#[ THIS GOT LONGER THAN I INTENDED OOPS ]

[talesofourworlds]

To think, the world would change so much in such a short time.

Auldrant was free from the Score. Lorelei was free. Replicas were being integrated into society, and it seemed a time of peace was set to reign over Auldrant proper with King Ingobert and Emperor Peony at the helm. If he were asked back before the final battle on Eldrant, Jade might have said he would have a hard time imagining it. He was grateful he got to be a part of it.

All was not peaches and rainbows, though. While replicas had started to become integrated into Auldrant society, the originals were another matter entirely. Human nature was an inescapable inevitability. The originals still looked upon replicas with disdain, choosing to view them as lesser somehow despite Jade's efforts. The replicas, on the other hand, seemed to be thriving and learning more about themselves with each day. Jade, too, continued to do what he could to raise their status. There was no reason for replicas and originals to be on uneven footing. They were no different. Jade had seen it himself through Luke.

Luke...

All of this, all of what Jade was working toward, was partly inspired by Luke's existence. Luke had been proof that replicas could be more than a mere substitute. Jade had seen with his own two eyes how far Luke had ended up coming. He'd grown, matured, and become human in his own right. Replicas were more than capable of that kind of growth. Just the same as human beings.

Knowing what replicas were capable of achieving just made it all the more frustrating on days like this. As the Father of Fomicry, and the one heading the efforts to raise replicas to an equal status with the originals, it fell to him to handle replica and original relations. With every day that passed, though, Jade found his patience wearing thin. Fights kept breaking out between replicas and the originals. The originals also deliberately were trying to keep replicas from obtaining jobs. In worse cases, it went as far as the originals doing all they could to keep replicas from obtaining housing. Or even something as simple and necessary as food.

Today was one such day where Jade was having to deal with such things. He stood, listening as a group of originals yelled and demanded that he do something about the 'damned replicas.' The replicas in question had just been trying to help with construction. They'd proven they were capable.

Jade's patience was thinning.

"Please! We just want to be able to earn our keep!"

Thinning...

"A keep that you don't deserve to earn! Tell them they don't belong here! We don't need their help!"

Thinning...

"We have just as much a right to be here as you originals! Please, let us work alongside you!"

"Like hell we will!"

Snap.

"That's enough!" Jade's voice rose above the crowd, anger and frustration mounting more than he would have ever let show otherwise. When silence fell, he did his best to collect himself. He adjusted his glasses and turned his attention to the gathered people.

"You're being unreasonable," Jade said at length, voice firm as he fixed his once crimson eyes on the originals in question. "You'll find that the job is liable to be completed much faster with their aid. All you'll gain by hindering the hiring process is a much slower task. They aren't going to harm anything by helping. So let them do what I assume you're going to pay them for. And if I find you aren't, you'll be answering to me personally."

The glare Jade fixed them with seemed to have done the trick, if the discontented murmurs were anything to go by. He also heard grateful ones from the replicas. Of course, Jade was met with his own glares. He could understand why the originals were acting the way they were, at least to a degree. That didn't mean he had to like it.

"Fine," the man who seemed to be leader of the originals said. "Come on. Let's get back to work, boys." That would have been the end of it, Jade assumed, had he not stayed to listen as the crowd of originals and replicas continued on their way. Some of the originals deliberately hung back, still shooting dirty looks his way.

"I can't believe you'd turn your back on us like this," one man said. "I mean, we're not fakes like them. We were here first."

"That's right," another man echoed. "I can't believe you're choosing to support those damned replicas over us!" And that was the end of that. The remaining men went to join the rest of the workers and the newly hired replicas. Another tension filled issue settled. But at what cost?

This was but one of many things he dealt with in Grand Chokmah. By then, Jade was used to it. If the way his fist clenched was any indication, though, the Colonel seemed to be reaching his limit. He closed his eyes, took a moment to take a calming breath, and...

His fist found its way to colliding with the wall nearest him. Not enough force was applied to damage anything severely, but he still felt the pain shoot through his hand. The most Jade did was grit his teeth.

Then he heard footsteps from nearby. Another group come to him to deal with their issues, he imagined. He didn't bother to look their way.

"What?" Jade couldn't hide the frustration in his voice any longer. "What problems have you come to me with now?"

[talesofourworlds]

While the rest of Brave Vesperia rested up in Capua Torim, Raven found himself restless. Just restless enough to wander north with the intention of coming back later, it seemed. They'd be pretty mad at him if he didn't, and he didn't blame them after the stunts he'd pulled in the past. Still, Raven hadn't been able to settle. He needed the fresh air and a change of scenery.

Truth be told, his mind had been wandering back to certain things as of late. After encountering Gauche and Droite the way they had some time ago, finding a certain compact, trading it for the bow... it was hard not to think about the war. About her and the others they had lost. How he should have been among them, but hadn't because Alexei had needed someone. He'd just happened to be the someone that was fortunate enough to be brought back. Or unfortunate, as it felt some days. He'd promised Brave Vesperia he would live, though, and so live he did. Because that was what the rest of his old friends would want too, wasn't it?

Such thoughts left Raven a bit preoccupied as he walked, unaware of his surroundings except for what he happened to catch here and there, and so he was unaware of another presence until he happened to look up. When he did, he froze. Pale blue hues widened as he caught sight of the familiar brunette before him.

