#like how it knows a sunset can give humans feelings of warmth

[m4rcyonstation]

an ai looks into the night sky

it sees a black plane

sprinkled with white dots

they are known as stars

every night, they stay in the same place

but when it moves to another town

some parts look familiar

yet ever so slightly different

predictably so, though

soon enough, it knows where every dot is

and where every dot would be

at any given place

and any given time

a human walks up to the ai

"Don't the stars look so beautiful tonight?"

the stars? they are the same as ever

"Don't you see it?"

see what?

"The bear."

[sundayswife]

Boothill Headcanons <3

Warnings —> Smut!! and angst

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– Boothill sometimes can't help himself but stare into you're eyes at times, he definitely loves eye contact all times with talking to his significant other.

– He definitely would love it if you'd brush and style his hair, braiding it or putting it up in ponytails or hair accessories. He would absolutely find it comforting to have you by his side while playing with his hair, and talking with him.

– Boothill likes to tell you stories about his adventures as a Galaxy Ranger, a big fat, sharky smile on his face as he sees your amazement shining in you're eyes. And interest blossoming into your features.

– He would dance with you in the rain or in the deep, dark valleys of the night. A smirk booming on his face as you both laugh and trip together, before a special warmth that strums through his cyborg body as he sees your happiness bloom through you.

– Boothill will most certainly teach you how to ride a horse properly if you didn't know how to already. He loves giving you the spirit of riding a horse, and teaching you how to ride one will hold a special place in his metal, unbeating heart. Once you'd learn how to ride a horse properly. You two would go horse riding together around the country and laugh together as you two ride into the sunset.

– Boothill would ABSOLUTELY love receiving forehead kisses from his significant other. Since his head is the only human part of him left, he can actually feel you're touch, he swears that you're soft kisses send him to heaven.

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WARNING!! SMUT HCS INCOMING

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– Boothill would love the cowgirl position, having his metal hands dig into the plush of your hips or thighs as you ride him. Also he'd love reverse cowgirl as well, watching you're ass bounce up and down as you take him so well into your hole.

– Sorry not sorry, but Boothill would totally be an ass type of guy. Seeing it bounce and jiggle as you take him from the back or by riding him. Or the way he slaps it, causing him to chuckle and have a dark smirk as he sees is jiggle. Or he'd would just grab it for leverage while you ride or take him from the back.

– He'd definitely ask you to just sit on his face if you have a pussy, would messyly eat you out as he will force you fully down onto his face without a care in the world. Boothill will, with no doubt, moan against your pussy as he licks and sucks onto your clit with his whole heart.

– Now, if you have a cock. Boothill would tease you by kitten liking your tip, before wrapping his lips around the tip a purposely moaning to create a vibration. He'd love if you tugged onto his hair for him to take you deeper into his mouth, it would make him short circuit at the feeling.

– Lastly, lots of trust would have to be build up for him to be submissive with you and let you take control in bed. Strap on or not, he'd be a moaning, short circuiting mess as you fuck him in his little metal ass. Boothill would go into a cock drunk mess if you two went into doggy or missionary. Eye contact in missionary would send him into crazy orgasms while you two go at it.

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– If you two were in a relationship for not that long, he'd still have a hard time trusting himself around you.

– Boothill would be so scared to lose you like how he lost his daughter and fathers he'd try to run away. Not wanting to ever experience losing a loved one ever again.

– Boothill who is terrified of commenting into a physical relationship, scared of losing you too.

– He'd try as much as he can to keep to himself about his problems about his past and how he feels about his cyborg body.

– He'd fall onto his knees as he watched his barn go into flames, tears falling like a storm as he couldn't do anything but watch his family go into ashes. His significant other cries died out as the house falls and burns apart and crashes down. His daughter and lover that he lived with, dead right infront of him where he couldn't save them.

– He hates his cyborg body, how much it makes him feel inhuman, but nobody can change how the past turned out.

– In the future, his wallet would have a picture with a family selfie with his daughter, his lover, and him all together in the photo. Smiling in the picture, too bad it's in the past now and his daughter and lover and fathers are gone now. Sticking to himself and away from relationships.

– Boothill who would never forgive himself for not saving his family from the nuke. Always drowning himself with self-hatred and that how he failed to save the ones he loved.

[ohitslen]

Promises

He should know better. 

Wolfwood has seen Vash make promises, or hear about the ones he has made in the past. He has also seen the end of each one and how every single time the outcome is less than what was promised. 

Vash likes to say embellished words, with a soft and determined voice that lures you into his hopes and dreams, it almost feels like a spell, as if he was calling for you to come closer and believe him. But Wolfwood knows better.

He believes in him, but Vash is much closer to being an idealistic dreamer than a realistic person like he is. He might not be aware of it, but his beautiful promises of a better future give people hope, a hope that is usually embraced with things like disappointment and abandonment. 

He doesn’t think that Vash does it with the intent of looking for any of those things. Far from it, he might even do the impossible in order to accomplish said promises, but life is too short and humans are too mortal for his wishes, so in the end, most of Vash’s promises end up being empty or they come to haunt him as a reminder of his failed vows. He admires the man, for his perseverance and idealism, but he also hates the man, for his stubbornness and lies. 

Wolfwood knows all of this perfectly to a tee. And yet, he has also found himself being drawn to his world. Because he also dreams of it.

A world in where his always present calls for love and peace exist, a world that is far more kind than what he might deserve, a world in where the kids can be happy and roam around without any worry in their heads, a world in where he can peacefully turn grey with age and his hands can shed the harsh callouses of his life. Who knows, maybe a world in where he and Vash can finally know the peace that was taken away from them, in where they can share the calmness that comes with the passage of time, indulging in every tick of the clock welcoming with open arms whatever comes their way without any fear.

It is a beautiful promise. But Wolfwood is a person that has to keep his feet on the ground, indulging in “what ifs” would only make things harder than what they had to be. He can’t have any ifs if he can’t make it through the now. And by the way he is carrying his present, he is doubtful he will even get to see a shed of that promised world that Vash tries to drag him into. So why mourn something he doesn’t even have, or will ever have for that matter.

He hates the way Vash seems to promise things so easily. His tongue silky and pliant, slipping divine words one after the other, promises way too big for what that barren world can actually fit. 

But when Vash talks to him in that holy voice of his, when he hears him say “It’s okay, everything will be alright, I promise” so gently right on his ear, while he holds his face so tenderly making him focus on him and nothing else, he wants to believe him.

He has seen the end of his promises. He knows how impossible they are. But for once, he wants to believe it too. Believe in that loving world that will cradle them both until they fall asleep, listening to the soft sound of the wind laughing while the moons smile upon them. 

So he allows himself to indulge in the warmth of his palms, leaning into the comfort of his existence, feeling the soft air of Vash’s breaths against his skin while their foreheads meet in a touch that feels like a hot brand that will melt him.

For an instant, he allows himself to be selfish and believe that maybe, that is how living in that world Vash so desperately fights for would be. Soft and warm, making him feel safe in the hollow of Vash’s hands where the world seems to fit so well. A world where the blue sky is a blanket that covers the love and care that is nestled in it like the one in Vash’s eyes. He wants to see that world.

For now, he will selfishly think that the world that fits in Vash’s hands is right there in where he is holding him, where his blue eyes are drowning in the light of the sunset dripping with love and care while looking at him, that the gentle touch of Vash’s thumb wiping his tears is the same as the kiss of that laughing wind in that distant future, where the smile of his eyes overcomes the smile of the moons.

He should know better. But he loves the thought of that world. And he hopes that Vash will get to see that world, because that gentle sight is more fitting for someone like him than the one of his violent world.

He promises to himself that he will do what it takes for that day to be possible. Even if the end of that promise will be empty for Nicholas, he knows it will be a full one for Vash. So it really isn’t that empty for him after all.

He hates his lies, and he hates how true they sound, but Vash’s embellished words are far sweeter than his bitter thoughts so they feel better on his insides, almost like a balm that cares for the wounds of his throbbing, painful reality.

He should know better.

But aren’t humans weak at the promise of love?

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hey! It's my birthday today and it's been really good but it's been kind of the first birthday I've ever properly celebrated with my chosen family and friends in a long time since a lot of trauma/ab*se, and I really hope it wouldn't be too much to ask (take as long as you need obvs) for some headcanons with a Tav that isn't going to celebrate on their birthday, but Astarion makes it special for them somehow and maybe they agree it's Tav's 'first' birthday 🥹🥹🥹👉👈

I love all your work and eagerly await your posts, they make my day 🥰🥰🥰

Hi! Hope you will like it! Now, Tiriel's birthday is also in autumn!

Birthday Gift

Summary: Tiriel has no idea when her real birthday is and she's never receieved birthday gifts. Astarion finds it outrageous.

Pairing: Astarion x OC (Tiriel)

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, post-game, named Tav, established relationship.

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

TW: a mention of abuse

Tiriel looks around.

Autumn.

Leaves are turning red and yellow, the winds are cold and promise winter. 

It’s beautiful, though the barbarian feels uneasy – the childhood memories. Winters are merciless in such wild places as the Sunset Mountains. Hunger, sickness, death… Sometimes her stepfather, a cruel chieftain, would order to leave certain people outside (too old, too weak) – to let them die and not waste scarce food. 

He would often pull Tiriel outside when the autumn winds were particularly harsh and say: “Look at this, pixie girl, I can just order not to give you any food and you will die like a stray cat. But I am merciful – I told your mother I’d save your pathetic half-blood life!” With these words, he would let her go and Tiriel would run to hide somewhere dark and safe.

She was lucky there were no harsh winters during her childhood. She would be the first to be deprived of food and warmth.

Only half a human. The result of an affair between her mother and an unknown elf. She still wonders why she was spared in the first place. It would have been so easy to murder a newborn girl.

