#but guess that's what fanfiction's for lmao

[butwhatifidothis]

Ever get tired of talking about cans fic? Wanna talk about the absolute missed opportunity that was making sothis a gremlin child and not a milf or even possibly a gilf instead?

Eh, kinda yeah kinda no regarding getting tired of talking about the fic.

Like, the actual act of reading the actual fic? Genuinely ass. Like, I've actually read up to and fully written out the notes for Chapter 62. I tried reading the first sentence of Chapter 63 right afterwards, saw it was a Rhea POV chapter, and went back to reading my otome isekais. That was around late November, and I've still yet to read any more of Chapter 63. The act of reading through something this horrible requires a lot of long breaks in-between sessions of reading.

But! In doing so I also get to talk about aspects of writing, and about 3H in particular, which I love doing. I like geeking out over aspects of writing like characterization, consistency, logical throughlines, character growth, etc. and being able to do so with such a horrible example of pretty much all of that is kinda fun, ngl.

And I also get to see and tackle so, so many of the asinine, horrendous takes that have made this fandom such a volatile space, such as:

Teacher Theory

Edelgard being some poor hapless maiden waiting for her love to save her from her unfair and unjust fate of being "branded" a villain

Dimitri being so toxic and "gone" that he needs to be killed since he just can't "listen to reason" anymore (and that actually him getting killed would make him happier)

the same essentially being said about Rhea

Lonato being a just man during his rebellion, as well as Christophe being just in his attempt to kill Rhea

Nabateans as a race being to blame for all of humanity's problems and so needing to take accountability for all of humanity's wrongs

Claude not actually caring about Fodlan and just wanting to conquer it so he can do better when he goes back to Almyra

Byleth needing to be completely human and needing to reject their Nabatean heritage in order to become happy

Edelgard being the only one among the lords + Rhea to ever care for Byleth

Everyone's best self being found only on CF

the idea that anyone defending themselves against Edelgard's attempt on their life in the Holy Tomb would be the aggressor instigating war against Edelgard

Edelgard caring so much about the people and being the only lord to care about the people

Sothis wanting Byleth to choose Edelgard over everyone else

Everyone making Edelgard kill them

And so on and so forth; this fic has pretty much all of them. In a way, reading this fic and breaking it down lets me have one, concentrated area where I get to dissect exactly how and why all of these takes are either shitty, genuinely disgusting, stupid as hell, or a mix of some/all of those things. And given the fact that Cap'n and multiple people in the fandom want this fic to be taken as meta/required reading, and with this basically being an amalgamation of all of Cap'n's genuine takes on the game (+ those of other Edelstans), going over exactly why such an influential thing is so wrong feels fitting lol. It's a pain to actually have to read through, especially with the pretentious and self-pitying holier-than-thou prose making things hard to actually physically read, but the result of doing so makes it worth it imo.

Buuuut to get off of that: yes, it was an extremely huge missed opportunity that Sothis was a stupid fuckin' loli instead of her actual self. Or, I guess more accurately, that she didn't physically become her actual self after merging with Byleth, or at least become physically closer to it. Full Mommy Sothis is so beautiful from the little we see of her! And the idea of her looking more like how she used to as she gains more of her memories would've been cool to see! And, uh, also, I feel an adult body would make her garb feel less... unfortunate to look at (ngl I get Nowi vibes looking at Sothis and I Do Not Like Nowi's clothing design that much).

I feel there was a lot missed with Sothis tho, and that that's mostly the case because the game more wants the feeling of a mystery to hang around the game more than it does actually writing a mystery with a conclusion. Sothis was seen regaining bits and pieces of her former life as a god, so if she stayed around long enough she could have revealed things to the player that were meant to be hidden. Same with Rhea - she could talk about a lot of the background knowledge of Fodlan's history that could have fleshed out the world so much more. But doing that would "spoil the fun" so to speak; there wouldn't be a mystery anymore, which the writers seemed to prioritize more than actually making the mystery fulfilling to figure out.

