#can i come with you nero

[starmocha]

[bugwolfsstuff]

You ever think of Hera preventing Zeus from saving his son Sarpedon from his fated death and Zeus mourning by sending blood rain in the Iliad

and then in ToA

Zeus preventing everyone from saving his son and Hera/Juno's champion, Jason Grace from his fated death and Hera mourning by wearing a veil and scolding Zeus

@thel1ghtningthief @smileyalater @unubinary @bodeyeen2132

[phonkscribes]

Hello! If you're still taking requests, do you think you can write the Sparda guys with a chubby s/o?

I can certainly write this dear Anon.

The More to Love The Dante, Vergil, & Nero with a chubby S/O.

Dante

He likes to eat a lot, in fact, eating whole pizzas by himself is something that he does regularly, much to everyone else's dislike. He's glad he has someone to try out different things with, like if there's a new pizza combo he can get at his favorite spot, he'll want to share it with them if he doesn't inhale it all himself. He wants them to eat unabashedly just as he does, and will always make sure that they're taken care of. One thing that Dante wouldn't want is for them to hold back out of fear of their weight turning him away when that wouldn't be the case at all. He loves that they're a little husky, leaving more for him to hug and hold when he has the time to between jobs and such. Dante likes the way they squirm in his hands when he massages or pinches their belly or the fat on the sides of their hips. God, it's so cute... he could just eat them up.

The cambion likes to tease and poke their chub when he can, doing it in passing when walking by or trying to get their attention.

"Hey cupcake, whatcha up to? Aww, is somebody mad?", he'll reach up to pinch their cheeks next, chuckling as they pout at him.

He loves to tease, it's just who he is, but if it ever bugs or rubs his honey the wrong way he'll knock it off. Holding his hands up in his defense to go "Alright, alright" in a dismissive tone, even if he does well to not push them any further. If they ever want to lose weight, he'll be a bit sad, but will support his partner however he can.

Vergil

He's not well acquainted with others who are shaped like them, and he doesn't really mind that his S/O is chubby. He just thinks that his partner being softer than what he's used to is intriguing. They're body just has extra nutrients stored within it for later use, if anything that's smart. He isn't a big eater, not like his brother, so when he has a little more on his plate than what he can finish he hands it off to them. He likes watching them eat, and he likes to provide them with the things that they like to eat even more. Watching them light up when he hands them the plate fills his heart with mirth, a certain satisfaction that he didn't think he could feel. He takes it as an opportunity to see what they like and what they dislike, making note of their comfort foods and etc.

He also finds them pleasant to embrace, liking to lay over them and to rest his head on their chest. The added warmth is nice, especially since he tends to run cold. The son of Sparda enjoys to cuddle with his S/O and will pointedly glare at anyone that tries to get him up from his lover's arms. It's even more foolish to try to insult them for their body. If he was hostile while laying with them, he will lash out in his own way against someone that tries to frame their plumpness as being a bad thing. Vergil won't tolerate it, not one bit.

Nero

The devil hunter's favorite thing to do is to hug his S/O from behind, wrapping his arms around their trunk and pulling them towards himself. He likes to feel the way they laugh in his hold and how they move and try to escape his little kisses. He won't admit it, but he likes the way they feel in his grasp. Their pudge is soft against his toned arms from the training to follow in his uncle's footsteps, and he's happy to see them so full of life. Nero might poke fun of his S/O here and there, but it's nothing serious. He'd prefer them to have a little meat on their bones anyhow or not worry about how much they eat. He finds it endearing and a little fun to watch how well they enjoy the foods that Kyrie makes when he visits her or happens to make a pit stop at a restaurant with them.

He's super observant of their diet and makes sure to have a snack or two on hand in case they get hungry or peckish. Nero looks out for his S/O and makes sure that they're healthy and taken care of above all else. If anyone says anything to them, he's the first to step up and get in their face.

"What'd you say to them? Come on, why don't you say that again?", he'd growl. Draping an arm around their shoulder while telling the jackass to flock off if they know what's good for 'em.

He'll be damned if there's anyone who tries to make them feel bad about their size or weight. As someone who also struggled with his own image, he gets it and knows what it's like to be afraid or worry about how others might perceive them. Regardless, Nero assures them that he'll love them no matter what.

