#This is brought to you by listening to Star Dash Sensation to keep from crying on the way home

[gnawingaikatsugremlin]

You know what sucks? Aikatsu Planet has like no music I listen to.

I just listened to Sweet Spice, Star Dash Sensation, Light Pink Day Tripper, and Original Star on my way home from work. I still listen to Miracle Force Magic, 1, 2, Sing for You, August Marina, and One Step from time to time. Hell, I even really like some Honey Cat songs from Friends.

Planet has... nothing. I find it all really boring and vapid. Feels like a big downgrade for a music anime honestly.

[danny-chase]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Titans (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Tempest (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dick Grayson & Garth Characters: Dick Grayson, Garth (DCU) Additional Tags: Titans (DCU) feels, Garth needs a hug, Garth gets a hug, Tula is dead, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hot Chocolate, Sunrises, Snuggling, Hugs, Crying, POV Dick Grayson, sand dunes, Grieving, dick grayson is a good friend Summary:

The one where Dick Grayson comforts Garth over Tula's death.

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Dick crept through the dimly lit halls of Titans Tower. Well, he supposed it ought to be called Titan Cave or something, now that it was underground, but that was besides the point. His friends were light sleepers, and it was late, or early, he wasn’t exactly sure – it was dark outside, so someone was probably sleeping. He should be sleeping; at this rate someone was going to yell at him (a few someones already had), but he hadn’t been able to put down their latest case until he finished analyzing the evidence. It wasn’t his fault; if he tried to sleep then… it wouldn’t have gone well.

Passing Roy’s room, he heard a thud behind the door. Okay, maybe not everyone was sleeping. Donna’s room was noticeably empty across the hall. Dick couldn’t help making a face, yeah, the Titans were like family, but he considered Donna a sister (they sometimes pretended to be twins) and ugh. That was weird. He didn’t disapprove but like, nope, not thinking about it anymore.

 Pressing on, his eyelids heavy, a second open door caused him to pause. Garth’s room was empty. Alone, it would have been innocuous, but he’d seemed distant earlier in the night and retired to his room before the rest. A photo of Tula sat on the edge of Garth bed.

 Dick snapped to attention, shuffling in the room, scooping up the evidence. He flicked-on a nearby lamp, and held the photo close, finding exactly what he’d expected: the faint outlines of teardrops. Sleep be damned, it was time to find Garth.

 Garth had never been the same after Tula died. Dick had fully expected the two to marry; he’d already been working on a wedding gift when the news hit. It was still half finished, sitting in his workshop, collecting dust. Dick strode out of the room, dashing back towards the stairs. Garth didn’t talk about Tula, never to them, never grieved with them. And Dick was tired of leaving grieving teammates alone.

 He took the steps three at a time, mind sorting through the possible places Garth could be. He wouldn’t have gone back to Atlantis; the man was too loyal for his own good sometimes; he wouldn’t leave the tower when they expected him to be around. Likely not at the pool either, Garth would go someplace he could remember Tula, and though they’d swam together in the old tower’s pool, Tula had died before the new base was built. And so, that left one possibility, Dick sped up his pace; Garth was by the shore.

 He stopped on the level just before the surface, popping into the communal kitchen. He pulled one of his leather jackets off the back of a chair and pulled a couple travel mugs out of the cupboard. The Keurig was the single best investment the team had ever made (he again put it on the mental shopping list for his new apartment), and he grabbed a hot chocolate cup for Garth and extra-caffeinated coffee for himself.

 After starting the coffee, he leaned back against the counter, hopping up to sit on it. Closing his eyes, he could still picture Garth and Tula swimming together; the joy they exuded simply by being near to one another. He leaned his head back against the cupboards, sighing heavily. Tula had brought a lightness to the team, a lightness to Garth. He’d gotten so much more confident throughout their relationship, he’d always been kind and loving, but the two brought out the best in each other.

 It was painful to see the changes wrought by her death.

 Even more painful to think of Garth being forced to destroy her possessed body.

 Dick learned at a young age that this world was cruel. And he’d learned that lesson over and over again with every new friend he made.

 It wasn’t fair that Garth had been abandoned at birth. It wasn’t fair that Wally’s parents abused him. Or that Joey and Raven died. Or that Victor had lost everything but his mind. If he listed all the injustices against his Titans family, he’d be here all night.

 His coffee finished next to him, and he started the hot chocolate. He pulled his socked feet up on the counter, wrapping his arms around his knees. He took a careful sip, not minding as the coffee burned his throat. The sensation helped ground him back in the present.

 Bruce had taught him, that even though this world was cruel, there were things you could change to make it more kind. Dick could change himself. He could make Garth hot chocolate. That wasn’t enough, but at the least it was something.

 He refused to wallow, instead turning his thoughts back towards Garth. He hopped off the counter, doing jumping jacks and squats to get his blood flowing.

 By the time the hot chocolate finished, Dick was way more alert and awake then before. Grabbing the mug, he half ran up the stairs, careful not to spill a drop. He slipped on his crocs, flinging open the door with one hand, and balancing the drinks in the other.

 A shiver ran down his spine as the cool ocean breeze danced across his face, tossing his bangs in his eyes as he hustled across the beach. The stars illuminated his surroundings, they were far enough from the cities to avoid light pollution, and coming here from Blüdhaven, he was always stunned by the beauty of the natural world.

 “Garth?” He called. He couldn’t see past the sand dunes, but Garth had excellent hearing, so hopefully he wouldn’t catch him off guard. He was sneaky, but he wasn’t rude. Most of the time.

 He winded his way around, looking for his friend’s footprints. Unfortunately, they were nowhere to be found; the wind kept blowing the top layer of the sand, whipping it up and masking the presence of those who’d journeyed through. “Garth? I know you can hear me.” His shoes hadn’t been by the door. “I’m not sleeping until we talk.” He threatened, stopping in his tracks. He glanced around. A hand waved out from behind another dune.

 Dick rushed forward. “Garth are you…” the question died in his throat; Garth was tucked in a little ball, his face buried in his knees, arms blocking any sign of expression. “…oh Garth.” He breathed, squatting down and settling the drinks in the sand. Garth’s ragged breathing cut through the hum of the night. “Can I…” Dick raised an arm. “…do you want a hug?”

 Garth was unmoving, so Dick sat back in the sand, lying against the dune, listening to his painful breathing. He stared up at the stars, listening as insects chirped and waves lapped against the beach. He looked for a shooting one, because if he could, he’d wish his friend’s heartbreak away.

 If Dick controlled the fate world, things like this would never happen.

 He’d wish away all his friend’s sorrows in an instant.

 But messing with the timeline always had disastrous results. So really. Dick was the one thing he hated to be.

 Useless.

 Back on top of a platform, watching his loved ones fall.

 “I’m sorry.” He murmured, his heart sinking. “Garth, I’m so, so sorry.” His stomach clenched; Tula never should have died. He should have been there, done something more, led the Titans better. But, this wasn’t about him and Garth likely felt the same.

 Garth plopped back into the sand next to him, throwing an arm over his eyes. Dick was at a loss for words, but he continued anyways. “She would be so proud of you.” His brain ran through a list of platitudes he’d memorized. “I’ll always remember how she smiled when you were together. Remember that time she tried making you a cake for your sixteenth birthday and caught the oven on fire?”

 He didn’t move.

 “What about the time she-”

 “Dick?” Garth’s whispered, voice rough.

 “Yeah?” His heart raced.

 “I’ll take the hug if you shut up.” He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

 He sat up and pulled a half-limp Garth into his side, tucking him against his chest. He carded a hand through Gath’s course curly hair and rubbed circles into his back with the other. Garth trembled in his arms, his eyes squeezed shut.

 He bit his lip. He could handle victims of horrid crimes, but he had no idea what he was doing right now. No training in the world could have prepared him for this, no matter how many of his friends lost a loved one, it was different every time.

 He leaned back against the dune, tear drops staining the exposed part of his shirt as Garth began to sob anew. He held Garth tight, squeezing gently, reassuring his friend he was still there.

 They sat like that, for a long while, Dick only moving to take sips of coffee, because there was no way in hell he’d accidentally fall asleep. Garth’s breathing evened out as time went on, and eventually, Dick could pretend things were fine. He played with Garth’s hair for a few minutes more, not wanting to do anything to provoke more heartache.

 Garth let out a long, quiet sigh. “I’m pathetic.”

 “Nope, cut that out.” Garth sat back up, and Dick followed him, keeping an arm slung around his shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault.”

 “Not what I meant.” Garth glumly settled his head in his hands. “Tula… she wouldn’t want to see me like this.”

 Dick handed him the mug of (cold) hot chocolate. “Maybe not, but she’d want you to take as much time as you needed grieving.” Garth accepted it reluctantly. “She’d wouldn’t want you to ignore your feelings.”

