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#commissions for my old tired bones
lengthofropes · 1 year
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I'm not okay I'm not okay You wear me out Steve Harrington + "I'm not okay" by MCH 
commission for @girlwhoknewtheoriginoflove❤️ HOLIDAYS 🎄 COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!
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Chasing Starlight: Chapter 13
Pairing: Poly!Feysand x female!Reader
Summary: After Nyx’s birth, Feyre is seeking to ease her way back into her duties as High Lady and balance her time at the gallery with being a new mother. To ease her mind, she and Rhys have decided to hire a new nanny, who turns out to be far more than either of them had bargained for.
A/N: I don't know if I'm 100% thrilled with this chapter, but I'm tired of looking at it so now it gets to be yours.
My apartment doesn’t feel like my own anymore.
I’d insisted on returning the moment we set foot in Velaris in a bid to gain some space, to give myself a chance to breathe. I spent well into the afternoon busy with what little there was to be done: unpacking and dusting and tidying up a space that lacks the warmth of a home. I even ran my sea glass collection down to an artisan near Feyre’s gallery to commission the piece I’d been thinking about for months now. When it came time to shop for groceries for the rest of the week, I balked at the idea and came back to this too quiet room to pass the rest of my day.
It’s not like I’ll starve, there are plenty of restaurants and taverns nearby.
It’s a strange sort of grey area I’ve found myself in. Caught between warring desires to reclaim an independence I have not yet lost and the urge to surrender the vestiges of my old life for something new and stable. I’d been so happy to wake between Rhys and Feyre this morning, to snuggle with Nyx when Feyre crawled out of bed to fetch the whimpering babe. I could have that every day if I’d only allow myself to trust…but when we appeared in the River House foyer, I gave into the urge to separate myself without a second thought.
And now, instead of doing anything proactive, I’m moping in the window with a book discarded in my lap.
The owner of the tavern waves as he opens the doors and begins to arrange the outdoor seating area for the evening’s patrons, a greeting I return with a smile of my own. If I go down there early enough, I could grab something for dinner, there won’t be much of a crowd. I lean my head back against the window frame with a small sigh. I’ll need to make some kind of decision about eating something sooner or later.
The early autumn sun warms my skin, summoning memories of long, lazy days in Autumn’s orchards or fishing in the river that cut through the heart of the forest. I remember the way the sunlight caught my brothers’ quicksilver eyes, our father’s eyes, and the way laughter echoed through our home at the edge of the Forest House’s property. I’m reminded most of them when the Night Court’s inner circle is present in the River House, gathered around the dining table or fireplace trading stories.
It’s when I miss my family most.
The faintest hint of magic sparks at my fingertips like an ember in a dark, cold hearth. How long has it been since I touched that part of my mind? I was so used to healing minor cuts and bruises with my past placements, I never had to think about whether my magic was beginning to build up, but now I feel the pressure of it like waves breaking against a seawall. I take a deep breath and gently redirect it towards the shield around my mind I’d been learning to construct, shoring up the weaker sections the way a seamstress might mend a tear.
It’s rewarding to see the pale glow of my magic sparkling like stardust against the deep black wall, like I’m doing more than holding onto a shadow of the shield Rhys had thrown around my mind last week. A cool, damp breeze off of the Sidra brushes my bare arms. I take another deep breath, expecting to fill my lungs with sweet marine air. Instead, the acrid stench of burning meat and hair sends me scrambling from the window with a hand covering my nose and mouth.
The vision of bodies chained to thick wooden stakes driven deep into the damp, mossy earth is as clear as it was the day it happened. I can see the remnants of charred flesh that had cracked and peeled away as the fat caught fire and bare bones blackened by soot. The youngest of my brothers had screamed around a bloodsoaked gag, having bitten through his tongue when the eldest Vanserra son lit his pyre.
The sound of it still rings in my ears as clear as the deep, ominous tolling of the bell that had marked the hour.
I lay against the cold hardwood floor, my eyes watering as I fight the dry heaves wracking my body. There’s nothing in my stomach to expel, so I ride wave after miserable wave of nausea until it subsides, leaving me in a limp, shaking heap. When I lift my face from the damp floorboards, the room is washed in the deep, muted orange of sunset. Long, dark shadows trail around the sparsely furnished room in the low light and I search them for even the faintest flicker in the hope that a friend might be watching. But, for the first time in months, that cool darkness is completely still.
I am alone.
The dull ache behind my eyes urges me to sleep, but my racing heart will not be reasoned with. I need to get up and move, to get away from this room that’s lit up like the heart of an inferno. I rise slowly onto unstable legs and quietly close my shutters, sealing those unwanted memories in the heart of this apartment before I take to the streets, my eyes focused on the cobblestones beneath my sandals.
The air is filled with the mingled smells of spices, baked goods, and roasted meats from the taverns and restaurants lining the street, their doors flung wide open for business. Had that horrible scent been a figment of my overactive imagination? I can feel curious eyes on me as I walk past the shops clinging to the sleeves of my thin sweater. With no destination in mind, I wander aimlessly down side streets, looking without taking anything in.
Some streets lead nowhere, but one finally spits me out into the heart of the Rainbow. I stare at the brightly colored buildings filled with artisans of all sorts and my eye catches on a painting displayed in a gallery window. It’s a simple scene depicting a roaring fireplace at the heart of a cozy sitting room, with a window showing a rainy autumn day. My heart thuds against my ribs, aching with longing for a home I have not had in a very long time.
A part of me misses it, the court I was born into. I miss the turbulent storms and sleepy woods with their vibrant red and gold leaves, but even returning for a visit with Beron Vanserra on Autumn’s throne is a risk I cannot take. That I walked out of the mess my family made was a miracle, I do not believe he would allow me to slip away so easily a second time. I turn from the gallery and its lovely, cruel reminder of the life I might have had.
I drift through the artists’ quarter like a dark cloud heralding a storm, following the winding streets until they ultimately lead me to the steps of the River House. It was not my intent to come here but some tightness deep within me relaxes, soothed by the sight of it. It’s not my home, it probably never will be, but it’s the only place I truly feel at home. I stifle the doubt beginning to rear its ugly head in the back of my mind and let myself in the door. The barest brush of the wards’ magic tingles along my skin, telling me what the silence I’m met with already alerted me to: no one’s home.
Alone.
Alone.
Alone.
Hadn’t I been content to spend my life that way once? Hadn’t I been content with the empty spaces, with my solitude? I wrap my arms around my torso and stand in the center of the foyer. If any of the servants are around, they’re in the recesses of the house, so I trudge up the grand staircase with my head low. When I hit the door to their rooms, I pause with my fingers on the handle, unsure if I should actually go in while they aren’t here. I don’t think they’ll be angry, we just spent a week together…but if they want their privacy…
Whatever. They can throw me out when they come home.
Their sitting room is quiet, untouched save the vases filled with lovely sunflowers and crimson roses. I casually run my fingertips over the blanket hastily tossed over the back of a chair before I let myself into the bedroom. The closet door is thrown open, revealing a spectacular array of gowns and suits and all manner of shoes, so I slip inside and try to contain my awe at the sheer volume of clothes in a room easily the size of my entire apartment. Towards the back I begin to recognize more of their everyday wear, and I stop wandering when I find what I’m looking for.
It’s an old, knit sweater that’s seen better days. The navy color has a worn, washed out look to it and there are dried paint splatters near the hem, but it smells so much like Rhys and Feyre that I don’t have to wonder if it’s what I want. I strip out of my own clothes and toss them in a heap in the corner, then tug the sweater on over my head. It’s several sizes too large for me and slips off of my shoulder, I can’t help but wonder if it was one of Cassian’s cast offs, but it’s so thoroughly imbued with my mates’ scents that it hardly matters now.
I glance at the obscenely large bed at the far end of the wall on my way to close the curtains and, though I can’t be certain, I’m pretty sure it’s bigger than it was the last time I saw it. No matter, once the curtains are closed, I feel my way to the side of it and crawl until I reach what feels like the middle. The sheets are soft and cool against my skin as I burrow beneath the blankets and hide my face in a pillow, successfully shutting everything out for just a little while.
The next time I wake, it's warm and dark. I can hear two heartbeats on either side of me, as slow and steady as the sound of their breathing. A heavy arm is draped around my waist. Its grip tightens the moment I shift and tugs me flush against Rhys's broad chest with minimal effort. His stubbly cheek grazes my shoulder as his lips find my neck and press against the pulse point. He smells a little like the expensive whiskey he keeps in his office, but I don't mind.
Long, thin fingers thread through mine in the dark. A pair of warm, soft lips drop kisses from my forehead to the tip of my nose before they meet my own with a content, happy little sigh. The kiss is chaste, but I tug at Feyre's hand until her body is pressed against my own. This. This is what I wanted: a way to block out the world and escape my own useless thoughts. My mind goes blissfully silent and I close my eyes once more, surrendering to sleep before Feyre's lips leave mine.
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alexanderlightweight · 7 months
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Hi there! for a prompt i was wondering if you would be up for something where Magnus learns that Alec has so many more responsibilities than he thought he did. I just love the idea of Magnus being sure that being High Worlock was so much more challenging than being the HOTI. Thank you!
i played with the prompt a bit and this is some of Magnus helping and witnessing how much responsibility Alec is taking on and being incredibly proud of him and impressed (imo they are equally challenging and complicated jobs but in extensively different ways. on one hand, magnus has a great deal many more people to look out for and a lot of conflicts to be aware of, especially within downworld tensions etc while alec is responsible in a different way for his people, since they expect to live and die by his word and he's also politicing with fossilized clave brains and he hunts nightly).
i hope you enjoy
<3 lumine
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“I adore you—” Magnus murmurs as he presses a kiss to the shell of Alexander’s ear.
“I love you too babe,” his darling says back, utterly sincere even in his distraction, a little pleased smile curling his lips even as his brow furrows as he considers the tablet in his hands. “Now what do you think of simulating ice in the training room with magic? An official commission of course, I’m documenting everything in case other Institutes want to follow my lead with training.” Magnus already knows Alexander is planning — hoping — for that outcome. “I want to get them used to ice before I let them out this winter.”
Magnus makes an inquiring noise and Alexander shrugs with an amused but tired sigh.
“Baby shadowhunters learning to use speed runes and unused to moving at those speeds on ice with this much concrete and mundane vehicles? It’s a mess and I know for my family, it ended up pretty bloody the first dozen times until we got the hang of it.” Alexander shrugs as if it’s nothing big but Magnus can see the tightness of his shoulders, “it felt fun the first few times, but it got old. More quickly for me than Izzy and Jace. They were more frustrated but—” and Magnus wants to reach into Alexander’s chest and scoop out the sorrow binding his heart, “I got tired of seeing my little brother and sister covered in blood or with bones shattering through their skin.”
It makes Magnus sick, to think of Alexander like that. To think of the fact that they were probably out on their own already when that happened.
“I’m happy to do it,” Magnus tells him and his palm turns on Alexander’s thigh, offering up his fingers with a wiggle that catches his boy’s attention. A hand leaves the tablet to join his own and Magnus hums contentedly, “I can easily summon some gymnastic equipment and ice it over.” At Alexander’s look he sends his own, “I’ve seen what you and your hunters can do, my love. Don’t look at me like that, we both know whose right.”
It’s Magnus, and he takes great pride in the fact that the only response Alexander can give is a rueful huff.
“That would probably help them figure out balance easier and in a much more controlled manner.” Alexander finally admits and then his mouth twitches, “not to mention that this group will practically consider it a reward. It’s a fun way for them to learn, they won’t treat that lightly. I’ll probably have to put a limit on how much time I let them train in there.”
Magnus laughs, unable to help it and he can’t help but tug on Alexander’s hand until he can press his lips against the little scars where Alexander’s knuckles once split.
“Now, tell me again, lovely. What hidden weapon did you decide to first teach your cherubs?”
“Blowdart.” Alexander says and he puts down the tablet to summon an elegant, adamas blowdart to his palm.
Magnus bites back his appreciation, because this isn’t the time for it, unfortunately.
Alexander has given enough of his day over and while Magnus has appointments, he’s more than willing to let them run late and stay a bit longer with his love. Especially when he gets more insight and a better understanding of Alexander’s responsibility. His hunter isn’t hesitant to speak with Magnus, but he rarely wants to bring clave or Institute issues to their home. Oh he’ll pace and rant about one or two specific indivduals — typically clave — stupidity, but he rarely opens up about the intricacies of his nights.
Magnus knows he trains, himself and others. That he hunts and overseas reports and and that each head of the various departments reports to him in finality. There are a dozen other responsibilities that Magnus knows about almost peripherally, but Alexander also tends to assume that Magnus already knows. He treats each duty that he — finally — will mention as an afterthought. As thought it’s impossible that Magnus didn’t already know of it.
As flattering as it is, it’s also maddening in these instances. Magnus supposes it is a bit his own fault. He’d made quite a show of his ‘knowledge’ when teasing Alexander when they’d first met and later in pettiness when he’d come for help.
It leaves Magnus hungry for each piece of information that Alexander lets slip, his boy never guessing that Magnus hoards each piece as a new sliver of a grand puzzle.
It’s a delight to unravel Alexander, especially when Magnus is rewarded each time with evidence of Alexander’s abilities.
His darling never disappoints.
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rolaplayor101 · 1 month
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This Valentines/Aro Day
I'm sharing my Arospec/Black/& Polyam book haul!! ft. Romance or Queer Platonic Relationships!
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Legendborn(almost finished): black girl main character, interracial mf relationship, multiple queer supporting characters! YA fantasy with themes of racism and trauma
A Queen Of Gilded Horns(I've only read River of Royal Blood): Black main characters, black mf relationship, romance isn't the main plot which makes it very engaging for a romance tired black person like me! Focus is on racism in the fantasy world, multiple queer supporting characters!
Symbiosis (I haven't read Escaping Exodus yet): Black girl Mc, Sapphic relationship I heard! Mostly sci-fi plot I think! I'll recc it anyway cause I am gonna read it during this Black history month!