They didn’t.

They kept her.

Maybe it was a superstition that elven children would become evil spirits once they died, or fear that Tiriel’s elven relatives would return. 

Those are questions without answers, Tiriel knows that.

Maybe there was a moment when her mother loved her. Maybe there was a moment when Tiriel’s stepfather really did forgive his wife. 

Tiriel doesn’t have happy memories from her childhood. It’s all too dark and miserable.

And autumns like this remind her of it.

“Hello, darling,” Astarion grins, returning to the road from the woods. His shirt is stained and he licks his lips. 

“What was it?” she asks.

“A boar. Didn’t expect I’d jump on it from the tree.”

Tiriel smiles as she wipes his face from blood and brushes his messy curls. Astarion doesn’t see himself in a mirror and, of all forms of intimacy, he especially cherishes being taken care of. Brushing his hair, cleaning his face, making sure he looks beautiful.  

Two years. Two years of her own happy memories. Where she has a person to talk to, to hold, to love. Astarion is a troubled person, but Tiriel loves him at his worst and at his best.

Astarion rubs her ear, forcing her to giggle.

“Let’s go?” he suggests. “The weather is getting worse, I want to spend the next few days somewhere warm!”

“It’s five miles to Longsaddle if I’ve read the map properly.”

Astarion takes her hand, and Tiriel feels how warm it is thanks to the boar blood. 

“Then we will meet the sunrise in a comfortable bed!” Astarion chuckles. “And in each other’s arms.”

“I doubt they have good beds there, so far from Luskan and other big cities.”

“We have low standards, you and I. As long as there is a blanket and a bed, we are fine, Besides I love using your breasts as my pillow.”

Tiriel bursts into laughter and receives a peck on the cheek.

Unfortunately, it can’t stop bad memories.

… Her siblings asked her to help them with something on a cliff. She followed them, only to be violently beaten by her older brothers. Tiriel even thought for a moment they were going to rape her, but, instead, they pushed her down to certain death.

Tiriel woke up in dirt and blood, with her arm broken in half, shivering and coughing. 

And with a cave bear ready to murder her. 

That’s when Tiriel felt rage for the first time.

It filled her veins with fire. Tiriel barely remembers what happened that night but she knows she killed that bear– and was left with facial scars. Then she came back, limping and bleeding. She thinks she fought someone, maybe one of her brothers or the chieftain and then she ran.

She ran into the mountains woods – no armor, no weapon, only rags and bare feet. 

Then she collapsed on the ground, hurt and scared in the middle of the woods, forever lost.

Tiriel remembers that moment vividly. 

A young girl who had barely hit puberty (because half-elves grow slower) woke up all alone and cried like a child. Then she got up and walked, dying of cold and hunger. 

Two days later she was found by a group of adventurers who sort of adopted her as their party child. An old halfling washed Tiriel’s hair and healed her wounds. A water genasi cooked the girl food and offered the warmest blankets. 

And the tiefling paladin asked Tiriel what her name was.

“My sweet, I thought it was me who tends to wander into dark thoughts,” Astarion squeezes. “Remembering your misfortunate youth again?”

“Yes. Just – similar. To what it was back then. The same autumn when I ran from home. The same autumn when I got my name.”

Tiriel, the little girl told the party. My name is Tiriel.

Astarion does the same thing he always does when he wants to support Tiriel.

He gives her a hug.

“Hush, Tiriel,” he murmurs. “You will never be alone again.”

Triel relaxes. That is her Astarion – a simple hug, a kiss, an embrace, and her nightmares perish.

He pulls away and Tiriel catches his most adorable smile – he doesn’t pretend, doesn’t show off, doesn’t perform. That’s real him.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

She nods. They don’t have to ask permission to do things with each other. Kisses, hugs, grabbing hands, touching intimate parts – but they still do.

Tiriel asks if she can kiss Astarion.

Astarion states he wants to kiss her.

Simple as that.

Permission and declaration.

Astarion grazes her lips. He is in his predatory mood, when Tiriel just needs to accept whatever is going to be done to her. His strong hands grab her shoulders and tug at her.

Astarion finally breaks the kiss and stares at Tiriel for a few moments.

“I am not going anywhere,” Tiriel murmurs.

“I know, Tiriel. You are mine and I am yours,” Astarion presses his forehead to hers. 

They go down the hill and find themselves on a road that connects scarce towns and settlements far from the Swords Coast. The road is more or less walkable but it soon will be washed out due to rains. Tiriel notices Astarion’s visible disgust.

“Honestly darling, we should have stayed in Baldur’s Gate and lived a life of comfort!” he chuckles.

“You would die of boredom – besides I thought you’d had enough of that place.”

“True, but there are many other comfortable places! Tiriel, you deserve to wear a nice gown made of the best fabrics and sleep in a huge master’s bed where I will ravish you till you beg me to stop.”

Tiriel turns around to see her partner better. “And then I would die of boredom. Astarion look at us – I am a nomad and you were enslaved for so long you deserve to see the world.”

“It doesn’t mean I can’t whine and complain!”

“You can whine and complain all day long, Astarion. Why even bother to be in a relationship, if you can’t do this?”

They bicker and laugh for the next hour until they see a town ahead. Despite it being close to midnight, the town doesn’t sleep and is rather festive.

“What is going on here?” Tiriel asks a passerby as they enter the town. “Some local celebration?”

“It’s our duke’s first son’s birthday,” the woman shrugs. “Not like we care about the spoilt brat but you can’t say ‘no’ to a celebration right?”

The woman disappears in the crowd and Tiriel points at the stalls.

“Astarion, look! So many sweets! Oh, and there are fireworks!”

Astarion looks distant, as if something plagued his mind.

“Love, what is it?” She asks and feels a wave of anxiety. What if it’s too much? Feasts like this used to be his hunting grounds, what if he has a painful flashback?

Two years against two centuries is almost nothing.

“Tirie,l” he finally asks. “When is yours?”

“What?”

“Birthday. I know this is a huge deal for humans and the ones who grew up with them.”

“I don’t know.”

Astarion looks at her with shock.

“You… what?”

“I don’t know when mine is, I was never told. Neither a date nor a month.”

“Oh,” Astarion didn’t expect this answer. “Well, at least you know the year, right?”

“I don’t.”

Astarion raises his index finger as if wanting to point at something, but then he shakes his head in disbelief.

“We have been together for two years and you are telling me now that you don’t… how old you are?!”

Tiriel ponders a bit.

“Well, I know it was 1472 DR when I ran away, I was told by the party who adopted me… and I had had my first blood only two months before that. But I am a half-elf and it took me longer to grow up… So I think I was… fifteen? Maybe, sixteen… Or fourteen? Definitely not sixteen… Because my older brother was sixteen… Damn, I don't really know. Don’t bother.”

“Darling, I can’t not bother with the fact that I don’t know how old you are!”

“You say it as if I was one of those little girls who look older than they are and get their one-night stands in trouble!”

“It’s not that, Tiriel! It’s just… I don’t know… wrong!”

“It probably is.”

“It is wrong.”

“I cannot do anything about that.”

The wave of sadness drags her to the bottom of her dark thoughts.

Beatings.

Insults.

Hatred.

Pain.

All at once, since she was born.

Suddenly, she is a little girl again – a little girl thrown outside in the autumn rain, in the wind, wearing only a nightshirt. Tiriel thinks she hears her stepfather's laughter from behind a thick wooden door as a seven-year-old half-elf who cries and begs him to let her in.

Tiriel stops. Tears prickle her eyes. Her face burns, and an adult half-elven woman who fought gods and demons starts ugly crying like a child. 

She collapses on her knees not caring about the dirt, wailing and sniffing.

“Tiriel!” Astarion drops his sack and kneels beside her. “Did I do… Did I ask… Oh, hells.”

He puts his arms under her shoulders and presses her to himself, lulling and swaying side to side. He murmurs all the words of love and care he is capable of.

“Let’s take you somewhere warm,” he finally says, helping her to get up.

Despite the fest, they manage to find an inn with a free room, a cheap and simple one. Tiriel has to go inside first to invite Astarion, and then he takes everything in his hands again making sure the innkeeper brings warm blankets and prepares a bath. 

“Love,” he says. “Look at me.”

Tiriel tries not to think about how bad she looks right now with her puffy face and snot but obliges.

“That's much better, now let’s take you to the bath”

An hour later, Tiriel submerges herself into the hot water and expects Astarion to join her, but instead he goes straight to the exit.

“Astarion!” she calls him out.

“I will be back soon, just relax while I am away, all right?”

Tiriel hates being alone. Too many dark thoughts, besides, now she feels guilty. Astarion went through hell and she dares to complain?!

Her past isn’t that bad in comparison with his. She has no right to pity herself. 

Time passes slowly, and Tiriel feels restless. What if something happened? What if there was a vampire hunter? Or something else…

When she finally decides to get out of the bath, Tiriel hears familiar footsteps.

“Close your eyes, little love.”

Tiriel obeys and then feels something soft and plush in her arms.

“Open” Astarion places his chin on her shoulder.

A plushie-owlbear.

Soft and cute, it’s a toy appropriate for a little girl to cuddle with. 

A toy she never had.

“Well,” Astarion explains. “Since you don’t know when your birthday is, it can be… today. 17 of Uktar. Happy birthday, love,” he kisses her cheek. “And I suppose we should decide how old you are.”

“Thirty-eight,” Tiriel says, doing mental math. “Let it be thirty-eight”

“Happy thirty-eight birthday, my lovely, darling girl.”

Tiriel feels like crying again. It’s just a toy, a plushie, a thing for a baby. But she was never treated as a child, she was never given toys or dolls. And this gift… is the best she could have received.

“Do you like it?” he asks carefully.

“Yes… I do love it! Thank you! Did you steal it?”

