#c'tolemy

[eyesofsteelandsky]

FFxivWrite2020 Prompt 21: Foibles

Tempest was confused by a sudden change in company, but the large xaela that had insisted he show her a new drink at the bar was a familiar and quite welcoming face. She was pretty sure she’d just seen C’tolemy’s eye twitching so perhaps it was so he could go take care of that. Baby feet in the forehead and all, something she’d been through before. Ayanga was keeping her attention mostly focused on the task at hand, but she did steal glance back at the fuming miqo’te glaring daggers her way.

“Baby moods gettin’ too him. The baby gets all angry and then you end up being full of angry because you’re already full of baby, and the baby’s full of angry.” The musing out loud lead to a few quiet blinks from those in earshot, but no one was interested in wading into a battle of wits with the blue haired woman. “Not like I said nothing mean or anything. Jus’ that maybe he should work on his pronuncification some.”

[kingmiyo]

IT’S BI OR DIE IN THIS HOUSE!

Arha you can’t just say that.... - Happy Pride #2019

[yzareenxiv]

The Final Hours

((Music: https://youtu.be/qOMQxVtbkik and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XpFKPVquSeA&t=331s ))

“I’m out of time.”

They’d all known it was coming but hearing the words spoken out loud had an extra weight to them like the toll of a deep bell. The look in her brother’s eyes as he said them was something she’d seen so, so many times and it never ceased to affect her, tugging at part of her very soul- her purpose for life. In this case, though, she would not be offering gentle mercy, gods willing. This time, she would be leading a Hunt, she would lead a pack to stand in defiance of the dark and fight. In a way, it was a good thing to finally be able to do something- no more waiting, no more uncertainty, no more second-guessing or sleepless nights staring at her ceiling or the strange moon with her hand wrapped around her soulstone so hard it left impressions in her skin as she begged for more knowledge- for anything that might be the key to turning the tide.

Just once. Please, gods, just once let this not be goodbye.

The Xaela had looked so fragile, so afraid. Tormented. He had been so very strong for so long, buying them all the time they had needed to prepare. She wanted to comfort him, to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight- but neither of them could risk what might happen if she drew so close. Not when her instincts and the thing inside of him were so volatile. So she had swallowed down everything- all her fears, all her hurt, all her grief, all her uncertainty. She had sat out of reach and purred comfort, sung comfort, gently embraced him in as much of her loving care as she could to offer him a few precious moments of peace- and as his pain visibly eased she had watched him. Memorizing every detail- every little mannerism, the fall of his hair, the way light moved over his skin and scales, the way his features looked in profile and when he looked over at her. His body, the way he moved, the movement of his tail, his scent, all gathered in and placed gently in memory. When she felt secure she would not forget, she had gazed around the house with the same care- it was all so precious. It was all so fragile. The wood spoke, the air spoke, the mingling of individual scents, the ghosts of every-day routine moving around her in comforting mediocrity. She hadn’t once taken it for granted, not when her place here was so uncertain. Now she was glad of that, in a way. It meant she would have many memories to return to in the empty, lonely bells that may lie in her future.

When he thanked her, she wanted desperately to promise him that it would be okay. But she could not tell such a lie and he would not thank her for it even if she could.

Returning to her room that night had never been so hard.

--------- A few days later --------

The Jaguar knelt in a circle of items that had not been seen nor touched since before she had made her sacrifice, with a padded box set to her side so she might carry everything safely to the ritual site. Sacred relics of her fallen people, some of them ancient- carefully cared for through generations, the knowledge of their use kept safe through song and story impressed upon the carriers of certain soulstones. She had turned off the lights in her room and conjured a small, floating flame. It was as close as she could get to the warm firelight that brought out the beauty and mystery of the tools and the memories that moved through her mind. First, the hanging censers…

The Jaguar lifted six of them from the collection, turning each on it’s chains so the bells softly rang as she examined them closely. The firelight was captured in the small chips of precious stones, flashing brilliance in the shadowed dark. Setting them carefully into the box, she ensured they were well-packed before moving to the next.

Melody, smiling with her tufted ears wiggling. The floof of her tail swaying. The way it felt to have the young woman sit and lean against her- trusting her. Loving her. Niece. Doing her very best to keep her head up despite the recent pain of not just grief but the loss of her innocence. Her pride when she held one of her creations for Zareen to see.

“I love you unconditionally and I always will.”