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Ruin of Stars (only read Mask of Shadows): poc gender fluid main character in relationship with a woman, aromantic and black supporting character!! Fantasy with assassins and political commentary and trauma
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Moonlight Love Witchcraft(havent started): Multiple Poc Mcs, polyam relationship, nonbinary main character, asexual werewolf mc!! Indigenous mc!! Comfy fantasy!
Silver Under Nightfall(haven't finished): Black Mc alongside Asian Mc and genderfluid southeast asian??? mc!! Polyamorous relationship! Paranormal vampire fantasy with great plot!! So far!! Tw for SA and trauma
Blasted Research(haven't finished): ace and nonbinary mc!! Polyam m/nby/nby relationship! Dystopia sci-fi and only on ebook!
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Role Playing(almost finished): Asian American mc and bi demirose mc! Mf relationship but queer!! Video game romcom with themes about the harms of amatonormativity featuring 50 year olds!
The Bone Season(haven't really started): Multiple poc supporting characters, main character is demirose! Multiple queer characters! Fantasy dystopian setting! Love interest is nonbinary??? In second book.
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Genesis of Misery(haven't finished): nonbinary southeast asian mc! Sapphic relationship! Religious political sci-fi plot with multiple queer and poc characters!
Most Ardently(haven't finished): trans and queer retelling of Pride and Prejudice! Gay relationship! Plain historical romance! Multiple queer supporting characters!
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By Your Side(finished): a short queerplatonic story! Bi mc with aro mc! Polyam queerplatonic relationship!! Realistic college fiction that's like 38 pages!
Is Love the Answer (finished): aroace nonbinary mc and multiple aspec mcs! All poc cause they're Japanese. Possible queerplatonic relationships discussed! Realistic college fiction!
I Want To Be A Wall(finished): Japanese Aroace mc and gay mc married in a qpr!! Realistic comedic fiction! Full review here
If the authors have anything to add, I'll @ them here! @linseymiller @sshannonauthor @whatnowrin @coffeequills @thegabecole @themargherita-s @queerio-cheerios @itsneonyang
I also do art commissions if anyone would like to help me buy more queer and poc books 😢 😭
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hawnks · 1 year
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coincide pt. v
previous
series rating: r18 (explicit)
hawks (takami keigo) x reader
word count: ~4,800
[soulmate au, slowburn, UST as a plot device, avian keigo, allusion to depression, hurts hurts hurts until it doesn't anymore right?]
warning: canon-typical violence
Summary: You’ve got a talent for melodrama, huh?
.........................................................................
His sabbatical is lengthy and non-broadcast. They’d wanted him to take a respite, recuperate, maybe go sit under a waterfall. You’re not yourself, his handler told him. We need Hawks. Not whatever ghost has taken his place. It’s dangerous to keep masquerading as someone who’s heart is in it one hundred percent. That kind of half-assed heroing will get someone killed, one of these days.
They book him a room at a historical hotspring, set up an itinerary with huge swaths of time dedicated to “Rest.” He leaves the hotspring, and the country, without telling anyone.
He goes to Taiwan, to help with some underground hero work. Then France, then Egypt. Most of the jobs are espionage, kept under wraps, need-to-know basis. The rest are off the books altogether. He flies most of the way himself, just so he can pass out each night, bone-tired, and wake up in the morning with nothing but open air behind him. 
Everything hurts, the muscle strain and the altitude headaches and the canned coffee he mainlines just to keep from falling out of the sky on overnight journeys. There’s a pressure in his chest that won’t let up, a constant squeezing sensation that feels like shortness of breath, like drowning. Like all the air sucked out of the world, and Keigo, alone, fighting to stay afloat. 
Maybe he should get that checked out. 
But then, there’s no time to think about the future. He keeps his schedule tight, barely a second to blink between each mission, let alone book a session with his Commission appointed doctor. Besides, it’s pointless, anyway— 
All of it. 
He fights, draws blood, garners secret and dangerous intel. He sits down for dinner with ambassadors and heroes revered among their people. But there’s no glory to any of it, no reverence left in him. 
He imagines himself, a glassy-eyed, shiny little kid. How deeply he would have felt these accomplishments, these feats. Now all he feels is a vague sort of wistfulness. Like he’s already an old man, been through, seen it all. 
“What the fuck, Hawks,” his handler says over the phone. It’s been three weeks since he left, the first time he’s answered their calls. “You can’t just abscond without telling anyone.”
“Abscond?” he returns, with a genuine laugh. “Like I’m a thief?”
“You are an asset to the Commission,” the handler returns. “And you have responsibilities.”
“I’m on vacation,” Keigo tells him, and hangs up. 
And he tries (really, he does), to handle things in a productive way. He reads several (more than three!) listicles about top ten ways to get over a breakup, until he realizes that the two of you were never actually together. He’s not sure what to google for that. Unearned heartbreak? Severed soulmates? Miss her so much it feels like dying? But not even just the idea of her, or our apparent future, or the pretty thoughts about destiny? Miss the way she smells and the weird way she holds her chopsticks? Miss the way she laughs, and the sound of my name on her tongue? Miss her and miss her and miss her and miss her—
He tries the listicles. Does the self care thing, bubble bath, kitschy facemasks and all. 
And — he sees paramors in every country he visits. People from his past who fawn over him, praise him, adore him. They draw his jacket from his shoulders, and it smells like sweat and ozone. They find the tiny, secret clasps on the back of his uniform, unwrap him like a present.
“Pretty boy,” they call him. Coy and sweet. Hands so sure and eager as they caress his body. 
And he winces. Takes a step back. “Can we just—” he says, running a hand through his unruly hair. It’s getting too long. He’ll have to cut it soon. “Can we just talk?”
They all agree, sure, whatever he’s comfortable with. But the tension never leaves the room, no matter how long the small talk carries on for. Because he can claim fatigue or headaches or just not feeling it all he wants. But he could never admit the truth. How dirty he feels closing the door with another body in the room. How he cringes at the touch of another. How it’s— you. Always. On the back of his mind, at the base of his throat. Behind every turn and inside every decision. You.
You, you, you.
And the constant, painful reminder — 
The feeling isn’t mutual. 
...
The wedding is beautiful. 
Everything goes perfectly. The whole event looks like something off a trip-advisor page, beautiful but quaint, elegant yet intimate. The food is delicious, the cake so moist it melts in your mouth. Even the weather is sunny and mild, as if the powers that be wouldn’t even stand in the way of today. 
You wish you could give everything the attention and admiration it deserves. 
On the trip up, you imagined that maybe this would be just the thing to pull you out of your month long stupor. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but it’s hard to resist the rustic charms of this place, and the inherent joy of the other guests. 
Soulmate weddings are commonplace nowadays, but no less special for their frequency. There’s an indescribable quality of felicity to them. A rightness, like everything is happening exactly as it should, like everyone is exactly where they need to be. It’s something of a comfort to guests and to the couple themselves; what’s meant to be will happen. And there’s nothing anyone can do, no force of nature that can stop it. 
You try to enjoy yourself. Try to take in the ambiance, the good company. And it’s nice, for the most part. Really, it’s a lovely day, and if it weren’t for the strange tightness in your throat, constantly, you might even have been able to enjoy it.
You throw up in the bathroom, after appetizers, while the first plates are going around. You’ve been drinking, already too much, and on an empty stomach. You have half a mind to simply tap out for the night, but you can’t leave your friend tonight of all nights. Especially not when she keeps turning to you, elated, to make some silly joke, or to sigh and squeeze your hand with a dreamy smile. 
You sneak out when the party begins to pick up pace, leaving the revelry and crawling out a backdoor, into the insipid chill of encroaching night. You find a nice little staircase alcove, planning to settle down for a few minutes, but the sudden sight of another person on the stoop takes you aback. Even more so when you realize it's the groom himself, taking a drag on a cigarette.
You’ve never officially met, until today, and even that was just pleasantries, no time to talk. You’re not sure how to approach this situation; a part of you instinctively wants to apologize, but that would just make things even more awkward.. 
He peers at you, waiting for you to say something. But you don’t, so he does. 
“My last one,” he says, holding it up in salute. “I was thirteen, when I started. Thought I was a real rebel. It turns out I was just an idiot.” He looks at the cigarette, a strangely wry smile on his face. “Could never work up the nerve to stop, but… she hates it, so I’m quitting.” 
“A nice wedding gift,” you say, gathering yourself. You come to lean against the metal railing next to him. It’s cool against your bare arms, and you relish the sensation, the shock of it enough to keep you grounded, for the moment. 
“Ah,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Not a gift. Just… wanna make her happy.”
You look at his hand, the cigarette already halfway done. It smells different than any other you’ve encountered before, oddly mild, almost floral. And it makes something inside you well up, the thought that a life could be changed so wholly, so staunchly. 
You think, how special, to have someone who breaks bad habits for you.
It’s enough to cause you to burst into tears. Before you can stop it, your whole face is wet, and your breath is coming out in hiccuping gasps. 
The groom looks on, terrified. He stubs out his cigarette on his heel before handing you, of all things, a handkerchief.
He says, timidly, “Wanna talk about it?”
It takes a few long, awkward minutes before the initial wave of misery subsides, and you can speak. 
“Fuck.” You wipe your nose, unattractively, with his handkerchief. You shake your head. “Nah. It’s your wedding. Go have fun.” 
The groom shrugs. “I’m not one for spectacle. This is for her. Later, when we’re alone and eating pizza in bed, that’s for me.”
That’s nice, you think despite yourself. It just sounds — very nice. 
“She told me,” the groom says after a minute. “About your… soulmate, thing.”
You shrug. What else could you do? There’s nothing to be said. You’ve moralized and offered platitudes your whole life. You’ve lied and said you were content. But here, at your one best friend's wedding, alone, there’s no more slack to give. You’re faced with the truth lying at your feet, like a dead bird. 
You’re alone and it’s so hard. 
“She loves you. That’s never going to change,” the groom tells you. “Even if a lot of other things do.”
You think about that for a moment. Nod. “Yeah,” you say. “I know. Thank you.”
It takes you a few more minutes to calm down, fully. You’d tell him to go back inside, but you get the odd sense that he doesn’t really care that you’re crying in front of him, that he’s not as uncomfortable as you might have expected him to be. So the two of you hover there, on the stoop in the dark, until finally, you feel centered enough to rejoin the festivities. 
You brush off your dress. You offer him a hand up. 
“I can see why she likes you,” you tell him as the two of you make your way back inside. The instant heat upon walking through the door almost makes you wince. 
“Aw, nice,” he says, grinning. “Best friend stamp of approval.”
...
Keigo’s first stop, once he’s back in Japan, is a convenience store. The second is Enji Todoroki’s temporary, secret residence. 
It’s a small house, on the outskirts of a small city. Barely any thru-traffic on the streets. Most of the population is in their later years. No one recognizes Keigo as he trawls the street, looking for the discreet entrance. It’s hidden by a wall of laced kudzu vines. 
Enji is slow to answer the door. Keigo sent a text to say to expect him soon, but who knew if the other man saw it. He hasn’t been himself lately. 
When he finally opens the door with a grunt of surprise, Keigo just holds up his plastic bag in greeting. The outline of six tall boys is prominent. 
“I haven’t had alcohol in 20 years,” Enji says, his voice without inflection. Still, he takes the bag, leaving the door open in his wake for Keigo to shuffle in after him. 
The living arrangements are spartan. Hardly any furniture, and what comforts they offer is slim. Hard, cold surfaces. No throw cushions, or blankets, or pictures on the wall, or magazines bookmarked with old receipts. No sign of life at all, save for the single pair of shoes, tossed in a careless pile at the door.
The pair sit on the floor in the middle of what is probably the living room. There’s no furniture at all, here. The tatami is worn to softness beneath them, ages old. The combination makes everything feel stark, exposed. There’s a vulnerability to an empty house, no places to hide, no way to obscure yourself. 
They drink in relative silence. Keigo arrived in the late afternoon, and the day passes into night without obstruction. No one gets up to turn on the lights when the sunset fades into ashen stars, both of them content to sit there in the dark. 
It’s easier like this, almost a waking dream. Neither of them have been sleeping well, taking care of themselves. 
It’s been a long time since Keigo has drunk, too. Soberness was his default, an expectation of the job. Heroes don’t get days off, not really. There’s always the expectation that if some disaster should occur, they will be able to rise to the occasion. That doesn’t mesh well with substance use. 
Occasionally, Keigo will have a glass, to keep up appearances. But he can’t remember the last time he felt like this, tipsy, a mellow warmth settling beneath his cheeks.
Moonrise turns everything to shadow. Like this, tall, dark, and faceless, Enji finally speaks. 
“I wish I’d done things differently,” he admits. His voice is no longer booming, and proud. It’s quieter than Keigo has ever heard it. “I wish I could have seen that more than honor or strength, what they needed was… kindness.”
“It’s not too late,” Keigo says, but the words are empty. How would he know? He’s never had to consider these things before. Never had terrible, all-consuming regrets before. 
“In some ways,” Enji says. “Society would have you believe that amends are as simple as an apology,” he says. “But I will be paying for my mistakes for the rest of my life. And it still won’t fix everything. Some things are broken forever.” 
“That’s convenient for you, too,” Keigo says. He peers at Enji, eyes bright, intent. “In some ways.”
Enji peers back at him, expressionless.
“Now they’re tied to you forever, like you said,” Keigo explains. “You can’t fix things, but you can keep them.”
“That’s not my decision to make.”
Keigo’s response is quick, brusque. “Isn’t it?” 
He realizes he’s leaning forward, too tense, too defensive. This isn’t about what it’s about anymore. It’s not about anything, really. He sinks back into a relaxed posture, reestablishing his practiced nonchalance. He takes another sip of beer. His hand is trembling.
“No,” Enji says, simply. “It’s not.”
The pair fall back into silence. Enough has been said, for one night. 
...
Kirishima sends you home. 
It’s the last thing you’d expect, after taking several days off for the wedding. You come in early, ready to elbow through a backlog of work, only to find the floor already bustling with a small crowd of unfamiliar faces.
It’s about eight people, total. Some of them are heroes. You can tell from the way they’re dressed, the way they hold themselves. Kirishima is in the middle of them, more dour than you’ve ever seen him. 
