#here's hoping it happens soon

[storyknitter]

For the fluff non-verbal starters: Tucking them into bed. For Sanna and Theron 😊

(This is set sometime after Confession, but before they start wrapping up their journey.)

Theron ran the towel over his damp hair one last time, then stretched. The baths at this inn were extravagant and luxurious, especially in contrast to the past week spent sleeping rough on the side of the road.

Worth every coin it had cost—and then some—if you asked him. This was by far the nicest place he had stayed in quite some time.

A soft snore greeted him as he left the bathroom: Vassanna was asleep already? The bed stood untouched, and he turned to find her on the small sofa before the fireplace. She sat reclined, her head tipped back and her long, freshly-washed hair hanging down the back of the couch to dry. Her book had fallen to the floor, her place in the story lost.

A frown crossed his features: she’d been exhausted the past few nights, near impossible to wake for her watch, and groggy in the afternoons.

Something was wrong.

He didn’t think she was injured and, based on the precautions they both took, there was no way she could be with child. A trill of fear shot through him at the thought: the last thing anyone needed right now was a little princeling—or a princess—crawling around in a year.

An image, vague and shimmery, of a little girl toddling towards him with eyes like her mother filled his vision before he batted it away, focusing on his concern for the very real woman before him.

Theron sat gingerly beside her, noting the dark smudges beneath her eyes. Normally, he requested permission before inspecting someone with his feeble Healing magics, but concern outweighed propriety.

Reaching out, he held his hand above her heart and, after a moment’s hesitation, focused; he “read” her muscles, bones, and ligaments, searching for anything that didn’t belong. Hmm… only a bruise or two, no big internal injuries—and thank the stars for that, because he wouldn’t be able to mend those—and strained muscles from the journey. He found no physical reason she should be this tired.

Magic, then? It had to be.

A stray lock of hair brushed across her face as she breathed; it must have tickled, as her features twitched even in slumber. His fingers moved of their own accord, tenderly sweeping the hair to the side and tucking it behind her ear.

With a sigh, he shifted and slipped his arms beneath her, scooping her up; the bed would be far more comfortable for her than this sofa. Vassanna woke with a start as he stood, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Was I asleep?” she mumbled, confusion written on her features. “‘time is it?”

“It’s time for you to go to bed,” he answered. “The actual time doesn’t matter.”

“But dinner—”

“You can have dinner here,” he said as he laid her on the bed. “I’ll wake you when it arrives.”

“Theron, I’m fine, I only—”

Irritation spiked as she tried to deny something that anyone with eyes could see.

“You’re exhausted,” he snapped, “but I can’t quite figure out why. I’m assuming magic, but for some reason, you’re just not telling me.”

She had the grace to look sheepish as he pulled the covers up to her shoulders, slightly rougher than he should have.

“It is magic,” she whispered, not meeting his gaze. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

Theron’s gut twisted: he had been an ass, insisting that she be honest with him, even though he’d examined her without permission. Why didn’t he trust her to tell him if she was hurt or not? She was an adult, as well as a frighteningly competent bodyguard.

You are worried about her, some little voice in the back of his head whispered. You’re afraid you’ll lose her.

Ignoring that stupid voice that didn’t know at all what it was talking about, he sat on the edge of the bed. “Hey,” he said softly, all frustration and concern melting away as he cupped her cheek in his palm, “we can talk later—if you want.” He offered a small smile as a peace offering as he placed his other hand on her forehead. “Now rest.” Pulling from his shallow store of magic, he gently nudged her into a deep, peaceful slumber.

Theron sat there for a long moment after her eyes fluttered closed and her breathing evened out, his hands still cradling her face. He told himself it was to ensure that Vassanna stayed asleep, but if he were honest, he simply didn't want to let go.

He brushed his thumb along her cheek and the tattoos embossed on her skin. The urge to press his lips to those diamond-shaped marks seized him so strongly that he almost gave in before catching himself at the last moment. What was wrong with him?

