#what a wholesome prompt

[toxintouch]

hii!! I just read cold spots and it was AMAZING!!! Im not sure if you wanted to continue the fic, but if you don’t mind could you continue with Veres part? I don’t know what you would write about but I just feel like that fic has so much potential to be a little 3 part series or something 🙏

<- Cold Spots TYSM ANON!! I put the Vere End at the beginning for ease of reading. For the sake of folks who would like to read this as a stand-alone... I think u can? With the knowledge that the premise of Cold Spots is that Mhin and MC/Sparrow went ghost hunting. Vere is said to have been responsible for a handful of local ghost stories, so…of course he makes some mischief.🦊 Also MC needs some Winter wear, stat.  A very light Possessive Vere warning in this btw, though perhaps in a roundabout way.  Plausible deniability is so important to him.

You putter around in your room at the Wet Wick as you go about your nightly routine. The occasional cheer or thud from below only accentuates your nervous energy, punctuating your reluctance to settle down and get into bed. You smooth the covers with your bandaged hands and fluff the pillow before extinguishing the lamplight. You tug the bedding up above your shoulders, fighting to get comfortable. As your eyelids finally start to droop, the flicker of a shadow catches your attention.   It dances and sways and bends and grows until suddenly it is right in front of you.  On top of you. Silken, blood red drips down onto your face, a knife gleam smile too close for comfort.  You breathe in a gasp, wondering if you should scream. “Vere, what–” “Shhh,” he coos, pressing a finger lightly to your lips.  His breath is hot against your skin. “I only came to keep you warm, pet.”

Heat Signature

“Poor thing.” Vere purrs.  “Your lips are so cold.”  He leans ever closer, his mouth hot over yours–hovering.  His other hand reaches for your face as well, nails trailing against your cheek in a teasing caress.

You feel even the thought of being cold leave your body, replaced instead by the unusual thrill he commands, that strange enthralling sway.

That heat you’ve come to associate with Vere; sweet tendrils of want that nestle in your bloodstream.

You squirm a little, though you can’t move much with him looming over you.

(You should probably do more to protest his intrusion into your room, you think to yourself, though, the majority of you is–curious, daresay even far too eager to–)

“Whatever trouble did you get up to that left you in such a state?”

At this you scoff, tilting your head back into the pillow and effectively knocking Vere’s finger from your lips.  

“As if you don’t know,” you accuse.

Vere looks entirely unperturbed by you shaking him off, his lithe fingers traveling freely along the newly displayed skin of your throat, making your pulse jump.

Vere chuckles at that, dark and silky.

“Being tight lipped about your adventures, hm?”  He angles your face just so, ensuring you meet his sharp eyes, his nose brushing up against yours.  “Not that it matters.  It so happens I do know what you’ve been up to.  Trespassing in places that don’t belong to you.”

“...It was an abandoned building.  I don’t think it really belonged to anyone.”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Vere says, “everything in this city belongs to someone, darling.  You just don’t know what belongs to who yet.”  He peers down at you with laughter in his expression, though there's a distinct edge to it that you can't quite place.

“So, you're here because that building belongs to you...?”

“Hmm, amongst other things.  However shall I make you apologize to me for this most egregious offense?”  He asks airily, shifting until he’s beside you rather than perched over you, resting his cheek in his hand and letting his eyes slip closed. He's the absolute picture of unbothered leisure.  

(You’re not fooled–he’s simply waiting for you to let your guard down before he pounces.)

You open your mouth to deny any debts on your part (though, if your ghost hunting spot was indeed Vere’s hideout, you really do feel guilty) but Vere cuts you off before you can speak.

“Alas, I suppose it’s not mine anymore.  Within a week it will reek of wet dogs and cheap booze. It's a lost cause now that those drooling reprobates know it's inhabitable.  A pity.  By Eridia's standards it really was divine in its heyday.  Good wine, music, dancing.  There was this portrait artist who would paint the performances…”

His tone remains light as he reminisces.  But the look he pins you with is dangerous: his eyes gleaming bright, his canines bared in an irreverent grin.

“I had such hopes and dreams of reviving the place myself.  Some of the dances were very scandalous.  You never did share with me your stance on dancing, did you?”

You stumble out an approximate answer.  It’s…harmless information to give, isn’t it?

Though, judging by how pleased Vere looks, you wonder if you should have refused to say.  He looks positively wicked as he ponders your answer aloud.  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of talents to share.  In another life, perhaps I'd have put you on stage.  Though, I admit.  I find myself partial to a private show.”

And–as expected–the moment you let your guard down, he's in your space again, crowding you.  Heat and proximity and the softest brush of his lips against yours, light enough to send a thrill down your spine, curiosity and a want so deep it surprises you.

“Well?”  He purrs.  “Care to audition?”