 Garth snorted. “Dick Grayson. Lecturing me about ignoring my feelings. Oh, how far I must have fallen to sink to these lows.” He felt heat rise to his cheeks.

 “Hey.” He objected. Garth grinned, ruefully, apologetic.

 “I’m not ignoring them.” He assured, though his smile fell. “I’m managing.”

 “I’m just saying, you don’t have to manage alone.” Dick paused for a moment. “My door’s always open.”

 “I know.” Garth leaned against his side. “And I love you for it. But with all due respect, you don’t have time left to give.”

 “I-”

 “Neither does Wally,” Garth continued, cutting him off. “Donna and Roy, I don’t wish to interrupt, Victor is dealing with a lot, and the others wouldn’t understand. They didn’t know Tula.” Dick pressed his lips together. “I don’t intend on being a burden to the team.”

 “You’re not a burden, we wouldn’t exist without you.” Dick nestled his head on Garth’s shoulder. “Trust me, I’ll always have time for you. And so will the others.”

 Garth hummed, warming the cold beverage with his hand, and taking a long sip.

 “For real.” Dick continued. “I can take time off my job, I’ve been thinking about quitting anyways-” Garth’s laughter echoed across the water. “-okay fine, I get your point, but Garth, please you can talk to us… you can talk to me. But I get it if you don’t want to, or feel like you can’t, so promise me, you’ll talk to someone if it gets too much… we have people approved by the JLA.” Therapists. Psychologists. Psychiatrists.

 The sun was starting to peak up over the horizon, the sky lightening into a melancholic shade of blue, not a single cloud in sight. Garth nodded. “I promise.” Dick sighed in relief, his chest deflating at the words. He pressed his mug to his lips again. Empty. He frowned, tossing the cup aside. Traitor. “Promise you won’t worry?” He could hear the hope in Garth’s voice.

 “Sure.” Dick answered, nonchalantly.

 “Liar.” Garth accused. Dick grimaced. “You’re quite easy to read when you haven’t slept in two days.” Garth patted his shoulder placatingly. “I wouldn’t expect you to not worry.” Silence fell between them.

 “Thanks.” Garth whispered after a few minutes. Dick squeezed his shoulders in response. This was, at the least, something he could do.

 The sky turned purple and pink, chasing away the dreary colors and reflecting beautifully off the water. They sat together, watching the sunrise, huddled together against the harsh world. The caffeine was wearing off and Garth had dark circles under his eyes. If they were ambushed, his paranoia screamed, they’d be easy targets. But as he lay back down against each Garth and the sand, Dick didn’t resist the urge to let his eyes close.

 He snuggled close to Garth, content with the knowledge that some alarm would wake him if things went wrong, and aside from that, his friends were nearby. Here, with Garth, he felt safe, and it seemed Garth held the same sentiment. Dick listened as his breathing deepened, taking in the moment until he too drifted off to sleep.

[maythedreadwolfbreakyou]

To Catch Me When I Fall

A Story of Friendship

     Beyond the balcony, the warm orange glow of the setting sun fell beyond the seam of the world, slowly casting the valley and the surrounding mountains into darkness. They would be lighting the braziers on the ramparts soon. 

     The cold mountain breeze rushed through the open balcony door and blew straight through Ghilina's casual evening finery, licking at the skin beneath with its wintry chill.

     She dared to look out the tall, ornate windows to see the sky tinged the color of Spindleweed, and the matte black that slowly swept across the sky like a rising tide, bringing with it the beauty of the stars.

     The moon had a milky glow in the inky black sky, amidst an array of diamond dust stars. The cool wind tugged at the free locks of her black hair, tickling her neck. Ghilina only smiled as she took comfort from the gentle, melodic timbre of the voice behind her. She snuggled her back deeper into his warm, broad chest as his outstretched arm pointed out ancient constellations written in those stars.

     Ghilina set her jaw as she shook the memory from her mind, viciously blinking back the sting of tears that they often brought. Instead she forced her mind away, placing an elbow on the desk as the width of her forehead rested between her thumb and forefinger. 

     The shudder from the ever cooling breeze made her involuntarily shudder, but she did not tear her focus from the documents she pored over by candlelight. Documents that had gone neglected in the days leading up to Corypheus, and she was determined to keep her mind busy.

     A quick set of knocks echoing from her chamber door startled her as she looked up, the door swinging open before she could answer. 

     Walking inside was the dashing dark-haired, bronze-skinned Dorian whose curled mustache bowed with his frown.

"Honestly," he complained, crossing the room in a long-legged stride to the open balcony, "I haven't the foggiest how you could concentrate on anything with this cold."

     He pulled the balcony doors shut with a clatter as Ghilina watched with an amused grin, leaning back in her seat, arms folded.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, mister Pavus?" Ghilina asked.

"You know I am to return to Tevinter, yes?" Dorian began, "It has been many months since we defeated Corypheus, and I cannot postpone my journey much longer."

"When are you leaving?" 

"Tomorrow," he answered sadly, "I've given my goodbyes to the others. It will be strange to be without them. For my last night in Skyhold, I wanted to spend it with you."

Ghilina gaped with astonishment, "with me? What did you have in mind?"

Dorian reached for her hand and pulled her from her chair, "A few ideas, just know I won't take no for an answer. Come with me."

Ghilina couldn't help but smile as he led her from her chamber and down the stone steps.

     The blanket draped around her shoulders was thick and warm in the cold night, it failed to reach her toes which would feel the chill before too long. 

     Ghilina heard the murmurs behind her and turned to look. Dorian was accepting two large steaming mugs from one of the kitchen girls whose head peaked up from the hole leading into the Mage tower. Ghilina admired the girl's courage, even now few were willing to brave the inside of the tower, much less climb the ladder to the roof. 

     The girl gave Dorian a final toothy smile before the loud clack of boots against wooden ladder rungs signaled her descent. 

     The mug Dorian offered was filled with a dark and hot liquid. Ghilina accepted the mug gingerly and wrapped her hands around its metallic surface, letting the warmth flow through her fingers and banish the wintry chill. 

"I trust you wouldn't think I had it poisoned," Dorian teased lightly, "I'm told it's good for a wounded heart."

Ghilina could not hide the surprise from her face, to which Dorian greeted with a delighted laugh.

"You didn't really think you were hiding it, did you?"

Ghilina looked down, "I had hoped I was."

She took a drink from her mug to hide her embarrassment, and what greeted her was a dark, hot liquid that was rich and creamy as it coated her tongue thickly. It smoothly flowed down her throat.

"Chocolate?" She asked, staring into her mug.

"Hot Cocoa," Dorian corrected, "or so I am told. It was among the many gifts sent to the Inquisition for their help against the Red Templars. Quite popular in the more cold and rural parts of Orlais, I hear."

     She watched him from beneath the lip of her cup as he sat across the table, a knowing smile on his face. He lifted his gaze for only a moment to meet hers. But a moment was all it took for her heart to flutter like the butterflies in her stomach.

     Her vision blurred as her eyes glimmered with tears. She looked skyward before they could fall, quickly blinking them away. 

     Dorian took her cup from her hands then and placed it on the wall's ledge with his own, "There will be none of that."

     Before Ghilina could protest, Dorian had gently pulled her to his chest and held her affectionately. She could not hide the surprise from her voice, "Dorian, what-"

"If it is uncomfortable, I will stop." He interrupted, "I have seen how strong you have tried to be, you are the Inquisitor and no one should see you vulnerable. We both know I am not no one. I am not Cole so I have no way to offer help as he could, but I would still offer help as a friend. You can cry here, get angry, fume, with just us and no one else."

     Those words were all it took for the walls Ghilina had built to hold her up and make her strong, to crumble and collapse at his feet. Moment by moment, they fell like the tears from her chin. 

     He continued softly, "What is tearing you apart shouldn't remain apart of you, you taught me that. Let it out, dear girl."

     She sobbed into his chest unceasingly, hands clutching at the fabrics of his mage robes. 

     Ghilina loved her hair, her hair very much like her mother's and all too uncommon among the Dalish, but it wasn't the best thing about her. It fell in raven-black waves against her ominously fair skin, so striking that it was one of the only things anyone in her clan commented on. But Solas, he barely seemed to notice it at all. Many times, she had caught him as he watched her like she held stars in her hands and left flowers in her wake. It was enough to bring heat to her face and wonder, fleetingly, what his lips might feel like against her own.

     The happy memories she had once treasured like kind and welcome friends in the darkest of times came to her now, each one bearing a dagger for her already vulnerable heart.

     Dorian only held her in silence, rocking her slowly and stroking her hair as the tears soaked his chest. 

