#since the fic is complete

[shrinkthisviolet]

i still love you (i promise)

T | 59k words | 10 chapters

“He sounds like a nice young man.”

“He is!” Morgan beamed. “He’s sweet and thoughtful…I get why Iris became friends with him. He…kinda reminds me of Ronnie, honestly.”

Barry and Morgan might still be in the early stages of friendship, but there's no doubt that they trust each other, if only because of their history as Flash and Sentry.

But what happens when that changes? When the trust shatters between them...Morgan's not sure how to feel, and Barry doesn't know what to do. Too bad the universe is intent on testing them anyway.

Taglist (send an ask or DM to be added or removed):

@ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @vexic929 @thechaoticfanartist @raith-way @ironverseocs @goldheartedchaoticdisaster @thatmagickjuju

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos

(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)

People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.

------

+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.

The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ

------

Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-

The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.

The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.

He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.

Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.

Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.

The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.

Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.

It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.

He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.

Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.

His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.

She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.

A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.

Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.

He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.

A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.

However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.

With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.

“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.

He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.

Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.

So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.

“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.

The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.

The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.

When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.

Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.

[choccy-milky]

part 3 to my modern AU 💞🍺 (part 1 / part 2)

[justaz]

merlin told arthur his favorite color was the color of the sky during sunset when it shifted into a deep violet. arthur gets a tunic made in that exact shade. its the best thing merlin owns. arthur was hoping that would mean he’d wear it almost everyday but merlin almost never wears it. the only time he does wear it is when royals come to visit (which isn’t all that often). arthur “subtly” asks about it and merlin is like “it’s the best thing i own. i’m not gonna dirty it mucking out the stables or serving rowdy knights wine while they splatter food on it” and arthur is like “why not wear it when nobles come to visit? look at least a little presentable for them” (cough nice save). merlin doesn’t see the point in it bc nobles don’t care about him at best, view him as less than human at worst.

arthur really just wants to see his boyfriend servant in the tunic he had made for him (bonus points for sending a message that merlin is his. not that merlin seems to notice. man is too much of an idiot). merlin wants to preserve his favorite tunic and gift from his boyfriend king.

[chuusmuts]

imagine waking up nude beside your best friend, aether

mild nsfw at the end. writing this as a warm-up before i make a debut as a smut writer in this blog. also, to those who think you know me, no, you don't. not proofread.

edit:i just realised how shitty the grammar is so please ignore it.

you waking up beside your best friend!aether in a hotel room, completely nude after a long night of lovemaking. just like him, you don't remember a thing. though, the bruise marks on your breasts and the wetness between your inner thighs were enough proofs to confirm what happened last night. you're not going to lie that you do feel embarrassed seeing how nonchalant aether is about this, yet it quickly disappears when he pulls you into a hug, asking if you're mad and apologizing to you.

"you’re not mad at me, right?”

"no." you're not mad. you can't bring yourself to get mad, especially since he's always so nice and sweet to you.

eventually, you ask him how is he so calm about all this. but you found the answer right away after you buried your face into his chest, putting your ear near where his heart is located. he's not calm at all, his heart is pounding just as fast as yours. he's nervous, a lot more nervous than you. he's just putting on a calm facade so you wouldn't feel awkward around him.

he began to stroke your hair gently, lovingly before he spoke up, his voice softens even more, “i… i like you a lot. and last night… it was really great. i don’t regret a thing. you… made me feel so good last night.”

your cheeks flushed when he mentioned how good you made him feel. the fact that he didn't remember what happened last night, but remember how good he felt buried deep inside you make you feel shy.

but at the same time, you wish you could make him feel good again. "i wish we could do it again... sober. i was drunk, so i couldn't experience it properly..." your face was still resting against his chest, but you were pouting slightly. you're not a lightweight person, so it's really a shame you got drunk on a special night. (although, you wouldn't be making love with him if you weren't drunk since you'd be too busy dragging his ass home.)

his eyes seem to light up at your wish. he kisses the top of your head, nuzzling into your hair. you can feel his body heat up, and from his breathing, you can tell that he's not so calm and collected anymore. “... are you in the mood?”

a pair of curious eyes bore into aether's golden eyes. you want to do it again, but you don't want to tire him. and what if he sees you as someone who's desperate? especially since you just did it with him last night.

regardless of what you think of yourself, aether thinks you're too cute to look desperate. even if you are, you still look cute.

before the two of you realised, your lips connect with one another. a shiver runs throughout your body from how good his lips feel. your heart flutter and you can feel butterflies in your stomach as your hand found themselves on his soft cheeks.

aether’s ears turn bright red as he moves slowly on top of you, his lips never leaving yours. letting the duvet off of you and him, his warm, golden eyes look over you, taking in as much as he can. he moves his lips from yours, dragging his tongue along your neck and kissing every inch of you, emitting a content sigh from you.

he pauses and moves lower down on your body, gently kissing and sucking on your chest. his fingers run through your hair, carefully stroking you while his free hand grab and fondle with your breast, making you moan in pleasure. he doesn't intend on going rough, his priority is to pleasure you and he wants you to enjoy it as much as you can. aether smiles, his eyes twinkling as he sees the effect he has on you.

“i… i love you so much… you’re so pretty, and so cute… and just thinking about you makes me want you so bad.” he says before kissing your neck again.

he takes one of your hands and kisses up your arm, and puts it on top of his chest. “touch me… i wanna see how much i make you want me.” he whispers, his voice sounding needy.

[weaveandwood]

The Snake and The Crow

Pairing: The Viper x Female Rook (Bianca, an Antivan Crow mage) Words: 3.4K NSFW Summary: The Viper and Rook had chemistry that was instantaneous, obvious. It was only a matter of time before they acted on it. And then kept acting on it over and over again. This takes place on one such night.

AN: I have never been more feral for a non-romanceable NPC before, and now...I get it.

