#but i will not say it to his face using words how much it twas appreciated. i showed my love by making him bhel puri to return the favor

[dykeinthedark]

every time something bad happens i remember the love stored in sharing food and eating together. i was clearly not okay on account of the stress (was in the ER this morning) so i went to my best friend's dorm room and he took out the fold out table and prepared me microwave mac and cheese and poured me cold water from the fridge in the good cup with bunnies. is this not what life is about. so much love stored in the macking cheese and the michael wave

#me and him are fs silly best friends but sometimes we're in the middle of sharing food or smth and he'll be like ''man i love this vibe :D'' #and im like booooo that's gay (i have straight guy syndrome aka being immune to affection) #but i will not say it to his face using words how much it twas appreciated. i showed my love by making him bhel puri to return the favor #me post #having a blog is great because i can talk about mundane things from my day

[dateko]

a/n: another rando drabble... twas hiding amidst the dust in my drafts... i will never get to see the four of these silly geese happy ever again and they only exist in my google docs where nothing bad ever happens to them...

“Sensei, what is Sensei to you?” Yuuji asks suddenly, causing Gojo to stop in his tracks.

“Huh? Me?”

This time, Nobara groans. “No, you blindfolded idiot! That Sensei!” 

Gojo follows his young student’s gaze as she tilts her chin towards the field where the second-years are training. 

There, standing beside the ever-adorable Panda, is you. You watch with a proud smile on your face as the second years spar with one another, calling out praises along with death threats coming from Maki. It doesn’t take long for you to notice the first years and their slender mentor watching you from the steps. Your lips fight to bite down a smile as you throw out a wave, watching Satoru lift his mask to wink at you.

“See! See! Like that!” Nobara starts again excitedly, pointing at her teacher. “What is that woman to you?”

“Eh?” Gojo raises an eyebrow before lowering his mask. “She’s… A close friend of mine.”

“Sensei, you’re being secretive.” Yuuji offers him a skeptical look, to which Nobara nods along with adamantly. “Fushiguro, what do you think?”

Megumi glances at your figure with a dragging sigh before walking in front of his classmates. “If you ask me, she’s the one.”

Thing 1 and Thing 2 erupt with rowdy exclamations, practically bouncing off their teacher. Megumi continues to walk with a somewhat satisfied expression. The boy’s known you his entire life. Especially how much you mean to his blue-eyed benefactor. 

“B-but how do you know she’s really the one?” Yuuji asks this time, fully invested in his teacher’s love life.

Gojo shrugs nonchalantly. “I have good eyes, you know.”

“Well, now I just feel sorry for her. She has to deal with you every day!” Nobara deflates immediately, unsure of how to feel knowing someone she respects is romantically affiliated with her headache-inducing instructor.

“Hey! It’s a blessing to deal with me!” 

A pair of footsteps sneak up behind the group. “Deal with who?”

With a hand on your hip, you stop to tilt your head at the pairs of wide eyes looking at you. Even beneath his mask, you can tell Satoru looks more than guilty. 

“Something on my face?” You pat a hand on your cheek, wondering why no one’s said anything to you. 

Nobara breaks the silence by walking up to you with her head down, a downcast expression on her face. “Sensei… I’m so sorry for you…”

Confused and admittedly very concerned, you shoot Gojo a look before patting Nobara’s head reassuringly. And your lover holds a sheepish expression as he holds his hands clasped behind his back, an old habit he used to do when he knew he was in the wrong. 

“Alright, I might as well just say it,” Gojo starts, fixing the collar of his jacket. “I told them about us.”

Your eye widen at his words, lips sputtering for a normal response. “You told them we’re married?”

“Wait, married?! Meeting each other with good feelings is one thing, but married… Sensei, I thought you were better than this…" Nobara shakes her head dramatically before walking off, flashing you a disapproving look before dragging Yuuji along with her.

You watch the younger student walk off with a confused brow before returning to face your lover, who is grinning wildly at you. He's clearly over feeling guilty about exposing your little secret. Your questionable silence comes to Gojo as a queue to pull you into a loving embrace, a quiet apology for blowing your cover.

Without skipping a beat, you return the hug, giving up on trying to scold him. You squeak when Gojo rocks the two of you back and forth, pressing never-ending kisses on your jaw. “Just an FYI, Megumi was the one who told them.” He mutters, nose pressing itself into the crook of your neck.

You gasp, holding his face while you step back to look at him. “He wouldn’t do such a thing!”

“He said that you were the one.”

“Isn’t that what you said?”

“Shut up.”

You let out a giggle, a sound Gojo could listen to for hours on repeat. “You used to be so corny when we dated. Still now.”

“I don't think I could ever stop being corny. Only when it comes to you.”

#ignore this actually i just wanted to get rid of all the shet accumulating in my drafts #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (16)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, angst, smut, violence ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm's End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

When he returned to the supper to join his family he tried with all his might to hide what was going on in his breeches. He didn't know why, but her words had aroused him tremendously and if he could, he would just take her to his chamber and fuck her all night.

I don't hate you.

You're not a monster.

You're not like your brother.

He sat back in his seat and tried to focus on what was happening on around him, but each time he drifted completely away with his thoughts, no longer even looking at his uncle or nephew.

He felt some kind of savage satisfaction at the thought that he didn't disgust or repel her.

That she didn't think that he and his brother were alike.

Those few words were enough to make his momentary anger at her and his uncle evaporate from him completely; he thought that he had no intention of spoiling his mood that evening anymore, wanting to concentrate only on thinking about what he should do with her at night, how to take her to reward her for her devotion.

He didn't even notice that the servants had started to lay out trays of main courses in front of them until he heard a quiet chuckle in front of him. He glanced in that direction and saw, frustrated that for some reason a barely restrained, mischievous smirk was painted on Luke's face.

It made him enraged and he wondered for a moment what that was all about but then he saw what was placed in front of him.

A roast pig.

The Pink Dread.

He felt something inside him snap, some last thread that held his cool mind together burst. He slammed his fist on the table, grinning, raising his cup high.

"Final tribute."

He said, glancing at Luke with a look from which his smile faded from his face, replaced by a proud concern.

"To the health of my nephews."

He murmured soundly, looking around the room, wanting to see the reaction of the others as well.

"Jace,

Luke,

and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…" He paused, his lips pressed into a thin line. He hesitated to say it, but then nodded, concluding that he didn't give a fuck. "… Strong."

"Aemond." His mother said warningly, looking around the table in horror.

"Come. Let us drain our cups for this three Strong boys." He said with delight, seeing the horror of everyone gathered, the chaos he had caused.

He no longer cared what would happen, he had never felt such wild satisfaction before in his life.

"I dare you to say that again." Hissed Jace, lifting his chin proudly, trying to hide his fear and humiliation. He felt like sneering at this pathetic sight and turned, walking slowly towards him.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?" He asked lightly and didn't even flinch when Jace hit him in the face with all his might, thinking with amusement that his wife would have had a stronger punch than he did.

He pushed Jace away with such ease that the boy toppled to the ground. This sight amused him so much that he chuckled loudly, looking around, wanting to see Aegon react to this, seeing with satisfaction that his older brother was pressing Luke's face to the table top.

After a moment they were separated by the guards, his mother came up to him agitated, grabbing his arm.

"Why would you say such a thing before these people?" She asked with a regret and pain that infuriated him.

He wondered how she could so quickly forget what they had done to him.

"I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother." He said, feigning light-heartedness, impatiently pulling his hand from her grasp, heading towards his enraged nephews again.

"Mm, though it seems my nephews aren't quite proud of theirs!" He called out softly, feeling that he was on the verge of insanity, the fire flowing in his blood.

He stopped, as his uncle stood before him. Daemon looked at him piteously, folding his hands in front of him, sighing expectantly. They looked at each other intensely.

He knew that he could not confront him.

Yet.

He decided that it have to wait.

He grunted low, sidestepping him, walking slowly out of the room into the corridor, moving straight ahead to his chamber.

He felt like he was trembling all over, thinking that he could kill someone right now.

That he would like to kill someone.

To strangle someone with his own hands.

When he stepped into his quarters, his wife was waiting for him obediently, all bare, just as he commanded. He pressed his lips together, feeling frustration and rage, all the lust he had inside him flowed out, giving place to the physical brutality that he craved.

He quickly undid his leather tunic, dropping it to the floor.

"Lie down on your stomach." He said coolly, walking over to her, grabbing her brutally by the hips, he heard her tremble all over, her breathing frightened.

She knew that something was wrong.

She knew that he was enraged.

He knelt behind her, untying his breeches and took his length in his hand, beginning to squeeze himself with quick, sharp strokes. He tried to focus on the sight of her, on her naked body, but he felt nothing.

Her dance with his uncle.

His hands touching hers.

Luke's mischievous smile.

The Pink Dread.

After a moment, a loud, frustrated growl came out of him.

He couldn't believe that he couldn't make himself hard.

He couldn't take his wife, do what is natural for a man, for a husband.

He collapsed next to her on the bedclothes and turned away, ordering her to sleep, knowing that otherwise he would hurt her.

He would take it out on her.

He squeezed his eye shut, furious, when he felt her embrace him.

He didn't want her sympathy, her feminine, weak sense that she needed to comfort him.

"− let me relieve you, husband −"

He felt his heart thump harder at her words and hesitated, no longer knowing himself what he wanted.

He feared that even her efforts wouldn't do anything.

That it would enrage him even more.

She didn't let him think about it though, a pleasant shiver went through him as he felt her soft, moist lips on his neck.

"− turn over on your back − I’ll take care of you −"

He swallowed loudly, thinking that he needed this.

He needed his wife to take care of him.

To show him that he was all that mattered to her.

He turned as she requested, looking at her discouraged, letting her lie down between his thighs, settling into a more comfortable, semi-sitting position.

He saw her untie his breeches in a sure, gentle motion, revealing the pitiful sight that was his soft manhood. He felt ashamed at the sight and wanted to order her to stop, but when she took him in her soft hand and licked him with a tip of her pink tongue a powerful, pleasurable shiver went through him.

He thought about saying to her that it was pointless, that he'd had enough, but he just looked at her face and shuddered every time she kissed and caressed his swollen manhood with her moist, puffy lips.

She was behaving differently from usual, she wasn't in a hurry, she hadn't even taken him in her mouth yet.

He felt his manhood throbbing under her fingers harder and harder, his body calming down thanks to her gentle caresses. He leaned his head against the back of the bed and let her do what she wanted to him.

He moaned softly, gripping her hair with his hand as she began to tease him, sliding the tip of his member into her mouth only to release it with a loud, sticky plop.

He thought there had been some amazing change in her, and while she still remained innocent and gentle, there was a greater experience speaking through her that gave her confidence in her actions.

He no longer had to direct her on what to do, being able to concentrate only on enjoying the pleasure of her touch.

I don't hate you.

You're not a monster.

You're not like your brother.

He felt his cock twitch at that memory, increasingly swollen and sore, thinking surprised that what she was doing was working, a loud, low, delighted moan broke from his throat as she finally slid his manhood into deep between her fleshy mouth.

Unable to stop himself, he clenched his hand tighter in her hair, forcing her to fit all of him, rocking his hips inside her, panting hard, he could hear her breathing loudly through her nose.

"− oh, fuck − made to suck my cock, didn’t you? − so fucking perfect for me −" He breathed out, clasping his other hand in her hair, fucking her gorgeous mouth with the sticky, perverted click of her saliva, watching as his manhood slid away and back up between her lips, hitting again and again the back of her throat.

So devoted.

So good.

So sweet.

His little wife.

"− so good for me − ah − my sweetest −" He mumbled with delight, shocked by his own tender, soft tone, a complete contrast to what he had felt just a moment ago.

He thought, feeling his fulfilment approaching that with her he was the best version of himself.

With her he believed that he could still be a decent man.

With her he wasn't sinking into his increasingly progressive madness.

The thought made him moan loudly for some reason, clenching his fingers in her hair, his hips slamming greedily his fat, hard cock into her mouth. He parted his lips, feeling like he was about to spill himself down her throat.

"− o-oh fuck − gods, yes, swallow it, swallow it all −" He uttered, tilting his head back with his lips parted wide, panting loudly with relief, his hot seed filling her palate.

He watched with delight as she bravely swallowed his spend, breathing loudly through her nose, tears of exertion running down her flushy face.

When she finally released him from between her plump lips, there was not a trace of his seed.

He pulled her to him by her hair, pressing her against his hard abdomen, embracing her with a loud sigh of contentment.

She showed him understanding when he was most helpless.

She gave him wonderful fulfilment even though she was terrified of his behaviour.

He stroked her hair, trying to think only about the warmth of her body, feeling her shifting higher, laying her head on his chest only to fall asleep with him in this position.

When he was woken before dawn by a commotion outside the door of their chamber and the raised voices of the guards, he knew immediately that something had happened. His wife mumbled quietly when he rose, gripping his arm, he sighed looking at her, his hand stroking her hair.