     She stared back at him for what felt like hours as they exchanged shy, affectionate words in the snow, until finally she dropped her gaze, "Sweet talker," her voice was quieter now, less confident.

     Ghilina dared herself to look up; a gentle flush of pink against her skin that was not because of the biting cold. She held her breath as she leaned up on the tips of her toes, turning his face to her's by the chin, before tentatively pressing her lips to his. 

     Her head had gone hazy; her body stagnant for all but the sensation of their lips intertwined, so sweet and silken, it was unlike any kiss before. 

     Before she could regret, to see the discomfort of her boldness on his face, she retreated. Only to feel his hands grip her and pull her back in for a more experienced kiss that robbed her of her breath and her heart.

     She trembled and whimpered between waves of misery. Minutes of sobbing broken apart by short pauses for breath. But always she returned, hurling herself back into the open arms of her grief until her whole world faded to black.

     Ghilina found herself in her own bed when she was startled awake by the familiar belly laugh of The Iron Bull.

"Oh come on, Kadan. By the look on your face when I found you, I'd have thought you never had seen a woman fainting before."

Ghilina's back was to them, she found as she opened her eyes. Instinctively, she remained still as she listened.

"Could you keep your voice down, Amatus?" Dorian chided, "Half the castle must have heard you, and in case it went unnoticed, the Inquisitor is sleeping."

"Besides," he continued, "the only women I had seen fainting were never my closest friends. This was new, and more concerning."

The Iron Bull grunted, "Judging by the dark circles under her eyes, she must not be sleeping well."

Silence descended on the room then, for so long that Ghilina began to think they might have silently slipped out. The silence was shattered unexpectedly when Dorian spoke. 

"She must have been burying herself in work to keep her mind occupied." Dorian quavered with sadness, "You should have seen her when she finally let go, she was… beside herself with grief."

"I can guess. Just seeing that fake smile on her face for our benefit... She was holding everything back."

"You care much more than you pretend to, Amatus." Dorian teased.

Ghilina could hear the smile in Bull's voice, "Hey, I care a great deal."

"Of that, I am certain." Dorian gritted his teeth then, and continued, "What I cannot understand is how Solas could do this to her. No explanation, no closure, nothing. If I ever see him again, I'll… I don't know, but I'll do something to make him regret breaking her heart."

"You are a good one, Kadan. I don't know if she would like hearing you say that. But you're a good man all the same, and a good friend." The pride on Bull's voice was tangible. 

"I try to be. Ghilina has become one of my best friends in such a short amount of time. She doesn't deserve this. What he did to her."

     Dorian giggled suggestively before he reluctantly agreed. Ghilina heard their receding footsteps shortly after, followed by the soft clatter of her chamber door.

"No, she doesn't." Ghilina heard the creak of a chair, "We should go, Kadan. Let her rest. Besides, you're setting off tomorrow and I would hate to see you go without something to remember me by."

She sat up in bed and stretched, her eyes were sore and swollen, no doubt glaringly red, and feeling puffy at the touch. Her cheeks felt stiff and worn from the dried tears, and her head ached. Yet despite all of that, she felt surprisingly refreshed. Perhaps some time on the balcony would help relieve some of the swelling and soreness she felt.

     She paused suddenly as Dorian and Bull's words sank in, had she really been that obvious? It shamed her to think they had noticed how hard she had been trying to prevent them from worrying about her, only for it to backfire. But as much as her heart yet pained and ached, there was a warmth that spread there in the holes left behind. Comfort taken in knowing she had such devoted friends who cared as much about her as she did for them. Friends she had come to consider more like a chosen family, a thought like a salve on a wounded heart that made her smile. A genuine smile that left a strange feeling after faking one for so long.

[lyniririn]

Thermae encounter - 01

This picture has an attached story to it. Vincent X Reader This is a fan inspired piece and may or may not relate directly to the cannon character in Ikemen Vampire.

Words count: 2108

The content is NSFW, find a safe spot to read at your own risk...

Contains smut after the break

My ramblings: Vincent’s route is coming out soon, so excited for it! Im sure I will vanish for a little, burying my head into reading it. Meanwhile, I had busied myself painting and writing about him. Yea... writing... the first and last thing I wrote was a silly story about Edgar’s duckling birthday 😂 This is a little different, by little I mean a lot. Enjoy!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Not too long ago, you were in the changing room. It was your usual late night spot, to listen to their gossiping since you had found out. You always felt a little at mischief to be listening in on them whilst they have a bath, but alas curiosity had claimed you ever since you overheard how Vincent said he felt when you unknowingly hugged him whilst you were asleep in the garden. You still remember scuttling back to your room that evening, curling up in the blanket trying to make a desperate attempt to fall asleep, with thoughts running wild through your mind, curious and thrilled upon learning his feelings. You came back to the same spot every night thereafter, hoping to eavesdrop on more of their conversations on things that he would not have mentioned to you otherwise.

It was uncanny that the rest of them were not around this evening, the usual bathroom chatters were not present, only the soft trickling and splashing of water echoing through the thermae. You stayed anyway, hoping to be rewarded with a glimpse of him, in a bath towel? Or perhaps less? Little did you know, the difference in the bathing pattern was not the only discrepancy this evening.

You sighed and held your hands to your heart feeling heavy and ready to go back to your room after you thought that Vincent had exited the bath. While you were treading out past the lavish bath, you slipped on a rubber duck. Unfortunately for you, that ended with a loud splash and your scream echoed through the thermae. Vincent dashed out in his towel to make sure you were okay when he heard you. Thankfully, the bath waters broke your fall. You were left drenched but uninjured. He insisted however to stay nearby to ensure that you don’t make another slip as you returned to the change room to rid of your wet clothing and fetch some towels to dry up. You wished you were able to vanish right about now...

While you were changing, he asked innocently if you were there to have a bath yourself? You stuttered for a moment and replied, ‘um… actually I’ You tried to calm yourself as you felt the guilt started coursing through you, thankful that he is just out of sight. ‘I just…umm, yes it’s a coincidence isn’t it?’ You exclaimed.

‘ahh… I see, a bath before sleep always feels nice’ He mentioned in a casual tone preventing you from feeling uncomfortable. You stepped out after removing your wet clothing and all wrapped up in a dry towel, one hand continuing to dry your hair.

You were greeted with an angelic smile the moment you crossed behind the wall, so preciously beamed towards you that you become hardly able to suppress the lie any longer, his smile cohearsing you to submit.

‘Vincent...actually...I’m here because I heard you. I’ve been here time and time again since the day I overheard your chatters with Theo and Arthur when you spoke about how you felt when I hugged you in the garden. I want to know you better.” You confessed, hoping to bury the sense of mischief and guilt that his precious smile had forced out of you, praying that he would not be offended by your confession.

His eyes widened as a tinge of redness extended from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He clapse his right hand to his mouth as he towards reaches yours in his other.

‘Is this alright? Tell me… tell me to stop or I may not be able to control myself soon’ He mutters as he reaches towards your cheeks, removing them from his own’

He looked at you for a few moments as though he was searching for an answer, whilst you stared back at him mesmerised by his words, joining your hand to his on your cheek giving him a nod.

Vincent closed the distance between you slightly and brushed your hair behind your right ear trailing his fingers down to settling at your collarbone taking it as an acknowledgement that you had not backed away. He whispered into your ear again in a soft voice with a hint of urgency ‘it’s unfair that you have to look this cute when you are making me feel so... strange. Do you really want to know me? Is it alright even if I’d like to know you even more?’

You nodded coyly as you removed your other hand to reach towards his back, removing any gaps between the both of you, freeing your towel as it falls to the ground. You could feel his breath trailing down to your neck, until a soft moist sensation dabbed at your skin followed by a sharp graze as you had kept your eyes shut. Vincent leaned in toward you, lowering you to the ground where the towels had previously landed.

You gave out a cry that echoed through the thermae as he drew his tongue up the side of your neck lapping the drips of water that remained on your skin. You tried to silent yourself by covering your mouth up as he continued feverishly pecking and licking at your neck as he moved up to your lips. “Don’t… I want to hear the sounds you make” Vincent persists as he held your arms up, his eyes were so mesmerising like stars shining so brightly towards yours, you couldn’t help but to gaze back into them.

He kept one hand above your head holding your wrists as his eyes stayed on you trailing his other hand down your body, brushing past as your skin reacted, forming bumps as your chest heaved. You returned him a wanton look biting your lower lips, nudging your hips to where his hand stopped as you eased your legs to the side to allow him access. 'Touch me' you said daringly.

He rubbed gently at your labia in fumbled motions as you tried to grind your hips towards his fingers impatiently. ‘Am I doing this wrongly?’ He asks just to make sure.