He'd had dreams of scenarios like this. Dreams were so fleeting, though, and he feared this was another one of them. His mouth opened, then closed again, only to open again with no sound to follow. He knew her. At least, he thought he did. Unless Casey happened to have a twin sister hidden away somewhere that she'd never mentioned, he felt certain. And yet... what if it wasn't? People could have doppelgängers somewhere in the world, right? That was a thing? What if that was what this was? She hadn't broached conversation with his name, so... what if she just didn't know him?

What ifs. All of these what ifs wouldn't get him the answers he was looking for. Tentative steps were taken closer. One, then another, until he stopped again. Then she spoke, and any doubt he felt vanished in that single instant. Her voice was just the same as he remembered.

It was like she'd stepped out of a dream.

"Casey...?" He hoped. Hoped that this was as real as it felt. Hoped nothing would come and snatch away this one, singular moment. Hoped beyond hope that he wasn't about to make an even bigger idiot of himself than he often felt.

༶♡༶ @talesofourworlds ♡ ೃ༄

༶♡༶ A small village a little ways to the north of Capua Torim, to most it was an insignificant place not even marked on the map but to Casey it was her place of solace. A place she had somehow find herself in long after the day she should've died. Yet it was if her time had come to a complete stand still.

༶♡༶ The first few weeks she had spent moping around, mourning the lost of everyone she had ever loved and cared for. There was the guilt and self loathing. Yet over time she had acclimated a bit to her surroundings. The villagers gave her a sense of comfort and reason to live on.

༶♡༶ This day had been like most of her newfound days patroling the surroundings for monsters or bandits followed by the occasional trip to Capua Torim. Yet it felt as if fate had plans to throw her life off course, she could feel the piercing gaze of another.

༶♡༶ ❝Do you need something?❞ the bruntette questions, turning to face the other. His eyes were the same mesmerizing shade as Damuron but he was dead... They all were. Maybe she had stumbled upon his brother? What a tragic coincidence.

[xxlady-lunaxx]

Imagine Obanai, before becoming a Hashira, getting accused of murder after being caught by some police when he still had his katana out. Some demon had been killing frequently in the village, the same demon Obanai had just killed, but since it had disappeared, inevitably the police figured Obanai was some cannibal or something. They arrested him, putting him in a jail cell unless he was proven innocent.

When he was thrown in, Obanai began panicking. Which was normal, of course. Because this (so-called)criminal had just been caught and incarcerated! There was no worry of his sporadic breathing. Except—

Except now he was clawing at the bars and hyperventilating to the point he seemed unable to breath, tears streaking down his cheeks and staining that peculiar mask of his. One of the police—a woman—walked towards him, concerned.

One of the other police warned her to leave because, despite the fact that they had taken his sword, he could still be very dangerous. But she assured him that this was only a child, that there was no way he could do anything; he was scared, she needed to console him so he could calm down and answer their questions. And so she knelt by the cell, not quite in arm rage of Obanai if he thought to reach out. But instead, he did the opposite, recoiling at her presence. A small whimper escaped him and he curled up in a ball, a hand reaching up and clawing at his mask subconsciously, an overwhelming amount of terror written in his eyes.

“No…” Obanai whispered. His voice was raspy, scratching against the walls. The diminutive word was small but seemed to hold so much emotion that the police approaching him physically stumbled back, worry rising.

“It’s okay… We just need to talk to you,” she murmured, trying on a gentle tone. She had been amongst the ones who didn’t believe he had done anything. After all, there were no traces of blood on his katana. He could’ve wiped it, of course, but then why had he been holding it out in such a stance? “It’s… It’s safe here.”

The words had the opposite effect intended; Obanai scampered back, pressing against the far wall. He shook his head quickly, his hair spinning around him, covering his bicolored eyes. He was shaking, and a quiet sob wrecked his body. He could barely breathe now, memories returning in flashes and overwhelming him. He was stiff, gasping pleads muffled by his bandages. He was sorry, he was sorry, he promised not to run away again, he promised, he would stay, he would stay, he would—

But then he was in familiar arms, a Demon Slayer he’d worked with recently carrying him. They were outside, the sky bright and blue and the air blissfully fresh and cool. The Demon Slayer glanced down, his eyebrows furrowed in concern but relaxing slightly when he noticed that Obanai had awoken.

“It’s okay. I got you out. The Master is taking care of everything, I think,” he reassured him. Slowly, carefully, he set Obanai down, helping him sit. “Maybe we shouldn’t go into cities too often, hm?” he remarked, a tired sort of amusement quirking his lips.

Obanai nodded numbly. He was outside. He was safe.

The Demon Slayer sat beside him, resting a comforting hand on his back. “It’s okay,” he repeated quietly. “You’re okay.”

He was okay.

[megantronusprime]

y'all ever think about the 10 years engie spent as a roughneck in the oilpatch? because I do.