You can't hide behind the excuse of supernatural sway or charm or the thrall of hypnotic sunglo eyes.  It's not Vere's power that controls you. It's your own gnawing desire; starvation and longing that draws you to him despite all sense.

Kissing Vere is heady.  Dizzying.  

Kissing Vere is like being in conversation with Vere–a constant of giving and taking, being chased after and running to keep up.  It’s enticing and alluring and decadent and never quite enough, over too soon even as you feel yourself losing air, the rush of blood and sensation threatening to overwhelm you.

He gives a parting nip to your bottom lip as he pulls away.

Then another one, playful, to your jaw.

When he presses his face into the side of your neck, you expect him to bite again.

What you don’t expect is for him to nuzzle into you, inhaling deeply before heaving a great sigh, his tail flopping lazily to land across you with a thump.

He’s officious as he rearranges the covers, ensuring your arms are tucked carefully away from him before he’s willing to fully settle into the bedding, pulling the blankets up around the both of you like a den.  He hums something low in his chest as he tucks himself up alongside you, long tail curled around your waist. 

It’s rhythmic–

purring.

And it’s…soothing, actually.

The weight of him, the warmth.  The incessant lamplight of the Amaryllis District, shining ever present through your window, is dim–tolerable, even, courtesy of Vere's magnificent shadow manipulations and the blankets sheltering you. 

The constant noise seems to fade away as well, obscured by the sound of purring. “Falling asleep when you have me in your bed, pet?  You really do try your luck…”

[pixelatedraindrops]

Yuma Month: Day 20: Truth

The truth…is uglier than you could have ever expected.

tw // vomit (spoilers too)

...happens only if he ate a meat bun prior to this

(all vomit in rain code is censored in pink glitter ✨)

based on this post I made long back

[klutzytomb]

I never thought I'd say this, but there's no way I'm one of the only ones here that isn't chronically online. Right? Right??

[entomolog-t]

INSTAЯ (3)

Multi Prompt Post; Mirror, Forlorn, Hush

Who else has ever thought, "You know what charades is missing? Angst."

In case the remark above wasn't clear, this chapter deals with some decent angst- you have been warned.

- - - -

Previous Chapter: Chapter 2

Next Chapter: Chapter 4

Word count: 2755

CW: Mild body horror, Panic/angst, Unintentional dehumanization, Adult language

I gasp as the weight in my hand thrashes- jerking up and scrambling back in my open palm. 

It- it’s alive?!

As if I’d been given a handful of burning coals, instinct yanks my hands back and the… thing clatter onto the floor with an audible clink.

What the fuck is -

Before my brain can follow, a not quite human form stumbles to its feet and bolts away and at an unnerving speed. Within a matter of seconds the kitchen erupts into chaos. Honey’s barking reverberates against the walls as she follows suit- bounding after it as if it were one of the numerous elusive squirrels frequenting the property. Mouth open, she lunges, in an attempt to grab it but the creature dives out of the way, letting out a strained noise- a high pitched wail followed by a series of clicks as it darts under the kitchen table. Like a bull in a China shop, Honey continues her pursuit, carelessly shoving chairs aside without a second thought as she gives chase to … to what?? Its almost as if my brain stutters, stumbling over dots it’s struggling to connect.

The creature- as fast as it was- was no match for Honey, especially in the open expanse of the kitchen. Their frantic chase lasts all of 10 seconds before Honey has it cornered. 

The creature squeaks- crying out as Honey pounces from side to side, yipping at it as she urges it to play in her very one sided game of chase- daring it to run. I stare blankly, having barely moved since my initial fright. 

I couldn't quite see the creature from my vantage point behind Honey, but the glimpses I had gotten were telling; the iridescent sheen, the strange limbs… 

There was no way…

The strained chittering from the corner jolts me out of my thoughts. Honey playfully nips at the creature not unlike the way she used to annoy the neighbors barn cat, blissfully unaware she was just torturing the poor thing… until he had swiped at her- The thought sends a chill through me. Would it bite her? Memories of its horrific mouth and those clawed finger tips are pulled from my mind… Sure, it was small, but that certainly didn’t mean that thing wasn’t dangerous- especially now that she had it cornered. 

My mind was racing, searching desperately for some sort of plan of action. What was I supposed to do? There was no way I was letting that thing escape somewhere in my house- but its not like I could just let Honey maul some… Alien..? Monster? I still had no clue what that thing was, and there was absolutely no way I was going to be touching that thing myself. I shuddered as my brain conjured up various gore filled movie scenes of parasitic aliens burrowing themselves into a host. Was that what it was? Some juvenile alien looking for a host?? My eyes hastily dart around the kitchen, looking for some kind of solution- and then I see it. 

A whiskey glass.

On the counter I spot one of the fancy glasses Clyde had insisted on bringing over the last time we drank. At the time I thought he was being pretentious, but at this moment I’m filled with nothing but thanks. 