So Sothis gets yeeted out of the story halfway through, and Rhea is either an unavailable damsel in distress or a person pushed past their breaking point and thus unable to talk to. That's why Rhea's lore dumps on SS and VW are so rushed and forced - the writers knew they had to eventually get to the end of the mystery, and so held off as long as possible. At least, that interpretation of the writing can exist, given how they've written everything lol

[optiwashere]

C1 with the moon lesbians... the gals.... the ol Selûnite pals..... fucking turn me into emotional paste boss o7

Oh, that is a good one! Also, this is the last prompt that I'm accepting for this stretch of fics! I've got one more prompt to fill after this, and then I'll be cashed out on these for a while :)

Thank you so much for requesting this one! 💜

---

C1. Lifespan differences

The signs of aging were subtle at first. She wore them so well that Aylin hardly noticed for many years.

Each new line on her face and hands was a beautiful detail added to what Aylin already believed to be perfection. Aylin, however, was wrong. Somehow, perfection could be improved.

It took until she began to struggle with basic tasks for Aylin to realize what was happening. Isobel steadfastly insisted that she do nothing to help her, but there was never a chance on that or any plane that she'd stand by and watch Isobel drink from a cup as if it were a battle to be fought. Her fingers shook so harshly one day that Aylin took to feeding them both.

Convincing her to accept it was almost impossible, at least until one day when she simply couldn't eat. The shaking hurt to see, hurt to feel, hurt to hear.

When the time came, Aylin drew her a bath and sat her in the water in her lap. They spoke for an age about what the light of Selûne looked like when it was within one's grasp, and how Isobel looked forward to sailing the silver seas of the Gates of the Moon. They spoke for so long that Isobel grew tired, and she relaxed into Aylin's arms in the bath.

Aylin spoke for them both when Isobel could manage it no longer. An hour must have passed then, Isobel's fingers pruning from the fragrant water.

So she spoke and she spoke. She waited, listened for a heartbeat, and she spoke. She described the moonlit Staircase that appeared every full moon that would allow them to travel the planes freely, adventure where Isobel's mortal form would have never been able to reach. She spoke.

She spoke, and she spoke.

She spoke until the heartbeat could be heard no more.

When the time came, Aylin departed the Material Plane with a meagerly tempered sorrow. The journey would be lonesome, painful, but only for the scant moment before she returned to her mother's embrace with the hope that Myrkul's grasp on Isobel's soul was shattered with the death of his Chosen.

[themistdragon]

Writers on AO3: *Writes Rayla having normal emotions that any teenage/young adult girl would have, making her more than just a back-flipping crime-fighting Mary-Sue*

Leonandia:

[mysoulismelting]

Me reading 2 different fan fictions with the same crossover but completely different character dynamics:

Reading the first one: YEAH FUCK (XYZ) GET FUCKED!!!

Reading the second: (XYZ) is baby and deserves love and redemption omg!!!

[silentoathprincess]

Written for KouAo week 2024 Day 1: Crossdressing Koujaku wears a new outfit to tempt his boyfriend. Will likely remain a oneshot due to time constraints.

i miss contributing to the DMMD fandom here you go lovelies

[anticidic]

Dear writing muse, Here is a writing prompt to help get you into the spooky mood: "Don’t you want to be consumed by what loves you?" Share with me the things you dread so I may know what to lay upon your stone, a story of SKK brain rot would definitely take a high seat on your throne. (Did i intentionally make it rhyme... possible so.)

(cw: blood/injury mentions)

Drip, drip, driiiip…

A twig snapped underfoot. Something splashed. The bubbling current of the brook he thought so close now sounded impossibly far away and six feet submerged.

All around him, the wind picked up—leaves rustled, branches groaned, and the end of his scarf came loose in the breeze, whipping the side of his face. Chuuya touched his neck with his dirty fingers, scratching the phantom itch so terrible he wanted to jump out of his skin because it burned the more he dug mud-caked fingers in. He felt the force of a thousand tiny ant soldiers marching up and down the column of his neck, circling all around and up and down the nape into his hair and down his spine.

Shuddering, he shook away the sensation and sucked in a deep breath. Calm. He needed to remain calm. Yet how could he do that when the trees closed in on him and the starry sky above disappeared into a sea of nothingness? Not even the moon shone. He pressed on through, underbrush scratching his skin and thorns pricking his ankles, catching in his socks and tearing needlepoint holes when he tugged himself free.

“This goddamn place, I swear…” Chuuya muttered, heaving a sigh as he stopped to catch his breath. Sweat beaded at his forehead that he flicked away with a few fingers, smearing wet warmth across his hairline. When the stench of copper reached his nose, he grimaced.

“…looking for you.”

Chuuya’s attention snapped to the nearby trees.