Like, do you think he was trying to break away from the family legacy of becoming a mercenary? that maybe that boy in the picture, trying his father's goggles wanted nothing more than to be an engineer just like his daddy - even had a natural knack for it too, said his dad, just like him and his father before him - and was too young to see clearly the toll it took on him and his family? do you think that, as he got older, he would begin to recognize the extremes his father and grandfather went to for their work, obsessing over it, even experimenting on their own bodies. do you think he came across his mother crying at the kitchen table late one night, unable to recognize the loving man she married who now never came home and obsessed over his work, and decided right then and there that he wasn't going to be that man to his family? that he was going to forge his own path - be his own man, and break free from the Conagher family curse?

so, maybe, at the age of 18, he began working as a roughneck in the oilfields of west Texas. It was hard manual labour, long days spent on drilling rigs with the Texas sun beating down on him, but it was good money, and though some of his coworkers were rough most of them were good enough guys and he along with most of 'em. and hey, sometimes maybe there were even on-the-spot practical problems to be solved - issues with the drill that in a fast-paced environment like that couldn't wait for a proper tech to come around and solve? and in those moments, engie would step in and fix the issue quickly, working without hesitation, like it was second nature to him. And maybe his coworkers would always remark upon his natural aptitude? ("you're in the wrong line of work, Dell.") Maybe he would shrug it off, say it weren't nothin' - just hung around his father a lot growin' up and learned a thing or two - but deep inside, he hoped for more of those opportunities to fix things, and maybe those little moments of on-the-spot fixes were the very things he looked forward to most. And maybe, even as he gained a reputation for being a mr. fix-it amongst his coworkers, given odd things outside of work to tinker on, it wasn't enough. maybe slowly, over the years, with each thing he worked on, the flames of his intellectual curiosity were stoked more and more, until eventually, he went back home and visited his mom, during his week off. And, late one night, against his better judgement, he went into his father's workshop - untouched, everything covered in a layer of dust (he hadn't been home in years). he knew he shouldn't. He could feel the gnawing at him, the voice demanding him to give in to his intellectual curiosity and follow in his father's footsteps getting louder. He had been trying to fight it, but he finally reached his breaking point and went into his father's blueprints. that was what tipped him over the edge. He spent the whole night, locked away in his father's workshop, poring over each design, his mind racing with ideas of how he could make it better. He couldn't stand it anymore, he needed more. When the sun came back up again, Dell informed his mother that after 10 years, he was quitting his job and enrolling for university. and although he was certain that he would not become the same man his father and grandfather was, as sure as he would be an engineer, but do it differently and not succumb to the family curse. And although his mother smiled, ever gentle and encouraging of her son, coffee mug in hand, there was a sadness in her eyes. Because she knew that Dell always had the same tenacity and obsessive intellectual curiosity his father has. And if Dell was going to do this, there was no moderation. He was going to fling himself into it completely, lose sleep, lose focus of everything else. And she was right.

...

OR maybe he always knew he was going to be an engineer and was like, "well, I'm going to do a whole lot of schooling, so what's the best way to save up for tuition? oh yeah! work in the oilfield for a few years :)" lol

[dogpastra]

mom said it was my turn on the writing

Clyde had been careful. Unseen, unheard, it had scoped out exactly how to track its newest victim- though it wouldn't exactly describe them as that yet. It took a meticulous sort of planning when it wanted to erase someone and steal their mind away, but this particular human was more useful to it alive, it thought. Over the course of 6 days, Clyde had stalked Alex. Having someone on the inside seemed like a lucrative idea, and it wanted to be thorough with its investigation on The Foundation. Not to mention, scaring someone into looking through its secrets for it had been fun. If Alex thought he could keep the Eastridge Demon at bay with nothing more than cheap peanut butter- the kind that's just a little too sticky- they were wrong. ...Well, just a little too sticky, and paired with that jam-- Clyde dismissed the thought. It kept going over how exactly it should go about disposing of him. Absorption was immediately obvious, taking in all the information it needed without ever needing to set foot inside, but strangely, it found the company.... Not exactly a chore to uphold. It was slow, it was tedious, but Clyde could be patient. It needed to be patient. It would wait desperate, agonizing years if it was the only way to find where his other half had been taken. It hadn't exactly liked being alone, as much as it hated people. The crunch of spring snow brought it to attention. Alex was leaving for work again. Clyde wondered if they were worth keeping around a little longer.

[mrspockify]

I feel like of the two of them Mario is actually the more artistically-inclined brother so here's some rambling headcanons about artsy Mario:

It started when he was in grade school. Art class was always his favorite, and he would come home covered in paint or have dried clay stuck in his hair—anything that made his mama's life difficult. She basically had to hose him down every day.

He struggled with emotional regulation a lot as a kid, getting into fights and getting in trouble with teachers, mostly because communicating was difficult for him. Art served as a good outlet, and he could use it to help people understand what he was feeling, so his teachers and parents tried to encourage it.

As they got older, Mario showed more and more interest in art (and showed a lot of skill), but it wasn't as easy to pursue as it was when he was younger, so he started to fall out of practice.

It was mostly a combination of money and expectations. Nice art supplies that will last are expensive, and he would go through sketchbooks like they were nothing, so his parents couldn't keep up. He'd still doodle in lined notebooks when he had the time, but that's about all he could do at home.

Expectation-wise, the discouragement mostly came from his father. Papa Mario is a practical man, and he knows that art is not a practical career. He didn't mind it as a little hobby, but he started to advise Mario to take more useful electives in school instead of art classes. Luigi was very STEM-oriented, which set a sort of precedent in the household, and Mario internalized the idea that pursuing art would somehow be letting his brother down (how could they grow a life together in the future if Mario was a starving artist?)

