoosh" sounded. Before you could react, a blue arrow stabbed straight into your left arm, causing you to fall. Luckily I managed to twist lightly, this archer aimed for the heart - You reopened the staff to summon a stone wall in the direction of the attack just as two more arrows flew in. Blue arrows from the same person, this man moves fast and light, much more skilled than the bandits - You tensed up - If a master was sent, who are these two children? Suppressing the pain in the left shoulder, you plunged the staff deep into the ground, pushing out a series of stone columns towards the opponent. A blue cut slashed through each column, along with splashes of water. From the darkness emerged a figure with a masked head.

“Fatui soldier?” - you muttered in disbelief. In the ranks of the Fatui, was there such a highly skilled soldier? But what was he doing here? You were the only one assigned to the area.

The unfamiliar Fatui soldier dashed forward, wielding two daggers made of azure water. A Vision bearer, damn it - you quickly dodged a strike to your left shoulder, then spun to deliver a blow to the opponent's face, knocking off his mask to reveal orange hair. Too fast, if I just defend and counterattack, I will soon be defeated. These two children will be in danger. You decided to speak out.

“Where is your Fatui insignia, soldier? I'm specially assigned here” - You assumed a defensive stance after creating some distance from the opponent, your back towards the hideout. The top priority now was to protect the two children inside at all costs. Plunging the staff into the ground, you grabbed the arrow lodged in your left shoulder and yanked it out forcefully. Fresh crimson blood sprayed, falling on the white snow backdrop. The sharp pain made your vision blur. Should I use the "weapon" at this moment?

The Fatui member merged the two water daggers into one long glaive. He tossed aside his mask and stared straight at you. Those intimidating cloudy blue eyes seemed familiar. He coldly advanced, shouting.

“You’re dead!”

Using your right hand to support your left, you manipulated the broken stone columns to send shards flying towards the opponent, but they still couldn't stop his advance...

“Ajax? Big brother?!”

The little girl's voice echoed from inside the hideout, just as the sword came dangerously close to your neck. The opponent's wide eyes watched as you used your body to shield the entrance of the hideout. The door swung open, and the girl inside rushed out to hug you.

“She's protecting us! Don't hurt her!”

“Tonya!” - The Fatui soldier immediately dropped his weapon. His demeanor and face shifted to confusion - “What's going on? Where's Teucer? I don't understand.”

Tonya, the little girl whose name you just learned, stepped back and then rushed to hug her older brother, crying out loud. Perhaps now was the time she dared to cry freely, releasing the fear and anxiety. Ajax, the older brother, had to gently soothe her before she could recount the story. You watched the two siblings without noticing that Teucer had stood up and was looking at you.

“Sister. Hug!” - The little boy moved closer to you, not waiting for your response, and hugged your injured left side. You had to deftly avoid your bleeding shoulders from him, letting out a light cry of pain.

“Teucer! Don't! Oh, I'm sorry!” - Tonya ran back in a panic to hold her younger brother.

The older brother cautiously approached. You looked at him warily but without hostility. He tore a strip of cloth from his sleeve and helped you bandage the bleeding wound.

“I'm Ajax. Thank you for protecting my brother and sister.”

You didn't say anything, silently watching as Ajax tended to your wound. He still bore cuts from the flying shards, a gash on his cheek now oozing blood. Despite facing countless stone projectiles, he was determined to rush into battle; this soldier not only had a Vision but also displayed considerable courage, or... recklessness. When he began to reveal his face for combat, a strand of bloodthirsty aura clashed starkly with the present. Perhaps when loved ones were in danger, he became dangerous himself, ready to confront and protect.

“I've completed the mission, protecting your sister was just a coincidence. Anyway…” - You paused, looking at Tonya and Teucer who were staring intently - “Your sister is very clever.”

“Are you also a Fatui soldier?”

“I’m Y/n.” - You opened your belt pouch to show him the insignia and took out some first aid bandages.

“You should bandage your wound as well. I'll start a fire. You and your siblings should stay here tonight and return to the village in the morning.”

“Won't you come home with us?” - Tonya asked in surprise, looking at Ajax then back at you - “You saved us, and you're injured.”

“Sorry for shooting you, but to let the hero of the little ones go without repaying them, I'd regret it to death.” - Ajax quickly added.

“Your big brother is here now” - You ruffled Tonya's head, smiling even though the girl pouted in protest - “I need to escort the other group of people first. We'll meet again later.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Now, little sister, would you mind gathering some firewood around here for me?”

You used the staff to create a small patch of regular ground for the fire. While Tonya and Teucer eagerly gathered firewood, you took out fire stones from your pouch and began to light the fire. If it hadn't been for the recent danger, it would have seemed like a camping trip; the two children quickly returned to being cheerful with you. Ajax began to bandage the wounds on himself with the provided bandages, occasionally stealing glances at you and the children. After you had a small fire going, you headed towards the stone cell where the unconscious bandit group was being held, and Ajax followed. He pulled out a red scarf from around his neck and tied it around your neck, leaving you surprised.

“I... don't know how to thank you enough, please accept this. At least it will keep you warm on the way back.”