“I won it from the toymaker. Played cards with her.”

Astarion sits on the edge of the bathtub and Tiriel wraps her hands around his waist tugging him into water. He lets out a laugh.

“Darling, you know how long it will take to fully dry?”

“Eternity! And we will spend this eternity in the inn warm and safe,” Tiriel says. “Astarion, please! I don’t want to go back on the road now, so many bad memories!”

He sits in front of her fully in the water. “Ok my sweet, what else do you want for your birthday? Maybe I could return the favor and let you ride me in some place from your traumatic memories? I’ve seen a rather terrible-looking dirt of mud.”

Tiriel thinks for a while and then says. “I don't mind riding you, but maybe in the bedroom?”

“Whatever you say, darling!”

**

It’s sunlight outside, and Astarion feels the tugging feeling in his undead chest. He misses sunlight, that's true. 

Tiriel is asleep in his arms. They actually didn’t make it to the bedroom and had the first round in the bathtub, and now Astarion needs to repair his shirt and find missing buttons from a doublet. 

It causes him anxiety, but he shrugs it away.

He can lose all the buttons and rip all his clothes, and the only reaction he will receive will be Tiriel’s jokes.

Tiriel hugs him from behind, placing her cheek on his mutilated back. The plushie is pressed between their bodies as his warrior-love has decided to sleep with it. 

He actually didn’t expect her to like the toy. Initially, he was panicking and looking for something appropriate for Tiriel. A ring? A bracelet? Maybe a weapon? Maybe just something sweet? 

Everything he was putting his eyes on was off. Jewelry Tiriel would never wear, a weapon she wouldn’t fight with. 

And then he saw the toys. An owlbear plushie for a woman who is always treated like a brave hero. Who didn’t have a proper childhood? 

The first birthday gift for someone who has never had a birthday.

And Tiriel loved it so much she pressed it to her chest the moment they stopped ‘celebrating’. She wanted to give it a proper name, and they spent at least a few minutes discussing their ideas before they settled on Big Eye.

“Tiriel,” Astarion mutters knowing she is asleep and won’t wake up. “I love you. You will never be alone, I promise. I will be with you unless you grow tired of me, and I am sure you won’t. Thank you for … finding me. Saving. Helping.”

Suddenly he feels her wet lips on his scars.

“I will never grow tired of you,” Tiriel promises.

--

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[forestdeath1]

Poet

@prongsfoot-microfic

January 23, 1977

James lies with his eyes closed on the dusty bed in the Shrieking Shack, his nose buried in Sirius's waist. His left hand casually rests on his friend's thigh. Sirius, leaning against the headboard, is flipping through the pages of some yellowed book, faintly illuminated by the dying light of sunset seeping through the cracks of the old windows.

"What's that you're reading?" James mumbles sleepily into his friend's shirt.

"Some muggle poetry. Lily gave it to me," Sirius responds.

"Why does Lily give you books?" James lifts his head slightly.

"Because, unlike you, I'm not a toerag. I can actually talk to her without making a fool of myself, you know?"

"Oh, shut it," James exhales, lightly hitting Sirius's book with his hand before rolling onto his back. "She likes me."

"Of course, she does," Sirius agrees, without looking up from his book. "Everyone does."

"Right," James pretends not to hear the irony in Sirius's voice. Or maybe he genuinely doesn't.

"Muggles can write beautifully, did you know?" Sirius asks a few minutes later.

"Nah," James answers lazily, yawning and stretching. Today he had to get up even earlier than usual – Stone had set a penalty training for their team for "improper conduct on the field."

"Listen to this," Sirius starts reading, sliding his left hand into James's hair.

Sirius twirls a lock of James's hair around his finger while his voice fills the room with the dramas of human lives, clothed in rhymed lines. James looks at the log ceiling, studying the patterns of darkened grooves and scratches, listening. 

Sirius has a beautiful voice. He even makes poetry sound interesting. Poetry? Since when did James care about poetry? But with Sirius, even poetry seems fascinating.

Well, it's not like he's genuinely into poetry, but he likes how Sirius reads them – like he's the hero of these stories, not just a bystander.  If any of them has a refined soul, it's definitely Sirius, though he'd never admit it. 

This boy has a knack for finding the hidden poetry in the prose of life – something James has always lacked. Sirius – a lyrical child of the night. Daunting, dark, and dangerous, but only to those who haven't yet learned to understand it, who haven't seen that he is a reflection of the most dazzling white light.

"Do you like it?" Sirius asks after a while.

"Yeah," James whispers, turning back towards Sirius and pressing his face against his side, slipping his hand under the shirt to rest it on Sirius's chest. "Write me a poem," James looks up, smiling slightly.

Sirius laughs softly and clears his throat dramatically.

"Oh, James the Magnificent, greatest of the great, brightest of the bright..." he begins theatrically, extending his hand in a caricature of a gesture.

"And who's making a fool of themselves now?" James sighs, suppressing a chuckle, and lowers his head back to Sirius's waist. Sirius flicks him on the head in response.

They lie like that for a while. James hears the rustle of turning pages and the howling of the winter wind. He feels the warmth of Sirius's body under his palm. They're always warm, both of them. Moony often jokes that they can use them instead of warming charms for their dorm.

"Actually, I found a poem here," Sirius suddenly says, "just needs a little tweaking..."

"Tell me."

Sirius pauses for a moment, then flips through the pages and stops at the right one. James raises his gaze to him, looking up – Sirius has always dubbed this particular expression as 'the deer look'.

Sirius thoughtfully shifts his gaze from the book to James, smiles with one corner of his mouth, ruffles James's hair, and, returning his grey eyes to the book, quietly says:

"He is my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I think this love will last forever: am I not wrong?"

"What did you change?"

"Just the last line. It's originally about loss. 'I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.' But I like my version better. You?"

"Me too," James lifts himself on his elbows, presses against Sirius's ear, and whispers, "I think this love will last forever," then kisses him, moving lower down his neck and deeper, sliding his hand under the shirt. "You are not wrong."

___

October 31, 1981

He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood; For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden

[yoimix]

genshin men + first kiss

ft. albedo, gorou, itto

[ tw: language (itto) ]

✽ albedo needs to first grasp the concept of love to understand why you stare at his lips so often, why you lean into his touch with that look in your eyes. it is not inherently human to feel love; he’s sure the snow foxes and emerald finches understand the warmth of affection just as well. he believes it is human, however, to feel the way he does for you. from your comforting smile to the lingering touch of your fingers against his cheek, he wonders if he should give in. he’s in quite the stalemate between his head and, as they say, his heart. despite reading up on the mystery of love, albedo cannot quite fathom what it would mean to you, what he would see in your eyes if he simply pressed his lips to yours on a snowy evening against a mondstadt sunset. no, it would require experimentation and perfect execution.

“it’s so cold,” you breathe out, your leg bouncing up and down as you sit down by the fountain in mondstadt city. there are a myriad of decorations up, lighting up the winter as homely as the city and man you fell in love with.

“would you like me to get you a coat?” albedo asks. “i’m sure i could fetch one from the headquarters.”

“no, it’s alright.” you gulp, a bit of heat surging into your face at his concerned eyes.

regardless of your attempted nonchalance, albedo brings your hands to his mouth and blows onto them, warming up not just your hands but your whole chest.

“al-albedo! you don’t have to.” the truth is, you didn’t expect that sort of warmth to exude from his breath. but then again, you believe he is made to reflect sunlight. even if he repeats it often that you are his sunlight.

“but i want to,” he whispers. “i want to stay like this longer. and that implies, i don’t want you getting cold.”

your poor heart. he shouldn’t do this to you when you haven’t even had your first kiss with him. 

“i wish- i wish you’d...” you look away, unable to bear his gaze. is this too much to ask for?

“well, i’ve wanted to know for a while now,” he responds, a small chuckle leaving him when his hands leave yours abruptly to hold your face. you can barely breathe when he inches in.

chalk and stardust and snow—what difference does it make? there is nothing so wondrous as the touch of his lips against yours, as his hands cupping your cheeks that glow with your very own warmth.

“is this alright?” he asks, pulling away.

“shouldn’t you do it more times to confirm an answer?” your heart might just dissolve into your bloodstream. boldness isn’t your strong suit but it makes him laugh softly.

and how could he say no to your appeal? it is scientific practice, after all, to understand phenomena through repeated observations.

✽ gorou, ever the celebrated war general, admits he knows not much beyond the battlefield. so he does not understand why his face turns red at your teasing, why he gasps when you press your lips to his forehead for good luck, why—god forbid—his tail starts wagging when you lean in close. he didn’t even like you at first. you’re the bane of his existence. there is not a single day without you popping up at the encampment with your bothersome smile and refusals to leave him alone. every alarm in his body goes off around you and yet still, he draws in closer with each teasing word of yours, with each cheer of encouragement and with each sigh following your goodbyes.

“general!”

your voice is too cheerful for an early morning. the dew hasn’t trickled down the grass yet, but you’re always here before training begins. he’s hopeful, in a way, that you’re here for him. it gives him strange pangs of the heart to think otherwise.

“(name).” he tries not to sound too excited. hold still, tail.

“and what is my favorite fluffy boy doing?” you embrace him before he can even complain. seriously, is it so ordinary for you to express affection? and if so, are there others who get to experience it? gorou doesn’t like the idea of that.

“you have other fluffy boys?” gorou coughs as soon as he says that, face blaring crimson. 

you respond with a surprised snort, followed by laughter—the sound of it easing any anxiety of the heart.

“no, gorou,” you say, calming down. “you’re the only one i have.”

gorou breathes out, a short laugh following. it’s not so bad making a fool himself in front of you. “is that so?”

“would you like me to prove it to you?”

uh oh. your tone is teasing. gorou cannot bring himself to imagine what horrors you have in store for him.

