#I love the red string halo so much

[kakusu-shipping]

OMG YOUR DELTARUNE S/I LOOKS SOOOOO COOOL TELL ME ABOUT THEM!!!

Thankyou thankyou!!! They're the Vessel from the beginning of the Survey Program, and follow Kris around as a ghost narrating. Sort of the Chara to their Frisk, but with a lot more backseating

They don't control Kris, per say, like the player in canon Deltarune, but they do have more than just the power of being really annoying and can sway Kris without their input. Obviously, Kris isn't a big fan of being told what to do against their will and tends to fight back as much as they can.

They try not to be too annoying to Kris and stay in their lane as just an observer, but sometimes a choice comes up that they get entirely too excited about (like giving the plush to Berdly in Chapter 2, or giving affection to Ralsei) and end up accidentally forcing Kris to go along with them. They rarely notice when they do this, and Kris is unable to convey their lack of control to them, making their relationship very uneven.

In the Light World no one but Kris can see them, and they can't go very far from Kris on their own, where in the Dark World they can move at will and can even physically interact and be seen by everyone else, though Kris is still the only one who can hear them, so they tend to still stick pretty close to them.

They can also possess Kris to fully influence their choices and speech, though they only did so once and it was on complete accident. Kris described the experience as taking a Back Seat to their own life, fully conscious but unable to do anything. They've sense sworn to Kris to never do this again, it's the one thing Kris trusts them on.

I haven't yet decided if they're something that's always been with Kris, or if they're a new thing that appeared around the start of Chapter 1. That's probably a decision that'll change as we get more chapters and more information on Kris themselves

This Self Insert doesn't have any self ships attached to it, per say. The Vessel is very attached to Berdly and Ralsei but in a much more "Kris you should date these people" way, which makes Kris incredibly uncomfortable so they try to keep to themselves about it.

#Emile's Arts #Thankyou for asking #I didn't want to START the ask off with it AGAIN but I DO have multiple Deltarune S/Is fdkgjdfkg #This one in particular is just because I like Kris' dynamic with the Player and wanted something more physical about it #Basically an 'I am Kris' absolute least favorite person ever' kind of self insert #We'll... probably get better fkdgjdkf #The possession plotline I most certainly only set up to be an angst moment down the line #Break Kris' trust by possessing them again to stop them from something or something like that #I love the red string halo so much #I think the Red String of Fate soulmate story should be used more in horror it's a VERY good visual #you are doomed to be stuck with me #We are physically tied together #It's fun to me #Thankyou very much Devin again for asking!! You're the best!!! #These sketches are ass but it's almost 3am fkgjfdkg #They themselves don't really know where they come from either btw they're just. Here. And are very excitable #Kris refers to them as It and everyone else uses They #They don't really care any pronouns are fine

[kentoberry]

I'D MARRY YOU WITH PAPER RINGS — thoma .

⭒— SUMMARY : there's nothing better than spending the morning with your clingy boyfriend.

⭒— CONTENT : [ 18+ ; minors do not interact. ] · creampie · praise.

"morning, princess."

you couldn't imagine waking up to anything other than your boyfriend's raspy voice, riddled with sleep yet still so warm and enticing. his arms tugged you closer, your back flush against his bare chest as you both lay on your side. thoma placed a tender kiss to the back of your neck and then another to your cheek, making you giggle. you swiveled onto your back, thoma hauling himself to hover above you. you could barely utter a "good morning" of your own before his soft lips met yours once again.

mornings with thoma were a rarity, for he often needed to be at the kamisato estate in the early hours. today, however, it seemed that the siblings could wait.

the sight of his tousled blonde hair, the illusion of a halo that the morning sun cast over him, all accompanied by the melody of inazuma's local avians serenading the rising dawn outside of the windows.

thoma's affections showed no signs of halting, peppering kisses to every inch of skin he could reach: to your cheeks, to your nose, to your lips. the interaction was pure and innocent, playful and intimate. you could feel the beaming smile on his lips as they came into contact with your skin, radiating the omnipresent glee that made him inviting to everybody blessed enough to meet him.

"thoma!" you finally got out, your own features exhibiting true bliss. "what's gotten into you, my love?"

reflecting your own joy like the perfect mirror, thoma replied with a grin: "can't i show my sweet girl how much i love her? if you'd rather i leave, i'm sure lord kamisato would appreciate my presence and attention instead. . ." a playful chuckle leaving his lips.

you wrapped your limbs around the man, clinging to his body like an oversized koala. "not going anywhere," you mumbled, nuzzling your head into his neck.

the position gave thoma the perfect opportunity to start sucking at the delicate skin of your neck, teasing you slightly before attacking your sweet spot. you only buried yourself deeper into him, pulling yourself closer and inhaling his scent. meanwhile he continued the assault on your neck, trail of soft red marks left in his wake. though muffled by your head planted against him, few strangled whimpers slipped past the barrier of your lips. for thoma, this was encouragement to continue nibbling at your skin, hot breath tickling as the ghost of a smirk embellished his features.

one particularly drawn out moan of his name caught thoma's attention, heavenly noises going straight to his cock.

"my pretty darlin', there's nothing in the world more beautiful than that sound."

thoma's hand let go of you for a brief moment, only to snake its way underneath your shirt (well, his shirt, considering that you often slept in one of thoma's old black tees.) his thumb caressed your stomach before moving upwards to find your breast. he grabbed a handful of it, gently massaging and groping at the flesh. your breath caught in your throat as thoma's nimble fingers flicked at your nipples, buds hardening under his touch. each tweak and tug exhibited expert care; you struggled against the urge to begin grinding against him as he toyed with you.

always the observant individual, he noticed this. you whined as thoma made a futile attempt to pull himself up and off of you, only to be forced back into your embrace once more. instead of sitting you up and watching you tremble as he played with you, thoma thought on his feet and came up with another option. one of his arms wrapped around your back once again, his other hand sliding between your legs. he traced a few languid shapes into your inner thigh, patterns that will soon be lost to time. thoma loved how hazy you already were, the remnants of sleep and strings of pleasure creating that fucked out look on your face.

thoma began by tracing your clothed cunt, feathered touches feeling how needy you were for him. both the way your hips subconsciously gyrated against his hand and the little wet patch seeping through your underwear told him just what he wanted. lithe fingers pushed the material to the side, dancing over your puffy clit as he captured your soft lips in his own. you moaned into thoma's mouth, the calloused pad of his finger heightening your sensitivity. breaking away from the kiss, you began to beg.

"thoma," your voice breathy, "want you in me, please? need you,"

thoma couldn't help himself from being amused by your neediness, nor could he resist giving into you when you sounded oh so sweet. "of course, princess, anything you'd like."

he didn't bother to kick off his own underwear, simply lowering his waistband just enough to take out his cock. your own eyes remained trained on his face, how etheral he looked when bathed in the sun's early rays. he pumped his length a few times, smearing pre and preparing himself for you. he traced your slit until you whined. aligning himself with your entrance, slick already soaking the pair of you, he pushed in painfully slowly. you fit him like a glove, velvety walls enveloping thoma's thick cock. he moved to hold you close once again, letting you cling to him whilst he fucked you. his movements remained slow and sensual, relishing in how he could feel every part of you, just as you could him. with each thrust he bottomed out, retreating back until barely the head of his cock rest in you, repeating the motion over and over. he splayed a hand out over your back, encouraging the arch that let him drill deeper into you. his other arm caged you to his chest, positioned perfectly for him to whisper tender praises into your ear.

"so good for me, baby. keep going, just like that, my perfect girl,"

thoma's pace quickened, indicating that he was close to his high already. he could tell that you were too, fluttering walls ready to milk his cock for all that it was worth. "'m close," you confessed, although it was as clear as day to the man who knew you so well.

"going to cum on my cock, pretty girl? go ahead, baby, i wanna hear you say my name,"

mind in a daze, the only word you now seemed to know was "thoma". each time he plunged into you, you punctuated his thrust with a whine of his name. thoma's cock kissed your cervix, gently tapping the opening with his blunt head. it drove you insane, repeating his name like a lewd mantra, the only thing keeping you anchored in the seas of euphoria.

thoma let you hide your flushed face in his shoulder and pull yourself impossibly close to him, holding you with one arm, and the other reaching between your bodies to rub a tight circle around your twitching clit. the added stimulation made you gush, pretty cunt squeezing thoma's cock enough to trigger his own orgasm. strings of his creamy cum spilled inside of you, the room filling with pants as you both tried to regain some composure. you remained clinging to him, as he did you. thoma made no move to pull out of you, simply enjoying the sweet afterglow that only he was privileged enough to see.

eventually, thoma felt it time pull out of of you, putting your panties back in place as the mixture of his amd your cum seeped out of your used pussy. he moved to cradle your cheek, pulling you in for the softest of kisses. "i love you," he whispered, forehead pressed against one another as you returned the sentiment.

thus ensued the kind of peace that can only be found at dawn in a bedroom, two lovers basking in each other's presence. the thought of getting up, showered, and ready loomed, though remained ignored for the present moment. the only thing either of you cared about was the other, further responsibilities forgotten for now. thoma laid back and you curled into him, accumulated sweat disregarded as you held him and he you, neither wanting to let go.

#kentoberryposts #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact #thoma x reader #thoma smut #thoma x reader smut #thoma thirst

[spideystevie]

Am I able to request something from these romantic prompts? If so, I’d love first dance together with Steve please (or Joe K if you’re happy to write for him!)

Please and thank you x

absolutely!! here it is with steve, enjoy <3 (0.8k) - "dancing together for the first time"

It’s mid-June when Joyce Byers and Jim Hopper decide to tie the knot. 

The celebration isn’t big but it’s special all the same. A small, close gathering in a clearing in the woods. Wildflowers have sprouted out of the ground and Jonathan’s strung lights overhead, tied to the trees. The music flows and so do the drinks. You’re left warm after two, a tingling buzz mixing with the leftover heat from the beating sun. 

You dance with Robin and Nancy, laughing loudly and unabashed. You feel a little shy when Steve joins in, looking at you with a special kind of glee in his eyes. There’s something that fizzes between the two of you, something you’re both a little too afraid to test, wary of what it could mean. What it could do to your friendship that didn’t take that long to sprout.

The music slows, people around you coupling together and starting to sway. Nancy finds Jonathan and Robin seems to have disappeared into a mist. Steve’s cheeks turn a brilliant shade of red beneath the fairy lights hanging above. You wonder if yours match.

Steve clears his throat and scratches at the back of his neck. You blink up at him, eyes a little starry when they meet his gaze. He stills for a moment, forgets how to breathe. The soft melody playing in the background coupled with the way the strings of fairy lights are making your skin glow, it makes you look….Steve’s not sure there’s a word to do it justice, but ethereal comes close.

A soft push of summer wind brushes past, makes the skirt of your dress flutter and lifts the ends of your hair. The song is nearing its first chorus when you say, “Steve?”

He blinks hard and shakes his head as if to release him from his daze. He holds out his hand and something like relief melts over him when the soft skin of your palm slides over the calluses on his. 

Your fingers are feather light as they brush over his shoulder, the cotton of his white button down surprisingly soft. A shiver traces down Steve’s spine when you let your fingertips brush the back of his neck. His free hand goes to the small of your back, fingers spread wide and holding you nearly flush against him. 

It’s entirely too close together for “just friends” and you both know it. His face is much closer to yours, a simple jut of your chin and your noses would brush. Up close you can count the freckles splattered along his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. 

There’s a solid warmth where his hand rests on your back, spreading up to your ears. You move together, a gentle sway as your feet step in a small circle. You’re in your own little bubble, the two of you, and even though you’re dancing, the music seems to fade into the hum of the cicadas and the chirping of crickets nearby when he smiles down at you like that.

“What?” you ask him, lips curling into their own smile. Steve shakes his head, soft pieces of hair falling into his forehead. He looks a little younger like this, more boyishly charming. 

“You look beautiful,” he says. You fluster, your stomach rolling and something like fire licking at your veins from the tender earnesty in his voice. You dip your chin towards your shoulder, trying to hide the shy smile that’s forming. 

“Thank you,” you say. A beat passes, a small bout of courage sprouting inside you and then, “you look pretty too, Harrington.”

Steve looks even prettier when he flusters. His voice falters, cheeks twinged pink. The lights catch on the ends of his hair, casting a halo-like glow on him. He doesn’t say anything, too busy trying to tame the violent swarm in his chest over your words and the way your fingertips brush against the nape of his neck. Another beat.

“This is nice,” he says, quietly like he’s sharing a secret just for you. You furrow your brows, a heat unraveling in your stomach when his hand pulls you the slightest bit closer to you. 

“What? The wedding?”

“No. Well..yes, but that’s not what I meant. I meant this..dancing….with you.”

“Yeah?” you breathe, almost like you’re worried your voice will puncture a hole in the moment. Steve nods. 

“Yeah.”

His forehead dips down to yours. Your heart is sure to leave bruises against your ribcage at the new and somewhat sudden proximity. The music completely fades away from the two of you, figuratively and literally. Bruce Springsteen blares over the speakers and people have broken away from their couplings. 