You looked straight into Ajax's blue eyes, probing, making him feel his cheeks heat up. But you just nodded slightly, bid him farewell, then quickly tied up the bandit group and disappeared into the shadows. Strange, there's something so familiar about his eyes - you thought silently, little did you know you would meet that young man again, sooner than you imagined.

Part 2

[the-outer-topic]

Battletech: Mira planetary report

Mira Planetary Report 3025 year

Recharging station: none

ComStar Facility Class: B

Population: 3 million

Percentage and level of native life: 15% mammal

Note: These refer to land life, like most colonized worlds, native life is replaced with Terran species, nobody bothers with ocean life, unless is relevant somehow. In Mira case, algae are vital to the ecosystem but this means commercial fishing is not practicable as it clogs nets.

Star System Data

Star Type: F6III (subgiant)

Position in System: 4th planet (Mira IV)

Distance from Star: Approximately 3.16 AU (within the habitable zone of an F6III star)

Travel Time to Jump Point: 10 days at 1G acceleration

Mira orbits an F6III subgiant star, larger and brighter than Sol (a G2V star), which extends the habitable zone farther out and increases dropship travel time to the jump point compared to Terra’s 6-8 days. The 10-day journey reflects the standard BattleTech transit model: dropships accelerate at 1G for half the voyage, perform a turnover, and decelerate at 1G to arrive at zero velocity.

Planetary Data

Diameter: 12,000 km (comparable to Terra)

Gravity: 0.9g

Atmosphere: Standard, breathable; slightly thinner than Terra’s but enriched with oxygen due to abundant oceanic algae

Hydrosphere: 85% water coverage

Natural Satellites: Two small moons

Population: 2.8 million (as of 2975)

Government: Part of the Capellan Confederation (liberated by the 1st St. Ives Lancers in 2975)

Mira, the fourth planet in its system, orbits an F6III subgiant star at approximately 3.16 AU, placing it within the habitable zone. Its diameter and gravity (0.9g) are close to Terra’s, making it comfortable for human habitation. The atmosphere, though thinner than Terra’s, supports life with a higher oxygen content due to widespread algal blooms in its vast oceans, which cover 85% of the surface. Two small moons influence tidal patterns, while a strong magnetosphere shields the planet from stellar radiation. In 2975, Mira was liberated by the 1st St. Ives Lancers, integrating it into the Capellan Confederation.

Year Length: 1300 Earth days (3.55 years), with ~325-day seasons, orbiting at ~3.16 AU around a ~2.5 solar mass F6III star.

Axial Tilt: ~23.5°, supporting southern Russia/Crimea-like seasonal cycles.

Latitudinal Climate Gradient:

Temperate Zones (20°–50°N/S): Southern Russia/Crimea-like (5–25°C, 400–800 mm rainfall), with coastal resorts and agriculture.

Mountainous Regions: Caucasus-like, cooler (0–15°C), with snowfall.

Equatorial Zones (0°–20°N/S): Warm, humid (25–35°C, 800–1200 mm rainfall), supporting algal blooms.

Astronomical Quirk: Strong magnetosphere shields against F6III radiation; two moons stabilize orbit and tilt.

Oceanic Nature: 85% water coverage drives albedo, cloud cover, and precipitation, moderating climate for habitability.

Stellar Characteristics and Perception Mira’s parent star, an F6III subgiant, differs significantly from Sol (a G2V star) in ways that shape the planet’s environment and how its sunlight is perceived:

Luminosity: The F6III star is far more luminous than Sol, emitting approximately 20–30 times more light. This increased output pushes the habitable zone farther out, allowing Mira to sustain life at 3.16 AU despite the star’s intensity.

Apparent Size: From Mira’s surface, the star appears larger in the sky than Sol does from Terra. Given the F6III star’s larger physical size and the adjusted distance of the habitable zone, its apparent diameter might be 1.5–2 times that of Sol as seen from Earth, creating a striking visual presence.

Light Temperature: With a surface temperature of 6,500–7,000 K (compared to Sol’s 5,772 K), the star’s light is bluer and more intense. This higher color temperature results in a harsher daylight compared to Terra’s warmer, yellower sunlight. The bluish tint could require adaptations for human comfort—such as tinted visors or specialized architecture—and might influence plant photosynthesis, favoring species adapted to bluer wavelengths.

The sunlight on Mira is indeed harsher due to its intensity and blue-shift, contrasting with Sol’s gentler glow, altering the planet’s aesthetic and environmental dynamics.

Impact of Oceans and Cloud Cover Mira’s extensive oceans, covering 85% of its surface, interact with the star’s intense sunlight to moderate its effects. The brighter, more energetic light drives higher rates of evaporation compared to Terra (which has 71% water coverage), leading to increased cloud formation. This thick cloud cover acts as a natural filter, reflecting a portion of the star’s radiation back into space and diffusing the remaining light. As a result, the harshness of the sunlight is lessened, softening its impact on the surface and contributing to a more temperate climate. This interplay between intense stellar output and planetary water creates a balanced, livable environment despite the star’s power.