"Go back to sleep." He hummed, getting out of bed, fastening his breeches. He put on his leather tunic and left his chamber, closing the door behind him.

He saw, surprised and concerned, that the guards were taking their servants somewhere, all around him besides he saw not a living soul, his heart pounding like a mad.

He went to his mother's and Aegon's chambers, but did not find them there.

He wondered what was happening.

He finally stepped into Helaena's quarters and saw his mother sitting beside his sister, tears of grief and pain in her eyes, her face pale and terrified. Then he understood.

His father was dead.

For a moment all he could hear was the beating of his own heart.

He didn't know how he felt about it.

Everyone assumed that he had very little time left, but he didn't think it would so quickly.

He thought that he would never say anything to him again.

His mother stood up and walked to him, putting her hands on his shoulders, stroking him with reassuring movements.

"Your father the king told me before he died that he wished for Aegon to be a king." She said quietly, looking at him with her warm, brown eyes, full of motherly love.

He did not believe her.

"My father despised my older brother. Like all of us." He said impatiently, recognising that she must have overheard.

He didn't want to see his whore half-sister on the throne, but his brother wasn't suited for it either.

He was created for drinking and lying between the whores' tits.

"Aemond. We must crown him as soon as possible." She whispered and he looked at her in disbelief.

She meant it.

She wanted to make Aegon king.

A drunkard.

A fool.

A rapist.

"What do my brother say about it?" He asked, feigning indifference, trying to hide his dismay, frustration and anxiety at what was happening around them.

He thought this was all one big misunderstanding.

His mother tightened her lips at his question, remaining silent. He looked at her expectantly, and when he realised what had happened he chuckled low, shaking his head, walking impatiently around the room.

"When was the last time he was seen?" He asked coolly, wondering where he might have gone.

He thought of the brothel he'd been taken to when he was only 13.

His mother shook her head, putting her hand on her chest in an attempt to calm herself.

"I have no idea." She said helplessly, holding back the tears that were once again gathering at the corners of her eyes, her body trembling with stress.

"I summoned Ser Criston, I want him to find him." She said and he murmured under his breath, sitting down by the fireplace, thoughtful.

If Aegon was to become king that changed everything.

If he died, his children would be too young to rule in his name.

He would become prince regent, and his sweet wife would be his queen.

He pressed his lips together at that pleasant thought.

Indeed, after a moment Ser Cole joined them wearing full armour, bowing low before them.

"My queen. In accordance with your orders, the servants have been confined to the dungeons. Prince Aemond's wife and Princess Rhaenys have been locked in their chambers."

He gave him a quick, furious look, standing up at once, walking over to his mother.

"What is the meaning of this, mother? My wife will now be a prisoner?" He hissed, enraged with the fact that anyone had the impudence to make decisions that involved her.

She belonged only to him.

His mother looked at him pleadingly, placing her hand on his shoulder.

"We must be sure that no one leaves the keep until we crown Aegon. We need to do it before word reaches Rhaenyra. It is the only solution." She said softly, wanting him to understand, but he pulled away from her.

"I will join you in the search for my brother, Cole. Don't go anywhere without my knowledge." He said lowly, walking out of the chamber.

He headed back to his quarters and ordered the servants to open the door, his wife rose from her bed, terrified, dressed only in her nightgown and a thin, translucent robe worn over her shoulders tied at her waist.

The guard closed the door behind him as he came up to her, grabbing her by her neck and kissing her forehead, seeing how shaken she was.

"What's happening? Lyanna's nowhere to be found, they've locked me in and won't let me leave." She mumbled terrified, he took her cheeks in his large hands so that she looked at him with a quiet sigh.

"My father is dead."

She froze in mid-breath, her eyes grew wide with disbelief.

He could see that she was analysing in her head what would happen now.

Their six-month marital idyll had just ended.

"My mother is going to crown Aegon king. She said that was my father's last wish." He said dispassionately.

He saw the look in her eyes.

She didn't believe it any more than he did, but nothing could be done.

He stepped closer to her, pressing his forehead against hers, feeling the adrenaline flowing through his veins.

"Will you stand by me? Will you be faithful and devoted to me?" He asked quietly, as if whispering about something forbidden, as if a stranger might hear them.

She looked at him in disbelief not understanding what he meant, unable to comprehend what he craved and what he was capable of doing to achieve it.

She nodded, touching his scarred cheek with her palm, stroking it with her soft fingers. He felt desire at the gesture, at the thought that she would be by his side.

That he would make her his queen.

He kissed her greedily, making her lose her breath, their moist lips sucking and rubbing against each other in a sticky, hot dance. He pulled away from her, running his hand over her cheek, as if he wanted to remember her expression and this moment well.

"Don't speak to anyone about the king's death or coronation. Do not confide in anyone. Trust only me."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #hotd aemond #aemond x fem!reader #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell smut #ewan mitchell fanfic #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut #aemond smut #dark aemond angst #aemond targeryen angst #hotd angst #aemond angst #dark aemond smut #dark aemond #dark aemond targaryen #aemond x wife #aemond x wife reader #aemond x original female character #aemond x original character #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #aemond fluff #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic

[lovingmayday]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒

warnings : fluff, cursing, innacurate-ish depictions of hobie's speech

notes : hobie is about 16-17 here (and so is the pov). halfway writing this, im overwhelmed by how much of an extrovert hobie actually is 😭 btw, i know nothing of classical music concerts so beware! all of this just because i wanted to write hobie sneaking in your window but i didnt even get to fit it in 😭😭

Two words that you've used as an excuse and an apology when you couldn't join your friends at house parties, when a classmate asks you out, or when your phone notifications go crazy because you still weren't home at 5 PM — it was a tiring cycle.

You know they were simply looking out for you but you can't help but feel overwhelmed and exhausted for always being monitored and left out. You couldn't possibly ask your peers to adjust to your parents' standards, you thought it shameless because they already had a hard time with your folks reaching out and interrogating them about your school and social life.

With so much of your life being tracked by them, you deserve at least one thing in your control, right?

Hobie Brown, the school troublemaker. Skips class, vandalizes school property, and actively participates in movements against authority. Frankly, he just does whatever he wants. And he had your respect (+ jealousy). It must've been nice to be so free.

You and Hobie were never given the chance to befriend each other before — you had some classes together but he rarely ever showed up to any of them. You had no reason to approach him and vice versa.

Until, Wednesday — your cello performance. God, you don't know why you insisted to your parents you could handle commuting to the concert venue on your own with the heavy as fuck cello slung around your torso. You had your book bag with you as well because you had just finished school. The bus stop was a few more blocks away but you were tired.

You weren't paying much attention to your surroundings, busy focusing on your aching shoulder. So once you saw the pedestrian lane green signal, you didn't think twice before walking, failing to notice the bicycle riding full speed to your direction. Your eyes widen when a strong force pulled you back, making you stumble a bit and see the bike dart just in front of you.

"Aye, watch it!" you hear the cyclist exclaim.

You back was leaning against the tall figure, looking up to see a familiar face. You regain your balance and face him — Hobie Brown, the boy that just saved your life. "I-It was green– green meant it was safe to walk... I should've looked first, 'm sorry," you say quietly.

"Nah yeah, it's straight. He was the arse," he replies, hands in his pockets. "Dunno where he got the audacity to tell you off when he was in the wrong. Don't worry abou' it." He gives you a reassuring smile, noticing your still dazed expression.

"Thank you, Hobie," you say, a small polite smile on your lips.

He smiles back and nods, "'Twas nothin'." His eyes hover on the unignorable instrument case you were carrying. "Ya headed somewhere?"

"Uhh, yeah," you say, watching the pedestrian stop light turn red again and pouting a bit. You probably won't be late to the performance but you'd miss most of final rehearsal. "Nueva Hall. I have a cello performance in a bit."

"Nueva Hall.. That fuckin' massive, fancy lookin' museum along 5th Ave?" he asks, his eyebrows rising a bit from amazement. "Didn't know you were a big shot musician. Let me get for ya, then." He swings the case from your torso and starts walking across the street before you could protest.

"Hey!" you exclaim, running after him, dodging the other pedestrians walking past you.

"It's a bit distant from here, innit? Let me take you there, I got time. Wouldn't want you to croak before the big show," he jests, turning around and walking backwards. "If it's fine with you, [Name], of course."

You weren't too keen on traveling alone; you only did so so that your parents would think you were independent enough. You consider it for a few moments. "Are you sure I wouldn't be bothering you with this?"

"'Course not. 'Was the one who suggested, wasn't I?" He smirks before turning back around to walk properly and you catch up to his side. "What're you playin'?"

"Tchaikovsky, Rococo Variation. It's a cello and orchestra performance and I got to play cello," you say excitedly. "You're in a band, right? It's like a lead singer but cello!"

He smiles softly at your energy, feeling his cheeks warm up a bit. "How'd you know I was in a band?" he asks almost teasingly.

"I walked by one of your public concerts with my family. I would've stayed if my parents let me," you answer with a small laugh. "You were amazing, by the way."

"Thanks, mate. You're probably not too bad yourself," he says, chuckling as you playfully hit his shoulder.

It was safe to say you hit it off well, which was surprising since you didn't think you would. You thought your personalities would clash, you being at the quieter side while Hobie, you could hear his ruckus from another dimension (and there was a tiny part of you that was intimidated at him, at first).

You arrived at the venue earlier than expected — still late to rehearsals but not by much. "Hey, thanks again. I really appreciate it," you say to him just outside the concert hall doors.

He handed you your cello and waved off your thank you. "It was a pleasure," he teases and you roll your eyes. "Break a leg, [Name]." You thank him once again before he turns around to leave.

Seeing him walk away gave you an unfamiliar ache in your chest. After a much needed self-courage-boost, you let out a soft but loud enough "Wait." for him to hear. He turns around with a small smile and raises an eyebrow, silently asking you to go on. You wet your lips before taking a deep breathe. "Do you want to stay for the show?"

His smile widens, a handsome grin reaching ear to ear. "Finally. 've been waitin' the entire trip for that offer." He laughs and jogs back to you.

He sits at the back row. When he entered the room, he got a few stares and hushed whispers from the other audiences but he couldn't care less, his attention was unwaveringly stuck on you. It was just rehearsals but it overwhelmed Hobie to think about how you'd do in the real thing. He was entranced by you the entire time. The movement of your bow and the emotions you protrayed. It was magnetic.

Once practice was over, the musicians left the stage for a bit as audiences started to pour in. With guests on the older side with more formal attires, it was so obvious that he was out of place.

Meanwhile, you were panicking a bit because after you got changed out of your school uniform, you neared the stage's curtains to check up on Hobie. Your mouth gapes when you see him sat at the back row, almost directly behind your parents. Your parents! You forgot about your parents!! How did you forget about your parents??! They'd go crazy once they knew that you had invited this boy to your performance — you never invite your friends, let alone anybody, to watch your performances.

The second it was time for the musicians to come on stage, Hobie's head rises from his phone and looks for your figure immediately, smiling once he notices your wardrobe change. It was a simple long-sleeve black dress but it was pretty on you. Hobie thought so.

Your take deep breathes to calm your nerves before situating the cello between your thighs. You wait for the violins, the flutes, and the organ to start playing the intro before propping up the cello's bow. With your head held high, you play the first few notes — the position of your hands finding its own way around the fingerboard like muscle memory.

The music closes to an end, claps and praises erupt the venue. You smile and stand to find Hobie. He was already making his way to you. You leave the cello leaning safely on your chair as you scurry to the stairs of the sides of the stage.

"Hobie!" you greet as you reached him. "How did I do? Was I rushing? What'd you think of it?" you ask, rambling almost. If Spiderpunk gets his adrenaline from his fights, you get it from instances that make your heart feel like its about to burst into a million burnt pieces of flesh in your chest.

He smiles back at you, amused. He's never seen this side of you before. He's never seen anything of you other than your surface-level calmness and pliance. "'ts not usually my thing but I know to appreciate talent. Credit when credit is due and all tha' and, luv, you absolutely smashed it!" he exclaims as quietly as exclaiming can allow, placing both hands on you shoulders and shaking them.

"Thanks," you giggle out, placing your hands on his arm. From the corner of your peripheral vision, you notice your parents on their way to you, confused looks on their faces. Your smile falters as you gently loosen Hobie's hold on you, the adrenaline slowly dying down.

"[Name], amazing as always," your mother says, holding your hand in hers' and caressing your cheek with the other. "Who's your friend?" she quickly asks. Her judgmental eyes scan his appearance from head to toe, attempting to hide her expression with a faux smile.

Hobie was about to introduce himself when you cut him off. "–He's a classmate, Hobie Brown." You look into his eyes apologizing and almost pleading to him to go along with whatever you were about to say. "He came here by pure coincidence, could you believe that?!"

"Yeah, a friend gave me an invitation," he follows up seamlessly, a polite smile on his lips. "'Didn't know your daugh'er was performin'."

"Well, it's a nice surprise, isn't it?" you mother says, pulling you to her side.