Nothing.

Right above him, the sound of a tree branch bending and snapping under a heavy weight. Too loud to be the wind. Too heavy to be that same owl mourning from afar. A cold streak ran through his heart and a bottomless pit of dread opened up in his stomach.

Don’t look. Don’t. Look.

No, he had to. He felt the presence of something and knew he was not alone. He looked up and saw a pair of eyes, beady and yellow in the darkness, staring back, unblinking, but couldn’t make out the shape of what he saw. Chuuya clutched his phone a little tighter.

Right. He had his phone’s light. He could use it to expose whatever thing was staring back, except making any sense of his racing thoughts proved impossible with the roar of blood rushing through his ears and his heart hammering in his chest.

It laughed. A laugh that soundly oddly human. A human laugh that did not belong to his missing friend. It was a man’s.

“Who’s there?” Chuuya demanded, though his voice cracked under the pressure of the unknown. He stepped backward and stumbled over a thick, gnarled root.

The thing laughed harder, and Chuuya swore he saw those eyes finally move, almost disappearing as if it had the face of a man and he imagined someone amused.

But people did not have yellow eyes.

“Looks like you found yourself in quite the predicament, haven’t you?” it spoke in a smooth voice—a voice that did not fit with the hooting of owls and cawing of crows. Too out of place for this fragmented and cursed place that existed solely by nightfall as the forest swallowed whole the light of day.

Gritting his teeth, Chuuya aimed his phone up at the source of the voice and flashed the light through the trees.

A man stared back, smiling for the camera pointed at him, flashing fanged teeth.

No. Not quite right. He had the appearance of a man, but Chuuya did not miss the claws peeling chipped bark and the eight—no, nine—tails that fanned out behind him in dashes of white and blue color against the black forest canvas. Something about this man made his blood run cold and he took off in the opposite direction, ignoring the burn in his lungs that screamed for him to stop or else as he pushed past overgrown bushes and cut himself on the unruly thorns of roses that bloomed high and tickled his skin. Against the sound of his own panting heard the laughter border on hysterical, footsteps hitting the ground behind him swift, almost light.

Leaves crunched underfoot. Earth squished.

Plop, plop, plop…

Shadows darted past him and something soft touched raw skin. A warm caress in the autumn twilight if not for the body he ran into and the hands that snaked around him, wrapped tight and refusing to let go. Claws pressed into his back and breath tickled his ear.

"Gotcha."

A scream tore itself from his throat, with no one to hear.

In the silence that followed, a soft weeping knowing the end was near even as the body refused to give up and he dug his heels into the ground. The slow dragging of his body against his will by the hand around his wrist persisted, past the bubbling brook and the meadow his friend disappeared in. Past bare trees until his feet hit stone and they walked, together, up a path leading to a shambled hut peeking through the low, purple glow of overarching trees. Next to the hut, the tiniest candle with a flickering, almost-dead flame.

He flinched when he felt a claw drag down his cheek. Harsh, but not as harsh as the unforgiving sting of the wind lashing his face.

"Don’t you want to be consumed by what loves you?"

[astrology-bf]

FFXIV Write 2024 | Day 19: "Taken"

Master Post | My AO3 | Challenge Info

~3.6k words | Teen | M/M | WoL/Jullus pyr Norbanus | CW: Endwalker Spoilers

Jullus’ gloved fingers worked over each other in a slow and futile grind where they were clasped in front of him, the motion both to try and stir a bit more warmth within his hands as well as keep himself distracted from the biting chill against his face.

He could have sworn the burnt-out capital was growing colder every day. And he very much wanted to swear for a whole host of reasons; not the least of which because he was standing a mere fulm from a man whose name was used to frighten children into good behavior.

Kaleid the Black seemed utterly determined not to live up to his name, however.

He was wearing white, to begin with; a hooded robe of some soft fabric which came down to his knees, only kept from blending in with the snowy surrounds by its blood-red trim. It looked more like a healer’s garb than one belonging to a monster.

Then again, the tales often claimed Kaleid the Black wore white for exactly such a reason; so that he could take decent Garleans by surprise. Eorzea’s own black wolf… though at least Gaius van Baelsar never feigned at being a sheep.