“huh? what do y—“

you press your lips to gorou’s and he swears he can hear heaven sigh. it is short, much like a parting kiss, and he can’t help but chase after your lips before composing himself. oh, how miserable he feels now to never have experienced this earlier.

“(name).” his call is almost sorrowful. gorou does not do so well with partings.

“can you- could you please..?”

he doesn’t have to finish his request for you to oblige him again. your favorite general deserves at least as much. 

✽ itto thinks of himself far too highly to admit he knows jack shit about kissing. it’s not like anyone was willing to kiss an oni when he was growing up. so he was deprived of that experience; that is, of course, till he met you. all of a sudden, all he wants to know and understand is the human experience of kissing. it’s like instinct, the way he leans in every time you talk about your day or giggle at his exaggerated stories. he always restrains himself though. it shouldn’t be too surprising, considering that the oni race have the will of a rock. however, he does want you to see him the way he looks at you—like you put the stars in his sky, wound the rivers in their places, weaved the flowers into the ground. for all its worth, your view of the world matters to him more than any god’s. itto may not know of or even understand romance novels, but if anyone were to see him look at you, they’d have inspiration to write yae publishing house’s next bestseller.

“oh my! itto,” you gasp, your eyes looking up from the book you’re reading, eyes sparkling like no tomorrow. “do you know what happens next? i anticipated it but i still have butterflies in my stomach.”

you’ve been reading your new books to him every free afternoon you get and he’s displayed patience unheard of. in fact, he listens carefully to each story with follow-up questions and his idea of what the main character should have done (it mainly involves beating people up). his gang was sure he was possessed but then they saw you and accepted itto’s fate on his behalf.

“huh?” he furrows his eyebrows. “you ate what now? you should’ve just told me if you were hungry! i made yakisoba just this morning.”

you shake your head, bursting into laughter. “no, silly. it’s an expression. it’s feeling excitement strong enough to send a tingly feeling in your stomach.”

“oh.” itto breaks into a warm grin. “like i’m feeling now!”

you blink. “e-eh?”

“you make me feel that way.” he explains laughing, like it’s no big deal. “excited. and like i ate some butterflies. with some onikabuto too.”

you press your book to your lips, holding in your laugh. the atmosphere quietens when itto speaks up again.

“is that- is that the kind of man you like?” he pretends to not care about your answer, so painfully obvious even you catch on to it.

“no,” you say, smiling behind your book. “i like men like you, itto. or rather... it’s only you i like.”

itto stutters, words not quite coming out right as he frantically opens his mouth and closes it.

“then will you kiss me? as they do?” you speak for him, paralyzing his muscles then and there.

you set aside your book on the little rock you were sitting on. itto looks up from his seat on the grass, a squawk of surprise leaving him when you push your lips onto his, your hands nearly burning against his searing cheeks. where’s that confidence he’s so proud of? 

you pull away to find itto looking lightning-struck. however, demon blood makes for quick reflexes. he pulls you by the waist, you falling onto him with a surprised squeak.

“oh no,” you say, noticing the glint in his garnet eyes.

“you brought this upon yourself,” he warns, his arms around your waist far too strong for you to break free. as if his silly, boyish grin doesn’t make your heart flutter enough.

“will this exhaust me?” you brace yourself. it’s far too exhilarating for you, to go from just friends into an intimate embrace.

“you bet.”

[starqueensthings]

Hi pals!

I’ll still be travelling when you’re seeing this and haven’t watched the finale, so I don’t have any new content to share, but last week (maybe longer? I don’t know— rainforest brain lol) I posted a poll asking if anyone was interested in seeing a snippet of my editing process, so here it is feat. possibly one of my favourite Wrecker moments.

I use a myriad of different software depending on: my mood, what computer/tablet I’m using, what the image looks like, and how much energy I’m willing to put into it lol In this video, I’m using Lightroom on my iPad.

The three main factors I look mostly closely at when I’m editing shots are 1. lighting, 2. noise, and 3. resolution (read: clarity).

This image required pretty minimal work so it’s probably not the best example, but ah well. The process in the above video is as follows, and please note the video had been sped up to 2x for file size reasons lol

The first thing I’ll do is see what the auto edit function defaults to. Often times it overexposes the image, resulting in significant colour noise, but it gives me a decent idea of what I should expect in terms of colour corrections and exposure mapping. The auto edit function wasn’t terrible in this case, but did produce some colour noise, mainly on Wrecker’s chest plate, his sleeves, and the officers hat. Once I’m done the initial scope out, I’ll exposure the image as high as possible to crop it— usually with the subject being as centered as possible.

This software lets the user tweak the bones of the image individually in three ways, all of them very quickly demonstrated here. The first is the curve method which I despise and NEVER use— because it alters multiple aspects at once, I don’t feel like I have the same degree of control as the other methods. Next is HDR setting (the default upon import) using the sliders on the right. This is effective for images that are already pretty well lit, and does give me a little more control, but most of the time because the screenshots are so dark, I’m editing in SDR mode.

Once I’m satisfied with the exposure/lighting, I’ll move on to correcting colour distortion and saturating the image. This software also provides three methods for colour alternation and I’ll typically use all three in conjunction with each other. Colour mixing is extremely crucial when it comes to reducing odour noise and distortion. Because this software lets me isolate certain colours to adjust their hue, saturation, and luminance, I can typically reduce most of or all of the colour noise. However, it does have its limitations. In this particular post, desaturating the colour noise in Crosshair’s rifle coincided with blanching his skin tone, because this software does not let me isolate certain areas of an image. It was also important to me to emphasize the warm tones from the sunset in the background for the overall mood of the shot, so I opted to remove what colour noise I could and leave the rest. (You can’t win em all… especially when the starting image is near-black lol)

Correcting the colour distortion in this image was not particularly difficult, desaturating all purple tones removed the noise from his chest plate, and shifting green tones to something near a yellow instead removed the noise from his sleeve. I didn’t notice the colour noise on the officers hat until a little later, but that was pretty easily corrected too.

Once I’ve fixed the colour noise, I’ll shift to toning the overall image. Wrecker particularly looks good in cool tones, but It’s nice to contrast a cool tone background with the warmth of his skin.

Once the toning is done, I’ll move on the image clarity. I don’t have the means to alter the actual resolution of the image, but I’m particularly picky with balancing texture and clarity. Wrecker always looks the best with texture and clarity increased, because it brings out the scarring on his face and further humanizes him, but overdoing the texture can also emphasize pixelation. Once that’s done, I’ll reduce the overall noise only slightly (doing too much makes them look airbrushed and unnatural), and whatever is left of the colour noise (too much of this setting makes them look like ghouls LOL)

This software also offers a series of preset alterations/filters briefly shown in this video… but I’m not the biggest fan of any of them. I’m a bit of a control freak and would rather tweak each aspect individually to the degree that I like, instead blanketing the image with present modifications and then undoing certain aspects.

Before exporting the image I’ll do another once over and make sure I’m happy! In this case, I opted to go back in and add some darker tones back into the image. I don’t do this often, particularly when they start so damn dark, but I wanted to keep the focus centrally on Wrecker’s radiance lol

That’s about it. If I’m working on multiple edits in a set, this software lets me just copy and paste the settings, so the following images only require extremely light tweaks and take almost no time. And that, I’ll export, autograph, and upload!

Thank you for attending this unprofessional Ted Talk.

[pontedeiconzafelzi]

The mi team as times of the day

LUTHER

Luther reminds me of midnight. Or perhaps twilight, when the lampposts are silently glaring away in the blinding darkness for no one, except maybe a few stray sheep now and then. The stars are just slightly visible in the kaleidoscope of sky above, shifting in and out of view erratically like playful children playing hide and seek. He's wise and daring, strong and gentle at the same time. Like midnight, as it grows deeper, he seems to stay even more stoic, more quiet still. But sit down and listen; wait for a cricket or two. You'll hear him speak words as soothing as wind, freshening you up and pushing you on just when you need it oh so desperately. And when you don't, his voice is there all the same, smoothening out the tangles in your hair and making sure you don't break a sweat. Still it stays silent, lovingly so, bringing you peace and a little variation of everything as long as you look for it.

BENJI

Benji is the sun. He's so warm and bright and sometimes so dearingly dorky, shifting in and out of what-ifs and yet managing to maintain that perfect level of cool-- as cool as one can be when his teammate is scaling the burj khalifa, anyway. And that's why he's mid-afternoon. His spirit dances so freely, unshackled, bouncing here and there and expressing whatever he likes. And who's to complain when sun rays intrude, crawl sweetly into the crevices of your room, your mind, your smile? Exactly. He brings a sort of hazy comfort to people, and they're not exactly sure why, but they're basking in its warmth all the same. It's the sort of comfort you feel when you visit your favourite spots, remembering how you'd once fallen down there or perhaps laughed till tears lined your eyes. You have no idea till today why it's your favourite spot, but you close your eyes anyway and know, oh so inexplicably, that you're safe. Anyhow, the thing about mid afternoon is that it teeters freely into evening, with no warning. It likes to play around, trick you into getting ready for a new phase of the day, only to turn around and say oops, sorry boys, was just a little passing cloud. And that's what's so refreshing about it- - you never know what's next, but you know it'll be warm anyway.

ETHAN

There're many drastically different aspects of the evening-- the gorgeous, strangely grounding stillness of colour as the sun lays its head; couples holding hands in the streets and neighbours walking their dogs together; the busy office buildings lights going off one by one, windows blinking to darkness, and the blinding light of the sun as it goes down the west, for some reason attracting people to its harsh, scorching glow.

Perhaps they find it tranquil.

One thing that ties all this together? It's people, animals, things, going to rest, laying down their shackles after a gruelling day. Not afraid to simply let go and be, because they know another day is coming.

