#Brave Intuitive Painting

[vedicastrology-thestarsguideyou]

Vedic Remedies & healing approach towards energies of planets.

🌙Monday - Ruled by Moon.

🤍Start a day with a spoon of curd.

🤍Meditate for 10 mins.

🤍Sing om Namah Shivaya .

🤍Wear white colored clothes .

🤍 Flow white flowers, white rice into water to balance your mind & get the benefits of moon.

🤍 Feel your feminine side and acknowledge it's beauty & sacredness. Honor your emotional needs , feel , flow & create .

🤍 Love and allow yourself to receive, to be loved in return too.

Tuesday - Ruled by Mars.

🔥Do some workout, exercise, gym , running or yoga .

🔥Wear red colored clothes to energise yourself of this energy.

🔥 Acknowledge your & others wrong doings and let it help you create healthy boundaries for yourself.

🔥 Stand up for the right causes , for your & others well being. Be courageous enough to have faith in yourself.

🔥Cut off unhealthy habits , thought processes & unhealthy relationships. And be brave enough to accept your mistakes too.

🔥Run , shake your body , write an angry letter ( do not send it ) & burn it. Maintain an healthy outlet for your anger . It has it's right & necessary own place. 🌸

🔥Donate red lentils , red flowers into a river or ocean .

☘️Wednesday - Ruled by Mercury.

💚Wear green colored clothes more . Write , read & knit.

💚Do some puzzles .

💚Connect with your sisters and siblings , friends. Laughter & light-heartedness. Sing.

💚Flow green coloured clothes , green dal into a river , ocean.

💚Spend some time with mother nature , greenery.

⚜️Thursday ruled by Jupiter.

💛Pray , connect with your higher self. Read spiritual texts.

💛Be kind to yourself and others.

💛Feel gratitude genuinely for even little things. Meditate , go to a temple or a high spiritual energy place.

💛Wear something new ;). Wear yellow colored clothes or accessories to increase its essence.

💛Respect yourself & everyone.

💛Remember your Guru in your heart.

💛Feel the golden energy totally engulfing you. Feel hope for yourself.

💛Flow yellow colored flowers , yellow dal into rivers , ocean etc.

🕊️Friday ruled by Venus.

🌸Deeply appreciate yourself, your inner heart , inner self , talents , physical appearance. Self care day. Sing , dance , create , paint , feel beautiful.

🌸Meditate, sit in silence, connect with your true self :). Pray to female deities.

🌸Spend quality time with your female friends. Dive into your intuition & feminine spirit.

🌸Wear a flower in your hair . Jasmine fragrance. White or pink clothes.

🌸Accept yourself, acknowledge your light & dark side and forgive yourself.

🌸Lighter & brighter.

🌸Flow white flowers , white colored clothes, ghee etc into an ocean or river to balance it's energy.

Saturday ruled by Saturn 🪐

💙Light a sesame oil diya / lamp 🪔 .

💙Give yourself a sesame oil massage.

💙Keep yourself accountable and be impartial. Follow the right path of karma.

💙 Embody more self discipline in life. Respect people who work below your designations , bosses .

💙Donate to orphanges & old age homes.

💙Have a healthy sense of responsibility towards yourself and others.

💙Believe in higher justice power of the universe.

💙Work hard and learn to be patient with yourself & others.

💙Maintain Persistence , acknowledge your & others hardships and also grow through them so that you get the true gift of maturity.

💙Value time , efforts . Face your fears , accept your shortcomings and smile because you are still valuable & beautiful with it :).

💙Small menial work is no less a job. Respect your servants . Follow your ethics.

💙Be true 🙂

💙Feed food to black dogs.

💙Flow , black dal into a river or ocean.

Sunday ruled by sun.

☀️Give Surya jal to early rising sun.

☀️Acknowledge your divinity & true essence.

☀️Feel gratitude for the energy of sun that gives everyone its light & love.

☀️Create something, laugh & have fun.

☀️Wear red . Feel gratitude for the masculine energies within you.

☀️Spend some quality time with your father or father like figures or our universal father - the sun god.

☀️Perform , theatre acting, center stage singer of your room , innovative and be an authority unto your own self. Choose a Nobel path.

☀️Eat jaggery .

☀️Flow wheat grains ,jaggery into ocean , rivers etc.

PS : whenever you flow these specific items into rivers or oceans , you are balancing off your negative energies.

Thus be grateful and pray to your source of faith or Deity Varun Dev ( god of water & much more ) for his help & love 💕

DM to book a reading with me 🌻

[1111jenx]

Full Moon Child☾ through the 12 signs🤍

— In celebration of the ethereal Blue Full Moon in Pisces, it's undeniable that its extremely important to acknowledge the significance of one's moon phase. Born under the Full Moon? It's as if you wear the cloak of both the sun's radiant gaze and the opposing moon's sultry embrace, weaving a tapestry of conscious will and subconscious yearnings.

Every zodiac, with its unique essence, drapes the Full Moon with a distinct allure. Imagine, a Pisces Full Moon bestowing someone with a depth of intuition, as if they're dancing on the blurred line between dreams and reality, painting their world with artistic strokes and spiritual hues. Meanwhile, the Aries Full Moon might breathe fire into the soul, igniting passion, spontaneity, and a path-blazing spirit. To recognize and immerse in the rhythm of one's Full Moon sign is like unraveling a song of strengths, challenges, and harmonies within.

With that being said, wait no further, lets dive right in💜!

🌕 Full Moon in Aries Moon: Fiery and spontaneous but always looking for that equal. Quick to act but deeply feels the need for balance. Seems aggressive, but it's nothing but passion burning from within their heart. Wants to lead, but deeply needs that one partner-in-crime by their side. Brave and unstoppable. Prefers deep, meaningful connections over surface-level relationships. Would fight for what’s right, even if it means standing alone. A warrior with a sensitive core.

🌕 Full Moon in Taurus Moon: Grounded, but with a mysterious edge. A solid rock but don't mistake them for being mundane. Love luxury, but transformation excites them even more. These people see calm yet only they feel the storm from within. They're all about roots, but sometimes they crave to fly. Protective of their own, cross them, and watch the calm turn tempestuous. Charitable and loving, but not one to forget betrayal.

🌕 Full Moon in Gemini Moon: Forever curious, with depths people often overlook. Quick wit hidden behind a facade of playful banter. Always learning, always restless. Lover of tales, yet constantly seeking truth. Smart in crowded rooms but feels everything in solitude. Can talk for hours, yet holds back the most vital stories. An open book with some pages glued together.

🌕 Full Moon in Cancer Moon: Deeply emotional but with towering ambitions. Home is where the heart is, but success calls out loudly. Nurturer, yet constantly seeking validation in professional realms. Strongly rooted in tradition, but innovation is genuinely where they shine. Trust them to hold your secrets, but be aware that they've got vaults of their own. Feels everything intensely, yet presents a composed front. A true master of their emotions.

🌕 Full Moon in Leo Moon: Born for the spotlight, yet truly values the collective. Radiates warmth, but not without moments of icy detachment when they simply just need to be by themself to just feel. People think they know them, but there's so much beneath the surface. A cheerleader for others but their own harshest critic. Life of the party or the silent observer, there’s no in-between to be honest. Embraces individuality but deeply feels the world's pulse, every tingling seconds of it.

🌕 Full Moon in Virgo Moon: Analytical, with a dash of whimsy. Details matter, but they get lost in dreams. They'll correct your mistakes but with a twinkle in their eye. Grounded but constantly touched by the ethereal. In their eyes, theres beauty hidden in every day life. They’ll say it like it is, but only because they care deeply. Organization is their game, but occasionally they let chaos reign.

🌕 Full Moon in Libra Moon: All about balance, but swings between extremes. Charmer but secretly questions every relationship's depth. Seems calm, but the scales constantly tip inside. They could be the voice of reason or the spark of chaos. Seeks harmony but won't shy away from a duel. Gracious host but fiercely protective of their space.

🌕 Full Moon in Scorpio Moon: Magnetic, with an undercurrent of intensity. Deep waters run still, but currents are tumultuous beneath. Attracts with a gaze, but holds back many secrets. Draws you in, but sets boundaries like no other. Depth intrigues them, superficiality repels. They’re the storm you never saw coming.

🌕 Full Moon in Sagittarius Moon: Wanderer with roots. They'll tell tales of far-off lands but crave the familiar. Philosophical yet grounded in reality. Yearns for adventure, but treasures moments of stillness. They're the storyteller you can't stop listening to. Fiery passion with an old soul's wisdom.

🌕 Full Moon in Capricorn: Ambitious with a touch of nostalgia. Climbs mountains but cherishes the base camp. Seeks recognition but values genuine connections more. Strong and silent, but an emotional depth many overlook. They'll lead the way, but not without their tribe. The unsung hero with a heart of gold.

🌕 Full Moon in Aquarius Moon: Innovative, with a touch of tradition. Forward-thinking but respects the old ways. Charms effortlessly, but holds the inner circle tight. Believes in the future but honors the past. They're the genius with quirks. Dreamer with feet firmly on the ground in the most fascinating way possible.

🌕 Full Moon in Pisces Moon: Dreamy with a razor-sharp intuition. Feels the world's pulse, yet dances to their own rhythm simply because, they can. Embraces emotions, yet has an uncanny logical side. They’re the artist who sees the world in vivid colors. Deeply empathetic, yet occasionally distant. They're there, but also everywhere else in between. The poet whose words touch the soul.

love,

saint jenx🪐

© 2023 Saintz Jenx All Rights Reserved

[kyrieren]

Umbrella vs. Rain: The Driving Forces of Saezuru (3)

Note: my analysis relies heavily on visual elements

III. Aiai gasa (相合傘) - Under the shield of love

"相合傘 - Aiai-gasa" is a combination of the word "相合 - Aiai" - doing something together, and the word "傘 - gasa" - umbrella. Literally, it refers to the act of two people sharing an umbrella. However, as the word "Ai" is homophonic with "愛 - Ai" - love, "Aiai-gasa" connotes a derivative meaning: Love Umbrella. In "Saezuru", empathy and love are the umbrella that shields characters from the rain (or I believe so).