Geography

Mira is predominantly a waterworld, with oceans covering 85% of its surface. Its limited landmass consists of archipelagos and small continents, many featuring mountainous terrain. These islands, often volcanic in origin, exhibit active tectonics, akin to Terra’s Oceania region. Volcanic activity is moderate rather than absent, as waterworlds with fragmented landmasses typically experience tectonic movement due to thinner crusts and mantle convection—though less intense than on continents with massive tectonic plates. The scarce flat land is reserved for agriculture and settlements, while the mountains yield coal and metallic ores, though not in quantities sufficient for major industry. Offshore platforms exploit hydrocarbons (oil and gas) from the ocean floor, as the mountainous land lacks significant sedimentary deposits typical of flat terrains where fossil fuels accumulate.

Climate

Mira’s climate is moderated by its extensive oceans, which act as a heat sink to prevent extreme temperature swings. The temperate zones on larger landmasses resemble southern Russia—warm summers and cool winters—while coastal areas and islands enjoy a milder, Crimea-like climate, ideal for resorts. The mountains, similar to the Caucasus, experience cooler temperatures and seasonal snowfall. Despite orbiting a hotter F6III star, Mira’s water coverage balances the climate, making it more pleasant than Tikonov (a harsh world orbiting a G8V star). The temperate zones align with the Kuban and Crimea, offering a respite for Tikonov nobles accustomed to continental rigors.

History

Mira was settled in the early 22nd century by Russian colonists from nearby Tikonov, who named it “Mira”—Russian for “world” and “peace”—reflecting its tranquil appeal. Initially an independent colony, it was annexed by the Marlette Association by 2306. In 2309, the Tikonov Grand Union, under General Diana Chinn, captured Mira after a 23-week campaign, integrating it into their domain. Its proximity to Tikonov (a single jump away) and pleasant environment made it a resort planet, with its continent parceled out into luxury estates for Tikonov nobility.

During the Succession Wars, Mira’s strategic location transformed it into a contested frontier. In 2829, the Bloody Suns mercenary unit invaded, expecting an easy victory over the Third Chesterton Cavalry. The defenders resorted to chemical weapons, prompting Duke Hasek of the Federated Suns to order a nuclear strike, followed by the Eighth Crucis Lancers’ ruthless mop-up. This brutal conflict left a lasting mark. Mira changed hands repeatedly between the Capellan Confederation and Federated Suns, serving as a staging base for attacks on Tikonov. In 2975, it was liberated by the 1st St. Ives Lancers, integrating it into the Capellan Confederation.

Economy

Mira’s economy is modest, shaped by its sparse population and limited resources. Its textile industry, producing high-quality fabrics, has earned it the nickname “clothiers to the galaxy,” with exports reaching across the Inner Sphere.

Sea mining of hydrocarbons via offshore platforms in the shallow waters sustains some light and heavy industry, compensating for the lack of easily extractable mineral resources and fertile arable land, which has prevented major industrial or agricultural development.

Notable Features

Molotosky Water Purification Process: A Mira innovation, widely adopted for its efficiency in water purification.

Luxury Estates: Historic resorts of Tikonov nobles, blending Russian and Asian architectural styles, now cultural landmarks.

Textile Industry: Renowned for craftsmanship, a cornerstone of Mira’s identity.

Cultural Heritage: Reflects its Tikonov settlers’ Eurasian roots, evident in architecture and traditions.

Military Significance

Mira’s proximity to Tikonov makes it a strategic linchpin. Its ports and spaceports support military logistics, and its history as a staging base underscores its value in conflicts between the Capellan Confederation and Federated Suns.

[awlimagines]

The Flirty Changeling (First Meeting)

@kinokoshoujoart

Claire straightened to observe her field. The enormous expense of land past the tiny bit she managed to till was overgrown with stumps and large boulders. A frown creased her face at the sight. Gustafa had told her not to rush into doing everything in her first week. After she passed out and found herself at the clinic, Claire was forced to admit the older man was right. Everything didn’t need to be done immediately. Her tools required upgrades to clear the field without hurting herself. The young woman had a start on that. The General Store and other farmers had assured Claire that the turnips would be easiest to grow and sell. 

She had spent the last few days following Gustafa through the mountains, learning to forage and increase her profits. Now, Claire wanted a break. She had always dreamed of visiting town and making friends. Seeing how the green-hatted musician spoke of blending perfectly fine into the community gave her some confidence. Claire hesitated at the edge of her new home despite her enthusiasm and eagerness. The cobbled street extended far into the distance, leading to danger. Her every instinct screamed to remain away like her mother always taught her. People like her couldn’t be prosecuted for being different and loved by the Fae if she kept to herself. 

Long blonde locks shook the thoughts away as Claire forced herself forward. She had already visited the General Store and met four other families in Forgotten Valley. Admittedly, she had Gustafa to soothe her nerves for each encounter. Claire didn’t want to keep relying on him. She could stand on her own feet and do well for herself. Besides, she couldn’t keep using him as a crutch when there was no telling when the musician would move again. Claire didn’t desire to travel. She wanted a steady home with friends surrounding her. Walking into town was the first step in the process. 