‘No, it feels good, I just… want more’ you replied whilst trying to suppress your needs. Returning pecks of kisses in reassurance, both breathing with increased intensity.

Your hands were finally freed from his hold as he removed his hold. Just as you thought you were in control again, you felt your breasts being busied from kneading, whilst being lapped up by his tongue and taken into his mouth. He suckled on your nipples switching each breast over as he continued coaxing your cunt in with circular motions as you throbbed, feeling the slickness of the area as he dips the tips of his fingers past your entrance.

You tugged at his hair as he suckled at your breasts and positioned your other hand along with his, in guiding motions exploring your body, encouraging him to further his finger inside you.

‘You are so wet... so warm, is it because of me’ Vincent said as though he stated it as he looks up at you before he quickly returned to continue his ministrations stroking at your heat and drawing out the wetness from your core. He brought the finger from within you, drawing it past your belly, breasts, neck, up to his lips and tasted it you as you watched, licking all traces that lingered on it like honey.

You gave out a loud lewd moan and gasps as he returned his hand back to your entrance slipping a second finger into your sex. Each increasing moan, breath and wet squishing noises created from your bodies echoed through the thermae, urging Vincent on. His fingers inside you, at times trailing one behind the other in momentum, curling, reaching into your sweet spot as he rubbed his thumb on your cilt at where your fingers held your lips apart. He was painting you with your own juices, tenderly but hastily. He brought his lips to take yours feverishly as you moaned into his, latching tongues, panting and kisses.

Digging your hands into his shoulder you arched your back into him, breaking into cries of pleasure as it was becoming all too much for you. It was hard to focus on any of your thoughts as he continued to pleasure you, your hips buckling, clasping your thighs together in a desperate attempt to feel even more of him as the intensity of his pumping built, until you came undone leaving a certain amount of wetness beneath you.

Hadn’t you want to know how he feels? Yes... you wanted to know him better.

You did your best to relax your thighs despite feeling intensely pleasured, he slowed his movements, a little confused at your release. Your hand slid from his shoulder and brushed towards his erection before grasping it whole in swift momentum.

You could tell by his reaction that he liked it even though he pulled away slightly for a second the moment you gave him a gentle but firm tug on his member, chased with an elicit soft cry of approval rivalling your own in erotic reverbs echoing the thermae.

You nudged him over onto his back with ease and continued teasing his member brushing fingers lightly over his length over and over stroking him as he removed his fingers from you in change of positions. Slowly inching with kisses down on his body, you tried to keep your eyes on his until you reached his erection.

Stroking and pulling his skin taut with one hand, brushing up and down with the other, you flashed him a glimpse of mischief before using your tongue to lick at his head down towards his shaft onto his base and back up again, savouring the taste of his wetness on your lips before taking him into your mouth. You enjoyed listening to his whimpers and moans as you sent him into ecstasy whilst you continued to tease his length licking it over and over whilst you kept pace with the strokes.

Vincent tugged at your lap as you continued your venture admiring the art in every inch of him with licks. You raised your face to look at him when he gave you a stronger tug, wondering if you did something negative, instead he asks with those intensely blue eyes sparkling, ‘Please, I want to taste you too.’

With his pull on your hips, he maneuvered himself beneath you urgently, bringing you down towards his mouth hungrily. You could feel his panting and hot breath chasing in towards your core.

As you felt his fingers entering you again, you took him whole as deeply as you could pumping and fondling his testicles with your hands. You felt yourself gag on his member, taking him too deeply in haste as his tongue intruded into you on the other end, licking and prodding into your cunt tasting you entirely. You continued to increase your movements along his shaft feeling his skin tightening, sensing that he must be close.

With a sudden flicker on your clit, you felt him latching on to your heat slurping at it with thirst, it was all too much for you, as you partially raised yourself up that instant popping his cock out of your mouth in a tight pull and found yourself grinding yourself into him. In the same instant you pushed your body into him arching your spine into a curve as the intensity consumed you. You shook for a moment as you felt a sharp prick in your femoral artery as he came at the same time, sending splashes of his paint all over you and into the distance. He finished off licking you clean in soft gentle laps.

By the time you came back to your senses, you were looking at the distant starry sky in the glass ceiling, so blue with a bright yellow moon casting its light down towards the both of you. He pulled and hugged you from behind, both your bodies, radiating heat, bodies colliding as you breathe. “You are so beautiful” he whispered into your ear.

You couldn’t help but enjoy the moment of embrace the both of you shared, unfortunately, to be soon interrupted with sounds of humming nearing. Vincent was quick with his actions, picking up a towel to wrap you up and wrapping himself up with the other, pushing you into the changing area.

“Hmmhmmm hm...hmmmm hmmmmmmmm!!!!’ Sebastian came humming by. “Oh my duck! There you are!!’ He picked it up and went out of the thermae again without looking back.

The both of you exchanged a sigh of relief and laughed.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. THE END.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it ﾟ.+:｡(〃ω〃)ﾟ.+:｡ ｷｬｧ♪

Thank you for your assistance, beautiful peoples !!

@dear-mrs-otome @stupidoafofspades @kazesuke @shadydiaca @assomoir +Jane 

[keeroo92]

I read your post about the dmc boys helping a s/o with body image issues and I loved it 😭 can I ask for more comfort?? How would the guys help a partner who has PTSD from an assault that happened years ago? If you're uncomfortable writing that's totally fine! 💞

Soooo this got slightly out of control. I originally planned on making this a headcanon thing, but... well...

The first section is an intro to the Reader’s viewpoint, read that first and then pick your favorite guy. (Sidenote - Apologies in advance for Vergil going OOC)

Hope you enjoy!

 ____________

The past weighed heavy on your soul. Over the years, you learned how to ignore it and keep moving forward, but some scars never fully heal. It wasn’t a memory you spent much time dwelling on if you could help it.

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that you were over it. That person couldn’t hurt you ever again, you wouldn’t let them. You were stronger than what they did to you and never again would you surrender to them, even mentally.

Yet when your beloved partner accidentally reminded you of it, the walls shattered. The ache in your chest felt as if it was only yesterday, the tears as powerful as ever. Even after all those years.

---V---

He froze as your breathing hitched, but not in pleasure. Something was wrong, had he hurt you?

“What’s wrong, love?”

Tattooed hands left the bare flesh of your stomach to stroke your cheek. He longed to ease the pained expression on your familiar face, but you flinched back from his touch. Confusion and concern warred in his mind as he shifted away, granting you the space you so clearly needed.

The glow of the television danced across your body as the film played on, heedless and uncaring. A soft rustle accompanied your every move upon the upholstery. Only seconds before, sighs and moans filled the now silent air.

Something was terribly wrong.

“Please talk to me. Did I hurt you?” the poet begged.

You shook your head, arms and legs pulled tight to your core. “I- it’s not you.”

His heart twisted at the broken tone of your sweet voice. Restrained sniffles and shaking shoulders only heightened the sensation. He knew you far too well for you to hide your pain.

Slick fluid still coated his rapidly wilting length, the flush on his skin only barely faded. Echoes of his arousal lingered in his belly, but easing the ache was his last priority. All he cared about was restoring your smile.

“What can I do?”

At first, he thought you weren’t going to answer. By the time you finished telling the story, he wished he’d been correct.

Why did such terrible people exist? What evil needed to manifest for a person to steal your very ability to choose? How dare they, what gave them the right? He would tear them to pieces, drive stakes into their body until they begged for mercy just as you did. They’d receive the same level of compassion as they’d given you.

But not tonight.

Tonight, you needed him. His wrath could wait.

“I cannot imagine the strength required to survive that. I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “Thank you for trusting me with the truth.”

Hesitant hands reached out to you, slow enough you could easily deny his attempts to pull you into an embrace. Despite the fear and pain lingering in your eyes, you allowed it, huddling against his chest as if he could hide you from any strife.

He’d do his best.

“I’m sorry I’m like this, I thought I was past it,” you whispered. “I won’t hold it against you if you want to leave.”

You trembled in his grasp, curling inwards as another round of tears slipped free to drip from your chin. His grip only tightened, crushing you against him as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Never apologize for being in pain. Not to me.”

He paused and rubbed soothing circles across your spine, listening to your unsteady breathing. When you stopped shaking at last, he pulled back to look deep into your eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere. Now that I’ve found you, I refuse to let you go. Understood?”

You sniffled again and nodded, the first hint of a smile gracing your lips.

 Nero

In the back of his mind, he always knew. The way your eyes always searched for an exit in public spaces, how you never slept as well alone, the way you saw yourself… It all hinted at the truth, but he never pressed for the whole story. You’d tell him when you were ready. In the meantime, he did his best to support you.

As you finally broke down and spoke about it, an odd sense of joy rushed through him. It was nice to know you trusted him so much.