Into adulthood, he all but gave it up entirely. He was absolutely the one that designed the logo for their business, but that was just about the only art project he was able to do.

That is, until they got sucked into the Mushroom Kingdom. It took a while for the subject to come up, but eventually Peach found Mario admiring her paintings in the castle, and he mentioned offhand that he used to love art.

She is thrilled at this little piece of information! She immediately sets aside time for them each week to do art together. They take supplies out to different places in the Mushroom Kingdom and have picnics together, painting and drawing the landscapes they see.

Mario is just as messy as he was when he was a kid. Peach falls into a fit of giggles the first time she looks over to find globs of paint stuck in his moustache.

But he's also really good. He picks it all back up right away and improves quickly. Peach is impressed, and so tickled by how happy it seems to make him, so she sets him up with his own private studio in the castle, providing him with any and every art supply he could ever dream of. He's overwhelmed of course, but so, so grateful.

He'll draw and paint almost anything, but he especially loves to make portraits of the people he loves. In Superstar Saga, the bros' house has a big portrait of Peach, and I think he painted it himself.

It was never supposed to see the light of day honestly, just sitting in a corner in his studio gathering dust, but one day he walked in to find Peach holding it and admiring it.

He was wildly embarrassed, but she was just flattered and amazed at his talent. She had it professionally framed for him and never stops telling him how much she loves it every time she comes over.

It isn't until later on, when Mario visits her private wing of the castle for the first time, that he finds an awfully similar portrait of himself painted by Peach in a matching frame hanging on her wall.

[shogun-becoming]

NEW CHAPTER IS UP!!! I know it's been forever sorryyyyy

So much angst in this one. So, so much angst. Enjoy :)

[sevikasenby]

imagine you’re laying down, sevikas thighs straddling your face, desperately wanting to eat her out. you try to but a metal hand stops you from moving. “uh uh, i didn’t tell you you could start eating yet, doll.” you pout and try and give her the best puppy eyes you can. “stick your tongue out.” you pout again but still do as you’re told, moaning as you feel her clit start gliding against your tongue. she’s taken your wrists and pinned them above your head so you couldn’t touch her or yourself while she used your tongue to get off. all you can do is lay there, eyes rolling back at the sight of her above you, listening to all the pretty sounds she’s making, feeling your own cunt throbbing between your legs. you start squirming cause you’re so desperate to touch yourself, to touch her, taste her, but you still do as you were told and keep your tongue out for her.

she starts riding your face faster, her slick running onto your tongue, into your mouth, even down your chin. you know she’s so close and even though you also know you’re likely gonna get punished, you can’t help but finally take her clit into your mouth, sucking and licking until her thighs are shaking around your head.

[that-was-anticlimactic]

okay no but thinking about ritsu with tourette’s, right? and this boy is like… the king of suppression because he feels like he needs to be the perfect student and son and all that jazz and he’s also so embarrassed by the fact that he can’t control his body. so he suppresses like there’s no tomorrow and it hurts so much but he does it anyways. he lets himself tic at home, but even then he’s so used to suppression he forces it to be mild so his family thinks it’s better than it is. he lets loose more in his room by himself, but even then he sometimes has trouble doing it. he frequently has tic attacks in his room:/

anyways so let’s say one day mob and reigen and serizawa and teru and tome and shou and dimple are all at spirits and such, right? and like ritsu has student council stuff or something idk anyways and serizawa asks reigen where he gets his fidget toys because one of his classmates has ts and has been searching but can’t find any they like. and before reigen can respond, mob speaks up and is like “oh you should ask ritsu” and everyone just. stares at him because reigen has like a box of fidget toys in his office and an individual stress ball for each person and ritsu has quite literally never used them. and they’re like “why?” so mob is like “he has some fidget toys in his room—he doesn’t really take them places. i don’t know why he doesn’t. they really help his ts”. and everyone just stares x2

so eventually, reigen is like “ritsu has ts???” and mob just cocks his head and says “yes??? did you guys not know this?” and absolutely NONE of them knew he had ts because ritsu is THAT good at suppressing and if he’s in a position where he can’t suppress, he finds a way to leave so he’s alone. and like mob didn’t fully realize that ritsu was suppressing because he lives with ritsu and sometimes hears it from his room and sees it at dinner and he notices the little signs that other people don’t see unless they know and he’s like “you… really didn’t know??? does he not tic around you guys?” and then everyone comes to the realization that ritsu is HARDCORE suppressing

anyways i think it’d be sweet if reigen sat down and talked with him and ritsu is super stand-offish at first and snappy and then reigen says something like “we’d rather have you as you are—you don’t need to try to be the perfect ritsu because you’re already the perfect ritsu” or something along those lines. and ritsu starts having a breakdown and like it takes awhile for him to be comfortable ticcing in public. he starts small with the spirits and such gang and then slowly lets it happen during school and stuff and everyone is just. so proud of him. he’s less tense all the time and it helps him be more vocal about when he’s in pain and needs help and he starts to actually use his fidget toys and. yeah. feelings.

[thornheartfelt]

need the crash course of your selfship w rorschach now tell me everything - @selfshipangel

Grabs my self insert, Barghest. Born in England, taken to America as a child by his mother after she met and ultimately wed an American soldier. It did not turn out great. As soon as he turned 18, he gathered up as much as he could and ran away to find a new start in New York City. Not having money, he found one of the cheapest apartments to rent in that he could. That's where he first ended up meeting one Walter Kovacs, as a neighbour.

