#Wildblood

[glendylucast]

Zussman x Wildblood Masterlist (🪖🩸)

🩸Clifford "Brick" Wildblood Profile

📝 Ficts

...then Cold Distance ENG | IND ...now Our Shelter ENG | IND ...then Daydreams and Nightmares COMIC | ENG I IND ...now Lost With You (Coming soon) ...then Night Does Not Belong to Us (Coming soon) ...now Night Belong to Us ENG ...then I Never Liked Snow (Coming soon) ...now Christmas Eve (Coming soon)

All my ficts is also posted in AO3

🖼️ Picts

Finally face claim

Austria (Fountain)

Seneca (Wildblood on Campaign)

Two (Nightmare)

Six (High Fever)

Fict sneak peek!

Overnight on car sketch

[bookcoversonly]

Title: Wildblood | Author: Lauren Blackwood | Publisher: Wednesday Books (2023)

[mentalmeles]

Swap AU, in which Caleb--who was born as a demon--visits the Human Realm in disguise to search for answers about his deceased parents, only to meet Evelyn--who is a human living in Gravesfield. I'm sure you can probably figure out the rest...

Demon!Caleb belongs to @phobylee

[phobylee]

Swap au shenanigans! Caleb (aka Cecil Wildblood) and his human disguise + kind of how gravesfield views the pair, particularly after Caleb.. well, shows his "true colors"

[mister-writes]

Last Line Tag

I LIVE!!!!! And I was tagged by the lovely @tabswrites over here!

I'm actually making some good progress on editing/rewriting this section of Wildblood. Here's one of the last snippets from where I was editing last night:

A breath of wind gusted between the trees, the air crackling like the passing of a storm. Kerris’s hand ran instinctively to his sword, every hair standing on end. A puff of dust rose from the ground around Maedri’s feet as the earth shifted ever so slightly. And then the feeling dissipated. The weight in the air lifted. Maedri removed her hand from the stone.

Tagging @card-queen @blind-the-winds @talesofsorrowandofruin @gltownsend and @illarian-rambling!

[anteaterisland]

My GW2 Toons

These are my GW2 characters. From Left to right they are, Old Man Blep the Asura Engineer. Marrow Antoinette the Charr Guardian. Catalytic Curfuffle the Asura Elementalist. Sansa Eirsdottir the Norn Ranger. Chlora Phylia the Sylvari Mesmer. Mouse The Pleasant the Human Mesmer. Grenth Boy the Human Necromancer. And Kiotvi Wildblood the Norn Thief.

Details beneath the cut.

These two ladies are The Commanders. They are Badasses. They are dating. They are in for a long ride. I am a new player, who has only just leveled them to 80.

Chlora Phylia the Sylvari Mesmer, was my first creation. She's still zero year's old. She has a passion for cartography, cooking, shapeshifting alchemy and Hylek. She lives in Sparkfly Fen and is a member of the priory. Trahearne asked her to be the Commander of the Pact and she was too touched by sentiment to say no, even though she is a terrible leader with social anxiety. Once indoctrinated by the nightmare court, she escaped their influence and stole a verdant puppy. But their corruption lingers in her heart.

Sansa "Stormwalker" Eirsdottir the Norn Ranger is the founder of the Pact. She's eight and a half feet tall and hyper competent. The daughter of Eir Stegalkin, she was raised by her Father. She worked as a messenger runner in her youth, and thunderstorms never delayed her, earning her title of Stormwalker. She killed Zhaitan, and works as the Commanders Right Hand. Chlora is endlessly grateful for her support.

These two are The Twins. Catalytic Curfuffle the Asura Elementalist, is a young Asura with learning disabilities. ADD and Dyscalculia to name a few. She tried very hard to be a good Asura and learn advanced mathematics and Robotics in school but from a young age she showed no talent, no genius. She would throw explosive temper tantrums. She became an elementalist and joined the Vigil, and fights her battles with raw firepower, literally.

Her adoptive sister, Marrow Antoinette the Charr Guardian, was found as a Kitten and adopted by an Asura couple with a newborn as a questionably ethical experimental test subject into the question of Nature versus Nurture. She is everything her sister isn't: quiet, clever, polite, and proud. She can build any Golem you need and program it twice as fast. She powders and pomades her hair very tall as a symbol of her refinement. Her parents couldn't be prouder of her, as a daughter or a test subject. It's a shame all their theories about nurture prevailing are disproved by their other daughter...

These two are Team Rocket. (to me.)

Grenth Boy's legal name is REDACTED, sloppily, by him. A young man, who disowned himself from his noble father upon reaching his majority. Big Fan of Wolfgang Lacrymohs. A necromancer who has devoted his life to Grenth. He’s optimistic and naive. He is a grief counselor and loves nothing more than to give the last rights, and reassure people that they will be welcomed by Grenth. This is not always reassuring.

Mouse The Pleasant was a human Foundling, her family history is completely lost. An orphan and whispers lightbringer, an accomplished mesmer and con-artist, has successfully infiltrated the aristocracy of Divinity’s Reach. An absolute sweetheart who no one would suspect of being a conniving witch.

These two are new, and as such, their lore is still under construction.

Old Man Blep is an Asura Engineer. He is the Twins Father. He works in construction maintenance in Rata Sum.