I take a wary step forward and watch as both Honey and the creature’s head are on me in an instant. I give a sharp whistle. 

"Off." Honey tilts her head, reluctant to give up her new plaything, but upon making a noise of disapproval, she relents, trotting over behind me as she would when out hunting. I quickly take her spot- not letting the creature leave the corner. 

There's an audible squeak from the creature as I kneel down. It chitters frantically, all four of its arms raised up in between us as it takes a step back.  

Its antennae twitch in a way that almost seems ... nervous. It’s tail- I furrow my brow- it had a tail? Aside from the drastic change in size, the creature looked slightly different than it had before.  For one- it had a tail; whip-like and bristly, almost like a porcupine with its spines folded back. It’s antennae seemed thicker, club-like near the tip, and its shell, no longer an inky black, had taken on a deep bluish green tone. It stares up at me, eyes wide and unblinking as it continues to chitter, head turning to look at the glass and back to me. 

I raise the glass over its head and the creature stumbles, falling backwards in a much too human-like motion- a fearful little action that nearly makes me feel guilty. As the glass comes down over it, the creature ducks its head forward, clambering to its hands and knees- the whiskey glass too shallow even with it sitting.   

For a moment, we both stare at each other, until the reality of the situation seems to settle in; I had caught some tiny creature maybe-alien in a whiskey glass. 

Just what the Hell was I supposed to do now? Should I call some? Who would I even call??

I caught myself right before starting to chew on my thumb, trading in the old habit for occupying my hands with fidgeting instead. My eyes scan the countertops for my phone, finding it in its usual place at the corner opposite to me, right between my notepad and truck keys. 

I hesitate- not too keen on the idea of leaving the creature unattended even for a brief moment, lest that thing get loose in my house. Wracking my brain for any sort of plan, I start taking a mental inventory of anything I could possibly use within arms reach.

Cleaning supplies, baking supplies, paper towels, paper plates- 

I pause. 

That could work.

Opening the cupboard to my left, I pull out a paper plate. Tipping the glass up ever so slightly, I slip the plate underneath, frantically trying to convince myself this is no different from catching a wasp.

It’s face turns up to lock eyes with me, muffled chittering escaping from through the glass. It seemed to stare daggers at me, squinting at me as if it were… insulted? 

Questions of its intelligence resurface once again. There was no doubt in my mind that it was thinking, analyzing my actions as it scrutinized me… It had known how to lock the doors- Just how smart was this thing? More importantly - what was this thing? 

As I shimmy the plate underneath the glass, the creature reluctantly crawls onto it, its glare never once relenting. I stand, placing the trapped monstrosity on the countertop near my phone. With a deep breath, I pick up my phone and stare at the screen- my mind once again racing at the bizarre logistics- just who the Hell I was supposed to call about a potential alien I had trapped like some kind of weird bug? Should I call Clyde? The police? They’d think I was crazy, right? Should I lie, or - 

Tink.

A sharp clinking interrupts my thoughts. The creature bangs on the glass and I instinctively recoil 

“Fat chance I’m letting you out-” I mutter, but my words die in my mouth the moment my eyes are on it. I watch in horrified fascination as the creature gestures frantically pointing to the notepad. 

I freeze- heart beating wildly in my ears.

Did… Did it want to write?

An uneasy feeling creeps at the edge of my consciousness, making my skin prickle. As soon as I pick up the notepad it nods vigorously. That simple gesture made my skin crawl. It was communicating…

I feel as the blood drains from my face- a noticeable sinking feeling in my gut at the brief glimpse of this…this being’s intelligence.  

I blanche, staring at the being, dumbfounded. Its mouthparts twitch under my gaze, as it continues pointing insistently at the notepad and then to the pen, looking all too human in its frustration. 

It’s as though I’m underwater, my movements delayed as I pull up a chair and sit down. Carefully, I tilt the glass, a not insignificant part of my brain expecting the creature to dart off… but it doesn’t. Ever so slowly, it gets to its feet, tail swishing nervously as its multitude of eyes stay locked on my own. 

It chitters, raising up its first set of arms, gesturing impatiently for me to hand it the pen. I comply, placing the pen in their outstretched arms, taking note of just how massive the pen looks in their strange grasp; The being no bigger than the pen itself- if that. 

I flip the notepad open to a blank page and place it down in front of them. They awkwardly jostle the pen around, trying to figure out how best to hold it before figuring out a relatively steady grasp- the sight would be comical if it weren’t so bizarre… so real. In a motion almost akin to sweeping, bit by bit shaky letters begin to form.

H…E…L…P

I gasp- eyes wide as I read the word… the English word.

“H-help?” The creature flattens its antennae at the sound of my voice, but nods, “How-” I shake my head, wanting my own answers, “What are you?”

Again, it awkwardly dances with the pen as it answers,

H…U…M…A…N

It stares at the word before it moves, standing on the “HU” portion, and gesturing to the remaining letters.