Claire soon felt overwhelmed wandering the streets. Thankfully, the town was much smaller than she had read of the city. However, the thought did little to ease her anxiety. Her mother’s warnings and threats of a swift death should anyone discover her secret swam freely in her mind. As she took a shaky breath, her blue eyes caught sight of the neat sign indicating the library. Her feet made a direct path to enter. She had met both Basil and Mary in the wilderness surrounding Forgotten Valley. The father and daughter duo had been very welcoming, and unless Claire was mistaken, Mary tended to the library. A familiar face would be a welcome sight. Not to mention, she would love to see all the books they had. Claire’s home with her mother only had the same three books, and the young woman was eager to view more. 

Walls and shelves were lined with neat, orderly rows of books, though the room seemed devoid of people. Claire glanced through the shelves, searching for the bespectacled Mary. It wasn’t until the sound of voices trickled down that she noticed the stairs. Once at the top, Claire glanced down the aisle to her left to locate two others. She recognized Mary. The young woman sat neatly at the top of a ladder. A rag for dusting the shelves and books lay forgotten on the shelf beside her. Mary’s braid hung loosely over one shoulder as she frowned at the person below her. From their voice, Claire could guess a male spoke to Mary. His blonde locks sat nestled atop dark brown roots. From her view of his back, Claire figured the young man must be important. His white pants and vest he wore shone brightly with their immaculate cleanliness. The blue top had lines of golden thread accenting the bottoms of his sleeves. 

“C’mon, no one comes into this place. You could take a break and come hang out with me, is all I’m saying,” the young man persuaded, a hand resting on his hip as the other beckoned Mary to leave her perch. His words only seemed to sour the librarian’s mood further as her frown deepened and eyebrows furrowed. 

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt,” Claire politely announced her presence.

“Oh, Claire! I’m so sorry; I didn’t hear you come in!” Mary exclaimed, clambering down from the ladder as the person speaking with her turned. Claire faced a flawlessly tanned young man whose golden eyes perfectly matched his hair. He flashed a brilliantly white smile as his eye caught her own. 

“Claire, this is Rock. He lives on the other side of Forgotten Valley, past Mother’s Hill. His parents run the Lei-Over Inn. Rock, this is Claire; she took over the farm here,” Mary introduced them before scowling at Rock. “You see, we have visitors to the library, and you’re interfering with my work.”

“It’s nice to meet you! A goddess has to favor me to have sent another beauty to keep me company! We should all go and have some fun instead of being cooped up indoors,” he happily chirped, immune to Mary’s mounting frustration. Claire’s blue eyes darted between the two as Mary opened her mouth to give Rock a piece of her mind.

“That sounds great! I’ll come by tomorrow to go through the books when you’re not so busy, and I haven’t had much chance to look around,” Claire quickly interjected, hoping to diffuse Mary’s tension. She had but a moment to register a flash of relief cross the other woman’s face. Another look Claire couldn’t quite place quickly replaced it. Was it pity? She didn’t have the chance to ponder further as Rock spoke. 

“Really?” His golden eyes widened, and his mouth hung open in shock. The sight made Claire think briefly of a guppy gasping for air before the young man recovered. “I mean, yeah! Of course, you’d want to! How could you pass up on spending time with a catch like me? Let’s go!” 

Claire found herself being steered from the library quickly. It wasn’t until they both stepped from the building that they paused. Rock stood alongside her with a frown, seemingly lost in thought. It didn’t seem the young man had any plans for if Mary or anyone else agreed. Claire fought down the giggle that rose in her throat at the thought. He looked like a puppy that unexpectedly caught something and didn’t know what to do next. 

“Would you like to walk and talk? We can go where the wind takes us?” Claire offered. 

“I like the way you think! Yeah, we don’t need plans!” he grinned widely before strolling toward her farm and Mother’s Hill. “So, how long have you been in Forgotten Valley? I don’t remember hearing about another cute farmer moving in.” 

“Barely more than a week,” Claire answered. She hadn’t been aware there was another new farmer in the area. But before she could ask more, Rock spoke again. 

“Oh, wow! So, you’ve been here for about the same amount of time. Did you take over a family farm, too? Well, Pony is sharing the land with Takakura—something about her dad being buddies with him and buying the farm together. They have a cow, and she seems focused on planting crops and getting a sheep. Ugh, she’s such a workaholic, honestly. Are you like that too?” 

“I was advised not to try doing too much at once. So, I was exploring the town during my free time.” 

“Oh, you should come visit our side then! Lou makes a great curry, but there’s no room at our inn unless you want to share a bed with me,” he teased with a wink. Claire jolted at the suggestion like a prey animal finding itself in the sights of a predator. She quickly searched for a way to change the topic without hurting Rock’s feelings. 

“So, um, what do you do for work? Do you help at the inn?”

“Work?” Rock grimaced at the question. “I don’t believe in working yourself to the bone for things that won’t matter anyway. I think we should all focus on enjoying life, and that’s what I do every day! I’ve thought about starting a fashion magazine to help Forgotten Valley improve their looks, but it sounds like a lot.” 