But the feeling didn’t last. How could he ever be happy about any aspect of it?

It didn’t matter that you barely cried. It didn’t matter that your voice was steady and constant. It didn’t matter that you didn’t push him away or let go of his hand as you spoke. No, all that mattered was how none of it should’ve ever happened.

“This is so messed up…”

He didn’t know what else to say. Words didn’t seem like enough.

“I’m working through it, bit by bit,” you said. Judging by your defensive posture, it wasn’t helping.

Nero sighed and scratched the back of his neck. He knew plenty of people who dealt with similar crap. Growing up in the orphanage exposed him to the concept before he even hit puberty. It never made sense to him, wasn’t it more enjoyable when everyone wanted it? What kind of monster preferred forcing themselves on another person?

Regardless. It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone should face alone and despite his knowledge, he knew he could only do so much. He stared at the floor as blood rushed to his face. It felt strange to ask such a personal question, but considering the circumstances…

“Have you… y’know, been talking to someone?”

Your hands fidgeted the way they always did when you got nervous, picking at the seam of the bedspread. Was that because of the trauma?

“No, not for a few years,” you mumbled.

He took your hands and brought them to his lips, pressing soft kisses across the knuckles. It was important not to make you feel worse, no matter how much he wanted to scold you for not taking proper care of the issue. Support, not judgement. Understanding, not condemnation.

“I can help you find someone, when you’re ready. Anything you need, okay?”

He wrapped an arm over your shoulders and kissed the top of your head, his heart heavy and stomach twisted. What else could he do? Was anything enough?

Probably not.

But that never stopped him before.

 Dante

The devilish smirk fell from his lips the moment you started crying. He’d never seen you cry before, not once. It shocked him, if he was being totally honest.

“Babe? What’s up?”

It was clear on your face how desperately you fought whatever was troubling you. What could possibly be wrong, and why didn’t you say something? You told him everything, even the stuff he didn’t want to know.

The clatter of the cue ball breaking the rack at the next table made you jump. Raucous laughter followed soon after and the red-clad man set aside his stick. Fear and shame stained your eyes; whatever was going on, this wasn’t the place.

He took your hand and pulled you outside into the chilly evening air. Overhead, the stars shone in a pitch-black sky, no moon to be seen. Wisps of cigarette smoke drifted over from where some idiot puffed away.

“Hey, get lost,” Dante commanded.

The fool almost protested, a sneer already teasing at his mouth but Dante had no patience. He focused on his blood and allowed his eyes to shift, growling at the man until he dashed away with a terrified look. That shit never got old.

“Right. Wanna tell me what’s going on, now?”

He never would’ve imagined the tale you told him, pausing here and there to sniffle or take his hand. Pressure built in his sternum with every word, glass choking him as his hands tingled. What he wouldn’t give to take away your pain and make it like nothing ever happened.

But all he came up with was a stupid joke. “Want me to go kick their ass for ya?”

You sighed and wiped your eyes, staring at anything except his face. “No, it was my fault anyway. I should’ve been more careful or worn something else. It was my mistake.”

Oh, hell no. He was not letting you get away with that bullshit. Not in a million years. Calloused hands took careful hold of your chin and gently turned it to face his stern glare.

“That’s stupid and you know it. The only person responsible is them. They chose to… do that to you. They chose to be an ass. It’s not your fault. Don’t you ever say or even think stuff like that ever again, you hear me?”

“But-“

“No.”

A petulant frown split your tear-streaked face. “But-“

“Stop it,” he insisted.

“Dante, come on-“

“I said no, damnit!”

A hint of amusement filtered through the sorrow in your eyes. It was a start. Enough for him to drop his hand and pull you into a hug, encasing you in his body in a silent promise. He didn’t know what you needed to do to heal, but he’d be there every step of the way.

 Vergil

It explained so much. Why you didn’t like swimming or wearing a bathing suit. Why you hated going downtown. Why you were so hesitant with your affections. How had he not figured it out before? You shouldn’t have to relive it just so he understood.

As if he ever could.

Still, he’d been violated before. Scars still marked his otherwise pristine skin, not to mention those on his soul. He knew what it was to survive against all odds, and the knowledge that you did too deepened his respect for you threefold.

“I never knew,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You sat on the antique couch, hands in your lap and eyes locked on the oak parquet. Throughout your tale, he’d been pacing. The living room was the perfect size for it, even with the elaborate fireplace. The motion helped to ease the pressure to do something, anything to fix this. A way to channel his energy without causing damage.

Much as he wished to sink his blade deep into the gut of the villain in your story. Not too deep; only a slow and painful death would suffice. No mercy for such a crime.

“I’m sorry. I… I didn’t want you to know how weak I am.”

His repetitive footsteps froze. You thought yourself weak, and that he would as well. Guilt and shame mixed in his mind; how could he have allowed you to not understand? A muscle in his cheek spasmed and he whirled to kneel at your feet, an earnest look etched across his regal features as he grasped your hands in his own.

“Weakness lies not in the inability to avoid pain, but the inability to withstand it. You are not weak, quite the opposite. That you haven’t given up is a testament to your strength.”

A shaky breath slipped from your lips. What else could he do or say to help? How could he make you understand that in his eyes, you had the strength of a typhoon?

“You’re wrong, I’m a coward. I’m not strong, just too broken for them to bother killing.”

First you called yourself weak, and now broken? You couldn’t possibly think so little of yourself. Unacceptable, he wouldn’t allow it. Not anymore, at least.

He knew of only one way to piece together a wounded soul. Hopefully, it would prove sufficient for your needs. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t be with you at all times.

The pommel at his waist warmed to his touch. His oldest ally and most reliable companion, the Yamato never failed him. A pang of loss ached in his heart as he untied the strings, as if he were surrendering a portion of his own soul by holding it out to your curious eyes.

He never allowed you to touch it before.

“Take it.”

Your mouth dropped open, shock tinting your gaze. “W- what?”

He huffed and forced his arms not to retreat. “I will train you, until not a soul alive can call you anything but strong. Even yourself.”

Your trembling hands wrapped around the sheathe after a long pause. Releasing his grip sent shockwaves through his body, but somehow he managed. It was worth it if it helped you.

“I- I couldn’t! It’s yours!”

A soft smile twisted his lips as the last echoes of pain faded into static. Truthfully, the arrangement was perfect. Yamato was a part of him; nothing in the world would work harder to keep you safe. If ever you found yourself in a dire situation again, escape would be child’s play.

And in a sense, as long as you carried his blade, he was at your side.

“And now it’s yours.”

He paused, another wave of agony rushing through him as you slid the blade free. “At least until I find a suitable weapon for you.”

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

The Mind is the Seat of God

Chapter 2: Tulio

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tulio loved the moon. His mamon had always said that the moon was their lookout on nights like tonight, nights when papa lifted his mamon up to a window sill so she could open their way. Nights when they wore only black, when they crept silently through the homes of the too wealthy and nimbly stole their wealth away. Nights when jewels glittered darkly beneath the pale light, when even the bright and gaudy flash of gold was quieted to the cool glimmer of silver. Nights like these were his favourite. It always meant breakfast when he woke, another book or lesson to fill his head, and food to fill his belly. It meant that his mother would sing in French, her native language, as she pinned her golden curls up with pearls or taught him to dance the way her papa had taught her. These nights were quiet, only whispers and subtle tilts of the head instead of the loud bustle of Spain in the day. He had trained for these nights beneath the watchful moon since he could walk, and now, at twelve, he was a master of them. Yes, Tulio loved the moon and all that it brought. But tonight, the moon’s eye must have turned the other way. Footsteps were the first indication, heavy echoes of booted feet marching in time. One or two pairs of soft slippered feet wouldn't be odd, but many pairs of military boots was a sound that sent ice shivering through his veins. The clank of armour came next, clattering and clanging like noon bells on Sunday. Then came the voices, harsh orders barked quietly in Spanish, so discordant to his ears so accustomed to French and whispers. They were on them, bright orange flames dashing away the calming darkness. Swords were brandished, the harsh sound of metal sliding free grating on his ears and freezing his heart in his chest. There was fear in his mother’s blue eyes, and he looked to his father for reassurance. His father, who was never afraid, even when armoured boots clattered past their hiding place in the night. But there wasn't fear in those dark eyes. There was panic, and there was terror. In that moment, it was like Tulio’s world unhitched. His rock, the solid, unfearing man who had taught him how to shave the beginnings of his own dark beard just as easily as he had taught him to slip a quiet knife between armoured plates to silence a lone guard, had come unmoored from the sea floor. Nothing seemed real in that long, long minute, only three pairs of eyes all staring in horror at each other. Tulio’s father broke it first, his French softened Spanish hoarse and hard as it broke the silence.

“I will hold them off. The both of you, go!”