Your father had yet to contribute to the conversation so you checked up on hi.. He was glaring at Hobie so harshly you could see burn marks starting to appear on his forehead. "Did you enjoy the show?" he finally asks, tone almost threatening.

Your cheeks start to flush in embarrassment. It wasn't uncommon for your parents to ask about the boys you talk to but it never felt any less humiliating every time it happens. You see each and every one of them get uncomfortable and you couldn't do anything to stop them because they'd think you were hiding something.

"Yeah, I enjoyed [Name]'s performance a lot. You must be very proud of her, Mr. [Last Name]," Hobie answers. You've talked to him long enough to notice the slight teasing in his voice. He smirks at you which makes your father's hands turn into fists.

"Honey," you mother calls, "We'll be late for our dinner reservation. It was really nice to meet you, Hobie, but we have to go." Her smile was still plastered across her face, you wonder why her cheeks hasn't hurt yet. She tells you to collect your stuff and you do so quickly. You bid Hobie an apologetic goodbye before you leave.

On the car to the restaurant, you were given the 'no boyfriends' talk again. You tried to respond with 'mhmm's and 'uh-huh's here and there but you weren't listening to a thing — having heard them repeat the same points many times before. You wondered how to approach Hobie the next day, thinking of stuff to say, how to bring it up, and how to act once he says he doesn't want to get involved with you anymore. It was a shame since you really enjoyed his company.

You wished that Hobie went to school the next day and he did, surprisingly. After classes, you catch up to him leaving the building to speak to him.

You were supposed to explain to him the situation but it seemed he was already up to pace and accepting. "The things is," you pause for a bit, "I really liked hanging out with you.." you confess.

"Hey, wait up!" you yell, running to reach him before he got too far. He paused in his tracks, hands in his vest pockets as he watches you catch your breath. "About yesterday..–"

"Nah, I get it," he interrupts you. "Strict parents and shit. It's cool if your folks don't want you hanging out with me anymore. It sucks but I get it." He was disappointed but chill about the entire thing which made your heart sink. You really didn't want to stop seeing him again. You wondered if he felt the same.

A small gentle smile stretches his lips. "I really liked hanging out with you, too. A lot. Best time I've had in a while, honestly."

You contemplate on what to say next — whether to let them out or not. You mouth gapes open, waiting on your next words. You were about to give him an apology but seeing his eyes, hearing that he liked your company maybe as much as you did, it made the decision so much more difficult. ..Fuck it. "I'd like to continue spending time with you.. even if it meant disobeying my parents. If it's alright with you, of course." You feel your ears heat up as you look down, scared of what the other's reaction might be.

It was rather obvious that Hobie didn't expect it, his eyes widening by a fraction. A big smirk appears on his face as he leans down to catch your eyes. "'Must've left quite the impression on you, huh?" he teases. He watches your eyes roll as you playfully shove his shoulder. "Well, I do love a good rebellion."

"It's not a rebellion."

"It's painfully close then, isn't it?"

#hobie #hobie brown #hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #spider punk x reader #atsv hobie #hobie atsv #hobie brown atsv #hobie fluff #atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse

[haverdoodles]

Champion

— (Varric & Hawke)

.

TW // BLATANT DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD AND GORE. PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

.

There was so much blood.

Varric slumped to his knees, lunging for Hawke’s motionless body. His heart pounded in his chest as he pulled her into his arms, frightened to death by how pale she was compared to the veritable sea of crimson that surrounded her.

Hawke shouldn’t have had to single-handedly take on the Arishok. It had essentially been a death sentence, and yet somehow against all odds she had managed to beat him after what felt like ages of him brutally beating her into the ground. Each blow against her had felt like a blow against him, and every moment that Varric had been forced to watch her suffer had been complete and utter agony.

The mangled corpse lying a few feet away was ample proof of her eventual victory, however. And yet as the blood now pooled around Varric’s knees, soaking the hem of his coat in a dark crimson, said victory rang hollow.

“Hawke,” he thought he said, though his voice felt very far away. “Damn it, Hawke, open your eyes!”

She didn’t move. Just as panic really began to set in, Varric thought he caught a flutter of movement. Sure enough, Hawke’s eyes cracked open in slits of blue, barely visible beneath all of the bruised swelling.

“Varric?” Hawke whispered, her voice coming out in a faint wheeze of breath.

“Yeah. It’s me, I’m here.” He raised a trembling hand to brush a lock of matted ginger hair out of her eyes. “Blondie’s coming to heal you, sweetheart. You’ll be alright.”

Hawke’s eyes searched his face, dazed and nearly vacant. “Varric,” she said again. “I think I’ve been stabbed.”

He released a hysterical chuckle. “Yeah, I’d say you’ve been stabbed quite a bit.”

“No.” She grunted, straining to lift her left hand, and let it slump on her abdomen. “Here. S’where… all the blood…”

Varric followed her gaze, and his heart stopped dead. The lower left side of her chest-plate had been absolutely obliterated, cracked open to reveal damaged chainmail and a mess of flesh and blood underneath. That must have been where the Arishok had impaled her, near the end of the duel. Varric’s vision whitened at the edges. How had he not noticed before?

“Shit, Hawke,” he choked.

“Is it bad?” Hawke whispered. Her eyes were so vulnerable and scared, and he struggled to swallow past the lump in his throat.

“It’s just a scratch compared to what you’ve been through before.” Varric responded, trying to keep his voice lighthearted. With one hand, he unwound the fabric wrapped around his waist to press it firmly against the wound, wincing sympathetically as she whimpered. “Remember that one time we were ambushed stumbling out of the Hanged Man, completely shitfaced? Neither of us could move for a week after that.”

Hawke’s bloodied mouth tilted up at the corners. “‘Twas funny, watching you… puke your guts out… between punches.”

“Uh huh. If I recall correctly, you were the one being sick all over the thieves’ boots.”

Hawke tried to laugh, but the movement visibly sent a shock of agony through her. Her face crumpled. Immediately dropping his facade, Varric asked in a low voice, “Hawke, can you still hear me?” She nodded, barely a tip of her head. “Alright, sweetheart. I’m going to need you to keep your eyes open for me until Anders gets here. No sleeping, alright?”

“I like it when you call me that,” she whispered.

“What, ‘sweetheart’?”

“Everyone else… gets a name.” Hawke wheezed, her head lolling against his shoulder. “Anders, Blondie… Merrill, Daisy… when I’m simply ‘Hawke’.”

Varric’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. How could he possibly explain how meaningful of a name ‘Hawke’ was to him, all on its own? It was strong and beautiful and full of life, just like she was. Hawke didn’t need a nickname, not when every other word in the world couldn’t hold a candle to how brightly she burned.

“Varric?”

“Yeah, Hawke?” He rasped.

“I’m scared,” she said in a tiny, trembling voice. “I don’t - I don’t want you to look at me and… and see a coward. I always… try to be brave for you, but… in reality, I’m terrified.”

“You were never a coward to me,” he told her fiercely, meeting her glistening eyes. “And you never will be. You are the bravest damned person I’ve ever met.”

Hawke’s lashes fluttered, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “I think.. oh. I’m… dying, Varric.”

“Oh no, you’re not.” Varric growled, applying further pressure to her wound. “Not if I can help it. Come on, sweetheart, work with me here!”

Anders. Shit, where was Anders?

Hawke was starting to tremble, but she managed to keep her eyes open. “I’m in love with you,” she suddenly confessed, meeting his gaze. “I know… that I said I’d move on, all those years ago… when you said you couldn’t love me back. But I just couldn’t… let go of you so easily. ‘M so sorry, Varric…”

The world slowed to a screeching halt, and Varric forgot how to breathe.

He stared at her in wide-eyed incomprehension, mind whirling as he struggled to understand what she was telling him. “I don’t understand,” Varric said, stupidly. “I thought you… what about Fenris?”

Hawke smiled tiredly. “He knew.” Her eyes slipped shut. “I wanted to tell you… one last time. Just in case…”

“Damn it Hawke, NO.” Varric barked, his eyes burning. Maker, she loved him still, years later, even though he had broken her heart so thoroughly. She loved him still. Oh, what an absolutely shitty time to be having this conversation. “You are not leaving me like this. Shit, just, just save your strength, alright?”

“It’s always been you,” Hawke breathed very faintly against his neck.

“Hawke,” he said brokenly. “My Hawke.”

It with fear that Varric tilted her face up to meet his, and it was desperation that prompted him to tilt his head down and claim her lips with his own. She tasted of blood and pain and fear, but most importantly of Hawke. His Hawke. His best friend, the one person in this entire shitstorm of a world that he couldn’t imagine living without, his bright beacon of fire in an all-encompassing sea of darkness.

How long had he spent dreaming of this moment, wanting and aching for someone he told himself he could not have? Why did it have to be now, when he wasn’t even sure if her next breath would be her last?

“Maker, don’t let this be a dream,” Hawke whispered against his lips, and the tears in Varric’s eyes finally spilled over.

“VARRIC!” A voice shouted. Varric gently pulled away and turned his head. It was Anders, sprinting towards him with an expression of wild-eyed fear, Fenris and Merrill in tow.

“Took you long enough,” Varric snapped. “Hurry, Anders, she’s bleeding out.”

He knew that the blood on his lips was the equivalent of himself baring his heart to their friends, but Varric didn’t care. Not anymore.

Even as Hawke was swarmed by her companions and Anders’ hands glowed bright with magic, her eyes were fixed firmly on Varric. The unwavering love and trust he saw in them filled his heart to the point to bursting, and it made his soul want to weep.

“Varric.” It was Merrill, this time. Numbly, he met her eyes, and whatever she found in them was enough to make her face crumple. She reached out and placed one tiny hand over his in a gesture of reassurance and understanding. “Oh, Varric. I didn’t know.”

Hawke. His Hawke.

She had to live, she had to, because a world without Hawke in it was not a world worth saving.

When Varric looked back at Hawke, her eyes had fallen shut. His breath shuddered out of his chest and he settled down beside her, reaching out with a blood soaked hand to stroke her pale cheek.

He would wait for her eyes to open again, and for her to look at him with that same love and trust and painful adoration. And when she was okay again, he would kneel before Hawke and apologize. He would apologize for hurting her, for making her wait, for pretending that he didn’t feel for her when in reality he spent every waking moment longing to cradle her against his chest and protect her with all that he had.

Varric would tell her that he loved her with all that he was, that she brought out every minuscule drop of goodness within him, and that he couldn’t possibly imagine living a life without being by her side.

He loved her. Maker’s breath, he loved her.

“Wake up soon, Hawke.” Varric whispered, and his heart cracked open a little further when he was met with deafening silence.

#TW: GORE #gore warning #tw: blood #varric x hawke #varric da2 #varric tethras #marian hawke #dragon age hawke #haverdoodles #haverdoodles oc #art #dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age 2 #dragon age inquisition

[natequarter]

19 Mary

19: “I had a nightmare, you were in it.”

Mary stared at Humphrey. “I had a nightmare, sirs, and you were in it.”

“Erm,” he said. “Could you maybe right me, before we discuss that?”

“Of course, sir.” She dipped into a curtsey, and he grimaced. “Sir, did I’s upset you?”

“No,” he said, “I just wish you wouldn’t call me sir. How about Humphrey?”

“…Sir,” she said, and he gave up.

“You were saying about nightmares? Was I an artist, perchance?”

“No, sir,” she said. “‘Twas the day of…”

“Your death?”

She nodded. “‘Twas a most glorious day, the crowd notwithstanding, and I did thinks at first that I was perfectly safe; until I did come upon a wooden stake, to which I was tied, and you dids watch on. ‘Twas very strange indeed, as you had been dead in the ground—the body, o’ course”—of course; who could forget London Bridge?—“for four an’ twenty years prior. And you did not laugh, for all was silent, but ‘twas very strange indeed.”

“Indeed,” he echoed. “And you’re telling me this … why?”

“Rrho saids I should—share my troubles. He saith that often.”

“Taking advice from the savage, eh? I don’t recommend it.”

“He also said I should throw you out the window, sir.” She looked abashed at this, though only mildly so. Probably she agreed with the sentiment, but felt it would be rude to admit to it to his face. (Which was true.)

“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Humphrey said. “I don’t bounce, you know, and it’s rather painful. If you’re that interested in beating me up, give my body a punch in the face for me. Well, not the face. A kick in the—sorry, I’m rambling again. Don’t mind me. I was attending your execution, right?”

“Yes, sir, and you were late.”

He snorted. “I thought I was twenty-four years too earlier.”

“I don’ts understand, sir.”

“…Never mind. My point is, I think, haven’t you got someone better to share your nightmares with? Like, I don’t know, the savage? I’m sure he’s got something insightful to say.”

“Oh, no, I coulds not find him—”

“Oh, joy,” he muttered.

“—so I came to you.”

“Well, I’m flattered, Mary, but I was hoping to doze for a bit here, and frankly I’m not sure how much I can help. I’d suggest some embroidery, but that might be a bit of a dead end.”