Something permanent shifts between the two of you, soft like the summer wind. You just hope it carries more dances with Steve along with it. 

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington blurb #📝: a writes! #i kinda slayed with this one idk

[bloodgulchblog]

Have you seen that YouTube video where some guy reads every Halo novel back to back and then reviews them? If so what did you think

The Brian David Gilbert one? Oh yeah, all my friends showed me it when it came out. (It was honestly kind of cute seeing how many people thought of me immediately.)

Rewatching it to refresh myself because it's been a couple years and a full-novel reread for me since the last time...

High fiving BDG because the Master Chief parts of The Flood were definitely the most boring parts.

He didn't have anything to say about First Strike which I think is a shame because I think it's better than The Fall of Reach and actually has A Theme I Find Interesting.

Rightful recognition of Contact Harvest as pretty damn good.

Rightful recognition of the Forerunner Trilogy as dense oldschool-style SF with deep worldbuilding. (Also the San'Shyuum thing.)

I disagree with him about, and have significant problems with, Kilo Five. He is correct that Kilo Five actually delves into some of the dark places in Halo in a way it really needed, and I would even say that its writing is extremely engaging by Halo novel standards. However, while he does notice the obvious parallels between what ONI is doing post-war and the kind of shit the CIA has pulled again and again irl, I think he misses some of the subtext I see where it feels like it justifies some shit a liiiiittle too much if you know the author's irl politics re: the military. He also doesn't seem to notice the character assassinations (particularly of Catherine Halsey) that I and a lot of other fans see/object to in those books. I kind of gaze into the middle distance with a haunted expression at the suggestion that these are the ones to read if you don't touch any of the others just because they are, ironically, so heavy-handed and feel like they treat certain kinds of evil as inevitable in a way that actually feels way worse to me than the excuse plot offered by the earlier/lighter Halo novels. (But idk, that's me? Nobody is committing a crime if they disagree with my frenzied insane person red string diagrams about Kilo Five.)

I'd swap Pariah for Dirt in the Evolutions anthology if it were me, but I think these are solid standouts.

Broken Circle is neat but really nonessential he's not wrong.

A one-sentence review of New Blood is probably not enough space to get into how fucked up the Spartan-IV program is, but yeah. New Blood is fun if you don't find Buck's first person narration annoying. (It comes and goes for me in that one.)

BDG you're an absolute sweetheart, I think Hunters in the Dark is kind of goofy in a way I cannot in good conscience ignore if I'm gonna review it. But it really really is so much fun and I love that one a lot anyway. The "it's like Halo 3... 2" observation is solid.

High fiving him again because I also found Last Light disappointing. And it is also a me problem.

Fractures!

Hell yeah these are all good pulls from Fractures, I would say Shadow of Intent is the pick of the litter in that anthology for me. Interesting that as a Kilo Five enjoyer he didn't single out Rossbach's World, which is the last we've heard about Osman and Black Box. (Also, that one is good.) I think Oasis is worth an honorable mention because I'm an Envoy stan, and the Forerunner stories are interesting but I wouldn't go for them if you don't already have a healthy interest in the trilogy.

This tangent is so fucking funny now that we know more things:

Oh BDG, oh buddy, it's really not for the people like you and me huh. (Disclaimer: I have no idea if BDG likes the Halo tv show or not and I have no desire to dig up evidence about it.)

Also, while you're here, this is the bloodgulchblog origin story:

Smoke and Shadow is fun so it's a little sad that when he ends that sentence with "whatever," I can't actually say he's wrong to. (Sorry Rion your part of the lore just.... hasn't... touched anything that touches anything else anymore.)

ENVOY IS GOOD AND EVERYONE SHOULD CARE ABOUT IT okay okay I'm cool I'm normal, anyway. Envoy is the Halo novel that restored my faith in reading Halo novels and reminded me that authors can care and know how to do nuanced, interesting themes in this space. It's great. Everyone in this book has war refugee trauma (except the Spartans which have Spartan trauma) and that's incredible to me. Please care about Envoy if you have spare room in your heart for Halo side characters.

I am cheered to see someone indifferent to the Veta Lopis stories, but I still feel petty for feeling it.

I don't have a lot to say about Legacy of Onyx here but it's always so fun seeing someone else suffer and care.

Bad Blood, the Blood is Bad now is a fun joke but lol yeah. It does have this very vital moment where Chief and Arbiter talk, though. For the first and only time in years.

PROPS FOR NOTICING THE YA NOVELS they're actually pretty nice.

"The Master Chief is the protagonist and boy does he shoot some people" is most of how I feel about Silent Storm and Oblivion too, I know they have their fans but Troy Denning's Chief books don't do much for me personally.

Renegades hadn't had its followup Point of Light yet but yeah, Spark stuff is interesting.

I had to remember that oh yeah, there are multiple books now that didn't exist when this was made. I wonder if he read them?

OKAY I THINK THAT'S ALL I HAD TO SAY as always if y'all want specific book opinions, I might have a tag for them. Or just yell in my ask box, I'm sure I can scrounge up some thoughts.

#halo novels

[evita-shelby]

Love's a state of mind

Chapter 3

Cw:mentions of unplanned pregnancy symptoms lol

Gif by @chishiyasan

Taglist: @thegreatdragonfruta

“Marry me.”

One second, they were dancing in the middle of New York City and the next they are sprawled on a beach blanket in Lover’s beach.

She had taken him there using her connections to get them past the security of the little island off the coast of Mexico.

A gift for their six-month anniversary after that disastrous dinner with his dad.

It had been perfect, just them here, like a dream made reality.

Both haloed by the sun looking like gods fucking each other’s brains out and getting sand in places only they could reach.

She’d then discovered he turned as red as her string bikini if left too long in the sun.

God, Evie, where have you been my whole life, he had groaned sinfully as she had slathered the aloe vera on his utterly sunburned back.

He loved being coddled, to be cared for in a way no one really had after his mom died.

Robert was putty in her hands, and it had made it all the worse.

So, to make up for having seduced him with bad intentions ---saving her meager windfarms and solar panels--- she resolved to love him like he’s never been loved before.

“Ask me when we’re awake, Rob.” She kissed him in response, refusing to answer until the dream sharing ends.

Where is the fun in saying yes to the perfect fake proposal when she has to wake up and not have a perfect proposal in real life.

No, Robert has to work for it.

With more than just revisiting fond memories. Very fond memories.

“I like being prepared, Evie, need you to say yes before I get a ring I can’t return.” He says confirming what this trip was for and lying because she knows he already has the ring; she saw the little velvet box in his suitcase.

She couldn’t say yes.

He’s going to hate her, and she deserves it.

“I can’t marry you.”

The dream comes to a screeching stop, and it comes crashing down when she tells him his dad and godfather were right about her.

“I used you; I sought you out to keep your company from destroying mine.

I’m sorry!” Eva shouts as Robert puts a gun to his head and pulls the trigger.

Robert leaves that same night they checked in and it is over. When he comes back from Sydney there is no trace of her in his apartment nor him in hers.

Or so she thinks.

“Whatever offer you have you can shove it up your ass.” She said as she walked into her conference room just in time, looking she isn’t still feeling the effects of her breakup.

She’s never had one that has made her physically ill before, especially nearly two months after it happened. So, Eva did like all women in her situation before her: she had her personal assistant buy her every reliable pregnancy test she could get her hands on.

Three were negative, the other three were positive.

She had a doctor’s appointment after this, and with any luck this meeting would end quickly, her doctor would tell her this was just a scare like the last one and this chapter in her life completely over.

Usually, this meeting never happens because Eva had been in Robert’s bed long enough for them to know it was a losing battle, but now that things were over, was fair game. She expected Browning to come, to come and gloat about her not having Rob to protect her fledging company anymore.

But it’s not that condescending asshole waiting for her.

It is Robert.

Robert Michael Fischer who should have been in Sydney by now because that man never misses a chance to see his asshole father who he goes back to every two weeks like a dog begging for abuse.

He’s doing this to hurt her, the woman thinks as she sees him wear that tie ---that damn tie she bought for him because it matched the lingerie he gave her--- and sitting on the opposite end of the conference table with his team. Robert’s making her play this game of chicken even if all she wants to do is throw her coffee ---and herself--- at him.

And beg him on her knees for him to take her back because she hates herself so much for hurting him. Eva wants to hate him, and yet she can’t because no matter what she tried he has been the last person she’s been with.

He is the only one she wants. And he knows it going by that confident look in his eyes.

“You must really love that windfarm.” Rob sits back with hands clasped in front of him with a smirk.

“Unlike Fischer Morrow and Riley International, I know the only way forward is through renewable energy and Aurai is crucial to my company. Try all you want, but as I have told your charming godfather, your company’s constant harassment will not stop me, Mr. Fischer.” Eva could turn this meeting into hell with just four words, but she won’t because the last thing she wants is for her ex-boyfriend to think she did it to trap his entitled ass.

“Is that why you seduced me, Miss Smith?” he asks, looking at her like she’d only broken his heart yesterday and not like ten weeks ago.

“Everyone who is not me or Mr. Fischer leave. Take lunch or have a tour of the offices, just leave.” Eva orders her employees and his out and they do as they are told; his assistant and the company financial advisor know better than to fight her.

The moment they leave she locks the door and sits herself on the table, legs crossed and close enough to Robert to really keep his attention.

“What do you want?”

He wants to play, then she will play.

He had the tie, she had the matching lingerie, well, just the brassiere, Eva never got her panties back from him.

“You know damn well what I want.” He answered and gave into the urge to touch her. Hand caressing her thigh and stopping just where the skirt ended.

Revenge.

He doesn’t even care about the property, he is just doing this to fuck with her.

“You don’t even care about the Aurai wind park.” She says leaning forward enough to let him know she’s wearing the bra that matches his tie.

“I don’t, but you do, so much so that you played me like a fiddle for it.” He leans forward as well, speaks low, and looks up at her knowing it’s only their stubbornness keeping them from making this meeting an even bigger mistake than it already was.

He would fold, or she would on the condition that land remains a picturesque hillside with its cute little farms and windmills.

They might end up fucking and regretting it, but then again, she’s regretting coming in today. Eva was starting to feel dizzy, and it wasn’t from the comforting and luxurious cologne Rob wears.

“Only in the beginning, everything after that night in New York was as real as you and me, Bobby.” It is genuine and he knows it. Eva hadn’t intended to say such words, but his words stung her and demanded she refute his claim.

“You play dirty, Evie.” Robert’s hand squeezed her thigh and ventured higher thinking she wasn’t going to stop him. He wants her as much as she wants him, only reason she played this stupid game with him.

But she needs this meeting to end, preferably before this lightheadedness turns to nausea or worse, swooning.

Eva hasn’t believed in God since she was a teenager and yet she is this close to praying she’s not pregnant.

“Oh, no. Dirty would be offering you the chance to use me to sate your need for revenge in exchange for Fischer Morrow leaving me and Aurai the fuck alone. I am perfectly willing to let you have the wind park as long as you make damn sure that land isn’t drilled for the oil Browning has his eyes on.” The young woman leaned back, gently removed his hand from under her skirt and laid it flat against the table. “What do you think, Mr. Fischer?”

“Keep your fucking wind farm, Miss Smith, Fischer Morrow won’t bother you again.” Robert takes back his hand as if it burned him and gets up to leave, but not before snaking his arm around her waist and kissing her with all the aggravation and desire he feels for her.

The meeting ends on a victory for Aurai Energy, but not before Eva passes out the second he leaves.

#eva smith riley #robert fischer x oc #robert fischer x reader #robert fischer x ofc #robert fischer x eva smith #love's a state of mind fic

[zeenimf]

Flash Fiction - Fireworks

Transcript and Taglist below the cut~

A knock on the door pulls the young woman’s gaze away from the unfinished fireworks in front of her.

“Miko? Are you in there? If we don’t get going now I’m not sure if we’ll be able to finish preparing the ceremony before the rain comes.”

Her eyes return to the craft in front of her, the table a mess of different vials and jars, gunpowder a sea for the islands of flowers that clutter the desk. Purple forests of heliotrope grow out of grey grains, straddled around the thorns and petals of the roses. She waits for the footsteps to fade away before letting herself fall back into her chair, blond hairs sticking to wet cheeks.

We had everything, you know

A letter lies on the far end of the table, rushed handwriting made illegible by drops of rain. The name of who she has held so dearly is written at the bottom.

You say you want to give it time, that our love deserves that much

Her right arm hangs beside the chair. As she fidgets sparks glow from her fingertips, freckles of orange dancing on the floor beneath.

But you’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you

Her gaze lingers on the ceiling, teeth biting into her lower lip, just hard enough.

Just like that, we’re done

Hands turn to fists, nails digging into her palm.

My fireworks were supposed to be fleeting, not us

The flames in her fists scream out, the tips searing through the gaps, fizzling out only against the bottom of the desk. They grow larger, stronger, crawling over the wood and reach for the top, starved.

You broke me

Another knock on the door.

“I’m almost done packing. Can you bring the showstopper as soon as possible? It was you who decided to base the entire show on that one rocket.”