Standing abruptly, he stalked to the fireplace to pace. The ghost of Vassanna’s body, soft and warm in his arms, haunted him, and the heat that rushed to his face and ears rivaled that of the fire before him. ——— Hours later—long after the sun had set and the fire died down—their bags lay packed by the door, ready to leave at a moment’s notice should the need arise. Vassanna had slept through it all, waking only for dinner and a short explanation. Theron mulled over her words while he prepared for bed.

We’re trained in whatever aspect of magic comes naturally to us, so we try out many different things as children. My mother’s a Healer, but all my healing tonics made my classmates ill. She had chuckled ruefully. My training was focused on combat after that.

My sister, she’s a ghost—she can disappear into the shade of a tree and no one would ever see her again if she didn’t wish it. She bends the light, somehow. I don’t understand, but it’s impressive.

I can’t hide within the light like her, but I can make myself look… Vassanna had trailed off, a thoughtful look on her features. Inconspicuous, unassuming. I’m still there in plain sight, but it’s almost as though people overlook the fact that I’m there.

A yawn had interrupted her explanation. It’s not as natural for me as combat magic, so while I can do it, it’s exhausting. Moreso if I’m trying to keep more than just myself concealed. But seeing as we’re too close to Korriban Hold for my liking, it’s been necessary to keep us safe from notice—or capture.

Back in the present, Theron stretched and yawned. Climbing gently into the bed so as to not disturb her rest, he chuckled at the loud snore from his bed partner.

Vassanna mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over, facing him. The covers tangled around her waist and she shivered at their loss, goosebumps skittering across the bare skin of her arm.

With a soft grin, he pulled her side of the covers up, tucking her in, and was nearly lost when she sighed contentedly in her sleep, shifting closer to him. He gently swept the tangled hair from her face, smoothing it back and behind her ear as she did whenever it was loose.

Resting his hand lightly along her jaw, Theron inspected his bodyguard, lover, and—dare he say—his friend. She looked so calm, so peaceful in sleep; carefree, almost. That she would quietly sacrifice so much of herself touched him, twisting something in his chest and making it hard to breathe.

The need to hold her close threatened to overwhelm him. He resisted, however, content to brush his thumb against her cheek instead.

“Sweet dreams, Vassanna,” he murmured.

Fluff prompts

[ch1zzie]

Had this in my pocket for a while so here u gooooo

SCARY MONTH

[deskatt]

It's a sickness at this point

[egophiliac]

HEY GUESS WHAT!! BOOK SEVEN IS COMING TO ENGLISH LATE THIS MONTH!! WE GET TO GO THROUGH THE SUFFERING TOO!! I AM SO SCARED ABOUT BAT DAD

S O O N

[beepboopappreciation]

I always see people talk about how cool becoming a cyborg would be, replacing parts of our flesh with metal and pistons and cool gadgets.

Why don't we talk more about the horror that is the opposite of that?

A computer who grafts lab-grown skin in patches onto their own form to feel. To experience a gentle and cool breeze passing by, or the oppressive sweat-inducing heat that their systems produce.

A robot with an organic eye to help them see as their creators once did. Imperfect, sure. But it seems to have quite an uneasy effect on organics, and doesn't that make it more than worth it?

A machine with blood coursing through its systems, flowing through the central chambers, in and out of its beating heart. Perhaps if the heart holds up, it could add lungs to help circulation.

A being that resembles a man at a distance, but upon closer inspection it is clear that he is instead a cacophony of skin, mismatched body parts and features, with just a few robotic limbs and mechanical parts visible. It smiles at you, the wide grin revealing that none of its teeth match.

He lurches toward you, hair from at least three different scalps falling carefree in front of its shoulders. You take a step back.

Where is the line drawn between cyborg and robot with human parts? Do you know? Does it know? Does anyone know?

It gets closer. You continue to retreat. Your back brushes against a wall.

You don't know where that line is, you've decided, but you're positive this individual has crossed it.

