#so maybe they do share the same ancestor

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

OP: People told me I looked super like Teresa Teng, and so I went for a Teresa Teng style photoshoot.

(Teresa Teng 邓丽君 Deng Lijun is the "Eternal Queen of Asian Pop", she is considered to be one of the most successful and influential Asian popular singers of all time)

Cnetizens:

[emcads]

cooking up new ways for esme to die in canon

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ⭑.ᐟ A SERENE CELEBRATION, MERRY CHRISTMAS

A younger Bakugou Katsuki had always been certain of his future. At 26, he’d be a man with it all: a nice house, a career as the undisputed Number One Hero, happily married, and maybe, just maybe, a little brat on the way. That was the dream his teenage self clung to—the vision he worked tirelessly to acheive.

At 26, Bakugou stood in the middle of your shared apartment, arms crossed and staring at the half-decorated Christmas tree with a deep scowl. Strings of golden lights glimmered around the tree’s branches, lengths of ribbons are accompanied by shimmering with faux flowers, and ornaments—carefully chosen by you—hung delicately in place.

The problem? The color scheme.

“What’s wrong with red and gold?”

“It’s boring,” Bakugou grumbled. “We do red and gold every year.”

“It’s classic!” you argued, turning to face him fully. “And it matches the rest of the apartment’s decor!”

He narrowed his eyes. He could not believe that he’s having this conversation with you right now.

“We could try something new for once. Like silver and blue.”

You gasped, clutching an ornament like he’d just insulted you personally—even cursed your entire bloodline and ancestors. “Silver and blue? Are you trying to make our tree look like a corporate lobby?”

“It’d look cooler than this,” he shot back, gesturing vaguely at the warm-toned ornaments. “This looks like something out of a cheesy holiday catalog.”

“And what’s wrong with cheesy?” you challenged.

Bakugou opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t actually have anything against cheesy—hell, he secretly loved how excited you got during the holidays. But arguing about it? That was part of the fun, if not a branch of his quality time as a love language.

“Whatever,” he muttered, grabbing a red bauble and hanging it perfectly on the tree. “You’re just scared to try something new.”

You laughed, walking over with another ornament to decorate with. “And you’re just scared because I’m right.”

As Bakugou worked to string the lights around the higher branches, you began unpacking the remaining ornaments from your storage box. You pulled out a small, slightly worn ornament in the shape of a star and held it up with a nostalgic smile.

“Do you remember this?”

He glanced down from the tree, frowning at the star in your hand. “Should I?”

No matter how much he tries to remember, he simply couldn’t recall what made this star so special that you had to ask him if he remembers it.

It’s a star, that’s for sure. A faded one at that.

You sighed, clearly unimpressed by his lack of sentimentality. “It’s the first ornament we bought together. Back when we were... what, eighteen?”

Bakugou paused. It had been a spur-of-the-moment purchase during a rare day off from hero training.

You had somehow convinced him to go with you to wander around a Christmas market, bickering over everything from what food stalls to visit to what decorations looked “cool.” You had insisted on the star, and Bakugou—reluctantly—agreed after a heated argument about which shape of star’s better.

“Are you having a flashback monologue right now?”

That brought out a scoff from him. “Fuck no. Just remembered how you were annoying as hell that day,” he muttered.

“And you were so stubborn, god. You kept saying it was pointless to buy an ornament because I didn’t even have a tree back in my dorm.”

“Yeah, and you said, ‘It's not about the tree; it's about the tradition.’ What kinda cheesy crap was that?”

“It's true, though!” you argued, accepting his hand to place the star gently on the tree’s highest branch. “And now, look. We still have it. And now we can buy all the Christmas trees we could ever want.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

As you continued decorating, the sound of your laughter and playful arguments filled the apartment, giving it a cozy home feel. By the time the tree was finished, Bakugou begrudgingly admitted to himself that it didn’t look half bad—even if it was the same colors as last year, though a decent fortune was spent for it to not be too repetitive.

It’s a good thing his work pays well (you split the cost of decorations equally; he just says that his work pays better even if yours is a lot higher than his).

You stepped back, admiring your work with a satisfied smile. “Perfect. Now, onto the Christmas Eve menu. I was thinking we could do something light this year—maybe roasted chicken and a salad?”

Bakugou groaned, collapsing onto the couch. “Salad? On Christmas Eve? No fucking way.”

“What’s wrong with salad?”

“Is your childhood a bland mess to have salad as one of the main foods? It’s boring,” he said, sticking his tongue out at you when you gave him a pointed look. “We should make something warm and filling.”

“Okay, but you’re helping.”

“Since when did I ever leave all the cookin’ to you?”

Now that he’s 26, standing in the modest yet cozy apartment he shares with you, he realizes that dreams don’t always come in the exact shape you imagine.

Sure, he doesn’t have the massive house he once envisioned, but this apartment—filled with laughter, memories, and the faint scent of your favorite candles—is more of a home than anything his younger self could have dreamed up. The framed photos of your milestones, the shelves of books, and even a few of his hero equipment with the tools scattered on his office—it’s all perfect in a way he didn’t know he needed.

And his career? Well, Dynamight isn’t the Number One Hero yet, but he’s close. Close enough that his younger self would sneer but grudgingly admit it’s not bad.

He’s built a solid name for himself, and he’s done it his way. His rank might not be where he wanted it to be at this age, but he’s learned something more valuable than being the best—he’s learned the importance of balance.

The last part of that dream? The wife? He looks toward the kitchen, where you’re humming some off-tune melody, beginning to prepare what Bakugou’s about to cook with for dinner. The sight of you, so comfortable and almost glowing in your shared space, makes his chest tighten.

He must have a heart problem by this point because it comes at him at the most unexpected times whenever he sees you.

No, he doesn’t have a wife yet. But he’s about to change that.

He’s been thinking about it for weeks now.

He’s got the ring—it’s hidden in the drawer under his socks, where he knows you won’t go snooping.

He knows you’ll say yes, but he would be damned if he didn’t admit that it made him a bit nervous. He knows because you look at him the same way he looks at you: like the world would become lighter and easier to conquer as long as you have the other.

But still, he waits.

Not because he’s unsure, but because he wants the timing to be perfect. Not rushed, not forced. He’s learned to be patient over the years.

“Kats, help with cutting the onions, please!”

“Yeah, yeah. Comin’!”

Soon, he’ll drop the question. He’s not in a rush. This is your life together, and it’s not perfect, but it is just right—chaotic, loud, and full of love. And when the time comes, he’ll make sure you know just how much you mean to him.

But you already know that, don’t you?

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Most Trusted

|| Ambessa Medarda x fem!reader

|| Warnings; brief swearing, brief mentions of killing but nobody dies, reader & Ambessa naked, hints at intimacy if you read between the lines, reader being absolutely smitten for Ambessa, little dialogue

|| Summary; with a slow morning, reader encourages Ambessa to stay in bed with her. Allowing her more time to admire her body. Scars and all.

Requests closed!