He comes to you, when he spots you, skirting his way around the visitors to meet you at the door. 
“Ah.” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing back at the group he left behind. “Why don’t you head home for today? This is all kind of, uh. Not safe for you.” 
“Should I be…” you try to glance around him, get an appraisal of the situation, but he’s such a mountain of a man that he takes up nearly your entire field of vision. “Like, worried?”
“No,” Kirishima is quick to say. “No, everything is going to be fine. But this isn’t quite your area of expertise, and I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.”
He’s taken on his hero mien, shoulders back, a little more tense than usual. His tone is kind, but unmoveable. Leaves no room for arguments, or questions.
“Okay,” you say slowly, still a little unsure about all of this. “But you’ll let me know if you need help, right?”
Kirishima smiles at you, but not in a condescending, what would a small-fry like you be able to do, way, like any other hero might. His affection is so stalwart and genuine, his friendship so gentle. It only makes you worry all the more, for anytime that the goodness of Kirishima Eijiro might be at risk, that humanity might be deprived of him, for any moment, in any way. 
He holds out a fist, and you knock knuckles, shakily. “Promise,” he says. 
Then he pats you on the back, subtly steering you back to the elevator, away from whatever catastrophe he now has to face, alone. 
You have a vague idea of what all this might be about, but who knows what might have changed in the three days you’ve been away. The hero world moves at a breakneck pace, and it seems like you’ve fallen out of the loop. 
You think about the classified documents you’ve sorted through, the cases piled up on your harddrive. You’ve seen enough of past villainy to know that it’s not all stars and stripes and showing up at exactly the right moment. There’s a lot of accidents. A lot of almost made it, so close. Sometimes, the heroes just aren’t fast enough. Sometimes they make mistakes. 
It’s a job that risks more than one life. A burden on all fronts. If a hero dies, odds are many other lives get taken down with them. It’s why Kirishima wants you kept away from whatever is going on. The big bold word of the hour — casualty. Someone adjacently related to the incident, an unnecessary death. You’re not strong enough to protect yourself, not the way you’d need to, to exist in the same space as the heroes. Not enough to protect someone else.
Everything feels strange and uneasy. Like you’re teetering on the knife point of something huge. But you can’t fit all the puzzle pieces together, no matter how long you mull it over. It’s been like this for so long, you can’t trace back the origin of this foreboding feeling. Maybe you’ve always felt this way. You try to recall a time you’ve felt completely at ease, comfortable in your own skin, but you come up short, unable to pinpoint a moment, unable to figure out why not. 
You spend the rest of your day in PJs on the couch, eating icecream straight from the tub, fretting and fretting. Wondering when the anchorpoint of your life became fear. 
...
His next stop is the Commission HQ. 
No matter that he hasn’t slept in forty-nine hours. The Commission has already figured out that Keigo is in-country, and there’s work to be done. 
Firstly, he’s reprimanded. Loudly, and for a solid fifteen minutes. 
This is interrupted by a handler conspicuously walking right between him and the higher ups, and dragging him bodily out of the room. Keigo allows himself to be hauled away, waving as he goes. 
He’s asked to report on a number of missions he underwent while he was away. Provide details, recall key facts. He took diligent notes, but a lot of things require his own explanation, or follow up information. This takes up almost the entire day. Suddenly he regrets keeping so busy, over the past few weeks. 
It’s already late, late into the evening by the time he sets foot in his own agency. Things are quiet. There’s not much work to be done when Keigo himself is not around, so it’s unsurprising that most of the night workers have taken off. 
It’s nice to have a little privacy, even with another handler tailing him as he takes stock of the building. Nothing much has changed. Even his office is spotless. For some reason, he’d expected dust to have gathered in his absence, but of course the cleaning people would never let that happen. 
It’s almost like he hadn’t left, at all.
Exhausted, he intends to make one final stop at his locker before heading home. He just needs to grab another flight suit, dump his dirty ones in the hamper, to be cleaned. 
He’s still carrying around the bag he traveled with. He hadn’t taken much; his mode of transport doesn’t allow for heavy packing. He took the essentials, a few toiletries, a few flight suits, one spare change of civilian clothes. He dumps all of it in the bottom of his locker, to be sorted through when his bones feel less likely to melt out of his body altogether. 
He took one personal effect, and it stares at him from the top of the pile. The sweater he’d nabbed from your place. On nights he did sleep, he slept with it. Wrapped around him, or bunched up in his arms. It’s no longer soft, handled so much that the fibers had been worn to crimped bone. It had stopped smelling like you after the first week or so. Even with his heightened senses, eventually all traces of you were lost, the altitude and his own body overwhelming your scent. 
It was pointless to hold onto. It didn’t stave off the cravings, only made him remember all the times he had actually touched you, your skin, your hair. Felt your breath, or heard your voice. Dead weight, unnecessary baggage for his long trips. Still, he couldn’t get rid of it, no matter how many times he told himself he would leave it at whatever hotel he ended up in that night. Some mornings he would slip it on, pull it tight around himself, until he felt the constriction, until he thought the threads might snap under his grip. But the craftsmanship of it was impeccable, and it survived his rough treatment, and he would spend those mornings with the not-quite comfortable fabric wrapped around him, watching the sun rise miserably.
He shuts the locker door. Maybe this will be the end of it, now.  
He sends the handler home, assuring him that he’d be up and at ‘em at the crack of dawn tomorrow. The handler doesn’t look especially reassured, but there’s nothing to be done now, and he’s ready to call it quits himself.
Alone on the office floor, finally, Keigo takes a moment to just breathe. He closes his eyes for a moment. Tries to shut out all thoughts. They’d taught him to meditate as a child. He’d alway thought it a pointless endeavor, but now he kind of wishes he’d paid better attention, that he could simply will away his mind like turning off a light.
He barely has a minute to try. Someone clears their throat, asking for his attention. 
He turns to them with a smile. “What’s up?”
He recognizes the young man. A PA, hired a few years back. 
“Intel for you, Sir,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to wait until tomorrow to take a look.”
Keigo motions for the file in his hands, flipping through it as soon as he has it. No sense putting things off.
The PA explains, “The task force has discovered a list of addresses. Around half of them are the residence of record for established heroes. Another handful are homes that heroes have kept off the books. The one connection they all seem to have is that they are currently occupied by at least one civilian, as well.”
Keigo nods, peering at the list. 
The PA says, “Right now we’re operating under the assumption that these are a list of targets.” 
Keigo had assumed. With the momentum gained from Rei’s attack it would figure that the villain would keep going. Attention tends to spur on bigger and more intense feats.  
“Who else knows about this?” Keigo asks. 
“Only heroes assigned to the task-force, sir.” 
“No one from the Commission?” 
“The intel came to us from Deku’s agency,” he returns. “The Commission will receive the information as soon as Deku has convened with his people.” 
Keigo nods again, then returns his attention to the page. The first step would be to mobilize the people at these residencies, but how to do that without alerting the culprit would take some creative problem solving. The page is nearly full, numbers reaching toward the margins.
Still, despite the massive amount of work to come, this is a step in the right direction. 
He’s about to hand the file back to the handler and pay a visit to Deku’s agency himself when something catches his eye— 
Your building address, and next to it your unit number. You. 
He’s out the door and in the air in ten seconds, flat. 
...
The last thing you expect is to see on your impromptu day off is your door literally being cracked at the hinges.
The second to last thing is the man you haven’t heard from in weeks, pushing past you, stalking straight inside like he owns the place.
He looks… not great. He’s definitely lost some weight. There are horrible, dark circles under his eyes. His hair is a little longer than he prefers. He smells like how he always smells after taking double patrols, like sweat, and the city, and the sky. 
Has he been taking care of himself? Has anyone been looking after him?
“Get what you need,” he calls. “We’re leaving.”
He starts grabbing things himself. Your cardigan. The book you’re reading. Your sturdiest pair of shoes. His arms are full by the time you can work up the nerve to respond. Even then it sounds like more of a squeak. 
“Keigo?” 
He glances at you. He’s breathing hard. “Why aren’t you packing?”
“Because,” you sputter, “what the hell?” 
You reach for him. Then pull away. You take a step back, but you’re too unsteady on your feet to do anymore than that. Your legs might just give out, anyway. 
You’re reeling from his appearance, not able to make sense of any of it. Maybe you’re dreaming. But —
He’s standing right in front of you, the brightest thing in the room. If he were a little closer, you could feel his warmth. 
It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, it feels like you should have forgotten what he looks like. But it’s just the same as always, him in your space. Feels so right, even when everything is all turned around like this. Recognition, in its basest form.
He leans in toward you. Opens his mouth, about to say something. From this angle, oddly, he looks like he might be about to bite you, the subtlest hint of teeth, his breath still leaving him in heavy drags. Like a predator, all keyed up and ready. 
Like if you run, he’ll chase. 
You can hardly get the words out. “What’s happening?”
An expression crosses his features, a flash of emotion that’s gone in an instant. A tick of remorse, disconsolate. Then he’s back to his unshakeable, placid smoothness. 
“You’re not safe here,” he says. It’s a tone he’s never taken with you before. Stern, cool. 
You have a hundred more questions, but they’re like little dragon flies, flitting around your skull. You keep grasping for them, but missing. You can’t figure out what to say. You can’t figure out what’s happening. 
Then —
You taste it, before anything. A metallic twinge to the air, like an ink blot of blood, coins on your tongue. 
Suddenly, your center of balance is off. You’re falling, bracing, falling. But not falling, because Keigo has you in his arms, hauling you, painfully, in some direction. 
A noise you can feel in your bones, that makes you think your teeth might fall out from the force of it.
You’re airborne. You think you might vomit. The night is whip-cold but also brutally, violently hot. 
—Falling. Again. For real, this time. 
You feel the soft brush of grass. He’s pressing you into it. He’s shifting you on top of it, rolling you.
“Are we on fire?” you gasp.
“Not anymore,” he returns.
His hands are all over you, bracing, touching, searching. Your skin is oddly numb. You can’t quite tell which way is up, anymore. You can barely hear anything, the whole world muffled, static. 
Somewhere, in the dark you catch a glimpse of molten light, and the sluggish neurons of your brain struggle to the conclusion that your home used to be there. Everything that’s yours used to be there. Now lit up, glowing like a midnight sunrise. Blinding you. But you can’t look away. 
Keigo’s on you again. All around you. He has a better grip on you, now. Not painful anymore. 
Two flaps and you’re airborne again, clutching to him with all your meager strength. Being clutched in return.
The heat from the flames follows you up, licks into the sky, and you think you must still be burning, you have to be. 
But Keigo has a hold of you, so tight and visceral it swallows all your thoughts, all your fear, and eventually you make it far enough that the ash is distant, and the night swaddles you like a cool blanket. 
“You’re okay,” Keigo is whispering, lips against your crown, your temple. “I got you. I’m sorry. You’re okay.”
Distantly, you realize he’s been saying it this entire time. 
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momolady · 1 year
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It's that time again! Commissions are open! And these commissions are specifically for paying for my recent medical expenses that have built up. But nothing really has changed, same old commissions, same dedicated Momolady.
These commissions are open from late February through May, so feel free to ask for multiples if you'd like.
Below is a format I wish you to follow so that the commission you want is assured, and I will have all information needed in order to complete the job easily, smoothly, and stress free. If further discussions are needed, we can do so via discord.
Send all applications or questions to [email protected]
Commission Inquiry Form:
Make sure to include as much as possible! If your desired story needs a lot of details, give as much as needed. If you want to leave something more simple and trust me with the details, make sure to say that too. This will also decide which commission price comes into play. When you send the email please make the topic Patreon Commission.
What is your budget (or desired word count):
Reader Character Gender:
Reader Character Description:
Monster Character:
Monster Character Description:
Is this NSFW or SFW?
Any kinks, tropes, or specifics?
Story Outline:
Other thoughts or comments:
Commission Prices:
Basic commissions: 1.50 cent per word. (ex: $45 is 3k words)
The basic usual fair. A self insert reader or a simple ‘you’ reader. Describe the monster you want, basic plot outline, and simple wants for the story and outcome. Usually requires minimal research and prep on my end, and the story is probably mostly fluff, meet cute, etc. If free reign is given to me, your author, you will be guaranteed extra word count for my enjoyment.
Smut Commissions: 2 cent per word. (ex: $60 is 3k)
This includes more complex details and requests, these may be stories that feature original characters or that deal with a more involved storyline, plot, character work, and word count. This includes plots and characters that may require extra research on my end. This also takes into account that these complex stories may include word overflow (I know they do, I know how I work., as well time discussing and working out things may take.
Discounts are available on most of Patreon reward tiers. And people who have commissioned me more than three times will receive and friends and family discount as well.
I will also only accept payments made in USD. I feel that is fair, considering I have been lenient about this in the past. I have let friendship and my own kindness allow me to be taken advantage of, and I am tired of it. Payment, as always, is due in advance, and you can pay as soon as you like (discounts apply here) or as close to the due date as possible (the closer you pay to the due date the less the discount you receive). Payments will be made via paypal and I will send an invoice when you are ready. If paypal isn’t an option for you, we will discuss that in advance.
I do not mind you being as vague or as detailed as you want. I do suggest you get all your details out in one go, as we can discuss them quickly and easily. If things change, that is fine too, just make sure to tell me advanced enough it won’t hinder the production of your story. What I request is that you do not bombard me with requests, ask, and details over and over and over again. The more this happens the more I tend to get anxious and stressed about the story. Once details are agreed upon then they are considered final. Any changes made a week before will not be accepted. Also, stories that require a lot of detail and research will have a higher price point. I have bent over backwards and worked myself to the bone on stories like these, and I think it’s time I am paid for it. I also ask that anything you want for the story does not alter or bend the rules of the universes you want them set in, such as Hearthway Hollow, Ruby Empire, and Miror. These are my worlds and I have specific things in place for them, if you feel the need to play God, please discuss it with me beforehand and we can see if we can reach something amicably.