Jullus glanced over at the eikon-slayer. The cold was forgotten for a few moments as his thoughts turned to the rather unassuming Hyur currently standing with his arms crossed, gazing out into the city’s ruins as they awaited Alphinaud and Alisaie’s return from gathering ceruleum. His face was set in a sedate expression, but the furrows in his brow and the slackness in his lips spoke of weary frustration.

Understandable, if Jullus pyr Norbanus was of a foolish mind enough to try and empathize with him.

He sniffed and turned his head back forward, but his eyes soon drifted back to the magician at his left. Ifan - that was what the eikon-slayer had insisted Jullus call him - wore gloves which didn’t extend past his second knuckles, leaving the ends of his fingers exposed to the cold air. 

Yet he wasn’t shivering, nor did he seem to feel the chill against his face and neck when a fresh bluster caused the temperature to briefly drop.

Jullus wasn’t so fortunate. He couldn’t help but huff and shiver visibly as the wind bit at him, his hands clasping tightly as he started counting down the seconds until he could head back inside.

“Cold?”

Ifan was looking at him when Jullus glanced back in his direction. He had one eyebrow raised, but his expression was otherwise unchanged. 

The Garlean officer returned the eikon-slayer’s gaze for a few moments. Then he sniffed, and masked the urge to roll his eyes by scanning the surroundings. 

“What do you think?” he answered, a little more curtly than he intended. 

Ifan sniffed in answer. He gave a hum as he too let his eyes drift over the burned ruins near Forum Solius, drumming out a little rhythm on his bicep. At length, he uncrossed his arms and looked at Jullus with a slightly annoyed expression.

“Take your gloves off,” he directed, seeming rather resigned.

Jullus’ head snapped to the left as he frowned at the magician. 

“What?” he asked.

Ifan returned his gaze, cocking his head casually. 

“Trust me,” he said, nodding down at Jullus’ hands. “Take your gloves off.”

Jullus stared at Ifan, blinking slowly as his fingers flexed where he still had them clasped. As he readied to refuse, however, another icy breeze whipped right across his cheeks and made his shoulders clench and his mouth clamp shut again. 

A grimace tugged against his features, before he glanced around once more. Then, slowly, he began to pull his gloves off at the fingertips, as the eikon-slayer asked.

Ifan waited patiently for the Garlean officer to bare his hands and tuck his gloves away, but wasted not a moment once the fingers were exposed: he stepped in front of Jullus, and placed his hands on either side of his in a firm clasp, saying not a word and keeping his gaze off towards the right. 

Jullus’ lips parted - not in protest, but rather in a disbelieving gasp at the sheer warmth in Ifan’s hands. His eyebrows lowered at the ends as his chin and gaze soon followed them, and was left staring wordlessly at the bronzed fingers shielding him from the wind’s bite.

He had the gentlest hands Jullus had ever felt, despite their strength: only applying enough pressure so that the Garlean didn’t need to expend effort to keep his own hands aloft. They were soft, too, save for some slight callusing on his right thumb and index finger. There was even a light floral scent, likely from something the magician used to keep his hands feeling that soft.

Jullus hadn’t smelt perfume since…

He swallowed as he glanced away from Ifan’s hands. The magician kept his gaze averted until he felt the shivering in Jullus’ fingers start to ease, before looking back at him with an inscrutable expression.

“Better?” Ifan asked.

A catching in the back of the Garlean’s throat was all that Ifan got in affirmation, though it was hardly necessary given he wasn’t truly keeping Jullus’ hands held in between his. 

Ifan stared silently at him for a few moments, then gave another hum before he looked away once more.

Jullus wet his lips. “I suppose you have some sort of magic keeping you warm?” He shifted his gaze back to Ifan, his fingers twitching in between the warm hands grasping them.

“You could say that, aye,” Ifan answered, without looking back at him.

There was a brief pause. “...Can it be used on others?” 

Ifan’s eyes flicked back towards Jullus, and the Garlean pursed his lips before he lowered his chin in a vain effort to look dignified. It didn’t seem to work, given the flicker of amusement in the eikon-slayer’s wine-dark eyes.

“I have spells for that, aye, but what’s keeping me warm right now isn’t exactly the sort of magic I can easily share,” he said. There was a strange density within his voice despite its airiness; like static on the wind, before a thunderstorm. “...Or want to, for that matter,” he added.

Jullus’s chin rose, and he returned a little frown. “I don’t take your meaning.”

