#there was a time when I’d reach for you regardless of circumstances

[mysecret-hideout]

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[dark-frosted-heart]

Clavis’ 4th Birthday Story (Part 3)

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this

—An incident that happened after I left to make tea at Clavis’ request.

The sounds of swords clashing rang in a corner of the large garden.

The two had been going through paperwork in the office only a short while ago, so how did they end up fighting each other with their swords drawn?

(Clavis aside, it’s rare to see King Chevalier entertain anyone)

Clavis caught King Chevalier’s swing at the right moment.

To the untrained eye, the two would look evenly matched.

Clavis: Haha, you’re stubborn. Just drop dead already.

Chevalier: I thought I’d settle this quickly, but it looks like you have some fight in you today.

(I really should stop them, but…)

I was reluctant to when I saw how Clavis was enjoying himself.

(Now that I think about it, every year on King Chevalier’s birthday, Clavis would celebrate by swinging his sword)

Chevalier doesn’t see any value in birthdays and doesn’t accept any well wishes or celebrations.

So Clavis swinging his sword every year to celebrate(?) acts as a reminder.

(Perhaps it’s reversed this time)

(Even though King Chevalier says he doesn’t celebrate…)

If their official business was actually something important, I doubt King Chevalier would drop it and draw his sword.

It’s likely that the pile of paperwork acted as a an opening to this unique present.

(I don’t know what caused this change of heart, but…Clavis must be happy)

Watching the two exchange blows didn’t feel right

(I wanted to make Clavis happier than anyone else did…and now I feel like I’m losing to King Chevalier)

(It’s a little frustrating…)

Clavis: Chevalier, I don’t have time to casually beat you up. My lovely fiancee looks like she’s jealous.

(Hm…?)

Clavis, who had been engaged in a fast-paced sword fight, took a step back and reached into his pocket.

What was quickly thrown to the ground exploded, creating a plume of smoke.

(Woah, the smoke’s coming this way!)

As I held my breath, I suddenly found myself lifted out of the smoke that clouded my vision— 

Clavis: Let’s run.

Emma: Woah, huh…why?!

Clavis carried me with ease and ran through the garden.

--

Before I could even process what was happening, we arrived at a guest room decorated just like the ones in the castle.

Clavis set me down like a gentleman and peeked down the hall.

Clavis: Haha, so he didn’t chase after me in the end. Looks like I won today.

Emma: King Clavis…what was that fight just then?

Clavis: Rebellion of course. There was no way I was going to let him take up more of my precious time on my birthday, regardless of circumstances.

Emma: Is it okay to rebel against official business?

Clavis: I verified that it could all be done tomorrow…That man took advantage of me. Ah, just thinking about it makes me angry.

(...That sour look. I wonder what they talked about while I was gone)

Clavis: You forget about that treacherous man too. In the time left, our new maid will be celebrating with me.

Emma: …

Clavis: What’s wrong?

Emma: …King Clavis, didn’t you call me your “lovely fiancee” earlier?

Clavis: Hmm…Did I?

(I’d like to think I was imagining it, but there’s no question about his demeanor)

(My surprise operation…)

I resisted the urge to collapse and removed my glasses.

Emma: How long have you known?

Clavis: Oh, so the new maid was Emma all along…!

Emma: Don’t pretend to be surprised.

Clavis: Haha, don’t pout.

As if to console me, Clavis hugged me around the shoulders and kissed my forehead.

Clavis: I love you, so how could I not have noticed? I’m confident that I can see through any of your disguises.

(Now that I think about it, he even recognized me while I was dressed as a man some birthdays ago)

(He knew from the very beginning but pretend he didn’t to not let me down)

(My heart’s a mess from both happiness and frustration)

Emma: I guess I still need to practice more if I want to surprise you.

Clavis: Yes, that’s right. But your aim wasn’t to surprise me, was it? My lovely fiancee, whom I didn’t think I’d be able to see on my birthday, appeared before my eyes and stayed by my side the entire time. Furthermore, she showed just how much she loved me when she saw through and stopped all my pranks. Is there a man out there that wouldn’t feel over the moon by this? I doubt it. I had another wonderful birthday this year. There were some complications, but you made up for them. 

When I looked up, Clavis’ smile melted my heart.

(That’s the face I wanted to see)

It was one different from the joy he expressed while with King Chevalier.

Only I got to see Clavis look this relaxed.

(...My surprise failed, but getting to see this kind of happiness on your face made it all worth it)

My frustration vanished instantly, leaving only happiness in my heart.

Emma: It’s still too early to feel satisfied. The real thing’s just beginning. 

Clavis: Haha, is that so?

Those alluring golden eyes made my heart skip a beat as he held my gaze.

I couldn’t help but kiss him when I saw the look of love on his face.

When I stole a kiss, fingers curled around the back of my neck, fanning the flames.

(...I was thinking about getting the cake I prepared for him…)

Clavis sealed my lips with his and slowly shed the gentlemanly facade.

Every touch sent heat down to my core, snatching away any confidence I had to leave this room.

(Rather than cake right now…)

I also placed my hand on the back of his neck and desperately tried to take in all the love given to me.

Emma: Apologies to King Chevalier, but…I want to spend the rest of the time with you. I’ll celebrate you for as long as we can, Clavis.

Clavis: Yes, of course. But I have one complaint…

He gently pushed me down on the bed and lifted the hem of my maid skirt.

Clavis: This skirt’s a bit too long for my birthday, don’t you think?

Emma: ……You pervert.

(Wait, no. It’s his birthday today. It’s his birthday)

When I shook my head and lifted my skirt, Clavis smiled as if he was about to burst into laughter—

Clavis: I’m a man who likes to be celebrated, so I’ll let you celebrate as much as you want.

—Eventually I was able to leave the room just as the morning sun began to light up the world.

I prepared the tea and birthday cake while savoring the happiness from the sensation of my body still feeling flushed.

But Clavis, with an elbow propped on a pillow and dreamy expression on his face, didn’t even try to get up.

Emma: Don’t you want to eat?

Clavis: Of course I do. But the problem is that I don’t feel like getting out of bed today. Oh dear, what a problem indeed. I could eat if my kind-hearted, lovely fiancee would feed me.

Emma: ……

Clavis: Every year I look forward to being wrapped in your love. Can you at least do this for the birthday boy?

Emma: …Just for today, okay?

(I have no choice but to respond when he’s looking at me expectantly)

(But I can’t bring myself to look at Clavis when he looks so charming after just waking up)

He’s normally fully dressed by the time I’ve woken up, so it’s rare to see him with just his shirt.

I turned away from Clavis, who still had the traces of last night surrounding him, and carefully placed the tray with the birthday set on the bed.

While I sliced the rainbow cake with the fork and brought a piece to his mouth, eyes down, I felt a strange sensation on my leg. 

Emma: W-what are you doing?

Clavis: Oh, would you like me to explain in detail? Sure. I saw your exposed legs, so I thought you were offering— 

Emma: Hurry up and eat your cake, happy birthday!

Sensing a hint of pleasure, I shoved the cake against his lips, but his hand didn’t leave my leg. Instead, he began to tickle the back of my knee in a lewd way.

Emma: Nn…

Clavis: Haha, that was a sweet sound.

Emma: The cake’s about to fall off.

Clavis: We can’t have that. I don’t want to miss a single piece from a cake you made. Come on now. If you keep looking away, it’ll really fall. 

(Ah, that’s why he’s playing a prank…)

Determined to overcome his sex charm, I met his gaze.

I had to steel myself so my hands wouldn’t shake when met with such overwhelming charm, but Clavis looked satisfied.

Clavis: You really know how to please me, don’t you?

Emma: Do I?

Clavis: Yes. I present you with the honor of Lelouch Master. A title only you could earn.

Emma: That… Might make me feel a little happy.

Clavis: Don’t feel so modest. You’re “very happy” aren’t you?

(Geez…)

I felt so embarrassed that I unconsciously tried to look elsewhere, but a finger on my knee started acting mischievous again, as if to reprimand me.

Clavis: Keep your eyes on me, Miss Accomplice. After all, everything I do is out of love for you, isn’t it? Not just now, but everything else up to this point.

(“Accomplice” instead of “fiancee”...There was something implied there)

(Why accomplice all of a sudden…)

(...Ah)

Emma: Clavis, it can’t be that…all the pranks played on King Chevalier…they were— 

Clavis: As expected of the Lelouch Master. You’re pretty sharp.

(I see…those pranks weren’t for King Chevalier)

(Maybe they were evil deeds done out of love so that he could watch me flounder about)

(Which means I was unknowingly an accomplice to Clavis’ evil)

Emma: You played me.

Clavis: Haha, you still have ways to go. After Master, you should aim for Legend.

Emma: Of course, I’ll get promoted right away. I’ll reach Legend next year.

Clavis: Oh, that’s a lot of confidence.

Emma: So, um…that means I want to understand you even better than before!

(No one loves Clavis more than I do)

Feeling more embarrassed, I shoved the cake in his mouth and kissed his cheek.

I’m sure my face was bright red while Clavis smiled at me in delight.

Clavis: Now then, let’s see what your future holds. Can you love me even more, Emma?

[silverflqmes]

໒⦂ 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐂𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐍.

synopsis. even when all is lost, withering or crumbling away into dust, the unwilling bond tugging them to one another, again and again, remains unyielding.

genre. angst

tw. violence, kinda manipulation but like- he’s right..

disclaimer. there were no suitable sefikura gifs so i made one myself. if you use it, don’t be an ass, credit.

sephiroth x cloud strife. ( could be seen as platonic too )

the blond’s shoulders shook with exhaustion, hands blistering beneath his worn out gloves as his breaths came out shallow — uneven. as though the very oxygen he breathed had been stripped from his lungs amidst the clashing of steel against steel.

meanwhile the man across from him, stood with an eerie, but predictable calm, bangs flowing in the frigid breeze as his fingers curled around the hilt of his blade, ready.

it was just like last time, and the time before that.. and the time before that. every fight was near identical; same beginning with an ending that was equally the same. the only thing different was the words exchanged.

cloud, however, had grown tired of repetition.

the buster sword, trembling in his grasp, finally sunk into the earth, or whatever remained of it, as the former SOLDIER held himself up with a shaky breath.

sephiroth, mildly confused, though it had not reached his features, lowered masamune to his side, curiosity flashing in his feline-like eyes. “giving up so soon.. cloud? that was the last thing i’d expected, certainly out of you.” came his quiet comment, a hum following. “are you reconsidering my offer, perhaps?”

his offer.. the blond remembered it clearly, it echoed continuously in his head, like a mantra, since it left his curled lips.

“cloud, lend me your strength..” the one winged angel had stated mere moments ago, outstretching his leather covered palm. “let us defy destiny.. together.”

on their previous encounters, the mercenary would have yelled before gathering himself for the end of the battle, once more to prove his nemesis wrong. but the fire in him, whatever continued to burn, at last, faded from dying embers to evaporating wisps of smoke. much like the ones that surrounded the horrifyingly beautiful swordsman standing inches away from him.

with all lost or on the verge of being lost, how was he expected to go on? to continue this life long war without end? a battle could be won and lost, but a war persisted and called for more battles without prevail.

such was this so-called destiny sephiroth wished for them to defy.

but the former infantryman was no fool. at least, he believed he wasn’t.

“i don’t.. need your comments, offers or pity, s-sephi.. roth..” cloud heaved out, shaking his head weakly, attempting to remove his weight from the broadsword he’d been leaning on. “let’s just f-finish this.. once and for all.”

except, even he knew it wouldn’t be once and for all. it never was.

the cherished and famed war hero of shinra always, always, no matter the circumstances, odds or how many times the buster sword was cleaved clean through him.. he never failed to return. like a cat with nine lives, he stayed true to those eyes of his.

cloud had lost nearly every person he held dear to his wounded heart — had almost all of them taken away from him while he simply stood by and watched. too late to have made even the slightest difference to prevent the cruel outcomes that befell his loved ones.

the only one that seemed to persist, despite it all.. was sephiroth, he realized.

whether as a taunt or a bitter reminder of his failures at ending him for good — maybe even both, the self proclaimed ruler of the planet came back time and time again to prove the mercenary wrong. regardless of how deep of a slash he’d put through him using his departed friend’s weapon.

sadly, it was the bitter reality cloud lived. who was to say his silver haired nemesis would not return a third time? perhaps even a fourth, fifth or sixth- maybe even a hundredth.

nonchalance seemed to flicker in those mako colored irises, lips curling into what could be perceived as a smirk, albeit feint. “i thought i would mention, as you seem more withdrawn than the previous battles we shared.” he stated lightly, drawing his hilt back into his signature stance. “i would not want to fight you if your heart was not wholly, and irrevocably in it, cloud.”

the spiky haired male narrowed his eyes, vision slightly blurred from his fatigue and confusion. “why.. should my condition matter to you? am i not allowed to be tired of whatever this is- of constantly having to reenact this fight??” he retaliated in a low hiss, wincing as he forced the weapon into a defensive hold.