M… A… N

My skin tingles with the pricking sensation of goosebumps as I read the word over again, mouth agape. A nervous laugh escapes me as the apparent not-so-human human points to the word and back to itself- himself. I grimace.

“I got news for you, buddy.”

The least human looking man I’d ever laid eyes on  chitters an aggravated series of clicks as he begins to write again, almost as if muttering to himself. 

W…A…N…T  

My mind reels trying to figure out what he would need.

L … O…O…K

As he finishes his second word he then points to himself. 

My mouth goes dry. Were they really human?  Worse yet, if he was … what happened to him?  

My voice feels hollow as I speak, 

“You want to look…? At yourself??” 

He makes a chirping sound, responding with an emphatic nod. An uncomfortable thought crosses my mind, Had he not seen what happened to him? I chew my lip, my thigh bouncing wildly beneath me.

“You know, it would have been faster to write mirror.” I quip, trying to relieve some of the tension I felt boiling under the surface. 

He chitters in what I assume to be annoyance, sounding oddly similar to a treed squirrel. I hear the jingle of Honey’s collar as she perks up- clearly all too familiar with that sound. 

I shoot Honey a stern look, 

“Stay.” Turning back to the little being I add, “That goes for you too,” as I get up to grab my purse from the coat rack. He tosses his hands up in an exaggerated gesture of exasperation. 

It’s as though I’m in a daze, my brain on autopilot as I navigate my way around the carnage of the night prior. The newfound context of the incident with the creature twisting a knot in my stomach. It’s- no, his hands raised in a placating gesture between Honey and himself… pleading to me… looking for help. I exhale- my breath coming out shaky. There were still so many questions- and it seemed like he had questions of his own as well. 

I return to the kitchen with my purse, finding him sitting down on the countertop, staring blankly at his hands. Upon my approach his antennae perk up, and he stands to meet me. I can’t help but stare. He looks so small. I rummage through the mishmash contents of my purse, pulling out a compact with a mirror. Part of me wants to warn him- but what was I supposed to say? Heads up, you’re fucking horrifying? Surely he would have some understanding about his situation. It’s not like they couldn’t see their own body… Or my reaction to him last night. Without saying a word, I pop the compact open, placing it in front of him.

At the sight of his reflection, he stumbles back- his strange mouth hanging agape. That is, until he catches sight of his mouth- his hands flying up rapidly to cover it from view. For a moment, everything is still. He stands frozen in front of his reflection, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Soft chittering fills trinkles into the silence. In an agonizingly slow motion, his first pair of limbs reaches upwards, while his second remains wrapped around his waist, as if covering himself. His hands move across the hard surface of his face. He grazes clawed fingertips around each eye, hands trembling as they come up to feel the horn like protrusions at his crown. 

He drops his hands, gaze falling to stare at them, before returning to his reflection once more. His movements at first slow and timid, increase in speed. He grabs at his face, twisting his head left and right before trembling hands grope at the gaps in his exoskeleton- frantically gripping and tugging at the edges. The groping becomes more violent- almost mauling- as he starts to pull at the edges of his shell as if wanting to rip it from his body. My hand twitches, ready to intervene. He chitters, and his attention gets pulled to his mouthparts. Motions far too violent, he yanks at the insectoid appendages covering his mouth, peeling back the appendages to stare at the horrific expanse of his oral cavity. I flinch at the pained squeak they make as he sees the grotesque sight of his inhuman maw. His chittering grows frantic- pained even. 

Hands shaking, he scrapes at the hard shell of his face with clawed fingers, reefing on any gaps in his armor while making a strange shrill sound, like a bird simultaneously whistling and hyperventilating. The sound came forth rapidly and without rhythm, hitching and catching at random intervals as his chest heaved- 

Oh. 

He was sobbing. 

My heart aches at the sight, and without thinking I reach my hand out in an attempt to break him from his panic. He flinches back staring up at me with too many wide wet eyes. I hesitate- hand hovering just before him, my heart wrenching in my chest. 

Ever so carefully, I curl my fingers around him. He stiffens, freezing in place. I brush my thumb across his cheek, gently wiping away a trail of tears dripping down the too hard and too smooth surface of his face. He goes rigid under my touch, but doesn't pull away- instead he looks away, turning his head to avoid my gaze.

I will my hand steady as I hook my finger under his chin, softly guiding his face back to meet mine. 

"Shh." I hush,  "I.. I don't know what's happening, but I'm here to help, okay?" 

As I speak, clawed hands grip onto my finger as his tiny form hunches forward, burying his face against my hand. My skin crawls as I feel his second set of arms unfurl, gripping onto my fingers. The sensation of the far too insect-like texture of their shell and two too many limbs against my skin made me wince- both disgusted with the sensation, but more so with myself for having the disgust cross my mind at all. 

What the fuck is wrong with you?