“I think you would make a great fashion magazine! Your outfit looks amazing, and I could certainly use some help,” Claire mumbled the last bit. Her overalls were comfortable and great for working on the farm, but walking next to Rock made her feel underdressed in comparison.

“Yeah, it’d be top tier if I did it. But I wouldn’t stress too much about your style. Not many people can pull off overalls like that. Most people I’ve seen in them don’t look half as cute. H-hey! Why is your face turning red?” Rock asked, his carefree demeanor slipping into anxious worry. 

“I-I just didn’t expect to hear such a nice compliment; thank you,” Claire murmured, pressing her cool hands to her face to fight the embarrassed flush. 

“Oh, uh, sure. Well, it’s about time for dinner, and Lou will miss me if I’m not there. I can’t go hungry all night, haha,” he forced a laugh before maintaining a leisurely walk as he fled the young farmer. He was far more used to the local population of eligible bachelorettes rolling their eyes in response to his compliments or advances. They certainly didn’t demurely avert their eyes or blush in response. Rock wasn’t sure how to respond or treat someone so sincere toward him. As the blonde struggled to rid himself of a rising blush on his cheeks, he figured it might be worth revisiting her to see if this was some weird fluke.

[teine-mallaichte]

The Checkpoint

After managing to escape complex 27 the new challenge starts - survival. And the ever present complications of working together.

CW: living weapon, conflict, violence, military setting, injuries, burns, gun shot wounds, weapons, killing, conditioning, past torture, past training.

On The Run Masterlist Complex 27

They had been traveling for several hours, moving steadily through dense forests and along winding dirt paths. Ash had taken the lead from the start, his sharp eyes constantly scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger. As the checkpoint came into view, he signaled for the group to halt, crouching low and waiting for them to catch up.

A short distance behind, Sam had his right arm wrapped around Alex’s waist, physically supporting him. Despite Alex’s earlier insistence that he was “fine,” it quickly became clear that this was far from the truth. The pain and exhaustion etched on his face were impossible to hide, and each step seemed to require a monumental effort. Sam could feel the tension in Alex’s body, the way his muscles tightened as he fought to mask his discomfort.

At the rear of the group, Charlie kept a careful watch over their progress, her attention shifting between their surroundings and her two patients. She had repeatedly insisted that Sam not be the one to support Alex, but her concerns had been ignored. Sam was stubborn, and Charlie couldn’t help but feel a flicker of frustration. All her offers of what he deemed “shortcuts” to get Alex more functional had been met with refusal. Yet when it had come to himself Sam had accepted those same "shortcuts. Hypocrite.

She watched him, noting the way he winced when he shifted his weight, he was almost certainly causing more damage. Really Sam shou;dn't be walking at all, and Alex definitely shouldn't. She felt a twinge of something—guilt? Helplessness?—but she whatever it was she pushed it down. They had to keep moving; efficiency was paramount.

Catching up with Ash they crouched behind a cluster of thick bushes. A small, makeshift outpost, surrounded by a crude barricade of wooden planks and old shipping containers lay ahead. Two guards stood watch, their rifles slung casually across their shoulders, but their eyes remained vigilant, scanning the perimeter as if they sensed something amiss.

“this could be an issue,” Ash mutterered as he turned to Sam and Charlie, "how do you want to approach this?"

Sams grip tightened around Alex as he shifted his weight, trying to ease the strain on his injuries. “What do you think? A distraction?” he suggested looking at Charlie.

The medic shook her head, her brow furrowed in concentration. “No distractions. We can’t risk drawing more eyes on us.”

Ash’s eyes narrowed as he continued to assess the situation, weighing their options. “I can take them out without anyone noticing,” he said, his voice low and steady. He glanced at the others, gauging their reactions.

“Are you sure?" Sam frowned, "If something goes wrong—”

“It won’t,” Ash interrupted, "Two guards are child's play."

Sam held Ash’s gaze, studying the assassin with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. It was like a switch had flipped in Ash’s demeanor. Moments ago, he’d been his usual guarded, cynical self, bearly speaking other than the occasional sarcastic comment. Now, though, there was an almost eerie calm about him—a cold, lethal confidence.

Sam recognized that look. It was a look devoid of fear, of empathy, of anything that might hinder a mission. It was what the Facility had drilled into them all, the mindset they expected from their ‘assets’—to become whatever tool was needed, without hesitation. But as much as they’d all been conditioned to survive in a hostile world, there were differences between them. Sam and Charlie had always been in more “supportive” roles, trained in tactics, infiltration, and medical skills to assist the primary fighters.

But Ash and Alex? They were different. They were killers. They were the ones sent in when precision and ruthlessness were required. Sam and Charlie were usually a step removed from the bloodshed. Ash and Alex, however, had been molded for combat at the most visceral level, trained to face death head-on and deliver it with frightening efficiency. And in the Facility’s brutal, twisted ranking system, Ash was among the best of these killers. He wasn’t just any asset; he’d been one of their deadliest, an elite operative. Asset 77 was name that was whispered among the other assets - not only about his efficiency but rumours about instability, unpredictability, perhaps even insanity.