Putting their own meaning in the mundane and projecting their love onto the ordinary, like how suddenly, sniffing the usual salmon-with-broccoli dinner when you get home from a long day of work is strikingly the most beautiful smell that'll ever seem to grace you.

Similar and yet different from himself, in more ways than i can describe. He's so spirited, blazing out in ways that people like us cannot begin to imagine, slogging away and giving every little bit, every little fibre of his being to his job. To the world, to humanity.

We know he's tried to rest. But really, there's always the next day. All for the purpose of preserving, perpetuating the sweet sweet taste of rest. To protect the peace in which we can rub our dog's belly, snuggle up with a significant other, sigh at a disappearing sunset. Even though he may never get to suck on, chew, digest that oh so palpable relief.

And, like the evening sun, there's something so inherently beautiful about that. He lives out his days with some sort of fiery purpose, flickering at times, but never going out.

Have you ever noticed how drawn people get to fires?

ILSA

When the sun breaks into the horizon at dawn, it's quiet about it. Furtive, almost shying away from the prying stare of the early birds. But it rises steadily all the same, never batting an eye as it pushes them to sing and children to leap out of bed. Gaining strength as it does, too, gently shaking awake the little beings in their beds, snoring away, as some others hurry along with their day.

lIsa's a sign of renewal like that. She springs up change, invigorates thought, eggs on action. It's not particularly evident, but it's fact-- so factual that it's taken as a given. No one counts on the sun to stay on the other side when the clock strikes a certain point, does it? No one forgets the reason they draw their curtains, push their flowerpots into just the right spots.

She's the driving force, the very energy powering through your veins. The type you don't realise is essential, but once it wanes even in the slightest, you drop to the ground, feeling the strain. She's an essential. The starting domino.

You know it's exactly what you need to feel energized, what you need feel to have that little bud of warmth in your chest bloom and remind you you're human. In more ways than one-- reminding you you can feel, you can hurt, bleed, win, yearn. And as time goes it coats her strength, polishing it and embroidering it with little marks that show she's withstanding the wear of time.

But it's funny, really, that her irrevocability should be so overlooked.

No, it's lovely how the full force of her shine dilutes itself over her landscape, concentrating just the right amount of her glow into people's lives. And every morning, there'll be a few regulars, standing at the edge of their balconies. They tiptoe, crane their necks so far in front just to drink in the beauty of her providence, smiling when the warmth soaks their skin, when the shine seeps in through their eyelids.

And all is right in the world.

[shiyorin]

The love of the Primarchs for their lover (Part 3)

Oh here we go again

Sanguinius. His love is like a beautiful, majestic sunset. It's a moment of warmth and softness, one of great beauty he can lose himself in and never get tired of.

This is because Sanguinius loves in a uniquely passionate way that's rarely seen (or even desired). His soft, sensitive manner draws him to his lover and his lover alone. He enjoys every aspect of being around them and can't bring himself to be anything but completely gentle. His love is one of passion and intimacy.

When he's with his lover, Sanguinius doesn't feel the weight of the Imperium or the burden of existence. In their embrace, he can forget about the war with the forces of Chaos... and just be.

He enjoys being around his lover not only because of his feelings for them, but because of the way he feels in their presence. Their mere existence is calming, and he always wishes they were there with him at moments where he's feeling unsure or insecure. Having them with him means everything to Sanguinius because they give him the strength and encouragement he needs in order to live up to who he is.

So, Sanguinius' love for his lover is one of gentle intimacy. He's quite passionate in his expressions of love... but only for them. He's a bit reserved when it comes to everyone else but in their presence, he's able to let down his walls and express all of his pent-up passion and love.

And his lover loves him for it. They enjoy how he expresses so many emotions in their presence, and they feel the utmost affection and desire for him. To them, Sanguinius is the perfect man... and they want nothing more than to shower themselves in his devotion.

Angron. His love is like a raging inferno.

Angron is a primarch consumed by anger and pain. His love for his lover is a reflection of that and yet, it's the only thing about him that's truly pleasant. His lover is the only thing that makes him feel human and the only thing that's able to stir any kind of positive emotion in him.

So even though he's the angriest or most violent man, he still possesses a soft side for his lover. His love for them is intense and all-consuming... and he can never get enough.

He's a man who lives to fight - literally. His anger is the fuel for his soul. He lives exclusively for battle, but his lover is something worth living for as well. When they's around him, the fire inside of him seems to dim. He becomes gentle and pleasant. He becomes, well... content. And he doesn't mind being like that.

His lover is his one true light. They make him happy in ways nothing else can and he's perfectly content with relying on them for all of his happiness.

In this way, it's not much of a stretch to say that they're quite like a light at the end of a very long dark tunnel. He never feels any guilt when he acts all lovey-dovey around them, even though he's the most angry of the whole bunch.

He loves his lover dearly and he wouldn't mind staying by their side for eternity. His one and only wish is to die alongside them and he's perfectly content with that, as well.

Lion El'Jonson. His love is like a lion's roar: loud, proud, and full of power.

His is a love that's deeply passionate, but not without its restraint, it's not like him to be particularly affectionate or overly dramatic with his affections. His relationship with his lover is more like a partnership than a relationship, a mutual understanding of loyalty and devotion.

He's quite capable of great emotion and passion, but these things are expressed more through his sense of duty than they are in a romantic sense. He knows his lover is important to him, he just doesn't say it very often.

Lion's love for his lover is unique for its restraint and its seriousness. He loves like a warrior loves his cause, and while he's quite passionate about his lover, he's quite closed off to most forms of expression.

He doesn't mind, though. His lover loves him, as well and he loves his lover. He finds it amusing if others question the nature of his feelings for them, there's so much more to love than just words and actions. He loves them with his heart.

As a man of honor and loyalty, his love for his lover is one he takes with great seriousness. His loyalty to them is unmatched, his bond with them is unique.

His love for his lover is one full of adoration, passion, and respect. He adores them with every fiber of his being and respects them more than anyone else in his life. He's one to hold them in the highest regards and to see them as a source of comfort and security.

To him, his lover is like a sanctuary, in every sense of the word.

Lorgar Aurelian. His love is like a holy sermon: passionate, fervent, and with an emphasis on its sacredness.

He loves with a sense of reverence that others don't quite understand. His relationship with his lover is one of great importance, and he'd never forgive himself if he did anything to jeopardize that relationship. His lover is his most cherished possession... and his desire to protect them runs deep.

His love is expressed through acts of devotion and worship. What others may see as simple or even mundane, Lorgar sees as beautiful and sanctified.

His love for his lover is unique. Lorgar loves without reservation, without inhibition. He loves not for any material gain or benefit... not because he expects something in return. He loves simply because he wants to love.

He finds nothing in life more rewarding than expressing his love for his lover. He loves on an emotional level, but also on a fundamental level. His lover completes him; he is at his happiest and most at peace when he is with them. He loves his lover for their own sake, and he will continue loving them as long as he lives.

As one of the most intense and passionate among the primarchs, Lorgar's love for his lover burns brightly. His love for his lover is a passion that he can never let down; it is his one true love, and he would do anything in his power to protect it. He is a man motivated by his love for his lover... and he will remain that way until the day he dies.

For him, there is no greater love than the love for his lover. He loves them with all of his heart and more, and his love for them is eternal.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

I woke up this morning and wore my Ohana hat from a store in Hanalei in the house where I'm staying off Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles. Ohana means family in Hawaiian, and I'm not talking bloodline, though of course it also means bloodline.

I woke up this morning and tried to reach my friend Kat again who lives up country in Maui because they don't have water or electricity and I did not hear from her yet.

I woke up this morning missing Conor and Mika. Last time I returned to Kauai from Los Angeles, five year old Conor asked me what it was like to miss me.

It makes me wonder why as adults we go so long without wondering. How we decide so much before we ask questions.

I went to get a coffee at Erewhon in Pacific Palisades, a health food store where Margaret Cho cut in front of me in line two days ago to order her post workout protein drink with her entourage.

I got into the checkout line and my cashier was a beautiful American Indian man with a moon face and long gray hair to his shoulders and gentle eyes, and he asked me if I was a member of the store.

No, I don't live here, I said, I'm not a member.

Where do you live?

Hawaii.

When I spoke Hawaii, he stopped what he was doing - put my groceries down and reached across the counter for both my hands. His fingers were ringed with turquoise and silver.

He asked me if I was alright.

Yes, I don't live on Maui, I said, but...well, of course I have friends who do, and no - nobody is really alright there at all.

Right there, in the middle of a store on Sunset Blvd. with peonies and sunflowers and eucalyptus leaves in extravagant bouquets, with six kinds of exotic mushrooms and every kind of fresh sushi and nut milk ever made - a place where a protein drink is named after Hailey Bieber -

he blessed me - and everyone on Maui.

I felt a warmth rush through me, and all of humanity between us - the women buying the $300 t-shirts next door and the homeless man with the matted hair being followed by security last night.

The American Indians who have so much suffering in their DNA, they know what a Land Grab is, they know how the government conspires to take and not serve the people...

His name was Joseph and he blessed me, and in blessing me and the people of Maui, he also blessed you - you who are reading this. Whatever illness you are healing from, whatever pain you have endured, whatever laughter and joy you grab when you can and savor....

his blessing was also meant for you.

I'm helping a dear friend heal from an injury and teaching and hiking and weeping and writing and listening to stories about home, because that's our topic in the writing group - love of home.

Los Angeles is not my home anymore - Hawaii has been for fifteen years, but the Santa Monica canyon and Will Rogers park live inside of me, and always will.

Each morning I walk the dogs and take in the morning sage.

Each night I walk the dogs again and listen to the owls talk to each other across the canyon.

Each night I stay up late on my computer learning what I can do to help Maui.

[...]

I'm sure somebody close to you needs help. Sometimes all we need to do is cook for someone and share a meal and pick up groceries, or share a story.