Almost as if to spite my own thoughts, I wrap my hands around him, in the closest approximation comfort I can think to provide- resenting the way I suppress a cringe as he returns the embrace. 

Muffled chirps spill from between my fingers, his body trembling under my touch. My throat constricts- thigh still rapidly bouncing against the chair. What was I supposed to do? How on Earth was I supposed to offer any comfort? I stroke his side with my thumb, ashamed that fidgeting action was more to comfort myself. I told them I would help them… What am I supposed to do? Is there even anything I can do? My heart wrenches. Fucking useless. In my hands I held a pitiful sight, and there was nothing I could do, no words I could say, no solution I could offer. 

All I could offer were hands to hold him.

[yujeong]

For the micro story ask, how about number 7 (silent fury) for Pete? With your choice of other character/s <3

Ohhh, that's a good one, my friend, thank you so much ❤️ ----------------------- "Hey, P'Pete." "Hm?" "You used to do boxing, right?" "Ah... yes, why?" "What was your nickname?" "My... what?" "The name you'd been given as a fighter. Like how P'Porsche was called The Phoenix." "Well-" "Silent Fury." "Bro, you're not funny." "What? It suits him, doesn't it?" "It sounds stupid and you know it." "It does sound a little stupid, Vegas." "I only meant to emphasize your strengths, Pete." "You did a bad job." "Shut up, Macau." "Phi never answered the question. What was it?" "I... didn't have one." "You didn't? But why?" "No point for a fighter who's bad at his job." "Pete-" "No, I refuse to accept it. We're giving you one right now... Don't laugh, Phi, I'm being serious!" "Fine, Macau. Do whatever you want. But it can't be Silent Fury." "It suits you-" "Hia won't participate in the brainstorming. Only me and P'Pete." "Okay, that's it. No dinner for you." "Will I not get dinner either, Vegas?" "It depends, Pete. Are you going to behave?" "Ugh, never mind, I'm out of here. You started being gross again." "Food will be ready in an hour!" "You better have finished until then!" "No promises."

[mielmoto]

honey absolutely has tons of candid pictures of her friends. some of them embarrassing, most shockingly high quality, virtually all of them taken without the other noticing at all.

[ardent-fox]

Galladrabbles: Flawed

Thank you to @thisdivorce for this lovely @galladrabbles prompt! I apologize for not being active and popping in just to hurt/comfort bomb, but I couldn't resist.

"Love is insane. You feel like you're always subtly asking: "Do you still love me even though I'm flawed?" And the answer just keeps being "Yes." - Gayassnatural

----

"Almost done," Mickey gentles while pouring warm water over his hair, inked knuckles rinsing suds out into the tub.

His mother said it would break people's hearts to see him this way. She never told him how he'd feel in turn, guilt filling the hollow in his chest.

"Still love me?" It's weak and raspy after days of not talking. His face crumples at Mickey's excited gasp, content with so little after doing so much.

"Do I still- Fuck, c'mere."

Technically, it's Mickey who comes to him, kneeling inside the water fully dressed and pulling him into his arms. "Always."

[whumpitisthen]

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm still crying. It's stupid."

"You were hurt. You are allowed to cry when you are hurt."

"But it's silly! It wasn't even that serious, I'm just being a drama queen - "

"What they said hurt you. You were hurt. It doesn't matter if it was a joke or a silly argument. What they said hurt you and you shouldn't think your feelings are no longer valid once you look back and see how stupid the situation may or may not have been."

"I should've just — "

"No, they shouldn't have said that. It is not your fault that they were rude to you for no reason. Please stop excusing their behaviour for them."

" ...okay. Sorry."

"There is nothing to be sorry for. You didn't do anything wrong. And if it makes you feel any better, I would have punched them right then and there. If you don't believe your own recollection, remember mine. Never feel bad for reacting in a natural way, feel better for not letting me react in a natural way and go kick their ass right now."

"Haha... Maybe it wasn't silly after all, but still, I don't think it warrants something like that."

"As long as you have to keep reminding me it wasn't that serious, I get to keep reminding you it wasn't that silly. Deal?"

"... Yeah, sure. You win."

[shhhhhiminsidesaitamascloset]

((bald f/o))

Your f/o is bald. But you love rubbing his head and shining it. Sometimes you smack it for fun after buffing it for a few minutes. He doesnt like that but you give it kisses as a apology for being a d***.

You love massaging his noggin even when he's sitting there playing games or sorting documents. Or doing college assignments. Whatever hes doing your hands are almost always on his head.