Be prepared to hear ‘no’ from me. In the past I have not put my foot down and I have ended up uncomfortable or unsure about things. There are certain topics, kinks, and creatures I will not write, but I am very happy to work with you to come to something that will satisfy your needs.
I will start asking for extra pay if extensive edits are needed. If there are whole chunks that need rewritten or paragraphs you wanted added, I am going to have to charge for them, although it will be cheaper than the regular cost per word. If it’s something that is truly my mistake (like if I wrote the wrong monster or something), it will be discussed.
I ask that you trust me as a writer to do what is best. If I twist something or request something goes another way, it is me wanting to give you the best experience for your story and not disregarding your wants for the story at all. Usually when this happens I will discuss it with you and double check to make sure it is ok.
Now here comes the FAQ
Do you have a word limit?
Considering how many commissions I get, I will not be accepting commissions under 3000 words. It hasn’t come up, but I just wanted it to be known. Smaller commissions are extremely hard for me to do. The bigger the commission the better for me, it’s a lot easier.
My story’s at 3502 words! Do I have to pay the extra pricing per word?
If a story goes over 500 words I’ll discuss with you what you’d like to do. But usually, extra word count is my bad, I get excited sometimes and have fun, and I don’t mind eating it.
I have this great idea for a novel…
I’m glad you have an idea, but no. I cannot write your novel for you. It isn’t fair to me, and it will probably cost you more than you are willing to pay. I have my own projects and novels to write. I can’t baby your dream as well as my own.
Will you write fanfiction on commission?
For the time being, no. But! If you’d be willing to work with me and create a ‘legally distinct’ original to compensate then lets talk!
I have a completely original character and would like you to write with them. Is this okay?
YES. But, Be prepared to give me a decent bio as well as their physical description and all the basic information I will need to bring your baby to life.
Can I have you write another chapter to one of your existing stories?
Yes! If the story was a commission though we will have to ask the original commissioner. If they approve then I will do it for you.
I want to give you free reign over the story. Is that ok?
Always! I love getting creative and going off in my own little world.
What kind of stories do you write?
Here's my masterlist!
I enjoy writing almost anything. I’m good at comedy and romance, but horror and psychological stories have become my guilty pleasure to write.I’m good with most anything, but there will be topics I will be unwilling to write. But this will all be discussed and approved when you contact me.
What won’t you write?
This is a better question to ask. I absolutely will not write anything involving scat, vore, children in sexual situations, or nonconsensual sexual acts. These are just major examples of things I am uncomfortable with. Also, I am NOT open to role plays, so don’t ask for those.
So how does this work?
Send me an email to [email protected] with your intent and a brief idea of what you want. Once I approve it we can discuss what length of story you want, what genre, what characters, and a loose outline. Payment will be given upfront. Until I receive payment I will not begin working on your commission.
Will you be showing my story off to everyone else?
Commissions will be yours and yours alone for up to a month. After that it will be posted to Patreon and a month after that it will go live on Tumblr and Wattpad. But having your commission and the feedback will help me build my portfolio for the future.
Food for Thought
Remember when that you are commissioning anyone, writer, artist, voice actor, musician, anyone, that you are not just paying for the product. You are also paying them for their time talking to you about what you want, you're paying for their research and study on whatever it is you want, you're paying them for double checking and making sure everything is ok with the product. More goes into the commissions you ask for than you think, so please be kind and considerate with commissioning anyone. Art takes time, patience, and a lot of love, and we want to give you the best bang for your dollar.
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authorred · 2 years
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Hell's Gate (Part 5) (Hemlock Grove) (Roman Godfrey x Fem!Reader)
Preface: After striking a deal with Olivia, you run off to go save Peter, and find Roman
Warning(s): Cursing, blood
Part 1 here Part 2 here Part 3 here Part 4 here
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With a tired sigh, you drove the truck over to the old Godfrey Mill at speeds that definitely weren't legal. Haphazardly parking outside of the broken chain link fence, you didn't even turn the truck off before you took off on the grounds.
Through the wet concrete and dirt, you could smell three people. Roman, whose scent was faint, Peter, and another woman. When you entered deeper into the run-down mill, you navigated through the deep puddles and came across a truck inside. Standing in front of it was a small-statured woman. One you recognized.
In the back of the truck, chained inside of a cage, was Peter's werewolf form. More than likely sedated if he wasn't trying to tear her throat out.
You stayed back a bit, wondering how the hell Peter managed to get himself captured, and why Roman wasn't there to defend him. When the woman took out a serrated knife and started to pray out loud, your eyes narrowed.
"--in all my tribulations, necessities, and sufferings." Flipping the knife in her hand, she went to go slice Peter's throat.
"That's not wise." You popped out from behind a pillar, taking a few steps forward. Clementine moved away from Peter and stared at you in surprise. "Whatever it is you're trying to do, do feel free to fill me in. I've been out of commission for a bit."
Clementine slowly put the knife down before reaching for her gun. She took it out, cocked it, and aimed it towards you. "Miss Y/n, I'm giving you one opportunity to turn around. If you take a step towards me, I will kill you."
"You remember me," you said in slight surprise. "We've only met once, briefly. That's kind of impressive." You began to take languid steps towards her.
She took a step back, but still aimed at you.
You took a moment to look at her, up and down her body. "Your Order," you began. "The Dragon. You hunt supernaturals. Werewolves, upirs, witches . . . unspecified."
Confusion flashed across her face.
You continued to step towards her. "You see, I have a problem. A predicament, if you will. I'm constantly being trailed by this annoying . . . Shadow, who's constantly whispering in my ear about 'blood for blood', 'life for a life'." You look over your shoulder for a brief moment. "I've already got Mrs. Godfrey under my thumb, but that's not enough for It. So, do me a favor."
Without a second's hesitation, Clementine shot.
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B̷̠̱̖͝ĺ̴͔o̷̬̼̪̾͒o̶͎̫͛̈́͝ḓ̶̡̗̐͛ ̸͔̽͝f̸̧̡͇̀̏ö̴͖̹͙́r̵̜̐̃̈́ ̴͚̒b̷̰̮̄̉ḻ̸̥́̇͆o̴̗̥̕o̵̘̻̓d̷͎͉̱͑.̶͎͔͐̀͋͜ ̵̨̛͂L̴̲͓̈́̀ḭ̴̱̅f̸̗̽ẹ̷̡̈́ ̵̤̣͛̑f̷̪̖̾͝o̶̙̬̔r̴̨͍͇̆̃̋ ̸̝̭̏̑͛ḷ̶̡̳̏i̶͖̰͖̾͌f̸̼̮̅̎e̵̻̩̓͐͗
"Yeah, I know," you sighed, wiping your hands on your pants. "It's done. You have half of Olivia, and all of her. That good enough?" You point to the pile of bone and tissue.
It slithered over to the pile of Clementine, caressing the flesh with its tendrils. It let out low hums that vibrated in your chest, like it was hollowing it out into an empty cavity.
Ḑ̷̝̩̈e̷̛͎̝̽b̶̙͎͚͌̿̐t̶̾̄͐ͅ ̸̛̺̰͔̋r̷̡̗͊̆e̷̢͛́ṕ̵̡͝a̶͎̪̺̚͝i̷̡͙͔̊͆͝d̵͖̋́͋��
"Good." You looked over to Clementine's truck. "Have a field day with her body. I'm leaving."
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Note
Ash… please hurt Finn <3
Just something short and sweet for your Friday...
CW: Dehumanization, captivity, pet whump sort of, sadistic whumper
Rancher's Rest, California, January 2005
The man who used to be Finn Schneider - who even in his own thoughts more and more called himself by the nickname his captor had given him - slept as much as he could during the day.
It helped him escape the unrelenting smell of decay from the basement that seemed to seep up through the floorboards like water soaking a sponge. Sometimes Robert lit overwhelming candles, brown sugar and vanilla, oranges and cinnamon. They didn't cover the bad smells so much as join with them to create something far, far worse.
When he slept, he could stop smelling things. Sleep helped himescape the screaming he could hear, sometimes, inside his head or out of it. He wasn't always sure if there was someone alive in the basement or if he was just listening to the echoes of ghosts.
Sleep helped him forget he spent the days in a dog cage built to hold a man.
The muzzle firmly covered his jaw, mouth, and nose, with airholes to breathe but no room to speak. Even his screams were too muffled to carry far. He had stopped trying a long time ago. Easier not to.
In any case, the days passed faster if he slept through them.
So he tried.
He blinked awake at the sound of the key in the door, rolling his shoulders and shifting on the pile of folded blankets and old, flat pillows. He used to feel his heart start pounding and a cold wash of terror every time Robert came home.
Now he just felt... tired.
Robert stomped inside, humming cheerfully. Weak winter sunlight cut briefly across the floor in front of the cage, then disappeared as the door closed again. "Take your boots off, Bobby," He muttered to himself, shaking his coat from his shoulders and hanging it in the wooden rack attached to the wall by the door. "Boots off, then inside. Can't track mud in. Boots off."
Clunk clunk. The boots went onto the woven rag mat, and Finn closed his eyes.
"Shit weather all day," Robert grunted. Maybe to Finn. Maybe himself. Finn didn't know or care any longer. "Sun finally showed up but it's still mud all over the place. Landslides down south. Mudslides taking out houses, all kinds of damage out there."
He moved with flat feet in their dull socks, once white but gone gray, from the door and moving past Finn in his cage, past the basement door where only bones and barrels waited today, into the kitchen. The smell of diesel followed him like scent trails in a cartoon, settling heavy around Finn's face and making his stomach flip.
More thumping footsteps, and Finn let himself doze, vaguely aware but caring so, so little about what could happen next. It didn't matter.
Whatever it was, it would hurt.
He must have fallen asleep once more - he heard the shower shut off and the radio playing in the kitchen, afternoon news delivered by soothing voices.
-holidays give us all a chance to be generous to those we love who love reading. I want to begin my recommendations with a Christmas story about a Christmas story. Novelist Paul Auster's beautifully illustrated little tale about being commissioned by the New York Times in December of 1990 to write a Christmas story, and the surprising pleasure this brought him.
A man from the New York Times called me and asked if I would-
"All right, little Mouse," Robert said cheerfully, interrupting the soft-spoken novelist on the radio with his own rougher, raspier voice. "Work day's done. Out you come."
Finn watched him, and felt the first trickle of nerves and the cold stone of the fear he never quite overcame settling heavy in his chest. When the cage was opened, Robert using the key he wore always on a string around his neck to unlock the padlock, Finn didn't move at first.
He shook his head, just a little.
Then Robert grabbed his arm and yanked him out.
Finn grunted behind the muzzle as his head banged into a metal bar, briefly flashing white behind his eyes as he flinched. His hands scrambled for purchase along the sticky, sharp carpet fibers. Robert chuckled, enjoying the sight, and ruffled Finn's greasy, dirty hair affectionately.
Finn caught himself making a sound far too much like an animal's whimper as Robert's thumb ran over the spot where he'd hit the bar, pressing down.
"Don't be so stupid next time and it won't happen like that," Robert said, cloying and mockingly affectionate. "Stupid thing. Now come on, Mouse."
Forehead throbbing, Finn followed him - crawling on hands and knees like a dog, head down, eyes on the floor. His own breath felt loud, from within the muzzle. Humid and damp, in and out, barely getting enough fresh air. His head spun, a little.
That might just be from hunger, though.
Robert snapped his fingers and pointed to a spot on the floor near the table, and Finn shuffled hurriedly forward to sit there, legs crossed, watching him with dull eyes as he went from the cupboard to the stove, dumping some kind of beef and potato soup from a can into the pot sitting there. The gas flame flickered to life, and Finn wondered what it would take to make this house explode.
"The guys at work had this mysteries show on today," Robert said, all cheerful conversation, as he popped open a beer and took a drink, sitting in a creaking wooden kitchen chair and leaning over to undo the buckles that held Finn's muzzle on. It dropped to the floor, and Finn stared down at it.
He wanted it back.
His face felt all wrong without it.
"You were on it, did you know that?"
It took a second for the words to filter in, and then he turned to look up at Robert. He couldn't remember the words, at first. Or he knew the words but couldn't remember how to form them with his mouth. He managed, hoarsely, "I was?"
"Sure were, Mouse." Robert was in a good mood - he leaned down and put the chilly aluminum edge of the can to Finn's lips, feeding him tasteless foamy American beer cold as ice sip by sip. "Special episode on people like you, went missing in Death Valley. Not even the only German who was featured. Neat episode. Talked about this whole family that just up and vanished. They'll never find them, for sure. Nobody will find you, either, when I'm done with you. Maybe I should put you back."
Finn struggled - Robert talking tended to just move like water around him now - but he turned to look up. "Put... Put me back?"
"Yeah. Dump your bones right back in the Valley, let them find you somewhere they've looked before. Wish I had recorded it or something, could show it to you. Oh, well. Your mom's looking real rough these days."
Finn had to turn away at that, his heart twisting itself as he thought of her, afraid and alone and probably sure he was dead by now. Even if she kept looking... She was looking for bones.
Some of the beer Robert was feeding him missed when he moved, dribbled down his chin to his collarbone, making him shiver.
"Hey! Spilling beer is a capital offense in this house, you stupid piece of shit!"
Finn knew he should apologize, but his mouth wouldn't move. He thought of his car, wrecked just off the road. Bottles of water, his book of CDs, clothes and all his things. He thought of his mother sifting through looking for anything-
Anything at all-
Any sign he was alive-
Being told over and over that no one would ever find him-
"Listen to me when I'm talking to you!" Robert's voice was a deafening roar, and his foot caught Finn in the side of his head, kicking him onto the dirty tile before grabbing his hair and slamming his head down into it.
Finn cried out, instinct overriding emptiness as he scrabbled with his useless hands to try and paw Robert away.
He took a punch to the face. White light burst and pain without sound, like a star exploding inside him. He went limp. The rest of the beating hurt, sure, but at least Robert had stopped talking about his mom.
He could be grateful for that.
They'll never find you.
-
Carriozo, New Mexico, 2009
The man who was Finn Schneider was currently going by the name Bennett Collins. He laid on his back in a broken-down motel in a town no larger than his hand, staring up at the ceiling and decidedly not thinking about scorpions. He'd put his shoes up on a shelf in the closet, just in case.
