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giddyfenix · 4 months

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Forever and always

“Joel, what does this mean for us? Are we together forever?” Etho had asked.

“Forever and always,” Joel had replied, cheeky smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Forever,” Etho had agreed, and he didn’t know yet how much he’d mean it.

—

Etho didn’t know, going into Limited Life, what would be of him and Joel. They had lived together and they had died together. They had made each other promises, and they had cared.

By the time they died, neither had brought up the loaded question: what comes after?

Nothing, Etho realized. Nothing, was the answer.

Etho wasn’t intending to target Joel as his enemy because of it, not after everything they’d been through together and everything they’d done together, but it sort of happened before Etho had time to realize what he was doing, and suddenly each time he opened his mouth, he was trying to get Joel’s attention, or blaming him for something, or bringing him up in unrelated conversations, because when he’d said forever and always, he’d meant it. It was bitterness mixed with uncertainty, colliding and forming something that wasn't quite anger, but was just close enough to blur the line.

It might’ve helped, perhaps, if Joel hadn't also decided to target him.

Etho should've expected it. He knew Joel by then, so when Joel came up to him and said, “Can’t believe you replaced me with a cow, Etho!” not having expected it was all on him.

“He keeps me company at least,” Etho said. A joke, though perhaps not. It was up to Joel.

And then Joel said he was planning to settle down on the ocean with Jimmy, and things were clear, but Etho didn’t want to see, and that was on him, too.

“Oh, so you’re going to make a boat with a new friend, hey, Joel? I thought we were the boat boys,” he joked. He wasn’t sure where they stood with each other. Maybe they were on different teams, but that didn’t necessarily make them enemies, was his thought process.

Joel shot the cow, and cleared it up for him.

"Anything precious you get is getting sniped out now,” Etho said then, and it was so far from anything they'd ever said to each other before that Etho almost stopped mid-way through, but he only had to hear Joel giggling, mocking him, and no hesitancy made it through at all.

I will follow you forever, Etho wanted to say. Like we promised.

He’d meant it when he said it back then. He meant it as they shared resources back in the Relation, and as they hunted down Pearl, and as they died together in the lava. A promise was a promise.

And really, he was keeping his promise when, only a few days after Joel had confirmed their new status as enemies, Etho pulled him into his mob farm just to mess with him. They were on opposite teams, on opposite ends of the map, and pulling him closer, regardless of how or why or when, was making good on his promise. It was almost a shame that the mob farm still wasn’t done by then. Etho was kind of hoping he’d slip through the middle openings, into the actually dangerous part of the farm.

Joel said, “Etho, I’m three hours and twenty three minutes away from yellow. I will kill myself to get to that point to come back and kill you.”

Their friends laughed and cheered. They mocked Joel, and they mocked Etho, but none of them knew that Joel wasn’t joking, and none of them knew that Etho was counting on it. Together forever, was their promise. And what was more intimate than death?

And maybe it was that realization that made him focus all his efforts during the green hunts.

Forever, he’d promised Joel. Forever, forever. Even as enemies. Maybe especially as such.

“I’ve got him hooked!”

Forever.

“Off you go, Joel!” he screamed, giddy and elated as he pushed Joel off his own base, off to his demise.

Forever.

“I fell!”

He landed on Joel’s water. Together forever.

“You saved me! You saved me Joel!”

Forever, forever, forever.

“So now I can kill you!”

After all, Etho had never been one to break his promises.

#smalletho #smallethoweek #trafficshipping #oh shit i need a tag for fics #uhh #giddy words #sure lets go with that #prompt was obsession/promises btw

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envymeshi · 11 months

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..................Anyway. Sorry about this.