Yashiro vs. Mother & Child

The five panels on this page vividly embody the adage "A picture is worth a thousand words." Following Yashiro's forceful removal of Doumeki from the car, a profoundly expressive and iconic scene unfolds. The stark contrast presented is striking: Yashiro isolated in the car versus the Mother & Child duo outside, together under the rain. While Yashiro remains sheltered within the car, impervious from the rain, Mother & Child rely solely on an umbrella for protection. Yet side by side, the prowess of their bond shines through against the glooming backdrop. Their love acts as an impenetrable shield, leaving them unscathed. In stark contrast, Yashiro, who has just pushed away the person he loves and loves him back for mutual protection, finds himself alone. Despite the physical safety of the car, the rain metaphorically pierces through him in the darkness. It’s not the umbrella itself, it’s love that defends people against the rain. Yashiro has never had love before, but as soon as he has, he’s got no other choice than to let it go. That look in his eyes gives a mix of tragic resignation to his fate, the paradoxical coexistence of envy over and disdain for love, and the determination to give up love.

Fortunately, Doumeki refuses to give up on Yashiro, despite his cruel words. He quickly returns, bringing along an umbrella and water for medicine. His determination to stand by Yashiro's side and shield him is palpable. As soon as he enters, the car is brightened up and the rain retreats back to be outside of the car.

In this scene, Doumeki's arrival with the umbrella not only shields Yashiro from the rain's darkness but also symbolizes his loving presence guarding Yashiro off from his turmoil.

Although Yashiro may not yet be brave enough to acknowledge or confront his feelings, his expression subtly transforms from a frown in the first panel to something softer in the last. This instant change reveals the other side of Yashiro genuinely doesn't protest Doumeki's return, hinting at a hidden vulnerability beneath his tough exterior."

2. Moratorium

This cover is the scenery illustration of an extra where Yashiro has Doumeki run an errand to buy him an umbrella. For Yoneda sensei never half-asses anything, I'd like to take an approach regarding the characters' setting and the story's developments on this painting.

This marks the beginning of Yashiro and Doumeki's journey towards each other, as Doumeki endeavors to stand by Yashiro's side. Amidst the pouring rain, their bare heads stand out starkly in a sea of umbrellas, emphasizing the pain they both endure. In the bustling crowd, Yashiro remains motionless, a solitary figure amidst the chaos. The red light he is leaning against represents his childhood trauma and the yakuza world. Literally and metaphorically, Yashiro can't go even if he wants to. Yashiro's relaxed posture against the crimson glow signifies his reluctant acceptance of his date, a tragic resignation to his circumstances.

On the other side, Doumeki opts not to shield himself with the umbrella he carries and dashes to Yashiro with big strides. This bold act underscores Doumeki's unwavering commitment to protecting Yashiro, even at the cost of his own comfort and well-being. He willingly discards himself. That's why it doesn't end well.

3. Not yet Aiai gasa (相合傘)

When Doumeki returns, Yashiro's intuition clicks when he sees only one umbrella with him, but screws the idea of Aiai gasa right away by forsaking Doumeki drenched in the rain.

The 7th and 8th panel summarizes Saezuru until the end of the Hirata's arc - Yashiro pushes him away through assault, while Doumeki endures it all to remain by Yashiro's side. Aiai saga is meant to be two people under the umbrella, not one. Ironically, despite their deep affection and fierce desire to protect each other, their relationship falters due to a lack of mutual commitment to being together. Another significant contributing factor is their profoundly low self-esteem: Yashiro, feeling undeserving, violently pushes Doumeki away to protect him, while Doumeki, undervaluing his worth, tolerates mistreatment and violence for Yashiro's sake. In this sense, they both push Doumeki away, unable to bridge their emotional barriers.

In the 9th panel, Yashiro blames Doumeki for his tardiness. While Doumeki is indeed late, it's evident that it's not his fault. His arrival into Yashiro's world comes after Yashiro has endured immense suffering alone for a long time, leading to a coping mechanism that rejects Doumeki's presence. However, Doumeki's entry into Yashiro's life marks the end of the Moratorium. Yashiro can now begin to move forward, although the process is slow and painful, signifying a gradual progression towards healing.

By all accounts, in their complicated case, love love alone is not sufficient. Acceptance, self-appreciation, and the mutual wish to be together are essential components for Aiai gasa to work for them.

4. Aiai gasa (相合傘) - Under the shield of love

I'll be positive saying that Yoneda sensei has hinted at their happy ending in this poster for the Rain event, or at the very least, a phase where they accompany each other out of love.

This is Doumeki and Yashiro post-time-skip. The image of them under the umbrella signifies a mutual desire to be together at last. Doumeki holding the umbrella for Yashiro, who is already slightly damp from rain droplets, symbolizes Doumeki's belated but meaningful presence in Yashiro's tumultuous life. This time, Yashiro allows Doumeki to take care of him, indicating a shift in their dynamic. Doumeki's actions also suggest a growth in his self-esteem, from nothing to something.

Their interaction speaks volumes. Despite Yashiro's sulky expression and bombastic side eyes, Doumeki meets his gaze directly. This subtle interaction hints at their ongoing communication and mutual efforts to understand each other better.

Under the shield of love - Aiai gasa, they are navigating their complexities. Under the shield of love, anything is possible, I believe. The mutual understanding, if they successfully arrive, would not only empower them but also serve as a shield, safeguarding and freeing them from their birdcage.

Read the previous parts here:

Part 1:

Part 2:

[robertdowneyjjr]

HAPPY BDAYYYY !!! coincidentally it is also my mom's bday today lol, here's a lil buckytony for u !!!

which connects to my prompt: tony is used to feeling cold, he had to be (the cave was so cold in the death of the night) and he knows that bucky is, too, even if the man always seem to run hot due to the serum. well, it's the winter season, what better excuse does he have except that he needs a human blanket? basically tony holding hands, hugging, or cuddling bucky to fend off the cold !!

happy birthday again !!!

hello!!! i’m SO sorry this took practically half a year but i just want you to know that your art makes me so happy and seeing this in my inbox was one of the best gifts i could have asked for. bucky and tony are so fucking cute and i’m obsessed with bucky’s blush and tony’s eyelashes 🥰 i hope your mom also had a lovely time celebrating her birthday!!

anyway, without delaying this any further than i already have—

———

Bucky had never been able to feel anything with the heavy silver arm that was forced onto him, which made it useful as a shield as well as a blunt force weapon. It was perfect for the Winter Soldier, the unfeeling assassin whose sole existence was to comply orders and complete missions. Having it blown off may have been a shock at first, but it had quickly morphed into relief when Bucky had realized that losing the arm was the first real step towards finally, truly breaking free from the shackles of Hydra.

Since having his triggers removed and embarking on his slow journey towards recovery, Bucky has decided that he has no interest in fighting anymore, keen to stay home and monitor the feeds while the rest of the team is out being heroes. He’s happy to be retired, happy to uncover new things about himself as he learns how to bake croissants and build terrariums. It’s a kind of peace he never thought he’d be able to have when he was trapped for seventy years as a prisoner of war, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

So when he had been asked what he would like in a new prosthetic, Bucky had said, just a regular arm; no super strength, no nifty weapons hidden in the plates. Just a functional part of his body for him to get through his daily life.

Tony had gone above and beyond, presenting Bucky with a prosthetic that had far exceeded his expectations. Not only is the arm intuitive, with nanobots that shift like real muscle and fat as Bucky moves, but it is also regulated to match the rest of Bucky’s body in strength and temperature. If it had been painted a color to match Bucky’s skin, it would almost be indiscernible to a real arm.

Despite the prosthetic being made with the most advanced technology the world has to offer—despite all the cyborg jokes his friends like to tease him with—Bucky has never felt more human.

With the new arm, Tony hadn’t just given Bucky back a sense of normalcy. He’d also given Bucky a brighter future than he had ever dared to imagine.

He still remembers the day in the lab after they had run through their last series of tests with the new arm.

He had just put down the stress ball they used for the pressure test, still marveling at how he could feel the texture of the rubber, when Tony had spoken up.

“Okay. One last thing I’d like us to try. Hold your hand out?”

Bucky had done as he was asked, not quite sure what to expect, when Tony had reached out with his right hand and wound their fingers together. He hadn’t been able to hold back a gasp, staring at their joined hands as he felt the cold of Tony’s hand seeping through the warmth that he hadn’t realized was coming from his own arm. Then Tony had squeezed once, affectionately, stepping closer until they were only inches apart, and Bucky’s heart had stuttered in his chest as he glanced up and saw the way Tony had been smiling at him.

“How does this feel?” Tony had asked, red faintly dusting his cheeks in a way Bucky had been sure no one else had ever seen before.

Feeling whole and brave, and like the ice in his veins is finally starting to melt for the first time in decades, Bucky had gently squeezed back.

“Good. It feels nice. You feel nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like it.”

“Well, good. You’re warm, so I think I’ll be holding on to you for a while. You know, just to stave off the cold,” Tony had declared.

“Sure thing, doll.”

Tony is tactile. That had been the first thing that Bucky learned about Tony when the team had been pardoned, made their amends with each other, and gone back to New York.

His touches are gentle and reassuring, drawing smiles from whoever he has focused his attention on at the moment. Rhodes leans into the hand that Tony brushes against his back as he walks by, for a moment relying on his friend’s strength instead of his leg braces. Natalia is a constant presence by Tony’s side during movie nights, bumping her head against his hand like a cat just so he would play with her hair. Peter beams like he’s aced a test every time Tony squeezes his shoulder affectionately after helping with his physics homework. Steve rolls his eyes fondly whenever Tony pokes his abs teasingly after a workout, but always teases right back by lifting his shirt up to goad Tony into doing it again.