He actually likes it and pulls your hands close to him. He then gives you kisses on your hands in appreciation for showing his head some tlc ✩

lmk if yall like these imagines i post ✩

[mooblybloom]

I just had the greatest fafiya fanfic idea:

Basically Takiya does something that is normally considered a dragon courting ritual like giving Fafnir shiny new rock he found on the riverbank or something that made him think of Fafnir then Fafnir's all confused and shit because is Takiya trying to fucking court him? And it doesn't even occur to him that Takiya probably doesn't know any dragon courting rituals

So Fafnir goes to Toro about this because she's been among humans the longest to which she tells him that Takiya probably didn't know what he was doing and that he probably didn't mean it

Que Fafnir being all sad and broody because his crush doesn't probably like him back (He definitely does) Takiya notice is this and then instead of asking Fafnir because he knows him He goes to Kobayashi who overheard Fafnir and taro's conversation and relays this all back to Takiya who understands this and feels stupid for his idiocy then goes to clarify to Fafnir that Yes he does like him but no he did not know that was according ritual... Happily ever after some shit I'm not a fanfic writer although I'd like to be

[golden--doodler]

Geneuary Day Six: Fashion/Secret

Today, I suddenly thought of this exchange from SpongeBob which is so Gene-coded, it's making me insane:

Mr. Krabs: You know that makes you look like a girl, right?

SpongeBob: Am I a pretty girl? ☺️

[toasticatum]

This

[hirazuki]

Maedhros and Mairon + 49

…out of necessity | Maedhros & Mairon

•────────────────────⋅☾ ☽⋅────────────────────•

Aman, somewhere in the north. Fourth Age.

"And you are absolutely certain I cannot persuade you to come?" Maedhros asks, only half in jest, over the rim of his near-depleted glass.

Mairon tucks away the warm bloom of pleasure he feels at the Elf's clear approval of the vintage -- made from fruit harvested just over the hill; he has been experimenting, in the hope of finally discovering a drink to his own liking -- and casts a withering glare at him instead, of the kind that once flayed servants and kings alike and stayed dragons in their tracks.

His visitor, true to form, remains entirely unaffected.

The Maia clicks his tongue and runs a subtly-clawed hand through a strand of hair that has fallen over his eyes, examining its ends before flicking it back.

"No, thank you," he declines, feigned sweetness and a hint of fang slipping in, in reminiscence of bygone days. "I have no desire to mire myself in the politics of Valinor and Tirion and Tol Eressëa and whatever new settlement the latest group of reembodied discontents has elected to erect."

Maedhros chuckles into his glass, with sympathy and, likely, no small amount of envy -- he does not possess the luxury of choice in this matter -- before he drains it.

To say receiving him had been a surprise -- wine-dark elegance walking down the garden path to his doorstep, his Fëanorian finery a far cry from the remembered bronze and battered steel; hair, once and forever, a bloodstain in the sun -- would be to say the Grinding Ice was cold.

Awkwardness and cautious circling had gradually given way to unspun talk of things both great and small, held over sectioned wooden plates and light-colored tea in patterned cups; Mairon eagerly lapping up every scrap of information offered, starving mind ever at odds with his self-imposed isolation in the wilderness of Aman's empty north. He'd come here in pursuit of peace -- to remove himself from the noise and the tangle, the unbearableness of eternity's everyday; and the price for soothing his spirit was boredom. There was a line between too much quiet and not enough, and it was as gossamer stretched between the trees.

Neither had the irony been lost on him: he who, once, had stood on sheer precipices, feeding news of the world below to hungry ears upon its peaks. An unthinkable case of turned tables.

The paltry heat of the day -- a ghost of the burning summers across the sea -- had eventually faded into bland evening, with a suggestion of night-flowers in the air too timid to be truly called a scent. They had barely noticed, until firelight hair started shining brighter against the window panes.

Mairon has enjoyed this far more than he would have anticipated; certainly more than he will ever admit. He supposes he should not be surprised at it -- he has been alone since coming here, after all, and Maedhros has always proved to be intriguing, intelligent company, even in throes of imprisonment; even in torture.

Fëanor's eldest stands, apology on his lips. "I should be returning; it is some way to Formenos, and there are those among my family with a predilection for hasty conclusions; regardless of however little actual information they possess." His face does something complicated, that echoes the tightness the Maia feels in his chest. "I did not think I would stay so late."

Mairon pauses, halfway to standing himself. "You did not tell anyone where you were going?"

"Should I have?"

The former Lieutenant of Angband -- Gorthaur; Sauron; the Second Dark Lord and erstwhile Lord of Mordor -- stares at him, blankly.

Maedhros laughs, and it is the same mirthless, rueful laugh he remembers from a different land under a different sky, if somewhat filed down around the edges by time spent in silver vapors and vast caverns that trail below the seas.

"And what designs do you have on me, here in Aman?" the Elf asks him, with a manner that is heedless of the eggshells others have strewn all about him since his return to the West, and it feels like the fire coursing through his veins when he runs after being confined for too long. "What have you ever done towards me, in person, other than argue yourself hoarse to have me unhung?"

Oh. He'd noticed. His one-time prisoner had noticed, somehow, through the haze of blood and pain and stinging northern winds. Mairon is not certain how he feels about that.