Started; December 3rd

Finished; December 3rd

HurtCember2024; Day 4, Scars

Author Note; dropping this one a little early! I couldn't wait that extra sixteen minutes. It's midnight somewhere, right? I'm really happy with how this one turned out 🫶

~~~

The bed was warm and comfortable as you snuggled up to Ambessa. Enjoying the small moment of peace the two of you shared. With Ambessa, these moments came rare and few. Comparable to scraps off a table. So, you cherished whatever ones appeared. Living in the moment to its absolute fullest. Your finger tips trailed along Ambessa's scars, having started on the ones on her face. Now trailing those on her shoulder. You couldn't help but admire them. The scars held memories and Ambessa often told you the stories of how she got them. She loved retelling her battles to you. Her many victories, how proud she made her ancestors. You'd hang on to every word. Taking the stories in full. You couldn't believe that Ambessa was your lover. She was strong, powerful, the embodiment of leadership and control. Whenever you heard how much she had achieved, it made you feel like you could be doing more yourself. Ambessa motivated you. She was your inspiration.

Her gaze fell to you, feeling your fingers against her skin. Trailing the old scars with nothing but admiration and love in your eyes. You often looked at her like she placed the stars in the sky for you. She would have, too. If they weren't already there. Ambessa found it adorable how simply you were entertained by her. You seemed to love everything she did. She could be killing someone and you would honestly probably look at her the same. The thought alone amused her. You really did love her and she really did have you wrapped around her finger. She cared for you. Protected you. You were hers just as she was yours.

"Darling... are you simply going to look at me all day?" Ambessa asked, amusement in her tone. Her hand wrapped around your waist. Resting to your ass. Bringing you in closer to her. Your eyes met hers, taking your gaze off her scars. Your head rested to her shoulder and your hand cupped her cheek. Feeling how she leaned into your touch. For a woman with the strength that Ambessa had, it was cute. Watching her soften up for you. Even if it was simply to humour you.

"Couldn't I?" You replied. You often did find yourself staring at her all day, without boredom. It wasn't often the two of you weren't at each other's side. You were her most trusted, after all. Ambessa could see clearly how deep your loyalty for her ran. Like you were sculpted just for her and her alone. She knew you would never betray. It was one of Ambessa's favourite qualities about you; the thing that caught her attention to begin with.

A small chuckle left Ambessa at your response. Couldn't you? She supposed you could. Though, she knew sooner or later the two of you would have to get to work. Maybe explore the local cuisine... she sighed, propping her elbow to the pillow. Fingers resting to the side of her head. Her eyes locking with your own," we have quite the busy day ahead of us. Though.. for you, perhaps we could stay in bed just a little longer. If only to humour you."

Your eyes lit up and you tried getting even closer to her. Sometimes you found yourself wishing the two of you could just merge. Being up against her wasn't enough. Your hand continued its journey along her scars. Only parting way for a moment to feel her lower abs. You could feel Ambessa watching your every movement, like she was calculating what you would do before you did it. You didn't mind. You loved when the tables were flipped and she would watch you instead. It made your whole body feel warm. In ways beyond just temperature. Ambessa allowed you to continue for a moment longer, before she reluctantly pulled herself away from you. Getting out of bed to begin her day. You couldn't help but pout just a bit as the warmth left.

Ambessa got dressed in front of you. Hardly caring if you watched, besides. It wasn't nothing you hadn't already seen from her. She was in no rush to get ready, even if she should have been. Enjoying the little show she was putting on for you. Once she was clothed, Ambessa looked to you. A subtle smirk dancing on her lips," if you keep your mouth open like that you'll swallow a fly," she teased.

You blinked, haven't even realizing that your mouth had opened slightly. You quickly closed it and scrambled out of bed. A blush dusting your cheeks. Looking through your drawers, you pulled out your clothes for the day. Ambessa would lean herself over your shoulder. Suggesting what she would like to see you in. You hardly minded. You loved dressing for her.

Once dressed, Ambessa gave you a nod of approval. You joined her at her side and she placed a kiss to your cheek. Her hand resting to your shoulder with a firm hold before the two of you left the room. Beginning your day.

[rin-may-1103]

The Wrong Robin Au (part four)

Previous | Master Post | Next

Danny slowed his car down, staring at the black iron gate coming into view; Bats and ivy welded on in an elegant pattern, obviously more thought-out than The Drake's ducks had been. He had to give it to Tim, the kid had been right about how stupid the ducks looked.

Glancing around, Danny found he was completely alone on the dirt road. The gray sky slowly brightened as the sun climbed higher in the distance, trees swaying in the gentle breeze, and birds chirped.

If it hadn't been for his experiences at Vlad's place, he would have found the scenery comforting, maybe even inviting. But the knowledge that this was the home of a billionaire, one that went out at night to fight crime like a furry on crack nonetheless, ruined it.

Maybe he should just head back to the motel...

...

Fuck it, when had Phantom ever backed down? That's right! Never! Danny was going to stick to his metaphorical guns and follow through with his admittedly stupid plan.

Taking his foot off the brake; Danny activated his intangibility, shared it with the car, and drove through the gate. (look, what were his powers for if not to make his life convenient? He deserved it after literally dying for them. AND the gate was probably locked. There was no way he could convince someone to let him in at this time in the morning, so...)

Danny kept an eye on his surroundings as he drove, he doubted Bruce Wayne would have ghost vultures working for him, but that doesn't mean Danny wouldn't be prepared if he did.

Eventually, a large building came into view. Its gothic architecture and obvious timely design set it apart from Vlad's modern monstrosity of a castle. Danny could just tell this was a home for a family with old money; the weathered roof and aged water fountain told stories of the people who used to live there. This was a home, not just a house.

Pulling his car over and parking, Danny quickly sent a mental prayer to the home's ancestors. He hoped they could forgive him for what he was about to do.

Grabbing his backup phone and his keys, Danny tossed the car door open and stepped out. Immediately his senses were clouded with grief and anger. It was so strong he almost lost his footing. The house was just drenched in the emotions, tendrils reaching out and wrapping around anything and everything.

Closing his eyes, Danny held his breath so he could focus on blocking the emotions out. (flashes of someone else's memories rushed past his mind; a glimpse of a young boy sitting in a library reading a book. An older man sitting next to him silently. In another flash, the two were now in a dark cave, the light of a computer the only thing illuminating them as the older man draped a blanket across the boy's back. whispered words of sincere promises echoed in his head.)

He had believed Tim, but he hadn't expected it to be this bad. Ancients, this was worse than when he had to deal with Spectra.

Batman definitely needed therapy.

...

Maybe Jazz should be Robin instead, she'd know how to handle this properly. but Jazz wasn't here right now, she was in Sweden learning all about mental health. Which meant Danny would have to do this himself.

yay.

He had two options; One, he sits down with the man and they have a sincere and very emotional conversation. Or two, he beats it into the guy's head that he needs to stop going out and trying to get himself killed. Based on everything he knows about Batman? It was going to be number two that was going to get results... Well, at least Danny had experience punching things until he got what he wanted. (even if it didn't always work.)

Shaking himself out of his mind, Danny started making his way to the front door. It was past five in the morning, Bruce should be home now. Whether he was sleeping like Danny would assume he usually did, was a different question altogether.

Glancing around the door, Danny found there was a large rope hanging to the left. Vlad had the same thing at his place, it was an old-fashioned doorbell.

shrugging, Danny pulled on the rope and waited.

and waited.

and waited.

After a minute or two, Danny pulled the rope again. Suddenly the door swung open to reveal an older man dressed in a nice waistcoat and trousers.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, a British accent completing the look.

Danny blinked for a second before quickly focusing back on his task. "My name's Danny. Bruce is being a dumbass who needs to take a chill pill and take a step back from hospitalizing criminals. Can I come in?"

It was the old man's turn to stare and blink at him. After a minute, the man stepped back and opened the door, his eyebrow raised. "I would like to see how you plan to tell this to Master Bruce. His office is this way, young man."

"May I ask what exactly you're doing here?" the man asked, closing the door behind Danny.

Danny shrugged, "I'm here to beat some sense into him. He's going to get himself killed and no one wants to see what happens when he does."

The butler, because the rich fruitloop would obviously have one, hummed as he nodded his head in agreement. "I see. Maybe this is what he needs then. he won't listen to me, no matter how much I nag him."

Nothing else was said as he guided Danny through the manor, eventually stopping at a fancy dark wooden door. "Master Bruce, you appear to have a visitor." Then He opened the door and gestured for Danny to enter.

He only had a moment to ponder how he should do this before he entered the room. He should keep his powers hidden, for now at least.

He was greeted with the sight of an exhausted man in a bathrobe sitting at his desk and staring out the window. He was clutching a very worn and loved book in his hands, his brows slightly furrowed. (Danny noted that it was the same book the kid had been reading, The Hero and the Crown... or something like that, Danny hadn't really gotten a good look at the title.)

The butler stepped back, closing the door, and stood next to it to maybe await his new orders. Ones he probably wouldn't get any time soon, if the way Bruce hadn't moved or responded meant anything.

Well, if the old man wanted to see this then who was Danny to stop him?

Stepping forward, Danny leaned over the desk and slapped the back of Bruce's head. The man swiftly turned and stared at him, raising one of his hands to touch his head in shock. Danny heard the butler choke in surprise but ignored him. He could only pray to Clockwork that Bruce didn't kill him for this.

"You are being absolutely idiotic, dude." Danny declared. "Do you think Jason would have wanted you to act like this?" Bruce stood up, his chair slamming into the wall, his eyes burning in anger. "No? Then get your shit together and be the man he would be proud of."

Bruce lunged over the desk, his fist pulled back to hit Danny. It was just like Danny expected, just like Tim had told him, the man was letting his emotions control his actions. Dodging to the side, Danny continued talking, "This going out every night, fighting more and more dangerous and outlandish people all by yourself? It's going to get you killed."

Bruce gave up on trying to punch him, instead, he threw himself forward and body-slammed Danny to the floor. Danny coughed, quickly blocking his face as Bruce took a swing at him. Using the man's blind anger to his advantage, Danny kicked Bruce in the chest and sent him flying into his desk. "Jason's dead. It sucks. and it hurts. It's probably the worst pain you've ever experienced, but there's nothing you can do about it."

Danny glared at the man as he scrambled into a crouch, waiting to see what Bruce did next. "Shut up," the man growled, shoving himself up and away from his desk. He picked up his stapler; he was probably either going to use it as a blunt weapon or throw it at Danny. Widening his stance, Danny got ready to dodge or lunge.

He remembered reading about him, online when he first became Phantom. He remembered reading about Robin and Batman and how they worked together to protect Gotham. How they tirelessly worked day and night to put their rogues away every time they got out again.

He remembered seeing pictures of Batman standing next to little Robin, a proud smile on his face as the police took the criminals away. Pictures of the man helping and protecting Robin whenever the boy couldn't handle whatever mess he had gotten into. There was even a memorable one of Batman scolding an obviously sheepish Robin, a knocked-out Riddler slumped behind him.

He had wished so badly for someone to help him back them, for someone to be his Batman when times got hard. He remembered how devastated he was when it turned out the only person like him was Vlad. Vlad, who had wanted to murder his father and marry his mother. Vlad, who had overshadowed people to gain more wealth and power. Vlad, who hadn't seen how wrong it was to try and clone him.

He remembered the comments and videos from the citizens of Gotham, cheering for their heroes when they succeeded in capturing the rogues. How they still supported them when they failed. It was nothing like Amity's reaction to him.

He remembered how Gothom reacted when Robin was pronounced dead. How the city had cried and raged. He felt it all the way over in Amity, the grief and anger. The whole city had come together to mourn the boy who protected them. Even two years later, Danny could still feel the echoes.

"Jason's dead. He's dead and gone and you're letting yourself get consumed with your grief. but you made a promise Bruce."

Danny knew he had, it was the same promise Danny had made just four years ago.

Bruce's eyes widened and the anger that was surging in his eyes froze for just a moment. His hand loosened around the stapler but didn't let it go. The butler looked concerned, unsure if he should interfere or not.

"You made a promise all those years ago when you first dawned that stupid bat suit. You promised to do everything in your power to help your city. To protect it. Robin made the same promise. When he took up his suit. They both did."

Bruce's jaw tensed, his eyes narrowing. Danny lowered his body, still ready to dodge at a moment's notice.

"You made a promise to your son, Bruce. Even if he didn't know it. One that you couldn't keep."

Bruce threw the stapler, making Danny jump to the side to dodge it. His mistake was not keeping an eye on what Bruce did after throwing it. The man quickly rushed up to him, eyes blazing in anger. "You don't know anything!" he cried, his fist slamming into Danny's jaw. Danny staggered back but ducked under the next punch.

"I lost my son! I wasn't there!" Bruce shouted, kicking Danny's legs out from under him. Danny's back hit the floor, knocking the breath out of him. Bruce followed him down, breaking his nose with another punch to the face. "I promised I would protect him and I wasn't there!"

Danny growled, catching Bruce's fist in his hand and sending a punch at the side of Bruce's head. Bruce tried to lean back, Danny's fist clipping his forehead. Bruce grunted, reaching up to grab Danny's fist to keep him from punching him again.

"You couldn't protect him! I get it, it sucks!" Danny shouted back, flashes of Dani's melting form grasping at his shirt in panic pulled to the front of his mind. "It leaves a black hole in the center of your chest! It sucks all the warmth out of you, leaving only the cold bitter knowledge that you couldn't save him!" (that he couldn't save her)

Bruce pulled his fist out of Danny's hand, slamming his elbow down into Danny's chest and twisting Danny's right arm sharply in an attempt to break it. Danny kept talking though, ignoring the pain as he pulled his arm out of Bruce's grasp, "But Jason made a promise! and you're doing nothing to keep it!"

Danny grabbed onto Bruce's bathrobe and flipped them so Bruce was the one on the floor now. Quickly reaching up, Danny grabbed both of Bruce's hands and held them as still as he could. Bruce was strong, but Danny had years of fighting Skulker and the other super-strong ghosts under his belt. "He made that promise knowing that you had made the same one!"

Bruce growled, throwing his head up in an attempt to hit Danny with it. Danny leaned back, accidentally loosening his grip just enough for Bruce to break out of it. Bruce shoved him off of him, making Danny slide back and hit a chair.

Grunting, Danny stood up and lunged at Bruce. Bruce dodged to the side, dropping down to pick the stapler back up. "I can't claim to know what Jason would have wanted," Danny spat, backing up to give himself more space as Bruce stepped toward him. "but I know as someone who made the same promise, I wouldn't have wanted you to change into what you are now!"

Bruce narrowed his eyes at Danny, "Yeah, and what's that?" he growled.

"A careless, suicidal, moron," Danny growled back.

Bruce froze, stopping in place as he stared at Danny.

Danny took his chance to drive his point home; standing up straight, he raised his hands up in surrender. "He was your son. He looked up to you for protection. For guidance. And sure, maybe you weren't the best dad, and maybe you made mistakes. But you were his dad."

Danny stepped forward, watching as the butler stepped forward to reach out to the man. "and what kind of son would want his dad to kill himself?"

Bruce dropped his stapler, his eyes falling to the ground and catching onto the book he had dropped earlier. It was opened to the front page, written words in messy writing covering it.

"You need to stop, Bruce," Danny said, slowly crouching down and reaching out for the book. Bruce watched him as he stood up, the book still open to the front page in his hands. Jason's writing visible to all of them.

"you couldn't keep your promise to protect him. It sucks and it hurts. but you can keep his promise. The same promise you made all those years ago."

Bruce looked up at him, his blue eyes filling with tears, the butler's hand resting on his shoulder. Danny stepped forward again, holding the book out for Bruce to take.

"You can't protect Gotham if you're dead."

Jason's handwritten note stared up at them, the ink messy and smudged.

'to the best dad in the world and the many adventures we'll go on!'

and Bruce? Bruce crumbled to the floor with a sob, leaving Danny to stand in front of him. Blood running down his face, staining his hoodie and pink Hello Kitty pants, the book still held out with steady hands.

Next

[m00nchildwrites]

Forever, You and Me: Rafayel x MC/Reader Smut

This is a one shot, smut drabble inspired by @jinwoosbabyboo 's answer post describing how the LADS men would react to you storming of and not responding to theirs calls and texts after a bad fight. Her writing is flipping amazing. ISTF I devour everything she writes. 

I was intending to just repost her post with a little response of how I think Rafayel would cope with such an event, and it just... took off and swept me anyway, and well... apparently it's angsty feels and thirsty hours and I blame @jinwoosbabyboo completely for this because her writing always getting my imagination going! So responding to her with my extra thoughts about Rafayel became a one shot, smutty drabble spilled out.  

So here is her post that inspired the one-shot below, so you can read the Rafayel part that got this whole thing going and also, please go read her sections about Xavier, Zayne, and Sylus because you will be missing out if you don't. Seriously, go now.: https://www.tumblr.com/jinwoosbabyboo/763177878569549824/dont-run-off-like-that?source=share 

18+. MDNI! 

TW: angst, cursing, self-depreciation, depression, mention of death or wanting to die, ya boy gets dark and big big sad, hurt/comfort, they def kiss and make up, SMUT, what is foreplay? They just want to bone, couple's first time together, detailed sex depicted, fucking, use of the word fuck a lot, dirty talk, usage of "babygirl", possessive Rafayel (in bed), unprotected sex, mating press, squirting, overstimulation, cum, my own Lemurian bond headcanon, Rafayel has a filthy mouth and MC loves it, cum/breeding kink if you squint. 

*clears throat* 

Enjoy. 

~~~~~~ 

Forever, You and Me 

[ @jinwoosbabyboo prompt: 

You told the LADS Men to not piss you off and what did they do? Pissed you off. How I imagine they would react to you storming off in tears and you're not answering their calls or texts.] 

The moment you spun on your heel and fled his home Rafayel was after you. The angry and uncharacteristic yell of frustration you had given out before doing so, after he failed to back off during your disagreement, turned argument, turned first real fight made his stomach drop and curl in the worst way. Your voice played in his head as he ran out his door and down to the street in front of his house after you. 

Stop! Just... please stop a moment. I hate that we are yelling. This isn't us. This isn't you. This isn't me. Just- Give me a second to breathe for fuck's sake, Rafayel, please! 

His words rang in his head too.  

If you don't want to hear the sound of my voice anymore, if you don't want to be with me anymore, then why don't you just leave. You always end up leaving anyway. 

He never expected you to actually do it. But he had watched as your eyes widened in shock and hurt, and then narrowed. Then you were gone. 

He ran, flinging open the metal gate and stepping onto the sidewalk, eyes desperate, searching for your retreating figure. He had to find you. Apologize. He knew he could be intense sometimes, dramatic occasionally, and that he could push your buttons just to see if you'd leave him. Leave him like the you of your past life had done. Like you had always done. 

But he was a fool. 

That you wasn't this you. That you was dead and gone. And you, you were the same but so different. You were everything and he had gone and fucked it up. Again. 

His head whipped around frantic. Spirits of his ancestors, did you sprint!?!  The pit in his gut swelled and grew. He couldn't see you anywhere. He yanked out his phone dialing your number as he started jogging off down the sidewalk. You couldn't have gotten far. Right? 

The call went to voicemail. He stopped staring blankly at it. You didn't answer. Maybe... Maybe you couldn't get it in time, yeah. That was it. He breaks out into a jog again, and again rings your number. He would find you. Maybe you were at the bus stop? He pushed his legs faster as the voicemail picked up again. 

You weren't at the bus stop. It had just left. Spitting out a stream of curses that made a little old lady whack him with her bag, Rafayel dialed a different number. He pressed the phone to his ear, "Thomas, I need a car.... no, I'm not at home. I am headed to Linkon City. On foot. Thomas, please no more questions, just have the car find me! This is urgent!" 

When the car-Thomas- found him, he was halfway to Linkon, sweating, sticky, gross, and stressed. He sent out a stream of texts asking you where you had gone, why you weren't answering, that he was sorry, begging you to come back, to answer, to curse him, anything. But they all went unanswered. 

As he went to all your known haunts and favorite places, from your work to the grocery store near your place to your apartment where he ran into an unimpressed blonde Hunter partner of yours that looked perpetually in need of a nap and who refused to buzz him into the building, Rafayel's mental and emotional state continued to spiral. His emotions went from apologetic to concern to flat out fear for your safety. Which he had made clear to that blonde partner of yours... he very nearly throttled the ass. Why did he not see how urgent this was? His words had struck Rafayel and made his stomach turn sour. 

"If MC was in danger, I'd be the first to know, after all, I'm her partner." 

His world felt off kilter. Would the blonde be the first to know? Surely not. Surely, it would be him, Rafayel. Your boyfriend of the past few months. You were soulmates. You came together lifetime after lifetime. He always found you. Always could hunt you down. Always. 

Except now. Except this time. Where had you gone? 

If you don't want to hear the sound of my voice anymore, if you don't want to be with me anymore, then why don't you just leave. You always end up leaving anyway. 

You always end up leaving anyway. 

He visibly flinched. He was a fucking idiot. He turned his head to stare blindly out the window, avoiding Thomas' gaze in the rear view mirror. His assistant had given up trying to get answers from him. Instead, he watched in with worry all over his face.  

Rafayel was soaked. It had begun to rain. It was quicky becoming night. He had been calling, texting, and searching for you for hours. He had ran himself to the point of near exhaustion, and nearly gotten the cops called on him at her work when he kept asking Hunter's outside if they had seen you. How embarrassing. For you, not him. He couldn't give a damn as long as he found you, but you... you clearly didn’t want him to find you. 

You were gone. He had told you to leave if you didn't want him and you had gone. 

He felt numb as the car stopped at last in front of his gate. The car hesitated, Thomas no doubt watching him in concern as he drug his feet passed his gate. Rafayel didn't care. He had pushed you away. Lost you. And it was all his fault. And for what? 

The argument had been so stupid. He walked in, not bothering to shut the door. Clothes dripping, leaving pools on the floor as he walked through his home. He passed the dining room that still had your wine glasses and the open bottle and desserts out. He grabbed the open bottle as he moved deeper into the house.  

He kicked off his shoes, leaving a trail headed to his living room. The flowers he had bought you sat on a vase on the coffee table. He stared it down as he plopped, wet, onto his couch. How had such a good night turned so sour? Why did he have to push at your buttons sometimes? Was it just to see? Just to see if you'd leave him? 

You always end up leaving anyway. 