Being touched by Tony is like a drug, and Bucky has been addicted since the first time Tony held his hand. Which is just as well, because when Tony said he would be holding on for a while, he wasn’t kidding.

After that first time in the lab, Tony always, always holds Bucky close when they’re together.

He takes Bucky by the hand and drags him to dinner with the team, never loosening his grip even when Sam raises a pointed eyebrow at their joined hands. “For warmth,” Tony says, and when he takes his place at the table, he promptly kicks Steve out of his usual spot because he refuses to release their entwined fingers. Bucky just watches amusedly as Steve takes his old seat next to Rhodes and sits down next to Tony, only letting go so he can scoot closer and swing his arm across the back of Tony’s chair as they eat.

He drapes Bucky’s left arm over his shoulder when they’re out, snuggling close to his side as they take the long way walking home after dinner. “For warmth,” Tony says, even though he’s wrapped up in several layers of expensive wool and cashmere. Bucky just pulls him in tighter and steers him towards their favorite gelato bar for dessert, because even though Tony runs cold and always claims he doesn’t like sweets, Bucky knows he’d never say no to ice cream.

He sleeps on the right side of the bed so he can use Bucky’s arm as another pillow, despite knowing the hard planes of metal can’t possibly be comfortable for him. “For warmth,” Tony says as he presses a kiss to Bucky’s reconstructed shoulder and dozes off under their weighted blanket made of the fluffiest down feathers. Bucky just smiles indulgently and curls in closer, perfectly happy to tolerate overheating in his sleep if it means going to bed every night with his favorite person in the world.

Having Tony in his arms warms him from the inside out, like an endless summer after a lifetime spent lost in the cold.

[fayes-fics]

Hiii I’m so excited about kinktober! I’d like to request Benedict + regency + praise kink

Kinktober: Benedict + Praise Kink

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Paring: Benedict Bridgeton x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, dom/sub dynamics, praise kink, anal fingering, masturbation.

Authors Note: Hi Nonny, I hope you enjoy this. It’s far too long lol. Enjoy! 🧡

“Keep breathing slowly for me, my beautiful,” Benedict tutors softly.

The scent of clove oil swirls in the air as you take deep, calming breaths, just as instructed. The crackling from the fireplace across the room is soothing, flames warming your naked skin. You try to concentrate on your pattern of inhaling and exhaling, but there’s a frisson over your skin as you lay face down with his finger sliding deeper into your bottom, your body clinging to him so tightly.

That’s it,” he encourages voice rough. “Oh, you are doing so well.”

You can feel his slightly laboured breath gusting hot over bum cheeks as he concentrates on the task, going slow for you to adjust to this new alien but pleasant sensation.

“Are you ready for more, my sweet? You are being so very good for me,” he murmurs.

“Yes sir,” you exhale, burying yourself into the pillow, your face flushed and butterflies in your tummy from the praise he is showering on you, willing to do anything for him.

“Good girl,” he pats your right cheek gently before you feel a slight twist and then further pressure as another long finger slides in to accompany the first, your responding groan taciturn.

He begins to move his oily fingers in and out, slow but steady. The drag of his knuckles around your ring of muscle makes your eyes roll, wanting to beg for more, feeling your cunt swelling ripe, a heavy tingle around your clit.

“Yes, you are perfect, my sweet one,” he lauds. “You are taking my fingers so well.”

You fight the urge in your internal muscles to expel his questing digits, taking a gulp of air before tentatively raising your hips, a silent plea for more.

“Does my brave little one want another finger?” he chuckles warmly, intuiting your need.

“Yes, please, sir,” you admit mutely.

“Such a beautiful creature,” he flatters as you feel a third stretch your opening and push in, feeling so utterly filled now. 

He keeps up a steady pace, rocking his fingers deep, withdrawing almost to the tip, whispering your praises in a way that makes you effervescent and heady. Over and over, he plunges until pleasure builds so much you are whimpering and soaked, needing release.

“Please, sir,” you beseech, “I… I want to come,” you stutter the truth.

“Touch yourself, little one.”

Instantly you obey, worming a hand under your dewy body. Your arousal is leaking profusely; you moan as your fingertips take a tentative swipe over your engorged clit. Benedict growls, able to see your fingers, even as he never waivers from his rhythm inside your bottom.

“That is perfect,” he whispers with a jagged edge, “make yourself come, my darling girl, come with your sir’s fingers in your bottom.”

You lift your hips off the bed a fraction, tilting your pelvis to take more of him, faster, harder, pushing yourself quickly towards a peak.

“Will you fuck me there too, sir? With your cock?” you pant, breathlessly excited by the very thought as you strum your clit hard.

“Yes, my sweet darling girl. I will,” his reply hushed like he is holding back from doing so immediately.

“When?” you goad, knowing he is smirking crookedly now.

“When you’ve been my good girl and come all over your fingers, then I will fuck your pretty little bottom,” he promises, his breath hitching and ragged, his fingers moving faster as yours do too. “And I need not withdraw; I shall release inside you, darling girl. When we do it this way, there is no fear of leaving you with child,” he explains.

The thought is so appealing that you race towards completion, keen to feel his cock spurting inside you, painting your insides with his cum rather than your tummy or back. You do as bidden, riding your fingertips as he stretches your bottom with his, readying you for his cock. The blend of intense sensations overwhelming.

A few moments later, the cord of tension curled tightly in your core snaps, fireworks behind your eyelids as you spasm so forcefully that he pauses his litany of compliments to groan. His voice sounds so near yet far away, blood rushing in your ears as you cry out and flutter around him, your whole body tingling as you collapse into the mattress, his fingers stilling. 

“You are so perfect, my wonderful girl,” he murmurs as your erratic breathing calms, his fingers slipping from inside you as he pours more oil, a cold slick over your heated hole. “Are you ready for me?” he checks, clambering over you on all fours.

“Yes sir,” you slur, still strung out from your orgasm.

“Good girl,” he rumbles right into your ear now. 

No taglist as these drabbles are short

[petalpetal]

Artist I Like Series 

Bibi Lei 1985 - ???? A Portuguese Chinese based in Tokyo, Japan. The following is taken from her artist statement found on her website.

"She enjoys painting and caring for her 4-year-old daughter, describing herself as a child-like soul that never grows old.  

Painting primarily with her fingers to express free will and pureness, her works feature the common element of an original character who acts more like a superhero girl - being brave and exploring the unknown world of fantasies in the world Lei has created for her. 

Dreamy, Colorful, Child-like, Love, Hope, and Joy are the words to describe the art of Bibi Lei. Her art focuses on expressing colors as they exist within her mesmerising art universe - intuitively seeing a colorful world full of good purity & wonders."

[queenie-avenue]

There are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin.

—> what houses I think Lottie, Daniel and Ivy would be in, canonically.

⤻ they join the houses the mc joins, but what if you weren't meddling? Spoilers up to the third year.

🦋 ⤻ archives.

Daniel Page — "I don't care if I'm good or bad. I want to be strong, powerful… I want to win, whatever it takes."

Honestly, Daniel gives very slytherin vibes.

Ambitious: This really shines through in Daniel's Third Year, where he befriends Elliot Evers and becomes more eager to learn spells to defend his friends. Not to mention the quote I mentioned above, it's clear that Daniel is now a bit power-hungry/always had been.

Determination: Daniel is clearly loyal to those he loves like Esme, the MC and Ivy and he's shown to be rather determined to protect his sister from harm.

Cunning: That scene with the key really gave me slytherin vibes. Daniel is clearly smart, resourceful, and cunning. He knows how to make the game work for him.

Ivy Warrington — "That's not true, Winnie. I care about you. I want us to be together."

Very Hufflepuff.

Strong moral compass: In year 3, Ivy was always seen fighting with Elliot Evers about morality and the whole "life is a game, some people chat" thing. This shows that she had an extremely strong sense of justice.

Patience: No matter how much I love Daniel, I have to admit that Daniel was a bit annoying the entire year, LOL. The amount of patience this girly has for Daniel (including the MC) is amazingly astonishing.

All-rounding: The Hufflepuff House is mainly where all the all-rounders are. Ivy is smart like a ravenclaw — given her magical abilities — brave like a gryffindor — seen by how she's always there for her friends — and clever like a slytherin — once again, her spells and ability to read people.

Lottie Turner — "You ignore all the other hues, I feel pity for you."

Despite not being stereotypically smart, I think she is a perfect Ravenclaw. She honestly reminds me of Luna.

Creativity — based on just her painting skills and her ability to view life, she is extremely creative and knows how to look past the surface at things.

Wit — Lottie has a lot of creative ideas and she knows how to piece them together, as seen by year 2 and how she knew how to piece together the puzzles and understand her Father.

Intuitive — I feel like Lottie can read people rather well. Lottie was one of the only few that defended Ivy when everyone was doubting her. Just from her quote, it's clear she can see "other hues" and I interpreted this as her being able to see other people and see things that aren't necessarily there.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

Overall,

Daniel would be in Slytherin.

Ivy would be in Hufflepuff.

Lottie would be in Ravenclaw.

[rockandroar]

I adore the Steel Stampede! How did you come up with the appropriate animal designs? What are their characters? How do they act? Are they nice? They look very intimidating, and scary, like Clash!

That’s all! I’m quite excited to see their introduction and Clash’s introduction in the webcomic!

Thank you! :) Two of my lifelong obsessions are music and animals, so I guess it was inevitable that I'd end up caricaturing music genres as species or groups of animals. It's the premise that gave way to the entire Rock & Roar story, so I went wild with it. So with metal, we've got this loud, fast, heavy genre with chugging guitar riffs and drums doing blast beats, and all of that reminds me of powerful, charging animals and their thundering hoofbeats. Top that with the sign of "the horns" being a hand gesture associated with metal since the heyday of Black Sabbath, and it seemed clear to me that metal musicians and fans would be horned and hooved animals like the ones above.