The carefully blended and pressed resin incense was next, lifted to her nose as her eyes close to inhale the complex scent. It had taken her so, so long to get the blend correct- especially since she had only had three cakes to compare against the ingredients she could get her hands on here. Setting down one of her crafted discs, she picked up one of those crafted on the island and took a deep inhalation again. Not quite exact- it could not be. But she could feel the rightness of it, feel the latent power waiting for the touch of flame to release the smoke that would act to steady her ritual-craft. Packing the discs and the charcoal that they would rest on in the box with gentle hands, her fingers lingered for a moment before she brought one to her nose again.

A memory. She was a ghost, standing to the right side of a Jaguar huntress as she worked mortar and pestle to grind down and blend the ritual mixture. Her ingredients, small mounds of herbs, little clay jars of liquid, flowers and stalks, all set carefully around her. As she worked, Zareen could hear her voice speaking in an ancient version of the Jaguar tongue, explaining each ingredient, the proportions, the preparations they must undergo before mixing, all the details that an apprentice would need to know. Step by step. When the memory faded, she had been able to smell the finished blend with clarity.

Zareen’s gold eyes opened and she took a deep breath, verging on the edge of tears. How many times had she begged her soulstone to show her a way to save her people? Her loved ones? How many years had passed in despair when it gave her only silence. She realized, now, why that was. She had been asking the wrong questions. There was no “way” to save someone from the dark. There were only small flickers of hope. Small things that might, if one were brave and committed, illuminate one of the many steps along a path that may, possibly, lead to victory.

The gods were good. Sometimes. The gods were cruel. They demanded much and often gave little. She knew there would be a price for what they were going to do- each of them would pay in their own way. Each of them had been given the chance to change their mind- even Ayanga. Each of them had expressed their desire to take the chance, to challenge fate. To take the gamble. To leap.

He’d listened to her carefully, his eyes not meeting hers as he thought about what she was saying. It was clear he wasn’t entirely happy with what he heard, but when she was done, his odd pale eyes with their black sclera moved to her face and he nodded. He expressed his gratitude for all that she was doing and though he slipped back into uncomfortable, awkward silence after she knew when the time came he would fight the same way she would.

Tolemy... let there be time for us. Let there be a chance to see...

Her eyes moved to the jewelry she would wear for the ritual. It, too, was ancient. The filigree open-work was less evident, the craftsmanship favoring a more simple design. Stylized figures of jaguar, the rising sun, and the rising moon are barely able to be made out. The gemstones set in the gold still have all of their shine, despite their age. The one open setting awaits her soulstone. She will place it when she arrives at the cave and begins the cleansing and preparations there.

“I barely got this second life-- I should’ve been dead a dozen times over by now, so I just want folks to know I didn’t have any regrets with this part of the life I’ve lived, and I don’t want them to regret it either.”

Amaranth’s irrepressible smile as she said the words had brought an echoing expression to Zareen’s lips. The Jaguar couldn’t express it, didn’t have the words, but that smile reminded her of so many she had known. The faces were different- slit-pupiled eyes framed in brightly-colored hair looking at her with that devil-may-care grin. ‘Death comes for all of us.’ said that grin, ‘May as well have as much fun as we can before it catches up!’ She had grinned that way before. Sometimes, she still did. It was bittersweet- it made part of her yearn for earlier days, days when she had nothing to lose and everything to gain, days when she had seen every minute of life as a new adventure and a dare- live fast, live free, live fierce, laugh at Death as you dance one step ahead. She prayed that her friend would manage to find that smile for as long as possible.

Putting the jewelry into a velvet bag, she set it into the box tenderly. Her eyes moved to the final item and her ears lowered even as a soft smile bloomed on her lips. She lifted the knapped obsidian blade, turning it so the firelight glowed through the thin, impossibly sharp glass. Her hand fit the wrapped gold wire on the hilt easily, as if it were made for her. Her head tilted a little as she slowly twisted it back and forth, gazing into the shadow-made-real.

A pair of too-bright violet eyes, or blue. Green. Red. Scarred into white. Empty sockets.

A hand held in hers, clinging tightly in desperation so claws pierced her skin. Holding loosely with a lack of strength. Gently pressing skin-to-skin as if to comfort her as much as she comforted them. Slick with blood. Cold with fear. Thin-skinned with age. Too small...far too small.