“i never stated you were not allowed to feel burnt out from our repetitive battles.” the older spoke up softly, a contrasting gentleness to his cold blooded nature — the one that was seared into him. “in fact, i have given you a way out of this fate that we share, where our reunions end with our blades locked.” he added shortly after, chuckling quietly, albeit devoid of humor. “it is often always you, cloud, who turns to fighting, anyway, is it not?”

the boy in question felt his heart in his throat, pupils dilating just slightly before he gritted his teeth. he would not dare fall for the words he spoke again — would not allow himself to see sephiroth as anything short of a villain. it was just so like him to say, anyway, twisting his actions to make him feel remorse.

tightening his grasp on the broadsword he held, cloud took a staggered step towards the taller. “don’t you dare give me that shit, you have ruined everything for me!” he shouted back, a bubbling rage surfacing in him the more he eyed the man across from him. “you’re insane to think i would believe a word you say! i know better than to trust someone who wouldn’t think twice about destroying and redesigning me into his own fucked up image!”

how could he not do that? all the things sephiroth said and expressed — it had all amounted to harnessing the sorrow, agony, hatred.. and that burning rage born from the town — his home, that had been scorched to ash and rebuilt as though it had never happened.

all for the purpose of pushing cloud to the very edge of despair, to pull him in deeper into the cold, dark waters. far away from the surface- from any source of warmth or light that wasn’t the flames on that fateful evening.. and into his everything.

a solemn smile seemed to replace the faltering smirk sephiroth sported as he let out another hum. “i am many things, cloud, but a liar.. is not one of them.” he answered lowly, eyes darkening. “you were rejected from SOLDIER five years ago due to sensitivity to mako. you were weak, incompetent and would have likely died on the field, had you been enlisted as you were.”

the younger of the two seemed to blink as he gripped his claymore tighter, glowering at the male he once idolized. if only that boy knew what his hero would become. “s-stop talking.” it came out stuttered, quieter, than he wished for it to. “you don’t know anything about me.”

“oh but i do, cloud.” he continued, anyway, stalking towards him. “i know everything there is to know. the things you cannot remember, the things you choose not to remember.. even things you do not know about yourself.” the teal eyed male went on, returning his sword to his side. “your strength now is more than it was that day in nibelheim. five years soaking in mako, injected with my cells has made you my equal.” he muttered, watching as the sapphire eyed mercenary trembled not in fear.. but in a nurtured, channeled fury.

it pleased sephiroth greatly, like an artist gazing upon his greatest work, as he appeared behind the blond mercenary, faster than any lightning materia could strike.

while the last of the strife family was still processing his position, the long haired male leaned in closely, curling his lips in a mild amusement. “my will and every desire, as well as my aspirations.. they run through your veins and call out to me- yearn to be one with me. you cannot resist the pull of the reunion, that undeniable need to find the one that tugs your strings.” he whispered into his ear, silver locks spilling over his battered shoulder armor. “what would you be without me, if not a weak, dejected infantryman with crushed dreams in becoming a SOLDIER?”

cloud stood there, frozen in his place despite the mixture of feelings he felt and had planned to pour into every slash he would deliver this time on his adversary.

what would he have been, truly, if not for sephiroth? if not for the horrors he had been through to get to this point?

his head lowered in shame, breaths coming out uneven at the realization as the buster sword dropped from his grasp. “i-i’m not.. i refuse to be any of what you say..”

“oh, but you were, cloud. no matter how many ways you paint the story in your head, however narrative you use to retell it.. your origins are embedded in you, unchanging.. as are my own.” the swordsman clad in leather spoke, placing a hand on his bare, quivering shoulder. “fret not, cloud, for you have gained strength in your suffering, have you not?” he mused out, feeling the other tense beneath his touch.

he had grown and gotten more powerful, yes..

“but i lost everything.” he whispered in a voice so broken from it all, unlike the harsh one that he’d been using as he felt his eyes gloss over with tears; ones that dared not leak in his wake.

..though at what cost?

sephiroth seemed to hum at the crack in whatever stability remained in cloud’s tone, smoothing a hand over his arm, soothingly. “that is the price of strength, cloud. do you think i became the way i am by design?”

other than the propaganda that painted his old role model and the version he came to know now, the spiky haired merc.. knew near nothing of him.

the taller took his silence as a sign to proceed, placing the back of the other’s hand into his palm. “my childhood was spent in a laboratory. those who raised me, the researchers of shinra.. were not pleased with how i was born- what i was born with. they wished for more, to construct and remodel me into that which i am today.” he explained, feeling the blond go completely still.

a mere breath away from his ear, sephiroth parted his lips again to finish. “the famed war hero which you idolized in your youth.. was in reality, a perfectly crafted monster all along, dressed under the guise of an angelic-like grace.”

the one winged angel.

cloud knew shinra wasn’t anything short of sick, having experimented on him as well as many others.. but to this extent?

“unlike you, however, i did not wish for this strength or for anything that was injected, slipped, disciplined or instilled into me.” he finished calmly, no longer fazed by what shattered him, so long ago now. “i did not ask for this destiny, either.. to have to die at your hands repeatedly and be rejected each time by the lifestream. but alas, i have been chosen for this, and to guide you, cloud, as my other half, whenever you lose your way.” the silver haired male finished, raising his free hand to wipe his fresh tears. “so whenever you lose your reason and purpose, i will always be here to gift you a new one. weep not, cloud, for this dynamic is what binds us together.”

he was sure he’d heard something like that somewhere before, and not long ago.

“that which binds us together would be no more.” cloud recalled hearing him say, after the detonation of mako reactor one, amidst the fiery destruction, and his fragile state of mind. “and i would be loath to live in such a world.”

sephiroth had said that about the planet’s annihilation — a result of shinra’s carelessness and abuse of mako as an energy source.

his intentions were in regards to saving the world, but his methods — his vision.. it was flawed- fogged by his resentment for what everyone had done to him.

the self proclaimed first class SOLDIER wondered, would he, too, have reached that point — sephiroth’s point — had he not directed his drive and deplorable feelings into putting an end to him?

his head lowered in shame as he felt his breath catch in his throat. “if i knew strength would mean hurting — bringing death to everyone around me, then i would have never wanted it to begin with.” cloud willed himself to answer, flashes of his most cherished ones appearing in his mind. his mother, zack.. the late avalanche members..

he couldn’t keep doing this. his promise to tifa could barely be kept as it was. how could he be certain she would not be next? or even aerith, now?

sephiroth brought his chin to his shoulder, closing whatever proximity remained between their bodies as he lifted his chin up with his thumb. “it is not too late, cloud, to defy the destiny that has been written out against our will and knowing.” he encouraged in a gentle tone, resting his thumb so close to the corner of the merc’s bottom lip. “your beloved friends could be safe, the suffering would cease and we would stop our never ending fights. all you have to do, is lend your strength to me.. as the only one on this caving world who has endured similar suffering to your own and understands it best.”

ocean hues flashed like those of a deer in headlights, an involuntary shiver dancing down his spine.

to give into sephiroth..? the one thing he had been avoiding, suppressing himself- that part of him from doing.

and yet..

“what.. would i have to do?” cloud asked before he could stop himself from his curiosity, to which the former hero smiled.

“don’t worry, it’s a simple thing.” he assured, stepping around the other to be at his side as he slid his hand into his before gazing up at the sky. “you have gone against me time and time again, to which the cycle of us fighting has reiterated.” the one winged angel stated, trailing his slitted eyes down to the spiky haired hero beside him. “that leaves us with one method not yet attempted.”

partnership.

“what will it be,” sephiroth asked, squeezing his hand. “cloud?”

the former SOLDIER- no, infantryman, gazed down upon their intertwined hands, which he somehow did not reject as he let his words sink.

what would it be, indeed..

his lips pulled tightly together, and finally, he lifted his eyes to meet those of his greatest foe- who waited patiently, calmly, for his response.

one thing was for certain, cloud wouldn’t be able to stop himself from whatever left his lips in that moment.

cloud could only hope the right choice spilled passed his tainted appendages.

notes. the way i die off and come back to write the most fucked up shit ever.. anyways they have had me on a bad chokehold for DAYS. literally i am not ok. who let square make them this fucked up.. regardless, this is different from what i post- i don’t typically do ship writing any longer, so i hope it was decent!

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[hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform]

Kinktober 2023 Day Six

Love Bites

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

Soap linked his fingers together around Ghost’s neck, the skin warm under his palms as he tried to pull Simon even closer to him. Ghost grunted into the kiss, a warning as Soap toyed with the mask, riled up on the back of Ghost’s head from where he’d pushed it over his nose so that he and Soap could mash their mouths against each other’s. Soap held on tight to Ghost’s neck as Ghost pawed frustratedly at his gear, wanting access to more of Soap’s skin, which was sealed away inside the tactical suit. 

Ghost’s kisses were leaving Soap breathless, his knees weakening as Ghost used every part of his body to cage Soap against the wall. Soap was desperate for more, chasing Ghost for his kisses, his own need to breathe be damned. 

Soap couldn’t get enough of Ghost. He would take everything Ghost would give him. He’d told him that so many times; so why was Ghost catching himself, pulling away from Soap a moment too soon, yet again?

“Ghost…” Soap’s voice rasped. 

So did Ghost’s, “shut the fuck up, Johnny. Don’t start that shit again, not now. We don’t have the time.”

“Bullshit, we do.” 

“It’s fucking weird, Soap. Just… leave it.” 

“What is? That I want to know why my boyfriend suddenly stops kissing me?” Soap braced his legs against the floor, pushing himself up as tall as he could, under the circumstances. 

“The thing… the thing that I stop myself doing is weird.” 

“Says you.”

“Because it is weird, that’s not up for debate.” 

“I like weird.” 

“No, you don’t.”

“I like you, Simon…” Johnny pressed himself close to Ghost, “is that not proof enough?”

“You’re a wanker.” 

“So are you. Now, what’s up?”

“No. You’ll fucking hate it, and think I’m weird, and we won’t be able to keep doing this.”

“Tell me, or we won’t keep doing this, regardless.”

Ghost drew in a sharp breath, his lips parted as he stared down at Soap.

“You walked into that one, Si. Now, talk to me.”

Ghost’s tongue darted out between his lips, catching on his teeth before he dropped his head down so far that Soap couldn’t see his eyes. 

“I like… biting. Stuff. Not hard, like I’d hurt you, or anything. Just… enough to feel something between my teeth…” He shook his head, his grip loosening on Soap. “And now I sound like a fucking serial killer.”

“Biting’s not that weird, Si.” 

“Yes it is.” Ghost twisted his head to the side as Soap tried to cup his chin.

“Nothing wrong with having an oral fixation. Or marking things that belong to you.”

Ghost snorted lightly. “Shut up.”

“Nah. Bite me.” Soap managed to grab Ghost’s chin, and pushed his head up. “Go on.”

Ghost parted his lips, his tongue held between his teeth, eyes fixed on Soap’s lips. “You sure?”

“If I have to tell you again…” 

“Fucking hell, I get it.” Ghost muttered, pulling the mask off entirely before grabbing Soap’s face to hold him still so Ghost could get Soap’s bottom between his teeth, gently nipping at it. When Soap didn’t protest, he went back in, tugging on it, and again, harder, before letting it go and kissing him.

“Better?”

“... Want more.” 

“Do we have time for more?”

“Some of us can keep it in our pants, Soap.” Ghost ground his hips forward against Soap’s, the tight suits doing nothing for Soap’s erection. “Just from that? You’re easy.”

Soap shoved his hips right back. “You do it to me.”

“You asked.”

“You want more.”

“Yes, I do.” Ghost pulled Soap’s head forward, shoving his face into Ghost’s shoulder as Ghost reached around his head to undo the neck of Soap’s tactical gear. He pulled it down to find the skin between Soap’s shoulder and neck, running his lips over it before widening his jaw and biting down. 