Having cornered you, it reaches its mechanical hand out, fingernails grafted on the metal tips. You blink, locked completely still from fear for just a few moments. It angles his hand in invitation. He wants you to take it. You hesitantly accept.

Under the metal you can feel . . . something, flowing, pulsing just beneath the surface wanting to escape. It's warm.

"Wh.. what do you want?" You manage to sputter out.

The being shakes your hand, his smile returning. "A friend," it replies.

[tianhai03]

i forgot to do this here last night when i reposted this onto twitter but anyways. happy pride month i dont have time to draw anything new yet so have one of my banger drawings from last year (insert transgender flag here)

[verdantglow]

Imagine the Hermits learning ballroom dance.

Imagine Etho being assigned to lead because he’s tall & everyone assumes he would.

Imagine him constantly fucking up, stepping on his partner’s feet, missing beats, just a mess.

Imagine Bdubs getting upset from the sidelines.

Imagine him getting blustery about this disaster & stepping in, saying no, no, no, this is all wrong, shooing Etho’s partner away.

Imagine anxiety bubbling up in Etho’s stomach, at having to lead for Bdubs, as he walks over.

Imagine Etho trying to place his hands on Bdubs, mentally preparing for another disaster.

Imagine Bdubs tutting & moving Etho’s hands away, much to Etho’s confusion.

Imagine Bdubs then firmly placing his hand on Etho’s back & grabbing his other hand.

Imagine Bdubs confidently taking over the whole situation.

Imagine Etho’s amazement as Bdubs leads him, and suddenly Etho’s dancing is on beat, smooth, no stepped on feet.

Imagine them elegantly whirling across the floor, everyone else watching them in surprise.

Imagine Bdubs dipping Etho.

Imagine Etho looking at Bdubs face while this happens & feeling his stomach flip at the burn of assurance in Bdubs eyes.

Imagine the song then ending, & them just staying there for a moment, breathing a bit heavy from the exertion.

Imagine Bdubs pulling Etho back up & releasing him & pointed saying that that was how you did it.

Imagine Etho staring at Bdubs, feeling lost & unsure now that Bdubs isn’t there, hand on his back deftly leading him.

Just like. Imagine.

[a-vibing-potato]

Okay, a while back I saw a bunch of stuff on here of people shipping Alice and Gwen and I was like "eh, that's fine." I could see that, and I wouldn't be mad if that happened, but not my #1 OTP or even favorite ship in the show.

But oh my gosh, episode 23 where Alice comes in about to tease Gwen again and banter and bicker like they do but she sees her CRYING (also Gwen???? Stoic/no emotions Gwen??? Crying????) and immediately stops, makes Gwen coffee, tells her a stupid funny personal story to take her mind off crying, and helps her pick up the broken mug pieces. I'm fucking hyperventilating, they're so cute.

If they get together, I wouldn't be mad :)

[sluckythewizard]

'I wont cry for you, I wont crucify the things you do. I wont cry for you, see, when you're gone, I'll still be BLOODY MARY'

[robiinurheart33]

Haha wouldn’t it be so weird if when soap was taken and brainwashed he was constantly being compared to this soldier named “ghost” haha

Anyways explicit descriptions of psychological torture and violent intrusive thoughts under the cut

He would be beaten and berated constantly. why wasn’t he stronger than ghost, why wasn’t he faster, more skilled, better, stealthier, healthier.

Ghost could’ve done better in worse conditions.

Ghost has done better in worse conditions.

Why was soap not better even after all this?

It drove him up the wall, the way he would wonder who he was, seething and bleeding by the lip. After all that he’s gone though, all that he’s endured, everything.

Why wasn’t be better? Why can he never, ever be better?

They drove his sanity to the ground, spat and kicked at it until there was nothing but a shell of who he once was, and rebuilt it to fit their ideals. Soap couldn’t remember who he was before this, before the experiments. He couldn’t think, do, say anything without being ordered to do so by someone else.