Read on AO3! Read Chapter Two

He met her, as always, by the Eluvian at the shop. She crossed through, as always, wearing Shadow Dragon robes to blend in, though she knew they wouldn’t stay on long enough for it to really matter. He stepped forward, pulling her into his arms for the quickest of moments before leading her through the hideout, taking a path she had grown very familiar with these past weeks. Though it was the middle of the night when only the fewest and most discreet Dragons were around, he would remain vigilant and masked, only unveiling himself once they were alone in his quarters at the hideout. Not much longer, she thought, ready to rid herself of both her clothes and her tension with a few hours spent tangled up in him. 

Their chemistry had been instantaneous, palpable to the point where even Neve commented that she felt like she was intruding on something after the first time they met. It seemed like a forgone conclusion then, that by their third meeting they found themselves in hidden corridors, entwined in each other. Since then, she made appearances every other night, and the two spent hurried hours forgetting about duty for the first time in a long time. 

Tonight though, something was different - they turned left instead of right. The went out the entrance to the streets of Dock Town instead of to his small converted office that she intimately knew every flat surface of. 

“Viper, where are you taking me?” Bianca asked, following him through the streets, crowded even at this hour. He pulled her into a side alleyway and pressed her back against the wall of a building. He looked left and right before unhooking his mask and kissed her - deeply, and far, far too quickly - before pulling away. She was left breathless and desperate for more, clinging on to his coat to regain her balance as he fastened his mask back into place. 

“The hideout is too busy for me to be able to do all the things I want to do to you,” he said softly into her ear. He tucked a curl behind it, his fingers tracing the outline of the elegantly pointed tip, sending a shock through her. 

“Oh,” she whispered, a hot flush creeping up her neck though she couldn’t recall seeing more than the usual handful of Dragons when they cut through the hideout before. She could sense something simmering under the carefully crafted veneer he exhibited as The Viper, and wondered what was in store for her when he could be Ashur once more. He took her hand and led her on a winding path through alleys, side streets, and up some ladders before finally arriving at a small apartment. 

“Did you bring me to…your home?” she questioned with a teasing smile, looking around while walking through the front door. It was modest, sparsely furnished - the mark of a man who never spent any time there. She leaned against a wall and watched him take off his hat and mask, finally revealing the handsome face that she had grown so fond of over these last weeks, specifically his full lips. 

He knew what he was doing with those lips. 

“I know I can trust you,” he said matter-of-factly, hanging up his coat. “Now, where were we?” 

“I believe you were going to elaborate on all the things you wanted to do to me,” she said. He stepped close to her, unfastening the closure of the robes she had hastily thrown on before leaving the Lighthouse that night and sliding them off her shoulders, leaving her in just a pair of leggings. 

His fingers traced the outlines of the feather shaped scars she had gotten carved into her skin the night she was initiated as a Crow. The pain had been worth it for the feeling of his light touch, tonight and every night they were together.

“I want to touch every one of these feathers,” he rumbled in her ear. “With my fingers, with my mouth…especially your wings.” Bianca’s breath caught at the mere thought of him behind her, mental images from previous nights creeping to the forefront of her memory - one hand on her waist, pulling her back into him, the other in her hair, tugging slightly to turn her head to kiss him roughly. He had always been particularly drawn to the feathers carved into the shape of wings on her back. His mouth trailed from her earlobe to the side of her neck, kisses following a path left by his touch, causing her magic to react wildly within her. Sparks of lightning felt like they followed each press of his lips against her heated skin, bringing a gasp from her own. Her neck, her collarbone, the lowest scarred feather between her breasts - nowhere escaped Ashur’s diligence.

Still, he moved lower, and the sparks within her ignited to fire as she watched him. She was ready to self combust when she felt his fingers reaching inside the waistband of her leggings. He let out an approving hum when he realized she didn't wear undergarments - she never did on nights they spent in each other’s company.

“You’re lucky I even wore those.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“That would have made for one awkward walk through Dock Town,” she laughed seeing the smirk on his face looking up at her. “It wouldn’t be good for Mr. Anonymity to be seen walking the streets in the middle of the night with a pantsless woman, don’t you agree?” 

“It may have been worth it,” he smiled against her stomach, kissing it once more before sliding off the slippers she wore and pushing her leggings off her hips, the dim light in his apartment revealing the curves and dips of her strong frame. He traced the outlines of her legs from her ankles to her calves to her thighs before settling his hands on her hips. Bianca admitted to herself that there was something very pleasing about a fully clothed Ashur kneeling before her naked body. She closed her eyes, leaning back against the wall and felt his warm breath on her. He kissed each hip bone, each thigh, her lower stomach as if he had all the time in the world, his soft lips branding her yet never moving to the place she wanted them the most. 

“Ashur,” she whispered, “it isn’t like you to tease me so much.” Most nights were frenzied with him - there was never time for much else. They had a simple arrangement, and it worked. Or so she thought, until she felt him kissing almost every inch of her skin. Things couldn’t be different between them, but…what if? 

“There is less of a chance of someone flinging my door open with an emergency here,” he looked up at her before draping her leg over his shoulder, kissing the crease of her thigh. “Besides, here you can be as loud as you want,” he smiled before flattening his tongue, dragging it from her entrance to her clit, the lightning within her raging once more. She tightened her grip on his shoulders and arched against the wall, soft moans spilling from her mouth as he continued licking, alternating between soft slow laps and fervent flicks against her, reading her body like a book he was well acquainted with. Her hips rocked against his face, and she wanted more, more, more…

His fingers dug into the soft skin of her hips, his tongue keeping its steady rhythm like a dutiful soldier. She tensed up and shuddered against him, her cries echoing through the apartment as he tasted her pleasure.  

He stood and swept his hand from her hips to her stomach to her breasts in an agonizingly slow path.  It was pleasant torture - every second he spent exploring her body increased her want of him tenfold. The warmth of his lips soon followed as he took each nipple into his mouth - sucking, flicking, biting gently. She felt him hum against her as each one hardened at his ministrations. He dragged his tongue in a path between her breasts, following the outlines of her scars back up to her collarbone, her throat, then finally her lips, where he kissed her like he would never kiss her again. Kissing Ashur was what she assumed a religious experience would be like, if she had been religious at all - he kissed her deeply, intensely, and with a fervor that was unmatched by all the others she had kissed before. Their tongues slid together, well-practiced at knowing what the other liked. His hands threaded through her hair, wrapping in her tangle of curls, while hers busied themselves by pulling his shirt free from his pants. He had been wearing it far too long. She began fumbling with the buttons blindly, distracted by both the heat of his kiss and the hardness pressing against her hip, letting out a frustrated groan when they did not yield easily. She was desperate to have him inside her and in that moment, those buttons were proving to be almost as big a foe as the gods they were fighting. 