"I dislike waste," is the response he settles on; it is not a lie. "And you forget too easily."

"I have not forgotten anything," Maedhros assures him, and holds up his left hand to look at the yawning black that graces its reincarnated palm. "I simply think I am no longer in a position to cast stones."

Mairon looks at it, too.

He thinks of Celebrimbor, of how he has heard that his shirts are always sleeved to the wrist and he avoids eating with knives, and of Maeglin, and how he shirks high places, and of the blistered skin still stamped around his own throat, a collar fashioned of previous flesh and soul-carved fear that hounds him in every form.

Is it the same for a Vala? he wonders, suddenly; does Melkor also wear the wounds of an old life? He has not seen him, yet, though Nienna has reached out.

"I have not been for a long time." Maedhros' voice is a half-whisper, but it draws him out from where he has fallen into his own head, before he can sink in deeper to drown in the sirenic call of afterthoughts long dead.

He watches him take out a glove from a pocket in his cloak and, using his teeth, pull it over his hand.

"You keep it hidden?"

The question is intrusive, insensitive, and wholly involuntary -- Maedhros has not shown any indication that the burn of the Silmaril bothers him, and the care with which he covers it now strikes the Maia with the suddenness of hammer upon anvil.

"I grew tired of both pity and censure," comes the answer -- raw in honesty and distressingly intimate, it devastates like Song.

And yet, Fëanor's firstborn leaves his right wrist bare for all to see. Perhaps it is because the injury is older, Mairon thinks; or, perhaps, it is that some scars are more private than others.

He catches Maedhros smiling at him, and at the hand he did not realize he has raised to cradle his own neck.

The Elf says nothing, and turns to make his way to the front door.

Mairon follows; it is only proper to walk him out.

He is about to bid him goodnight on the threshold, in the fashion of old Beleriand, when Maedhros leans forward and places a quick touch of his lips on him, once on each cheek.

Mairon stills, for the span between seconds, before flinching back. "What are you doing?"

"Satisfying the demands of Noldorin etiquette," Maedhros replies, brow slightly creasing under the plain band of burnished copper that goes around his head. "I should have thought you familiar with all our customs."

Mairon retreats within his mind and quickly flips through the tome of his life labeled 'Eregion' -- still within easy reach, though riddled with dust and disuse.

There is nothing there.

Curious; but, it is possible the Elves of Ost-in-Edhil -- Tyelpë, in particular -- had kept more of a distance from him than he'd been led to believe. Despite the long winters and the late nights and the celebrations, there had always been a boundary between Elf and Maia: too insubstantial to ever be commented on, just solid enough to be vexing. That, or they had left some traditions behind when they had crossed over the mountains, alongside everyone else, in the wake of rising water and incalculable loss.

None of that is pertinent, however, at the moment. What matters is his old counterpart standing before him, the lingering trace of foreign warmth on his face, and his ever-burning need to know.

"And what does it signify?"

"It means," Maedhros begins, speaking words that Mairon could not have imagined existed on the other side of howling cliffs and deep fire and wretched hallowed light, "that it is good to see you again."

[kharmii]

“I’m angry that people are kink shaming me,” says the kink shamer, proceeding to then kink shame.

Have whatever kinks you want, but I hope next time someone has a reason they don’t want you to steal - oh, sorry, ‘repost’ - their artwork (or a friend’s) and reaches out to you very kindly to ask you to take it down, you’re a decent human being and treat them with respect, instead of having a pity party tantrum about incest and sharing it publicly. Perhaps, in future, you should ask people if you’re able to share their work, since doing so would’ve undoubtedly avoided this entire embarrassing situation.

It’s the least you could do after using their art for your own clout. The bar is so low… and yet…

This whole line of trolling came up because I saw one of the most vile furry fetishists on the trainwreck tag tell someone they weren't a proshipper. Again, what percentage of gross ass shitting dick nipple monster fuckers has that mentality?

Anyway, I've been over this so many times it's like I'm talking in circles, so now I'm going to pitch my new fan fic idea based on this tweet where Emmet happens upon Volo wearing Ingo's jacket.

-So the premise is that it has been four long lonely years since Ingo disappeared without a trace. Emmet is walking down the street in Nimbassa City one day when he sees Ingo just ahead of him. Excited, he runs up and spins him around, only to find out he's an attractive blonde wearing Ingo's jacket.

Volo: I've finally found you! *flips hair* I promised your brother Ingo on his death bed that I'd find you and give you a rough blow job.............and also tell you the story about how I accidentally had him isekai'd 200 years into the past when I was working in collusion with the Dark Lord of Chaos Giratina.

Emmet: *zzzzziiiipppp.....* Fill me in on the rest later.