I first drew Grant Ruffalo more than ten years ago and he was a buffalo/bison from the beginning. It's just the animal that intuitively felt right for this character. To his left is Onyx Slater, and I chose an oryx because their white face with black markings reminded me of the corpse paint some black metal bands wear.

To Grant's right are Billy Kidd the goat, and Gunnar Ramsey the black sheep. No specific reason for choosing those animals in particular, I just thought it'd be funny.

Steel Stampede became a band in the late 60s. These four guys take their music very seriously and are intimidating, for sure. They command respect and they don't mess around, at least not publicly. They're very much regarded as musicians of a very high caliber, a band that is cited as influential by virtually everyone else in the metal scene.

Grant is known for his short temper, Onyx is more restrained and keeps to himself, Billy is the funny guy of the bunch but also very brave for his small stature, and Gunnar is the most down to earth and easiest to talk to. None of them are actually mean though - that's more of an image they keep up. They're not going to go out of their way to bully anyone around or intentionally hurt someone. They just won't tolerate anyone messing around with them, or their gear, or their live performances. And frankly, I think they've earned that level of respect.

But backstage, if you're on a friendship basis with these guys, they're pretty cool. If Grant is in a good mood, he'll regale you with stories of all that he's experienced throughout his music career, and will enjoy listening to your own stories too. He might even pass on some of his wisdom, in the form of a guitar technique, or advice on stage presence. He wants his beloved music genre to live on and have a strong future beyond him and his band, and even if he won't outwardly show it, it really warms his heart to see young musicians pursuing their craft with passion and discipline the way he did. He wants small bands to succeed, and every once in a while he is known to publicly give a shout out to unknown bands whose future he believes in.

[spinosacha]

I was thinking about Astarion and mirrors and how the vampire trait of not seeing ones own reflection is a really great metaphor of trauma come to think of it.

For Astarion being a vampire is intrinsincably linked with his traumatic past. Being turned was in itself violent and coersive and then the subsequent 200 years of slavery came.

A consequence of the assault, of becoming a vampire, is not being able to see ones reflection and we see Astarion deal with this when he is free.

We see that not being able to see himself is an uncomfortable and disorienting experience for him. Not only does it remind him “of yet another thing he lost” but it also alienates him from himself and his body. He doesn’t know what he looks like as a vampire, he can’t see the effect the assault had on him but just has to paint a picture by himself. That is until Tav (potentially) offers to be his mirror.

The thing that possibly bothers Astarion the most being hidden from him is the scars on his back. He knows something got carved in his back but he lacked agency in the situation to the extend that he didn’t even get to know what it depicted.

When Tav (potentially, again) offers to be Astarions mirror and describe/draw the scars, its a kind gesture that confuses him because he doesn’t trust people at this point. But even being vulnerable (afterall he is litterally turning his back on Tav, a prime position of being backstabbed) is worth the risk to him because he just wants to know what it says (and also later he is willing to make a deal with a devil for it as well, although that’s pretty standard Astarion).

Then we come to the drow interaction where Tav (hopefully) respects Astarions boundaries and that takes Astarion a back. Later he tells Tav that it made him realize that he was still thinking like he was Cazadors slave. He hadn’t even questioned the fact that he was ready to cross his boundaries if he were told to, before Tav put it into perspective by treating him like a normal person.

This is a scar from the abuse, just like the scars on his back, that he couldnt see without the help from another person. Astarion needed to form a connection to figure out how to heal from the abuse, he needed someone to draw out the scars and help him find out what they mean because he litteraly cant on his own and i think thats a very real portrayal of healing.

Ones perception gets really fucked after long term trauma. You don’t know whats normal behavior because it hasn’t been modeled properly to you and you learn to surpress your intuition. You stop listening to yourself because you have to surpress the parts of you that sees your circumstances as unfair because that’s how you deal with it when you can’t escape. This doesn’t just go away when you are free. You have to start recalibrating a bunch of learned beliefs, you still have the scars that need healing and you often need help just identifying them.

And the thing is this is also what we are doing when we relate to Astarions story. We try to see how our stories are similar, we use connection and comparison to find scars, to find a truth again. When we relate to Astarion we can see how the story treats him, how he is percieved by the narrative, and we only see gaps of how he percieves himself and that can give us a more objective perspective to our own situations.

This doesn’t replace having a real life Tav, to speak with real people but i think it’s still very powerful. Astarion has been impactful to a lot of people and i think he can inspire us to be as brave as him and open ourselves up to help. We got this.

[ivyprism]

Dreamtale Ivy and Ink Hydrangea (Info Dump)

Warning: Not many, grief, melancholy, etc.

Rivea - Dreamtale Ivy

Personality: She was a lovely, calm lady. She could be found painting and writing, and she would greet Dusk and Bliss with a friendly smile. She has a calm and caring disposition, as well as a strong intuition. She is constantly exhausted and stressed. Despite her genuine love and talent, her songs are often melancholy and grief-filled. She finds delight in serving and caring for others. She is an exceptional singer. When she has the opportunity, she enjoys painting. She keeps to herself and appears to be very fond of Dusk. She regularly listens attentively and provides advice. She is quite fond of him.

Appearance: She has long brown hair and hazel eyes. She can turn into any animal at will. She has a scar on her left eye that looks like a thin crack in a mask.

Laurestine - Ink Hydrangea

Personality: A very imaginative and courageous skeleton. She enjoys writing and is always carrying a comically huge pencil. She is highly into AUs and writing. She can be seen studying or writing in various AUs. She is nice and brave. She avoids social events in general since she is socially awkward. She's wary of approaching strangers. She is very confident in her writing and is very kind and understanding. She is frequently an unintended flirt, and she appears to prefer books above people. She has no ties to her distant relatives and only has one roommate. Most of the time, she simply vibrates.

Appearance: She is a skeleton monster. She has light purple eyes. She has flowers growing on her as flowers are tattoos. She is about 5'1".

-----

[deathsweetblossoms]

Brief Overview of Feyre's Bonus Chapter

Why, you ask? Because it's niggling at me and because I'm a nerd. Also because the bonus chapters are landmines of easter eggs, sleight of hand, and foreshadowing. For this, I was inspired by the imagery of Elain holding Nyx paralleled to Feyre's last line of her bonus chapter being "...silent thanks to the Mother for the beautiful future that bloomed before us". I MIGHT do this for every bonus chapter, including the Nessian one, for the sake of comparison, but that remains to be seen.

I approach these very analytically, so I view the bonus chapters very stripped down to the essence of their being. Take out all the fluff and look at the skeleton of what's there and you start to see a slightly different picture than what's being painted.

Breaking It Down

Main Characters Featured: Feyre & Rhys, the interaction happens only between them

Key Topics Discussed: Elain (seeing a different side to her, thorns from gardening), Rhys being overprotective and secretive, Names (Rhys's family name, Nyx)

Brief Overview: starts off discussing the sisters, specific focus on Elain and “seeing a different side emerge”, Feyre questions Rhys, flashback to the discovery of her pregnancy, Feysand smut, Rhys’s family name brought up jokingly, Nyx’s name being decided

Key Notes:

Nyx was named after an ancient night goddess “from around the time of the Trove”

As soon as he is named, his name spoken aloud, “a flutter of night-kissed power rose in answer”.

We end the chapter with Nyx's power and "a beautiful future BLOOMING before us".

Elain, Elain, Elain. "She's always been brave when needed but never confrontational", "Perhaps we'll see a different side of her emerge". Look, it's pretty obvious this is foreshadowing. The key Elain quote that stands out to me is "if everyone spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she'd disappoint you all".

Rhys’s ambiguous family name - a joke or is it intentional?

Theory & Analysis

"a beautiful future blooming before us" paired with the imagery of Nyx's power flaring to life, and Rhys and Feyre holding their hands over Feyre's pregnant belly -- listen, I just about lost my mind when I went back and reread this. My instinct wants to say this is another visual foreshadowing of Elain's story with LITERAL Mother imagery and the word "blooming" just hanging there, tantalizing me like a cheshire cat. The last image we see of Elain in ACOSF is of her holding Nyx. This cannot be coincidental.

ELAIIIIN. If nothing else, this: "if everyone spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she'd disappoint you all" tells me so much. Focus on how everyone projects "sweet innocence" onto her without bothering to look any deeper. Focus on how Elain's response to that projection is feeling that she needs to live up to it so as not to disappoint people. This gives us a huge clue to Elain's inner struggle -- will she continue being what people expect of her or let her claws show? This is pretty clearly telling us she's going to be more vocal and confrontational in her story, and that there are many layers to Elain that we haven't seen yet. Intuitively, I want to guess that she'll go against the grain and really start to kick up some dust with ... like, everyone and everything.

Naming. Nyx's power flaring to life right as he is named is not a coincidence. Also, his name being from a goddess that existed during the time of the Trove, when the Trove is such a huge focus in the continuing plot.... /ALARM BELLS/. What does it mean? I would have to do a way deeper dive to tell you, but I can tell you it's something. (Considering Ataraxia 'flared to life' when it's name was spoken - it's the same visual and I demand to know what's happening. SARA. WHY DO YOU TORTURE ME THIS WAY.) Additionally, Rhys's family name! Obviously the ambiguity is intentional, and I wonder if the comedy around it is a bit of a distraction. What if his name ties him to something? Does he not want to talk about his family name because of what it can invoke? Or is it just truly an embarrassing name??? I NEED TO KNOW.

See also: Analyzing the Necklace, The Mother, & Azriel's Bonus Chapter and Azriel's Bonus Chapter, Mating Bonds, and Mor(e)

[saturnite0614]

I did another fun cod one shot full of angst and things that will make people hate me :) It's based on a twitter post

important tags/TW: major character death and graphic depictions of violence

Soap bites his lip, staring at Ghost over his lunch.

"So this Friday works for you?"

Ghost pushes around the various pieces of fruit on his tray, "You'll know if something comes up."

"So it's a date then." Soap leans forward into Ghost's personal space, the first purposeful breach between them.

"I guess it is."