Kiotvi Wildblood is a Norn Theif. He is a hunter of the wild, and wields a shortbow.

[rosesneverwither]

I'll be posting my original characters that are a part of my Shadowverse (it's a collection of Harry Potter fanfics).

This is my 1st OC

⚡️ ・ Name ︰Zephyr Wildblood

🖇️ ・ Age ︰16 (in the first chapter)

🥖 ・ Wand Type ︰holly with a phoenix feather core

🔮 ・ Abilities (NA if inapplicable) ︰None, unless annoying the prefects and the teachers on purpose counts as an ability

🌿 ・ School (or alma mater) ︰Hogwarts

🏹 ・ House (if applicable) ︰Gryffindor ❤️

🍓 ・ Job (if applicable) ︰N/A

(This is how I've envisioned him to look like.)

BACKGROUND

Zephyr Wildblood is a white-haired boy with a devious face that suggests he is prone to getting in trouble, emerald eyes that glisten in darkness like beautiful gemstones, and an upturned nose that would somehow not become longer with every lie its owner have said.

He comes from a wealthy family that has a lot of influence in the wizarding world.

PERSONALITY

Zephyr is a free spirit, without a care in the world, acting on his whims and desires. He is just like the wind. No, scratch that. A whirlwind that causes chaos and mischief, whenever he arrives without any regrets or second thoughts. He especially loves antagonizing Percy Weasley.

Zephyr Wildblood is one of the main characters of my Rulebreaker fanfiction.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49784233/chapters/125667145

(It's also available on my Tumblr blog.)

[glendylucast]

...Or he says, “I’m fine,” while struggling with PTSD and anxiety, dark circles under his eyes, and that blank expression—the kind of mask you wear when your mind is swarming with bad thoughts, but you’re holding it all in to keep from saying anything because people might brush it off then say "man up!"

Yes, it's still about him

love a fictional character who will scowl and tell people “I’m not sick” “I’m not hungry” “I didn’t get injured”

meanwhile he has an extremely high fever, he ate some soup last week, and the blood is soaking through his jacket

[radiophd]

seb wildblood ft. laraaji -- here / hear

[pseudohendrix]

Jobi - Seb Wildblood

2022

[glendylucast]

The Night Belong To Us

Call of Duty WWII Robert Zussman x Clifford Wildblood (My OC), 3197 words Content warning: Depiction of explicit kissing, mention of ending own selves

This story is a continuation of High Fever and was meant to come after two chapters of Wildblood’s backstory. But somehow, I ended up finishing it first…

Worry not you can still follow the story.

Summary: Zussman wake up after the fever and feeling better, but now he had to confront Wildblood after tried to avoiding him for days.

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

United Stated, July, 1948

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Read High Fever first!

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Robert Zussman opened his eyes, blinking a few times to adjust his blurry vision. His head still felt heavy and groggy from the fever, but it was much better. The throbbing ache behind his head was gone. His memory was still hazy. He stared at the familiar ceiling and walls. The room was quiet, except for the faint hum of the city beyond the windows. The light came from the lamps and billboards. It was nighttime. He looked at the clock, the witching hour.

Past midnight...

Zussman grunted, this bedroom. He didn't remember what happened.

How did I get here?

He tried to remember. He'd come home last night feeling like absolute hell, his body drenched in sweat and his arms trembling from fever. Food had been impossible—anything he tried to eat that afternoon always came right back up.

"Oatmeal… maybe…" his dry lips muttered. He remembered dragging himself to the kitchen, desperate to make something simple and light before sleep. He’d stood at the stove, waiting as the pot simmered. Suddenly his body swayed, and then… it's all black.

Zussman reached up, touching his temple. His fingers brushed against a damp cloth, its corners cool against his warm skin. Someone had placed it there to lower his fever. Slowly, he sat up, realizing he no longer wore the long sleeves that he used when he was at work. Someone changed his clothes and pants. He frowned, trying to piece together the scattered images in his mind.

The smoke, the coughing… the sound of someone’s voice—gruff and familiar. He’d been so out of it, he couldn’t turn off the stove. And then…

"Brick?" The name escaped his lips as a low whisper, his throat still raw. Was it him? Was it Wildblood? Or was it all in his mind?

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. His knees wobbled, and dizziness hit him. He stumbled but caught himself against the wall. Slowly, Zussman walked toward the door, his hands gripping the frame.

As he reached the living room, he found a familiar face.

Clifford "Brick" Wildblood was slouched on the couch in the small living room. His head tilted back against the cushions, his mouth slightly open. A faint snore could be heard from his mouth.

A half-empty glass of water and empty cup with coffee remaining sat on the table next to an ashtray, where the remains of a cigar rested.

Wildblood’s maroon shirt was wrinkled, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a faint trace of exhaustion clung to his face.

Zussman leaned against the doorway. Memories flooded back in fragmented pieces. If Wildblood hadn’t come and hadn’t barged in, the fire could’ve spread. He could’ve burned the room down, or worse.

"Looks like I owe you again, buddy," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

He walked quietly to the drawer near the bed and pulled out a blanket, the fabric soft and worn from years of use. He returned to the living room, slow and careful, not wanting to wake Wildblood. Carefully, he wrapped the blanket over Wildblood’s shoulders, tucking it around him. The man didn’t stir, just shifted slightly. Zussman stood there for a moment longer, felt grateful, then walked back to his room.