[manaosdeuwu]

my fucking ass hurts from farting too hard LEAVE ME ALOOOONEEEE

[beeholyshit]

2 of my neurons just made synapses

Thinking about Glitchy and M3ga mmmm

[gregoftom]

mannnn who up tearing up over the sticker scene

[aqqleshiqqing-archive]

I swear I think I said this somewhere but I'll say it again lmao i think the highlight of my selfshipping self this year was that i really did come to adore my familials and how fun it is to come up with ideas for them. they're a special brand of being comfort character and it's honestly because of me reading pok.espe that made me come to appreciate family bonds

this is corny as hell sorry

[redwayfarers]

cold nights in ishgard

Fandom: FFXIV Ship: Nika/Artoirel, Nika/Minfilia Characters: Nika Perseis (WoL), Artoirel de Fortemps, Emmanellain de Fortemps, Minfilia Warde (mentioned), Haurchefant Greystone (mentioned) Rating: Gen Spoilers: Heavensward spoilers Words: 1664 Read on ao3

Ishgard is oddly pretty at night. Colder, sure, but fucking Coerthas is always cold, day and night, and layers are not an issue whatsoever when you’re an honored guest at a noble family’s mansion. It also makes streets less crowded, as much as a city of Ishgard’s size can be. Nika avoided walking outside alone to places beyond the three he’d instantly memorized the path to when he first came to the city and when he had few means to ask around for directions. 

Thankfully, he now has a guide. A handsome one at that, but he refuses to do more than just acknowledge that sentiment. In the days following the grand melee, he and Artoirel have taken on a rather pleasant ritual of evening walks. Nika’s been Ishgard’s champion for a lot more than he’d intended now and his duel with Raubahn is on the lips of all of Eorzea. He also happens to have a very recognizable face thanks to that faded, large scar that Thancred once joked now made them equal in handsomeness. 

Years ago, he might’ve taken a slight offense to that. Now, Nika has so little energy to dwell on minor edges of a friendship he himself massacred beyond recognition. Fuck that, he has so little energy to do anything beyond self-pitying and wanting to crawl out of his skin to escape the pressure in his chest. 

But Artoirel helps. The tapping of his shoes against the stone promenade brings Nika back to reality every time. It makes him focus on the rhythm of his own footsteps - click, click, clack, clack, an off-beat song of two bodies who lost things, lost people. Haurchefant had been a brother to both of them. Now his ghost lingers over the whole Fortemps household and the souls who lived there. 

Nika looks up. Wind’s playing with Artoirel’s hair, tossing it this way and that. It matches the night sky, blue where Nika’s own is black, a subtle difference. When the fuck did he acquire that particular nugget of information? The whole effect Artoirel has on him blurs the minutiae of it. They have matching earrings tonight. The thought makes him weirdly happy. Suddenly, he needs to feel the weight of Artoirel’s clothed palm on his own. 

Same way he yearned to feel Minfilia’s. 

Except he’ll never feel Minfilia’s hand in his again. 

Artoirel’s hand is as rough as hers; there’s no gentle skin where war is your generational legacy, or when you work at mines. It feels like a suitable replacement at times, until he remembers that Minfilia could have comfortably placed her head on Nika’s chest, and with Artoirel, the roles are reversed. What a looming presence, his brother de Fortemps. 

Brother’s never felt like a shittier word. 

But hey, he at least has equal entertainment watching him fight with his hair. “Told you to tie it back,” Nika says in a strained, casual voice, because he can’t speak like a normal person these days. 

“An advice I had staunchly decided to ignore,” Artoirel replies, and then, in a lighter, almost intimate tone, “maybe to my own detriment.” 

“At least I’m enjoying the losing battle,” Nika shrugs and looks at his offensively expensive walking boots. “You’re fun to watch, count de Fortemps.” 

“Do not call me that,” Artoirel sighs. “I am still growing accustomed to it.” 

“If I say it enough, it’ll get to your head faster.” 

“You’re impossible.” There’s a smile in Artoirel’s voice, so suited to ordering men on the field, deep and even and perfectly trained to be so, but then there are smiles in it that break it. Nika wishes to curl against his side like an indulgent cat. But they are in public, and they are brothers. 

Nevertheless, Nika offers what he can. It’s small, it’s brittle, but he feels brittle anyway and he’s nothing if not honest to a fault. Haurchefant was too. Except he sparked hope and happiness, whereas Nika’s honesty is more like a knife. “I am glad to be of service.” 

“That you are,” Artoirel says. He then turns all serious again. “How are you doing these days?” 

“Me?” 

“Yes. These recent events have been.. Tumultuous for all of us. Most of all for you.” 

Nika frowns. “Losing people feels like absolute shit, Artoirel.” 