"Does that mean I get to see your face?"

"You've seen it." Just once and only for a few small seconds. Even now seeing half of it isn't enough. The black fabric is pulled over his nose, allowing him to eat.

"Can't make an exception for a date?"

Ghost chews a soggy slice of peach before leaning in to meet Soap. Their noses brush together, making his heart leap directly into his brain and slamming into his eyes like a cartoon character. Might as well say "awooga" as he drinks in Ghost's brown eyes.

"Not a first one."

"Does that mean there will be more?" Soap perks up.

Ghost’s eyes flick across his face, tracing various parts of him. When previous partners did it, he shirked away, feeling his self-esteem plummet. "Depends how well you treat me. After all, you asked me."

"Is my character in question?"

"Maybe. You're coming off awfully insecure, Johnny."

"Naw, I'm a brave lad. Had the courage to sit here and ask."

Soap slammed his tray down. "Go on a date with me."

Ghost looked up, "What?"

"Romantic. Date. You. Me."

"We'll save the rest of the questions for Friday." He pulls his mask down, "I've got reports to file, as I'm sure you do."

He did, but it's not like he'd be able to focus knowing that in 32 hours, he'd be going on a date with The Ghost. Who said "yes" with very little argument or convincing. He's obviously off his nut asking his superior on a date while on duty and while on base, but he couldn't help it, not when the man was practically haunting his peripheral vision. It nagged at him – the jokes and flirting shared between them and especially the time Ghost spent bent over him, treating the bullet wound in his arm. Part of this fuzzy feeling buzzing in his teeth and nose might be from hero worship, but part of him urged him to shoot his shot. Soap's intuitive. He has to be in his line of work and his gut told him to throw himself in the sea to show Ghost that out of all the fish out there, Soap was one of them. This urge was so strong, it hadn't even occurred to him until after the words left his mouth that Ghost might not like men or masc people in general, both of which applied to Soap.

Ghost stands with his tray in hand, perfectly balancing the remaining food on it with cat-like grace. Soap bolts to follow him, leaving his own untouched tray behind. He steps in front of the lieutenant, putting them nose to nose again.

"Can I kiss you?" His teeth clack together in jittery excitement.

The painted skin around Ghost's eyes crinkle in a smile, Soap had come to learn. "Excited aren't we?"

"Damn right I am. Aye."

"It's almost cute," Ghost looks him up and down again, "But I'll have to decline. Have to save something for our date."

Our date. Soap would never get over that phrase, especially with Ghost's rough accent.

"I'd call you a tease but I should have expected that."

Ghost may deny the kiss, but he does pat Soap's arm, touching the space closer to his neck than his bicep. Soap shivers, a response that Ghost notes with a twitch of a light mussed eyebrow.

Oh, Soap was down bad.

—

Soap made an effort to dress…nice? They weren't leaving base, just heading out to the training range to fire some rifles and share some beers. A soldier's version of breakfast and coffee. But Soap had dug around for a button-up that had somehow made it into his duffle the last time he went on leave. It’s wrinkled as shit, making his large form more boxy than tapered. At the last minute, he pulls it out of his waistband where he’d tucked it into his jeans.

He’s standing outside the barracks waiting for Ghost. They’d walk to the shooting range together, like kids going to a dance. Would they hold hands? He asks himself in a mocking voice. Fucking stupid.

The barrack door opens and Ghost stands there wearing his signature look – mask, heavy jacket, thick black cargo pants. He hadn’t made a visible effort. Ghost’s eyes widen as he takes in the button-up and clean jeans. Soap had even scraped the mud off his boots. He swallows.

“You look…good?” Ghost shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Thanks.” They both look at their shoes, shuffling in their respective places.

“Want to get going?” He gestures with his elbow towards the shooting range.

“Gladly.” Soap holds up a six-pack, “Want one?”

Ghost slips two glass bottles from the cardboard container. Almost impossibly, he grasps both caps with one hand and pops them both off with a carbonated hiss. Then he gifts one to Soap. They clink them together as the brown liquid inside bubbles to the top.

They walk in silence, only sipping at their respective drinks. Ghost doesn’t lift his mask above his nose this time, instead holding it away from his mouth as he nurses the beer.

There’s no one around them. Everyone else is preparing to turn in for the night – eating last minute meals, taking cold showers, losing money and clothes in poorly thought out card games. The latter is probably what Gaz and Price would be doing, although they’d be winning and they wouldn’t let Soap forget that he missed it.

If the rest of the night continued on like this, he just might agree with them.

They’re about halfway done with their first drinks once they get to the range. The lights are on, glowing yellow against the cool summer night. They light little warm pools along their paths. A rain had come through a few days ago, and still the dirt beneath their feet rests sodden, holding on their journey and the paths taken by others. The grass around the edges is bright green, hanging heavy with dew. He’s regretting the white shirt right about now.

“So,” Ghost pulls his mask back down, “A competition or just friendly shooting?”

“We can do both.” Soap looks around and spots some far off targets. A sniper’s range.

“You’re a sniper expert, right?” Soap takes a deep drink of his beer.

Ghost hums, “Last time I checked both of us where.”

“Damn straight. Come on.” They drop their drinks by the range then head inside the nearby building. Soap grins sheepishly at the soldier still on duty, stuck on the night shift. They check out some rifles and ammo.

Soap takes his time loading his own weapon, watching Ghost do the same with deft hands, working quickly. Soap could probably match his speed if he weren’t so distracted. They’re sitting on the damp grass with their weapons in their laps. Ghost checks his scope, holding the gun with one hand and sipping at his drink with the other. Allowing himself to stare at Ghost’s hands. They’re strong for sure, but a bit knobby. His knuckles are large, probably coming from years of abuse. The scarred skin ripples like a wave with every shift of his muscles. The scars seem to grow and shrink. Soap’s own hands are incredibly scarred but some of the ones on Ghost’s hands look bigger and deeper. They weren’t the results of mere accidents or slip ups.

He wants to know.

Ghost flips onto his stomach and aims his sights down range.

“Wait,” Soap touches his shoulder, “We haven’t decided what we’re shooting for.”

He pulls the level back, “One clip. Most amount of headshots is winner.”

“What do they win?” Soap joins him, pressing their shoulders together. If they hadn’t already agreed that this was an actual date, he wouldn’t allow this for himself. He would have put more distance between themselves. Ghost stiffens, only perceptible because they’re touching. He relaxes a moment later. It’s so quick that Soap questions whether it’d actually happened.

“Guess I’ll decide when it happens.” He squeezes the trigger, exhaling in a foggy puff of breath. The target down range wobbles. “1-0.”

“Bastart.” Soap takes his shot.

—

Ghost wins, but he cheated. He’d watched Soap with those doe brown eyes of his every shot he took. They were still lethal, but not headshots. They sit criss-crossed, both on their third beers, looking up at the sky with their weapons abandoned between them.

Soap holds his bottle with two hands, mouthing the rim. “Did you have fun?”

Ghost looks at him eyes first, then tilts his head down. “I did.”

“I feel like we haven’t done much.”

He looks down at his drink, swirling it around. “Do you have to?”

Soap shrugs, “You just do stuff on dates.”

“Guess I’m not great company.” He mumbles, bringing his knees up to rest his arms on.

“What do you mean?” Soap drops his hands to his lap.

“What do you even like about me?” Ghost squints, as if it were sunny and bright out and not the middle of the night. His voice is low.

“Lots of things?” He can’t help the uplit to his voice, confused more as to why he’s asking the question versus confused at how to answer it.

Ghost sips his beer, still hiding behind his mask. Seemed he only lifted it to eat.

Soap crawls his way over, staining his jeans green. He presses their arms together again, “You’re smart in a book smart way, like you’re always three steps ahead. You’re strong as hell. Not sure if you noticed how red my face gets when we spar.”

Ghost looks at his feet again. Even with his face completely covered, Soap knows he’s blushing. His shoulders hunch and the skin on the back of his hand turns red. Soap gently reaches over, placing his hand on top of Ghost’s. He doesn’t do as far to actually hold it.

“Against my better judgement, I think you’re funny. Not your jokes, but the way you can’t keep yourself from laughing at them. It’s cute.” Soap swallows, “I like how you keep me curious. I want to know more about you.”

“That’s why you asked me out?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t know if I can give you that.”

“It doesn’t have to be the deep stuff. It could just be small things like hobbies or what you do on leave. Those are a part of you too. And there’s time. Like those other dates you alluded to.”

Ghost holds his bottle up, examining the contents again, as if they’d changed in the few minutes since he opened it. It’s his substitute for eye contact. “I want to know more about you too.”

Soap can't help the smile, lifting a hand to scratch the back of his now burning neck.

—

"This is me," Soap stops in front of his room. Ghost knows damn well where they are, he's just always wanted to say it, and finally saying it has his joints locking in place with a fuzzy excitement.

Ghost rolls his eyes, hiding his red hands in his pockets again. "Glad I was able to see you safely home."

"A good way to end the night."

Ghost raises an eyebrow, "Only good?"

"Aye," Soap fiddles with his keys, just to give him something to do while he figures out his best approach. "I recall a question I asked you a few days ago. That might clue you in to the missing piece."

Ghost leans against the door frame, "Really? You've been watching too many movies."

"Oh piss off." Soap scoffs, shoving his room key in the lock.

"Giving up that easily?"

Of course he had to taunt him. Soap looks up at him before turning the key, "If you're just going to make fun of me, then yeah."

Ghost looks off to the side. "Thought I was being cheeky."

"Right cheeky."

"Hey," Ghost taps his chin with a strong finger, bringing Soap's gaze back to him, "Night's not over till we agree it is. So say what you want to."

Soap looks him up and down, focusing on the hand still touching his chin. He swallows.

"Can I kiss you?" Soap's voice scratches through his throat, hoarse and…nervous.

Ghost smiles underneath his mask. "Surprised you held off this long."