He shoved them, not bothering to tell them where to rendezvous. They knew he was going to die, and it opened a pit in the bottom of his stomach as his mother's slim hand closed around his own. Time seemed off, long moments of seemingly frozen time burning themselves into his memory before seeming to stumble forwards at a sprint he couldn't remember. Dark, frightened eyes seeming to well with tears slower than the honey Tulio loved on pancakes, and a pale hand dragging him too fast for him to keep up as walls passed in blurs. The sight of his mother's pale hair almost floating through the air as if underwater, and hurried words in French that vaguely sounded like a rushed prayer. The words all tumbled over and under and around themselves like water, a gushing cascade of hope and despair beseeching an unfeeling power for an impossibility. Tulio hated religion. He hated how it looked down at them, how it ringed his mother’s wrist in beads that clattered like dried bones, how it fell from her lips like holy oil when times grew hard. Instead, he loved the moon. But the moon did not love him. It watched unblinking from the sky as he fled with his mother, heavy boots echoing in his ears like his mother’s frightened breaths. Her blue eyes searched frantically, darting about like hummingbirds for an escape every time another street cropped up. But there was no escape, no mercy from the city of Spain as their path led to a solid wall.

“Oh, mon dieu! Tulio!”

Her voice wavered at her exclamation, and she swiftly knelt to look him in the eyes. Her bottom lip was quavering, but she did not cry as she held his shoulders tight. He could feel her nails dig into the flesh through his shirt, the pain sharpening his memory. Time seemed to slow again as he looked at her, cobalt eyes soaking in every detail in that second. She was limned in silver to his eyes, porcelain skin so smooth and pale beneath the halo of blonde hair, whitened in the moonlight. Each strand seemed so clear to him, a pure wire of starlight glimmering beneath the moon. Her eyes were almost the same colour of the sky above them, the tears she refused to shed reflecting the stars like glass until her eyes were the night.

“Tulio, listen to me. You have to climb that wall, and you have to run. You run, Tulio, and you don't look back. No matter what you hear, no matter what you know, no matter what you think, you don't turn back. Do. Not. Turn. Back.”

She swallowed hard, pulling close to embrace him tightly. She smelled like night blooming Cereus and roses, the sweet scent enveloping him and clinging to his skin like a second embrace.

“Me nous oublie jamais, mon cher fils. Je t'aime.”

He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, and tears welled in his eyes from the numb spot in his chest as he wrapped thin arms around her.

“Je t’aime, mamon.”

He took a deep breath, holding in the smell of her for what seemed forever. She pulled away too fast, her jaw tightening as she settled a heavy locket around his neck.

“Adieu, Tulio.”

He swallowed hard, heart kick starting in his chest at the sound of the guards growing closer.

“Adieu, mamon.”

He felt like he was dying inside, but he turned and ran full tilt at the the wall. His soft shoes were quiet against the ground as he grew closer and closer, gangly legs covering ground like a colt. When he was close enough, he leapt as high as he could, feet leaving the ground in the familiar sensation of flying. He seemed to soar for a minute, the air parting smoothly around him. He made impact with the wall hard, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and braced his feet as he wedged his fingers into the spaces between bricks and stones. It was just like they had practiced, his father’s strong arms lifting him up and his mother waiting at the top. He scaled the rest of the wall, scrambling higher as his mother readied the knife hidden in her sleeve. She stood firm, unwavering as her son easily slipped over the top of the wall. He didn't drop down though, he couldn't move as he peered over the dusty stones to see the garish flames paint his mother in gold as the guards closed in.

“Where is he, thief? Where is the boy?”

She didn't answer, and the captain of the squad curled his lip in disgust.

“No matter. The answer will be pulled from you, whether you like it or not. Cuff her.”

His mother said nothing, allowing the guards to draw closer. They were wary as they circled her, but not wary enough. The knife slid from her sleeve in a flash of gold, swiftly embedding itself in the throat of the guard behind her. He fell with a gurgle, the man to her left already falling as his blood spurted from beneath his chin. The man on her right got his sword halfway from it's scabbard before he fell as well, their blood so dark beneath the moon and the leaping flames. The man just before her had drawn his blade already, but he stood no chance as she slipped beneath his guard to slit his throat. She pulled his dagger from his belt as he fell, hurling it swiftly to it's new sheathe in the eye of a man advancing in her. Five men down, but too many pouring into the alley still. They surrounded her, ready now with their longer swords to keep her at bay. She was hemmed in, blue eyes watchful as the captain stepped forward. His sword still rested in it's scabbard, confident she had no options left.

“Surrender now.”

She snarled, leaping forward to bury her long dagger into the space between his cuirass and backplate. The gathered guards leapt forward at the same time with their long blades, but it was too late. The knife slid home between his ribs, and his eyes widened as he looked down at her in surprise. Blood bubbled from his lips, even as her slim body became drenched in her own dark scarlet from the numerous blades that now held her up. She drew closer to his ear, her Spanish sharp and clear.

“Never.”

The captain fell with a clatter of armour, and his mother looked over her shoulder to where she could see his wide blue eyes. She smiled faintly, body beginning to sway as blood stained her lips. They formed a silent word, her slim hand raising weakly in farewell.

“Adieu.”

He mouthed back at her as her eyes began to darken.

“Adieu.”

Her breath failed her with one last sigh, and her head lolled back lifelessly as her body was still held up by the weapons of it's demise. Her eyes reflected the moon like glass, a broken shell of a woman, of a mother. Of his mother. He held back his sobs as he dropped silently from the wall, plummeting like a stone. He didn’t look back when he ran away, the locket bouncing against his chest like a second heartbeat.

[all-blue-headcanons]

Good day, lovely person! I just bumped in to leave a smol request. A scenario, if possible. Although your specified writing makes it already scenario like... But Law, with a little dig into his though process when he finds out his childhood friend, who he thought was dead for over 10-12 years now - appears now to be actually alive 🤔

Law finding out his childhood friend is actually alive after a decade thinking they were dead