A voice, whispering in quick, pained gasps. Pleading. Broken by sobs. Empty of all emotion- too far gone into the dark to hold any more. Resigned. Gentle. Young and scared. Old and content. Moving without sound, voiceless but speaking still. Requests for the end, for messages left too late, for regrets unable to be overcome, for sins unforgiven, for loves lost, for comfort to those that remain. Tales, stories of lives lived, spoken with the hope that they might be remembered, that they will find their place in the stars, that they will be carried on in the hearts of those who carry on. ‘Remember me, remember me, remember that I walked on this star. Remember that I lived, and laughed, and loved. Do not let me be lost, do not let me be forgotten.’

The taste of blood. Tears. Rot. Sweet herbs. Salt. Alcohol. Life lived. Life lost. All that was and all that might have been. An inhalation- drawing it all in, feeling it coil and curl inside, feel it seep into every part of her soul, feel it become part of her. Feel them calm, feel them let go of the fear, the anger, the tension, the sadness, the past, the future. Feel the grip of their hands grow gentle, every one.

Whispering the words- her tongue forming them, her mind forming them, her soul forming them into shapes and sounds they knew from their earliest memories. Watching the calm fall over them. Acceptance. Even hope. Wielding the spell, the blade, sliding it gentle and painless until it kissed the heart. The final breath.

The silence.

She slowly lowered the blade, resting it on her palm before gently and carefully putting it in the special part of the box prepared for it. It is delicate, and it is vital for what is to come. The box is closed, latched, aether woven around it for protection and security. Zareen moves it aside, gathers up the other items that will be kept for another day and puts them away in the chest where she keeps that which is precious to her. Rising, she turns and walks to the closet, opening the doors and leaning in to press her fingers against one of the back panels. It slides away, revealing a different kind of box. Dusty in a way that none of her things ever are. Hidden here where it should have been forgotten, found by one of the future generations perhaps. Or lost forever.

For the first time, her hands shake and she gently closes them into fists, closing her eyes.

Her brother’s eyes, crimson and pink, looking at her with a gentle pleading.

“I can’t go through another night like the last one, not and still fight.”

She whispered the words she had spoken to him. “I will stop you befoah you hunt anehone. I sweah this to you on all that is above and below.”

A single blue eye looking into hers as the box is handed to her. “Whatever you need to do, do it.”

Eyes opening again, the Jaguar gazed into the dark closet and sighed. Leaning forward, she drew the box out and set it on the floor. Opening it revealed a collar-style necklace, glowing faintly blue along the magitek surface, the ceruleum light pulsing slowly. Matching cuff-like bracelets, two of them, rested in their own divots in the padding. They, too, glowed and pulsed in perfect time with the necklace. She picked up one of the bracelets and her wrist twinged with sensory memory- the feel of the metal biting and chafing as she turned it, and turned it, and turned it unconsciously as it seemed to weigh more and more and more. There were no tears- she had shed a lifetime’s worth for those losses. Turning the bracelet in her hand, her fingertips found the simple pad that would activate the necklace when aether was passed through it. It would take only the smallest amount- a breath, no more. The restraint would render the one wearing the collar immobile. Not for long. Just… just long enough. Just long enough to say goodbye.

Her eyes are unfocused, gazing into the distance as she feels the weight settle heavy on her shoulders. It is familiar. So familiar. Sun after sun, season after season, year after year… era after era…

Twi, holding her hand, squeezing her hand with a gentle firmness. “Whatever you will become, whatever you think have become… you are still our Y'zareen.” Falling into a hug, held and holding, a moment of terrible, terrible vulnerability met with a loving kindness that gently provided a balm to a wounded heart.

“... Thank you, sisteh. Thank you. I love you vereh, vereh much.” She whispers.

“I l-love you too,” she replied.

She refocuses, setting the bracelet back into the box for now and closing it, carrying it over to the other box and setting it on top. It would be one of the last things done, that it might not chafe at already raw spirits. As she looked at the two boxes, she felt a sudden spike of intense icy fear that caught her breath and made her press a hand to her chest as she gasped and her eyes widened. It is a surprise but the unexpected pounding of her heart in her ears and the chill in her fingers and toes is almost...welcomed. Eyes fluttering slowly closed, she breathes a prayer of gratitude. If she can still feel fear, then she is not past hope. One doesn’t fear the inevitable. One fears uncertainty. And that means that, in her heart of hearts, she still holds hope. Irrepressible hope. Hope that has kept her alive, over and over, giving her the strength to take that fear and make of it a weapon named Courage.