#dunmeshi #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #mithrun #kabru #My deepest apologies to mainly kabru but also the entire fandom for this #do these guys even have a ship name???? i wanna have something if only for archival purposes damn #kabru x mithrun #sure lets go with that #i am once again doing a study on the mangas style #wow guys no way its an official drawing by ryoko look /j #kabumisu

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bugstung · 8 months

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I had a dream where Akito and Touya meet again 15 years after vbs broke up and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it

#Akitoya #Akitouya #akito shinonome #toya aoyagi #touya aoyagi #Project sekai #Prsk #Prsk fa #Pjsk #Prsk future au #Sure lets go with that #cyrdraws

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asha-mage · 6 months

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mat/tuon prompt: dice

For his thirty fourth birthday Mat received two gifts from his wife.

The first he woke up to find on his sitting room table, in an ornately carved and gilded box of black oak. There was no note or message attached to it, and Mat knew that if he questioned the servants none would admit to any knowledge of how it had gotten into his room.

They might even be telling the truth. He thought most of the da’covale in his entourage were more in his camp then Tuon’s these days, and she had plenty of other means of circumventing his security without raising an alarm. But it was hard to say for sure. Mat had a remarkable ability to win people over, but the Empress was the Empress, and with the Seanchan-born that could matter more than all the good feeling and personal loyalty in the world.

Still the how didn’t really matter that much. Neither did the lack of anything to identify the sender. Mat knew it was Tuon. No one else in the Empire would be sending him gifts on his birthday. In Seanchan, namedays were celebrated on the date you had been given your current name, not the date you had been born, and it was months yet until the anniversary of the day Tuon had officially recognized him as Emperor Consort and bequeathed him the name of Inarian.

There would be a grand feast on that day, both to celebrate him making it through another year with his head still attached to his shoulders, and to commemorate the Battle of Malheian, which had brought the entire peninsula of Dohmar, and more importantly the capital, back under the Empress’s control. That was when Tuon had finally raised him from Prince of the Ravens to Emperor Consort, and he had shed the name Knotai for Inarian. It would be a grand spectacle, that feast, full of parades and presentations and balls. He would have to endure an endless stream of nobles vying for his favor by presenting him lavish and exotic gifts from across the Empire, and give several speeches written out ahead of time by his so'jhin. It was something Mat dreaded every year, and that despite his best efforts, he never quite managed to escape. Tuon played the game too well for that.

Case in point: the box.

Mat considered retrieving his ashandarei, but in the end settled for simply using one of the gilded fireplace pokers to remove the lid from the box. He had to shove it into the crevice and jimmy a bit to get the lid to pop off, but when he did, his caution proved completely justified.

There was a flash of black, something streaking through the air faster than Mat would have been able to escape had he been standing closer. But with Mat standing a good distance back, the serpent could only snap at the air in confusion, its fangs failing to sink into anything as it fell, half its body slapping onto the table, the other half still curled inside the box.

Mat didn’t hesitate- he struck with the blunt hook of the poker slamming it against the serpent’s triangle shaped head and crushing it against the tabletop with a single sickening crunch. Blood sprayed over the silken table cloth, staining the dark green with crimson. Then just to be sure it was dead, Mat gave it three more wacks. He didn’t think Tuon could find a special unkillable snake, but better safe than sorry.

When it became clear the snake would not be moving absent of its brain Mat hooked its body onto the edge of his poker and lifted it to the light to examine it better. He gave a start when he realized the snake was covered in shiny black scales with a lean, somewhat short body.

“A Blacklance.” He whispered and was unable to stop himself from smiling. One of the most poisonous snakes he knew of, with venom that could kill in heartbeats.

What a thoughtful wife he had.

Letting the poker drop Mat moved to strike the brass gong on his bedside table, which summoned the servants back from where he had sent them into the hall to wait. They spilled into the room in a flurry of confusion and noise that only grew as they saw the body of the serpent sprawled on the table.

They, of course, were horrified and shocked at the presence of the snake, though none of them recognized it for what it was as near as Mat could tell. Much was made over his wellbeing and Mat had to quash several attempts to call for the palace physician, the Seekers for Truth, and even Selucia.