It was that time of year again where Trafalgar D. Water Law became an absolute nightmare for the Heart Pirates to deal with, their captain’s mood suddenly becoming as unreasonable as he could be cold. Fortunately the crew had learned roughly when to expect ‘the change’ in his behavior - as Penguin had once coined the term, everybody knowing to keep their distance as the ever increasing lack of sleep caused the bags under the man’s eyes to become that much darker and more pronounced.The stony stare spoke volumes as to how the Surgeon of Death had been feeling as of late, and as much as his crew loved their captain, they all knew that sometimes it was best to simply let him be. From what they had learned about Law’s past, there was a good reason as to why his usual smiles were in short supply around this time of year… Trafalgar Law was grieving, mourning those he had lost in the only way he knew how - and very much prefered to be left alone when he did. Twirling a cigarette he’d pilfered between his fingers, Law sighed as he turned his attention towards the cloudy heavens. It appeared as though the skies were grieving along with him that day, his wintery eyes reflecting the crashing waves of the sea close by. Those same grey irises look down at the stick clasped within his tattooed digits; he didn’t like these things at all, and barely knows why he’s even having it but the man lights up the other end with a shaking hand before pressing it through pursed lips.Death. He scowls upon reading his own fingers before inhaling deeply in defiance, welcoming the vile taste that covers his tongue. How ironic, yet so appropriate at the same time… swiftly he takes another drag of the foul-tasting thing, and while it does makes Law cough at first, the familiar scent and taste instantly soothes his frazzled nerves, bringing home familiar thoughts and feelings of him.Tomorrow would be the anniversary of Corazon’s death. Even after all these years, the missing hole in his heart had barely begun to heal, and it was only getting worse as he realized that two years from now, Law would be the exact same age as when his precious friend died.Just twenty six years old. How the time had flown. Exhaling deeply, Trafalgar Law watched as pale plumes of smoke allowed themselves to be carried away on the cold ocean breeze, the cigarette having done it’s work in bringing good thoughts and feelings of his oldest friend. Still. There was another person he was sorely missing, and unlike Corazon, thoughts of her weren’t brought back so easily…It was on an evening like this many years ago when they had first met, back when he’d still been a simple and carefree boy still living in Flevance. His beloved father had been a magnificent doctor, and sometimes he would be called upon to vistit neighbouring countries to help with issues that the lack of doctors in the area couldn’t. It was on one such visit that Law had made a new friend away from home, somebody who reminded him of his sister and wanted to keep contact after he’d gone back home.At least… they had, until the same man responsible for taking Corazon away had somehow found out about her too. Law frowned at the thought. It hadn’t been proven, but who else would have had reason to do something as awful as that? A bomb had been delivered to her family’s residence, a scenario that the Heart Pirate’s captain hadn’t even found out about until he’d come of age as a pirate and decided to stop by just to see her one more time before travelling the world…He hadn’t even started his first journey before discovering the shell-shocked ruins of her home, the rubble scattered everywhere much like his memories of the destruction of Flevance.Once again, Law inhaled his cigarette deeply, hoping to choke out the burning sensation building up inside his chest. It broke his heart all over again to think of his only other childhood friend gone like that, not even getting to say goodbye like he had with Corazon, but instead finding the ruined gift he’d sent with a letter congratulating her on her last birthday. Law had long since known that he’d never be able to rest until that madman was dealt with, the memories of his two oldest friends resting as heavy and painful on his heart as the smoke circulating in his lungs… ”Laaaaaaaaaw!” Bepo calls out in the distance, breaking Law out from his unhappy reverie. Frosty grey eyes instantly snapped open and turned towards the source of the sound, but the darkness in Law’s gaze faded somewhat at the sight of his cuddly friend dashing over, clearly at odds over something. Panting heavily as he arrived, the Polar Bear Mink presented his captain with the newpaper he’d just received, along with an odd collection of pages.Accepting the newpaper mindlessly, the Surgeon of Death flipped open the front page to read the surprising news. The destruction of Eneis Lobby? That place was locked up tighter than even Dressrosa, one of the World Government’s most well-hidden and protected locations on the planet. How on Earth had that happened? Law listened intently as Bepo explained the situation that had gone down, along with whom had been responsible for such a shocking event.Monkey D. Luffy, another Rookie… and a D. just like him?”And these too, Law! Their bounties really got big because of what happened!” Bepo continued as he handed over the collection of papers that had come along with the news. Idly flipping through the pages, the man’s interest piqued as he studied the faces of the motley crew, vaguely recalling some of the strange deeds that this crew had somehow accomplished over that time.Monkey D. Luffy. Roronoa Zoro. Black Leg Sanji. Cat Burglar Nami. Usopp. Tony Tony Chopper. Nico Robin. Franky. Only the first few names rang any bells, but it was the final page regarding their newest member that made him freeze, shaking him to his very core.It was her.Her face was exactly as he last remembered seeing her all those years ago, back when he’d still been that carefree little boy whose greatest concern had been becoming a fine doctor like his father, and the whispered secrets between silly children. Law’s eyes widened as his fingertips gently traced over the portrait before his eyes, tanned skin curving along soft eyes and the cheekiest grin he ever did see…He’d lied to himself, Law had. Her only existing memory over the years had been the dog-eared letters he still held in his possession, back when they’d corresponded until thinking she had died. Sometimes Law had kept these letters close, hiding one inside his pockets while other times, he locked them away once the memories had become too hurtful to hold onto any longer… and yet every time, he always found himself taking them back, reading each and every one all over again on those long nights when he just couldn’t sleep. The precious pages became that little bit more tattered with every cycle, as loving fingers wistfully traced over the aged parchment.There’s a hitch in his chest, along with that burning sensation again that spreads up towards his wintery eyes, the Surgeon of Death staring unblinkingly at the unexpected face printed upon the page. She was alive, and had been for all this time and he’d never known…“Law, please tell me what’s wrong!” Bepo wails, utterly distraught at the sight of his captain looking as though he were about to cry, but the Polar Bear Mink is astounded when Law finally smiles after days of seeming so faraway.“There’s nothing wrong at all, Bepo. At least, there isn’t anything wrong anymore… something’s very much right about the world again,” Law replies with a genuine grin, beaming in that roguish way that the bear had only seen on a handful of occasions.Everything was okay. Trafalgar D. Water Law was back again, and it was enough for him to know his old friend was still alive for the time being, not to mention clearly doing well for herself given the scathing details on what had gone down over at Eneis Lobby. The humilation of the World Government, how the Straw Hats had declared themselves mortal enemies of the twisted system that had hurt so many people over the years - it built up a hope in Law’s heart that he hasn’t dared feel for years, and doesn’t even frown when Bepo nuzzles him tearfully.It’s only when the rest of the crew rejoice openly at the sight of their captain behaving like his old self again that he snaps.“Alright, alright! Show’s over, people. We’ll rest up here this evening and move out as soon as it’s dawn,” Law yells over at them with a crooked grin, tucking the newspaper under his arm along with the collection of the Straw Hat’s bounties. God, how he loved them so, but even more knowing how much they really did care…It was almost completely dark now, as he knew it would be the same when he could finally strike against his old enemy, but for now, Trafalgar D. Water Law was content in the knowledge that not all had been as lost as he’d thought. His friend was still alive, and as if desiring to fuel his newfound happiness, the clouds above parted, revealing the night sky and the brightest star of them all, shining like a beacon of hope against an uncertain future.Stay alive, my friend. We’ll meet again someday soon, I promise you.

[shadows-of-almsivi]

Snapshots: early adulthood, poetry

Preparation began the night before, gathering moonflowers from the bower in the rooftop garden. Sedra had lent me their long gloves; it’s very important not to touch the flowers, or let the sap touch my skin. I’d seen the faint scars along their hands and arms, where the sap had left them covered in blisters, so I knew better than to question their advice.

The flowers had to be simmered gently together with coda flowers over the shrine’s brazier, watched over by Sedra while the rest of us slept. The whole Order compound soaked in the smell of the steam, a little bit astringent and sweet, a little brackish like swampwater. By dawn, Sedra couldn’t stand the brightness of a candle, let alone daylight: their pupils had blown so wide from the fumes that I could hardly see any red in their eyes at all. I helped them clean off their makeup and brushed out their beautiful hair for them, making sure they were tucked deep into the darkest room we could find. They murmured poetry and fantastic, vivid tales I’d never heard before, mixed in with fearful rambling in a voice thick with sleep: they’d always told me never to leave them alone when they were struck with alchemist’s drunkenness in case they did something foolish. I was grateful for the extra few hours of sleep, my head pillowed on their small breasts, their spidery fingers stroking my hair like a beloved pet. Drolosi took my place for the morning chores.

After the midday meal, a smiling Armiger brought us a kwama eggshell full of fresh netch jelly, still glowing bright-blue, harvested from some still-twitching carcass only an hour or so before. Sedra emerged to meet with Armiger Breldryn in the meal hall, where many of us were in stitches listening to his tales: most of them were either hunting stories or soldier’s anecdotes, though the best were the racier accounts from the Armiger barracks. Our sibling-sect breeds gossip finer than anyone, I think. Sedra kissed Armiger Breldryn in payment, because Sedra’s like that; the Armiger disappeared into one of the rear altar rooms with a giddiness to him. We did not see him again for many hours, though we heard him now and then. Sedra’s sometimes like that, too.

The flower extract had to be added to the netch jelly slowly, drop by drop. It won’t blend right if it’s all mixed together at once. We formed pairs, one to stir and one to measure in the extract, and worked in shifts until it was all combined to Sedra’s approval. It took hours and hours: we’d worn out all our worksongs by the time it was done, and the sun had already set, but we did it.

Now, the moons are high, and I’m trying not to tremble in the low light of the ritual hall. The night breezes chill our skin, dressed only in sandals and skirts as we are, every breath of wind catching on the wet scripture. The candles shiver in honeyed carapaces, the lanterns made of arching brass and delicate panels of resin. The light spreads warm and welcoming, painted in the robes of sunsets, or the dying of the dust-storms in the summer. The alabaster of the shrine has accepted the light within itself, turning faintly to amber in its vague translucency…

Already, my thoughts are beginning to uncoil strangely, growing elaborate and ponderous. I’d been told such a thing might happen. The visiting Armigers look to each of us as they enter and smile with such curious and excited affection, like lovers eager to be reunited with their beloveds. I am not supposed to pay attention to them. I try to keep my eyes on my kindred here, set into pairs for the painting.

“Hold out your arm a little more,” Sedra whispers, taking to their knees beside me. I obey, a little slower than I mean to: their silken hair spills over their back, pooling on the floor like a bolt of fine satin, and for a moment all I want in the world is to touch it. Instead, I am carefully motionless, holding obediently still for the tickling brushes swirling over my skin. Glowing blue calligraphy flows over their body in ribbons of perfect cadence and meter, seeming to stream onto mine from their luminous hands, stained to the wrist with the salve we so labored for.

My temple-siblings are beginning to shiver in my vision. Some are almost covered and still stand for the laying on of greater prayer and poetry; others bear only a few dozen stanzas, all but bare yet deemed covered enough by the measure of their eyes. Their eyes seem as black as the Void; surely, they must see the places between the stars. Ritual vapors thicken the air around us as I watch them melt, shuddering, into the waiting arms of vividly-scrawled acolytes.