She lets out a voiceless scream, a relief, fire left to the wind. She takes a band from her wrist and ties her hairs back.

I’ve been so stupid

In only a few moments she ties up the rocket, dusting of the remaining gunpowder.

In fireworks we find hope in the spark

“Miko? We really don’t have much time.”

I will do my best to find hope in ours then, even if it has already fizzled out.

She snatches the rocket, crawling onto her desk and out through the window. Blades of grass embrace her bare feet as she climbs up the hill next to her home. With the winds pulling on her white dress, she is but a ghost.

No more

She takes the rocket in one hand, holding it out in front of her.

Let’s be together, one more time

She pinches the fuse with her other hand.

Let’s be beautiful, one more time

Sparks fly as the fire crawls up the string until it vanishes into the rocket.

To us, and the memories we both can’t bear to hold onto right now

With a flash the rocket shoots out of her hand, its path to the sky a curved one, unable to slip through the brewing storm. It explodes just before reaching the clouds, rays of light shining in every direction. Clouds of purple broken only by stains of red, all under the golden halo of the rest of the explosion. The hopes and wishes given to us by a shooting star, returned to the heavens to inspire once more.

“Farewell, my love.”

-x-

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[lady-wren-of-tella]

Undeserving (I Love You Too Much to Let You Stay) -- a Zivy oneshot

word count: 5,215 tw// mentions of past abuse, extreme self-doubt I've been working on this oneshot for a while and I'm so proud of how it turned out. I hope you enjoy this very self-indulgent piece.

love you guys <3 (and thank you @miirohs for your help + enthusiasm)

Zira wakes up with her skin crawling. Her eyes flutter open and Zira is greeted by the beautiful sight of Ivy’s freckled face soft with sleep, red hair resting on the pillow around her like a halo of protective fire.

The sun streams through the bedroom window, light blessing Ivy with its golden touch.

Zira looks at the personification of perfection and feels her heart sink.

With grace and stealth learned on the most bloodstained of fields, Zira slides out of bed, careful not to disturb Ivy. She walks around the bed to close the curtains, trying to breathe through the feeling humming under her skin. Everything about this morning feels wrong, and, unfortunately, shrouding the bedroom in shadow doesn’t help anything.

Still asleep, Ivy lets out a deep exhale and Zira feels her body warm with a mix of affection and guilt.

She’s perfect, look at her, Zira’s mind whispers. You’re ruining her.

She dresses quickly, deftly slipping out of her bed clothes and putting on a simple day gown. The tailored fabric feels soothing on her skin, but the steel circlet she slides over her head to rest against her forehead feels better. Zira resists the urge to hold it to her nose just to let the calming smell of metal wash over her.

The sheets rustle as Ivy turns over and Zira’s heart jumps. Her heartstrings strain at the sight of the frown on Ivy’s face as her arm falls through a space beside her that should have been filled. Guilt pools in her gut, but every fiber of Zira’s body screams at her to get out.

The princess ducks out of the bedroom, making sure to close the door as quietly as possible.

Mornings in the Imani palace are bright, sunlight bouncing off the marble tiles in the hallways. The guards draw the curtains away from the windows as Zira walks past, bowing shallowly.

Zira wants to scream.

Hide yourself away. You’ll hurt them if you stay close.

She scratches her nails down her forearm, finds a bit of comfort in the sting.

Walking to the kitchens takes longer than Zira thought it would. The route feels drawn out, with more corners to round and stairs to the basement, but eventually, her hands meet the worn wood of the kitchen doors and she pushes them aside.

Sam Yinlar, the royal cook, looks up and smiles at the sight of her, quickly retying the strings of his stained, white apron.

“It’s rather early,” Sam comments, quietly dismissing the other people working in the kitchen as Zira pushes herself up to sit on the farthest corner of the counters. “It’s been a while since you’ve visited me like this.”

Zira sighs, letting her head fall to her knees. “Hi, Sam.”

“Zira.”

She huffs, twitching her fingers and summoning a fork to her hand from right next to Sam. “If you’re not helpful, I’m going to leave.” She allows the ferrokinesis humming in her blood to sing, crushing the fork into a metal ball. “Better yet, I’m going to fire you.”

Sam isn’t phased, he continues cutting the vegetables on the cutting board in front of him, corner of his mouth tugged upwards with amusement. “With all due respect, Princess, you’ve been threatening me with that since you were seven. I’m going to call your bluff here.”

“Sam.”

“What’s bothering you, Zira?” Sam pushes, scooping the neat cubes of vegetables into a ceramic bowl. He gestures vaguely at her with the point of his cooking knife. “And don’t try to get around the question. I know your tricks.”

Zira pinches the metal ball, kneads it as if it was clay. “It’s Ivy,” she finally says, and winces because she knows how it sounds.

The royal cook freezes. He sets the knife down calmly and fixes Zira with a look so focused she wouldn’t dream of breaking eye contact. “Zira. Is everything okay? Is she hurting you?”

Zira wanted to scream, earlier. Now, her eyes water. Now, she wants to cry.

It takes a deep breath to keep the rivers of emotion at bay.

“No, Sam. It’s me.”

Sam’s eyes narrow. “Elaborate. Now.”

“I think I’m hurting her,” Zira breathes, unable to help the way her eyes flick down to her hands, as if expecting to see scarlet pooling in the creases of her palms. “She’s too good for me, Sam. Everyone knows it.”

Flinching isn’t something Zira does much of anymore, but the sound of Sam stabbing his knife into the wood of his cutting board makes her tense too obviously to be missed.

“Zira Sevaan,” the man's voice rings, forceful as it bounces off the surfaces in the kitchen. “Look at me right now, and listen.”

She complies.

“Have you hurt her?” Sam asks and Zira frowns, irritation simmering in her gut at his stupid question.

“I just said-”

Sam sighs, yanking his cooking knife out of the cutting board and setting it down calmly once again. “I’m going to be blunt, Princess. Have you hurt her in the way your mother used to hurt you?”

Zira stills.

She swears a shadow shifts in the way it shouldn’t, but that’s just her memories playing tricks. They like creating little hallucinations to mess with me.

It takes work to make her vocal cords work to form the sounds of her answer. “No.”

An encouraging glint shines in Sam’s eyes. “Have you purposefully put her in situations where she could get hurt? Are you manipulating her?”

“She’s with me, Yinlar. I think that’s dangerous enough,” Zira shoots back bitterly. “You likely only know half of what I’ve done.”

Like always, Sam is patient, wise in his rebuttals. “I know you’ve killed people, I know you’ve done worse, and I know you’d do it again in a heartbeat if you had to.”

Again, Zira’s gaze flits down to her hands. Seeing tan, scarred flesh feels wrong. She almost craves the sticky sensation of blood seeping into every little line and crease in her skin, almost misses the sharp, unmistakable scent of it. 

“It’s like I told you. I’m going to ruin her. I’ve done awful things– for Delphine’s sake I practically killed her best friends! She deserves someone so much better than someone damaged and morally unsound.” Zira rips off her circlet and rakes an angry hand through her hair, grateful she didn’t bother to braid it before coming down to the kitchens.

“She still loves you and chooses to be with you?” Sam asks pointedly.

Zira nods, and it pains her. “That’s the probl–”

Sam Yinlar cuts her off. “You haven’t coerced or manipulated her into being your partner, correct?”

“No. Of course not.”

He smiles. “You have done awful things, yes? And you’d do them again?”

Zira hesitates before delivering the honest answer waiting on her tongue, if only because the pause has the potential to make her sound like a better person. “If the situation called for it.”

If she asked me to, goes unsaid. If someone threatened or hurt her.

Sam smiles wider, and Zira braces herself for the killing blow. 

The royal chef may not be a Mythica, may know nothing about what war feels like, but he beats Zira every time. He corrals her into a corner so she can’t escape with practiced deflection before forcing a mirror in front of her face and a basket full of truths into her arms.

“And no matter what, you’d never even think of harming Ivy?”

I’d rather die, Zira could say.

You’ve said that before, she knows Sam would retort calmly, so I don’t think that even begins to describe a fraction of your feelings towards this girl.

You’re right, Zira would admit.

She settles for a simple, “Never.”

Sam knows me well enough at this point to fill in the blanks.

The royal chef nods, as if Zira’s measly answers could solve her problem, the insecurity and guilt chewing at the worn threads of her being. “Then you have your answer, Princess. You aren’t hurting her, and you aren’t going to hurt her.”

Zira groans in annoyance, throwing her head back against the cabinets above her and relishing in the sound and spark of pain it produces. “You’re not getting it!”

Sam frowns. “Zira, you came to me with a concern, and I talked you through it. You said you thought you were hurting Ivy– that you didn’t deserve her, and I explained to you how that clearly isn’t the case.” He leans on the counter, weight on forearms. “What am I not getting?”

Zira wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. Now, she does both.

The sob that rips its way out of her throat is painful, it sounds guttural, made worse by the way it echoes in the kitchen. Instinctively, she draws her knees to her chest, clawing at the skin of her upper arms as she wraps them around herself.

She buries her face in the little space her crossed arms create, letting her tears flow freely as her body trembles.

Sam is at Zira’s side in a heartbeat, standing in front of her and gently pulling her into his embrace. He drops his chin to rest atop her head, squeezing her body once to try and stop the shaking. “Hey. Kid. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Zira whimpers.

She feels pathetic, dirty.

She goes to claw at her skin again, but Sam stops her gently, just keeps hugging her until she eventually melts into the steady comfort of his hold. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get it, Princess. Do you want to explain it to me?”

It takes a few seconds, far more than a few, but Zira eventually gathers herself enough to answer. 

“I don’t deserve someone as perfect as her,” she whispers, words muffled by the rough fabric of Sam’s apron. “She’s far too good to be with me, and I don’t deserve her.”

The admission leaves her feeling scrubbed raw.

Sam exhales deeply, a thumb rubbing twice at her shoulder when she trembles again. “Ivy’s hardly perfect. She’s hurt and killed people too.”

Zira frowns. “Don’t do that,” she orders firmly. “Don’t try and make her sound like a bad person just to make me feel better about what I’ve done.” She takes a calming breath. “I don’t deserve someone good.”

Sam squeezes her tighter, but Zira knows he’s wrestling with the idea of pushing apart to look her in the eye. “I don’t care what anyone else says, Zira Sevaan. You deserve every good thing that comes your way.” He taps a random pattern onto her shoulder. “No one is perfect. Everyone has done good and bad things. The mistakes you make don’t define you as a person.”

Zira pushes herself away, quickly drying her tears. “They weren’t mistakes, though, Sam. I made the conscious decision to murder and torture people.”

“You realize it’s wrong, though,” Sam tries.

“I’d do it again.” Zira is stubborn.

“Zira,” Sam tries again, firm. “You are not a bad person. You did bad things, but that doesn’t make you a pad person. You were hurt. You are still hurting. The bad things you did don’t cancel out your right to heal.”

“That’s not what my mother said,” Zira mumbles, ghosting a thumb over her forearms as if remembering how it felt to have bruises there. “That’s not what a lot of people say.”

Sam frowns. “Your mother was abusive and I don’t care what other people have to say. You deserve to be happy.”

Vulnerability is terrifying. Vulnerability flays Zira limb from limb, dissects her for Sam’s observant eyes to pick apart. This time, she doesn’t shy away. This time, she sticks it out and steeps in the discomfort.

“Feeling happy feels wrong, sometimes. It feels like I deserve that almost less than I deserve Ivy,” Zira confesses, falling into the embrace Sam offers again.

Sam just holds her, simple and meaningful in his display of affection and comfort. “I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it: you deserve the good things that are happening to you, you deserve to have Ivy and all the happiness she brings you, and you are not a bad person.”

The tears start flowing again and Zira doesn’t bother stopping them. She lets them fall, lets Sam’s words soak into the hollow cracks that had formed over the years of her existence.

The two of them take solace in the silence.

“I’m a good person,” Zira tries out saying, just to hear the way it rolls off of her tongue. She whispers it like it’s a secret.

It feels almost instinctive, the way Sam’s hold on her tightens. “You are. You really are.”

Zira keeps going. “I deserve good things.”

“You do, Princess.”

“I deserve the happiness my partner makes me feel.” Her voice cracks and wavers. I deserve to wake up beside her every morning and brush her soft hair away from her pretty face just to kiss her on the nose. I deserve to be able to bicker with her about staying in bed or actually fulfilling our duties.

“I couldn’t have said it better, kiddo,” Sam whispers. “Now how about we make some plica for you to enjoy at breakfast with her?”

Zira smiles softly, drying the final tears from the corners of her eyes as the two of them step apart and she hops down from the counter. “I’d like that a lot. Thank you, Sam.”

Already walking away to grab ingredients from the cabinets, Sam smiles at her over his shoulder. “Go be helpful and grab some bowls for me.”

Anytime, Princess, goes unsaid.

— --

Zira takes a deep breath before pushing open the doors of the library with her foot, tray stacked high with plica in hand. The servants said she’d be here. I hope they’re right, she thinks as she balances the tray while slipping through the space in between the doors.

Sure enough, a head of familiar, red hair whips around at her entry.

Ivy’s face goes soft, eyes sparkling, and Zira feels her heart warm at the sight.