He's quite an anxious person, shy around new people, and Walter is. Walter. So they didn't talk much at first. Not until a loud argument broke out in the building's hallways and surprisingly the loudest person there was Barghest. Another tenant has a break up go wrong and he happened to be walking back to his apartment, saw red and stepped in. The sudden appearance of another person prompted that tenant's quite nasty, now ex-boyfriend to clear off. It ended with a very shaken, still kind of angry Barghest letting slip to Walter that he couldn't not step in. Not after what he grew up with.

It was the feeling of similar history that got them actually talking more, an unspoken sense of understanding even without any details being immediately dived into. Over time they ended up actually becoming friends. After a few years of Barghest practically living with Walter since he spent a majority of his time at his place, they actually ended up sharing an apartment. "For financial reasons." Definitely not because they'd become unexpectedly attached to each other. Two guys, sitting on a couch, 2 feet apart 'cause they're not gay.

So Barghest and Walter have settled in. Everything's fine, Barghest's not since long celebrated his 23rd birthday. Except not really, because the murder of Kitty Genovese happened. We know what Walter's response to that was. So one time Barghest woke in the middle of the night, got up to get a glass of water and had the shock of his life when he saw this new costumed crime fighter is stood in the middle of his apartment. Especially when he looks up from the mask in his hands and sees that it's Walter all exhausted and kinda beat up after a particularly rough night. Cue the most awkward silence that stretched on for at least a minute straight.

"It's too late for this, not the right time for a conversation. Just... let me help with those injuries." Barghest damn near cries breaking that silence because he's not sure how to feel. He settles somewhere between pride that Walter's got the guts to do what he's been to scared to do, and fear for the safety of the person closest to him. It ends up being the push Barghest needs and that's when he becomes Barghest. He's always tried to help people but always wished to do more and starts putting together a costume of his own.

Barghest is however quite clear that half of his motive is not wanting to see Walter go and get himself hurt too badly, so especially in the beginning he'd start his nights with sticking by Rorschach. They'd started working with the second Nite Owl too, Barghest less so than Rorschach although he still considered Daniel a friend. It was at this point that Barghest and Rorschach increasingly became oddly domestic in the privacy of their home. They effectively were already acting like a somewhat unconventional couple so just... steadily ended up referring to each other as partner. It was up to whoever heard to decide if they meant professionally or romantically. They know who they are to each other, even if both of them can be a little awkward when it comes to verbally expressing it.

Then came the Blaire Roche case, when Rorschach became Rorschach. It was a very, very rough time and it hurt Barghest to see Rorschach hurt so deeply. He tried as best as he could to be a source of support but knew that wouldn't undo what happened. As Rorschach became more closed off to other people, their relationship felt strained at first but ultimately managed to hold strong. Rorschach wasn't a fan of public displays of affection in the first place but was somehow even more reserved about it. When the Keene Act eventually passed, Barghest did continue to occasionally dabble in vigilantism but slowed down due to worries over the legislation and due to lingering issues from old injuries.

Following that, there's the entire events of Watchmen. That's mostly the same except Barghest gets involved. I'm actually not completely settled on the full details of him being there and how it shapes the interactions between him and Rorschach. However, after Rorschach gets broken out of prison Barghest absolutely did not want to be parted from him. Rorschach's tolerance of that clinginess was likely surprising to everyone else, I'd imagine. Probably also to himself. The biggest change is Rorschach does not get turned into the world's most morbid confetti. I do not see it. (From a writer's perspective I LOVE the end of Watchmen, but from the perspective of being in love? Ouch.)

[cambius]

@recitedemise cont. from here.

she asked because it seemed like he might want to ⸻ the cambion can sense it in the cool evening air , even now. his desire hangs heavy in the atmosphere , prickling her flesh with goosebumps as it begins to consume her own senses. and it isn’t just gale’s desire , she is reluctant to admit to even herself that she wants him to kiss her. and not so she might lure him into bed to lay claim to his soul as she has fantasized doing so many times before. this time , she only desires him. his yearning , his delicious wanting , is blindingly intoxicating. saccharine sweet , thick like honey on her tongue. but even that , the high his desire offers , the high that the demon craves ⸻ it pales in comparison to the man himself , somehow. yes , somehow gale , of all people , has wormed his way into the black void within her chest where her heart should be.

and though it didn’t happen out of the blue , though it’s been a slow - burning fuse ﹕ all of these desires seemed to sneak up on nepharia , quick and suddenly. he is the last person she expected to care about , and it’s not an easy thing to reconcile with , either. she believed him to be this weak , pathetic man for so long , stinking of desperation. she didn’t want to believe she was anything like him. but it’s been a long while now , of spending platonic evenings with gale of waterdeep , wallowing in self - pity together and analyzing their own hubris that have left them ultimately feeling so very alone.

nepharia is more like gale than she cares to admit , but even now she realizes that he is much better than her. and that is an even more difficult thing for her to reconcile with. one might argue that nepharia has been getting on well with the others , way better than when they started out , at least. she has found herself caring for each and every one of them , she can tell in the way she leaps into action when one of them is in danger , and in the way that she feels like her life is safe amongst them. she has never felt that before. but she can’t help but think that she doesn’t deserve it.