His stomach felt sick. He chugged from the open bottle. Why would he do that? You didn't deserve it. Was he that fucked up from his past that he had to take it out on you? Why couldn't he let go of what had happened in your lives before this one? You were not like him. You didn't remember everything. No wonder you left. 

He tsked, and not for the first time, wondered if your "curse" to not remember your past lives was really a curse at all. After all, if he couldn't remember, then he wouldn't treat you as though you were going to leave at any moment. Because you had never given him any indication that you planned to. 

The past few months of your relationship, that you two were "official", had been perfection. Sure, you had little spat and sometimes would snap at each other, but there had been so much love. He swallowed a lump in his throat. Love. 

He had not even gotten the chance to tell you. 

He had been waiting- waiting for the perfect moment. He was going to tell you tonight. It was why he had gone the extra step to make lunch that much more romantic. It was why a meat and cheese board and fresh fruit were waiting in his fridge for later that night. He hadn't planned on either of you leaving until morning, if then. It was the reason for the flowers before him, the flower petals in the no doubt cold tub upstairs, the petals spread across his bed. Tonight was going to be the night. The one where he told you that you were the love of his life, of all of his lives. He was going to explain what that meant to a Lemurian- how binding and forever that was. And should you accept, he had planned to ask you to- 

He winced, eyes squeezing shut as his chest flared in pain. In protest. His hand not holding the bottle, now empty, clutched at his chest. A hiss of pain. The pain passed. Rafeyel dropped the bottle onto the coffee table before his eyes landed on the vase. He knocked the flowers over, sending the vase off the other side of the coffee table, glass shattering and water spilling with flowers and petals across the floor. 

It didn't matter what he was going to ask you. You were gone. His eyes blurred, hot, as tears formed on his lashes. He pulled his knees up to his chest. His shoulders shook.  