--------

Zussman shifted back to his bed, the springs bouncing softly under his weight. On the nightstand, there was a glass of water, a bowl of soup gone cold, and a small bottle of medicine. Wildblood must’ve prepared it all, anticipating that he’d wake up in the middle of the night. He smirked faintly.

"Up and beyond as usual." Zussman whispered.

It didn't take long before he emptied the bowl and glass. His hand reached the bottle of medicine and took two pills of it. After taking the medicine, he leaned back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling, letting his body sink into the mattress, yet his mind refused to enjoy this comfort place.

His eyes still stared at the ceiling, but he no longer saw the white plaster and neon lamp.

The dark memories came. Fragmented like a piece of puzzles. The hard, frozen ground beneath him when he was locked in the solitary cell back in concentration camp. The cries of men, muffled by exhaustion, hunger and pain. The stink of sweat and damp that never left the air.

Then the fragments grew sharper, and he remembered, the torment, the hunger. The desperate longing for freedom, or maybe even just a way to stop feeling altogether. Nights when he thought the silence would be the end of him. The fright that never truly left.

He thought he was tough and strong, but being stripped away from the control and freedom, he couldn't bare it. Constant feeling of hunger and exhaustion. There was a time when despair had burrowed so deep into his chest that it left no room for hope.

There are many US soldiers trapped in the same hell, at first they were strengthen each other, supporting each other. But over time, they're drift apart, went insane or the luckiest one of all- killed or dead.

Among everyone, there was one that constant, one presences that became his anchor. Always reminds him to never gave in, to never recklessly fighting the guards, to never doing something that will make their miserable situation became worse.

Clifford Wildblood was there to reminds him all that, and to keep his flame on when he thought he couldn’t go on.

Wildblood had been there. A hand on his shoulder, a whispered joke to distract him from the cold, a reminder to keep his sanity at check, a promise that they’d make it out alive together. Wildblood had kept him holding on to reality when everything else seemed to fade away.

They shared everything, even the warmth and embrace.

And then they’d been torn apart.

Zussman still remembered the day he was transferred to another camp. The shouting, the confusion, the forced march. Wildblood’s face had been the last thing he saw before the chaos took over, desperation and fear.

For the first time since the nightmare had begun, Zussman truly felt alone.

Hopeless.

It's a miracle that he survived, that both of them survived.

Now here he was, sitting in his apartment, alive and free, and Wildblood was asleep on his couch. Like nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

Zussman let out a soft, bitter laugh, putting his palm on his eyes. He would love to keep Wildblood close, to keep him right here where he could see him, talk to him, depend on him. But wasn’t that weird? Wasn’t it strange to have Wildblood hanging around while Zussman was out trying to date other girl?

Then it occurs him.

Why was he even trying to date other girl? What was he want from a stranger? Was it because Susie had left him, and he didn’t want to look pathetic?

Was it because he thought its what life supposed to? That finding a girl, settling down, having kids and building some cookie-cutter life was what came next?

Or was it just a distraction? Something to keep his mind busy so he didn’t have to confront the truth that had been sitting in the corner of his thoughts?

"God..." Zussman's finger clawed his own face as he release a heavy groan.

Was it wrong? To feel this way about Wildblood? To entertain these fleeting thoughts that he couldn’t explain? Maybe it was some kind of leftover trauma from the war, some strange bond forged in the fires of shared suffering.

Maybe it was just loneliness.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just be normal? Why can't he and Wildblood just became friends, and brother in arms like a normal person?

Is it what Wildblood wanted? Is it what he wanted?

“Zuss? You awake?”

Surprised by a voice on the door, Zussman turned his head toward the doorway. “Yeah,” he croaked, his voice weak but steady enough.

Wildblood stepped inside, his face etched with exhaustion, though his eyes looks relief by seeing Zussman's awake. He pulled a chair over and sat beside the bed, leaning forward.

“How’re you feeling?” Wildblood put his palm on Zussman's forehead.

“Better,” Zussman said, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Still feel like I got hit by a truck, but the fever’s down. Thanks to you.”

Wildblood shrugged, though the corners of his mouth tugged upward slightly. “Don’t mention it.”

“No, seriously,” Zussman said, his tone soft but insistent. “You saved my ass. Again. Even made me something to eat. So… I owe you again”

Wildblood let out a small laugh, “Man, will you stop keeping score? This isn’t competition.”

"Thank God it's not." Zussman chuckled weakly, a dry, raspy sound. “If it was, I’d be losing.”

Wildblood smirked but then pointed at the door with his thumb. “About the door… sorry I broke it. I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

“Forget it." Zussman waved a hand dismissively. "The landlord’s need to change it anyway. Even toddler can bust that door open easy.”

They shared a brief chuckled, the tension between them momentarily easing, like a fleeting break in storm clouds.

"So, I... Uh..." Wildblood looked at his finger, "I know this isn't the right time. But, have you consider?"

"It's impossible, Brick." Zussman stared at him, his voice almost like a whisper. "Two men can't build a house together."

"I know, but..." Wildblood sounded hesitant.

"We have a moment, but it was history. I am sorry." Zussman said without a blink, even when he sounds hurt. "I am grateful with what we had. I cherished it every moment."