The magician’s gaze drifted again, lips pursing thoughtfully. Then he lowered his left hand from Jullus’ and reached down to the hem of his white robe, hefting it up in a smooth motion to expose his body underneath.

He wore grey boots which came up to his thighs over trousers made of the same fabric as the robe, but Ifan was otherwise exposed save for a loose linen undershirt, which he lifted up as well. Jullus’ lips tightened out of instinct as he glanced down at the magician’s naked stomach, only to relax into a gasp as he stared dumbly at the thing on his left side.

“...What manner of wound is that?” Jullus asked, staring at the cracks of orange-red that seemed to be etched into the eikon-slayer’s skin. 

So mystified was he by the strange injury that he failed to realize that his fingers had reached out to graze against it, nor even felt the way his digits twitched reflexively at Ifan’s body heat. 

Ifan kept the robe hitched up, and save for a brief huff out through his nostrils at the still-chilly fingers grazing on his side he gave no protest at the Garlean’s touching him. “An eikon bite.”

Jullus’ eyes snapped back up to his, expression growing horrified. “An eikon?”

Raising an eyebrow at Jullus, the magician simply shrugged. “I am the eikon-slayer, aren’t I? That’s what you lot call me.” Then he paused, and snorted as he looked off to the side. “Oh, right. Kaleid the Black, can’t forget that,” he added, his tone growing bitter.

“Is that why you wear white?”

The question left Jullus’ lips before he knew it, and his blood ran cold at the way that Ifan turned his gaze at him; slowly, but still suddenly, as if the utterance was raw meat being waved before a beast.

Ifan stared at him again. His head tilted slightly, and the muscles of his mouth were totally relaxed despite the pointed intensity within his dark blue irises. He didn’t move a muscle otherwise… still and silent as a corpse, if Jullus had to put some words to it.

“I wore white before I earned that title,” Ifan said, at length. “And I still wear it for the same reason; because Thaliak, my patron god, wears white in the icons of my homeland. Sun-bleached linen, grown with sweat and tears out of a desert with oasis water, worked by cunning craft into something so basic, so essential, that even poor people and corpses wear it. Wisdom you can wear.” 

He had the robe still raised, and hadn’t made a move to shift Jullus’ hands from where they were; his left clasped lightly within Ifan’s, and his right still touching the magician’s god-scarred side.

Jullus, for his part, said nothing as he looked back at the eikon-slayer. 

Ifan took in a long breath, then, before closing his eyes and chuckling mirthlessly. “Black probably does suit me better, but I’d be an animal if I stopped trying to break that limit. And I want to be wise. To be human.” 

Then he opened his eyes, and let his lips drift into the ghost of a coy smile. “That answer the question?”

The fingers against Ifan’s side twitched slightly as their owner stared at him. Jullus still said nothing as he tried to reconcile his image of the eikon-slayer with the man in front of him.

A man whose naked torso he was still touching, despite him being an enemy.

Jullus blinked, then swallowed as he sharply pulled his hands away… but only by a scant few ilms, before the absence of the eikon-slayer’s warmth bit keenly at his fingers.

Ifan’s face grew less amused as Jullus hesitated after pulling back. He kept the robe hitched up and his right hand extended, waiting for the officer to either touch him or draw back completely.

Jullus didn’t move.

A few more moments passed before the magician let out a heavy sigh. Then he rolled his eyes, stepped forward, and pulled Jullus into a hug that allowed him to put his hands under the white robe.

The Garlean stared as he was pulled into the hug, cheeks tingling with warmth at the other man’s proximity. “What are you-”

“Just take the bloody help, all right?” Ifan snapped. “You’re freezing.” He slid Jullus’ hands up and around his back, huffing at the lingering chill, then wrapped his arms around the officer and held him loosely as he glanced around - keeping idle watch while Jullus warmed himself.

Barely a fraction of a second passed before a shuddering gasp left the Garlean’s lips. All thoughts of his duty faltered as he felt the eikon-slayer’s back against his palms, and his cheek and neck against his face. He was warm enough that Jullus could ignore the cold for just a little bit, and though a small reprieve the officer nonetheless felt the backs of his eyes starting to sting.

Ifan said nothing further, though his thumb lightly worked over the fur of Jullus’ collar as he held him.

The wind continued blustering every so often, whistling over the ruined buildings and whipping up small flecks of snow from every surface it was resting on, accompanied by the occasional and distant clanking of derelict magitek. 