He leans in and first, only their noses touch and they breathe each other in – fresh gunpowder, hot metal, and stake beer. Soap's eyes are locked on Ghost's but his date's eyes flick all around his face, like they always did.

"You're goin' to leave the mask on?" Soap whispers.

Ghost's eyes snap to his, "Which would you prefer?"

Soap can't work his mouth. Can't work any part of him, really. The words form in his mind but fail to find purchase anywhere significant.

Instead his abandons his keys and bring both of his hands to cup Ghost's jaw, gently pressing his thumbs to the softness underneath. His face is soft.

Then he rolls the fabric, only enough to reveal his lips – pink, chapped, and uneven. His top lip is thicker than his bottom, as if he were sucking it in. His chin and jawline are simultaneously round and sharp, at least the parts he could see were. Before he can observe further, Ghost presses in. Or maybe Soap does first. Either way, their lips connect. They slot together nicely, giving way the pressure of the other. Ghost tilts his head, fitting them together in a completely new way. The movement brings the scent of fresh woodsy laundry, almost floral in nature. Ghost had cleaned his mask beforehand, wrenching away the musk of sweat and work.

Soap smiles into the kiss, moving his hand to cup the back of Ghost's head. Ghost's hand moves to rest on his shoulder as he tilts again, pressing their noses together ever so slightly.

He slow blinks when they finally break apart. Ghost flashes him a small smile before fixing his mask.

"You should get some rest, Johnny," Ghost’s voice is pitched slightly higher and he dips his face towards his torso, "We've got early morning drills."

"Yeah." Soap's breathless, negotiating with his lungs to ration what little is left in them. "But, we should also do this again."

"Next Friday work for you? Maybe I'll take you off base." Ghost still isn't looking at him, instead his hands are in his pockets again.

"Yeah. Friday works."

"I'll see you then sergeant." Ghost backs away with a small salute. And Soap watches until he reaches the corner and turns, heading for his own bunk.

"See ya then, Simon.”

—

Soap whistles to himself as he takes out another guard with his trusty rifle. Seemed he rarely got the opportunity to exercise his sniping ability. His skills were on par with Ghost’s but he never got to prove that. It’s why the cocky bastard had won. Another one of Makarov’s guards drops, this time without Soap’s help.

“We still shooting for points?” Ghost asks over comms.

Soap ejects his shell casing, “Only if I’m winning.”

Ghost chuckles.

“Keep it professional you two. Fuck’s sake.” Price chastises just as Gaz says, “Loser buys drinks.”

The eye roll is audible.

It’s all a bit fucked-up. These are human beings they’re ending with just the slightest twitch of their fingers. There is no “but” to excuse it besides making themselves feel better. They all already have enough trouble sleeping at night.

Soap scans around, looking for their two men on the ground. He spots Price and Gaz entering the compound, coast clear for now.

“Shit.” Ghost curses, “Bravo 0-6. I have to go dark. I’ve got tangos in the building.”

Price’s voice crackles to life before Soap can respond, “Rog. Stay safe.”

“Should only take a few seconds.”

“Stay frosty.” Soap whispers into his mic, but there’s already the fuzz of a disconnected comm. His stomach churns and suddenly, the comfortable spot he’d found for overwatch was no longer comfortable. Hard clumps of dirt prod his rigid muscles and rocks scrape at his skin with every small bit of movement. He swings his rifle around, watching Price and Gaz’s approach and seeking out the glint of Ghost’s rifle. He only finds the former.

—

Ghost stays dark the entire rest of the mission. It’s not unusual…per se. He’s used to working alone which means the man has some terrible communication habits. Either he talks too much or too little, not that he’d recognize that without someone telling him.

But Soap’s stomach hadn’t settled. Even though everything went smoothly. Price and Gaz are in and out without anyone being none the wiser. They’d gone through the paths Soap and Ghost had cleared and hid bodies so no one truly noticed anything. That’s the problem with hired mercs, you can’t always trust them to keep their post.

“Bravo 0-6 and 2-6 are at exfil. Bravo 0-7 and 7-1, you are free to leave your posts.” Price is yelling through his comms, fighting the roar of a car engine.

Soap’s response is quieter, “Copy that.”

Both men wait for another response that doesn’t come.

“Bravo 0-7?” Soap asks. This is the part where Ghost is supposed to come in with a cheeky pun.

“Ghost?” Still nothing. “Soap, get to his last known location and get his ass back here. Stubborn bastard.” Price’s voice cracks, “Bravo 0-6 out.”

Soap scrambles to his feet, throwing his rifle over his shoulder and stumbling down the hill. He’s making a shit ton of noise. He really should be taking his time and exercising stealth instead of rampaging like a Spanish Bull. He trips at the bottom, ramming face first into the chain link fence encasing the compound. It wobbles and the sound echoes outwards. With any luck, any remaining soldiers would think an animal was dumb enough to miss the obstruction, like a bird or rodent.

There’s razor wire encircling the top but that doesn’t stop Soap from digging his boots into the fence openings and scaling the damn thing. He slices his arm immediately upon reaching the top, dripping blood onto the dry ground below. His jeans get the same treatment as he throws himself over the fence. Every part of him burns, like he’d been trapped in a tunnel of whirling paper, slicing into his skin from every angle.

He drops down, popping his ankle and stumbling to a standing position.

Ghost’s last known position is locked in his mind. They’d sent him ahead of time to be their inside man. He’d given them entry locations and guard patterns. Soap beelines towards his Ghost. The map he’d studied beforehand comes alive before him and he ducks in and out of buildings, with little regard to his own safety. He turns corners and finally comes across a warehouse, one of the many unused ones in the compound. It was because of this it was supposed to be a good place. Ghost had reported that half the rooms had broken doors and stairs were rusted and falling apart. It simply wasn’t safe for everyday use. Maybe he’d simply fallen and was just waiting for someone to come get him. He’d be fine.

He would be. Fine.

Soap slips in through a broken window, the only act he’d taken to be quiet during this entire endeavour. Going through the wide open loading dock would have been too obvious, even for him. He scans around the ground, looking for any sign that Ghost had fallen. Maybe a broken railing or a left behind piece of equipment. But there’s nothing besides pieces of trash, tumbling gently in the breeze and getting caught in corners.

Soap pulls his pistol out and gently navigates the stairs. There are holes in the rusted metal, making it warp and dip in places where feet had made their mark.

The top is just as bad. The catwalk is pot marked. It's a good thing there's a door to his right, because there is no way he'd make it to the left side without crashing to the concrete floor. If he couldn't, neither could Ghost. How he stayed that big with their diet, he'd never know.

But he would ask and ask, until they were old and feeble because Ghost is fine.

He nudges the door, expecting to find it closed.

It creaks open, the lock broken.

Soap's heart leaps into his throat at the site of the demolished wood on both the door and frame. He touches the dry wood, getting a splinter for his investigative efforts. The elements hadn't yet had time to smooth the damage out.

Soap raises his weapon, creeping forward through the hall. He clears the various offices, finding more broken locks, this carnage much older.

Each empty room is another failed attempt to find Ghost. So, he stops looking at them for clues and instead, the floor beneath his feet.

Brown dust coats everything. It already has settled on his blue jeans, glued there with sweat. It’s on the walls, untouched. But the floor tells a different story. What should paint a clear picture of Ghost’s solitary journey, instead shows a major disruption. It’s practically clear of dust as other people came trudging through.

Bravo 0-6. I have to go dark. I’ve got tangos in the building.

Soap follows the trail, trying to count how many people came through here, but it’s all a jumbled mess of boot prints. Could have just been a handful of people. Could have been a whole fucking squad. But Ghost could handle them, right? He’d be sitting at his perch surrounded by knifed bodies, complaining because his radio broke during the fight. Soap bites his tongue, cementing the image into his mind through pain. The hall opens up into a large office space, cleared of furniture. Like the first door, it’s completely broken in. Completely. The wooden door is flat to the ground and crooked. After that, the first thing he notices is the three bodies on the ground. One still has a knife lodged in the base of his skull, oriented upwards to stab directly into the armoured man’s brain. His sleek black helmet offered no protection to that particular spot. Soap retrieves the knife, earning himself a fresh spirt of blood. He wipes it off on his pants and sheaths it.

The fight had continued on into another room. To the right of the initial door is another one that leads into a hall identical to the first. More concerningly is the biblical smear of blood leading him exactly to the room where the fight finished.

Soap steps around it and the bodies of other well armed men wearing unmarked uniforms. Their tactical vests hadn't been protection against knives. They would have protected against bullets, if there were any guns to supply them. Nobody shows signs of ever having had a weapon.

Soap counts and additional five bodies in the hall and shoved into equally empty offices.

There are boot prints in the bright red smear beneath him. Soap takes a single step into the path then presses his foot down in an empty space, comparing the treads.

Different boots than there's. The size is close to his as well.

Not Ghost's.

He doubles back and compares the treads to the dead bodies he passed.

Every organ falls through him, hollowing him out with a silent snap of fingers. He's a silent puppet, dragged by his own remains to the single office at the end of the hall. His intestines wrap around his wrists and guide him there like a good little soldier marionette, wearing his gun on his back like a prop and dirt smeared across his face.

With a trembling hand, Soap pushes the door open, pressing his palm against a large hand-shaped smear.

The stench of fresh blood conjures familiarity like a mother's perfume. Instead of a full frontal assault, it's a creeping remembrance. The red tendrils wrap around his hands telling him, "We're here together little one. You know what this is."

Another unmarked body lies slumped against the wall, a knife lodged in his mouth. His split lip reveals his white teeth and allows his swollen tongue to peek out.

Soap's gaze moves slowly towards the centre of the room, eyeing a mountain of offal, like a gutted animal. A vest lies off to the piles left, torn off its owner through some great force.

Lying on his back is the owner of the still steaming insides. Brown eyes stare widely at the cracking ceiling, as if enraptured by the fractals of peeling plaster. Red rivulets stream across a skeletal visage quite clearly belonging to him, going off the gouge across his cheek, tearing into black fabric and dragging down across the pale skin of an exposed throat.