She looked at him blankly, as if he were slightly less useful than the fresh corpse of a plague victim. Rather rude, really; plague victims were wonderful people once you overcame the natural urge to turn away and vomit in disgust.

“Dead end? As in dead? No?” No laughs. Not even the flicker of a smile. Hadn’t worked on Matilda, didn’t work on Elizabeth. Worked a charm on Rrho, but that wasn’t saying much. William had just called it insensitive. “Tough crowd.”

“I dids see a tough crowd,” she said, “and they did jeer as I began to burn.”

“Charming.”

She cocked her head. “Did you watch, sir? Upon the day of my death, that is, not in the nightmare, for I knows you watched there.”

“Er, no,” he said. “Your furry mate kicked me into a bush. Didn’t let me watch, even if I’d wanted to.” Which he hadn’t. “I heard bits. The screaming, mostly.”

Her expression contorted, as if she was still in the middle of deciding how to react when she made a face. “‘Tis not a day I takes pleasure in remembering.”

“I understand,” Humphrey said. “It’s not pleasant, coming to terms with your own death.”

“Have you, sir?”

“My death?” he said. “Oh, ages ago. It was over too quickly to worry much about it. The lead-up to it, though…”

“‘Twas troubling, like mine, sir?”

“A very long and troubled misunderstanding…” He sighed. “If I had shoulders, I’d be shaking my head right now. I suppose you’ll just have to settle with imagining it.”

“I could”—he prayed she would finish with find your body—“shake your head for you, sir?”

“What?” he said, so genuinely surprised by her words that he spoke his disbelief aloud.

“If I pick you up, sir—”

“Or you could find my body,” Humphrey suggested.

“What good would that do’s?” she said, just as confused. “‘Twill just wander off again, or you will fall off again. ‘Tis a pointless endeavour.”

“You’re lovely, you are. Very motivational.” She wasn’t wrong, though.

She curtseyed again. “Thank you, sir.”

“No, that wasn’t—oh, never mind. Well, thank you too, Mary, for talking to me. I don’t often get that opportunity.” Now, having a normal conversation, that he never got. “Feel free to come back for me later, with my body, or for more conversation, or, you know, with my body, and have a lovely day.”

“God be with you, sir,” she said, in that curiously wavering voice of hers, then wandered off, leaving him alone to nothing but his own thoughts again. He considered idly going back over the events of his death, out of sheer boredom, but found he simply could not be arsed. Hopefully someone would pick him up sooner rather than later—but if Elizabeth was still asleep, and Rrho off chasing after God knew what, it would probably be later.

Christ, being burnt at the stake must have done a number on the poor woman.

(link)

#asks #mary bbc ghosts #humphrey bone #bbc ghosts #fic

[allovertheplace-writing]

Hi! Hope you’re doing well💖

I would like to request a Oneshot of Cove Holden (Our Life) with a fem!MC where they’re in school on Step 2, and get teased because they obviously like each other but won’t say anything, and they’re all flustered, and you choose the ending ! 💖💕💖💕💖💕

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Our Life: Beginnings & Always

Character(s): Cove

Genre: Fluff

Type: Oneshot

Description: Pinning gone horribly right

Warning(s): Female Reader, Reader is MC, Takes Place in Step 2, Classmates Being Intrusive, 1202 Words

Hello!! I am doing well, I hope you are too <3

Thank you for requesting for Our Life btw! My smile when I saw it was something else I'll have you know- I got so happy xjdbl

Also, I'm sorry for the wait! I hope you enjoy \^°^/

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Twas the little things. The curt glances when the other wasn't looking and finding ways to be with one another despite it all. Rambling about each other to the people closest to you both.. the list goes on and on. Many caught on quickly- Lee, your moms, and even Derek.

"So-" I held my breath, "When are you and Cove gonna start dating?" Lee huffed out a couple giggles at my silence, "It's obvious that he likes you too, you know!" Exhaling a little too dramatically, I slap a hand to my warming cheek, "But that doesn't mean he does!" She groaned, "He literally climbs through your window, (Y/n)!" Maybe she had a point- who would climb into someone's window if they didn't like them? "Are you going to ask him out first or wait for him?" Lee, always the more excitable of us, asked a few questions at a time with unmatched fervor, "How will you ask him out though? It'd be so cute if you brought him somewhere important to you guys!" My heart lurched in my chest at the thought. There was no way I could- what if it ruined our friendship?

"Geez, stop going in your head. You'll make yourself feel worse!" I knew she had offered me a soft smile despite being on the other side of the phone, "You don't have to confess, (Y/n). I'm sure he'll do it himself eventually."

"I can't just confess, mom!" Cove knew his hair was stuck up in a few places from how much he messed with it. Running his fingers through the foamy strands, combing, and tugging at them. His throat was tight, voice squeaky as he waves his free hand, "We- We're just friends, anyways. I mean, what if I mess it up?" Listening through the phone, he could tell his mom was shaking her head. "Take a deep breath, baby." Her voice was like a cloud and it reminded him of home. "You can take your time, okay?" He knew he could deep down, but that didn't stop his mind from going into overdrive. "But.. what if.. what if she's gone by then? Mom, I don't want to wait-" His mom hushed him gently, "It's okay." There was a few seconds of quiet before he heard her take a deep breath, "You don't have to wait, but don't force yourself if you're not ready, alrighty?" Clenching his shorts within his hand, he releases a breath - along with the rest of the tension in his body. "..okay.. okay, thanks, mom." She hummed cheerily, "Anything for my baby."

After having such a talk with Lee, it only kept Cove on my mind. In the margins of my school papers I'd find little doodles of things that reminded me of him; hearts, surfboards, and seashells. I found myself drawing that little orange one from when we were younger a bit too much. The look on his face when he discovered it in my box of treasures was so cute, I could feel my chest ache just remembering how amazed he sounded. It honestly wasn't fair how much he made me feel. Although I definitely don't mind, it feels like I'm laying in a pile of fluffy pillows. Warm and suffocating in the best way.

"Hey." Glancing up from the page, I see the certain boy that had captured my heart and mind, "Cove- uh, hi." Nervous, I pull the thin sheet closer to myself. His shoulders shook with a laugh that bubbled in his chest and his eyes were overflowing with affection, "I finished early, how far-" One of our classmates groaned, tossing his head back in feigned disgust, "Ugh, just say you like each other already." Their face dissolved into a wide grin when Cove froze. He looked as stiff as his board. "Of.. of course I like him, he's my best fr-" Getting cut off was irritating, but I think I was too lightheaded to feel it. "More like boyfriend!" It was someone else who spoke, a girl, but I couldn't lift my wide eyes from my hands. "C'mon, (Y/n), you literally talk about him whenever you can!" Huffing, I frown and squeeze the paper in my hands, "So what if I do?" Cove seemed like he was about to fall over at my words, his face was like every shade of red. The few who started it backed off with giggles and knowing looks, getting exactly what they wanted. I knew I didn't hide it well when Cove wasn't around, but who wouldn't talk about him and his pretty hair and cute smile and dorky habits?

It was after school when we talked again. I think we were too nervous to speak to one another, either that or too embarrassed. Waiting for my mom together was normal, sometimes his dad would pick us up if he wasn't at the shop, but now it felt foreign. Awkwardness was eating away at us. That in itself was strange, having always been at ease with each other.

"..um, about what happened in class earlier-" Sighing, I shake my head, "Just forget about it." I could imagine the frown on his face. "What I said, I mean.. you can just ignore it." There was a sharp in take of breath before I felt his hands on my shoulders. They were warm, possibly sweating from his nerves. "I don't want to!" Everything caught in his throat, coming out as a small squeak but evening out into an exhaled breath. He looked panicked as he spoke, fumbling over a few words at a time, "I- I don't want to forget what you said, I won't- I want to hear it." Taking a deep breath, he met my eyes, "All of it."

He.. wanted to hear all of it? Did he mean that.. "..how I feel?" The grip he had on me tightened, the cloth bunching against the palm of his hands. "I-" Pressing my lips together, I swipe my tongue across them, "Well, I.. I, um.." I turned my head the other way, "..like you. Like, like like you." A few seconds of waiting turned into a minute, and then three. At least it felt so with how dense the air became. "(Y/n)-" I feared the worst when he coughed out a laugh, but when I found myself being brought forward and tucked against him I thought I stopped breathing. "I like you too, for a while I-" His relief came out as sob-like chuckles. "You.. you like me too..?" It felt impossible... and stupid. "Y-You're telling me if I said something earlier we would've been together!?" All this time, every moment, I could have with him from here onward could've happened earlier - it made me shake in disbelief. But maybe it was my laughter. How ridiculous we must've been, dancing around each other in fear when we were both equally longing to be together. "Gosh, I- Cove, we're so dumb!" I watched how his lips quivered when I held his face in my hands.

"Hey, now! None of my kiddos are dumb!" Stumbling away from each other, we both let out various panicked noises. "Mom!"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

#♡ - Rosie writes! #writing #x reader #fluff #our life cove #our life beginnings & always #our life #our life: beginnings & always #our life x reader #olba #olba x reader #our life: beginnings & always x reader #our life: beginnings and always #our life beginnings and always #our life beginnings and always x reader #x reader fluff #oneshot #fic #twisted wonderland #scenarios #drabble #headcanons #tooth rotting fluff #pinning #our life cove holden #cove james holden #cove holden #cove our life #our life fanart #olba oneshot

[breanutbutter]

Left it all behind *Sam x OC*

*hey all! This is my first published fic so kindness is super appreciated that being said if you have any constructive suggestions those are more than welcomed! I’m hoping to make this a chaptered series so let me know how you like it! Please enjoy!*

Sam x OC

No triggers

2925 words

Summary: Sam and Liza are friends from college, Liza invites Sam to a graduation party and he stands her up. They lose connection and haven’t seen each other in 4 years. Liza doesn’t know why san fell off the face of the earth h but she’s happy to reconnect.

Chapter 1:

*Flashback to 2005*

Liza’s pov

2005 was my year, I was finally finishing my bachelors degree in History after many hours of cramming for exams and forgetting to eat. it was finally all worth it. I poured my blood sweat and soul into this degree. I'm pretty damn proud of myself. I only have a few more months left to finish studying and I'll be free.

Student life has been exhausting. Whoever told me it would be the best years of my life are absolutely full of it.

As I'm in the library staring at the few words I scribbled out in my notebook for the essay I'm supposed to be writing, I see a familiar flash of messy chestnut hair rush past me. I set my pen down and rotate my body to get a better view of the guy with the hair of course it’s Sam. Sam and I weren't very close to say the least we didn’t know each other very well at all we had a few mutual friends at school that caused us to cross paths pretty often. We met in the fall 4 years ago. My friends knew Sam's friends. He's been at most events I attend so he's comforted me in a weird i-don’t-know-you way. I've always been good at reading people, from strangers to friends I had a bad feeling about. Sam tries to act polished and put together but I can tell there's something in his life causing him to hide his true self. He’s always a storm of chaos flying through the halls in a rush darting from side to side. He’s always in a wrinkled collared shirt strung over his body, never tucked in his pants neatly like our peers. I just know there's something in him he’s ashamed of. “Hey Sam!” I shout down the library aisle at the lanky boy that's scurrying off somewhere probably late for something important. He turned his body to face me stopping dead in his tracks, there was a smear of sweat over his forehead causing him to swipe his hand over it wiping it away. He looked like a mess of lost time and stress, his face twisted up in a look of confusion as to why i’m calling him over.

“Are you going to Ethan's graduation party in two weeks? ” I asked him to cross my legs over each other resting my cheek in the palm of my hand. He cocked an eyebrow up at me “i don’t think i was invited” he shrugged about to turn away seemingly to dart off for whatever reason. “That's okay you can be my plus one. See you then Sam "I smile as I wave him off. He offers me a curt nod and shy goofy grin. Ethan is our mutual friend, he's friends with Sam’s girlfriend Jessica. That's why I thought it was odd he wasn't invited or maybe he just didn't want to make small talk with me there. I finish my last couple of sentences before I pack it up and stuff my book in my backpack, the interaction still lingering on my brain.