Even when Jullus closed his eyes, the absence of humanity was deafening. So he turned his thoughts to the warm man in front of him; the strength in his back muscles, the faint scarring over his right shoulder blade, and the rhythmic noises of his breathing in his ear.

Again, he was struck by that light floral scent.  

Jullus wet his lips. “You believe this ‘Thaliak’ truly exists, then?” he asked, attempting to make conversation.

Ifan shook his head. “No. I think humans made him up.”

Jullus blinked as his eyes opened. He shifted his head so he could catch Ifan’s gaze out of the corner of his eyes. “Why worship a god who isn’t real?”

“Do you believe in Garlemald?” Ifan asked.

The officer blinked again slowly, then nodded with a hesitant frown starting to pull at his features. “...Of course,” he answered, firmly. 

Ifan nodded in return. “I worship Thaliak for the same reason you probably think Garlemald is worth fighting for.”

Jullus’ frown deepened. “That’s hardly the same thing,” he said. “We’re standing amidst Garlemald; it’s a real place.”

“We’re standing in the ruins of something that used to be a city, a city that itself was just a bunch of buildings in the snow,” Ifan replied, pointedly. “...But Garlemald? Your home? The place you earned for yourselves, against all odds? That’s a thing of faith. You believe in it.”

The frown on Jullus’ face vanished. His lips were parted slightly as he gave Ifan a sidelong gaze, seeming stunned by Ifan’s choice of words. Ifan had him fixed in the same stare; sidelong, and still embracing him. 

“Garlemald is what you all think it that it could be,” the eikon-slayer said, “and because you believe in it, that makes it real. Same with Thaliak. There might not be a handsome man with an Ewer in the Heaven of Water, but he represents something very real… a teacher, in the sense of someone to look up to as an example. Sometimes you have to conjure teachers out of thin air to make sense of the world, just like you need to build a society to live in.”

Jullus’ mouth closed. He pouted for a moment as his lips worked over each other, and then he shook his head.

“We don’t worship her,” he protested. “Not like you do with your gods.”

“Don’t you?” Ifan asked, almost musically.

Jullus’ breath caught in his throat. He leaned back, turning his head fully to the left so he could catch Ifan’s full gaze and tell him to his face that he was wrong.

His lips parted… but no words passed them.

The Garlean stared at Ifan, the breath seeming to refuse to shift past his larynx as the seconds passed in silence. 

Why was he wrong, exactly?

The eikon-slayer blinked at him slowly, as he allowed the heavy silence to do all the talking… at least at first.

“You cry her name right before you offer her the blood of innocents, or charge to meet your deaths,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You starve and freeze yourselves unnecessarily for the sake of honoring her. And you cling to her banners like they’re icons with the power to ward off bad luck… enough that you’ll drag your family into a field full of almasty with only one of your radios for protection.” 

His voice became aggrieved as those last words left his lips, and the faint ghost of an angry sneer pulled at his handsome features as he tilted his head slightly. “...Isn’t that worship?” It was less a question, and more a mocking statement.

Jullus’ face fell. He closed his mouth, and his chin lowered as his fingers curled in shame against the eikon-slayer’s back, under his robes. Failing a rebuttal, his pride demanded that he change the subject.

“...Your scar keeps you warm all the time?” Jullus asked, leaning back into Ifan so he didn’t have to see his eyes.

Ifan huffed. “It puts me in pain nearly every hour of every day, but aye. It also keeps me warm.” He clicked his teeth as he once again took a brief survey of their surroundings. “Like I said, there’s gentler magic to heat someone up.”

Jullus nodded slowly, still keeping his face hidden. “What is it like?” he asked, after a hesitant swallow.

Ifan raised an eyebrow. “The pain?”

Jullus shook his head. “Using magic,” he clarified.

There was a pause as a look of surprise crossed Ifan’s features. Then he snorted in amusement. “I don’t have phrasing for it which isn’t lewd,” he answered, shaking his head.

“Lewd?” The officer finally glanced at Ifan again, one eyebrow raised in turn with a very confused expression.

“Mhm.”

Jullus’ brow settled into a slight frown. He waited a few moments for the eikon-slayer to say he was jesting, but Ifan simply kept on gazing at him with that same amused expression.

“...Try me,” he said.

The corners of Ifan’s lips pulled into a flat smile. Another hum rolled out of his chest as he nodded before answering in a quiet tone. “It’s like a daydream so good it makes you come.”