Names where floated in the panic of who might be responsible. By his secretary, by the cupbearer, even by his da'covale: their suspects ranged from High Lords that Mat had recently offended or snubbed, to enemy warlords in the still fractured north and south who wanted to prevent the Empire’s reconsolidation, to the Amyrlin Seat, whose title was spoken with the horror Mat was more used to hearing in the voice of those talking of the Dark One.

Adric, Mat’s so’jihin, said nothing on the matter, instead simply directing the work of having the snake removed, along with the tablecloth and the box, then set about ordering da'covale back to their various tasks, including seeing Mat dressed and combed. He knew the score, and knew there was no sense in dwelling on what could not be changed.

The four Deathwatch Guards who had been given to him by Tuon were equally silent. Mat had no doubts where their loyalties ultimately lay, and they knew Tuon too well to take this for anything else but what it was. Then there was Laier. The slender fifteen year old boy who was supposedly Mat’s sulshima also had no expression. Officially Laier’s duty was tending to Mat’s weapons, armor, and other needful things while on campaign, when a horde of servants were not convenient to keep around, and staying close to see to any odd jobs Mat might have while at court. But Laier had been born and trained in secret as a Shadow, the same as Selucia, raised to be the second to last line of defense for Mat’s life. Mat had seen him kill without remorse or hesitation at only twelve years old, the same age he had been given to Mat, crushing the throat of the assassin who had been sent specifically to test his skills as a bodyguard. Laier’s loyalty was exclusively to Mat, no matter how little Mat wanted it, and Laier also knew very well where the box had come from.

Most of the scars Laier bore were not the work of Tuon’s various attempts to kill him. But some were. One was too many in Mat’s book, but he had given up that fight for a bad job. He had yelled and bargained and begged, but it had not made a dent, on the boy or on Tuon. Both had been bewildered by his objections, had seen nothing wrong in the arrangement. Mat was a member of the Imperial Family. He needed a Shadow. That was that. If anything, Tuon had seemed worried he would be upset over not having been given one sooner.

One should have been part of your wedding gift by rights. She had told him when he had been presented the twelve year old on their anniversary. But most of the unassigned Shadows were killed during the start of the Anarchy, so one had to be trained from scratch. Shadows, Mat had learned, where born into it, but began their training at three years old. They were usually assigned between the ages of twelve and fifteen. Mat hadn’t dared ask what happened to ones who weren't assigned by that time. Their was nothing else in the boy's life but protecting Mat, the same as it had been with Selucia and Tuon. In the end, Mat hadn't been able to deny him his only purpose. Instead he had promised himself that he would do what he could for the boy, and learn to live the rest. That was why Mat had sent him out of the room with the others even though he wasn't supposed to. The bloody child would have probably insisted on opening the box with his own two hands, and then where would they be?

For the moment, Laeir stood to the side, waiting patiently while the servants worked. Mat for his part kept his own silence, letting the da'covale chatter while they dressed him, not revealing any of his own thoughts on the matter. Let the palace think what it wished. No one would dare name Tuon as the culprit of the latest assassination attempt, though most would at least entertain the possibility. It made no difference in the end.

By the time his coat was fixed in place and his hat was finally handed to him, Mat was more than ready for breakfast. Adric went ahead to see to directing the rest of Mat’s entourage, and the Deathwatch Guards spread out in a fan, while Laier raced on to open doors and bow Mat into each new room. On the off chance they encountered commoners on route to the dining garden, Laier could serve as Mat’s Voice and would need to be close at hand to read the finger gestures Mat had been forced to learn.

Not that anyone really expected Mat to use a voice. Even most of the Blood had given up being shocked and appalled that Mat spoke to simple commoners without an intermediary. It was like his refusal to grow out his fingernails or paint them. Another oddity of the foreign born Emperor Consort. Something to gossip about in parlors and salons, but as long as he kept winning battles for the Empire, not something worth holding against him day to day.