*2 weeks after the initial interaction*

My brain shocks me back to reality as I remember the conversation I had with Sam two weeks prior. Twas the night of Ethan's big graduation party. Ethan explained that he likes to throw his party before graduation so we could finish studying and give us a bit of relief before the big exam comes up which is much appreciated. After letting my mind wander back to Sam for a short moment I realize it's already 5pm and the party starts at 7pm. After lots of deliberation I decide to hop in the shower to scrub the grime of the day off my body. I run myself a steamy shower and glide in letting the warmth engulf my cold body. I dip my head under the stream making sure my hair gets evenly coated with the hot water before I begin my normal shower routine. After my relaxing shower I wrap my favorite pink fluffy towel around my body tucking in the loose end under my armpit making my way back to my room. I let my damp towel fall to the floor as I picked out my outfit. I normally go for the safest option: a collared shirt and a modest pair of taupe pants but tonight I decided to go out with a bang. I flip through my abundance of modest attire and reach for my black strappy dress. It fits my body in all the right places. It accentuates my slim waist and allows enough cleavage to give a taste of what’s underneath the dress. I smile to myself and slip it on after my underwear and bra. I finish up my hair and makeup with just enough time to drive over to Ethan’s house. I greet my best friend who grew up in a similar family situation as me: wealthy and unable to be reckless. We grew up with each other and were as close as two peas in a pod. She’s the one I can rant to about my parents considering she understands how old wealthy parents are she gives great advice. Olivia was just finishing up talking to Ethan when she greeted me “hey girl right on time as always” she slapped me on the shoulder pointing at the overhead clock showing I was in fact not on time and I was almost 30 minutes late. I laugh and shove her back “hey it takes time to look this good!” I shout in her direction. After I shrug off my coat and shoes she pulls me into Ethan’s lush kitchen pausing to grab two shot glasses.

“We’re letting loose tonight” she says as she reaches for the vodka I audibly gag “fuck dude vodka tastes like rubbing alcohol” I hiss as she chuckles and pours out shots “don’t be a puss” she says. I bring the cold bitter liquid and suck it back feeling the burning sensation hit the back of my throat “I hate you” I say slamming down my glass causing an echo to ring through Ethan’s very large house.

After a couple more shots we end up mingling in the living room. I'm constantly checking my watch waiting for Sam’s arrival but he doesn’t show. After two hours goes by I look at the door and let a disappointed sigh pass through my lips. I don’t know why I care so much. I don't even know the guy yet I’m here anxiously waiting for his arrival. Another hour goes by so do a few more shots and by this time I’m living my best life and dancing to I wanna dance with somebody with Olivia and a few other drunk girls. I pause halfway through the song to glance at the door. Nothing. I nervously look around and pull my phone out of my purse, shooting a quick text his way ‘hey Sam! you coming tonight?’ I quickly send it and push my phone back to its confines of my purse. I easily forget about the whole Sam situation and eventually I’m wasted and it’s time to head home. Sam never texted me back; he stood me up. I shoved the thought out of my head as I stumbled through my door. He wasn’t even my friend, he probably had other plans.

I stripped out of my clothes and dove into my bed happy to head to bed after an exciting and excruciating night.

Present day 5 years later (2009)

I open my eyes as the sound of my alarm clock blares through the room. I squint as I roll over to check the time “shit” I mutter it’s already 8:15am I’m going to be late for work. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and jump up out of the warmth enclosing me. I leap into my closet and grab a white button up shirt with a small yellow daisy on the breast pocket, a black pencil skirt and my favorite black blazer. I quickly throw my outfit on my body and run to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I stare at myself in the mirror as I am cleaning my teeth, a mixture of toothpaste and saliva dripping down my chin. I'm unable to believe I’m late for work. little miss perfect is never late. I shake my head and spit the toothpaste into the sink. I’ve only been late once in my life: senior year of college that following Monday after Ethan’s graduation party. I was so stuck in my head as to why Sam never showed up. Rejection was my biggest enemy and I over thought every little thing even back then. I barely knew the guy yet I was so disappointed he turned me down for some reason. I shook the past out of my head and decided to focus on the now: getting to work as soon as possible. After slipping in some orthopedic flats I grabbed my coffee mug, purse and keys and raced out the door. I ended up late to work and was stuck in rush hour for nearly an hour.

I rushed into the museum huffing and puffing, setting my purse and coffee cup down at my desk. It wasn’t like I would get in trouble for my late arrival after all I was the head conservator . It was more of an internal issue I’ve dealt with for as long as I could remember.

“Hey Elizabeth what’s got you so out of breath?” My coworker Brent asked with a look of worry plastered on his face “I’m late” I said between breaths. He nodded and gave me a gently smile before turning on his heels,as soon as he was almost out of my office he turned back around “oh Elizabeth I almost forgot 2 Agents from the FBI have requested a meeting with our conservator and that would be you, they’ll be here in an hour” he smile and resumed his journey out of my office. “Thanks Brent!” I shout to him as he saunters away. I finally get a chance to sit down and enjoy my coffee over my many emails. What kind of business does the FBI have here at an art museum? I push the thoughts to the back of my head and let my breathing get back to normal. After about an hour I hear a knock on my office door “come in '' I shout. Brent pushes the door open with a small nudge and smiles politely at me “they’re here Elizabeth '' I nod my head and gather up my paperwork. “Show them the way to conference room 2 I’ll be there shortly, thanks Brent '' I give a swift nod before packing up my stuff to bring into the conference room, I’m unsure of what they’re looking for so it’s better to be prepared. I make my way to the conference space with my stack of paperwork and my laptop bag slung over my left shoulder. I give it a gentle nudge and it swings right open.

I step into the large room and set all my paperwork and laptop bag on the large conference table in the middle of the room before making any introductions. My back was turned to the two men as I prepared all of my information in a nice spread on the table. Once I finished laying everything neatly out I cleared my throat and turned around to face them. I firstly notice a man a little taller than me who gives me an almost forced smile and proceeds to introduce himself “ thank you for meeting us Miss Thayer i’m agent Hamil and this is Agent ford” the man says offering his hand to shake mine. I extend my hand into his and give him a firm handshake with a smile on my face. “It's a pleasure to meet you Agent, please call me Liza” I say gingerly before letting my eyes wander to the taller boy beside him. I only had a small glance at him previously while i was talking to agent Hamil so i didn't get a good view of him yet. As my eyes find his face I begin to wonder where I knew him from. He looked awfully familiar yet I couldn't place my finger on it. The taller boy snaps me out of my staring spell and extends his hand out to mine “nice to meet you miss” he says before taking a step back shuffling in his spot. As I hear his hoarse voice my mind is able to source whose voice it is: Sam Winchester’s. I am so beyond confused at this moment that my brain is running in overdrive. I swallow the saliva in my mouth harshly before offering them a seat. Sam looks the same as I last saw him yet different at the same time. He's taller and older yet there's something sadder in his eyes. He looks exhausted from life. He let his hair grow out, he could barely see over the mop of shaggy hair sitting on his head and now his hair is about chin length it suits him this way. I take a breath and turn my head to Sam nervously. What if he doesn’t remember me? Will he laugh at me or think im stupid? What if it isn’t even him? “Sam Winchester?” I blurt out my brain spitting those words out before I even have time to think if I want to ask him that question.

Sam gives me a confused look as if he’s unsure of how to respond. He doesn’t answer my question but explains why they are meeting with me. Sam talks for a few minutes about an artifact they are investigating before his partner, the shorter one from earlier interrupts him. “Where do you think you know him from?” he asks coldly pointing to his partner, it seemed like the question was still on his mind. I brush the strand of hair out of my face and look over at them. “I’m sorry for the abrupt question you look like someone i went to college with” i look down at my feet feeling the embarrassment ripple over my body and hit my face causing a sense of warmth to heat my cheeks up. His partner who I assumed was Sam pipes up “what college did you go to” he asks looking at me with a look of interest “stanford” i reply still looking at the hardwood floors. I look up and my eyes meet his, he has a look of remembrance on his face and grins widely “Liza Thayer? Whoa it's been awhile” his partner punches him in the arm and gives him a look of what-are-you-doing. I faintly hear agent hamil or whatever his name is angry whisper into sam’s ear “we’re working a case man stop flirting with the museum lady” they continued to silently argue before sam looked back at me from across the table “so how have you been?” he asked so casually and all i’m wondering is where he's been after he stood me up and dropped off of the face of the earth. “You know, living life. How have you been? How’s Jess?” I ask, the air seems to shift after i ask about Jessica Sam shuffles into his seat uncomfortably “uh Jessica passed away the night of the party” she speaks slowly and looks away “i’m so sorry” i say softly giving him an empathic look.

We stop talking about our personal lives after that and begin talking about artifacts, giving them the info they need. “Here’s a little more in depth information on the origin and other useful things about the tablet you are investigating” I say and hand them a few loose papers I scooped up off the table. They nod and thank me for the help “come around if you have any more questions” I smile as i stand up. “Thanks for the help” Sam says once more before they both exit my office.

After the long day I settle in my cozy pjs on my couch with a warm mug of tea between my hands trying to wrap my head around the day. I was late and I ran into Sam, what an unexpected day. I felt bad about Jessica, this whole time I was victimizing myself when it wasn’t even about me. Sam went through a whole loss that night and I was worried that he stood me up? Boo hoo. I just switched friends on the tv when I heard my phone ring. I saunter over to my home phone that's primarily for business calls. I pick up and hear Brent on the other line “someone broke into the museum” he said panic running evidently through his voice. “What?’” I ask not expecting to hear that at 8pm at night. Brent explains the whole situation to me about how an ancient tablet was stolen shortly after close and that i need to come down and access the scene. I nod into the phone as if he could see me “I'll be down as soon as possible. Thank you for letting me know Brent, "I say before hanging the phone up. What is up with today? I think to myself before rushing out of the house to investigate whatever the hell is going on.

#sam winchester #supernatural #dean winchester #jared padalecki #jensen ackles #original character #spn #fanfic #spnfandom #spnfamily

[just-a-geeky-therapist]

Wolianger Day 2: 7 Moments in Heaven

As the tension in the room began to subside, either men once again looked at each other. Brychar had long felt that Urianger surveyed him as a dangerous, venomous specimen which needed to be handled as though ready to strike at any time. This, of course, was not something Brychar was surprised with due to knowing his own flirtatious nature and over exuberance when met with the challenge that Urianger presented. Long had he played matchmaker between acquaintances and friends, but none ever reciprocated such services - perhaps as pinning him down to one location was as likely to happen as getting Estinien to willingly attend one of Aymeric’s “stuffy” galas. 

“Ahem,” Urianger cleared his throat, pulling Brychar from his thoughts. “‘Tis perhaps overdue for mine own question of where thy thoughts have led thee?”

“Aye, perhaps so…” Brychar began. “I was reflecting on your scholarly and, dare I say, slightly pretentious demeanor which took such encouragement to coax you out of,” he said.

“Encouragement?” Urianger mused. “‘Twas more akin to aetheric corruption, of which even the most formidable wouldst be hard pressed to survive.”

Brychar chuckled, earning a quizzed look from Urianger. “I am more than willing to take that as a compliment. Not every day one’s allure is cast alongside corrupting magicks.” He watched as Urianger’s face and ears turned several shades of red and the scholar once again hid his face as realization of the unintended, but no less hidden meaning was immediately uncovered. 

“Come now Uri, it’s only in good faith that I jest so,” Brychar said, reaching to pull Urianger’s hands away from his face. 

“Jests which come at mine expense,” Urianger clarified.

“Aye, but ones which come from a place of deep fondness.” Brychar noted that Urianger’s body once again tensed at the revelation of how much the sage truly longed for Urianger. 

“Irrespective of thine intention, ‘tis mine embarrassment which fuels much of thine humorous proclivities,” Urianger replied. He’d long endured jests regarding his unusual disposition from Thancred and Moenbryda through childhood and had been met with similarly cruel humor from many acquaintances and comrades alike. However, embarrassment pained him, more than many likely understood.

“‘Tis late,” Urianger noted. “Tomorrow will soon be upon us, I shall leave you anon.”

“N… no, wait,” Brychar blurted out, surprised at the scholar’s attempted retreat. “‘Tis late indeed, and perhaps would draw questions why one such as yourself would be caught leaving my room at such an hour,” Brychar reasoned.  

This reality was not lost on Urianger as he stopped and pondered the implications others may form against him and Brychar both. He knew that regardless of when he left, it was likely someone would spy his departure from the sage’s room, and knowing the smallness which was Revenant's Toll, it would only be a matter of time before word returned to another scion, which would raise potentially unsavory questions. 

“What is it you would have me do?” Urianger asked, turning once again to face Brychar. 

“St… stay the night?” Brychar asked, a small smirk appearing on his face. 

Urianger stood in thought as he glanced about the small room, realization setting in that there was scarcely room for him to sleep on the floor. 

“Where would thou have me lay mine head? ‘Tis only a miserable ilm of space on the floor,” Urianger noted.

“That’s easy,” Brychar said, patting the bed as he moved to provide space where he apparently expected Urianger to settle in. 

“I… ‘tis one thing that I permitted carnal desires to taint mine resolves… however, ‘tis another to continue their entertainment with such a bold gesture,” Urianger responded.

“Uri, you make it sound as though I’m waiting to take advantage of you whilst you sleep…” Brychar said, maintaining a slightly amused affect. 

“‘Twas not mine intent to indicate a lack of trust in thine propriety, rather thine own desires compounded with mine would surely encourage lascivious behavior,” Urianger regrettably admitted, face reddening at the admission. 

“Ahha, perhaps it is you that I should be worried about,” Brychar replied. “Has anyone ever told you that even in your attempt to be most reserved, you craft the most delicious statements?”

Urianger blushed further, realizing he was losing complete control over the situation. “Please, halt thy humor, less thee tear the remainder of mine dignity asunder.” 