A chill settled over Sam as he considered this. While he’d been close with Alex and understood the darkness his friend carried, he knew far less about Ash. And what he did know only raised more questions. He had seen Alex turn on that cold focus, seen him slip into that mindset. But when Alex did it Sam never felt the same creeping cold sensation that he was feeling right now.

“I’ll be quick,” Ash assured, his tone firm, as he placed his rifle carefully on the ground and pulled a small blade out of his boot.

With that, Ash slipped into the shadows, his movements silent and fluid as he made his way toward the checkpoint.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, glancing over at Charlie, who was scanning their surroundings. “You know… assassins really creep me out.” he murmured.

Charlie shot him a quick, sidelong glance, her expression revealing both amusement and exasperation. “You just realized that now?” she replied quietly, her voice tinged with a smirk. "Do you know how they train the assassins to kill?" Her tone shifted, becoming serious, "it's… Different to how frontliners like Alex are trained."

"Do… Do I want to know?" He asked, his eyes flickering over to where Ash had vanished and then to Alex his was still leaving heavily against him, eyes bearly open.

Charlie took a deep breath, her expression somber. “The frontliners are conditioned to be perfectly obedient. They are isolated, conditioned, broken down; before their training even starts. They learn to follow orders without question, to act—and even to kill—on command. Any sign of independent thought or emotion is met with punishment. They’re taught to prioritise the mission and protocols, even above their own lives and well-being.”

She paused, her eyes distant. “But the assassins… the Facility needs them to be desensitized yet capable of independent thought. They’re trained to think on their feet, to adapt and improvise in high-pressure situations.”

Charlie’s voice lowered further, becoming almost a whisper, “Assassins are typically selected around the age of fifteen. From that point on, they’re fitted with shock collars that can be activated if they fail to meet expectations. They’re taken repeatedly to a place they refer to as ‘the death room,’ where they are forced to kill.”

Sam felt a chill run down his spine as he listened. “Kill who?”

“Sometimes it’s an animal, sometimes a prisoner of war, and sometimes it’s another asset who's been deemed ‘broken’. If the trainee assassin hesitates or refuses to kill, the shock collar activates, punishing them for the failure. This continues until they reach seventeen, when the collar is removed and they get deployed."

“If you look closely at Ash, you can still see the burn scars around his neck." She added as she moved closer and started to check Alexs sutures.

Sam’s stomach twisted at the thought, they had all been through horrors, all had their demons he was sure, but Ash and Alex had been molded into weapons in a way he and Charlie had not.

"you need to drop the macho act Sam and let me take over," Charlie says suddenly, her voice edged with frustration. "This is ridiculous. You’re only making it worse for both of you."

Sam rolled his eyes but said nothing. He wasn't about to back down, not now. This wasn’t about his pride; he just didn’t trust anyone else to look out for Alex like he would. Charlie might have been right about the strain, but in his mind, that was a small price for making sure Alex stayed safe.

Just then, a rustle in the shadows caught his attention. Ash emerged, his figure blending so seamlessly into the darkness it was as if he’d materialised from thin air. He moved back to them swiftly, wiping his blade clean with a rag before stowing it back in his boot and picking up his rifle.

"Clear," the assassin announced, his tone detached. He didn't elaborate, and Sam figured that was for the best. The fewer details, the better.

Ash’s gaze shifted to Alex, his eyes darkening for a moment. Sam saw a flicker of something—concern, perhaps?—crossing his face, but it was gone almost immediately.

"There was minimal security. One container entirely empty, the other an office of sorts. Not much in there but some old coms equipment and some stims." The assassin added.

"Alright… We need to move quickly and quietly,” Sam tried to keep his voice firm, taking control as he shook off the unsettling feeling. “Charlie, keep close and let me know if Alex needs to stop. Ash, lead the way.”

The group moved cautiously through the checkpoint, each member hyper-aware of their surroundings. Ash led the way, scanning every inch of the ground and the foliage around them for hidden dangers.

They had only just gotten through the check point when a sudden rustle in the underbrush made everyone freeze. Ash immediately dropped to a crouch, raising his rifle to his shoulder.

The team held their breath, their senses on high alert. Sam’s grip tightened around Alex’s waist as he carefully lowered them both with a wince, his eyes darting nervously between Ash and the dense forest ahead. Charlie crouched close, her gaze fixed on Ash, ready to spring into action if needed.

A figure - a soldier - emerged from the shadows, clad in tattered, mismatched gear. Likely paramilitary.

Sam watched silently as Ash creeped forwards, silently shifting hid rifle round onto his back as a blade practically appeared in his hand.

The soldier moved closer, the crunch of leaves underfoot growing louder. And then in happneed.

Ash’s movements were a blur, quick and decisive. Sam barely had time to process what was happening before the soldier crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

The assassin straightened, wiping the blade clean once more, but then he froze mid movement. Sam tensed, had Ash heard something? Were there another soldier? But seconds passed and still the assassin didn't move, simply staring at the dead man.