Even take out their trash.

Let's give and give to each other until it's a way of life again. I promise you it will create a ripple wave that will reach as far as Maui, and create the feeling of Ohana all over the world.

Yesterday on Abbott Kinney, I stood in front of a gallery window staring at this painting of The Last Supper by Johan Andersson. I took a photo of it, when a family walked in between me and the painting - they paused.

We all discussed what it meant. At the table is someone snorting drugs, an exhausted mother not paying attention to her baby, a prison inmate, two people making out - someone with a machine gun.

Finally, the mother in the group looked at me and sighed.

It means Jesus loves all of us, she said.

Yep - All of us, I echoed.

Take someone's hands today you love and pass the blessing on.

[...]

To honor all the houseless people on Maui today, and all over the world, I give you this last stanza of a Mary Oliver poem - "On Losing a House."

Goodbye, house. Goodbye, sweet and beautiful house, we shouted, and it shouted back, goodbye to you, and lifted itselfdown from the town, and set offlike a packet of clouds acrossthe harbor’s sandy ring, the tossing bell, the untowned point— and turned lightly, wordlessly, into the keep of the wind where it floats still— where it plunges and rises still  on the black and dreamy sea.

-Laura Lentz

[lavender-witch128]

What were they like?

With K visiting Jackson and Woody. Bob and Bucky had been left completely alone, which was not an uncommon thing to happen, but that particular night, Bucky, in his room, was full of doubts, due to a dream he had the night before, he felt a little confused, because he didn't know if it was a memory or just a dream.

The human plucked up the courage to ask the orca about his old life. He went downstairs and found Bob on the couch, sound asleep. Bucky moved him roughly to wake him up, he woke up, a little disoriented, when he saw the human, he sat up on the couch.

-Bucky? What time is it? -He looked at his cell phone, it was 2 a.m. What are you doing up at this hour? -The orca looked at the human, a little confused.

-... insomnia...- The human looked at the ground, a little unsure if the orca would answer her question.

-Can I... can I ask you something? -he said, as he sat down in a nearby armchair.

-Of course. What did you want to ask me? - "Ah, I just wanted to ask me something," Bob thought, relieved.

-... Azazel... What were they like? I mean, what was their relationship like? What did they like? What about their relationship with the king of the humans?

Bob thought each one over, answering as best he could, he knew this meant a lot to Bucky.

-Azazel were... They were one of the nicest people I knew, and although they didn't show their feelings much, I knew they loved me a lot, or a little more than our other friends. Many times we would stay up late into the night, playing games and chatting outside the lab property," Bob smiled, and sat back down on the couch, knowing that the memories he had with Azazel were slowly coming back. He had no idea how he had been able to go so long without the presence of the supposed god in his memory - they loved... no, they loved sunsets and sunrises, red velvet cakes and sweets, but they didn't love refreshments, they also loved being with all of us, and life... they loved being alive, feeling the warmth of the sun on their skin, they loved life, having it and giving it.... And their relationship with the king - Bob thought for a moment - was, to say the least, turbulent, he called them really awkward names, And Azazel couldn't do much, I mean what can you do against your creator? If I remember correctly, Azazel once asked the king why he called them that, and he replied "because you are a little lady, and little ladies are called that". Azazel was even more confused. They had been taught the human anatomy, and according to them, their anatomy was nothing like the female anatomy? Maybe it was just a fantasy of Max's? - explained Bob, recalling a conversation he had had with them - Have I solved your doubts?

During the whole talk, Bucky kept quiet, listening attentively, and at the end, he nodded his head, feeling quite satisfied with the answer.

The orca smiled, checking the time on her cell phone again.

-Ah, you should go to sleep, it's going to be three o'clock already.

-Yeah, yeah, I'm going. ....

The human got up from the couch and walked towards the stairs, but halfway down he stopped, turning around a bit.

-Bob?

-Yes?

-Thank you... for everything...

[brooklynislandgirl]

If your muse was evicted from their home with no warning, today, where would they go? What would they do?

Tell Me No Questions... || Accepting Firelight plays in her hair, chases each strand with the shimmer of sunset as she sits on the floor, knees hugged tightly to her chest, her back to the hearth's warmth; proof that the dark silk of it isn't as black as it can sometimes seem. A hint of Celtic ancestry she doesn't seem to particularly relish or point out. Outside the wind saws through the trees and sounds like the baying of wolves if one listens to closely to it. Oil lamps occasionally flicker in the draft between some of the chinks between the logs, long ago weathered by long holler summers. She keeps apologising for it, saying she'll someday get around to fixing it. She says that about a lot of things but the thing that's most prevalent is that her somedays never seem to come. She looks up at him with those riverstone eyes and the shadows beneath them give her a haunted sort of expression. For a moment all the grit that has rubbed him the wrong way, all the smartness of her mouth seems to fall away, and even though they seem to be about the same age as each other, she looks so much smaller, younger...fragile. "Homes are only temporary, ya know. Some day not a stick'er stone of this place'll still be standin'. All eaten up by th'earth. Take with it the stories an' the ghosts, an' it'll be like it once was, before a body ever set foot on it." Grim as it is, there's actually a touch of hope in her pronouncement, like it's a wish worth sharing. Then, comes the spark. The one he's felt the bite of before, that first night he tripped over the place. "Like t' see 'em try, I tell you what. Done it before, I'm told, long before I was born. Men from oil companies, from mining ones. Buyin' up all'a th' hollers they could for pennies on the dollar. Generations packin' up an' movin' other places before everything once their's got stripped from the soil. Diggin' so deep into Grandmother's bones that the scars won't never heal. But not here. We won' let 'em. She...the land...ain't for sale, no matter how pretty the promises. Not the rivers, or the skies, neither." She shakes her head though and turns her head, her face, away from him, resting a cheek on her knees. Out of sight she closes her eyes and feels them burn with tears no one will see her shed. "But if somethin' happened like you say...I..." She doesn't know. There really isn't anywhere to go. She could try and make a peace to stay a night or two up in the caves with her feral kin, but she's still human and she's not exactly welcome there. And if she could be run off the mountain? Means those who would offer her shelter have already sacrificed themselves for the cause. Which means she has nowhere to go. Town don't need a granny woman with no city skills. She's got no people who aren't really up in the hills with her. She shrugs, heart heavy and hurting. The it occurs to her, something powerful. A sort of epiphany, if she even knew what that word mean. "S'what you feel like, ain't it?"

[downtodevildom]

let’s pretend we don’t exist

summary: you take refuge on the rooftop of the House of Lamentation but you’re not alone

inspired by wraith pinned to the mist and other games - Of Montreal

One of the things you still haven't gotten used to is the lack of sun. Technically, there is a sun on the Devildom, three in fact. But these miserable excuses of light that only shine for a few hours a day cannot be compared to the human world sun. The physics of it you still don't understand. How can you see these suns from down in hell? You try not to question it as you do with everything around you. Thinking about these sinful things will cause a human mind to go mad.

Another unlogical thing about these three so-called 'suns' is that you can stare straight up into them. Your parents would have scolded you for this behavior. You'll go blind. However, the thick layer of orange clouds that seem to loom over the realm permanently let little to no light penetrate them.

"Human?". Oh, you're absence went noticed. You hoped it didn't. Spending time by yourself is a rarity here. "What are ya doing?" he asks again. Footsteps grow closer. You turn to the left, towards the window.  

Golden eyes stare straight into your soul, scanning it for any unsaid words. You hum as an acknowledgment. "Stupid human, you could injure yourself up here," Mammon says.

Yet he defies his words and climbs through the window to join you on the house's warm rooftop. You turn to look at the sky again while the demon scurries his body closer to yours. Your instincts still tell you to run away from the pure sin rolling off his body.

It stays quiet for a moment while both of you stare up at the darkened sky. Clouds seem to move faster here. Rolling through the sky at speeds you would rarely see back home.

"I miss it," you say. You look over at the demon next to you. He's keeping his eyes trained at the smallest sun. Not because he likes to, no, his eyes burn from the minimum amount of light. But he's certain that if he looks over at you that he'll see the cracks in your heart.

"It's always so dark here but there are never stars in the sky. I used to hate the rain but I would do anything to feel it again.". You finally look away from Mammon. "Do you know that feeling? Longing for something so mundane?".

"Yes.". It's quiet. There's no hint of his usual banter in his voice. A raspiness in his tone gives away how watery his eyes are getting. "It was also sunny when we are still up there, ya know?

You hum, egging him to continue talking. "Just...I'm used to the dark but I ain't used to it....It's just different.".

You try not to press him anymore to talk. The scars of the fall are still clearly visible on every single one of his brothers. The fall wasn't just physical, no, they wished it was. They had to fall not only from the Celestrial realm but also from grace. Every cell in their body turned into a sin-tainted monster.

"Have you ever seen the stars?" you ask. "Once, when Lucifer dragged us to the human world. I've never seen anything prettier.".

The suns slowly drag themselves lower towards the horizon. Sunset is closing in while you just had your lunch. It feels off. Maybe it's the lack of vitamin D or the homesickness kicking in. The realm around you feels like a disorienting dream.

"Let's pretend we don't exist," you whisper as you close your eyes. If you force your mind enough, you can almost feel the heat of the sun on your skin. A warmth that fills you from the inside out.

"Okay," Mammon whispers. He creeps closer to you. Rolling over on the roof tiles to link his fingers with yours. His eyes flutter shut as he leans impossibly close to you. You can feel his breath tickling your sternum yet you pay it no mind. Matters like that would only bother you if you actually existed.

"Where are we?" Mammon asks. The rumble of his voice brings you a peace you haven't felt here in a long time.

"Where do you want to be?".

He stays quiet, turning his mind off. The river of thoughts in his mind seems to come to a slow drip. No more scheming, no more insults.