“I’ll stop the jesting should you stop resisting and take my offer to sleep for what remains of the night,” Brychar tried reasoning. 

“And no unwonton behavior?” Urianger questioned, feeling the tiredness of the day settling upon him and wishing to bring a stop to any continued debate.

“None will be initiated by me,” Brychar said, winking suggestively. “However, I cannot and will not promise to ignore any advances which are to my liking.”

“Brychar… ‘tis though you rejoice in mine humiliation,” Urianger scolded.

“No, though watching you squirm in unlearned waters does bring some level of delight,” Brychar admitted. “Wall or door?” Brychar asked, bringing a look of confusion from Urianger.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you wish to sleep nearest the wall or the door? I’ve no preference, though some I know have taken issue with feeling too exposed next to the door,” Brychar explained. 

Urianger took a moment to consider which would be more comfortable. He figured laying nearer the door would permit him to take his leave in the early hours, perhaps avoiding any more of Brychar’s lewd encouragement. 

“Well?” Brychar continued.

“Nearest the door, ‘tis against mine comfort to feel ensnared,” Urianger tried to reason. 

“Very well,” Brychar said, standing as he began to disrobe.

Urianger should not have been surprised that the sage did not sleep in his healing robes, but he also was not prepared for such a lack of modesty. He averted his gaze, attempting to maintain some level of propriety as he too began to disrobe, though more selective in what he took off. He figured he could get away with simply removing the variety of jewels, chains, and rings which adorned his body, leaving the more simplistic robes on to maintain his own modesty. However, in the process of removing the chained belt, the bottom of his robes slipped from his hips, the clasp in the back having come undone at some point. The sudden chill in the air met his bare legs as he scrambled to regain his dignity. 

“My my…” Brychar said behind him. “I would never have envisioned you one to forgo smallclothes,” he continued amusedly.

Urianger quickly gathered his robe around his waist, clasping it in place all while refusing to turn around to face the sage. Never had he felt so humiliated and ashamed, it was true he often forwent smallclothes, but never had he been caught doing such. He’d never questioned his habit, though was now being chastised by his inner monologue for placing himself in such a compromising situation.

“‘Tis time we retired for the evening,” Urianger said, balling his fists at his side as he waited, hopeful, for Brychar to crawl into bed and to end this night of humiliation. 

“Very well,” Brychar said, having read the scholar’s discomfort and conceding to his wishes. After pulling back the covers, Brychar made quick work of removing his own smallclothes, having always been accustomed to sleeping without them. He settled under the covers, making sure to hide the excitement that the view of Urianger’s backside had given him. 

“Unless you plan on sleeping on your feet, perhaps I can suggest that you lay down?” he teased.

“Ahh, yes…” Urianger mumbled, shuffling to the bed and pulling back the covers to climb beneath. He momentarily caught a glimpse of Brychar’s bare skin where smallclothes should have been, though tried to control his reaction as he quickly crawled into place, as near the edge as he could without risk of falling out. Carefully, he reached over and snuffed the candle, casting darkness over the room.

#ffxiv #au ra oc #urianger augurelt #elezen #wolianger week 2023 #wolianger #ffxiv original character #ffxiv fanfiction #requited feelings #urianger x wol #m/m ship #nudity

[hibiscus-tome]

FFXIV Write 2022, day 28: vainglory

Vesper Bay is as lovely as G’raha had expected.

There’s much that he’s read about the place in times accumulated over the years; there’s much that he’d heard from Cid, and then the Scions themselves, about what this place had meant to those who once considered it home.

An imposing statue of the town’s chief patron — a single tavern a couple streets away from the water — a dozen tiny shops and offices and homes lining the streets — a single, nondescript office by the water that extends so deeply underground that the sand and the dust will not touch them there.

“You remained here by yourself, all those months?” asks G’raha, as they descend the steps past the front desk.

“Thou presumest that I remained isolated here against my will,” Urianger replies. “I asked to remain here while the others relocated to the new headquarters in Mor Dhona. ‘Twas my choice alone, and one that went uncontested.”

It speaks to pattern that would repeat in his insistence to remain in Il Mheg. The difference here is that it had been a younger Urianger who’d made that choice — one ignorant of the tragedies to come.

—for when he made the choice to remain here, in the Waking Sands, he’d done so with Minfilia’s blessing. It had been a different Minfilia than the one the First knew — a person more so than a symbol of hope, dear to many but not all, and perhaps not wholly aware of the role she had yet to play in this tapestry of intertwined fates.

(A different warrior, fresh-faced, and not quite the Warrior of Light or Darkness, and unmarred by the many, many tragedies to come — a different Y’shtola, who had yet to be pushed to the sorts of extremes that would rob her of her senses — a different Alphinaud and Alisaie, fresh off the boat from Sharlayan and so very convinced that they could make a difference in this foreign land — a different Thancred, far too entrenched in the role the others had expected him to play that no one, least of all himself, had noticed when it had made him a target for Ascian interference.)

“Do you miss it at all, Urianger?” asks G’raha, pressing one hand against the cool stone wall of the Solar. “Those earliest days, when all the Scions had been together, I mean.”

Urianger hums, pacing behind the desk. “’Twas a different time altogether,” he muses. “To compare it to our current practices would be to draw an equivalency that may not exist to begin with. The Scions’ current processes have been defined by the near annihilation of our previous order.” His eyes narrow, as he averts his gaze downward. “By the untimely departure of friends and comrades we once held dear.”

What must it have been like, to meet in this room? To surround Minfilia at that table, to be in alignment towards a common purpose — an efficient machine, strengthened by the strong ties independently cultivated in each city-state by individual Scions. How much of Y’shtola’s work with the Night’s Blessed in Rak’tika had been informed by her work in Limsa Lominsa? How much of Thancred’s easy and consistent rejection of Eulmoran norms had been informed by his work in Ul’dah?

And what part did the Warrior of Light have to play in all of this, beyond what had been committed to the written record?

(Would G’raha have had a place in any of this?)

As if reading his mind, Urianger gives him a gentle smile. “I have no doubts, however,” he says, “that hadst thou come to us then, we would have welcomed thee with open arms.”

G’raha chuckles. “Your patience with me would have worn thin soon enough,” he says. “I was quite the vainglorious fool, back then.”

“Perhaps,” says Urianger, “yet thine presence would have been valued and respected, as would that of all others who’d pledged their lives in service to the same ideals.”

Were it anyone else saying the same, then it would be little more than pretty words — but because it’s Urianger, a certain warmth, comforting and secure, settles in G’raha’s gut.

“But to answer thine query,” Urianger continues, “yes, I do miss it sometimes. When I close my eyes and try to paint a picture of the comforts of home, of being surrounded by friends… ‘tis conversations in the Ocular of the Crystarium, as well as days spent huddled in this very building that appear with equal measure.”

“Regardless of the location, surrounded by friends both old and new…” says G’raha. He pictures Rammbroes’ camp just outside the Crystal Tower, in Mor Dhona — the Isle of Val, surrounded by fellow scholars — idle days in the Crystarium, Lyna at his heels throughout various stages of her life, all the artisans and crafters and guardsmen and apothecaries and beast handlers working together to make the city a safe haven for all who sought refuge from the Sin Eaters’ onslaught.

—and then: the Rising Stones in Mor Dhona, in a body both familiar and not, surrounded by friends connected across worlds, across timelines.

He takes Urianger’s hand in his, commits each line and callus to his memory. Let this, too, be something worth returning to — a source of comfort and warmth and security, that can only be attained in the presence of loved ones held most dear. “Come,” says G’raha. “Let’s go home.”

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #g'raha tia #urianger augurelt #uriraha #g'raha x urianger #fic

[tallbluelady]

Calamity

"I don't get it, Ellant. Papa said that when I was full grown, I'd be able to join the Wood Wailers or Gods' Quiver. Why is Mama so adamant that I can't join either now?" Rowan asked. She had a much easier time keeping pace with him after her growth spurt.

"Haven't you read the Raven? There's another Calamity upon us, it seems." Ellant had to readjust where he looked when he turned to her. Twas a good thing that Mama was also tall, because then Rowan had at least a few clothes that fit her.

"Aye, and that prophet claims we need every hand at the ready, doesn't he?"

"Aye," he gave a conceding nod to his sister, "But you're about as ready for war as Kei-Kei is for taking over the shop."

"That chocobo is smarter than half the clientele we get," she scoffed, "And I've been training alongside you. I can shoot a bow or swing a lance as well as you can."

Then Rowan managed to trip over a tree root, completely unaware that her foot had gotten caught on it with her lengthened stride.

"If you can't walk to even see the Prophet without tripping, then I think that discounts you from responding to the drums of war," Ellant shook his head and offered a hand to Rowan.

"Wait, we're going to go see him?" Rowan's eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Mama thought if you heard how scary it was going to be, then you'd back off," Ellant said, "I doubt that's going to happen with the type of person you are, but I wanted to hear him too."

A decent sized crowd had gathered in the clearing where this Urianger fellow was supposed to say his peace. Apparently, they weren't the only ones who wanted to hear the words of the renegade prophet. Rowan smiled as she realized she wouldn't need to muscle her way up to the front to get a good view anymore. She tried to parse out some of the whispers from the crowd. People say he's been alive since the Third Umbral Era. I heard that he's been able to utterly destroy whole battalions of Garleans with a wave of his staff. No, no, he summons voidsent to do that for him!

Ellant rolled his eyes at all the chatter, "Obviously, these people haven't been invited to the Circle of Knowing..."

"That Sharlyan group that Papalymo's a part of?" Rowan asked. Ellant had been talking to the Lalafellin man a lot more lately, "Did he invite you?"

Ellant nodded, then pointed. "That should be him in the cowl and goggles."

Rowan turned to see an Elezen man of about average height enter the clearing. With his cowl up, it was hard enough to get a look at him, but she could see the large tattoo on his face. Other than that, he didn't seem all that impressive of a figure.

But then he spoke. By the Twelve, did he have a voice to him. Rowan had to shake her head to try and actually listen to what the man was saying rather than just listen to his voice like it was an instrument.

He spoke of a "Mazaya Thousand Eyes". Of prophets of eld and an upcoming calamity. What impressed Rowan the most was his even tone through it all. He didn't fall into the trap of yelling everything he said to impress people by volume. No, he let the words speak for themselves. And, Rowan realized, he kept to the more formal grammar of the prophecies throughout his speech.

The Prophet of the Calamity ended his speech with a call to action, "I only ask that each of you think of what you could do to prevent the Calamity. Whether it be through the strength of arms, or the strength of heart, we all must needs take our place lest Eorzea be doomed."

The crowd turned to each other and started murmuring about what to do. Rowan kept her eye on the figure. He caught her staring and gave a brief nod. Rowan turned her eyes away in embarrassment, but when she looked back up, he'd gone.

"Where'd he go?" Rowan asked Ellant.

"Oh, a lot of those Sharlyan scholars are taught how to disappear into the shadows, apparently," Ellant said, trying to get a bead on the figure himself, "Looks like Master Urianger has that same skill. Let's get out of here before we get lost in the shuffle."

With a nod, the two of them took a less beaten trail out of the clearing. Despite them already knowing the gist of what Urianger had said before, there was still more to digest as they walked through the quiet woods.

"So, what did you think of what he said?" Ellant asked when their home came to view.

"Like, all of it? It didn't scare me like Mama would hope it would."

"I knew that much. But what about the end? Sure you have some strength of arms, but with how scared Mama is..."

"You want me to use my 'strength of heart'?" Rowan made a face at her brother, "I think he was saying that to those who couldn't fight, not at me."

"Ro, Papalymo and the others are extremely worried about the Garleans. Papa and I are going to fight, that's a given. And if it's as hard of a battle as we fear it is, they might win," Ellant paused and shook his head. "If we don't make it back, then who's going to take care of Mama? Who's going to make sure that us Duskwights aren't going to be forgotten and trampled underfoot? If all goes wrong..."

Rowan sighed, "You're more worried that I'm going to die than that we're going to lose, aren't you? That even with you and Papa protecting me, some stray magitek blast is going to get me and you'll have to tell Mama that I didn't make it back."

He nodded.

"And what if you don't make it back? How am I supposed to keep Mama from falling to despair that her trueborn son died?"

"I think you have a better chance than me trying to comfort her that her daughter of choice died."

Rowan rolled her eyes, "It doesn't really matter what I think though, does it? Mama told Papa to not let me in either guild and he's going to enforce it, isn't he?"

Ellant nodded again, "Aye. But at least you understand why, right?"

She shrugged, "I don't know if I do, but I did get to hear a prophet. One thing off of my bucket list."

"You just thought his voice was attractive."

"Hey!" she punched his shoulder affectionately, "It's not like you weren't sitting entranced by it either!"

"That was purely from a musician's stand point and not because I found it to be the voice of my dreams, little tree."

She stuck her tongue out at him and opened the gate, "Still, the battle with the Garleans can't be all that bad, can it?"