She would have to show the others how to do the same. They would need this of her. This is not a fight she can win by throwing herself into the dark. Never again, that. They needed her to be better. To move past her mistakes. To rise above her insecurities. To be the light, the guide. It was her last chance and she knew it. Whether they succeeded or failed, how she carried herself and the choices she made, the way she led them would set the course of her future. Redemption or damnation. A small smile touches her lips. This, too, is familiar- feet light and fleet, spinning and swaying and leaping on the edge of the blade.

Please, gods… Please, let me be worthy, just this once.

Turning slowly, her eyes move around the room- her little attic room, made cozy but still not quite “home”. It was a good place, though. It had been a sanctuary and she was grateful. Walking down the stairs, the house was very, very quiet in those bells before dawn. Moving like a shadow herself, the Jaguar walked through each room, gathering them into her memory and her heart. She did not linger in her brothers’ bedroom, passing through to where the children slept in a way that would not bother the men- it was something she did often when they needed an extra hand to soothe or care. Pausing by each little bed, she allowed herself the tears as she watched each little chest rise and fall. Memorized the curve of their cheeks, the gentle expressions they wore as they dreamed, the soft scents they gave off, the small hands that would someday shape the future.

At the bed her twin girls shared, Zareen sat on the edge and reached out to stroke the thick black hair and brush the back of her fingers butterfly-light across their cheeks. Her Hope and Dream. A terrible pain speared her heart and her eyes closed, head bowing and hand covering her mouth to catch the sob that threatened to escape her. Taking a few breaths, shaky at first before steadying, the Jaguar rose and leaned to kiss each of them, whispering inaudibly in her mother-tongue. “I love you. Always.”

She left the room as silently as she’d entered it, walking back up to the attic and sitting down at the window. The moon, strange and too-bright, shone down on her and she gazed up at it, golden eyes glowing. Bells passed...and as the moon lowered and the sun started to rise, she prayed. She prayed blessings, she prayed apologies, she prayed her dreams and her plans. She poured a river of heart-offerings into the liminal place between night and day where the Dark Lady and the Bright could both hear. The place where she walked, both and neither.

The sky grew brighter, the tops of the waves going gilded, and Zareen closed her eyes and wiped the tears from her cheeks. They would be the last she would shed until the matter was done. Taking a slow breath and letting it out softly, she went to that place inside her where the jungle trees rose to impossible heights and a pool of darkness reflected the storm-tossed sky above, lightning dancing through the roiling clouds. One of the trees, huge and wide, held an opening in the roots- a passageway. There was a sanctuary there, a healing place. But there was a deeper place, too. A hidden way. Zareen floated above the inky pool, one foot touching the surface as her hair flowed above her and her head tilted back to gaze at the sky before she closed her eyes and let go.

A shift, a breath, and her head snapped down as gold eyes opened and she sprang forward, throwing herself into a leap, a dash, a run that carried her across the surface of the pool, splashes rising behind her and staying, frozen in time. Half-way to the shore, she jumped high and sure and sloughed her skin, landing true on four huge paws, already running, racing with her tail a flag behind her and her wild eyes fixed on the tree. The passageway irised open as she threw herself into it, diving into the dark.

Huntress. Jaguar. Sin Eater. Weapon. Blade and shield. Killer and protector, healer and devourer. Dancer on the edge of the blade. Wild laughter in the face of death.

A predator from an unbroken line of predators stretching back into the mists of time.

Prayers given form.

She Who Catches Demons in Her Teeth.

(( Tagged for mention: @talesfromthegameff14 @ala-mhinyan @realmoffantasy as well as Twi and Amaranth who do not have Tumblr))

[the-haughty-mason]

Game Night at The Haughty Mason! (18+ event)

The Mason, and in particular Master of Games C’tolemy, will be hosting a night of adult themed games in the lower floor of The Haughty Mason (Ward 16, plot 30 in Lav Beds) on ((September 28th at 8 PM EST (5 PST))). Some will might pure conversation and activities, some may include dice to throw some good-natured chaos into the mix!

——————————————————————————————-

The games specifically being played that night will be posted in the Mason Discord the night of the event!