Soap drops to his knees, feeling along the mangled neck for a pulse.

"Ghost?" His voice cracks into silence.

There's no startled intake of breath.

There's no blinking.

Or twitching.

There's nothing.

Ghost's hands are splayed at his sides, stripped of his usual skeleton gloves. The palm of his left hand, the same one that had held Soap's shoulder a week before, as a jagged gash across it.

Ghost whips his hand up, catching the blade with his hand. The enemy soldier presses in, unintimidated. The knife slips, slicing across, missing his torso, and finding purchase into his opposite bicep. His hold on the other man slips, allowing a different knife to gouge into his cheek-

Soap grabs the hand, bringing it to rest on Ghost's still chest.

"Simon?" He sets his gun down, feeling around again for a pulse.

He doesn't let go of his hand but he does reach for his radio with bloodied fingers, "Bravo 7-2 to Bravo 0-6. We need CASEVAC."

His hand falls to his side.

"What's his status?" Price's voice crackles to life instantly.

Soap's voice does not. He fully sits on the ground, holding Ghost's hand.

He's probably having trouble breathing with the mask on. It's soaked in blood, more stifling than anything.

Soap peels the sodden balaclava up, revealing those pink uneven lips and surprisingly rounded jawline. Even the knife wound didn't ruin that.

"Soap!"

"Come on Soap." Gaz now.

Soap continues his movements, pulling it over a broken nose -

The dumb ass whips his helmeted head forward, knocking Ghost's head back. They both slam into the wall -

It hadn't had time to bruise.

If there weren’t so fucking many of them -

He reveals Ghost’s blond hair, only partially touched by gore. His hairline is stained red, but otherwise, his choppy hair is marred only by sweat. The knife had drawn across his lip, cutting across the scar already there that Soap had forgotten even existed. He’d kissed it and hadn’t even noticed it. He feels along the years old scar, tracing it along the bump across his nose. For someone who carried himself was a sharpness, every part of him was round. Even his personality, with the jokes he had ready at the drop of a hat and the smiles even his mask couldn’t hide. His eyes crinkle and there are smile lines that guide the blood down the sides of his face.

"Here." Soap pulls Simon's head onto his lap, running his fingers through his hair. "Ground isn't that comfortable."

Ghost is pinned. The fucker who'd busted his nose presses against his throat with a meaty arm, trying his damnedest to stab his knife into his face. His two friends have a hold of his arms -

Soap gathers him up until Simon's head is under his chin. He holds his chest with one hand and with the other, presses his insides back in, holding the sticky oozing mess. It wouldn't do much, but it's better than nothing until the medics arrive.

The guy on his left catches his jaw with his knife again. He jerks away, feeling the blade cut deeply into his face. It cuts across his lip (Johnny kissed him there) down his chin (where his hand had softly thumbed across) nicking his throat. Not nicking. The man slips it across, cutting into cloth and flesh alike (they were one before him). Blood explodes into his mouth, already he struggles to keep his consciousness. But he pushes. He fucking fights and spits it in their fucking faces -

“Soap.” Price’s voice isn’t on his radio anymore. Boots stop, standing next to him. “Fucking hell.” He drops next to him, his hand hovering over Simon’s chest, where Soap has been holding their hands together. He’s waiting for Simon to squeeze it back.

“We need to go.” Gaz’s voice floats towards them. That softness brings a burning wetness to his eyes. He brushes the droplets from Simon’s cheeks. “Do we…” The question lingers.

“We take him with us.” Price reaches for them both, sliding his hands underneath Simon’s shoulders. His head lulls to the side. No conscious reaction on his part. He’d have to spend some time in hospital. Bastard would be bored out of his skull.

Price lifts.

“No, no, no, no, no-”

“Gaz,” Price stops, “take care of Soap.”

“...Right.”

Soap’s friends, rip them apart. He struggles weakly as Gaz lugs him to his unsteady feet. How long had he been sitting there with Simon?

Price settles Simon on the ground and reaches for something in his pack. He pulls out a roll of white bandage. Slowly, he wraps it around the trench in his soldier’s torso. He ties the now red cloth tightly. Price picks him up, placing an arm under his armpits. Simon’s head falls to his chest and his legs hang limp. He’s so small, like a child who’d fallen asleep in the car and Price is his father, bringing him to his room because he doesn’t have the heart to wake him up.

“You’re gonna be alright, Simon.” Soap brushes his shoulder as Price walks by.

—

Simon is afraid.

Eyes wide, he chokes on his own blood. He drowns in it. It’d taken three men, but he truly couldn’t fight back anymore.

There’s no physical fight. His mind goes a million miles an hour.

He’d promised Johnny they’d go on that second date.

(A hand on his face shoves his head into the wall.)

He still hadn’t decided where he would take him.

(Ghost lodges a knife in one man’s face. Two left.)

Maybe an actual dinner. Not that beer and a shooting range were terrible.

(He kicks, knocking one attacker backwards. Ghost follows, stumbling then falling flat on his face.)

He hadn’t been on a date in a long time before him.

(He can’t move. Can’t even see anymore. But he tries. He stumbles to his feet. He meets another knife directly in his gut. It’s not the first time.)

I’m sorry, Johnny.

—

There aren’t many people at the funeral. 141, Alejandro and Rudy, Laswell and her wife, Alex and Farah.

They bury him next to his family. Soap hadn’t known about them. He would have liked to. His mom, his brother, his sister-in-law, his nephew.

There’s a photo with a wreath of flowers. He focuses on the pink carnations, yellow chrysanthemums, and white mountain avens. When Laswell had presented it at the beginning of this shitty day, Soap had laughed, a choking one, but a laugh nonetheless. Had she purposely chosen a Scottish flower to adorn Simon’s visage. And that damn picture – Price’s idea. It’s old and Soap’s never seen it before. It’s cropped from an old one where Simon stands next to price, unmasked, covered in dirt. He’d said it was from their first mission together.

Soap had taped a different picture to it. The one they’d taken in Las Almas hangs off the frame. Simon has his mask, but that’s how he’d known him.

It took three fucking days before Soap bolted up in bed and realised that he’s gone. Even now, watching a casket, paid for by everyone, sink into the ground, doesn’t seem like the truth. Gaz stands by his side, switching between talking too much and not talking at all. He’ll say something, see Soap’s face, then stop, not to speak for another hour or so. And Price, he didn’t say anything at all until a priest Simon definitely never visited steps aside. The captain coughs into his hand. Soap doesn’t hear a word of it. Everything becomes silent until Gaz touches his shoulder. “It’s your turn, mate.”

Right, he was supposed to be speaking. He squeezes the notecards in his hands. He’d written some things. Mainly curses and death threats towards Makarov and himself. He shoves them in his pocket and steps up to the front of the casket. He wipes his nose.

It’s hot as shit out. He sweats through his uniform, wearing chest candy (as Simon liked to calm them. He never wore his even though he had them). Then he adjusts his hat before ripping it off entirely and strangling it in his hands.

“I didn’t know him. None of us did. Except maybe Price,” he nods to him, finally noting the redness surrounding his eyes. He’d planned all this while Soap sat uselessly in an armchair, nursing wounds that never made themselves physical. “But I wanted to. So fucking much,” He bites his hat, failing to stifle the sob. He looks to the photo. Simon’s face, surrounded by bright flowers. He’d never known that man. He wasn’t who they were burying.

“That Friday, we were supposed to go out. Somewhere off base, we hadn’t decided.” Price’s eyes widened. He hadn’t known and they probably weren’t going to tell him and have to deal with all the red tape. Besides, what if it hadn’t gone anywhere? “But sometimes, you just know. I know I wanted to be with him just like he knew he wanted to be here, with us at the 141. And he still is,” Soap points to his breaking chest, where he’d held Simon’s head against him, “As long as we all keep fighting and loving him.”

He’s rambling. So Soap fishes out the notecards. “He’d probably want this. Not the funeral,” he gestures around, “but this. They say time flies like an arrow-” It had for them. One date and that was it. One kiss was all they got. “But fruit flies-” He chokes, coughing into his hand. Everyone watches. He clears his throat again, longing to be able to breathe properly, knowing he could only do it if his lieutenant was still here. “Fruit flies like a banana. Fucking awful.”

Soap steps forward and tucks the notecard into the lid until it disappears.

They put him in the ground after that.

Soap or Simon, he wasn’t sure.

Also shared this on my ao3 (linked above)

Edit: whoever read this when it was doubled up, I love you. I don't know how that happened but now it's fixed.

