ichorydock

[ichorydock]

And the moment, she thinks, is gone.

Filia’s arms come loose easy; she is not one to hold the unwilling, and Xelloss, frustrated and undone, is not one to be restrained.

But damn her, she almost wanted him to stay. And it’s those qualifiers that make their uneasy, liminal bed--almost, what-if, supposing and guessing and undermining her own conclusions because when has he ever been something to be understood? And if he remains a mystery, how is she to ever know what she wants from him?

There had been a time that wanting from him had been laughable. Dangerous. Repulsive. But she does not think that he would lay himself bare in this way only to fool her. Xelloss has his pride, after all. And it makes her wonder--what does he want from her?

For it is certainly something more than it had been before. More than the paltry, shallow outrage of an irritated blood feud. The earliest occasion she remembers knowing him, unexpectedly, as if he were not merely a masked pawn playing to the gullibility of mortals but something that could be moved--why, she’d annoyed him.

They had chased each others’ goats ever since, rumble-tumble into a veritable two-person war at once centuries old and young as two petulant children brawling in the mud.

A mutual fascination.

Impersonal as a grudge.

Intimate as asking her how it would all unfold if he were to change the careful dance of the two of them, irrevocably.

She huffs, shrinking against the cluttered desk where he’d pressed against her only moments before. She doesn’t know her own feelings any better for chasing them. But certainty is a luxury when it comes to Xelloss.

“This might be a first for you,” she mutters, voice uncharacteristically quiet, nails digging into her arms through the sleeves of her blouse. “But the rest of us are at a loss quite often. And do you know what we do, Xelloss?”

Wide blue eyes survey his frazzled fury through a crest of pale lashes. He is breathless, sweating, voice cracking with frustration. It is strangely, frighteningly beautiful.

“We learn.”

@xxelloss

[[ continued from X ]]

Xellos tumbles into minutia, into excess and into terror the way that he so often inspires in others–a stumbling mess of uncertainty and speaking faster than he can think, she thinks, spinning scenarios and what-ifs and he’s scaring her, not for any fear for her own safety but because this is not the composed monster she knows and understands.

What did I say? What did I do?

She is afraid for him because something she said or did must have undone him and she doesn’t want that, can’t comprehend it because Xellos is everything she isn’t–sturdy and unwavering against all odds, despite everything he pretends; she knows his fickleness is dependable, and his disloyalty loyal.

Why, then?

His hands string through fine, fair hair and she jerks involuntarily, feels chills all down her spine and it calls forth everything she’s been working so hard to ignore, because he excites her and arouses her to things above and beyond the flesh.

Xellos makes Filia feel alive.

“Kiss me! How very dare you!” she cries, lips trembling, eyes wet. “How dare you; you’re exactly as you always are, taking everything about me and using it against me, Xellos; I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

Doubt is nestled piping hot, so hot it burns cold in her breast, stings like her words, and can she trust him can she trust those piercing eyes can she trust his desperation, his hunger, the absolute way he is begging her to let him understand?

In the silence that follows, broken only by haggard breathing, it is the eye of a storm, and slowly, as if underwater, Filia weaves her arms about Xellos’s neck and leans in–chest still heaving, teeth dug tight into her bottom lip and, then, gracing it with release and a soft sucking sound; her cheeks are hot and her ears hotter, but for the first time in their lives together, Xellos is beckoning, and she is entranced.

He has asked her what she would do, and it seems as if it matters.

She pauses just short of his mouth.

“What will I do?” she murmurs, lashes fluttering. “What will I do?”

[ichorydock]

With one word--one word, and a cacophonous meld of circumstance and context--Xellos has upped the anti, slammed everything she couldn’t say onto the proverbial poker table.

Home.

Because, yes--she thinks of this as home, now. The quarrels and the blood and the trampled tomato plants; all of it is home, and home isn’t home without his godless ass on her couch or his wan lips against hers and his gloved fingers around the handle of one of her many, many Xellos-safe teacups.