You were gone. 

~~~~~ 

Your feet tripped as you hurried down the sidewalk, dodging puddles as you went. You did not mean for time to get away from you. When you ran out of Rafayel's earlier, you had only meant to get some fresh air for a short while as you calmed down. You both had ended up yelling earlier and it had felt so wrong. Wrong because it wasn't like either of you.  

Yes, you had had disagreements. Rafayel hated when you put yourself in unnecessary danger, though he respected you and your skills at work, even you had to admit that he wasn't wrong when he said you took risks. You didn't mean to. It never was your plan, but something went down and you just sprang into action. He had been right, you had partner's in the association for a reason. But it was the way he had said it today, like you were doing it on purpose just to spite him. As though you enjoyed stressing him and making him worry, it had just set you off. You had told him off, and things had spiraled. 

And for what? He wasn't even wrong. It just rankled your feathers today because of something some dumb Jock head at work had said about women Hunter's needing to be paired with a male Hunter since they were the weaker sex. The dude was written up on the spot; the idiot had said it in front of everyone including your very female boss- moron. But still, you hated being looked down on.  

And so, you had taken out that frustration on Rafayel. On your sweet, silly, bratty, but absolutely adoring Rafayel. You had seen how your words had hurt him. When you had said that you didn't need him or any man worrying or looking after you. You had seen the flinch as though you had slapped him as you flung his worry and concern back into his face as though it revolted you. 

You had hurt him. And then realized that you both were yelling, and it was all just too much. You felt like you couldn't breathe. It hadn't felt like you. Like him. So, when you asked for a moment to allow your mind to settle and clear so you could think rationally and he just kept on, you snapped. He offered you an out, and you took it the offer and walked out. 

You walked out knowing his fear of abandonment. You knew and still walked out without looking back. You walked and walked along the shore. Then it started to rain, and you had to find shelter. And to top it off, you hadn't realized your phone was dead until you were stuck miles down the beach, in the rain, hiding out under a pier, and realized you had to now walk all the way back. Why had you gone to the beach instead of your home? 

You sighed, spotting Rafayel's house in the distance at last. Of course. Of course, you knew why. Because the beach reminded you of your Lemurian, your Rafayel. Even when you were mad at him, you longed for him. Sought out his essence for comfort. Gods, you loved him so much. So much and you never said it out loud yet. You had to tell him. 

You picked up the pace and jogging up to his gate. Nearing his door, you saw it open, but thought nothing of it. Rafayel often left it open for you or from distraction as a bolt of inspiration hit him. The house looked dark from the entryway. You called out his name as you toed off your sandy shoes and socks. 

You gasped as you stepped and nearly slipped in a large, cold puddle. A trail of puddles large and smaller led inside. You tucked a damp strand of hair behind your ear, and cautiously made your way inside. 

"Rafayel? Are you home?" "Rafayel?" "Ugh, why is it so dark in here? Stupid dead phone. I need a light." 

You stumbled into the dining room and followed the wall to the kitchen. You flicked a switch and squinted at the sudden change in brightness. His whole studio was empty and dark. The light from the kitchen spilling out into his painting area across the large room and into the living room area. 

Your eyes squinted, focusing. There was a lump on the couch. "Rafayel?" You near him and see the wine bottle on the coffee table nearby and broken glass and flowers scattered around. You step carefully to not get a shard of glass in your foot as you move around the room to him. 

"Rafayel? I'm sorry it's late. I didn't mean to be gone for so long, but I went further than I meant to and then my phone died..." You trailed off as he came fully into view. He sat on his couch, cheeks wet with tears, clutching his chest. 

You understood all at once why he grabbed that spot, and your heart lurches and drops. You kneeled next to him carefully, "Rafayel?" 

When you call out to him, he let out a choked sob of a tortured laugh.  

You lean, moving to place your face into his line of sight. He sits frozen, staring daze out of open windows. "Rafe?" 

His voice sounded hollow, "Go away." You heart dropped until his voice continues, "You are a specter. MC is gone. She left. Left me." His voice cracked, more tears spill over his lash line to trail down porcelain cheeks. His voice a near whisper, "I've lost you. I love you. I love you more than my homeland, my people. More than my very life. I have loved you through countless lifetimes and will through countless more." He clenched his eyes as he clenched his chest, "I love you enough to let you go if that's what you wish. I'd give it all for you. My last breath. So, please, leave. Don't haunt my mind like you've haunted my heart these last 800 years. You're gone. At last, you've chosen and it isn't me. Leave me to my heartbreak in peace. Leave me to fade into seafoam at last." 

A sob hiccupped past your lips. How could you have hurt him so? This beautiful man with such a beautiful heart and soul. You reached out to brush your fingers across his cheeks, fingers combing into lavender curls as you cup his cheeks, begging, imploring him to see you.  

His eyes shut, agony on his face. 

"I am here, Rafayel. I'm real." 

A choked sob fell from his lips. 

"Look at me." 

A shake of his head. If he does, you'll disappear. Slip through his fingers like mist. He wants to stay in his illusion just a while longer. Hear your voice just a while longer before he has to spend eternity without you, or at least, eternity until he fades away back into sea foam like so many of his people before. 

"Rafayel, my love, please look at me." 

Violet eyes opened, hesitant and sorrowful. 

You smiled, soft, full of love, thumbs wiping stray tears. "I am here. I'm sorry I got so mad earlier. It wasn't even about you; It was a long shitty day, and that's no excuse. You didn't deserve for me to react like that to what you were saying. And I'm sorry I ran. I hated that I was so upset and I couldn’t calm down, so I just need to step away, but- I hurt you. I hurt you so badly, and I never ever meant to. That's the last thing I want because I-" Your voice cracked, a lump of emotion in your throat. Your eyes fell, ashamed. "I just- gods, Rafayel, I love you so much it makes me feel crazy sometimes. I- I'm sorry this is not how I imagined telling you this." You started to pull away. 

Large, long fingered hands gripped your shoulders. "Say it again." 

You blinked, confused by the urgency in his voice as he searched your face. 

"Please. Please say it again or I will be convinced I imagined it." 

You studied his eyes. Firmly in his grip, your brows furrowed until it clicked. Your tension left you. Your hands rose once more to cup his face. A soft smile spread across yours as his cheeks pinken under your touch. "I love you, Rafayel. With all my hea-" 

You were jerked forward into his chest. His lips crashed onto yours. His hands were desperate as they clung to your back, crushing you closer, impossibly closer, as though he needed your very beings to blur into one. His tongue swiped at your lips, hot and wet, begging entry. Demanding it. 

You gasped from the intensity of his kiss. His passion poured forth like an unending wall of water bursting from a dam. His tongue danced along yours, caressing, tasting. Hungry and needy. Warm velvet and tasting of the wine you both had been drinking before your argument hours before. 

Your hands found his shoulders, trying to ground yourself or be swept away. You accidentally slipped out a sound. A needy sound of passion. His answering moan as he angled his head to kiss you deeper made a pleasant shiver run down your spine to pool between your legs. 

In a flash, his hands gripped your thighs, tugging you into his lap as he stood. 

You broke the kiss with a gasp, hands scrambling to hold on. Arms wrapping around his neck as his head ducked, his lips covering your neck in messy, hot, open mouthed kisses. 

"Wh-what? Where are you taking me?" 

His voice was a husky grumble from somewhere deep in his chest, as he licked and nipped at your throat. "I'm taking you to bed, my Heart." 

Next thing you knew, your back was falling onto cream silken sheets.  

He stood between your parted knees hanging over the edge of the bed. His violet eyes raked over your face hungrily. His lips were parted, chest rising and falling as he panted for breath. He didn't move, tongue peaking out to wet his lips. He was breathtaking. He was passion personified, hair mussed from your fingers, lips damp and red swollen from your kisses.  

His voice and the look in his eyes made your insides clench as he reached out, hand on your knee, thumb brushing the inside just so, "If you want me to stop... if you dont want this or..." his thumb stopped, he face flinched, eye closing briefly as though from pain, before opening to peer into your eyes. "If you are unsure of this, of us, of me, tell me now, because once we do this, once we... you will be mine, and I will be yours. It can't be undone. For Lemurians, this is for life, for all time. A soul bond. It's more than any mortal human tradition. More than marriage. It's unbreakable, unending, forever you'd be mine and I'd be yours. If you are unsure-" 

You sat up, going onto your knees atop the bed before him. Your palms rested on his shoulders, "Rafayel..." your hands slid down to his chest. "I- " Your hand stopped at the place on his chest were your mark laid, though the red fish wasn't visible now. Your eyes flicked to his, "I want this." Your hands were on the move again smoothing lower down his chest. "I want this bond. I-" Your hands found the bottom of his shirt, fingertips dancing along the hem before slipping under.  

He gasped, stomach muscles clenching beneath your touch as your hands found his taunt skin beneath.  

"I want forever. I want you." Your hands trailed up the plains of his chest, bringing his shirt with you. Until at last, you griped it in your hands, eyes meeting his in askance.  

His lashes fluttered, eyes falling half-mast. He was breathtaking. His arms rose, allowing you to lift the shirt from his body before flinging the offending material away. 

Your hands fell back to his shoulders, one sliding to cup his neck as you rose to meet him, chest pressing to his. His gaze turned molten, lust heavy and full of love as he looked over your face. His hands came to rest, just so at your waist, still hesitant but hopeful.  

Resolved, you pushed away your nerves, pulling his head down. Breath mingling with his, you gave him what he wanted. What he needed, "I love you. I chose you, Rafayel. Forever and always. Forever, you and me." 

His lips crashed into yours like waves upon a storm wall. He laid you down in a sea of silk and white rose petals.  

You snatched one, lifting it between you with a raise eyebrow.  

He flushed beautifully, "I had plans for us tonight." 

You dropped the petal, fingers weaving through his silken waves. "Show me." 

Clothes flew to land forgotten on the floor. Breaths panted; needy sounds filled the air, carried away through the open balcony windows and out to the sea. His hands and lips mapped you like you were a precious treasure. His lips and tongue worshipped you, swiping the salt from your skin. His breath was hot in your ear as he- at last- slotted his hips between your parted thighs.  

"My Heart, my Queen, my love," fell from his lips like a mantra.  

You felt him there, this mushroomed tip parting your lower lips, dragging the pooled wetness and spreading it. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. 

He groaned, head falling to nuzzle your neck. Still, he froze, going no further. He panted, asking, "Are you sure?" 

You cupped his face, dragging his eyes up to yours, "Rafayel, I have never been more sure of anything in my life. Take me. I am yours." You ran your fingers along his cheek, repeating his words from before, "A soul bond. unbreakable, unending, forever. This is what I chose. It's you, Rafayel. It's always been you." You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer, causing his hips to drop. You gasped. His tip slipped into your molten heat just so. 

His head fell back, long pale neck exposed. He bit his lip. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. When his gaze fell back to you, his eyes were dark, like the ocean in a storm.  

Your walls clenched.  

His eyes squeezed shut, a moan falling from his lips, a curse followed. His gaze, heavy and passionate, were back on yours, his arms shaking, "So be it. My Heart, my Queen, my love," his mouth would curl slightly into a playful smirk, "my bride." His hips snapped forward, his full hard length pushing into your gummy walls to full hilt, his pelvis slapping hard into your fleshy cheeks. You could feel him, his tip kissing your cervix. A moan fell from your lips; a hiss of pleasure from his. He stilled buried fully inside you, muscles trembling with the strain. His jaw clenched as he fought for control, "Fuck, love, you feel so good." 

Your hands scrambled for purchase on his shoulders, as he rocked his hips dragging almost all the way out only to snap his hips back, slamming back in. Your nail dug into his back. A babble of praise fell from your lips, "So good. So good, Rafayel. So full." 

He groaned head dropping to your collarbone, "Fuck, love, I can feel you sucking me in." He hissed, "so tight. Like you were made just for me, yeah?" His hips pulled back, dragging his length along your walls until just the tip remained. He leaned up, brushing your hair from your face to cradle your head in one hand, the other braced him on the bed near your head. "Look at me. I want to watch you as I make you mine." 

When your eyes fund his, his face softened a moment. His eyes sweeping over your face in awe before meeting and holding your gaze, he whispered a breathy, "I love you." His eyes darkened with heat again, and he snapped his hips to crash back into yours. He swallowed your answering moan with a bruising kiss, drinking you in, as his hip set a brutal rhythm.  

You clung to him, hips eagerly tilting and undulating to meet his as he pounded you into the sheets. The headboard slammed repeatedly into the wall. You shifted up slightly each powerful thrust. His hands grabbed yours bringing them to wrap around his shoulders, "Brace yourself against me, my love. Fuck! I'm going to ruin you. Ruin you for all others! MC, you are perfect. And you are mine." He melded his lips to yours, tongue moving along yours gently and loving. A sharp contrast to how he was fucking you into his bed. His thrusts were hard and deep, rolling into you like waves. The sound of slapping skin filled the air.  

You gasped, moaned, pleaded as he made your head spin with pleasure, "Yes! Yes, Rafayel! I am yours! Make me yours!" 

The sound that rumbled from his chest was a near growl as he leaned up to grip the headboard with one hand for leverage, his hips doubled in speed. His abs rolled as he kept one hand braced above your shoulder, locking you in place as he repeatedly slammed his cock as deep into as he could get. 

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you clung to his arms. Your legs went limp around his waist as pleasure boiled inside you, hot and heavy. Your head thrashed from side to side from the intensity of the waves of sharp pleasure swelling inside you. Your walls began fluttering, clenching, wrapping at his hard length as he pummeled your insides. His tip kissed your cervix with each thrust, giving a burst of the slightest pain-pleasure. You could feel the wetness of you gushing out passed his shaft as it pounded in and out of your tight channel, every ridge of him dragging along your walls in the best way. You were not going to last long. No one, not even yourself had ever gotten you this wet and close to orgasm as Rafayel was doing. It was as though he knew exactly how to make your body sing for him. 

He shifted. The angle changed and you gasped, clinging, clawing, nails digging as his tip bullied into your g-spot with every snap of his hips.  

"Fu-fuck baby!" You wailed, "God's, Rafayel, right there, baby. Please don't stop. Don't stop!" 

His response was a snarl in your ear as his hips snapped into that spot in double time. "Never. I'll never stop. Never stop making love to you, my love. My bride." He kissed you deeply as your walls started spasming. Your climax was close. A hand of his dropped from your neck to slip between you to where you are joined. His fingertips finding the pearl above where he slides into you. The pad of his finger swirling, circling and pressing your clit just right. 

You moaned, head thrown back, "Yess!" 

He covered your neck in love marks, branding you as his. His lips moved to your ear, nipping at the skin right below it, "Are you gonna come for me, my love? Are you gonna come all over my cock like a good girl. Be good bride, hm, come for me," his voice was pure sin in your ear. 

You could only whimper and cling to him, desperate.  

"Answer me. Tell me who you belong to. Say it. I want the people down the beach to hear you scream it. To hear whose cock makes you feel this good. Say it. Say who you belong to." 

You sputtered and gasped out sobs, in capable of words as you race towards your end. 

He took your hips in his hands. He leaned back on his knees. He rose your hips off the bed. His hips slamming into you, hard and fast- almost inhumanly so. The plop, plop, plop of his sack as it slaps against the sticky mess of your cheeks filled the room. He groaned, "Fuck, baby. You feel so good for me. I fucking love you, MC. Fuck, I love you." 

The coil within you snapped and pulses of white hot heat sent tremors, shockwave through your body as your core clamped down on his shaft. Your head fell back as you screamed out his name in the height of your passion, in reverence, "Rafayel!" You sobbed. Actual tears escaped as the white hot waves of orgasm mixed with love for him kept coming.  

His hips never stopped slamming his hard cock into you, bruising your g-spot and cervix. It was heaven. It was bliss. It was so much. It was almost too much. You tensed nearly about to say stop when a sensation you had never felt before hit you like a brick. Your core tightened, abs clenching, your very womb felt like it clenched, your walls clamped tight down around him, almost stopping his movement completely. Then the spasms, ripples of pleasure pulsed from your womb down your walls, massaging, milking, clenching his shaft inside you. You vaguely hear him hiss and a debauched, "Fuck," escape his lips. And  then you feel a gush of warm liquid splash out of you and all over his dick and pelvis. 

Rafayel's violet gaze widened, his grip tightening almost painfully into the fleshy meat of your hips as he held you against him. His head fell back and he moaned, fully wrecked. "Fuck! Babygirl, you just squirted for me." 

Your core clenched at his words even as high sensitivity began to creep in, but he felt so good. So good and hard inside you. You could tell he wasn't too far off. Just the thought of it turned you back on. You desperately wanted to see him lose himself to orgasm. And he was so fucking beautiful as he began rolling his hips into yours again. 

You must've said that last part out loud, because he looked back down at you, lip caught between his teeth before he released it, plump and full. You wanted to bite it. A smirk was on his face, "Yeah? Is that so, babygirl?" His eyes darkened as his hips picked up speed, rolling more into you, faster as he spoke, "You know what's beautiful? You. You splayed out on my bed, looking fucked out, covered in your cum, face flushed as I. Fuck. You." He punctuated his words with a hard thrust, fingers digging into your hips deliciously. 

You gasped, walls clenching again as he steadily fucked you into another crest. His face fell into a grimace, as your walls, overstimulated into another quickly growing orgasm, clenched and released and clenched his shaft as he began to thrust into you with wild abandon, "Fuck, babygirl, I can feel you clenching me, yeah? You love the feel of this dick pounding you, don't you? So. Fucking. Beautiful. And. All. Mine." 

His mouth was filthy. Filthy and hot. You had never heard Rafayel speak in such a way. Rafayel who was often bashful and blushing when your flirting. Rafayel who tended to be a pouty needy boy that made your heart melt. This Rafayel was just as needy. But in a way you had never seen him before, as he panted your name from his lips like a mantra. His gorgeous head tossed back, neck exposed, abs clenching and rolling his hips as he slammed into you, face flushed and skin covered in a sheen of sweat. He was breathtaking. He was yours. You wanted him to come, and come for you now. 