Tuon was waiting for Mat in the dining garden, already seated at the small table beneath the open air pavilion. As always the first sight of her caught Mat’s breath in a way he could never explain. Maybe in a way he would never be able to explain. Her dark skin glowed in the morning light, and something about the green and white of her pleated dress- simple as a gown sown with opals and firedrops could be- set off that beauty perfectly.

Selucia stood at her shoulder of course, Deathwatch Guards ringing the pavilion in stoney silence. But Mat ignored them like he always did as he sauntered over to the table and dropped lazily into the chair opposite Tuon.

“Good morning wife!” He said cheerily. “How did you sleep?”

Her full lips twitched, the barest hint of a scowl trying to form before she suppressed it. Mat could have chuckled, but that would have given him away. It irked her that he didn’t bluster and snarl and shake the body of the snake at her. The same way it had once irked Mat when Daise Conger had refused to acknowledge that her chickens had been covered in flour. The worst thing that could happen with a prank was not getting caught and punished, it was the joke not landing.

“I slept well, husband.” She said in that drawling honey voice of hers. “I feel much refreshed from my most recent progression. And you?”

The moment Mat was settled, the da’covale began to lay out their breakfast. Mat barely paid any mind to the the combination of uncooked fish and sweet breads that were spread before them, his eyes were locked to Tuon’s, trying to read the mysteries hidden there.

Mat had not wanted a life milking his father’s cows, a life of boring simplicity in the Two Rivers. He had wished for more. He had wished for excitement and adventure and daring gambles. And Light of Heaven, he had gotten his wish.

“I slept well.” Mat replied, raising his cup. His cupbearer was there in a heartbeat to pour kaf for him. “I dreamed of a forest actually.”

Tuon blinked, raising an eyebrow. “A forest?”

Mat nodded. “A forest in Altara actually. Northern Altara, not far from the Damona Mountains. I think we may have visited it once during our courtship.”

This time, Tuon didn’t catch her smile soon enough to prevent him from seeing it. Even if she had, Mat didn’t doubt she would have caught his hidden meaning.

It was in a forest near the Damona Mountains, where a blacklance had nearly taken the life of one of their party. Mat had let it go, and Tuon had gifted a kiss to ‘the man who allowed a deadly snake to live.’ Their first kiss.

I see you beneath it all Tuon. He thought as he gazed at her. I see the woman you are beneath the duty, and the machinations, and the iron cold mask. I know your sentimental heart. To say that to her would be to court his own death- not a half hearted assaination attempt meant to fail and to keep him sharp. But a real, true death, probably screaming in the Tower of Ravens. But he found ways to tell her without words anyways. He had to. There was too much love in him for him to keep it all sealed up- like water, it demanded some path to rush along.

“We might have.” Tuon said noncommittally as her plate was layered high with fish. “I can’t recall.”

Mat shrugged and was about to start in on the food when Tuon spoke again.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I have a gift for you, husband.” Mat turned back to her, raising his eyebrow. She simply gestured and Selucia glided forward, producing something from her sleeve.

He was suddenly on guard, and his tension was obvious because he saw Laier tense also, out of the corner of his eye. In a one on one fight, Mat would bet on Laier against Selucia- he was younger, faster, and Selucia was on the older end for a Shadow already. But if Tuon was going to try and kill him here and now there was no way the Deathwatch Guard wouldn’t get involved, and in that melee all Laier could do was die. But surely not- this wasn't Tuon’s way. She wouldn’t try again at his life so soon after the snake. Unless-

His thoughts cut off as Selucia laid something down beside him on the table. It was a small leather cup, tooled with roses. Mat’s jaw dropped when he realized what it was and he glanced at Tuon again to find her smirking openly, thrilling in having thrown him off guard.

Hesitantly, Mat reached out and picked up the leather cup, popping off the lid. Sure enough, as he tipped it over, six glittering black dice, shining like glass but clinking like metal, rolled onto the table. Each pip was a moon in a different phase, carefully and stylistically set into the metal surface.

By purest chance each of the die had landed to show a single new moon. Only one pip. The Dark One’s eyes. The best toss, or the worst, depending on the game.