And though he has never led her to believe in this, home isn’t home, cannot be the home she has decided she wants--and Filia always goes for what she wants, ruthlessly, without err, like a one-track-minded bull in a china shop--without Xellos defending it alongside her.

And Filia knows this is too much to ask of him. She wonders if the compromise is too much to ask of herself.

She shifts her attention elsewhere for now. “’Cherish’,” she says simply, genuine disbelief crossing her features. “What could you possibly--no,” she finally amends, switching tracks. “What could you possibly want to destroy about yourself? You? You’re made of pride--not an ounce of self-doubt or weakness in any astral particle of you! What would--”

She stops, then--wonders if he will answer as she just has, in her own mind.

[ichorydock]

Filia is thoroughly unaware of just how comfortable and well-placed Xellos feels in her own home, the cottage she built with her own two hands (and the hands of Gravos and Jillas) to house her and her makeshift family, her son, her business and her passions, her tea and her baking, her love and her fury.

She built this home to house her and all that she is, and, unwittingly, she made room in it for him--in the myriad of teacups she knew would be broken, in the small but significant collection of magic books she’s salvaged from the temple but has little use for, in the double bed that she sleeps in, alone and small, every night.

“’Pain’,” she breathes with a watery laugh, as he grips her wrist in delicate fingers, “is the dragon word for 'sacrifice’ and ‘waste’; but I like yours more. You almost make it sound pretty. Almost. I can’t believe it, but it sounds nicer when you put it that way.”

And she pulls her hands to her face and sobs. Just a moment-- and then he speaks again, moving her hand to his gaping wound that feels of cold and nothingness, that brings her to the reality that he is an extra-planar being, that she is mortal and he is not and for one reason or another he is here regardless.

In his weakest state.

He trusts her.

He does not merely think her too weak to be a threat.

“You want that?” she chokes out, putting her other hand to his cheek. “You want something authentic? What are you doing, Xellos? Why aren’t you somewhere recovering? Are you out of your mind?”

There’s little bite to her words, only incredulity, concern, and a smidge of hope.

[ichorydock]

Filia is, dare she admit, almost grateful for Xellos’s awful response.

There is a careful dance they have waltzed, tangoed and jenga’d for as long as she can remember; a dance of irritability and antagonism, of sexual tension and dichotomy. Things were solitary, once upon a time, and then they weren’t, and she grew comfortable with this.

Now, things are changing, and Filia is as careful and obstinate against them doing so as ever.

Things are blurring. Things are not so black and white, and Xellos is ever the more dangerous when he’s not necessarily so.

Filia shrieks with mild displeasure and indignation, moving automatically, then wishing she had stayed put almost immediately after. She, in fact, says so.

“Oh, I wish I hadn’t moved! Maybe the eventual loss of foot would have humbled you!” she harumphs, folding her arms and looking away before searching for her trowel again, entirely unremembering of where it might be.

Xellos can be sweet, and, indeed, even in his awfulness, he is so--and it will take Filia a while to acclimate. He knows this, and he teases her as much as for her sake as his--and this infuriates her all the more.

They’re perfect for each other.

[ichorydock]

[ichorydock]

Dutch longsword fencer Tosca Beuming

Photographed by Martin Philippo and Andress Kools

[ichorydock]

wildflower by  liana ryapolov

[ichorydock]

Send “I’ve got you” to help my muse wash off blood from their body

[ichorydock]

Post-Fight Sentence Starters

Requested by Anonymous

“Are you okay?” 

“Do you have any bandages?”

“That doesn’t look good.” 

“Did you pick a fight with a bear?!”

“I’m /fine/!” 

“You don’t look ‘fine’ to me!” 

“That was a nasty scuffle…” 

“Let me see your ___.” 

“Can you help me?”

“You’re bleeding!” 

“I think I got some glass in my hands.” 