His phone rang, and he groaned as he shifted onto his side, flipping it open and putting it to his ear. "We don't meet until tomorrow," He said by way of greeting.
"I know, I know. But hey, I have some good news for you." Noah's good cheer made his skin crawl, but he owed the man his life and freedom, even if he didn't know what to do with it.
"What good news?" Maybe the job was called off. That would be nice. His birthday was coming up, not that he had ever told anyone his birthday, and he had had a dim thought he might spend it with a book. If his eyes would let him read one. If his mind would focus on it and not just stare at the same sentences over and over without ever taking them in.
"They found the Germans!"
Finn waited a beat. "Noah, we have a whole country. If no one had found us before now, that would be odd."
"Not-... Okay, fine. Be that way. The Death Valley Germans, that family went missing back in the 90s? We talked about it a couple of times?"
Noah had talked. Finn had stared off into space and made noises like he was listening and tried not to think about it too much. To think about their car found off the road with flat tires and no water and emptied bottles of wine.
His own car, full of water, with no him.
His own family, his mother searching, forever-
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The motel air was stale and musty, but at least it smelled like the window unit A/C on blast and not like rotting bodies or the Death Valley sand. "Yes. What do you.meam, they found them?"
"Some hikers did. Found some bones and IDs, a friend of mine works with the local police and told me about it. That's good stuff, right?! They found them! Maybe they'll find you some day, huh?"
"You keep me moving too much for that."
"You've never asked me not to."
"I-..." Noah was right. He hadn't ever asked. He had just done the work, and not lifted his head, not looked back. What could he give anyone who had known him? A walking corpse, luckier than the other dead bodies. Maybe. He could pay them back for their love and for looking for him by giving them back a shadow that looked like their son.
"It's fine. I don't mind taking care of you. You'll be at Albuquerque tomorrow for our next job, yeah?"
"Sure."
"Good. Hey, make sure you eat some dinner tonight. I'll be here if you need anything, little Mouse."
Finn's chest went cold. "... What? What did you-"
What did you call me-
"What did you, um, say? Couldn't-... hear you."
Weight pressed down like a boot on his chest, heavy and steel-toed, pushing away air as he tried to breathe in. The air smelled like decay and lemon cleaner. His stomach flipped.
"What?" Noah paused. The pause felt too long. "Oh, I said I'm here for you. At my house."
No, you didn't.
"... Okay. I'll... I will see you tomorrow, Noah?"
"Yeah. Keep your head down. Oh, hey, you're in Carriozo, right?"
Had he told Noah that was where he would stop?
"Y-yes."
"Cool. I stayed there once. Nice diner, makes the best beef and potato soup..."
Finn hung up the phone, launched himself from the bed, and barely made it to the toilet before the nothing he had eaten all day found its way back up.
By the time he could stop, his head was throbbing, and all he wanted was to curl up in his cage in the dark. He moved on his hands and knees back to the bed in the little motel, opened his laptop where it has been charging, and typed with pointer fingers one letter at a time. Death... Valley... Germans...
Death Valley skeletons solve riddle of missing German tourists, read a headline. The letters swam like fish across his vision.
Finn laid his head down on the pillow, closing his eyes and trying to tell himself to breathe. They found them. Thirteen years but they found them. He might have smiled.
Robert had been wrong.
About that, anyway.
-
@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @thefancydoughnut @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp
@whumperfully @pigeonwhumps @squishablesunbeam @darkthingshappen @whumper-soot @pumpkin-spice-whump @pardonmekreature @d-cs @honey-is-mesi @whump-queen @sowhumpful
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ciaossu-imagines · 3 months
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I am so bone-tired exhausted, my lovelies...today at work was A DAY. Like, enough of a day that I not only relied on a fictional other but at points imagined the whole of HOMRA working alongside me at the pharmacy because it was the only way I was getting through the shift without jumping over the counter and committing homicide or raiding our safe for the good drugs and getting arrested for that. I am definitely still trying to write tonight - I have all the ideas but things aren't coming out on digital paper very well tonight, haha. In good news, the blog is now down to 35 asks from the original 67, so I am almost halfway through them, both old and new! I hope to finish them up by the end of January or February, and then I'll be taking a little break to work on a commission and maybe write a little bit of long-fic before coming back to posting (yes, I do completely plan on finishing the Shouhei fic, for anyone who had followed that and working on some passion projects of mine, fics I've either half started or want to start, maybe finally post something on my AO3).
I really do adore each and every one of my readers and am really in the mood for some interaction with you gorgeous constant readers! Tell me about your holidays, talk to me about your days, your pets, anything going on in your life, anything fun you've learned. Rant at me about your favourite character, any ideas you have about them, self-ship headcanons, your OC's, story ideas, things you love about your fandoms, things you wish you saw more of in fandom. Recommend me good anime, music, movies. Talk to me about my own writing and this blog - what brought you here initially, what keeps you reading if you're a long-time reader? Are there things you love about this blog, things you'd like to see more of or less of?
Basically, just feel free to pop into my inbox and talk to me! One of the great things about request blogs is the interaction with readers and people who share my fandoms and it's always welcome!
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dreadfutures · 9 months
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Welcome to Blue’s Blog
I’m an artist, fic writer, and admin at @thedasincolor and @dadrunkwriting, but science is my day job!
Mobile Nav:
My AO3: @ youworeblue
My Ko-Fi
#My Art
GIft Fics Received
Gift Art Received: #art for blue
I take writing prompts!
Information about Prompts
My prompt horde.
Prompts filled for @dadrunkwriting: #da drunk writing circle
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Feel free to make fanart, podfics, and derivative works of mine, as  long as a heads-up & credit is given. I always appreciate the creativity of this community &lt;;3 (Full statement here.) (Banner credit.)
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CURRENTLY PROMOTING:
Please check out my murder mystery fic!
it ends, or it doesn’t.
Rated T, 7 chapters, 45k. Complete. Felassan finds himself investigating a murder with a ragtag group of three outcast Dalish, uncovering an ancient ruin hidden in plain sight and the ugly secret trapped at its heart. Illustrated by Adurna-0! With additional commissioned art by sbeep and crunchyncrumbly.
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Characters & AUs
Bloodied and Broken World State
Elvhenan AU
One Wild and Precious Life AU
Shadows in the Sun AU
The Mirrorverse Collaborative AU - OPEN!
Halevune Mahariel | Garrett Hawke | Inquisitor Ixchel Lavellan
Pronunciation: Ixchel.
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Bloodied & Broken World State
Main Series (Ixchel's Story)
Full Collection
Rust & Bone (Halevune Mahariel and his family)
In-continuity tumblr drabbles: #bloodied and broken bits
Ship tags:
Solavellan: #broken mirrors
Mahariel x Morrigan & Kieran: #old blood older still
Platonic: #cage of the ribs
This is my Dragon Age series following Inquisitor Ixchel Lavellan and her battle to  find hope for herself, and hope for Thedas.
Her story truly begins in  Dead Pasts and Dread Futures--with her suicide. As the world ends, Ixchel is resurrected under mysterious circumstances and is sent back in time to the Conclave. Ixchel is furious, convinced of her own futility, and yet she cannot give up again.These are the stories of how she gets better. She’ll bring the world with her on that journey, which continues now in The Brave Guide.
TOO LONG, DIDN'T READ: Dead Pasts and Dread Futures Summary
Main Series Reading Order:
1.0 - Lead Her Through the Darkness - [BECandCall]:Oneshot. Complete.This is the story of how Ixchel found her name. BECandCall aka DuchessofSwoll wrote this gift for me during the Dragon Age Fanfiction discord server’s OC swap month.
1.1 - Two-Handed: INCOMPLETE. The story of Ixchel’s first life, as a teenage Inquisitor. Ixchel comes to the Conclave as an effort to win favor from Clan Lavellan. She does not have vallaslin, or any experience as a warrior--or any idea of how precious friends and family could be. This is not a Solavellan story.
1.2 - Ruined Empires and Dust: Drabbles from Ixchel’s young life. Angsty.
1.3 - The Vallaslin:Oneshot. Complete.Ixchel is finally offered the vallaslin of Dirthamen after proving to Keeper Hawen how dedicated she is to preserving Elven history. Solas cannot in good conscience let her take them. Not without a warning. (Follow-up post here.)
1.4 - The Hope of Fen’Harel: Oneshot. Complete. Ixchel’s Trespasser eluvian scene with Solas. 
2.0 - Dead Pasts and Dread Futures. 170 chapters, 600k. Complete. Ixchel is in her mid-twenties when she ends her life, tired of being the Hope of Thedas and the Hope of Fen’Harel, and tired of being alone. As the world ends, she gets resurrected and sent back in time. She is very angry, and very depressed about it. Ixchel struggles. She finds hope.
3.0 - The Brave Guide. Longfic. ONGOING! Regular updates. A direct continuation of Dead Pasts and Dread Futures.
Hot Takes. Complete. Discarded draft. Smutty.
Dread Wolf and the Champion.Excerpt fic. Complete. The collection of only Solavellan moments of Ixchel and Solas in Dead Pasts, Dread Futures. In case you just wanted some Solavellan with (less) politics and interpersonal conflict.
Our Careless Heads with Roses Bound: Drabbles. Ongoing.Fluff Prompts for Bloodied & Broken characters set during both Dead Pasts and Dread Futures or The Brave Guide.
(3.1) Fade to Blue.Oneshot. Complete. An extended, stand-alone version of a smutty chapter in The Brave Guide. No other reading required. &lt;3
(3.2) The Day the Dread Wolf Wed the Brave Guide - [exalted_dawn | @exalted-dawn-drabbles ]. Ongoing. My beautiful friend and dear Beta, Ed, decided to write how her OC Talenna convinced and orchestrated Ixchel to do a bonding ceremony with Solas, at the Arlathvhen, after Corypheus’s defeat. It’s beautiful and I adore it.
(3.3) the road seems too wild for mixing it with blues.Oneshot. Complete. Written as a gift for the Solavellan Hell Exchange 2022. Solas and Ixchel have a happy ending, visiting Cumberland as tourists--not as famed and feared leaders. Pure fluff.
(3.4) it ends, or it doesn’t. 7 chapters, 45k. Complete. Written for a terribly managed Big Bang, but one of my favorite fics ever. Felassan finds himself investigating a murder with a ragtag group of three outcast Dalish, uncovering an ancient ruin hidden in plain sight, and  the ugly secret trapped at its heart. Illustrated by Adurna-0!
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#Elvhenan AU
Ixchel gets sent back not to the Conclave but to Elvhenan, with a fragmented memory. This is not Solavellan but rather Dirthamen x Lavellan.
Currently this exists in prompts only, and:
Ship Tags:
Dirthamen x Lavellan: #sunbird
Ancient Elves and Ancient Spirits: #Glory and Valor and Pride and Wisdom
The Inexorable Tide - [kittynomsdeplume]. Oneshot. Ixchel appeared in Elvhenan in an explosion that leveled Falon’Din’s temple. Dirthamen takes her in, for she wears his vallaslin, and slowly teaches her the Elvhen language...and they fall in love. A BEAUTIFUL GIFT from the 2021 Beyond The Veil Discord Server Satinalia Exchange.
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#One Wild and Precious Life
Solas and Inquisitor Ixchel Lavellan defeat Corypheus, heal the Veil, and thwart the Evanuris, but Solas falls into uthenera again. He wishes that now-immortal Ixchel would live a full life, and to her own surprise...she does. She falls in love with the widowed Prince of Starkhaven, and he with her.
This exists in drabbles and prompt fills only.
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#Shadows in the Sun
My world state for DA4!
Ixchel Lavellan was 16 when she became Inquisitor, but rather than end her life as she does in Dead Pasts and Dread Futures, she chooses to live. Kieran enlists her help in searching for his mother, who drank the Well of Sorrows and now has disappeared. Eventually Kieran x Ixchel will happen.
This exists in drabbles and prompt fills only at the moment, but that will undoubtedly change.
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The Mirrorverse Collaborative AU
The Dragon Age Fanfic Writers Discord Server anniversary (Aug 2021) generated a bunch of crossover-type gift fis and introduced the idea of a multiverse connected by eluvians. Thus, the Mirrorverse was born.
If anyone wants to play in this sandbox or read OCs interacting in each others’/an in-between reality, I have an open collection for fics that have any Dragon Age OCs crossing universes via mysterious eluvians! They’re fun to play with and people are making gifts for their friends or just having their own OCs interact, it’s great!
We love seeing this device, please use it and tag us/submit to the collection! This isn’t limited to friends-of-mine/members of any server. We just love this gimmick and would love more multiverse interactions out there. It’s such a fun way to play with OCs.
The Bar at the End of the Multiverse - [CrackingLamb]. Oneshot. Multiple Inquisitor Lavellans wander through mysterious eluvians and find themselves at a bar for some bonding time.
Walkers of the Lonely Path. Multichapter (5). Complete. A gift fic I wrote for six Lavellans and one Mahariel. It’s essentially a dungeon crawl, with lots of lore, angst, and elven bonding.
i want to share your mouthful - [RosellaWrites]. Oneshot. Virelan Lavellan post-Trespasser struggles to let go of the weight of her responsibilities as Inquisitor and mother. Ixchel helps with sparring, bathing, and some sex.
turning stones to look for light. Oneshot. Complete. A gift fic I wrote for Rosella-Writes, where Ixchel holds Virelan’s Solavellan baby and muses about whether Virelan’s version of Solas has any hope of redemption.
tell me if i drown - [Lalaen].  Oneshot. Gethrael Lavellan, reeling after a horrific experience in Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts, goes to the Bar at the End of the Multiverse and runs into Ixchel. 
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shih-coulda-had-it · 1 year
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Just so you know, the assignment was something among the lines of "use these words to write a short story" and I may have went slightly overboard. Rushed? Obviously. The ending was literally write in the middle of the lesson. But that's the effort that counts right? (Please I hope it sends in one ask)
It was a bad idea. Obviously. It wasn't worth the risk. Right. Right? He was definitely losing his mind or has lost it already if even a part of him thought it was anything else.