[tired-biscuit]

Ever think about kibas dad? How he ran away from the clan bc his mom scared him off? When did that man leave? No father figure now he gotta be the most macho man ever.

i love this ask, thank you for sending it. my thoughts are under the cut, i hope you don’t mind the headcanons i’ve come up with!!

yeah, i actually have already written about kiba’s feelings revolving around his dad’s absence in a fic of mine that i finished last year.

i like to think that not having a father figure around would have bothered him mostly in his childhood years, when he’s still young enough that he lives at home and is still sort of figuring out how to find himself; especially if you consider the fact that he’s the only man left in the house as a result.

to me, kiba strikes me as a ‘stereotypical’ boy. he likes ‘manly’ things and he wants to do ‘manly’ stuff and have ‘manly’ hobbies, if you get what i mean?

he wants to go fishing, and wants to learn how to be the one that fixes things around the house without having to ask for help. he wants to learn how to shave without cutting his cheek every single time, and to go camping in the wilderness, and to just be able to understand this entirely male side of him (both mentally and physically) that his mom and sister can’t really help him deal with sometimes, because they can’t really relate with it first hand, even if they do try to understand it better for his sake.

being the only boy in a women-only household, he wants his masculinity to stand out. consequently, he wants his dad to be his hero and his role model and whatnot, not his mom, just because he’s still young and he relates more to his old man at that time (even though the only thing they have in common is that they’re the same gender.)

it’s an outright silly way of thinking if you ask me, perhaps even old fashioned to some degree, but you can’t really blame him, he’s practically still just a kid. and luckily for him, he loses that mentality by the time he reaches adulthood, or at best when he hits the end of puberty.

i think that’s also the time when he starts to cherish his mom more and all that she does for him. he also lands on common ground with his sister, now that he’s more mature and understands her better.

but yeah, i do think kid kiba has always had this amazing image of his dad set in his head even though the fact that he went completely AWOL on him disappoints him more than he tends to admit. after all, loyalty is a trait that he respects the most in a person because he’s immensely loyal himself. he doesn’t just ‘give up’ when things get bad — it’s literally not in his blood. and the fact that he shares said blood with someone who’s a ‘coward’ in his eyes so to speak, repulses him greatly by the time he’s grown into a man.

though by saying that he doesn’t relent, i don’t mean that he’d be pushy for his parents to stay together even if it just wouldn’t work between them, of course. sure, kiba’s stubborn like a bull and is incredibly determined (sometimes overwhelmingly so), but he’s also intuitive and surprisingly emotionally smart. he can read the room (he’s just blunt and honest to the point that he comes across as mean and inconsiderate in most situations, and even then it’s done purely by choice), so imo, he could have handled his parents getting divorced completely fine at the end of the day.

so yeah, he doesn’t mind having divorced parents. the problem that he has with his father isn’t that he left, per se, it’s rather the way he left that bothers him. that he just… picked up his stuff and ran as far as his feet were willing to carry him instead of being direct and sorting it out bravely like most inuzuka tend to do, ya know? it shatters that perfect, strong, courageous image that he’s always painted of his dad, who is of course; a man, much like he is himself and he definitely does not want to represent cowardice!

but at the end of the day, he’s got his mom and his sister who he’s super close with now. and while he does seem to be pretty content with that by the time he’s older, that entire comment he made in shippuden made it seem like he is (or at least used to be) upset/disappointed by his dad pulling the ‘i’m just going to the store to get some milk, brb’ move on him and his sibling, which is to be expected of course..….…..

if anything else, i think besides the bitter feelings, the absence of a father figure would give him the motivation and mental push to strive to be the best one he could be for his own children, if he had any. it’s definitely a coping mechanism that i see working well with his personality.

and btw, that doesn’t mean that tsume didn’t do a great job at raising both him and hana or that he doesn’t love his mom to bits. she’s the type of woman to obtain both parental figures and absolutely rocks them whilst doing so. truly a badass mom!!

also, i will always stand by the fact that kiba eventually grew into the role of becoming a momma’s boy one way or another.

[ash-the-porcupine]

Alright, so, everyone here seems to have like their own color palette, and being a massive overthinker, I'm going to study each and every one!

Meena: First off, we see Meena in her navy blue dress. Navy blue often symbolizes authority, stability, and reliability. Delving into these, I'd say it's pretty true. Now, even though she doesn't, I don't have a doubt that Meena could enforce a strong sense of authority if the need arose, she's a stable and reliable friend, as well. (Honestly, I don't understand why she gets all the hate instead of Lance-the-manbaby and Jimmy Kill-a-koala).

Porsha: Silver often means intuitive, insightful, introspective, often caught in your own world, dignity, a sort of classiness, sophisication, clarity, persistence, strength, growing compassion, often accompanied by good looks. I- I can completely see all of this.

Darius: This son of a biscuit eater has his own palette too. But I'm skipping him because I hate him with a fiery demonic passion. D*mn narcissist can't even get Meena's name right.

Clay: Grey-green and black. Cool, conserved, reliable, fairly sociable but preferring peace at any price, calm, usually patient, analytical, conceptional, inventive, and logical. Strong-willed and determined. Stubborn.

Gunter: Also strong-willed and determined, but as his gold palette suggests, there's more. Loyal, dependable, punctual, and caring. Taking on too many responsibilities. Energetic, exuberant, proud.

Buster Moon: Enthusiastic, sympathetic, communicative, compassionate, idealistic, sincere, and imaginative. Relationships of any kind tend to be very important. Strong, reliable, friendly. And of course I have to add in his red bowtie color so let's do it. Bold, boisterous, and full of energy and courage. Y-Yeah, that sounds about right.

Nooshy: Impulsiveness, adventurousness, energetic, brave, bold, excitement, passion, energy, and action! Yep, that fits Nooshy alright!

Johnny: Our black-and-white colored gorilla is going to get some overthinking of his own of course! Tendency to think in extremes, determined, strong-willed, sadness, optimistic, wise, discreet, cautious, practical, patient, honest, and peace-loving :)

Ash: She is seen wearing a white-periwinkle dress with sequins! Freshness, tranquility (that one's questionable), friendships, sentiment, passion, love, femininity, comfort, purity, sadness, sympathy, and peace (also questionable XD VIOLENCE- I can see her committing horrible crimes with a paint gun.)

Alfonso: Not gonna do him. Not cause I don't like him, but because I have neither the patience nor the internet to do this much longer.

Rosita: Artistic, unique, intuitive, good judge of character, mystery, kind, outspoken, diligent, authentic, neutral, wisdom. Okay, I loved this. *buzzing fan energy*

[plutoasteroids]

Hi! I’m here for the future spouse game. My initial is H and I use he/him pronouns. I’m bisexual but would prefer a man at the moment so he/him for them. Two assumptions I would make about you is that you like old movies and like the old money aesthetic. Thank you!

You got the two assumptions right!

You didn't really leave a question so I'll tell you anything I get.

Whoever your future spouse is I think is most likely brunette.

Your future spouse may have prominent air placements especially Aquarius because I see him as someone who is the type to defend something (a humanitarian cause) or someone they care for. He's the type to always defend you even if you're wrong but he will tell you in private 'Hey I think you were wrong by saying or doing this but regardless I am still not going to let someone yell at you and insult you' and I feel like they are pretty good at standing their own ground underneath the golden retriever personality they are pretty brave.

Currently they may be going through a rough time in life it could be financially or just overall feeling lonely but they maybe in a constant cycle of either having money or then losing it all, but I think they are more so having financial struggles than dealing with loneliness. The hardship won't last, I feel like he has a goal set for himself and whatever that goal maybe he will succeed and find financial stability.

Your future spouse is actually a sweetheart. He will be kind, compassionate and sensitive to not just you but everyone in general like I said Golden Retriever personality. They are the warm, happy and hopeful type of person who is very in touch with his inner child, and they may be the type to not take things too seriously.

Don't let the happy, positive personality fool you this man has depth to him. As you get to know him, he will surprise you with how much he knows and how Intune he is with his intuition and emotions.

Before you meet him, you may get dreams relating to him or meeting him just a dream relating to your future spouse in general since you got the moon card.

Also, I saw paint so your future spouse may be a painter, illustrator or something to do with art in general either as a hobby or a career. You may be long distance when you start dating.

I hope it resonates and any feedback will be appreciated!

[higaneion]

your character in 5 quotes

Repost, don't reblog.

Tell us your favorite quotes from your character. Give us an idea of who they are by five things they’ve said. Then tag your friends.

"Come on…be brave. Take that first step to live without fear…"

"So…everyone should have told me, you know…? They’re just…too considerate… I’m not…that weak…"

"Roy…please… Don't fail…"

"I just feel that you're not a bad person. I…trust you."

"I shall make Ostia a country in which our children can always be happy."

I was gathering her lines from FE6 and decided now is a good time as any to post them. There are extra notes on my thoughts below the cut because I feel like a lot of these need context.

This first one comes from her recruitment conversation with Gonzalez. I have read her supports a lot and honestly forgot about the recruitment conversations, but they are some of my favorites.

This is right after Hector's death, she is not having a good time, but she's trying her best! What else is significant about this quote is that before this she eggs on Eliwood about fighting and joining Roy and she gets shot down twice, painting a small glimpse of how she (and women in Elibe) are treated. Granted, she is 15 at the start and he is saying this because he doesn't want her to get hurt for fear of telling Hector, but he also sends his 15-year-old son to be the tactician and leader of the army, different circumstances I guess, but I don't know really. Tangent aside, I think this also means something to her because in her mind, she was going to find out eventually, but she just feels hurt that no one told her sooner, allowing her to believe that things were (sort of) fine outside of the walls, pointing once again to that bubble she's lived in all her life.

Okay so this is her death quote. HAHA But the way I interpreted it is that she basically says: keep moving on for the sake of Lycia, for peace, even when I'm gone, keep moving forward. Obviously this is a mouthful for someone dying unless you're an Engage character, so it keeps her last words short and bittersweet.

So, the context here is this is part of her support chain with Garret. She tries to befriend him, or at the very least make conversation with him as she does with many members of the army, regardless of station. The reason for me choosing this one is that thinking about what she's been through and what trust and honesty mean to her. You could look at it through two different lenses, one being she is just pure-hearted and believes there is good in everyone; this is true by the way. And the other being that she was betrayed by rebels under Ostia's banner, so I'd imagine that there is at least some reluctance to trust others, though her natural instinct is to do so anyway according to her supports/conversations. But to this end, she does give reasons later about why she does aside from "just a feeling"/intuition, that if he was going to kill her, he would have done it already. As she talks to people in the army from different walks of life, this aids her understanding and emotional maturity we see throughout the game.

This one is almost a red herring because the real star of this support chain is Ogier/Oujay. He has such banger lines that make me c': For a boy so young to have such sad but powerful lines... when in Fire Emblem... But anyway, talking about the quote, this one is kind of my least favorite out of the ones I picked but dialing back from the emotional maturity she does eventually develop, we see in this support just how out of touch she is with the rest of the world. She's very concerned in the moment with making friends and learning more about him that she doesn't consider the world they live in. Like, he says their family was poor and he's the breadwinner and she presses him with casual questions about his family like the small talk you would hear in school or something. Girl... But I think it works out in the end as it shows not only her flaws, but she admits to being so hasty and ignorant and tries to be more open-minded.