#rowan argentas #ellant argentas #junelezen #calamity #i need a writing tag... #i need a writing tag #is now my writing tag lolz

[ohorishan]

for the first time, the night

(~500 words, WoL/Urianger almost, early ShB)

-

It was Urianger who suggested we move on from Il Mheg as soon as possible, and yet- after we've collected our effects, I find him atop one of the faerie hills, sitting among the flowers, gazing upwards at the new night sky. I've never seen him look so… reverent? Awed? And I've never seen him sitting on the ground. 

"So," I say, "is it everything you imagined?"

"'Tis beyond imagining," he replies, not turning so much as his head. "To study the heavens, absent of their sight, to learn each unfamiliar star and sign, the geometry that yet connecteth them, and only then to see… 'twas for this," he says-  and at last he turns his gaze toward me- "for thee, I have long waited."

I feel my breath catch. "How did you know?" I hear myself say. "Defeating the Lightwarden, restoring the night, all of this… how were you so certain I could do it?"

"Save that thou hadst achieved it once already?" Urianger smiles- fond, indulgent, gentle. "Thou seest not thyself. These several years, though I saw not the stars, I yet believed they shone- to think aught else would be defeat. And so I knew… and so do I know thee."

"Urianger, I-" I can't think what to say. He's so close- we haven't been this close since, well- at any rate his face and mine are of a level, and his golden eyes look into mine as if he's seeing a second sky. I could take one small step and-

He leans forward to close the slight space between us-

-and I step back.

"Forgive me," he says immediately, "I overstep-"

"No, it isn't that," I interrupt, before he can keep apologizing. But I can't bring myself to say the rest.

And he doesn't press. He just watches me, and waits, and all at once a dam within me breaks.

"I'm afraid," I admit. "I hurt you once already. After Moenbryda-"

"Nay, blame not thyself," he says. "'Tis true I was heart-struck, but not by thee. 'Twas simply…not the time."

"And now it is?"

"That is for thee to say." 

Urianger reaches for my hand, and I let him take it, his long fingers with their golden rings folding gently around mine.

"I have waited ere now," he says, "and 'tis a practice most familiar. 'Tis no burden, then, to wait a while longer." And he gives me that smile again, soft and fond, and Twelve help me, I want to see that smile again and again.

He knows exactly how I feel about him. I hear the voice as if it's here, next to us among the flowers. And he knows that whenever he needs me, for whatever reason, I’ll be there.

"I'll tell you," I say, just as soft. "When I'm ready. I promise." 

"I can ask no more." He raises my hand, gently, and brushes the slightest touch of lips there. This time I don't pull back. I feel just as breathless as if he'd kissed me full on the mouth.

"Hey," we both hear Alisaie call from the road, "what are you two doing up there? I thought we were going!"

"And so we should be," Urianger says. He unfolds himself from the ground, a few stray petals falling from his robes.

"Will you tell me about the stars," I say, "on the road?"

He holds his hand down for mine, and smiles, and I hope I never get used to seeing it. "'Twould be my pleasure."

#ffxiv oc #uriwol #blorbo self indulgence #uriori

[theperplexedpoet]

night before Christmas (2023)

Twas the night before Christmas pandemic year three seasonally coupled with flu and RSV stockings have been hung on the front door this year drop it all off outside and text when all's clear children are scarred now by pandemic living adults are too we're just more forgiving world drama's just something we've long had up on tap so our brains were pre-scrambled through all of that crap we have long known that things were effed right in the b the youth are just learning that taking it harshly just some more random thoughts nights have me reflective as I watch for pirates the porch unprotected stand guard at the window checking for lurkers give nods to still clocked in, exploited workers the moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow trying to tempt us out in the blistering cold “but you'll not trick me with your frostbitten trap” I caught myself saying 'fore my mind went, “WHAT'S THAT?!” Amazon on the approach and coming in quick but who was that driving? wait...is that St. Nick! more rapid than eagles his van was a-moving can't be late, or pay's docked Bezos knows who's snoozing I yelled, “where's Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen?” “Not company approved, so I had to nix 'em. plus Cupid has Covid and now Comet might too! some new North Pole vector it's transmitted through! and none of those damned elves want to come back to work so I had to outsource sub-contract Jeff the jerk. but I did not read any of his fine print so I must work for him now for a short stint.”

and then, with more grumbling, he stepped out the truck talking 'bout how much the work conditions suck the workplace is toxic and the bossman is trash it was as he kept talking I noticed...no mask? here three goddamned years, man, passed exasperation that we're still having to have this conversation?! I grabbed disinfectant shocked and despairing even this big-hearted saint had himself stopped caring his eyes–how they'd hollowed his face, gaunt and scary he loaded all that he could comfortably carry his droll little mouth was pulled down like a bow as he coughed and he hacked on my precious cargo it was easy to see he was congested so I asked “when was the last time you were tested?” looked me dead in my face and these words he gave voice “If I get it I get it my freedom of choice!” not the Nick I remembered no jolly, old elf so I asked, “how can you only think of yourself?”

then he talked of lizards and Mengele too soon gave me to know he's listening to “Q” so I kept the door closed and he looked a bit hurt he filled all the stockings and called me a jerk then gave me the finger but I stayed composed and gave him a nod saying “I know, it blows but this is just life now.” he said, “I won't go back!” I sighed, “okay...whatever, man, we left you a snack” thought I heard him exclaim as he got near the truck “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good nut!”

“...Santa, what?” I replied “the hell was that comment?” then realized it was some odd sponsored content he had stopped talking and just cranked up the truck they'd broken his spirit taken his last fuck as the soft taillights faded into the night I said to myself, “man this shit just ain't right.” (12/23/22)

#poetry #parody #night before christmas #ongoing series

[soupercatte]

FFXIV Writing Prompt 4 (Free Choice): Sandwiches

[For free days, I've decided to pick moments and stories from the WoL timeline instead to break things up a little! I thought it would be fun this way to explore not only the current timeline but the WoL timelines as well]

He carefully picked his way down to Silvertear Lake, the blackened water ominous against the evening sky and the luminescent crystal jutting from the earth. The water lapped softly against the shore as he sat himself on a rock, closing his eyes and breathing in the cool air.

Kelas’ra had been aiding the Sons of St Coinach as of late, having run into Cid and a new acquaintance by the name of Rammbroes in Revenant’s Toll upon returning to the Rising Stones from his adventures across Eorzea. Ever curious about ancient civilizations and the call of the unknown he had agreed to assist in locating aspected aethersand and helping the researchers break through the barriers to venture into the great spire of crystal that had been unearthed during the prior Calamity.

The scholars were kind, of course, appreciative of his efforts to waylay the occasional Gigas or Lake Cobra that had wandered too close for comfort but he still squirmed as he heard their whispers, caught their stolen glances peeking back at him from time to time.

The Champion of Eorzea…slayer of Primals and the one who stopped the Garleans and their weapon, Ultima! Odd, don’t you think, he’s not even from here? Rather scrawny too…

To say he was still rather uneasy about his sudden fame and fortune would be the understatement of the era; naturally he would grin and bear it, building up that facade of the bubbly fresh faced adventurer who thrived off of attention but inside he merely wished to creep away and be left to his own devices, to continue his adventures in peace without being accosted left and right each time he deigned to set foot into a city.

Kelas’ra sighed and stretched his legs out, pulling the small leather tie from his hair. It fluffed out in all directions, a veritable soot cloud, as his Mum used to say when she would try --and fail-- to hold him down and brush his hair and tail as a child. The action felt good and he massaged his scalp with his fingers, relaxing slightly. Perhaps this would be a good evening after all.

“Ah, there you are, Hero!”

Heaving a sigh, Kelas’ra scowled and his shoulders dropped at the voice. Well, there went that.

A familiar red headed Miqo’te bounced across the stones as he descended the hill towards the lake, plopping himself next to Kelas’ra with his trademark shite-eating grin.

“Rammbroes said he saw you sneaking away.” G’raha Tia smirked, tail flicking playfully in the air behind him. “Too much of a bigshot to sit with us plebeians at the dinner table, are we?” Kelas’ra grumbled and turned away, feeling his ears slide against the back of his head unsciously, denoting his annoyance. “Not quite. I just wanted some time to myself. Alone.”

G’raha’s smirk faltered and he shuffled anxiously in place, rubbing the tip of his boot in the rocky sand of the short. “Ah, I see. Forgive me.” He said. “Twas not my intention to infuriate you, Hero.”

Enough of that… Shaking his head, Kelas’ra waved the words away. “I’m not angry, just…overwhelmed, I suppose.” “Oh? How so?”

Kelas’ra nodded nonchalantly towards the camp, the low din of the researchers laughing and talking as they shared dinner together drifting down on the winds. “I’m no scholar and have no input to your research, so there’s no point in taking up space. I’m fine down here, I’m not that hungry anyways.”

Almost as if on cue from the gods his stomach rumbled loudly, both Miqo’te peering down to it before looking back at each other.

“You, my friend, are quite possibly the worst liar I have ever met.” G’raha burst out into a laugh, doubling over as Kelas’ra shrank down, cursing himself. “That was rather impressive! What timing you have!”

Kelas’ra considered rising and leaving, disappearing down the shore. He wasn’t sure what to make of his so-called companion; brusk and full of himself, nearly every word G’raha Tia said made him want to roll his eyes to the back of his head. He was reminded of the boys from his tribe who always seemed to think everything was a competition, always telling better stories or running faster or growing taller than the others sooner, what have you. From the time they had met (or rather, he had been mocked from the treeline) to having to follow him around the camp during the day, listening to him prattle on and on about Allagan History he had found his mind wandering, wishing he was anywhere but here at this very moment.

“Here, consider this my way of making amends.”

Kelas’ra paused, staring at a wrapped bundle that was placed in his hands. Unraveling the cloth he was met with a messy set of sandwiches and a handful of ice crystals to keep them cool, his nose twitching as an herby, pungent scent wafted upwards. 

Lifting a sandwich he inspected it, sniffing the white sauce. “...Dill?” He quizzed, taking a bite. The sandwich was filled with freshly sliced cucumbers, his teeth puncturing the vegetables with a satisfying crunch sound. The creamy dill sauce was bright and cloying on his tongue, offsetting the sweet refreshing taste of the cucumber and he found he was much more ravenous than he had originally anticipated. With vigor he took another large bite and then another, polishing off a sandwich half. G’raha merely watched with a coy smile, seemingly satisfied.

“Ah, wuh ‘bou oo?” Kelas’ra tried to speak  but his mouth was too full, the other shaking his head. “Nay, tis all for you, Hero. I have already eaten; I noticed you weren’t with the rest of us so I wanted to make sure you had something to eat, even if it’s not that good.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, this is delicious.” 

Wiping his mouth, Kelas’ra gave him a small grin himself. “And enough with that ‘Hero’ nonsense. I have a name, you know.”

“You don’t say? Your mother didn’t call you Weapon of Eorzea when she birthed you from the womb? Colour me surprised.”

“Hardy har har.”

G’raha Tia laughed to himself, pulling his knees close to his chest as he watched the other man take another bite, licking the side of his hand as the sauce dribbled, threatening to drip onto his pants. “You must forgive me, such formalities are hard to break. But-! If you would insist, I can call you by your name. Master Sanpou, was it?”

“Somehow that’s even worse. Just Kelas’ra is fine.”

“A-are you certain?”

“As I live and breathe.”

The duo sat in silence for a time, enjoying each other’s company as Kelas’ra ate. He hadn’t been expecting such hospitality from his scholar companion and to be truthful it was rather nice. As if allergic to silence, G’raha began to ramble on about various things, most of which Kelas’ra had no care or notion of but it was pleasant to passively listen to him as he ate, occasionally nodding to show he was still vaguely paying attention.

They remained together as the sun set and night soon settled upon them, the glowing crystal bathing them in a pleasant blue hue.

“I must say, you are nothing like I expected.” The redhead laughed. “When you hear things such as Champion of Eorzea or Hero of Light you expect, well, a little pig-headedness. An ego or at least some bothersome fault. And yet, I sense none of this from you. You really are quite the enigma.”

Kelas’ra shook his head with a chuckle, leaning back on to his hands as he basked in the cool air, feeling the breeze on his skin. “I do suppose I’m not what you would picture when thinking of things like Ikon Slayer or a hero. Sorry to disappoint.”

“No! Tis quite intriguing, if I may say so. There are many things intriguing about you, such as --say, for example-- that strong accent of yours.”

Feeling his face flush, Kelas’ra glanced away.  “Ah, forgive me. I’ve tried to tame it since arriving here but I fear the Corvosi tongue is hard to break.”

“So it was Corvosi…” G’raha mused to himself with a faraway look in his eyes. “I thought as much. I have not heard that accent in quite some time. It’s painfully nostalgic.”

“You know it?” “Indeed. I myself am from Corvos, though I fear I can remember none of it. As a small boy I was sent to stay in Old Sharlayan as my family feared for my safety because I was blessed with the Allagan Eye.”