“That is not an answer to my question.” Artoirel stops and crosses his arms. He looks at Nika with such worry in his eyes that it makes him squirm where he stands. “You don’t have to answer me now. I merely wanted to assure you that you can rely on your friends in your time of need.” 

“Assurance noted, now don’t–” Words die on his tongue when he feels long fingers on the crease between neck and shoulder, ruffling the white lace cravat.  Part of him wants it gone, and for those fingers to tease the skin beneath. But another, the one that suddenly burns in shame and pain and grief, kicks it away like a stray puppy. 

“Do not brush it off,” Artoirel repeats. The lull of his voice and the weight of his touch steadies Nika. He had no fucking idea he needed steadying at all. “It is genuine. Fury, I am genuine. I don’t find pleasure in seeing you shoulder this burden alone.” His eyes find Nika’s. The calmness of his words does little to stop the whirlwind in his eyes, and it’s a pain Nika knows. It’s a pain they share. 

It’s a pain they will both have to live with for the rest of their lives. The dead don’t come to life. 

Nika raises a hand and holds Artoirel’s wrist. The fabric beneath his fingers feels exquisite. “The woman I loved is gone, Artoirel,” he says gravely. “My friend - your brother - is gone, trying to save me. We almost lost Aymeric, too. Nothing will make the pain go away.” He blinks to stave off tears. “Have I ever told you about my father? He died when I was a kid. I don’t remember him well, I was that young. I feel his absence even today. My mother and I have been feeling his absence for the last twenty years. It will never go away. The sooner I get used to it, the better.” 

Artoirel looks around. Then, moments later, he crushes Nika against his chest. Nika lets out a small oh, looking up at his face. His eyes are wild, locking on Nika’s like his life depends on it. He imagines Artoirel’s heart to beat just as wildly as his is, or maybe it’s not imagination, not with the way his lips part slightly and his gaze falls lower. 

And gods help him, he’s looking at Artoirel’s lips too. They’re small and tight and he’d kill just to be able to chew on that lower lip– 

He isn’t Minfilia. 

Nika looks away, refusing to let go of Artoirel’s wrist. The moment falls as treasonously as it began and he’s painfully aware of where he is, what he’s doing. Artoirel’s touch burns, but it mixes with shame so well that he can’t will himself to part. Not truly. He holds his wrist like a lifeline, like it will chase the shame away. 

It won’t. Nothing ever will. Nika closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“Nika, I apologize, I– Nika? Why are you crying?” 

Nika’s face feels like hellfire. His eyes prickle, and he tries to snarl at the sensation, but finds he doesn’t quite have the strength to. He opens his mouth to speak, but his voice struggles to swim to the surface. When it does come, however, it sounds broken beyond repair. “She loved Eorzea more than me,” he says, tight and small. It’s a tip of the dagger under the skin. It’s embarrassing, but he can’t make it work any other way, which only makes him cry harder. “She loved Eorzea enough to sacrifice my devotion to her to save it. I’m betraying her memory, Artoirel, there was no fucking chance of anything, yet this feels so dirty–”

Artoirel’s face crumbles, too. “I’ve made you uncomfortable.” He lets go of him, but Nika wraps his arms around his chest and presses his face against the ends of his cravat, as if trying to melt into his skin. “I assure you, I haven’t any–” 

“No, no, you remind me of her, and I want, I want–” Nika sniffles. His words come out rushed, beaten out of him by the pain in his chest. “I want so much, but Minfilia–” He hiccups on the name, pressing his fingers into Artoirel’s coat, and he cries, and cries, and cries, and Artoirel wraps his arms around him and just holds. At some point, he says something to a random passerby, but Nika doesn’t care. 

He’s pathetic enough anyway.    

They stay like that for a while on a cold Ishgardian night. Artoirel leads him home later and guides him to his bedroom. “Sleep now,” he says, and Nika feels too drained to do more than nod and obediently lay down. Sleep finds him rather quickly, and moments before Nika drifts off, he sees Artoirel linger by the door. 

Whatever dreams find him tonight, maybe he’ll be the star in them. Or more likely, Minfilia. 

Maybe it’s all one and the same. 

Nika falls asleep. 

**

(It takes no more than a day for rumours of the new Count de Fortemps and the savior of Ishgard hugging on the street to reach the ears of Emmanellain de Fortemps. For the sake of his brother, and Nika too, he fights them when he can. He tells Artoirel as much, and he rewards Emmanellain’s efforts with a small smile and words of gratitude. Nika just squints and refuses to engage in conversation. 