As always, this is ONLY for 18+ CONSENTING adult players AND characters. All rules of the establishment IC and OOC will still apply. For a full list of those, please refer to https://the-haughty-mason.tumblr.com/rules ! If you have any questions about this, PLEASE contact @eyesofsteelandsky directly! As with any semi-public event with erotic elements, all characters and players must be consenting to the scene as to not step on other people’s enjoyment/put someone in an upsetting position. Non/dub-con play is not welcome at this event. If someone declines your approach, respect it and move on peacefully. This is happening in a advertised space for open sexual encounters, please don’t show up shocked that sexual things are happening. With adult events we continue to ask that the advertising not be posted to any major hubs. You are still of course welcome to share it with like minded friends and FC mates, and reblog if you believe your followers would be alright with this content! If you have questions about if you should be sharing this somewhere, please contact @eyesofsteelandsky directly!

[aveis-the-red]

Prompt #10: Foster

( Mentions Ayanga/Khenbish, Dunrai and Tolemy) She didn’t tell them that she had been sleeping poorly. She hadn’t meant to blurt out that she and Astorin had parted ways, but everything had been stuck in her throat and pushing at her teeth, like hot bile from an empty stomach. The evening had been relaxed and fun and she was able to not think about how empty and cold her house felt now that she was alone. How was it that everything she had managed to stuff down managed to find its way back up and spat out like some sort of bitter medicine?  I’m okay, aren’t I? It’s like Kera said. We were a bad pattern that couldn’t translate to fabric. Sometimes things don’t work out. Why does this make me feel out of sorts? Those were feelings she didn’t want to foster. Aveis simply wanted to move ahead. But here she was, in bed between Dunrai and Khen, where the sheets were warm and there was the lulling sounds of heartbeats, breathing and shifting bodies. It was almost shameful how quickly she fell asleep with the relaxing weight of Khen’s tail over her thighs.  Not even Mede’s cries made her stir. 

Aveis woke up mid-morning with the room still dark and the bed cold. She idly rubbed at her face as she sat up and stayed sitting. It wasn’t enough. There was no way she could get up. Plus she wanted the escape from all the jarring notions and the uncertainty.  Did I not try hard enough? Am I too fucked up? What made me a bad girlfriend? I didn’t want it in the first place, and I gave it a try, and I -enjoyed- it but now...is it really better to just be alone? I have family. I don’t need relationships. ...right?     Groaning, the redhead fell back into bed and covered her head with the sheets, rolling onto her side. It was then she heard the bedroom door open, but Aveis was bound and determined to pretend to be asleep so she didn’t have to face anything just yet.  She didn’t move as she felt the sheets raise and weight settle in next to her. Loud purring filled the air. Oh right, Tolemy sleeps during the day. The thoughts eating at her eased as there was suddenly a tail curled around her, and she slowly smiled.  “You always know what to do, golden boy...”  With that, she let herself drift off to sleep again. 

[talesfromthegameff14]

Rest

[Warning: PTSD themes, disassociation] 

Slowly, Ayanga made his way up the stairs from the basement to the second floor.  It seemed to take forever, trudging up one stair at a time like this.  He was too unsteady take the stairs as he usually did, running up them two at a time.  Exhaustion from hanging onto the present by the tips of his claws showing in the slump of his shoulders and how he watched his feet. Each step taken far too carefully, even meticulously as he climbed upward.  The past lurked close, peering over his shoulder waiting for a single stumble to pull him back into it and never let go.  He had too much to do to risk that, so he moved carefully avoiding the thoughts that would push him back over that edge.   As careful as he was, guilt followed each heavy step, the dense grey fog of his thoughts swirling about him unseen to any but himself.  He should be downstairs helping Dunrai, reassuring C’tolemy, digging into the wisdom entrusted to him to help soothe and heal the bleeding heart wounds he was walking away from.  Try as he might, Ayanga couldn’t find the right words this time.  Where they should have been was only a swirl of silver.  The impenetrable mist hiding what was so close from view, keeping it just out of reach.   It was troubling, but he couldn’t find the energy to care.  

Gooseflesh pebbled his skin as he went through his bedtime routine by rote, oblivious to the warmth of the early summer night.  Strip, put the clothes away, wash up, comb and braid the hair, then finally climb into bed and fall into place to hope that sleep would come.  Instead, the fog silently billowed around him, numbing his heart to the soft sounds of someone crying from the wounds Ayanga left unattended.  