and gale is making it very clear what he wants. crystal clear. and though his physical desire is strong , potent enough to cloud her better judgement , she still wills herself to focus on his words. he wants her. and not just for the evening. and he is trusting her with his eternal soul. to have him , to hold him , feels like a gift not meant for her. as though it’s far too precious for her bloodstained claws to be allowed to hold. why does he want her ? what does he see within her that she can’t ? but she can’t ask. he doesn’t sanction the time for her insecure questions , before claiming what he so desires. and it sets nepharia’s insides ablaze with her own wants. her own desperate yearning. her longing to be seen by someone , to be heard , to be loved. they are manifesting here and now within gale’s kiss , within his touch. clawed fingers finds themselves gripping at purple robes , gently trying to tug the wizard closer against her. and when the contact is broken , too soon , she almost finds her lips chasing the feeling.

for a moment , the cambion wonders if it is her own vulnerability she is feeling , as gale pulls away to look back at her with a gaze that makes her feel a way that is indescribable. she only hopes her expression isn’t as dumbstruck as she feels , as she stares back at him with plump lips slightly agape , eager to taste the wine on his tongue. she is practically salivating at the mouth at the notion , as her pulse thumps erratically within her chest. it has been so long since a man has made her feel this alive , with nothing more than a chaste kiss and a look.

and the words , are like nothing she’s ever heard before. and gale offers them , knowing what she is. knowing what she has done , and knowing what she is capable of doing. he’s offering more than he even knows. he is offering her hope , where there has been none before. not ever. and she looks back at him , with a gaze softer than anything that has ever graced her expression , ❛ what if i told you that i wanted nothing more than for you to be mine ? would you believe me if i told you that i wanted to be yours , too ? ❜ both genuine questions. does he believe her ? can he trust her , though she is a devil ? can he love her , though she is born of darkness and malevolence ?

a hand releases his robes to find the side of his face , a soft palm and fingers gently smoothing over the coarseness of his cheek , ❛ you’ve fucking ruined me , gale dekarios , ❜ a breath of a laugh escapes her against his face , though it is more humorless , as desperate eyes seek a soothing ailment in the wizard’s gaze , hoping to ease her troubled mind , ❛ but i welcome the destruction , because i feel like you’ve brought me back to life. ❜

[writing-good-vibes]

Did you you decide to do that story where Roger….husband,father and Adulterer teaches Corey how to swim

ahh i can't lie i have been thinking about this story, thank you for asking and giving me an excuse to talk about it more !! also, i love that description of roger lol

this story only really exists in my head at the minute, but hopefully i'll put it together in a better way than i'm about to, so that it can exist as a bonus chapter for the main story. basically, besides it being about learning how to swim, it's also about corey and roger hugely blurring the line between flirtation and fatherly support.

to set the scene: they do make it to the pool -- one of those big blue hotel pools with glass windows looking out at the city and a sauna off to the side -- after their post-breakfast activities. corey stays firmly at the edge in the shallow end, watching roger swim laps.

corey tries to insist he's okay where he is, but roger keeps playfully trying to lure him further into the pool and swim laps with him ("work up that appetite of yours") and corey kind of has no choice but to admit he doesn't know how to swim.

honestly, swimming really hasn't come up that often in corey's life, so he is just a little embarrassed at having to admit this for basically the first time to someone (even though plenty of people can't swim).

this admission takes roger by surprise to be honest, he really just assumed it was a given that corey -- an adult -- would be able to swim. but he reigns his reaction in, tries not to let corey see his surprise, because he knows it would only embarrass him further. "hey, that's okay. how about i teach you, hm?"

roger taught jeremy to swim when he was 4 or 5, not that long ago really, and the similarity in the situation is absolutely not lost on him.

they start with the total basics, letting corey get used to just floating in the pool, first on his back and then with his face in the water. before they get to more effective swim strokes, roger stands a few feet away and lets corey doggy paddle his way over to him. corey, pink-cheeked with embarrassment or exertion, complains "i can see you moving", because roger isn't being half as sneaky as he thinks he is about taking a few steps back as corey gets closer.

when they move onto "real" swimming, corey almost shivers when roger puts his hand on his stomach to keep corey up so he can kick his legs. neither of them mention it when roger's thumb just barely slipping beneath corey's waist band. neither of them say anything when roger's fingers glide down the back of corey's thigh when he tells him to keep his legs straight.

maybe roger shouldn't feel as proud as he does when corey swims his first clumsy length of the pool, but he does. he taught corey that, he literally and figuratively held corey's hand, he gave corey this milestone.

corey keeps close to the edge the whole way, but they do end up in the deep end and roger absolutely shouldn't like it so much when corey clings to him instead of the pool-edge when he realises he can't reach the bottom to stand up.

their kiss tastes like chlorine.

[monogatcri]

❝ Ugh, great. Now I’m the bad guy. ❞

━━ ˟ ⊰🍁MORAL AMBIGUITY NEVER OCCURRED TO the mind of thousands , writhing onward toward their moral high ground or the depravity of forgoing the quandary of day by deciding solely on the night ; Niwa had taken the high horse in his past, moral righteousness a folly that had led to his own premature burial. Black and white. Black and white... Black and white... That's how he wanted to desperately keep the world, a disgusting habit that made him feel so uneasy when there came those of shades that entered his life ; unfortunately, he knew that the world would never just be a grey spectrum... After all, he currently traversed the lands of Sumeru with the one who'd all but destroyed his lineage.