He pulled away, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth before grabbing her hand and leading her down a small hallway to his bedroom - as sparsely furnished as the rest of the apartment, but comfortable enough. Bianca perched on his bed, watching him. 

“I thought I was lucky just seeing the entryway to your apartment, I didn’t realize I’d be seeing your bedroom too,” she laughed. “You’re pulling out all… the…”

She was quickly silenced by the sight of him undressing. Ashur had a grace that was hidden by the layers he wore. He surprised her that first night they were together, how elegant his movements were when unconstrained by large jackets and layers of clothing, layers of duty, layers of pressure. He never shied under her gaze, even when she watched him as intently as she was now - head tilted, eyes following the path of his hands. Sliding his shirt off, pushing down his pants, taking off his undergarments. It had to be said Ashur in no clothing was her favorite Ashur of all. Completely unburdened, completely himself. It was a rare occasion they had the opportunity to fully undress as most nights were stolen moments, a rearrangement of clothing to allow for quick access and an easy exit. Tonight…well tonight there felt like there was time, even if they both knew there wasn’t. Not really. 

“Now you’re really spoiling me,” she said. “A girl could get used to this, you better watch out. Soon, I won’t want to be bent over your desk anymore,” she laughed. 

He laughed as he crossed the room, climbing on to the bed behind her. He made good on his promise from earlier as she felt the first touch of his fingers softly tracing the scars on her left shoulder, followed by his lips. Slowly, methodically, he traced each one from her shoulder blade to her arm and back. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, focusing solely on the feeling of him on her skin, anticipation of his next move adding to the bonfire raging within her. 

“We both know that’s a lie,” he whispered into her ear, gently nipping at her earlobe and eliciting a soft gasp from her. Bianca was wound so tightly she felt she could explode at any moment, and though she hadn’t even touched him yet, she could tell he must be feeling similarly - he was hard as stone against her backside. She pressed her hips back into him, smiling at the moan he used her shoulder to muffle while he resumed his careful appreciation of the scars on her right arm. 

He ran a finger lightly up and down her spine, goosebumps spreading all over her body. She wasn’t sure what magic he possessed to cause her to react so vividly to his touch, but she would not complain, not when it felt like this. His hands went to her waist, pulling her against him, her back now pressed against his firm chest. She rocked back against his hardness, wanting him even more if that were possible. She wanted him to push her forward into the mattress and take her. Instead, she felt a hand slide to her center, parting her and finding her swollen clit before rubbing it gently. The other hand slid up to her breast, his palm fully covering it as it kneaded the soft flesh, his hips rocking in time with hers. 

“Ashur…please…” she moaned. This wasn’t fair - they didn’t tease each other, they didn’t drag it out. That was something for normal people with normal lives who weren’t trying to save the world. That was something for…feelings. Something they agreed they couldn’t — wouldn’t — risk. “Don’t make me beg.” 

He stopped moving. 

“Would you beg for me?” he whispered into her ear. She could almost hear the smile in his voice. “You want me that badly?”

“I want you inside me right now,” she whispered, her voice dripping with lust. “Don’t make me wait any longer.” 

“Lie down for me. I want to be able to watch you while I have you,” he said. If she thought she was heated before, it was nothing compared to how she felt then. Her body was molten - she was liquid fire in his hands as he pushed her back onto the mattress, her head resting against his pillow. It was faint, but it smelled of him. She guessed this was probably the first time he’d been here in over a week. She watched him through half-lidded eyes as he settled himself between her spread legs, pressing them farther apart with his muscular thighs. 

“You are beautiful, you know that right?” he said, leaning down to kiss her as he took himself in one hand, guiding himself into her slowly, steadily, just the way she liked it. The initial burn gave way to pleasure as she felt herself open and give around him. Ashur was a large man, especially where it counted. She moaned into his mouth as he pressed deeply inside of her, filling and stretching her perfectly. Any worries she had during the day left her mind whenever he was inside her and tonight was no exception. 

He set a deliberate pace from the beginning. There was no need for easing her into it, she preferred it this way - with him pulling almost completely out of her before driving back in fully. Each time his hips snapped against hers she felt the world melt away. She arched against his bed, her arms wrapped around his back just as his were around hers - the two of them clinging tightly to each other as they sought to forget everything outside of this moment, if only for a moment. She knew her nails were digging into his skin, and selfishly hoped they would leave a mark, even if no one would be able to see it. 

“More, Ashur, more,” she whispered into his ear. “Have me. Take me. I’m yours.” 

He looked into her eyes, something quickly flashing across them but gone in an instant before he sat up on his knees, his hands on her hips. He drove into her faster, harder, grunting with effort. His eyes darkened as he watched where they were joined, his hardness glistening with her arousal.

For a long while, the only noises in the bedroom were the sounds of their collective moans, their bodies hitting together, and the creaking of the bed. Ashur managed to hit every spot that drove Bianca crazy, even some she didn’t even know he could hit from this position. He moved her feet to his shoulders, using her thighs as leverage as he continued his relentless pace - long, driving strokes that hit every inch of her. She felt herself starting to tighten around him, wanting that release so badly but not wanting this night to end. She could be like this with him all night every night and never be satisfied. She was selfish when it came to being with him, that she knew. How could she not be? She was certain she was ruined, that no one else could possibly make her feel this good. The scary thing that raced through her mind occasionally was that she wasn’t sure if she wanted anyone else to try. 

“Ashur, I -” she panted, unable to get a complete sentence out before he started to rub her clit once more, a jolt running through her, causing her hips to buck at his touch. He knew what she needed. He kept the same pace, watching her face as she got closer and closer to the edge, ready to throw herself over that great precipice. She cried out his name, sending it to whatever gods were listening, if there even were gods anymore and came hard around him. Pleasure crashed over her in waves as her orgasm shuddered through her body once more. 