“Who did you pick a fight with this time?” 

“Did you win?”

“Looks like you were on the losing end of a dog fight.” 

“You should see the other guy.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” 

“Things… got out of hand…” 

“What the hell happened?!” 

“Please tell me you’re still breathing.”

“I’m going to give them a piece of my mind for what they did to you!” 

“I can’t promise nothing is broken.” 

“It’s not what it looks like.” 

“Would you believe that I fell down some stairs?” 

Should I be worrying about seeing you in the news for a homicide?” 

“That’s… a lot of blood.” 

“All this blood isn’t mine, I swear.” 

“What did you do this time?” 

Send 🔪+ a sentence of your own!

[ichorydock]

Started in on coloring this, but eh. 

[ichorydock]

A really rough sketch that serves as Proof That I’m Actually A Professional Artist Who Sometimes Deigns To Fuckin Draw™. 

Will I ink and color this? Well, someone poke me and order me to, and I might. 

I dedicate this terrible prep sketch to the god of all xelfi, @llybian, and to @ichorydock who regularly enables my hyperfixation on 90′s anime otp’s. 

[ichorydock]

@xxelloss

[ continued from X ]

Filia starts to protest as Xellos, ever a beacon of discord and a harbringer of destruction, tramples a singular tomato vine, but falls silent as he kneels before her.

The plucking of a singular seed from her hands is such an intimate act that her fingers twitch as his brush them, and her eyes flick between the seed and his violet irises so frequently that she loses herself for a moment.

And suddenly he is touching her again, his lips on hers, his fingers to her cheek, and it’s the most innocent, gentle gesture she’s ever received or witnessed from him.

“My trowel,” she murmurs, in the breath he leans away, but nods, lashes fluttering closed just before his mouth finds hers again.

“I’m afraid that if I answer you, you--you or me or the universe will conspire to ruin it all, the way it always does,” Filia sighs, resting her forehead against Xellos’s for just a moment of vulnerability, a moment of letting her guard down--too shy to indulge his sincere what-ifs, instead letting herself enjoy a moment that feels almost sweet, if incomplete--if scandalously unspoken.

Before one of them ruins it.

[ichorydock]

@xxelloss

[ continued from X ]

Filia open and closes her mouth, wordless, for a good half minute or so. She is dumbstruck, and disgusted, and grateful, and a myriad of other things. But, true to the pride and frustration that comes with knowing and being indebted to him, she does not give him the satisfaction, instead fretting over his wound before huffing and leaving to grab the first aid kit, knowing full well it’s a useless endeavor.

“You’ll not be sleeping on the couch so long as you acknowledge that you frequently make stupid decisions when it comes to me!” she growls, unpacking the kit. “You’ll not be sleeping on the couch if you apologize and admit to letting yourself get hurt instead of just talking to me about the danger because you knew I’d be angry and you knew we could fight over this!”

She sniffs and reaches up to aggressively rub her arm across her watery eyes.

[ichorydock]

     Soft and Affectionate

     send in a symbol for some affectionate interactions

😘 - your muse kisses mine (mun can decide where) 😙 - my muse kisses yours (mun can decide where) ❤ - our muses snuggle on the sofa 💜 - our muses dance together 💙 - your muse reads to mine 💚 - my muse reads to yours 💛 - our muses nap in the sun together 💐 - your muse brings mine flowers 🌷 - my muse brings yours flowers 🍛 - your muse makes mine their favorite food 🍝 - my muse makes yours their favorite food 🍜 - your muse takes care of mine while they’re sick 🍲 - my muse takes care of yours while they’re sick 🍨 - our muses share a sundae 🍼 - our muses snuggle with a child 🌟 - our muses cuddle up and stargaze ⚡ - our muses hide under covers from a storm ❄ - our muses watch the snow fall together 🔥 - our muses curl up by the fire 💧 - our muses dance in the rain 🎫 - our muses watch a movie together 🎁 - your muse buys mine a present 🎀 - my muse buys yours a present 🎵 - your muse sings to mine 🎶 - my muse sings to yours 🛁 - our muses bathe together

[ichorydock]

credit .