Twin pairs of youthful, almond shaped brown eyes watched him through the fog.  It was that way more nights than it wasn’t, sometimes they were curious, sometimes they were accusing, sometimes sad.  Tonight, they were watchful and blissfully distant, as equally hampered by the weight of the grey as he was. It was a small comfort, leaving behind a strange sense of safety in the isolation from the storm that was at the center of his soul.  There was no burden of past mistakes, there was no joy, no love, but there was also no pain.   Instead, there was distance. Distance from the cacophony of emotion that normally followed the path of his life that danced within his mind's eye.  Shrouded by the fog, the memories had no bite.  It was like reading a story.  The tale was yet unfinished, but what was written laid the the triumphs bare and the failures open to dissect.  So easy to note where something could have been done differently to change the path taken, yet it was etched in stone, relentlessly marching forward to this point where there was nothing but the soft chill of unyielding apathy.   It was good this place. Quiet and numb, a last sanctuary against the cracks that came from a warrior trying to adapt to the routine of a normal life.  Peace came with the isolation, allowing the over-alert mind to finally fall from the weight of what was carried.  It was time to rest.   [ Dunrai owned by @dunrai-ffxiv C’tolemy owned by @ala-mhinyan ]

[hydaelynshimbos]

🦷 - lick, suck, bite (Acheron, Kylvaar, C'Tolemy)

Lick: Tolemy

Bite: Kylvaar

Suck: Acheron

Probably, it might need to be swapped around a bit but this is what I feel Elo’d want lol

[thorcat]

🌋 For C'arha or C'tolemy! ( @ala-mhigan-asshole )

C'arhato U’tavu: “A woman i would love to hunt with and allow my blood to boil during the thrill. It’s been ages since i went out with to act like a tribal one. Could be fun with such a little lady.~”

[ala-mhinyan]

Eclipse

The night was long and warm. Quiet.

The day had gone along quietly; exactly as he had intended it to. The paperwork was done by Ayanga’s hands - The assets of their home, all of the financial accounts under his name, the lease to the house, how to handle Sakanoue and the Uyagir. His name on all of it… All of it, written neatly by the Xaela’s hands and tucked into a special box hidden away where only C’tolemy could find it.

- - -

Silver, Gold and Black all stared across the vast emptiness of their home; an endless sea of flowers in the middle of a valley, protected high by rock walls. Their hidden oasis. No attention was paid to the cracks across their person, how their porcelain-like bodies seemed to crumble and crack with each step they took. No, that wasn’t important. Preserving this place in time, to remember what it was and had been was the goal - one they would not fail.

- - -

C’tolemy had smiled and pulled his husband away from the lingering pull of responsibility - away from everything that could cut them deeper than it all already had and the both of them fell into a pile of softness and warmth, a distraction away from it all. There, they spoke quietly amongst one another, barely touching yet so close at the same time. Soft embraces were exchanged, senseless distractions to have a normal day. One last, normal day. He smiled. He laughed. He fell still when finally the warmth, tea and snacks had caught up to him and left them both too sleepy to do anything else. He fell asleep, comforted by the presence of his feline mate at his side - though C’tolemy knew that rest would only be brief before something willed him to be up and handling more things before the final day.

Ayanga always had something to do. Always.

- - -

Within, each iota of time was spent collecting their world together. Every flower. Every ray of light. Each blade of grass. Every rock. Every drop of water. All of it was deconstructed like the pieces of a puzzle - pulled inward and stored in the palm of their hands. Along with the deconstruction of his inner world came the deconstruction of his emotional and mental state. There would be far too much on the line and if he was not careful, he would undo all of their hard work should one emotion happen to take him too intensely when he couldn’t stand it anymore. He would not risk it, could not risk it. Silver and Gold merely smiled.

They’d lived long enough.

- - -

The hours ticked by in minutes and those minutes by in seconds, each moment categorized and stowed away in his conscious mind with the precious passage of time.

Only when the moon was high and his husband had fallen asleep for the night did C’tolemy finally unravel from his shell. Only then, did he excuse himself from bed to step outside, to close the door to their home and breathe in the chilled air of night and bathe in the light of the moon shining so fervently overhead. Only then, did he allow himself to weep to the intensity that he’d wanted to for what seemed like days. All of the pain, all of the distress, all of the clawing insanity that he felt gouging its way through his chest every time he looked Ayanga in the face fell out of him in a mess of bitter, chest rattling sobs and bile that splashed across dark stone. His grief was gripping and his madness was intense, shackling him with maddening strength and clutching down on his throat until all that could come from him were broken whimpers.