He lost control, thrusting into her roughly as he raced to the peak of his own desire. He kept eye contact as he finally, blissfully reached it, driving into her once more before crying out loudly, his release filling her. He was beautiful when he came, she couldn’t deny it. He was beautiful always, but unguarded, unfiltered, and knowing nothing but pleasure was a side of Ashur no one else got to see but her, at least at this moment in time.

A small consolation. 

Sweaty and panting, he pulled out of her and lay beside her on the bed to catch his breath. She turned to her side to look at him, unused to having time to relax after finishing their near nightly ritual. 

“Why don’t you stay tonight?” he asked quietly, breaking the silence. His finger played with a wild curl that had fallen across her face before pushing it back into place with all the others. 

“That doesn’t sound very ‘no strings attached,’ Ashur,” she laughed. She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to.

“Maybe we could have a couple strings,” he replied. 

“Hmm...and what would a couple strings be like?” she asked, her fingers tracing the shell of his ear, the sharpness of his jaw, the fullness of his lips. He responded with a gentle kiss to her fingertips. 

“Maybe sometimes we come here if there’s time. Maybe you stay the night instead of running off straight back to the eluvian.” He sighed. “There are other, more dangerous strings I am thinking of, but those are not possible.” 

She laughed. “And what constitutes a dangerous string?”

“Something like us not hiding, something like us seeing what this even is. Or could be.”  

“Those are…dangerous strings. You know that. I know that. If anyone found out, the Venatori would use me against you and Elgar'nan and Ghilan’nain would use you to get to me. We…can’t,” she said, her brow furrowed as her heart sank. “As much as I want to.” 

“So…I’m not alone in feeling this way?” he asked, his fingers intertwining with hers. 

“No, you’re not. Which may be dangerous in its own way. We both have important work to do. When that is done, we can revisit the dangerous strings.” Relief poured through her veins as he nodded in agreement. 

“And until then?” he asked, kissing each one of her knuckles, the inside of her wrist, her shoulder, her neck. He was relentless, and she was already cursing herself for being logical for once in her short life. And he knew it. 

“We can have a couple…non-dangerous strings. I do think I like being in your bed.” 

“And you staying here?” 

“I like that too,” she smiled. “Just not tonight. I have to leave in a few hours to meet with Grey Wardens in the Anderfels and find a monster hunter named Davrin. I should be back in a couple days, though. If it's a night where there’s time…I’d like a repeat of tonight. More than one.” She paused, her heart racing. “I like this. I like us. If it were any other world…” 

He kissed her then, softly. 

“If it were any other world, we wouldn’t have met. It is what it is. I’m happy to revisit the dangerous strings later. Come on, let’s get you home. Unless…” he pulled her back on top of him, making her laugh in surprise. She felt him already starting to harden beneath her once more. “You have time for a quick round two?” 

“I think I can make the time. Who needs sleep anyway?” she smiled before kissing him.

[yaekiss]

𝑴𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝑵𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒙𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

꩜ Room Content: GN! Dom! Reader x Sub! Kaveh, no gendered terms for reader, no mention of reader's anatomy, handjob & blowjob (Kaveh receiving), praise (Kaveh receiving), lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: I've been thinking about writing something for Kaveh again lately so thank you pringles for sending in this prompt!! Also a huge thank you for waiting! Hope you enjoy the fic !! <3 ꩜ This was written for @xxpringlesxx as part of my Care for a Fic fundraising event for Gaza! If you would to request a fic of your own, do check out the event post above ^^

As he busies himself with washing the dishes after dinner (it’s his turn today), Kaveh hums along to the tune of that catchy love song that’s been popular in Sumeru lately, one that’s been stuck in his head all week. 

From where you’re seated, you can hear the water run and plates and glasses clink as he washes them and puts them away on a rack to dry. However, interspersed between the mundane noises and his light humming, you pick up frustrated huffs. 

Concerned for your lover, you crane your head over to look at him, and you see the problem. He’s constantly rolling his shoulders back and sharply tilting his head to each side, probably trying to pop a stubborn crick in his neck.

Making your way over to the kitchen, as you get closer, you can’t help but notice that his posture looks tense as he hunches over the sink. Mind processing, you recall him complaining about his latest commissions to you over dinner.

(“Can you believe the client even suggested that?” He sighs before lifting another spoonful of soup to his mouth.

“And don’t even get me started on the deadlines, dearest! I don’t know how I’ll survive this one without pulling a few all-nighters,” Kaveh all but wails. The soup doesn’t really make it into his mouth since he just sets the spoon back into the bowl so his hands are free to tug at his hair.

You laugh lightheartedly, take his hands out of his hair gently, then pick up his almost empty bowl of soup so that you can refill it. 

“You’ll need all the energy you can get then, I’ll get more soup for you. And I hope you’d still get some rest though, beloved,” you chide him softly.)

He hears you pop into the kitchen and he turns around to face you.

“Hey, just finished the dishes, do you need something from the drying rack?”

You shake your head, “Nope. I was just wondering if you wanted a massage, since you’ve been working hard and your shoulders are tense, is all.” 

Kaveh answers as he wipes his wet hands on a clean dry cloth hanging by the wall, his tone chipper, “That’ll be nothing but heavenly, thank you so much, dearest. Ugh, you don’t even want to know how much my shoulders have been killing me lately.” 

He allows you to lead him into your shared bedroom, where he promptly faceplants down onto the mattress, a tired muffled sigh leaving him. Reaching over to the bedside table, you pick up the tub of lotion in the drawer. Opening it, you look back down at Kaveh who’s still sprawled out prone on the bed and you sigh.

“Come on, don’t you think it’ll be better and easier for me without your shirt in the way?” He doesn’t answer but you know he heard you because of the way he kicks his legs, as if throwing a fit. 

“But I just got comfy,” he groans, his grumpy tone muffled by the mattress under him. Ultimately, he sits back up, pulls his shirt over his head, folds it quickly and sets it to a side, then flops back down onto the mattress, all in quick succession.