Then silence, Wildblood didn't say anything, because he knew Zussman haven't finished his sentences.

"But I was move on." Zussman continued. "And you should too. I am sorry."

It was quiet a few moment, before Wildblood opened his mouth "Wow."

"Brick, I..."

"No, it's fine." Wildblood smiled, but his eyes betrayed the expression. "Can't believe my first rejection came from a man."

"Please tell me I am not your first..."

"You wish," Wildblood smirked. "I had a good ol relationship with some pretty girls back in high school."

"Good." Zussman smiled. "Then you'll find another heart to break in no time."

They both chuckled for a brief, then the room went silence.

"I am so grateful for us to survive and alive right now." Zussman broke the silence.

"Yeah." Wildblood replied, his eyes gazing down at his fingers.

"You looked troubled, what happened?" Zussman realized Wildblood's keep looking down.

“Nothing, it's just...” Wildblood said, his tone shifting to something more serious. “What happened? Why didn’t you just call me? You know I’d drop everything to help you.”

Zussman didn't expect that question, but he didn't look away.

“It’s nothing,” Zussman said, his voice low, guarded. “I was just feeling dizzy after work. It was an accident. That’s all.”

“You sure?” Wildblood pressed, leaning forward slightly. “I feel like you’re still hiding something. You can talk to me, you know that.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Zussman replied, his voice still rough but firmer this time. He forced a weak smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s just a stupid fever, Brick. It’s nothing.”

Wildblood didn’t buy it. His jaw tightened, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

“You could’ve died,” He said suddenly, his voice rising slightly, sharp with anger and fear. “You could’ve died in your own damn house because of some stupid fire, Zuss!”

Zussman’s smile vanished, he looked away for a moment before looking back at Wildblood.

“Funny you should say that,” Zussman shot back, his voice low and defensive. “Because few weeks ago, someone tried to overdose himself to death, and to this day, he never tell me why.”

The words hit like a slap. Wildblood froze, his breath catching in his throat as Zussman’s accusation ripped him inside.

None of them talked.

The silence stretched, unbearable and loud. Neither of them moved, neither of them spoke, the air between them charged with tension.

"I... I am sorry." Zussman broke the silence. "That was out of line. I shouldn’t have said that."

Wildblood remained silent.

"I was just so afraid I'd lost you." Zussman continued.

"It's ok. I am understood." Wildblood broke the silences. "If any of this can ease your mind, it's not because of you."

"Brick, don't say that..." Zussman voice softened.

"Get some sleep." Wildblood said as he was raised from the chair. "I'll stay outside until morning in case you need something."

Wildblood movements were slow as if it was heavy. His shoulders sagged slightly, the hurt in his eyes barely covered.

“Brick—” Zussman started, his tone pleading, but Wildblood shook his head, cutting him off.

“It’s okay, Zuss,” Wildblood said, his voice softer now, but strained. He forced a small smile. “Just… sleep. You need it.”

Wildblood turned without another word, heading for the door. He hesitated for a brief moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob as if he wanted to say something else. But then, with a quiet click, he closed the door behind him.

As soon as the door closed, Zussman let out a silent scream, his face twisted in frustration, and rage. Then he drove his fist into the mattress.

Once. Twice.

He shouldn’t have let his emotions take over. He shouldn’t have said those things. It always came back to this—Wildblood pulling away the moment they're talk about himself.

It's been weeks since Wildblood came back from Bloomington, and he hasn't been himself ever since. He shut himself, never want to talk what is in his mind even when he started to open up more to Zussman before.

And the those overdose accident, and sudden confession afterward? Is he mad?

They couldn’t be together. He knew that. It won't work.

But it shouldn't have ended like this, Zussman couldn’t shake the thought that he might lose Wildblood for good.

Back in Paris, Zussman had seen Wildblood break down. If it wasn't for Aiello, Wildblood already put the bullet on his own head.

The idea of Wildblood alone, shutting himself off from the world, terrified him. He wanted to reach out, to tear down whatever wall Wildblood had built around himself.

But Wildblood didn’t want to talk.

He never wanted to talk.

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

Wildblood sank into the couch with a heavy sigh, rubbing his hands over his face. His muscles were taut, his jaw clenched He closed his eyes, trying to silence the chaos in his head, but the tension wouldn’t leave.

Wildblood groaned quietly, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. His eyes flooded by he quickly brushed it off, between the rejection and the storm raging in his mind, shutting it down for good was a tempting idea.

He hated this. Hated the way his shame clawed at him, pulling him under every time he thought about opening up. Zussman is probably the only person aside Ciara and his therapist that could make him open up. Even he talked more to Zussman than the two latter.

But he couldn’t tell Zussman the truth. Zussman didn’t deserve that weight, didn’t need to carry that guilt.

Yet the words clawed at his throat, demanding release.

You want to hear it? Fine. I killed her. I killed my mother.

Wildblood screamed the words that he wants to say in his mind. He laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

I killed her with my own hands, Zuss! The only woman I’ve ever truly loved. The woman who raised me, who gave me life. I killed her!

His breath hitched as the memories flooded back—sharp, painful, and vivid. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He had his reasons, but none of them felt like enough.