Nana would laugh in his face if she were to see this. Or, more likely, yell at him for being such an idiot who didn't care about himself at all. Well damn, he was running out of ideas, sue him. And that? That seemed like an opportunity. An opportunity to reach a confinement between them. To keep him safe without becoming fugitives and hiding for years, if not decades.
Torino exhaled slowly, eyes locking on the man in front of him. To a certain extent, it was funny to realize how hard it was to believe that he could actually look even benevolent when they were not trying to murder each other.
It was almost nice, actually. To sit like that in a quiet cafe, doing small talk as if they were old friends and one of them wasn't the reason the other had spent days trying to wash the blood off himself. To a certain degree, the hero still couldn't get rid of this feeling, of how hideous he'd felt reeking of metal and ashes. How his self hatred surfaced the moment he was finally left alone and how drained he was of any energy to shed even a single tear and-
"Sorahiko," the villain's voice startled him and he gasped for air sharply, eyes darting to the white haired man who looked so damn genuinely concerned that he felt sick to the bone. This couldn't be right, he couldn't be even capable of that, he was just a fu- "Sorahiko," All for One repeated, this time placing a hard on his shoulder, and the gesture was so weirdly soothing that he flinched at this. "I am not going to hurt you. You know that, Sorahiko. Otherwise I would've done so already."
He registered, in the back of his mind, that it was likely to be an effect of a nerve soothing quirk, it must've been also touch based, because the moment All for One pulled away, anxiety washed over him again.
"Why?" He choked out more of a sob than a solid question, making the villain frown in confusion and worry. "Why even make an effort? You could've just killed me. Could've- you could've come for him and, I don't know, used some quirk on him to make him-"
"But I didn't. And I am not planning to, at least, not yet," he shook his head with a sigh. "Truth is, I'm tired of this, Sorahiko. Think about it. My brother was murdered years, decades ago and I'm still trying to get the last thing left of him only to meet newer and newer generations of people trying to murder me. I haven't been fully in control of what I've built back then in years, I'm sure you have noticed that. You- oh God, you really haven't noticed the drop in crime activity, have you?"
"I had other concerns," the hero shrugged. "Why now?"
"As I said, tiredness. Nana's successor hasn't been quite shaped into the Commission's murder machine, yet, and I want to make this deal beneficial for both sides."
Torino eyed him suspiciously and crossed his arms, considering his chances.
An opportunity to make All for One step back. To not let more blood be spilled later. Though, in exchange for the only thing capable of stopping him…
"What would be our benefit from this, then?" He arched an eyebrow.
"Freedom," he said simply.
"Freedom?"
"No more heroics," the villain nodded, continuing. "No more being the Commission's lap dog. No more all of this, raising your successors thing and hiding for years. Freedom."
"What makes you think I would agree to this?"
That, for some reason, made All for One laugh. Startled, Sorahiko stared at him for a moment perhaps too long enough before he decided to ask.
"What's so funny?"
"Oh, nothing much. You've spent so much time fighting along side with Nana, helping her carry her oh so tremendous duty of the Saviour and now you have her successor, but tell me what, Sorahiko. Would you still try to play a hero, were these factors to be taken away? And even if you did, do you actually want to burden a literal child with this? What is he, seventeen? I could crush him with one hit if I wanted. So, do you really not think it'd be stupid to refuse this chance? After all, you guys have made it your duty to defeat the demon lord or whatever people call me these days with One for All and see where the problem steps in. I am not willing to fight anymore, taking apart everything my brother's little heroes tried to build so hard. I can't bring him back, either. In other words, I am only asking you to be reasonable. To help me end this. So, what will be, Sorahiko?"
Gran Torino hesitated, looking at All for One, who was now back to calmly drinking his tea, once more. Suddenly, he became hyper aware of everything around them. All the people, every life to be lost if he refused.
He was cornered. And honestly, he was so, so tired.
Torino sighed. "Fine. Let's just get this over with."
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thank you for sharing! wow! i need to know CONTEXT and RESOLUTION. reading and rereading it, i'm pretty sure sorahiko's not betraying toshinori to all for one for 'the sake of survival'. then again, what could AfO be asking of sorahiko...?
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[caption id: Additional note from the writer that says, "Side note number two while I'm at it. The same classmate who decided to retell a one piece arc asks when is the next chapter. Should I go for it lmao."]
The answer being, yeah, of course!! Would I ever deny myself Prime Torino content???
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lengthofropes · 1 year
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McShep love from the pier scene in "The Shrine" Stargate Atlantis 
commission for @hermscat 💙 HOLIDAYS 🎄 COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!
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cavalierious-whim · 3 months
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As I Still Love You (ZhongChi)
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Part of 'Etched in Stone'.
Zhongli and Childe renew their wedding vows. Written for An Eternal Vow, A ZhongChi Wedding Zine.
Read here on AO3. You can also, follow me on Twitter and Blue Sky..
At the moment, my written work is my only source of income whilst I'm between jobs. Other ways that you can support can be found below-- even if HALF of my followers on Twitter follow my $1 Tier on Patreon, it'd be life-changing income for me, so if you love my work, please consider it!
You can find my Ko-Fi and Commission Info/Shops here.
You can purchase Digital PDFs of some of my works here on Gumroad.
Pre-Orders for physical books of selected works are still open for preorder in my Big Cartel Shop here.
And you can follow my Patreon here as well!
--
Madame Ping’s Serenitea Pot is set to a never-ending sunset. 
Zhongli has always felt at peace here, his old bones settling as he rests against the lounge on her porch. Their conversation is as usual: polite, quiet, and reminiscent. There are so few left who understand the weariness that he sometimes feels, but Xiao won’t speak of the past, and Ganyu is too busy with her work to speak at all. 
“You’ve been quiet tonight,” says Madame Ping. When Zhongli turns to her, she smiles back, amused. 
“Nonsense,” he says. “We have been chatting for a while yet.”
Her face crinkles slightly and Zhongli knows that look, the one she gets right before she says something that he won’t like—
“Words, and words with meaning are two different things, Zhongli. You might have shared polite conversation with me, but you’ve barely said a thing.” She pauses, tilting her head to the side. “Is there something bothering you?”
Not really. And yet. “I often think about the years. The past, the present, and—well, I used to think of the future. I still do, but—”
“Zhongli,” cuts in Madame Ping sweetly, “what is the matter?”
“Nothing.” He is insistent, but she knows him almost better than he knows himself. Zhongli sighs, rubbing his brow. “I am happy,” he finally says. “When it comes to my life, my family, and Ajax, I am beyond happy. Which makes me wonder… what else is there?”
Madame Ping does not judge him. “Oh, Zhongli,” she says wistfully, holding her hand out and motioning for his teacup. Zhongli places it into her hand dutifully. She sets it on the table, grabs the teapot, and pulls back her sleeve. “That is the question of all questions, isn’t it?” she asks him as she pours out a fresh cup. 
“It is often on my mind.”
“Are you insecure with what you have?”
Zhongli looks at her, offended. “Of course not.”
“Then why wonder?”
Why wonder, indeed, which is why Zhongli finds the thought of it annoying. He is too old and too tired to be worried about such trivial matters—and yet, he cannot help it. 
Madame Ping tuts at him. “You know, that boy is good for you. I knew it from the moment I first saw you watch him the way that you do.”
“And—Celestia, tell me—how is that?”
“As if he’s the only thing there is.”
Oh. Zhongli’s mouth snaps shut at that and he rubs at his chin awkwardly, which leaves Madame Ping to chuckle. He’s never been good at hiding his feelings, particularly when it comes to his husband. 
“It has been a long time since I have been in love,” she says, reaching out to pet his arm fondly. “But there is one thing that I do remember, Zhongli. There are no rules. You get to love a person however you wish.”
Zhongli smiles at that, warmly, and settles his hand over hers. “Thank you,” he says. “I must admit… I am always  learning when it comes to matters of the heart.”
“Ah, yes, well—that’s the other thing about love, isn’t it? No one knows what they’re doing.” They both laugh, and Madame Ping pulls her hand away. “Speaking of, when will I get to see the children again? Are they still off traveling?”
“Ah, about that,” starts Zhongli as he takes hold of his teacup again. “Ajax wrote to Yuan, at least…”
Madame Ping smiles as she listens to him ramble on. The tea tastes as delicious as always. 
#
“Ajax,” starts Zhongli late one night after they’ve settled down, “I love you.”
Their home is quiet. Candlelight flickers from the bedside table. Childe leans against the headboard with an old book in his hand and Zhongli lies beside him as he thinks. He looks up, brow furrowed between his eyes. These words aren’t new; Zhongli says them more often than not, but Childe knows how to read his tone.
Tonight, Zhongli tells him this with quiet reservation. 
“I… would hope so? I mean, I let you put eggs into me, and then I laid them—so you better.” Zhongli cracks a grin at that but doesn’t immediately respond. Childe shifts, closing the book and tossing it to the side. He settles into the sheets, turning towards Zhongli. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.”
“Zhongli, there’s something on your mind.”
Perhaps Zhongli was a fool to think that he could hide something like this from Childe. “I love you,” he repeats affectionately, “but I often wonder if the way that I love you is the same way that you love me. That is not to say your love is less; I know it isn’t. But, who and what I am, and the implications of someone like myself loving another so wholly… I wonder if you understand to exactly what extent.” 
Childe’s face eases slightly. “I don’t see why there is a need to compare.”
“It isn’t a comparison.” Zhongli sighs softly. “These are just the things that I consider in my old age, I suppose. If I love you to the ends of the earth, then what else is there? What more can I do? I’ve courted you, I’ve married you, I’ve mated you. We’ve raised a family together—so what is there from here on out?”
Childe moves then, scooting closer and taking the blankets with him. He shares Zhongli’s pillow, pressing their foreheads together. “Zhongli, you have nothing to prove.”
“Then why do I feel this way?” whispers Zhongli. 
“Because love is dumb,” says Childe with a soft chuckle. He lifts a hand and smooths his thumb over Zhongli’s cheek. “Are you happy?”
Madame Ping asked him the same question, and just like then, Zhongli huffs, offended. But then his gaze softens, and he nuzzles Childe’s palm. “The most I’ve ever been.”
Childe leans forward then, kissing him softly, and just like that, Zhongli’s unease seems to melt away. For the moment, at least. They doze after that with Childe flush against his chest. Zhongli breathes in the scent of him and tries to revel in the comfort. 
“You know, I just remembered something,” says Childe later. They still share the same space of Zhongli’s pillow, intertwined and craving closeness. 
“Hm?” Zhongli combs through Childe’s silvering hair with his fingertips. 
“An old Snezhnayan tradition. I think my grandparents did it, but I was pretty young so I could be remembering wrong. It’s a vow renewal. You stand before witnesses and recommit your wedding vows.”
“Remarriage?”
Childe laughs brightly. “I mean, in a way, I guess. It’s just… reaffirming what you have.” He pauses. “Would you want to do that? Renew our vows?
It would be like reclaiming him, all over again, which is an idea that pricks at Zhongli’s instinctual lizard brain. “Yes,” he says quietly. “I like the sound of it.”
“You’ve always been a sap.” Childe snuggles closer then, chin tipping up to press a sweet kiss to Zhongli’s jaw. “My old, affectionate lizard.”
Zhongli chuckles before rolling Childe onto his back, pressing his face into the warmth of his nape. The night is still young and they aren’t that old. 
#
There is minimal planning. 
It irks Zhongli and he knows that Childe can tell by the way that he teases him. “We don’t need to think much about it,” he says, mouth curved into that well-known smirk. “We planned the wedding to the tee, so let’s be more laid-back this time around.”
Zhongli tries to remain easy-going about it all, but this is one of those times when he and Childe approach things wholly differently. Childe isn’t a planner, far more willing to just jump in and go with the flow. And maybe it’s because Zhongli is old, but he prefers to have a schedule, to plot things out accordingly. Not to mention that unknown anxiety that seems to have grown with his age. 
He frowns, thinking. 
Childe reaches out to tap his nose. “Hey, you okay?”
It startles Zhongli. “Ah, I’m—just thinking.”
Childe smiles, just a gentle grin that sits on his face. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”
They sit in their Serenitea Pot, enjoying a nice brew of tea. They should be going over last-minute details for the ceremony the next day, but Childe wouldn’t allow it, putting the books away, so to speak. 
No, Zhongli wants to say, but it would be a lie. 
His silence must speak volumes because Childe reaches out to rub a thumb over Zhongli’s knuckles. “Hey, it’s normal.”
“It is not. We’ve been married for—”
“Decades, I know.” Childe sighs contently at the thought. “You know, even I feel nervous about it. I’ve been married to you for more than half of my life. How is that not daunting?”
It shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t be—but oh. Zhongli supposes that is the point. It’s alright for none of it to make sense. Isn’t that what Madame Ping told him, all those months ago? 
There are no rules. You get to love a person however you wish.
Childe watches him patiently with a twinkle in his eyes. It is Zhongli who tugs Childe’s hand to his mouth to kiss it. “Have you thought about your vows?” he asks. 
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” says Childe slyly, which only makes Zhongli chuckle. 
#
It is, perhaps, more effortless than Zhongli expects. 
The sand is cool underneath his feet and Childe’s hands are warm in his. They stand on the quiet beach in their Serenitea Pot, surrounded only by a handful of close friends and family. It is sunset, the sky turning purple and pink as the brightness begins to dip below the horizon. 
Even with the eyes of the others staring, Zhongli feels as though it’s only the two of them, lost in their own little pocket of the world. 
Childe rubs his knuckles, the wrinkles of his face framing his eyes and mouth handsomely. “You okay?”.
“Yes,” says Zhongli, and the word rings true. 
Xiao clears his throat from where he stands next to them. He looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else than there at the moment, his face pulled into a stern frown. 
Childe snorts softly, rubbing at his chin. “Sorry,” he says. “Understandably distracted.” And then, Childe winks at Zhongli, which makes his stomach curl ever so slightly. 
“Disgusting,” says Xiao. 