Your hands scrambled to the headboard above you, bracing against it in determination. You started to roll your hips into his, meeting each powerful thrust with as much force as he was giving you. You were gonna come again but this time, this time, you were taking him with you. 

He gasped, fingers digging into your fleshy hips. His eyes snapped down to you, seeing the heat in your eyes as they raked over his body, your lip caught between your teeth. He groaned at the sight and at the feel of your hips moving in rhythm with his. "F-fuck, my love, I'm gonna come. Where do you- where should I-?" His voice is completely fucked out. Almost drunk. 

You tugged his arm and he fell back over you, compliant to your every whim, your knees swept up to rest over his arms as he braced himself with them framing your waist. Your legs were trapped pressed up and apart, unable to move as freely, to roll as deeply with your knees hooked over his forearms like this. But oh. You saw stars and he moaned in your ear. At this angle, with you opened wide, it felt like he went deeper. You both gasped out moans. Your lips brushed his ear as you told him your deepest want right then, "Inside. I want you inside me. Please, Rafayel. I want to feel all of you. Fill me up." 

He groaned, a pained sound before driving into you in earnest, "I am gonna come. I cant- I can't hold on much more." 

Your walls fluttered at the needy sound of his voice. Your Rafayel. Your beautiful Rafayel. He was so like the ocean, so many faucets to his personality. He could be calm loving one moment then demanding and passionate and then needy the next. You loved him. You loved all of him and he was all yours. 

"I'm coming too, baby. Let go" you implored him, "I want it. I am yours and you are mine. Forever. I want all of you. Give it to me." 

With a few more slams of his cock into your depths, you felt the moment he lost control of it. His forehead pressed to yours, noses brushing, as he let out a long moan of pleasure mixed with your name. His shaft pulsed as rope after rope of hot cum filled your womb. His blissed out face, the grind of his pelvis into your clit, the twitching of his cock as he came inside, and the warmth that flooded your inner most parts triggered your orgasm. 

"F-fuck!" He hissed out, blissfully as your walls milked him further. His thrust slowed until it was just a slow drag. His breath, panted by your ear. He peppered your neck and shoulder with kisses, before pulling back to press his lips lovingly against yours. When he pulled away, you noticed his eyes were nearly glowing blue as the Mediterranean sea, a spackling of blue iridescent scales freckled down his throat to his chest.  

Your fingertips followed the trail as his hips finally rested, fully seat against yours, spent, but refusing to leave your warmth. You could feel the hot mix of both of your fluids spilling out around where his now soft member still rested within your walls. Your eyes flicked up to his, watching you full of love. Your gut twisted in guilt, remembering what got you here. "I am sorry I ran out. I was so angry. I so angry, and it hurt to be so angry at you. I felt overwhelmed. I just... I needed space. To breathe. To calm down so I could think." 

He tutted, fingers combing some of your messy hair from your face. "Hush now, my bride. It is okay now. You came back to me. We are together. We are one now. That is all that matters." His eyes trailed your face before a sheepish look fell over his expression, "Besides, it was my fault you got overwhelmed. I kept pushing and pushing even when you said you needed to think. I was terrified that I was losing you so I couldn't bring myself to give you a moment." His eyes met yours, "I am sorry." 

You hummed, "Still I shouldn't have ran from you. I know about our pasts and I know that me leaving is something you fear. It was cruel of me," your heart lunched at the flicker of pain in his gaze. 

"Very well, though, I must admit I feel guilty for making you feel like what happened in those past lives is your responsibility. They both were and were not you. That's not your burden to carry." 

It was your turn to tsk, "I love you. Your burdens are my burdens. It's you and me, forever, Rafayel. You don't have to carry everything alone. Not anymore. Never again." 

His eyes went soft, as he dipped his head to press a kiss to your lips, "Whatever you say, my bride." 

You nuzzled into his palm cupping your cheek, "I do say. How about we both agree we are both idiots in love and leave it at that?" 

His chuckling at that shook you slightly. As your bodies were still pressed together, it shifted his shaft slightly inside of you. You realized that it was not all that soft anymore, and that he never left your heat. Your breath caught in your throat. Your walls fluttered around him. 

He hissed, head snapping up to meet your gaze. His eyes mischievous, "You want more of your Fishy husband, hm?" His hips gently pulsed, in and out of your heat slowly, testing the waters, a smirk stretching his mouth as you gasped from pleasure. 

Your eyes widen at his words. He had been calling you his bride. And now calling himself your husband. 

Seeing your look, he stilled and became worried, brows furrowing slightly. A blush spread across his cheeks and down his chest as his face becomes more pouty than the heat it held before, "I did say that to Lemurians this was essentially more binding than any silly human marriage." 

"You didn't say it quite like that!" You reeled dazed, your mind racing. 

His face crumpled before he smoothed his expression to one of more indifference. He plucked a shoulder in a shrug and rolled off of you, making you hiss as he slid out of you for the first time since you joined. 

He flopped onto his back a short distance away, "I apologize. I guess I should've been more clear. It's okay though. You won't feel the effects. We can pretend we didn't-" he gasped as you appeared over him and on him, having thrown your leg over his hip. You pressed him to the bed with a hand to his chest, your legs caging his hips between your thighs. "Nnngh," he groaned as you lowered your hips to sit over his pelvis, his once again harden length pressed between your nether lips, soaked in both of your juices from before. He had to fight not to roll his hips up into you, but settled for gripping your hips firmly. 

You sighed, hands moving, fingers dancing across the pale skin of his chest, from freckle to scale. "I never said I didn't want it." 

He stilled, eyes studying you intently. Holding his breath even. 

"I do want it. Want you. I told you, Rafayel, it's you and me. Forever." 

His grip lightened. His thumbs brushed tenderly across your skin. 

Your eyes sought out his, warm and tender. "So, husband," you grinned as his breath caught in his throat. "How do Lemurians enjoy their honeymoon?" You swiveled your hips to drag your wet heat along his now very hard again shaft. 

He gripped your hips, smirk nearly feral, "Let me show you, my Bride." 

[divinesolas]

CAGE.

summary: requested; you think its easy enough to hid a secret this big from your mother until you can figure out a plan but one day when theres no blood on your sheets shes able to put atleast some of the pieces together. you had sex. she just has no clue you slept with and married the enemy.

w.c: 2.1k (this was supposed to be short.)

perm jace taglist ! (open) @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @jacesvelaryons @earth4angels @itsemohours @valdezthg @cecestea

You look up from your book in confusion as your mother stormed into the room with your bed sheets in hand. Only more lost when she tossed them in front of you. “do you see this?”

you look them over, “my clean sheets?” “yes, clean!” you flinch at her tone and shrug at her simply looking back down at your book no longer interested in your mothers rampage. “do you wish for me to put them on my bed myself?”

“you have not bled in two moons.” her final words come out harsh and in a fateful whisper. Your eyes widen in horror and you finally look up at her angry face. “mother-“ “i do not wish to hear it.” you cant bare to watch as she brings her nails up to her lips and begins to pace so you turn to the window as memories begins to flood into your mind.

The night you could no longer bare your pushed down feelings and you flew to dragonstone. It had been raining and late his mother looking more than lost to see you but when you begged to speak with him a knowing look crossed her face and she smiled, fetching someone to go wake him. He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes when you blurted out that you loved him. you had no clue how it had happened, it had to have started when you were a child. Despite your mothers warnings you couldn’t help but spend your time with him and he always had a cheery grin when you were around.

You’re almost sure your feelings were cemented the night you lost your families love. you sided with them inside of your brother that fateful night on driftmark, you had thought it was unfair of your brother to take vhagar and you knew Aemond probably would have killed someone that night if Lucerys didn't take his eye. You saw the look your mother gave you when Jacaerys wrapped his arms around you and clung onto to you and your relationship has never recovered.

You had almost hope the time apart without a single letter shared would clench the feelings from your heart completely but distance truly only makes love grow and you ended up not being able to stop thinking about him all these years later. You were nervous when his eyes widened and he said nothing to you for a good few moments. When you were nearly ready to turn back on your tail and act like you never came he took some careful steps towards you and confessed he felt the same way.

You had no clue how they rushed to prepare a small ceremony in the way of the ancestors but it happed at the shores of dragonstone and you were married. You knew your mother would be furious and you vowed to not tell her until your family had settled a bit more . You remember the way his hands felt on you, the way his breath in your skin, the sounds he made, the whole night was so vivid in your mind.

You finally turn back to your mother when she finally stands in front of you once again your stomach churning. You could see her face well up as a look of desperation crosses her face. “tell me it is not true.” You do contemplate it. lying to her, telling her maybe simply something is wrong with you and you should get checked up by the maesters, but you cant. “I will not lie to you as others have mother.”

You see a saddened look upon her face at your words as they clearly twist a knife her stomach. She turns and leaves without another word. you knew this was a losing game for her, especially when you did not drink the moon tea brought to you dumping it on the floor in front of her or the maesters. You expect maybe she’ll lock you in some tower far far away and leave you to rot and die. though maybe she can tell that would be a preferable fate for you. you had no way to contact jace, knowing ever message you sent would be shot down you’re left to stare at the window hoping one day you can one day see him again.

You should have left that night he died. or any night you could have but from Aegon losing his son to Aemond going on a rampage you have been locked in your room since the start of all this mess. Every day the same repeat of you sitting by the window staring out towards dragonstone, your mother walks into the room with a moon tea and attempts to get out of you who got you pregnant and get you to drink the tea, she leaves after hours of you refusing and you go back to staring out there longing for your husband to come and rescue you and then you sleep dreaming of your prince.

Today is different. Once again you’re sitting by the window reading a book but when your mother walks in shes empty handed. you lets a small smile on your face as it seems shes given up and close the door. “what is it?” She crosses her arms wearing a clearly angry face. “since you continue to refuse me you have given me no choice. a week from today will be your wedding outside the city,” you stand up alarmed a look at her in disbelief, “you lie.” “

She shakes her head, a stoic look on her face as you approach her, a tremble in your steps. “Lord unwin will make a fine husband-” you cut her off with a loud scoff, “lord unwin? that old man? mother he is twice my age!” She steps closer to you and grabs your jaw in her hands angrily and you freeze. “and he is a man who will not care my foolish and ignorant daughter is with child!”

You would think you imagined the slap on your face from her if not for the harsh stinging on your cheek and the ringing in your ears. You simply hold your growing swollen cheek in disbelief as he faulters, as if she herself cannot believe she just hit you. She toughens up her face however, and simply glared at you. “you will do your duty.”

you shake your head as tears well up in your eyes. mind drifting to jacaerys. your husband. you cant tell her, she would never believe you at worst she would probably have you hung for having a ‘bastards baby’. “please do not subject me to the same fate as you mother i beg of you.” Her face falls completely, a look of horror crosses it as well. you think you almost have her taking her words back but she shakily inhales and takes a step back, “the king demands it.”

Its her final words before she swiftly turns and exits the room without sparing a glance. you fall to the fall as it feels like the weight of the entire world has just crashed down onto you. you sob. unable to do anything but think about jacaerys and your impending doom. that night you dream of him swooping down and saving you, your knight in shining armor. its a deluded dream.

You never leave the room as usual until one day you’re dragged out for a dress fitting. the maids ignore your tear stricken face and the swelling on your cheek. Everyone knows that youre clearly miserable, though none can do more for you other than pitiful looks.

You dont speak to your mother or your sister while in that carriage out of the city. it will probably be the first and the last time you escape the cage you’ve been locked in. you miss him. you think about him as you stare out at the sky, imaging him on vermax the dragon he clearly loves so much. you imagine him smiling as he flies around and your eyes gloss over. and while your eyes are glassed over and foggy as you stare out the sky its almost like you can see him.

You spend the whole time while they were fixing you up, praying that the gods are not cruel to you and this is just some cruel dream. yet as you walk down the aisle in the small cathedral with blank faces staring at you the horror grows more and more into reality. hes so much older than you thought. He smells of old when you stand in front of him and you press down the whimper that grows in your throat as you think about having to be any closer to him gods forbid kiss or fuck him.

unable to continue looking at the old man while the maester recites his speech you find yourself looking around. your mother unable to even lift her head to truly look at you and heleana seems to be staring off into space. what really catches your attention however is off fidgety the guards look, shifting around as if they know something is going to happen.

Your attention is snapped back when the maester says your name and you gulp. closing your eyes and praying one final time for jacaerys to appear and rescue you from this cruel, cruel fate before you open them.

You can barely open your mouth to speak before a loud road is heard outside the doors and the wall is smashed down, screams fill the room and people scrabbling around. you look towards the danger in shock and gasp, a familiar green dragon stands tall in the middle of the rubble and roars. the dragons head tilts down and there you see him.

Jacaerys. He had come for you.

You can barely believe it, you stand frozen as you see him wave his hand to you. He wants you to go to him. You eagerly rush towards him without a care for anything else. You can hear them calling for you, your mothers voice in particular rings out louder than most but you see the ‘kingsguard’ holding them all back from reaching you.

You hear him say your name softly as he reaches down to help pull you up. You feel lighter than you have in months while wrapping your arms around him, happily breathing in his scent while he quickly files out of the building. you dont spare your mother another glance, too worried you’ll feel sick at her face despite everything.

Neither of you speak until youre high enough in the skin. He turns to you happily and cups your face. “my love im so sorry im late.” you grin and shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes, “ how could you have known?” “many of the guardsmen are still loyal to daemon and they had reported that you were to be married outside the city.” his face hardens slightly as the memory must fill his mind but he softens as you run your hand along his cheek, “i had to go. you are my wife. i should have came soon. should have stole you away the day this awful war started.”

You shush him, clearly able to tell he was about to go on a tangent and press a soft kiss against his cheek. “i am just happy you came at all my love. my heart and soul have ached for you terribly.” he presses his forehead against yours and lets out a deep sigh of relief. “as have mine my love. i do not know if i could ever go without your presence again. “you will never have to.”

as a small silence fills you you suddenly perk up causing him to lean back and look at you. “is something the matter?” he looks even more alarmed as your eyes well up with tears but you simply grab his hand and drag it down to your stomach, “i am with child.”

His eyes widen and he looks so shocked, for a split second you’re worried he will be angry but soon enough a large grin covers his face. “truly?” you nod eagerly as a smile finds its way to your face as well as he looks down at your joined hands on your stomach. “i have not bled in two moons now.”

He has never looked happier you’re certain of it. he did not even look this happen on your wedding day. “i love you so much.” “i love you more.”

as dragonstone comes into view you finally feel what you’ve been craving for so long. free.

[13thdoodle]

Found my old arknights Danny sketches and it was fun so I clean it a bit

This is like old old, bc I wasn't sure what class he would be in. But on second thought, a Dollkeeper Specialist would fit him better

[ Dollkeeper specialist : Does not retreat upon receiving lethal damage, instead swaps to a <Substitute> (Substitute has 0 Block). Swaps back to the original after 20 seconds. ]

the skillset still the same regardless of the class tbh so yea

Arknights lore rambling under cut

Also Sankta race Danny because Sankta (equivalent to angels:tm:) and Sarkaz (has horns, very ostracized and oppressed race in Arknights) both shares the same ancestor and a fallen sankta would have both horns and halo iirc

All Sanktas has guns / patron guns and natural affinity with arts [ Guns and bullets in arknights works via magic/Arts. Sankta's are extra proficient with guns and maybe even the race that made em? ]

but if you're a fallen sankta (broken the Law or sth) you can't use your patron gun anymore and stripped of all rights and exiled?

There's also infected. Originium is how technology works in this world, it channels arts and such into many things and make them works. But originium dust is extremely infectious and if you caught it, crystalized rocks will grow on your body and eventually kills u.

Rhodes Island (the protag main base) is a pharmaceutical company (also do a mercenary works and escort ppl here n there) been looking on how to lessen or cure the infection so yeet Danny there for treatment and also plot bc fun

But yea idk if i want fallen sankta danny or normal sankta danny mostly bc angel with a shotgun is a fun concept

also old sketch bc wow u can see the difference from 2 years ago wow

[peppertoastuniverse]

the same sky  – gojo satoru

contents: gojo x reader, angst pure angst. careful with this one, this one was.. real sad summary: gojo calls you in between missions to remind you that he loves you wc: 1.4k

you’d gently kiss him – you were never as good as words as he was – hoping your touch could communicate your love for him. but satoru knew you well. he didn’t need his six eyes to know that you loved him equally, eagerly engulfing your body, smiling into the kiss.