But Emmanellain knows. He knows what’s afoot. And apparently, Artoirel and Nika know too. It may take them some time to accept it, however. That is alright. Watching the love unfold is very, very entertaining in the meantime.)

[raggedy-spaceman]

We Italians really won with this one

Michael Sheen and Alberto Angela together.

The Multiverse is real.

[lecliss]

OO has me in a fucking vice grip with the urge to lunge at Seph's throat!!!!!!! I can't fucking believe he convinced Kadaj to join him!!!!!! I'm gonna go fucking feral!!!! Leave my sonboy alone!!!!! He has no free will!!! He keeps being used for what Jenova wants cuz of the cells and he keeps being used by Seph as a remnant!!! Daj can never truly have something of his own accord cuz of the very meaning of his existence!!!!! He can never be an individual cuz of them, but without them he wouldn't exist!!!! LET HIM BE HIS OWN PERSON!!!!

And to top it off, Team Ninja dangles a Loz and Yazoo tease in my face after I just said I need Kadaj to have his real brothers back!!!! FUCK!!!! I FUCKING HATE FINAL FANTASY!!!!!!!

[holygrailcycle]

It's 3am and I've shifted from Riderposting to thinking about Lancer/Setanta and feeling weepy.

Because it's clear when he turned on us that it wasn't because he hated us. Like. He tried to talk to us. He tried to get through. He empathized with us. Not just his own Master but the mass of us - this patchwork of souls in whole.

And it backfired on him. Badly. Nearly got him, one of the most iconic heroes housed within the Throne, killed.

So it's no wonder he's decided to go full throttle this time around. He can't afford to second guess. Because if he tries the same trick twice, there's no guarantee it'll get the same result. He doesn't know if we'd hesitate, or slip up. If he gives us a single inch, this could be the time we actually beat him. And he can't - or doesn't want to - trust that anyone else will be willing to meet his resolve, to pick up where he left off.

Or maybe he just feels like it's his duty to finish the job. To make sure it's him, and no one else, that ends us.

I don't know whether he's grown to hate us in the time between then and now. But before - he probably just saw it as a mercy.

I mean, if you saw an animal going rabid, wouldn't killing it seem like a mercy? A kindness? Something you, a being with the power to offer this kind of ending, should do for its own sake? Isn't that what was happening to us, as far as we're aware at this point? Going rabid, losing our collective mind. A slippery slope into the depths of Madness, dragging our own Servants down with us like the most hateful kind of leash.

Can you blame him, really?

The curse of Gae Bolg is a curse of ending for the things that Cu Chulainn holds dear. He's already accepted the burden of death. No reason to look to anyone else when he's perfectly capable of getting the job done. No matter what it costs him, personally.

Cu Chulainn already accepted the costs when he chose to chase that star, all that time ago.

Of course, as Setanta - as a boy not yet bound to that fate - he might have other options still available to him. If he's willing to consider them. To see them as any kind of possibility without catastrophe being the likely outcome.

I don't know if it's possible to get through to him at this point. I just hope, before the end - whoever's end it ends up being - we get to at least share one drink with him.

It's also clear that fucking SOMETHING happened to us during our 'investigation' in the Origin War. That we weren't always a walking mass of Rage. Musashi said we were never the personable type, but that as time went on our Madness Infection got worse and worse. And even she wanted to try and save us from it... Not destroy us. Not until she had all that time to herself as a Nameless Shade, to turn her mind to the idea that maybe that was what it would take.

Was it us simply giving in to our nature, or an outside influence for the worse? I think it's a decent question worth considering and pursuing.

[donghyuckkies]

my only new years wish is for all my ult groups to have a rock title track or at least bside in 2023 🙏🙏🙏

[zerothisnero]

This is literally the best way I could ever explain warrior cats to anyone and I hate it

has this been done before

[playingplayer2]

I genuinely like the name I picked for myself (Nerium) however. if I think too hard about why I'm choosing to name myself after a poisonous flower I'll probably end up locked in the all too tumultuous circuit of is-this-a-healthy-or-unhealthy-choice and that sounds exhausting. Plus the waffling on if this specific botanical name sounds gender enough to my ears (which depends on the day tbh). Sometimes it feels to 'feminine' and other days it's totally chill for me. Idk.

[poptartmochi]

WAIT....... does this mean gioia is the one who initially wrecks Nico's life. oh my god 🙉🙉🙊

[monstersmade]

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