‘ did it really happen if i can’t remember it ? ’ ‘ but you kept trying , didn’t you ? ’ ‘ how can someone be too young to be in love ? ’ ‘ i will never forgive you ’ ‘ you have been the star of each and every one of my nightmares ’ ‘ i’m sorry if i wasn’t the child you had in mind ’ ‘ i only ever wanted to make you proud ’ ‘ silence has always been my loudest scream ’ ‘ i used to think i was broken ’ ‘ i’ve always felt like a stranger in my skin ’ ‘ i still wonder who i would have been ’ ‘ i didn’t realize i could be my own knight ’ ‘ i’m not scared of the monsters hidden underneath my bed ’ ‘ some names will always be cursed ’ ‘ i have so much love to give , but no one ever wants it ’ ‘ in all my dreams i could find myself picking my teeth out of the carpet ’ ‘ i’m sick to death of everyone telling me how strong i am ’ ‘ death is one of the senses ’ ‘ children are not meant to die before their parents ’ ‘ fate is a fucking lie ’ ‘ everyone i love leaves ’ ‘ i’m terrified down to my very roots that there are parts of myself that can never be filled ’ ‘ fuck the idea that there is such a thing as destiny ’ ‘ the pain did not make me a better person ’ ‘ i burned the bridges to all the things i could not repair ’ ‘ i would thank you , but we both know you don’t deserve it ’ ‘ i bet you regret making an enemy out of me ’ ‘ you can hate me forever if that’s what you really want ’ ‘ hurting others is a choice ’ ‘ you can have my forgiveness but you can’t have me ’ ‘ please believe me when i say revenge was never my intention ’ ‘ i am strong enough for anything ’ ‘ i am so glad we were born during the same lifetime ’ ‘ i may not believe in fate , but i believe in you ’ ‘ i am allowed to live my life ’ ‘ do not waste a minute mourning me ’ ‘ maybe you should start treating people better for a change ’ ‘ it is a fucking tragedy when the world does not stop for you when you give it every last drop of your blood ’ ‘ your failures are just what happened — they don’t have to be who you are ’ ‘ you have to keep moving forward ’ ‘ don’t allow the world to take your kindness ’ ‘ you owe no one your forgiveness ’ ‘ love is never a weakness ’

[ichorydock]

@xxelloss

[ continued from X ]

Filia cannot believe what she is hearing.

Hers and Xellos’s ‘relationship’, if you could call it such, has been a wonky, topsy-turvy mess of confusion and unspoken miscellaneous trite for as long as she can remember, and their having complicated it as of recently hasn’t done much to change that, even if it’s changed everything else.

And Filia hates herself for having had expectations of this man. This... demon.

“Miss Filia! Oh, isn’t that rich!” she exclaims, dried blood still crusted on her cheek, cracking under the way her mouth moves so incredulously. “Go on! Call upon that much-needed acquaintanceship when it best suits you, call upon anything else whenever you like!”

She takes in a deep, shuddering breath and turns away, arms crossed, nails digging deep into her skin.

“My abilities to protect my son,” she hisses through gritted teeth, “are not a part of this conversation--You wanted this, right? You wanted me. Well, I’m not a toy for play time, Xellos! If I say I need you... shouldn’t that be enough for you to understand?”

Words are tumbling out of her mouth faster than she can articulate thought, and it’s crushing her because this man, this monster, is such a carefully constructed machine of banter and semantics and she’ll never, ever get away with being so un-composed around him. He’ll never take her seriously, especially not when she asks him to.

She twitches towards the exit, the very thought almost too much to contend with, to try for.

[ichorydock]

{ Place One in My Inbox - Questions Edition }