“Happy birthday, husband.” Tuon said, and for just a moment, he heard genuine warmth slip into her voice. He would never know if it was a mistake in a moment of weakness, or an intentional attempt to manipulate him, or just her letting herself be vulnerable for a special occasion. That, Mat reflected, was half the fun. “Do you like it?”

Mat laid his hand over the dice and grinned at her. “I love it, wife. Shall we play a round after breakfast?”

She raised a single eyebrow at him. Her imperious mask was firmly back in place now, no hint of humanity or weakness to be shown. “And what shall be the stakes, husband? What could we wager of meaning between us? Coin? Jewels? Kingdoms?”

“The highest stakes of all.” Mat said, picking up the dice and shaking them in his palm. “A single kiss to the winner of each round.”

She didn’t react except to sniff at him, but Mat didn’t mind. He knew this game. He had chosen it. And there truly was nothing else like it in all the world. That was more than enough for him.

He opened his hand, and rolled the dice.

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sarcastic-sketches · 1 year

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Been watching those tiktoks of Dylan’s Kitchen and the chaos suddenly gave me an idea for another AU.

Anakin raised as Mace Windu’s padawan and the way the man manages to wrangle Anakin’s resentment/bitterness/anger at the Galaxy as a whole is to turn him towards... Baking.

Mace: Try and make pastry Anakin: I thought there was no try, only Do or Do Not, Master. Mace: ... Come back to me on that in an hour.

1 hour later

Anakin: Pastry can kiss my ass. Mace: Can’t make pastry then? Anakin: I didn’t say I couldn’t.

Just, Mace knowing exactly how to get Anakin to work on a problem ... by insinuating he can’t and Anakin being all ‘how dare you’ and doing his damnest to prove to his Master that he can thank you very much. Mace, who had his own issues with anger (still does from time to time) before he found peace in the structure of the Jedi Order, clocking exactly how Anakin’s mind works and sighing with the force of a thousand suns. Before giving him a poke to get him to work on an issue. He considers teaching Anakin Vapaad before realising that could encourage his arrogance and heavy bias towards dueling. The boy needs other outlets...

And if there’s one thing baking does it’s humble you.

Anakin presents Mace with a Spandauer pastry one day and now his padawan is on baking duty for council meetings for the rest of his life. Anakin is very proud of himself and has discovered the wonders of stress baking. It’s so much better to create when he’s feeling emotional and stressed, keeping his hands busy, instead of getting destructive. Physically working out the building tension by absolutely annihilating mixing ingredients into a bowl. Kneading bread.

Mace even suggests specific bakes to test him. Then the Clone Wars starts and Anakin considers the rations they all eat to be a crime against the living and insists that their soldiers need to know what macarons taste like.

And everything worked out fine and Mace’s biggest headache was his Padawan only realising he might not be straight when he was suddenly surrounded by thousands of identical men.

#star wars #the clone wars #star wars au #Anakin Skywalker #Mace Windu #does this fandom need more Mace and Anakin partnership? Yesss it does #did I choose that pastry specifically because it's my favourite? Yesss I did #Baking AU #sure lets go with that

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spiria · 20 days

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this is now a certified don quixote moment!!!

#corn snake #snakeblr #she is my beautiful brainless daughter and i need everyone to see her #i need a tag for her #maybe something like #don chronicles #?#sure lets go with that #she is a butter corn snake she is almost 2 and i love her :)

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freakystinky · 5 months

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stsg, ns4w

Geto finds Gojo touching himself in one of the many empty classrooms at the school one night and never stops returning to watch his best friend indulge in his favorite little secret.

The first time Geto finds him, he’d been strolling around the school for some time, unable to sleep and too cold for a proper walk outside. He silently wandered through familiar hallways, only pausing when he heard noises from a closed-door during one of his passes on the second floor. He eased it open cautiously, revealing a scene straight out of a fantasy.