“Good morning, love,” Ivy says, beckoning her lover over. “You brought plica!” she exclaims happily, spotting the contents of the tray. “Is that what you were doing this morning?”

Walking over to set the tray of pastries down on the big table in the center of the table, Zira settles down on the couch right next to Ivy, settling against her side even as her gut swirls with guilt she tries to get rid of. “I thought I’d pay a visit to Sam,” she answers, shrugging in an attempt to seem casual.

An arm comes to rest around Zira’s shoulders, soft fingers brushing across the nape of her neck, and Zira’s heart jumps. “That early? You should have stayed in bed and visited him later,” Ivy admonishes fondly, thumb ghosting over the base of her lover’s skull

Zira’s breath catches in her throat and her heart skips too many beats.

You’re going to hurt her.

She flinches backwards hard enough that she tumbles off of the couch, knees and elbows making painful contact with the floor. The loss of Ivy’s warmth against her side makes her shiver, but the guilt woven into every fiber of her being keeps her from returning to the other’s embrace.

Hands still outstretched as if she had tried to keep Zira from falling, Ivy schools her face from shock and sadness to kind and contemplative. “Bad day?” she asks.

“Bad day,” Zira answers quietly.

They developed the system a bit ago, and it works better than Zira could have ever imagined. In the early days, Ivy would ask “Good day or bad day?” before even coming close to making contact, because some days, the very thought of being touched made Zira want to both stab someone and disappear.

Ivy nods and readjusts on the couch, crossing her legs and scooting over to only take up one half of the couch. “Good day,” she answers for herself. 

Take what you want, she means. Whenever you’re comfortable, I’m here.

Shame making her face warm, Zira rises from the floor and sits back on the couch, crowding herself as far into the corner as possible. 

Ivy points to her forehead, at the circlet resting against her skin. “You should take that off. Your skin’s going white.” Her eyes soften, voice too. “It’s hurting you.”

Zira’s heart aches and she reaches up to take the steel thing off, taking a deep breath and willing her ferrokinesis to mellow out. Immediately, a headache she didn’t realize was forming begins to subside. 

Reaching out slowly, giving Zira time to pull away if she wanted to, Ivy takes the circlet from Zira’s hands. “For now,” she says softly, “just be Zira for a bit. Forget the circlet and the title. I want to talk through this.”

The circlet transforms into a steel rose in Ivy’s hands.

Zira makes the flower float upwards with an almost missable twitch of her fingers, not looking away from the mesmerizing green of Ivy’s eyes. Just as slowly as the other did, she stretches out a hand, gently tucking Ivy’s red hair behind her ear. Zira grabs the floating rose out of the air and tucks it behind her lover’s ear as well.

“Thank you,” Ivy whispers, her breath ticking the skin of Zira’s palm as she leans into the lingering touch. “It’s beautiful.”

Zira smiles softly, ghosting the pad of her finger across Ivy’s cheekbone. “It’s not the only one,” she says, heart sparking at the sight of the blush beginning to color Ivy’s cheeks.

You can’t have this with her.

The princess’s face falls and her hand drops like a stone into her lap. 

Kindly, Ivy leans away, resting against the back of the couch once more. “I’m here,” she says simply. “I’m here if and when you need to talk, always.”

Zira feels the cracks forming, prepares to shatter and braces for the feeling of accidentally cutting herself on the shards of her being. She steels herself, draws upon familiar impassivity to keep from bursting into tears right there. 

“You’re so good,” she chokes out in a low whisper after a bit. “And you’re good to me.”

Ivy tilts her head to the side in confusion, not having heard her, silently gesturing to ask for an explanation.

Don’t tell her, Zira’s thoughts whisper, in a voice that sounds eerily like her mother did. She’ll realize the truth and leave. You’ll be alone.

“I don’t want us to be together,” she says, trying to sound firm. It comes out weakly, her voice wavering and betraying the uncertainty, guilt, and sadness she had been trying to hide. “We’re– we’re not a good match.”

She had kept an admirably even disposition throughout the entire interaction thus far, but Ivy flinches hard, arms instinctively drifting upwards to wrap around herself protectively. But she doesn’t whimper or cry, even though her eyes water. “Explain – now – because you’re not making any sense.”

See? You’re hurting her.

Zira wants to scream and cry and break herself to pieces so she can’t hurt this being of perfection before her. 

The princess cuts off her connection to metal, afraid of what could happen with her wild emotions and the metal resting so close to Ivy’s skin.

“Take the flower off,” she orders quietly, as if volume could soften the blow. “Please.”

Ivy frowns, a single tear falling from her eye. She wipes it away quickly, hand returning to rest on her opposite shoulder. “Why don’t you do it yourself?” she challenges, but it sounds weak too. “You’re more than capable of controlling metal.”

“Please,” Zira pleads again, panicking at the feeling of her ferrokinesis humming under her skin again. “I can’t. Take off the flower and set it on the table.”

“Next to the plica you made for someone you spent time making for someone you’re not a good match with?” Ivy shoots back, but she complies, setting it down next to the tray of pastries. “There, done. Now–” her voice cracks with emotion and another tear falls. She wipes it away just as swiftly. “Now,” she tries again, “explain, Zira.”

Look! See? She’s crying. You’re hurting her and keeping her close to you when all it’s doing is damaging her more, the ghost of Kamara’s abuse returns once more to say.

“Please go,” Zira asks, desperation bleeding through the syllables that fall past her lips. 

Ivy lets out a bitter laugh and the sound grates on her lover’s ears. “You’re not making any sense right now. You walked in this room with plica you made for both of us, gave me a pretty rose you made out of your royal circlet, and now you want me out of your sight.” Her bottom lip quivers, voice shaking. “Explain,” she begs.

With every second she spends near you, she only gets more hurt.

Zira forces iron-strong resolve into her voice, uses it to mask her breaking heart. Please, love, she pleads in her head, please go before I hurt you more.

“Go, Ivy.”

Zira almost flinches at how cold she sounds, hating how it sounds like her mother did.

Ivy stands up from the couch, expression unreadable. “I want an explanation soon,” she says, defeat weighing down every word. “I love you,” she says softly before turning on her heel and leaving.

The door slams shut behind her.

Zira takes one look at the steel flower and the tray of plica and bursts into tears. 

—

They avoid each other for the rest of the day. Zira hides away in her office, tending to her queenly duties. The title is still new and fresh, and she’s still drowning in work. The servants tell her that Ivy spent the day in town with her friends.

Night falls mercilessly and Zira falls asleep at her desk. 

She startles awake at the feeling of someone’s hand resting on her shoulder, papers fluttering sadly to the ground when they’re knocked off by her wild movements. 

“Easy, easy,” the voice soothes, and Zira recognizes it with a twist of her heart. “It’s late, Zira. You should come to bed.”

Still half asleep, Zira leans into Ivy’s touch. “Missed you,” she mumbles, voice muffled by her arm and slurred by sleep. “Missed you a lot,” she chokes out, groaning as she uses her aching muscles to sit up.

Ivy laughs lightly, and Zira doesn’t realize how forced it sounds. “I’m here now. You need to come to bed, or you’re going to hurt your neck.” She takes Zira’s hand, lacing their fingers together before tugging gently. “It’s a bad day, so I’ll sleep somewhere else.”

“No,” Zira says, and she feels her face burn in embarrassment when she realizes how quickly she responded. “I want— If you want, please stay with me.”

With a sardonic huff, Ivy’s hand falls away. “What I wouldn't have given to have heard that this morning.”

Now look at what you’ve done, child. Just as I predicted, you’ve caused her pain.

Zira’s blood goes cold at the reminder of their conversation that morning. She thinks back to the flinches and the fear, how volatile, dangerous, and guilty she’d felt. “I’m sorry,” she whispers after a moment. “I just didn’t want to hurt you.”

The words tip Ivy over the edge. “Too late, Zira,” she spits back. “You already did that.” She moves away, sitting down in a chair a few paces away from the desk, and Zira finds hope in the fact that she didn’t leave. “I think we’re both too tired to talk it out right now,” she admits.

Zira gets woken up completely by that, reaching out for Ivy instinctively. “No. I’m awake and I need to explain.” She turns in her chair to face Ivy completely. “And I need to apologize.”

Ivy nods. Go on, the gesture says.

��You are a good person– the best I’ve ever known,” Zira begins. “You deserve happiness, a perfect partner, and every other good thing that comes your way.” She takes another deep breath. “I am damaged. I am a bad person who’s done bad things and you shouldn’t settle for that. I don’t want you chained to someone unworthy.”

Zira’s skin crawls and her ferrokinesis begs to be used.

Ivy’s face shutters. “You’re not a bad person,” she says firmly. “And even if you were, that would change nothing.”

“It’d change everything,” Zira argues, frowning. “And if I am not a bad person, I’m a dangerous one. Death and tragedy follow me around like I have them on a leash, and we both know neither take well to being controlled.”

Vulnerability is a demon Zira hates facing. Ivy sees her attempts at loose avoidance and forces her towards the confrontation, somehow both unflinching and comforting.

“What are you so afraid of?” Ivy challenges.

“Myself,” Zira answers simply, watching as clarity and understanding flutter across her lover’s face. “I have damaged everyone and everything that has ever been in my life. I can’t do that to you.”

Ivy sees the twitching of Zira’s fingers and pulls her into a tight hug, one arm around her waist and another cradling the back of her head. “Cry if you want to,” she whispers, pressing a long kiss to her lover’s hair.

Zira breaks. “I can’t ruin you,” she admits into the warmth of Ivy’s neck and shoulder. “You’re so good – so perfect – and I’m afraid of ruining you because I’m too selfish to let you go.” She chokes on a sob, on the weight of keeping everything at bay.

The metal in the room cheers, screaming and begging for attention.

Immediately, Zira tears herself away from Ivy, scrambling backwards across the massive office to cower in the farthest corner. The breaths don’t come easy, getting caught in her throat. Her chest heaves as the tears turn messy.

Ivy gets up slowly. “Zi-”

“Don’t come near me!” Zira begs, crossing her arms in front of her chest and pinning her arms between her arms and torso. “Don’t come near me,” she repeats, quieter this time as she trembles.

It’s going to happen and you’re going to see. You’re going to lash out and you’ll ruin her and what you have together. Just like everything else, it’ll end with blood on your hands. 

“Take deep breaths,” Ivy soothes as she sits down on the floor too. She starts taking off all of her jewelry, setting it down in front of her. 

And Zira wants to cry, because Ivy understands, and feeling so seen is terrifying.

“Listen to my voice and take slow breaths. It’s going to be okay.” Ivy meets Zira’s eyes unflinchingly, somehow isn’t terrified by what she finds burning in her brown eyes. “You’re not going to hurt me because you’re not that person and you’re strong enough to hold back.”

Deep breaths, Zira tells herself. Focus on one bit of metal and make it your anchor.

She lets her ferrokinesis rip into Ivy’s necklace, uses the overflowing energy to take it apart and reassemble it in the air. The channeling works, slowly, and Zira starts to relax as her heart rate calms.

The metal chain links separate, a thousand little pieces suspended in the air.

Zira takes a deep breath, blinks, and it goes back together. She exhales, and commands the necklace to float back down onto the floor.

Ivy breaks the silence tentatively. “Zira? Good time or bad time?”

The princess looks up, drying her tears. “It’s fine,” she assures, voice scratchy with the remnants of her crying. “I’m okay now.”

As she crosses the room to sit right next to her lover in the corner, Ivy smiles. “See? I was right, love. You didn’t hurt me. I’m okay.”

“This time,” Zira retorts, tamping down the anxiety that prickles her skin at Ivy’s proximity. 

Ivy rolls her eyes. She takes Zira’s hand, grip loose enough to slip out of if she wanted. “Do you trust me?”

Zira answers immediately. “Yes. Of course.”

“Then trust my decisions,” Ivy says simply, holding Zira’s gaze unflinchingly. “Trust that I am happy with you and trust in my faith that you won’t hurt me.”

It takes a second, but Zira concedes. “Okay.”

Ivy allows herself to celebrate the small victory with a little smile, but she doesn’t stop pushing. “Trust that you’re not going to “ruin me”– whatever that means. No one can deny that you made mistakes, but you’re a good person and you deserve happiness.”

Zira opens and closes her mouth, not sure what to say.

Stifling a little laugh, Ivy leans forward, kissing her tenderly. “Don’t feel guilty, love. You’re allowed to want this and you’re allowed to have this. You’re not going to mess anything up.

The influx of emotion makes Zira’s eyes water again.

“I don’t know how–” she chokes on her own feelings. “I never want to lose you.”

“You don’t have to.”

It never works like that. We both know that and it’s stupid to pretend otherwise.

Zira hesitates, trying to make sense of the heat in her veins and the pounding of her heart. “I think I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” she admits quietly, and smiles at the way it makes Ivy’s face light up. “I think, someday, I could be good enough to deserve that.”

Ivy smiles, and Zira knows she’d give up everything to see that for the rest of her life.

“It’s late,” Ivy says softly, brushing her fingers through Zira’s soft hair. “Let’s go to bed.”