Wildblood killed more people than he could count in war. Killing Krauts, people who aimed gun at him or strangers in the war had been one thing, but this? This was too much.

Why this was to much? Why was she matter?

And Zussman? Zussman didn’t know what he was asking for. He didn’t understand.

Wildblood didn't want Zussman to judge him, to treat him differently. Zussman already did that ever since he knew Wildblood's feeling for him. He knew Zussman had been avoiding him.

It would give him another reason to push Wildblood away.

Wildblood’s jaw tightened as another thought crept in.

Zussman was right.

Maybe that overdose a few weeks ago hadn’t been an accident. Maybe Wildblood had wanted it to end. Maybe he’d wanted to escape the shame and guilt for good.

And maybe today was the best day after all.

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

Zussman lay back on the bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. His anger had dulled to a heavy ache in his chest, the kind that wouldn’t go away no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

He didn’t know what to do. How could he get Wildblood to open up? To talk to him?

He clenched the blanket tightly in his hands, his jaw tense. Wildblood had built walls around himself so high and strong that Zussman couldn’t see a way over or through them. But the cruel irony was that Zussman was guilty of the same thing. He’d built his own walls, fortified his own defenses.

How could he blame Wildblood when he couldn’t even tear down his own barricades?

But maybe, just maybe, the only way to break through Wildblood’s walls was to give him what he wanted. The one thing Zussman was afraid to admit.

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

The door creaked open, and Wildblood’s head snapped up, his heart pounding as Zussman appeared in the doorway. Zussman looked disheveled, his steps unsteady, but there was a determined look in his eyes.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Wildblood asked, his voice sharp but tinged with concern.

Zussman didn’t answer. He walked slowly, deliberately, until he was standing directly in front of Wildblood. Without a word, he tossed the blanket Wildblood’d been clutching aside and sank down onto Wildblood’s lap, straddling him.

“The fuck you think you're doing?” Wildblood stammered, his eyes wide as Zussman cupped his face with both hands.

“I want it,” Zussman whispered as his face touched Wildblood's. “And I know you want this too.”

Wildblood froze, something twisting in his heart and his breath hitching, but he must draw a line. Zussman just said he was move on. Why now? Is the fever make him confused?

“I don’t,” Wildblood whispered.

“Fucking liar!” Zussman hissed, “If you don’t trust me enough to tell me anything, fine."

Zussman forces Wildblood to look at him before continue. "But don’t lie to me!"

Wildblood’s felt knot inside his stomach. His mind was screaming to push Zussman away, to stop this before it went further.

But somehow, he couldn’t.

He didn’t want to.

Then before Wildblood could say anything else, Zussman leaned forward and pressed his lips against Wildblood’s in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

It was forceful, desperate, filled with a raw intensity that neither of them could deny.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even lust. It was something raw, something primal—rageful, violent, wild.

Wildblood froze at first, his right hand holding the couch as if to ground himself, while his left hand attempted to press Zussman's face. On the other hand, Zussman persisted. His lips tightened with power, as if he was attempting to consume Wildblood alive. His hands remained steady as he held Wildblood's arms to distract him. Every time Wildblood attempted to speak, his lips would shut down by Zussman's mouth and hands.

But the more Zussman kissed him, the more he gave in. The resistance melted away, replaced by a hunger he didn’t know he’d been holding back.

Only God knew how long he'd been holding back.

It started with one kiss, then another, then another. They lost count.

It wasn’t a kiss of warmth or tenderness. It was a kiss of anger, frustration, and desperation.

If lust supposed to be devastated, probably this is it.

If love supposed to be painful, probably this is it.

Zussman thought he was giving Wildblood what he wanted, but as it happened, he realized something he hadn’t expected.

He wanted it too.

It's all blurred together, becoming more frantic, more passionate. They didn’t know how it started or where it would end.

There was something about the way their body moved—the desperation, the pain, the rage, the history they shared. It was something no one else could understand. No stranger would understand.

Something that belonged only to them.

The invisible chains that shackled them together ever since they escape those hopeless and cursed places.

Normandy, Bastogne, Rhine... and those hell they called labor camps.

Then somewhere between the passion and surrender, they forgot the anger, the hurt or the fear of what might come next.

The future didn’t matter. Morning didn’t matter. The consequences didn’t matter. All that mattered was the hunger between them, the way they could feed each other’s need, even if only for this one night.

For now, the world outside didn’t exist. The only thing that mattered was this moment, themselves.

Tonight, they belonged to each other. Whatever came after would have to wait.

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

Loosely inspired by this song:

I recall what we once were The past still holds your name Loved you to the lines of Leif Now he don't sound the same Loving strangers is a losing game The shape of you my dear with me still lays I'll keep it warm with my embrace and Do I love myself enough to be alone now? And then grow from it and go for it or Am I at the point of no Am I at the point of no Am I at the point of no return? Am I at the point of no Am I at the point of no The point of no return Or do I start again anew? Whats behind I clearly see Ahead of us a mystery Dear forgiveness have your moment And regale us with some peace So go and get yourself some sleep And I'll cover you up If that's what you need now And I will keep my self at bay And do we love ourselves enough to be alone now? And then grow from it and go for it or Are we at the point of no Are we at the point of no The point of no return Are we at the point of no Are we at the point of no The point of no return Or do we start again anew? .... Could it be more Oh I don't know Could we be more Oh I don't know Amistat - Anew

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[phobylee]

This is a bit late bc I took a FAT nap, but perhaps Swap AU Wittecouple being cute together? 👉👈

Sorry we didn't get to this sooner. Stuff happened today. But I hope this suffices?