Clambering over him to straddle his lower back, you scoop a nice dollop of the lotion and spread it across the expanse of his back so that your hands can smoothly glide over his skin. You start from between his shoulder blades, where you rub it into his shoulders and take note of how tense his muscles are. While you work at the knots in his muscles, he relaxes more and more until he has practically melted and become one with the bed. 

Then gradually, your hands make their way down to his waist. When your thumbs dig into the area around the small of his back, he shivers under you, along with a low hiss. 

Unbeknownst to you, your beloved Kaveh lays pinned and squirming beneath your hands as he desperately tries to muffle the moans that itch to make their way out of his throat. He fights back the urge to buck his hips downwards, you were nice enough to help him wind down from a busy couple of days and yet here he is getting hot and bothered under your touch.

It’s not his fault that you’ve been running through his mind, who wouldn’t be enraptured by you? You’re the only thing keeping him sane in spite of his growing workload, his thoughts wandering to his dearest lover throughout these hellish days as a balm to soothe his weary soul.

The more he tries to tear his traitorous mind away from you, the more it conjures up increasingly scandalous fantasies of how this current situation could play out. What would you do to him? Tease him until he’s begging for his release, a full-body blush painted across his skin? Or perhaps the inverse, where you’d wring climax after climax out of him until he’s mumbling nothing but utter nonsense, limbless in your arms? How’d he love for your hands to drift further down his body, trail under the waistband of his pants to where he needs you the most.

Your voice snaps him out of his daze and drags him out of his daydreams.

“Done with your back, beloved. Flip around for me?” He hears you coo from above him as you move to sit on the bed so he can change his position and yet, hesitates to turn upwards and face you.

Mainly, due to the tightness in his pants right now.

“Hmm, Kaveh? What’s wrong?” The concern in your voice is evident and he tries everything to will away his hard-on until he’s confronted with the fact that he has no choice but to do as you say, lest he causes you to worry even more.

Slowly, he peels himself off the mattress on shaky hands while the tips of his ears are burning red. But before he flips over completely, he manages to mumble out a weak, “Um. Uh. Just don’t look down too much…”

When he’s finally done shifting positions, you’re able to see just how bright of a blush has settled on his face, his brows knitted together as he quickly moves his hands to the front of his pants. However, it’s too late and you’ve already caught a glimpse of what he’s trying to hide. (And really, the rumpled state of his pants aren’t helping his case.)

Kaveh knows that you’ve realised when a mischievous look flashes across your face, “Aww, why didn’t you just tell me? Just an innocent little massage and you’re already so worked up?” He didn’t know his face could get any hotter but it does when he recognises that you’re teasing him.

Fortunately for him, it seems like you’re in a merciful mood tonight as you drag your fingertips down past his navel, goosebumps rising on his skin along the path you trace out. When your fingers go to hook under his waistband, you ask, “Do you want this?”

Kaveh thinks he has never nodded this hard in his life.

Prying him free from the confines of his clothes, he’s already almost fully erect, to which you quickly fix. Wiping your hands of the remaining lotion still clinging to them, you procure a different container, a water-based lubricant this time, and slather it generously on your palms and fingers to bring it up to your body temperature. 

Wrapping a hand around his base, you stroke upwards in a fluid motion, making him jerk his hips up into your fist. Eyes squeezed shut, Kaveh hisses sharply when he feels your other hand snake up to his chest and flick at one of his sensitive nipples. 

Filthy slick noises fill the room as you take the time prying moan after moan from his lips and he looks utterly debauched lying under you. A messy halo of golden blonde hair frames his face aflame with colour and you sear this image of your beloved into your memory.

“Are my hands really that good?”

“Hnn… Ye-yes! More, please…!” He slurs, half out his mind.

The combined onslaught of pleasure proves to be too much for him as the telltale sign of his thighs tensing signals his oncoming release. Yet, just as he tips over the edge, you instantly stop your ministrations, pulling your hands away from him.

But before he can whine out in disappointment, you take him into your mouth. The sudden replacement of your hands with the warmth of your tongue takes him off guard and it rips a drawn out keen from the architect. Your hands rove around his body, alternating from pinching and toying with his chest to kneading at the muscles of his thighs and ass.

“Absolutely lovely, beloved. I’m so lucky to have such a hard worker, someone so kind and earnest in everything that he does,” he moans unabashedly at your praise, head pressed back hard against the bed as he tries to hold himself back from coming too soon. Unshed tears cling to his eyelashes as he blinks rapidly at the overwhelming sensations.

“Going to… hah! Need to-!” At this point, Kaveh’s mind has been reduced to mush, his fingers tangled in the bedsheets as he begs and babbles in between breathy pants.

“Go on, beloved, anything you want,” you coo, pressing a kiss to his inner thigh. When you lick up the underside of his shaft and take his drooling tip into your mouth, a hand twisting at the base whilst the other toys with his balls. His muscles lock up as his back arches off the bed and he cums with a shout. 

Stars dancing behind his eyelids, he moans when you press your lips to his and he tastes himself. His hand scrambles to find yours, fingers entwining as his thoughts fill with nothing except the love he has for you. 

When you break away from him, Kaveh sighs against your cheek, plastering kiss after kiss across your face. But you’re not done pampering him for tonight yet, and he knows this when you nibble at his ear.

“Looks like you’re still tense, how about we continue your massage, hmm?” 

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

If you'd like to request a fic of your own, do consider checking out my event post!

[harundraws]

so there's a fun new art meme going around....... OR what should've happened at that class reunion hotel rendezvous!! i thought drawing our favorite couple for it from the insane but delicious fanfic 'flirting with the line (and then i crossed it)' by @novelconcepts would be a fun thing to do!

👉🏼the link to novelconcepts’ post to the fic ✨

[littleoddwriter]

can't stop thinking about Dmitri choosing what Sergei wears for the birthday dinner; especially because he does it in a manner that is so indescribably hot to me. (the way he looks him up and down, smiles almost condescendingly, but is clearly excited, tells him off for wearing what he does and wanting to stay in, almost whining about how it's his birthday and so obviously Sergei has to comply, already having a fitting suit ready at hand, etc.)

and so I'm just over here and absolutely running with that because nobody can tell me that Dmitri wouldn't do that with his partner, as well.

just- Dmitri choosing your outfit when he's going out with you (or for other occasions, or even generally), and you're both loving it because it's casual yet intimate, and it's also a great act of love and affection because in order to dress somebody in a way that makes them comfortable and happy you have to know them so deeply that it's transcending.