“Xiao,” warns Zhongli. 
Xiao looks like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Right, I’ll—” He clears his throat again. “We are gathered here today—”
“Oh, did you actually study the script that I gave you?” Childe sounds a little too pleased with that, and Zhongli hides his laugh behind a thinly veiled cough. 
Xiao locks onto Childe with a cool gaze, and then says, “We are here to witness these two idiots renew their vows, whatever that means. I don’t pretend to understand the strange mating rituals of mortals.” There are a few laughs from their audience, and Zhongli feels his cheeks burn pink, embarrassed. Xiao waves a hand. “Do whatever it is you’re supposed to do.”
Childe opens his mouth to speak, but Zhongli beats him to it. “Wait,” he says, “I know there was a plan, but I think I would like to go first.”
“I… okay.” Childe looks intrigued, at least, his head tilted to the side. 
“Ajax.” Zhongli whispers his name, for while it’s known, this is still one of those things that he tends to keep to himself. “There are many things to say and I don’t know where to start.”
“Anywhere,” says Childe, trying to soothe him. 
“These years spent together, I…” Childe is patient, so utterly patient as he stands there and lets Zhongli make an idiot of himself. “Months ago, I went to Madame Ping with a question that I had no answer to. I told her that I am happy and that you’ve brought me a life that I can barely fathom. Then I said, ‘It makes me wonder—what else is there’?”
Childe opens his mouth, but Zhongli holds up his hand, chuckling. “It was a concern as to what more I can offer you. I’ve given you all my love and more. A life, a family, truly everything that I can offer, and yet, there is a worry that it isn’t enough.”
“What did she say?” asks Childe, knowing that he shouldn’t interrupt. 
“Er—what?”
“Madame Ping. What’d she tell you?”
Zhongli smiles then, his feelings betraying him. He tugs Childe’s hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. “That there are no rules and that I get to love a person however that I wish.”
Childe’s throat bobs as he swallows thickly. “Oh,” he says. And then: “I’ve always liked that old goat.” There’s a snicker from behind them. Madame Ping, no doubt. 
“Perhaps it is because I am old and set in my ways but I often see things as milestones to be had, and our love is no exception. I have never considered that it doesn’t have to be that way. With you, I am always learning. And so, my vows—” Zhongli laughs, nuzzling the soft skin of Childe’s palm. “They are exactly the same as the ones from the first time we married because there is no need to change something that isn’t broken, or prove myself to you in any way.”
Childe's lip wavers ever so slightly, just a soft little tremble that most would miss. Zhongli doesn’t, his gaze washing over Childe’s entire being. He’s so effortlessly handsome as he stands there, in his plain red shirt and trousers. “Your love,” starts Childe.
“Etched in stone,” finishes Zhongli, kissing that ring that sits on his finger. “Solid as the earth that I am built from. Unwavering as the rock that crafts Liyue. I am not going anywhere, Ajax.”
Childe breathes a comedic sigh of relief, rubbing at his face to wipe away the tears before anyone else can see them. “Gods, what a relief. And really, how can I follow that up?” He looks around them, trying to find his words. “Being a former Archon isn’t enough, right? He’s always gotta one-up me.”
Zhongli’s history is not a secret among this group. There is no need to hide it or play dumb. 
“I tried writing mine down, you know,” continues Childe, pulling a wrinkled slip of paper from his breast pocket. “I’m shit at remembering things, even when I try, and I thought that maybe I’d get emotional, or—”
“Ajax, you’re rambling.” Zhongli finds a moment to tease him, even here.
“I just—” Childe sighs, dragging a hand through his carefully coiffed hair, ruining it. “It’s empty,” he finally says, “this paper. I’ve spent months trying to find words that express exactly what you are to me, and I can’t find them.” 
The slip of paper in his hands is wrinkled and a little yellowed, but entirely bare. 
“But, as I stood here, listening to you just repeat the same damn thing you said decades ago, I realized that there aren’t words that describe us. Zhongli, we just are.”
Oh, thinks Zhongli, his throat tightening. 
“Zhongli,” says Childe then, his voice tipping low, “I can’t promise that I will always be a good husband. I can’t promise that I will never hurt you, or that I will make wise decisions, but I can promise you that you are my everything. That there is nothing else for me. My days begin with you, and they end with you, and that is the only way that I want to live out the rest of my miserable, pathetically short life.”
It is a thought that Zhongli has chosen to ignore for years, Childe’s inevitable demise. 
“You’re old and ancient. I’m like, this small blip—” The space between Childe’s fingers is far too tiny for comfort. “— when compared to your life experiences. For me, though… my life is entirely defined by you.”
Zhongli kisses him. He reaches out and drags Childe forward, fingers curling into the loose linen of his shirt. Childe grunts in surprise, but kisses him back eagerly. This isn’t the plan, he’s supposed to wait until they’re told to do so. Xiao is affronted, face twisted by annoyance as he takes a step back. The rest of those who watch hold their breaths, unused to seeing Zhongli so blissfully forward. 
Childe laughs against him, wrapping an arm around Zhongli’s neck, holding him close. 
They lose track of time. Neither cares about their audience or how the sun is slowly dipping away, leading to the night. The only thing that matters is the calmness of their abode and the warmth that Zhongli drags out of Childe’s yielding form. 
When they finally part, Childe asks, “What was that for?”
“Nothing,” says Zhongli before kissing him again, this time short and sweet. 
It is disgusting, how much his chest swells. Zhongli feels like he could die with this sort of love, but it’d be a happy death in the arms of his husband. Childe fingers at his ring idly, staring at it. “It isn’t as though they were empty vows on our wedding day, but now I feel like I finally understand exactly what I meant by them.”
Zhongli agrees. 
Then, Childe’s face is split by a mischievous grin. “Hey, come on.”
“Ajax, what are you—” Childe tugs him towards the water of the beach, their ceremony all but lost in the sand. The ocean is ice-cold against his bare feet, his toes sinking into the wet earth. “Ajax.” 
Childe laughs as though he’s a boy again, his face wrinkling as he grins. He kicks up the ocean at Zhongli, who just stands there in the water, sunk to the spot like a solid stone. 
They hold hands, refusing to let go, Childe’s calloused fingers an unwavering weight that anchors Zhongli. 
It is, perhaps, the most perfect sunset that Zhongli has ever known. 
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oonajaeadira · 10 months
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State of the WIP Address
I’m having a serious case of the blockage. And tireds. And distracted by Spiritfarer (but I’m almost done, so). And getting the urge to write at the most inconvenient times when I really Can Not. 
The BFF and I are going to a bone show today and an old friend has invited the SO and I over for tacos, so that’s my day. I am really hoping Sunday leaves me alone and I can get an update to Whiskey + Rye out this coming week.
And I may or may not have commissioned a Joel artwork....which means I have to write that shepherd series now...
Completed this week:
Nothing. 😩
Dreaming on it:
This Will Be The Day Part 2 + 3
Alpha!Javi G
April trope (Oooof BEHIND)
Leave off Your Wandering (Joel series)
Thinking about expanding on Light Only Shows You Where The Shadows Are because I want to write more quiet and soft horror
LMR Chapter 14
Pats has been calling….
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albertfinch · 4 months
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LIMITLESS DISPENSERS OF THE LIGHT
Matthew 9:37,38 - "Then He said to His disciples, "The harvest truly is plentiful, but the laborers are few. Therefore pray the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into His harvest."
The Greek word translated "send out" is "ekballo", which at the root level means to "drive out." "Ballo" is where we derive the English word for "ballistic." There is force and sense of urgency, a driving out, a thrusting out of laborers into His harvest.
We see this same word used in the context of Mark 1:12, describing Christ's actions after He received the infilling of the Holy Spirit at the Jordan River where, with the Spirit now in Him, "Immediately the Spirit DROVE Him into the wilderness."
Jesus isn't going to thrust us out ill-equipped -- He is going to give us His effectual wonder-working power and authority to help bring in the harvest quickly. He's giving us boldness to cast out every hindrance to breakthrough, to restore those DREAMS AND VISIONS of long ago that we thought were lost.
WE ARE BEING SENT OUT
He's empowering and sending us out! And quickly!
Matthew 10:7,8 - "And as you go, preach, saying, 'The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand.' Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out demons. Freely you have received, freely give."
"As you go, preach!" God calls every believer to preach the Gospel with power. God will give us a VISION of His purpose for us, commission us, and release us to fulfill it (our DESTINY).
Jeremiah 20:9b - "But His word was in my heart like a burning fire shut up in my bones; I was weary of holding it back, and I could not."
His word will be in your heart like a burning fire, shut up in your bones. You won't be able to hold it back. When the Word becomes as a burning fire in your heart and bones your focus will be on harvest and it won't be denied you. With the workings of the Word in you, you'll become a slayer of any giant that stands in your way of harvest. Even if there's a wall, you'll leap right over it, slaying the giants to bring forth the victory.
They will hear of the works of Christ, see the works of Christ, know the works of Christ, and receive the good news of the Gospel. They will see the light of the fire of the Word burning within us.
James 1:17 - "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with who there is no variation or shadow of turning."
John 12:36a - "While you have the light, believe in the light, that you may become sons of light."
John 8:12 - "I am the light of the world. He who follows Me shall not walk in darkness, but have the light of life."
OIL AND FIRE DISPENSERS
Here we see Jesus in the midst of the seven golden lamps:
"Then I turned to see the voice that spoke with me. And having turned I saw seven golden lampstands, and in the midst of the seven lampstands One like the Son of Man, clothed with a garment down to the feet and girded about the chest with a golden band." Revelation 1:12, 13 The lampstands are allegorical representations of the Church, the Body of Christ, God's people, Believers in the Light.
He pours His oil and fire into us and we are the dispensers of the light! The lamp is not a light in itself; it's only the instrument for emitting the light. The lamp has to receive the oil and fire before it can dispense light. Christ pours the LIMITLESS oil of the anointing in us so that we can shine and burn continually and perpetually with the glory and love of the Lord to the world. As Jeremiah, we won't be able to hold the Light, the Word back! Thus, there's no limitation for the workings of Jesus through us because He's constantly pouring and pouring His workings in us -- the rich oil of His anointing for harvest.
"Seven" Biblically is completion, the ending of one thing, which means the start of a new thing.
Do you want consummation in your life of some things?
Do you want certain doors to close and new ones to open?
Are you tired of going around the same old mountain hoping to get to the top, but the obstacles hold you back?
This is the time to shake off the old and get ready for the new and for receiving the workings of Christ in us, for new beginnings, for this grand and mighty last days' anointing for harvest. It's not yesterday's oil, but fresh oil for today. It's abundant oil that will fill you constantly, and replenish yesterday's oil. It's faith and grace to walk in what's happening today -- Today! "You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill "cannot be hidden." - (Matthew 5:14)
We are a lamp, not hidden anymore, because He will fill us with the effectual workings of Christ -- the effectual WORD in us as a beacon to all who are in the world. "Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house." Matthew 5:15 As He went to the cross, Jesus said, I AM, I AM the LIGHT OF THE WORLD. He in US pours His workings into us to be that light. "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in Heaven" (Matthew 5:16). He's going to pour so much of Himself in us, that we won't be able to hold it back!
AFFIRMATIONS:
As God's child, believing in the Son, and with His Spirit in me, I have the light!
I am a son of Light!
The Lord of the harvest empowers me to harvest in desolate places to see His harvest.
I see God releasing me into MY DESTINY in Christ
ALBERT FINCH MINISTRY
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scrip-doodles · 1 year
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Buddy Daddies- The meeting
Here it is! My one-shot about my Buddy Daddies AU!! I prepared some doodles of Nightmare’s dress and Error’s suit! I’ll post the finished drawing when I’ll finish them.
Have a nice reading!!
Nightmare was already playing his plan in his head for the third time. Today was Gaster’s, the nation's first minister, birthday party. He and Error got commissioned to kill him, it needed to look like a murder but they couldn’t draw attention like Error liked to do. Nightmare’s partner really deserved the nickname of “The destroyer”.
Speaking of the devil, the black-boned skeleton was still watching Undernovela for what Nightmare believed to be the fourth hour.
“Still playing the plan in your head? How many times did you do this? Five?”  Error said not even looking at his partner.
“Three. But that’s not the point! What are you doing on the couch?! You need to get ready!”
Error groaned and whined at his boyfriend. He had no envy to go to that fancy party or to see any of those snooty people.
Nightmare prepared a cover for them. Tonight they will be a rich couple attending the party on the behalf of an old family. Nightmare prepared fake invitations so he forced the glitch to put a suit on and come with him. Urgh…
“I don’t wanna go! Why do I have to socialize with those abominations?!”
Nightmare sighed with his new lilac dress in his hands. If he hated this mission so much, why did he choose it? Sometimes Error was impossible to understand.
“Because the job you chose asks for discretion. So go put this damn suit on before we end up late.”
The destroyer groaned again but actually shut the TV down and went to the bathroom to get ready. Nightmare did the same in his room.
When his partner came back with a pissed expression and in the clothes, Nightmare chose for him, the skeleton in the dress smiled.
“It suits you well.”
The dark blue clothing accentuated Error’s blue pattern under his eyes and the blue strings the destroyer added to the tie were a really good touch.
“Well…The dress looks good on you too…” The black-boned skeleton added, a little blushing at his partner’s comment.
The assassin smiled and thanked him. It was true that the lilac dress looked nice on him. It matched his eye lights colors and it accentuated the silver aspect his bones could have with the moonlight. 
“Well if you’re ready then let’s go.”
Error suddenly got a predatory smile on his face.
“I can’t wait to see you go to an apeshit.” The destroyer said while Nightmare smiled more. He couldn’t wait either.
******
“Cross I’m hungry…” Horror whined in the arms of his older brother.
Cross hugged the three-year-old skeleton against his chest while Killer started searching for a fruit or anything that could ease the hunger of his younger brother.
“Me too Killer…” Dust said with a sleepy voice, rubbing his eye sockets as tired as he was.
“How about bananas?!” Killer exclaimed with a forced smile.