[mister-writes]

Find the Word Tag

I was tagged by the wonderful @chauceryfairytales over here!

I'll be gently tagging @ahungeringknife, @sarahlizziewrites, @gltownsend and @sam-glade. Your words are wind, tug, pace, and fade.

My words were pile, crumple, flame and close.

Pile

He stopped, blowing gently across the slowly catching fire. A quiet crackle rose up from the pile of wood as it crossed over the rough bark. “Azra is the Bull,” he said. “Strong and unyielding. He will not allow any obstacle to impede his way.”

Crumple

Sucking in her cheeks, Maedri nodded again. She tucked the letter back, deep into her pocket. The paper seemed flimsier than before, crumpling against the fabric of her dress. She patted it smooth and continued on, her mind spinning. As she thought through everything that had happened in the last few days, and everything that was sure to happen soon, her heart sank lower and lower.

Flame

His voice and their footsteps were swallowed by the leaves before Kerris could hear anything further. With a sigh, Kerris turned his gaze back to the fire. After a long moment, he realized his sword was still laid across his lap. His fingers found their way to the familiar, worn patches of the leather wrapped around the hilt as he lifted it into the light. Flame danced across the sharpened edges of the blade, gold and scarlet flashing like fireworks. Kerris ran his thumb against the cool metal. Velmoren. A hundred memories flickered through his mind. It had been years since he had found himself there. Slowly, he sheathed his sword. It wasn’t as though he was going into the city itself, he reminded himself. Besides, if the Sons caught wind of their fallen comrades, it might be wise to get away from Muna.

Close

“Truth? You want the truth?” Kerris turned on his heel. His next words burned at the back of his throat. He swallowed, scowling. If he told her the truth– the whole truth– she wouldn’t walk another step with him, and he would have no way of getting close to whatever movement the Orcorans had planned. But if he didn’t justify himself here, right now, she might never trust him. Right now, he was just like any other Velmor. A liar and a monster. Perhaps not untrue. But he had to do something.

[anteaterisland]

Update! of All My GW2 Blorbos

These are my beloved GW2 Toons! Details and Close-up's below.

(Left) Grima The Blind.

Norn Revenant. When she was a child, she was possessed by a ghost, and has basically been an old woman her whole life, but recently she became traumatically dispossessed and is finding herself existing as a young woman without ever having been a child. She keeps trying to find herself (literally) by searching for her ghost, the one that got away, and keeps being only shallow host to various wisps who dont stick around. Lost.

(Right)Mouse The Pleasant. 

Mouse the Pleasant is an orphan, a human foundling. Her parents were killed in an accident, and when some good-doers searched the wagon crash site for the source of the crying, it took them quite a while to find her because she, precocious mesmer than she was, had gone invisible. It’s what kept her safe. 

She was raised in a bar, and learned very young that being sweet and nice and cute and letting people pinch her cheeks got her good tips. As a result, she grew up into the most pleasant, perfect, soft, squishable woman you’ve ever seen. 

At a certain point she decided that coming from nothing, with no knowledge of her past, meant she had nothing to lose, and started to up her game with a long con. She would sneak into fancy parties with illusory wealth and charm the nobles of divinity's reach, developing a persona of incredible class, eventually completely infiltrating the elusive club of the elite. She is the belle of every ball. She’s a whispers lightbringer and works with Countess Anise. 

Everyone who knows her loves her. And no one would ever suspect such an absolute sweatheart of being a vicious, manipulative witch. 

And if by sheer chance, she ever happened to run across Ratthew the Vile, why she wouldn’t think to give vermin like him a second glance. And without a second glance why, she’d probably never see that they have identical purple eyes. She lost her family far too young to remember she once had a twin.

(Left) Grenth Boy

Grenth Boy, (legal name redacted) is a human necromancer, and is only 17 years old. He was adopted by a noble family after he was orphaned as a newborn. His father named him after himself, and was very controlling, just the worst kind of rich asshole who treats his kid like an extension of himself, a doll on a shelf that only needs to say a few lines if you pull the string. 

When he finds his birth parents' graves it’s a transformative experience for him. The epitaphs on cold stone are the warmest parental experience of his life. Love for him sent across time, carved on a grave. Warmth and good wishes. They died before they could name him, but because he was born under the sign of Grenth, they called him their Grenth Boy. 

And he thinks to himself these death markers are the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. That this is who he was before his adoptive father tried to turn him into a clone of himself, when he was loved and free. He wishes he could have been raised by the gravestones, they would have been kinder to him.

On that day our boy decided, clearly and firmly, actually fuck being (redacted) jr. I’d rather be anyone else, I’d rather be no one than keep your name. I’d rather have never been named at all then named after you. 

And he runs away from home. There is only one peice of identity left to him, one place to go. The Temple of Grenth. But unfortunately, despite his new devotion, his father’s influence is a powerful obstacle, and the Priests there are too afraid to take him in as an acolyte. His noble father is convinced he will tire eventually of living on the streets and come home. 