[ckret2]

I had just finished the first chapter of the Axolotl arc in WAIGLZ and reading the second.

Is he technically being a ghost ever going to come up past this arc to the other chapters in WAIGLZ later on?

Like,

"It was not like y o u were the one who viciously murdered me! I am mean technically your gruncles did not even kill a "living" being in the first place, according to s o m e people,

Bill shook his head, fanning away trillion year old resentment

-"you really think it was my first roadio? P l e a s e . So, try not beat yourself up about it kid, ok?"

Mabel looked up and stared at Bill.

"Wha- Huh??" Mabel said dumbfounded.

It would be crazy coolio to see it mentioned in the main fic.

Until I read your fic I never even thought about Bill being a spirit once, and now I feel rather silly wondering how he lived so long outside of his dimension :,)

Please have a truly wonderful day + happy holidays! ^ ^

Toodaloo!

I'm sure eventually it'll be mentioned again (I mean, for one thing, eventually we're gonna see the massacre) but probably not like that.

Like, Bill technically-being-a-ghost isn't some big secret or a major plot twist, and it doesn't fundamentally rewrite the rules around him and what he does. It's just what we see him do throughout canon.

He's a non-physical entity ("a being of pure energy!") that's apparently self-sustaining without needing sleep or food and impervious to injury and illness ("with no weakness!")

He's usually invisible to normal (living) people. He can possess people. He can move inanimate objects even though he can't physically interact with them. He can haunt dreams.

When he has the opportunity to make himself a body, he doesn't turn into something physical; his physical form is separate from him, and he can freely separate from it any time he wants.

This is mind-body dualism. Generally, mind-body dualism is a framework people use to express the idea that the spirit/soul is a separate entity from the body. The thing that's killed in Stan's mind is the spirit; the statue left behind is the body.

Meaning, before he had that body, he was spirit.

When he separates Dipper's spirit from his body in the exact same way Bill separates from his own body, he says, "Without a vessel to possess, you're basically a ghost!"

Bill usually doesn't have a vessel to possess.

Ergo: Bill's basically a ghost and he said so himself.

I haven't listed anything we didn't learn from Sock Opera and Weirdmageddon.

The ONLY question is "well BEFORE he was an energy being, did he have a physical body?" Whether he was born an energy being or became one later is in the realm of headcanon; and I suppose it's a matter of opinion if an energy being counts as a ghost if it's 100% identical to ghosts in every way except that it didn't previously have a physical body. You could argue that his eagerness to get a physical body the second he could implies he used to have one or was meant to have one, but that's speculation.

In every other way, he meets the criteria for a ghost the same way that tomatoes meet the criteria for berries. But when someone tells you "tomatoes are berries," it doesn't teach you anything new about tomatoes. You already knew tomatoes have berry-like traits, you just assumed they were disqualified because they're too big or too unsweet or too vegetably, and now you know they aren't disqualified.

So like—putting that word on him doesn't change anything about Bill. You've learned nothing new. The characters around him would learn nothing new. It's not a plot twist or massive character revelation; it's just a background fact that gets mentioned when it's relevant.

[daeyumi]

Cycle of the Stars: Prologue II

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60104758/chapters/158660371

Prologue II

Ipseity

***

23rd day of Rising Sun

It happened again today. That uneasiness, a looming duress; like thunderheads come at last to devour the hungry sky. A catalyst. It seems a portent of things to come. I feel it when I walk the streets of the town, a grim wind between the crowds. Not in their faces or in the busy markets, vibrant as always. But I feel it all the same.

Reports are the same as ever. Monsters to the west, far across the sands; dispatched by the party who brought the news. An unconcerning pattern. Our people are strong, we carry the wind and the sky in our swords.

All is well.

And yet….

Current emotions: apprehension, stability, resilience

24th day of Rising Sun

I passed by her effigy. I didn’t intend to, lost in thought and wandering the back streets of my city, away from my pretensions and the relentless eyes of its denizens. I’ve walked these streets so many times, day by day over the years, the markets, the inn, the homes of my people. Our lives.

I know them like the tracks on the back of my hand, each line a story, an introspection, a defiance. I do not walk the path that leads to her. Always taking alternate routes- a lifetime of avoidance, of cowardice; a king hiding like a rat from the burning glare of a sun that was never meant for me.

And yet I saw her. That abhorrent goddess. Weathered stone worn smooth by the ardent consecration of many hands; an immutable effigy to match its subject. She leers down at me from her hallowed alcove; her cold eyes watching me, freezing me, judging me. Using me. She would use me if she could, as she has so many of my predecessors. I reject their fate, as I should have rejected their path and tread another.

Sometimes I think I should have chosen a different name, far removed from this accursed title and its implications. But the associations persist, groundless; and so I remain.

Current emotions: defiance, wistfulness, steadfast rejection

25th day of Rising Sun

I keep running it over again in my mind. Did I feel this way before? Yesterday? This morning? There’s no evidence. My records show the same; the persistence of my resolve unequivocal in these pages.

I feel they’re plotting against me. The goddesses.

Every movement I make, I suspect interference of a higher power. A puppet on divine strings, a doll tossed to the callous earth and left to rot amongst the refuse, swallowed by avarice and the fetters of eons spent in limbo.

I wonder if she smiles down at us as we fight and kill and die in her name like playthings.

I will wander no further down this path tonight; I have other matters to occupy my mind.

Current emotions: introspection, suspicion, anticipation

26th day of Rising Sun

The merchants whisper of strange disappearances across the sand, some travelers claiming to have lost contact with inhabitants of the far dunes.

Swallowed to the earth without a trace.

These allegations are unsubstantiated at best; yet still I am forced to consider the implications of an unknown actor upon my lands.