— --

Zira falls asleep feeling loved. Her eyelids flutter as they fight the weight of exhaustion and she struggles to stay awake, the repetitive motions of tracing little patterns on the bare skin of Ivy’s shoulder lulling her to sleep.

She brings her hand up to make constellations out of Ivy’s freckles, distracted for a second by the gentle curves in the waves of Ivy’s red hair. Zira brushes it away from her face with a feather-light touch, scared of waking her up.

The princess smiles, overcome by the comfortable warmth in her heart.

Moonlight streams through the gaps in the window curtains, swathing both of them in gentle silver. For the first time in a while, silver doesn’t feel threatening or cold.

Ivy looks peaceful, happy, at home in their bed. She looks perfect, beautiful, good. Even in sleep, the gentle embrace she holds Zira in is comforting. When she was still awake, she’d tighten her hold every few minutes, just to hear the other girl giggle softly with tired amusement. 

Right before she’d succumbed to her exhaustion, Zira brought them even closer to each other, intertwining their legs and lying close enough that their noses brush, comfortable with the proximity and touch.

At every point of contact, Zira feels her skin buzz pleasantly.

She takes a slow, tired blink, and smiles again. This is perfect, appreciate it, her mind whispers. You deserve it.

The stars sparkle overhead as she leans forward to kiss Ivy gently.

“I love you, Ivy,” she whispers against the soft skin of her lips. “I love knowing that for the rest of my life, I’ll have you by my side.”

Zira falls asleep feeling loved.

#ladywrenoftella #lady wren:: writing #writing #creative writing #my writing #writing wip #wren is writing #zivy

[biderboy]

i know you won’t get this, but i’ll write a message so i’m not alone ( j. potter)

i. james potter, you are an enigma. you have been since the moment my eyes locked on yours. since the very first time i heard your voice, the magical way the wind carried the sound for miles and miles. the way your hair curled around your left ear, how the dimple under your smile was deeper than the ones on your cheeks. how your stumbled over your feet when too excited, and how your hands pulled at your hoodie strings when you got nervous. everything about you, in every way, in every breath and beat of your heart. you are magical. ethereal. beautiful.

ii. james potter, you are an angel. understandably so, but i wonder if your wings hurt your shoulders. i reckon they would, i have never seen them, but i know they are there. i believe them to be big, as wide as your shoulders, maybe even wider. covered in gold with specks of reds and blues, greens too. are the feathers soft? they must be, your curls are. are they too heavy? do they weigh you down? sometimes i. price your shoulders dropping, your head hanging low. your halo must be titled, a crooked crown fits you. i hope it doesn’t burden you, it must be beautiful. everything about you is.

iii. james potter, you are stupid. everyday you get into these jokes, they aren’t even funny and yet i find myself laughing anyways. my body following yours without a second thought. i watch with wide eyes as you double over, shoulders shaking and a smile two times too wide on your face. your shirt is covered in paint, your cheeks too. sirius and remus not too far behind, as the professors start to yell and turn heads. you’re in trouble again, you always are these days. you don’t care, do you? i reckon i wouldn’t either, if i had a laugh like yours. i don’t though, so i’ll care for you.

iv. james potter, you are the love of my life. i love you in every way. i loved you yesterday, i love you today, i’ll love you tomorrow. i love the way you tilt your head to the side when you’re confused, and how you never wear matching socks, even in formal wear. i love the way your tie is never straight and how your eyes light up when the sunsets. i love you in the way they write of in books, the type of love that makes it easier to breathe in the night. the type of love that everyone deserves, but only few speak of. i love you.

v. james potter, you are dead. you died last night, or maybe the night before. last week? i can’t remember, time works differently when you’re grieving. that’s what remus says anyways. i remember your voice, your smile, the way your lips feel against mine. i know how much space is in between my fingers now that your hand is no longer intertwined with mine. did it hurt? i hope it didn’t. you don’t deserve that. you never did. there’s a sort of me that can’t understand that you’re gone, im hoping maybe you’ll come back one day. magic is like that, right? you’ll come back, right?

vi. james potter, you didn’t come back. i miss you.

#vent vent vent ! #james potter #james potter angst #james potter fic #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter x reader #sorin writes

[dnangelic]

@espectres asked: ❝ It's for your art room. ❞ Shou explains with a fond smile, tapping on the edge of the opened white gift box held in Daisuke's hands. Giddiness glistening in his eyes and seeping through crinkles along them, despite how much he tries to play it cool. A suncatcher, hung into the interior of the box by careful pins, displayed delicately as every detail made itself fabulously present. Stained glass in shapes of a few, small dancing rabbits following one another, each on their strings leading to all kinds of bright and colorful gemstones and crystals arranged together smartly, ready to break daylight into countless colorful slivers of shine, alluring, pleasant to look at, inspiring even. ❝ My Kaa-chan is good with jewelry, she was a great help. ❞ Promptly, he feels heat rising to his cheeks, thinly clogging his ears uncomfortably. Giving away a hint, indicating that the whole thing was handmade, with help of his mother- but by himself. God, it all feels so sappy. His hands retreat to his pockets, smile simmering into a tight line as he momentarily averts eyes, awaiting a comment or a reaction like a boiling pot ready to erupt. It's utterly silly, how the sheer embarrassment almost makes him forget the other gift. ❝ Shit, wait - ❞ Is it too late now that Daisuke has already opened the first one? Would it be breaking some kind of unsaid rule? Shou was sure he had already done that somehow. It doesn't make him as nervous as he should be, though. ❝ This is for Dark. ❞ A small box fetched from the depth of his pocket, it sits in the palm of his hand with ease, plain and black with an even darker bow adorning its width. It hides a pair of silver earrings, dangle ones with long, simple bars design, something that wouldn't draw a lot of attention when shinning in the darkness, perhaps a little practical for the Phantom Thief career, trivial as it seemed. ( IT'S NOV 11TH FOR ME IDK TIMEZONES ARE CONFUSION. HAPPY BIRTHDAY LITTLE DUDES. )

and it feels extra embarrassing to have shou of all people subtly flustering before him ; leaves the niwa shy , timid , and awkward as ever --- but daisuke can't help it , and maybe shou would understand that before giving him a good sudden slap or shake to loosen up the atmosphere , complete with some sort of goading , dislodging remark that would somehow save face for both of them , instead of leaving them to stand about like a pair of two nervous puppies just seconds away from leaping at each other . shou's giddiness was a thing evident enough to turn infectious , and daisuke liked to think that he understood just what kind of gift this truly was : a mixture of equal understandings and their very own bared hearts .

wasn't it breathtaking ? wasn't it inspiring ? wasn't it both made and meant just for him ? a connected prismatic of myriad colors and lights , complete with rabbits : the perfect self-expression and reminder of shou's very own person --- of course , that was right , shou-kun's always been just like this . when daisuke dares to delicately remove the other's handiwork and lift it upwards so that it could better shine , it briefly seems a halo in the air ; the niwa's very own accepted , adopted glimmer and crepuscular ray . the boy's smile itself as he admires it is nothing short of divine , the instinctive shift of his free palm to his chest the first clue to the bursting well and frantic pound that was starting to grow beneath .

' ... it's amazing , ' his breath , despite how close it seems to a gasp of wonder , still summons a gentle , cherubic gust that winds about the decorating rabbits . the dancing light and jubilant hares in his eyes is everything reflected ; a sunset backdrop , a red wheat-field of awe . ' is it really okay if i have something like this ? even though your kaa-chan helped you with it , too ? '

he liked to think that he understood just how much shou loved his mother ; how much tenderness must have been patiently imbued into their shared craft . surely shou , who was only ever honest with himself and his opinions and desires , did not labor over such beautiful things with his most loved figure for just anyone . meanwhile , prized art , objects , and jewelry-pieces were far from any sort of rarity within the phantom thief's hands , but there had never once been anything like this before , either .

theft ; taking , was never the same as becoming recipient ; giving .

--- and the act of generosity too , by any sort of standard , should have been considered a human miracle .

in the moment of silence that shou leaves him to fill , dark's presence sweeps in like the fluttering cover of his cloak and black wings . daisuke allows it , feeling the tips of his fingers lending one last touch to the suncatcher before it's put carefully away , back into its container's interior . ' ... for me ? ' it sounds incredulous and yet , daisuke can still see everything ; understood that dark as well would hear and share every traded echo of thought , every pulse of warmth and strong feeling .

' i don't really like being an afterthought , but since you actually bothered to get me something ... i guess i can forgive you . ' it's --- a lie , and daisuke nearly desperately exposes it to no one who would hear but dark himself . you're feeling just as unworthy as i am . you're feeling just as speechless and happy . instead the soul of the niwa merely watches as the small box is opened , and the earrings are briefly marveled at with an expert eye . you were worried it might have been a trick . "i" can't remember anyone's last kindness , "i" can't remember anyone's last gift , "i" can't even begin to imagine why anyone would ever bother to celebrate my own birth like this ...

quietly , with a different sort of smile from his usual sharp-tooth grins , dark affixes both earrings onto his person before testing and demonstrating their placements with a quick flick . ' ... well , how is it ? sorry if you were hoping i'd burst into flames or get a rash from the silver , but the color still suits me well , right ? ' emiko as well would have been no doubt thrilled to learn of the accessories' importance , quick to catch on and even quicker to coordinate with a mother's hen-pecking insistence . ' lucky you . everyone will want a pair after seeing the great phantom thief dark wearing these for his next heist . but if that isn't enough , then ... '

a cold hand presses upon shou's head to amiably ruffle the boy's hair , the swiftly-generated heat of frazzle and friction his unspoken gratitude --- when dark's palm finally falls over the boy's face in a brief curtain , daisuke is soon left standing before him once more , gifts and boxes in arms , earrings still in place at his very own lobes . the red flush of his cheeks deepen until he gasps a little at the realization of his returning shift --- but because the only person in front of him was shou , the niwa easily finds it in himself to muster up his very best smile , punctuated by the rare , blissful sound of a carefree laugh .

' --- thank you , shou-kun ! ' not just from me , but dark as well . ' with something like this , i think i can keep going for the rest of my life ! i'll take good care of everything . i'll keep it all right with me ... ! ' and then , day by day , whether time moved on into a week , a month , or even years from now , ' i'll always ... always be looking at it and thinking of you . i hope you'll remember that , okay ? even if i don't get to always see or hear you in person , your voice has still definitely reached me . ' just as , perhaps , shou had never recoiled at the sight of him , or his secrets ; his other self , or his hidden life . there were things that could be laid bare only between them , and what could have possibly been more precious than that ?

sappy , embarrassing , awkward and filled with spontaneous moments --- above all else , what they had was still undeniably sincere .

#espectres #*･ﾟ⊰ ANSWERED. ⊱ #CANON. #WAAAA FINALLY I CAN PUB #GRRRRR GRRRR 📣📣📣

[doodling-doodle]

A Merry Wedding

(The Slice Of Paradice AU)

Their wedding was very carefully planned, mostly by Kyle. But it was beautiful. Just what they wanted and needed.

—

Kyle had done most of the planning, and Alex loved all of it. All the ideas, the venue, the everything. They got custom suits. Kyle's was a pure white suit, the back of the jacket went down to his knees to mimic a train on a dress. Alex melted when he heard it. But neither saw each other's suits yet. 

But it was the wedding day. Their anniversary. Christmas day.

The venue was a beautiful rustic barn. Pretty big. And perfect.

They hadn't seen each other all morning. They had gone to their separate rooms to get ready. 

Alex

"Alex, how are you freaking out so much?” His brother asked.

“Well, Matt, I’m sorry THAT I’M GETTING MARRIED IN LESS THEN AN HOUR!!”

“Dude, calm down.”

He took a breath, and just looked himself in the mirror. Kyle was in the room next to him. This was it. The best day of his life. Yet he hadn’t seen Kyle all morning. He heard things coming from his room: laughing, crying, and Kyle saying that he just wanted it to start already. His voice was barely back. He thought that it would be in sign language, and it was okay. The recovery was hard on both of them. Hospitals, scans, meds, wedding decor shopping, just… a lot of things happening. But it was all worth it.

“I can’t believe this is finally happening…”

“You're happy it is though, right?” Anne asked.

“Hell yeah!”

He and Kyle had decided to have both bridesmaids and groomsmen on both sides. Anne was his maid of honor. He had a light gray color for all of them. The men had suits, but Anne chose a jumpsuit.

He had Anne, his niece Jess, who was wearing a knee length, long sleeved dress and tights, His brother Matt, and Gabe on his side. 

"You look wayy too nervous, buddy." Gabe said. 

"It's a good nervous!"

"Can't wait to see John cry. And you cry." Anne said, "ten minutes, buddy."

Then, it was time for him to wait at the Altar…

Kyle

He was crying while looking in the mirror. He felt beautiful. He didn't know that he'd love the pure white clothes. He hoped Alex loved it just as much. 

"Look at you." Price said, hugging him, "you look amazing. Alex will love it."

"I-i hope so…" He whispered, "thank you, dad…"

Price was walking him down the aisle. He cried when Kyle asked him to. Graves was the best man. He had Matt, Farah, and Ghost. The colors were a dark forest green, a dark blue, and gold. 