“hey, sweetheart!” you heart skips a beat at his familiar greeting. “-look okay, don’t be mad, but I went to a new bakery after I was done with that curse I called about yesterday. okay, before you start – yeah I know, I know im trying to balance all the sweets with vegetables, juuust like I said I would! so no pouting – heh, aren’t you proud of me? i’ve been doing so good, I swear!”   you giggle as you balance your phone on your shoulder, two heavy bags full of groceries on either arm. you couldn’t help but smile as you hear his confident, playful tone in your ear. he was so silly.

“but mmmpphhhhfhfff oh my god, sweetheart it was so fucking good. I got the blueberry cheesecake, it was so cute – they decorated it with these little blueberries and it had this like really shiny glaze on it! I know you’d love it, we should – “

you loved when he called you. talking with satoru was almost an overwhelming experience. hearing his voice so close to you reminded you of those nights where you’d lay on his chest comforted by his breathing, where he’d whisper to you under the covers promises and far away fears. he’d hold you so gently, a perfect fit against his strong frame, a spot that he carved out especially for you.

he said he couldn’t sleep without you. he would call for you in the dark if he couldn’t find you, your warm hands finding him every time. you’d coo softly at him, stroking his pout. you’d look into his eyes and wondered what you did to deserve him. maybe your ancestors were blessed through prayer or maybe you and satoru were connected in a past life or maybe you were just lucky. but as you rubbed his back to calm his restless thoughts you thanked whatever higher power that you and satoru were connected in your universe – in this timeline. grateful to breathe the same air as him. glad to share your stars with him. happy to laugh beside him.

you’d gently kiss him – you were never as good as words as he was – hoping your touch could communicate your love for him. but satoru knew you well. he didn’t need his six eyes to know that you loved him equally, eagerly engulfing your body, smiling into the kiss.

his familiar baritone carried so much warmth, you could hear his smile through the phone. you couldn’t help but match his lips when you were on the phone with him. he would call at any time: because he missed you even though he was just 10 minutes away – just around the corner to mail a letter or because he saw a funny cat on the street that looked like nanami and wanted to hear you laugh at it too or because he wanted to pick up dinner on the way home and wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything else you wanted in addition to your usual sushi order from your favourite restaurant.

he always had something to say, something to share, something to remind you. you loved that about him. when it came to you he was too generous and you hoped that he felt your devotion to him as well. “y’know sweetheart, I bet it’s raining where you are right now, I can just fucking feeling it!”

you sigh as you see your shared apartment building in sight. your amused huff filling the pause on the phone like satoru knew you would be looking up at the same sky. as you stop and gaze up at the grey abyss, you could feel the warm spring rain drizzling, gently tapping on your forehead somehow feeling like satoru’s comforting kisses. you laugh, pleased at the universe’s gift to you. after all, he first kissed you in the rain all those years ago. it was clumsy at first, a nervous quick peck landing on the side of your mouth. time stopped, you swore you haven’t lived fully until that day. holding your hand, he pulled you in closer, craving another brush of your lips against his, muttering that he’s been thinking of kissing you since you made fun of his “stupid glasses,” when you first started jujutsu tech. you remembered how the rain soaked your hair and made his eyes sparkle affectionately when you kissed him back, face flushing. that was one of the only days where satoru was speechless. you liked to tease him about it all the time.

“i’m right wasn’t i?” he says, bringing you back to the present, his familiar teasing tone etched into your consciousness. he was always right, you could tell that he could sense the shaking of your head, soft smile still on your face. he was so ridiculous. in that moment, you were more aware of your love him. endless and overflowing, he helped you discover your favourite parts of yourself. he easily brought out the best in you, effortlessly loving you like it was breathing. “.. you must be happy though, you love the rain. don’t get too wet, babe. you’ll get sick!” you melt at his sweetness. he knew you well.

“…wish I was there enjoying it with you, but I’ll be back real soon. promiseeeee!” you couldn’t wait to see him again, he brightened every corner of your life, your shared apartment felt dreary without him. dull and cold. when he left, your apartment felt too big – it was made for two. two pairs of chopsticks, two toothbrushes, two mugs, “yours and mine” he’d say proudly every time you went shopping, “but everything is ours,” he’d grin. still there were reminders of him that gave you comfort, his extra pair of shoes still at the foyer by door, his brush in the bathroom drawer filled with his white hair, his pajamas on the comfy chair in your shared bedroom –   you couldn’t bring yourself to do his laundry while he was gone, when you missed him too much you’d sleep in his clothing. “I swear, I just – ha! actually, uh,  give me a second, this curse is making it interesting now. heh! I’ll call you back in a few, wont be long  – love you, babe! I’ll call you back in a sec.” you scoff, it was so like satoru to call you during a mission. you used to scold him all the time about it, worrying about his safety, reminding him that he wasn’t invincible, that he was just a man. placing the heavy bags on the floor temporarily, you unlock the apartment door, groaning as you settle the groceries on the countertop. moving fluidly to put away the groceries, choices littered with satoru’s favourites, his favourite mochi, that gross sugary melon soda that he drank all the time, ingredients for his favourite beef curry. you smile thinking about him. your satoru. picking up the phone you hear his bright voice, “sorry sweetheart, uhh – what was I saying? oh yeah, I was thinking that after this mission we should go on vacation! I just miss you so much, y’know? I feel like we never get time to ourselves, it’s either you’re on missions or I am… “

he was right. It had been a while since you had time for each other, but you didn’t mind – he called you whenever he could. you and satoru understood the demand of your jobs, the oath you swore, but more time was always welcome. “i.. I know I say it all the time, but i love you so much, y’know? I can’t wait to see you again sweetheart – really. I just.. I don’t know what I’d do without you. ha, I guess im just missing you more than usual.. “ he says sheepishly. “I love you. …love you sweetheart, i’ll be with you real soon.” “i love you too, satoru.” you whisper fondly. your favourite part. you sigh heavily, waterline overflowing. tension still in your body. that was the end of his voicemail. you move to replay it from the beginning, it was the only thing that you listened to now a days since he died 3 months ago. “hey, sweetheart! – look okay, don’t be mad, but I went to a new bakery after I was done with that curse I called about yester–”   you stare at your phone, the closest thing that you had left of his presence. his voice still lingers in your head, even when your phone runs out of battery – the loneliest time. slowly moving to put on his hoodie as you wipe your tears, you think you miss him a little more today.

a/n: sorry everyone! ( • ᴖ • ｡) this one hurt to write. i think we all miss this blue eyed yapper. what did yall think about this one? -- dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[unicyclehippo]

ok so i submitted a story for a competition & didn't get far but i was pretty happy with it so imma post it here for y'all. pls enjoy!

YEAR OF THE WOLF

Blood and shampoo wash pink down the shower drain. My body aches, back hot with pain. I gotta stretch more, I think, before remembering what time of month it is.

I’m not stupid, I want that to be known up top.

Tired? Yes. A bit forgetful now and then? Certainly. Overly reliant on blind optimism? Of course. Who can afford for things to go wrong these days? But stupid? No. Not about this, anyway. I’ve known for almost a decade that I’m a werewolf. I just thought if I ignored it long enough it would stop, or at least stay low on the list of important things I had to deal with—somewhere between turning thirty and the world burning down around our ears.

Still, it manages to take me by surprise each month. I see the blood, feel the shift-pull-crack of bones and vitals, the wet throb of viscera and organs, as my body reshapes itself. The wolf and I share a space not big enough for two; something must give way.

I lose time daydreaming about it. Transforming. My only plan for the day is work, maybe video games later, cooking dinner. I could call in sick. I could clear away the bathmat and towels and fall to my hands and knees and change into something bloody and terrible and wonderful, I could lay myself down on the soft carpet in the sunrays, decadent, I could leap from my balcony, powerful, and lope away into the bush off the track to explore the silver-blue of the leaves and the cathedral termite mounds, I could—

The shower pipes groan, rattle, and spit freezing water down onto me.

I don’t transform.

I towel off. The mirror shows me a human with the same soft features as ever. Shampoo suds clinging to my shoulders. Hair cut short and plastered down on chalk-white skin paler than usual. The doctor warned me low iron was a side-effect of transformation but I look myself over for another cause. Lift my arms, twist to check my back. There’s a pimple or two where my binder digs in but no injuries. I promise the doctor in my head I’ll bring it up at our next appointment.

My doctor is a careful woman, dedicated and precise. She sits primly and dresses well—her blouse is fashionable, flowery, her trousers professional and practical. She keeps notes in a leatherbound book and her thoughts securely behind her eyes. She asked me to keep track of any changes Inoticed. I pull out a crumpled receipt where I’d scrawled some notes.

tired

hungry

headaches

more dreams than usual

tired—oh I already wrote that down. still true

irritated way more by stuff?

jaw hurts?

‘Alright,’ she says, writing it down on her page about me.

I sit hunched opposite her, then fix my posture, then let my shoulders droop again, conscious of being too broad, too big. In the time it takes for her to commit a few brief notes to paper, I’m struggling not to get distracted by the lights and their electric buzz—the popping stop and start as the filaments crackle in the bulbs. My eyes wander over neat stacks of paperwork, a penholder with all the pens pointed in the same direction.

‘We’re going to order a blood test. You’re right, the fatigue and headaches could be an indicator of iron deficiency.’

‘Okay.’

‘Do you know if there’s a history?’

‘Of…iron deficiency?’

She smiles. ‘Of lycanthropy.’

The question makes my head spin. There’s been some excitement about there being some genetic predisposition to lycanthropy (unconfirmed), which half my friends were leery of, seeing the research as another way for hunters to exterminate us, and half took to romantic spirals, daydreaming about their ancestors being just like them. But the doc is asking about, like, my parents and grandparents, and it makes me laugh.

‘No. No way.’ I think harder. Is it possible? My maternal grandparents, definitely not. But my dad’s parents…I don’t know that well. ‘I could ask, maybe.’

After the three haphazard sessions we’ve had stretching across eleven months, which chiefly feature my repeated and sustained reluctance to talk, she indicates her doubt with a quiet raised brow.

It’s fair. I don’t tend to do things I don’t want to do, even if they’re important. Sometimes, especially if they’re important.

At the end of our fifteen-minute session, she walks me to the door and beneath the stench of eucalyptus-scented cleaner that makes my nose itch and head ache, I catch a whiff of her cologne. Wood pine and wild.

I think about it all day.

Has she helped me because she’s like me? The thought races ahead of me, tempting; I sprint after it. I wonder what she wears at home. Does she google boxers for bed because they seem so comfortable? Does she veer at the last moment to Boyfriend shorts! Now in satin – for HER! Or does she kick the world off at the front door next to her shoes and just…exist. Is she like me? Just a person who does things? Or is she a woman who does things? Or a person who does woman things or a woman who does womanly things or a woman who does things knowing they’re not womanly and caring or not caring? Does she splinter the cage that would contain her and let the hungry animal of her body carry her to meat and sleep and hunting and to the warmth of her partner at rest?

Is she like me?

As a kid, I wanted to take karate. My brother wanted to sing. Somehow, I ended up in the music class. It was in a demountable that creaked, off-key, with every step and stunk of the creek next door. The singing teacher had a red round face and told me not to sing too loud—I was practicing to be part of the choir, I should be part of the group. That group was made up entirely of nervous and near-silent girls who shivered with the desire above all else not to stand out. (I learned that part well.)

On the other side of school, my brother stood in karate class with a teacher who ignored him and older boys who picked on him—he was short back then, with baby fat still on his cheeks, and had a close relationship with boredom and distraction that came from being smarter than most.

Once we figured out the joke being played on us, our places switched, we made a pact to teach each other what we learned. It didn’t last. Within three lessons, I spent more time on the walk to the classroom than in class; I dawdled in the fields and by the creek, tracking beetles and digging for dinosaur bones in the mud. When I did arrive, it was twenty-five minutes late with dirt under my nails and finally the teacher told me not to show up. My brother took a faster approach and called the teacher a moron. Mum had to pick him up early from class and neither of us learned very much.

My gran lives hours away and I never got the impression she liked me much. I think about sitting in her drawing room, the sticky-sugar smell from bottles of fancy port on the shelf, and her sitting opposite, eyes hawklike, mouth pursed and tongue sharp. I don’t visit her. I think about asking my dad instead and, while he does like me, he doesn’t like werewolves and I’m not ready to risk exile.

I get my blood drawn. The doctor prescribes iron pills and congratulates me on my teeth coming in.

My mother doesn’t like my sharp teeth or short hair or the way I sit. I want to tell her I didn’t do anything to my teeth; that if anyone is to blame for the handsome jut of my canines, the neat, careful way they can tear flesh from bone, it’s her. She made me. But saying stuff like that only opens up the room for more questions.

‘Do you like it? Looking like that?’

It will hurt her if I say yes. When you are a daughter, wanting to change means you don’t want to become your mother, which means you don’t love her.

I can’t say no.

The wolf stirs. It wants me to say yes. It loves fiercely and loves me most of all. But it isn’t the one who has to live here—work, be a daughter, a sister. It won’t be the one who has to listen to my mother tell me to be sure before I tell anyone else because there’s no going back and people will hate me for it, just for being, and that she can’t support me doing that to myself, that it’s against the god she’s never thought twice about, and has someone talked me into it?

I’m not ready for that.

‘It’s just teeth,’ I say.

She shakes her head but doesn’t ask any more questions. I think she’s scared I’ll tell her the truth.

am i a coward?

My friend Luna takes a long while to answer.

While I wait, I wash the dishes I’ve been “soaking” for three days; the kitchen smells of dish soap when I’m done and the world is a little cleaner. Outside, my balcony is drenched in sunlight. I make my coffee and sit out there, turning my nose to the wind. Somewhere close by, someone is cooking chicken loaded up with paprika. It’s more accurate to say they’re burning chicken. Next door, my neighbour digs through the rich dirt of their garden and plants rosemary and lavender.

My phone lights up.

No, she says. Then, Why do you ask?

the whole werewolf thing. i won’t transform, wont tell my family.

This reply is much faster. Definitely not.

i feel like one

First of all, you transform when it’s right & as much or little as you want & that changes from person to person. Second, being safe is not cowardly.

yeah

Do you want to tell them?

The coffee is gorgeously strong. After a few gulps, I feel like someone has brushed the cobwebs out of my head.

it’s like. there’s this version of me in their heads that isn’t real yknow. like im not a person im a cloud in person shape & sometimes they get a glimpse of my hand or whatever. & its safe inside the cloud its harder to hit me but . they cant see me

Mm

sorry i know this is teenager shit

In the distance, a fire alarm starts to blare.

No it’s good. I get it, obviously. And you know my parents were awful when I told them but we go running every month now. The question isn’t “am I a coward”. The question is, are you prepared to confront that version of yourself in their heads? Are you ready for it to change?

i wish i knew. how it would change i mean. bc i feel like if i knew for Sure that they would take it badly then that’s one thing & i could deal w that. & if i knew theyd be fine w it i could deal with That but. i don’t know. & its freaking me out. but it’s also like…ok i don’t live w them, i’ve got a job, idont rely on them for anything. what real bad consequences could there be?

Dots pop up at the bottom of the screen. They disappear after a minute, then reappear, as Luna takes her time to answer. Finally, she says,

By announcing the real version of yourself, you open yourself up to vulnerability. Things that didn’t bother you before will feel uncomfortable or hurt because it touches you. And when you change the way that you exist in the eyes of people who are supposed to love you unconditionally, you invite the possibility that they will reveal the love was in fact conditional & not for you, that you somehow failed to live up to the person they imagined you to be

mate i’m already scraping the bottom lol

You’re wonderful, Luna says, because she can tell when a joke isn’t really a joke. Her worst trait. If they can’t see that, it doesn’t mean it’s not true.

yeah

You don’t have to tell everyone. You could pick whoever would take it best & get someone on your side. When I take too long to answer, Luna sends a string of photos—her dogs, her family in matching hiking shirts, the view of the nearly full moonon her side of the world. I’m on your side, she says. Always. Let me know how it goes.

The full moon burns, beckons. We are both gloriously awake this time. I have never been more awake. The sky is a black lake and when it rains we taste space and stars and smog. The stairs are slick with the rain. On all fours we are sure, quick, eager! The grass is waiting for us! Splendid! Everything is incandescent in silver, including me. The grass—dew-wet, green scent full in our nose—invites us to roll in it, sticks its seedlings to our fur, tagalongs on our adventure. We run! Smell everything! ticklegrass wetmoss possum pee BUG rough brick mud SPIKY plant big tree lavender dog smell road gutter old leaves bird feathers vinegar shARP on my tongue bag crinkles between our teeth

The days’ heat still smoulders on the surface of the road. We are standing in the centre of it, massive, when a car crests the hill. It stops, engine rumbling and blue-glare lights illuminating us. It waits for us to cross the road before driving on. The driver stares from their seat. In one easy jump, we clear the fence and disappear.

Three more streets and the road ends. The world is huge, bigger than I could have imagined. There’s dirt here! dirt mud rocks beetles scuffling under the leaves koala musk leads to claw marks at the base of trees.

The wolf likes it when I’m awake. It wants to show me the world. Look, its questing nose says, look what you miss out on when you sleep.

It takes us to a termite mound and we listen to them sing.

We stay out all night, trekking through the pocket of national park. I am the biggest thing in the forest. Nothing frightens me. We find a creek filled with every fascination the world has to offer. Ten thousand wet stones, bottle caps, an ill-tempered fish.

When the sun rises, I am sore and covered in blood. I call my brother to pick me up. I stand by the edge of the park to wait for him; at the bottom of the hill, the highway stretches out like a grey branch, cars buzzing along it like bugs. A firefly splits off from it, flying towards me.