Jullus gave an indignant scoff, drawing back slightly at the waist before he settled. Again, he gave the eikon-slayer room to come clean about jesting… only for Ifan to once again show he was serious by means of his silence. 

The Garlean’s lips twisted in a little pout. “...Really?” he asked, unable to repress his curiosity. 

Ifan snorted again, and gave Jullus a lazy grin. “Aye,” he said. “When you get really involved with a fantasy to the point you can change anything about it, with that same feeling you get when you’re about to fall off the edge. Being untethered from reality. That’s how it feels for me, at least.” 

Then he took in a long breath through his nose, humming wistfully before tilting his head at Jullus - a gleam of curiosity in his dark blue eyes. “Do you have anything that makes you feel like that?” 

Jullus frowned a little at the question, but an answer came to mind without much thinking. “I wouldn’t call it the same sensation, but… hiking.”

Ifan’s smile took on a brighter cast, and Jullus felt the tension in his own face draw back by a hair at the mere sight of it. “Aye?” the magician asked.

Encouraged, Jullus nodded up towards the snow-capped mountains lying to the city’s east. “When you’re standing up in the peaks and looking down at the capital - how it used to be, rather - you can’t see any of the problems. Merely a city in the snow. A city which wasn’t there when our forefathers looked down at the same place… but such a thing didn’t stop them from building it, regardless.” 

His tone started off hesitant, but it gained strength and clarity as he explained. A light fondness crossed his features, fear and frustration easing like the chill which Ifan’s warmth had temporarily dispelled.

“I feel like I can do anything, seeing that sight. A daydream good enough to…” Jullus caught himself before he repeated the magician’s words in full, and instead cleared his throat with a somewhat respectful nod towards the other man.

Ifan’s eyes followed the Garlean’s up to the mountains, but his gaze returned to Jullus as the brightness in his smile turned fonder and more amiable. He took in a slow breath, then nodded at the officer again. “Do you a deal?” he said.

Jullus pursed his lips again. “...Go on.”

“If by some miracle we should ever be on friendly terms, in peacetime,” Ifan suggested. “I’d like you to show me that. Garlemald, as you see her, from up in the mountains.” He tilted his head, and gave the officer a rather inviting smile.

Jullus paused, then scoffed and looked away. “I doubt that’s ever going to happen.”

“Then no harm in agreeing to it, hm?” Ifan countered, pointedly.

The pursing of his lips quickly became a slight scowl as Jullus found himself disarmed. “...Fine. We have a deal,” he agreed, more to avoid being pestered.

Ifan’s smile became a grin, and he gave the officer a wink. “Looking forward to it, Jullus.”

Jullus glanced back at the magician catching his gaze, and he felt a faint smile pull at his lips at the sight of Ifan’s grin. His fingers flexed where they still rested on his back… and then his smile began to fade as where he was began to hit home: with his bare hands up under the eikon-slayer’s robe, hugging him, whilst out on a duty to make preparations for fighting Ifan and his allies.

It took all his strength. But at last, he slid his hands away and took a good step back. 

Cramming down the urge to wince at just how cold it was, Jullus reached for his gloves to slide them back over his hands as he spoke again in a much more formal, distant tone. 

“I think it’s time we headed back,” he stated, as much to himself as to the eikon-slayer. “Wait here, while I go and see how Alphinaud and Alisaie are faring.” 

Ifan let his robe fall. He kept his hands down by his sides, however, his head still tilted as he gazed at Jullus. His smile had settled into that same sedate expression he had worn, though something in his eyes made Jullus’ chest tighten and his hands twitch despite being covered up again.

“...Scholar be with you.” Ifan’s farewell was casual, and accompanied by a curt nod.

Jullus’ jaw tightened as his shoulders shifted. He gave Ifan a nod in turn, and then said nothing further as he stalked away towards where Alphinaud and Alisaie were likely finishing their task.

Ifan kept his eyes on Jullus until the officer had vanished behind a ruined building. Then he let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping slightly as he looked around… then paused, head tilted to the side as his eyes drifted to the right. 

The magician hid a smile as he reached up to stretch, then walked a few fulms to a nearby wall so he could lean against it. He crossed his arms, and gave another hum as a voice spoke softly to him from the other side.

“Finally escaped the watchful gaze of your keeper, have you?” Thancred asked.