But Grenth Boy doesn’t. He lives in an alleyway behind the temple, teaching himself to summon ghosts. His hair turns white and lank and his eyes begin to glow, as he develops his natural talent for necromancy and his deep spiritual love for Grenth. Never well-adjusted socially, his love of death and living happily in the gutter only further unnerve people. They say : “Stay out of that alley, it’s where that awful Grenth Boy lives.”

Wolfgang Lachrymohs, a noble whom Grenth Boy knows mostly by reputation, though they shared the same larger social circle before Grenth Boy left home, comes upon him one day. And upon being re-introduced to him as “Grenth Boy” says: “I cannot call you that. There must be something we can do.” And pulls some strings to at least have the boy be *acknowledged* by the temple. The priests knock up a little ceremony with some candles and vows as a half-measure, and Grenth Boy officially becomes a Votary of Grenth. Wolfgang will be the only person to ever actually call him that. Wolfgang is Grenth Boy’s hero. 

Grenth Boy is optimistic, naive, and an exceptional if slightly disturbing grief counselor. He is a devout man, who loves no ritual more than the last rights, but loves also caring and healing those on the brink of death. His ability to wield Grenth’s power in combat means he becomes the hero of shamoor, then eventually joining the priory and later the pact. His favorite place in the world is the Godslost Swamp, where he was recruited into the Priory. But he never forgets his dream of becoming a true Priest of Grenth. 

“Death is a blessing I mercifully bestow upon my enemies, and selfishly deny my friends.” - Grenth Boy

He’s also 5’2” and thin as a rake. 

(Right) Kiotvi Wildblood

A Norn Theif. Sansa’s half-brother by way of her father. He is a poacher and a woodsman who finds himself so awkward as to be unable to function properly in society, and so lives alone. He has a homestead in the Janthir Wilds and is an exquisite craftsman, he carved his sister’s bow for her. He lives a quiet life, utterly uninterested in heroics, unlike his sister.

(Left) Sansa “Stormwalker” Eirsdottir

The Commander’s Right Hand

A norn ranger, daughter of Eir Stegalkin. Sansa was raised by her father with little contact with her legendary hero mother. Her Father is a very noble, delicate man, and Sansa has very refined manners. Her norn peers thought she would become a skald like her Father, not a hunter like Eir. They should've known better, when she tamed a wolf. In her youth she ran messages between army camps and no blizzard nor thunder would stop her, earning her the epithet of Stormwalker. 

When she came of age she pursued legendary status with a fury. When she learned her mother was going to the Great Hunt, she decided to go as well, to prove to her mother that she had what it took to follow in her footsteps. With a wolf and bow at her side and her long red hair she was a vision, Eir Stegalkin come again. 

The strength of the Wolf is the Pack, and it is this wisdom that brings Sansa to create the Pact, collecting agents from every order to band them together to defeat the Elder Dragons. But as a member of the V(igil, she cannot be Pact Marshall, and Traheane is chosen instead. And again she is passed over, as Trahearne chooses Chlora Phylia the Sylvari to be Pact Commander. She takes the slights well though, and vows to help in any way she can. She is valiant and diligent in her support of the Pact Commander, Chlora Phylia. So enterprising and effective, many people get confused and think she actually is the Commander. 

This time is the closest relationship she’s ever had with her mother, and she is making Eir proud, which fills her with joy. She defends Eir to Zojja, forming a bitter rivalry. But When Sansa meets Braham Eirsson, a man she never knew existed, her own brother, she realizes her mother never told her of her brother, and beyond that, Eir never speaks to Sansa like a daughter, only as a soldier.

(Right) Chlora Phylia

The Commander.

A young sylvari, birthed from the pale tree less than a year before being made Commander of the pact, due to her close relationship with Marshal Trahearne. Early in her life she was recruited to the nightmare court, and stayed for some time, but when she was tasked with whipping the Verdant Hounds to turn them into nightmares she found she could not bear it. She escaped with a pup and returned to the pale tree, but the Nightmare is not so easily thwarted. 

Chlora Phylia wields a Strange Greatsword to focus her mesmeric power, a remnant from her days in the Nightmare Court. But she is spurred into violence by it's corruption. It unsettles those around her, she's the creepiest sort of mesmer. She blindfolds her eyes in combat, so how does she see... it must be her mesmeric clones, surely it could not be with that great twitching eye...

She is bitterly jealous of Trahearne, not for the post of Marshall, but for the Pale Tree’s favor. It was he whom she granted Caladbolg after Chlora quested to recover it for her people. Her own nightmarish sword stokes the fires of her coveting. She leans heavily on her dear friend, Sansa Eirsdottir, Founder of the Pact, to keep her sanity, and protect her image. The pressures of command and the nightmare are tearing her apart, but she wants to remain Trahearne's second at all costs, to become worthy of Caladbolg someday and The Pale Tree's favor. Or else take it from his corpse, but that's only in her nightmares. Right?

(Left) Lady Brassica

Lady Brassica is Chlora Phylia’s younger sister. Younger by about a month. 

Chlora Phylia was born to kill Zhaitan, to be the tip of the spear, her wild hunt is to fight for the sylvari and kill the pale tree’s enemies. She is Trahearne’s dear friend and the Commander of the Pact. 