Soap whined, still pushing his body against Ghost as he took a hold of Soap’s chin and tilted his head to the side, giving Ghost better access to his skin as he looked for a new place to bite, rolling his tongue against the skin both before and after to soothe him. 

Soap was rutting against Ghost’s thigh, apparently so desperately turned on by being fucking bitten, that Ghost felt stupid that he’d ever hesitated to tell him. He stroked the side of Soap’s face, too fixed on leaving marks that would bruise on Soap’s skin to stop and talk Soap through what he was doing. Soap would just have to make do with Ghost’s leg, which was wedged firmly between Soap’s own, allowing him to take care of himself, which he was doing, as he had started clutching Ghost’s shoulders. 

Soap’s neck was so damn biteable. Fucking hell, there he was being weird again. Ghost cupped Soap’s head again, rolling it over to the other side, Soap’s eyes fluttering closed as he struggled to maintain his rhythm on Ghost’s thigh, especially when Ghost bit down on the other side of his neck. Ghost stayed there, holding Soap close to him in every way possible, until half a second later as Soap’s body seized under him. Ghost let go of him, startled as Soap shoved his own hand over his mouth to hide his groans. He might have been able to do that, but he couldn’t hide that he’d just cum in his pants. 

Ghost chuckled, leaning down to nibble on Soap’s fingertips as Soap rode it out, gladly taking the fingers inside his mouth when Soap pushed them in as he relaxed. 

“Fucking hell, you look good sucking on my…”

Ghost carefully bit down on Soap’s fingers for a second, a warning as he met Soap’s eyes. 

“Not going to be visible. The marks.”

“They will be tomorrow. Unless you plan on wearing this for the rest of your life.” Ghost pushed Soap’s fingers out of his mouth with his tongue, stepping away from Soap as he pulled the mask back on. 

“Keep that up and I just might.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Johnny.” 

[the-heart-of-a-monster]

hi hello i haven’t played sonic unleashed but i watched gameplay years and years ago but its been a minute so bear with me here

so i stayed up all night reading through this entire comic in one sitting and i absolutely adore the way you showed the panel borders distorting and even becoming monstrous themselves as Shadow reaches his breaking point (which is symbolically shown through the icy walls fracturing around them during his and Sonic’s argument leading up to the fight) and the way the influence of Dark Gaia becomes more prominent as purple flames to emanate from him, growing more and more vivid

and then the rising action reaches a fever pitch when Sonic says he has no heart and we see Shadow finally reach his breaking point when the borders of the panel shatter around him

and while he processes this the borders soften (although not entirely) and we see Sonic realize the mistake he made and his regret, but it’s already too late because we can see the color red slowly start to overtake the borders as Shadow is overcome with rage

and we can see the red borders turn to pink and the glimpses of pink in Shadow’s text bubbles take over completely as the force that’s corrupting him takes control of him in this vulnerable state

it tries falteringly to communicate with Sonic, a desperate plea for him to fix what was broken and to make Gaia whole again

in this moment Dark Gaia as an entity is effectively lashing out and it latches onto Shadow’s rage here especially because that’s something it can empathize with, or at the very least something it recognizes given its own circumstances. Dark Gaia seems to understand (at least within the constraints of its limitations as one part of a whole) that it is fundamentally broken and in order to make that right it wants to be “fixed” but it doesn’t know how and it can’t really do that on its own

I don’t know if Dark Gaia even knows that it can’t mend itself by itself and if its just sort of reacting to the cosmic existential horror that is being split into two separate entities (i’d be cranky too if that happened to me regardless of whether or not i was some sort of ancient deity)

but then in a pivotal moment, Sonic reaches out to Shadow, to Dark Gaia, and the borders straighten out once more. They’re still pink mind you, but Sonic has managed to ground Shadow/Dark Gaia or at least shock him long enough to absorb the darkness within.

Sonic promises that the lies stop here and that he and Shadow/Dark Gaia are going to make this right together and in an eruption of purple flames, we cut to Shadow’s time on the ARK.

It’s a brilliant transition and the pay off for this moment is amazing as it was set up spectacularly via foreshadowing (ha get it) in earlier issues of the comic.

The technical aspects of the comic continue to blow me away during this sequence as we as readers are able to measure the passage of time through the timestamps in the upper righthand corner of each panel.

We see Shadow’s turbulent upbringing and the unrelenting kindness that Maria showed him. We see how his unpredictable powers affected his life aboard the ARK and how his struggles mirror the ones Sonic has been grappling with throughout the comic.

We even see Shadow start to embrace his own innate capacity for violence at one point and not in a good way. After months of testing, covered in blood, Shadow calls himself a monster and to the reader (and perhaps even Shadow himself given the abstract nature of the background in this panel) At this point it’s not immediately clear exactly what he’s done, but the blood is a pretty good indicator that it can’t be good.

Finally, reality sinks in when someone begins to shout and Shadow sees the look on Maria’s face. As members of G.U.N. close in on him with their arms outstretched to seize him, Shadow’s body language (particularly his ears and his face) tell us that Shadow is horrified by what he’s become and so he runs.

Maria calls after him, desperately trying to quell his fears and I love the framing of Maria in the next page and how she stands in the doorway, surrounded by light while Shadow is hunched over in the darkness, staring at the hands that he used to take away the lives of those soldiers.

Shadow is crying when Maria approaches him and places a hand on his shoulder. The light and the dark meet and with tears in her eyes, Maria utters the very same words that were spoken earlier in the comic when Shadow comforted Sonic (well not the very same because they’re speaking german here but i digress)

Color returns to the pages anew and just like Sonic, we see Maria in a brand new light both symbolically and literally. All of this happens before the purple flames we saw earlier can even dissipate and when they do we see him holding Shadow, cradling the ultimate lifeform to his chest.

As we return to the present, the background gradually returns, fading in from swathes of blue. Sonic expresses his remorse for his blatant misunderstanding of Shadow’s character, crying as he holds him close.

With Shadow in his arms, Sonic restores the chaos emerald and through the chaos emerald we’re able to catch a glimpse of Sonic’s daytime form shining through and we see that at the end of the day, he’s still Sonic the Hedgehog in spite of all these changes as he and Shadow exchange a friendly glance and the scene ends.

Have I mentioned how much I love this comic? I literally cannot stop talking about this comic. The fact that you’ve been working on it for 6 years is just incredible. Thank you so much for all your hard work. I love what you’ve done with the story. This is one of my all time favorite fan works and I will never shut up about it.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading my hastily made analysis on issue 7. I love your work. I don’t really know how to end this so yeah *fucking dies*

this is so wonderfully said thank you so much augh im so happy people appreciate the complex subtext i put into my art ♥

also man. that really happened issue 7 huh. time flies. i remember drwing that scene like it was yesterday

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Mother Mary | The Joys And Fears Of Motherhood | Platonic [Male Reader]

Dialogue prompt: "You did a good job with Him."

When Mary is uncertain whether she has been a good mother to her Son, you reassure her of her worth.

Requested by J Bart

The Mount of Olives is one of Mary’s favourite spots to retreat to nowadays. Although not present herself at the time of her Son’s ascension, she finds solace in standing here, gazing up at the sky with the knowledge that He will return one day, and that she is favoured by God Himself. The burden of being the mother of the Son of God was — and still is, in some way — heavy. Mary never truly understood the true meaning of Jesus’ ministry, the full picture of what had to happen, until the moment was there that He gave the Spirit and the days afterwards. Now that He has returned to heaven to sit at His Father’s right hand, she misses Him like a mother would miss her child under any other circumstance. Son of God or not, He had still been her boy, the One she birthed and raised, and somewhere deep down inside her heart, He would always be that, regardless of divinity.

Jesus had instructed John to take in Mary as if she were his own mother, and the son of Thunder hadn’t hesitated to take on his Master’s command. Whereas John the Beloved had become her son to look after her, she liked spending time with the rest of His followers, too, you included. “Will you walk with me?” she had asked you this morning on the threshold of your home. You hadn’t hesitated to join her on one of her routine walks to the place she liked to visit so much.

You’re carrying a bag containing lunch and water skins, not wanting to encumber Mary with the heavy items as you walk up the mount where Jesus had been taken into heaven. She’s walking next to you with that particular kind smile she usually wears. Even for a woman who suffered so much through the afflictions of her son, knowing she would lose Him one day, she remains strong and positive in the face of hardship. From your mother, you had learnt that parenthood was difficult in and of itself, so you’d reckon that being the mother of the Messiah would be even heavier to digest. 

Everything about this woman is admirable. You’d only be so lucky to have an ounce of her resilience. From what you have learnt over the past years of travelling at Jesus’ side, you know that these words are better to be said out loud to the person in question. Perhaps you’ll find a good moment to tell her.

The two of you veer off the beaten path and find the field where the Disciples had told you Jesus had ascended into heaven. Neither you nor Mary had borne witness to this event, but knowing that this was the place where it had happened brings some solace into your heart. Not that it would ultimately matter, for no place on Earth is as holy as the Son of Man Himself and the last thing you want is for the soil He stood on to become an idol in and of itself, but still you find peace in knowing His promise of return. Be it in a few months, years, perhaps even centuries. Another valuable lesson you have taken away is that God’s definition of ‘soon’ is not only variable, but also very different from what mortal men may consider ‘soon’. 

The sun is at its highest point and shines down on you with a ferocity that has you squint against the bright blue sky. Mary narrows her gaze a bit as she looks up, folding her hands on her back as she deeply inhales. “Thank you for coming with me, son.” she muses. 

“Of course.” you reply, “I like spending time with you. Makes me feel like I still have an eema in some way, even though John is like your son, now.” Mary gives you a gentle look as you mention your late mother. 

“Ah, I’d be happy to fill that role in some way, if only in listening to you.” 

“Just your presence and kind words are enough, really.” you admit. 

“Well, I’m glad to. And in a way, I feel a little like the mother of all of you.” 

Lightly chuckling, you reach into your bag to offer her a drink of water. She accepts it and takes a long swig from the waterskin. Something flashes inside her gaze, her eyes turning to the clouds, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips as she takes another thoughtful sip.

She hands it back to you. 

“You must miss Him a lot.” 

Mary hums. “You have no idea.” There is a certain edge in her voice you’ve rarely heard on her. You put an arm around her, giving her a side-hug, which she reciprocates fondly.

“Some days are easier than others.” Mother Mary remains positive. “And there is no other woman who can say she gave birth to the Son of God.” 

“Changed His nappies, too.” 

Mary laughs at that a bit. “Son of God, yet fully human.” 

“Fully human indeed. I recall the stories you used to tell us around the fire. I’ve never seen Nathanael so horrified.” 

She laughs and rests a hand on her cheek as she sighs, turning her gaze to the sky again, almost as if she is expecting for her Son to come back for a few minutes just for her. “I know that I am greatly blessed.”

“You are. And I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we greatly admire you.”

Mary lets out a high pitched hum and gives you a gentle smile. “Hm. That’s very sweet of you to say, (Y/n). But you’re giving me too much credit. It is Jesus Who deserves all the praise.”

You sigh at her humble nature.

“Don’t be hard on yourself.” 

A brief silence. The soft look falls from her features and makes place for a frown instead as she stares at the grass below for a moment. “Sometimes… I just feel like I could have done better.” Mother Mary confesses, “I know I’m not perfect, no one is except Jesus Himself, but… Well, being His mother has added so much extra weight to my task.”

“I have yet to meet a mother who is perfect.” you say. “I know many mothers. I knew the eema of Peter and Andrew. She wasn’t perfect. And Salome, do you think she’s perfect? No, not even closely. My own eema, may she rest in peace, was full of flaws, too. Did I love her any less because of it? Of course not. Do James and John hold it against their mother that she sometimes runs her mouth? They love her just as much. Peter and Andrew only talk positively about their late eema.” 

Mary listens to your words, her uncertainty melting away. “You did a good job with Him. You brought Him up well. You have taken care of Him through it all, remained patient with Him, taught Him how to traverse life like the rest of us. And in the end — although this is not the end — He is right where He should be. He has done what He had been sent to do in the first place, done the will of the Father.” 

She mulls over your words for a moment, weighing their worth whilst digesting their truth. You were correct; Every choice she has ever made in her life regarding her Son has led to this very reality. And along the way, she has made it easier for Him. Mary remained a source of motherly comfort wherever she could, and maybe, just maybe, the thought of her has helped him reach Him the cross, too. After all, Jesus died and rose not for those who don’t know Him, but also to those closest to Him — even His own mother was in need of salvation after all, as she had sung in her joyous melody upon visiting her late aunt Elizabeth. 