The dam had popped another hole, to express some of the mounting pressure - only for the hole to be filled in once he simply could not cry any longer. It would make some space, give him a little bit of wriggle room and a buffer that could protect his heart until he was ready to address all of… this. All of - of the pain, the insecurity, the terror, the desperation, the anger and all of the insurmountable distress that he’s held tight to his chest for months now. A pressure valve had opened, only momentarily and was shut tighter than it had been before. Nothing would come in and nothing would come out. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

There would be nothing.

- - -

A rocking motion, back and forth, a gentle sway in the warm breeze. A laugh, a sharp retort and the most suffering sigh.

There was nothing left behind in the wide, unending expanse of blackness but a small box. A plain white box, sealed with silver and gold ribbon.

- - -

C’tolemy spent the night watching Ayanga sleep; observing the details of his mate and etching them into what little he had left of his memory - writing a story of images that would tell a tale his words could not. So, now, his own gaze drifted over his visage, casting delicate sweeps across his blue-tinted profile. It made him happy to note the knit between his brows had eased slightly - it only ever did in his sleep. Eyes of pearl white traced his long nose, smooth cheek, and sharp jaw. The pale of his eyelashes. The hill of his soft lips. How his crimson eyes would stare into him as if there was little else in this world worthy of his gaze than the Miqo’te in his vision. He knit it all, precariously, into place in his mind’s eye.

Full lips curved into a smile as a tear drifted down his skin and soaked into the pillow under his cheek. The final part of him that clung to his humanity took one last look over the man that held his soul in his palms, ensured that the ties he made to strengthen their bond were rigid and enforced… and then he let go of the leash.

He would remember. If he did nothing else, if he had nothing else, if he was nothing else.

He would remember.

[ala-mhinyan]

POCWOLWEEK :: Dressed To Impress ( Day 4 )

"Can I 'elp you? Yoah staehing..."  C'tolemy loves the attention but he'll never admit it!

Atleast... Not publicly...

[ala-mhinyan]

POCWOLWEEK :: Home ( Day 2 )

“Ala Gannha will alwaehs be ‘ouah ‘ome.” “No matteah ‘ow fah we travel from it.” 

- and no matter how hot it is!

[ala-mhinyan]

POCWOLWEEK :: Best Friend ( Day 5 )

Less of a best friend and more of a lifelong companion, Agni has been there for C'tolemy in his darkest times and he truly treasures his little bundle of pink happiness!

He would kill for his tiny daughter, without a second thought.

[ala-mhinyan]

Some draws of the catboy.

Been awhile since I’ve uploaded here. > > ;;

[ala-mhinyan]

“On hands and knees, we pray to gods we’ve never seen.”

[ala-mhinyan]

The World is Ours

It was easier to leave home when home was the mouth of a shark. He was grateful to the siren song of duty; It was a wonderful escape in moments like these. How often had these eastern walls and beams been a sanctuary to him—only to turn vile and steely like cage bars the very next second? Either it was safety or it was the jaws of an animal waiting to pounce, there was never an in-between. Tonight was no different; the gentle kiss given to Terbish’s forehead when the little girl hopped into bed for the night—his careful caress of fingertips against the soft of Mede’s cheeks as the little boy was lain to rest within his crib—the passing of his fingers along the inner softness of Ayanga’s wrist. How their eyes said passages—no, scriptures without the need for a single word to be spoken.

Ayanga was the first to smile. Warm. Polite.

“Be careful.”

C’tolemy returned the smile. Warm. Polite. Mimicked.

“I will.”

He didn’t wait too terribly long—taking a step toward the door only to lull in hesitation while his eyes etched the face of his smiling husband into his mind. Another step. Another pause.

Then he was gone.

Each footfall toward the door felt like a weight being taken off and a shackle being locked into place, the chains rattling with each step.

Sanctuary or Prison?

Where had the time gone?

.::.

Time seemed fleeting.

When his feet touched upon stone and skittering sand, he knew it had been about a bell into nightfall and his scouting teams were preparing their armor and weaponry for their routines. The tribe was doing much better after the nightmare C’sah had rained down upon it that fateful night—so well that the need for provisions from others had dwindled down to nothing and the tribe had reached a self-sustained level of reassurance.

They could hunt their own food once more. Their reserves of meat, grain and berries had been largely recovered. Their stock of furs and leathers were back to a decent level. Weapons had been made, armors crafted and new Coeurl tamed for mounts.

Much of the everyday happen-stance had returned to the lives of the Coeurl—if not for the striking reminder every time they stepped out of their caves that the population had been cleaved to only a third of what they had been. They’d gone from nearly 200 people to barely more than 60; with a vast majority of those losses coming from the younger and middle generations. There were few children left and it was a miracle if they had any of their families alive with them, much less their parents.