        From their conversations of mercenaries and shady scholars, the whole of this nation felt painted in hues of silver with the sprinkling of gold mixed in to outline their motivations. Can he blame a hawk for snatching an innocent rabbit when that was the circle of life? Something so haunting about that statement clung to him, soaking into his clothing like the sweat off his neck into the cotton fabric worn upon his back...

        A breath, hot had left him, attempting to cool himself off by swiping a hand over forehead when he'd felt his arms grabbed tightly. Whether by mistaken identity or a random act of violence, Niwa couldn't be sure, but the tightening of joints 'round his skin beneath was enough for him to wince.

        Everything happened so fast -- the yank of his arm hard enough to pull it nearly from its socket, his other arm reaching for his blade at his hip, the gruff vocals that complemented the rugged appearance, the rising of his own sharpened -- oh, no, he could clearly recall how rusted and poorly maintained his blade was -- weapon above his head.

        By chance, the confrontation had an equal chance to end with one of them managing a hit off the other ; however, the one whose bloodlust surpassed that of the one ready to end a life wasn't even in the midst of the battle -- wasn't initially aware in the moment...

        Barely a second to process it, the wind he so cherished on days he sat upon sandy shores to fall into bouts of nostalgia, flew by his countenance, assailant's body flung so aggressively back that the resounding crack! against ruined walls must have been heard for miles, voices were immediately descending upon the scene and irises were quick to flinch as it dawned upon him that who'd once been alive seconds ago no longer released air from his lungs -- what's worse? beneath the exterior was a flash of lightly hued blue fabric -- the worst? the second man standing directly next to him, whose voice called out fiercely for help.

        All possibilities came flooding his mind -- a set up? Was it rational to come to such a conclusion? Were they meant to harm that man...for some purpose to be accounted for?

        Expression lit up in horror, his mind reeled but he'd bury down his feelings, slamming the dirt with the shovel to keep them at bay while hand snatched the wrist of his companion, yanking him away from the scene as the forest path came to life with those who monitored the wellbeing of flora and fauna alike within -- or were they accomplices to this duo...? It was that thought that caused his feet to move, unwilling to risk their lives in disadvantaged territory. The blur of the bark only ceased as breath finally leaves him and the sounds of distressed yelling faded behind, his arm pressed to ancient Adhigama.

        ❝ Ugh, great. Now I’m the bad guy. ❞

        If not for the dire circumstances of what'd transpired earlier, he might have already snapped at him, demanding to know what he was THINKING exerting that much force upon a man like that, but...luck would have it, he cannot find enough energy to unleash a lecture -- not for the moment... There might have been no intention to forgo caution to the wind and cause serious injury such as that ; it must have been an accident -- a slip of power. He, instead, inhales deeply, pulling back a fraction of his energy to turn, pressing back to surface to lean...

        An apology lingered on his tongue for being so distracted to not sense the shift in aura around him, but he resisted ; it'd accomplish nothing except delegating pity. Anger, remorse, swirling repressions spun like a spider weaves a web, yet what comes out is a mess instead of an intricate display: ❝ Is that why you warned me about them? I thought...I thought they weren't scholars. ❞

⊰🍁ᴛᴀɴɢʟᴇᴅ sᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ

[amemoire]

Vale Can't Shut Up About Scara Pt. 1

I just want to talk about my boy and you all are the unfortunate bystanders.

Whether its in main verse or aus, I think Scara has a lot of skills and talents. It comes as no surprise in main seeing as he's had centuries to pick up and perfect any number of skills, so naturally he'll have the most there. But a lot of things will end up carrying over, so I'll try to talk about these across however many posts I make on the matter. This one is mostly going to address things related to COMBAT.

No surprise he's good a fighting— he was a Harbinger. But more than that, he was specifically given the title of Scaramouche, " little skirmisher ". We know that these titles are only given to those found suitable of them. When there is no one alive that fits the title, the seat will be left empty indefinitely. As the one found worthy of essentially being called THE skirmisher, Scara is highly skilled when it comes to combat. This is something that would have been widespread knowledge pre-Irminsul erasure. It struck immense fear into other Fatui operatives as well as the general public of Snezhnaya. People knew of the Balladeer— they knew him as someone you didn't want to cross paths with, but more on his previous reputation another time. He excels in hand-to-hand combat and actually prefers when things are PERSONAL this way. He doesn't mind using a weapon, but there's a special delight to be had when his body itself is the weapon. There's also a twisted satisfaction in dealing both death and injury with his own hands.

Apart from this, he is well-trained with just about anything under the sun, but does have his preference of the sword and polearm over all the rest. ( Totally didn't mean to match him with Ei like that ). The sword was the first weapon he received any training with and he's honed this skill his whole life, largely practicing iaido but familiar with other forms as well. Meanwhile the polearm is the next option that allows him to maintain both SPEED and MOBILITY. These two things are essential to his fighting style as he doesn't like to drag matters out for too long— centering his techniques around a quick and clean defeat. The bow is likely his least used weapon given how impersonal it is as a primarily long-ranged weapon.