Current emotions: scrutiny, quietude, steadiness

27th day of Rising Sun

Another skirmish broke out on the northeastern border with Hyrule. None of our own were lost, yet I cannot but suspect that larger pieces are in motion. For today, I remain grateful that all my warriors have returned to me.

Current emotions: peace, requital, suspicion

28th day of Rising Sun

I couldn’t sleep last night. My dreams were filled with faces; features scratched out and incomprehensible, looking down on me from a formless haze of revelation. So many in their number that a thousand lifetimes could not count them, and yet so few that they seemed only One. Flaying the skin from my bones with their judgment until nothing remained of me but the crest upon my right hand, tattered skin peeling back from the bone and shredding, fragmenting, returning to the sand in all corners of the world; scars releasing their hold on their captive and fleeing to the edges of my vision, absolved by the light in the piercing eyes above. And still those etched triangles remained. I felt my eyes recede into sand in the wind as I woke, my consciousness ebbing to the void at the same time it returned to me in wakefulness.

And yet nothing disturbs us in my waking hours.

Current emotions: foreboding, apprehension, resistance

29th day of Rising Sun

They say a Hero has appeared. They say he heralds a great darkness, the misfortune only endowed upon those forced to the wrong side of fate. The Hero’s rise has only ever spelled desolation for us. It’s the same damned prophecy I’ve been running from my whole life. The Princess, the Hero, and the sinistrous man held fast by the thrall of the dominance forced upon him by birthright.

I see my deepest fears laid to light before me. Strung out along my path like corpses wrung by the neck, withered husks prefacing a descent to erasure. They beckon me forth with voices of autonomy and empty promises.

Is there any other recourse to be taken than to wait? For if I make a move now, I throw myself willingly down the same declivity of actions as all those who came before, abandoning my will to providence and to the whims of the curse upon my flesh.

Current emotions: unease, disgust, rejection

30th day of Rising Sun

Hyrule wants war with us. They won’t state as much, but I see it in their eyes; the way they look at us, at me. Blame.

The envoy arrived this morning with an air of finality. Only a handful of Hylians; ambassadors and their guards. That woman striding brazenly at their helm. That Gerudo-turned-traitor, come to accuse us; burying the intent of Hyrule’s words beneath pleasantries and clarifications. Hiding behind the swords and shields of a so-called honor guard.

Their precaution is telling enough. And their adjurations when we spoke has only strengthened my conviction.

I spell it plainly here, so my future self can recall these terms without influence or bias- above all else, I must know my own thoughts. They suspect us for the monster attacks that threaten their kingdom; they claim the border skirmishes are waged in self-defense, citing raids on the settlements at the fringes of Hyrule. For disappearances and deaths. Brutality.

I demanded proof. They had nothing to show. Only discarded shards of bone, warped beyond recognition. A splintered, massive claw, serrated at its edge; holes driven through the carapace as if awaiting new growth from within. The tip of a weathered blade, blood rusted upon its surface. Nothing but refuse and remnants and blame. Blame for the past. Blame for the future. Blame for the unknown and the secret and the goddess-scorned and the false. They left in a stone-faced resolve, disappearing in the haze of heat across the sun-smeared dunes.

They’ve said nothing about the whispers of the hero. Is it ignorance, or subterfuge? And what does it say about my own state that I am unable to discern between the two?

I ill wish for bloodshed, but I will do what is necessary. Always.

Current emotions: tension, regret, unease

31st day of Rising Sun

I’ve begun to wonder if I’m overthinking this.

Perhaps what I sense is merely a facet of the larger scope. If the enmity I perceived was instead representative of a more tangible threat. I’ve had time to reflect upon the events of the past few days; and now having a clear sense of Hyrule’s intent, I fear the threat of men over formless cosmic interference. War. Or perhaps she has once again played me for a fool.

And when my senses fail me, I can trust nothing more than my own writings.

Current emotions: doubt, intrigue, contemplation

1st day of Zenith

I feel once more a fell wind upon our city. The masses pray in earnest to their delusory goddess; beseeching salvation from a burden which should never have been theirs to bear. I do not begrudge them their faith, though I wished they had chosen a better target for their prayers.

Current emotions: contempt, rejection, stability

2nd day of Zenith

Nāori brought the report today. One of our scouting parties did not return from their sortie; a routine patrol to the southwestern border. They were expected back at dusk two days past; a search party already dispatched to their aid. This development... it weighs heavily on my mind. I wait until the morrow, but no further.

Current emotions: impatience, unease, worry

3rd day of Zenith

Trouble. A giant pit in the sands. My soldiers are missing. Glass sphere. Vast abyss. I will write more as time allows.

Current emotions: anxiety, resolve, anger

4th day of Zenith

I found them.

I set out yesterday at dusk, after one of my soldiers returned bearing news that their scouting party had been swallowed by the desert. She cited a massive pit in the wasteland like a giant abyss; it opened up suddenly in a in a flash of searing cold, rending a hole in the dunes. Isa is her name. She claimed herself the sole survivor, witness to the desecration. I have no reason to distrust her, though I am forced to consider the possibility that she is an agent of a higher power, sent to lure me away. I go forward regardless. I will not risk the safety of my people to send another.

I tread the long path to the southwest, to the cruel corners of the desert, following Isa’s footprints until the sand reclaimed them; tracking my soldiers by the moon and stars alone. Out to the far reaches of the kingdom, away from the border with Hyrule.

I saw it there.

A gaping fissure in the earth; a compressed sphere of sand above, its surface glassy and dark as if burnt by the sun, forging a black eclipse in the arid sky. It cast an ominous presence above me. I descended along the cliffs in the midday sun, finding rest along the shallow crevasses in the sun-baked earth; seeing no one, hearing nothing. Only the wind howling rough across the entrance to the abyss. The further I plunged, the more the cracks in the walls opened up, pushing deeper into the earth like the seamstress’s needle on coarse cloth. I found the entrance to the cavern far below; a tunnel rough-hewn but steady, unnatural.

I beheld the first signs of despair upon that threshold.

Empty eyes. Twisted, broken limbs. Once familiar faces contorted into mockeries of amity. Blood on their bodies and the floor and the walls and the ceiling; glittering rubies dyed crimson with the sunset draining from the sky, leeching the color from ashen skin. The final nightfall before the end.