[avirael]

FFxivWrite 2023

Day 06 - Ring

With a sad sigh A'viloh looked at the ring in his palm as he stood in front of the goldsmiths‘ guild. It was a delicate little thing but also incredibly pretty. A fine woven silver band with flourishes that seemed to form a lily and in the middle of it a bright peridot. He shook his head and decided that he couldn’t do this.

***

Before he had left for Ul'dah Kikipu had stopped him one last time and asked him for a favour. Carefully she had pulled a necklace from beneath her shirt and took a small silver ring of the chain.

"Take this.", she had said as she pressed it into A'viloh’s hand. "Sell it for me when you’re in Ul'dah. I meant to do so for a while now but couldn’t bring myself to do it, but if you go in my place… Well, the money will help us a lot to keep this place out of these greedy bastards hands."

She sighed as A'viloh turned the ring between his fingers. "It’s so beautiful! The stone is so bright, what is it? And where did you get it?"

"A peridot." Kikipu explained. "My fiancé gave it to me a long time ago and told me he chose it because it looks just like my eyes."

The Miqo'te looked and the stone once more and then at Kikipu’s face. "Yes, it’s really close."

Kikipu laughed and said. "But not quite, right? I guess he just couldn’t afford an emerald. Really it looks more like your eyes than mine!"

At that A'viloh had to laugh too but then he picked up on something she had said. He wasn’t sure if it was okay to ask but given the fact that Kikipu wanted to sell this ring it seemed like an important detail to A'viloh.

"You said your fiancé gave it to you. Where did he go?"

"Shortly after our engagement he fell very sick and died soon after.", she explained with a sad look on her face.

A'viloh already motioned to give it back to her. "Then you can’t sell this!", he exclaimed. He felt a little jealous about this memento and upset about the fact she wanted to give it away. He had nothing at all that reminded him of Laqa. Everything they had they either had to leave behind or got taken from them. If he had something like this he was sure he would cherish it forever.

But Kikipu shook her head and pushed his hand back. "Like I said, it was a long time ago. Also, I think he would be happy to know that his present ensures I can keep our home. This place and the people here are more important than a piece of jewellery."

He understood what she said and it made sense but it still didn’t feel right to him. "Are you really sure about this?"

"I am.", she nodded vehemently. "Please go to Serendipity at the Goldsmiths‘ Guild and show it to hear. She‘s a good person and an expert on jewellery, she will give you an appropriate amount of gil for it."

He had agreed reluctantly and then she had shooed him away, warning him that he wouldn’t make it before sunset if he kept on dawdling.

***

When he returned to the Silver Bazaar a few weeks later the stars had just started to appear in the sky. He had spent the afternoon with some tasks in the area and decided to return home for the night before heading to Horizon the next morning.

Kikipu and the other people had been happy to see him return safely and eager to hear about his visit to the city. They all gathered on cushions on the floor in the middle of the bazaar and A'viloh spent hours telling them about all the things he had seen and learned until one after another excused themselves and went to bed. In the end only Kikipu remained.

"About the thing you send me to do.", A'viloh started, pulled a pouch of coins from his bag and gave it to her. "This should be enough to keep this place safe for a while I hope."

She took the pouch with a deep sigh and looked inside. Then she said visibly surprised: "This is a lot more than I expected! You can’t tell me Serendipity gave you this much Gil for that old thing."

"Ah, about that…", A'viloh answered and pulled the little peridot ring from his pocket. "Don’t be mad but I couldn’t bring myself to sell it."

She looked at him with wide eyes. "What? But… How?" she stuttered and looked at him in disbelief. "Where did you get all that money from??"

He smiled and put the ring in her hand.

"I worked for it. I made deliveries, I hunted monsters, I even played the weavers‘ guild mascot for a day. Whatever job I could find, so you could keep this."

Baffled she looked at him and then started to blink. A'viloh could see the tears forming in her eyes as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight.

"Oh A'vi, thank you so much! This means so much to me! Oh, my sweet boy, I am so proud of you!"

At that A'viloh teared up a little too. To see Kikipu so happy made him very happy too. But to hear her say that she was proud of him? No one had every said that to him.

"Thank you.", he whispered and embraced her tightly.

[overtheimaginationwall]

Hello, ppl of my blog and those who stumbled upon this post!

I cleaned up and polished my profile and inbox, so feel free to send me questions/headcanons/art prompts ect.

(anons welcomed!!)

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| RULES |

1. Please READ my Main Informational Post before sending anything!

2. I will inform that my social battery is really draining and so, I might answer late or might not answer at all to some questions. I apologise in advance!

3. For art prompts/requests:

- No OCs

- No NSFW/Creepy/Complex details

- I only draw for fandoms I am in or know well enough. If unsure feel free to ask before hand or in DMs.

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Well, that's all for the rules!

I am looking forward for everything you have at me, especially since my current hyperfixation (Honkai SR, if it isn't obvious) won't let me rest and I just-

I just want to-