Another thing he wanted to tie them all together was all of the wedding parties and families having roses somehow.

Ghost, Soap, Price, both Matt's, Gabe, Roach, Alejandro and Rodolfo all were wearing boutonnieres. Halo-Matt, Ghost and Graves had golden ones to go with the green suit jacket and dress pants with a blue undershirt. Price, Ale, Rudy, Roach and Alex’s dad, Jack, had red ones. Gabe and the other Matt had gray ones.

Laswell, Ava, Anne, Jess, and Alex’s mom all had roses in their hair somehow. Laswell had done a fancy bun on herself and Ava, putting the flowers in the back and going up the right side. Alex's mom, Mary, had just gotten a simple but beautiful hair clip to put on the end of her side braids. Jess had made beautiful dangling strings with roses to go down the back of her head. Farah had a sash with golden roses to wear with her green dress and blue Headscarf.

Alex, of course, had a red one. Kyle had a white one.

"So beautiful, Kyle…" Graves whispered., "it's time. Go to the aisle."

He nodded, watching as the others walked out before him and Price. Alex was waiting for him.

"You ready?" Price asked.

He nodded, smiling.

"Good. They're ready for us. Let's go."

He took a deep breath, and they walked out to go to the aisle. 

He saw Alex downstairs waiting. And he started sobbing. 

A beautiful black suit, with a red undershirt and black tie. Medals covered the right side of his chest, and a red rose boutonnière on the left side of his chest.

He saw Alex start to cry his eyes out while they walked down the aisle while he and Price both sobbed.

"I'm so happy for you two." Price whispered, hugging him before giving him away, "I love you, okay?"

And he was given to Alex, who held him so gently.

“You look beautiful." Alex said, smiling.

He held Alex's arm, wanting to say, "so do you. " but he was saving his strength.

Alex

It took a few minutes, but he was already crying a little. their families in the front row, and the grooms-maid’s and men already lined up.

He looked to the end of the aisle, up the stairs.

And broke down in tears.

Kyle was standing in a beautiful pure-white suit, white rose boutonnière, all of his medals, covering most of the right side of his chest, and combat boots, crying softly while Price wiped tears off his own face.

He couldn't help his staring while they walked down the aisle. Kyle was gorgeous, he always was. But this had made it real for him. He was marrying that wonderful man.

Price quietly whispered something to Kyle before hugging him and giving him to Alex.

“You look beautiful…” Alex whispered.

Kyle smiled, holding Alex's arm in a way to say, "You are too."

They held each other's hands, staring into each other's eyes. And there was mistletoe above them. 

The officiant was actually a family friend of Alex's, and was happy to be the one to officiate their marriage. 

The ceremony started fairly quickly. Alex found himself just looking at every small detail. Kyle's eyes, his scars, his smile, everything about him. 

He was still a little upset that he wouldn't hear Kyle's voice. But he was okay with it. All that mattered was that he was okay. They could get married. That’s what mattered.

Then, they could say their vows. Alex went first.

"Kyle… you have been the best thing that ever happened to me. How unbelievably lucky was I to meet you? To date you? And now, to marry you? You're an angel. The light I needed in my life. Everything I needed and more. You're beautiful. Your kind. You're perfect in every way… I promise to cherish you, to hold you, and never let you go. I promise to love you, and treat you with nothing but reverence. To hold you through the hard times, and the good. I will love you until my dying breath. I will be here for you until the day I die. For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, I promise to love and cherish you."

Kyle was crying by then. Alex lightly loosened his grip on his hands, thinking he'd have to pull back to sign his vows. Kyle tightened his grip, taking a breath.

"A-alex…"

It was barely above a whisper. But it was Kyle. And just hearing that made him tear up.

"My whole life, I thought I'd never get married. Then you came along. And you gave me warmth, and love, and light that I never knew I needed. Never thought I’d have. And here I am. Through many hard times, a few near-deaths, and many more amazing times… we’re here. We’re alive, only we both have a few things missing. But, here we are.. And here I am, with you…Everything I’ve ever wanted. Perfect, beautiful, handsome, kind, loving, and caring… I promise to love you, hold you, and cherish you. To never let you go. To be here with you and love you until my last breath.For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, I promise to love and cherish you.”

Alex was crying by then, smiling. He’d barely heard his voice in the past year. Maybe becuase he was saving his strength for this. But, they had learned both ASL and BSL in the last year, knew it petty well, too. But this was just… perfect. 

And he knew everyone was sobbing from it.

They were given the rings. They were custom made, with their names carved on the outside, embedded diamonds on either side of the ring.

Alex took Kyle’s hand, holding it gently and sliding the ring on his finger. Then Kyle did the same, shaking slightly.

“Alex, do you take Kyle to be your lawfully wedded husband until death do you apart?”

He teared up more, choking back a sob as he said “I do.”

“Kyle, do you take Alex to be your lawfully wedded husband until death do you apart?”

Kyle smiled, choking out a quiet, “I-I do…”

“I now pronounce you married, you may now kiss.”

Alex pulled Kyle closer, cupping his cheek, leaning down to kiss him gently.

He faintly heard the others all cheering, but he was lost too lost in his thoughts of Kyle.

He slowly pulled away, looking into Kyle’s eyes, smiling.

They went back down the aisle and up the stairs to have a few minutes alone as a just married couple.

“You… I can’t believe you did that…” Alex said as he closed the door, “I missed your voice so much… this is the best wedding gift I could’ve gotten.”

Kyle smiled at that, signing, “I was trying really hard to not talk. I wanted to make it more special for you. So, I tried to save all my strength…”

He smiled, “I love you… so much. I can’t believe we finally are married.”

“Best thing to happen in the past year.”

He chuckled, “We’ve gotten through a lot more then this, hun. But this was definitely one of the hardest things to happen to us. I’m so happy to know your okay…” He smiled, cupping Kyle’s cheek, looking outside.

He smiled, leading Kyle outside, where it had started to snow.

“Perfect…” Kyle whispered, holding onto Alex.

“We have about ten minutes until the reception.” Alex said, looking down at him, smiling, “Want to watch the snow?”

Kyle nodded, laying his head down on Alex’s shoulder.

They watched for the whole time they were waiting, just smiling, and softly talking about the plans for the honeymoon.

Then they went back inside for the reception.  

The room was already set up. Tables were placed around the outer parts of the room, the sweetheart table was at the end of the room, and there was nothing but sweets served after a classic Christmas dinner. They wanted it to be a good night. There were coffee’s, hot chocolates, and tea’s, and there was a small station where they could get flavoring, whip cream, and marshmallows, as well as caramel and chocolate sauce.

Everyone cheered again seeing them walk back down the stairs, clearing the floor for them before Price and Graves came up to Kyle to hug him, Alex’s parents doing the same.

There was a small bit of resistance from Alex’s mother when they said they weren’t doing the other dances after their own. But they eventually just accepted it

And it wasn’t long before they started their dance. Lover by Taylor Swift. The first song they ever danced to. The first time Kyle danced. When Alex wanted to get a ring to propose.

Everyone started crying, including them. But they just felt so happy. 

Alex just kept looking into Kyle’s eyes, smiling. He just kept thinking about how beautiful he was.

Kyle did everything he could to hold back his tears, smiling up at his husband. He wanted to just… press pause on it all to make it last longer.

They happily went to their table, where their beautiful cake was.

Alex giggled as he saw Kyle get icing all over his face.

Kyle just looked unamused, just was smirking and chuckling. 

Until he smacked Alex with a bunch of icing, and that’s when the others noticed.

“You two are acting like bloody children!” Price yelled.

“We don’t give a fuck! We ain’t in the military anymore, we can be children!” Alex yelled back.

Alejandro and Rodolfo were cackling, just watching them try and clean themselves up.

Which failed, leading to more giggles.

Alex couldn’t stop giggling while looking at Kyle, seeing him still wiping it off his face.

"That was a bad idea." Kyle whispered, still giggling

"Worth it. You look adorable." Alex said back.

During the reception, they found some time to sneak off. It was still snowing, though it had slowed a lot.

They walked around the venue, around the frozen river, and the snow covered trees, talking about their plans for the honeymoon.

They wanted to go to Canada for a week, followed by another week in Alaska. They had booked remote cabins in both places. They didn’t exactly have plans on what to do, but, they were figuring it out. They mostly just wanted to celebrate in the cabin, alone, but, they wanted to go out and do something. 

“We could even just… go out for dinner?” Kyle asked, "I really… just want time with you…"

"I agree. That's what we should do."

Kyle smiled, "Yeah… thank you… for all the shit we've gone through in the last year, this was… perfect."

Alex smiled, holding Kyle close as they walked back to the barn. It might've only been thirty minutes, but it felt like so long. Just walking alone through the snow was… almost magical. And perfect.

And the others all lit up when they came back in.

But as the night got darker, and the snow stopped… their wedding was over. The magical, wonderful, perfect, love filled, best night was over.

They planned to leave the next day. Later on. That way, they could sleep in, then get all of the decor packed up to go back to their home.

Alex still smiled when Kyle sat up in bed, sleepy eyes, messy hair, and yawning a lot while they packed up the decor, still in very comfy clothes.

His brother got all the decor and got it to their home while they were on their way to the airport.

They fell back asleep on the plane, only waking up when they landed in Canada. 

They smiled as they got to their hotel, and they decided to just relax for the day, in each others arms, just eating snacks, cuddling, and watching TV. They ordered their dinner, and they ate in bed, still holding each other while talking about their future together… they were just happy to be together. After all the shit they went through in the military, and Kyle getting sick… if that was what it took to end up here, they’d do it every time.

Finally, they started to fall asleep, in each others arms, content. 

“I love you, Alex…” Kyle whispered, voice rough from all the talking from the past two days.

“I love you, too, Kyle…” 

That week in Canada was one of the best.

And Alaska was even better.

Alex was lost in watching the Northern Lights with Kyle. they were gorgeous. 

“It’s perfect…” Kyle whispered, “I wish we could see this all the time.”

“Maybe we could come down here more often.” Alex said, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I’d like that…”

“Then it’s settled.”

Kyle smiled, turning to Alex, running his hands up his chest, gently kissing his lips while Alex’s hands went down to his hips.

“Your amazing.” Alex said, “Your perfect. And I love you.”

Kyle smiled even more. The smile that lit up his eyes.

And Alex smiled back.

They weren’t happy when they had to fly back. But they were still excited to stat the next chapter of their relationship.

They did need to find out what to use all those fairy lights for, though…

---

Gabe and Matt are not my ocs. I have permission from @angstkings to use them.

#cod mwii #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #kyle gaz garrick #alex keller #john price #phillip graves #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #kate laswell #ava laswell #gabrial wranger colt #matthew halo miller #a ton of ocs and i dont want to tag them all #gazalex #alexgaz #price x graves #soap x ghost #laswell x ava #gabe x matt #The Slice Of Paradice AU

[ahsteria]

can we read the murder lesbians short story

!!!!! YES omg its under the cut <33 a little over 1k words and is one of my first attempts at creative writing would love if anyone read or gave feedback soooo much okk here it is

"define, desire":

To the outsider, Anna’s attention is failing. She sits alone at one of the library’s hexagonal tables, has turned the page maybe once in the past hour. What the outsider doesn’t understand, is that Anna's attention is an arrow with a string, sharp and resolute point embedded in its mark. It’s not her fault, really, how can she be expected to focus on East of Eden when God’s favorite angel is typing in her peripheral. Mari is wearing thin, silver framed glasses today, enlarging her already lamb-like eyes.  

Five months ago Anna’s mother passed, leaving her the pale yellow-painted estate and an ever-unsatisfied well wedged deep in her stomach, unrelenting thing. September was rain waving hello, through windows on slow train rides from Anna’s Brooklyn apartment to the quiet and innocuous woods of Seneca Falls. Her intention was never to stay, this was promptly ruined on a notably gray September Sunday: Anna subjected to tediously returning her late mother’s stack of overdue romance novels. Upon first glance, she mistook Mari for actual, inhuman art. It’s nice that the library is investing in the fine arts, she thought. Oh, oh but then the beauty blinked itself alive, flesh and blood, Pygmalion and Galatea. Silver-blonde hair ending at the dip of visible hip bones, her front strands framing those fucking doe eyes. When reading The Argonautica, she thought Jason's men stupid for being unable to resist the sirens’ call. She sympathizes with them now. Mari is desire personified, something sicker than yearning. Flesh and blood cannot look like that. Anna moved to Seneca Falls the following week.

Anna is not insane. She and Mari are friends. It began with books (Anna often watches Mari’s desk then purchases her current read from the local bookstore). Sometimes they’ll discuss art (Anna’s favorite pieces may, on common occasions, feature fair maidens with notably defined anatomy). Recently, they’ve been frequenting local events (she’s canceled three appointments now to attend said events with Mari). The two of them, in fact, went to the loveliest gallery opening last month and shared a slice of blackberry lemon-crème cake. Mari fed Anna a bite with her fork: a doubly bittersweet, indirect kiss. Mari mentioned a craving for it two days ago, red lips in a distracting, horrifying pout. So Anna, in a normal, nonchalant way, called the gallery with the intent of purchasing an entire cake. Tragically, she failed to locate the baker. The gallery was lucky enough however, to have a copy for allergy concerns, which was faxed over. Mari gifted her a kiss on the cheek for it yesterday: a bullet to rational thinking. And so, here is Anna, thinking about warm lips and delicate wrists and flushed skin as Steinbeck’s open pages collect dust. 