Both of you cast your gazes upwards towards the skies as one being, where you knew Jesus had ascended into heaven to be with the Father, to return at a moment and time no one knew. It could be ten years, a hundred, a thousand. You have learnt during your time with Jesus, the meaning of soon can be different depending on the context as well as on the person in question uttering the term — patient or impatient, human or divine — and keeping that in mind you are well aware that in this lifetime, you might not see Him anymore, but beyond that. And what is this moment, this very life, compared to eternity itself?

Mary lets out a shivering sigh, a solemn edge to the sound. “I miss Him.” 

“I’m sure He misses you, too. Mary, you’ve been the best eema you could have been. You have completed an honourable task and I’m certain you will be elevated about it for ages to come. God sees your heart, knows your thoughts, your struggles. And He knows you did well. You did all you could, and you’ve done so splendidly.” 

A cloud drifts in front of the sun, casting a shadow over the two of you. It brings forth a cooler breeze. “I brought date cakes.” Mary says, referring to the paper-wrapped package she had given to you earlier to put inside the bag. “They’re likely melting away.” 

“Oh, they’ve got honey in them?” 

She nods and smiles, causing your stomach to involuntarily rumble. “You don’t need to tell me twice. Let’s sit for a while.” 

The sugary date cakes stick to your fingers as Mary hands you one. You thank her, saying a quick prayer over it before you dig in. The treat melts on your tongue and you hum. “These were one of Jesus’ favourite foods when He was a child.” Mary tells you, causing your interest to pique. 

“Really?” 

“Mh-mm. I was very surprised when He first tried them and immediately asked for more, seeing that He had a very strong dislike towards raisins.” 

“Raisins? Really? How come I’ve never known this? We had— Jesus sometimes ate raisins while on the road.” You snort a laugh. “I’m very confused right now.” 

Mary laughs and licks some honey from her lips before swallowing her bite of food. “Hm… I know that Jesus didn’t complain about any food while travelling. He knew it was scarce and if He had to eat it, of course He would do so without whimpering about it. But whenever I gave Him the choice between cakes with or without raisins, He always chose the latter. I won’t say that Jesus refused to eat them, I’m just trying to say that… He had preferences.” 

“As we all do.” you muse at the lighthearted story about Mary’s experiences with raising the Son of God. “Fully divine, yet fully human.” 

“Before He rose again, yes.” Mary sighs, smiling as she finishes the rest of her sweet treat. You take another bite of yours and observe the older woman as she rinses the stickiness from her hands with a bit of water. “Now, He has returned to His Father in full glory.” 

The clouds leave the sun alone again, drifting away to allow warm rays to cast over your faces. Mary closes her eyes, basking in it.

“I can’t wait to see Him again.” you confess suddenly. “And until then, we will praise Him. And spread the Word of God, as He commanded us to do. To go to the ends of the Earth to make it known.” 

Mary lets out a pleasant sound before turning to you again. “I wish I could still do more, but these old bones…” 

You give a small shake of your head, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“You have done enough. You have been working so hard for more than thirty years. I think it’s high time that you’ve earned your rest. Just be a witness of Him however you can. The students, all the believers, we will answer to our own calling. Take it easy, okay? You feel things as much as any other mother does, grief and wistfulness, and there is nothing wrong with that. Allow yourself time, and the rest will sort itself out, as long as we focus on Him.” 

You gesture at the sky, a movement that Mary follows with her eyes before she looks at you again. 

“You have wise words in you, (Y/n). I am certain that God will use you for His glory.”

A soft smile tugs at your lips. “I’m sure of it, too. Now, I was wondering…” Her eyes widen a bit as you lean closer to her, your smile turning into a grin. “Do you have any more of these lovely date cakes?” 

Mary laughs lightly and pats your shoulder, reaching for the package again. “Of course. You boys are always so hungry for seconds.” 

Gratefully, you dig into a second piece of cake as she fondly watches you enjoy the sweet treat. Mary knew she had to bring enough of it. It is a part of her motherly instinct that she will never quite lose, no matter how much time passes. 

[merakiui]

I can tell Yan!Floyd would be very very clingy and affectionate to his darling who’s now has a but of a little trust that floyd won’t hurt them

but imagine tho.. his darling has panic attack and floyd hug them and whispered sweet thing to them and telling them “I’m here, shrimpy. I’m not gonna leave you” what if he actually said the 3 words and 8 letters

(can i perhaps be 🦐 anon?)

He’s very clingy and affectionate! He’ll want to constantly touch you in some way, whether that’s by holding your hand or squeezing your hip or shoulder or hugging you tightly or carrying you around the house in his arms or even pulling you into his chest for a silly dance. Floyd’s affections will never be stifled; he will hug and kiss and cuddle whenever he’s feeling like it, regardless of whatever you may be doing in that moment. So when he reaches a level of trust with you where you allow him to hold you often, he’s immensely pleased and he won’t be able to keep his hands off of you.

If his shrimpy had a panic attack, Floyd would handle it surprisingly well. He’ll give you your space and talk to you in a soothing tone, telling you stories about random things to redirect your focus. If you look at him, he’ll smile gently. He’ll ask if it’s okay for him to hug you instead of simply enveloping you in his arms because he knows that embracing you suddenly might make your panic worse. Floyd handles you with the utmost care and affection and patience! He really dislikes it when his shrimpy is suffering. Even if your circumstances (i.e. having been kidnapped and confined) aren’t ideal and will take time getting used to, Floyd’s going to do what he can to make things comfortable for you.

He’s not good with confessions. He’s never had to confront overwhelming feelings like this before, so he might fumble a bit with verbalizing his emotions. But he does tell you that it’ll get better. He won’t sugarcoat this; it’s a situation that’s so not fun. But things will improve. He knows they will because he believes in shrimpy. He knows shrimpy can be strong and brave, and even if there are days when you aren’t Floyd can be here to be strong and brave for you!

He likes to cheer you up with a very silly line: “Did ya hear shrimp can fry rice?” And that, without fail, always prompts a smile and laugh from you because the way he asks it with so much serious curiosity is amusing to witness. Floyd will beam at you when you’re in his arms and he’s petting your head to soothe you in the aftermath of a panic attack.

“I ain’t gonna leave shrimpy,” he promises, interlacing your fingers and marveling at the way your hand fits in his. “I’d never. I like ya too much, so I’ll always be here for ya. Always.”

He’ll cook your favorite dishes to cheer you up even more. Floyd is a very good chef; you won’t be disappointed with any of the meals prepared by his hand. And if you’re okay with it, he’ll cuddle you into the sofa cushions so that you can be tangled in long, lanky limbs, cradled in his arms, so that his body weight upon yours will be a familiar reminder that he’s not going anywhere. You’ll fall asleep to a movie, but whatever’s playing is not all that important. What matters most is that Floyd’s here with his shrimpy and his shrimpy is here with him, not as two souls divided but as a pair.

[sev-on-kamino]

hello! Would you be willing to write a little blurb of the romance prompt 27 of f!reader x echo?

thank you sm :D

✨ hello!✨ I’m happy to, friend! I love that prompt, and I love Echo to bits. I hope this makes you smile! btw you’re my first ever request, and I appreciate you so much💙💙

27: sharing an umbrella in the rain, or a coat/blanket when it’s cold (prompt list here)

Echo x f!reader

warnings: none! it’s fluffy with some sweet kisses

word count: 962

You’d been excited when Hunter had decided to send you with Echo on the job for Cid instead of going himself. Finding space and time to be alone was difficult, so even though you were working it was still a treat.

It stopped feeling like a treat when you ended up in a firefight with a small band of pirates. Your arms and wrists were on fire from manning the gun, and the Marauder had taken more damage than you cared to ever explain to Tech.

Echo had made the executive decision to land on a nearby moon to assess the damage. It was freezing as the two of you exited the Marauder, tools in hand.

“Kriff, it’s cold! You should stay in the ship, and keep warm,” Echo said, shifting the tools he was carrying, so he could reach for the items you had. There was no way he was letting you freeze your ass off on some planet’s least favorite ice block of a moon.

“I’m not leaving you in the ice alone. Besides, it’ll go faster if I help,” you protested.

He sighed, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He liked how determined you were, and that you would stay by his side regardless of the circumstances. Your loyalty knew no bounds…or temperatures apparently.

“Fine, but if I see your teeth chattering, I’m putting you back on the ship.”

“Sure, sure, let’s get to work. The scanner says there’s a storm brewing.” You bounced down the gangplank, and made your way to the section that had taken the most damage.

“Can you fix it?” You asked, hovering near Echo’s shoulder, holding the torch high to illuminate the scorched section of the hull.

Echo removed one of the damaged panels, and frowned.

“Possibly. Move the torch a little closer, mesh’la.”

You complied, moving your arm, and looking over the exterior yourself like you knew what the heck any of it was.

The frown on his handsome face deepened, and you felt a wave of anxiety.

“Ooh, I don’t like that look,” you said, mirroring his frown.

“You shouldn’t. Our life support systems took a hit, so they’re operating, but at sub-optimal levels.”

“Define sub-optimal,” you asked nervously.

“It’s going to be a very cold night,” he replied. “Cid gave us contact information for a friend nearby, but with the blizzard kicking up, they won’t be able to get to us tonight.”

“Well, let’s do as much as we can for now, yeah?” you suggested. He nodded, and the pair of you got to work.

Echo worked diligently while you followed him with the light, and passed him tools. The cold was cutting straight through your armor, your blacks, and into your bones. Shivers were working through your muscles, making it difficult to move, but you bit the inside of your cheek to keep your teeth quiet.

“Try to hold the light still,” He requested, looking up at you. “Damn it, mesh’la! You’re shivering. What did I say earlier?”

“Y-you said I’d h-have to gg-go back, if my tt-teeth chattered,” you replied through now loudly chattering teeth. “I’m n-not even th-that cold.”

“Back on the ship. That’s an order,” Echo said herding you back onto the Marauder. You complied with minimal grumbling, and Echo sealed the both of you in.

“W-we could h-have finished,” you fussed.

“We need to get you warmed up first. Go get in my bunk, and I’ll bring blankets.”

You removed your armor with shaking fingers, the clasps seemed so much more difficult than usual. You were still fighting them when Echo made it back. He sat the blankets down, and began helping you, until you were down to your blacks, and crawling into his bunk. He followed suit, removing his armor, climbing in next to you before tugging the blankets over the pair of you.

You snuggled into his side eagerly, nuzzling your face against his neck. A hum of utter contentment escaped you before you could stop it. Echo can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. He never thought he’d be so glad to be stranded, but there’s a first time for everything.

“Not even that cold, huh?” He asked, laughing softly, as he wrapped his arms around you. The cold is mostly forgotten as your brain is far more focused on how warm and safe you feel.

“Hush!” You replied, snuggling as close to him as possible. “How are you not freezing?”

“Ah, Cybernetic enhancements have their perks. And you should enjoy me while you can, Tech’s going to kill us,” he says, shifting his legs to accommodate yours, but you happily let them tangle with his instead.

“No, he’ll be pissed at Cid. She could have told us this was a popular ambush site for pirates.”

“Cid? Give us all the info? That’ll be the day,” Echo grumbled with a laugh, as he tightened his hold on you.

“A girl can dream. We should send the others a comm, so they know we’re ok,” you said, yawning.

“I’ll handle that. Get some rest, cyare.” He pressed his forehead to yours, and you tilted your head back to look up at him. He brushed his lips over yours, sending a wave of warmth through your body, and eliciting another happy little hum from you. Encouraged by your reaction, he kissed you again, as he rubbed his hands over your back in soothing circles. As the feeling returned to your fingers and toes, you started to relax, blissful in your blanket cocoon with your trooper.

“Rest well, Echo,” you said sleepily, stealing one more kiss before pressing your face back into his neck. Your eyes drifted closed, and suddenly it felt like the trip was a treat once more.

[cullen-rutherford-wifey]

I’d never let you go

Chapter 1

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Rating; 18+/fluff/hurt+comfort

Warnings; post break up reader, cheating, self hating reader, repressed feelings, friends to lovers, negative self talk, brief nudity, sexual tension, romantic tension, soft!Miguel, lotta build up until I release next chapter, I’ll also be making individual warnings for each chapter instead of the whole fic, darker themes later on

Prompt; After you caught your fiancée with another woman. You retreat to your only long standing friends place to spend some time. Unwittingly digging up years long buried feelings between you two.