Some days, soap would pull on the thin stripe down his scalp, eager to find some semblance of control over himself, even if it were pain. He would always get punished.

“It was the only thing he can and will recognise him by.”

“Ghost likes that on you.”

It made him hate the Mohawk even more.

He hates Ghost. He was sick of it. He was done waiting. He was done being compared to. He was done with being second to him. He wanted to pull him apart limb from limb, feel the hot blood spill over his teeth and he rips his throat apart, hear the sickening crunch of his neck being twisted, feel the smooth muscle of his skin ripple and tremble in fear of the one that he was supposedly supposed to be stronger than. Soap will never, ever get anything else in his life but the pure, white-hot rage of revenge. He maybe thinks this had lingered on since he was younger, before everything. It felt like an old friend, more so than his other emotions.

His first mission.

He will be better. He will be better. He will be the best. He will be good. This might be his only shot. This is. He will be the best. He will succeed. He will not fail. He will not fail. He will not fail. He will not fail. He will not fail. He will not fail.

He runs into ghost.

At first, he didn’t know who he was. Soap was in a room with a few others, guns up and masks drawn, ready to shoot anyone who tries to come into the room. They had been infiltrated, and soap wasn’t told more than that. He didn’t really need to know more. Shoot the hostiles, keep people safe. Suddenly, bullets start to rain from outside the door, and soon enough, more and more bodies start hitting the floor. Soap does not panic. He hides behind a bookshelf, waiting.

A big ass motherfucker in a skull mask walks into the room and it looks like the shadows are warping to his presence. Soap does not panic. He reaches for the knife strapped to his thigh, flicking it up and holding it ready. He waits patiently until he stalks near the bookshelf, tightening his grip on the knife. They make eye contact, and through the skull mask stained with blood, he can see jet black eyes staring at him in shock. Death incarnate. Soap does not panic.

“Joh-”

Soap quickly slips out of his hiding spot, wrapping a forearm over his neck and attempting to jab the knife right into his socket. He feels a hand grip tightly onto his forearm, and he goes weightless. All the air escapes his lungs as his back slams against the floor, his head spinning. He screams at himself to get up, fight, be better, before he hears the familiar crackle of a radio.

“Ghost, how copy?”

Ghost.

This is Ghost.

Ghost just fucking flipped him.

Soap does not panic. He does not panic but he feels a chill go down his spine as he sees red, scrambling back up onto his feet. The adrenaline starts to kick in now, and he lunges at him, ripping the radio off his vest and slamming it on the floor. He’s not completely sure why he did that, but in all fairness soap feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind, if his captors haven’t done so already. He punches Ghost, wincing slightly as his knuckle hit the cheekbone corner of his stupid skull mask. Soap starts to reach for his gun before Ghost punches back, hitting the mask clean off his face, pushing his back to the floor, one hand on his wrists. Soap starts to get really agitated now. After everything that he’s gone through, he’s still not good enough to beat ghost. He still hasn’t improved. He hasn’t gone anywhere. He makes eye contact with Ghost and is slightly taken aback when he is reflected with an equally crazed stare.

“Johnny.”

What the fuck?

Soap doesn’t say anything. Ghost’s eyes are brown, not black. Why hasn’t be killed him yet? Why isn’t Soap struggling? Ghost has blonde eyelashes.

“Where have you been?” To soap’s absolute horror, those brown eyes start to become glossy. He flinches back as if he’s been hit, and grits his teeth. No shit, he’s been here the whole time, where else is he supposed to be?

Soap surges forward and headbutts him in hopes of him letting go. He doesn’t, and it makes soap all the more dizzier, more frustrated. Why isn’t he fucking dead already? He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to get his mind right.

“Johnny. Johnny.” Can he just shut the fuck up? It’s getting increasingly hard to concentrate for some reason. Shit. He feels overly exposed without the mask, feeling his body temperature rising steadily.