"Let's pretend we're in Antarctica," he says. He's heard you talk about it. Icy white planes filled with nothing but snow and penguins. Undisturbed land stretching for miles on end.

Mammon's brothers couldn't make fun of him there. There would be no anxiety withholding him from showing his affection. He could replace 'human' with your name for once. A land filled with just him and you, no disturbances.

You two can almost feel the snow under your fingertips. Blowing wind biting at your cheeks as you stare up into the sun, the real sun. A sun that can fill you up with warmth. Back in a realm where day and night live in balance.  

"Hey, y/n..." Mammon says. His voice breaks you away from your dream. You exist again, whether you want it or not. You hum at him, eyes closed in an effort to avoid the fantasy. "I'll take you to Antarctica one day.".

"I'll freeze.". "Then I'll warm you back up.". "Okay.". "Okay.".

You know your mortal body couldn't stand the cold for more than a minute, yet you would try for him. You would bear the cold to feel the bliss of not existing for just as second. You would have your demon to heat you up either way.

[lorkai]

A/N: Hey guys, happy valentine's day! Hope you all had a good day and have wonderful dreams! Ngl I wrote this here really fast and it might contain some spelling mistakes, but I wanted to write something. You know, valentine's day is celebrated in june in my country and i completely forgot about it lololol

 Also I was really torn between posting something cute to make you guys happy or posting an angst. Unfortunately I didn't finish the angst piece in time, so enjoy these mini headcanons with the royals, Purgatory Hall and Lucifer :)

...

Barbatos

Being a busy butler, Barbatos is still a good boyfriend for you. And being a giver he's always ready to give you things or do something for you, it's just the way he's used to things.

Although he can't offer much due to limited free time, he finds enough time to make handcrafted gifts for you. He even writes you thousands of letters and, if you want, invites you so you can shop together, like a little date, he just wants to feel you around, the warmth of your hand on his, the intensity of your eyes on him. He loves that unique intimacy. He loves you.

He wants to go wherever you want, honestly. If you just want to have a deep conversation about some topic, too lazy to go anywhere, that's fine too. He lets you lie on his lap, playing with your hair, massaging your scalp, smiling at how relaxed you look.

And on Valentine's Day, Barbatos wants to do something special. He wants you to remember that day with him, he wants to make you feel how loved you truly are and he does. The day is unforgettable and you will surely remember this day for many years to come.

...

Diavolo 

 You are the person Diavolo relies on and trusts the most, being his lover and mainly a human he always expresses the love he feels for you through words, gestures and gifts.

He is busy but always has time for you and pays attention to everything you do, admiring and loving each of your mannerisms. That way, he also knows what you're feeling at that moment and knows how to handle the situation. There are days when he skips work to spend the morning in bed with you, on his chest while he plays with your hair and leaves wet kisses on your face.

Human sunset encounters are your favorites because he always seems to know each of the most beautiful places to take you there, to impress you, and to laugh at the surprised expression on your face. The kisses that follow afterward make you feel like your heart is going to stop beating, so slow and deep that it takes your breath away every time, just the way he likes it.

On Valentine's Day he hands you a letter with all the thoughts and feelings he couldn't or wasn't able to put into words before, plus a giant box of chocolate just for you. Barbatos probably had to stop him from buying a giant bear or something over the top.

...

Lucifer 

 Opening up to someone is difficult for Lucifer, it's like asking him to find a needle in a haystack. He will find it, it will be easy to see the metal, but he will get confused and look at the sea of ​​toothpicks before he sees the needle there. And it's the same with people, he doesn't trust very fast, he doesn't open up very fast. He prefers things at a slow pace so he can observe, learn everything he can about the person, so he can feel comfortable with that person.

He is not very affectionate in public, but in private he is in your hands. Play with his hair, leave bites on his cheeks and try to annoy him by messing up his clothes, Lucifer will let you do what you want because he's looking into your eyes so bright, so full of life. He loves you, you are the best thing that happened in his life, after his brothers. You are the reason he gets up every day trying to create a better Devildom so that you and he can live in the future, you are the reason he is proud. His greatest pride.

Sitting next to him while you listen to classical music is his favorite moment. Seeing him acting so soft is refreshing, a sight for sore eyes and mind, in contrast to the serious and hard way he acts all the time, carrying secrets and the weight of the world on his shoulders.

On Valentine's Day, Lucifer takes you to dinner at Ristorante Six and talks about everything he has inside his chest, how special you are and how he has plans for the future, sharing every detail with you. And after that he takes you to a place close by, a forest where several fireflies make their home and the light that emanates is so beautiful, so unique. And you stay there, talking, laughing, just being yourselves away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life.

...

Simeon 

 He's naturally calm, but with you it's like Simeon discovers the true meaning of the word peace. And he wants more of it, if he can have it. He wants to hold your hand while listening to you talk about your day, he wants to cuddle you while you watch a movie, he wants to hear your voice and your laughter, he wants to swim in your essence. It is natural for him to be attracted to you, he is an angel and paying attention to people to help them is what he does.

But you are different. He wants to be around you at all times, taking care of you, helping with whatever you need, and listening to what you have to say. You are his light. And every day with him is a different adventure, mainly because he needs inspiration for his books and is always taking inspiration from dangerous places like enchanted forests, caves and cathedrals. Other times in common and even medieval places.

He also writes songs and poetry in your honor, confident in singing and reading to you in that happy, jovial voice. It's cute how he goes out of his way to make you happy and is over the moon when you say you like it, the same way he would be happy with anything you give him because you took the time to think about what he would like as a gift and went to buy.

On Valentine's Day, at Simeon's request, the two of you are making chocolate for each other at the same time, helping each other, giving each other tips. And it ends up becoming a little competition of throwing flour at each other, it's childish and funny and you both love it. Even Luke joins in, making you a chocolate. And at that moment you realize that you have a small family with these two, nothing could be better than that. Except the kiss the angel gives you when you least expect it, sweet and innocent.

...

Solomon 

 Just from spending the day with you, he's already infinitely in a good mood and smiling more than usual. He is just happy that for you he is not a shady sorcerer, that he is fully accepted by you as he is, with every flaw and every quality. He loves to hold you against his chest, leaving a trail of kisses from your back to your neck.

Mornings with him in Purgatory Hall are always comfortable and easy. He even brings you breakfast in bed and as usual tells bad jokes just to make you laugh. Or flirts with you only to see your embarrassed and surprised expression, smiling if you decide to flirt back. And he walks with his pinkies intertwined with yours whenever you go somewhere, sometimes he intertwines his hand completely with yours.

Lots of nicknames. He always makes up nicknames for you and during holidays he is even more persistent with his nicknames, some are in French, others in Italian and Greek. But he loves Latin nicknames, especially dulcis (sweetie), mea vitae (my life), mel (honey).

On Valentine's Day, Solomon has a whole day planned for you. Starting with a picnic first thing in the morning, then taking you to a symphony that plays every thousand years, dancing with you as they play, giving you a slow, discreet kiss. He wants you to have a good memory of that day, this year and all future years.

[tonkatsumeal]

the times i'm with you are ones i treasure most.

ft. zhongli

warning(s): zhongli spoilers i guess?

note(s): gn!reader, touch-starved zhongli bc why not, zhongli pov, not proof-read, kinda short? good for an easy read :)

a/n: fluffy :) i am not playing tricks i swear fr it's a new year why would i do that I HAVE CHANGED

synopsis: within the six millenniums i have been alive, i do not remember a single time that i felt the same numbing sensation you give me when we merely brush shoulders.

Being beside you still feels like a dream to me.

When I wake up and see your sleeping face under the sun's morning stare, I can't help but kiss the eyelashes that flutter with every one of your blinks. The way you breathe softly under my stained forearms makes me wonder how you could put so much trust in a single person so willingly.

Though, I'm not complaining. I like the way you smile when you realize I'm beside you, holding you like no tomorrow. I like the way you look at me with bright eyes, not expecting much from me but still loving me nonetheless. I like the way you like me.

But I do worry from time to time—of our mortality, I mean. When I was an Archon I did not have to worry about such trivial things like 'not having enough time', yet here I am, clinging onto the twenty-four hours in these horrificly short days. You tell me I worry too much, but I can't help it when sunset seems to arrive earlier than it did the day before.

I feel like there are not enough minutes in a day for me to express my true love and adoration for you.

I want to always be around you, I want to hold you tight and I want you to hold me just as close. I often curse the hours of sleep required for the human body due to how much time it takes from us.

Whenever I express my distain, you always hold me more intimately than you usually do. A sweet and reassuring sigh escapes your swollen lips, giggling at how immature I can be. A smile, a warmth just for me. You often laugh and stroke my long hair, an action I never thought could be so comforting.

The first time you ran your fingers through my fringe I didn't know how to react. When I snapped out of it, you were humming a song I had never heard. I thought you'd mistake my image of indifference as dislike, but you just laughed and told me you made that tune on the spot.

I realized then that you loved me more than I loved you, and it made my heart swell. I wanted to do those things for you. I wanted to be the one to comfort you, I wanted to be the one to protect you.

You seemed to know every corner and crevice that made me melt, and all I could do was embrace you. I wanted to do more for you, the one who could simply stroke my cheek and set me ablaze like a fire under cedar wood. I could hear the amber stone in my heart being chipped by you bit by bit, and I didn't mind at all.

When you take your hand in mine and intertwine them, my breath holds still. Out of habit, I give you a small squeeze to make sure you're real and not just a figment of my lonesome imagination. You smile every time, squeezing my hand tighter. My heart just can't seem to shake you off.

Looking at you under the sun's golden hue, under the moon's wistful light, under the sky's reflecting ocean breeze, I can't help but want to kiss you. I just can't seem to get enough of you, a fragment of light directly from the goodness of the sun.