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

Mari has never been more beautiful than in Anna’s late-mother’s kitchen. It’s not the kitchen really, with its outdated black and white tiled backsplash, nor even the setting sun’s orange light placing a halo atop her head. It’s Mari suggesting they bake the cake together, Anna’s kitchen is bigger anyway, it’ll be nice, she had said. Suggested so casually, as if not filling Anna’s mind with sickly craving, sugarcoated daydreams.

The cake is cooling now, on the silver rack beside the knife block. They’re making frosting. It’s difficult for Anna to pay much care to anything besides the smear of buttercream on Mari’s forearm. She thinks of placing her mouth on it, saccharine skin. Mari smiles, full face, and it's then Anna realizes she’s been talking. 

“Sorry—missed that,” Anna says.

“Oh I just said the photo on your fridge, it’s nice,” Mari replies.

Mari is referring to a photo of her mother—loose brown curls and stress lines around the eyes, her smile is strained only slightly, it’s almost indiscernible. Anna is seated next to her, same strained smile but significantly less disguised. 

“Oh, thanks. That’s my mom, we took it over there.” Anna nods towards the blue velvet couch in the living room where they had then posed for the hired photographer. 

“Cute. You look like her.” Mari says. 

Soon the conversation moves to the new Margaret Atwood they’re both ‘coincidentally’ reading. The butter churns, loud and repetitive, like a third voice interrupting the discussion. Mari snacks on spare blackberries as they wait, her hands match Persephone’s, all stained red. 

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

It’s horrific, two toppling layers, collapsing under the weight of undoubtedly too much lemon buttercream; blackberries lazily clinging to swirled dollops. There’s a sheen to it, moonlight on the melting fat of the frosting. 

“It’s beautiful,” Anna quips. Mari laughs, taking a knife out of the block, eager to taste.

“It’s a scale model of the fucking leaning tower of pizza—” Mari says.

“You’re beautiful.” Anna interrupts, unable to help herself. Oh, she’s ruined it now. This was supposed to be a quiet, careful seduction—waves ebbing at rocks so slowly that the rock never realizes when exactly, it goes under. A sea stack.  

Mari’s eyes go big and pleased. She smiles, impossibly, wider.

Oh fuck, oh, oh fuck, Anna thinks. Does she know? Shit. Anna is sick, sick with want, poisoned by something carnal and consuming.

“You’re lovely,” Mari says, as if it’s simple.

She’s close, now, the warmth of her skin corporeal. The red nail polish of Mari’s fingers meets the cotton of Anna’s shirt. Anna gently claps her wrist, takes the knife out of her hand, a tentative touch. The whole thing is lovely really: the delicate press of bone against skin, Mari’s breath, soft against hers, and Anna’s knife, deep in Mari’s guts.

Desire: “to strongly wish for or want (something),” this “something” is undefined. Romance perhaps, sex, money, love, or, in Anna’s case, violence, flavored with sacrilege. When Anna first realized that Mari was not in fact, sterile art,  she was overcome with desire to kill something that is holy and also alive.  Mari is screaming, an angel’s chorus. Prey eyes thick with tears, the confusion of a calf raised by a butcher. Her blood is blackberry juice against buttercream, pouring out from the mouth, catching on the veins of her throat, pooling in her clavicle, then trickling back into the original wound in the stomach. Collapsing, strings cut, she fades into a beautiful lifelessness, ars longa vita brevis. Unrelenting hunger satisfied, Mari lies on the floor— Millais’ Ophelia. Anna is ecstatic, a bit in awe. She thinks herself a sort of artist, the corpse on the floor her undying masterpiece. High on ultimate hedonism, Anna notices blood splattered on the cake. She takes the frosting on her finger, metallic, sour, and too-sweet, it’s quite good. A shame, Anna thinks, that she never got to try a slice. 

#uhmmm yes lmk what u guys think if u have any questions etc etc <3333 #mine #first thing longer than like two paragraphs ive posted wooow #btw mari fucks the shit out of anna in hell dw #haunts her as a flirty but angry ghost too maybe #asks #clownfall #writing #short story #fiction

[marinehero-a]

" master garp ? " light of waning dusksuns drawing saintly halo 'pon holy commander's head, reminder oh so tragic of divine ichor that never would be erased from its true identity even whilst tainted in human reds, no matter how much he'd try to pass among them unnoticed or how so ardently he'd wish to truly experience all that made joy and anger and sadness as wholefully instead of always observing as if encased in glass, unable to reach forth —but he'd remain behind greatest hero of all marines, hesitating in his own oh so familiar silence that easily would kneel before him at each command, for even former dragon of the heavenly gates could perceive how tense and heavy air itself tethered aghast his own throat, as if ready to destroy every wall. " what are you doing out here by yourself? " ( from roci ofc )

ლ.    “ Trying to stop myself from killing you old man, ”   the reply slipped out with cutting brightness. His face contorted into a sharp grin, dripping with cyanide, though he only spared the other man a glance before returning his glaring gaze towards the sea. White-knuckled grip digging into the stone wall he stood by, deep cracks running in veins throughout it.

     With difficulty, he did his best to steady his breathing. To reign in his temper and cull his rage, lest he found himself tearing down Marineford brick by brick. Or, worse, he crumbled first. For he was the hero, and heroes were not allowed to fall.

     Even if he were to slip, even if he were to allow himself failure, Rocinante was among the last who he’d let see such a loss of control. Not for Sengoku’s sake, may the Sea damn him, but because the brat was one of the few innocent men caught in the upcoming storm. Garp wouldn’t allow him to get burned out of the quarrels he held with others.

“ You might’ve heard that the planning for the execution of Whitebeard’s First Division commander is nearly complete, ”   voice still tight, grin feeling plastered on his face, carefully avoiding Rocinante’s face in favor of staring down at his weathered hands. They were capable of leveling an island, yet he’d never felt them so weary — so weak — before,   “ Fleet Admiral Sengoku, ”   the title spat out in clipped tone with as much respect as one might deign to the barnacles on a ship’s hull,   “ Thought to only give me the news of the whole situation now. ”

     Ace. They had Ace, and worse off, they knew. The Elders knew, and they were willing to go to war with the current king of the sea over it. He still couldn't figure out how the Elders had learned. Had Sengoku told them ?  He couldn’t believe it, not when it’d gone unspoken for years. A silent agreement. A silent promise. But why else would Sengoku keep the damn news of Ace's capture from him until it was far too late to pull any strings ?  No. There had to be something. Something he could do that wouldn't be betrayal. Some kind of loophole, some kind of —

     He bit down on his lip and fought against the waves of rage and panic clogging his chest. Dammit all, he'd never been the one for complicated plans, that had always been Sengoku and Tsuru's role, and now his heart stood against them and he didn't know what to do. His duty, or the ones he loved ?  A glance back towards Rocinante brought a silent huff of laughter fall past his lips, fleeting and distant envy towards the brat knocking him out of his spiral of uncertainty. With another deep breath, he forced himself to let go of the tension in his body with easier laughter.

“ Bwahaha !  But my role's none of your concern, brat, ”   the cheer in his voice lighter now, his smile more sincere. A mask well worn in by age and experience, closer to a second skin than anything false. There’d be time to figure things out later  ( when ? )  when there was no company to see him shout.

“ You ought to be more worried about yourself. I doubt your superior — ”   facade nearly cracking, tremors of bitter betrayal  ( but who betrayed who first ? )  slipping through before he could quite catch it, though he carried on as if he hadn’t noticed,   “ — Will have you anywhere near the upcoming war, if he hasn’t already talked to you about it. Your brother’s going to be there. ”

     The bird bastard would be there, and so Rocinante wouldn't. It was simple. The brat would be safe and fine, at the very least. Rocinante may not be one of his, but he was still part of the damnable family Garp had built and been given over the years. If he ended up failing in protecting Ace  ( he couldn’t  he already had )  than at least there was shallow comfort in the certainty that the blood of some brats his heart held fondly wouldn't stain his hands just yet.

#{ ic. } ✗ 「 genkotsu 」 #{ verse } ✗ 「 main 」 #taiixuan #[ peepaw is going through it..... #[ roci being the kid caught in between a divorce energy real--- /lh /lh #[ man </3

[perasperaadastrawriting]

HAPPY WBW LEIA!!

i know its wordbuilding wednesday but i would love to hear you talk more about your character's outfits.... or a certain piece of clothing you're itching to explain!!

Oh, Helena, this is a pure gift you've given me. Oh, for what shall I say or not but prepare for a whole dive into the wardrobe of Ballad of Empires under the cut. We'll start off with Xiani and if it's then not long enough (which I'll doubt we will dove into two more ocs). Moving on, I apologize in advance to anyone truly reading this because prepare for me gushing about everything.

This post only features a small amount of her clothing as she has one of the most worked out wardrobes so far. The importance of colours will be discussed in the next post thanks to @ren-c-leyn .

_________________________________________

Xiani Zy'ah's wardrobe is a mixture between formal imperial attire (once her true ancestry is revealed) and formal battle attire. That woman can do a whole 360 degree turn when it comes to her attire. She honours her Calvaeran roots in her battle clothing. This means that she wears traditional parts of clothing in it as well as the armour chest plate.

Let's start with the description of this said armour of hers. A picture for the first described armour is attached below everything.

ARMOUR AND TUNICS

The armour has a black coloured tunic underneath the chest plate. The pants are umber and wide before they are tucked into brown boots which are partially hidden underneath greaves. Black loinclothes are decorated with red lines. She wears a red capelet which reminds of a shawl.

She wears an ice blue tunic with matching trousers. Two rectangular pieces of silk are crossed over the torso and carefully tucked into a belt before falling just above the knees. The gauntlets go above the elbows and are the same colour as the rest of the tunic. Between the end of the gauntlets and the shoulders is a small gap in the fabric that reveals skin.

IMPERIAL ATTIRE

The imperial gown with high neck collar or a deep plunging neckline without being sexualised or more but beautiful because it does not reveal much? The simple and yet flared and gentle embroidered sleeves and flared skirt which hug her body but at the same time show off her status and power. A gown in meadow green with golden embroidery.

A gown that has me in love is one she wears in a chapter I might post with a snippet. It is a dress with a high neck collar and sleeves that are first narrow but as soon as they reach the elbows are flared. Broad shoulders and a flared skirt, a brooch which is made in the form of a dragon attached to it.

Another gown has me screaming as well. Beads and sash and soutache amidst rich embroidery and a headpiece. A gown with layers of tulle and yet elegant. Pearls and flowers of agate. A cape with broad shoulders made of several faint coloured layers of veils.

Another part of her imperial wardrobe is a floor-length crimson dress trimmed with pearls and gold braided soutache trim under a black overdress. Over this she can wear a cape with broad shoulders.

HEADPIECES

The first time she wears her imperial attire again while she is in Calvaera with the companions is a beautiful headband which resembles a diadem with millions of little gems which shine like stars.

Another headpiece of hers is again resembling a diadem just that this time in the middle is a dragon engraved matching to a golden brooch. There are beads attached to both sides and her carefully coiffed hair is littering with million pearls. There is a headpiece resting in the middle of the coiffed and pinned hair, looking like a diadem just that several flowers of agate are dangling from it. Golden strings seem to form a halo.

One headpiece includes golden black faceframes on either side, resembling a veil. The main part of the headpiece is a fine precious gold cap which is partially hidden by the faceframes. There are dangling ornaments on either side with strings of pearls or beads. The hair is coiffed and in an updo.

A heavy silver or golden headpiece which comes down to the middle of the forehead and is encrusted with gems in the colour of stars. It has a sharp angled design and reaches 3 and ½ inches at its tallest point. The main part of the headdress resembled the letter U, only inverted and pointed at the open ends. It is heavy and yet light. There are beads framing her hair while the carefully coiffed hair is interwoven with pearls and beads.