Lady Brassica was born to kill Zhaitan, to be the tip of the spear, her wild hunt is to fight for the sylvari and kill the pale tree’s enemies. She is absolutely no one. 

Just after Chlora Phylia was born she was inducted into the nightmare court and the pale tree believed her lost. She birthed a back-up plan. The perfect soldier, strong, moral, beloved. Lady Brassica is the epitome of a knight, the platonic ideal of chivalry. Her first few missions were stunning triumphs, including against the hated nightmare court. 

Then Chlora Phylia broke free from the nightmare court. She returned to the pale tree’s favor as a double agent. She recovered Caladbolg and fought at Claw Island. 

And Lady Brassica had no more purpose.

(Right) Catalytic Curfuffle

An Asura Elementalist, is a young Asura with learning disabilities. ADD and Dyscalculia to name a few. She tried very hard to be a good Asura and learn advanced mathematics and Robotics in school but from a young age she showed no talent, no genius. She would throw explosive temper tantrums. She ran away from home and ended up being adopted by Rytlock and forming her own Warband. She fights her battles with raw firepower, literally.

(Left) Old Man Blep

An Asura Engineer. He works in construction maintenance in Rata Sum. He has two grown daughters, one biological, an asura elementalist firecracker named Catalytic Curfuffle. And one adopted, a Charr engineer named Marrow Antoinette. He and his ex-wife raised them together as an experiment in Nature vs Nurture, they wanted to determine if Charr were naturally aggressive or it was learned behavior. 

Marrow Antoinette grew up to be the sweetest, gentlest, smartest Charr anyone had ever met. She is a model asura, building tiny golem circuits with the greatest of delicacy and the tips of her claws. Her white fur is kept fastidiously clean, and she wouldn’t hurt a fly. 

However, the entire question of whether this was indeed nurture prevailing is made inconclusive, because their biological daughter flunked out of school and ran away from home in frothing rage. Just before she left she accused both her parents of treating their children as unethical science experiments instead of family. 

Over the years, Old Man Blep took this deeper and deeper to heart. He would have long arguments with his then wife about it, who did not agree that they had done anything wrong, culminating in their divorce. 

His ex-wife was a star architect in Rata Sum and helped build it’s most spectacular buildings. She’s made a permanent mark on the world and the history of the asura, her name literally carved into the floating foundations. Old Man Blep spends his days in the bowels of the city, fitting himself into acute angles of the pyramid, cleaning up broken tiles and fixing magnetic pipes with a big rusty wrench and a chisel. No one will remember him or his work, but he takes what small measure of pride from it as he can. He keeps the city from falling out of the sky. 

Old Man Blep is an old, very sad man, who believes his true life’s work, his family, was ruined by his own hand. His only goal is to do whatever it takes to make his daughters feel loved, even if it means respecting their wishes and keeping his distance from Catalytic Curfuffle for the rest of his life.

(Right) Marrow Antoinette

A Charr Guardian, was found as a Kitten and adopted by an Asura couple with a newborn as a questionably ethical experimental test subject into the question of Nature versus Nurture. She is everything her sister isn't: quiet, clever, polite, and proud. She can build any Golem you need and program it twice as fast. She powders and pomades her hair very tall as a symbol of her refinement. Her parents couldn't be prouder of her, as a daughter or a test subject. It's a shame all their theories about nurture prevailing are disproved by their other daughter…

[fenrysmoonbeamswife]

any book recs where the plot is actually intriguing, with no toxic male love interests?

thanks anon i live for giving recs🩷 prepare to be bombarded I'm sorry

• House of Salt and Sorrows by Erin A. Craig

• Everything by Adrienne Young

• Fear the Flames by Olivia Rose Darling

• Assistant to the Villain by Hannah Nicole Maehrer

• Half a Soul by Olivia Atwater

• Threads That Bind by Kika Hatsopoulou

• Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor

• The Dragons of Deepwood Fen by Brad P. Beaulieu

• Divine Rivals by Rebecca Ross (actually everything by Rebecca)

• One Dark Window by Rachel Gillig

• A Study in Drowning by Ava Reid

• Belladonna by Adalyn Grace

• The Lunar Chronicles by Marissa Meyer

• The Prison Healer by Lynette Noni

• The Maiden Ship by Micheline Ryckman

• Year of the Reaper by Makiia Lucier

it doesn't get any less toxic than them:

• Daughter of No Worlds by Carissa Broadbent

• A Good Girl's Guide to Murder by Holly Jackson

• Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson

• Stalking Jack the Ripper by Kerri Maniscalco

f/f only no toxic men in sight🫶🏻👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩:

• Bad Graces by Kyrie McCauley

• The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon

this is my "hear me out" section, it could maybe be argued that they're toxic but I don't think so and my standards are through the roof let me tell you:

• Long Live Evil by Sarah Rees Brennan (he is toxic but they literally all are in the best way)

• Wildblood by A. J. Vrana (you could say Kai is toxic but he's also in therapy and heals a lot throughout)

• The Serpent and the Wings of Night by Carissa Broadbent

• Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros (ok this probably really doesn't need to be a rec but i have to add my boy Xaden)

more cutesy and mysterious than intriguing but so good:

• The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches by Sangu Mandanna

• The Ex Hex by Erin Sterling