Kelas’ra felt his hand unconsciously trailing to his own, gently brushing his hair from it. “Allagan Eye…this cursed thing...I have heard it called that once before. Garleans, of course. To think another person has it as well.”

G’raha nearly fell from his rock, scrambling over and grabbing a hold of Kelas’ra’s face with an enthusiastic cry. “Wait, you mean to tell me this is an Allagan Eye as well?” He cried out, practically vibrating with excitement. “Ah, but I can see it! That unmistakable crimson! But you are a Keeper! How can that be? Unless…” He squeezed his cheeks even tighter, wiggling excitedly. “You are half Seeker!”

“C-close, I’m quarter.” Kelas’ra struggled to escape, trapped under the weight of his companion. He was deceptively heavy. “M-my father, G’ota’a, was from the G Tribe in the west before he met my mother.”

“Truly! What a small world it is…”

G’raha stepped back, pacing and mumbling eagerly to himself as he seemed to work through a range of emotions while Kelas’ra watched on in curiosity.

“Tell me, Friend.” He said at last, punching his hand with a determined glint in his eye, a look that made Kelas’ra feel nervous. “Do you have a place to rest while here in the camp? A tent of your own?”

Kelas’ra shook his head, settling back down on the rock comfortably. “No, I figured I’d just head back to Revenant’s Toll or find some place in the ruins to curl up against.”

G’raha’s grin broadened even wider if that was possible, jittering happily in place. “Well that is no good. Tis settled, then! You can stay in my tent!”

“And what in the Sisters’ names makes you think I would take you up on that?”

“Ah! You wound me, Hero! I mean -- Kelas’ra. You can’t say no, we’re both Miqo’te! We are brethren, bound by blood and history and fate itself!”

Taking his hand he pulled Kelas’ra to his feet, dragging him along the shore back towards the camp. The campfire had long gone out, the scholars and researchers having retired to their own shelters ages ago while they had sat and talked along the shore.

“I’ll cut you a deal.” G’raha said, leading the way, “I’ll give you half my tent and a spare blanket if you will allow me to pick your mind on what you know of our tribe. Granted, I have no intentions of ever returning as I am so far removed they would all be strangers, but perhaps you know of stories or legends passed down long erased from my memory. Call it my being sentimental, is all.”

The dark haired Miqo’te scoffed, though he didn’t fight as he was led through the camp. “I don’t know, I’m not much of a talker…”

“I’ll sweeten the pot then! I’ll make you all the sandwiches you can stuff that Ilsabardian gob with, no questions asked.”

They paused outside of a tent, G’raha lifting the flap to show a veritable disaster of papers, quills and inkwells inside, books tossed around as if caught in a storm. He seemed rather proud of it all, as if a child showing off a secret hideout to a friend. “So! Do we have a deal?”

Kelas’ra pondered his response for a moment, thinking over his options. He had to admit, the more he spoke with the redhead the more he was (unfortunately) growing to like him. That eager cockiness from the beginning that had so driven him mad was quickly becoming a source of entertainment and he found himself eager to learn more about him. About his life and his dreams and his obsession with Allag that seemed so deeply rooted in his blood.

At least, he thought, he had his answer.

“How can I decline such an offer?” He mused, waving his hand nonchalantly as he passed G’raha into the tent, the latter jumping excitedly in place while whispering “Yes-!” to himself. “I don’t normally make it a habit to talk at length, but I suppose I do need a good way to practice my Eorzean.”

“You will have plenty of time to practice, I shall certainly see to that!” G’raha dropped himself on a pile of papers, sending pens and trinkets scattering about. “I would suggest getting some sleep, then. Come the morning I’ll be picking your brain for every little thing I can think of! With my smarts and your brawn, we’ll conquer the past and together we’ll build a better future for all!”

He couldn’t help himself; Kelas’ra let out a loud, full bodied laugh, enamored by the man’s fervent words. There was a strange feeling beginning to build in his chest; a tingly, fluttery sensation that warmed him from the tips of his ears to his gut to his tail. It was…pleasant. And it seemed to stem from his new friend. How curious indeed.

“Of course we will.” He grinned, reaching out and shaking hands with the other Miqo’te. They smiled at each other, crimson eyes glimmering in the lamplight.

 “I look forward to a long and fruitful friendship, G’raha. Here’s to our future, wherever it shall take us.”

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv writing challenge #ffxiv writing prompt #ffxiv oc #oops I missed writing about the corvosi bois

[archaeoelysion]

It's not in his place to ask him to stay, Emet-Selch is well aware, especially as one of the Convocation members who had agreed to the plans of the summoning and encouraging his kin to sacrifice themselves for their star. He knows he cannot, yet when he is faced with the one dearest to him, Hades could not help the ache in his chest, his knuckles white from the intensity and attempt to hold back his emotions.

Yet he says naught. Golden hues trained on lavender - ones he has loved for so many decades, ones he will love and miss so dearly in the time to come. He wants to ask him to stay, to let himself be selfish and keep Hythlodaeus at his side, yet he cannot. The ever duty-driven mind of his does not allow such acts and feelings to get in his ways.

His lips part, a silent scream as he wants him close ( naught else matters, naught else ever did whenever they were together ) and grow old with him until they returned to the star together.

For the lack of words and the misery he feels, Hades forces himself to look away, unable to bear the sight of him when knowing well that they would not have much time left.

What is he supposed to tell him?

WOW WAY TO COME FOR MY HEART WTF ⁘ @archaeoelysian

Lavender sustains the intense gaze of golden, understanding far more than what will be spoken by either of them. This is not a decision he had made lightly, despite being the single correct option. He knows his most beloved would not take easily to it, far more full of sentiment than Hades would lead others to believe.

But he knows also that, in his role as Emet-Selch, he would not support a solution he did not believe in, desperate as it was. And if Hades believed it the correct path, plausible to lead them to survive the calamity that plagued their beloved star, to save their world and people in the end, then Hythlodaeus would place unwavering faith in that solution. How best to support it, then, than pleading his very soul to the cause?

'Twas, after all, also a matter of logic, in the eyes of the Chief Architect, so very used to an analysis far more clinical than that of sentiment. His judgment was not reserved solely for the creations taken to him; it was turned to himself also, and he knew this was the path he ought to take to best serve the star. Most of all, this was the path he had to take for them; Hades himself, and even Aphrodite, regardless of her refusal to partake in the Convocation's decision.

It would be easier if he knew the two of them would make amends. That they would have one another, look after one another, in the time he joined a thousand others in the making of Zodiark. This is not a time they can care for what would be ideal, though. Surviving will be enough. Their survival would be enough.

Hades' lips, so dear and well loved throughout the years they shared together, part but let no words out. Was the situation another, Hythlodaeus would not have missed the oportunity to poke fun at him, the mighty Emet-Selch at a loss of words. He is not so cruel he would do so now, when his beloved's reaction may well be as if he had raised a hand to strike him across the face.

Hades sees it as a blow, regardless of Hythlodaeus' intentions with his choice are. As his gaze is turned away, Hythlodaeus himself feels as if struck. Never had he intended to cause the other pain; neither can he give up on the choice that most benefits them all. What he, lacking in talent, could give for their world to once again flourish.

"It is temporary," He offers, soothingly, as long fingers seek for Hades' hand. Hythlodaeus will not force him to meet his gaze; will not force closeness at all, if distance is what the other prefers. This is but the natural reply: if his most beloved is pained, what can he do but attempt to soothe that sensitive heart?

His gaze falls to where their hands meet, voice as soft as his touch. "We will not be apart forever. I will return to your side, as always," Tenderness the words carry blends with the attempt to make things lighter, even as there is no lightness to be found in their current situation. "So you can complain once more about how much my presence annoys you, beloved."

#hi I'm crying about the ancient husbands again #wtf tenka #archaeoelysian #muse: hythlodaeus { SOULSEER. } #in character: hythlodaeus { ARCHITECT. } #I want hades to snap at him for trying to be funny 😌

[papalo-palo]

WHM 52, MSQ 35 - Bringing Out the Dead

Sable retraced her steps through the hard scrub of Thanalan without any guidance from me. She knew where we had to return to and her strong legs made short work of the journey. I had not realized how much she has grown and matured since she was first given to me. Back then, she was freshly graduated from her training and not to long having been hatched. Now she is a mature bird of a steed and a stubborn chocobo companion who has made it clear I am part of her flock and we will stand together. Though, the way she instinctively flaps each time she jumps, I wonder if she will develop the skill of flight. If so, will I develop the skill of hanging on?

Sable slows down and comes to a soft halt before the monument in Vesper Bay. I had not noticed any part of the journey except for how good it felt to have a friend with me. I think she knows what I must bear, for she has placed me such that the monument is between me and the stairs leading to the Waking Sands. My beloved chocobo, still trying to keep me from harm.

As I dismounted, I recalled Rosomoni's words about scars and realized that Sable was trying to tend to the one struck upon my soul. What hero was Rosomoni before he became my retainer? Does he feel guilty for surviving to what he called "old age"?

Ah. No amount of philosophy will remove me from my duty here. I walked from the monument to Nedrick who was standing at his usual post. Nedrick said nothing, but stared not at me, not at the doors to the Waking Sands, but to a space beyond the stairs leading down to the dock. We shared no words, but his look was so unwavering, I had to follow the lead.

There, on the cranny between the stairs and the seawall, were eight bodies that had been recovered from the Waking Sands and placed out of the way of merchants and sailors. Noraxia was among them.

I wobbled on my feet only to feel Sable's strong beak pressed against my back. She neither pushed me forward nor held me back, but remained still so I could get my footing, physically and mentally. I do not deserve her love and trust. I should have been here when the attack happened. Not sleeping in a comfortable bed. I should have been here to repel the attack. I should have done something… anything…

Sable nibbles my ear gently, pulling my attention back to the work that is present. I pat her to let her know that I was back in the present, in the here and now. Back in the too salty and too sodden air. Right. Let's get this over with.

The Vesper Bay Shopkeep standing guard at the doors challenged me only because I didn't look like I was from the church. However, he wasn't going to turn away any honest help and directed me towards the gathering of bodies I had already seen. No one knew who they were and no family had come to claim them, so the bodies were to be taken to the lichyard at the same church that I had fled to.

No one knew who they were.

I knew who they were.

I will carry their names and faces engraved on my soul until my own dying day.

They are the ones I left behind for the sake of a good night's sleep.

The shopkeep didn't notice that my mind had wandered away for he kept talking. He spoke briefly of what he had seen inside the Waking Sands and confirmed that the Garleans were responsible. He said the sight 'twas the stuff of nightmares and it was good that I hadn't seen it.

But I had. And I will never forget it.

He ends his monologue by saying the sooner the matter is placed behind us the better. But then, he leans in and wonders out loud if he had seen me here before, that I seem kinda familiar, but as quickly as he begins to remember me, he forgets and waves me away to my duty. The carriage for the bodies can't come into Vesper Bay proper, so it now falls to me to carry the bodies from the harbor's side to the carriage, in as many trips as it takes me.

The coachman at the gates was disconcerted to see even more bodies being brought to him, and questioned how a small person such as myself was able to carry what the large Roedagyn struggled to pull. He then shrugged and told me to discard the bodies in the carriage as so much baggage. "Ain't like they'll complain if you're rough!"

His laughter hurt.

"Well, ain't you a strong one. Four in one trip? Reckon there's no need for me to lend you a hand with the rest, then."

His shirking of his duty echoed my own so I had no breath to rebut him with. And to be honest, I didn't want him touching the remaining bodies. We Scions will care for each other even when no one else will.

I gathered Noraxia last. The leaves of her sylph body so limp and bruised from the white-armored woman's lethal kick, that I could not bear to add more abuse to her. As I laid the remaining corpses in the wagon, I took care to place Noraxia's body in a way so that the trip will not abuse her further. She appeared as if merely sleeping, in the way that late summer leaves lay gently on the bank of almost dry creek.

The coachman shoved me out of the way as he secured the bed. He told me to go on ahead to the lichyard and to tell the folks there that the bodies were on the way. There was a good chance that the bodies might arrive before me as the roads were clear and the weather was good.

Would make for a good run with Sable, then. I still do not trust travel by aetheryte just yet.

So much for clear weather. The fog settled into Eastern Thanalan just as I left the pass from the Unholy Heir. As if the land knew what was coming with me and veiled itself in mourning. Sister Eluned smiled gently upon me when she realized I had followed her advice. She prayed that I had found some small measure of peace, and while I did, I spoke nothing of the turmoil that was now my other companion.

As she participated in the initial burial rites, she saw what had happened to my friends. She told me that for many, death came quickly. As the fog turned to rain, the weather hid the evidence of what the Echo had revealed. Yes, for many, death came quickly. For some, it came cruelly assisted. I could only nod in acknowledgement that her order will treat them with the respect due to them in life, and that their passage to Thal's realm will be unimpeded.

#ffxiv #The Memoirs of Papalo Palo