Their provisions’ reserves were getting low and soon they wouldn’t have anything left. A look from Cross made Killer realize how hard it was going to be if they didn’t find their dad quickly.
The orphanage where they were staying had always been poor but a week ago the manager told them to go away, back to their father that lived in a big city. Apparently, they didn’t have enough money to keep all of them. Killer seriously doubted that, he saw the teachers and manager drinking wine countless times. They weren’t that poor, they just didn’t want them anymore.
Such a stupid idea. Whoever told two four-year-olds to leave their home with two-three years old?! Chased away for money, the boys had no choice but to take the train to the city of their father. Killer hoped he was a kind man while Cross only wanted safety for them.
“Here, do you want me to peel it for you?”
Horror and Dust nodded and gave their meals to their older brothers. Cross helped Horror to eat because he was making a mess and they were short of tissues too.
“Ticket control!” The controller that suddenly entered their wagon exclaimed.
Killer groaned while Cross put Horror on the bench to talk to the adult in front of him. He was like a giant, at least three times his length.
“Our dad isn’t here for the moment but he’ll come back. It’s him who has the tickets.”
Dust put a piece of banana in KIller’s mouth before he shouted at the controller. He was well known to argue with adults especially when they were against him. Killer never admitted it when he was wrong and it didn’t always end well for them.
“I see! Well, tell him to go to me when he comes back, okay boys?” The controller said with a big smile.
“Of course! Don’t worry sir!” Cross exclaimed while the controller left their wagon.
Once the adult was out Cross hurried to pull four empty bottles out of his bag. 
“I’ll go fetch some water, you guys stay here. We’ll get out at the next station.”
Killer nodded and started packing everything. Blankets, toys, food, everything went back into Killer and Cross’s bags. Dust got up while Horror was putting his coat back.
“Killer, can you help me with the buttons?”
Killer grimaced when Horror asked that, Dust didn’t ask for it too but his face meant it. The older skeleton looked at the coat with a weird expression, he didn’t know how to button up a coat.
Luckily for him, Cross came back pretty quickly and he knew how to button up a coat or a shirt.
“Crossy help! It’s not a zip I can’t close it…”
 Cross hurried toward his brothers and helped them before turning to Killer. He was the only one to have a jacket with a zip so he had no problem getting ready.
Horror came to his brothers’ sides and put hats on their heads. They didn’t bother with scarves since none of them knew how to put them right.
“Alright let’s go. Be careful, we need to avoid the controller.” Cross said when the train suddenly stopped.
The four little kids tried to be as silent and discreet as ninjas, Killer even mimicked one to make his brothers laugh. With no controller in sight, they ran out of the train as fast as they could. When they finally stopped running they were in a crowded street with a lot of shops.
“Finally! We’re here! It’s dad city guys!” Killer exclaimed to his overjoyed brothers.
They traveled by train for a week to get here. Now they only needed to find their dad's hotel. The manager of the orphanage told them they would find him in Sorey’s hotel because he had a birthday party. Before they left the manager told them the name of the city and gave them their little bags.
“Let’s go see dad! I wanna meet him!” Dust exclaimed in a small voice.
Killer and Cross nodded before taking their younger brothers’ hands to go to the hotel. They were all so impatient to meet him!
******
Nightmare was drinking some champagne waiting for the right time when he’ll be able to pick up his order. A deadly poison for the first minister. Since the mission was supposed to be discreet he couldn’t just destroy everything with Error. For his partner's misery, they were going to be more cunning than violent.
A small yet bright light came into the assassin's eye sockets. Finally the signal he’s been waiting for an hour now! Error was right he needed to change his supplier. 
Nonchalantly Nightmare went to the corridor where he was supposed to meet Fresh, his drugs and poison supplier.
“You’re late. Again.” He said with a cold voice and his cyan eye focused on the skeleton in front of him.
When he was on a mission and needed to do some transaction with the mafia or other murderers, Nightmare took the habit to revert to another form. It helped him keep his identity a secret from the police and all kinds of dangerous people.
So right now he had a dark goop covering his body, a cyan eye, and four tentacles in his back. His ecto also took the cyan color of his eye light.
“Sorry Brah! They refused to let me in! Can you believe it, they told me I couldn’t get in with my clothes?!”
Nightmare took a look at Fresh’s clothes, they were as colorful as ever. Yeah…So surprising he had trouble getting into a rich politician’s party like that.
“Do you have what I wanted?”
“Yep! Deadly poison here you go!” Fresh exclaimed, throwing a small bottle at the assassin. “Gotta go Brah! See you later!” He added before running away when a footsteps noise resonated in the corridor.
Nightmare reverted into his passive form and hid the bottle in his bra, not sure of what was coming.
“Dad!!” A small shape screamed before trapping the assassin’s legs into a hug.
Nightmare stared at the little kid in front of him for a moment. Shocked, he didn't even say anything and soon the little skeleton hugging him was joined by three other ones.
“You found him Horror!” The one with black tears drooling on his face exclaimed cheerfully.
Why were they multiplying?! Why were they calling him dad?! He hadn’t slept with a stranger for years! But they clearly looked older than the time he stopped doing that. Error was going to kill him!
“Wait wait where are you coming from Kids?! What do you mean by dad?”
The one with a red scar under one of his eyes came in front of him and with a bright smile he gave him an envelope. Inside was a letter telling him he was their dad and they all have different mothers but that none of them wanted anything to do with the kids.
“The orphanage manager told us our dad was a skeleton with bright white bones and purple eyes! And that he’ll be at tonight's birthday party!”
Nightmare was reading the letter again and again, his name was nowhere so even if the description fitted him, he had a hard time believing it.
“How can you be so sure it’s me? There must be another person here who feet the description!”
That seemed to be the wrong thing to say because the kids started crying and begging him to not abandon them. Stars… What was he supposed to do now…?
“Hey!! What are you doing here?! It’s a private area!” A human in a black suit screamed with a gun in his hands.
Dammit! The security! If they checked on him, they would see the poison and he would be in a lot of trouble.
Keeping the kids close to him, Nightmare was about to prepare himself for a new fight but then sharp blue strings cut the man in two. Nightmare only got enough time to revert to his other form and hide the children’s eyes with his tentacles.
“Which part of discreet didn’t you get Error?!”
“Yeah, I would have preferred, thank you Error.” The destroyer said, pouting at his boyfriend's reaction.
“Woaw! Dad, you have the same dark goop as me!!” One of the eldest kids said pointing at his black tears. It was true that the substance looked the same.
Nightmare was about to say something when his partner suddenly crashed and started rebooting without any warning. Dammit! He should have known it.
“Kids, listen it’s dangerous to stay here, some other guys like this one are going to come. Go hide somewhere and we’ll discuss later.”
“No! If you want us to hide you have to catch us first!” The one with black tears exclaimed before running away with his brothers.
“Get back here, it's not a game!!” Nightmare screamed but too late, the kids were already gone.
The moment Error came back to his senses, more security guards came up. Nightmare could say goodbye to his elaborate plan. They were going to do it the Error's way now.
Speaking of the devil, the destroyer didn’t lose his time starting killing the enemies, even if he hadn’t forgotten what he just saw.
“Night when we go home we’re gonna talk about this and I’m warning you if I can’t get my cat you can’t get your kids!” He exclaimed with three men in his grip.
“Seriously?! I’m learning that I’m possibly the father of four kids and you're still thinking about that damn stray cat from last week?!”
“She wasn’t just a stray cat and you know it!”
Nightmare groaned and with a sigh started helping his boyfriend get rid of the guards. He needed to hurry, there were a lot of them and he needed to find the kids and kill his target.
******
Horror was running with his brothers with a big smile on his face. They found their dad and he was awesome. He looked like a princess but was super strong like a dragon! He even had another form to fight like the hero he saw on TV!
“Do you think dad will find us quickly?” He asked his older brothers.
“No way! I’m the best at hide and seek!” Killer exclaimed, still running, holding Dust’s hands. 
“Are we sure he is our dad? He didn’t seem aware of our existence.” Cross pointed, not as sure as his brothers about this man's identity. 
Killer, Dus, and Horror stopped in front of a big room full of people. They were all looking at Cross with sad expressions.
“Why do you mean Crossy? He’s clearly our dad! He has purple eyes, white bones, and even the same goop as me!” Killer exclaimed before getting into the big room.
“Yeah, the manager simply forgot to tell him we were coming.” Horror added as he agreed with Killer.
They ran for a moment and like all of them started to get tired they decided to hide in this huge room where everybody seemed to be meeting. Cross tried to see another person that could fit the description given by the orphanage manager but there wasn’t anyone else with purple eyes. In fact, there weren't a lot of skeletons at all at that party.
When finally the young boy noticed another skeleton monster with purple eyes he ran toward him. Maybe his brothers were right about the other man but he needed to check. They couldn’t make any mistake on something like that.
When he was right next to the adult with purple eyes, people in the room started panicking and running away in screams. The four-year-old started looking for his brothers, worried about them and clearly scared. Why were those people running and screaming like that?
When he finally noticed them he sighed, relieved. They were okay in a corner of the room. Behind a huge table was his maybe-dad and the black-boned skeleton from earlier. They were hiding from the bullet shot of the guns. What was going on?
He clenched to the tall adult with purple eyes next to him and started whimpering against his will. It was scary! He wanted his dad, he wanted to go away from here! Maybe this man, that could be his dad, would help him if he asked him.
“H-Hi! Are you our dad…?” He asked with a wavering voice.
The man suddenly grabbed him and pointed a bone against the little skeleton’s skull. He looked furious and way scarier than the other guy.
“If you try anything I’ll kill this damn kid!”
Cross looked at his brothers more scared than ever, he didn’t want to die! Horror and Dust didn’t seem to understand anything but they could read the fear on his and Killer’s face. Why did he go next to this man and ask him that?! 
The man with tentacles and goop had disappeared, there was only the black-boned skeleton and he was smiling. Cross didn’t understand. Why did he have to die, he was a good brother! He didn’t want to be killed by someone like that! 
Scared, the little skeleton closed his eyes, not wanting to see his end come to him.
Suddenly the shadow under the adult’s feet started moving on its own and the man with tentacles emerged from it with a hateful expression. His tentacles sharpened out of a sudden and stabbed Cross’s captor right into the soul.
“Stay the fuck away from my sons!” Nightmare hissed with more anger than he ever felt in his life.
The assassin took the kid in his arms and kept him close to his chest while Error was getting rid of the other abominations that were preventing them from getting out of there. Nightmare hurried to get to the other kids and took them all in his arms before he reverted to his passive form. They needed to get out of there with the other guest if they didn’t want to drag any unwanted attention on them. 
Fortunately for Error and him, all of the kids closed their eyes when he killed the first minister. It would have caused them more trouble if they told the police by accident.
“Error I’m taking the kids away, you think you can manage to escape on your own?!”
Error nodded and started wiping the dust off his clothes before escaping by the window like the crazy man he was. Now that his boyfriend was out of the police’s way, Nightmare could get out with the kids safely. 
“Dad, thank you for saving me!!” The kid with a red scar exclaimed. He really needed to ask them their name…
Nightmare softly kissed the child's forehead and started running to the exit where thousands of people were gathered with the police. They were obviously trying to evacuate the civilians but were taking their phone numbers to interrogate them later.
“Nightmare! Thank god you’re okay!!” One of the policemen screamed before hugging the murderer.
“Dream!! You’re here too!”
The policeman with golden eye lights stared at the kids that Nightmare was carrying. They were shaking and curling up in his arms, poor things…
“Brother I was so worried when I saw your name on the invitation papers! Why do you have so many kids in your arms? Are you okay? Are they okay?! We called an ambulance just in case I can help you to go with them!”
“No no Dream I’m okay, the kids are okay too. Just a bit scared by the events… I was invited by a friend of Error but I had no idea it could have ended like this! I heard there was a terrorist attack, is that true?!” Nightmare said lying to his brother.
Dream had no idea he and Error were murderers.  He appeared to be at the wrong place at the wrong time for Nightmare so it was better to just lie and pretend not to know anything of the attack.
“Oh stars, I'm so glad you’re okay!” Dream exclaimed, hugging his twin tighter. “But who are those kids?”
“Dad, can we go home, please? It’s scary here…” One of the youngest said with a little voice, it was the one with a hole in his skull. Why was there a hole in his skull dammit!
Dream started looking at his twin brother with a shocked and amazed expression. He also looked a little hurt but Nightmare put it on the fact that he probably thought he never told him about the kids.
“Dream I’ll explain everything to you later but for now can I go home? They need to rest.”
“Oh! Of course! Come with me I know a shortcut to avoid the crowd, I know you hate it.” 
Nightmare thanked his brother and got out of the building with his help. Dream accompanied him to his car and helped him to attach the kids, which was kinda difficult without any baby seat.
The murderer wished his twin a good night and after a last hug, he started driving their way back home where the kids could start to get some sleep.
When they arrived home Nightmare noticed that Error was already home and in front of the TV checking the news for some info.
“You’re okay! You didn’t answer my SMS so I thought something might have happened to you.” His partner said, getting up to join him in the corridor.
“I’m fine don’t worry, I met Dream when I tried to get out with the kids,” The murderer said when he softly dropped them on the couch. They all fell asleep in the car and were way quieter than before.
“So we’re parents now? That is an unexpected thing.” 
Nightmare sighed and get the letter the kids gave him out of his pocket to give it to his boyfriend.
“I think their father was Gaster but I kinda killed him so they’re all alone…We can’t leave them like this Ru. Their orphanage threw them away and their mothers refuse to have anything to do with them.”
“If it can reassure you I don’t think their father would have taken care of them, he even nearly killed one of them. I guess they can stay with us but if Dream knows about them we need to do things right and go back to that orphanage and really adopt them. That is if you want to raise those four little monsters with me.”
Nightmare jumped into his partner's arms with a bright smile that melted the destroyer’s heart.
“Of course I do, idiot! Thank you Error it means a lot to me…”
“Yeah yeah I know but don’t forget about my cat I still want it back.” The black-boned skeleton said blushing.
And with that, the two murderers and lovers became the happy parents of four little skeletons full of energy. Oh and a cat too. 
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