(asked by @marinesocks)

#happy wbw #clothingdesign #clothingdesignxianizy'ah #my wips #balladofempires #my friends #helena 🧡

[tiilting-at-wiindmills]

muse in white sheets with blue eyes and bloodstained cheeks

the weather is temperate at the noontide. it’s neither freezing out, nor does the sun beat down and engulf the world in a sweltering heat. i sit on an old oaken chair in a quiet bedroom. the thin curtains are partly drawn and a little sunlight peeks in through the space between them.

on the nightstand sits a half finished china cup of lukewarm peppermint tea, along with a glass of water, a couple of books, some wilting oxeye daisies, and a small vial of potent lavender oil.

from my chair i sit and sketch in my book. it is so quiet, all that can be heard is the scratching of my pencil as it glides across the page. when i draw i seem to fall into a trance. my eyes grow heavy and i hardly look up from my paper, apart from the occasional glance through thick wire framed glasses to get a quick look at my subject.

now he sits pretty against a mound of pillows with his head tilted slightly back, blue eyes glazed over and pale lips parted delicately. there’s something quite ethereal about the way that the sun’s rays seem to make his honey colored hair glow as they fall upon it, almost creating a halo around his head. he had dimples on each side of his mouth that were always prominent, but even more-so when he smiled, as they would hollow out as his mouth turned up and his eyes creased in the corners. and even in such a state of illness, with sweat slick across his brow and his cheeks stained red with the flush of fever, he was still, so perfect to me.

he is beautiful in a way analogous to a painting, and loving him felt like an art in and of itself. many a suitor had once cradled my soft heart, but none i have loved so deep and so tender as i love him. my heart seems to boil over with this overwhelming compassion for him and him alone. no other has brought me this sort of inspiration. with him, the words flow from the tip of my pen, and the songs seem to write themselves into existence. when i paint his portrait, the brush strokes feel a little smoother than usual. it’s almost as if the universe has blessed me with the ideal muse, given me a reason to make art, if for no other reason than to make it, for it is the only way my poor heart knows how to love.

why, i don’t think i could ever make enough art for him! i could write a thousand symphonies, i could fill libraries full of books with the things i love about him. i could talk for hours, and cry my feelings into the night sky snd even then, so much would be left unsaid. i am nothing short of infatuated with this man. he is simply too wonderful to be without; for every second i spent without his presence, it seems a year goes by.

“love” he begins, before his sentence is cut short by a string of coughs that tumble form his lips and shake his dainty form. i flinch, the sudden noise having broken the silence of the bedroom, and pulled me from my trancelike state.

once he recovers enough, he leans back against his pillows with a sniffle and a yawn.

“are you okay, my darling?” my eyebrows are high with concern.

“i just wanted to ask if you could get me my blanket.” answered my muse through chattering teeth. the poor dear!

i reached down to the floor near the foot of the bed; there was the thick, soft blanket, lying in a crumbled heap. he’d kicked it off not much earlier, when he’d felt as if the world was burning around him; like he’d been thrown into the firey pits of hell below. though now, as he lay there freezing beneath the covers, he almost wished for the heat to return.

i place the blanket on his lap and tousle his sweat-damp hair before i sit back down. he yawns.

“darling, don’t let me keep you awake with my sketching, get your rest.”

“i will be fine.” retorts the lover. i nod my head and resume my work.

i watch him lean back down and pull the blanket up to his chest. as soon as his head touches the pillows, his eyes begin to flutter like those of a blinking doll. he seems to be fighting the urge to fall back asleep, doing his very best to try to focus on my sketching. i can only imagine it a difficult task; when i’d arrived earlier, he’d been trying to read a book. he’d given up only a few pages in, for his fever made the words seem to swim before him on the page, and trying to focus on the tiny letters that seemed to rearrange themselves over and over strained his eyes, making his head pound even worse than it already was.

i catch a glance for reference before i being the pencil back to my page, smiling a closed lipped smile as my eyes took in his face, such a face that i could look at all day.

once the sketch is finished, i switch to my colors, dipping the fine hairs of my brush into a glass of water to wet the paint. when i look up again, he seems to have finally succumbed to his body’s desperate cries for sleep. his eyelids were shut and the tips of thick brown lashes barely brushed against the rouged tops of his cheeks. goodness, he looked peaceful.

i paint the highlights and the hollows of the pallid face, and the golden hues of his hair. add in the shadows and folds of the sheet that covers his sleeping form, watching the painting come alive. i add the color to his warm cheeks with a dash of deep red, blending it into the peachy hues of the area, to the lips.

by the time i felt the painting was finished, i took a final glance at it, admiring my work; though he was the true artwork in my eyes. only the greatest craftsmen could create such a splendid work of art. like the birds that sing from the trees and fauns that stand on shaking legs on the forest floor, he must’ve fallen from the stars or been sculpted by the delicate hand of the universe herself. now i’m not a believer, if there ever was a god, this was the man he’d made in his image; sitting right before me, sleeping peacefully, undisturbed.

i rise from my seat and place my painting on the foot of the bed. gently i bend down and plant a kiss atop a burning temple, tuck a lock of wheat-grain hair behind an ear, and left the room, making sure to make not a sound but the muffled click of the door as i shut it behind me.

#words #dark academia #love language #lover #romanticism #romantic academia #spilled words #artsy #romance #writing #short story #based on a true story #writing practice #classic literature #except written in the 2020s

[bloodgulchblog]

I started reading Halo books after you recommended Legacy of Onyx to me not too long ago. I started with Fractures, which was a good first taste. Really liked Into the Fire. Next up was Legacy of Onyx, which was REALLY GOOD WOW and I chewed through the whole thing in two days. There's SO much left about Onyx, I hope we get more of it in novels or gameplay in the future. Now I'm onto Rubicon Protocol, which is pretty good so far (ch3) but not holding my attention as hard as Legacy of Onyx did

Ooh, Fractures is an interesting place to start imo. I'm glad you enjoyed it! It honestly gives you a lot of directions you could jump off in if you're looking for more book recs. I think getting into stuff with big lore like Halo is, unless you're doing something wild like just reading all of it like I did, mostly about figuring out what your handholds are and what you're interested in and where to go to follow those interests.

Rubicon Protocol is definitely a heavier, slower book than Legacy I think. It's a lot grimmer. I thought it was good overall but there were definitely points where I had to take a break because that gets dark. Really loved what the author did with Stone in particular, though.

If you are looking for more things to add to your list for later, based on what you've said here...

(Big post of tumblr user bloodgulchblog rambling about different Halo novels below the jump)

Ghosts of Onyx is the one I'm most confident about. I typically wouldn't recommend Ghosts as someone's first go at Eric Nylund's Halo novels because they're kind of a trilogy and having The Fall of Reach and First Strike read first makes it better, but if you had a good time diving right in the deep end at Fractures I think you'll be completely fine. (...The other two have Master Chief though and he's my special guy.)

Anyway, the reason I'd say Ghosts of Onyx is the stories you've already read are very heavy on the Spartan-IIIs, and that one is their origin story. You've met Tom-B292 and Lucy-B091 twice, you know Chief Mendez, you've seen the Ferrets, you've seen what Onyx turns into. Then if you like what Nylund was doing, Ghosts has you meet the surviving Spartan-IIs and Halsey and that's a big handhold to dig back further toward tFoR and FS if you feel like it.

Into the Fire is also an easy one to pull a rec off of, because it's actually the first section of a novella called Smoke and Shadow about Rion Forge. I liked it! It's short, but it was refreshing to see a book completely focused on civilian characters (...which is another reason that Legacy was fun for me.) It's also the start of a trilogy. The other two books are Renegades and Point of Light, both of those are full length and are circling back to Forerunner lore that hadn't been touched on in a while.

...Actually, speaking of Forerunners, man I feel like it has to have been wild to go right off with Promises to Keep without the context of the Forerunner trilogy. If you're curious based on that, try Cryptum. The Forerunner Trilogy is some true old-fashioned world-buildy weird scifi, Greg Bear was a master, and Cryptum is pretty accessible because it's about Bornstellar the idiot Forerunner teenager who knows just as little about what's going on as you do.

If you like it and go forward there, I'd say the middle book, Primordium, is much slower paced because it's focused on one guy (Chakas) in particular walking around with some other characters on a spooky Halo, but the third book Silentium is this great apocalyptic log of the whole of Forerunner civilization coming the fuck apart and the Didact losing his goddamn mind. 10/10

....What else.

Oh fuck, I know what else.

Alright, so. I don't like the Kilo Five trilogy, which is the series Glasslands is the first book of. The writing is engaging, but it has... it's hard to say it in a short way without starting to pull out my red string conspiracy board of insanity live on camera, but 1) this book in particular severely mishandles the characters from Ghosts of Onyx and 2) it has this really uncomfortable vibe about ONI and "necessary evil" that I think it doesn't quite stick it in a way I'm cool with. tl;dr the fictional characters don't need to be good people doing good things and fiction isn't real and the author doesn't have to come out on stage and tell you BAD PEOPLE DOING BAD THINGS IS BAD in order for a book to be okay, but I just do not trust the way this author handles ONI for real-world reasons that have a lot to do with real-world military imperialism.

...Also if you disagree with her on anything, especially Halsey, prepare to get hit with a sledgehammer telling you that you shouldn't be having fun. But I'll try to be the bigger person here.

The main reason I would say Glasslands at all is mostly Jul 'Mdama, who really does not get any emotional weight anywhere else in Halo. He's just kind of a ragdoll they throw around to have a bad guy in Spartan Ops and the Escalation comics until killing him off in the first 2 seconds of Halo 5. But if you cared about his sons in Legacy, I think you will find the origin story of Jul and how he wound up in an extremist Sangheili sect (and how badly the UNSC treated him as a POW) interesting. (He's also in The Thursday War, which gets him to where he is when he goes to find the Didact. Up to you if you decide to continue for that.)

It also deals with getting characters out of the dyson sphere at Onyx right after that's been discovered. I'd say if you're interested in this one, definitely read Ghosts of Onyx first.

........OKAY I THINK THAT'S EVERYTH-

This is just to say that if you really liked the Halo But It's High School vibe of Legacy of Onyx, you might enjoy the actual Halo YA novel Battle Born where four scared high school kids and one (1) wounded Spartan-III who's only a little older them try to rescue a whole town from the Covenant. It's slow at the start, but it's short and I had a lot of fun.

DONE FOR REAL THIS TIME THANKS FOR READING HAVE FUN OUT THERE BYYYYYYE

#asks #god i love talking about halo novels #aaaaaaaaa

[kigiom]

more of the civil war lads:

---

"You're still shaking?"

Warley's head jerked up; he looked horrendous, more so than Hopkins had noticed before he had gone to his audience with the King. His cheek had a spectacular purpling bruise that had swollen his left, blue, eye half shut and would likely leave his cheekbone a little crooked. Other than that, only the red rope burn around his wrists, the faint smell of ash, and the spooked, exhausted look on his face told the tale of his close brush with a fiery death.

"I cannot stop it," Warley told him miserably from where he was sitting on the edge of the narrow bed: he hadn’t moved for the past few hours, it seemed.

Hopkins could still see it, the fine tremors in Warley’s shoulders, the tense line of his jaw. He dearly wanted to reach out and touch, comfort, but instead stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, as close as he could to Warley without encroaching on him. Warley was worrying at the hem of the shirt Hopkins had given him: it was a somewhat too big on him, especially in the shoulders. It was rare to see him out of a jerkin, at the very least, so he only looked smaller and more vulnerable sitting there in Hopkins’ shirt with his neck and part of his collarbones exposed, the shirtsleeves covering half of his palms and dark hair curling limply round his chin.

He took a shuddering breath and looked up at Hopkins again.

“You saved my life, William - I am indebted.”

“‘Tis no debt, Robert,” Hopkins argued hotly, “to save a friend.”

Warley made an aborted gesture with his hand and exhaled harshly through his nose. “Had you not found me, I would have been burnt. Burnt, you understand? Like a-”

He shook his head, shuddering, and dropped it onto his hands, and then flinched back upright with a hiss.

Impulsively, Hopkins dropped down onto his knees in front of Warley, putting his hands on his friend’s thighs as soothingly as he could. "Robert. I thank the Lord Almighty I managed to pull you off that damned stake.

“Had you been - had you been murdered so inhumanely, I would have-” he looked away, so he wouldn’t have to see Warley’s face, feeling his fists clench and his heart start to beat his blood furiously. When he spoke again, he kept his voice as low as possibly so it would not shake with rage. “I would have found the buggers who had done it, and I would have made them suffer justly for what they had done to you."

He heard his own words echo in his ears, soft and trembling and all too deadly: I would have made them suffer justly. He knew it was true. He would have-

"Now you are shaking, Will." Hopkins looked up: Warley had an awkward half smile playing on his lips. "Don't go putting holes in my breeches, if you please. I can take a shirt from you, but I fear your breeches would slide off at the most inopportune of moments."

Deliberately, painstakingly unclenching his hands, Hopkins laughed, then bowed his head down because he found that he was weeping quietly. He did not know why: with rage? Relief? Love?

"You old fool," came Robert's voice above him, and there was a gentle hand in his hair. "William. Hush now."

"I don't know what I would have done." Hopkins told him honestly, his face still pressed into Warley's leg. "If you had - if you had died."

"Then do not know, because I am not dead." Hopkins noticed, idly, that Warley was not shaking so much anymore. He sat back up and looked into Warley's face, feeling like he was staring up into the face of a saint and kneeling in benediction.

Robert was still smiling lopsidedly in that small, genuine way of his that made him glow, with no need for any golden halo or beam of holy light. Hopkins felt a sharp tug in his chest, as if his heart was being pulled out on a string up his throat and into his mouth where all of it, all three dozen years of it, would come out. He raised himself as much as he could and put one of his hands on Warley's shoulder, and the other on the unmarred side of Warley's face.

#over the border #thomas.docx #i have like zero mental capacity rn so i apologise for any mistakes that are probably there