Word count; 3.4 K

You're soaked like a human mop by the time you reach Miguel’s door. Hair closely hugging the sides of your head due to the downpour, as you locked your arms together to huddle as much warmth to yourself as possible. Your own heart almost starts sizzling out in this unbearably cold autumn rain. 

Miguel finally makes it to the door, to see the mess of running mascara and chattering teeth. Being his college crush and estranged close friend at his door in such a state.

“C-can I stay here for a bit?”

Miguel blurted out; “Of course, get in!”

He sneaks his arm at your back shuffling you inside quickly. A bubble of intangible yet potent warmth overcomes your body from the house's heating.

“Thank you” you said after sniffling, and sniffling once more when finished.

“What’s going on?”

His beautiful puppy eyes hanging below his messy brown curls and narrow eyebrows. He then realized he was still partially holding you, dropping his arm from your body as you answered.

“I’d rather not talk about it, can I get a bath?”

He seemed hurt by you not telling him, but he let it go.

“Yes please, you should. Up the stairs to the third door on the right.” 

You gave a weak smile, taking all the strength left in your body to pull each side of your mouth up. But you smiled at him regardless. Your lips coated in rainwater, able to taste it in your mouth.

“Thank you Miguel.”

His eyes couldn’t help but follow you as you walked up the stairs, first divorcing your soggy shoes from your feet at the doorstep. Then walking up the steps still huddled into your own chest. Giving your rib cage the tightest hug possible. Still shaking from the cutting of the winds and water. 

All sorts of thoughts spun through his head of what could’ve happened. Or who did this to you. But that second thought only made him angry. By all means you’re entirely different from when you meet at college. Only kept together long term by Facebook groups after graduation. 

But your voice never faded from his memory, the specific hue of your hair and eyes too. How “but the point is” and “anyway” were the phrases you said most often. Wondering what are some of your new favorite songs now so much time has passed. How he wants to get to know you all over again. Even as circumstances weren’t ideal. But this wasn’t about him, by the time he heard the water rushing through the pipes past the walls of his home. He realized the only clean towels are still in the dryer. 

You soon shed all the ragged clothes. Still heavy with moments from hours ago. When you saw your fiancée with another woman. Catching them as you went through the front door to surprise him early from work. 

The thought dissipated from your mind as your near frozen skin, was melted by the tender warmth found under the surface of the water. You gently pushed yourself down fully into the secluded depths. You wouldn’t use any of his soaps or products. You just needed to get warm, then you heard a knock on the door. You saw Miguel’s wonderfully muscular arm reaching past the crack he made of the bathroom entrance. Gripping in his palm a folded, coal black towel. You instinctively retreated further down the top of the tub's marble walls. You swear there's more white marble in this bathroom than there is in most Greek museums. 

“I promise I’m not looking-“ he awkwardly insisted, his entire head aimed at the wooden white door. Trying to find the top of the sink counter without sight. As he wiggled his arm about you chuckled. 

“Promise there’s nothing to see anyway…”

He had a hundred ways to contradict that; the comment sunk his heart into his stomach. He’s seen you in a swimsuit before. The curves of your body, your wonderfully soft looking chest. How much he has a thing for your color and length of hair.  Your smiles always reach your eyes. The way he could plant his chin right on top of your head. But just finally managed to sit the towel down. Once it was in your reach he quickly shut the door. He knew now wasn’t the time. 

But by god now his head is nothing but thoughts of you and him. Partially submerged in the tub but equally nude; his fingers traveling through your hair. Moaning his name as you tightly palm his shoulders in ecstasy. All the ways he could make you sound and feel. If you’d let him. But he knows it’s just a fantasy. But once snapped back to reality, Miguel concluded. 

“There, sorry; forgot the clean towels weren’t in there.”

Your throat was filled with the snotty remains of hours crying and being stuck in the rain. Revealing itself in the stuffiness of your nose, pitching your voice.

“Thank you Miguel, I’ll just be a minute.”, He called back out

“No stay in there as long as you need, you can use my soaps.”

You turned your head to see one partially used bar of white soap and one brand of conditioner. You giggled asking,

“Soaps plural?”

He nodded to himself just past the door

“Hehe yeah, knock yourself out.”

Well since all your belongings are back at your fiancé’s place you can’t be picky. You grasped the bar of soaps with your right hand and started massaging your flesh with it. Getting the scent of pine engrained in all your pores. You can’t deny it’s the exact smell you picked up on when Miguel escorted you inside. Now you can imagine your head resting on his chest like a pillow. The heat of the bath now the heat running from his skin to yours. How his palms laced through your hair as he-WHAT. Stop! What would Miguel O’Hara, millionaire tech leader. And complete hunk wants anything to do with you? Just cause you were in study groups and hung out sometimes after a few years in college doesn’t mean anything. At any rate, he's just being nice. 

Upon exiting a decent bath; having your clothes being put through Miguel’s washer. He underestimated how you in his clothes would make him feel. His oversized Visions academy college t-shirt. How it swaddles over your hips and stops above your tights. And his black pajama bottoms are collecting at your ankles. It only makes sense considering he's a head and a half taller than you. You wrapped like a blanket in his clothes, it’s the cutest and simultaneously hottest thing he’s ever seen. But he can’t focus on that, as you are slumped on his couch. Eating the pizza rolls he warmed up for you. Even when you’re slouching like a sloth, eating and acting as slowly as one too.

You’re a goddess, and it doesn’t take long to notice Miguel’s eyeing you 

“Yeah?” You ask 

“What, nothing.” You snapped him out of it, he nervously sat next to you. Wondering how to broach it, the reason why you’re here. What you’re insistent not to say. He wants to help you, but it’s been years and doesn’t want to overstep. You sighed to cut the awkward silence down as it formed. 

“You want to know what happened, right?” He nodded as his eyes were glued to you. 

You aimed your vision down as you played with your own fingernails. Explaining 

“My fiancée cheated on me, since he owns the place he threw me out. I’ll get my stuff tomorrow but I just can’t go back there now…” you started to break as your second sentence started. 

Miguel saw red, the edges of his vision shrinking as his face contorted into a bitter grimace. That fucker cheats on you, then has the audacity to throw you out and collect your stuff on HIS schedule? Miguel wants to rearrange that guy's jaw with his fist. How dare he be lesser than what you deserve. Which is everything, a hard expectation to climb to but still. Miguel knows you’re more than worth it. 

Tears washing down your now pine scented face as you desperately tried to suck them back in. Miguel arose from his knee jerk rage to witness how you were burning up inside at the embarrassment you were feeling to show up to his house like this. But even more so you’re crying again after all the nice things he’s done for you.  You swiped away the streams of water formed between your eyes and your mouth. A thin taste of salt now on your lips as you say.

“Sorry, I’ll go as soon as my clothes are dry. I cant just stay here all night….”

Miguel didn’t care, he wanted you with him always. He regretted letting you walk out the door all those years ago. And never making an effort to truly reconnect. 

“No you don’t have to, you can stay here the night if you have nowhere else. I’ll help you with your stuff tomorrow too.”

Guilt cut through your face as you looked at him. You haven’t had a long talk with him since graduation. You hardly know each other now. But he’s doing all this for you. In all honesty such kindness is not something you were built to comprehend. 

“No, I bothered you enough-“

“You could never bother me.”

Miguel’s whispered interruption almost made you blush, you truly had no other options when considering it. So you relented, 

“Okay, I will then, thank you.”

That smile appeared again, god he wishes he could make you smile like that all the time. When he gripped the plastic dish in your lap sprinkled with pizza rolls. He placed it onto the coffee table in front of you two as she offered.

“Come on, lemme make you some real food…”

He stood from the light grey cushions of his couch as you cackled.

“Wait! Miguel O’Hara can cook now!?” You almost shouted. 

You trailed after him, spinning himself around to look at you as he made his way towards his kitchen. 

“Yup! I can shred cheese and everything.”

~~15 minutes later~~

The bubbling aroma of pork broth flooded the kitchen as you recounted a fond college memory.

“-Then Dr. Death came by and Brett jumped in the bushes! Right as he was strolling towards us-“

You laughed louder and harder than you have in years. Recalling how you called the oldest prof you two had “Dr. Death”. Also the fact he is usually dressed in black literally dawning the primary shade of the grim reaper. And how you two loved your classmate Brett but he wasn’t the smartest.

Recounting when Miguel and Brett tried skipping class, only to get caught. And Bretts brilliant solution was to jump in the bushes. AFTER the aforementioned prof already spotted them. 

You laughed so hard a portion of the snot built up in your throat from crying burst out. You grabbed a napkin and tried to conceal the fact. But Miguel’s eyes were on you always, so he noticed.

“Hehe, that’s still so adorable of you.” Miguel commented. You wiped the snot away facing the trash can to throw the remains away as you answered. 

“It wasn’t cute then and it’s definitely not now Miguel…”

He watched you longingly saying 

“Agree to disagree,”

You faced him again after cleaning off from under your nose. He was tossing the ramen noodles to make em nice and plump when eaten. 

“Anyway, I haven’t had authentic ramen in a long ass while…thank you.”

The rain is doting and falling along the windows aligning the walls of Miguel’s kitchen. Casting a faint gray glow as the sun still somewhat moved through the black clouds. The drumming of water along the rooftops. As it splashed in harmony from where you stood, look at it. It was beautiful, as you peered outside. Miguel’s attention was once again stolen, looking at you leaning out. With your forearms on the edge of his sink. Eyes glued to the window staring out at the wood scenery. He was a few miles from his neighbors. Giving a perfect view of the forest beset by the thunder and rain.

“Your place is so awesome,” you wistfully compliment.

He wanted this place to be for you too, his chest started closing in on itself. His own rib cage is helpless to stop his internal organs from squeezing at his heart. As he wanted so desperately to be like this always. You and him in a house, watching the weather of the days go by. But, it’s too late now. He’s accepted that. You continued;

“Seriously, I’d give the place some color like someone who isn’t a colorblind oil painter but I’d love to live in a place just like this…”

“What was that about my interior design abilities?”

“They don’t exist.”

You quipped back with a raised eyebrow; the sad desperation from earlier was all but erased from the front of your head. By just less than a sixteen minute conversation with Miguel again. Roasting him how his house has only 3 colors through every room even the furnitures.

He left the noodles in the pot as he approached you on the other side of the sink.

“Oh so you could do so much better?”

“I KNOW I’m capable of better, it is my job after all…” 

Now Miguel wasn’t expecting that

“You’re an interior designer now?”

You swallowed hard having to recount a regret since you and Miguel parted ways.

“Y-yeah, it pays way better here than being a journalist that's for sure. Less people sending you death threats to boot…”

Miguel’s grin from your earlier topic of conversation faded,

“Plus Eric encouraged me to change so….” “encouraged” was a word to put it, Miguel inquired aggressively puzzled. 

“Whose Eric?”

You sighed, crossing your arms after leaning your back against his sink. Now somewhat shoulder to shoulder with Miguel, he still was way taller than you even when leaning as much as he was.

“Eric from college, the one in our first study group. He’s, he’s my ex-fiancé…the one I’m here about.”

He remembers him well, a guy who got handsy with you more than once without your consent. Miguel would hold his shock if it wasn’t completely in character for him to cheat. 

You whimpered as your lips quivered 

“I should’ve known better I know; and I mean I got desperate so I figured he was better than nothing.”

Miguel couldn’t help but be physically wounded by the sound of you thinking so little of yourself.

“He’s an absolute disgusting moron, even more cause he cheated on someone like you…you’re beautiful, smart, creative, successful, funny. Good riddance, he’s not in your league by miles.”

Miguel said so with his full chest, leaning his towards you so you can feel the thumping of his heart. To pump every word out of his mouth so you know he meant it. You almost happy cried for the first time today, you leaned your head on his shoulder closest to you.

“Thank you Miguel…”

You two locked eyes, just now noticing the tiniest of dimples in his cheeks. And the lightest shade of brown in his gorgeous eyes. How his hair shined with lightly established product, and his black shirt somewhat hugging his body. Revealing his amazingly toned chest. You can’t deny he's the sexiest man you’ve ever met. And it was a shock to see the typically stoic and serious Miguel. So soft and open all the time. You’ve seen that before of him, but in quietly selective moments. However his heart is on his sleeve with you. You would feel it beating on his every word and expression. Nothing to hide and no hiding in sight. 