But the Coeurl would persevere. They always did. Against the worst odds. Against the overwhelming tide.

They would sooner martyr themselves than accept defeat.

That pride; the Burning Pride of the Coeurl rang solidly through his blood like a beating drum and reinvigorated him—reminded him for which his blade was sharp, why his eyes were sharper and why his claws could cut through diamond. They were bravehearts. They were warriors. And even in death, be it by blade or flame, that incessant pride would drum to life and seize his bones and demand that he pay tribute to that which birthed him.

The fire that gave his soul purpose.

By the time he’d let his awareness catch up with where his mind had wandered? The scouting parties had been organized and sent out, food reserves taken accurate stock, guard cycles changed and weapons/armor appraised. He couldn’t recount any of the details—but by the blacksmith’s winning grin it had gone well.

He offered a lopsided smile in return. Polite. Warm. Broken. Confused. But True.

Where had the time gone?

.::.

“Nikkasai.”

Pale gold sift through nothingness to find the source of the voice—yet here, in this waking bleakness, there is nothing waiting. Ayanga watches his feline lover stare blankly at him through long lashes, knowing by the distant look on his husband’s face that C’tolemy’s pale eyes aren’t really -seeing- him. Again, he prods. Hopeful.

“Nikkasai.” More urgently.

A small, rounded ear twitches this time and recognition colors the Seeker’s face when the conscious part of his mind awakens. His full lips pull into a small, sheepish smile and he leans into the extended hand that cradles the soft of his cheeks—nuzzling into that tiny bit of affection like a dying man to an ocean.

“Where have you gone, Nikkasai? This isn’t like you.”

C’tolemy’s eyes sift away from that worried, beautiful face to look over his environment. He was back home—how long had he been here? What time was it? Terbish and Mede were nowhere to be found and given the intimate touch against his cheek, he could only assume that the pair were off with Melody outside or it was time to sleep. His peripheral caught the warm, shining rays and he knew it was late afternoon—the slug of fog making it difficult to think despite looking relatively chipper. No one had noticed something was wrong but Ayanga.

He always did.

“I am just tihahd, Sajanavaa,” He reassured softly, the sound of his own voice foreign and in-human to himself. A blink and he saw himself through his husband’s eyes—

Who was he looking at?

Who was he?

The Seeker shook his head to shake the thought loose, smoothing a hand over his swollen belly with a fond smile given toward his husband. “Feah naught, theah ‘as been much to adjust to. I am just a bit moah tihahd than I anticipated—all I need is a good night’s rest at ‘ome. I’m suah C’mayan can take caeh of th’scouts foah th’daeh.” That seemed to satisfy the surface level worry Ayanga showed, the rapid staccato of the familiar scaled beast behind him slowing down. If he gave his husband a chance to take care of him, it would be a bit of good to soothe his worried nerves.

Pregnancy was a new, scary situation for him—something that brought him a deep joy that no one else on this star could rob from him. And in the same vein, a double edged sword that seemed to further remove himself from his own person. There was no one to talk to about how he felt. As far as he was aware, there was no one close to him that could understand the immense amount of confusion and depersonalization he felt just existing as he did now.

No men had given birth that he’d known and that left him uniquely alone. Confused. Afraid.

It was no wonder he’d retreated into his head to find the answers, only to find nothing at all waiting for him but more endless circles.

And when he would come to?

It was nighttime; the Seeker tucked into bed with his husband curled around him protectively—rumbling in an affectionate gesture more felt than heard. C’tolemy lay awake and his gaze focused on the wall across from their bed—a distinct chill of fear creeping up around his ankles and clawing along his calves. A fear unique to him. A problem that had no solution.

Chunks of his day gone in but a blink of an eye. No recollection of his progress. No time to address the changes in his body, much less his psyche. No time to address his traumas. No time to acknowledge the nightmares that shocked him awake at night. No time to prepare for the child growing in his belly. No time to appreciate the way his body was changing. No time to just… sit. And be. No time, no time, no time for anything at all.

Where had the time gone?

[ala-mhinyan]

One will bite, the other will not and it changes every time you pet them!

- You MUST pet at-least one of them. Failure to pet means they both will cry. - Petting one over the other will mean the one not being pet will cry. - There are very rare occurrences where neither will bite.

Will you brave their game?

Russian Roulette: Catte Edition!