Rhine. Luka. Ryza. Fyrani. Palu. Osa.

Their bodies haven’t even started to decay yet. Maybe it would be easier if they had. Perhaps then, they would not be so easily recognizable. That I would wish for the desecration of those I should have mourned…. The cycle begins anew like violence welling up beneath my skin.

I never want to forget this feeling. Numbness; ineptitude; guttural, sickening, twisted fury. I dared not move for fear that I would act upon my impulses. I refuse to allow her a way in.

I will not become her tool.

…

The silence has afforded me the time to write, but little else. I wish it were not so. I sit with them still, one final vigil in the gloam.

It is all I can offer them now, ill solace that it is; this and the promise of vengeance with every breath I take.

It is not enough.

It will never be enough.

Current emotions: wrath stability, perseverance, vengeance

—NO—

preservation

***

I cannot sleep.

I remember the carnage on the sands. Standing amid the corpses of a dozen grown men. A child. The feeling of the spear haft in my grip, battle hardened and slick with blood and sweat, sticking between the crevasses of the treated wood and freezing my hands in place. And I remember Sumiira’s eyes. Holding me, pleading. Not for her life, but for mine. She was wrong. Unseeing; the vitality in them extinguished by the ring of persecution laid lifeless at my feet. And all I could think about was what I could tell our mother. Feeling even then that I had already fallen victim to the curse of my forebears.

Enough.

If I have time to write, I have time to search.

Tonight I will return my soldiers’ remains to the desert, and press forward into the hungry earth. There are still more bodies unaccounted for.

5th day of Zenith

I am running out of time. I swept the catacombs from the early hours of the morning til the sun disappeared once more from the tenuous horizon, dripping light from the edges of the hollow eclipse hanging over me. Unable to sleep, unable to rest.

These tunnels reek of her influence. “Divine intervention”. It seeps into the floors and the walls and the air, clawing it’s way into my throat, infecting me from within. I hear voices calling in the darkness but I dare not open my mouth to respond, for fear that she will use that ingress against me.

I make haste to the depths of the labyrinth now, wondering if I lead myself to the precipice of my demise.

Current emotions: unease, impetus, melancholy

6th day of Zenith

There are other corpses still, in the tunnels. I passed ever more in my descent: those unfamiliar to me in their garments and features. And some of our own. Rotted flesh flayed beyond recognition. The stench settled heavy around me as my footfalls broke the requiem to sully the tainted ground beneath me. Alone, I walked the winding crevasses beneath the sands; alone I searched in vain for the last of the unaccounted for.

I heard them, first, but suspected another trick of the fetid air. Their silhouettes came into focus as I rounded a corner in the catacombs, stone-still and broken. But the bodies that crouched amid the blood and rubble still drew breath— their eyes desperate and wary, reflecting back the firelight of my torch. Five living in total. Makure cradled her sister’s limp body in her arms. All of them bore wounds. Even so, knowing that they yet lived strengthened my resolve and justified my quest; I was more relieved to find them than anyone may ever know.

I forged on.

I left the survivors but long enough to confirm the passing of the final two missing women; laid cold and solitary at the back of a dead-end passage. Time spared no kindness for us this day. I honor the dead by reconciling the living.

We returned through the winding paths of the chasm, ascending; emerging once more to the surface under the watchful reign of hardened glass, sun piercing the sky around its edge. I brought my warriors home. Delivered them hence to their families and their lives, carrying the wounded on my back and the dead in my heart. Yet still I feel the weight of an imminent future upon us. Tonight, I ordered the southwestern dunes closed off. I haven’t the numbers to investigate this anomaly further; and my own attention needs be turned to preparations for the inevitable conflict ahead of us.

I feel her eyes on me still; scorching my back in the candor of the sun, binding my hands and committing my mind to preclusion.

This is not the end.

Current emotions: foreboding, resolve, resistance

[Exerpts from the diary of Ganondorf, 71st King of the Gerudo.]

[moeblob]

Reverse!Gavin

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

[urfavcrime]

dsmp is still SO insane to me. still not completely convinced it wasn't a social experiment. it is something that can never be replicated again due to the really specific circumstances that attributed to it's creation and popularity

[volivolition]

DAY 4: DRAMA - Put on your prettiest face for the masses!

gonna start adding silly captions actually. [POINTS ACCUSINGLY] MELTY FUCK (AFFECTIONATE)!!

[artfulacrostic]

im back in a little kid with a big death wish moment and as always the descriptions of the turtle-ASL have me in a chokehold.

i am Not An Artist but i did take a class on making comics and this would not get out of my brain so i spent some time while sitting around waiting in the booth during tech this week to expel it from my skull. reference credit for turtle hand fingerspelling positioning to @ayspooky1 because i certainly had a brain freeze because i don't know how to draw anything let alone hands.

thank u @remedyturtles for writing turts that live rent-free in my brain, i think about your work constantly.

both (shitty marker) color and just ink bc idk which i prefer.

from little kid with a big death wish, Ch. 3, by @remedyturtles (@ remrose on AO3).

"Leo blinked rapidly and focused on the blur of red, offering Raph a half smile. He rubbed his fist on his plastron, sorry.

'You're good. Where'd you go?' Raph asked, and Leo was beginning to hate the kid-gloves way everyone talked to him all the time. He wanted to be better, he wanted to not be like this either.

And like hell he was about to tell his brothers about the ride-a-long in his head. He still didn't know if the aversion to the thought was his own. But either way, he felt it, and it was there.

The sign for 'hard' needed two hands. He was getting frustrated at his deficit in communication due to the throbbing lack of arm. He finger-spelled it instead. He wasn't entirely sure anymore why trying to verbally talk wasn't on the table. It was just... daunting.

Raph sighed, giving a soothing rub to his shell. 'We know it's hard. You're doing great.'

'You're killing it, bro.' Mikey mumbled.

'Way to remain attached to reality.' Donnie chimed in, voice utterly flat in a way that would be insulting if you didn't know him.

But Leo knew him, he knew all of them, and their support meant everything to him, especially now."