Now here you two were now alone, under the cover of fall showers huddled in warmth under the roof of his home. Moments away from sitting down to have a meal together. Coated in his favorite scent and covered in his clothes. This is a dream come true, the only part that’s yet to take place. Which is him finally making love to you. Likes he’s desperately wanted for years. The gap between your mouths is mere inches, it’d be a breath away to close the space. Destroy the last line of friendship you two had. In exchange for gasping each other’s names, huddling your bodies so close not even air is between you two. As you test the foundation of his bed with your love. All he needed to do was grapple for your lips to make it so. 

Not before telling you how much his feelings haven’t changed since college. He’s zeroed in on his work enough to pretend they had gone away. But just the sight of you at his door was enough to know that was a lie. He wants you, he loves you. 

However he retreats his head further away from you.

“Anything for my friends….” He doesn’t look at you as Miguel says it, his voice and grin dropped. You took the hint and retracted your head from his shoulder. Moments later his kitchen clock beeped, signaling the ideal ramen cooking time had passed.

“Oh thank god, I’m starving.” You admitted, you stood up on your own and turned to face him.

“The bowls are right there,” he pointed to the line of cabinets behind you.

“Furthest one down, those are the bowls. I’ll get the food ready.” You nodded gathering the bowls in your hands. 

~~One great pork ramen meal later~~

“Jesus Christ…that’s easily some of the best food I’ve ever had.” You complimented as your emptied ramen bowl was laid before you on Miguel’s table.

“But seriously solve the mystery for me, how did you learn to cook?”

Miguel swallowed the last of his own broth to respond.

“Well when I started working out more, I couldn’t just eat fast food crap. So I taught myself how to cook, destroyed a couple of kitchens. Tried a lot of YouTube channels but I did it! Ramen is very healthy but filling, gives you a lot of protein too.”

By his flawless body you can definitely tell his techniques work. “Welp they definitely work.” Scanning up and down his form unconsciously, as you partially didn’t mean to say that out loud. You thought he was hot before but my god now he looks photoshopped in real life.

“Why thank you.�� You swore you saw him blush for a moment, but that was probably in your imagination. Blanketed by Miguel’s massive clothes; your stomach hugging warm broth and noodles. You’re more than ready to hit the hay. 

“I’ll clean up my bowl and head to the couch for the night,”

He shrugs grabbing your bowl for you anyway

“Don’t worry, I have a guest room. Just across the hall to mine. Farthest from the hallway to the left.”

You nodded, as he escorted the bowls to his sink. By the time you heard the clatter of the glass meeting the thin metal of the sink. You built up the nerve to say one thing that’s been on your mind.

“Hey,” he without pause turned his attention to you, awaiting your follow up. Upon standing up, and moving further towards him. To where you stood right beside him.

“I just wanna say, I’m sorry for not keeping in touch.”

“Hey, it’s not just your fault. I could’ve kept in touch too. Just got busy. And life stuff happened.” His eyes, words growing fainter as he continued on. 

You huffed, “Yeah but, I feel bad cause…you’ve come so far. Look at this house, look at what you can do now and what you’ve achieved. I just wish I was there to see that all happen for you. I’ve never stopped caring about you either Miguel. I’m proud of you, ya know?” He felt like crying; but held it together enough to say.

“Thanks, that means a lot to me…”

You gave him an admittedly awkwardly timed, but meaningful hug. Your hands snuggled up at his sides, soon after Miguel nervously placed his palms just below your shoulder blades. The hug was a few moments, as he accidentally received a whiff of your hair. And you feel just how muscular he really was. You two parted, regretfully.

“So, g’night friend.” You walked out of the kitchen, he couldn’t help but trial his sight after you. 

[inquisimer]

wip wednesday

tagged by @roguelioness (twice!! thank you fren)

I'm slowly rewriting my longfic of Neria's Inquisition arc, so here's a snippet from the chapter I'm adding to capture some of the prologue :3