When he lays eyes on Gojo, his stomach swoops in sudden arousal. He’s at a desk near the windows on the back wall, grinding over his arm, which is tucked between his legs, gripping the edge of the seat with white knuckles. Eyes closed, and head bowed, he fucks against his wrist here, quietly, alone in one of their many shared spaces.

Suguru’s quick to look away, but his resolve crumbles devastatingly quickly as he lingers at the doorway.

It’s a dangerous game to play with the current heir of six eyes. Still, after seeing his best friend bathed in moonlight, whines whispered out like prayers, Suguru risks it, concealing his cursed energy and peering into the dark classroom to watch him unravel further.

He's rewarded with the sight of Gojo rearranging himself, switching arms and unknowingly giving his viewer a slightly better perspective of his body. The arm facing the door now grips the edge of the seat beneath his butt for leverage to grind harder against the arm between his legs. The shift opens his body and allows Geto to see his face unobstructed now, and his eyes trail further up, pausing to watch his adams apple bob with a swallow.

Small gasps and whines fall from Gojo’s mouth, and Suguru’s eyes land on the way his pouty bottom lip shines with spit in the bright light of the moon that fills the classroom. The clear night sky is merciful, casting more than enough light to allow Suguru full view of the scene before him and making Satoru’s white hair practically glow. He feasts on the visual details of Satoru falling apart before him, ignoring the throb between his legs as time passes and Gojo’s desperation increases.

Every thrust of his hips against the seat is paired with a huff, and occasional whines and quiet moans fall between his lips as he tumbles into oblivion all on his own. Geto knows he's about to cum by the way his breaths pick up and his thrusts turn into a quick, frantic grind. He’s practically sitting on his arm now, his body chasing the delicious pressure with gravity, and Geto’s own hips hump the air unintentionally as he takes in the debauched man before him.

Geto watches Gojo’s orgasm hit him like a man witnessing God. Satoru shakes, body quaking in pleasure as the tension snaps and he falls apart. His hips stutter against his arm from the effort as he releases one long, pretty whimper, riding out the feeling of cumming in his pants whorishly. His hips continue to roll, a content look on his slightly debauched face as he savors the gross squish in his boxers, making Geto’s stomach clench intensely with need as his minds races with questions, possibilities, and a new level of excitement he's never experienced before.

The next time it happens isn't an accident, and neither are any of the times after. It always goes the same, and Geto eats up every single second of Gojo’s acts of exhibitionism.

It's not just the first ecounter; he's always whiny and desperate like that. He never touches himself directly, favoring the pitiful kind of humping he’d witnessed the first time. The fourth time he finds him, Satoru uses the corner of the desk to get himself off, and Suguru is nearly destroyed with want. Gojo’s horny endeavors contrast his pompous, bratty behavior so much that it gives Geto a mouth-watering type of whiplash every morning after it happens.

He's surprised by his own lack of guilt or shame as he hurries back to his dorm every time to touch himself to the thought of Satoru grinding against him that pathetically. It's almost as if Satoru wants to be put in his place- his actions practically beg for it bi-weekly (or more). He wants to be made to hump Geto’s shoe while he tells him how pitiful he looks, to beg to be allowed to cum, all showcased by actions and whispered pleas during this private confessional hour in the classroom.

Geto decides that if that's what he really wants, then he fully intends to be the one who gives it to him.

#stsg #dubcon (bc gojo doesn't know he's being watched)#he’d be super into it tho dw #jjk #satoru gojo #geto suguru #goge #gojo satoru x geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen #oh yeah i purposefully made their genitals kinda ambiguous so have fun with that :)#…one time they actually end up using that classroom for a lesson and Geto purposefully sits at the desk Gojo jerks it at 2 see how he react #he’s so not chill about it his eyes go all wide and he's sooo blushy #geto grips the corner gojo was fucking his pussy against and looks him in the eyes and gojo goes into cardiac arrest #ns4w #stinky speaks #uhhhhh maybe a writing tag?#stinky thinks #lmao #sure lets go with that

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