The yellow of the headlights cuts through the trees. Inside the car, my brother jumps when he sees me and the light reflecting off my eyes. The wolf is still awake and we move fast and strong to the passenger side door.

He knows.

I can tell. Smell it on him, see it in his uneasy posture. He knows and still I can’t say it. It feels like I’ve swallowed a bird whole, alive. It trembles, stuck in my throat. When I think about talking it pecks at my tongue and if I open my mouth, if I try to explain, he will see my bloody tongue and the bird and he’ll see me all wrong, all the ugly brutish parts of me I’d like to keep hidden, if I can.

The wolf is still awake. It isn’t scared; it is massive and powerful, it can bite through anything, it can run forever without getting tired. We can. And if there is ever a time to talk to my brother, to let him know who I am, it is now.

I do not want him to think I am a bloody-mouthed girl.

I want him to know I am not a coward. I am myself, a werewolf, alive and finally happy for it.

The wolf yawns. I catch a glimpse of my teeth in the mirror, sharp.

‘Hey.’ Of all the ways to break a very tense silence, it’s not the worst. ‘Thank you. For picking me up.’

He risks a look at me, away from the road. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah.’

A muscle tics in his cheek as he chews on silence. He’s upset that I won’t say more. So am I. I want to. The bird is in the way. I have always had to trick myself into talking; it is never easy, not in doctor’s office, not in my parents’ home, not in the forest, or my brother’s car.

We slow. Ahead, the traffic lights paint the dashboard red. The car shivers around us, idling. I can feel it shake through my bare feet, dirty and scratched up from the rocks, pressed to the rubber floor mats.

The first word comes out like a pulled tooth.

‘I—need to say.’ He glances my way. I think, briefly, about jumping out the window but the light turns green so I can’t. I have to talk instead. ‘I’m a werewolf.’

He drives. I realise he must have been waiting to talk, really talk, because this is the first time I’ve been in his car without music playing.

‘I think the proper term is lycanthrope,’ he says, finally.

‘Dude.’

‘Sorry. Just, medically speaking...’ He shakes his head. Drums his fingers against the wheel. ‘How long?’

‘I dunno.’ I do. A decade of knowing and doing nothing about it. Almost a year of thinking very hard about it and doing slightly more.

He knows me better than my doctor; both his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, entirely unconvinced.

‘I’m still me,’ I tell him, because that’s what everyone says in books and movies. I guess it’s what you’re supposed to say. What I want to say is that I’m more me than ever. What I want him to say is thank you, and I’m his favourite person, and that he understands how hard it was for me to share but he’s proud of me. But I would have to ask for that and the bird in my throat won’t budge.

‘Okay. Wow. So… Are you going to move? Change your name? Are you going to get claws? A tail?’

‘Okay, never ask me that again.’ He laughs. ‘And no. I don’t think so. I kind of like that it’s not super obvious. It’s no-ones business but mine.’

‘And mine now.’ I think he’s smiling, a little. ‘Why did you tell me? If you don’t want anyone to know?’

I wish I was still a wolf. If I were a wolf, I would howl and people would understand. The tenor, the tremble, the shivering cadence. There would be no need for picking the right words, no eye contact, no consequences for an ill-timed joke, no shame for feeling everything so big and weird, like there’s a forest in my chest and a songbird choir blocking up my throat. My hands itch as the claws retract under my skin and I fight to keep from scratching, fidgeting. I turn to stare out the window.

To his reflection in the glass, I say, ‘I want you to like me.’

‘Of course I like you—’

‘I’m louder like this,’ I whisper. He looks unconvinced, which is fair. I’m still hiding. ‘Messy. Bigger and stubborn and hairier and angrier. It’s not the wolf. I’m like that too. I wanna be like that. Real. I’m so—I’m so tired. All the time. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want to be me and I want you to like me as me.’

My back aches as everything in me crunches back into place. The wolf is asleep and it has left me alone with my words and my brother.

‘I really love you,’ he tells me as he pulls up outside my house. He puts his hand warm on mine. He doesn’t flinch at the blood. He hugs me close. Plucks a leaf from my hair.

My brother offers to come with me to tell our parents. It probably would have been smart but I’m still wary. If it goes bad…I don’t want him to see that.

‘How did it happen?’ my mother asks when I’m done, like it’s something you can catch.

For a moment, I entertain the thought of lying.

Do you remember my uni friend? Verne? Well he’s part of a pack and if he brings in three new werewolves over three months, and they each bring in three new werewolves, he gets a bonus. Why? Are you interested in this exciting new life opportunity?

I can’t joke about it yet. Worst outcome, she thinks I’m serious about it being a some kind of cult. Less worse but still bad outcome, she thinks I’m being unserious about the whole thing. Nevermind that I have thought about it every day for ten years, this inevitable confrontation, this moment where I have to explain myself, defend my existence, back up my claims with proof and research like it’s my thesis. I tell her,

‘It just made sense.’

She likes that less than she would have if I’d joked about it, gets all stiff and pinched.

‘It doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t understand where this is coming from—you’re human. You’re not –‘ She shakes her head. ‘Maybe if you left the house more often. These things you’re imagining about yourself, if you were around more people…you’re not like that. You’re lovely,’ she insists. ‘You’re not that.’

It should hurt to hear. It probably does, in a way I’ll feel five years down the line, and I’ll wish that I had bit back, told her that just because she thinks there’s something wrong with me doesn’t make it true.

My dad hasn’t said anything.

When I look at him, he’s staring down at his plate. He eats everything on it, even the tomatoes he usually tries to hide under the broccoli stems. Then he stands, puts it in the dishwasher, and walks away.

‘It’ll pass,’ my mother tells me. ‘You’ll come to your senses. This won’t last—don’t do anything permanent. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.’

Don’t give in.

Don’t transform.

Don’t smile wide enough to show your teeth.

Don’t tell anyone else.

I realise I’ve been trying my hardest not to do anything, like being nothing would be preferable to being me. When did I get the idea that to starve would be better than anyone seeing me hungry?

‘I don’t want to hide anymore.’

‘But it’s no-one’s business,’ she insists. ‘I don’t understand why anyone needs to know, I mean, I don’t go around telling people I’m human.’

The words sound different coming from her mouth but they’re the same.

It’s no-ones business but mine. That’s what I told my brother and I thought I meant it but now I think I was still scared. Biting off bits of myself before anyone pulled out the silverware and cut it from me.

There’s a bird in my throat and the little bastard is choking me. It’s not fair. I don’t want to die without saying what I mean for once.

I bite down on it, blood between my teeth.

‘It’s not the same thing,’ I snap. There’s a gorgeous growl to my words I’ve never heard before. No one told me that would happen. I love it. I love the sound of my voice. ‘No one tries to kill you because you’re human.’

‘Exactly!’

When I stand up fast, chair scraping against the floor, she freezes. Caught between telling me to pick up the chair first and not knowing how to talk to a monster in her daughter’s skin.

It hadn’t occurred to me that telling the truth wouldn’t change just me.

Staring back at my mother, I find I don’t much like the woman I see. If that’s what awaited me, I’m glad to have changed. The world is huge and beautiful and painful and I am kinder, stronger, hardier for it.

I pick up my bag from the floor.

‘I’m the same person, it’s just now you know I’m a werewolf. When we went out for lunch last week? Werewolf. When I got you groceries when you were sick? Werewolf. Every birthday, holiday, every vacation we’ve had since I was nineteen? Werewolf.’

She looks sick. Puts a hand on the counter to steady herself.

When I get home, I’m going to curl up in my closet for a week. The bird is going to come back any second now with backup. Eagles, this time. ‘I’ve had a really long time to think about this and you haven’t so I’m - I’ll give you time. But you should know that I’m happy and healthy and safe. All the things you said you wanted for me.’

As I leave her house, maybe for the last time, I hope she’ll call. I don’t know if she will.

I have been sleeping better and dreaming more. In my dreams, I am always the same. I have a wolf head, with sharp teeth and keen eyes. I sing with a powerful voice that has unsettled for centuries. I cannot see my pack but I can hear them out there, howling. My body is the same; the only difference are the claw marks across my flat chest, red and raw and careful. I am not dead, only transformed.

[thewertsearch]

....well, I thought this fight was a lock in Vriska's favor, but Gamzee is the mother of all wildcards. He could be hiding anything in that Jokerkind Abstratus, and we still haven't seen the power that took out the Black King.

I do think Vriska has the maneuverability to avoid most of his weapons, but you don't know what this motherfucker is going to pull out. His mere presence is setting me on edge a little.

If only my hoard were as 8ottomless as his desire to disappoint me. He is set on cowardice, deferring to others to settle his score. Doesn't he remem8er what he's confided? It would 8e easy to give the evidence to Her Imperious Condescension, and he would 8e killed quickly for his unthinka8le presumption. He's taken a gr8 risk har8oring red am8itions for an empress who will never even know his name.

Eridan's ancestor has a thing for the Empress, which is a clear allusion to his one-sided crush on Feferi. I'd be surprised if any troll from Mindfang's story wasn't one of the twelve Ancestors, so I'm pretty sure Her Condescension is Grandma Peixes.

And I recognize that name.

Now - is it just a title, or was this literally the same Condescension?

I'm inclined to assume the former, because the modern Empress doesn't share Feferi's blood color. Still, the idea of a troll ancestor sticking around to personally witness the apocalypse they foresaw is a pretty cool idea.

Here's proto-Gamzee, clearly embodying the violent madness that his descendant has recently embraced. This juggalo cult has clearly been a problem on Alternia for a long time.

There's blood behind him that matches Karkat's non-mutated position on the hemospectrum - and also, I think, blood of Eridan's caste. This guy doesn't discriminate. He's perfectly comfortable with slaughtering his 'betters', and I'm sure Gamzee's just itching to repeat this history today.

I've learned Dualscar has reported to the Grand High8lood all the intelligence he has on me and my fleet.

Gamzee's ancestor is the Grand Highblood. It sounds like he's at the very top of the terrestrial hemospectrum, outranking even other members of his caste.

Equius did say that Gamzee had the highest terrestrial blood on Alternia. Zahhak's a hemospectrum expert, so maybe he's being entirely literal. Maybe Gamzee has inherited his ancestor's title, and is literally the Grand Highblood of Alternia - the highest purpleblood of all.

If he does have a formal role, he was obviously shirking his duties, if he was even aware of them in the first place. His hive certainly wasn't especially regal...

I wonder, though... did this ancestor leave any heirlooms for his successor? How much does Gamzee really know about his birthright?

I would have enjoyed witnessing the entertainment he prepared to please the High8lood. His sense of humor was dreadful. It would have 8een a true miracle if he survived the appointment. Funny, I always imagined a grander entry in my journal for your demise, Dualscar. 8ut I should have realized you would die as you lived. A joke.

L

[erme-maererme]

you can’t for real be stanning ricky september out there. you did notice he is also racist, right? and that he is not “changing the system from within”?

he did nothing even though he knew about the problem (people getting eaten), he says he tried to post tiktoks about it but they got blocked and then he just went on to saving himself only and the rest were to be eaten. he could’ve tried taking off other people’s bubbles and idk stopping them from walking into the mouths of the slugs (the slugs were so slow even when they did attack, if anyone tried to escape properly they likely would’ve succeeded!). he likely only helped this lindy because she came across him.

ricky shows up to save lindy as the doctor usually would (story-wise, to demonstrate how differently lindy treats ricky and the doctor), but also, importantly, he is very much unlike the doctor if you think about it even for a bit. it is also obvious from lindy’s reaction to him revealing that he just uploads the tiktoks and then goes to read a book, or from his “resistance” to the slugs. he presents himself as counterculture, as an intellectual, a fighter against the norms and the lies of the system, but lindy admires him for it, as opposed to her anger at even seeing the doctor on her screen, and that’s because ricky is none of the things he seems to claim, he is more than comfortable within the system, he benefits from it and he shares about not being on social media all day bc it makes him seem cooler and smarter, not because he believes that there are issues with the society.

moreover, and this is my most important point here because i see it debated, ricky is very dismissive of the doctor and keeps trying to interrupt him, when the doctor explains the codes to him, even though his very life depends on the precision and accuracy of those codes. and yes, it is because the doctor is black, and not because he already knew about the pulse codes (i’m adrresssing an argument i saw on this website already). otherwise, he would treat lindy the same for being parasocial with him and acting like she has skills/knowledge of the real world when she clearly doesn’t (a specific example, if you need one, would be the moment she talks about her very hard and complicated job, which distracts them from escaping the slugs and she definitely doesn’t get this treatment). and when the situation is the same and the disrespectful behavior is only directed at a person of color, that’s racism.

also, just because he turned off the bubble for most of the day doesn’t mean he left the white supremacist society, like he literally couldn’t have because there is a force field around the finetown. and those history books he read, i don’t think finetown allowed for any alternative ideologies, so the books he read must have been written by the white supremacists who built this town. so, none of this is actually a sign of him protesting against the system or anything. he is suppposed to seem like he is “educating himself”, but the viewer must consider his behaviour and realities and what the underlying values here are. the point of ricky’s character is that you should be questioning and not just accepting that if someone fits the pattern of progressiveness on the superficial level, they actually are progressive.

we don’t see as much of him as we do of lindy and the rest, he dies before the confrontation (the big reveal that it was racism all along, as some people put it), but who is to say he wouldn't have sailed off as well? maybe he would even lead them (they all follow him already) + he also very much fits into the “pioneer” image (the vocabulary used in the dialogue like “taming the nature like our ancestors did” is the red flag, it’s very classic of white supremacism and one of core concepts in the ideology of european colonialism). i can see him presenting himself as a leader and his knowledge as something that would protect them all, something they would build a new finetown with. what do you think all the history books he read were about again?

you can disagree with me on this last paragraph, because it’s not in the text and i’m theorizing based on the present evidence. the rest, however, is the text and is telling enough.

does ricky fly under your radar because "logging off the social media and touching the grass" is something often framed as progressive? this is not a rhetorical question, i genuinely don't know. still, i do hope this analysis would prevent the embarassment of making and reblogging all the "kneeling for ricky september" posts at least for someone.

[chasing-faith-and-fate]

An explanation of The Rift

I’m making this to give answers to things that our characters will never find answers or explanation to within the story, but things that are helpful to know (and I also just really wanna share my world building whoops)

This will not be everything, but just things I know will never be naturally revealed.

There might be spoilers to things not yet revealed or resolved in the story, so read only if you’re okay with potential spoilers!

-

-

-

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The Rift itself:

The Rift is a mirror of the Takers world.

If you look at the map you see Chasingclan is one big circle.

Easiest way to explain it: It's one big fae circle.

The sun is cold because it's actually the moon from the Takers world, which is a world of permanent night.

As a result of being mirrored of the Takers world, The Rift is unusual, it grows plant life that's not normally or naturally occurring in those parts of the world. The climate is unusual too, with very little snow in the winter and rainstorms persist for moons with maybe a few days or weeks breaks, followed by droughts.

Pray is sometimes scarce because they too follow the laws of Generations like the cats do.

The rift, as in the chasm that surrounds the territory, is incredibly deep, littered with cliffs and caves. It's also wherein Takers were thrown into, once discovered (or cats that deserve the dark forest, cats who don't get the honour of a burial).

It is impossible to climb out of. But easy to jump as long as you're anything but a G1.

Generations:

“Generations”- meaning the amount of cats that have been born on Chasingclan land. Also shortened to G[number].

For each generation, as Chasingsky’s prophecy said, they get harder and harder for Takers to find.

See Soot and Silk, they're G6, descendants from the first group that formed the clan. Takers have a very hard time finding them. Takers have to be very, very close to even see them- This is why they've been alive so long while being able to go on solo patrols.

Then there's Dew, G7, Takers cannot see him. They can still sense him, but they can't actually see him.

Now, Moth, Crane, and Valley should be G7 too. But they aren't. They're G1.

“Generation” only counts if a cat is born within the Rift.

Everyone from the outside world, not Rift born, are G1.

Outsiders can come and go, as long as they don't stay in Chasing territory for more than 24 hours, if they do, they are stuck and are considered G1. They will never be able to leave alive. They're also fully visible to Takers, they're practically beacons actually.

This is why Quiver and Storm are stuck, and why Glowfern died trying to escape. They are/were all G1.

Gifts:

“Gifts” are mutations that can show up in G1 cats, and they're completely random.

Gifts are given by the cursed lands of the Rift as an evolutionary advantage, if they can survive and pass it onto the next generation the gift can grow stronger or become a permanent fixture in any given bloodline.

Take Silk, she can sense dead cats and has a very easy time receiving messages or visits from them while awake, though she cannot see them. This gift popped up with her ancestor, Fumble, a G1 loner- so the gift itself is only 4 generations old.

(Soot has not inherited this gift.)

Dewbat has the ability to see the dead, both starclan and not. A G1 gift he inherited from July.

Then there's the current G1 cats:

Valley is abnormally strong, but because of her size and just cats in general. Her strength puts her on the same level as a Rottweiler.

Crane has a very intense G1 gift, she lives in the living's world while only being able to see the mirrored world of the Takers. She doesn't know what reality actually looks like.

If a cat, like the triplets, is brought into the clan as G1 they cannot inherit any gifts from their parents.

It actually became a very weird tradition for some families in Chasingclan to give birth outside the Rift and bring the kits back over, making them G1s and hoping they develop a powerful gift. This practice was harshly outlawed after it was found out that G1s were not hidden from Takers.