The inconsistency from your bouncy steps to your sluggish slouch, the slight crack in your voice when you talk about something you're interested in, the way you prefer to hum 'yes' instead of directly saying it all pique my interest. Your smile is contagious, and your emotions show well on your face. You can't hide your expressions, which makes you all the more lovable.

Your hair, which you always found to be quite annoying, is my favorite part of your body. Sure, your hips are the perfect size for my hands to grip and your chest is the perfect place for me to rest my head upon, but they just aren't your hair. The hair I can comb with my fingers every day, seeing any tension release itself from the furrow in your eyebrows. The hair that you carelessly flop around yet still manage to make look effortlessly attractive. The hair that spreads all over our shared bed into the pillow sheets (and my mouth somehow).

Sometimes I wake up abruptly, disturbed by the unfamiliar feeling against my tongue. It takes me only a few seconds to recognize that its your flyaway, and that irritated feeling gets replaced with an odd kind of oozing warmth.

Looking down at your sleeping figure under the sheets we bought together, I can't help but smile like a child at the fact that you are my lover. I wonder if it is fate that brought you here to me, or fate that brought me to you.

But you wake up before I could conjure an answer, fluttering your eyes open to shake the sleepy feeling away from them. You smile—the smile just for me—and kiss my shoulder, "Good morning, Zhongli."

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

Would it be to much to ask for a Eren scenario where both he and the reader are both equally toxic, manipulative and possessive over eachother but both just cannot let the other go to the point where even when they reunite when Eren escapes the survey corps he asks her to tell him if anyone else whether it was the army or the jeagerists, if they had touched her even if it was just to escort her which she just nods and refuses to tell him any names cuz she likes to see him riled up by her having been "corrupted" and seeing how with a single act she can have him on edge and he falls for her even more by her devious and selfish wiles to have him get irritated and angry but only to end up wanting more of her charms.

Just some good dark angtsy feels all around🖤

A/N: just a little drabble. i've never done canon-verse stuff for AOT so this was fun to try. thank you sending this ask. i did deviate from your ending a little bit so im sorry <3

Warning: AoT Season 4 Spoilers, extreme possessive behavior, toxic relationship, anger issues, gaslighting/manipulating

Eren can feel himself getting restless. Hange had been getting on his nerves. He was the literally the only reason they had secured their victory against Marley on multiple fronts. She and the rest of the fucking Survey Corps should be bending over backward in gratitude.

He cracks his knuckles although he had no need to, wanting to focus on a physical sensation. His thoughts eventually circle back to you. He misses you sorely.

In Marley, there was this kind child Falco. Eren could say he felt guilty for manipulating the poor boy. But that's not true. He's shed that part of humanity a long time ago. All's fair in war after all.

The fair-haired boy was worried about his friend, didn't want a certain special someone of his to become titanized.

Is this other candidate a girl?

Eren had asked. Because he could relate to the Marelyan child. There was a girl he was trying to protect too, who he'd raise hell over, who he'd destroy the world for.

The dark-haired boy can feel himself grow restless. There are a million things to do. Coups to start. Militia to gather. A brother to manipulate. A world to ruin.

But first, he needs to see you. It's already been so long. He had barked orders to Floch to make sure you were safe and secure. If any hair off your pretty little head was misplaced-well no one wants to witness the rage of the Founding Titan's holder.

CRASH

The ground shakes. Eren closes his eyes and lets the Warhammer titan's power course through his veins. Foolish to think any prison could ever hold him.

He's walking uphill. The sunset bathes the land in vibrant pinks, oranges, and light violets. There is a crowd of people standing tall and at attention, postures rigid, save for one.

You hurl towards him at the speed of light and twice the fury, wrapping your arms around his neck. If Eren wasn't six feet of hard muscle, he would have been knocked off his feet from the vigor of your crushing embrace.

"Eren!" You cry out.

The attack titan vessel is too shocked to respond. He's been anticipating your presence for the longest but to finally feel you in the flesh and to smell your soft pretty scent was sending him into overdrive. He couldn't believe you were tangible and not some hauntingly beautiful apparition.

He wraps his arms around you, enveloping your body in his warmth, and you rest your head in the crook of his neck. He feels your nimble fingers toying with his hair.

"I like this new look. It suits you." You mummer.

"Like me without a shirt too?" Eren teases.

He forgot how easy it was to be himself around you, to joke and laugh like he wasn't planning a global genocide of epic proportions. No, even that's an understatement. His goal was an omnicide, utter annihilation. Only Paradis will be left after the ashes settle. A Paradis with you.

"What are you thinking about?" You ask, eyes wide with an untouched innocence that Eren doesn't know how you still possess. All of that eager wide-eyed optimism had been snuffed out from all of his friends. From him. But you, you don't change like the seasons or winds. You're you.

And that was going to be his ruin.

After the Yeagerists brief him on what happened with Zackley and Zeke Yeager's possible whereabouts, Eren gives into his overwhelming urges to see you.

He approaches your chambers, trying to conceal his impatience with soft knocks. You don't answer which irritates him, so he knocks louder and louder, the sound of his fist banging against the door sounding like thunderclaps.

Where the fuck are you? Were you with someone right now? He knew you were getting a little too friendly with Floch from the way you guys were talking at dinner. It was so obvious. He's been gone, for what, a few months and you're already whor-

The door opens and exposes a sleepy-looking girl whose rubbing one of her eyes. Admittedly, very adorable.

"Eren" Your voice is saccharine, "Do you need anything?"

He lets himself in, and shuts the door behind him, locking it in place.

"I don't usually lock the door," You pout but there's a playfulness in your expression that Eren would have noticed had he not been consumed by rage.

"What? So you let anyone in?" He asks, nearly snarling out the words. as he stares scandalized at your slip of a nightgown. A pale translucent pink that reached the middle of your thighs. He could even make the outline of your nipples poking through.

"No, silly." You giggle, twirling the hem of your dress, "Floch's security measure." You pretended not to notice how Eren's fist clenches.

"Is that so?" Eren said, words spoken between gritted teeth. As long as Eren was here, there need be no concerns over security measures. But he knew Floch. The ginger worshipped the ground Eren walked on and would never make a move on you if he cared about his limbs staying intact.

You sat down on your bed and Eren couldn't help but watch your skimpy dress ride up your creamy thighs.

He stood over you, his form looming over yours as you sat on your bed, feet swinging above the ground.

"I wanted to ask you something."

You look up with those big childlike eyes, "Okay."

"Did. Anyone. Touch. You?" His voice is low and he punctuates each word slowly.

You blink "What do you mean?” But there’s a coy smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

"Quit playing dumb." He growls, anger evident in the crease between his eyebrows.

You're quiet for a still moment, mouth opening and closing. Eren's anxiety increases more each second and it finally boils over when you softly ask, "What kind of touch?"

Like a chess piece topping over, he shoves you down the bed, pinning your wrists with his strong hands.

Usually, Eren was smarter. Quicker to call you on your tricks. But alas, absence makes the heart fonder. You love making him lose his stoic composure, so lost in his lust and desire for you that all he can see crimson. And if the price for that is to play the fragile maiden, it is what it is.

"Ow." You pitifully whine, lightly shaking your right hand. Eren knew he wasn't holding you too hard so he experimentally thumbs over a certain spot on your right wrist, eliciting another small whimper. He brings your wrist closer to him and finds a purple bruise.

"Who touched you? Was is it any of the yeagerists?" His voice is deadly calm but an ice-cold rage simmers in his eyes. You can feel yourself growing excited, heat pooling in the bottom of your stomach. You’re rubbing your legs together for the friction but Eren assumes it a nervous tic to avoid answering any of his questions.

When you avert your gaze and simply look the side, he delicately cradles your cheek: “Was it the scouts?”

The delicate touch turns harsher when you don't respond, forcing your pretty head to look straight at him. He sees your eyes glistening, and when he looks into your dewy irises, he can see himself.

His voice drops a pitch, "Please tell me."

Your breathing is shallower and you can't help but enjoy this so much.

It's been so long since you've seen him-since you begged him not to go but he went anyway, and having him here right now--the pride and joy of the Eldian empire , the holder of the Founding Titan-unravel in your fingertips, well this was the closest to true power you've ever been.

Eren can feel his patience sleeping, anger seeping into his bones at your silence, and the bruise on your delicate wrist only serves to anger him further. He can't even do what he swore to do and that was to keep you safe.

"Are you not telling me who it is because you're protecting them?"

The words are delivered deadly calm with the tension of a brewing storm behind it. You're nervous, exactly aware of what your beau is capable of, but the excited kind of nervous where butterflies are swarming in your stomach.

Maybe you underestimated his anger because within a second, the telltale red lines start to form under his eyes, lightning bright sparks forming between each breath.

Without thinking, you envelop the back of his head with one arm (the other hand rendered useless bu the force of his hold), trying to bring his head into the softness your breasts.

Understanding your gesture, Eren immediately calms down and lets himself be smothered in your chest like a babe being cradled in his mother's warmth.

"There, there" you coo, words soft and melodious on your tongue.

You can feel wet-spots on your nightie, "Eren...are you-" you begin, not sure when to end.

His voice is tightly controlled as if not let his coiled emotions fuse again, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I was about to hurt you." He sounds so broken, and all you can do is stroke his hair.

You press a kiss to his head. You know what the right words to say are. You should be comforting him and assuring him he could never hurt you.

Instead you stay silent, softly exhaling. He can't see the pleased smile on your face.

*

"Your wrist feeling any better?"

You whip up your head to see Floch whose peering down at you in slight concern. You must have looked confused because he elaborated, "The one you accidentally banged against the doorway. Looked like it hurt."

"Oh." You pause, looking down at the fresh set of finger shaper marks overtaking the fading violet.

You laugh airily, "Yeah it's alright."