"Ash?" Sam glanced at Charlie, who had an unsettling frown on her face.

The medic stood, slowly approaching the still unmoving man, "Ash. We need to move."

The command seemed to snap Ash back to the present, sheathing his knife he looked away from the soldier before echoing, "We need to move."

Sam nodded, as he carefully, unsteadily, helped Alex to his feet. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something inside Ash had shifted, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it meant for their already precarious situation.

[8th-house-angel]

Moon in Sagittarius

To learn more about the Moon in astrology, check out this link.

Sagittarius Moons are optimistic and idealistic, driven by a constant pursuit of the next big adventure. They find happiness in learning, growing, and expanding their horizons, as Sagittarius represents the principle of expansion. This placement is fueled by an innate curiosity and love for exploration, which keeps them seeking new experiences and knowledge.

This Moon’s natural optimism stems from Sagittarius' association with Jupiter, the planet of luck. Sagittarius Moons tend not to dwell on the consequences of their actions, trusting that everything will eventually turn out fine. They carry a deep-seated confidence and belief in themselves, which often leads to success. Unlike other Moon signs prone to self-doubt, Sagittarius Moons believe they can achieve anything—even if it’s beyond their current skills or risky.

Emotionally, Sagittarius Moons are impulsive and fickle. Their mutable fire energy drives them to react quickly, often with dramatic outbursts. However, just as quickly as they lash out, they calm down and move on. They don’t dwell on negative emotions for long, preferring to act rather than overanalyze or sit with their feelings. When upset, they may cope by cutting people off or even physically distancing themselves, such as traveling to another city or country. Their fleeting emotions also make them very forgiving; they simply don’t have the time or energy to hold grudges.

Freedom is a core emotional need for Sagittarius Moons. They thrive on independence and dislike being tied down, whether to a place, job, or relationship. Routine feels suffocating to them, and they prefer spontaneity and excitement. Close relationships that require compromise can feel smothering, so they often favor lighthearted and casual connections. Their love for excitement makes them the life of the party, even when paired with a more introverted Sun sign like Cancer or Taurus. They are adventurous, drawn to travel and far-off places, and often feel more at home in unfamiliar environments than in their own hometown.

However, this love for freedom can also lead to their negative traits. Sagittarius Moons can be non-committal, avoiding long-term relationships or responsibilities because they fear being trapped. They are also stubborn, clinging to their strong principles and following their own path, even if it might not be the wisest choice. Their need for constant growth and change can make them restless and struggle with staying grounded.

Despite their challenges, Sagittarius Moons bring an infectious sense of joy, adventure, and optimism wherever they go. They inspire others with their love for life and unwavering belief in better days ahead.

[kindofcuntess]

kinds of kindness (2024) holds a mirror to society's treatment of abusers and victims/survivors alongside mental health stigmas regarding trauma and mental illness and some of y'all could stand to take a closer look at yourselves ... a small piece of commentary on the third chapter

disclaimer: emily and yorgos have both answered to the importance of active viewing, shall we say, stating that this film does in fact require engagement, which is their less hostile way of invoking media literacy and critical thinking. they're trying to show (and correctly frame as evil) injustices that go on in the (aptly summed) "disturbing" world. the world doesn't come with didactic narration and therefore, essential to allowing for the improvement of one's perception is the film's refusal to tell you what's going on. treat it like you're in the real world given they actually do show all the filth others like to hide to maintain a facade about none of this evil in the first place. one of the implicit biases this film gratefully challenged me on was "cult members just choose to be brainless" and i'll get into it more below, but if you can manage to find things you may have missed or ideologies you need to unlearn through the film, you'll be better prepared to act with an impact that matches your intention with regard to treating people fairly along with the knowledge of what atrocities take place that are intentionally concealed such that we might try to effect change and prevent them.

this scene never fails to break my heart. it seems many find it difficult to connect with her or deem her robotic, but her soul is always brimming over the rigidity (i suppose people equate to having no emotion, which is problematic, but i digress) she's been confined to in no small part due to being in a 24/7 trauma response. here, she's sombered by the distance she must establish given her circumstance but also expresses such a humble demeanor. she's not doing this- risking what's as close to safety as she can find while still being able to travel back and look after her daughter-for praise. she's doing it because she genuinely loves her daughter, who is led to believe that HE gave her the shoes by none other than the abuser himself. taking credit is never a question despite apprehension that her daughter may wonder if she still loves her what with her not knowing the reason she fled from the home.

at this time, i will remind that her daughter could far too easily (thank systemic enablement of violence against women) end up worse off if she told someone and they believed him over her, who'd easily be able to frame her as a woman who simply abandoned him and their daughter to flock over to a sex cult but sans the wretched act he perpetrated that catalyzed her uncontrollable circumstances. in fact, i've seen the same reviewers who protest kok's cruelty victim-blame with this vile line of rhetoric that in turn matches the cult's (rendered in the film to represent society with a focal point on rape culture) victim-blaming, so no wonder they retaliate against a proper framing of their action.