tagging forward to: @rosella-writes | @plisuu | @blackwallmancer | @fadedsweater | @stonebiscuit

~~~

When she woke next the pain had been contained to small stabs in her palm, except for the occasional burst that sent shock waves of fire up her arm. Bewildered, she stared at the strange magic swirling in her palm as harsh voices clasped her in chains and called out again, for the Nightingale, for the Seeker.

A Seeker.

Neria shuddered as the guards dragged her along dripping stone corridors. Thousands of times stronger than a Templar and the seal of death for whichever mage brought them to the Circle. Powerful enough to enforce discipline on a Knight Commander even, if the circumstances were dire.

What happened? What had she done?

There were holes in her mind that laughed at her when she scrambled for memories that slid through her finger like water. Her terror intensified; if she couldn’t remember how could she keep her footing? How could she stay steadfast? This Seeker, the Chantry—they could say anything about her and without her memories she would have no ground on which to deny them. Not that they were likely to believe her anyway, but certainly no one would if she couldn’t even believe herself.

She sobbed, tripping over the rough stone floors, and it earned her a cuff upside the head from one of her captors.

“Don’t think to try our sympathies, elf,” she snapped. “Were it up to me I’d run you through here and now without any ceremony.”

That only made Neria sob harder, unable to contain herself. Whatever had happened, it seemed they would make her the target of their rage regardless.

They flung her into a cell and locked chains onto the shackles that bound her wrists. The metal was imbued with lyrium—she could taste the cold steel buzz of it on her tongue. It kept her from even reaching for her mana, not that she was eager to try. She remembered little of the brief waves of consciousness before now, but she remembered the nausea and the pain and the helpless cycle of both. No point in putting herself through that when she could hardly get out of this situation by casting.

She would leave this cell in a body bag, most likely. They were clearly past any point where she might mitigate the punishment and anything less would take a miracle. She used to face this sort of reality on the daily, but she’d grown complacent in the years since the Chantry controlled her. Still, the cold resignation was a familiar friend and her sobs faded into steady streams of tears as she doubled over herself on the cold stone floor.

Had they, perhaps, finally drawn the connection between herself and Anders? In theory she’d been affiliated with the Mage Underground at large, but in reality every agent of the network knew that she only worked in tandem with Anders. Though she’d left Kirkwall before his ill-advised protest, Neria was haunted by the thought that some trace, some minute action she’d taken back then would link her to him and she would become a wanted terrorist as well.

She’d covered her tracks well for the last five years, but perhaps this was that moment. It could even be a highlight of the peace talks—not Anders himself, he was too well protected by the Champion. But executing his alleged accomplice would certainly gain the Chantry some traction with both the mages and the Templars.

[kye-865]

Anyone want to hear about the (currently) only time I’ve gotten close to yelling/losing my shit with a teacher and a time my mother made said teacher cry?

(Cw: this involves discussions about child death, please be mindful)

A year and a half ago (roughly) we lost my baby cousin. It was just before Christmas and only a week and a couple days before their 1st birthday.

Because of this, I got a bit behind on some of my homework, which was alright because 1) I caught up over the winter break, and 2) my teachers were emailed (and I verbally told a few of them) about what had happened and why I wasn’t going to be in as much and why there could be missed assignments.

So, in one of my lessons, we were set a homework on a Wednesday due for the following Wednesday. Typically, id do the work the day it’s set so that I know it’s done, but that day was not only the day after I found out about my cousin being on the end of life care but also the day my mum phoned to ask if I wanted to go to the hospital to say goodbye to her. That day remains as one of the hardest days of my life.

It slipped my mind to do the homework that day and then for the rest of the week, all I had on my mind was my cousin, and the fact that my birthday was also that week (she didn’t pass on my birthday but she did two days later).

I didn’t do the homework at all for this teacher. I only remembered about it as I was walking to class and I was so upset that I hadn’t done it considering I’d managed to keep on top of all of my assignments and I hadn’t missed a single day of school over that week.

Now, I had just got through the door of her classroom when the teacher looked directly at me and goes “name, I see you haven’t even looked at your homework, care to explain to the class what was more important than your education?” (Bear in mind that I was not the only person to not do the homework, I was however the only one singled out. Also it was an online homework)

And so, being the person I am, I assumed that maybe she hadn’t seen the email or maybe the teacher who sent the email forgot to sent it to her and asked for her to step outside so that I could explain or if I could tell her at the end.

She, of course, refused, so I quietly explained that because of my cousin’s passing, the homework had completely slipped my mind and that, if it was that important, I could have it done for her by this evening.

She then looked at me, making direct eye contact and went “well that’s just not an acceptable excuse now, is it?”

She looked at me, three days after my cousin passed and told me that it was unacceptable to accidentally forget to do a homework, and then proceeded to tell me, when I asked if she had seen the email, that she had in fact read the email, but didn’t care because her homework should be done regardless of home life circumstances.

I awkwardly sat in my seat for the rest of the class, with my friend beside me asking if I was okay, and hating the fact that I didn’t just turn around and leave the room after that conversation.

I had some after school class thing as my exams were soon so it was a while before I got to tell my mum but when I got home, she did her usual thing of asking if anything happened at school. I told her what this teacher said to me and she lost her mind.

She reached across the table to grab her phone stating that she had to phone the school until I reminded her of the time and the fact that there was no one in the office to take her call anymore.

She then told me that 1) she was ringing the moment the school line opened the following morning and 2) if I had that teacher tomorrow, I was not to go to her lesson until this was dealt with and to instead go to my head of year and tell her exactly why I wasn’t in class.

My mum rang the following morning, as she said she would, and demanded to have a meeting with the teacher, my head of year and the head of the school. During this meeting, she made the teacher cry as she was threatened with being fired and my head of year cry because she couldn’t believe the amount our family had been through and because of the story itself.

There were only two occasions I didn’t go to this teacher’s lesson. One was the three month anniversary of my cousins passing and the other was actually because of a different reason.

This teacher is currently teaching one of my younger sisters and still won’t even look in my direction when I see her in the corridor

Anyway, this was a very long story but I really wanted to just write it down and get it out of my system because it still makes my blood boil to this day.

[grimm-rider]

Entry 31

I informed the others about the message I’d received from A’pul’la. We decided, given how spent we were from today’s events, it would be wise to spend some time in the Möbius Chamber. Considering the time difference in the room, Aenland asked me how many uses of Miracle I could use daily—my answer was apparently enough for him, as he decided to go buy some diamonds to expend as spell components, and then asked me to use my power to enhance his abilities. Nestian spent most of his time in the room reading one of those magical tomes we’d picked up to enhance his own abilities, but when he overheard Aenland’s plan he got in on it as well, asking me to help enhance his endurance. So I had my hands full the entire time we were resting. Which was probably for the best—less time to dwell on things with Keisuke, or on what might happen soon, meeting with some mythic powered Pharasman.

Edeya vanished for a few days by our perspective—she’d just popped out for a few minutes to buy something from her point of view. When she came back I gave myself a reprieve from casting for a bit to chat with her. She noted that I looked pensive, so I asked her—given how much thought she’d clearly put into it in recent months—what her thoughts on redemption were. It’s not something I’d ever put much thought into. I don’t normally care for that sort of thing—everyone makes their own choices in the end, for good or for ill. But one thing I’ve come to realize recently is that those choices aren’t made in a vacuum. The people around you—or lack thereof—affect the choices you’ll make. Change the circumstances, and you might completely change the outcome for the same person.

At least…that seems to be how it worked out for me.

Anyways. I asked Edeya for her thoughts on redemption. On what conclusions she’d come to. And, most importantly, whether she thought someone with no memories of what they’d done could actually redeem themselves. For the first part, Edeya said that redemption was hard—especially now—but not impossible. The person just had to sincerely want it and take action towards being better. As for the second part…she said I would know better than she would. She told me the reason I felt so uncomfortable thinking about this is because I was stepping into a philosophical debate, and at the heart of it was: are you the same person if you come back with no memory of your previous self? I told her that I’d always considered myself to be the same person, memories or no. The Grimm Rider is just the choices I made in different circumstances—that’s still me, still someone I was entirely capable of being.

But I think Edeya hit closer to the target than I let on. When I write about my past self, I talk about the Grimm Rider like another person, even though that’s still all me. When I think about the Grimm Rider I can’t help but think of ‘him’ instead of ‘me’. The Grimm Rider is like a story to me, distant, barely real. But that was me, even if I don’t remember it, I did all the things the Grimm Rider did. I would be entirely capable of being him, and had things gone differently I could have been that same person all over again.

I told Edeya that I am simply me, regardless of the circumstances that might change what that means, and I do believe that. She said I had my answer, then. I suppose I do. If I believe that of myself, then that would logically carry to Keisuke as well if I went through with this.

I’m finding fewer and fewer excuses not to go through with this. Part of me desperately wants to find a reason this is the wrong choice. Because then I wouldn’t have to give up the goals I’ve been reaching for from practically the very beginning. Mythic power, immortality. Safety from Pharasma’s grasp. Especially looking that in the face right now, knowing we’re about to be working with a Pharasman who could probably smite me with a thought…my every instinct screams to save myself, Keisuke be damned. And in my position, that’s certainly what he would do. I doubt it would even be a question.

I guess Nestian’s not entirely wrong about our differences.

I’m going to keep just going around in circles if I keep writing about it. I at least have a few more days to consider my options. Maybe more if we keep using Jadrenka’s nifty little time chamber.

Eventually we had to leave the chamber and return to our mission—only a few hours after we’d entered rather than days later. We made a beeline for the royal cemetery, with no Winter Witches or fungal monstrosities stopping us on the way. We should probably do something about Xanthadon sooner rather than later, with that rot encroaching on the city the way it is.

Not today, though.

We made it to the cemetery, where we saw a number of wraiths milling about, and two necromancers guarding the entrance to a grand mausoleum. They looked like chumps, as far as necromancers go, despite their ghostly apparitions.

We were prepared to strike—but someone else got there first. A dark streak fell from the sky like a bolt of dark lightning, landing before one of the wraiths. A scythe glinted in the dim light that shone through the clouds blanketing the sky. But the figure did not bring the blade down on the wraith. A second—much larger—streak fell from the sky, shaking the earth as it landed behind him. As the dust cleared, an enormous skeletal creature towered over the figure. It reached down, striking at the man—who I could now make out was a dusky purple tiefling with raven-like wings—but he barely flinched at the giant claws raking at him. Instead, he leapt into the air, using those wings that were clearly not just for decoration to fly straight up as he dragged the scythe along the creature’s midsection. He flipped in mid-air, then came hurtling back to the ground, before flaring his wings and landing safely.

Showoff.

The hulking creature’s bones crumbled in on themselves from the single slice, as effectively as if I’d used three Boneshatters on it at once.

In the back of my mind, I knew what this thing was, from some reading or encounter I’d had in my past. A tzittzimitl—an unimaginably powerful undead that can change positive energy to negative, shoot powerful eyebeams, and cause freezing eclipses. And this man had destroyed it with a single swing of his scythe.

I was getting another look at what Mythic Power was capable of.

There wasn’t time to gawk, though. Those other necromancers might have been c list at best, but they still had a bunch of wraiths surrounding us, and we had to deal with those to even get close to the crypt.

Even without some sort of mythic psychopomp-tiefling, we would have cleaned up the necromancers and their little spirits in no time. Really, is this the best Elvanna has in terms of necromantic power? Apparently I was the only actual talented magic user she had working for her, and with the Grimm Rider gone she has nothing but these bottom of the barrel flunkies.

Not that I’m complaining, of course. I’d just think the queen of a country could get some better help. Then again, we’ve probably killed most of her ‘better help’, and the rest probably don’t want to work for her because she’s a crazy bitch who’s trying to freeze the world.

All this is to say, we had no issues clearing out the necromancers and their pets. I definitely did not let on that I was, myself, a necromancer in front of the mythic demi-psychopomp who apparently works directly for Atropos. That’s in the strictly ‘need to know’ category, and for once my dear friends did not spill a secret within moments of meeting someone new—as much as I could tell Aenland desperately wanted to.

At the door of the crypt, Nestian resisted the urge to immediately knock at a closed door—only for this bird-man, who’d introduced himself as Corvus, to knock instead.

There was no response, and when Nestian and Corvus pushed the door of the mausoleum open we found the room beyond completely devoid of life. Which, I mean, it’s a crypt so I suppose that should be what one would expect to find. But given our luck usually there’s a monster crawling about, or a Winter Witch ambush, or something.

The others spotted a trap within an alcove with a door beyond it. Aenland shot an arrow into it, using his dispelling power to negate whatever magic was on it. Unfortunately, this seemed to set off some kind of alarm, because we immediately started hearing sounds coming from down below.

Then some woman dressed in strange clothes appeared, using what appeared to be Interplanetary Teleport—except whatever she had just done, it didn’t use magic. Only some sort of technology way beyond the scope of my knowledge.

The woman activated some sort of barrier around Corvus, then she disappeared with her mythic prisoner in tow.

So that was great. We come here to help stop a thing because a plant told us to, and some mythic asshole gets captured by an alien.

Sorry if I don’t sound like I was excited to go save a psychopomp-in-training from certain doom.

We ended up having to fight our way through a handful more enemies who ran up through the door that had been warded—but Talsune had been ready to strike anyone who entered, and between him and Aenland we made quick work of them.

We determined that we should head further into the catacombs. Even if the mythic psychopomp weren’t being held below, the enemies had clearly come up from there. And we still needed to stop the resurrection of a Crone Queen, with or without feather-boy’s help.

Down below we killed a skeletal dragon, then found ourselves in a chamber with a strange machine that was being tended to by more of those half-baked necromancers. And as luck would have it, the would-be psychopomp was hooked into the machine, being used as a power source or something.

We started killing the necromancers—and a ghost ship that had been placed within the underground reservoir of water around the catacombs. Well, I say water. Where the ghost ship touched, the water around it turned into blood. Honestly, pretty cool. If I had a place to keep a giant ship in Grimm Labyrinthus I’d have considered adding it to my collection. But as it was, it would just be a waste of my powers that could go towards more useful pets.

We’d fought through most of the necromancers when there was a horrible sound. It was like the machine was screaming. And then some big construct that had been wired to the machine stood, and the face of a Crone Queen appeared on the screen where its face should be. Not one we’d faced. This was Yelizaveta, who from what I gather had been destroyed some twenty years ago in the Veil of Frozen Tears, the same day Ilivorr had died.

She began attacking us, with a mix of her old Crone Queen magic and her new monstrous metal body.

And about that time, feathers decided to quit napping on the job and broke out of the machine. Not like we needed his help, we pretty much took care of the metal crone queen on our own.

After her destruction, some unusual letters came out of her, and vanished into a hole in the sky. I have…literally no idea what that could be.

Anyways, we parted ways with bird boy without any psychopomp related attempts to kill me, so that’s nice I guess.

Before resting, we decided to go to Baba Yaga and find out what we could about the strange hole in the sky we’d seen.

Baba Yaga was not willing to share that particular secret, but she said she was a fair Kindly Grandmother, so she would answer one other question, no matter what, without any subterfuge.

So we asked her about Tashanna. The queen who is absent, the only one we hadn’t faced as a Crone Queen.

Baba Yaga was extremely displeased that what we’d decided to ask was one of her greatest secrets. But a deal was a deal, and she wasn’t going to back out. So she told us the truth. The truth about Tashanna, and about irrisen as a whole.

Baba Yaga created Irrisen as an experiment. After seeing how things were where she was from, Earth, Russia, she wanted to create an experiment to see what it would take to cause a great rebellion that could topple a cruel and controlling empire. So she carved out a place for herself, killing and banishing the Mammoth Lords and anyone else to stood against her. And then she put her first daughter on the throne, and every hundred years she put a new daughter in the previous one’s place. And they were all icy and harsh rulers, all the better for Baba Yaga’s experiment.

But then there was Tashanna.

All of her other daughters had come quietly when their century of rule was over. They were either too afraid to stand up to her, or too ignorant to realize what Baba Yaga was doing to each queen who vanished into the Hut, never to be seen again.