As far as catalysts go, he doesn't actually use one. Similar to how realistically both Heizou and Wriothesley also wouldn't have one. ( Honestly, I feel like this could be the case for many if not all catalyst users because they appear to wield elements in raw form rather than infusing it into something else ). Apart from how we don't see a catalyst in cutscenes compared to other characters that wield swords, bows, polearms, etc. it just doesn't suit the way he fights. He harnesses the wind to literally tear his opponents apart and throws his whole body into it. It's violent and fast and outside of gameplay, we see that he is still very much getting physical throughout. He's utilizing his surroundings, using his own body for a shield, getting in close, taking the weapons of his opponents, and even grabbing and throwing them from high altitudes. Simply put, there's NO ROOM for a catalyst to actually be there.

He doesn't typically ' play with his food ' and is more about packing a lot of strength into a few exchanges or finding an opening for a single decisive strike. As I stated earlier, he aims for the quick and clean. The only time he'll make things messy and wicked is when he's in a particular mood. ( And THOSE are the fights that he was known for in the Fatui ). These instances were known to be bloody with death coming before one could even blink. All hands and uncontrolled electricity ripping through those unfortunate enough to be labelled an enemy.

Another important thing of note is how he's also one of the few characters we know to have journeyed into and returned from the Abyss. And he didn't go just once or twice, it was several times over the span of an undisclosed amount of time. All that we know at present is that he was gone for a LONG while. So putting that into perspective— this means he went up against monsters that were strong enough to render him in need of repairs and enhancements, came back for that, then went back to the Abyss only to encounter even stronger opponents, thus falling into this loop until he completed the expedition. We can infer that he was able to improve and refine his skill rather quickly this way. It may not be Ei's 500 year long battle against herself, but by no means was it any less dire. If he couldn't continually improve then he would've been destroyed. And I do headcanon that the time he spent in the Abyss was equivalent to SEVERAL years.

I do think he has fun when he's fighting. Not in the same way that Childe does, but I do think they have a few things in common. He's just about always needing to hold back but finds that fighting is a good way to let off a little steam. He'll indulge in some of his violent tendencies and laugh at those who actually thought they stood a chance against him— because they NEVER did.

[hcrvelles]

hc + the winchesters. brownie points if you talk about how wallace feels about william's loathing for them.

now that's a touchy subject. for a long time after wallace found out john had been the reason bill died, he hated dean and sam. cursed their names under the sun until he was blue in the face. and then . . . he realized that the boys weren't john. they didn't kill his father, john's selfishness and stupidity did. so he forgave them without ever really telling them he even hated them in the first place. no one had to know about it except wallace himself and will who he'd ranted to time and again about it.

then his mother and sister died. and . . . honestly? even now he doesn't hate them, not really. they hadn't been the ones to make ellen and jo do what they did. they chose that for themselves. and as much as wallace wants to blame it on the winchesters because they wouldn't have even been in that situation if it weren't for them . . . he couldn't find it in himself to hate them. if not for anything more than for his mother and sister. especially jo who he knew thought the world of dean.

wallace can't really control how his brother feels about them, even if he's tried to talk to will about it a few times now. telling him that ellen and jo wouldn't want either of them to hate the brothers the way will now does. will's going to feel how he feels about it and wallace wants to support him in that. he doesn't want to make will do anything he doesn't want to do because he knows how well that ends for everyone.

[kurancs]

"you really created this?" it's almost a statement instead of a question, évariste's hand trailing across the pale marble wall; he doesn't bother mitigating what awe he feels, although alongside that awe creeps in some terror. he is and has always been terribly out of his depth. some part of him knows he should have come to celephaïs sooner — there was no reason to put it off. but standing here he understands why he did. he's a wanderer, a stranded adventurer in the dreamlands, not a sculptor of them, and standing beside the creator and king of this place he can't shake the latent fear that even he isn't immune to such powerful influence. "nothing i heard before seeing it myself did it justice." / @selfpres

kuranes twirls a yellow ginkgo leaf between thumb and forefinger; time does not pass in the valley of ooth-nargai, but sometimes the green skirts of mount aran turn yellow in a mimicry of changing seasons to please its king. he watches the movement for a moment longer, basking in the compliment, before letting a passing breeze take hold of the leaf and carry it down sloping streets. the fondness in the king's gaze is unmistakeable as he follows the leaf's frolicking path until it slips out of sight and his focus shifts to the view opening below them: clusters of buildings constructed of white marble and gilded roofs, separated by paved streets; clusters of people going about their daily lives, many of them heading towards the harbour for either work or leisure; cats, slipping out of their owners' windows into back alleys, undoubtedly to some conference with their kind; and in the distance, the snow-peaked mount aran and the sea-shore, and further still galleys sailing towards the purpling horizon.

"i did," he answers eventually. "though it was a long time ago now." there's weight and history in that long time, though what kuranes fails to tell évariste is that celephaïs was raised out of a childhood fancy, without any conscious knowledge or decision on his part. few know that celephaïs is not the result of intentional craftmanship and fancy kuranes quite the sculptor and architect and that suits him just fine.

it's refreshing to see his city through the eyes of a stranger. he can keep the comforts of his manor-house and the countryside waiting for a little longer. "it's quite something, isn't it? if you have the time, you should board a ship and visit serannian as well. i would be glad to host you in my castle there as well." then the king laughs, as though delighted by some private joke. he turns to regard évariste from the corner of his eye, gaze sharp and mouth turned upwards at one corner, as though expecting him to share in his amusement.