I do my best to be still, to move as I am told, but I feel time coming unstuck from itself and I find myself distracted. After-images scald themselves into my vision, every smallest motion creating a trail of echoes. Our painted bodies look as drawn as the murals on the walls, our shadows stepping down to dance. Mine seems to stare at me and will not stop. Movements around me seem to slow and speed impossibly, reality rendering itself into the art upon the pages of a book flicked by impatient hands, the stuttering mechanocasts of Dwemeri zoetropes. There is a weary murmur muttering below the earth, mocking and insidious, half-drowned in drumbeat and quake-thunder. Doom is coming; doom is here…

…No. These are not my thoughts. This is not my voice. I am not…

I hear panting in the dark between us, dripping and scraping on the floors. Long-legged shadows filigree the walls, creeping slowly towards the floor, crowding out the light. They are reaching into the edges of my vision, blinding me, I feel them on my skin, I feel them on my skin–

“Steady,” Sedra murmurs, their lips black-stained and soft on my burning skin. “You’re almost through. Don’t let the nightmare distract you.” Their hands lie tenderly from my temple to my jaw, running down to my throat, my chest, my waist with soothing pressure, their touch reasserting the inviolate bareness of my skin. They slip behind me, the better to guide, their warmth pressed to my back, separated only by incandescent scripture. “Look to the altar,” they say, running their hands down to rest at my hips. “Let delirium come. Let it take you. It will be well.”

I clutch at the drift of their skirts, eyes wide, and I sound too much like a little child again but that cannot be helped. I hear myself whimper. “I’m scared, Sed.”

I can feel their soft laughter on my bare back. “Oh, Meiya…” Their blue-stained hands guide me back to lie against their chest, stroking my cheek a touch too slowly. I notice, too late, that their voice is slurred, crooning with groans, tight already with the strain of holding back their own surrender. “That is for the best.”

I do as I am bidden, cradled in Sedra’s body. The candlelight that gilds the altar, scant and dim, pulses and flickers in some inscrutable dance. Vapor and smoke fills my breath, renders me lightheaded, and with each breath the candles’ flames grow brighter, more liquid, more like molten ores in a smelting furnace. I feel the warmth of it flooding into me, scalding my tongue, filling my throat with all the fierce promise of an era of monument, the essence of lacquer and gold hidden in the moans and sobs of such blessed children as we…

…This is not my… This is…

Oh…

We are witnessed.

The candlelight wavers in its character just a hair, the room unchanged yet irreparably altered, the sensation of a great unseen eye turning to read our skins with indecipherable judgement. The exquisite disarray of instinct at delicate war with our senses– ours, all of ours, I feel my brother-sisters’ shifts and trembles as easily as my own– sends me reeling, as the room fills with the air of eminence and apocalypse.

I am blinded, shivering, crying out at every touch and breath of air upon my skin. At once, I see all manner of vision and variance, all and none true: a towering fire of incalculable height with a voice like the howling of tearing steel, a battlefield carpeted in blood and loosed pages of perfect literature, impossible colours that taste of change and delight and summer. The curtains draw closed only partway, reality made dreamlike, floating above its own surface, meat made vapor made pearl, blue as devotion, yellow as cholera…

I am trembling; someone is trembling, at least, novitiate, or disciple, or dissociation. Our hearts each set themselves alight in holy terror, lapping war-drums climbing each other into thunder, inches from flying apart at every weeping breath and flaying us alive. Always, everywhere, there is the weight of the divine presence, terrible and beautiful, red with blood and black with ink, nails like golden knives, eyes of hellfire. Love without reservation, rage without end. We are pinned beneath the measurement of God, beneath the substance of our Lord’s will, and the fire burns our eyes to weeping.

We are terrified.

We are terrified beyond the applicable language for terrors. There exists no word of mortal tongue to contain such fear. Holy dread and shaking awe can be heard in every dripping, heaving breath. We are humbled, frightened, debased and rapturous, with no borders to cleave one state from another. Our adoration is sung in chanting, in blissful screams, in whisper and tear and moan, in biting fit to tear the skin. There is no sensation that is not welcome here. To hold such a state as this and retain sanity is a fine art. Refined hysteria is necessary.

The blood rises heady with urgent, desperate lust, aroused with awe, what would seem at odds with the consuming terror were it not the safest response response to it: the perverse hunger for oblivion trained against the will to live in fragile balance, an anchor of rapture to ward away the Void. The same urge to lean out over the highest precipices and contemplate dashing the body on the stones below, so too do our hands reach for ourselves, for each other. Our awe and love bends itself into new sensations, as yet uncharted by the common mortal experience, and we cling to each other in wonder and comfort, at once brutal and tender. By this cypher, we render a little of the unbearable ecstasy into a torment we can comprehend, that we can withstand. Thus do we ransom ourselves from our self-begged madness, from the lethal danger of our service.

It seems as natural a response as our trembling hands, our whimper-shot chanting, to brush our lips tenderly against the cheeks and throats of our companions, fondly kissing and pawing with our communal pulse too quick and loud to know shame or reservation. We press our foreheads together in love, sneer in each other’s faces with the wide baring of teeth reserved for violence, cleansed of malice and all the more dangerous for it. Riding panic without brutality is a careful dance, balanced on swords. All it would take is a single one to slip from delicate mania into savagery, and all of us would be cast down…

That is the purpose of the Armigers at each corner. They are there to assure, not to threaten. Our brothers will care for us, keep us safe in our holy delirium. They will remove what breaks, but that need not be sinister, for we will not shatter. We must not.

Every skin is worn with laughing joy and panting lust, and I watch the aspect-spirit move from one to the other, bestowing what was deserved, taking what was owed. In corners, at times, I watch as it kneels before itself in the forbidden ways, presses itself into the walls, kisses its own lips with violent desire. More than once, it leads the flesh it wears to an Armiger, smiling and speaking to each by name, though the Vimer has never met them. I do not know when I moved to the floor. I am preoccupied with the taste of the screams and songs, dazed with the hypnotic dance of painted flesh and eyes like night, opal-lit now with pale fire in the centres. Every moment feels an hour long. I feel chitinous armor beneath my hands: Sedra’s skin is bare as I touch them, but still my fingers trace over cracks and ridges regardless. I feel the weight and heft of daggers in my hands, and then they are gone again, my skin knowing only skin once more.

Languid, serene Sedra; dreugh-graceful, tide-limbed Sedra; nurturing alm'ata Sedra. Sedra, with their hands smearing star-blood glow along my waist, their begging spear gleaming slick in the shining blue gore, anointing our fitting parts. Sedra, with their body burning against mine, arched taut and whispering rapid, urgent words I cannot grasp the shape of, noise without meaning, meaning without form, the truth of language in the fervid and manic stab-thrust of animal life. Sedra, reborn in the honesty of selfish pleasure, obsidian-eyed and beautiful, screaming in grateful horror, their spear keeping pace with my seizing heart. Their nails sink deep into my hips, and I laugh to feel their painless descent; I am a live coal burning within insensate ash, a membrane of perfect dust begging to be pierced.

My bones are heavy, leaden. My body is gravid with twelve-score hidden concepts, leaping in spasm and tendon-dance to the shifting whims of holy narrative; it is beyond me, and I it. I watch my own ecstasy from higher places, forming wordless poetry to savage glory in the sacred place between sentence and meat. I watch my foolish body try to mouth the words, speaking nothing but fumbled moans and hisses, and the occasional snatch of long-fallen silks, anon Chimeris. I bless the dispensation of nereid composure at the altar-and-sacrifice of my flesh and weigh its worth as three times the generous, the distillation of unadorned humility, instructor insensate, acolyte made offering.

Above, black hands caress my skull, light touches and golden nails turning my eyes from the glory of spectacle. Sun-bladed and hollow-cheeked, the gaunt shade holds me to their gaze, eyes set blinding-pale with the milk of godfire. A crown of cooling flame throws sapphire shadows to paint their skin in shifting letters. Their hands trail dust upon my jaw.

What they speak to me is a secret, to be inked into my spine. I will carry the preserved essence upon my skin, the writ of my alteration’s authoring. Their smile is a beauty more terrible than the light of dying stars. Their kiss is soft, until it is not.

Black fingers pry apart my jaws with gentle insistence, wider, impossible to resist. Their teeth close at the root of my tongue. My blood spills in black gouts that taste of steel and persimmon tea, staining the face of God.

Below, I hear my body scream. It is an agonised, sharp sound, full of terror and pain, the sound of some tortured beast. It is weeping, howling. Laughing, “Thank you.”

Oh pillar of fire, I am yours. Oh angel of Veloth, I am yours. Oh master and bride and keeper, I am yours. I yield to your will with perfect ardor, I accept the great gift of your love and I return it three times over, I love you, I love you–

The body calls me back, and I come apart like glass breaking, a paroxysm of venom and fervor. I know nothing else.