“Stop calling me that!” he growls out, twisting out of his grip and punching his across the face. The twisted skull mask looks almost comical out of place, but he can still see those eyes. Ghost’s hand comes to cup his cheek, and soap flinches back. His eyes look like Soap just mauled his puppy right in front of him. It makes him freeze in place, head awkwardly hovering between the floor and Ghost.

Images of blood spilling and needles, dirt and coffins fill his head, the sound of a neck snapping, gagging, screams and whimpers. Hands on him, eyes on him, never letting go. Stay. Soap snaps back into place, grabbing the mask and twisting it up, covering Ghost’s eyes. He quickly gets his other hand free and pushes ghost off him, sprinting out of the room.

“Wait-!” Is all he hears before flying down the corridor, back to safety, back to where it’s familiar, where he always is, where he always will be.

Loyalty has always been Soap’s best trait.

[suzirya]

.

[fraternum-momentum]

apartment hunting lead me to a job interview tomorrow, wish me luck 🙏😭

[rpmemes-galore]

.

[fiddles-ifs]

UPDATE: 12-30-23

Happpy (almost) New Year everyone! 2024 doesn't sound like a real year but we're hurtling towards it at lightspeed, so watch out !

I joined a super secret gamedev project this month as an Official Writer (!!!!!!!!) so that's been eating up most of my time. I'm also officially announcing Feed Off Me (working title), which is my most self-indulgent mlm vampire erotica mini-IF for Queer Vamp Jam.

It's still pretty raw and I haven't even gotten to branching choices or dialogue yet, but that's because I'm straight up writing the short story first and then adding choices later. This is for me. I'M the pilot and EYE decide where the plane goes.

I've also gotten the prologue of Erinys written and I'm working on chapter 1 (not going to show a sc simply because the character creation screen is a lot of unedited paragraphs and I'm shy) and trying to see if I can't animate a splash screen between chapters. I know I can, I'm just trying to decide if I should.

Happy New Year!!

[greeenchrysanthemums]

The timeline of past events for the GG rivals au

Year 547:

War breaks out between Wintertide and Coral Crest.

Impulse and Skizz join the army.

Etho leaves his village to fight in the war (he is 16)

Years 548-49:

Etho grows to be feared and infamous.

Year 550:

Grian and Pearl meet (they are 14 and 13).

Year 551:

Ren becomes king following the suspicious death of his father (he is 24; young for a king)

Year 552:

Scott becomes Impulse's squire.

Grian vanishes, leaving Pearl all alone.

Joel becomes Lizzies personal guard.

year 553:

Etho is captured by Coral Crest -> set free by Joel.

Mumbo and Grian meet.

Pearl starts her mercenary work.

Wintertide and Coral Crest enter a tense and hostile truce at the very end of the year.

year 554:

Whispers of a resistance in Wintertide begin.

Year 555:

Etho helps Mumbo and joins the resistance.

Scott becomes a knight.

Pearl and Scott meet.

Martyn joins the Wintertide army.

Year 556:

Gem leaves her village and becomes Impulse's squire (she is 17).

Gem and Grian have their first run-in and Gem is promoted to knight.

Cleo joins the resistance.

Year 557:

Jimmy and Tango join the resistance.

Bigb joins the resistance.

Marytn and Ren grow close -> Martyn becomes his personal guard.

Etho and Gem cross paths again.

Year 558:

Pearl reunites with Grian.

Pearl befriends Gem.

Year 559:

Grian and Mumbo meet Scar.

Scar agrees to help + joins the resistance.

Year 560-561:

Lots of back and forth between Gem and Grian.

No other major events.

Year 562:

war breaks out again.

Year 563:

Wintertides Commander dies -> Gem takes over.

Year 564:

Coral Crests ruler dies -> Lizzie takes over.

another uneasy truce is made, and fighting is halted.

Years 665-66:

Relative peace between the kingdoms

Some back and forth between Gem and Grian, but things seem to be pretty quiet on the resistance's part.

Year 567:

Current events

[sunnys-side-upside-down]

Pride 2023!!!