anyway, i'd implore you to look up the social paradigm of cults targeting vulnerable populations. hint hint: people who've just experienced SA are one such population. emily expresses resistance to the cult's social views and is a fiercely intelligent independent thinker who's only betrayal of logic may be hanging on to the seemingly irrational/supernatural belief that bounds the cult: their possession of water with otherworldly properties. as indicated by her trauma syndromes, she was in a state of disarray as she instinctively fled an unimaginable situation and needed something to believe in after that shock to her system, hence the beliefs about water rooting themselves in her psyche. returning to emily's intentions in the gif, it is clearly established that she genuinely loves her daughter and it's one of myriad expressions of vibrancy that is simply more subtle than, say, bella baxter. both are valid. bella isn't too over animated, as i recall being spat out in large part to discredit emily's (emma) beautifully rich portrayal of a neurodivergent-coded character with a larger-than-life personality whose sci-fi aspects of existence in her fictional world make for a wholly unique way of being, and emily isn't too reserved. y'all just seem to enjoy coming after women who don't act how you want them to or how you do, both of which are poisonous to feminism. thank god emily and yorgos' film theory is informed with the kind of feminism that recognizes women are a heterogenous group different circumstances forge different lived experiences. i rest my case. kok emily (and emily irl) oh how i love you <3

[dailycharacteroption]

Hooded Knight (Cavalier Archetype)

(art by tonyhurst on DeviantArt)

Far off in the distance, you see a hooded figure on a horse, their form and visage concealed beneath their cloak. Are they simply a traveler protecting themselves from the elements? A bandit or outlaw on the run? Are they secretly a monster? With today’s entry, they are none of these things, though they are not necessarily allies

Guardians of the roads and highways, hooded knights wander the pathways of the world providing aid to others on their journeys, remaining inscrutable much like the patron they emulate if not worship: the fey Eldest known as Ng.

Much like Ng, hooded knights conceal their identities, making many wonder if it possible to tell the difference between them and a bandit, but one look at the supernatural power that these individuals have while on a road and there can be no doubt.

Interestingly, several of these cavaliers belong to the order of the blossom, sworn to aid fey on the material plane, rather than mortals, they may serve as guides and protectors for visiting fey beings from the First World, or they might simply offer aid to those fey they meet on their travels. Others may favor orders more keyed to mortal affairs, whatever their reasons for doing so might be.

No matter what they are devoted to, These warriors are good, if unsettling, companions to have on a journey.

Most hooded knights belong to the order of blossoms, shield, or sword, but others may reasonably exist depending on their overall goals.

Being on the road all the time does mean surviving and understanding where you are. As such, these warriors are better at such things than physical athleticism.

Their mount, meanwhile, is an uncanny, feytouched creature, particularly when the rider is mounted upon it. They might be creatures of whimsy, or more eerie, but they are clearly not entirely of this world.

The reactions of these knights is enhanced while on a road, as is the speed of their mount. What’s more, they can extend this blessing to the mounts of their allies to speed them along as well.

They also have a knack for showing up exactly where they are needed on the road, though this is more than serendipity. In truth, they and their mount can teleport a decent distance as long as the endpoint is on a road, useful for retreating to a clear escape route, or speeding along their passage when needed.

Later on, this teleportation improves to cover truly vast distances as long as the destination is a road, and they can take their allies and mounts with them, almost as if they have traveled miles along secret paths to wind up on entirely different roadways.

These cavaliers are a major boon when travelling, arguably the time when mount-focused characters are at their best in a traditional dungeon crawling campaign, but make no mistake that they can still be quite competent even off their mount and off the road. This archetype does get rid of tactician and all of it’s improvements though, so you’ll have to rely on whatever strategy and strengths are associated with your order, both when you are mounted and on foot. I recommend a mixed mounted combat build with whatever strategy is favored by their chosen order, as well as possibly a magic item that lets you call your mount to your side if the battlefield allows for it.

Ng himself is an utterly inscruitable deity. His motives are only known to him, though he is known for sharing lore on occasion. Because of this, those who choose to emulate him have a bit of leeway as long as one of their goals and beliefs is to protect fellow travellers. Beyond that, they may be as evil or goodly as anyone else. More selfish ones may require payment in exchange for their services, which they funnel into their agenda, while the more goodly may offer the for free, a friendly voice to help pass the time on the road, despite never showing their faces.

Also, consider the sort of local legends that would spring up around such characters, and what sort of truth and fiction that would surround them.

Only one person knows the identity of the White Rider of Shalkaten, a vine leshy called Oakrider. The elderly plant spirit has no interest in willingly telling, but a new bandit lord is eager to get the information to stop their interference, and they’re not discreet in their methods.

The party has been searching for the grave of a legendary hero for some time, but the road they’re looking for doesn’t seem to exist. It is then they are approached by a hooded rider offering to help. Do they trust this stranger who has an eerie air to him?

Some follow the path of the hooded traveler because they protect others by hiding who they are. Others really enjoy the mystique. Some, however, are running from something. Rumor has it that the rider known as Smouldercloak was an ifrit dandy from a faraway land, though why they fled here none have ever been able to get out of her.