“One of them,” Ifan answered, at a similarly low volume but still loud enough that the rogue could hear the teasing note within his tone. “Took you long enough.” 

[oldbutchdaniel]

You have to think bigger. You have to be bold. Make them fuck on set.

daniel molloy voice i'm with you. make them fuck on set brother.

[magistralucis]

"I forgive you." - Yenekh/Oltyx (for @courgowr)

(Drabble Oneshot for a prompt fill challenge, prompts available here.)

——————-

Even after all's been said and done there's one more thing that lingers, a guilt that has never gone away. Forgive me for what I have done, Oltyx often asks of his formal admiral, his hand upon a silver claw or a bloodied forehead, his own head bowed in shame. It is not enough that he overcame life and death for his atonement, it must be spelled out, or he is a sinner still. I was cruel and I was craven, and I had dealt with you unjustly.

Well, I forgive you, Yenekh had laughed the very first time. The following year Oltyx took him as consort. Yenekh has been nothing but patient with him since, repeatedly reassuring him that all had been long forgiven, the tips of his claws ticking fondly upon Oltyx's carapace. The king doesn't doubt that he means it, for the Razor is not by nature dishonest. But he's sure there must be more he can do for Yenekh, if not as a sinner than as one beloved, because as far as he's concerned Yenekh has always deserved the world.

It just feels hypocritical to claim this when he's destroyed it once before.

He's not doing it to be burdensome. He's like this because he loves Yenekh. His old lives feel so distant from him now (and are, since nothing is as close yet so far away as death), but here's yet another shortfall from those august times: Oltyx has no idea how to be good to his amours, for there was never a match made for him in Ithakas, nor did he and his brother ever entertain admirers. Frankly he's not even sure Djoseras ever knew the C of courtship. No one is left to teach Oltyx either way. He is very loved in Drazak, more than he was loved in his previous lives - which he now understands was more than he knew at the time - but he has not been in the position to love another as equals until now. And so the Fallen Lord contemplates, day after day, how he might truly be the friend and king that Yenekh deserves.

To talk about it, at least, without putting his guilt on the other's shoulders. All the time in the world is theirs and he still feels it to be slow learning. 

An opportunity arises on the next occasion he orders the bounty.

[Published 25/01/2024 - continued on AO3 here.]

[paynomindtotheinsanity]

For the more spicy art you could always post it on Twitter I mean X

Like an account for your art and book there two! But have the account private soo only the 18+ in thier bio can get in to see it.

I don't know why this is so funny, but I gotta know what prompted this ask lol

Is it "please post this shit elsewhere, my feed has been tainted" or "please post this somewhere I can see this shit uncensored"?

I'll probably end up doing this, though. Idk what counts as too spicy for Tumblr - not sure if my current art falls under that category - but better safe than sorry, I guess. Plus a few of you heathens have asked for sketches of Zim's, uh... anatomical differences lol

Let me know how many of you feral goblins are interested in this debauchery

[slashmagpie]

I'm not sure if I'm gonna write anything for the Secret Life finale, and if I do it definitely won't be today (I am SO tired), so instead here's links to all of my Secret Life ficlets in case you missed any!

The one about Cleo and aromanticism.

The one about BigB and the hole that changed him.

The one about Cleo, Etho, and Bdubs, and how Grian doesn't understand it at all.

The one about amnesiacolds.

The one about Lizzie and Ren and embarrassing final deaths.

The one about zombies going home.

The one about the mounders and loyalty.

[all-that-jazz-93]

Okay so Fitz is my favorite character, but I actually don't have strong opinions about The Devil Complex

[rexaleph]

thinking of watching the 2nd season of good omens. i think i saw maybe a couple eps of the 1st before i couldnt take it, and im not finding much warmth in my heart for the book either. neil gaiman to me is one of the most annoying public figures. also i dont have much tolerance for funny-bad media in general. but sth abt season 2 calls to me in my bad mental state.

[jareicanon]

did someone say david x nico?

no?

well-

have this anyway :)

ANYWAY IT’S COME TO MY ATTENTION THAT THERE ARE NOW??? TWENTY PARTS OF MY SERIES???? SINCE WHEN?????? JCJWKKDJWIDKWJX??!?!?

I’m not even kidding:

[bejeweledmp3]

computer how do i stop feeling insecure on my writting so that can i write. computer please