Tashanna saw what her fate would be, and chose to defy it. She made a deal with a Demon Lord, and had an army of demons and frost giants to back her.

Her rebellion failed. Her entire branch of the bloodline was mercilessly killed by Baba Yaga in the Vale of Frozen Tears. Every follower she had—gone. But Tashanna did not share their fate. No, because Baba Yaga was impressed by what she had done. She had come the closest to making Baba Yaga’s experiment a success. And for that, she was not drained of her life like her sisters. She was left on an alien planet far from Golarian, to live out her life so long as she never returned.

So…that’s that. Irrisen has been nothing but a long game played by an immortal trickster.

I wasn’t terribly surprised myself. Not that I suspected something like this, but simply that it fit Baba Yaga to do so.

Aenland was pissed to learn about it. We talked. He wanted to remove Baba Yaga from power, and put Anastasia on the throne like we did. But he was afraid that if Baba Yaga was allowed to have any influence, she would simply twist Anastasia’s rule and keep her experiment running. But he also did not want to banish her from Irrisen or Golarian, just to have her subjugate some other people on some other world.

I normally wouldn’t care what happens to some other planet we’re never going to even be aware of. But Aenland cares. So I want to find a solution. I suggested he think over using his wish to somehow force Baba Yaga to leave forever, while also keeping her from using her powers to hurt others. I…don’t actually know the best wording for this wish, to make sure things go the way Aenland wants. I don’t think Baba Yaga is going to screw us over with our wishes, but I also could see this getting on her bad side. Still, it’s something for him to consider, especially since he doesn’t believe he needs a weapon from Baba Yaga anymore, and he doesn’t trust her to give him anything else he wants without twisting things.

Anyways, that’s a worry for another day.

We’re resting in the Mobius Chamber now. After, I think Aenland is finally ready for us to go deal with Xanthadon.

[captain-of-silvenar]

Based on @thana-topsy's OC asks, I'll answer some of them with as my Skyrim Dragonborn, Yera!

Which areas of Skyrim do they find most beautiful and most dangerous?

"Call me bias, but I think Whiterun and Riften are my top two for most beautiful places. The plains of Whiterun have ample space for hunting, and the way the wind blows over the grass is novel and refreshing. Riften, so I've been told, has beautiful trees that turn the most amazing shades of reds and oranges in the autumn. Pity I can't see them, but hearing the leaves rustle reminds me of home. There's also the lake here with plenty of fish, so I eat them when we're out of meat in the house. "The most dangerous I would argue would be The Reach. There are lots of steep cliffs and mountainous areas, and while I love a good hike that stuff is dangerous if I'm not careful. Not to mention all the hostile locals there, out in the mountains and in the city! I'm never going back there again, not if my life depends on it."

What are their religious affiliations, and how does their worship (or lack thereof) affect their day-to-day life?

"Y'ffre is the only God I actively worship in my day-to-day life. As with most Bosmer, our relationship with Them is unique to everyone and everyone has their own interpretations of the Green Pact. I personally try and keep from harming any plant life while I'm in Skyrim. It's difficult, and I know that this is not Valenwood but it still bothers me, you know? Plus I try to keep my diet the same. Also incredibly difficult, but there are plenty of wild game to hunt and no one really appreciates a good fish these days. I just wish I could keep with one of the most important ones, but not killing in self defense is... the most difficult thing to keep in Skyrim. The bandit problem alone made me have to compromise. It's a really pity to be honest."

Would they be able to live off the land if they were lost in the wilds of Skyrim? How skilled are they at foraging and hunting?

"Oh uh... I don't think I would be able to survive for very long in Skyrim off the land. At least alone. I would have to rely mostly on traps and hope that something is there for me to eat. I could hunt with my bow but can you imagine trying to hunt while blind? I'd need an aid for that. Foraging is out of the question, I never bothered learning any of the plant life in Skyrim so I can't do that even in the most dire of situations. So it's a very solid no, but wouldn't that be nice..."

What is their opinion on Skyrim's "bandit problem"?

"By Y'ffre's hairy ballsack, why are there so many of them?!"

Do they believe in snow/sky whales?

"The what now?"

What is their favorite kind of food that can only be found in Skyrim?

"Mammoth stew and cheese! Especially the cheese, you can't get this specific kind anywhere else in the world but in Skyrim. I don't get why people are so particular when I mention it, every time I've had some mammoth cheese it's been the best so far. And the mammoths here, when you can hunt one down, are fatty from the winters and reduce splendidly in a slow stew. Reminds me of the one my dad makes back at home, but the mammoths there are a bit more lean. And no cheese."

Do they believe the old nordic tales about the Dragonborn? If they are Dragonborn how has their experience differed?

"I didn't in the beginning. Funny, considering I'm the Dragonborn. But you have to understand I came to Skyrim to run away from the Thalmor. I wasn't even supposed to stay in Skyrim. Plus I didn't even want the title, I tried running away from that as well. But... circumstances changed, and I've now dedicated myself to this country as a Hero of Legend. And I'm fine with that. I'm happy with it and I've done a lot of work to help out these people, regardless if they can't believe a Bosmer can be a Dragonborn. It doesn't matter; I'm here and I'm here to stay and protect. Don't need the people's approval to do that."

How are they with money? Do they hoard, or do they spend until their pockets are empty and they have to find work again? Have they saved for any houses?

"I have so much of it. I have literal bags of it, it's ridiculous. Lydia has to help me count the coins into bags to put into a safe. A safe! I have a safe in my house to keep my money out of sight, it's so funny. Between cave diving, dungeon crawling, and work sometimes as a Dragonborn I have enough money for a house in every Hold if I really wanted to. But nah, I keep most of it for extreme emergencies and for Lydia to use for whatever. I don't really ask for much luxuries, it's not that useful to me. Except for those really nice boots... or that nice waterproof backpack. Hey Lydia, can we go shopping before we head out again? I want to check Balimund for some new stuff. No, I promise it's for good things this time. That last one had a purpose, I swear-"

Can they read?

"In a vague sense. I have this really sticky ink from home that if you write with it, it leaves a raised surface when dried. But it's hard to get from Valenwood to Skyrim, and I have to focus really hard to write. I don't let anyone use it, you have to write slow with it. There are some braille books in Skyrim, but books were never really that important at home nor do they seem that important in Skyrim unless you're a scholar. Not to say I hate them, but I prefer someone reading them out to me."

[mentallyinvernation]

(〜 *◇*)〜 aaaaangst~

❛ you can’t save everyone. ❜

Right, so this one got incredibly out of hand, and the full fic is now gonna be on ao3 for the bingo adsfdgfh. But! Here's a snip with the angst prompt in it.

TW: discussion of canon deaths, mcd, and implied suicide.

Also, this has a lot of comic spoilers! It follows the events of The Wake, so be careful reading.

------

“Your wake was shit,” Hob tells the grave, sitting cross-legged and picking at the grass. “Don’t really remember much of it, if I’m being honest. That’s the trouble with dreams, I suppose. Heard the guest list was a right riot, though. A whole bloody universe. Christ. Had a flair for the dramatic even in death.” Hob’s lips twitch a little, a hearth of fondness smouldering away in him. “Hettie’s tried to reach out a couple of times. Don’t even really bloody know the woman. Keeps calling me Gadlink. Also met your sister. Feels a bit overdue, and the circumstances were buggered, but…she seems nice. Matthew has checked in a few times - he pops by when things get a bit much back home. Everything’s fine there. Matthew and Lucienne have it under control. They’re busy helping the new kid find his feet.” Something unhappy squirms and flips in his stomach. “Daniel. He’s doing his best. The Dreaming is - well, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay, I promise. I’m sure you already knew that…but ah, I thought I ought to let you know anyway. Just in case.”

Hob only remembers the details of Dream’s funeral through scattered increments, like rays of light reflecting off glass, of faceless crowds, a stone cathedral, and a chained book. Hettie claims to remember the whole affair in vivid detail, and Hob respectfully thinks she’s full of shit. The only reason Hob knows Dream is gone for certain is thanks to Death showing up at Ren Faire to confirm his worst nightmare. Losing Dream has always been so beyond the realm of probability - so outside the box of rational fate that Hob doesn’t really know where he's supposed to go from here. 

“You’ve always had a knack for the impossible,” Hob gives the grave a quick smile, aiming for lighthearted and landing somewhere in the ballpark of heartbroken, picking apart one unlucky blade of grass between his fingers. “Part of your nature, I s’pose. I’d say the sky's the limit, but not even the end of the universe was the limit when it came to you. If it can be dreamed or thought, it can be done, right?”

The orange glow of a sinking sunset frames the cross. Hob swallows.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is…a part of me was hoping you might pull this off. Just this one last impossible thing. And look, I know you’re not really here - Christ, I’m just talking to a piece of wood, but the thing is -“ Hob’s heart rushes up his throat. “I miss you.” He admits quietly, a gentle breeze tousling his hair. “I miss you so fucking much I can’t breathe sometimes. So, I’m asking you to do this one last impossible thing. For me. Come back. Please just - come back. I don’t know how to...” 

Hob's head hangs as he exhales sharply, wishing he knew what happened. Matthew’s kept his beak sealed shut about that - the little fucker disappeared out the kitchen window when Hob tried to interrogate him, demanding to know if there was someone to be held accountable. Anyone. Granted, one name, just one, would have sent him on a warpath to square off with whatever universe-bending force could have taken out someone like Dream. But still.

“Look, I can’t tell you, alright? It’s not that I don’t want to, I’m just not sure you’re in the best palace to hear it right now, man. And Daniel - It’s complicated.”

“Then un-complicate it, Matthew! Either he was murdered, or -”

Or.

Matthew had looked at him with so,  so  much sympathy and sorrow. Impressive, really, for a bird.

Regardless of the how or why, Hob still wishes he could have been there. To help. To stop it. To…to just be there, in Dream’s final moments.

You can’t save everyone, Hob. 

It’s a bitter pill to swallow. One he struggles with time and time again, dragging mangled bodies across battlefields in the hopes of reaching a medic in time, heedless of the bullets or steel tearing apart his own flesh. Or hiding out in a bunker as the Blitz rained down on the streets of London, clutching the hand of a dearly beloved as her heart gave out. Or of his own flesh and blood who smiled and waved goodbye at the door one evening to go to a tavern he would never return from.

“I’ve buried so many people, Dream.” Hob whispers, oblivious to the haunted note that strings through his voice, pulling his legs up to his chest and staring sightlessly at the ground. “So many. But I never thought - “ Something dislodges in his chest, and it punches a wounded sound from him, similar to the low keen of an animal that’s been shot. “I never thought I’d have to bury you .”

There wasn’t even a body. He buried a coat. 

The rickety dam in him cracks, and he clenches shut both eyes, tears trailing a scalding heat down his cheeks as he burrows his face between his knees, shoulders shaking as a series of silent sobs wrack through him. His chest aches. It hurts so much worse than any wound of the flesh could.

Hob stays like that for a long while, mourning a friend, his oldest friend. Perhaps more than that, if only they’d had more time - which feels like a selfish ask, all things considered. But Hob is greedy. He would have taken everything Dream was willing to give. Every century. Every second.

And now it's over.

[bigbarabelly]

I love your mpreg art. It gives me like gender euphoria. I'm filled with the urge to get knocked up and be a dad. It's a bit confusing because I'm a Cis dude, but I'll figure it out. You're awesome.

Anon

AAAAAAAAA anon ;; LISTEN OM REALLY GLAD like whether y’all take my art as just spank bank fodder or more I’m still very grateful for the impact and reach it’s had letting ppl figure their shit out like I did. Gender is weird even when you align with your shit. Like when I first started transitioning and figured out I was trans yearssssss after discovering this fuck ass kink LMAO. I didn’t know a lot about the whole spanse of identities and chromosomes and intersex stuff. There’s so much overlay into everyone’s unique circumstances from hormones and genetics alone to how you were raised and what you were exposed to at pivotal development points, and then the broad overlapping distinctions and identities that give us closure and group support of ppl in the same or similar niche coming together. I get dysphoric still over my body but at the same time I’m cool with it most of the time and that in itself helped me understand trans is all over the place. You don’t have to be super dysphoric or dress to fit the look. You just be.

and preg as a kink/fetish/interest what have you is just an idk deeper look into our mortal animal need to breed and the deeper psychological need to create family and social support around us because at its core we crave contact and acceptance from each other and instincts to make a better generation. Not including the separate just kinky want to breed without committing to domestic life family LMAO. But ye Call me a man but my genderqueer ass is still ok, and wanting, to like embrace that part of what’s considered a “female” thing to do of raising kids. I’d still like a dope ass penis but I’m also ok indulging this fuck ass pussy and just enjoying being here.

A lot of this is a jumbled mess so take from it what you will and ask any clarifying questions on my opinions LOL but like tldr wanting this is not as crazy as it seems???? LMAO its closure in a sort of like new exploratory way as you figure out yourself, whether you change labels or not, but it feels good and right just being yourself. And I personally think it’s super cute and wholesome seeing that want in others over something as raunchy as preg kink to as simple as just wanting to be a parent and carry your own child regardless of the genetic organs you’re dealt

TLDR ILU ALL AND TYSM ;;

[tenebriism]

The arrival of another season, as ever prompts the arrival of another letter, etched once again in a familiar slanted hand. She’s never quite sure how the letters get to Dainsleif; or if indeed they always do, but the sentiment is there, as often as she can spare it. Perhaps now more than ever, given the changing world in which they both seem to presently reside. 

To the man cloaked in starlight, 

Can you believe it’s three months since I last wrote to you? It seems to be a tradition now to reach out whenever the seasons change; a familiar sort of comfort amid the constant ebb and flow of time. Are you keeping well? I hope so at least, most ardently. Summer can be a cruel mistress otherwise, when heat and allergies combine to cause a potent mix of sneezes and watering eyes. My Cavalry Captain is suffering a little at the moment with the influx of dandelion pollen, but I hope wherever you are, the climate is a little kinder. 

Although it’s a while since we last spoke, I still think of you often. Near daily in fact, I’ll stumble across something and find myself curious as to whether you’d like it, or if it would spark the same emotion in you as it does in me. A song here, or a flower there. The stars in particular forever seem to resonate with my memory of you. So much so, I find myself working later and later, just to catch a glimpse of those twinkling beacons overhead to remind myself we’re under the same sky, no matter the distance. 

Things here are ticking away as usual, though I must admit things have been a little busier as of late. There’s something stirring to the North, although I can’t be sure what, and abyssal activity continues to be on the rise. I know it doesn’t need to be said, but please stay safe wherever you are and I shall endeavour to do the same. There’s still a long time between now and the next lantern rite and I’d very much like us both to remain in one piece until then. So consider this a pact. Sealed in an ambiguous lipstick stain (a silly homage to when we first met) and a sigil of the Lord Barbatos himself. 

In your last letter, you mentioned a loss of self. I wasn’t sure I understood it then, but I think I do now. There are things in life we sacrifice for the greater good. Parts of ourself that have been chipped away by time or circumstance, or willingly surrendered or buried, a price paid to balance some cosmic debt beyond our control. If these letters can give you even a small snippet of yourself back, I will consider it an honour. Since if truth be told, your replies have done much the same for me. 

It sounds silly now that I write it down and I don’t wish to scare you away with too many declarations of sentiment. But know that I thank the archons every day that they brought you into my life. 

Be safe, dear knight. Be well. 

Until next time, 

- J.G. x

To: The Dandelion Favored by the Wind,

Has it truly been three months? Time is something of a myth to me, now. Whether a week has passed or a month, I can hardly keep track; I only know that, regardless, I look forward to your writings. They are a pleasant repose from the harshness of reality.

I am as well as one can be. Thankfully, nature and her pettiness does not affect me, but I send well wishes to your ailing Cavalry Captain. Do encourage him to take care of himself, both for his own good, as well as yours; I am certain you would not hesitate to take on his work as your own, should he be indisposed, and your detailing of your workload has become repetitive, in that regard.

You should really take better care of yourself . . . yet, you are hardheaded and stubborn, so I will continue to wish for your health and well-being whilst I am not there to look after you. I will endeavor to look after myself if you do the same. It would be most . . . upsetting, were the next year to come around and only one of us is in attendance to what has become a much adored tradition. It . . . you . . . are the only thing I have to look forward to.

Please, do not take that away from me.

Perhaps, by then, I will be able to tell you more about myself. I find the desire to do so ever-growing with each letter I receive from you, but I fear that your reaction may be unfavorable. It is easier to put words to paper, than to speak them . . . at least, for me, it is. I wonder if you would look at me differently if you knew who, and what, I am. If I may very well ruin this strange, albeit comforting arrangement we have. You are kind and patient, and I know I am foolish in my fears, but this is a weight I have carried for far longer than fathomable.

Maybe you are the one I am meant to find freedom in . . . more than I already have. Nonetheless, I am running out of space to write, and I must keep moving if I am to avoid potential obstacles in my travels.

Until I am able to see you again, dearest wind blossom.

D.

@gunnhildred ;; ♥