Skychaser herself punished and banished a few cats that did not follow the rules.

[demaparbat-hp]

It occurs to me that maybe the dragon scales weren't just used for coloration but perhaps to harden the scars to make them harder to reopen. Kinda like a broken bone healing stronger along the fracture line. Hence with less dragons the art of Kintsugi became saved for special occasions among the Sun Warriors rather than every single scar(obviously no one but royals was doing this anyways but it became more of consideration if a scar was worthy of being sealed after) since one of the main purposes can't be fulfilled with a half made mixture that still comes out red and helps with the healing (which also begs the question if the way kintsugi is made was/is used to figure out healing ointments), but doesn't harden the skin in the same way. Or would they still seal the other scars and those ones just look... flatter than the proper ones?

It would also be interesting if different color scales give different sheens to the kintsugi so a blue dragon's scales might still look mainly red due to other ingredients, but there's a blue ting/reflection to the scar. Did sharing a sheen with family or your dragon used to be a sign of pride? Was having a red dragon's sheen seen as basic?

I think Zuko wouldn't ask for it, but I can see the Sun Warriors deciding to give him a small amount of the full powder, and instructions for how to mix it. Zuko debating if he should refuse it, given his ancestors, but Aang is the one to convince him to keep it. Even though the only body modification air nomads practiced were the tattoos, he still sees the beauty and significance of such a gift (later Zuko is thankful he convinced him).

Mixing Kintsugi with the assassination post you re blogged, it'd be funny if the reason Zuko ends up with bronze is due to an attempt while he's traveling for negotiations and the healer is grumbling about stupid teenagers always refusing to stay away from fights (a healee who has had to deal with gaang or Kyoshi warriors in the past... or even jet lol) and seals his wounds, without even thinking about the fact he's FN and not one of his Kyoshi guards, given the size of it and how well he fought. The warriors on duty think it's hilarious and no one ever mentions it to the healer in question. Suki immediately rats him out at the next gaang meet up.

While I do think that Toph probably wouldn't end up with any, at least not pre series (although the idea of her goading Katara into healing a future scar with silver in the future is funny especially since she can't tell the difference by color(but maybe by texture/weight???) does rotate in my head), I do think that Suki probably has one or two wounds sealed in bronze before the show. Sokka is both jealous (since I believed you mentioned his fishhooks didn't seal properly) and enthralled by her scars given they're probably the first ones he sees not sealed in the water tribe fashion (at least on a ally). Suki in the FN would kind of be a reflection of Zuko's path in this au given I'm sure she ends up with the opportunity to have a wound sealed in gold given how often she has to defend Zuko's life. I assume at that point the healers have different kinds in the med wing so she could choose bronze or none at all, but she's given the choice given her job is seen as sacred to the FN.

Azula definitely has all scars up til her breakdown sealed that way, but it'd be fascinating to know if she got injured and refused it during the Agni Kai. Would she refuse the dragon ruby at that time? Would Zuko offer the small amount he has to be split? After finding Ursa (if she's still alive) and healing that part of her past, does she accept it for her next wound? Would she follow in Zuko's footsteps and mix the different colors on her scars? Would she be too worried in being a copycat, or does she argue she deserves to have scars as widely traveled as she is? Or does she stick with the color of the spirit she's trying to live up to?

On the idea of different patterns and colors I do think that ruby, gold, bronze and silver probably stay the traditional colors to their respective cultures, but I do think it would be funny for a duo like Ty Lee and Sokka to accidentally on purpose create pink Kintsugi and Mai deadpans that he has to figure out obsidian now. While some embrace the different colors, I imagine some find the toying around with the Art form disrespectful (Zuko would like to stop being interviewed about this, he has enough on his plate with his mountains of paper work and he doesn't have an answer) and others say that it's the nature of healing and art to change over time.

I know you didn't mention parents in your tags but I can't help thinking about the parents/mentors of the gaang. Gyatso, Poppy and Lao would likely not spring for any form of Kintsugi, with Gyatso having much different reasons than the other two but still arriving to the same conclusion. Ozai had every wound sealed with it up to a ridiculous degree even for royalty, until he was imprisoned and after that I doubt anyone would be sealing his wounds given he scarred their teenage Fire Lord.

Iroh probably had every wound up to Lu Ten died sealed, but would he refuse it after that? Or what about Zuko's scarring? Does he ever accept it again after he helps liberate Ba Sing Se? Or does he see his former path as a shame he has to work the rest of his life to undo? Or is it him being influenced by other nations philosophies in a different way than Zuko is. Was he offered the powder from the Sun Warriors? So many questions swirl around him.

Ursa... oh poor Ursa. Up until her forced marriage I doubt her family had the money to participate in Kintsugi, and beyond that I doubt she had any scars that were that major. After her marriage... well then comes the question of if she wanted to. Or did Ozai force her to? Did he forbid her from sealing any scars she had gotten from him (mirroring his treatment of Zuko) and only allow sealing of scars caused from other sources? Was she looked down upon for not having sealed scars in court or did it make her seem more human to lower nobles? After her banishment if she chose to keep her memories does she ever seal another scar? Or does she choose to forget and worry at the few scars that were sealed, both confused and distressed by them? Does she lie to Kiyi or not even discuss them. And what does she do when Zuko returns, both more and less like the boy she remembers (if she even remembers) than she could of guessed? Ursa is just such compelling character, I think about her all the time. She just spins in my head non stop.

Moving to Kya, while we aren't shown her as being a warrior, the fact Hakoda sealed his daughter's scar makes me think that it's not that rare for women to have silver kintsugi, especially if the scar was received in defense of their family or during a raid. The men likely have more in general just given that they're more likely to receive scars by the time canon rolls around and all the water benders are gone including a good chunk of their women warriors, if not all of them. All of that to say I think the idea of Katara and Sokka tracing a scar Kya had sealed, and then that being reflected in Katara holding her own scar close as a memory of the women in her family and their strength is just... so good.

Hakoda definitely has the silver form, but it'd be interesting if he ever ends up in a situation where he's offered another form of kintsugi after the war ends. Was Bato offered the bronze form at the Abbey (they don't seem rich, but they also seem to run a successful business enough to support their healing efforts and the Abbey's needs so it's possible they could offer a small amount)? Did the southern warriors have their own silver form among their supplies? It'd be fascinating if Bato was one of the first in the story to have mixed kintsugi with some of his wound being bronze to fill in around the gaps the silver left (given how massive his wound is I doubt they'd have enough among the southern fleet supplies). The SWT really reflect the adaptability of water and so it wouldn't surprise me if they wouldn't balk at receiving the bronze form of kintsugi given they're allied with the EK.

On that note of adaptability, the idea of Sokka presenting a tired Zuko to Hakoda and being like "Katara adopted him no take backs I guess" while motioning at his chest scar and Katara scowls him in the background, being the first thing he does upon reuniting with his dad after the war makes me crack up. Hakoda just sighs and accepts this as his life now (and he wouldn't change it no matter how tiring all three (four?) of his kids are).

-kintsugi anon

My love, you have absolutely no idea of how much this means to me. Seriously. You don't.

I love your ideas so much!

I like to think that the Sun Warriors' philosophy relies a lot on balance and duality, given the very nature of fire itself. Kintsugi being used only for very important and significant scars (perhaps even a coming of age ritual of sorts?) is such an amazing fit because celebrating bravery and honor while also respecting natural scars feels like something they'd believe in.

Kintsugi color varying depending on the dragon each scale comes from is also beautiful! Would they believe that gaining a scar from a specific dragon creates a connection between the human and the beast? That some of the dragon's power and personality will carry over to the Warrior?

Are Kintsugi scars even more precious between a bonded pair of human and dragon? Imagining Zuko sealing some of his scars with Druk's shed scales makes shivers run down my spine.

And talking about Zuko—I'm in love with the idea of the Kyoshi Warriors giving him bronze Kintsugi after a particularly nasty assassination attempt.

I think bronze Kintsugi powder/mixture is something Suki would keep near at all times, given how battle-ready and honour-bound the Kyoshi Warriors are. She'd appreciate her scars but not fret whenever she can't seal a wound with Kintsugi—the scar-sealing rage comes mostly from the Fire Nation, and Suki's too pragmatic to care about natural scarring.

As for Toph, she'd probably find Kintsugi fascinating. Much like rebelling and running away from home, Kintsugi becomes another way to escape her parents' views and hold on her life. It would be so cute if she'd insist on getting most of her wounds sealed by all kinds of Kintsugi after she meets the Gaang.

It becomes her way of bonding with them, since she loves to feel the different textures and weight of material. Other than Zuko, she's the first member of the Gaang to start collecting Kintsugi scars in all sizes, colors, and shapes.

As for Azula—what if instead of refusing Kintsugi after the Agni Kai, there's a medical reason she can't get them? Most of her injuries are internal anyway, and this impossibility of healing as she was used to (no longer beautiful, no longer perfect) could be another factor that contributes to her breakdown.

I like to think that Azula would actually be the one character who has less scars, other than Never-Have-I-Ever-Gone-Into-The-Frontlines Fire Lord Ozai. While having plenty of scars sealed with gold is a sign of status in the Fire Nation, having little to no scars just serves to flaunt her own status as a prodigy.

The Perfect Princess.

I don't think she'd ever stray from gold, even post-redemption. Instead she'd learn to accept natural scars as part of her, as something that doesn't make her broken or imperfect���just human.

Ty Lee, Mai, and Sokka figuring out how to color Kintsugi is so precious! They'd be absolutely insufferable once they make a breakthrough, baffling everyone with their multi-colored scars.

As for Iroh...oh, boy, that hurts.

Perhaps he swears off Kintsugi after Lu Ten's death, and while he accepts his mistakes and has worked to be better by the end of canon, I don't know if he'd still wish to accept Kintsugi. But, to be honest, Iroh is such a deeply complex character that any option would fit him. What do you think? What's the best choice for him?

Ozai forbidding Ursa from sealing any scar with Kintsugi is manipulative, psychologically abusive, demeaning, and absolutely something he'd do. I love that backstory for her so much because—may Agni forgive me—angst is my lifeblood.

If that's the case, then she'd probably get her first Kintsugi scar with Zuko right by her side.

But I digress.

I. LOVE. THAT. FOR. THE. WOMEN. OF. THE. SOUTH!!!

It's literally so amazing and fitting and right.

No words. Absolute perfection.

In conclusion: Bato is definitely the first character presented to us who has mixed Kintsugi, that scene with Zuko and Hakoda has now invaded my mind, and I am bowing before you in awe.

Thank you so much for the time, interest, and love!!! ❤️

[voltronisanobsession]

Heyyy can you please do Keith Kogane x a reader who is a space princess?? I love your work btw!!

Keith Falls for a Space Princess Headcanons

Thank you so much, I’m so happy you enjoy my writing!!! I hope you don’t mind that I did headcanons💔 I found this so cute bro I CANT 😭

Also I got another request similar to this one so I’ll debate if I’ll write a different scenario or not!!

Keith’s first impression of you wasn’t anything too extraordinary

Lowkey believed that you would just be another person they rescued from the Galra💀

But once finding out that you were a space princess like Allura, coming from a long line of ancient alchemists and sorcerers, it really peaks his interests

Depending on if you meet before he finds out he’s part Galra or after, that’ll start off the relationship

If we’re talking before, it would be a relatively chill introduction

Being a space princess often gathers you a lot of recognition but Keith captures your attention because of his lack of interest

While you’re used to many treating you with high respect, Keith just treats you normally, with the same tough attitude he has with everyone!

He basically treats you like a normal person, something you haven't felt in a loonnngg time💔

But if it's after he finds out he's part Galra and reveals it, then things would be REALLY tense, on your end at least...

The Galra have made you and countless others suffer for centuries, so knowing one of the paladins of Voltron, who are working to rid of the Galra Empire, is galran himself 😶

Yeah you're especially tense around Keith, untrusting toward him which bothers him for some reason

BUT MOVING ON

Of course, your own curiosity toward the boy ultimately leads you to spending more time with him

At first, he might find your lingering presence somewhat annoying since he isn't used to someone giving him all this extra attention

Always asking him questions during his training, sticking with him when out on missions

At one point, Keith gets used to your presence, a sense of normalcy falling between the two of you quickly as the weeks pass quickly

He opens himself up to you slowly, giving pieces of himself and his life to you while you do the same :D

He'll give you slivers of what his life was like on Earth while you share your own stories of life on your planet

He learns more about your culture, your duties as a princess, and even the history of your ancestors (something which you take pride in)

Because of the amount of time spent together, you guys grow close with every new mission and planet Voltron visits

And with this, this means that Keith begins to grow kinda protective of you?

LIKE LISTEN

He starts caring for you as time passes and he doesn't know exactly when things have been changing between the two of you??

He doesn't know when he began staring at you more often, he doesn't know when he began anticipating your arrival every morning, and he ESPECIALLY doesn't know when his heart began fluttering at the mere sight of you

Maybe it was the elegance that seemed to permanently stick to you after years of being in a royal court

Or maybe it was your constant nagging whenever he was around, sneaking past the walls he built around his heart

Or perhaps it was the caring hand you placed on his shoulder whenever his emotions got the best of him

He would totally go to Coran about possibly courting you because why not LMAO

Coran knows how princesses are supposed to be courted (hopefully), Keith just wants to impress you the best he can and fully believes only Coran holds the secret

So you’re just witnessing him falling over his own feet trying to approach you with uptight mannerisms while Coran watches his every move from afar

“For you my, uh, lady?” *holds out flower*

Cue Coran whispering loudly, “Good, good!”

Despite how endearing it is to see Keith try and keep up with the traditional courting, you have to reassure him that you don’t mind that he isn’t apart some royal family (he’s lowkey insecure that you might prefer someone with a similar background as you)💔💔

You like him for him, not caring for his status at all

With that, you both have a good flowing relationship, his intense personality softening with your own pleasant personality

He learns to control his emotions because of you while you learn to show more of your own because of him!!

You also show him the sort of sorcery you’re able to do, having learned from a young age to harness the power that resided into, which he finds SUPER cool and kinda confusing

He’s trying his best to understand😔

He still sometimes feels like he isn’t enough for you though so please PLEASE make sure to tell him other wise😭🙏🙏🙏

He holds you in a high regard because of your status as a princess, he makes sure to tell anyone he comes across that so they treat with respect😭😭

You’re lowkey embarrassed when he begins bragging about your heritage like bro stop😭

Yeah despite this, he still manages to not associate you with only being a space princess, but an honorary member of Voltron

He’s super soft for you I can’t😭😭

[skaldish]

Is it normal to not be satisfied in Norse Paganism? Like I do offerings and such but I feel disconnected from the gods and the religion?

Maybe it’s because I’m comparing it to Christianity too much, but there’s no thing of just praying to a god for the sake of it, to talk, there always has to be a practical purpose. And with offerings it just feels transactional to me, like I’m buying a service. I feel like I settled for it because it was the closest thing I could find to what I wanted in a religion, but I’m not really getting what I want out of it.

Should I just be content anyhow?

No, of course not! You don't have to settle for dissatisfied, especially not with something as important as your religion/spirituality.

Fortunately, Norse Paganism/Heathenry is so much more than just this strange, transactional dynamic.

Unfortunately, information about "what Heathenry is" is still very inaccessible to anyone outside of Northern Europe. If you're from the Americas like I am, my guess is that you're running into the same issue I ran into when I initially came to Heathenry: The realization that there's very little depth to the things people say are what you do to be Heathen.

The missing piece here is the cultural worldview.

Heathenry actually has no centralized orthodoxy or orthopraxy. There's no doctrines you need to follow, codes of morality you need to adopt, or practices you need to observe. There is no distinction between the sacred or profane, no dualism, no concept of blasphemy, and no concept of sin.

The notion that we need to treat the gods like lords tonserve or paragons to emulate is actually foreign to Heathenry. This mentality has its roots in ancient Roman culture, rather than originating with the Norse people.

Instead, the Norse gods are viewed more like celebrities—that is, celebrated and cherished figures. They're local spirits, folk heroes, and ancestors who organically grew popular and widespread because people liked their energy and their folklore.

Ultimately, kind of relationship you have with deities is between you and them. As in, this is something that grows organically out of your interactions with them. The relationships are built the same as ever.

To illustrate my point: I would hardly call my relationships with the gods "practical." I ask them all kinds of obnoxious questions. I ask them to teach me magic and how/why it works. I ask them to share the secrets of the universe. But most of the time, all I want is to hang out with them.

I'm more like Loki's playmate than I am his devout worshipper. We do bits, we "yes, and—," we egg each other on. I give him offerings, not because I feel like I need to, but because "sharing food with the people important to you" is a love language. He has a dedicated shrine, yes, but that's because I want him to have that space in my life.

I say all this to demonstrate that at the heart of Heathenry is the human condition. The Norse gods don't pretend otherwise.

Ask yourself what kind of relationship you would like with your deities, and approach them with that. And if you don't know? Let it flow naturally in your exchanges with them. Either way, allow yourself to have what it is you need out of your spirituality. It's yours, after all.